#but it's been hard to finish this in my current pain circumstances

[reiderwriter]

She's a Silver Lining

Chapter Nine of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Spencer comes to terms with your abduction.

Warnings: ANGST, Suicidal ideation, kidnapping, mentions of fetal abduction and murder of pregnant women, descriptions of abuse, descriptions of prenatal care, typical case details. Spencer is depressed.

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is a day late, I literally saw God this weekend (I saw Taemin perform live), and really, all that's been on my mind is how God is Good (Taemin is hot), and so I haven't been able to write anything as depressing as this chapter. I hope you enjoy (?) it anyway~♡

Masterlist || tags are currently broken, I'm sorry ♡

Eight days. It had been eight days since Spencer had last seen you. Eight days since he'd screwed up his one job so massively that he'd lost you. 

He'd lost people before. He'd lost people on cases. Victims, unsubs, bystanders, and family members who didn't stand a chance at recovering from their own loss. He'd lost Maeve, which was a little too similar to his current circumstances to think about too hard. He'd been losing his mother since he was born, and he'd really lost her again a few months ago. He'd lost Gideon. He'd lost Elle, too, before that. He'd lost Emily, and though she'd come back too, it wasn't the same. He'd lost Morgan, and then Hotch. He'd lost Alex Blake.

He'd lost nearly everyone in his life. Some of them had come back, most of them hadn't. 

He'd thought himself immune to the pain of losing someone at last. 

He'd certainly lost enough of himself in prison. 

It may have only been 84 days, but whatever was left in him of hope before was gone. He'd emerged completely empty. 

He supposed that's why he'd accepted the role at the university. There was nothing left for him to give to the BAU, but he couldn't be the one to leave. 

As it was, he'd already been unsettled enough by leaving you behind when he'd finished up his time there. 

It felt weird to him, saying goodbye. Not that he'd actually said goodbye. He'd kissed your forehead as he slipped out of your bed, sure, but you'd been neither conscious, nor fond of him in anyway. It was a parting gesture just for him  and he hadn't been quite sure why he'd done it. 

It was just a gesture and one he'd repeated multiple times after getting you back. You didn't know, of course. How could you? 

He'd either woken up before you and kissed your forehead, or climbed into bed beside you late at night and greeted you then. 

You'd lain side by side, drifting to sleep slowly, when he realized it had become a daily habit. 

He hadn't any idea of what he'd do when you left. 

And now you had. And it was his fault. 

In the eight days since you'd been kidnapped, Spencer had come to terms with a few facts.

He knew 64,956 women were currently declared missing in the United States. He knew that 77% of adults reported missing were found in 24 hours. You weren't. He knew 4% were found in 48 hours. You weren't. Only 3% were usually missing still after a week. 

You were somehow in that small minority, even though there was an entire team of FBI agents working around the clock to find you. 

He'd had faith in his coworkers before. Before, he'd begged for their help, and they'd succeeded in 24 hours, even if the outcome wasn't preferable. 

This time, he didn't beg. He had no faith. He just hoped to be present with a gun, loaded with two bullets, if this time went the way of the last. 

On the eighth day after your abduction, Spencer finally returned home.

The damage from your abduction was still apparent. 

Not that your captor had left many clues. In fact, they'd left none. Not even a fingerprint or a good angle on the CCTV. But he hadn't taken returning to an empty apartment well.

He slashed through the crime scene tape quickly, letting in hang in the doorway as he entered. The bookshelves he'd attacked were limping, leaning on each other for support after he'd ripped books off so violently he'd set them askew. 

He'd kicked and ripped and punched the wall so hard he'd needed stitches that he'd absolutely refused to get. 

He'd cried and sobbed into his bloodied and bruised hands until Emily had arrived, and then he'd cried some more, leaning on his friend, his sister, for her support. 

Returning now, there wasn't a single tear left.

In the hospital, they'd addressed his flesh wounds, but the emotional ones would never hear. 

You were gone. And now there was only a 3% chance he'd ever see you again. 

Emily hadn't allowed him to stick around to make their jobs harder. She's placed him on house arrest - funnily enough, her house, where you should've been if he wasn't such a selfish ass - and assigned a watch. 

She’d said it was for protection, but what she'd meant was it was to protect him from himself.

The rest of the team had avoided the topic entirely. They didn't know how to deal with whatever stage of grief he was going through. Many of them had comforted him the first time. They didn't know how to do it a second. They didn't know if they could. 

After eight days, Spencer had left Emily’s apartment. He'd dodged the Agent she'd stationed alongside him, got into a taxi, and gone home. 

Surveying the damage, he was surprised how deep the hurt had already cut to not feel much anymore. 

He looked at the books splayed on the floor. It was a title that you'd been reading that week. One he remembered you using at the office, one that had been on both of your courses reading lists. He picked each of them up and put them back on the shelf. He righted each shelf and organised them neatly, how he thought you'd like them. 

He picked pillows up and rearranged them. He vacuumed the debris from the floor, the thin layer of dust that had gathered since he'd left, the splinters pf bookcase that had crumbled off, the shards of wall that were speckled with his blood. 

He wept the entire time, though silent, until there were no tears left to cry. 

Then he'd come across a tiny package underneath his coffee table, a single corner of plastic peaking out, begging for attention. 

He'd picked it up and wept again as he found depths of sadness to reach further down than what he'd assumed to be rock bottom. 

Aa he lay in a pool of his own despair, a new, haunting fact crashed from his brain to his heart. Since 1987, there had been 21 foetal abductions in the USA. 19 of them had ended in homicide, with the mother dying. 

You made 22. 

In the two months since you'd been abducted, you'd learned three things. 

The first was that you absolutely loved Spencer Reid. You'd spent enough time sitting introspectively about everything in your life to realize you had to stop being so stubborn and admit just that. You'd been about there before all of this, but now you knew for sure. 

You should be cursing the man that inspired your horror show of a life, after all. But instead, you thought about him and held back tears. 

She gave you updates these days, testing your reactions to his name, waiting to see you crack, to see you cry, and sob and break down completely. 

Today, Spencer had been to see his mother, she said. He'd broken down in her arms and caused her to have an episode. She'd hit him so hard, his face had already been bruised by the time she saw him. 

The second thing you knew was that your baby was going to be born healthy. You had no plans of having a home birth, but now, at seven months pregnant, and large enough that you almost thought about doing your conception math again, you knew you were on track for giving birth in the room you'd been in for the last 58 days. 

You hadn't counted. 

She’d been good enough to tell you the date, the day, and her plans every morning when she visited you. She checked your vitals, your blood pressure, the position of the baby, your temperature, your heart rate, and recorded everything in her chart. She asked you how the pregnancy was going, almost as if she was the nurse she'd been training to be. 

Her bedside manner was so good some days. You forgot entirely that you were tied down to the bed, ankle clamped down. 

She let you walk for an hour a day, but recommended bedrest after that for health reasons. You didn't complain or talk back because she didn't like that. 

She let you read, and she was even curious about your reading, asking you questions and taking notes as if this were just part of her regular college schedule, an office hour that had taken over her life. 

You shuddered sometimes as she stared up at you with those big eyes, so wide, and young, and naive, and full of hatred, and evil, and you wanted to claw them out and scream for help, and stab her with the pencil she wrote notes with, and stab, and stab, and stab, and-

The third thing you knew was that you'd never hold your baby in your arms because you'd be dead moments after they breathed their first breath.

You knew, because she had told you as much everyday since you'd woken up. 

In two months, Spencer had become more manic and self-destructive than he'd ever been in his entire life. 

His world centred around you, and finding you, even as his 3% slipped to 1%, slipped to 0.1%, and he knew deep inside that he'd never see you again. 

He hadn't returned to the BAU but had instead turned his home into an investigation room, emptying the walls so he could pin up information, evidence, pictures of you, everything he could find. It wasn't that he'd regained hope, but he'd grown so desperate that he suddenly gripped hard onto the only slither of it that he had left and refused to drop it. He was a dog that didn't know the game of fetch only conti he'd if he dropped the ball. His life would not go on without you.

So he searched. He knew how far along you were. He knew how far along a woman had to be for a c section, professionally performed or not. 

He barricaded himself into his house and paced for days as his friends pounded down his door. He let none in. He didn't go out. He wasn't sure what he ate, or drank, or if he slept, but he knew he paced, and he thought, and he came up with theories. 

After two months, Emily was tired of knocking. 

“Spencer Reid, I am coming in,” she shouted from behind the door. 

He usually ignored her. She couldn't pass the bookshelves he'd moved in front of the door anyway, even if his superintendent had given her a key. 

This time though, he heard a banging, a creak and a crash as the bookshelves went down and Emily, who had left him and returned, made her way inside his apartment. 

“You barricaded the door?” she said, looking at him. 

He took a shaky breath and tried to answer as she surveyed his apartment, the mess of papers, books, string on the wall. He saw her stare down at the pile of sheets on the floor where he'd been sleeping, the bag of your things he had dragged to be closer to him. 

He saw her look at the baby shoes, and baby grows he'd laid out neatly on the floor, and he saw the pitying look she turned on him. 

“She's pregnant,” he finally said out loud, though you must've been 7 months along by then. “I'm going to be a father.”

“Spencer,” Emily said, grasping his hand, voice cracking from the strain of emotion that coated her tongue, making her voice thick. “You would've been an amazing father.” 

“No. No-” he said, breaking away and moving back to his wall. “No past tense, I won't let you… I won't let you give up on them.” 

“It's been two months.” 

“So she's only seven months pregnant. I have two more months to find her, Emily. Two more. At least allow me that.” 

The tears in his eyes streamed freely now as she nodded. 

“We will…. you know we'll help you. We'll do everything we can, so come to the office.” 

He didn't want to give up his space. His reminders of you, the baby grows, the information he'd gathered.

Equally, he didn't like Emily being in this space. She thought you were already dead, and he couldn't even look her in the eye. 

Reluctantly, he nodded, lifting himself up on legs weakened by insurmountable grief, and he followed her to Quantico. 

By the end of your third trimester, you wondered how you could ever have gotten so big. When you gave birth, the child inside of you would only be the size of a small pumpkin. You felt like you'd swallowed five regular size pumpkins whole, and you felt you were still expanding. 

The point worried her. She'd broken two glasses in tantrums this last week alone, measuring you every day. 

The closer you got to birth, the more agitated she grew. 

“This demon inside of you is going to kill you. I won't even have to do it myself,” she'd whispered to herself, or to you, as she took your vitals that morning. 

“Please don't say that.” 

“Why not? You're a whore, and you're going to give birth to a devil. You have seduced my soul mate, because you are a jezebel and the Lord is punishing you.” 

You'd needed all the strength you could get for these conversations. Even one tear, and she'd erupt and put a knife at your neck. With only a few weeks left, there was no saying whether she'd speed her plan along. 

“I did not seduce your soul mate,” you said as calmly as you could muster, taking deep breaths, hoping that she would mirror them and calm down. 

“Do we have to watch the fucking video again?” she spat at you, stomping around to the side of your bed and pulling out her phone. She queued up the video quickly and you averted your eyes. 

She turned them back quickly, holding your head in place as she forced you to watch your own office space. She showed you the videos of you and Spencer talking, teasing each other. She showed you the video of you insisting you were not attractive to him. She showed you the video of Spencer fucking you on the sofa, though she screamed and cut her fingernails into her skin the entire way through. 

She even showed you the video of her attempting to seduce Spencer during their office hour. It was the first video in her collection, the first time she'd set up the camera. She used your entrance as proof that you were breaking her apart from her soul mate. From Spencer. 

You were a whore who had thrown herself at him in anyway you could, and you had trapped him with a baby. 

She was going to free him from all responsibility so he could be with her. 

“My baby will be your devil,” she said as the video ended, and you forced your heart to settle. 

“It is not your baby.”

“Spencer won't know that. He doesn't know it's your baby either, and who are the authorities going to believe when I show up with his child. One paternity test later, and I'll have him, and we can be a happy family together, and we can live happily. I'll take in your devil  and raise it as my own, and we'll forget about the whore who almost ruined it all.”

The psychosis was so clearly written on her face, you were surprised no one had caught onto her state yet. She was devolving. She'd been calm, and contemplative the first week. She'd laid out her plans still, her insane plans, and seemed somewhat coherent. 

Then she'd began rambling about the devil and soul mates, and you'd pitied her, even in your fear. 

Now you were just glad she counted your office tryst as your conception date, and you'd never corrected her. 

She still believed there was a month left until your death. You knew it was days. 

You just prayed your baby could buy you some time.

“Professor?” she said as she carried away the tray of items she'd checked your vitals with

“Yes.” 

“You are not in love with Spencer Reid,” she said, as if trying to convince you. 

“No,” you said, trying to convince yourself  though it was hopeless. “I am not in love with Spencer Reid.”

The first lead in the case came on your due date. Patient confidentiality was, happily, overlooked by a few doctors when he pressed the issue, needing to know until when he was counting down. 

He'd done the rough math himself, but he needed a professional opinion. 

The lead came in the form of an email. The university was cleaning out your office to make way for a new professor, despite his insistence that you'd return, and they needed him to collect things. 

And though he knew you'd be giving birth that day, and he had run out of time, something compelled him to go and do this menial task on today of all days. 

Luke had joined him, and then so had JJ and Emily, and Penelope and Tara. Rossi had even arrived to watch you pile books into boxes that were supposed to have lived on these shelves for a long career. Everyone in the room was so busy watching him, waiting for him to crack, that it had to be him to find it. 

At first, he thought it was a hole in the couch. It was so dark and black, its curved corners giving the illusion of introversion. Then he'd touched it and felt the rough bump. 

“Penelope, here, now,” he breathed out, gasping for air as he finally pulled the tiny spy camera free and thrust it into his friends hands. 

He had a lead. He had you now. 

The first hour of labour was inconvenient only because you weren't alone. She'd been tending to you all morning, fussing over your food, trying to maintain the right amount of prenatal vitamins as she usually did, but she'd ran out of two bottles, and the pharmacy wasn't open. 

You sat still and uncomfortable, trying to not even flinch as your water broke, too afraid of death to be thinking about the life you were bringing into this world. 

The second hour ticked by much the same until she left. 

The third came, and you ceased your screams of pain, even as your hands bore holes into your sheets. She returned, and you knew there wasn't much longer until she knew. 

By hour four, she had your legs spread and was watching you deliver your baby, and you knew the same blade that would sever your umbilical cord would also end your life. 

By hour five, you were so delirious with pain that you thought you saw Spencer. You heard his voice cooing to you as you pushed. You felt his hands wipe away your sweat, smooth the hair from your eyes. You heard his voice announce your daughters birth, and you felt his lips against your skin as you finally gave up fighting and drifted into oblivion. 

[ineffableigh]

Timeline of Suspicious Events Brain Dump - PART 3

You know the drill at this point. Off we goooo! [Part 1][Part 2]

"Maggie and Nina are depending on me!" Azi's really drunk his own Kool-aid at this point, or he's putting on a complicated show to pretend this is a serious endeavor. Giving away a valuable book just to trick Heaven? Something's really not adding up.

Another weird noise for the logs: A bassy 'whoosh/boom' noise right after Mutt says he has anniversary dinner with his beloved spouse and the camera pans to Crowley. Not sure it means anything, but it did stand out to me lol.

Something that stands out to me a lot as well, assuming it was done deliberately (I don't know the actor) - Mutt seems to be having an awfully hard time handling the cards he's currently sorting. Like, after he says 'no' at first, I cannot figure out what he's trying to do with his right hand.

Also of note: The mysterious Bird Box is nowhere to be seen in the shop, even though MANY of the set items are identical to the 1941 scene. Where that bird at??

"Under no circumstances can I there be for tonight." ... what? This has to be on purpose, right? I'm digging, I know, but that's what we do here lol.

Big sad empty warehouse for the Demon Legions. Why on earth (or in Hell) is Hell so short staffed? Where them demons at?

DANGER...osity!

"I can only be there 'til 7" so that's a half hour window for the meeting, at least for Justine. Fair, she can only handle so much of Azi's painful French lol.

The metal barrier just outside the cafe is... awfully snake-y isn't it?

"Looking where the furniture isn't..." is definitely going to be VERY important. Crowley absolutely knows something about losing AND regaining memories and it's been telegraphed all season.

Michael has eye earrings! This feels like a huge tie-in with Maggie's all seeing eye necklace.

Skimming through the rest since I've gone through it multiple times through other posts, but quick takeaways include...

Ms Cheng looking at the Pub before she goes in. Suspicious given we know that's the Hellevator, but have no reason to believe she'd be looking for someone else coming from that direction as the cafe AND record store are the other way.

Mr Brown has to be suspicious because we HEAR him getting mulched by demons when he's taken, but he survives? WEIRD.

Maggie's main character moment as I mentioned in my 'Thoughts about Maggie' post.

Azi seems very genuine when explaining the Coffee Shop Love Plot to Nina, so maybe he really did believe he was helping. I don't get why they steamrolled past her already having a partner, both the lads knew it. It's weird for that much.

Maggie blankly standing by the open window in range of trash is weird, especially since she like Activates and Becomes Brave right after.

I do wonder... how does Shax know Maggie couldn't pay the rent? That seems awfully specific. Like REALLY specific.

Throne, Dominion or Higher Crowley - what a way to drop that info! That moment hits so hard lol.

"Institutional Problem" I wonder if we'll learn more about The Fall next season. What was it that actually triggered it (in this universe)?

I love that the archangels clearly interact with each other SO LITTLE that no one even knows if Gabriel actually has his own bloody desk lol. Talk about isolation.

Huh. I wonder why Shax didn't get discorporated by the Exploding Halo...

You know who else is wearing a damn turtleneck? SARAQUAEL. OOH. COVERT AGENT? HMMMM

No one looked at the damn box, I still can't believe it. Everyone was so busy Being In A Story that they didn't think of it lol.

Analysis of the last chunk of the episode has been done to death, so I'll finish by underlining that it's SO awfully convenient that Maggie INSISTED that she and Nina talk to "them" while Aziraphale was waylaid by the Metatron.

In fact, it's Very Fortunate that the Metatron made a point of going and sitting at JUSTINE'S CAFE out of sight of the bookshop AND Nina's Cafe. Otherwise Nina might have been like hey you, get in on this chat! Like he knew that was the plan...

Plus the fact that they do that even though Justine's cafe is clearly CLOSED. I doubt she'd be chill with that so I guess she's not around.

Anyway that's enough so here's the TLDR:

The Metatron pretty much just LETS Gabriel escape, knowing that the Archangels will go down and muddle about trying to investigate.

We still don't know why Michael thought they had the right to strike people from the Book of Life. The Metatron seems to think that's out of the question, so where did that idea come from in the first place? It was a major driver of the early plot this season.

It seems convenient that Maggie cried about Nina RIGHT before the Angels arrived to inspect the Jimbriel miracle, and then RIGHT AFTER THAT, Mr Brown (of Brown's World of Carpets) shows up to set up the venue. That alone, all happening in the span of maybe 15 minutes, is a LOT.

It really feels like much of the plot was specifically orchestrated to keep Aziraphale and Crowley apart and NOT TALKING to each other. They keep hiding shit from each other to protect each other, but just hamstring themselves.

[mygloviesme]

cool about it, eleven years later. || myg

no. 1 of 3: not strong enough to be your man

predebut/debut!yoongi x female idol

summary: eleven years later, kanako lives in nyc with her childhood best friend keiko. bts have become a household name that floods her every day life, and she's learned to ignore it. after years of moving on from those months she spent with the seven boys, she finds herself in a good place. what happens after one fateful night she finally runs into faces she's tried so hard to run away from?

(definitely inspired by boygenius)

word count: 4.5k

genre: ANGST, fluff, melodrama,

chapter warnings: mentions of mental health, drinking, smoking

inspo song: cool about it by boygenius

JULY 9TH, 2023, 12:12PM

ELEVEN YEARS LATER

Bright. Everything is way too bright. I groan and flip over my side, unable to ignore the throbbing in my head. I feel Keiko shove my side, “Koko, wake up. It’s noon.” She says. I lift my head to peak above the white comforter, squinting as I see her sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I got way too fucked up last night.” I muffle under the sheets. 

“Yeah I think you’re getting too old for that.”

“Tellmeaboutit.” 

I definitely cannot handle my liquor the same way I could in my twenties. Ages twenty to twenty four was filled with sprite vodkas. And as I got older, just smelling alcohol made me hunch over and gag. But last night was different. I had been taking advantage of the connections I still have from being an idol so many years ago, getting invited to various up-scale parties and soirees. Some are fancy, some are trashy. Most of them being held by washed up celebrities that wanted everybody and anybody to come rager with them. 

But lately K-pop has been on the rise so my name get’s brought up every once in a while. They ignore the controversy that’s stapled to my name, instead calling me an ‘icon’ and ‘so ahead of your time.’ It would be more flattering if my past hadn’t been so chaotic. 

“I brought you a breakfast sandwich.” She says and tosses me the paper-wrapped food item. The smell of egg radiates off of it though, which in turn makes me jump from the bed and to the bathroom. I collapse onto the floor and grip the toilet, gross I know but I’m too old to be embarrassed anymore, my throat pushing out chunky acid. 

“Oh honey.” Keiko comforts me as she holds my hair up. I spit up the remaining vomit that sat in my mouth and lean myself on the bathroom wall, holding my knees. “Jesus.” I breathe. 

“Didn’t mean to trigger that.” She apologizes. 

“It’s okay, I’m actually starving but I don’t think I can consume anything.”

She brings over a glass of water from the counter, “Maybe you should try this.” She says sarcastically. I roll my eyes as I take the cup, downing the whole thing. My throat is scratchy and painful but I use that as another reason to finish it. 

She sighs and flushes the toilet for me, plopping the lid down and taking a seat on it. She messes with her fingers, obviously holding something back. She’s usually a very chatty person no matter the circumstances. So the fact that she hasn’t made a joke or a comment about this current situation makes me sure she has something to say. 

“What is it?” I mumble.

She perks her head up, pretending to be confused. I know her too well. “What do you mean?”

“Keiko. Spit it out. Or I’ll do it for you, on your feet.” I threaten playfully. I’m not very nervous to hear what she has to say, knowing it can’t be all that bad. It’s probably work, or maybe even “weird Charlie” the guy that texts her once in a while to hook up. I let out a soft ‘ugh’ and make a grossed-out expression, “Did you hook up with Charlie? Keiko, I told-”

“They released a book. Today. And they talk about you. Jungk- uh- he does.”

No fucking way. 

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I bought it. Sorry. It was a good thirty-something dollars though, and they actually go in depth about their trainee-”

I nudge her leg with my hand aggressively, “Show me! Now!” I shout. 

“Jeez, okay! Hold on.” She pulls out her phone and swipes through it for a couple minutes. She winces as she clicks on something, “Okay, just don’t freak out.” 

I shake my hand so she could hand me her phone, which she does.

 “I highlighted the-”

“Shh!”

I read it reluctantly. 

Jungkook: I met Kanako back in 2012. She was very sweet and a bit reserved, but we grew to be very close friends. We all hung out with her constantly during that hard time. She was there for us and we were there for her. It was a very beneficial dynamic with nothing in-between. I know she wanted to continue her education and we all respected that. I do miss her at times, and I hope she’s doing well. 

“Nothing in between…” I whisper as I bring my hand down to the floor. It would be a lie to say I never thought about them. Or Yoongi. That would be the biggest lie I’ve ever told. But it’s been so, so long. In a way, I’ve moved on. 

What made it all harder was their faces plastered on so many billboards and posters and Youtube ads and- 

You get it. Once that began in 2017, it was brought back to the surface. All the calls I ignored, all the times they did concerts here and I stayed in bed all day knowing I could buy a ticket the same day. Never reaching out. Mourning the life that never was, then feeling the shame that I couldn’t let go. In my darkest hours I still wish I was there. But I would never admit that, maybe not even to my therapist. It’s all so juvenile. 

And they’re different now. Much different than when I knew them. I saw Jungkook’s tattoos just a while ago and couldn’t recognize him. He’s not a boy anymore. Not the one I knew, not physically. And Yoongi…

“I know honey. It’s awful.” 

“I guess the NDA expired four years ago, but since they never said anything I just thought it wouldn’t come up. I hoped it wouldn’t. Did anyone else say anything?” I ask, knowing she knew who exactly I was talking about. 

She shakes her head, “He didn’t.”

I press my back into the wall and exhale, “This cannot be happening right now.”

Keiko stands and seats herself next to me, placing a hand on mine. She knows how I get, we’ve lived together for so long. I don’t think anyone has known me better than her besides my mom. And you know who. 

“I know, Koko. But think about it, they probably just wanted to say something once and for all. Nothing attached.”

I look at her with a guilty face, “Is it bad if I wish there was? Something attached, I mean.”

She hums, “Maybe not. But it doesn’t change anything. Let’s leave the past alone, yeah?”

I hang my head low and nod. She knows what I want but especially what I need. It was an ongoing thing for the first few years I lived with her. Constant panic attacks and days where I wouldn’t move from my bed. The day they released their first album and I replayed their performances over and over again. When I thought they took out ‘Just One Day’, just for it to be released later. That day was horrible. 

I don’t think I can admit how many times I played that song. If it were now, it would be my number one played song in my spotify wrapped. 

Don’t even get me started when they released ‘Butterfly.’ Let’s just say that song is forever banned in our house, along with the rest of them. Any mention of those three letters and I need to be dragged out and tranquilized. 

That’s why I like to mind my own. Go to work, ignore the billboards. Scroll on my phone, ignore their instagrams. Turn on the TV, ignore their performances. 

When I heard about Jin enlisting and Hoseok joining later on, I wanted to call them. To ask how they were. It’s been too long. I’ve never mustered the courage the past eleven years and now it just feels pointless. 

But I still have their number. I still have them all memorized in my head and written down on old sticky notes that collect dust in my closet. 

“We still have that thing to go to tonight.”

“Somi’s birthday party?”

“Yup.”

Fuck.

JULY 9TH, 2023, 8:00PM

I finish my makeup off with a shiny lip gloss, my staple for four years now. I don’t like change necessarily, and smelling the familiar fruity scent brings comfort. Or trauma, thinking of all the nights I would smear it on my lips after vomiting for ten minutes straight in a random club bathroom. 

Me and alcohol have a complicated relationship. Some would say it was teetering over alcoholism, I would call it a phase. It was my twenties, what can I say?

“You look amazing.” Keiko says as she walks through the bathroom door. She lifts up her skirt to take a quick pee, “No underwear again?” I laugh as I watch her roll her eyes. 

“This is the first night in a while I’m not being chained to the corporate desk. Let’s just say I hope I get lucky.” She says and finishes up. I shake my head playfully and scoot over the bathroom counter so she can wash her hands. I analyze my outfit once more, shimmying my top up so I can get a little more coverage. Everything about my body has changed since eighteen, obviously. 

I keep an anti-chafe stick in my purse if that tells you anything. That second-puberty in your twenties does exist, unfortunately. 

Keiko pouts as she turns around to look at her butt, “I thought this skirt would make me look perkier.” 

I tilt my head to her butt and back to the mirror, “I think it does.” I say in my humble opinion. Keiko is a sight for sore eyes, she always has been. She would be one of those people that you consider to age like fine wine. And she has been experimenting with lip filler, but hey. If you have the money, why not?

I pucker my lips and look down to my phone, flashing a notification indicating our Uber has arrived. “Our ride is here, let’s go.” I urge her. I grab my purse and toss my lip gloss inside, rushing to the door. She huffs, “You’re acting like I was the one spending an hour doing my makeup.” 

I glare at her as I open the door, “Not every twenty-nine year old still has that youthful glow you do. Ms. Just Some Concealer and Gel Brows.” I tease. We speed-walk down the hall and I can feel her irritated energy, “You were an idol in South Korea. I don’t wanna hear it!” She exclaims. 

I giggle to myself and we hurry down the stairs of our semi-nice apartment complex. It definitely beats the one we first lived in, but New York is an expensive place to live in. Even with Keiko’s old money background. She’s tried to let go of their help with monthly payments, as we’re nearly thirty and it’s a little embarrassing now. This place will drain your pockets like it’s no one’s business so…she still asks for money now and then. 

We take the elevator down to the parking garage, seeing the Uber we soon jump into. Tonight calls for a drink or two, especially with the news I got earlier. So no driving for the both of us. 

Maybe I’ll even meet someone new. Or two. You never know, right?

JULY 9TH, 2023, 9:02PM

With the busy NYC traffic, we make it an hour later than expected. The birthday party is being held in a private club in Soho, so I know me and Keiko are in for a treat. I have less anxiety being around other celebrities and social climbers, most of them not knowing who I am anyway. But lately I’ve been getting noticed a lot more lately, even some paparazzi stop to take my photo at times. 

Small articles pop up here and there with my name in it, and I can’t even imagine what they’ll look like tomorrow morning. The three-lettered boy group I used to know being a household name at this point. I have mixed feelings about it, but mostly happiness. Thinking of how stressed they were about their success, only to make it to Western audiences. Even getting a grammy nomination. I was tuned in, not going to lie. 

They should’ve gotten it, but anyway. 

I don’t think I wanna think about them tonight, so Keiko and I head to the bar as soon as we get in. The lights are pretty low, making it hard to see faces that clearly. I feel a hand on my arm, turning around to see the one and only Somi. 

“You guys made it!” She shouts over the loud music. She takes us both in a big hug, giggling and yelping. She’s definitely had a few drinks. 

“Yes, of course.” I smile at her. She gestures to the bartender, “Shots! Let’s get fucked up!” She screams. I see Keiko flinch slightly, giving me a nervous grin in response to the young girl's enthusiasm. I only laugh playfully as the bartender places three small cups in front of us, filled to the brim with what I assume to be vodka. 

Somi doesn’t wait a second to grab her glass, waiting for us to follow. Me and Keiko do so reluctantly but excited nonetheless. “One, two, now!” Somi giggles and we all drink down the burning liquid. 

Keiko slams her glass down and makes a sour face, Somi expressionless. It must be her age. I think it's barely legal for her to drink in the US. 

I put my glass on the table and Somi kisses both Keiko and I on the cheek, “Kay, I’m gonna go dance and stuff. Have fun, there’s loads of people here! And by the way, I think some special guests are gonna arrive. So keep an eye out!” She squeals and runs away before I can ask exactly who. 

Keiko chuckles, “I think she’s talking about Mark and stuff.”

“From NCT?” I furrow my brows. I can’t keep up.

Keiko nods, “I’ve been texting her and she tells me they’ve been talking.” 

I jolt my head back in shock, “That’s kind of risky.”

Keiko shrugs as she hands me my drink, this time a mixed cocktail. “Idols are crazy nowadays.”

It makes me think about him. I think idols have always taken risks. I did. 

I sigh and turn to the crowd of people chatting and dancing. There’s some familiar faces, but when are there not? This time it’s more relevant celebrities, ‘it’ girls as the tabloids call them. A part of me misses being that young, but I think I appreciate my age more now. I know more, I react maturely. I’m doing great for the most part. Although I’ve been aching for some action with any guy for a while now. Emphasis on any guy. It calls for some shaming from Keiko, but I’ll leave that for after the damage is done. 

Keiko is handed her own drink and nods to the dance floor, “C’mon, let’s have fun.” She gives me a smile and I go along happily. We walk towards the mass, seeing all kinds of bodies rocking against each other. The deeper you get in with celebrities, the more erotic and messy it seems to get. Don’t ask the stories I’ve heard. 

Keiko grabs me closer and we sway with each other to the music. The bass is deafening and I only hope chugging my drink makes it more bearable. It’s salty and sweet and blazing, amplifying the feeling of this hot club. There’s something about being in a crowded group. We all have the same mission, the same motive. We’re all dancing in clothes that cost as much as our overpriced rent, spilling drops of liquor and bodily fluid on the material without a care. 

It’s a nasty headspace, but it’s so addicting to get caught in. Especially when it’s just me and Keiko, not needing a man but only each other. I was the one who introduced her to nightlife and she was very hesitant at first. She wasn’t used to the lights or the drinks but just like me, once she got into a groove, the right drink, the right people, we didn’t stop. Every Saturday till 4am we’d be out. And that was for a few years straight. 

Once you vomit mid-way into every night out, it becomes more of a relief. Because that means you can just keep going. Bad habit or not, it was so fucking fun. 

But now we’re nearly thirty. We pace ourselves like responsible adults. Most of the time. 

“Do you want another drink?” I ask as I see we’ve drunk both of ours in a matter of fifteen minutes on this dance floor. Keiko grins mischievously, “You know me so well Koko.” She shouts in my ear. I laugh and grab the glass in her hand, rethinking leaving her here. 

“Uh, actually come with me. Don’t want some grimy guy to come up to you.”

She nods in agreement and we both snake ourselves out of the flock of sweaty bodies. The bar glows in front of us with isles of liquor, waiting to be sipped on. Keiko turns to me as we wait for the bartender to finish up with someone else’s drink, “I saw a guy I liked.”

I raise my brows, “Is that so? Who?”

She peaks over my shoulder, “I mean I can’t really see what he looks like because of how fucking dark it is, but it’s that one over there.” She points slightly. 

I try to slyly look to who she’s referencing, seeing a man with a loose short-sleeved button up and an arm filled with tattoos. His head is leaned over as he’s talking to another man and I give Keiko a look. 

“What?” She throws her hands in the air. 

“I mean his body is nice but I didn’t think you were wanting a-”

“Shh, he’s coming over here! Wait-” She covers her mouth in shock. 

I widen my eyes from her alarming expression, “What is it?”

“Kanako don’t fucking look. DON’T LOOK.” She insists. I grow frustrated from her demands and keep my head down, per her ask. I feel an approaching presence, a voice speaking.

 “Gin, neat.” It says. A man. 

I lean over to Keiko who’s attempting to hide her face. “Is it the guy? Why can’t I look?” I do a whisper/yell type thing as I talk. 

She winces, “Just wait for him to leave.”

The female bartender walks over to us, waiting for our drink order. I notice Keiko’s silence and the impatient bartender, lifting my head once and for all to speak. Keiko shakes her head vigorously with her eyes closed like she can’t bear to watch. I don’t understand why she’s so afraid. And quite frankly, it’s getting annoying. 

“Two vodka cranberries.” I say. 

There’s a beat of quietness. 

“Kanako?” The man next to me says. I turn my head unexpecting a big reveal, but to my surprise, it is. A big one. One that I don’t want. He’s so different. His hair is long, his body is taller and so much bigger than I remember. It’s him, it’s him. Fuck, it’s him. Eleven years later. 

My jaw drops as I make eye contact with him. “Jungkook.” 

He’s as appalled as I am, saying nothing for what feels like hours. His eyes scan my body, my face, my eyes. “You- I haven’t- what…are you doing here?” He chokes out. 

I stutter, “W-We- I’m with my friend. Keiko. We know…Somi.” I respond, the information feeling so irrelevant as it rolls off my tongue. There’s so many things I want to say, and yet nothing comes to mind. What should I do? Apologize? Talk to him like an old friend? Look at Keiko for help?

Jungkook moves his shoulder to reveal the man next to him, Namjoon. 

This can’t get any worse. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you…need me.” Keiko leans into my ear to say. I try to nod but my body refuses to move. I don’t necessarily need her here, but It makes me feel stranded. I can’t say anything. All I can think about is eleven years ago. Their faces were so different. The way they carried themselves was so different. They’re global artists now, but when I look at Jungkook I still see that young glimmer he used to have. Even Namjoon, whose shoulders are broader than they were, somehow morphs into the smaller boy I knew then. 

“L-Let’s go outside. It’s quieter.” Jungkook requests. 

JULY 9TH, 2023, 10:06PM

We stand outside the club doors awkwardly. Jungkook grabs a carton of cigarettes and pulls one out, lighting it as it sits between his teeth. That’s new. He holds the white stick in his fingers and takes a long inhale, exhaling into the summer air. 

Namjoon is staring off into the road. Quiet. They’re both quiet. 

“How’ve you guys been?” I whisper. Everything I want to say sounds so stupid in the big scheme of things. I feel so small again. So insecure again. Old Kanako.

“You know.” He says, referencing their current status. It sounds kind of dick-ish, but I shrug it off. I don’t blame him for being mad. Although it’s been so long. 

I keep getting a phantom buzz in my back pocket. When I first moved here, I’d get calls from Jungkook every morning and every night. Ignored, ignored, ignored. He stopped after a few months, but the feeling still haunts me. Witnessing my phone light up and expecting to see his name was a thing for me. A thing I’d go over in therapy. 

I always said I’d pick up one day, but when that day came, he stopped calling. 

“I’m sorry.” I say in the midst of the quietude. Stating the unspoken obvious. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Jungkook responds, flicking the ash off his cigarette. Passive.

“I still am.” I mumble. 

Namjoon turns over to me, still hiding behind Jungkook in a way. His arm leans onto the brick wall, “We’ve been wondering about you.”

I chuckle, “Yeah, I read your book.” 

Jungkook takes a hit off his cigarette, “I didn’t really say that. It was the ghostwriter.” Aggressive.

Thanks. 

“Oh. Right.” I whisper. 

“Jungkook.” Namjoon mutters to the apathetic boy. 

Jungkook shrugs, “Sorry. I’m over it now.” Doesn’t feel like it. 

“What he means to say,” Namjoon gives him a look, “Is that we’ve moved on. And grown. Don’t feel bad. We now know how hard it was for you.” He tries to reassure. But I know it’d take Jungkook a while to say the same. I try not to take it personally, but all I can think about is how he’d cling to me at night. How he used to sip on his banana milk and console me with kind words. I shouldn’t expect that in the least. But it hurts either way.

“I understand, it’s okay. It’s complicated, right?” I say. 

“Right.” Namjoon smiles. His dimples, I remember those. 

“Yoongi’s doing fine, if that’s what you were wondering.” Jungkook says under his breath.

I shut my eyes, sighing. I try to level with him, “I wonder about all of you. But thanks.” I accidentally match his passive tone.

The tattooed boy tosses his cigarette on the ground, smushing it under his shoe. 

“Then why didn't you reach out?” He spits. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth. One that trickles down to my throat and almost triggers a chunky reaction. 

“JK, not now-” Namjoon starts but Jungkook has a motive. 

“No, Namjoon.” Jungkook whips his head towards me, “I’m still hurt. Yes, after all these years. Seeing you Kanako,” He bites his lip anxiously. “I wish you had fucking picked up. Just once.”

My lip quivers seeing him in this state. Small, like me. There’s tears pricking his eyes. 

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Tell me!”

“It would’ve made it all harder!”

He steps inches closer to me, his lip ring shining under the street lights. He’s so foreign to me, but his eyes stay familiar. An unwanted nostalgia floods my heart and crushes it under his gaze. 

“You don’t even know.” He whispers. 

I plead with him, “Then tell me.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, “Fuck it. Fuck everything. Fuck you.”

He storms back into the club, shoulder-checking me in the process. I stand idle, in shock. In pain. He would’ve never said that to me. Not in a million years. Am I that horrible of a person? 

Namjoon walks over to me quickly, caressing my shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry, he’s just-”

“Hurt. I know. I know.” I say in disbelief. 

His hand stands on my arm, looking at me intently. But I can’t look at him, it’s all so hard now. Everything is coming back to me. Locked up in those dorms, Jeju, the first time I’ve ever been to a club. How quickly it ended. How quick it was for me that I left. I know I shouldn’t be mad at Jungkook, or any of them. But I feel like the teenager I was back then when Namjoon comforts me. It reminds me of those times when they’d be there for me. 

How hard it was for me to accept care from Keiko because all I wanted was them. It wasn’t the same. The smells weren’t the same. The lingering bickering was my background music. I adjusted to it so well just to leave. I can’t think about this anymore. 

I hear a ringing and Namjoon removes his hand to reach into his jacket pocket, stuttering a ‘I-I just need a second, hold on’ before walking a few steps ahead to answer the call. All I hear is a faint voice on the phone and a hasty Namjoon. 

“Yeah I know. He’s upset. I’ll talk to you about it later. Me? I’m outside. N-No don’t come, it’s not a good time. I know, but just a second. Hold on, don’t-”

The metal doors of the club open once more, a woman in a two-piece set strutting out with someone close behind. As if this night couldn’t get any worse. Reminding me of the broken pieces I had to put back into place. It’s all shattering again. 

I purse my lips in a thin line and turn my back as soon as I see him. Long haired, bomber-jacket, black jeans, him. I hope he doesn’t see me. Namjoon rushes over to me in an attempt to hide my body. 

“S-Sorry. Busy. In the middle of something.” The tall man blurts out. 

It failed though, because he knows. My silhouette, my hair. 

Like instinct. Nothing’s changed. 

“Kanako.” The oh-so familiar man breathes.

Keiko has been calling me Koko for so long that hearing my full name from him, his mouth, causes a chain reaction of goosebumps all over me. The alcohol that was seeping into my conscience has disappeared as my heart beats a thousand times a minute. 

“Yoongi.”

click here to read more of this story!

an: as this story comes to a close soon I’d love to answer any questions you have wondered about this story! or me! or anything at all! just go to my ask box and ask away! or don’t! that’s ok too! love you all! thanks for reading

[omniblades-and-stars]

following the current, circling the drain

read on a03 | spotify playlist for good vibes

Well, shit, this certainly complicates things. Found myself in a bit of a conundrum now, haven't I? You probably have too, since you're also sitting in this shitty little cracker box of a "prison cell" in the basement of self-proclaimed warlord and arms dealer Sitis Epirian's sort-of-mansion. Or what counts as a mansion on this blessed rock called Omega. It’s more like a mercenary compound with fancy art tacked up on the walls than an actual mansion. Big and fortified, just like any hobbyist warlord should have.

Name's Inonsi, I'd say it's good to meet you, but the circumstances being what they are ...

Shit, will you calm down? Stop freaking out, it's not so bad here. They even put a bucket in here so you can piss somewhere other than your pants or the floor. I've been stuck in worse, comes with the territory. If you wait patiently, everything will work out, you can trust me on that. I've never let something like six-inch bulletproof glass with kinetic impact barriers, high tech security systems, locks, and a literal mercenary army stop me before. And if you so happen to slip out when I'm done ... well, that's none of my business, now is it?

I know what you're thinking, how did the drell with beautiful shining scales and eyes like endless obsidian pools end up getting manhandled and tossed into a man like Epirian's torture dungeon? Well, I could tell you the entire story from start to finish in exacting and exhaustive detail, right down to the number of buttons on my father's dinner jacket that he wore one time when I was five years old (seven brass buttons that caught the light and shimmered like small stars, by the way), but I won't do that. You humans don't have the attention span for that kind of biography.

But we've got some time to kill, I love talking about myself, and you seem like you're on the verge of a stroke. You need a distraction. Put your feet up friend, relax and let the tide flow out to the sea.

 

Disappearing Apprentice

I was a special child, training under a specialist known far and wide for her skills in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. Why was a child training under someone like that? Easy enough answer, the Compact. The hanar saved my people two centuries ago and now there's some long-held belief that all drell owe a debt to the hanar for it. And so sometimes, promising young upstarts with apparent skill in sneaking around and good balance get plucked from their parents to be trained as assassins, soldiers and mercenaries, and they're supposed to be thankful for it.

Etensan Laon was a difficult mistress, impossible to please.

"Again!" She shouts. A crimson scaled hand flies out and wraps tight around my ankle. One short tug topples me from my perch on the worn balance beam, the fading vinyl covering over the center evidences the apprentices of times past. I land hard on my back, my breath comes in short, painful gasps, her fingers are still digging around my ankle. She sneers down at me, lips turned up in the left corner with disdain. There are white stripes running from the crown of her head to her neck. "Balance and attention, Inonsi! Simply remaining upright when you land your jump is not sufficient. You will fall to your death if a strong breeze catches you unaware, as I have just done."

I am only seven years old, but she will not let go of my ankle. I know I must free myself from her grasp. One cannot depend on never being caught. Her talons scrape against my scales, still sore from the last two days we have been doing this exercise, repeating this exact scenario. "Yes, Sera Laon," I say before I swing my other leg beneath hers and attempt to pull her down. She does not fall to the ground, her knee only buckles, but her grip around my ankle weakens and I roll back, pulling myself free.

It is sloppy, unskilled, but it works. I leap back onto the balance beam to start again. I must be perfect. Etensan Laon does not tolerate imperfection.

Oh, sorry about that. Happens sometimes. You get used to it.

Well, I trained with Laon until I was ten years old. I was great. At ten years old, if something had a neck, I could theoretically snap it. If there was something to climb, leap from, hide behind, or twist myself into, I could do it. You know that thing in all the spy movie vids where the spy disappears into a crowd or into a passing shadow? Well, I could do that too. But I wasn't perfect, and I hated that as much as Laon seemed to hate me. It worked out in the end though.

Because I got to leave.

I was allowed to visit with my parents sometimes, and one of those times, my world went upside down. You see dear old dad got involved in some political scandal, the nature of which is quite embarrassing if you know anything about hanar-drell politics, which you don't, so don't worry your head about it. Suffice to say, he and mom elected to leave Kahje and well, they weren't going to leave precious little Inonsi behind. I waved goodbye to Kahje from the private passenger cabin of a very pricey transport shuttle. I was ten and to my mind it was an exciting adventure. Besides, I'd gotten in trouble with Laon because I had been caught stealing yetae blossoms from the tree in the meditation garden, and my parents were in such a rush to get off world that she never had the opportunity to tattle on me.

How was I supposed to know you weren't allowed to pluck them straight from the tree? It's not like there were signs posted around the ancient tree that I willfully ignored from the moment I arrived at the training center to the moment I left it. The blossoms smelled so sweet. If they didn't want me taking them, maybe they shouldn't have smelled so good. Following the rules has never been my strong suit.

If my parents had known then exactly how often I was stealing they might have kept a better eye on me once we landed at our destination, because flowers from a tree didn't even really count as stealing, there were other things. Mostly Laon's things. I didn't even keep them, I would just sneak into her quarters or pick her pockets and take things. Datapads, credit chits, clothing, incense burners ... whatever I could get my little hands on. I threw almost all of it into the ocean. She never caught me stealing anything that mattered. Just those fucking flowers that she treated like holy relics.

Urchin? Sort of.

And then, middle, middle, middle. You don't want to hear about the quiet years on Teyolia, where father dearest conducted secretive business, and I definitely did not make a habit of listening in on his conversations or hacking his computer terminal and reading his encrypted emails. I most certainly didn't bug his office. Nope. Not Inonsi, she never ever would have done that.

Just kidding. Let's just say that perhaps nature versus nurture might lean more toward nature in my case. My poor, long-suffering mother.

I kept to myself at school mostly, I stuck out like ... well a bright orange and purple thumb in a sea of tall, blue and beautiful girls. I was easy to mock, short by asari standards (and also drell standards, but that's neither here nor there), and very, very different. It's okay though, the meanest of the girls, Paresya, found a lot of her school supplies missing. A lot of her girlfriends too, as we got older. What can I say? I have a certain mystique about me, it would be a shame not to leverage that to my advantage.

Oh please, don't give me that look. You're in this cell too. Don't tell me you've never done something juvenile and vindictive like stealing someone's girlfriend or boyfriend out of spite. I don't believe it.

When I was sixteen I grew dreadfully bored of school and of teenage asari superiority, so I started skipping classes frequently. It's incredible how long you can get away with that if you know how to hack into the school's attendance system and reprogram the VI that calls the parents when you're absent. All those phone calls went to some takeout joint in the next city over. By the time my parents were contacted by a real person, I'd missed approximately a quarter of that year's lessons.

You know, those asari do a very good job of making their colonies and cities look like marvelous, utopic jewels. If you stay on all the main thoroughfares, in all of the tourist centers, you might even find yourself believing it. But at sixteen, I found my way to the seedy underbelly of Iare, a moderately large city in the main colony of Teyolia. I found a group of kids, far more diverse than I'd ever been exposed to before. I was used to living first around drell and hanar exclusively, and then mostly asari. They were poor kids, a pair of turian siblings whose parents were day laborers, a salarian whose dad was sort of like mine, but unlike mine had recently had the rug pulled out from under him, and an asari who didn't talk about her family at all.

I pulled the same trick. They were fun kids, and I didn't want them to know that I got to go home at night to a nice apartment with flawed, but loving parents. Zelthatea, Zel to anyone who didn’t want to get socked in the face, didn’t talk about her family for much darker reasons, but I was sixteen, and using her method seemed like the best way to fit in.

We were tight, those kinds of bonds formed by committing small acts of theft and property damage together. The kinds formed through spending whole days together rough housing and running away from cops, shrieking with relieved laughter as we narrowly escaped capture. And then they found out I could do tricks. I could scale a building, leap from rooftop to rooftop, and I started teaching them how to do some of it. Soon enough, we had ourselves a little gang of roof running hooligans, we would do beer runs on convenience stores, and escape into alleys and up and away from prying eyes, that sort of thing.

We got too big for our ill-fitting pants, though. I wish I could tell you that I don’t remember whose idea it was to break into a corporate office and try to make off with company secrets, but if a drell ever tell you that, you know they’re lying. Only one of us had a dad who was in the corporate espionage business, so you do the math. There I was, in the CEO’s office with Zel, Apus and Catiae were our lookouts and were pretending to be janitors. Dex (the salarian, he didn’t like us using his real name) was our man on the outside, he was supposed to keep an eye out for security and police activity. He lost his nerve the first time he saw someone who looked like she might have been security and darted off without telling us!

“Shit, something’s up, get out of there!” Apus calls into the room right before tossing the trash cart over on its side and dashing down the hall towards the fire stairs. Catiae is hot on his heels. Her secondhand boots crash against the tile floor noisily as her footsteps pound heavy, sounding her escape. They don’t quite fit her yet. They were her mothers, one of the buckles hangs loose, it clinks mockingly as she ducks through the door.

Zel looks at me, panic in wide, ocean blue eyes. She is already crying, but she doesn’t want to leave me behind. She is always so sweet, usually quiet. Three emerald lines draw down over her pointed chin, the only facial markings she has. “Zel, hide! I’ll run a distraction. Don’t leave until it’s safe,” I say. Out of all of us, she doesn’t deserve to get caught committing a real crime.

I snatch the OSD I was using to transfer a clone of the CEO’s terminal on and beat feet out of the door. Four guards turn the corner, they wear heavy armor, deep blue, accented with gold. I wave my hand at them, making sure they see the OSD held in my fingers. “Genteux gives his regards!” I shout. Genteux doesn’t exist, or at least, I do not believe he does, I’ve never heard of anyone named Genteux. I run for the elevator and dart inside. I send it down to the first floor, climb out of the maintenance hatch and pry open the doors on the second. One, two, three, four running steps to the window. It is not the kind that opens. Shit, I panic. I pick up a chair and send it hurling through with a neon biotic burst.

No hesitation, I leap through, tuck and roll to the ground. It hurts, but I haven’t broken anything. I land right in the center of a congregation of Iare’s finest, guns raised and trained on me.

Everyone but Dex got caught. I did my best to take the fall for it. It was my big-brained idea after all. But well, my dad wasn’t exactly a paragon of upstanding citizenry, as I have alluded to already. Money floated into someone’s grasping hands, and I was let off with a slap on the wrist. Despite my desperate pleading, daddy dearest did not extend his kindness to the poor kids who got wrapped up in my ego.

Well, my days as an up-and-coming criminal mastermind were cut quite short at that point. Mom was furious, dad was embarrassed, and apparently lost a lot of business (judging by the angry phone calls I was still horning my way into) because I allegedly chose my target based on some conversations that were very private. Allegedly.

We picked up and moved again. I won’t tell you where to, dad still lives there, conducting his business.

They say there’s no honor among thieves, but I am daddy’s little girl. I never put his lifestyle in jeopardy again, and I will not do so now.

Mom eventually wised up to his shenanigans, by the way, and is living the high life in the tropics. Last I heard, she’s started seeing a nice young drell. Good for her. I believe you humans would call her a cougar. She seems happy, and that’s what matters.

Hey, settle! The guard’s just cranky because of the little surprise I left in one of the bathrooms. I mean, maybe some people think a flashbang rigged up so that the pin gets pulled when the door opens isn’t a good prank, but those people aren’t tormenting assholes like these guys. This guard’s a pussy, he’s just trying to rattle our cage a bit. Keep it together, will you? Losing your cool because the guy is threatening to pull our fingernails out one by one because he has a migraine and moderate to severe hearing loss now is a surefire way to miss our chance.

Now, where was I? Oh, don’t answer that, it’s hypothetical. I know exactly where I was.

Actually an Acrobat

I was kept under lock and key right up until my parents could no longer do so without it being considered false imprisonment or kidnapping. I mean, I still got out. Often. Civilian security is child’s play, and it’s frankly embarrassing that more people don’t know how to hack open a regular old apartment door and slip out into the night.

This story has to, of course, touch on tragic young love. All the great stories do. And mine is pretty good, if I do say so myself. And I do.

Upon gaining the freedom afforded by adulthood, I immediately tried my hand at the nightclub scene. I learned two things right away, club goers are easy pick-pocketing targets, and that the cocktail called the “Rough Tide” is the best alcoholic beverage to be crafted by clever asari mixologists. Its main components are lunassa, a very strong asari liquor, and juice from the olan fruit native to Kahje. There are other things mixed in it, but I’ve never bothered with the finer points of cocktail mixing. The sweetness of the fruit masks the surprising strength of the liquor, and when you stand up the tide sweeps you off your feet.

I’ve made some of my best bad decisions under the influence of a Rough Tide … or three … or four. My favorite best bad decision was Tertus Achaso, even when you account for the aforementioned tragedy. I was sitting at the bar, pleasantly drunk but not out of my mind on it, when a barefaced turian with a charming smile, chipped third tooth, and sharp, honey eyes slid onto the seat next to me. His first words to me were, “So do the colors go all the way down?” Very charming. Very smooth. It should have been very off-putting. But what can I say? I’m a sucker for a good smile.

“Buy me another drink, and maybe you’ll find out,” I answered. I was looking for a good time, and it seemed I had found it.  What? Oh, the answer? I am all the colors of a desert sunset from my head to my toes. You should be so lucky to see me in my full glory.

Stop distracting me.

We talked for a while, and he did buy me a drink, another Rough Tide. He laughed when I told him that I couldn’t stand the taste of hard liquor. He laughed even harder when I admitted that I had (still have, thank you) a terrible sweet tooth. One thing led to the only place this was ever going – a cheap hotel room.

He smells of fresh cut lumber and canvas. There is a scar cut deep into the keel of his chest, long healed. Dark brown hide, patterned with sandy, rough plates.  He’s surprisingly gentle for someone so large. Fingers tenderly trace down-

Ahem, sorry. That’s not the kind of memory that one should share, especially with a stranger. We’ll just gloss over that by me telling that he worked for a traveling circus, and I happen to be very flexible. I made an impression on him, and he made an impression on me.

So Inonsi runs off with the no-so-smooth talking turian to join the circus, right? I had stars in my eyes, like all young women do. Tertus could do no wrong, and I became enamored with both him and the idea that I could make a living of being an entertainer. I wowed audiences with suicidal feats of acrobatic grace, tight ropes, swinging on long swathes of cloth, leaping from heights that made most people sick. Finally, I was putting my training to use. No more petty thievery for me, and breaking and entering because I was bored, I was going straight.

Ha!

See the thing was that those kinds of circuses, the ones that are not owned by multibillion credit entertainment conglomerates, are filled to the brim with criminals and rejects of every stripe. Beautiful, gentle, and sweet Tertus was one of them. A criminal, I mean. He was probably a reject too, but he was my, admittedly very small, world so I didn’t see him that way. Some nights, he would step away from the other stagehands to go make phone calls. I’ve always been too curious for my own good. I listened in on those too, I am ashamed to say. I am capable of some shame, not much, but some.

Look, I didn't listen because I didn't trust him. I just like to know things. People are always having such interesting conversations, don't you think?

If only listening in on his conversations drove me to some sort of action. But it didn't. He had the kind of debts a lowlife criminal with a former drug addiction came upon. Tertus did more crimes to make creds so he could pay those debts, circus work does not pay well, and in the process, he pissed some very bad people off. This place wasn't like Omega, where you can't throw a rock without hitting some wannabe mob boss, so he thought he would be safe traveling with a planet-side circus.

It was the morning before our first show in a new city, I'd been with the circus and Tertus for several months at that point (eight months and four days according to the local calendar, to be exact). We actually had an auditorium to perform in that time, and I was excited do all of my tricks. There were poles to climb, flowing fabrics to spin around in, things to dive off of. It was going to be magnificent, and people were going to learn my name. And Tertus and I were going to live happily forever. And he was late to meet me at a diner for breakfast. That wasn't very unusual, circus folk run on a different sort of clock - the kind that's always late.

But after an hour of waiting, I decided to go looking for him. As I was crossing over a foot bridge heading back towards the hotel most of us were staying at, I heard boots slamming on concrete. Have you ever heard a sound that's innocuous, an everyday sound, but it's so wrong it sets your teeth on edge?

Sun is warm on my back. One, two, three, four rushing steps, panicked breathing. I look up and see Tertus running full speed toward me. He doesn't see me at first, too focused on watching his feet to make sure he doesn't trip. His eyes meet mine, halfway across the bridge, eyes wide with fear. "Go! Run!" he shouts as he grows nearer to me. But I can see what he cannot.

Three men carrying assault rifles are gaining on him. Two turians, one krogan.

I know something that Tertus doesn't. You can't outrun a bullet. The world slows to a crawl. Fear roots me to my spot until it is too late to do anything to save him. I have never heard a gun fired outside of a range or without protection for my ears before. Three, four, five muzzle flashes. Cobalt blood like rain splatters across the ground, Tertus falls forward as though he has been pushed.

My training spurs me to action. I’ve never actually taken a life before, but these men hurt my Tertus. I run towards them, using my very unimpressive biotic talent to generate a barrier. Dodge to the right, jump onto the railing of the bridge, leap from the rail, use the momentum to snap the neck of the turian closest to me. Maintain my momentum, stay in fluid motion. There's a gun in my hand and the second turian falls with the sound of automatic gunfire filling my ears. It's too fucking loud.

Something burns in my leg and my stomach, but I can’t stop moving. If the krogan gets his hands on me, I'll die. I leap onto his back, I nearly drop the assault rifle, it’s too big for me. I launch myself from his crest plate and fire down into his neck while I’m still in the air. It's sloppy, it's messy, it's too fucking loud. He’s still coming, and I just keep firing. It's over. I'm covered in blood, indigo, cadmium orange, and my own emerald. A cruel painting in brilliant organic color. I run to Tertus.

He's already dead. Honey eyes glassy. Jaw lax, mandibles hang limp next to his dear, sweet face. I scream, everything hits me all at once. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak. But I have no time, I hear more boots on the ground, and I am surrounded by bodies and covered in blood.

I don't hesitate. I leap into the river and follow the current to somewhere new.

Please, don't apologize. Everyone on this station has a tragic backstory. I bet you have one that's a real doozy. The river flows out to the sea, and so too I've learned that you have to keep living. You humans have a saying, "Go with the flow." It fits very nicely with my personal philosophy. Which is why I have to insist that you keep your pants on and stay calm, our time will come. If you try to take your chance too soon, it fucks things up. Swim with the current, not against it, friend. You'll just make yourself tired fighting the undertow, and then you'll sink to the bottom.

We wouldn't want that, now would we?

Star System Hopping Woman of Mystery Thief

If you have to ask how or why I ended up on Omega, I'd have to ask you if you've been listening at all. True, I don't live here full time. I'm sort of a star system hopping woman of mystery. But I do end up on Omega very often. You'd be surprised how many art sellers and antique collectors are just straight up criminals. Or maybe you wouldn't be. You are in the same basement holding cell as I am, after all. Or did you come here for something other than stealing priceless relics from a murderer?

Please don't tell me you came here to steal his weapons! How uninspired.

Anyways, of course I mourned Tertus. But I was scared, possibly wanted for the murder of three people, maybe four if you account for the possibility that it would have been very easy for the local police force to pin the whole disaster on me. I was naïve, but I wasn’t stupid. So I did what every young, unfortunate fool who gets tangled up in big time criminal activity and is too stubborn to ask dad for help does: I caught the first transport to Omega I could get. (I snuck aboard some mercenary gang’s smuggling vessel. I fit into crates quite nicely, don’t you know?)

Here's what I learned my first week on Omega:

No one gives a shit about you. They don’t care who you are, who you were, or what you did. Minding your own business is a matter of survival here.

The pickpockets here don’t even try to hide what they’re doing. They just run real fast when they get caught. I always catch them.

The bartenders here have never heard of a Rough Tide. At any of the bars and clubs.

There are a lot of assholes here who think they’re hiding the fact that they have goods that are worth something.

Hallex is a great time if taken in moderation and while dancing with bright lights and pretty girls.

Oh, don’t give me that look. Go back to lesson number one and mind your own fucking business. I was dealing with the traumatic death of my boyfriend, and the guilt of killing people. Besides, you learn to have a more relaxed view of party drugs when your own skin secretes a toxin that makes people see sounds and hear colors. I’m a walking party drug. What? No, you can’t try! What, am I supposed to let a stranger suck on my fingers or lick my face just because they’re curious? I don’t know you well enough for that. There’s a two drink minimum for that kind of talk.

Besides, you’ll need a clear head to get out of here. Or did you forget that we’re in a warlord’s torture cave?

It didn’t take very long for me to grow bored of partying my feelings away, and even less time for me to start planning a heist. Eh, less of a heist, and more like I broke into some rich pirate king’s hideout and stole anything I could carry that was worth something. I also hacked his terminals and wiped all of his accounts and infected everything with a computer in the building with a virus. His operations came to a screeching halt, and I gleefully lined my pockets with his ill-gotten gains.

Oh, you thought I was one of those do-gooder thieves who robs the rich to feed the poor or whatever? You’re too funny! I have rules against stealing from poor folk, and I don’t use street kids and beggars in any of my schemes like some others of my ilk. But I’m in this business for myself.

Breaking into low security hideouts and penthouse suites when no one was home lost its luster very quickly. I’ve always loved a challenge, and I’m prone to acting unwisely when I’m bored. I started traveling again, I’ve hit museums, government archives, art galleries, even corporate research facilities. Sometimes, someone pays me (I come pricey) to steal something for them, but mostly I hear about something I really want to touch (or fence, whatever,) and I go and take it. If my marks don’t want me to steal it, they should secure it better.

Oh, you’ll love this. Once, I received word that a relic of one Earth’s ancient royalty was going to be up for auction at some high society party in Paris, yes that Paris. Collectors have been shuffling around Marie Antoinette's pearl and diamond pendant for literal centuries. It was one of those “benefits” that the rich and famous throw that never actually benefits anyone but their own image. Stealing it was surprisingly easy. I stole it before the display case ever made it to the auction floor, but they didn’t even notice it was gone until they unveiled it to start the bidding. It was my first, and only, taste of champagne.

A waiter wearing a tuxedo hands me a fluted glass filled with golden, bubbling liquid. I taste it, and I’m very unimpressed. It’s very bitter for something that looks so tempting. A warm chuckle takes me by surprise, and I turn to see a handsome young man, dark curly hair, very dark skin and wide brown eyes, who is watching me. “Not a fan of the beverage offerings, I take it?” he asks jovially.

“No, I’m afraid not. The drinks on the homeworld are much sweeter,” I respond. There’s a slim-to-none chance that a random human on Earth would know anything about Kahje, and an exactly zero chance that he would know about Rakhana at all. I could tell him literally anything about my “homeworld” (one which I had not been to since I was ten, the other a place that was more cautionary tale and myth than homeworld), and he would have to believe me. I set the glass on a nearby table.

"Are you here for the auction? There aren't very many aliens here." He nods his head back toward to crowd starting to form on the bidding floor. He's right, there are a few asari here and one salarian, bright yellow skin with emerald speckles on his horns and the backs of his hands. I know my time is coming soon. The man smiles, teeth shining pearls, his left incisor is too high on his gum, giving it the appearance of an animal's fang. I like it. It's a shame I'll be leaving soon. I never learn his name.

"I am as a matter of fact, here on behalf of a hanar friend. He has an interest in antiques from other cultures, but sadly, could not make the trip himse-" My lie is cut off by first worried tittering up at the stage and the chaos and panic erupts as they open the secure vault container and find it empty.

The man looks around frantically, trying to piece together what is happening until his eyes fall on me again. More specifically, to the necklace hanging framed by the daring neckline of my suit jacket. A single tear-shaped pearl hanging beneath diamonds arranged in a ribbon’s bow, and above that one large round diamond, all hanging from a cheap silver chain I nicked from a department store jewelry counter earlier that day.

I press my finger to my lips and whisper, "Watch this." I take off running for the open balconies, pushing party goers out of my way, one, two, three strides before I am standing on the balcony rail, the small barrier to a long drop and a messy death. I rip the pendant free of the necklace and place it in a secured pocket sewn inside of my suit and step off the balcony.

With a twist my body I am hurtling towards the ground in a dive. A press of a small button on my bracelet as I spread my arms, my daring fashion choice turns from a strange, webbed cape sewn into the arms and body of my jacket, into semi-rigid wings. Soaring between skyscrapers is one of the most freeing experiences I have ever had.

It took a little doing, but I managed to sneak off Earth the next day. I still have the pendant. I wear it to parties sometimes. What do you mean, why do I wear it? It's jewelry, isn't it? I don't have an art gallery, friend. I don't typically keep things in glass cases. But don't get it twisted, even if you found out where I keep my things and occasionally live, you wouldn't be able to get in. That pearl stays mine.

Oh! That's our cue. That sound that just rocked the very foundation of this building is how I'm getting out of here. If you would be so kind as to press down on the bench over there with your boot while I - uh - change positions here to - uh - get better leverage with a good kick. There's a cotter pin in there I can use to break the lock.

Alright, on three be ready so you don't eat it when the bench collapses. One, two, three!

Beautiful! Now while the guards are all going to check out the giant hole in the wall- why did I plant bombs? Rule number one of thieving, always have a plan for if you get caught. I wouldn't have been caught if it weren't for some clown getting caught with their grabby little hands in Epirian's weapons cache just as I was heading to my original escape route. Funny that. But it’s no sweat off my back (mostly because I don’t sweat) but also because I always have a secondary escape plan.

Though they aren’t usually quite so … explosive.

But all is not lost. These idiots couldn't do a successful pat down on me even if I was naked as sin. There's an OSD in a hidden pocket with clones of all of Sitis' terminals and datapads.

What? Oh, you thought I was here for the art or his antiques? Ha! I guess I did allude to the art quite often. No. Dear old dad needed a hand. Family business, and all that. Do you know how many creds those corporate bigwigs at companies like say ... Armax Arsenal will pay to keep proof that they've been dealing super advanced weaponry to pirate king arms dealers an ugly little secret?

So much it would make your head spin. Let's say that good ol' Sitis deals with a few of these bigwigs. Papa dearest collects the blackmail money from those nasty weapons manufacturers, and dear, sweet Inonsi helps collapse Epirian's little criminal empire. For purely selfish reasons, of course. (Dear, sweet Inonsi also makes a fat stack of creds in the process.)

Now, stop interrupting. This is a Saronis Applications Securitron-X78 model haptic interface lock. A baby could open this with the right tools, but I do still need to focus. Just insert the pin into this little gap here, use it as a conduit for a little biotic pulse like such and bingo! We're almost home free, my friend.

If you’re going to stick with me to get out of here, you’ll need to do what I say, when I say it. We go with the flow, take our opportunities as they come to us, not a moment before, not a moment after. If we play our cards right, we’ll slip out unnoticed. And hey, if you impress me on our way out, maybe you’ll get the pleasure of being another one of my best bad decisions. What do you say?

[theonethatyaks93]

Heartbeats (PaTB Valentine's Day Fic 2024)

Hi guys!! Happy Valentine's Day!!! This is the fic I made for my incredible friend @therealhayyhay as a little present. I'm so glad that we found each other! I'm gonna try and keep this short but I really put my heart and soul into this and I'm hoping you guys like it!!

Another botched plan, another night spent wasting away in failure. Even though world domination had been put aside for his marriage to the love of his life, he still felt that lingering guilt of a futile attempt. Why he kept pondering these negative ideals, he had no clue. But The Brain could only wish that he would pay attention to things that truly mattered.

Mainly his lovable Pinky.

He kept his head down as Pinky literally carried him back into the cage, his arm bandaged from an incredibly painful fall after an explosion. It stung mildly but he was certain it would be healed by tomorrow. Brain could only think about how fortunate it was that his husband hadn’t been harmed by the blast. He almost forgot that he’d been hurt himself.

“I’m sorry that the plan failed Brain. Narf! I’m sure you’ll get it tomorrow! I know it!” Pinky smiled, holding Brain gingerly as he slowly walked.

Brain winced a little at the slight pain the Pinky accidently inflicted on his arm with his movements, but he sighed afterward as he glanced upon Pinky’s calm expression. He found relief in the way his precious face was all scrunched up and cheery looking. “You have nothing to apologize for, my dear. Tonight’s failure was entirely because of my own volition. I…should have paid more attention to the fine mechanics in all honesty.”

“Aww!” Pinky purred, nuzzling Brain’s nose, touching it softly which caused Brain to let out a light squeak. “Don’t be so hard on yourself! I believe that you can do this! Or at least you won’t cause an explosion next time!”

“Thank you, Pinky.” Brain nuzzled back, pushing them as close as they could go in their current circumstance. “I welcome your support and confidence in me. And I couldn’t be happier with your loyalty…”

He stopped in his tracks when he got a good view at his husband’s reaction to his returning affection. His eyes lit up and his tiny smile grew wider. He could even notice a light pink dusting his face. Brain could feel a deep blush creeping up; suddenly his want for Pinky took over a desire for everything else. Even those nagging thoughts that were previously present faded away.

“Uhm…it appears that my previous temperament has left me. I seem to have become entranced by your loving stare, Pinky. I cannot finish my previous sentence, at least with the same level of slight irritation as I once had.” He tried keeping a straight face, but his emotions were starting to affect his entire body. Brain felt himself heat up more when Pinky responded with a flirty smirk

“Oh, Brain! Poit! Stop it! You’re making me feel all fluttery and gooooshy! I could so kiss you right now!” Pinky quickly batted his paw up and down, as his blush became even more obvious.

Brain lifted his non-injured arm to place his paw on Pinky’s cheek, causing him to look directly at Brain. “We are spouses, Pinky. We’ve been married for a year. You know you don’t have to say that anymore. I usually oblige to kissing in most situations.” He stopped briefly to pull Pinky closer, their foreheads touching. “And you are far too beautiful right now for me to resist.”

Pinky was about to respond, but Brain didn’t let him, their lips meeting before he even had the chance to speak. Pinky made a moan of surprise when Brain made his move, but he soon began humming contently as the kiss continued, his tail happily swishing. Brain felt himself swoon a little at Pinky’s quiet sounds, one of his favorite parts of kissing by far. He savored the moment, deepening the kiss at a speedy pace.

When Pinky parted for air, Brain didn’t waste any time and locked their mouths together once more. He loved kissing his husband. It always made him feel better about himself and about his difficulties. Pinky was so placid and caring with him, it was almost unreal how this mouse had become all his. But just as their kiss was about to take a more intimate turn, Pinky’s legs gave out as he tripped on the entrance to their cage, causing Brain to tumble to the floor with an obnoxious thud.

Brain yelped; the fall had caused a searing pain to return to his injured arm. He hissed, biting back embarrassment that the kiss had distracted Pinky from seeing where he was going, but also fighting back tears that began to prick his eyes. Brain knew it had been an accident. Yet somehow, this little slip caused all the built-up emotions from before to come crashing back, even more spiteful, and harsh than before.

Before he could fully lose himself in his agony, he felt himself be held tightly. Brain eased a little when he saw his husband’s worried face in front of him, his apologetic appearance radiating immense trepidation.

“Brain, are you alright? Zort! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drop you. I always forget about that nasty-wasty step. I’m such a dunce. How’s your arm?” Pinky spoke chaotically and quick, inspecting Brain’s arm gingerly. He seemed to grow more troubled when he noticed the slight swelling, his distress growing. “Oh no! It’s even worse! Your arm’s all swelled and angry! I’m sorry, Brain! I’m a bad husband!”

The megalomaniac felt his stomach churn a little at Pinky’s sudden outburst. It was not his husband’s fault that he was injured, it had just been a matter of occurrence. “No, Pinky. You are certainly not a bad husband. You just happened to not pay attention to your surroundings, which is inane. But you are mostly not to blame. Even if the pain is immense” Brain snuggled closer to Pinky, doing his best to soothe his spouse’s woes. “You are a remarkable partner, dearest. Don’t ever doubt that or I shall have to kiss you.”

Pinky placed a paw on Brain’s cheek, rubbing it tenderly. He giggled, carefully setting Brain’s arm down before dragging him closer. “I love you so much, darling. I want you to know that every day! But can I kiss and hug away your boo-boos so that you feel all happy and good again? Pretty please?”

Brain was hesitant at first, mostly because he knew that kisses didn’t provide any real healing and that his arm was still hurting quite a bit. But the prospect of more kissing from his lover was so tempting, he couldn’t pass on this opportunity. “Alright, Pinky. You may proceed with your attempt at comforting me. Be careful though.”

“Yay!” Pinky cheered, slightly shaking Brain in his excitement. “I promise this’ll make you feel all better! Troz!”

Wasting no time, Pinky immediately lowered his head and began peppering kisses along Brain’s arm, making sure not to miss a single spot. It was a little crude, but Brain was not paying any attention to the more awkward factors in the matter. He was far too lost in the pleasant sensations invading his body. “P-Pinky. It-it’s perfect.” He struggled saying anything coherent. Pinky’s kisses proved to incapacitate him in every single feasible way.

Pinky briefly looked at Brain, adoration shining in his eyes. “I knew you’d love-love-love it! And I’m not done!”

After a little while of Pinky simply kissing Brain’s arm, he sneakily worked his way up to Brain’s neck and chest, leaving a couple smooches there. Brain held in a reaction as best he could, though he failed to suppress light chuckles. His husband noticed this, kissing him even faster and deeper than before. Brain had a feeling that Pinky didn’t exactly want to relieve his injuries anymore. Not that he cared, Pinky kissing him was a benefit no matter what. But he could clearly tell that things were shifting.

Brain let out a slight whine when Pinky left him, though the two remained close. He felt his spouse’s arms wrap around his waist, as he began being pulled into an embrace. He was about to protest the crushing contact, feeling like the kisses were enough. Just as quickly, however, that initial unease was completely replaced when the side of his face was gently settled on Pinky’s soft chest.

He could hear the soft sighs and hums elicited by Pinky, which he found quite adorable. Brain tried his best to situate himself to where he could be in a better position so he could hold Pinky as well. Obviously, he couldn’t raise his bandaged arm, but he supposed that one would suffice enough. He did his best to keep Pinky close, but his husband was nuzzling and kissing his head and it tickled just a little. While he tried at first to tell Pinky to stop, Brain suddenly froze when he sensed an unusual, yet loving feeling began seeping into his mind.

That’s when he noticed it.

The noise that he’d grown quite accustomed to over the past few years. This time, though when he heard it, something was different. His reaction was different.

Pinky’s heartbeat.

It was like he was hearing the gentle thrum for the first time. Which was simply not true. It had been so many years since Brain first rested against Pinky’s chest. The first time, he’d been shocked and even a little confused. He knew Pinky had a heart. Every living being did. But he still hadn’t heard one beating so close. Brain was even a little fearful about it at first. Pinky had been so comforting though, helping him feel more secure in their newfound relationship. It was one of the best days of his life.

Following that, whenever they would get close or fall asleep within their shared sponge bed, Brain would always listen for Pinky’s heartbeat. He felt like it was a sign of their love for each other, their connection. Without it, Brain felt insecure and trepidatious. Almost scared, though he wouldn’t admit that. When they’d been married, Brain sought it even more. He hoped that for as long as he could hear Pinky’s steady heart, they’d be together.

And yet, currently, he was feeling strange. Something wasn’t adding up to him.

Brain stayed as quiet as possible, trying to absorb the sound into his mental capacity as a dark blush appeared on his cheeks. It was a steady rhythm, quick and yet soft. Noisy but peaceful. Energetic and a little erratic. Just like the mouse that it resided within. How a heart could match someone so perfectly Brain did not know. Still, his usual calmness during these kinds of moments was nonexistent currently; he was thinking about a lot. But he had not a clue as to why.

Was it because of the failure? Was he questioning his relationship with Pinky? What was happening to his emotions?

A sudden rush of anxiety crept over Brain, hitting him like a rock. He hastily pulled away from his husband, backing away slowly as his breathing increased in vigor. Pinky’s calm face sank into one of confusion, cocking his head to the side at Brain’s peculiar reaction.

“Brain, is something wrong? I didn’t hurt you again, did I?” Pinky murmured with a little hesitation.

Brain mustered up his confidence, trying to respond to Pinky’s questions with an excuse. “Yes, I’m fine, dear. I…uh…I just remembered that we haven’t had dinner yet.” He looked off to the side, hoping that Pinky wouldn’t make assumptions. Brain wasn’t even hungry.

“Egad! You’re right! Narf! I knew I forgot something! Silly me!” Pinky got up from the ground and immediately dashed for the cage door, a slight skip in his step. “Would you like me to use the three-in-one oil again for your food pellets? I know how much you like that.”

Brain nodded, hoping that he’d be gone for a while so he could process what was occurring in his thoughts. “I would like that very much. Feel free to take all the time you need. I’ll be here waiting for your return.”

Pinky squealed, waving flirtatiously and winking as he walked away. “Don’t go anywhere, love! Or do. I’m not stopping you!”

Brain did his best to smile, but when Pinky turned around, his face fell.

Now he needed time to ponder for sure.

**************************************

It had only been five minutes, and yet Brain had already found himself in an intense emotional spiral, his mind whirling and scattered thoughts giving him a mild migraine. He was sitting on the edge of his sponge bed, staring out into the empty space beyond the cage bars. He hadn’t heard Pinky in a while so something told him that he was very busy making the food pellets just the way he liked. But that pleasing notion was doing nothing to stop his uncertainty and worry.

He didn’t understand why he’d reacted like that. Why he’d panicked upon hearing Pinky’s heartbeat. That had been happening for years. Why now suddenly was he nervous? Why now had he felt odd?

Somewhat bewildered.

Frightened even.

It had been three years since he and Pinky had become a thing. Romantically speaking that was; they’d been friends for decades. He’d first heard Pinky’s heart only a few days before the big confession. That had been the triggering point for him. What pushed Brain to confess his affections to his partner. Their first kiss was breathtaking. The snuggles that followed over the next few days were glorious. Things only grew from there. Days in a relationship turned to weeks, which turned into months, which eventually led to their marriage. Brain’s love for Pinky knew no restraints. He loved Pinky. He loved Pinky so much.

Yet, he questioned why Pinky would stay with him. How had the most incredible being to ever exist ended up with him? He was a simple laboratory mouse who constantly failed at taking over the world. And still he got a loving husband? Why him? He was a failure. And his abrasive behavior towards Pinky occasionally could be seen by others as abusive.

Through all the plights, Pinky cared about him. Loved him unconditionally. Showered him with warmth, late-night cuddles, and tender kisses that made him feel rather invincible. Through all the peril and despair Brain encountered, Pinky was always there to offer him support. He hated to acknowledge it but without Pinky, Brain wasn’t so sure he’d still be alive.

He could feel the tears pouring from his eyes, could sense his labored breaths. Brain didn’t understand why he was so afraid of confronting his love for Pinky or what exactly made him question it. Pinky was his world. They were married and had been together for what felt like a lifetime. While it had been so long since they reached non-platonic levels, Brain still questioned if and why he even earned his husband. He questioned if Pinky would truly stay with him forever. Or would he leave him at the first signs of trouble. Right now, those thoughts were prevalent more than ever.

All this started because of a stupid heartbeat. What a preposterous reason to be upset.

He held in a sob, closing his pink eyes to resist the sudden urge to start crying and never cease. All these questions were killing his emotions, making him feel unworthy. Brain hated weakness. He tried to never show it. Though now, it seemed like all he could do was be vulnerable and get lost in his own beliefs.

“Brain! I’m done with the food pellets! Poit! We ran out of the three-in-one oil, so I had to use that stuff in the cupboard that tastes like soap. I hope that’s okay with you!”

Brain didn’t even look up when he heard Pinky calling out to him. He couldn’t glimpse at him directly with all the emotions that were building. He tried to ignore Pinky, but as always, his spouse knew something was wrong instantaneously.

Pinky approached slowly, a clear apprehension prevalent in his expression. “Honey, is something wrong? You look like you’ve been crying.”

Brain lifted his head so he could finally glance at Pinky, not trying to hide his tear-stained face anymore. Pinky seemed to notice Brain’s upset state, rushing over to him, and sitting on the edge of the bed. He immediately pulled him into a small hug, using his paws to hold Brain’s face.

“No, no. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. It will be okay, I promise. What’s wrong?” Pinky gently wiped tears from Brain’s cheeks, kissing his nose softly. Brain tried to hold it in but to no avail.

“I’m sorry Pinky. About everything,” he quietly sobbed. “I’ve been having these ridiculous doubts lately about us. About why you stay with me. Why you chose me to be your husband out of everyone else. It’s inane, yet I still have these questions.”

Pinky gasped faintly, tilting Brain’s head so that they could stare at each other face to face. “We’ve talked about this so many times, Brain. I chose you because I love you. I’ve always loved you since I first met you.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” Pinky’s tone changed from sympathetic to stern in a matter of seconds. His usually soft blue eyes were now filled with some hints of irritation. “I would never not be honest Brain. I’m not a good liar. Zort! Why are you feeling like this? Did I do something wrong?”

Brain snapped. His emotional barrier came toppling down much quicker than usual as he moved from his husband, eyes flaring. “That’s the problem! You’ve done nothing wrong. You act so kind and considerate of me, Pinky, and I’m afraid that I don’t deserve you at all! That you’d leave me someday because I hurt you! I can’t risk that.” He tried to keep from making a scene, but not much could quell his vicious and sudden sobbing.

Surprisingly, Pinky didn’t overreact. He barely whimpered. He wiped a few small tears from his face before holding onto Brain’s shoulders, making sure not to cause pain to his injury. “You do deserve me, sweetheart. We’re a happier-than-happy couple and we’re in love! I couldn’t think of anyone else to be all mine. You’re amazing! What made you think about all these spooky scary thoughts?”

“Surprisingly, Pinky, it was that.” He pointed to Pinky’s chest, a little hesitation present at revealing his reasoning for his brief emotional crisis.

“My chest? How does my chest make you nervous?”

Brain sighed, rubbing his temple a few times in annoyance. “No Pinky, your chest is…nice. It’s…uh well…it’s your heartbeat.”

Pinky’s confused face shifted to one of slight alarm as he examined his chest. “My heart, Brain? Is something wrong with it? I try to tell it to not be so chatty, but it just can’t help itself. Poit! It loves making those funny noises.”

The megalomaniac couldn’t help but blush and smile a little at Pinky’s naïve nature and trivial comments. “It’s just…set some feelings in me that weren’t there before a few moments ago. That’s really it.”

“Oh! Like the day we became a couple! That was so fun! And so sweet of you! I remember that all the time!” Pinky nuzzled Brain after saying that.

“I appreciate your comments and your unbridled affection for me.” Brain nuzzled Pinky back and pulled him nearer. “But would you ever leave me for someone else? I’d hate to make you feel like I don’t love you when I do…”

“Pish-posh!” Pinky interrupted, happily chuckling afterward. “I love you no matter what happens! Narf! And I’d never leave you! I married you because I knew I’d never hate you! I don’t know how many times I need to say it, but I love you! I love you so much!”

Brain felt more tears coming, but they were far from unhappy ones. He gave his husband a soft kiss on the lips, before settling their noses together. “I love you too Pinky. And I don’t suppose I could…uh…m-maybe do that thing again?”

“Do what?”

With a slight eyeroll, Brain changed his position, so he was sitting perfectly in Pinky’s lap, wrapping an arm around his spouse’s waist. “W-what I meant was that I would…like it very much if we shared an embrace again, like before.” He held his breath for what Pinky would say.

“Of course, darling! I always love hugging you! Even if you grab me by the nose afterward because I almost killed you! Zort! C’mere!”

Without saying another word, Pinky pulled Brain to his chest, settling his head on Brain’s. It wasn’t long before the room grew quiet enough to where Brain could hear Pinky’s heart. However, instead of feeling bizarre, Brain felt a pleasant warmth conquer his senses, leaving his face in a deep red and his eyes widened. The sound was just loud enough to be audible but so soft that he could have easily drifted to sleep. It was the same thing as before, yet all the sweeter. Brain could sense his own heartrate increasing. How was it possible for him to fall more in love with his husband?

When Brain finally lifted his head, he was met with the warmest look he’d ever seen Pinky give him. He couldn’t help but softly smile. They just stared at each other for what felt like hours until Pinky finally spoke up.

“C-can I try it too?” Pinky asked with so much hope.

Brain was very puzzled. “Try what Pinky?”

“Can I listen to your heartbeat thingy? I wanna hear it too. Troz!”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. It had been so long since Pinky had made any remarks on his own heartbeat; ever since they’d gotten married, he remembered. But Brain wasn’t going to tell him no. He wanted Pinky to feel the same way that he’d just felt. But he was still a little apprehensive about how Pinky would react.

“Yes, Pinky. You may. As long as you don’t suck all the oxygen out of me. And please remember my injury, okay?”

Pinky cheered, instantly settling his head beneath Brain’s, and laying his ear against his chest. Brain let out a slight gasp at how quickly his partner had hugged him, but he didn’t want to complain as he planted light, tender kisses on Pinky’s head so that Pinky could feel his love. He already knew his heartbeat was fast, so he hoped Pinky wouldn’t mind.

He was surprised when Pinky pulled away so quickly. Brain was worried he’d done something wrong, although by the way Pinky was staring at him, he could tell Pinky was more amazed than anything.

“Brain! Your heart is sooooo cute! It’s making me swooooon! Poit! It sounds so soft and sweet. Kinda like you!” Pinky purred, his eyes fluttering.  

Brain was flattered by Pinky’s charming words. Though he still thought that their embrace was far from over. “Pinky, dearest, if you’re still up for more… I guess you could continue listening if you so desire.”

The taller mouse perked up, clear excitement showing. “Really? You mean it?”

“Certainly, Pinky. I’d be keen on it if you kept going.” Brain could feel the blush returning to his face.

“Well then I better not waste any more time!”

Pinky was true to his word, grabbing Brain and resting his head on his chest, humming softly as their embrace continued. When Pinky had made the sound, Brain shuddered a bit, his entire body heating up. His husband was very adorable when he was like this, so loving and cuddly.

After a few moments of silence, Pinky finally said something again. “Y-know, Brain. I could stay like this forever and ever. I love your heartbeat. And I love you! I wanna stay with you beyond forever! Narf!”

For once, Brain agreed with his lover, and though it was only one paw, he tried to hold Pinky as tightly as he could. Before he could finally silence himself and just sink into the moment, he responded with words he felt like he’d needed to say all night.

“I love you too, Pinky. And I agree with your statement. I want to remain with you forever too.”

“You mean it, love?”

Brain smiled brightly and kissed Pinky’s head. “Yes. Always yes.”

[dotthings]

Want to add to the Hunter discourse that I don't consider this bad writing. It’s fine to be frustrated by Hunter—that’s kind of part of the point of the arc. I love Hunter, he’s one of my favorite clones, and in my meta posts on TBB I’ve more than once commented on his micro focus on his familial circle only, while Echo represents caring for a bigger picture as well. And how Hunter seems very locked down emotionally.

Echo isn’t either/or about what he cares for. Echo cares a lot about his brothers too, it’s that Echo has embraced caring for a greater good along with that. Hunter is trying to stay locked down so hard, and if you watch him closely, this has been going on a while. He feels deeply, and consciously tries to keep his feelings in check, to think and act like a soldier, to keep it together to keep his family safe. And he does care about more than just that. (Which I'll get back to later in this post)

Quick review, first they lost Crosshair, and Hunter cared. He always cared. They got some hope of getting Crosshair back so they go to save Crosshair, and because of that mission, Tech dies. So now they’ve lost Tech, trying to save Crosshair, and suddenly Hunter is ready to give up and go live on Pabu. He wants to quit fighting. Because as far as they know Tech is dead*--from Hunter's pov Tech is dead, gone, not coming back. Then the empire captures Omega, and that galvanizes Hunter again, because she’s captured and alive.

*Tech Lives truther. Hemlock used Tech's goggles to taunt Hunter. We haven't seen the body. There are support towers for that tram system, Tech could have slowed his fall. That's my story I'm sticking with it.

It’s not that he no longer wants to save Crosshair. He does. But losing Tech yanked the ground out from under him, again, very hard. He needed yet another immediate, rescueable crisis in front of him to get him moving again--which is saving Omega. It's not that he cares about Omega and not Crosshair.

Hunter's been mourning Crosshair, and showed that if there is a chance to get him back, he'll take it. He took it, and it cost him another brother. Add it up.

Look at Wrecker and how openly expressive he is. Wrecker doesn’t self-regulate much. He feels and he shows how he feels, he groans and stomps and slumps his shoulders and if he's sad or happy you hear about it. Wrecker looked so defeated in the season finale, it was heartbreaking to see. Yet Wrecker, who isn’t hiding his feelings, doesn't seem nearly as defeated as Hunter, who tries to keep it all together at all times and regulates his emotionally expression carefully.

It’s a character arc. And TBB is slowly unpacking, and doing a character study, on Hunter.

Hunter needs to express the pain he’s in. He needs to let that out, but the current circumstances, with crisis piled on crisis and losing more of his family, doesn't seem like the time yet. The arc isn't finished.

His caring about his immediate family unit is admirable. It’s also a way to hide. Do the missions to make the money so that family unit can survive, period. Save family, don’t think about all the families in the galaxy who are in pain. If they incidentally harm the interests of the bad guys, fine. But Hunter doesn’t think outside his own bubble.

It’s because he cares. If he lets in how much it hurts losing loved ones, if he starts thinking too much about what the empire is doing to so many families, to so many people. It’ll be unbearable.

It's fine to be frustrated, but it’s not bad writing. It’s the character’s arc. It’s Hunter.

[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

Centauri Flu

A Lost In Space fic that never got posted, published one year ago today! 😄

Lost in Space Judy is sick, Don takes care of her. (pining, angst, hurt/comfort) WC: 3,205 ao3

"I’m fine, leave me alone. I have a practical in two hours….I’ve been studying all week." The room swooped around Judy, Judy swooping in return, Don lunged catching her. “Uhh-huh. And that there was just you dancing, right?” She glared, snapping out, “Don’t be stupid, I don’t dance, I didn’t even go to Prom.” Don kept his steadying hold firm, laughing, “Trust me, I know, you told me. That’s still something we need to correct by the way,” and then slightly more serious, "but right now, you need a bed, or a couch, or a comfy chair and maybe some tea. Definitely soup and rest.” His hand was tucked snugly into her waist, arm wrapping around her back as he guided her shuffling feet through the kitchen. She pushed at him weakly, twisting and turning as much as she could without making the room spin, when a coughing fit attacked, her lungs unable to inhale fully and choking on the exhale, forcing Judy to double over, briefly glad of his support. “I’m fine” she groaned more to convince herself than anything once she caught her breath. “Jude, you’re clearly sick. Or unwell. I don’t know, I’m not the doctor here. But I do know you, and this ain’t you, Sweetheart.”

She gritted her teeth at the term of endearment. All of his nicknames irritated her, his overbearing nature bothered her. They weren’t dating and they weren’t together. They weren’t with anyone else either though. He was waiting. Waiting for her to finish med school. Didn’t want to "be a distraction” he’d said. Sometimes she got the feeling he was just scared. She tried to explain that med school could take years…that it was offensive to suggest she’d let feelings interfere with her career. That they should try it out, see how things went now. He wouldn’t give in though, so they weren’t together, but their relationship felt an awful lot like a Relationship.

“Don’t you have work? Shouldn’t you be somewhere?” she swatted at his hands trying again to pull out of his grasp as she righted herself. Her head throbbed and every joint felt like it’d been hit with a brick. She pushed through the pain, tears pushing through her eyes, trying to get him to comply, to leave her alone. “And anyway, if I were sick, the hospital would be the perfect place for me.”

Don wasn’t going for it. He couldn’t leave her like this, wouldn’t leave her. “Day off." he beamed, "You’re right, the hospital is the perfect place for you, sick or otherwise. And if I thought you could be trusted to actually seek help for whatever is currently afflicting you, you would have my full support in going there. But as you made very clear just a few minutes ago, you’d only be going for school, and we both know you’d be disappointed with your performance in this state.” He was sitting her down on the couch, hand moving to her forehead. She was burning up. Heat radiated from all around her.

He was right, she knew, and it made her mad that he was right. She tilted her head away, she didn’t need him caring for her. She was the doting one, she was the older sibling, the one that took care of people, she didn’t need him doing that. “Stop. If I don’t go, they’ll fail me. I need valid paperwork.” She felt like a furnace had been lit inside her, the room sweltering. "It’s so hot. Don. Is the ambient temperature monitor not working?” She fanned at her face and peeled off her top collapsing against the back of the cool chair.

Under normal circumstances he’d probably take a second to appreciate the view that was Judy’s firm body in nothing but a bralette and scrubs, but as it was all he could do was become increasingly more concerned for her. "Doc, it’s working just fine, that’s your fever.” His mouth was a hard line of determined worry. “You need a sweater, I’m taking you to the hospital. And I’m staying. And then I’m making sure that paperwork gets forwarded to your professor or whatever you call them and I’m bringing you right back here as soon as they clear you to come home. I’m making you soup and I’m tucking you in and Jesus Christ if you ever tell anyone about this I swear to God Judy-”

Judy’s lips curled despite her frustration and whatever pathogenic warfare was taking place inside her, “I wouldn't think of telling Ava... or Cassidy...or Tony about my nurse, Don West."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her playfully, “ 'Think I’d look sexy in the uniform though.” finishing with a flourishing wink before extending both hands out “Alright, to the hospital it is then.” and snatched her hoodie from the door on their way.

At the hospital a handful of people inevitably recognized her, it was still a small place after all and she was there most days learning, shadowing, practicing, testing…but everyone steered clear once they got within steps of her, not wanting to catch whatever it was Judy had. They’d been camped out in the waiting room for some time before being seen. The fluorescent lights above, and constant beep and swoosh of the doors did little to alleviate her pain and dizziness. Don had taken up residence in the chair next to her. He was wrapped around her protectively, hands never straying too far from some part of Judy, face creased in worry and agitation. She wondered if this is what he looked like when he’d rescued Penny, wrapping her in that blanket, holding her close, comforting her, warming her. Probably not.

“Judy Robinson?!” They were taken in to a small room off the main hall, A doctor she was familiar with did the examination. Don had been permitted in the room only because Judy had ok’d it, but she was starting to regret that decision, becoming deeply embarrassed at his ridiculous involvement. He was answering and asking questions and describing and reminding her of actions and symptoms from earlier, being too forward and familiar for her liking in this setting where nearly everyone knew her.

The doctor, not having a definitive answer for her illness, but having seen the same symptoms making their rounds and knowing what meds were working to help mitigate symptoms, gave her a shot of steroids and a round of pain killers, along with strict orders to “take it easy” and “ingest lots of fluids” finishing with “it should be over in 24-48 hours.” Don prompted the doctor to fill out paperwork excusing Judy from the day’s practical and made sure it got where it was supposed to go. Judy’s frustration grew at what she took as being infantilized, what the fuck was his problem? She wasn’t a helpless child. Is that how he saw her? Is that why he wouldn’t... The doctor though, amused at his attentiveness, asked the obvious question, “This your boyfriend, Robinson?” Judy rolled her eyes with an accompanying huff of “Hardly”. It stung. He knew he had no right for it to, but it did. The question stung her, he had no right to act this way when he wouldn’t act on it. “Well, hardly boyfriend, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but make sure she gets home ok and follows orders, we’ll send over a round of antibiotics in about an hour.” Don elbow bumped the woman in leu of a handshake and said he would before walking out just behind Judy, spotting her.

The day so far had taken a lot out of her, physically, emotionally, she was drained. By the time they got back to the house, wether due to pain meds, exhaustion, illness, or some combination of all three, she could barely muster the strength to unbuckle her seatbelt let alone walk the 40 or so feet to the door. Angry and unwilling to admit needing help though, she pushed on trying anyway, scoffing at his “Wait I’ll help." Don had just enough time to run to the opposite side of the chariot before she face planted yelling “Damn it, Judy, wait!” catching her mid-descent. He grunted against the awkward position of her full weight before scooping her up. "You’re a terrible listener. You’re a student?” He teased carrying her to the house. Her eyes were closed to stop the spinning but she could feel his breath on her neck and his heart beat against her shoulder. "You’re not my teacher.” she responded in slow shallow breaths. Being so close, taking in the smell of him, the feel of him, she wasn’t so mad anymore. “Doesn’t mean I won’t teach you a thing or two...” Her mouth quirked, voice at the edge of sleep as he shifted her in his arms unlocking and opening the front door, "Don’t threaten me with a good time, West.” She let her head fall, nuzzling into his collar slipping into slumber for the next few steps waking only at the light shake he gave and “Jude, bed or couch?” His voice was low and soft, it lulled her despite pulling her out of the vortex sucking her in. “Take me to bed…” and though she’d meant it in the most base way, a simple answer to his question, she enjoyed the feeling of his heart speeding up it’s thub-dub against her shoulder.

He carried her through the house, easing her down as gently as he could onto the covers of her bed. Don stood watching her, taking in every detail. Her skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, lips slightly trembling, and color too pale. She was still feverish, but at least she had been seen by medical professionals and they seemed to think people were living through this just fine. He sucked his top lip in, chewing it, thinking through what he should do next; let her rest? Make food? Try to move her again to cover her with a blanket? She let out a small groan as her eyes fluttered open a crack to find him. “Take a picture, it'll….” she drifted off just as quickly, remark left unfinished. It drove him crazy seeing her like this, not knowing how to help, knowing there wasn’t much that could be helped. He felt anxious and fidgety and like he wasn't doing enough but knowing there was nothing to be done.

Get it together, West, it’s just a space flu, it’s not like she’s being torn apart by alien robots.

She shivered again and he moved to sit on the edge of her bed, mattress dipping and legs rolling against him as he leaned over to bring the free edge of her blanket from the other side across her. He pushed a stray lock of coils off her forehead before making to get up.

He shouldn’t be here, watching her, so close. He was letting things get mixed up. He didn’t mean to do it, it’s just he cared for her... She worked hard, and he didn’t want to fuck it all up for her. He’d never been a fuck up before, he wasn’t going to be one now. No. He needed to leave before he did something stupid.

She could feel the heat seeping out of her every pore, but inside she was sub-zero, so cold, so different from earlier. She felt him next to her, her thighs against his back, and she wished he’d lay down with her, give her the full length of him to roll into, to sponge delicious heat from. She felt him lean over her and she could feel him tuck her in, just like he’d said he would. In her mind she smiled, but she knew her face hadn’t moved a muscle.

Easing up off the bed, she could feel the mattress gently lift under her, legs raising and lids following suit once more. “Abandoning me, West?” A rueful smile cracked his lips at being caught “I was going to heat up some soup, Princess. But thanks for calling my character into question.” The puff of air from her nose was meant to be a laugh, and her brow furrowed, “Stay.” Judy slid her hand out patting the bed. He dropped his head to the side, resigned and slipped off his boots walking to the other side of her bed, propping himself up against the headboard leaving space between him, the blanket, and her. With effort she turned, crying out a painful moan and erasing the space he’d carefully crafted. She curled against him, head nestling into warm lap, inhaling him. The unique blend of eucalyptus and dirt and oil and spice soothing her into quiet darkness.It wasn’t what she wanted, but it would do for now.

For a while he fought the urge, simply studying her sleeping figure, the soft flair of her nose, the twitch of her brow, the gentle murmur of lips. She wasn’t resting peacefully, that much he could tell, and so eventually his hand drifted from it’s place on the pillow next to her, brushing across her forehead, thumb swiping over soft damp skin in slow even arches. He could feel the difference from earlier, her fever was breaking, not as hot to the touch. Her face calmed and her breathing evened under the caress, molding her face further into the heat of him, lips washing breath down his leg.

For a long while he continued, movement trance-like combined with the steady rise and fall of her blanket, rise: left, right, fall: up, off, rise: left, right, fall: up, off, until he was sure she was out. Further medication was dropped off by delivery, but he hadn’t felt like he could leave her until now. Gradually he stopped, and gently he scooted out from under her and off the bed careful not to disturb sleeping Judy. He took pains to step as quietly as he could exiting to get water and retrieve the antibiotics from the porch.

While up, Don shuffled through the Robinson pantry looking for soup. He moved pre-made chili, and peaches John had canned the summer before, freeze-dried ramen packets, and mac and cheese cups, identifying one lone can of chicken soup way in the back.

Sorry, Deb, but Sister Agnes always said, nothing heals faster than the magical broth of chicken bones.

Don had given up chicken early on after a few awkwardly attempted meals, and as he spent a lot of time with the Robinsons they’d also all but given up the tasty poultry, he took it as a sign that this one was still here.

Finding a tray, he arranged the bowl of steaming golden soup, some crackers, a glass of water, and a cup of tea on it along with a round of medication and walked back to Judy’s room.

“Thought you’d left.” she looked up at him coming in. “You did not.” he argued back, nudging her over and sitting with the tray. The ghost of a smile crossed her face and she leaned up against her pillow, “Yeah, I heard the tea kettle whistling, that or your singing.” “Nice. Nice to see you’re feeling better. I do not sound like that, by the way. Here take these, they dropped um off while you were out.” He picked up the pills and placed them in her upturned palm, fingertips tickling skin as he released them, thumb brushing a trail on her wrist, eyes meeting. The touch, electric.

Don looked away back to the food, something not so soft and dangerous, clearing his throat. "Anyway. We have soup, crackers, tea, and water, what do you want first, Doctor Robinson?" “I want you to kiss me.” It was light, but she was firm, gaze never straying from his face, ready for when it returned, heated and heavy, prepped for assault. He laughed quiet and warm, glancing back up “That’s the meds talking, Doc.” She chewed her lip, considering how to convince him. “But it’s not, and you know it." Don sighed softly, sad at the truth of her statement and the choice he’d made, he drug his gaze away. “Yeah…maybe.” He was the one keeping them apart. This wasn’t a new conversation, they’d talked about it months ago. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it anymore, if he was being honest. Fear? Some moral obligation? It wasn’t feeling very moral at this point.

Don looked back and her hand was still extended, perfectly frozen in time. “Princess, you need to take those.” His voice was velvet and deep, the way he made it just for her, when it was only them. A sly smile crept across her face, "I forgot how…” “Judy-“ It was a warning, he knew where she was going, he couldn’t meet her there... “Help me?” And he had to laugh at the predictability of it, because it was predicable wasn’t it? She frowned at his laughter, position unchanged.

He moved the tray off his lap and on to the floor, feeling there was only one way the DOCTOR was going to take her medicine. Once again he took the pills in his fingers, “These,” he said low, raising an eyebrow, “go here.” He slipped them into her open mouth, his breath catching at her lips dragging down his thumb, kicking himself for not seeing that coming.

He felt like giving up, not seeing a reason not to any more. Is this what it took? Not the eminent danger of a persistent fleet of singleminded murderous aliens, but microscopic invaders, easily overcome, to force his hand, break him, and shelf the idea that they shouldn’t be together? Her tenderly wanting him; not to save lives, not to be a hero, but to just be? People had always wanted him, needed him, but for what he could do for them, what he could get them, what he could fix. No one ever wanted him, just him. The thought that Judy would...

Staring at him with deep intensity she made no move to swallow, holding the medication on her tongue. “Jude, you need to swallow, they aren’t the dissolvable kind... -Jude” he urged, smiling nervously, unsure of his next move. She continued to stair him down, ear falling to her shoulder in question. The corners of his eyes tightened fractionally, a wordless argument between the two. Eventually, he relented, giving in to more than just the game. Don leaned forward, fingers resting lightly on the column of her throat, lips hovering millimeters from hers. His thumb gently stroked down the side, massaging the muscles, he murmured “Relax and swallow, Princess.” Suddenly that name wasn't bothering her anymore, she swallowed hard at the command, and instantly his lips pressed into hers, hand still stroking against pulse, mouth drawing her in. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down, finally having won. Lip against lip, gentle and slow, undulating, glide, press. Slide, press. she could taste him all around her and he could feel her smile against him. “What?” he whispered between kisses. Judy let her head fall back releasing her grip “Just glad that’s finally settled.”

[unlockandrelease]

Mercies Anew

Since 2012 I have kept a daily God-sighting journal. Each day I write down three ways I saw God the previous day and mark the date. I keep it simple with my sightings being more about seeing everyday blessings than the big miracles we experience a few times throughout life. I am currently in the upper 8,000s with my God-sighting journal and recently, found myself seeing them more than I normally do, given some abnormal circumstances.

Last weekend, husband and I experienced a flurry of ER visits, tests, doctors, nurses, waiting rooms, more tests, and finally answers to an ailment that had plagued me for almost two weeks. The answer included surgery. Been there, done that four times previously…walk in the park…right?

Not so much. This was a very different, very pain-filled surgery, with a very different recovery. While that surprised me, husband and I did not find ourselves discouraged. Discouragement was far off because we were experiencing God’s mercies anew every morning. God-sightings came in so fast I couldn’t keep track of them all.

God-sightings like…

The excellent care of the surgeon and nurses. Their kind words and tender hearts calmed my own fears and eased my pain. Mercies anew…

The woman who took my meal order daily while in the hospital told me to order as much as possible. But why? I was eating crackers like a bird. “What you order and don’t finish your husband can eat for a meal.” Needless to say, husband was WELL fed. Mercies anew…

Hospital policy now allowed husband to spend the two nights I was in the hospital with me. Mercies anew…

Husband who never left to go home an hour away and freshen up, but stayed with me through it all, sleeping on a less-than-comfortable futon. Mercies anew…

The gentle hospital housekeeper who told us her story of pain while exuding a spirit of constant grace and love for the Lord. Mercies anew…

My parents and siblings (by birth and marriage), who checked in on my progress constantly via phone calls or texts. Mercies anew…

My parents who sent an uplifting, funny gift while I was in the hospital, knowing I could use the laugh. Mercies anew…

My mother-in-law who made a meal fit for a king for us and drove an hour each way just to deliver it to us. Mercies anew…

My church family who sent a lovely plant arrangement, provided meals and prayed hard over both husband and I. Mercies anew…

My co-workers who had a gorgeous flower array delivered to our condo. Mercies anew…

My BIL and SIL who sent a meal via mail saying “Surgery calls for chicken noodle soup!” Mercies anew…

My supervisor who told me, “We will handle things till you return. Focus on getting well!” Mercies anew…

Our Lifegroup who prayed and checked in regularly on us. Mercies anew…

A girlfriend who lives across the country, praying over me during their service of healing on Sunday. Mercies anew…

My Lifegroup friend who knew I hated to miss attending husband’s spring concert, held her phone up for the whole hour, calling me through Google Meet so I could still hear and see the concert. Mercies anew…

We were overwhelmed by the mercies anew, sometimes on a minute-by-minute basis. We did not want this to happen and certainly did not ask for it to happen during the busiest time of my husband’s year. And yet, mercies anew…again and again and again.

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”          ~Lamentations 3:22-23~

[islandpcosjourney]

IVF/ICSI Day 15

6th October 2023

The end of Cycle 1

Hard to believe that in a fortnight we’ve gone from starting our first cycle of IVF to it being all over. I’ve said to a few people that I was shocked at the rate at which it was going passed but then the last day and a half have been the worst of it. And now it’s all over.

Our embryos didn’t develop. 1 had divided into 4-cells since yesterday’s call but that’s where they should’ve been at on Wednesday. No change to the others. Transfer cancelled, just like that.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for what we were going to go through this cycle (first time, unknown, no expectations) but NOTHING at all prepared me for the possibility that we’d be finishing like this - no transfer & no embryos in the freezer. I knew there was a possibility that if I hyperstimulated (OHSS) that an elective freeze might happen and we’d be a few months later doing a frozen transfer rather than a fresh, but at no point was I mentally prepared for this scenario. Every stage went so smoothly, too smoothly perhaps. I was too happy about it all. I was too confident in the hope that I had in Jesus that all would be well. Now it’s all gone. Now the fear has kicked in, for next time - 2 chances left.

The embryologist said there’s no way of knowing what happened. They’ll meet as a team next week to discuss the way forward. It may mean that they choose a different protocol for next time, although my understanding is that I could only have short protocol treatment because of my AMH levels and ICSI is the final resort used if everything else hasn’t worked - so it’s all a mystery to me what might happen next. Apparently though this failed cycle doesn’t have any bearing on how future ones might work out. Good to know - it’s all a mystery to them too!

God’s mystery in Ephesians teaches us to trust in the mystery, in Him, that he knows what’s best & I do have faith in that. It’s just hard to see exactly what that looks like just now. I just feel numb & lost. I know I’m allowed to feel that way. We are meant to suffer. It makes us stronger, but it would’ve been so much easier to handle this with Kevin by my side.

As it happens, I was out in the car collecting a Screwfix order for our Garden Road house when I got the call, so nobody with me. I haven’t done much today because I keep getting a pinching/stabbing pain from my left ovary. A painful reminder of what I’ve been through with nothing to show for it except bloating & tears.

All I want is to be held by Kevin & it’s the one thing that’s unavailable to me. It’s a test of our relationship that’s for sure. Long distance isn’t easy on anyone but it’s especially harder in times of pain when only your best friend, the one who knows you the best, can give you the physical comfort you need. A cuddle works well for healing. Physically holding someone releases endorphins that you can’t replicate otherwise. There is no substitute for that.

But we can look to God for spiritual healing and I can hold onto that. It can be easy to lose hope, to become lost in the tears, to look for answers in the wrong places or even in the wrong people. There are those who haven’t agreed with our journey but also those who have spent the time reading, praying, messaging & phoning us. For everyone’s effort to comfort and be with us in our time of need, I will be eternally grateful. Honestly, the strength I have had to have in order to do this without my best friend with me in-person at each step of the way has been largely down to you lovely people who are currently reading this. I can never repay you or find an appropriate way to thank you for your kindness and love.

When I got a message with sad news today of the death of a beautiful colleague and friend, there was nothing else to do but put my own circumstances to one side & pray for her spirit, her dear Mum, her Storky and her boys. Cancer is a cruel disease and it robbed her of her life far too soon. Life is so precious. I may never get the opportunity to be an inspirational Mum like she was but I can make a decision (while I am blessed to be on this earth) to be the best Wife to Kevin that I can be, the best daughter to my Mum that I can be, the best sister to Calum that I can be, the best member of the church & community that I can be, the best teacher that I can be, the best friend to my wonderful friends that I can be, the best person to strangers that I can be & the best follower of Jesus that I can be - to one day know that I will join him in Glory & live for eternity.

Hope lives on.

🎶 In Christ alone, my hope is found, He is my light, my strength, my song🎶

Prayer points to consider:

Pray for Màiri & Kevin as they grieve this loss. Only God knows why it failed & pray that He comforts them to know & trust in His plan.

Pray for the staff at Ninewells who worked with them in this first cycle. They were so caring & are bound to be disappointed that their efforts didn’t work. Help them to learn from this cycle.

Pray for Màiri & Kevin’s families as they come to terms with hope turning into failure. Help them to support M & K as they face a 2nd cycle, at some point in the future.

Help Màiri to prepare for her journey home tomorrow. She can’t wait to see her darling poochie Holly again. She can’t replace Kevin but she sure loves the cuddles!

Pray for Kirsteen’s family as they mourn her loss. Remember her school, choir & local communities as they grieve a respected & well-loved member of their community.

[vera-king-hrfl]

Here is a bit of the newest chapter of Fire, Ice, and Darkness I've been working on. No pressure tagging @dark-and-kawaii because it's their stuff I've been feasting on most recently. Also, slight pressure tagging @cinnasalmon because their idea for an Absolute!Zevlor story has me on the edge of my seat.

You try to ease your hand away but he holds tight. You’d have to give a hard yank to disengage quickly and you don’t want to cause a scene. You are aware of how his eyes move across your face, down your neck to the deep narrow hem of your robe. His behavior is positively indecent, and you look for his companions, but they seem to have left. “I have lived in the city since then. Helping my grandfather. I manage his affairs now. If you would please…” You tug at your hand again, but he ignores you.

“Do you know… it has been over one hundred years, Nienna, and I still think of you every day. You were my first childhood love. But I am a man now. I have been named. And you are still as beautiful as the last day I saw you.” His fingers tighten around yours, becoming painful, and you grit your teeth, now unable to pull away from his strong grip.

“What do you want? Get hold of yourself, kin, this minute.” But you can’t disguise the little tremor in your voice. You know that Iriador hears it, because he leans forward and lowers his voice.

“I want you to come with me. I know a quiet place, where we can talk without the outsiders overhearing.” The word he used was not “outsiders,” in fact it was a word you’d used yourself in different circumstances  and you decide that you are finished with this deeply disturbing man.

You quickly snatch your hand away, the texture of the scales making it easier to escape his grasp. Then you stagger to your feet and take a step back. “I shall go nowhere with you. You should leave now, or I will have to call the barkeep.” You look to your left to seek him, but Iriador springs gracefully from his chair, seizes your wrist, and pulls you to him. You struggle, but he is very strong, and you are starting to call the ice when you hear a gruff, low voice behind him.

“Is there a problem here?��

Iriador turns, dragging you with him to see Zevlor, in a leather jerkin and boots, standing there with his arms crossed and an air of bored official authority.

The Elf draws himself up, staring down his nose at Zevlor, looking uncomfortably like Astarion for a moment, but answers in Common, mostly, “And what business is it of yours, biinrath?”

At that word you feel rage begin to bubble up inside you and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to fight down the sudden feeling. Not here. Not now. Let Zevlor handle this.

“You are not my business, sir. But she is. If you will kindly unhand her, we shall be on our way.” The tiefling’s voice is still steady, quiet, patient. You admire his self-control. You are currently struggling to avoid freezing the hand off the horrible man. You open your eyes to look at Zevlor to calm yourself. His eyes flick to you and back up to hold the gaze of the taller man.

Said man jerks your arm again, pulling you against his body, making you gasp and grit your teeth. Thin wisps of icy fog filter from between your lips, but the Elf doesn’t notice. “What are you, her bodyguard? You’re relieved of duty, mhaorbhin. I will be escorting my kin this night.”

Zevlor does not hesitate. “I am her husband. And if you do not release the lady at once, I will kill you where you stand.”

Iriador goes still for a moment, and you know he is evaluating the tiefling’s resolve. But Zevlor has not moved nor changed position, and his voice never rises above that confident, modulated tone. You feel the Elf tense, as if he is considering fighting. But he seems to think better of it and suddenly tosses your arm away. “You are welcome to her, devil. I would never touch a woman who would give her body to a creature like you.” He wipes his hand down the front of his jacket and strides past Zevlor, swerving a bit less gracefully to avoid brushing the hard, leather clad shoulder. He strides out the door, and is gone.

You stand, shaking for a minute, before stepping to your chair and sinking down in it. The bartender scuttles over, sputtering apologies. “I’m terribly sorry, miss. I didn’t realize you were in distress. I only noticed when you stood up and he… and then the Commander came in and… I thought it would be alright.”

Zevlor pats his arm and shoos him off, “and it was. You were right, son. Just be more vigilant with the ladies if you see that man again, hmm?”

The man departs muttering promises and Zevlor takes the seat that Iriador had vacated, reaching out to take your hand, but much more gently than the Elf had done. At his warm touch you feel calm spread through you, dispelling the chill. “Are you alright, dear? What was that all about?”

You take a breath and then nod, chuckling a little shakily, “I am perfectly fine. It is that man who may not have been if you were not so intimidating. I think he nearly pissed himself when you told him how you knew me.”

Zevlor laughs at that, shaking his head, “Such language from my delicate flower. I think he was in more danger from you, though. I may not know the Elven tongue well, but I could interpret the sentiment. I saw how close you were. But it would not do to make an amputee of the man when it can be avoided with a little psychology. I am well aware of how I look to your people.”

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you @lemonsrosesandlavender for the tag!

I will tag, @lazyjellyfish300, @vera-king-hrfl @ziggyztarduzt and @graysparrowao3

Here is a few excerpts from what I am currently working on and a list of what Has my attention currently. (Sidenote: I was working on Neighbors and Be sweet to me but I lost motivation that I'm hoping comes back soon.)

The List:

Presents for Zevlor

Spidercamp!

You two should date!

At your mercy

Rolan x Maid (still no title)

Mouse...

Portal Mishaps

Lae'zel x Cal headcannons

“Tav are you alright?” 

Looking up you see a confused Zevlor holding out a cup of tea to you. Taking the cup you quickly sip it letting wash away your shame and warm up your throat. 

“Yes…just cold…thank you for the tea it should help.” 

Sitting besides you now you can feel Zevlors natural warmth radiating from him. His hand gently comes to yours and touches you so gently like you where made of glass. The feeling of his touch sends a wave of warmth through you making you want noting more than to just curl into him. Then…opportunity…

“Do you…well you still feel cold…do you want me to warm you?” 

The look on his face looks almost shy, unsure of it is crossing the line. But your heart does flips and you have to take a second not to scream your awsner…

“Please, I think that would help me…” you would say yes even if you were burning alive. The idea of being wrapped around him is all too great for you to miss this opportunity. 

Zevlor starts to loosen a few buttons down his collar and you feel yourself evaporating into a cloud. His eyes meet yours and he just gives a shy explanation. 

“Skin to skin…um…helps warm one up faster…” the gods smile down kindly, thank you for the rain storm.

Rapheal finally sits up managing to get on his knees, but before he can fully get back to his feet he feels the heavy weight of a blade to his shoulder, the sharp edge threatening to dig into his neck. Raphael lifts his glowing battered eyes to you. You, the one he once saw as weak and malleable, is now about to remove his head. Eyes stern, body bruised and blooded but still up, still fighting…you look like the definition of powerful…the definition of beauty…

I imagine that Cal is at least slightly aware of who Lae’zel is because one, she is in Tavs party and everyone seems to know Tav. Two, she is a githyanki walking around the grove; of course people are going to take note of her. Three, all the teiflings have heard about what Zorru saw and what happened to his friend Yul, so of course they keep a close eye on her… it doesn’t happen often by Cal has found himself staring towards the silver clad warrior. She’s just unlike anything he’s seen before. 

Lae’zel was unaware of Cals existence. Until one day when she decided to go do some training.

[alloaroworlds]

Saw something about alloace people stealing the idea of an alloa flag from alloaros, but don’t most pride flags with counterparts start with one? Is it bad to use the alloace flag?

Thank you, anon, for asking this respectfully.

(There’s too many non-respectful, insulting, allo-aro-antagonistic and even cissexist asks in my inbox on the subject of flags.)

I agree with you: it's common in LGBTQIA+ spaces for pride flags to use other pride flags as a reference point, particularly when it comes to related terms and shared symbols or colours.

I, personally, take no issue with the concept of allo-aces using a flag that was inspired in its colour symbolism by the allo-aro flag. As much as I dislike the ways Tumblr pairs allo-aros and allo-aces in content (flag edit posts, positivity) as though "allo" is equivalent to "demi" or “flux” or “grey”, I see the symbolism in taking the allo-aro flag and transforming it in asexual-flag styling to suit allo-ace needs. (It makes sense given that our yellow/golds were chosen by @arotaro because they’re opposite on the colour wheel from purple and aro green was historically chosen because it is opposite from red.) I don't view it as "stolen" any more than I would another flag inspired by another flag.

Pride flag culture is, like fandom and fanworks, transformative.

What I take issue with is individual allo-aces or groups of allo-aces using a flag that was inspired by the allo-aro flag while engaging in, perpetrating, condoning and/or ignoring allo-aro antagonism and erasure.

The allo-ace flag doesn't exist in a vacuum. It's not disconnected from the ways allo-aces treat allo-aros--and the ways allo-aros have come to feel about allo-aces. It’s not disconnected from the ways the allo-ace and allo-aro flags appear together in solidarity/positivity posts that are entirely at odds with the ways allo-aces frequently treat allo-aros. It's not just four stripes on a flag that happen to be inspired by ours because of related a-spec symbolism.

I, personally, don't see not using the allo-ace flag as a viable solution. How is that going to change things? (Very likely, folks will switch to another flag and keep on with the same old erasure.) Allo-ace identity is important, and if allo-aces like and relate to the symbolism of the red/purple flag, they should be able to keep using it. (I definitely don’t want to police allo-ace identity and pride the way folks are trying to do with me, which is also a subject of anon asks.) When allo-aros discuss our frustrations with the context of the allo-ace flag, we're not doing it because we object to another a-spec identity's expression of pride.

We're trying to express how unfair it feels that allo-aces are using a symbol inspired by ours while creating and/or overlooking their involvement in an a-spec culture that treats and dismisses allo-aros as third-class a-spec citizens.

The relationship between allo-aros and allo-aces is a much broader subject than the origins and use of one flag. At the same time that flag is, because of the circumstances of its making, eminently symbolic of said relationship.

That doesn’t always come across in frustration-fuelled posts (often made to allo-aros by allo-aros in our tags/spaces, where everyone’s aware of the context and further elaboration isn’t needed, or as short vent posts). It looks like we’re just complaining about one flag being inspired by ours, which can easily be misunderstood as petty, hateful or policing at odds with transformative pride flag culture. But our feelings run far deeper than that, and that’s a hard thing to see if you’re outside the allo-aro community.

I can only speak my opinion, but I want allo-aces to use the current flag (if that’s what you decide you want to use, because you have the right to celebrate allo-ace identity with community-decided symbolism, language and pride colours).

I want allo-aces to use and take pride in the allo-ace flag with an accompanying spirit of valuing, supporting and encouraging allo-aro contributions to our shared a-spec community.

I want allo-aces to use and take pride in the allo-ace flag while acknowledging the accompanying fundamental necessity to recognise, challenge and halt the allo-aro erasure and antagonism common in the asexual and a-spec communities.

I want allo-aces to use and take pride in the allo-ace flag while recognising that such use must carry the obligation to respect allo-aros.

Until that point, though, I think the allo-aro community is fair to look at some uses of the allo-ace flag in frustration and pain (especially those solidarity posts that gloss over the reality of the allo-aro-and-allo-ace relationship). The flag is not stolen, and I don’t think it should be referred to as such, but its careless use by allo-aces without accompanying recognition of the way many so often harm allo-aros is contentious.

Does all this make sense, anon?

Note 1: I’m not the creator of the allo-aro flag that inspired the allo-ace flag, and I think @arotaro‘s feelings in this situation, in terms of ongoing use of flags, should carry far more weight than mine.

Note 2: The flag we’re discussing is by @varioriented-pride, who does a lot to reblog allo-aro visual/flag-edit content on an account devoted to a wide variety of varioriented folks, a category that includes allo-aros and allo-aces alike. (I regularly reblog their* posts over here, in fact.) I haven’t seen them engage in allo-aro erasure or antagonism; they stand as an example for the kind of allyhood and support I am asking.

(* Apologies if I have misgendered: I can’t find any mention of pronouns!)

Note 3: There is a second allo-ace flag by @flagify that isn't directly inspired by the allo-aro flag. I am in no way making a statement as to whether allo-aces should or shouldn't use it; I'm simply observing its existence.

[katsu28]

sabotage

pairing; non-canon!Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: Picking up guys is hard enough, but even harder when Rafe Cameron has anything to do with it

warnings: light swearing, slight angst but i promise it gets better

a/n: this has been in my drafts for months and i finally finished it! also why do i feel like i'm just writing for the same three characters over and over again...branching out soon i promise

i hope y'all are a lovely day/night/afternoon/morning wherever you are <3

masterlist + taglist

You let out a frustrated groan, thunking your head against the bar as yet another guy you’d been flirting with hurried away.

It was Friday night, and you were currently just trying to find someone interesting to maybe spend the night with, or if things went well, get to know a little bit better. Usually, you were pretty good at flirting with people, but tonight there was just something that was messing up your game.

Or rather, someone.

Rafe Cameron, your best friend since the sixth grade and your supposed wingman of the night.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have invited Rafe to come with you, but all of your friends unfortunately had plans, and he was the next best option. But instead of helping you, all he’d been doing for the past few hours was embarrass you and scare guys off.

“Aw. Looks like another fluke,” Rafe sighed, sliding into the seat that had just been vacated. He took another swig from his beer as he shot you a fake ass sympathetic look, as if he didn’t just glare daggers at the guy you were talking to until he made some half-ass excuse and ran off. “I say we just call in a night and head back to yours. Maybe grab some pizza, watch a movie—”

“What is your problem, dude?” You interrupted, squinting at him suspiciously.

“Problem? I don’t have a problem. No problems here.”

“That’s like, the fourth guy you’ve scared off just tonight, Rafe.” You huffed, fishing your credit card out of your purse and handing it to the bartender to close out your tab. There was no use in spending any more money if Rafe was going to keep sabotaging you. “If this is some kind of stupid game you’re playing, cut it out.”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry for wanting to protect my best friend from a bunch of mainland jerks?”

“They’re not jerks!”

“You don’t know that!”

“And you do?” You fixed Rafe to the spot with an unimpressed glare, slipping your card back into your wallet and thanking the bartender before making your way outside.

The cool night air hit you immediately—a nice feeling on your heated cheeks. You could hear Rafe hurrying after you, his long strides allowing him to catch up to you quickly.

“Yeah, I do know, actually.” He informed you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he fell into step with your brisk pace.

“Oh really? How?”

“I vibe checked them.” He said as-a-matter-of-factly. “And they did not pass.”

Glancing over at him, you saw that he was trying really hard to keep a straight face. “You’re so annoying. Like, actually. Remind me again why I keep you around?”

“Because you love me.” He shrugged, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Against my better judgment, yeah, I guess I love you.” You sighed dramatically.

Rafe’s heart gave an involuntary Irish jig in his chest at your words, because even though he knew you didn’t mean it like that, he couldn’t help but wish that you did.

You see, that was Rafe’s big secret. That was the real reason he was a less than helpful wingman.

Rafe Cameron was in love with you, his best friend. And there was nothing he could do about it, so he just played it off like he was overprotective because he didn’t know what else to do.

All his life, he’d had to sit by and listen to you gush about the boys you dated, pretending to be happy for you when all he could feel was the pain of not being able to be the one who made you happiest. He’d comforted you when you got your heart broken more times than he could count, feeling the rage bubbling in his veins at the thought of anyone hurting you this badly. He’d been the shoulder to cry on, the nagging best friend, the confidant to your every secret—but never the one who you loved.

At least not in the way Rafe longed for.

“Rafe?” Your voice drew him out of his thoughts, and he realized you’d gotten to his car and you were waiting for him to unlock it.

“Right, sorry. Here,” Rafe fumbled for his keys in his pocket for a few seconds before unlocking it and pulling your door open for you. After both he and you were buckled in, he sighed. “So, where to now?”

Rafe was expecting you to say something like back to your place, or even back to Tanneyhill, but the next words that came out of your mouth made him freeze.

“Do you want me to be happy, Rafe?” His gaze snapped to yours so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, half thinking that you were just messing with him, but one look at you told him you were dead serious.

“Do I—of course I want you to be happy, Y/N, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” Rafe frowned, wondering how you could ever think he didn’t want you to be happy. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Then why are you being like this?”

Again, Rafe was rendered speechless by your words. His eyes shifted to the road as he started to drive, racking his brain for a believable excuse. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“No, I know when you’re being protective. This is different.” You pressed, tilting your head at your best friend. “So why?”

“Why are we arguing about this, Y/N?” He asked incredulously. “I care about you. I want you to find a guy that’ll treat you right. And you’re not gonna find that in some bar!”

“I’m not gonna find it anywhere if you keep messing with me, Rafe!” Rafe’s jaw clenched as he flicked on his turn signal and pulled over to the side of the road in one swift motion. “What are you doing?”

He dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a deep breath through his nose before turning in his seat to face you.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows flew high in surprise. “You—what?”

“Damn it, Y/N, I’ve been in love with you ever since you pushed Topper off the dock for making fun of my hair in eighth grade!”

“Rafe…”

“It fucking kills me every time I see some random guy making moves on you, because I know I could treat you better than they ever could,” He breathed. “And I know—I know I probably just ruined our friendship by telling you this, but I can’t just sit here and—”

You cut Rafe off by leaning over the center console and pressing your lips against his. He was taken aback, but kissed you back almost instantly, sliding his hand around the back of your neck while your arms curled around his broad shoulders.

The kiss ended sooner than Rafe hoped, and when he opened his eyes all he could think about was how much better it was than he’d ever imagined.

“I’m in love with you too, Rafe.” You admitted softly.

“Really?” Rafe couldn’t help but smile like an idiot at your words, letting a dopey grin stretch across his face because holy shit, you actually loved him back!!!

“No, I kiss all my friends like that.”

“Don’t play with me right now.”

“Yes, really.” You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully. “Have been for like the longest time, thanks for noticing.”

“Hey, you didn’t notice either!”

“True.”

“Say it again.” Rafe murmured, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head with a smug smile pulling at your lips. “Come on, Y/N. I’ve been waiting for like eight years to hear you say those words.” He whined, leaning his head back against the headrest with a childish pout.

“Rafe Cameron,” You sighed, meeting his eyes with a completely serious look, to which he perked up. “I’m in love with you.”

“Damn right you are.” He sighed, leaning towards you and resting his chin in his hand.

“You’re so annoying.”

“Annoyingly in love with you.”

“Absolutely disgusting. Go away.” You pushed his face away from yours in mock disgust, but he laced his fingers with yours, bringing your linked hands up to kiss the back of yours. “Take me home, Cameron.”

“If you insist.”

“Not like that!”

Taglist!

@milkiane @scenesofobx @unbelievablystillafangirl @louisprettybaby (for some reason tumblr isn't letting me tag you so i hope you see this)

[interact-if]

Day 2 of our Asian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month Featured Author Interviews, continuing with Mouse & Ram!

Mouse and Ram, authors of Beau Ideals

Merchants stare up and out, some advertising their goods, yelling, others perched, confident that the outward quality of their wares is enough to draw customers in: rubble arranged on tables, mageware scattered in between with display lights illuminating milky crystals; the fruit of their ventures into the Expanse, the hope that it was worth their sacrifice. It all passes in a blur and I feel the press of time. One of these items will be worth the risk of stealing. It will be my last act as a free citizen before disappearing into the Southern Expanse.

A low-level criminal on the run for the crime of the century, the end of your journey approaches as you arrive in Lau Lyssa, the Kingdom’s southernmost city. Resigned to your fate of living as a fugitive in the wilds of the Southern Expanse, you know you only have so much time before word of your misdeed sweeps the land.

Read more about Beau Ideals here. Play the Demo Here. Tags: Fantasy.

[INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!]

Q1. Hello! Could you tell us a little bit about to yourself and your project?

Hiya, we’re Mouse and Ram!  Mouse and Ram

We’re two long-time friends who wanted to try our hand at creating something together that reflected aspects of our experiences growing up Chinese (Mouse) and Vietnamese (Ram) in the United States. As adults. High school? There’s nothing to see there.

Beau Ideals is a text-heavy, fantasy visual novel where you play as a rogue-ish MC that finds themselves caught between a rock and a hard place. and a rock

Q2. What inspired your current project?

We’re both big fans of visual novels both mainstream and indie. Combining our love of art, writing, and storytelling has been a habit of ours since we were wee-babaies. Now that we’re older, have a little more time on our hands, and have been tempered by the trials of adulthood, we wanted to see what we could do as larger babaies.

Cultural discourse has changed quite a bit as we’ve aged into our twenties, and with that change, our own understanding of our identity has also matured. It has been enlightening and painful in equal measure, and with that growth came a lot of inspiration.

Q3. Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?

Ram: Of course! The entertainments I experienced growing up in East Asia imparts stylistic preferences that evolved as I was later exposed to western media. What is presented now is a combination of what I find appealing, plus what I feel represent the narrative we want to portray.

Principles of family and community were a huge part in my upbringing. And along with Mouse’s writing, those values inform my understanding of the character dynamics and relationship with their peers and their communities. These aspects seep through to the current and the future game art.

Mouse: My experiences growing up Chinese American has affected my work in both subtle and obvious ways. While the MC’s voice is something I want the player to take some degree of ownership of, I can’t deny that some of my own beliefs, perspectives, and “general posturing” don’t also slip in.

All of the main characters face issues and circumstances that I myself, or the people around me, have experienced. A/PI have gone through a lot these past few years, and it’s my sincerest hope that the writing reflects our experiences, no matter how small.

Q4. What are you most excited about your project?

Ram: To see the plot and character arcs completed, and to have the game wholly finished :D

Mouse: To see all the pretty pictures Ram draws :D

Q5. What has your experience writing an IF and with the IF community been like?

Mouse: Compared to novels, screenplays, or even comics, the types of decisions you have to make are completely different, and you have to be extra-super mindful of how consequences play out in the story. It can be extremely difficult and it necessitates a much higher degree of planning.

Ram: In terms of art, I find creating effective yet versatile assets such as sprites challenging. A good challenge.

Together: As for the community, we’re a little shy. It’s something we know we’re lacking. We’re well aware of some of the discourse within and around the IF community as a whole, but have had some incredible individual interactions with fellow creators! In the future, we hope to be doing some ask-prompts and Q&A’s for our followers.

Q6. What changes in the IF community would you like to see?

We can’t say we’ve been around for terribly long, but since we’ve set out on this project there has been the Interactive Fictions tumblr, and the first few IF/VN-specific game-jams on itch.io. It’s been cool to see. A writing workshop on IF/VN writing would be incredible, but we still might be a little ways away from that.

There isn’t anything specific we’d like to see changed per say, but there is one thing we can say: we want to see more voices join in. Everyone deserves the chance to tell their story. It’s corny but it’s true.

Q7. What piece of advice would you give to fellow creators?

Ram: Since we tend to be hard on ourselves, I encourage those with similar habits to focus on completion over perfection. You’ll find the minor roadblocks are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. And you can always go back to edit after. Plus, have no fear to scrap anything that doesn’t contribute to your story. Shelve the idea for a more fitting opportunity.

Mouse: Take some time to flesh out your vision. Sometimes your best idea is the first one that you think of, and sometimes it’s the twentieth. And if you’re stuck, as I often am, let yourself explore ALL the possibilities, even the dumb ones. Execution matters way way more than the idea.

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes rather possessive over Spencer when she learns he’s been been with someone else since they hooked up four months ago. Category: SMUT (18+) Content Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hand-on-neck (no choking), praise, degradation kink, possession kink, dirty talk Word Count: 7.1k (I didn’t mean for it to get this long I swear aldjfsdlfksk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 

MASTERLIST

NOTE: HERE IT IS!!! 🥰 Thank you all for showing so much love to Part 1, I seriously wasn’t expecting all the requests for more of the story, so it was fun coming up with ideas! I’m still not sure if I want to do 3 or 4 parts yet, but I’ll let you know soon! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy reading this second installment! ❤

***

He's been a ghost in my head for four months.

Everywhere I went I could hear his voice, hear the way he whimpered out my name and how cries got higher and higher as I clenched around him. I felt the rough grip he held on my hips as I rode him, the pads of his fingertips leaving behind faint bruises that I currently wished I still had.

And more prominently, I saw his face. It was always in the back of my mind, burning into me with lust-drunk eyes and a pouty mouth in the shape of an O. It sizzled into my brain, the sound definitely sounding more like raindrops than fire, but I was more than okay with that.

Though, every time it rained, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same— if he stood outside or watched from the safety of wherever he was and replayed that moment over and over again until he was aching to be in my presence once more.

I also had to wonder if he knew about the ring I'd left in his front seat.

Did he leave it in his car, perhaps in the glovebox or on a string that he tied around his mirror? Or did it fall somewhere between the seats? Maybe he found it and did what I never could, pawning it off for some happily-accepted cash while he laughed at how careless I was to take a stranger's virginity and then leave my expensive diamond ring behind like a fool.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the means to find out.

It's not like I could have wandered up to the FBI building and ask to meet with a Dr. Spencer Reid... Right? Because that as absurd. I'd only met the guy once, and he'd probably think I was crazy for trying to track him down.

It was a whole ordeal that I'd mulled over again and again, and I ultimately decided that it was ridiculous.

If anything I was happy to be rid of the ring. I could move on with my life, and maybe Spencer sold it for money or he's held on to it as a souvenir for a special night.

Win-win.

It didn't dull the small ache I felt for him, though. Every once in a while I found myself remembering how great that night was... I hadn't felt that way—sexy, confident, fun—in a long time, and as much as it sucked that he was getting picked on by some drunk idiots at a bar, I was glad it led me to him.

Some nights, when I was missing him significantly more than usual, I even went back to Waterson's in the event that I'd run into him again, hopefully under better circumstances.

Tonight was one of those nights.

This time I didn't have a ring to keep most of the men from hitting on me, but now that I was well and truly over my ex-husband, I was glad I didn't use that as an excuse to keep the ring around anymore. As annoying and painful as the drunken flirting was, I was way better equipped to handle it and truthfully somewhat relieved that I could get back to normal.

You know, save for the fact that I was only at Waterson's in the first place to maybe see some guy I hooked up with four months ago and still haven't stopped thinking about...

Because that was totally a normal thing to do.

I was on my second beer of the night when I felt a presence behind me. And even though I was pretty sure than I'd be able to tell if it was really Spencer, a part of me still buzzed thinking of the prospect of seeing him here again.

I turned around though, and was met with an entirely different person. I tried not to look disappointed, but it must have shown because the man who'd caught my attention gave a small laugh.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting someone?"

I liked to think that I had a good read on most people, especially when it came to men in bars. This man was someone I looked at for a few seconds and immediately knew that he wasn't looking to make me uncomfortable. He had come over to flirt with me, no doubt, but the difference here was that where most men would have gone straight into it, this man genuinely looked like he was willing to haul ass if I really was waiting for someone and didn't want his company.

That alone made me willing to entertain him a little, even if I was disappointed that he wasn't who I desperately wanted him to be. But it certainly helped that he was attractive.

The first word that came to mind was smooth. Even as I laughed back at the man and answered him, my eyes did some wandering of his figure and admired what I saw. A crisp, tight grey tee shirt that hugged some rather nice muscles, and brown skin that was just a few shades lighter than his eyes, which were kind and a little playful. His smile was stunning, sharing that same playfulness that his eyes held as he practically sparkled to life at my answer.

"Oh, no, I'm not... But I certainly wasn't expecting you..."

I made sure to smile at him, a little smirk that complimented the admiring eyes I was offering him and a little laugh that never failed to get me what I wanted.

He gently leaned into the bar, one of his hands coming to rest of the cool wooden surface. "I'm Derek."

"Y/N."

"Pretty name."

I don't know what made me so bold, but I nodded and shot him a wink. "Not as pretty as you."

We shared another laugh, and then I took a swig of my beer, finishing the last of it and then sliding towards him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"We just met and you're already stealing from me... That's my line."

"What can I say, I'm quick... Hey, Carla! Can I get two more for me and my friend here?"

The bartender—and my longtime friend—laughed a little, taking my empty bottle. "Sure thing."

The look she gave me right before turning away practically yelled, I thought your type was helpless skinny white guys who can barely look you in the eye without creaming themselves...

Yeah, well, you worked with what you were given. And besides, my type was practically anyone with just a shred of decency.

Real high bar, huh?

But after Patrick, I couldn't complain. Derek seemed like the type of guy who would flirt with you at any given chance, but respected your boundaries all the same. Unfortunately that was hard to find nowadays, especially in bars like Waterson's.

So, yeah, he wasn't the man I was naively wishing to see here tonight, but he was into me, he was decent from what I could tell, and he was hot.

So we had a drink and spent a good twenty minutes chatting it up. Since it was my third beer of the night, I was accumulating a pretty steady buzz, and the longer I talked with Derek the more I opened up a little. I found myself leaning into him and finding excuses to lightly touch his arm, but I kept noticing that he was glancing down at his watch occasionally.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, playfully.

"Right, uh... Yeah, I was supposed to be meeting a friend here. He's usually early, but I think we got our times mixed up again..."

"Again, huh? You two aren't very good coordinators?"

Derek laughed, the sound making me feel all warm. "Well, for FBI agents you'd think we'd be better at it."

"O—Oh," I said, my heart stopping for a beat. Had I heard that right? Was I more tipsy than I thought? "FBI?"

"You seem stunned," he said with another laugh. "What, you're not a criminal, are you? Do I have to take you in?"

I laughed, albeit nervously, but decided that this all had to be pure coincidence. If I didn't, I would have gone insane. Even still, it was difficult for me to sit here and openly flirt with this man when I knew he just confessed to having the same profession as the literal man of my dreams— and as of late that also included daydreams.

In fact, I was positive that's what it was when I saw Spencer approach us— a daydream.

Derek was calling my name, I knew that much, but I couldn't do anything but look over his shoulder where Spencer's ghost practically froze in place when he spotted me.

"Y/N?"

That wasn't Derek's voice. Spencer's mouth moved in time with the calling of my name, and it even sounded like him. I blinked rapidly, hoping that I could snap out of it and excuse myself for the rest of the night, so I could go home and sleep it off.

But even when I finished blinking, expecting Spencer's figure to be gone, he was still there.

At this point Derek had turned around, and what he said next snapped me out of it pretty damn good.

"Reid? You know her?"

"You're real," I said, speaking for the first time in a while. My throat felt dry, and my heart came alive at the sight of him.

Spencer stared at me, his eyes softening after I spoke to him. I saw his lips twitch into a shy smile before his hand came up in an equally shy wave. "Y—Yeah, I'm real." What followed was a huffed laugh that cemented his nervousness at seeing me again for the first time in four months, and it was the most refreshing thing I'd heard in a while.

"Oh my God," I said, a smile of my own starting to creep up.

I'd completely forgotten about Derek being there until he spoke up, snapping us out of our reunion, his voice conveying every range of confusion.

"What the hell is this?"

***

I knew there was always a minor chance that I'd run into her again, but it still rendered me utterly still and practically useless when I spotted her across the bar with Derek.

She was just... there. After months of debating whether or not I should send her a letter with the ring mailed back or stopping by to see her, or even using Garcia's help to find where she might have been so I could 'surprise' running into her... It happened to chance that I didn't need any of that at all. Because she was really there.

And she was flirting with Derek.

I'd have been lying if I said that didn't really bother me, but truthfully I'd always felt a bit insecure around him, mostly when it came to being surrounded by women who were most likely fawning over him instead of me.

Not that I particularly wanted or even needed them to fawn over me in the first place... It was just... Telling.

And it's not like I knew or thought I wasn't at least somewhat attractive. But seeing the one and only woman who'd ever made me feel very good about all of that for probably the first time in my whole life openly flirting with my best friend? It stung. It felt like now that she'd seen me and him in the same place, she'd decide that she'd made a mistake before and that she'd be better off with someone else— someone who was stronger and more skilled and probably easier to look at.

Even when the three of us sat at a booth and Y/N decided to sit next to me, her proximity dizzying after all this time apart, the first thought that came to my mind was, She doesn't want to see me. She'd much rather sit across from Derek so she can look at him instead.

I was starting to think maybe I should have stuck to mailing her a letter...

"So... Are you gonna tell me how you two know each other?" Derek asked, leaning back and easily amused.

Y/N seemed to be amused by all of this, too, because she answered immediately, a tone in her voice that I'd only dreamed about for four months and nine days straight.

"Oh, we were engaged."

If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Derek's eyebrows were going to fly straight off his head. "Engaged? Like... Engaged?"

"I—It's not what you think," I jumped in, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Not really engaged, but... Y/N pretended to be my fiancée once... There were, um... There were these guys who wouldn't leave me alone and she came over and told them off."

I hoped he wouldn't piece it together, but it was inevitable, and the look of realization that crossed his features made me feel extra warm with embarrassment.

"Oh... Is she the reason why you actually said yes to that date last month?"

Y/N turned to me, an eyebrow raised. "A date? Because of me? I don't... I don't follow..."

I was going to explain, but Derek beat me to it.

"I've always tried to set Pretty Boy here up for a date, but he's always said no, and then out of the blue I ask him and he agrees. Which was a shock in its own. I knew something was up, something had to have given him the confidence to go on the date... And all along its been you, hasn't it?"

"Well, I... I don't know, I guess so?"

They both looked at me then, and I stared down at my hands, unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "Y—Yeah... I don't know, I guess Y/N just... helped me see something in myself I hadn't seen before."

I half expected them to think it was silly, but Y/N's hand dropped down onto my knee and I stared at it for a moment before flitting my eyes up to meet her gaze. It was soft, and a small smile grazed her pretty features.

"Oh, Spencer, I'm so glad I could do that for you... How was the date?"

"O—Oh, it... It was fine. Not... I'm not seeing her anymore, but it wasn't bad... Just, um... There wasn't much of a connection, that's all."

In simpler words, She wasn't you.

But I couldn't tell her that, not when she was staring at me again with those sparkling eyes and her hand burning a hole through my pants with her electrifying touch, and most certainly not with Derek sitting right in front of us.

"Hey, whether it worked out or not, whatever you did to get him out there, it must have been one hell of a job," he said as if he'd been reading my thoughts.

Y/N gave me a knowing look, though, and suddenly I was transported to my car, feeling her hand explore my body as she showered me with filthy words and names that set me alight and cemented something about myself that I'd never known. Since then I had dreams about her, telling me how much of a 'good little whore' I was for her, and I always woke up from those dreams clutching her ring around my finger.

"Well, like I said, I'm glad I could help. Your boy here is one in a million."

It was awkward. This was all very extremely awkward. And even though I knew that, I still couldn't bring myself to stop it. I couldn't bring myself to stop staring at Y/N, soaking her all up like she was going to leave again at any given second. I couldn't stop thinking about her, our predicament, what we did and what I discovered about myself back then...

God, I was talking like we hadn't seen each other in years. It was only four months and yet I was acting like she'd left me alone after years of being together. This was ridiculous, right?

Thankfully Derek's phone rang, snapping us all out of the bubble of silence we'd been in for what seemed like forever.

"Uh, I'm gonna... get this. Be back in a few."

I expected Y/N to drop whatever act it was she had going on with me after he left the table, but her hand remained firmly on my knee. And then she moved a little closer, turning to me completely and tilting her head with a smile that only meant mischief.

"So... Looks like we have some catching up to do..."

***

I was practically giddy when Derek excused himself for a "Garcia Emergency". Though, I was concerned until he assured us that it wasn't anything bad, and by the look on his face as he quickly talked things over With Spencer, I got the feeling he was expecting his friend to 'have some fun' tonight. And that's what truly made me giddy.

We sat close to each other again, a few drinks between us and only a few booths away from the one we sat in the first time we met. If it weren't for the rock missing from my finger, I would have been convinced we'd actually transported back to that exact moment.

"You getting Deja vu, Doctor?" I asked with a smile, watching as he swallowed.

"Y—Yeah, kinda. It's great seeing you again, I... I really didn't think I would."

I laughed. "You know where I live, and you're an FBI agent... I'm pretty sure you could have saw me again if you wanted to."

"Well... Yeah, but I didn't want to be creepy or anything..."

"Trust me... If you randomly showed up at my door, I'd be anything but creeped out. I missed you..."

Spencer looked up at me for a moment, his eyes shifting before he seemed to relax. "You... did?"

"Of course... I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. And I hope that's not creepy," I added in a laugh.

"No, not at all," he reassured with a nervous laugh of his own. "Actually, um... I've been thinking about you a lot, too..."

"Even on your date?"

I'd only meant it as a little joke, maybe another conversation starter, but at the mention he seemed... embarrassed.

"Oh, no, that was... That wasn't really... I—I only really did it to get Derek off my back, it—"

I rested a hand on his arm and smiled gently. "Hey, it's alright... I didn't really mean anything by that, I'm just... I meant it before, I'm really glad you did it. I know you said it didn't really work out, but did you have some fun at least?"

He laughed again, but this time there was hardly any humor in it. "Well, she wasn't you..."

I smiled a bit, but immediately following his words was a wide-eyed terror and instant regret. "Oh, I didn't... I'm sorry, I—"

"So, you did think about me on your date, huh?"

He froze then, presumably at the low, seductive drawl I blanketed over my words. His mouth slightly hung open, tongue flittering behind teeth as he tried to find the right words.

I smiled at him, and then he settled on, "Yeah. I did."

"It's not very polite to think of other girls while you're on a date, you know..." I made sure to let him know I was only teasing, and that I just wanted to know what his reaction would be.

Still, he surprised me when he said, "It's not my fault you're impossible to forget..."

He flashed me a smile then, and my stomach twisted deliciously at the little dash of confidence he'd grown in the past minute.

Maybe I could bring more out of him...

"Okay, fair... But it is your fault that you didn't come find me."

"Also fair... But... You're here now..."

Spencer inched closer to me, and I smiled, taking my bottom lip gently between my teeth before leaning in, too. "How about that..."

Our lips brushed for a second, so gentle it was like being tickled by a feather, and then he spoke again, his breath hot on my mouth. "I've... dreamt about seeing you again for so long now... Kissing you..."

"Me, too," I responded, bringing a hand down to graze the inside of his thigh. "Guess it's a good thing I'm a firm believer that dreams come true."

"Yeah," is all he said before he finally took the initiative to finally kiss me.

I sighed, melting into his touch and tightening the grip I had on his leg. Meanwhile his hands rested at my forearms, fingers dancing experimentally over my skin and making me tingle in their wake. And once I parted my lips, he took his shot and gently brought his tongue out to meet mine in a collision that quite frankly made me throb.

He'd been a decent kisser before, but... It's obvious he's had a little practice since then. Not that I'd have minded either way, but damn if this newfound experience didn't give me the most sinful idea.

I felt him whine as I pulled away, and that made everything even better.

"You wanna get out of here?" I said in the cheesiest way possible. But he didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he nodded rapidly and took a quick drink of his beer before following me out of the booth and towards the door.

***

Leading Spencer up and through the doorway of my house was probably the most electrifying 'date' experience I've had... well, ever. I'd been excited to sleep with people, sure, but with Spencer I found something greater. I wasn't entirely sure what that was, yet, but it was definitely good.

He reiterated that thought nicely once the door was closed and his hands were on my face, bringing my mouth to his again while I dropped by keys and haphazardly threw my phone and wallet on the side-table next to us in favor of gripping his shirt.

Just through his kisses I could tell how much he'd longed for this moment. I know he told me, and I'd certainly understood the feeling, but when it came down to actually acting it out in the flesh, I was much more in favor of that method of communication.

I gladly accepted his wordless confessions, through every groan and gentle graze of his tongue that he offered to me. And in return I gave him sharp tugs of his shirt and hair, conveying my urgency and the need to be closer to him.

When my legs started moving, his did, too, and we reluctantly pulled apart in favor of not tripping up the hard wooden staircase on the way to my bedroom. Though, I was thankful he was in just as much of a rush as I was, because otherwise I probably would have gotten embarrassed.

And that didn't happen easily.

I fumbled for the light switch once the door shut and our mouths connected once again, and I could have sworn it was like something out of a trashy TV show. The thought almost made me laugh, but I held it in in favor of moaning when Spencer lowered his hands to my ass and squeezed, pulling us closer together. I finally hit the light switch and then flow both of my arms to wrap around his neck and draw him even closer.

He was everywhere all at once, and it fueled me. I'd come to miss physical human interaction, but I hadn't realized how badly I craved it until he was right there, taking up all of my personal space and aiding me in creating this perfect recipe of frantic, glorious electricity.

It was going to kill me, and I would have gladly let it.

I experimentally rolled my hips forward and felt him gasp into me, and it wasn't long before he started growing hard.

Good... Now I could set the plan in motion.

"Remember what you told me?" I asked breathlessly before our heads switched sides and leaned in for more kisses.

In between them, he returned, "When?"

"The first time we met..." I trailed my lips down the column of his throat as I continued. "When you said you edged yourself..."

"O—Oh... Yeah, I remember."

"Mmm," I hummed, sucking a mark into his neck for the time being. As I did it, the grip he held on my ass tightened a bit, and I laughed lightly over his skin, slowly licking my way up to his ear. "I wanna see..."

The trembling he provided under my influence was a good sign. And then another came when he whispered. "Y—You want to see... me? Touching myself?"

"Mhmm..." I planted kisses all along his jaw before pulling back to look him in the eye, making sure he knew I was serious when I told him, "But only if that's okay with you."

He didn't even take a second to think, nodding rapidly once more and giving me a flash of a smile. "It's okay."

I hummed happily, leaning forward to give him one huge kiss, long and hard, before pulling away from him completely and nodding towards the bed. "Clothes off..."

Our hands got to work as soon as the words left my mouth.

And it wasn't until my shirt was on the ground and Spencer's eyes remained glued to my chest with trembling hands that I realized, even though we'd slept together before, our clothes had never actually come off. Tonight we were completely baring ourselves to each other, and that was somehow more intimate than the idea of taking his virginity was.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt, gently assisting him in removing it, and it must have snapped him out of wherever he'd gotten trapped because he shook his head and let out a nervous laugh, averting his eyes from me and staring at the ground.

"S–Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," I reassured, throwing his shirt to the ground next to mine and bringing his hands to rest on my bare stomach, slowly sliding them up. "I like when you look at me..."

His eyes reached mine once again, breath hitching as I guided his hands to cup my breasts over the bra. "Well, I... I like looking at you."

I kissed him again, hoping to bring forth some familiarity to our current routine, and it worked like a charm. Our movements were slow and steady, each article of clothing joining the floor one by one until we were down to nothing but my underwear.

I led him to the bed then, breaking us apart and making him sit. Now that I was taller than him, I gripped his chin in my hand and tilted his head up to look at me.

"Lay back for me?"

He scooted further along the bed until finally he leaned back, his head resting nicely on my pillows. I climbed up after him, kneeling at his feet and bringing a hand down trace lines along the inside of his thigh. Meanwhile I looked him up and down, finally getting a decent look at his full, bare form.

"Ohh, so pretty... And I bet you're even prettier when you're touching yourself... You wanna start?"

He reached out for his dick in answer, wrapping a delicate hand around it and slowly stroking up and down as he looked up at me with the stars in his eyes. "Like this?"

"However you normally do it, baby. Just relax. Make yourself feel good..."

After a slight nod, his hand picked up a little speed. He swiped his thumb over the tip to gather some precum for lubrication, but as hot as that was, I had a better idea.

"Here, let me help," I offered with a smile, leaning down and bracing my hands on his knees. I let spit gather on the end of my tongue before allowing it to drip down and land right on the tip of his cock. The sound he let out, broken and dripping with want, sent a jolt of electricity through my blood, only amplified by how wet he sounded once he started moving his hand again.

I let my eyes roam all over, taking in every heave of his chest, the veins in his arm and hand as he worked himself, the soft fluttering of his eyes as he lost himself in the moment... At the risk of sounding absolutely cheesy, it truly was a magical sight. I felt entirely lucky that I got to see him again at all, and now like this, bare and vulnerable and exuding lust while I was left to my own devices.

All that to say, I hadn't realized I was touching myself as well, until a whimper came from my mouth, my clit gently throbbing with stimulation at the hands of... well, my hand.

Upon seeing me, Spencer let out a whine of his own, picking up speed with his hand and throwing his head back onto the pillow.

"Y/N..."

He wasn't addressing me, wasn't asking me anything at all... My name on his lips was more of a declaration, like some type of chant, a string of letters and syllables formed specifically to bring him closer to the edge he knew he'd have to resist falling from.

"You getting there, baby?"

"U—Uh huh..."

"You better hold it," I drawled lowly, bringing myself into the more strict persona I wanted to bring out tonight, given that's still something he was into. "Just like you promised."

After a few more hard strokes of his hand, Spencer leg to quickly, bringing his hand to rest on his chest as his mouth let out the most delicious whines and grunts of determination to keep it all in. Without the stimulation, I noticed his dick slightly twitching over his stomach, glistening and  hard...

Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest fucking thing I'd ever experienced with my own eyes and ears...

I pulled my hand out of my underwear, too, still a little shocked that I hadn't realized before that I was doing it to myself and a little turned on at the fact that it had that big of an effect on him.

"I—I would have been able to go longer, but... But you were there, and you were... And I only ever have you in my head, not right in front of me..."

It was obvious that he was probably afraid he'd let me down somehow, and that was definitely not the case. So I leaned down and dragged my hands over his lower stomach, feeling inch of skin while my mouth came down to press featherlight kisses to the base of his dick. "Spence, that was hot as fuck... You really think of me when you do that?"

"Mhm," is all he offered, currently reveling in the way my tongue darted out to explore the lines of his cock.

"I think of you, too," I admitted, pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his tip. "When I touch myself... I think about how pretty you were the first time I called you a slut... Tell me, baby, you still like that?"

"God, Y/N, yes..."

I sucked gently on his tip now, watching as he watched me, his bottom lip occupied between his teeth and his eyes on the brink of closing.

He was getting close again. So I stopped, pulling off of him with a soft pop and smiling as I crawled up his body and planted a kiss to his cheek. My legs straddled his hips, and I got close to his ear.

"Tell me, what about this... other girl you went on a date with... Did you sleep with her?"

"Um... Y—yes..."

"I'm willing to bet she didn't make you feel half as good as I do..."

"She didn't..."

I smiled against his jaw, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair. "Was she mean to you? Did she make you her dirty little whore?"

I could feel him let out a trembling breath as he answered, "No."

"That's right," I said softly, right before switching gears and tugging on his hair, pulling back to look in his eyes. "Because you're my dirty little whore."

His cock twitched along my ass at my words, and it made me smile. But before I could speak again, he did it first.

"I'm all yours, Y/N... No one else's..."

I couldn't help it then. His words, our position, the needy look in his eyes as he confessed this to me... All of it was enough to make me snap.

So I leaned in and kissed him, hard. My hands tangled in his hair while his flew to my waist, sliding down to play with the hem of my underwear as his tongue slipped into my mouth and against my own with ease. I swallowed each whine with the greatest pleasure, my hips involuntarily grinding down and spreading the evidence of my arousal along the fabric of my panties. I wondered then if he could feel how wet I was, how much I wanted him.

I didn't have to wonder for long though, because he slipped one of his hands around front and dipped into said fabric, finding how wet I was and groaning into my mouth at the feel of it.

"You've been dying to get another try at this pussy, haven't you?" I whispered into his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, I was met with a whine in return. "Uh huh... I missed you so much..."

I ground down into his hand, nipping at his lips a little before giving my next demand.

"Then prove it."

Rather than fingering me like I expected him to, Spencer rolled over and straddled my legs, tearing my panties down and leaving me with a smile.

"I love the confidence you've grown, baby boy... Proves how dedicated you are... to being the best little slut you can be."

"Yes, Y/N," he responded, leaning down and kissing the inside of my thigh. "I wanna be good for you... Let me show you, please..."

"Show me..."

His tongue came in contact with my pussy, and it immediately sent my head flying back into the pillows, a low whine escaping my throat. He flicked it over my clit expertly a few times before going down and licking a broad strip up the entire area. Vibrations flittered along his path through his groans, and just hearing how much he enjoyed it had me clenching the sheets for stability.

"Ohh, what a good boy," I praised, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair back. "Who's my good little whore?"

He grumbled into me, but I tugged at his hair.

"Say it."

He pulled away briefly then, still in contact with my pussy as he breathed out, "I'm your good little whore..." And then he promptly got back to work, devouring me with a hungry precision that made me laugh.

"Needy, too, I see... So desperate for that cunt..."

"Yes, " I heard him mumble into me. He repeated it a few more times, chanting it as his tongue flicked through me and tasted every last drop of my impending orgasm.

I sat up a little and held his head to me, his tongue moving at a quicker, more relentless pace. My stomach started to twist and my legs clenched, holding Spencer firmly between my legs as my hips rolled forward and met his every movement. Moans fell sweetly off my lips with every second, getting higher and higher until I finally held myself still and let the high take over. His tongue drew out one of the sharpest orgasms I'd ever had, the fervor he delivered making me see stars for a solid twenty to thirty seconds before it finally subsided and my muscles started to relax.

"Fuck," I breathed, almost whining when he removed his mouth from me and just kneeled there, studying my form as I tried to catch my breath. "Get up here," I asked more than demanded, though it might have been hard to tell what with my head spinning.

Spencer climbed over my body and I pulled his face down into a warm, wet kiss that had me tasting myself and growing wet again at the taste. I pulled away then, looking into his eyes and playing with his hair.

"I can't believe you didn't come see me sooner... Depriving me of that pretty fucking mouth..."

He kissed me again briefly, whining into my mouth before I continued. "But no... You were busy going on dates..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, kissing my cheek softly, over and over as his lips made their way down to my neck. "I'm so sorry, I... I wanted to see you, I just..."

"I know, I know," I cooed, closing my eyes and relishing in the feel of his lips on my skin. "But tonight you're gonna make up for lost time, got it?"

"Yes... Yes, I'll do whatever you want..."

I hummed, bringing his head back up to meet his gaze, and my thumb stroked over his bottom lip. "I want you to put that pretty cock to good use and fuck me like the desperate little slut I know you are..."

I kissed him then, gasping out once he shifted his hips and entered me slowly— I knew he was going to get to it quickly, but I guess I'd underestimated his need to please me.

The sentiment had me curling with want, more of it coming when he bottomed out inside me and trembled. Really, I could feel him shaking as he started to pull out and then back in, setting a steady pace that would surely become more erratic once I started talking to him again.

"Shit..." Spencer cursed, shifting up on his arms for more leverage as he steadily drilled into me. "I m—missed this... Missed you..."

"I know, baby, I know... I missed you, too... And you know what else?"

I drifted one of my hands down in between us, spreading out my fingers so that his cock fit nicely between them as he fucked me. The added friction of my fingers had him whining out, dropping his head down so that his ear was right by my mouth.

I whispered. "So did my pussy... So you better fuck her good..."

The sudden brutal velocity in which he slammed his hips against mine felt like a strike of lightning, and the loud groan he let out against my neck was the thunder. Everything shifted then, Spencer lifting himself up and holding onto my legs as he drilled into me at full force, his body glistening with exertion and my own succumbing to his wind.

"Yeah, that's it," I cooed through a laugh of pure pride. "That's a good fucking whore... Giving me that cock like I own it..."

"Y—You... do," he stuttered through a broken whine. He was getting close again, and I knew just the thing to do the trick.

I reached my hand up to hold his neck, not applying any pressure, but just holding as I forced his eyes down to look at me. "That's right... That slutty cock is mine... Now give it to me..."

The end of my sentence was punctuated with a sharp cry out as another orgasm tore through me. I shouted Spencer's name into the abyss as He fucked me through it and started twitching inside me, signaling his end as well. And the added warmth from his cum as it coated my insides well and truly marked me as his, despite the words we'd just exchanged.

I belonged to him just as much as he did to me, and I wondered if he knew that. If he knew just how much he inhabited my every thought.

I wanted him to know that I was practically infatuated with him.

But that conversation could wait until after we were... settled down.

He was still inside me as he slumped forward, laying his head on my chest and rubbing lines into my forearm.

"You okay?" I asked gently, combing through his hair with my fingers.

"Most definitely... Just... tired."

I smiled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You're welcome to stay here for the night..."

He was silent for a long while, almost so long that I thought he'd actually fallen asleep. But then he said, "Right here? With you?" and my heart soared.

"Of course."

Truthfully, I'd have let him stay forever.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold, and his body was nowhere to be found.

***

Dear Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you alone last week. I know you must be a little hurt and confused, but if you aren't, then just forget I ever said anything.

Nonetheless, I regretted leaving you behind last time without at the very least sending you a letter, so I hope this one finds you well. After all, you have shown me experiences I never could have imagined enjoying as much as I did, so I should thank you for that.

But that's not all that this letter is for.

I also want to invite you out to dinner some time. I know this might be a little unconventional, but given how we met and also how we reunited, I figured this would be a fun, romantic way to ask you out. I understand if you don't feel that way given that I've more or less abandoned you twice now, but I promise it was all for good reason.

If you'd like to talk more, about anything I've disclosed in this letter, I've attached my phone number below, otherwise I'd love to hear back from you. I know this sounds strange, but I've been dying to know what your handwriting looks like. I bet it's pretty, like you.

Once again, I am truly sorry for leaving you behind without a word, but I want a chance to make it up to you. Please say you'll reach out. Otherwise, I know where to find you if you'd rather I make some cheesy romantic comedy—esque gesture of affection that either makes you fall in love with me or hate me.

Yours, Spencer Reid

***

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[thedoubteriswise]

okay so. I am a smart adult with many important responsibilities. I have good taste and care about things that matter. for this reason, I’ve been trying to identify where in cql canon wangxian manage to fuck.

because they definitely do; I like a good post-canon getting together fic as much as the next guy, but it’s just not realistic.

allow them. it’s already been so long.

(just like this goddamn post turned out to be, let’s do a cut)

right. so initially it looks like you could place this right after the time skip in episode 33, because it shows us that wwx is with lwj in cloud recesses. we know that he spent the night in the jingshi because he wakes up there the next morning before he goes for a nostalgic tour of his old school.

and also visits the cold spring, where lwj is mostly naked. nice.

but wait! wwx is surprised by the scars on his back and chest. that seems like something he would have known about if they’d already been naked together the night before, so I’m going to say they did not fuck immediately upon wwx’s return to cloud recesses. okay, fine, they’re taking things slow, that’s cool.

maybe they could work it into the next night, then. oh wait, lqr is injured and... staying in the jingshi? for reasons?

I don’t know why. he must have his own house in cloud recesses, and it’s probably at least as comfortable as lwj’s, but here he is. he lives to stop his nephew from getting laid, I guess.

the next day they do some Q&A with the kids and determine that they need to head to qinghe to figure out what’s going on with this sword thing. great! we love a romantic road trip, plenty of alone time. but they also have to do their jobs, and then jin ling needs to get rescued from a wall of dirt, and jc is unfortunately there being himself, and then they have to grill nhs about his tomb full of angry sabers, etc. etc.

with all that going on, their next obvious chance is at the inn immediately after interviewing nhs. this evening has already included:

wwx gazing lovingly at lwj from afar

lwj carrying wwx on his back

lwj pawing at wwx’s robes trying to deal with his cursed leg

lwj helping wwx up the stairs, serving him wine, fixing his flute, and generally being at his beck and call

a very sexy and homoerotic duet

and now they’re alone and drooling over each other as usual. this seems like a plausible spot, right?

it does! but no. after they go back to the nie basement o’ swords and hear the backstory on nmj’s death, we see them walking in yueyang and lwj asks wwx how the curse mark on his leg is doing. wwx says it’s almost healed, which may or may not be a lie, but his inner monologue says:

he’s more concerned about the wound on his arm from the sacrificing curse, which lwj doesn’t know about, because wwx won’t tell him and they still haven’t been naked together.

also, this silly teenage shit doesn’t make much sense unless they’re still dancing around each other.

you guys love the sound of opportunities as they go flying past, don’t you?

right after this, lwj gets drunk. I’m aware that Stuff Happens in the novel scene that inspired this bit, and they do incorporate some of that into the show by having lwj commit petty larceny and admit that he “likes rabbits” as part of the softest and most loving conversation in human history oh my god

but lwj goes to sleep right on time, and the next morning, wwx is laughing and reassuring him that nothing happened.

after this, it’s time to go on a fucked up field trip with the kids in yi city, so they don’t really have any time alone for a few episodes until they’ve finished that and everyone is back at yet another inn. I wonder if they learned something about wasted chances and poor communication from this miserable songxiao story?

maybe! look, they’re being cute and domestic. there are currently no material barriers preventing them from having sex, nor will there be any specific evidence later on proving that they didn’t.

but they’re still firmly in mystery-solving mode and the juniors and lxc are floating around. the vibe isn’t quite there. if I were to pick the most solid reason why I think they’re saving room for jesus at this point, it would be the tension that happens when wwx again asks how lwj recognized him. lwj asks why his memory is so bad, and wwx replies that he wishes he had a bad memory. even though they’re comfortable and happy being together, there’s still some fundamental distance remaining. there’s no sense of romantic resolution. that was actually a point against all their previous opportunities as well; they’re all very sweet, but none of these feel like the place in a story where the romantic leads Officially Get Together.

okay, off to koi tower! shit is getting extremely real. everyone’s busy insinuating that they recognize wwx, but no one is saying it explicitly. wwx isn’t supposed to be here. the guy he’s pretending to be also isn’t supposed to be here. he and his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s brother are trying to figure out if his boyfriend’s brother’s boyfriend is a murderer. no one is comfortable and the political intrigue leaves no time for fucking in front of anyone’s salad.

I guess there’s plenty of time to make dozens of armed guards and like half the people they know wait while they have a romantic moment, though.

could they be more in love? And that sure feels like a romantic resolution that might be followed by narratively-earned sex.

ah. no, unfortunately wwx gets stabbed again. this certainly sucks, but it does have the helpful consequence of making lwj take him back to cloud recesses, where they are mostly alone and as safe as they can be in the circumstances. now there’s even more tenderness and also some plot-justified touching and skin exposure. plus, lwj just made a very public declaration of love.

too bad wwx has probably been unconscious since he started coughing up blood in the forest near lanling. he’s also still visibly in pain. fresh abdominal wounds tend to kill the mood.

but hey, the injuries on this show are only as serious as they need to be to move the plot forward and facilitate gentle h/c scenes, so by evening he’s looking perfectly healthy and walking around under his own steam like nothing’s wrong. I guess that problem can be ignored moving forward.

lxc then offers the the most devastating highlights of lwj’s backstory, like, all at once. it’s nice that he includes a flute solo to give wwx a second to process this mountain of terrible information. what the fuck.

there he is! the most devoted man in the whole world! turns out they can actually be more in love after all.

and then the following scene... look, I’m lazy and I don’t know how to make gifs, but screenshots cannot properly convey how good it is. you all know. the hesitant way wwx approaches, the slow and gentle piano version of wangxian, the two of them watching the snow together, it’s. ugh.

remember how I was talking about how the last scene with no material barriers was an unlikely candidate because of the lack of romantic resolution?

well, here’s wwx still being cagey at the beginning of this conversation.

and here they are in the middle of this conversation, having some epiphanies about the course of wwx’s life - I love this shot for a lot of reasons, but I extra love it because it shows wwx out in the snow, with lwj as the safety and warmth waiting behind him, god this show goes hard, holy shit

they both recall their vow to live with a clean conscience and internally say some very corny things about each other because they are both So Much, and then,

ah, what the hell. he can say it out loud after all. romantic resolution accomplished.

and then the camera slowly pulls away as wuji plays.

a slow zoom out? swelling music? listen, I am a connoisseur, I know a tasteful fade-to-black indicating a sex scene that won’t happen on camera when I see one. at last, we have a winner!

now you may think this post is finally over, but I actually have one more piece of evidence for you - the next scene shows the two of them the morning after, meditating behind a screen in the hanshi while lxc is waiting for jgy to show up.

before wwx got de-cored, he was a pretty powerful cultivator, right? the chances that he’s just bad at meditating or that he can’t stay focused on this task seem slim to me. so why does he keep falling asleep?

well. he had kind of a late night.

[keijislove]

Hi babe! I was wondering if I could request a Tony Stark x daughter reader? With lots of angst and her being locked in her room because she’s being bullied for her darker skin

(I understand if you’re not comfortable with this)

Safe Place: Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

I think this turned out a bit longer than I expected.

Sorry :(

I hope you like this, I don’t really have a lot of experience with this matter, so I hope I captured the emotions right!

I AM APOLOGISING IN ADVANCE, THE HURTFUL COMMENTS MENTIONED HERE ARE NOT ONES I WOULD EVER USE IN MY LIFETIME.

GIRL, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY YOU ARE – YOU DON’T NEED DIMWITS LIKE RACISTS TO DEFINE BEAUTY. YOU WANT THE DEFINITION OF BEAUTY, GO LOOK IN THE MIRROR.

PUT A STOP TO RACISM.

WARNINGS: Slight EXTREMELY racial comments, mentions of death, toxic relationship, angst, Tony being a little... well, Tony.

Being Tony Stark’s daughter was nearly everyone’s dream. Well, everyone you’d come across at school, anyway. It seemed rational from their point of view – big house, big bedroom, expensive branded clothing, basically an overall exquisite lifestyle coupled with fame of being his daughter which was sure to earn popularity points anywhere and everywhere. A man rolling in that amount of money would make a great dad... right?

You thought differently. Which was one of the main reasons you did not tell anyone who your father really was and your teachers understood your predicament and played along to your story of being an ordinary girl with no scope for coolness whatsoever.

Your mother had met your father a long, long time ago – when Tony was still in university. Of course, he’d left her before he even knew she was pregnant, and they never saw each other again. You didn’t exactly love your life as his daughter. In fact, from what your mother had told you, he was (in your vision) a complete monster whom your mother had the sad misfortune to meet.

It was her untimely death that had forced you to go live with the man who was the reason you were born and the man who ruthlessly left your mother to fend for herself and a baby. You had tried for foster care, but the agents told you that your father was still alive and more than capable of taking care of you – being the famous Tony Stark and all.

So it would suffice to say that Tony was lowkey shocked when you turned up at his doorstep one day with a grudging expression and declarations of being his daughter. He actually didn’t believe you at first and asked you to piss off which confirmed your earlier assumptions about his character – asshole. After you’d snapped at him and showed him all the legal documentations stating that you two were blood-related as father-daughter after all, Tony was even more shocked than earlier.

Though he would rather die than admit it, he felt sad after seeing your fourteen-year-old self standing at his doorstep. He’d missed your birth, your first steps, your first words, he even missed helping you with homework in preschool – basically all precious moments you enjoy with a child. But you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to be here – something that made Tony’s already overlarge pride swell like a bullfrog and stopped him from ever getting close to you. While you were busy thinking he didn’t want you, you overlooked a small detail – he took you in.

If anyone had the power to bribe an adoption agency to get rid of their kid, it was Anthony Stark, yet he never gave you away. The simple explanation (that he would never, in a million years, admit it to you) was that he didn’t want to lose you – around the only blood-related family he had left.

And so began your life as Y/N Stark. It functioned surprisingly well for your expectations. Pepper was really nice to you and those few occasions when the Avengers came over, you were able to talk to Natasha about ‘girl things’, her presence reminding you of the mother you had lost only too young. You sometimes even asked Bruce for help with homework, too proud yourself to go to Tony. Overall, you stayed out of his way while he stayed out of yours – an arrangement you were both satisfied with.

The worst part was that you never talked. Ever. You would wake up and walk to school, refusing Jarvis’ continued protests of letting you use the self-driving car, came home the same way where you did your homework and grabbed a snack before you ‘father’ came back upstairs from his little man cave in the basement and a small ‘good-evening’ passed between you two as you went your separate ways. This cycle repeated itself every day. Recently, your life at school hadn’t been going great.

You’d known that your skin tone was a notch darker than the others at your school – something you had gotten from your mother – and this was not something you really cared about. That’s when they started coming – the comments. What were originally small, snide retorts of ‘wash your face, ew!’ (A/N: I AM SO SORRY) had now escalated to them calling you obscene names you’d never heard before and asking you to leave ‘their’ school

Which was why, instead of being at school today, you were locked in your bedroom, sobbing into your pillow.

It had started out as a very unusual morning. After getting comments hurled at you left right and centre the previous day, you’d had enough. You’d woken up and declared to Jarvis that you were skipping school and he was to, under no circumstances, notify your father about this. After that you tried to eat some cereal, but the bubbling dread in your stomach made it taste like dry carpet, so you gave up and stomped into your room, locking the door before flinging yourself onto the bed and crying your heart out.

It was in times like these that you felt the need for something – a gaping hole in your chest. It seemed foolish to even admit it to yourself, but you really wanted someone like a parent. Someone who listened to your problems and comforted you accordingly, someone who actually cared about you. And since Tony Stark filled neither of these requirements, you gave up the foolish dream and sunk, once again, into your self-fashioned depths of misery.

-------

Tony casually sipped on his wine, putting one last screw into place to make the latest piece he was testing out. As he powered the device on, it vibrated for a moment before the words ‘model failed’ appeared on the screen Tony was examining.

He swore loudly and shoved it ungracefully aside before running his hands through his hair. There had been many an occasion where Tony seriously considered going to your room to just say something to you that wasn’t a monotonous ‘good evening’ or ‘the milk’s finished’ or something else like that. He wanted to talk to you. To you.

He wanted to get to know the real Y/N – what you were like when you weren’t too busy being bold and refusing to appear vulnerable. As if reading his thoughts, Jarvis’ voice filled the room suddenly.

“Sir, I do believe that Ms Stark is currently locked inside her bedroom. She refused to go to school just this morning.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed, “Why, did she tell you anything else?”

“Just this, Sir, along with a few obscene warnings of not informing you about this occurrence. If I recall correctly, Ms Stark told me she would rip out my sockets with her bare hands had I come to you.”

Ignoring the small smirk that was growing on his lips at the thought of you behaving exactly as he would, Tony wiped his tired hands on a nearby cloth before sprinting out the door and up the stairs to your bedroom.

He knocked on the door.

“Go away Pepper, not in the mood,” came your muffled voice. It was weak and raw – evidently, you had been crying.

Ignoring the poking feeling of dread bubbling in his stomach, Tony knocked again.

“Open up, kid, it’s me,” he shouted.

“Definitely not in the mood, thanks.”

Tony sighed. This was exactly what he had tried so hard to avoid –turning out like his own father. Not knowing how to deal with a daughter properly, he just let you go about your business as you wanted, hoping that it would yield better results than what his childhood had been like. Now, looking back at how much he’d neglected you, he suddenly realised that he had done the exact thing he was afraid of – hurt you.

“Y/N Y/M/N Stark, open the door. Please.”

Perhaps it was the please at the end or the way he acknowledged you as his living, breathing daughter for the first time that made you stagger limply over to the door and push it open.

Your eyes were puffy, red and swollen from bawling nonstop and your brows were knitted into a disapproving frown. It broke Tony’s heart to see you like this.

“Listening,” you sniffed, crossing your arms.

“Okay, why don’t you sit down,” Tony frowned slightly.

You gave another hearty sniff and led him to your bed where you flopped down and watched as he took a seat beside you.

You both sat in a very painful, deafening silence for the next few minutes.

“You didn’t go to school today,” Tony casually remarked as you played with your pillow, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I did,” you said simply.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tony offered.

“I really don’t,” you admitted as he burst out laughing and you gave a grudging giggle despite yourself.

“Seriously, kid,” Tony said in an undertone, “You’ve gotta open up a bit more. I mean, it’s been like what, two years since you moved here and you never bother telling me what’s going on. And look where that got you – come on, tell me what’s going on. Is it school?”

“Partially,” you quietly said to which he cocked an eyebrow.

“Completely,” you amended, sighing, “Kids, you know, they’re just being – well, mean.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded slightly, “You want to talk about it?”

“They... they make fun of me,” you admitted, “About – about my skin colour and stuff. And I know I’m being stupid, getting upset over this –”

“It’s not stupid,” Tony broke in, “It’s not stupid at all. Nothing gives anyone a right to talk to you that way.”

“Try telling that to them!” you burst out, final letting go of the pent-up emotions you’d been holding for days, “What did I ever do to them – it’s not my fault I look like this, maybe if I could choose what to look like, I’d choose something they want! Just about everyone seems to have a problem – what the hell do they expect me to do? It’s unjust, unfair, unsettling and unkind, but of course they don’t care, do they?!”

Tony didn’t even flinch throughout your entire outburst until you broke down and tears began rapidly pouring out of your eyes once more.

“Hey, hey, stop, listen to me,” Tony sternly said, seizing your shoulders and turning you to face him.

“You’re a Stark,” he said, gazing you dead in the eyes, “You are beautiful, you’re smart and you’re kind. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

This was too much for you to handle and you started sobbing again – sobs of partial happiness and partial guilt that didn’t look like they would stop anytime soon.

“Come here, kid,” was all Tony could say as he pulled you into a hug, allowing you to sob into his shirt while he stroked your hair, trying to calm you down.

“I’m sorry if I’ve ever been mean to you,” you whispered finally.

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m sorry I haven’t been a great father all this time.”

You two sat in a now comfortable silence, occasionally clearing your throats or sniffling a bit before Tony finally spoke.

“If anyone says that to you again, I will have them cut up and fed to the fish in my house in Malibu.”

“Thanks, dad.”