#even when i was coining like behind the scenes i was being a bitter little binch and generally wasnt enjoying it

[gender-darling]

love the liomoqai community forever btw

[autisticskeleton-s]

Good Omens season 2 is about what religious trauma does to indoctrinated people, and here’s why.

so i finally watched Good Omens after my friends BEGGED me to ever since the first season first dropped and even though the ending stabbed me in the balls repeatedly for several hours i can’t help but marvel about how genius the ending really is and how crucial it is to both Aziraphale and Crowley as characters

i was hesitant to watch this show bc i was indoctrinated and conditioned by evangelicalism from birth (i’m literally the kid of two ex-missionaries and my dad was a chaplain for 36 years) and i knew that i could easily get triggered if i wasn’t careful.

i’m so glad i watched this show. there’s many reasons but i really just wanna talk about the ending of s2 aka The Divorce. it went entirely over my friends heads bc none of them grew up in the church but when i watched the ending it felt like i was watching pieces of myself at war with each other even though they didn’t want to be. to me, i was watching two people so broken by heaven and hell that they don’t understand that what they’re doing is hurting themselves more than it’s hurting each other. this is a pretty long ramble so i’ll continue under the cut

Aziraphale and Crowley are two halves of the same coin (literally soulmates) and are narrative foils to each other. obviously right, i mean, everyone noticed that. but what they truly represent in the grand scheme of things is the fallout of religious trauma. Crowley has seen the absolute Worst of heaven and the angels. he’s been outcast, scorned, and tortured for (assuming based on the opening scene of season 2) simply asking questions and questioning his faith. Aziraphale is the poster child of what a good angel is in the eyes of heaven and has reaped the benefits for millennia.

what is happening here is a war between two halves of a whole, Denial vs Bitterness.

as a young child it was drilled into my head over and over that my faith had to be as strong as a rock all the time or i would crumble like sand. i idolized all the bible characters and memorized all the verses and did all the good and right things i was supposed to. i was a standard in all the churches i went to, i was the example of what a good christian was, and i knew it.

then, over time, i began to see behind the curtain on what was really going on in the church and i was devastated. how could something based on love do all of that? why am i so scared to think freely? why do i feel like i can never be good enough? the more i questioned the more shame i felt and the more bitter i became, but i longed to go back to that innocence of being the best little christian kid in the church.

Aziraphale cannot truly comprehend the uncomfortable reality that what he’s been subscribing to all this time isn’t good for him. heaven has been hurting him for a long time and he doesn’t understand that. how can something he thinks is so right, so true, so good hurt him and his friends so much? no, it must be something he’s done right? it must be some bad apples right? the whole orchard can’t be bad right? he just has to fix this. he just has to make it better for him and for Crowley and then everything will be ok again.

Crowley can’t wrap his mind around why Aziraphale cares so fucking much. hasn’t he seen what heaven and hell have done? they barely stopped the end of the fucking world!!! they tried to destroy both of them with holy water and hellfire!!!!! they’re still trying to meddle in their personal lives after everything!!! why is Aziraphale so stubborn???? why does he choose something so asinine over him? Crowley has been there for Aziraphale a hell of a lot more than heaven has, can’t he see that?

both of them are hurting deep down into their very souls and they just can’t see it. that’s what religious trauma does to you. it strips you so bare of your personhood that without your religion, who are you? without your god, you’re just an empty shell. you’re nothing without “us”, without the church.

without Aziraphale trying and failing to fix heaven, he’s never gonna understand how corrupt of a system it all is.

without Crowley learning that Aziraphale is hurting just as much as he is, he’s never gonna learn that Aziraphale really had his best intentions at heart and just wanted to do what he thought was the good thing

without both of them realizing that they’re both wrong, they’re never gonna come together and really stand up for themselves and for their friends and for earth as a whole. without this grief, without this pain, without this separation, they’re never going to be truly free

and i, for one, cannot wait to see them kick some ass when they decide that enough is enough

[prosperdemeter2]

Behind the Scenes for “almost home” if you have the time?

OH MY GOD yes I have time for this. The entire day by day series means so much to be and I still fully believe it's potentially some of the best work I've ever done.

I don't know if I have a favorite scene in the installment, tbh. So I'll just pick one that I've brought up in therapy (literally 😅 my therapist has a link to this series because I worked through so much while writing it.).

I'm hiding it under the Read More so people can scroll past this if they want 😅

It's the scene where they're in the car on their way to pick up Chris and Liana from the Hershey police department. That big confrontation between Adriana and Buck. This entire trip was meant to sort of... symbolize everything the Buckley-Diaz family has gone through so far to get to a stable place of being. Like... can you really be healed, if you don't also end up confronting where your pain comes from?

Funnily enough, I didn't have Adriana set up to be the bad guy, so to speak, when I started the story. It was never supposed to actually go as far or as long as it did, I just... loved the story so much. And then when I was on vacation I couldn't get the potential plot point of Eddie’s relationship with Sophia out of my head and... things with Adriana sort of spiraled to represent my deteriorating relationship with my own sister (one of them). BUT anyway, Buck finally confronting Adriana was so important to me to put in, because so far he hadn't been in the right place to ever give Adriana what she wanted - a fight.

It was incredibly important to me to show the entire time that Buck understood exactly what it was that Liana was going through, even if the two of them weren't on the same side of the coin. He was sort of, accidentally even, projecting his own anxieties onto her (evidenced by him flashing back when Liana and Adriana get in a fight).

“Because Christopher is perfect ,” Adriana crossed her arms and looked out the window. Inside the little convenience store Eddie was at the counter, paying with a tired frown on his face. They were all still in their pajamas, but Buck was thankful that his and Eddie’s, at least, were simple sweatpants rather than fuzzy blue things like Adriana was sporting. “He can’t do anything wrong.”

Adriana compares her entire life to Eddie. It's a fault of the way they were raised, but it's also just who she is as a person. She's so incredibly jealous of the person he's become that it comes out in every single aspect of her life. In her eyes, he's perfect to everyone else and she is the only one that can see the flaws. She's projecting that same feeling onto Christopher, because their parents unknowingly do the same thing to him that they did with Eddie.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Buck couldn’t help himself, Liana’s face at the mention of their wedding floating in his mind.

Adriana rolled her eyes. “I was fifteen once,” she rolled her lips with a scowl. Buck realized he had never really seen her smile. He wondered, absently, if it looked anything like Eddie or Sophia’s. “I too tried to run away from home.”

Adriana doesn't get it. She's like... she's like all of those moms who's have trauma themselves that think that their trauma informs them of the kind they throw onto their kids. She has given Liana a stable home, with both of her parents around, and she doesn't understand why her daughter isn't THANKFUL for that over angry. She sees it all and labels it as "typical teenage angst", missing the fact that, when you're a teenager, everything feels so heightened.

“She didn’t run away from home, Adriana.”

She laughed, a bitter eye-roll painting her face. “Imbécil.”

The leather cracked as he sat up, a stream of anger clawing at his insides. “She ran away from you .”

Now THIS part, I had stuck in my head since dreaming up this conversation. Not a lot of kids run away from home without a reason, and Liana isn't excempt from that. And who better to point it out to Adriana than someone who so BADLY wanted to be seen when he was that age? Buck has been where Liana is here - he begged and begged for his parents to see him and they never did. Instead of him running away physically, he did it mentally. And then he tried to do it in body and soul by attempting suicide.

“You think I purposely pushed my daughter to run away?”

“I think you’re telling yourself that it’s everyone else’s fault but your own.” He corrected. “I think it’s easier for you to sit here and take out all of your anger about everything that’s gone wrong in your life on your brother than it is to accept responsibility.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I think you spend more time comparing your child to ours than you do accepting her for who she is regardless of flaws.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think there have been signs staring you in the face that something was going to happen for years and you just ignored them.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I think you’re incredibly lucky that Liana decided to physically run away rather than do anything far worse.”

“She wouldn’t .”

“We both know that’s not true.”

And then there's! There's this! And this is huge! For more than just because someone is finally confronting Adriana but because this shows SO MUCH how Buck has grown over the series. He went from not even TALKING about his attempt unless it was on the surface to outright telling Adriana what he needed when he was that age. The signs Buck’s talking about were there with him too, and just like Liana, they were ignored until they couldn't be anymore.

"That's exactly what you're saying. I'm doing such a bad job and obviously my daughter isn't just acting out -." 

"It's never just acting out ." 

"And she's not just trying to drive me crazy -." 

"No kid wants to be fighting with their parents all the time." 

"Please, you tell me, with all two years of your experience what it is that I'm doing wrong." 

"You're not listening ." 

"Oh, I listen, alright. I listen every single time Liana screams at me and tells me I'm a horrible mother. As if I haven't given up everything for her and her brother! Like I didn't put my dreams aside when I had her at sixteen -." 

"She didn't ask to be born!" 

"Well, I didn't ask to be her mom!" 

"But you consciously made that decision!" 

"I was sixteen!" 

"You are thirty-four!" 

I'm going to be honest here, this was ALL ME. This was everything I wanted to scream at my own mother over and over again until she understood. There is only so much that you can use your own trauma as an excuse. Adriana was a child with a child, just like my mother was a child going through some terrible life experiences, it was not Liana's fault (just as it wasn't mine) that she was born. It's not her fault that her mother is incapable of offering her the same sympathy and understanding. she wanted when she was her age. And it also does still directly parallel Buck’s own story growing up - he didn't ask to take Daniel's spot. He didn't ask his parents not to mourn. He just asked to be loved.

"You know what? This is about Eddie."

"Not everything -."

"I don't know what your parents did to you guys growing up to make you think there's this… this… this competition between you two but this is affecting your kids ."

"That's not what's happening -."

"If you're not careful with how you step you are going to lose your daughter, okay? You're right, I don't have any idea what you've been through but I do know what she's been through. I know what it's like to be the kid that your parents very obviously never wanted."

"I want my daughter -."

"You just said you didn't."

"You're misunderstanding me!"

"No, you just can't make up your mind!" He tossed up his hands in frustration. "Listen, if I can't wrap my head around it how can you expect her to? If all she hears is everything you've given up in order for her to survive, how is she ever going to be able to trust that?"

"I love her."

"Adriana, this isn't love!" He wanted to beg her to understand. There was so much Evan would give for someone to have told his parents this, to have woken them up with harsh words when he needed it most. But no one had, as far as he knew, and he had been left to deal with it all alone. "You know what it's like to be the kid that's not the favorite. I know you do." Her eyes flickered to his and then down at knees, her lips pursed and fingers picking at a thread in her pajama pants. "Don't you remember being fifteen? Seeing how your parents looked at Eddie and wondering what you did wrong ?"

Sharply, Adriana looked back up at him. "You don't…"

"It took twenty- eight years for me to figure out why my parents acted like I ruined their life by being born. Another year after that to learn that that's not my fault ." He shrugged. "And not to even think about what that did to my sister to know she's the favorite because she was the one they planned ."

"That…" Adriana trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. She licked her lips and rubbed a hand through her hair.

"It's not my fault for how I was raised any more than it's Liana’s."

"That's not fair ."

"Life isn't fair, Adriana. I'm sorry you had to live in Eddie's shadow, okay? And I'm… I'm sorry your parents won't ever apologize for that. But you're an adult now. Liana’s a kid, " he was pleading, if that could be it. Begging her to understand something he had tried for years to get his parents to see. "It's not up to her to put in the work, okay? Being a parent… I think it means putting in all the work yourself so that your kids aren't stuck doing all the hard stuff by themselves, right?" He licked his lips, drumming on his knee nervously with his fingers. "It matters what's going on with you and Eddie."

The amount of times I was told that love meant being in pain... that love meant giving up parts of myself to keep the peace... it made this whole conversation so visceral to write. Buck screaming that "this isn't love" was something I remember thinking myself when my mother made me feel so terrible about myself that I turned to harm. Love isn't meant to make your children turn inwards instead of turning to you and this was a very important lesson that Adriana had to learn and no one was bothering to tell her. No one is at fault for how they were raised here, not Adriana or Eddie or Buck, but there does reach a point where you have to start working on yourself in order to make sure your children don't get stuck in the mess.

This is so long and I could go on and on about this series forever xhsisjnsns.

[faerunfcrged]

so last night (this morning) before i went to bed, one of the last quests i did was picking up the save the artist quest, where you have the choice whether to buy / steal / whatever the artist that's trapped in the thief's guild type org under the burning building ... and i was super tired and didn't really give it a whole lot of thought at the time. i was like haha of course astarion knew the gossip about this guy being the runaway husband to be bc social circles, butterfly / chameleon etc. and went to bed but i was thinking about it a little bit ago and like honestly ?

that entire conversation and beginning of that plot / quest as astarion is so poignant? and shows how much of a difference there is between (my) astarion and the astarion that's existed in baldur's gate under cazador's control these last two hundred years like - just being giving the freedom to make his own choices, the nights that he's spent in the company of his little cadre of companions, the people that he's run into that have needed his help that he -- for reasons he still doesn't quite understand -- felt compelled to help even though he thinks that's not in his nature because he's been monstrous for so long as the beast on cazador's leash --

for me, my astarion is snippy and sarcastic and bitter and angry but that also motivates him to do the exact opposite of what cazador would've commanded him to do just because HE CAN now -- rescuing the kid from the harpiest? reluctantly agreeing to act as go between with zevlor and khaga, then realizing there was some serious fucked up influencing going on behind the scenes and outing khaga's alliance ---- and then choosing a diplomatic solution (as much as is possible in the framework of the plot) and giving her the chance at redemption --- all of these things he does out of spite -- because while it might seem to go against his surly and sardonic nature, he CAN do these things because cazador CAN'T stop him and can't MAKE him be his murder mayhem seduction death and destruction machine he can do whatever he wants ---

and the artist, begging for the chance at his freedom, assuring reward and favors for letting him free -- it's a hundred percent symbolic of the way astarion existed in his first years / decades under cazador's control -- begging for freedom, for release, for death - bargaining with anything and everything he had, pleading to be released, slowly being whittled away and broken down into this sad imitation of clay that was a person to be reshaped into what cazador made him, stripping away all the kindness and mercy and things that astarion had -- which is NOT to say that he was a good and angelic person before, but in comparison to what he became under cazador's thumb, even anyone with a modicum of grace and compassion would seem angelic ---

and here is this man, who would have been prime fodder for astarion in baldur's gate, would have been exactly the kind of person that he would snatch up or prey upon their weakness and vulnerability in one form or another to take back to cazador... only now, astarion gets to decide. astarion gets to choose for himself, what he is going to do with regards to this man's life and future. he holds the possibility of freedom or an eternity in slavery in his hands and he barely even bats an eye at the dilemma before he's demanding that the trader give him the artist, and if he wasn't willing to part with the artist, astarion would've massacred them all without blinking an eye ... and begrudging or not, he opted to give the man coin to make his way home because (the way he justifies it to himself) is that if he's already 'made an investment' in the man, it makes no sense to leave him penniless to starve or die without being able to afford a room or a ride or whatever -- and mentally, he's justifying all of this as he's going to need favours, he's going to need people with influence if he has any hope of overthrowing cazador and taking his place or whatever when he gets back to the city

but it really just boils down to, in that moment, he was horrified at the way this person had been treated and filled with a righteous fury because it's easier to process those feelings for the circumstances a stranger is in than it is to understand that he has the right to feel those things about his own life / history with cazador.

yeah, he's mad but there's a difference between being angry and recognizing that you are allowed to feel anger and that anger is justified.

anyways. .... yeah. i had thoughts.

[bane-amesta]

Free will may not be an illusion Note: I have never posted a fanfic here so apologies if the format is messy, I'm more used to AO3

Before anything, I must clarify: English is not my first language, and here I am, trying to write for a videogame series highly regarded for its incredible and beautiful writing. Lastly, I think it was like 2 AM when I wrote this. So yeah, I did watched some cutscenes to be sure, but I'm sure it'll be plenty of mistakes for you to "enjoy" lol.

My apologies in advance, please let me know of anything that needs to be fixed.

I just had to give it a try, I think. How else can I get better at the language without a good challenge right? So a little excercise like this seemed good enough for a start. I hope you enjoy :)

Here I am again, trapped in the spectral realm, with the voice of my old "friend" for sole company. And I was already dreading the possibility of falling into madness after a new eternity of that torture. Between this, and my predetermined destiny of the Soul Reaver becoming my jail, I cannot decide which path is the worst.

The feeling of uselessness is overwhelming. It seems that the other side of my coin is to fail everything I try. Even when I successfully purified the Reaver, its purpose now fades, with no way to use it, nor a chance for me to escape. My supposed 'free will' is worthless when I can't even save one life, or kill another when is needed.

But... I could not bear to kill Janos again, even when he begged me to do it. The horrible scene of my past self, mercilessly ripping his heart out of his body, was too much, and Janos didn't deserve such cruelty. Now his body is being manipulated for forces I can't fully understand, and it is, once again, my fault.

Even worse, the only task I was asked to do so many times, the one that made me sick to just hear about it, to the extent to actively try to avoid, it was done at last. Kain is dead, to the joy of Moebius and the 'Elder God'. And it doesn't bring me anything even close to that. My revenge path ended in a bitter note.

Now that I am certain it was part of their plan all along, I feel like a puppet, and is infuriating. Maybe I was manipulated in that moment like Janos? Does that even matter anyways? ... But that is a question for which I'll never get the answer.

At least, the old vision of me slaying poor Ariel's soul did not come true. After so many eons of haunting the Pillars, she deserved a peaceful end. It is a small consolation, indeed. But her words are still sounding in the void, and I can't comprehend them.

The Scion of Balance. I could vaguely try to give it a meaning, but I did not have the means to do so.

Meanwhile, the parasite in front of me is rejoicing in his victory against our meager attempts to change our destinies, and my attention was fading, trying my best to escape his voice. But then, I heard something falling on the ground behind me. Oh surprise, if is not the body of Moebius. The fact that I can see it on this dimension has only one meaning: he's dead. I was starting to feel angry about losing my chance to kill him first, when his soul left his body and he scanned his surroundings. With nothing on his sight as I moved directly behind him, he joined his hands in prayer. I carefully observed.

-Master, my apologies, a momentary oversight. Somehow Kain still lives, and has unexpectedly dispatched me. Make use of your good servant, and-

The news shocked me. My hand moved by itself, not just to finally slay him as I should have done from the start, but also to prevent Moebius from resurrecting again. This is probably the only good thing I can do on my current situation.

-Go to your master then. I release you to the Wheel.

But then something unexpected happened. Moebius's expression turned into horror, which made me realize. The Reaver purified him, which means that now he can see the true form of his "God". And the irony is sweeter than blood.

-Ohh… god, no…

-Do you see it now? The monster that you served? Is this what you imagined when you worshipped it?

-Noooo!

-And in that knowledge, go, and feed it. I release you.

Oh, such a small triumph never tasted so good. I knew his faith would falter. Of course, the Elder is still saying that it means nothing, trying to undermine my determination. But he's not omniscient, as I discovered, not only by his lack of knowledge about Kain’s return.

He doesn’t have the power to kill us. Only to trap us and hoping the endless passage of time will make us go deranged. And he acknowledged it.

Lastly, the Elder also forgot a crucial detail, right in front of him. A way to go back to the material realm, and Kain, alive, waiting at the other side.

Ariel’s words came back to me, like asking me to reconsider their meaning.

You must unite that which has been set asunder…

The Wheel will keep spinning for all eternity, dragging all of us in a circle of meaningless suffering, to feed a parasite masquerading as a god, if I don’t make a choice. But what exactly can I do?

Moebius never saw the true form of his master until the Reaver purified his soul. The ancient vampires never knew what they were worshipping.

The coin is still turning…

When I heard those words the first time, I was convinced that Kain’s coin was already in the ground, and the result seemed obvious. But I could not understand the real message hidden behind them.

…Only then will the Scion of Balance be armed for his true endeavor…

Then, I knew exactly what it was needed to do. Saying I was not scared of the result would be a lie, but maybe I could finally change the ending of this story. And for that, I need Kain.

As I suspected, he impaled Moebius' body as soon as it rises from the ground. My time now is limited and every second counts. He needs to know what he's about to face.

-No, this can't be the way!

He seems painfully worried and regretful. This has to be the first time I've seen such a genuine expression on his face. Concern, mixed with regret, refusing to believe what's happening; trying desperately to take the sword away from me. I have known and served him for so long, but never seen him like this. Like a loving father, broken seeing his son mortally wounded. I would chuckle if I had my lower jaw, and the strength to do so. How curious to see Kain acting like this, and how sad that only in my last moments I can witness such a scene.

Was this always part of his personality? Or is maybe that my sight was contaminated as well, blind on my quest for revenge? Maybe the corruption of the Pillars changed him, and now that he's purified, he can finally show some emotions.

Whatever the case, the result is the same. Kain is worried for me. And that thought is oddly comforting. It seems that my long years of service and loyalty were not in vain, and I did not choose the wrong lord. He doesn't say it, but I can see the determination on his eyes. He will go out of his way to try to free me from my prison.

But I feel myself weakening again, and I have to focus. Is crucial to warn him about the real enemy, hidden in plain sight, before he can even attempt to manipulate Kain like he did with me.

Finally, I ended up fulfilling my destiny, the one that I feared so much. By my own free will. And there's no words to describe it... I can't even imagine what the future awaits me, but for now, the only objective is to settle the matter at hand.

Kain is naturally shocked to see the Elder in all its parasitic glory. But as I expected, he understood immediately the situation.

When Kain attacks and harms the body of the parasite, he doesn't take the credit all to himself.

-Your words are heartening. For you would not fear us unless we could truly do you harm.

We, he says. A small detail maybe, but he doesn't know how much I appreciate it.

I thought it was a jest, but I can barely believe what I’m hearing now. The Elder is once again threatening with the same words used with me. Is that truly the Elder's plan to stop Kain? Merely burying him alive for all eternity? Doesn't he know all the means Kain has to overcome the obstacles on his way? Turning into bats to fly, into mist to pass iron bars... Oh well, I suppose I should have seen this coming. And the ancient creature looks almost pathetic now, seeing that he barely defend himself against us.

But then the battle ends, the parasite suffered the fate he wanted for me and Kain, and now, the rest of Nosgoth is in front of us. This is the moment that marks the birth of Kain's vampiric empire, the Pillars falling on the distance. Kain looks at the sword on his hands with a sad expression, one I'm sure I'll see many times from now. Still, there's a glint of hope on his eyes, and for the moment being, that's enough for me. I can't see the future, no, but my heart says that this time, I made the right decision.

[therealvinelle]

What would happen if Katniss was stuck in a time loop from the beginning of Mockingjay to the end ?

I’m afraid I don’t remember Mockingjay well enough to give you an especially detailed answer to this one. I forgot Prim died while writing this. I’ll try, though.

Round one

Katniss finds herself thrown back through time, and she’s just tired. She’s been so much already, Mockingjay depleted her in every sense. At the end of the book she’s broken in a very irrevocable sense of the term. She just wants to retire with Peeta and be safe and left alone for the rest of her life. Waking up in a District 13, then, to find that Peeta is captive and being tortured all over again, Coin is alive, Snow is alive, and the Rebellion is back and she’s their figurehead... on its own, this is all bad enough, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she broke down completely.

But then she sees Prim again, Prim who is alive and healthy.

Finnick, too, is alive again. He’s a mess, just as he was originally, but he’s alive.

For them, Prim above all, Katniss can’t give up.

She pulls herself together, or tries to. She’s hollowed out after the events of Mockingjay, and to go through it all again? Unimaginable.

More, how is she actually going to save these people?

Prim wants to help people, she’s not going to agree to stay out of the Capitol when the invasion comes about.

Gale hates the Capitol with every fibre of his being, he’s not going to stop making weapons because Katniss told him people will get hurt. I think even if she laid out the scenario of «say that Prim goes to the Capitol to help and your bombs fucking kill her» he’d remain resolute - that’s not gonna happen, Katniss. (And even if he silently agrees there’s the possibility, this won’t change his mind. Prim will be a casualty of war, the important thing is to defeat the Capitol.) As for Finnick, he was pure bad luck. There was nothing Katniss could have done there, save for maybe keep him home. But if she does, someone else may die in his place.

But, Katniss isn’t going to sit back and say «yup, nothing I can do to save these two people I care about. See y’all in heaven, fellas». As she goes through the motions of Mockingjay, doing the photo-ops and listening to Finnick’s interview, Katniss comes to fear that there’s just no road ahead that will lead away from Rome. All she can do is tell Prim about Gale’s bombs and plead with her not to go in when the Capitol is invaded.

It’s no surprise, not really.

The Hunger Games is not about Katniss Everdeen the brave heroine taking up the mantle of revolution, it’s about Katniss the girl becoming a game piece in someone else’s chess match. And so, her prescience won’t make as much difference as it would someone like Harry Potter or Bella Swan, as her choices simply don’t matter all that much.

This is what she’s forced to realize.

Peeta is rescued, it’s easier and harder than last time. Easier because she knows what to expect, harder because she’s seeing him suffer all over again, just as original timeline Peeta was returning to himself.

The invasion of the Capitol comes around, and Katniss is no more able to save Finnick than she was last time.

Prim refused to stay behind. Then, seeing her fellow medics rush towards bombs she knows could go off at any second, and injured people lying helplessly nearby, she runs in hoping to stop her colleagues and maybe drag someone away from the scene before it all blows.

She fails, and Katniss watches her die all over again.

The time loop doesn’t stop there.

Katniss goes to see Snow, only to go through the motions, and then shoots Coin. There’s no point to any of this if she doesn’t still shoot Coin, right?

More broken than ever, Katniss returns to District 12 with Peeta.

She just wants to rest.

Round two

A part of Katniss isn’t even surprised.

Her sister is alive again, but not for long. Katniss almost wishes they could skip to the part where Prim is dead, just so that she wouldn’t be in this horrible limbo of wanting to save her sister but not knowing how.

This time, Katniss devotes all her energy to Prim.

She neglects all her other duties and relationships, everything else that mattered. She never develops her friendship with Finnick.

She’s going to save Prim.

She tells her about the time loop, about what will happen if Prim isn’t careful. Prim listens.

This time around, Peeta isn’t rescued, and when Katniss invades the Capitol he’s the one who kills her.

Maybe Prim survives this time around. She hopes so.

(This is the timeline where Finnick survives: with Annie never rescued from the Capitol, he never became well enough to participate in a military operation.)

Round three

Katniss tells Prim about the time loop again, leaving out what happened at the end of round two. She befriends Finnick and campaigns for Peeta to be rescued. On the night of the invasion, Prim tells her teammates what she learned about the bombs before they land in the Capitol, leaving out how she found out. She’s accused of espionage and leaking military grade secrets, and shot. Her body is left in the streets, and Katniss is told the Capitol did it.

Katniss suspects what happened, and she hopes she’s right, because the other option is that her interference did this, that Prim died because of something she did.

Finnick dies, of course, which tastes all the more bitter now that Katniss knows she saved him in one timeline.

She speaks with Snow, or more to the point she walks into his room of roses and says nothing.

She shoots Coin.

Round four

She kills Coin on the first chance she gets.

She’s swiftly executed.

Round five

She waits until the night of the Capitol invasion before killing Coin.

Again, she is executed.

Round six

She makes it all the way to Snow’s office. Prim and Finnick are dead again. Peeta, too, this time around.

She tells Snow about the time loops. He seems to think she’s lost her mind, but she doesn’t care. She asks him about poisons.

Round seven

Coin dies suddenly.

Things are better in some regards, but the invasion still happens. Once again Prim and Finnick die.

Round eight

Katniss has nothing more to give.

She spends the round in her hospital room, curled up in her bed and refusing to be disturbed by anyone who isn’t Prim or Finnick.

Round nine

She has nothing more to give this time either.

She tells Finnick everything, about the time loops, the bombs, and the invasion, and asks him to try to save Prim and himself.

Finnick dies pulling Prim away from the bombs, and Prim succumbs to her injuries shortly after.

At Snow’s execution, Snow is shot.

Round ten

Katniss tells Haymitch.

They still end up in Rome, with Finnick and Prim dead, only now Haymitch is dead too.

Round eleven

Katniss for the first time starts to wonder if maybe this has all been an elaborate torture brought on by the Capitol. Or maybe her own side, who knows.

Because, really, how does she know she hasn’t been hijacked?

Katniss starts telling the people around her that she knows they’re not real, and quickly gets herself locked up in a psychiatric cell.

Round twelve

Still convinced she’s been hijacked, Katniss quickly gets herself locked up in this timeline too.

Round thirteen

Katniss poisons Finnick, Peeta, and Prim, not much, but enough to force them to stay behind when the invasion happens.

This time it works.

They’re all safely at home, and Katniss knows the invasion well enough by now that survival isn’t as hard as it once was.

She shoots Coin, then returns to them after.

This time, Peeta can’t trust her again after this. Nor, for that matter, can Prim or Finnick. They still love her, but Prim chooses to take a job in District 3 a little too easily, and Finnick quickly becomes a friend who stays in touch nominally, but never visits. Peeta moves back to District 12 with her, but they live in separate houses and the intimacy and trust between them is now gone.

Katniss, for better and for worse, is alone now but surrounded by people.

There are no more time loops.

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Namjoon Werewolf Au !

Alpha werewolf!

Heavy angst.! Pregnancy, unrequited love, hate to love, prejudice, mental health issues.

-------------------------------

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which , taken at the flood leads on to fortune. Opportunities had to be seized and made use of and you had to be bold and confident in order to lead your people to fortune.

Namjoon, as the head alpha of the Kim clan, knew this better than anyone else. Which was why he was here, in a meeting with alphas from the three neighbouring clans lining his boundary lines, hoping to get permission to access the seven or so aquifers that lay to the east of the packhouse.

The rains had been kind to them, the reservoirs were full but he wanted to make sure they had a backup plan just in case things went south in some way. His father had taught him that. Being prepared for the worst was second nature to him now. The land around the aquifers was rich and fertile and Jungkook had already let him plant tangerines and apples in the area for the little ones. The harvest was generally shared between the two clans and Namjoon was grateful for the easy camaraderie that the alpha of the land offered him.

The land belonged to alpha Jeon , a dear friend by all means and he knew that Jungkook would grant him permission as he always did . But still it was never a certainty. The council members had the final say and many of them held a grudge when he refused to marry Jungkook's sister last spring. That had been a no brainer for him. Junghee was beautiful but also like a sister to him, besides being incredibly intelligent. He didn't need a wife like that. And that was why he had picked, Jiah.

Sighing, Namjoon glanced back at the campsite where the women were gathered, sitting in small groups and laughing around a blazing fire while a few alphas hung about roasting meat and passing out moats of wine around . His eyes fell on his wife, timid and shy , sitting away from the rest and regret churned. He had been impulsive. She was ill suited to be his wife , and the last three months had been a bitter wake up call. Namjoon was well read, eloquent and bold. His wife was barely illiterate, with a stutter and shifty eyes that never met anyone's gaze head on.

He had chosen her because she had seemed docile and pliant and while she was definitely that, she was also ....at the risk of sounding rude and unkind, very very boring.

A simpleton. She seemed to know nothing about anything, content to disappear into the shadows, to hide and hang back and practically become one with the upholstery when he asked her to sit next to him.

It had been three months and they had barely spoken beyond a dozen words. It was awkward and stilted and just plain uncomfortable, sleeping with her. Sex was supposed to fun and passionate and filled with excitement and desire but with her , it was a chore he couldn't wait to cross off his list.

Leaning back against one of the poles holding up the makeshift tent, he watched her as she scooted away from one of the older omegas in the Jeon clan, the lady looking startled at the reaction. He shook his head in despair. He hadn't even wanted to bring her along but his mother had insisted. Something about her being young and innocent, too shy to stay behind with strangers for two whole weeks while he traveled to the Jeon's .

How was he supposed to explain that they were strangers as well ? That despite the label of mates, despite the fact that he had been the one to choose her, he felt nothing for her? Not even the idle curiosity one felt for strangers?

It was partly her demeanour, but mostly her appearance. She wasn't well groomed and it always made him frown. He had hoped that she would at least keep herself presentable, maybe hire the weavers to make her a few new tunics .

Something colorful and patterned like the ones the other omegas wore during festivities. The Kim clan had a lucrative fabric trade with the Min pack , and Yoongi and Hoseok always kept the most luxurious and vibrant silks and fabrics for him.

Jiah had shown a brief and fleeting interest in the luxurious threads, when his mother had brought her along to the tailor to get her wedding trousseau done....but the moment the young beta had asked her questions about her likes and dislikes, she had recoiled and went back into her shell. Namjoon had watched the whole scene, annoyance growing with every passing second. He wanted her to be pliant but also independent. Low maintenance . But apparently he would have to hold her hand through everything.

And that's when he'd begun to actively distance himself from his wife. He didn't have the time nor inclination to help her navigate her new life. He was busy, what with autumn coming to an end and the first chills of winter already beginning to permeate the air. The betas and alphas in the pack were already occupied with hunting enough meat to last them the winter, the women busy with curing the meat with spices and salt.....

He should have left her behind with them.

" A coin for your thoughts, Alpha Kim?"

Kim Jisoo came to stand by him, her scent of floral dust and vanilla cloyingly sweet on his senses. She had helped him with many a rut and he had always nurtured a sweet spot for the omega who was well versed in many languages. She was also one of the courtesans they had brought along for the evening entertainment. Jisoo slipped her hands through his arm and he smiled, letting her brush close to his torso.

His gaze went to his wife, who was staring at him, eyes blank and lips parted softly. She looked a little upset.

Which was understandable but still annoying. They weren't in love or anything and he wasn't cheating on her. Jisoo was a friend. He was allowed to have those. Jiah had no right to look at him with suspicion or with entitlement. He didn't owe her all her time. He wondered if she would react if he were to confront her now. As it is , he let himself stare right at her, half wishing that she would talk back to him.

But the moment their eyes met, Jiah looked away, entire body shifting as though in embarassment. He frowned , but lightly patted the soft fingers curled on his arm. He turned to Jisoo with a smile, taking in the pretty elfin features. The perfectly curled hair , threaded with gold and jeweler pins fell in soft ropes around her face, her lips tinted red and her cheeks brushed rose. She looked enchanting and unreal and he felt his blood stir in arousal, the need to feel her under him suddenly overwhelming.

He glanced back at Jiah and she looked a little green , her face ashen. His eyes narrowed when she shifted and looked around in a mild panic. Oh God, what was it now?

Irritable, he gently pulled away from the beautiful omega next to him.

" Excuse me, dear. I need to check on my wife." He said apologetically and she frowned staring at where he was looking.

"What's wrong?" Jisoo asked sharply but he ignored her, already moving to his mate.

Which was just as well, because the moment he reached her, her eyes rolled back and she toppled right into his arms.

She had fainted .

---------------------------------

" I'm sorry we had to cut this short but I hope your mate feels better soon, hyung." Jungkook's voice was laced with genuine concern and Namjoon nodded, hugging the younger alpha tight.

Junghee looked just as sympathetic, next to him.

" She'll be fine . I tried to get her to stay but she's been panicking a lot and refuses to let any of the healers here examine her. I think she'll be more comfortable with your pack healer. " She said gently.

Namjoon nodded, glancing back at Jiah who sat side-saddle on one of the smaller ponies, her eyes wide and face still ashen. He had tried to tell her it would be okay , but she had insisted on going home. The stark terror on her face had unsettled him deeply. He didn't know why she was so scared of the Jeon healer? Could it be because he was a man? Whatever the reason she hadn't let him examine her and because he couldn't ask her to just forget about the whole thing ( he was still head alpha , he still had to set an example as a caring mate. ) Namjoon had been forced to arrange for their return back home.

He had left Seokjin and Taehyung behind to carry the talks on his behalf, and Jisoo stood a few dozen feet away looking annoyed as he gave her

an apologetic smile.

The journey back to the Main village would be a couple of days and he had packed enough food for the both of them.

As he turned back to mount his stallion, he caught a glimpse of her face as she stared at him.

She looked lost , apologetic and clearly upset.

And he wondered if he would have to spend the rest of his life reading her face, trying to figure her out.

He has no interest in either.

-------------------------

The journey became incredibly tiring, especially when the skies opened up on them. Rain Lashed the ground , intent on soaking the earth and Namjoon watched her shiver, trembling as they all huddled beneath the shade of some trees, blankets wrapped tight around her thin torso. Why was she so thin? Why did she look at food like it was poisoned?

They were only a mile from home but had to stop, the deluge was far too strong for the animals to see ahead of them.

Namjoon himself sat next to an omega from the clan. He recognised her as one of the maids his mother had given to Jiah.

" Is your mistress doing well?" He asked gruffly and the omega startled, bowing twice in respect before answering.

"I...she ... She doesn't say much, alpha." The girl blushed under his gaze, looking away nervously and he frowned, glancing back at Jiah.

So it wasn't just him, then. She didn't trust anyone. He stared at her till she felt the heat of his gaze and looked up, eyes wide like a startled bird, like one of the starlings that nested in the wooden beams of his hut. She looked surprised, then terrified, eyes darting away at once and he tried not to growl in sheer frustration.

He wondered if it was because of his face.

Namjoon had no large feelings about his looks but he knew he was far from beautiful. ( A/N : A whole lie , I know but please bear with me for the story :*) it was one of the reasons he had wanted a plain looking bride. But perhaps his own chosen mate had , had dreams of marrying a very handsome man? Perhaps she had been infatuated with someone like that , from the clan?

It wasn't a far fetched idea. But still, she had been free to refuse his proposal. When he had first met the clan's watchkeeper, old man Gong in the humble hut on the outer borders of the pack land, he had made it clear that it wasn't some kind of order. She was free to refuse.

But she hadn't.

She had merely bowed and agreed and promptly appeared with a satchel full of her things and followed him back to his own home.

So why did she continue to act like she was here against her will?

It irked him no end.

As the skies cleared, they began their trek again and Namjoon pushed thoughts of her out of his mind. He had to plan for the winter, make sure there was enough food and also make sure they had enough herbs and liniments and oils in the apothecary. Mind drifting off to the countless things he was responsible for, Namjoon forgot all about his awkward mate and the reason they were going back home in the first place.

Which is why, when they reached home and he took his bath, cleaning himself up and finally settling down to some delicious food from the kitchens , his mother's words made him drop the chopsticks in shock.

" She is with child."

Namjoon stared at his mother in complete shock.

Fuck.

---------------------------------------------

Authors Note : I had this idea and just had to write it. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

[dekusheroacademia]

Bakudeku ship manifesto part 1: Deku’s side (up to chapter 257)

Today I was taken by nostalgy. I remember reading fun ships manifesto on livejournal and I honestly loved them. They summarized the main reasons people shipped a character and the important events.

So, I decided to write one for BakuDeku, this is part one, which will be the story from Deku’s perspective, as I feel Bakugou and Deku lived through the same events very differently.

This “manifesto” will be divided in PART 1 “Deku’s real feelings for Kacchan”, PART 2 “Bakugou’s feelings” and PART 3 “Two sides of the same coin” where I will summarize how the manga, anime and openings/endings treat these two characters’ as complementary.

I also want to premise that everything listed here is canon, and I believe is intended by the narrative to show us the progression of the friendship between Deku and Bakugou. Of course, some people (like me) decide to ship them together, but this doesn’t change the importance of their friendships and their hero journeys. 

This list will touch on some manga spoilers (pre chapter 257, but after season 4 of the anime), and I will indicate the point you should stop reading if you don’t need spoilers. I also added information from the novels.

Deku's real feelings for Kacchan

1)The bullying

Deku and Kacchan used to be friends, as kids, playing together with Deku in the clear role of the follower and Bakugou being the little leader of a band of kids. While it's clear that Bakugou was always arrogant, the real bullying stars when Deku finds out he is quirkless. I will not talk here about Bakugou's side of the story, just about Deku's.

Deku never really knew the real reasons for the bullying. In his mind, Bakugou looked down on HIM for being quirkless, even gifting him with that cruel nickname. The bullying seem to take mostly a sense of indifference, from Bakugou, later one. We even have a scene where Bakugou's minions bully Deku, and Bakugou tells them "let him dream at least", regarding Deku's dream to be a hero. (this is from Deku & Bakugou rising one shot).

It's only when Deku shows (in the second year of middle school) that he doesn't just have a dream but he has the mind and intelligence of a hero, that Bakugou turns even more bitter.

Deku recognizes Bakugou's actions as something born of hatred, probably, and resentment, and superiority but he does not know they were born out of Bakugou's belief that Deku felt himself superior to him till later on. Look at Deku's baffled and surprised face when Bakugou finally tells him why:

We, of course, know Deku has a decisive tendency to minimize the dangers, he throws himself into danger, he sees behind the pain/danger to reach through with his need to save. And this is definitely a problem (but I will talk about it with the new manga spoilers and chapters), but also a fundamental side of the way Bakugou and Deku’s relationship is described and written.

2) Deku’s real feelings

Going back a little, let's go back to Deku's feelings for Bakugou. Deku never stopped calling Bakugou "Kacchan" and never stopped wishing or hoping to be able, one day, to walk side by side with Kacchan. Here is what we have in the first novel:

Even with all the bullying*, Deku admired and respected Bakugou, and cared for him. (*Little note: Deku also uses the word "teasing", instead of bullying, clearly trying to minimize, maybe out of wishful thinking (at the same side, Bakugou uses the word "bullying", so he is at least self aware).)

The admiration is definitely implied in the way Deku studied Bakugou’s quirk and his moves, often compliments him, even “steals” his moves. I am sure no one could disagree on this point.

The care is implicitly stated when Deku feels guilty at the mere idea of lying to Bakugou about his quirk, so much that he breaks part of his promise to All Might. This part is particularly heartbreaking because Deku really feels like he is betraying Kacchan at the idea of having not told him the reason. The prefers to tell him the truth (or part of him) than having Bakugou think that Deku made fun of him for all those years.

It is also implied in Deku's shock at the idea of Bakugou giving up, as we know that his winning spirit is what Deku always admired. Deku knows Kacchan, his bad sides and his good sides. (Seen here during the Baku & Deku vs All Might fight)

Then, of course, Deku explicitly states that he always admired him. We see that in flashbacks multiple times:

And we have Deku himself yell about it during Kacchan vs Deku part 2:

All Might was the hero both Deku and Bakugou admired. They wanted to be like him, for different reasons, Bakugou because he wanted to win and Deku because he wanted to save people. And yet, while Bakugou had always thought his reason was what Deku looked down on, Deku instead admired it. All Might was the distant hero dream, but Bakugou was, for Deku, the amazing hero he could admire and see every day. This amazing person in his life.

Another small addendum. Deku, in two occasions, gets inspiration from Bakugou’s desire to win (during the first villain attack and to save Kota) and becomes almost as aggressive/determined. He admits this during Deku vs Kacchan 2:

So it is clear that while Bakugou tried to get rid of Deku, Deku never stopped considering Bakugou someone worthy, someone to admire even with all his jerkiness and faults. 

I’ll talk more about this in the last part (Two sides of the same coin), but it’s just to show that Deku has a part that mirrors Bakugou’s Desire to Win very well, as much as Bakugou learns that he also has a Desire to Save.

3) Deku's hero journey: protecting Bakugou

Deku’s hero journey started with saving Bakugou. Here we got even All Might recognizing it:

Deku always wanted to be a hero, and he admired Bakugou as a kid, alongside, of course, All Might. We know that Deku has definitely the intelligence needed to be a hero (recognized by Bakugou in "Deku & Bakugou rising") and the kindness/care to be a good hero (recognized by Bakugou too, mostly during that river incident). Still, the moment that makes Deku a hero is his first saving. The first ever person he saved was Bakugou, but, most importantly, he saved him because he was Bakugou.

Once Deku had been attacked by the sludge monster, he accidentally kicks the monster free. He feels sadness and guilt when someone else gets attacked, but he doesn't act, after all he is just a 14 years old kid without a quirk, and the world is full of heroes.

It's just when he sees that the taken kid is Bakugou that Deku starts running. He doesn't know why, or how, but his body moves on his own because Bakugou needed saving. Among the reasons he list, "Kacchan" is there, a full and complete sentence.

Deku acted to save Kacchan, and doing so he also showed All Might that he has the "need to save" necessary to be a good hero and his successor. Deku is a hero, with or without quirk.

Luckily, he gets a quirk. He works for it, he starts learning how to use it (just wanted to add that in two occasions he looks at Kacchan's abilities and moves to adapt them to his quirk and change his style).

Bakugou is Deku's first save. But Bakugou is also Deku's first failed save. These are both fundamental things in a hero journey. When Bakugou gets kidnapped, Deku is worried. There is no doubt here. Kacchan is his in the most instinctual sense of the word. He is his friend, his childhood friend, his Kacchan. Even Mr. Compress comments on Deku's use of the word "his". This is not just another person to save, it's his person to save.

Still, when Bakugou is, again, in danger, Deku fails.

Of course, Deku is extremely hurt. He risks losing the use of his arms and he has failed to reach for Bakugou. Kirishima suggests they go and save Bakugou, and Deku agrees. There is, technically, no need for a bunch of kids to not trust All Might, to not trust the heroes and yet they decided they need to save Bakugou. Kirishima failed to protect his friend and be there, Todoroki was the one who missed Bakugou (in the pearl) by just a couple of inches, and Deku was the one who had not gotten Bakugou back and failed to save him. 

Deku might not know why Bakugou hates the idea of being saved or helped by him, but he knows Bakugou does, enough to plan the whole escape on Kirishima.

This is the big change in Bakugou's feelings, but I will write about it in the second part, for now, let's focus on Deku.

4) Post Kidnapping: everything changes

Deku saved Bakugou, he did not expect anything in return, but he immediately notices something is different. Unknowingly to him, Bakugou had started to wonder if Deku is not the real and ideal hero, the one who was always in the right. 

The license exame is the first time we see Deku and Bakugou interacting after the kidnapping and the saving. Deku says that they had not really talked, until Bakugou walkes up to him, out of nowhere, and tells him that no wonder he passed the exam, because Deku had finally made the borrowed power his own.I think this is particularly meaningful because Deku had always seen OFA as a "borrowed power" himself, so much that he had tried to adapt his style (and even costume) to All Might. Bakugou is the only one who knows Deku used to be quirkless, and who can recognize that Deku's power... is really his power now.

And here we get at the confrontation (Deku vs Kacchan part 2) that really changes a lot in the relationship between Deku and Bakugou. I'd say this is the confrontation that not only clears things between them, but also fulfills Deku's wish of walking side by side with Bakugou.

I already talked about how during Deku vs Kacchan part 2, Deku finally learns why Bakugou had always hated him. He also is finally able to express his own feelings clearly and to make Bakugou listen. He admires Bakugou, and now he has enough self confidence to turn that admiration in something more: not anymore a need to emulate or look up at him like some unattainable hero, but a need to surpass him.

This definitely changes the previous dynamic. While before we had Deku looking up to All Might and Bakugou, now Deku finally gets recognized as someone that made the quirk is, someone who can be a rival BECAUSE he never looked down on Bakugou.

Deku goes from "I always chased after you!" (said in the fight) to  becoming an equal (in his own eyes and in the eyes of Bakugou). And even All Might recognize the importance of each others in their journeys to become a complete hero.

(this part will have MANGA SPOILERS, so be careful if you don’t want to be spoiled)

5) A new dynamic (manga spoilers)

Now Bakugou knows Deku's secret, not only that but their dynamic and teasing completely changed from this point on. Deku is never ever agains shown as saddened or scared by Bakugou's words, and Bakugou goes from ignoring him to actually interacting with him. We have scenes where they spur each others.

Deku (chapter 207) recognizes that there's something different, and now Kacchan is learning from HIM (win by saving).

This becomes their new normal. A normal where Bakugou participates in Deku and All Might's secret meetings, and where Bakugou even express worry about them not being able to keep the secret well. We have now a worry that is visibly reciprocated.

The worry, for Deku, goes so far as to trigger a new secret quirk out of his need to defend Kacchan. Monoma specifically chose to target Bakugou because he needed to get to Deku, and his words are, coincidentally, Bakugou's biggest insecurity. Deku, once again, loose all clarity when it comes to defending Bakugou, so much that black whip is activated.

From this point on, most of Deku and Bakugou’s interactions, from Deku’s side, are quite innocuous and humorous. They help each others, Bakugou helps Deku with black whip and the training. They work with each others and Todoroki, they get tangled in Todoroki’s family business.

Deku is always ready to admire Kacchan, and Bakugou’s bullying had turned into teasing.

Here, before the big war, we have Deku summarizing his feelings towards Kacchan and their new relationship. This was his wish. Being at UA, having friends, having All Might as his mentor and being almost back to friends with Kacchan are all important things that he lists, and he feels blessed.

The 5th light novel should be set around here, I think, and this is where we have another “I can’t imagine a world without Kacchan” scene.

(translation here)

The rest is... post chapter 257, which I will talk about in Bakugou’s side, and then as soon as we know what’s going on, I will add some extra posts.

BAKUGOU’S SIDE SOON

[aliteama]

Hello!! I hope you're having a nice day/night, can I request a Aki fic where Yoshida loves to flirt with Aki's girlfriend and she's also a devil hunter!

✧Fic✧

Aki Hayakawa

✧ A/N: this took waaay too long for me to do!! So sorry anony! I couldn’t come up with a decent idea for the life of me (*ﾉﾉ) but I think this one turned out fine!

✧ “Graceful as always miss!” 

Patting the smiling boy's head you gleamed at him, his cheeks heated as he stood proud in front of you. After mentoring Yoshida for weeks you had learned the boy took praise best in the forms of affection, he was like a clingy little kid who followed you around everywhere and cheered you on from the sideline. Much to your boyfriends disliking even he couldn’t deny Yoshida's potential and bit back all sour comments he wished to make.

“Fumi you flatter me too much, we should start heading back now”

“How about we go out to eat instead? My treat for another successful mission miss!”

“If we ate after every accomplished mission we’d be broke”

Waving a hand you took off ahead, your junior trailing behind you with a smug grin as he glanced towards the sectioned off crime scene. He truly was lucky when Makima assigned him under your wing rather than Akis, he had feared being clumped together with that group of misfits.

“Ima need the reports on my desk before you leave since you're taking tomorrow off” rushing in front of you to hold open the building doors he let you pass through with a teasing smile, “Aw miss! If your going to miss me just say so and i’ll show up tomorrow”

Pushing open the other door an arm guided you through, his chest puffing when you walked through his side rather than Yoshida's “I wouldn’t worry about her missing you” locking arms with you Aki guided you away from the fuming teen with a smug look on tired face.

“Oh wait! Miss didn’t you say you wanted the reports done today? Why don’t you help me?” mustering up the brightest smile he could Yoshida squeezed past Aki to latch onto your arm and guide you towards the elevators.

Tugging you forward he smashed the buttons, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips as he watched Akis fuming face rush up to the closing doors “See you later Hayakawa” 

Looking up at the mirrored ceiling he couldn’t help but snicker at your perplexed expression, a laugh of your own escaping as you thought about Akis squeezed face as he jumped to open the doors. Calming down at the familiar ding of the doors opening you weren’t the slightest bit surprised to see Akis huffing figure waiting outside the elevator, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath before straightening up to give Yoshida a nasty glare.

“How about I help with those reports” 

“Doesn’t sound like your asking to me”

“Great! We’ll go get drinks while you start, don’t slack off while we're gone.”

Pressing his foot into Yoshida’s back Aki kicked your junior off with a harsh kick before lacing his hand with yours, the deep frown on his face finally lifting as he managed to get you away from the pesky teen. Walking the familiar hallways you couldn’t help but glance at your lover, your first partner. Perhaps he was jealous of finally having that position taken by someone else, while he was determined to remain by your side he still grew bitter just thinking about not having you by his side to lecture the agitating devils and fiends in his squad. 

It felt like the longest week of his life, having to walk up early due to the loud knocking outside his apartment whenever Yoshida wanted to leave earlier for missions. Aki swore that kid was doing it on purpose to tick him off, always being so touchy with you and pushing himself to earn your praise. 

Shoving coins into the vending machines you watched the iced cans drop, “Coffee?” reaching an arm in to grab the cold drinks you tossed the brown can to him, Aki was a sucker for vending machine coffee.

Curling a finger over the tab he popped it up, coffee bubbling at the top as he brought it to his lips “As usual” humming at the oddly sweet taste he scanned the vending machine to see what other drinks it carried, “What does Yoshida want?”

“Oh? Just get him water for now” 

It was an executive decision to not comment on the lingering questions, you knew Aki would come around sooner or later. He did have a soft spot for the younger hunters after all.

[spencers-renaissance]

tell me how to balance my coins

Summary: When Spencer falls down the stairs one morning he decides not to tell anyone, his insecurities about not being enough winning out. Too bad insecurities don't matter when they end up trekking through miles of barren land on a search and rescue mission, and his injuries finally become too much. The team knows exactly how to make it better.

Tags: hurt!spencer, whump, hurt/comfort, hiding medical issues, insecurity, angst with a happy ending, fluff, team as family TW: self-esteem issues

Pairing: GEN / Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Set in S1 but there's no Gideon because he didn't really fit the plot, so it's just the five other field agents here. This entire fic was inspired by this post by @i-write-whump so credit goes to them for the premise! Title from this poem by Zahraa Surtee <3

Maybe it’s embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. Spencer runs headfirst into dangerous situations every day, puts his life on the line repeatedly and escapes unscathed more often than not, but his nemesis this time is the single flight of stairs in his apartment building he descends each morning.

He’s later than he usually is, and already feeling a little flustered from both his toaster and coffee machine breaking, leaving him with a cup of instant coffee and an overripe banana from breakfast, which only makes the situation worse. As if lying sprawled out in a public stairwell wasn’t bad enough. He gingerly pulls himself up, catching a glimpse of a “Caution: Wet Floor” sign he somehow missed, and winces as pain floods his body.

His ankle is screaming at him, throbbing and burning, and for a moment Spencer has to close his eyes against the gut-wrenching pain of a twisted ankle flaring up his calf. A couple of thankfully undisturbed minutes later, the pain eases enough for him to open his eyes and inspect the damage. It’s already swelling slightly, and he’s certain he’ll be covered in bruises by tonight if the aching of his entire body is anything to go by.

For a brief moment he considers calling Derek or Penelope or someone else on his team; maybe even calling in sick, but he quickly pushes that thought away. It’s not embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. It’s a good cover story to keep him from addressing the real reason, but it isn’t the truth.

The truth is that the only time he ever feels valuable is when he’s contributing to a case. That cruel voice in the back of his head will waste no time in piping up, telling him how worthless he is, what a burden his friends see him as, how insignificant he is to the team if he doesn’t suck it up and head into work.

Fighting back the tears burning hot behind his eyes with ardent determination, he drags himself up by the stair handrail until he’s upright. His ribs ache and his ankle burns something fierce, but he compartmentalises it, breathing deeply and taking a few tentative steps, one at a time until he’s limping towards the train station.

The moment he walks into the bullpen, JJ grabs his elbow. “You’re just in time, Spence,” she says, marching towards the briefing room with a pace Spencer can’t quite keep up with. “We have a new case. Rural Kentucky.”

Everyone’s already seated at the round table, and no matter how much he tries to disguise his limp, putting far too much weight on his battered ankle, he can’t get it past a room full of profilers.

“Hey, pretty boy, you alright? You’re limping.” Derek’s tone is light, carrying the cadence of joking banter, but he can see the concern in his eyes, and that’s just unacceptable. He can’t have people worrying about him: he’s not worth their pitied looks or vapid attempts at comfort, especially not when they have a far more important case to be focusing on.

He slips into a seat, and manages to conceal a wince at the movement of his ankle swinging forward. “Oh, uh, I just stubbed my toe pretty hard on the way in.” It’s not convincing even to his own ears, but luckily it’s enough of a time-sensitive case for JJ to barrel on regardless, drawing everyone’s worried glances away from him and towards the board full of grizzly crime scene photos.

Even though he’s been on the team for close to three years now, he still feels like the new kid. Elle is newer than him, but she’s still far more confident in her place on the team than he is. He suspects that’s probably because someone like Elle doesn’t have trouble fitting in anywhere. It’s never been quite that easy for Spencer.

Pushing his insecurities aside like he always has to do in these meetings, he reads the case file thoroughly before offering his own contributions. The unsub is snatching young women from bars and clubs and holding them for weeks before leaving them to succumb to the elements in the rural countryside of Kentucky. With a missing woman and the expected deadline for the unsub dumping her fast approaching, they don’t waste any time in boarding the jet and flying the short way to West Kentucky.

It’s a short enough flight that there’s no time for personal conversation — no time for Derek (or anyone else for that matter) to confront him about his blatant lie and obvious injury — since they spend the whole journey discussing the case. Thankfully, throwing himself head first into theories and hypotheses keeps his mind off the pain a bit, but he can’t fully keep it from bothering him.

He’s just thankful that he has enough experience in disguising his true emotions that no-one’s attention is drawn to him by poorly hidden winces.

They dive straight into the investigation when they arrive at the sheriff’s station, everyone laser focused on finding Marissa Williams. By mid-afternoon, though, Spencer’s gritting his teeth as he forces himself to persevere through the pain despite it increasing incrementally every hour, and he curses himself for not being able to dedicate 100% of himself to the case. If he can’t help everyone find this woman, then what is he good for? His stomach twists at the thought.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on, Spence?” Derek asks him as it approaches 4pm, cornering him at the coffee machine.

Spencer looks around as subtly as he can for an escape, but he quickly succumbs to his fate. “I’m fine, Derek,” he promises. It’s so far from the truth he wants to cry.

The concern in Derek’s eyes only intensifies at that. “Seriously? You’ve been quiet this whole case, I catch you wincing when you think no-one’s looking, and you’re still limping. A stubbed toe wouldn’t do that, kid, and you know it.”

He sighs, knowing the jig is up. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Derek.” He’s not sure it’s the truth, but it’s close enough to it that it doesn’t bring burning tears to the backs of his eyes.

Derek’s about to say something when JJ calls out for him. They both turn to look at her, Spencer feeling relief flood his chest, while Derek’s expression quickly morphs into one of frustration, sighing heavily as he curls his hands into tight fists.

“This isn’t over,” he says, levelling him with a serious look before walking back over to JJ, leaving Spencer to stir his bitter coffee in peace. It definitely doesn’t make him want to cry.

They finally get a break in the case at nightfall, a call on the tip line combined with their profile leading them to a secluded wooded area down by a small river. Knowing there’s nothing more for them to do at the office, Hotch gathers them all up, insisting they join the search party to find the poor, beaten woman currently suffering exposure, awaiting their rescue.

Spencer’s heart sinks as everyone gathers their equipment, and he’s almost relieved when Derek speaks up.

“Reid can’t go,” he insists to Hotch, only barely in earshot of Spencer. If he doesn’t go out in the rescue party, then he’s still served his purpose hasn’t he? He helped with the profile that narrowed down the area she’s likely to be in, he worked the case until this point, he can rest and still be worth something. Right?

Besides, it’s not exactly like he can don the heavy walking boots everyone else is pulling on. If he goes out, he’ll have to wear the same loafers that have been squeezing his swelling joint all day, and that’s hardly going to work. Hotch will let him stay back, and for once, he’ll accept the rest he’s offered.

His hope is quickly dashed. “We need all the manpower we can get,” Hotch says, clearly distracted in the same way he has been throughout the entire case. Spencer likes his boss but he has a tendency to wear blinkers when on a job, not noticing anything that doesn’t pertain to the ultimate solution. “He’ll be fine.”

Derek sighs again, clearly frustrated.

“I’ll be fine,” he says as Derek comes over to sit with him, not sure who he’s trying to convince. His ankle is still burning in pain. The last time he checked it, it was bruised and swollen, tender to the touch. It’s nothing short of a nasty sprain.

“You stick close to me, Spencer. I mean it.”

He can’t help the small smile that crosses his face, genuine happiness warming his heart at the concerned protectiveness of his friend. “Sure, Derek,” he says softly.

The pleasant temperature of the mid-Spring day drops to almost freezing as the sun sets, the moon and stars taking over the clear night sky. Even Spencer’s thickest coat isn’t enough to keep him from practically vibrating with the force of his shivers as they trek across the miles of terrain, staying as quiet as possible to listen for anything that could indicate their victim’s whereabouts. They’re spread out a little, but for the most part they all walk reasonably close together, the beams of their torches criss-crossing as they fight their way through the windy countryside.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple of hours into the search and rescue mission that a call crackles over the radio, telling them that Marissa had been found, beaten and weak but alive. Spencer can’t even bring himself to feel any kind of victory or relief, nothing being able to penetrate the haze of pain he’s in. Everyone else chatters happily enough as they converge back together for his silence to go mostly unnoticed.

His obscurity doesn’t last long, though.

“Are you ever gonna tell us what happened to your foot, Spence?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow at Spencer’s heavy limping and Derek’s worried hovering. By the second mile of their walk, Spencer had given up trying to hide the limp, instead focusing on gritting his teeth and breathing through the pain as it flares up his leg.

She’s clearly voicing what everyone else is thinking, judging by their worried expressions. Part of him wants to give in and tell the team, but the part that wants to continue to hide his embarrassment away, the part riddled with fear and insecurity wins out. He stubbornly shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. In the kind of terrible timing so emblematic of the life of Spencer Reid, in the short second he has his eyes closed he manages to stumble into a small divot in the ground, and he trips, twisting his ankle all over again as he falls down.

His vision whites out, the pain suddenly all-consuming, punching nausea through his stomach and he can’t help the cry he lets escape as he lays helplessly in the grass.

“Spencer!”

Derek crouches next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he checks him over frantically, and Spencer can’t help but lean up into it, craving the kind of comfort he can only get from his best friend. Hotch joins them quickly as JJ and Elle stand close enough to offer support without crowding him.

“That’s it, Spencer,” Hotch says firmly, blinkers well and truly off by now, “you need to tell us what’s going on.”

As the blinding pain slowly fades into something minutely more bearable, Spencer forces his eyes open to face the team. “I fell down the stairs this morning,” he finally admits, sullen and teary. “Pretty sure I sprained my ankle.”

Hotch wastes no time in gently rolling his trouser leg up, exposing his ruined loafers and the bruised, swollen joint to the torches of his teammates. Derek audibly winces as he positions himself behind Spencer, supporting his back as his tired, aching body starts to collapse.

Hotch levels him with a stern glare after he finishes his tender inspection of his ankle. “Spencer, it was incredibly irresponsible to hide something like this. You not only put yourself in danger, but you put the rest of the team at risk, too—”

He doesn’t get any further in his lecture before the tears he’s been holding back all day, finally spill over and a dry, sudden sob, his bruised and aching rib cage heaving as he starts to unravel at the seams. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Softening immediately, Hotch puts his leg down gently and shuffles closer, taking Spencer’s hand in his. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry for yelling,” he says soothingly, watching as Spencer presses closer into Derek’s hold. “You’re not in trouble, I’m just worried about you, Spencer. Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?”

He squeezes his eyes closed again: it’s as much dignity as he can hope for when his face is crumpling and he’s sobbing on the cold, hard ground as it nears midnight. “I just… I just wanted to be worth something.” It’s an admission he’ll regret later, he already knows that, but he’s so so tired and all he wants is the comfort that only his team can provide.

Derek pulls him into an even tighter hug before anyone can react, holding him against his chest fiercely while his hand plays gently with his hair. “Spencer, you are worth something whether you’re injured or fully intact, you hear me? We’d love you with a broken leg, with a bad case of the flu, if you quit the team tomorrow and decided to never work again. But most importantly, we love you now, kid. No matter what. Nothing can change that, alright?”

“He’s right, Spence,” JJ says softly, sinking to the ground along with Elle. “I know you think we only tolerate you because of your brain and what you bring to the table on a case, but you’re so much more than that. We love your nerdy rambles and your awkward waves and the way you love so openly and protectively, no matter how many times you’ve been hurt before. We love everything about you, Spencer.”

“Yeah, if you’re hurt, Reid, we wanna know,” Elle chimes in, sounding a little hesitant as the one who’s known him the shortest amount of time, but firm in what she’s saying nonetheless. “I know I haven’t been on the team that long but this is a group of people that watches out for one another, that supports each other, that builds everyone up leaving no person behind. That includes you, Spencer Reid, even when you don’t feel like it.”

“Everyone is right, Spencer,” Hotch says softly, still holding his cold and shaking hand protectively in his gloved one. “I’m just sad that you still prioritise your work over your own health. You are not this job. You are an incredibly talented and multi-faceted person that oftentimes needs a little TLC, and until you’re willing and able to do that for yourself, we’ll be here to do it for you, okay?”

Tears are streaming down his face as he nods, feeling warmer than he has all day despite the cold dark night they’ve found themselves in. The strangest part about it all is that he’s actually starting to believe them. It’s not like they haven’t all said similar things before, but hearing them all vehemently corroborating each other’s stories, hearing it all laid out in front of him as they promise him with earnest expressions that they’re telling the truth is doing something to shift the leaden weight of insecurity and low self-esteem that presses on his chest each and every day.

“Now, come on,” Derek says. “Let’s get back to base and I’ll go with you to the hospital to get you checked out, make sure it’s nothing more than a sprain.”

He shifts behind Spencer, using his already firm hold on his waist to help gently pull him up to a standing position, taking most of his weight as Spencer whimpers at the pain that swiftly reignites at the movement.

Derek turns around and bends at the knees slightly as Spencer leans on Hotch, before looking over his shoulder, his signature grin returning. “Hop on, pretty boy.”

“What— Derek! I’m way too heavy!”

Everyone immediately breaks out in amused laughter, even Hotch chuckling fondly.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Come on, Spencer, you’ve gotta weigh what, like, 140lbs? 150? You can’t exactly walk on that ankle anymore and it’s the only way we’re getting back without calling for a search and rescue team of our own.”

“Reid, I’m pretty sure I could give you a piggy-back ride,” Elle points out, raising her eyebrows. “Just let him carry you back.”

Let us take care of you is implicit enough in everyone’s words and expressions that it doesn’t really need to be said, but Spencer hears it anyway.

Hotch helps him up onto Derek’s back and they begin the long trek towards the search and rescue base, and Spencer’s never appreciated the easy banter they all share more. Hotch is visibly relaxed with the case solved and his youngest team member soon to be taken care of, so he joins in with the conversation, his light and happy expression that he only ever wears around his family or the team on rare days and nights off, replacing his focused frown.

Spencer clings on tightly to Derek and presses his face into the space between his neck and his shoulder, closing his eyes as he listens to the conversation, the vibration of Derek’s laugh and the shameless flirting between Elle and JJ taking his mind off the pain that throbs in his ankle with each step Derek takes.

When they finally get back to base, they all gather round the ambulance that’s been designated to take Spencer and Derek to the hospital.

JJ steps forward to give him a hug first. “Love you, Spence. Let us know what they say, okay?”

Hotch surprises him by stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug as well, forgoing the macho pats on the back for a short but close embrace that feels fatherly enough for tears to prick the back of Spencer’s eyes. “We all love you, Spencer. Remember that okay. And actually listen to what the doctors tell you. Morgan, you’re my eyes and ears.”

“Well now I want a hug, too,” Elle says dramatically, squeezing him in a tight embrace for just a moment before stepping back, lining up with JJ and Hotch to present a united front of people on his side.

“We’ll see you both in the morning,” Hotch says as the paramedic starts prepping for the journey, moving Spencer onto the gurney and rolling him in.

“Hope they don’t keep you too long!” JJ calls just as the doors close, making them both chuckle.

Derek takes his hand in both of his, staying out of the paramedic’s way as she quickly places a line of mild painkillers before sitting back, knowing that there’s not anything more she can do for Spencer until they get to the hospital.

Derek must see the anxious look on Spencer’s face, because he’s quick to reach a hand out and brush his cheek gently. “Hey, I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not gonna leave you on your own, okay? You’ll be alright, pretty boy, you’re gonna be just fine. I promise.”

And on the flight home the next morning he realises that Derek’s promise was kept. He’s fitted out with a crutch and a temporary wrapping around his ankle, resting comfortably with his head in Derek’s lap while his foot sits elevated on a pile of cushions carefully built by JJ, surrounded by people who swear up and down that they love him while proving it to him in a thousand little ways, and he’s really not sure it gets any more alright than that.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

[smallerinfinities]

something missing | feysand oneshot

a/n: oh hello! idk this just kind of....happened? it came upon me unexpectedly. I’m rereading ACOFAS and it’s snowing outside so...here’s some sugar-coated fluff laced with filth for this sinday :)

warnings: 3.3k of fluffy smut and smutty fluff

Hmmm. Feyre worried the paint brush stuck between her lips with her teeth. There was something missing from the painting. Frost and Starlight, she had called it in her mind walking through the Palace of Thread and Jewels that day before Solstice. Now, weeks later, she clung to the buzz of the early chill of winter, wanted to remember the bustling life that had turned scarce in the city. 

It was now bitterly cold—according to Mor, colder than it had been in Velaris in decades. The streets were mostly empty, quiet except for the bundled shuffling of people coming and going but rarely standing for too long. Feyre could hear the wind beating at the locked gallery door, could feel the cold pushing against the magic of her floating flames. The only thing keeping her from freezing to death in the dimming light of the Rainbow. 

Even the Rainbow had been less alive lately, artists only leaving their studios for occasional supplies. The musicians had taken to giving little salon concerts. Only the most desperate had remained busking outside. Feyre had persuaded Rhys into magicking some coins into their open instrument cases, enough to keep them out of the cold for awhile.

She shook her head and refocused on the swirls of color in front of her, the painting that might have been finished if she weren’t so set on the details of it. What’s missing?

I don’t know, but I know what I’m missing. Feyre smiled involuntarily, his purr down the bond snaking its way down her spine. 

Incorrigible. Where have you been? If you went someplace warm without me, I’m staying at the gallery and you can sleep alone in our cold bed with none of what you’ve been missing. 

Rhys chuckled. On the contrary, my love. I was in the Steppes with Az, settling a few more of the descenters down. I’ve been freezing my balls off all day. 

Feyre shivered just thinking about how cold the war camps must be, the rows of tents barely standing up to the winds. But she couldn’t resist the door he’d left open. Poor Illyrian baby, so afraid of losing something important to a little cold spell.

He sent a rude gesture down the bond and Feyre smirked, taking the paint brush from her mouth to shove into the messy bun on top of her head. She paused halfway when her mating ring caught one of the faelights behind her, setting the brilliant sapphire glittering. Ah, that’s what’s missing. 

She dipped her brush in a tiny bit of white paint and leaned into the canvas, dabbing little specks here and there, in every window in her frozen Palace. When she sat back, the effect set her eyes sparkling. The blues and reds and greens of her scene turned into glittering sapphires and rubies and emeralds. The jewels the Palace was famous for leaped off the canvas and twinkled behind the glass, worthy of the astonishment she had painted in the faces walking past.

Beautiful, he breathed, seeing the painting through her eyes. Lately, she had been leaving her mind open to him when she painted. He didn’t pry often, but she found she wanted to share a little of her process with him. Even if she couldn’t talk about some of her feelings, some of the things they left in the darkness, she could show him here in the quiet of the gallery at night. 

Feyre felt him before even the shadows could react to his winnowing. Rhys grazed the skin at the edge of her sweater, just below her neck. Shivers ran down her spine again, but not because of the cold. Her nipples hardened in response to his touch, a kindling warming low in her abdomen. 

“Hello, Feyre darling.” 

His solid presence relaxed her, the warmth of him radiating into her back. She exhaled and leaned into him as his hands left her neck to wander down her front, skillfully avoiding the hardened peaks that reached for him. Even with the stool, he still towered over her, giving him enough room to rest his chin on top of that messy bun. 

“Gods, I missed you,” he inhaled, breathing her scent, now eternally mixed with paint, “the Illyrians are such bastards when they’re being obstinate.” 

“What did you and Az have to do?” Feyre ran soothing fingers up and down his arms still covered in Illyrian leathers. 

“Nothing too taxing, just some strong words and a demonstration.” She could feel him tense up, even as his wandering hands caressed her sides, trying to find the hem of her sweater. 

“Did you kill anyone?” Such a casual question, but even with the veil of sarcasm he knew she would want a serious answer. 

“No, but let’s just say a couple of their captains won’t be flying anytime soon.” He let some of the tension he always carried after bad days melt away as he curved into her, moving to pepper her neck with sloppy kisses. 

“Rhys,” she moaned, combing her fingers through his hair that was still damp from the Illyrian snow. “Let me clean up and then you can ravish me at home all you like.”

His teeth grazed her earlobe and she bent her head sideways giving him more room. Just as his fingers finally found that hem of her sweater. Snow-cold fingers tickled the skin just above her leggings. Feyre yelped and twisted on her stool, finally turning to face him fully. His eyes were pure violet fire, taking in every inch of her, from her wild hair to her booted feet. His chest raised and lowered quicker with each passing second, the bulge in his pants evidence of his mirrored desire. She bit her lip. And he snapped. 

Fuck the house, he purred down the bond. His mouth collided with hers as strong hands lifted her from the stool. She wrapped her legs around his waist, careful to avoid his sensitive wings. His pouty lips devoured hers, a wild moan escaping him as he tugged at her bottom lip. Feyre could sense him reaching with his magic, trying to find some place to put her down so he could properly have his way with her. Out here it would be the wall between the hung paintings or the cold floor. She knew he was weighing those two options. 

There’s a table in the back room, she panted, clawing at his mental walls with the promise of what was to come. If she was honest, she wouldn’t have minded the wall, but the paintings were precious and she knew they wouldn’t be hanging for very long. He carried her, his mouth still firmly pressed against hers. She shifted her head and opened fully for him, inviting him into her mouth with a flick of her tongue against his. He tasted like citrus kissed with the bitter tang of whiskey, left over from the drink he’d had to take the edge off the demonstration earlier. 

When he kicked open the back room door, Feyre’s floating firelight followed them, immediately stoking and warming the space. 

You’re getting better at that. His praise was like gasoline on that kindling inside of her, kicking up a blazing fire that sang through her blood, through her bones. He deposited her on the worktable, only taking a second to notice the sharp scent of paint and the supplies that littered the space behind her. His lips curled, this reminds me of the cabin. Remember how messy it was?

“It was our mating,” she answered out loud, “I remember every second of that day.” I can still feel it here, Feyre took his hand and guided it under her sweater to press against her panting heart. He stepped closer to rest his brow against hers, dragging a finger down her cheek. It was a second before his soft smile went devilish, another second before she felt the wet streak where his finger had been. 

He wiggled a cerulean-tipped finger at her. 

“Rhysand!” 

He tipped his head back and roared with laughter as she slapped at his leather-clad chest. The closest jar to her was a cotton candy pink. She snapped her fingers and his leathers disappeared, leaving a perfectly sculpted tan chest for her to draw a big heart on with her fingers. 

Hmpf. Turnabout is fair play. The playful gleam in his eye sparkled as he snapped his fingers and her clothes just...disappeared. She quirked an eyebrow, I hope you’re giving those back before we leave. A low growl rumbled beneath her fingers still toying with his chest. 

I’ll take it under advisement. You might have to beg me. A wry smile formed on his lips as he dipped that same cerulean finger into the pink paint and swirled it between her breasts, a trail of purple from her throat to her belly button. Feyre exhaled heavily and leaned back on her hands, scattering some charcoal pencils. They echoed in the cold space when they clattered to the floor but she didn’t care. She was naked and Rhys was not. Her legs spread a little wider against the edge of the table, putting herself on display for him. 

“Wicked, beautiful creature.” His hot breath ricocheted off her chest where his paint marks were quickly drying. It was a struggle to keep from moaning at the touch of his fingers toying with the inside of her spread thighs, dangerously close to the liquid fire pooling between her legs. He grinned at her restraint, the muscles dancing beneath her skin. “What do you wish of me, High Lady?” 

“I wish…” she tilted her head back in a slow roll, “I wish…” When her eyes met his again, their intensity burned anew. “I wish for you to take me like you did that first time,” snapping her fingers to rid him of the last of his clothes, “no holding back.”

His knees shook like a newborn foal at the command in her words. He kneeled before her on those tattoos he’d had as a reminder for centuries. I will bow before no one and nothing but my crown. The crown he shared with her. He bowed now, as he had before, as he would many, many more times before they were through with this life. The most powerful High Lord in history sent to his knees by his Queen. 

He forced her thighs even wider to accommodate his broad shoulders between her knees. His Fae eyesight didn’t miss the way her stomach muscles clenched as he played with the sensitive skin at her hips, his fingers making a slow path to her spread thighs. He cupped the back of her knees and quickly pulled her closer to his waiting mouth. 

Her yelp turned to a deep moan when he finally tasted her. Fingers immediately weaved into his hair as her back arched off the table. Gods, you taste like honey. You’re so wet for me, Feyre. 

She didn’t have any coherent words to send back to him, just waves of pleasure licking down the mental bridge between them. He suckled at her folds, drank from her, his holy font atop his only sacred altar. She writhed beneath his fingers moving over her warmed skin, let out a groan so deep he felt it vibrate against his face when he found her peaked nipples swollen and screaming for him. He felt her toes curl against his back, stroking his wings in places that made him moan into her. 

It was the last swirl of his tongue, a figure-eight pattern from her entrance to that bundle of nerves at the apex of her folds that finally sent her chanting his name over the edge. She wasn’t sure if it was out loud, but she knew he heard her either way. His wings flared proudly, knocking over a row of easels propped against the side wall, but he couldn’t hear the noise over her heartbeat pounding across the bond. 

The force of her climax pushed her into a sitting position, her fingers still curled in his hair holding his head against her as he stroked his tongue with every wave of pleasure. Even when she was spent, her thighs trembling over his shoulders, she couldn’t neglect him. Her fingers combed through his hair and snaked down his back, busying themselves with the grooves of his wings as he sucked a mark into the inside of her thigh. She made to release him, allow him off his knees, but he growled. 

Don’t stop.

The corners of her mouth curled upward. Is it truly like stroking you...elsewhere?

Well, Feyre darling, how do you feel when I stroke that one spot near the base of your left wing?

She clenched her thighs around his head at the thought. Point taken. 

He stretched his wing in encouragement. She followed his lead, splaying her hands across the membranous skin, tracing his scars. The feeling was, well he couldn’t quite think straight. Pleasure was too tame a word to describe the white-hot fire that licked his wings every time she ran her fingers over the spines, the scars, the muscles that purred and loosened for her. She pressed in at the space between the primary spine and the muscles in his back. He moaned so loud the paint jars rippled. 

Mother above, stop. 

It’s poor form to blaspheme in such a compromising position. Feyre grinned like a cat about to pounce on its prey. This was what she had been waiting for.

Feyre Cauldron-Blessed would know. He sucked in a breath. Her hands hadn’t moved. If you don’t stop, I’m going to spill a different kind of paint on this floor and ruin all our fun. 

Such a messy Illyrian brute. But she let him go, let him rise from between her thighs and stand. He was at full attention, wings spread wide to prolong the feeling of her fingers on the sensitive skin. Even now, after almost a year with him, she still marveled that this thing between them was real. That she was his and he was hers. My mate. 

She reached for him again, low. It was his turn to chant her name. 

Rhys caught her wrists, turning her hands over. He pressed a kiss to each palm. I’m plenty primed, my love. 

Feyre wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing him closer, so close to where she wanted him. She knew he liked this position, liked to watch her respond to him. He gripped her hips and positioned himself right at the precipice, took a breath. And pushed in to the hilt. 

Their collective moans shook the little back room, shadows gathering against the walls. Rhys’s eyes were fathomless pools of violet, boring into her very soul. He opened his mind fully to her and saw herself through his eyes, felt the love and the unending desire for her, tasted herself on his tongue. 

I love you. His voice clanged through her, flipping that light switch that lived deep inside of her, that little piece of Day linked to moments of pure joy. Her skin began to glow, only growing brighter when he moved within her. Slow strokes at first, deep inside. Shadows began to lick at her light, snaking against her responsive skin, the contrast only making her shine brighter. 

His thrusts quickened, control flickering with his hips. The hands that gripped her were little more than wisps of darkness, but she could feel his claws lengthening. Feyre reached back to grip the table, but instead knocked over a full jar of paint, splashing green into her hair, onto her skin. 

She laughed, tightening around him. The snarl he released shook her very center, pummeling the dam that he was determined to break for a second time tonight. She sent paint flying through the air on a breeze, landing squarely on his chest like a bullseye on a dart board. Her giggle sent his shadows skittering. 

Laughing at a male in the throes of pleasure is unbecoming of a High Lady, he panted down the bond. 

And how would you know? There’s never been a High Lady before me. Her eyes threatened another laugh until he hauled her leg off the table and shifted his hips. Her eyes rolled back. The floating fire around them surged with her answering moans, sweat beading on both of their brows. 

His hips stuttered. He was close. Feyre reached out and ran a hand down the open gates of his mind. Rhysand, she purred. 

He looked at her, his pupils narrowing, that beast of his barely concealed in this place between pleasure and chaos. His thoughts were a rush, his senses too open to hold on to any particular thought for long. The only thing she could make out other than pure sensation in his mind was one repeated word. 

Feyre, Feyre, Feyre—

Her name. Over and over again. His tether to this world, to the light. 

Rhys. She brushed at the claws on her hips, catching his attention. Come with me. 

The roar was deafening. Anyone else would have been terrified, but all Feyre could do was launch herself over the cliff with him as he finally plunged headfirst into his own pleasure. Blazing light flashed. Her light. Her joy, covering Rhys’s darkness with her own body as he collapsed into her, panting heavily against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, calming the tremors that rolled through him. 

For a few moments the only sounds in the room were the crackling of Feyre’s dying fire lights and their ragged breathing. When Rhys could finally lift himself onto his hands, he just looked at her for a long moment. 

Thought for a thought? she wiped at the sweat dripping from his temples. 

He smirked at her, I was thinking that if I didn’t already know what it feels like to die, I would think you were trying to fuck me to death. 

Her answering laugh shook her whole body, down to the place where he was still sheathed inside her. Rhys hissed, slowly withdrawing. He watched her glow dim. It always did when they parted, a fact that made him equal parts proud and melancholy. She sat up and stretched, cocking her head as he snapped his fingers to clean them off enough to get to the bath at home, leaving only the paint behind. He always liked to scrub that off of her himself.

“I’m going to have to come in early to clean up,” she worried at her lip, surveying all the spilled paint. The room was a bit of a wreck. Tumbled easels, green and blue paint dripping from the table onto the floor, scattered pieces of drawing paper with distinct details from his mate’s naked body outlined in pink and purple. Rhys scoffed and snapped again, setting everything right. 

Feyre grumbled, “you still need to teach me how you do that.” 

“I promise I will, but I’m still waiting for my thought,” he said, as he snapped a third time. Her clothes reappeared in a neat pile. They both dressed as she formed the words in her mind. Words to convey the way her pulse ticked up every morning in the shade of his wing, the way her cheeks pinked with the faintest touch of his fingers on her skin. 

“Will it be like this always? Will I still want to rip the leathers off of you in a thousand years?” He walked over and took her hands, the movement of his sleek black sweater and trousers the only sound in the room. Warmth passed between them, through their clasped hands and the look he gave her. Like a thousand years was only the beginning of their forever. 

“I hope so, Feyre. I really hope so.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and winnowed them both home. 

fin.

[we-dragons]

I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 6 Damian x reader

Professor X sat in his wheelchair glancing around the room he hums his eyes pouring over all that there was finally landing on Robin. He gives me a look gesturing over at him.

"He informed me about The Crows sir, apparently they have gone under the radar, they've killed three people and the system didn't go off. At first, I thought we still had time, I treated a wound he had it he had come in contact with one and fought it. You know like how Wolverine did, I treated the cut and it's gone, but I was sure they were still in the dream state. But he got injured saving those left how survived probably not far from here, but the fact we didn't even receive the ring can only mean...they've returned under complete control again."

Concern fills the face of professor X, he turns to Robin, who shifts uncomfortably by the entrance of my kitchen. "Who are you then?"

"Robin."

The professor nods not even turning from his spot, he looks over Robin as if completing an inspection.

"How much does this Robin Know Dreki, about you, and The Crows?"

"I told him about the Jal-sein, the old race before the collective mind sharing, and he knows about my box of scales." Professor sighs.

"How did you meet him."

"When he broke through my window last week, infected."

"You gave him some scales to purge poison."

"Yes sir."

"Very good," He moves back to his original spot in the middle of the room. "You have been permitted to stop them at all costs if you must. Your uncle will be here soon to help you kill whatever has brought them back, in the meantime try not to use the stones. We don't want to attract more trouble than what has already been done."

"You're allowing me to put my powers to use?"

"As long as you don't wear it out, vibranium is not easy to turn into clothing."

"What a minute!" Robin's voice carried out through the room. "Just what's going on?"

"Robin," Professor X starts. "your world is being invaded by the Crow so that you become one of the many planets they have drained of life. And to do it they need a vessel that can contain the leader of the Jal-sein, Hok'mor." Professor X looks at him, his use

"And?" Robin says his face remaining unreadable

"I was the vessel, I escaped, destroyed the flagship and the army they had." I shiver moving out from my room to the box still lying on the kitchen table. "They were after the life of my home, so then I became a weapon for my planet." I pull out a bag of coins from the box.

"And what do you intend to do now (Y/N), destroy them yourself." Robin stands in the entryway, professor X stands behind him.

"Yes," I turn to him a chakram and the bag of coins in hand. "so unless you know how to obliterate a bird in 15 seconds or less you need to forget this ever happened and never come back."

"So, why tell me any of this, why tell me about anything why expose yourself?"

"So you can tell your family and friends and hopefully, just maybe you can survive. Because knowing them keeps them out of your head, but too much knowing allows them to enter." I pick up Nightmare, he crawls up to my shoulder and I head out of the kitchen, Robin makes room for me but just barely. I open my closet and pull out the last thing I have, two letters one written in my mother's signature ink and the other in my own handwriting, I hold them out to the professor.

"You know there is nowhere left for me to run professor if I end out getting caught...I just want him to have this. In my letter, papers are containing the custody terms for my brother to Uncle. I just need you to grab them to complete the transfer." Professor X slowly takes the letters where they rematerialize on his side.

"Good-bye Dreki, I will see that these get to your Brother."

Professor fades out of the com, and it clicks turning off, I pick it off the floor and slip it into the pocket of my sweatpants. I pulled out the chakram ready to leave a mark on my hand, I only needed a little bit of blood to completely transform when Robin coughs gaining my attention. He leans against the wall to the left of me now glaring at my form, Nightmare growls at the boy from the corner of my eye I see his fangs getting slightly bigger.

"Are you making it a habit to ignore me while I'm here?"

"No, But I do need you to leave, you can't stay here anymore." I begin to push him out the door in the kitchen, he slaps my hands away confusion leaving his face replacing it's with anger. He open's his mouth and I put a magic orange circle on his head.

"You Robin son of batman, found this information interrogating one of the monsters. It spoke in a language that was foreign but somehow understood all of it. You have made no such connection to the girl Y/N M/N, you did not see a man from another dimension, you came back to thank her for her help you had some tea and you were just leaving." I flick my hand and the circle vanishes, his head lowers for a moment as the information in his head readjusts. He moves to the balcony edge turning to face me the scowl returned to his face.

"Thank you for the tea." he pulls out a grappling hook and leaves without another word. I sigh moving to the same device I used to contact the professor. Picking it up I hold it to my mouth.

"Find me the closest thing to a sorcerer supreme, name and whereabouts contact them when you get there."

I toss it back onto the floor and it roars to life to give me a purple image of the earth and orange magic circles to tracking and moving. I move to my couch and fall asleep waiting for this day to take me.

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I wake the next day with the globe still searching for my request I sigh and get ready for work. I thank god that it's just the coffee shop below me, I work on the weekends mostly unless they need an extra member of staff then it's just me and the older lady and her husband. They both owned the building and the shop they helped me get the apartment set up and showed me how to work the coffee machines. I don't really drink coffee though after seeing what a raving maniac my dad became without it, also it was just so bitter no matter how much sugar I put into it. I partially blame my heightened scenes that came with my abilities, so I got free white hot chocolates and any extra flavors I wanted as long as I did my job and chatted with them for a while.

I asked them personally to stay away while I was sick, so they wouldn't be affected. When I get down the stairs Martha, the elderly lady beams thankful that I'm feeling better.

"I so glad you are doing well dear, I know the acidity in our rain makes you sick so Glenn and I got you this umbrella." She hands me a purple umbrella that still has a tag on it, it reads for sun and rain.

"You didn't have to do this Martha, I told you I'm not good with gifts, you already let me stay here on the government's program and gave me a job here, you and Glenn have already done so much." She pushes the umbrella farther into my chest.

"No you do so much for us, you work without complaint, you've also taken care of us and our granddaughter when she came over. When you were sick we were so worried about you so you going to take it or I can give you more gifts."

"Thank you very much."I smile brightly. She pats my shoulder and gestures to the counter to start the machines.

Once all the machines are started, the desserts are placed and the base coffees are made I open shop. Customers come in and some lounge around in the chairs or couches drinking coffees and either studying or chatting with their friends. Molly usually comes on Sunday as one of our regulars, so I would see her then. A few of our regulars are happy to see I'm back at work one of the other tenants gave me a green bean casserole and a hug. It's 5 O'clock and I make a cappuccino as I finish I hear the door open and the bell ring on the counter.

The black-haired blue-eyed male I had gotten to know as detective Richard Grayson, came in every other day at 5, he normally talks often while I tried to take his order. So I memorized what he usually gets so he doesn't block the register so I can still make the register.

"Hey Y/N I'll take the usual."

"I thought so," I hand him his drink " one cappuccino."

He takes his coffee and moves to the bar we have set up if you wanted to watch the process and it's only then I see the other people behind him, one pissed-off looking male with a cigarette in his mouth, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne. I look back to Richard he smiles at me leaning onto the bar.

"They came with me this time, It's family bonding time."

"You mean you dragged us out of the house to grab a coffee from this place cause you have a schedule."

"It's bonding Jason! Bonding!"

The two began arguing in the shop, I return my attention to the other two boys. Tim as at the counter puts a ten-dollar bill on the counter, while Damian does the same.

"Give me a regular coffee, black, large cup."

"Tea, no sugar, regular size."

Their voices crowed each other but since this happens frequently it was easy enough to at least get their orders down.

"Sure here's your change." I look back to the two arguing and I see Jason didn't put out his cigarette. He taps it and the ash of his drug falls to the floor.

Sighing I move out of the workspace gabbing a tong and a wastebasket, I take out the cigarette and throw it in the bin now gaining the full attention of Jason. I give him a stern look he seemed to freeze, bitting back any words he might have prepared to say before.

"Sir, I am not sure if I made we've previously made It but there is a strict no smoking policy. As you see we have many elderly, and young children in our establishment." I smile but I know my face is full of malice. "But please enjoy your stay at our cozy corner of our fine and fair city." I move back behind the counter start on some of my orders, I look at Jason again the smile still on my face.

"Would you like anything?" He gives me an odd look.

"White hot chocolate, Large," he nods his head over at Richard. "Put it on his tab."

"We don't have a tabs sir, he works for the police."

"So?"

"He gets Free coffee." He gawks at me as if I told him the sky was black, and I see Richard trying to contain his laughter.

"You give that guy free coffee?"

"It's a store policy." I pass out the coffee and the tea and I see from the corner of my eye he pulls out a flask. I grab the tongs again and clap them together, Jason looks at me then grumbles putting the flask back in his jacket, and instead pulls out a five and hands it to me. I take it from him gingerly and head straight to work on his order. I hand him both his spare change and his drink, and the complimentary cookie bag that came with it. He gives me another look.

"They come with a drink." I leave and continued my chores around the shop.

"You are doing much better (m/n)." I whip my head around and look at Damian who's behind me on the other side of the counter. His companions seemed to be in deep conversation amongst themselves.

"Yes, I'm doing just fine, it happens occasionally but nothing like a good cup of tea and a few nights rest couldn't fix." I go back to cleaning the counter.

"You were sick for much longer than that."

"Yeah...it happens." I change the topic to "Did you think of anything for the project?"

"Why not make a model, there is not really much to do with it anyway." I gasp dramatically.

"Not much to do with an astrolabe! You clearly didn't read the whole paper!" By now I have caught the attention of his group. Damian frowns.

"No, your paper was written very well, I just don't think we need to dwell too much on this project seeing as how we really are not presenting." I had heard that bit from Molly.

"I suppose your right." I put away the cleaning supplies and turn back to him. "I'll get started on a model right away!"

"You will do no such thing." His voice is stern. "I will come back later and work on it with you," He moves his chair back and heads out the door.

His companions follow quickly after him and they say their goodbyes.

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As promised, he came a few hours later right as my shift ended and another person came for the second half of the day. I moved the glowing tracker to my room so it wouldn't gather any extra attention.

"I have supplies, what is all of that?" my brows furrow staring at the bulging plastic bag in his hand while I turn the keys in my locks. opening the door.

"I wasn't sure if you were prepared." He moves to the door, my arm shoots in his way stopping him.

"I wouldn't go in quite yet."

"What?"

I put a finger to my lips and crouch slowly to the floor, I shake the key in my hand then slid them across the floor. A ball of black attacks the object just as it crosses the doorway. Nightmare attacks the keys rolling around and bitting.

"Ah yes, observe the feral kitten in his natural habitat." I walk inside the door beckoning Damian to follow. "I would beware he is an ankle bitter. You can set up in the living room I'll just drop this guy off in my room."

"Does he attack all the time?"

"He's been like that since I picked him up, I don't blame him he was born in a rough neighborhood." I set Nightmare on the bed next to the floating version of earth. "Watch it make sure it finishes." then head to the living room. Damian has all his stuff set out on the table. There was veneer, paper, paint, some nails, an Exacto knife, a hammer, and a bag of pipe cleaners.

"This looks like stuff to make a birdhouse," I try and pick up some of the wood that was on the table." you realize cardboard, scissors, and a sharpie would have been enough."

"And here I thought you like polished and neat projects."

"yeah, but even with cheap materials you can still create a masterpiece."

"You don't do anything nice for yourself self do you?"

"Dude the most expensive thing I own is a cat who attacks me." I sigh, I sketch out a design for the astrolabe. "Well, why don't you start on the Mater, I'll get to work on the plate for our side of America."

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"3 hours of hard work and I got to say it's not bad." I hold the fished product, It's attached to a string of green yarn. "The calculations are down to point." I put it down, I clean up the mess that's on the floor of the living room.

"About the last time we saw each other, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, you probably knew about me from the news already, the big myste#wayne#scifi#damian#bruce#bats#fanfiction#xreader#characterxreader#jason todd#tim drake#character x reader#mxf#fxm#batboys#batboys x reader#Damianxreader#X reader#DC#Marvel#MarvelxReader#DCxreader#batfam#mutants#Damian Wayne x reader ry of the missing journals. So many interviews." I dump the trash in the kitchen, saying that last part mostly to my self.

"You forgive too easily."

"I'm not as forgiving as you think, honestly you view me too highly it that's what you believe. Would you like something before you leave?"

"No, but I have something for you before I go." I open the door to my room and let Nightmare out.

"Oh?" He's already at the door and pulls a shiny gold card from his pocket, he hands it to me.

"Father thought it would be good to meet you."

"Because I'm the daughter of a famous dead professor, is he going to ask about the journals too?"

"No, this is to apologize for my previous behavior."

"Oh," I take the card looking at it uneasily. "I don't think I can go to this, I don't do well at parties."

"Not a very good excuse." He smirks.

"I'll think about it." I push him out the door and give him the Astrolabe, closing the door slowly. " I'll see you at school."

I look at the card again, It's like the parties mom went to I knew them well. While some were nice, others were nice only in their face. I laugh slightly to myself, Molly already called me earlier telling me I was her plus one to the same thing. This was already suspicious enough as it is. I look at Nightmare who cocks his head at me.

"You think I should go, don't you?" the furball nods

"Fine. I was going to be forced into this anyway."

[stygianflood]

Like the Shoreline and the Sea (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary- Ethan is asked out on a date right after Miami in Book 1. Ethan’s PoV

Genre, rating, words- Angst, teen, 2k

Open Heart fanfic tropes- birthday, office.

March Challenge Day 13 prompt Someday; April Challenge Day 9 prompt Smell of the Rain 

A/N: nor’westers-  violent thunderstorms in northern plains of India, before the onslaught of monsoon.

Title inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.

‘This will improve our understanding of adiposity and sarcopenia in this population, help identify thresholds predictive of metabolic risk, and ultimately prevent or ameliorate… ’

Better prevent than ameliorate.

‘...ameliorate the long-term impacts on health and…’ 

Twenty five years should be long enough.

Hers is a singsong voice, the warm, trilling kind. Mellow sun dances on the frills of her dress. The yellow one. 

The man at her side twirls her on the empty kerb. Dips and kisses her. Her laughter is all that is pure and golden.

A child follows them, embarrassed. She bends down to kiss him, and he is furious. 

The scene shifts.

The child is on the front porch, eyes set somewhere beyond the wild bergamot bushes. 

Tear tracks on pink cheeks mingle and dry with dust from his afternoon’s exploits. Something like a steely resolve troops in his eyes.

Ethan Ramsey has been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now.

Whoever coined the term ‘nostalgia’ from the Homeric nostos and algos was speaking of anguish caused by an inability to return. But they failed to discern the inevitable tethering of reminiscence with habituality.

That is more or less the case with him. Louise Ramsey walked out on her husband, and eleven year old son some twenty five years ago right before his birthday. For a very long time now, home is not about apple crisps or kitchen gardens. 

About this time every year, a crevice in his mind he likes to call the amygdala dwells on the same days. 

Almost as a ritual. 

He is a scientist. A rationalist. And like every year, he reminds himself there is work to do.

Unless there’s a knock at the most unpleasant hour.

He never returns to the article. Never manages a come in. The distraction walks in, messy hair knotted with a pencil. Probably because she has lost another hair tie. 

He mustn’t be that aware. 

But she talks too much. 

‘Dr. Mukherjee.’ He sounds gruff. They’re supposed to be redrawing their boundaries, even if he is the only one making an effort. ‘I thought your shift ended-’

‘Two hours ago.’ Rigours of a sixteen hour shift mark her visage. Her smile is a little too conniving for his comfort. ‘I had work afterwards.’ 

She starts shuffling papers on his desk, permission be damned. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages an exasperated sigh. Since when have interns started walking into his office with… birthday cakes?

‘What do you think you’re- It’s not my-’

‘I heard rumours that Dr. Ramsey had to cancel a date.’ She sounds amused. He does not miss the split second glance she shoots his way before continuing. ‘On his birthday, too. Such a shame.’

He scoffs.

‘No one knows it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh, they do. They’re just too afraid to… ah, invoke the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.’

Of course, she is not one of them. She has absolutely no regard for the immutable drill he has observed for nearly four decades. And why must she, when her sole intent is to swivel the rusty axis of his life.

Ethan has never known the first shower of an Indian monsoon. It is sudden and torrential, just as it is feared and revered. It smells like summer, and mango blossoms. 

Ethan has never known one until this year.

‘I’m thirty seven, Rookie,’ He manages weakly. 

‘And I would’ve bought the candles accordingly if I knew that.’ 

The tealights she arranges look so much better, he thinks. The cake is a simple blue and white affair. Not the ones that have more icing than cake, he notes. Not the ones he disapproves of.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Terminator

‘I could’ve whipped something up without sugar,’ She rambles, suddenly starting to blush. ‘Or ordered one. But I only just came to know it’s your birthday. And there wasn’t a lot of-

‘Thank you, Apu.’ Tresses of warmth curl about his chest and the gravel of his voice.

Ethan has avoided birthday cakes for a decade now. Unless it’s Naveen’s birthday, he thinks with a pang.

In his time with Harper or his brief involvements in med-school, no one has ever convinced him to do birthdays. He checks himself. This is just an intern being kind.

But interns aren't kind to Dr. Ramsey, are they. 

She assures him the photos are not for social media. They settle on the couch, it’s his first birthday cake in over a decade. 

He is glad for an innocuous reason to look at her, laugh at jokes that in any other company would draw his scorn. She is oddly comforting. Unlike most interns who avoid his office at all costs, she moves about it as if she was meant to be here all along. 

He must have stalled birthdays worth twenty years only to spend it on a couch with her. 

The plates are disposable. It is nothing like the restaurants that come with his status, for there is an endearing simplicity about it. 

It almost feels like… home.

He steals occasional glances at her. It has been four agonisingly long days after their return from Miami. And for all his attempts to redraw their boundaries, it has been a non-return of sorts. 

Aparna drives him to distraction, flouts each and every one of his rules. Seeks him out in supply closets and muddled dreams. And every time he breaks her heart a little more, he finds himself floundering in his own squalor.

The German counterpart to the English ‘nostalgia’ is ‘sehnsucht’. Like ‘nostalgia’, it has the charm of what has been. But unlike it, it also has the enigma of what has never been. Miami will remain the swansong to an ideal that slipped through Ethan’s fingers. 

A surge of anguish ripples through him as he realises all of this is his for the asking, and he will have none of it. 

‘It wasn’t a date,’ He blurts out.

He wouldn’t tell her that if he wants her to move on. Not truly.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘She is Declan’s associate in Panacea. She suggested signing the contract with the Diagnostics Team over dinner tonight. So…  just business.’

Claudette Wilson is the most promising young face of Panacea, and Ethan needed less than a minute to know why. 

Sleek, dark hair styled at her nape played up her high cheekbones. The ruby of her pliant lips, almost risqué for a meeting such as this, always lingered a little longer on the rim of her coffee mug. Even the measured spoons of her laughter came with an all too enticing lilt.

Ethan has met the other type. Vacuous and synthetic. But the steely glint in her eyes came with a weighty intelligence. An unfaltering wit. And when a perfectly manicured hand brushed the contours of his cuff, he knew it was never meant to be just business. 

She was irresistible. And so was he.

That afternoon, the bitterness in his mouth had nothing to do with coffee. He learnt he would refuse Claudette even if her pay checks did not come from Panacea.

Aparna falls silent, almost as if discerning in his words everything he left unsaid.

They have run out of jokes and topics for a harmless chat. He is getting terribly comfortable with her again, he realises alarmed. And she is fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

She’s nervous too. He knows. He could define every twitch and turn of those fingers. 

Somewhere in their conversation they have edged so close that her knee juts into his thigh. The couch is surprisingly small for two people. Minutes pass, and despite himself, he does not want her to leave. 

His fingers rest on her flustered hands, it’s a deep-rooted reflex. Looking down, she weaves his hand in both of her own. Even as the adrenaline surging in his blood incites him to flee, the delirious part of him emerges stronger and more naive.

He thinks she is leaning in. Soaking up the mayhem in his eyes. The slight movement causes wisps of errant hair to slip from the messy bun. There’s new growth around her brows, a faded scar on her forehead. But it’s her eyes that still hold sway over him. 

They stroked him with a strange, silent awe on a balcony on the shores of the Atlantic.

She is nothing like interns that hover around him year after year. Sucking up for recommendations. Sometimes more. She can devour him, and just as easily cast him aside without batting an eye. 

And yet she is here. Snuggled in his office while her friends call it a night with cheap beer and rowdy escapades. 

But she is different tonight. The quiver in her eyes tentative, even wary.

His hand rises of its own accord, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Inadvertently, it brushes her face, lingers a little longer against her cheek.

She caressed his face as the ocean crashed around him. It was like falling from the top of a precipice. Tumbling into the amorphous, a terrifying weightlessness. He waited.

‘It’s getting late.’

She smells like the hospital, muted shades of honeysuckle, and like herself. 

The cool breeze hummed a steady rhyme against the tumble of her midnight blue dress. Bits of the moon bounced off the dark curtain of her hair, plunging into her eyes. Ethan had never seen such fathomless eyes.

‘I should go.’ She leans into his palm, eyes fluttering close. 

‘You should.’ 

And then she caught him. It was the hollow of her neck. It was soft. Like the rest of her. 

Neither of them move today, silently imploring the other to charge. Or retreat. The battle drum in his chest is a dull ache. Throbbing and inconsolable.

The ridges of her collarbone bore traces of his ruin. Traces she covered every morning and stripped every night, like the rites of a godless liturgy.

His free hand is still laced in hers, the other drawing her face nearer. 

Her lips are inches from his own as he draws a languid finger across them. Her warm breath spills on his lips, warring and mingling with his own ragged ones. 

Her mouth was stained with wine. Numbing and inciting. He was battered, and bruised. Marooned at her side. And she was warm. So warm.

His hand traced the pummelling of her heart, kneading the softness of her chest. Her tongue jousted with his own as the ocean lapped at its shore. Tireless and persevering.

She was wild. Like her Gangetic nor’westers on a sultry afternoon. He was bewitched. She was doing something good to him.

Suddenly the air around them is ripped by the sound of his phone. 

It’s his father.

The two of them recoil to their own spaces, Ethan horrified that he let himself stray so far yet again. Silencing the still erring device, he faces Aparna bracing for another apology.

‘I know.’ 

Her smile is placid, all traces of vulnerability gone. He is vaguely aware of the gentle pressure on the hand still clasped in her own.

‘Happy Birthday, Ethan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

She is gone before he can marshal his thoughts.

Ethan flops back into the couch, shivering and alone. The incandescent glow from the solitary lamp drenches the office in a soft, ethereal haze. She might not have been here at all but for the little things she scatters around him every time she forays into his life.

Today she leaves with him a caesura. It thwarts the cadence of a life he has been putting together since Miami.

After a minute, or perhaps a staggering nightmare, when he rises to pack the rest of the cake, he sees it. 

She must have forgotten her hair tie was in her pocket after all. 

It stares up at him from the floor, the silken, mute witness of his transgression. He gingerly picks it up, and turns it in his hand as though it houses some ancient sorcery. 

Laying it on his desk, he considers texting her. But scarcely does he scroll down to her name when he stops himself. And pockets it. 

Somewhere in the Atlantic, waves still crash upon the rocks, moistening, but never quite lingering. 

The waves are relentless. Someday, the rocks crumble into fine sand.

Thank you for reading this! Let me know if you’d want to be added or removed.

[jq37]

The Case File – Mice and Murder Ep 2

The Case of the Dismal Dinner

Summary

Welcome back to our flashback/Tisch fight already in progress where we learn what Daisy and Sly’s shared look was about while Rekha and Grant go for the proverbial jugular emotionally. It’s 12 years ago and Sylvester is tracking down a stolen diadem, the very same diadem that he sees Daisy swipe off the thief who has it (a jackal named Roscoe McCoy in case that matters). Sly swipes it back from her and, when she notices, she sniffs it down to his train car where he is sitting in the dark, waiting for her. He doesn’t turn the lights on, opting instead to dramatically strike a match to light his pipe, illuminating himself sitting in a big chair, holding the stolen item.

Daisy tries to bluff like she’s Virginia Chase, the owner of the diadem, but Sly knows that’s not true because he was hired by the real Virginia to track it down. Daisy is usually a better liar than this but she is insta-smitten by this figurative and literal fox and it��s throwing her off her game. But before they can continue their little tete-a-tete, they hear a gunshot ring out from Daisy’s room and know Roscoe and his guys are coming after her. Sly stuffs Daisy in a trunk before the boys show up and they actually seem a little impressed to meet him, him being a famous detective and all, but a Nat 1 deception means they hear Daisy being huffy in the chest and a fight/escape scene that Brennan takes over narration for ensues. 

After that, Sly and Daisy become close really quickly and partners in both senses of the word. Daisy tells him she’s an American PI and they work together on cases, travel the world, and become engaged within the year. But, the day before the wedding, when Sly is alone, he discovers all the documentation proving that Daisy lied about who she is, is actually a criminal, and has been using their partnership to sell information to other criminals.

She shows up and tries to pretend like she’s being set up but he replies, “You being duped is the only lie you’ve told I can’t believe.” He says that being with her changed him. He didn’t think he had it in him to actually love another person. He forgives her. He still wants to get married. Daisy is thrown by this reaction. She tells him she’s not gonna change for him and he might as well leave her. She’s being all unapologetic femme fatale about it but he gets the sense that under her bravado she’s low key pleading with him to give up on her. He doesn’t want to. He can’t. He still shows up the next day in his wedding tux. Daisy is nowhere to be seen. When he goes home, there’s a deerstalker cap on his porch and a note that just reads “-D”.

And we snap back to the present where Daisy is trying to figure out if she can take advantage of Lucretia’s fascination with the occult and all the rich vulnerable people present to make some money. Meanwhile, Sly has been totally rocked by seeing Daisy and is drowning his sorrows at the bar with Ollie, the otter bartender. Squire Badger (which is what I’ll be calling William) shows up and, in not so many words, threatens Sly for having not solved the case and making a fool of him. He says, “You’re not gonna rub my nose in this.” Move your nose then bitch, says Sly on a dirty 20 intimidation check. He’s sad about girl problems, not you! Squire Badger is scared off, but he looks like he knows something that Sly doesn’t. That someone is coming for him. 

Buckster (and Ian too btw) clocked the above conversation and sidles up to Sly at the bar. See, not only does Buckster know about Sly and Daisy’s history, he knew it was happening *while* it was happening. Sly used up all his cool swagger on the Squire so by the time Buckster shows up he’s a whole mess over Daisy. Buckster starts implying that maybe they can help each other out since they both dislike the Squire and with Sly’s Nat 20 Insight, they can totally clock each other’s double meanings perfectly. It’s a very cool game thing where Sly and Buckster are having an innocuous conversation about the weather or whatever but Grant and Sam are just saying what they mean. It’s like they’re having a telepathic conversation. Sly agrees that the enemy of his enemy is his friend and he’ll go along with Buck’s plans as long as he can keep his hands clean, even if he doesn’t really care for Buck himself. 

At the same time Gangie is in the kitchens getting fed (see the notes for a full list of kitchen staffers and other NPCs) and after the staff leaves, Gangie is told by Ambrose Harding (the Squire’s turtle valet) that there’s is business for him to attend to after dinner. 

Buckster talks to Lawrence Longfoot--the rabbit photographer from last ep who we learn runs a trash newspaper. He and Buck bond over being trash and he gets a pic of Sly and Buck together. 

Vicar Ian goes to talk to the Squire and basically tries to (openly) suss out whether the money was a bribe or a setup or what? Like, people are fully there (including the Lady Fawnbrook and her gossipy cat wife Tabitha). They snipe at each other a bit and then the Squire reveals that he’s talked him up to the Cardinal and the Cardinal agreed that he’s such a good vicar, he should be moved to Siberia. The decision has already been made and Ian doesn’t have the pull in the church to do anything about it. Yikes. 

Before dinner, the rat butler catches Buck and asks if he has time to talk to Squire Badger. Buck agrees to go with him and he’s taken to the billiards room where the Squire is along with Harding and James Hawkins, Squire’s Hawk war buddy (a literal war hawk). Buck immediately puts his foot in his mouth by messing up the Squire’s title with his American ignorance of British peerage rules which annoys him, the elitism of it all. The Squire’s friends leave and then Buck starts talking about PR and how this whole situation has been bad PR for the Squire and it would be a shame if his PR got even worse. The suggestion of blackmail sends the Squire into a full honey badger don’t care style rage and he knocks TF out of Buck, flips the pool table, and then catches himself and scurries off. Daisy, Sly, and Gangie all hear this conversation from their positions in the house via the pipes running through the manor. Buck picks himself up and, on a 25, realizes that two of the mouse maids were hiding behind a curtain, hearing the whole thing (specifically, Edwina Thimble and Carolyn Dickory--oh like hickory dickory doc, BRENNAN) . They were playing hooky so he flips them a coin each and they all agree that no one saw or heard anything. “Two blind mice, see how they run,” he quips as they leave (sidenote, what a morbid nursery rhyme to exist in that world--to be fair, it’s pretty morbid as is).

Lucretia decides to turn the séance into a post dinner séance but still brings Daisy and Lars to see her occult room which is full of crap from, as Rekha said, “1800s Party City”. Lucretia does a hilariously vague read on Daisy and says that there’s something happening with her involving a man she knew or maybe still knows but she’s in her feelings about Sly so it kinda shakes her up. She tries to get Lucretia to charge for her “””incredible gift””” (so she can skim off the top of course) but Lucretia thinks it would be a misuse of her ~talents~. She does give Daisy an incredibly broad as to be useless even if magic exists blessing before she leaves. 

Once she does, Daisy scopes out the room (which she realizes must have been retrofitted for Lucretia and wasn’t previously a séance room) and sees that the one thing in the room that doesn’t really match the aesthetic is a giant portrait of one of the previous squire badgers. On a 24 she notices two things: (1) the painting has recently been restored with new paint and (2) the frame is bolted to the wall. She wants to check it out but Lars is right there so she makes a note to check it out later and leaves. 

Lars, being a very ride or die friend for Sly, bounds after her and basically calls her trash and tries to tempt her with garbage so she’ll lose composure and start chowing down. She drools at the sight but keeps it together and leaves. Lars runs off to tell Sly that they were a good good dog and gives him a full play by play. 

Gangie meanwhile is watching a small argument between the butler and Harding in the servant’s quarters hallway and he realizes that he’s being talked about in veiled language. The butler is questioning Gangie’s employment and Harding says that, as servants, they shouldn’t question their master and that Gangie is employed for reasons that Squire Badger is aware of and reasons he is not. Hmm. Gangie realizes that Harding knows about his past which is weird because Gangie’s criminal record doesn’t follow him. There’s no internet. So what reason would this guy have to know about him?

Gangie doesn’t like this and decides to dip and steal some silverware on the way out. Mrs. Molesley (who I’ll be calling Mrs. M from now on) helps him (lol I’m not entirely sure if she didn’t know what he was doing or if she’s just down with stealing) and says that she’s been working there since Squire Badger was in diapers (she was his nanny) and if anyone bullies Gangie, she’ll take care of them. She also offers to make him a sweater so he doesn’t get cold and she’s just so nice that Gangie has to say yes. He looks to make sure no one is around and gives her a dandelion he picked. Cute!!!

And now it’s time for dinner and our very first box of doom roll for the most terrifying encounter of all: how close you have to sit next to your bitter ex! This is of course for Sly and Daisy with higher than a 15 meaning they don’t have to sit next to each other and anything lower meaning they have to sit pretty close. It is the first BOD roll I’ve ever wanted them to fail (mmm, except maybe Adaine’s werewolf roll but that’s a different conversation). 

It’s in the 6-10 bracket which means they’re sitting across from each other (below that would have been them next to each other). Everyone is seated based on how on Squire Badger’s shitlist they are. So you have Ian at the absolute back. Sly to his right and Daisy on his left. The Buckster and Lars to the right and left after that. Then Armond (armadillo lawyer guy) and a snail guy because Brennan is a madman who cannot be stopped. Constance (Squire’s daughter) makes a toast to her dad wishing him well even though they haven’t always seen eye to eye (hmmm).

Buckster fills in Daisy on his confrontation with the Squire quietly enough that no one else hears. Daisy then turns to Sly and says she hopes they can be civil. Sly is like, “Sure Ms. DUMPSTER.” They’re the kind of exes who know exactly how to hurt each other but are also super open to being hurt. Emotional glass cannons is how Brennan describes it. 

Buckster is given a note by Harding from Squire Badger and, once dinner is over, he takes Daisy off to the side to read it. Gangie follows, unseen. Ian, who recently prayed to God and got not super clear results goes to talk to Luecretia to see if maybe ghosts can help him instead. She is, as usual, not super helpful but does rush out to get her very necessary ritual dagger and declares to everyone that if anyone sees a ghost they have to tell her. As she says this, there is a flash of lightning and, through the window, Sylvester sees just for a moment the form of his nemesis, Fletcher Cottonbotton (who is by the docks).

Anyway, Buckster reads the note. It’s a document from the Squire selling his interest in BB Industries (Buck’s oil company) to Hazel Hogswallop who is another small shareholder in BB Industries. But, in doing so, it names Josiah Jackrabbit (one of his competitors) her proxy which means he’ll be able to vote on things (and with a lot of power with all that stock).  The contract was written in fresh ink which means (1) it was probably written after their fight and (2) hasn’t been mailed yet (I smell a heist attempt). Buck rolls insight on the writing (mastermind rogue ability) and with a 27 senses that the Squire has gone off his rocker. This isn’t going to make him any money. Josiah doesn’t have enough liquid cash to pay him what this is worth. And the thing with Hazel would have taken time to set up. This has been in the works for a while and he’s been sitting on it until the time was right. And he senses, like Sly and Gangie did earlier, that someone besides the Squire is pulling the strings. 

Then Gangie suddenly hears Constance’s distressed voice through the pipes from upstairs: “Father you’re possessed! You’re a mad man! This will never work. Speak of this to me never again.” And she slams the door (Buck, Daisy, and Gangie all hear). Constance comes downstairs and Squire Badger follows, looking upset. Mrs. M checks in on him too see if he’s eaten and he kind of gruffly has her follow him (along with Mr. Harding) into the drawing room.

There is a scream. Something drops. Silence. Footsteps. A door opens. Then a voice, “My God!”

Everyone rolls initiative. Ian moves first and, upon hearing all the commotion, gathers everyone together to go towards the sound (interesting choice but sure). Daisy recognizes that the scream heard was Mrs. M but barely knows who she is. She goes towards the commotion anyway. Gangie also goes towards the scream. Buckster grabs his gun (well he says “weapon”, but it’s gotta be a gun, right?) and makes like he’s following her but actually hides. Lars and Sylvester go towards the scream. 

With everyone gathered, Ambrose opens the door. Inside they see Mrs. M, her hands covered in blood (my guess? From trying to stop the bleeding), kneeling on the ground over the dead body of the Squire. The room is a mess and stuff is scattered everywhere. There is a bloody knife in the Squire’s hand and a stab wound over his heart. Ms. M, who is distressed as hell, says there was something wrong with him. There was a flash, and she looked down and he was stabbing himself. Everyone thinks this is suspicious as hell. She was the only one in the room. Everyone looks to Sly, the famous detective who is not in the presence of a murder case in progress. What does Sly say? “Lady Lucretia. I’ve seen a ghost.”

Case Notes

I have to acknowledge how ON FIRE Grant was this episode. Like everyone was. Buck was great with the Squire. Daisy and Lars sniping at each other was fun. But man Grant had so many good lines. The “move your nose”. The heartbreak with Daisy (ugh, so sad!) And that blackout line!!! I am biased towards foxes as you can see from my avatar so I am very here for this great fox rep.

Based on the way their staredown went last ep I kinda thought Daisy was the wronged party but ugh. Slyyyyyyy. He forgave herrrrrrr. And he still went to the alter. Daisy how you could youuuuuuu?

Also, sigh, Fox and the Hound. I keep getting hit with these after the fact. 

I loved Rekha’s “Of the Chase Sapphire’s?” improv.

That racoon/mink line was so sleazy. Weird compliment but Brennan is good at being animal-racist. Sidenote, Daisy makes a comment about being careful being a fox in England which I presume is a ref to fox hunting and like the implication of that are como se dice troubling. 

Here are all the new NPCs for this ep and here’s a full NPC guide that also includes the list of names Gangie gave Buck which Buck shares with Daisy this ep.

And on that topic I can’t get over the concept of a married couple named Millie Molton and Mollie Milton. Like, did they get married solely for the bit???

The best Ian-ism of the ep was him talking about getting rejected from Siberia. Poor guy.

Fave OOC moment was everyone at the table getting aggressively patriotic in response to the Squire being dismissive to Buck. There is nothing funnier than someone singing a purposefully overwrought version of I’m Proud to Be An American. 

“It’s 2020 for us bitch!”

The moment Mrs. M said she was gonna make Gangie a sweater I was scared for her. Sweaters take a long time to get made. I was like oh no. The plot is gonna stop you from making that sweater isn’t it. I’m willing to be proven wrong (Brennan loves his maids with secrets, see: Cathilda) but she seems super sweet and if anything happens to her I’m going to be upset. 

What’s behind the painting Brennan. I know there’s a door. I know this house is full of secret tunnels and revolving bookshelves and all that. Let me see it!

One great little moment was when there was a flash of lightning and the minis for Sly and Lars like stop motion moved to look at it. Just great attention to detail. The work that gets put into this show is incredible.

Edit: A note I forgot to mention. There’s gotta be a secret door in the room where it happened, right? Like, creep in, flash of light to mess up her vision, do some shenanigans, peace out.

[septic-skele]

UT - Prized Possession

Summary: I’ve just been snatched away from everything I’ve ever known, uninvited hands digging and twisting painfully to drag me through bitter cold—yet even as I writhe and flail wildly for escape, no one pursues. No one even seems to notice or care that I’m gone.

It is an outrage, a travesty, a crime of the highest caliber. I’ve just been snatched away from everything I’ve ever known, uninvited hands digging and twisting painfully to drag me through bitter cold—yet even as I writhe and flail wildly for escape, no one pursues. No one even seems to notice or care that I’m gone.

How could the passersby overlook me? How could they fail to notice the empty rack in the window where I was so proudly presented? My struggles to and fro in the wind grow violent as I recall my siblings left hanging, helpless to intervene. With every heaving, plunging step of my captor in the snowdrifts, they fall further and further behind.

Where am I being taken? What exactly are my captor’s intentions and why, why me? Greed for the biggest and brightest, no doubt! My sisters would whisper that I was asking for something like this to happen, flashing my bold, beautiful colors to those around town—but if this thief thinks I’ll play along willingly, he has another thing coming.

With a surge of bravery, I lunge to wrap around his legs and send him sprawling, his yelp muffled by snow. It feels like a victory for a moment but alas, it comes with the price of being pinned underneath him; I can’t untangle myself fast enough. Coughing and spitting, he wrestles with me most roughly, trying to restrain. Before I can dredge up a better plan of attack, he has me trapped in a fierce, crushing hold against his chest. The smells of grease, mud and garbage lingering around him are overpowering.

As we pass another several yards, I can’t help but wilt in despair. The town is behind us now, out of sight, no one else to spot us. Unless the winds change in my favor, this is a point of no return.

Woe, woe is me. Am I doomed to be in the greedy, grubby hands of this monster forever? I was made for so much better! I was made to bring joy to an upstanding citizen, to be a prized possession, a crowning glory! Now look at me—damp with icy slush, stitching bruised where bony fingers dug in.

As that thought crosses, however, I can’t help but notice that his grip has loosened just slightly. Now that he’s gotten me alone, he seems to rest assured that he’ll get away with his crime. As he looms over what is presumably his hideaway, I can’t help but wonder what else this fiend has made away with.

Old, wet food wrappers, a handful of small coins, an umbrella with no handle, a mitt missing its partner, two pairs of mismatched shoes…Bitter though it may be, perhaps I will be the prize of this sorry collection. There’s nothing of true importance here, nothing that could be worthy of my—

Squeezed as I am against his ribs, I can feel my captor’s soul beat flutter. When I realize what’s before us, I can’t help but flutter too, in disbelief.

“I’m finally back, bro,” my thief announces, voice cracking and whistling through missing teeth. Before I can fully absorb what’s happening, he’s ushering me on toward the scene. “And I-I brought you somethin’ real good today! Look what I gotcha!”

As he kneels I tumble recklessly to find myself in a startled heap on top of the surprise infant. The older monster wastes no time poking and prodding at me, trying to find the right folds—and though I may be damp from our journey, I can’t help but notice this little one is positively frigid.

At last, murmurs the tattered, threadbare blanket already bundled around him. Its holes are like old eyes, looking upon me with relief. At last, he’s found help. I’m doing all I can to keep Papyrus warm but at my age it is not enough. Thank you so much for coming.

It wasn’t my idea, I might answer if I wasn’t so distracted. The small one—Papyrus?—is trying to latch onto me but his fingers are too weak. When he mewls and fusses, the elder coos back in comfort, dragging me toward the baby’s chin.

“Shh, shh, shh. I’m here, Papy, I’ve gotcha. There, see, isn’t that better? It’s pretty and it’s warm and it’s all yours! You like that?” Swiping his thumb back and forth over Papyrus’ cheekbone, the thief falls silent for a few beats and I can’t help but peek back. I can just catch the moment that his smile quavers and his sockets bubble with tears. “Yeah. Y-You like that, so…now you don’t got any excuses to be sick, okay? You gotta stay warm now and don’t…ever scare me like that again. Please don’t.”

The old blanket sighs in silent sympathy and, perhaps, in guilt for its shortcomings.

I remain perfectly still, uncertain.

When the thief sniffs hard, shakes his head and nudges me closer against Papyrus’ neck, I find myself unresisting.

[agapaic]

[19 days] sin city

this drabble is a gift to one of my dearest and biggest supporters, @geoviki​, who requested a bonus ‘second kiss’ continuation scene between he tian and guan shan in the ‘sweet tooth’ universe (a crazy rich asians-inspired fic), and i sincerely hope you enjoy it, viki! all my love, xxx

Guan Shan hasn’t set foot in God’s house since he was a kid. His mother goes every weekend when she doesn’t have a double shift, but he can’t bring himself to go with her. Too busy, too cynical. He knows he can’t struggle with his faith when he’s lost it; he doesn’t know if he ever found it. He knows without a doubt that he sins.

As it is, he isn’t burnt in the service, isn’t poisoned by the communion. He thinks that if anyone were to be dealt retribution then he wouldn’t be first in line. Singapore’s elite have bigger, dustier skeletons in their closets than Guan Shan, half-disintegrated with age.

He tells himself this through the readings and prayers and hymns he’s forgotten the words to, glances routinely through the stained-glass windows for a glimpse of an outside reality he can’t see. He can hear it: the rush of mid-morning traffic beyond the grassy verges of the church, neatly protected from the central business district by iron fencing and a half-acre of flower beds and rain trees.

Beneath the lip of the pew, where copies of the testaments, old and new, have been neatly placed and the firm, embroidered hassocks hang off metal hooks, He Tian squeezes Guan Shan’s hand.

‘Nearly done,’ he murmurs, while Father Joshua delivers his sermon on godliness in children and parental obedience.

Guan Shan's gaze slides to his. It’s one of the only things He Tian’s said the whole service.

‘You believe all this?’ he asks, whispering.

‘They do,’ He Tian replies, his lips barely moving.

Fans move lazily above them from the high steepled ceiling, their chains rattling over the din of the priest’s solemn tone. They don’t offer much: the inside of the church is still sticky with heat, and members of the congregation attempt to cool themselves with the service pamphlets or paperback copies of the Bible with broken spines and annotations in the margins.

From the seat in front of them, Guan Shan watches a bead of sweat slide down a woman’s neck, dampness collecting at the high laced collar of her Chanel dress. She has her own bamboo fan, painted with pretty avian sketches.

Guan Shan pulls his gaze away. ‘Which godly child are you?’ he asks He Tian quietly. ‘Absolom or Samuel?’

He Tian tries to hide a grin. ‘Destroyer of kingdoms or a monk?’ he questions, angling his head as if looking behind him. His breath is cool at Guan Shan’s ear. Guan Shan lets him lean close, breathing in sandalwood and khus oil. ‘Are those my only choices?’

Guan Shan sets his eyes forward. ‘Nothin’ else seems to be acceptable.’

‘Yes—they’re a stern lot.’

‘They should put their money where their mouth is.’

He Tian snorts quietly. He releases Guan Shan’s hand, and Guan Shan says nothing when his hand moves instead to rest innocently atop Guan Shan’s thigh.

‘He Tian…’ he starts to warn.

He Tian keeps his expression plain. ‘I told you if you came I’d make it worth your while.’

‘That’s not—’ Guan Shan bats his hand away. The gesture elicits a harsh smacking sound, and a few heads turn. Guan Shan presses his lips into a hard line. When eventually their attention shifts away again, Guan Shan hisses, ‘I’m not doin’ that.’

‘I thought you didn’t care much for His wrath,’ He Tian says, pointing discreetly upwards.

‘That’s got nothin’ to do with…’ Guan Shan breaks off. He Tian’s eyes are glittering. He’s joking with him. Guan Shan clenches his jaw. Murmuring, he says: ‘You shouldn’t mess with people like that.’

‘But you make it so much fun,’ He Tian whispers.

Guan Shan glares at him. He endures the rest of the sermon in stoic silence. Absolom, he thinks. He Tian, the destroyer of kingdoms—and young men’s hearts.

///

They linger outside after the sermon. The air is thick and charged with the aftermath of a morning thunderstorm, the ground wet with rain and the smell of petrichor. Guan Shan breathes in deeply, stepping back while He Tian greets strangers and allows middle-aged women to offer both cheeks for him to kiss, their husbands noticeably absent. They run their eyes over Guan Shan and the suit he’s going to make He Tian return by the end of the day, and He Tian politely evades their desire for introductions.

He knows everyone, Guan Shan realises, but it doesn’t surprise him. He’s seen the He family work a crowd at a party or a charity function. The lingering congregation of a Sunday mass is only another opportunity to schmooze and gossip.

‘Just another five minutes,’ He Tian murmurs at Guan Shan’s ear. ‘My father will have my hide if I don’t show my face for a decent length of time.’

‘How long’s that? By his standards?’

‘He’d have me go to brunch with someone’s mother and their daughter if he had his way.’

Guan Shan fingernails bite into his palms. The thought of He Tian being palmed off to some socialite’s offspring makes him bitter with jealousy. He’s seen He Tian only a few times since the charity function at the She estate, communicated with him mostly in veiled text messages and late night calls.

It’s been weeks since they’d shared the feeling of each other’s lips in a quiet room at the She mansion, weeks since they’d shared kueh with their legs dangling over the edge of a jetty across from Sentosa island. Most nights, Guan Shan still tastes both on his lips.

He’s got little stake to claim over the young heir of the He fortune, but he can’t help himself. He goes where He Tian asks him to, wears the suits He Tian buys him. Fuck, he’s started smoking his brand of cigarettes, too. And if He Tian wants to take him to church one Sunday morning so he has better company than a band of middle-aged women wanting him for themselves more than their daughters… Who is Guan Shan to say no after the first three times?

‘What are you thinking?’

Guan Shan blinks. Another church-goer has come and gone, and they’re alone. He Tian is watching him closely.

‘I want a cigarette,’ Guan Shan says. Technically, it’s not a lie.

He Tian snorts. ‘In the courtyard of our Lady of the Veil? Blasphemy, Mo Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan shrugs. He remembers their exchange at the threshold of the church, where two children no more than ten stood with a coin bowl held out, covered in pool-table green cloth and more cash than Guan Shan earns from a month’s tips.

‘I’m not a Catholic,’ he’d told He Tian, feeling strangely compelled to tell him with an even stranger degree of anxiety about the fact, as if it were a make-or-break moment for something they had that could neither be made nor broken.

He Tian had snorted then, too. ‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, stepping through the doors, palming the children a few bills to line their pockets. ‘Neither am I.’

Now, Guan Shan watches as He Tian reaches into the lining of his suit jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from the pocket. It’s too warm to stand outside in their Sunday best for long, and He Tian tugs Guan Shan over beneath the shade of an Indian-almond tree, its boughs offering some cool relief to a small section of the church courtyard.

Guan Shan watches He Tian light a cigarette between his lips, the flame close to his fingers. It catches; there’s a cherry red glow. Smoke blooms between them, and then He Tian plucks the cigarette from his lips and holds it out as if it’s a newly picked flower.

‘Here,’ he says. A moment passes, where Guan Shan doesn’t take it. ‘I thought you wanted it.’

‘I do, I just—’ Guan Shan can feel his cheeks starting to redden. He swallows. His throat has gone dry. He can hear the voices of men and women standing before the church. He knows some of them are watching, wondering, eager to know who his family is and where he’s come from and how he has captured He Tian’s attention with such painful, singular attentiveness.

‘You’re not—’ He Tian breaks off with a laugh. ‘You’re not worried that I’ve touched it, are you?’

Guan Shan looks away, and He Tian’s eyes widen.

‘Oh,’ he says. His smile grows wider. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he croons. ‘I didn’t know you were such a puritan. How proud He’d be.’

‘Shut up,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s stance shifts, intrigued. ‘If I’d known it took an indirect kiss to make you blush, Man Upstairs be damned, I’d have put my mouth elsewhere a long time ago.’

‘Shut up.’

He Tian’s laughter is deep as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Some of the women are frowning at him. The hot breeze carries the smoke in their direction, and they waft it away with their fans and paper service pamphlets, rouged mouths pursing tightly. He smiles at them, all affable apologies, and they can’t begrudge him long.

‘They want you to fuck them,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s eyes flick to his, and his smile grows indulgent. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘You’re not gonna do anythin’ about it?’

‘Like what?’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. ‘Like—tell them to fuck off?’

He Tian snorts. ‘They’re old friends of the family. And you forget they haven’t made me an offer, sweetheart.’

‘And if they did?’

He Tian considers him carefully. His playfulness begins to fade. ‘You’re jealous,’ he says. ‘Of them?’

‘They’d divorce their investment husbands if they knew they had a chance with you.’

He Tian taps cigarette ash to the ground. He looks away, squinting at the skyline, considering something, before taking a step forward.

‘Firstly,’ says He Tian, his voice low, ‘if they had a chance with me they’d know it. Secondly, there’d be no divorce or marriage to a man twenty years their junior because their reputations wouldn’t survive the scandal. And thirdly: what the fuck would I want with them when I have the prospect of a whole indirect kiss with you?’

Guan Shan glares at him. ‘Gimme that,’ he says, snatching the cigarette from He Tian’s fingers before putting it to his lips. He nearly chokes on the inhale, eyes watering, and smoke seeps from the corners of his mouth before he can control it the way he wants it to. There’s nothing attractive about it, but he catches He Tian watching him with an indulgent smile.

‘It’s been five minutes,’ He Tian says, taking a glance at his watch. ‘We can go now. I promised to buy you brunch. You’re still happy with Orchard Road?’

‘I’m not finished,’ Guan Shan says.

He Tian’s brows lift. ‘You can’t smoke and walk?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

He Tian tilts his head. ‘Oh?’

‘I meant—it’s not really fair, is it? It’s always—always you kissin’ me, and shit.’

‘Always?’

‘Yeah, with the—distractin’ the guards at She Li’s house and with—’ He makes a vague gesture. ‘—the cigarette and—’

‘Guan Shan—’

‘—it’s only fair that I get to prove my own fuckin’ point too—’

‘Mo Guan Shan—’

‘So will you just shut up and let me kiss you?’

He Tian stares at him.

Then he swallows.

‘If you really want to,’ he starts, ‘I suppose I’m in no position to—mmphh!’

It isn’t tender or soft, and Guan Shan is vaguely aware of the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. He lets it fall, hopes he’s ground it out beneath his foot properly and remembers to pick it up after or risk a fine, but first: this. His fingers tightly locked in the dark strands of He Tian’s hair; He Tian’s lips bruising against his own, the sharp gasps of the women loitering by the church doors.

It’s exactly as he remembers from last time. A crushing pressure, the sense of being caught unawares. No finesse. Guan Shan knows it could be slower, that they could take their time, a pilgrimage of vulnerability and one body learning another, but something possessive in him has taken over—this is a crusade.

He Tian’s answering kiss twists into a grin against Guan Shan’s mouth. Guan Shan swallows He Tian’s amusement down, finds the feel of He Tian’s smile against his lips unfairly alluring. He does his best to try and rid He Tian of it, crowding close until He Tian’s back hits the trunk of the almond tree and He Tian is groaning beneath the pressure of his lips. He tastes the acrid smoke of their shared cigarette and He Tian’s breath mints, feels the humid beat of the mid-morning sun—and He Tian’s hand pressing gently at his chest.

He pulls away, staggering and breathing hard. With satisfaction, he notes that He Tian is, too.

‘I think we’re even now,’ says He Tian, a slight rasp to his voice. His eyes are bright and he runs his thumbnail over his lower lip, which has gone swollen and red. ‘You’ve suitably convinced your audience.’

Guan Shan looks away. ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Oh?’ He Tian asks, amused. ‘That wasn’t you staking your claim?’

Guan Shan hesitates. Part of him can’t bear to look behind him. ‘Are you gonna be excommunicated?’

He Tian chuckles. ‘I’m sure I can find my way back in. Father Joshua is particularly fond of He Cheng’s hideously curvaceous Bugatti.’

‘Guess that’s somethin’,’ Guan Shan mutters.

In answer, He Tian sweeps a hand through the loose strands of Guan Shan’s red hair that have slipped down across his forehead. The touch is fond and familiar and makes Guan Shan swallow hard.

‘You know,’ says He Tian. ‘You can do that any time you want. Not just to prove a point.’

‘You haven’t,’ says Guan Shan, an accusation.

‘I didn’t want to scare you off. I realise last time I was a bit—’

‘Forceful?’

‘Abrupt,’ He Tian corrects delicately. ‘But still—I don’t want you to think you’re any less mine.’

Guan Shan looks at him. ‘Thought you couldn’t have anythin’ you wanted.’

‘Ah…’ He Tian drops his hand, leans back on the heels of his Louis Vitto’s. Almost boyishly, he says, ‘I thought it was a done deal. You and me.’

Guan Shan neither confirms or denies. Instead he asks, ‘Who’d you trade with to get that impression?’

He Tian nods his head upwards. ‘Did it work? I sold my soul for it. ’

‘And they still let you in?’

He Tian’s look is sinful. ‘They let the worst of us through.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. He wets his lips. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I think you’re on a decent road to redemption.’

‘Is that your way of saying it was a worthwhile bargain?’ Tell me it worked.

‘Is that your way of askin’ if I’m yours?’ Guan Shan asks. All these riddles and metaphors—sometimes he has to bring them back to the ground, make sure they’re on the same page.

‘I—Yes.’

Guan Shan nods, then jerks his chin in a challenge. ‘Make me believe it and I might be.’

He Tian’s eyes flicker towards the church just for a moment, but then he smirks, reaffirming their closeness with one step. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he murmurs, angling his head down, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’