#is there but really far in the background

[postracehair]

trust me

max verstappen x reader | 2.3k

after an incredible (and wet) weekend in brazil, you have a confession to make.

cw: a loving relationship! discussion of anxiety/fear/worrying about your race car driver bf, healthy communication, and softness galore.

a/n: being a wag must be so stressful. like, damn! also, rain races stress me out, personally. this fic is about that.

__

The triple header comes to an end in the best way possible.

Max Verstappen wins the São Paulo Grand Prix from a 17th-place start! It's the stuff of dreams. The fist around your heart unclenches just a little bit as you watch him smiling, roaring, hoisting his well-earned trophy aloft. It's your best day in a long time, watching your darling boyfriend like that, and you celebrate with everyone late into the night. The Championship battle looms in the background but tonight is about the hard work from the weekend. The stress, the frustration, the damn rain. All of it worth it for the pride you all feel right now.

But what comes after -- that, you can admit, you enjoy even more. Three weeks until Las Vegas and Max and the team have plenty of work to do before then, but for now? For now, it's this: rest.

Everyone gets to go home, finally. And for you, home is wherever Max is. You've spent the first few days of the break thus far at his place. On the floor with the cats, on the couch watching movies. In his bed, sleeping, sometimes, other times... not so much. Hours and hours just being together. You'll have plenty of time for this once the season ends but you can never get enough of him.

You're on the couch, sprawled across the length of it with a book in hand. It's a good one, so much so that you don't notice Max until he taps your ankle and you jump.

"Jesus," you gasp. His lips are pulled up at one corner in the precursor to a full grin, sweatpants slung low enough that you can see the branded band of his underwear between the drawstrings and the hem of his t-shirt. "Where did you come from?"

"Watching race replays," he says with a shrug. "Scooch." You tug your legs back and sit up a little, bookmarking your page as he rounds the couch and plops down where your feet were.

"Max," you whine. "I like to watch those, too. So you can do that thing where you narrate like, every second." You're teasing, but only a little. For all the jokes about "maxplaining," you really do love how he explains things. He tells you what he was thinking at every turn, what the trick is, how long it took him to get it right. He points out his mistakes and those of the other drivers. All of it thoroughly and with enthusiasm, answering your questions like you're the best student he's ever had.

"Yeah, well," he says, sinking into the couch, arm stretched across the cushions towards you. Your eyes rake over the line of his bicep as he talks. "You don't like rain races very much. Wasn't sure you'd want to see it again."

That gets your attention. "How did you know that?" You've never told him outright that they stress you out. It's really important to you that you keep your cool at the track, that you don't do anything to let on that he should worry about you.

But you should know better, it seems.

"I can tell," Max says, looking right at you. "I pay attention."

You hum, not sure what to say. "You've got me there," you confess. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he tuts. "Why the apology? You can feel however you want to. This weekend was complicated."

He feels too far away. You set your book on the ground and shove your toes under this thigh. He keeps his eyes on your face but you fuss with the hem of your t-shirt rather than look back.

"They're exciting. Rain races, I mean." You sigh. "But I can't help but worry, Max. From the garage, it's so --"

You lose track of your words because Max grabs hold of your legs and tugs them over his thighs as he moves closer to you, almost crowding you against the arm of the couch. He reaches for your collarbone to pick some lint from your shirt, his other arm slung across your calves.

"Were you scared?" he asks. "This weekend, I mean."

Frankly, you avoid telling him things like this because you don't want to distract him. You don't want to detract from his performance in any way and maybe that's selfish, because you know he's very good at what he does and how you feel isn't going to derail his weekend. But you know he loves you, and you know how deeply he feels things. How much he wants to be a good partner, a good driver, a good man. And you try really hard to let him know that he is all of those things.

The reality of your position in his life is that there will always be people who heavily imply that your presence, your actions, your choices could be at fault. It's ludicrous -- Max has said so many times -- but it makes you hype-aware. You don't want to overstep. It's something you know you should articulate to him properly, but you know he'll be upset that you think you can be anything but a good part of his life. It's an endless cycle.

"Hey," he says, mistaking your silence for emotion. "Liefje, I'm fine." He reaches for you, cupping your cheek with a warm hand. You look up at him and find him frowning.

"I know," you say, leaning into his palm. "I know you are. I just -- I don't want it to sound like I'm a whining baby or something."

"Whining baby?" Max gently rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. "Psh. We've got some of those on track. You couldn't come close to them if you tried."

That gets a laugh out of you and he cracks a smile at the small victory.

You sigh. "I was scared," you admit, voice soft. Max presses a little closer to you, his hand falling from your face to catch yours, fingers twining together.

"Are you always scared?" he asks. "You're more tense on rain weekends, I can tell that much. But you've never really talked about this. I guess I--" He frowns again. "I've never really asked you."

"That's okay," you say. "It's nothing, really."

Blue eyes bore into yours. "No, I want to know," he presses. "Please, tell me?"

You tip your head back a little, eyes on the ceiling. How to say it?

"I guess I'm always a little scared, yeah," you say. "I don't know how I wouldn't be."

He tugs on your hand so you'll look at him. "What is it, do you think?" The question comes out in his typical way. This must be how he is in driver briefings, you think fleetingly. Max is analytical, methodical, always looking for the root of the problem so he can understand it and adapt.

But how do you explain this?

"Well, it's a dangerous sport," you explain. "As you know. And I -- Max, I love you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

The furrow of his brow lessens a bit and he presses a light kiss to the back of your hand. Your stomach flutters, even after all this time.

But Max has no time for your mooning, apparently. "Were you scared before we knew each other?" he asks.

You think about it. "It's different, I guess. I was worried, generally. For all of you. I'm still worried for all of you, but --"

His eyebrow quirks and he fails to hide a cheeky smile. "Me the most?"

You roll your eyes and squeeze his hand. "You the most. But don't tell Carlos that."

Max tuts. "So, now it's just worse? You feel it more?"

Nodding, you try to explain. "I don't even like watching on TV, now, because I'm so far away. I feel so helpless."

You can't make it to every race but you try your hardest, not only to support Max but for your own sanity. It's easier to calm yourself down when you're around other people who believe in him, when you have access to all the details and when he's only a few steps away when he's out of the car.

"I don't want you to be worried," he says, softly. "You don't let on that you are when we say goodbye before the race, aside from being a little tense."

One of your favorite pieces of race weekends -- those few moments when all of his attention is on you. He makes sure you have everything you need and leaves you with a kiss and a smile and a see you later. His confidence and his competence are like balms.

"When I'm looking at you, I'm not as stressed," you say, a bit shy. "You're very good at your job, you know. And your confidence is convincing."

"I know," he says, seriously. "That's why I know it'll be fine. Do you not know that?"

If he was less determined, you'd ask him to drop it, since you're starting to feel embarrassed. But you know he won't let it lie.

"I know it, too, Max." You reach for his face to push back some fringe from his forehead. "I'll always be worried about you, though. You get in the car and drive away and I just -- sit there. And wait for you to come back."

He frowns, deeper this time. You keep your hand on him, cupping his jaw and running your thumb along his stubble.

"And I love it. You know I was a fan before I met you and it's a dream to be there to watch you race. I love seeing you do crazy things like win from p17. It's so much fun."

He knows this about you. You've got a bit of a reputation for your facial expressions in the Red Bull garage, always the first on your feet when he overtakes, jumping up and down when he extends his lead. It's an infectious kind of joy and energy and you lean into it every time, even if your stomach is churning with anxiety.

Max is quiet for a few moments. He covers your hand with his and leans into it further.

"You trust me, right?"

"Of course," you say right away. "Always."

"I've never really thought about it," he says, slowly. "I mean, in the car. I don't worry about you because I'm not worried, so I just thought you knew not to be, too."

"I'll always worry, Max. Even though I trust you."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Your cheeks heat and you look away from him, pulling your hand free to cradle it in your lap.

"You've got a million other things to worry about besides me," you say. "I don't want to distract you."

Max says your name with a scoff, literally waving his hand as if swatting away your silly notions. "Distract me? Come on," he says. "I wouldn't be a three-time world champion if I could get so easily distracted." He leans into your space, nosing at your jaw. "Even if you are very distracting."

You allow the attention for a few moments before pushing him back with a laugh. His cheeks are flushed, hair a bit of a mess, like after he takes off his helmet. And, god, he looks relaxed. You're so proud of him you can hardly stand it. The season is almost over and you know he's got a lot of work ahead of him, and you've got a lot of worrying. But he's motivated, and you know he can win. You know he'll come back to you.

Max leans his head back on the couch and casts his gaze sideways at you, nose scrunched. "I can't fix this, can I? You're still going to worry."

He sounds so resigned, so disappointed in himself that you tug on his hand so he'll get closer. This time, you frame his face with your hands and kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. Both of you sigh into it, and you drag your mouth along his cheek until you reach his ear.

"I'm still going to worry," you whisper. "But I love you and I trust you. And I know it'll be okay."

Max sighs and presses his forehead to your shoulder, practically pulling you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you.

"You better hope it doesn't rain for the rest of the season," he mumbles.

"That damn VSC," you groan, pulling back from him a bit. "I was going to tear my hair out!"

Max laughs. "It kept things interesting," he says lightly. "Rain isn't really a problem for me, schatje, you know this --"

"Because you're Dutch, I know, Max." You roll your eyes. "Even Fernando couldn't keep it together! I mean, the gasps from the garage when --"

The seriousness of your conversation fades as you trade tidbits about the race -- you've done this already, hashed it out in the hotel room and the flight home and in bed since Sunday. Max watches you talk, elbow braced on the couch and his head resting in his hand. His eyes sparkle and you know you're amusing him as he corrects you on the turn names and who went in the wall when. Max loves you: you've never doubted this. He loves you and he cares about how you feel and doesn't want you to be worried.

And while you will be, because you love him, you know that it'll be alright.

"Hey," Max says, interrupting your opinions about start procedures. "I love you, okay? Thank you for worrying about me."

"Graag gedaan," you say. Well, you try to say. Max laughs and corrects your pronunciation. You're welcome, he says, over and over, a kiss to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead each time. Ik houd van je. Your lips, your neck, your jaw.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[lulu2992]

I don’t have an explanation for this; it just needed to be drawn.

It looks like they’re having a good time, though!

[sl-ut]

all is fair

pairing: pope heyward x fem!reader, unrequited!jj maybank x fem!reader, slightly homoerotic bff!sarah cameron x reader LOLLLL

description: jj is not jealous of pope. definitely not. okay, maybe just a little.

warnings: swearing, underage drinking/drug usage, jealousy, slight angst, jj being a little butthurt, pope and jj are beefing, weird au where the plot of the show never happens lol but sarah and jb are still dating, reader has a shitty past and a bit of lore but we’ll get into it but don’t worry it doesnt rlly affect what the reader looks like or ethnic/cultural background (but i wrote it with arabic-canadian!reader in mind but thats just self indulgent lol), once again was high when starting this and writing this rn so sorry if it makes like no sense whatsoever but i think the story will be good), the grandparents are the sweetest human beings ever sorry

words: 2.7K

date posted: 08/11/25

JJ swore he wasn’t jealous. No way.

JJ, despite his unfortunate past, he had grown to be pretty damn confident in himself over the years; He was one of the best surfers in Kildare, he had a great group of friends, and he was fairly popular among the ladies in the Outer Banks. Sure, there were parts of him that he wasn’t so proud of or tried to keep hidden as much as possible, but at a time like this, he shouldn’t be feeling anything but on top of the world, but he couldn’t quite fight off the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach as his eyes followed the movements of the two girls on the opposite side of the bonfire.

Sarah threw her head back, laughing joyfully as she and Y/n took turns twirling each other around to some song that was far too fast for their dancing, but neither seemed to care. They’d been at it for a few songs now, Sarah always waiting in the wings to snatch the newest member of the Pogues away to have all to herself, knowing fully well that there were at least two other members of the group who were eager to do the same. John B didn’t seem alarmed at his girlfriend’s obsession with their new friend, though it was probably too demanding to ask a teenage boy to be upset about his girlfriend rubbing up on another girl. 

To be totally fair, Sarah did technically have first dibs, having been the first to meet the girl after she’d moved in with her grandparents in Figure Eight while volunteering at the local animal shelter. Her grandparents were pretty well known in Kildare, two former snowbirds who finally decided to settle in North Carolina, both having recently retired, though her grandfather did own and partially run the shelter. They were a sweet old couple, the type that you might see on a Christmas card or a cookie box, and lived quite modestly despite the fact that they were living amongst the wealthier community on the island. With their granddaughter in town and staying with them indefinitely, they were eager to introduce her to Sarah in hopes of easily transitioning her into the social scene. It was Sarah who had invited her to the kegger the following weekend, so it made sense that they had quickly become two peas in a pod, so long as JJ was next in the pecking order.

Except, he couldn’t technically claim that spot on his own. He had actually met Y/n prior to the bonfire while delivering groceries with Pope, both of them spotting her at the exact same time as she answered the door, charming each of them with a sweet smile and a generous tip, completely unaware of the lingering gaze of each boy as she bid them each a polite goodbye before closing the door. Neither of them said anything the entire walk back to the truck, both sitting quietly in the front seat for a moment before JJ finally let his thoughts take over.

“She was like, crazy hot, right?”

Pope was silent for another beat before he sighed out his response, “Yeah she was.”

Neither of them brought her up again, figuring it wasn’t really worth their time to pursue anything with a girl who would only be there for a week. However, when she showed up with Sarah to the kegger that Friday, all bets were off.

JJ was the first to actually get to talk to her, stepping in with a greeting while Sarah became occupied with her boyfriend, nearly wasting away after being apart for two hours. He offered her a drink, chuckling to himself at the cringing expression on her face at the taste of the warm beer. She shook her head, handing the red cup back to him with a slightly embarrassed look on her face. This caught Sarah’s attention, winking at JJ as she encouraged him to show Y/n the cooler of quote-on-quote “girly drinks” in the back of the twinkie. 

He could read that she was nervous, especially now that she was alone with him. Normally, he would do his best to calm her nerves just enough that he could persuade her to climb into the back of the van with him, but something about this girl made him feel different, almost obliged to treat her with more respect than he did most girls. She wasn’t just another girl, he could tell simply by the way she carried herself, almost like she understood him on a deeper level before she even knew anything about him. He was drawn to her, and an unfamiliar feeling of nerves ate away at his tummy as he showed her the selection of Sarah’s cans and gave her a lopsided grin as she took the can from him. 

He lost sight of her for a while, returning to manning the keg while John B and Sarah rushed down the beach hand in hand, but his eyes were in a constant motion of scanning the crowd, eagerly searching for even a glimpse of the girl who’d had his head spinning for the last hour. 

Unbeknownst to him, she had found herself sitting next to Kie at the bonfire, falling easily into the conversation with her and the few others. She took note of the boy sitting across from her, making an effort to ask him questions or include him in the conversations. He seemed to be a bit socially awkward, but there was something about him that had caught her eye straight away, even from the first moment they locked eyes while he was delivering her grandparents’ groceries.  

He was dorky and awkward in the most endearing way possible, unlike guys she had historically been attracted to, but she was certain that that was exactly why she liked him so much; she was in the market for a fresh start, and that couldn’t happen if she put herself in the position to treated like shit all over again. 

Six weeks later and Y/n found herself becoming a regular at the Chateau, constantly being dragged there on her days off from the shelter by Sarah or being picked up by one of the others on their way home from whatever odd job they’d picked up on Figure Eight for the day. Every day out on the boat, every kegger, every bonfire on the beach, she was there. 

They had all even begun hanging out at her place, all quickly becoming acquainted with her grandparents, both of whom were more than happy to host the teens, keeping them comfortable and fed all day as they used their in-ground pool or lounged in the A/C. Her grandmother thought they were all the sweetest kids who’d ever lived, having a special place in her heart for the boys, while her grandfather was just glad to have a group to cook for, gladly donning his fancy apron and manning his grill for them all and enjoyed having extra help around the house. Her grandma especially loves when Sarah comes for sleepovers because she loves joining in on your gossip sessions and joining you both to go get mani-pedis in the morning. 

Their closeness to her family also meant that they were quickly discovering very personal things about Y/n’s life prior to moving to the Outer Banks. Y/n was very hyper aware of this for the first few weeks, almost vulnerable now that her past was now out in the open, but she quickly came to realise that her secrets were safe with the pogues, and that they only made them love her even more.

Initially, it hadn’t been the intent of either Y/n or Pope to begin hanging out on their own in secret. Well, they had both wanted to hang out on their own, but the secrecy stemmed from the fact that JJ had made his intentions and feelings for Y/n very clear, and that he was very hard-pressed about the “no pogue-on-pogue macking,” rule for everyone except for himself for some reason. They also liked the quietness of secrecy, neither of them worried about their friends trying to butt in on their movie nights or walks on the beach, even though they were most definitely not trying to get each other alone on purpose… Until after she kissed him for the first time, that is.

Pope had been shocked when it happened, his brain barely even registering the second-long peck after he’d walked her home from the Chateau one evening, but he was sure to put his all into the second and third ones that quickly followed. He had expected some time to figure things out before anything was made official, but he of course had chosen a girl who was prepared to take what she wanted without fear of repercussions, and so, shortly after she had been picked up at the end of her grandparent’s dock, she curled into his side and announced that they were now together. Pope was taken aback, but was somewhat relieved that he no longer had to go through with his long-winded but very sweet gesture that he had planned in order to make things official. That relief, however, disappeared very quickly as he met JJ’s heated gaze.

“What ever happened to bro code?” He’d whined once they had gotten back to the chateau after dropping her back off that evening. “I mean, seriously man, I called dibs and you just swoop in before I even get to make a move.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Kie raised a hand to cut him off before he could spout any more nonsense, “You called dibs? Are you aware that we are talking about a real human girl here?”

“Not the point,” JJ ignored her, “You knew I liked her!”

“And you knew I did too!” Pope countered, “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this beforehand but I never expected her to drop that on you guys like that.”

JJ shook his head, finishing the last of his beer and tossing the can to the side as he stormed towards the front door of the Chateau, “You just couldn’t let me have one thing now, could you Pope?”

Pope jumped to his own feet, brows furrowing as a look of disbelief crossed his face, “One thing? Do you even hear yourself? JJ, you can and have screwed around with every girl on this island; you always get first pick, and even the ones you leave for me are usually waiting for their chance to talk to you! God forbid the one girl I really like actually likes me back and isn’t just using me to get to you, but I guess that would be too hard for you to believe, huh?”

JJ frowned, opening his mouth to counter that argument when Sarah finally stepped in.

“Why are you even fighting over this?” She scoffed, “JJ, you have been here the entire time. If you were going to make a move you could have, but I really don’t think it would have made much of a difference. Like I said, you were here, you were an option, and she still chose Pope. Don’t throw your friendship with both of them away over her feelings, which none of you could have controlled even if you tried.”

JJ felt his breathing grow heavier, his emotions mixing with Sarah’s words of reason and sending him into a frenzy. He needed to be alone before he had the chance to blow up again, he needed time to think, so he stormed out of the Chateau without another word.

Two more weeks had passed, and all of them had gone back to normal. JJ was still a bit butthurt over it all, but made an effort to be his usual self. There was still a bit of tension between him and Pope, and the Heyward boy had even made an effort to plan more time away from the group with his new girlfriend, both out of respect for JJ’s feelings and out of a slight tinge of greed knowing that other eyes were looking at her in the same way he did. He had made an effort to not divulge any of what had happened to her, but he was sure that Sarah would have let at least some of it slip at some point.

The bonfire had been planned in honour of Kie’s birthday, though she had fled the party rather early, hand-in-hand with some dark-haired touron while her friends whooped and cheered. Most of the others had left by that point, leaving JJ, John B, Sarah, Pope, and Y/n alone to enjoy the slowly dying fire, the quickly dwindling alcohol supply, and the free-flowing music that played through John B’s beat up bluetooth speaker.

JJ sat on his folding chair, nursing his fourth beer of the night as he watched the girl twirl around and around with Sarah until they both stopped, alcohol-inspired giggles leaving their lips as they leaned against each other to regain their balance. They grinned at each other for a moment before Sarah leaned forward, pressing a gleeful kiss to her friend’s lips before pulling herself away.

“Heyward,” She called in a demanding voice, catching the attention of Pope, who’d already been watching his girlfriend with a lovesick stare, “Come get your lady, I need a break.”

Y/n grinned at him, eyes filling with love hearts at the sight of her boyfriend as she held out her grabby hands to him, beckoning him to join her, “Dance with me, Popey.”

Pope visibly cringed at the nickname, something she had never even once called him while sober, but still pushed himself off of his log and moved to meet her on the other side of the fire. 

JJ reached a hand out, stopping him from moving any further as Pope stared down at him with a challenging look. They stared for a quick beat before JJ moved his hand up into an all-too-familiar position. A small smile appeared on Pope’s lips as he clapped his own hand into his best friend’s, dapping him up for the first time in weeks.

“I love you, man,” JJ slurred.

“Love you too, JJ.”

“Pope!” Y/n placed her hands on her hips, impatiently waiting for him as Sarah collapsed into John B’s lap.

“Go get her, tiger,” JJ let go of his hand, making sure to pat his ass sharply as he walked past with a laugh, watching as he took the girl into his arms and began to slowly sway her back and forth to the beat of the song. 

Y/n leaned her head against his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck as the drinks she’d had began to transcend from energetic to sleepy in just moments. JJ watched on, a small frown appearing on his lips before it quickly switched to a soft smile.

Alright, maybe he was jealous, but he’d never seen Pope look so happy, so maybe it was all worth it. 

okay why did i actually eat this up

fr tho i love this pairing and little plot i have going so im def down to make this a mini series or do like hcs for this if ppl are interested if not just go ahead and tell me to stfu already

[seitmai]

“Just the night in general. I knew everyone would love you, but I really think Thor wants to be your big brother now,” Bucky replied. You wanted it so badly to be endearing, but Thor was dangerous. He mentioned a father-in-law. How exactly did he find his wife? And bringing up the flower donations to the hospital. Bucky seemed upset. Why? “Which he’ll have to fight Steve for.”

They are very eager, maybe a little too much to "get" a little sister 🫣

His laughter died off quickly when he reached out and gently took your hand again, prying your fingers away from your palm. You didn’t notice it stung from your nails until he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You think we’re bullies?” He asked against your skin. “Yes. Besides nearly beating that jerk to death, you do realize that you use force and threats to dominate and intimidate. That’s a form of bullying, Bucky,” you said. Was he deliberately being obtuse or was he lost in his delusion that this was all normal?

Someone had to tell them lol

“I wouldn’t say we’re bullies. I call it protecting and keeping what’s mine,” he said. There was no shame on his end. “Right. Because I’m a possession and not a person,” you said, your face scrunching up as you tried not to cry. You needed rest. If part of Bucky’s plan was to wear you down by overwhelming you, mission accomplished. “I’m so tired. I just want to go to bed.”

This is not going well🥴

You could scream until your lungs gave out that you didn’t belong with him and you knew in your heart he’d argue until his last breath that you did. He was steadfast in that belief that you were soulmates. That conviction was so strong that what you really feared was that he would somehow convince you that he was right: that you belonged together.

😬😬😬

He was a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let that go. “Why don’t you just take a photo of me giving you the finger?” You suggested as he helped you out of the car. “Only if you do it with a smile. I’ll even set it as the background on my phone,” he winked. Your reluctance and defiance of him didn’t phase him in the slightest. “And if you give me the finger, I’ll take it as an invitation that you want to fuck me.”

Puhh he really just sees or hearswhat he wants to see or hear 🥴

“Your past boyfriends never did anything for you. Emotionally, physically,” he stated, sliding his hands under the nightgown to your hips. Grasping the hem of your pants, he pushed them down as far as he could. “I’ll bet they didn’t even buy you flowers and used the excuse that they didn’t because you’re a florist.” The words were tiny cuts on old wounds, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction. “And you will?” “I will. I’ll give you the life and love you deserve, making you forget any other man out there existed before me.” His eyes raked over you as you stepped out of your pants, your panties still soaked. “But I’m not gonna fuck you.”

He knows exactly how to push her buttons

A couple of deep breaths and you made your way back to your bedroom. You paused when you saw Bucky holding a framed photo of you and your friends, longing in his eyes when he lifted his gaze. “You look so happy,” he murmured, carefully setting the frame down on the nightstand before he pulled the blankets back for you. “Can you do me one favor and I’ll go?” “I was happy. It was a fun day.” You slipped into bed when he gave you space to do so, but his body was still close to yours. Firm. Hard. He really could pin you down and do what he wanted if he wished. “What’s the favor?” He tucked the blanket around you, his hair falling into his face. You almost reached up to brush it back, but refrained. Who knew what your touch would do? “Look at me like you love me. Please.”

Geez, what a request to end the day 🫣

Hold You Tight: Part 9

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 8 | Series Masterlist | Part 10

Chapter Summary: Bucky takes you home, but will he keep his hands to himself?

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.7k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, dirty talk, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for your patience! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought you heard the men wish you well once more when Bucky led you out of the office. You weren’t completely sure since you tried to block everything out, but attempting to disassociate wouldn’t exactly do you any good. The night wasn’t over yet and you had to stay sharp. You didn’t know what Bucky had planned for when he got you home. Were you prepared at all?

Not in the least.

You half expected to walk back through the front of the club to leave, but Ray directed you to a door near the back once he gave Bucky a nod. The car was waiting in the alley and you took a moment to glance up at the sky. You could only make out one star and you wished in that moment you could grow wings and fly away. But when did wishing upon a star do you any good?

“Let’s get you back to your place,” Bucky said, helping you into the car.

You had to give him credit for trying to keep up his end of the bargain by getting you home on time. Your body refused to relax though once he sat beside you and took your hand. Was he trying to get you accustomed to his touch? Make you crave him? It bothered you that in spite of your determination he drew you in to a certain degree. But you wouldn’t let him take you to bed tonight. You weren’t ready to cross that inevitable line.

Maybe, just maybe, if your performance in bed disappointed him, he’d get bored and walk away. The thought almost made you laugh. That wasn’t happening. If anything, he’d probably love teaching you how to be his perfect lover.

“I think tonight went well,” Bucky smiled.

“Which part exactly?” You mumbled, pulling your hand away. The part where he forced you to go, how his men all but admitted they knew Bucky stalked you, or how they beat the hell out of a man?

“Just the night in general. I knew everyone would love you, but I really think Thor wants to be your big brother now,” Bucky replied. You wanted it so badly to be endearing, but Thor was dangerous. He mentioned a father-in-law. How exactly did he find his wife? And bringing up the flower donations to the hospital. Bucky seemed upset. Why? “Which he’ll have to fight Steve for.”

“Fighting. You guys seem to excel in that arena,” you said, remembering how they all took turns beating up John. “But I guess Steve does have a bit of that ‘big brother’ vibe, helping you take total control of my life and whatnot.”

“Not total control. I’m still letting you work, but maybe I can buy the shop.” He chuckled at your thunderous expression. The light threat had you seeing red. “I probably shouldn't joke about that, should I?”

“Letting me work? Like it’s your decision? And don’t you dare buy the shop.” You pushed at him to keep from slapping him when he chuckled again. Not with enough force to get him far away from you, but you needed some sort of space in the vehicle. He also needed a good hit over the head. “You’re a bully, do you know that? So are your friends.”

His laughter died off quickly when he reached out and gently took your hand again, prying your fingers away from your palm. You didn’t notice it stung from your nails until he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You think we’re bullies?” He asked against your skin.

“Yes. Besides nearly beating that jerk to death, you do realize that you use force and threats to dominate and intimidate. That’s a form of bullying, Bucky,” you said. Was he deliberately being obtuse or was he lost in his delusion that this was all normal?

“I wouldn’t say we’re bullies. I call it protecting and keeping what’s mine,” he said. There was no shame on his end.

“Right. Because I’m a possession and not a person,” you said, your face scrunching up as you tried not to cry. You needed rest. If part of Bucky’s plan was to wear you down by overwhelming you, mission accomplished. “I’m so tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“You’re a person, not a possession, Kotyonok. And not just a person, a good person who gives so much of herself to others. And probably one of the only people who rightfully calls me out on my shit.” His response drew you up short. “Outside of my friends, no one else does that.”

“Maybe because they’re afraid of you and what you can do,” you said after a moment. Fear could make anyone say what they thought people wanted to hear. “Either that or they want your approval,” you added, which you could also understand to a point. People wanted a sense of belonging, especially with those who had influence and power.

“Maybe they are afraid,” he agreed, brushing his lips against your palm again with a sigh. “What is it about me that scares you most?”

“I’m not really sure exactly,” you admitted. There was so much about the situation that terrified you. What he was capable of. How he inserted himself into various aspects of your life and so quickly. How far he was willing to go to keep you. “But I think it’s your conviction. That you’re so sure that I’m your other half and no one can convince you otherwise, not even me.”

You could scream until your lungs gave out that you didn’t belong with him and you knew in your heart he’d argue until his last breath that you did. He was steadfast in that belief that you were soulmates. That conviction was so strong that what you really feared was that he would somehow convince you that he was right: that you belonged together.

Those steel blue eyes of his met yours and mesmerized you for a heartbeat before you looked away. “Love is scary. It’s natural to be afraid of it.” His lips brushed your ear, making you shiver. “But giving someone the most fragile parts of yourself is one of the bravest things a person can do.”

There was truth in his words, but it felt like he moved another chess piece into place. He was trying to disarm you and you couldn’t let him. “Who painted that black dahlia in your office?” You asked suddenly, feeling him move back enough that you could turn your head toward him. “And why display that flower?” You didn’t believe for a second that he chose it for aesthetic purposes.

“Beautiful, isn't it? Steve painted it,” he replied with an odd mixture of affection and bitterness. “It’s for my parents.”

“Steve is a gifted artist.” You hoped your voice stayed even enough that Bucky wouldn’t get jealous of you complimenting another man’s talent. “I don't know if the symbolism of flowers mean anything to you, but the black dahlia-”

“Betrayal. Sadness. Darkness,” he ticked off, his voice cold enough that another shiver moved through your body. “It was the last flower my dad ever got my mom and it serves as a reminder.”

You swallowed as warning bells sounded in your mind to tread carefully. “And what's that?”

He moved close, your eyes shutting as his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck. “That I'll never do to you what he did to her.”

There was suppressed rage within him. Sorrow. It rolled off him in waves strong enough that they could drown you. He said earlier that his dad got what he deserved. What had he done to his mom?

“You’re in pain,” you whispered. He was hurting and you logically shouldn’t care. So why did you want to know the cause of that hurt? “You have to tell me why.”

It wasn’t for you to use to your advantage. You weren’t sure if you could manipulate someone else. If you knew what happened though, it would at least give you more answers to who Bucky was and why he was the way he was. It could help you gain some sort of understanding.

“I’m not in pain when I’m with you,” he whispered, bringing your hand on his chest. Was he relying on you to chase away whatever haunted him? “Later. I’ve overwhelmed you enough for one evening.”

You let out a breath. You swore he was doing this on purpose, giving you just enough information that you’d wait around until he gave you more. “I can’t argue with you there,” you said, his heart racing under your touch. “Just answer one thing for me, please.”

“What’s that?”

“Marc from the bookstore,” you began, the man’s kind face shimmering in your mind. “Did anything happen to him?”

“I’d question another man being on your mind, but I know you’re just concerned about his well-being.” An easy smile crossed Bucky’s face as you bit your tongue. You could think about anyone you wanted to. “I can’t speak for him right this second, but he was perfectly fine when you and I left. He was just having a chat with one of my associates.”

You exhaled, thankful Marc wasn't hurt. “What kind of chat?” You asked. He was a nice guy, though he did seem to know a bit about Bucky. What exactly was he involved in?

“He just got a warning to be careful about what he does or doesn’t say to his customers.” You tensed before he kissed your forehead. Did he know about the conversation you two had? “And I don’t think the two of you should be alone with each other in the bookstore going forward.”

Just when Bucky had you feeling some sort of sympathy for him moments ago he shocked you right out of it. “Another decision that isn’t yours to make,” you stated, the car coming to a stop. “And you really don’t have to walk me up. I think we’ve had enough of each other’s company tonight.”

“I said I’m tucking you into bed and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” The smile he gave you was nothing short of cocky when he added, “And you owe me a photo. I’m going to get it.”

He was a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let that go. “Why don’t you just take a photo of me giving you the finger?” You suggested as he helped you out of the car.

“Only if you do it with a smile. I’ll even set it as the background on my phone,” he winked. Your reluctance and defiance of him didn’t phase him in the slightest. “And if you give me the finger, I’ll take it as an invitation that you want to fuck me.”

“Let’s go, please.”

You said nothing else as you went into the building, your anxiety mounting by the second. The slow rise of the elevator didn’t help, Bucky’s hip pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand to have space between you. You figure he’d shove you against the wall and claim your mouth, but he didn’t make a move. It impressed you that he behaved until you got to your floor. It didn’t stop your hand from shaking when you got your keys out.

“Still don’t want to say good night now?”

“I don’t want to say good night at all,” he answered, following you into the apartment and turning on the light. The welcoming feeling you expected when you got home wasn't there. There was a chill in the usual warmth.

“Well, you’ll have to sooner or later,” you said, swallowing when you faced Bucky. He shut the door and watched intently as you set your keys and bag down. You were quiet as you stared back, tension thick as you tried to predict what he was going to do. Once again, he managed to hold all the power in your home.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He asked, heat and hunger in his stare as he slowly advanced.

Your throat went dry as you stepped back. “You have.”

“So beautiful and so good.” You made another move to retreat when he stepped forward, his manner confident and compelling as he reached out and prevented you from moving back further. “It’s driving me crazy not having you yet.”

“Please, you don’t…” you trailed off when he sank to his knees, unexpected heat flowing from your core. He guided one of your hands to his shoulder to brace yourself, his eyes soft as he helped remove one of your shoes. You found it difficult to breathe as he removed the other, his hand brushing your ankle with infinite tenderness. Like it was an honor to touch and be on his knees for you.

“I know the first time I taste you I’ll never want to stop. I’ll have to wake up every day between your thighs. Fall asleep that way, too.” His hand slid up your calf and his eyes darkened when your other hand found its way to his thick locks. Wetness gathered between your legs when his touch moved to your thigh. “Your pussy is hungry for me, isn’t it? My fingers, my tongue, my cock. I’ll feed her well.”

His voice was like velvet. Seductive. Aching. “Bucky…” Your breath rushed out swiftly when he kissed your mound through your clothes, tormenting you with arousal you didn’t ask for. It frightened you.

“I can smell you,” he murmured, nosing along where his lips had been before he sat back. “Smell so fucking good.”

Moving your shoes out of the way, he rose to his full height again as you willed your legs not to shake. You weren’t used to anyone looking at you, let alone speak to you, the way he did. Stark desire. Possessiveness. His form of love. Your heart pounded and you refused to answer him or glance down. If you looked at the front of his pants…

He took your hand and pulled you in the direction of the bedroom. Your heart pounded with mounting speed, your heels digging into the floor. “You still haven't kissed me,” you blurted out, hoping it would prevent him from taking you to bed. Or would he take that as an invitation to kiss your lips?

“No, I haven't.” You tried to keep some distance between you as he went to your bed, his hand moving along the blanket. You couldn't breathe. “It scares you how much your body wants mine, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what you think?” You asked, forcing air back into your lungs. It did scare you. It also scared you that you didn’t push him away or scream when he dropped to his knees to remove your shoes. Where was your fighting instinct?

“It is what I think.” The ease in which he moved away from the bed to your dresser to find your pajamas frightened you, too. Like he belonged in your room. You thought back to the night he broke in and left your gift on your bed. How much time did he take to look around? “Like love, giving your body to someone can be scary. You have to trust that you won't get hurt when you’re physically vulnerable.”

“You swore you wouldn't hurt me,” you reminded him.

“And I won't. But you know what else I think?” His magnetic gaze stayed on you as he brought a nightgown over. “That no guy has ever really taken care of you and you’re apprehensive to let me try.”

If you were apprehensive, it was because he was a walking red flag. “What makes you…” Your words stopped when he grasped the bottom of your shirt and pulled it up. Your arms instinctively went up before you realized what you were doing. Removing your shirt, you didn’t get a chance to cover your breasts before he slipped the nightgown on you.

“Your past boyfriends never did anything for you. Emotionally, physically,” he stated, sliding his hands under the nightgown to your hips. Grasping the hem of your pants, he pushed them down as far as he could. “I’ll bet they didn’t even buy you flowers and used the excuse that they didn’t because you’re a florist.”

The words were tiny cuts on old wounds, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction. “And you will?”

“I will. I’ll give you the life and love you deserve, making you forget any other man out there existed before me.” His eyes raked over you as you stepped out of your pants, your panties still soaked. “But I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Exhaling slowly, relief flooded you. Though you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t trying to take what he wanted. “You won’t?”

“Not tonight.” He shook his head even as his fingers moved along your waist. “Like I said, I’ve overwhelmed you enough. Sleeping with you might really put you over the edge.”

“Thanks.” He desired you, but continued to hold it at bay for your sake. How long would that last? “I appreciate that.”

“And we both know the moment I take you to bed, you’ll be begging for more.” His voice dropped as he toyed with the soft fabric. “And as much as I want to stay in bed with you all night and morning and give us what we both crave, I still need to get things in place at the penthouse and you need rest. You understand.”

You tried not to smile and failed. He acted as if he was doing you a favor. Cocky bastard. “I guess we’ll just have to suffer until then.” Sarcasm continued to be a good way to deflect.

He exhaled at your light teasing, his body still a bit tense. Being close to you and not having you was probably driving him mad. “Maybe we'll have to have another private call and finish what we started. Give us both some relief.” He turned you toward the door and gave you a light swat on your ass. “Go wash your face and brush your teeth before I change my mind.”

You made it to the bathroom in record time, not having to be told twice. You didn’t want to risk staying there in case he lost his resolve. Looking in the mirror as you went through the rest of your nighttime routine, you expected to look more exhausted from the whirlwind of the day. You somehow looked wide awake. Was the experience giving you thicker skin? Or did his desire for you somehow give you a bit of a twisted spark? You’d still be billing him for your future therapy bills either way.

A couple of deep breaths and you made your way back to your bedroom. You paused when you saw Bucky holding a framed photo of you and your friends, longing in his eyes when he lifted his gaze. “You look so happy,” he murmured, carefully setting the frame down on the nightstand before he pulled the blankets back for you. “Can you do me one favor and I’ll go?”

“I was happy. It was a fun day.” You slipped into bed when he gave you space to do so, but his body was still close to yours. Firm. Hard. He really could pin you down and do what he wanted if he wished. “What’s the favor?”

He tucked the blanket around you, his hair falling into his face. You almost reached up to brush it back, but refrained. Who knew what your touch would do? “Look at me like you love me. Please.”

You stiffened as you stared up at his face, your heart simultaneously racing and breaking for him. Love was something that provided a sense of connection, fulfillment. It was a way to show you that you weren’t alone in the world. You wanted to believe you were worthy of love, that you could build a life with someone. Bucky believed he was that someone.

Why?

You weren’t sure if it was his yearning gaze or if you were ready for the night to end, but your expression softened as you imagined meeting him in another life. Going on fun dates, talking about books, making each other laugh as you cooked together, snuggling under a blanket as you talked about your future. You found yourself smiling at the images that went through your mind. What could’ve been. What could be if he lessened his hold a bit on you.

He audibly exhaled when he snapped a photo on his phone, making you blink. “Thank you. Now I can look at this whenever I’m not near you and need to feel your love.”

Words escaped you, the invisible collar around your throat getting tighter. You could only nod and wonder how you kept throwing fuel on the fire of his want for you. Which one of you would burn first?

“Get some sleep. Dream sweet dreams.” You felt featherlight kisses on each eyelid when you shut them. “You know, I’ll sleep a lot easier once you’re in my bed.”

“If you get me into your bed,” you mumbled, refusing to look at him.

“Stubborn kitten.” He chuckled and gave each eyelid one more kiss. Why were his lips so soft? “Maybe I’ll stop by the shop tomorrow so I can take you to lunch. You can tell Addison all about it.”

“Maybe.” You yawned and snuggled more into your pillows. “Good night, Bucky.”

A finger moved along your cheek before it stopped abruptly. “Good night, Kotyonok.”

Bucky still hadn't kissed your mouth.

You didn’t open your eyes as he left, but you didn’t fall asleep right away either. Your body was too wound up. Too many questions went through your mind. Like what happened with his parents and how exactly he’d move you out of your place.

The man was a step ahead in everything. You’d be in his penthouse before the month was over. He’d get his way, but maybe it didn't have to be his way completely. He could give you an area in the place for you and you alone. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. After all, he did say he’d make it up to you by dragging you out tonight.

And if he cared the way he said he did, he could give you that one small thing.

Is our poor Kotyonok starting to accept the inevitable? Will Bucky stop by the shop? And how much longer until he really takes you to bed?Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 7: The end of beginnings

genre: angst, fluff, a lot of introspection

word count: 9743 (MY GOD IT'S A LONGER CHAPTER)

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you and spencer finally give into the tension that's been growing between you, but what happens now?

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

This chapter I'm dedicating to @chicaconfundidaycuriosa who makes my day with her hypothesis in the comments <3 thank you all for your support throughout this series!

“You do it.” 

“No!” You gasp, shaking your head so fast you feel like your brain is shaking too. “You do it!” 

“Your entire job is about people, you do it.” He insists, gently nudging you forward, but you don’t bulge. “Y/N, come on, it’s not that scary!”

“I’m not scared, I just hate talking on the phone! You wouldn’t know what’s that like, since you barely use yours.” 

“And now you’re diverging,” He giggles, pushing the phone over the counter to you once again. 

It has been almost thirty minutes of this and that is not really how you imagine spending your morning after all that had happened last night. For a moment there, Spencer’s voice fades to the background and all you can focus on are those beautiful, pink lips. Now that you know how they feel– the perfect balance of chapped roughness and natural softness; not now that you know how he tastes, something so naturally Spencer and minty toothpaste; not now that you know how he sounds when he whispers for more, more more. Not now, not ever.

Took you both some time to come down from the absolute high of acting like teenagers. What had started like a sweet, slow kiss, quickly turned into what teenagers would refer to ‘making out’, and suddenly you two were a little hurricane of hands, lips, and tangles bodies trying to make it to the room. The feeling of his hands on your waist, tugging you closer, pushing you down– “Y/N?”

Your cheeks explode in a fiery red shade when you realise he’s caught you daydreaming. 

Again. 

“Yeah?” Shaking your head slightly, look down at the phone being pushed between you two. 

“Are you going to call her?” 

To be fair, you haven’t really explained everything to him considering how… distracted… you were last night. And then this morning. And even now, mind going not so far away from the kitchen to the room, where absolutely nothing had happened last night. Absolutely. Nothing. Frustration settled after a while, a thrumming hum in the back of your head that never really let you fall asleep. It was only natural that after so long craving this, you had been excited at the thought of finally letting it happen, of allowing yourself to enjoy a moment that had meant as much in your dreams as it did in real life… but then you two made it to the bed. And you laid down. And suddenly, the underlying need behind every push and pull of his perfect lips against yours started to fade, and his hands that explored your body oh so eagerly started to slow down, and before you could say anything, he was backtracking to forehead kisses and getting up to brush his teeth. 

Like it had been just another day. 

Just another kiss. 

“I don’t want to,” You whisper back, eyes wide in a vulnerable state that has nothing to do with Abigail or the fact that you are about to hire her to take care of your store. 

This is not even about last night.

This is about this morning. 

This is about the fact that when you woke up, he wasn’t there. His side of the bed was tussled, and the pillows were thrown around, but Spencer was missing. For a moment, your heart sinks. You scramble around the bed, feeling out his side, searching for something, anything, that would give into your dwindling hope of last night not having been a dream, because god knows how many dreams you’ve had of him. But then you hear it, the sound of the shower running and the light humming of a man who has not a single musical bone in his body, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

Then it downs on you. It wasn’t a dream. Spencer kissed you last night, that’s a fact. And now he’s about to come out of the bathroom and you refuse to let the first thing he sees, on such a special morning, be this messy hair, panicked face version of yourself. The way you roll out of bed, rushed to the point of tripping on the blankets and falling on your knees with a hiss, is enough to have you laughing at yourself. Your cheeks blush when you think of facing him so early in the day and despite the excitement of it all, you are nervous. What will he say? What will he do?

Making breakfast seems like a great way to ease your overthinking mind of any incoming anxieties, and it’s a simple matter of action and reaction. 

Action, breaking the eggs over the hot pan. Reaction, frying some eggs. Action, putting the bread in the toaster. Reaction, getting some toast to eat with your eggs. Action–

“Good morning.” Action, Spencer comes out of the shower.

“Good morning,” You call back, looking down at the pan with such an obsessions you barely notice him stopping behind you. 

You do notice his hands landing on your waist, though, and when he turns you around, you can smell the fresh scent of his minty soap he loves so much. His smile calms you a little, and he leans forward, coming down, down, down… until his lips touch your forehead. “Slept well?” He mumbles, reaching behind you for a toast and then walking away to grab his bag from wherever he hid it. Blinking, you can’t even answer his question. Is he fucking teasing you or is he serious? 

Safe to say, you don’t really speak up then nor later, and that’s how you two end up where you are, sitting in front of each other in a stupid battle over who calls who. 

“Why don’t you want to call her?”

Eyes cast down, almost in shame, you shrug. “I…” How do you explain it to him without sounding crazy? “I don’t know, Spence. She makes me feel… weird. Like she knows something I don’t.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” His nice words can’t hide the smile on his face. “It’s just change. And you’re human, Y/N, which means you naturally don’t like change. But it’s okay, I promise. You already asked Garcia to dig as deep as she could and nothing came up as suspicious. You also refuse to entertain the idea of hiring your second choice because you said, and I quote, ‘he grabbed a book with greasy hands.’ So, this is pretty much the only option you have.” 

Great. Instead of a kiss that you crave, you get the dose of reality check you deserve. “Thank you, Spencer,” You grumble, the irony of your words not missing the spot when his smile falters. You grab the phone to dealing the number you’ve been avoiding for so long, but you stop before pressing call. “Fuck.” 

“Y/N–“ The magic of last night is gone when his phone rings and you know he has to go. 

“Go,” You whisper, patting his shoulder with dejection. At this point, the morning is ruined and, to be very honest, he is partially at fault. 

A kiss is not something you would consider casual. You know a lot of people do, and that’s okay; you don’t mind about how other people live their lives. You do, however, care about what Spencer thinks and does, and in your books, kissing you and then ignoring it the next day is simply not acceptable. But then you sit with it for a while, and your brain starts whirring up. Usually, when you open your eyes, the sun is barely up and Spencer’s breathing is regular enough to keep your head going up and down, up and down, up and down. The more you two cuddle, the more you realise you love the sound of his heartbeat– you were yet to see him hurt, but you’ve heard enough stories from past cases that now, whenever you got that little extra confirmation that he is okay, you feel a sense of relief that you can’t really explain. Yet, that morning, when you finally make sense of what the fuck was happening without the your usual warm body next to you, you don’t feel relief. You don’t feel anything, to be very honest, because for a moment, your blood turns cold at the idea that Spencer might have woken up and regretted it all. 

“I feel like I shouldn’t,” He frown, cocking his head to the side in that way that makes you think he’s about to tell you something about yourself that you’ve never asked. “Y/N–“ “Go to work, Spencer,” You repeat yourself before pressing ‘call’. The phone in your ear is enough to keep him from trying to chase you. “Abigail? Hi! This is Y/N, from the bookstore… Yes. Yes, and from the uh, from the building. I’m calling with good news– you seem like the perfect person for the position. You– oh, no, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to bring me anything, it’s fine!”

This is the last thing you need– Abigail and her nosy nature. “What’s going on?” Spencer I next to you and his mouth is so close to your ear you shiver a little when he speaks. 

“Abigail, please, I’m about to go out and– oh, no, my… Spence is going to work. Thank you for offering to bake a cake but I’ll just se you at work, okay? Alright. Yeah, okay, thank you! I’ll be sending you a follow up email with all the information for next steps. Thank you! Have a good day! Bye!”

“Y/N, did Abigail do something to make you uncomfortable?” His hands on your shoulder that hold you at arms length are starting to annoy you. Now he didn’t even want you close? There is more to it and you know it. Above all, you’re not completely illogical, but your brain is working overtime and your heart is hurting, and now every little thing Spencer does will be an issue. 

Fed up with it all, you stomp your feet and walk away. “Go to work, Doctor Reid!” The impetuous way you huff as you turn around and slam the door of his room shut has him gasping, and you can hear if from where you stand, embarrassed by yourself and your ridiculous, childish behaviour. Still, you refuse to go back out there until you’re sure you’ve heard the door closing behind him. 

“Fuck me,” You mutter after you sit there in your own silence. The apartment doesn’t feel the same as it used to anymore. It’s not a matter of coming in and watering his plants anymore. You don’t just walk around looking for clues from the scattered books in his apartment anymore. You actually know things now. You know parts of his life that he had to tell you, parts that you didn’t have to guess, and it actually felt good— he was opening up out of his own volition and now you’ve ruined everything. Maybe you got greedy. Maybe you got greedy for his welcoming arms and whispered pet names. Maybe it all felt too good, and, just like Icarus, you might have flown too close to the sun, and now you are falling, wings melted and ruined. 

Before you know it, you’re already dialling your mom’s number. 

“Mom?” You are sitting on the floor, legs pulled to your chest with a ridiculous pout on your lips, and from the way she laughs on the other side of the line, you think she can hear it. 

“Well, look who it is,” She teases. It’s easy to picture her face when she says that. You two have made a dance out of it, this whole loving sarcasm thing, and she always go first. Naturally, you just follow her lead. “My daughter who forgot I exist.”

“Aw,” You smile, shaking your head in amusement. “Is this my mother? The one who knows how pick up the phone and dial my number if she wants to talk to me?”

You two laugh for a while before she speaks again. “I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen your face in a while and… and your dad misses you too, you know?” The slight sniffle on the other side of the line breaks your heart a little. 

“I miss him too,” You whisper, voice a bit too soft for her not to notice. 

“Y/N, is something wrong? Did something happen?” It’s no surprise your mom panics quickly when it comes to you, specially after everything that happened in New York. “Is it Josh? Did he find you?” 

God, how it hurts that she even has to worry about that. “No, no, it’s not Josh, it’s…” You are yet to tell her about Spencer. And not in the context of this entire situation with Cat, but about Spencer as the wonderful human he is. About his quirks and his love for books and his chess addiction and… and the fact that he has your heart in the palm of his hands and you’re scared. You’re so scared. “I met someone.” 

Her gasp has your eyes shutting– it’s so nostalgic, that noise of motherly surprise, that you can’t help but bask in it. Growing up, you had always been very close to your mother, enjoying days out together on Sundays and always trusting her to keep your secrets safe from the world. She was your biggest fan, too; supported you on everything you did, cheered from you from the sidelines of every game you wanted to try, helped you convince your dad to let you go to parties you never enjoyed. Never had she unfairly punished you, never had she betrayed your trust, never had she treated you with anything but love and pride. Hiding things from her is hard, possibly one of the hardest things you have ever done, and you hate how easy it’s becoming to deflect her questions and ignore her comments, because truly, all you want to do on days like this, where your heart hurts and your spirits dwindle, is to go to her and cry. Is that too much to ask? 

“Tell me about this person,” She immediately shuffles around and you picture her in the same living room you’ve grown up reading book after book. If you have to guess, she has her usual coffee mug next to her, an addiction you blame her for passing onto you, and she’ll throw the old knitted blanket she’s so proud of making over her legs.

“Well, his name is Spencer–“

“Spencer is a good name!” She whispers to herself and you smile. 

“It is,” You agree, stretching your legs in front of you and wiggling your toes, glad to be distracted by anything and everything that gets your mind off of last night. “He is a good guy. My favourite customer, actually. That’s uh, that’s how we met.” 

“At the store? That is adorable!” 

“Yeah, he reads… a lot,” That is the understatement of the century. “He was my first client when I opened up, and we kind of became friends and gotten closer. Then I kind of, uh, started apartment sitting for him, whenever he was away at work and we just–“

“Oh, what’s the apartment like?” 

“It’s… beautiful,” You mumble, looking around with a small smile playing on your lips. “The walls are this pretty shade of green and it’s really cozy? Books all around. I like it here.” 

“Here?” Oh no. “Wait, are you at his house right now?” 

“Yeah,” You mumble, picking the lose threads on the socks you borrowed, one blue and the other purple with polkadots. For the life of you, you couldn’t find matching pairs in his sock drawer. “I’ve been here a lot, lately.” 

“Is he out of town?” 

“No.” The silence that follows speaks volume, and for the first time ever, you realise that your mom might not be just worried. She scared, too; for the daughter she saw so happy one day and then moving cities the next. “Mom?” 

“I– I’m happy for you, sweetie,” Her words are kind, but the edge of hesitation is there. “And you’re not going too fast, right? You said you’ve known him since you opened the store, so that’s a year and something, and–“

The assumption that you are repeating the same mistake you’ve make with Josh annoys you. You’re not the same person you used to be, you’re not like that anymore– needy and blinded by love and all the shinny things it brought you. You’ve come a long way since then, and you know your mother recognises that, you do but… but you’re still embarrassed. Embarrassed about who you were. About who you loved. It’s a bit ridiculous, how whenever one of your parents bring him up, you immediately raise your defences, walls coming up so high you can’t even see over the green field of life that awaits you on the other side. 

“Mom,” You wince when your voice comes out a bit too harsh. “Sorry. Mom, I’m fine. We’re… nothing. I’m here because… because a pipe burst in my apartment and he was kind enough to let me stay at his place.” 

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry sweetie, I didn’t mean to– I mean, I’m glad you have someone to help you out when we’re so far away.”

“I wish you guys were here,” You whisper, slowly getting up to move to the living room. You immediately sit down in the armchair, grabbing your blanket and covering yourself. If you couldn’t hug your mom, this would have to do. “You’d love him.” 

“Yeah? Is he handsome?”

“So handsome,” You giggle, and it’s an instinct, looking to the side table in search of that familiar frame of Spence and his team at a fancy dinner. You love his smile when he’s happy, so wide and taut that it almost looks like he has too much emotion in proportion to his body. “And he’s so kind, mom. He’s kind, and gentle, and oh so smart. A genius, really.”

“Of course he has to be a genius to keep up with you and the hundreds of books you read in a year,” Her reply is comical when you think about it. The idea of Spencer having trouble keeping up with you, and not the other way around, makes you laugh. “So why do you sound so sad, if he’s such a great guy? He’s treating you good, right?”

“He treats me amazingly, it’s just that… we kissed last night.” 

“And it was bad?” Her teasing makes your shoulder relax enough until you are melting onto the chair. “That’s why you’re sad?”

“Mom! No!” Cringing, you hug the throw pillow closer. “It was great. Amazing, even! It’s just that it was our first kiss and then this morning he just… didn’t do it again.” 

“Oooohhh, I see what’s going on,” She chuckles. “You expected him to talk about this and he didn’t, did he?”

“How do you know?” 

“Because you dad was the same way–“

“Oh gross, no, no, no!” You refuse to fall onto this freudian trap. “I’m not dating my dad!” 

“Wait, so you guys are dating? Is this you telling me you have a boyfriend?!”

“No!” Groaning, you know you’re between a rock and a hard place. There is no escape anymore, and you have to come clean. “I don’t know! We kissed, but then he didn’t talk about it this morning and he just left like nothing happened, and and– and yesterday, he didn’t even say he likes me! I’m too old to be on this whole will-they-won’t-they thing, mom! I need verbal confirmation!” 

“Well, have you asked him? Or told him how you feel? Or tried to start a conversation?” 

Squinting at the phone, you huff, incredulous at her insinuation. Her correct insinuation. “Mother! Whose side are you on?”

“Always yours,” Your mother laughs. “Which is why I’m saying talk to him. If he won’t start the conversation, do it yourself. I raised an independent young woman, and this is the perfect time to prove it.” 

You wait a second before sighing. “I’m scared.”

“Of what, sweetie?” 

“Of everything. Of what happened before. Of it happening again.”

“Y/N,” Your mother say and suddenly you think you’re about to get scolded through the phone. “You can’t be afraid of your future because of one mistake you made in the past, sweetheart. I– I’m sorry we didn’t notice. I’m your mother, I should’ve noticed, I should’ve said something, and I’m never going to make that mistake ever again. So I’m saying something now. You haven’t sounded this excited about pretty much anything in a while. You… You sound like how you used to be. But better.” 

“Mom,” There is no one to witness the way your lower lip trembles at her words. Back then, you thought you were doing a good job keeping your parents safe from it all– you thought you were good at hiding the tiredness with makeup and the miserable tone of your voice with sweet high pitched laughter. None of your parents ever talked about what was happening, either. They didn’t ask questions like how your mom does now; they didn’t see past the beautiful necklaces, the pretty dresses, and the important parties. They were blinded, much like you were, with the fake promises of a happiness that never came. And now here you are, scared out of your mind to jump into this again, and yet, everything fades away when your mom guarantees you she’ll never let this happen again. As grown as you are, nothing reassures you more than your mom– your biggest fan and your biggest protector. 

“I’m scared too,” She whispers, like she’s telling you her biggest secret. “I’m scared my baby will hurt again and I won’t be there to help. I’m scared I’ll never be able to visit. I’m scared about a lot of things when it comes to you, sweetie. But I prefer to focus on the silver linings.”

Ah. So that’s where you get if from. “And what are the silver linings here?” 

“You being you,” It’s as simple as that for her. “And that’s all I really want.” 

For about an hour, you two stay on the phone, chitchatting about the randomise things. It’s no secret that you miss New York– the bustle of people, the endless lights, the pollution and its grey hue in the air. God, you miss it a lot, but what you miss the most is the ease of everything. Moving around is quick, whatever you need you just need to turn the corner and a deli will surely have it, and, above all, whenever you want to see your mom and dad, all you have to do is take the express from the Upper east side down to Midtown and you’re there. You’re at the same small apartment you grew up in, the same brick walls, the same loud neighbours, hell, even your room still looked the same as you left it! But that’s not what you need right now, even though you would love to see your old room with such new eyes… what you need is that feeling of warmth spreading through your chest when it dawns on you that you are home.

“Mom, I have to go,” You finally say. “But let’s talk more often, okay? I miss you and dad a lot.” 

“We miss you too, sweetie. I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Hanging up the phone is harder than you expected it to be, but you don’t have a lot of time to suffer in silence. 

Spencer is a man who naturally avoids all forms of technology. He is not the biggest fan of computers and cellphones, and whenever he texts you or calls you, you feel like you’re winning in life. You’re the exception to his firm, firm rule. But for work purposes, he had explained, he had to be reachable at all hours, meaning Spencer has something you haven’t see in ages– a landline phone. When it starts ringing, that nostalgic loud, shriek of a ring that never fails to make you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack. 

Instinctually, you reach for it as if you are the one expecting a call. It would be so easy to just pick up the phone and say Dr. Reid’s residence, how may I help you? Yet, you don’t. You stop yourself just as the tips of your fingers touch the phone and you pull back. This is exactly what happened last time– a box for him and the consequences ending up being yours to face. Since then, you’d like to think you’ve grown smarter, and so you let it go to voicemail. 

“Hello, Dr. Reid, this is Nurse Kenny from Bennington Sanitarium. I’m calling about your mother.” 

Somehow, this still feels like facing the consequences for something you didn’t do. 

—————————————

 In your defence, you did try calling Penelope before panicking. You called her, you called Spencer, you even called the BAU hotline in a feverish desperation to reach your boy wonder. All the hurt from that morning, all the pain and the insecurities immediately fly out the window as soon as the nurse hangs up with a final call me when you can. 

“Fucking hell,” You push your way through the crowd trying to make out of the subway station, everyone rushing through the steps to finally be set free in the loud streets of Washington, and if it was any other day, you might have taken the time to enjoy it. The sun is high, the air is cold, and the smell of coffee reaches you almost instantly. 

But there is not time to be happy when all you can think about is Spencer– his face crumpling up in that way it does whenever it goes uncharacteristically serious, his brows furrowed in worry, his hands frozen in place like the rest of his body. It kills you being the deliverer of bad news. It’s something you have always tried to avoid, ever since you were a tiny little girl and you had to tell your friends that no, you didn’t like My Little Ponies and then later on that also no, you didn’t want to go to that party. The disappointment in their faces always makes you crumble, give in, give up, anything to see them smile again. 

This time around, you can’t do that. You can’t give up, or tell him something he wants to listen to instead. This has to do with his family, and you don’t know anything about his family– so you know they mean a lot to him. Oddly enough, it’s one of his little weird habits that you find the most endearing; for someone that talks a lot, when it comes to the people he loves, Spencer doesn’t talk at all. Maybe this is the price to pay to work at the BAU… when the most despicable and inhumane people in the world know his name, he has to do everything in his power to not let them find out any other. 

“Ma’am, where do you think you are going?!” The security guard approaching you is, to say the least, terrifying. You forget that you have to sign up, so uses to walking in with Officer Kaper and his badge, except this time around, you didn’t have time to call him. You did everything Spencer told you not to do, and he will lecture you on it later, you just know he will, though you don’t really care about it, as long as he talks to you after this, you don’t care about what words come out of his mouth. 

Because sure, it was an accident– listening to the nurse’s message was an accident– but you still did it. There is no hiding it, you did it and my god, you feel terrible about it. Feels like something akin to looking through his phone while he is in the shower, close to searching through his letters at home, similar to reading through the annotations in his books. This is private. It wasn’t enough to be living at his apartment? Sleeping in his bed, stealing his clothes? You also had to go ahead and listen to his private messages? “I’m here to see Dr. Spencer Reid,” You say, lower lip trembling at the thought of a possible confrontation with this man. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but it’s urgent, I need to see him, I need to talk to Spence, he’s not picking up his phone and–“

“Do you have a form of identification? You have to sign in,” When he takes a step closer, you immediately shrink back, shoulders hunching forward in a tense attempt to cover yourself from his eyes. 

“Of course, yes, I’ll… sign in, but can you– I’m so sorry, but can you call Penelope Garcia? She is the BAU’s tech analyst, I think. She has a lot of computers and–“

“Get in line.” 

It’s an order more than a request, and you consider telling him to fuck off. Your nerves are high and you feel a sense of urgency that you have only felt one time before in your entire life– and that was when you moved to D.C. The thing no one tells you about signing in into the FBI is that is practically impossible. People like to think that all you need is a government issued ID, and technically, they are right– there is nothing else you can provide them other than you driver’s license, but the hoops they have to go through to grant you access add another ten minutes or so onto the wait that is already killing you. 

Until the clerk says, “Here you go, ma’am,” And gives you your visitor’s pass like it’s nothing. 

Like it doesn’t hold the weight of the world for you then, as you shove it into that stupid guard’s face and runs to the far left end of the hallway. At this point, you’ve been at the building enough times to know how to get upstairs, but despite the faint familiarity of it all, you continue to feel displaced and singled out whenever those beige walls surround you. Your oversized cream sweater is like a beacon of light in such a dim office, but it serves its purpose to keep you warm against the powerful air conditioner in there. How Spencer gets anything done under those circumstances, you don’t know, but the shivers travelling up and down your arms are enough to keep you alert and on the look out for the most likely presence to see– your favourite bright pink, bleached blonde geek. 

“Excuse me, can I help you?” He’s wearing a suit, much like the ones Agent Hotchner wears and you have to hold back tears. It’s all very intimidating, knowing that at any point one of these people could find you suspicious and start asking you questions. 

“Uh, y-yeah, I guess you can,” Clearing your throat, your hand squeeze the shoulder of your bag tighter, and when his eyes move to look at the slight movement, you know he’s a part of the BAU. You know he’s reading you like Spence does. “I need to find Dr. Spencer Reid,” Saying his full name still feels odd to you. “Could you maybe tell me where he is?” 

“Oh? Reid?” This expression you know– surprise. “Are you his girlfriend or something?” 

“His girlfr– I uh– I mean, I–“ It takes a moment for you to realise that if you say no, then you have to explain to this stranger what you really are to Dr. Reid, and that is a can of worms you rather not open right now, so instead of being honest like you always try to be, you blush and nod. “I uh, yeah. I am.” 

“Oh wow!” His genuine shock to the news ticks you off a little. It’s not all that crazy that Spencer would have a girlfriend, considering his charming awkwardness and his bright, beautiful smile. “He never mentioned a girlfriend before, I didn’t–“

“Is he here or not?!” You kind of shriek, widening your eyes in hopes to make him pity you enough to move on with this a bit faster. 

“No, he isn’t. I think his team just left for the tarmac, they got a case in this morning and–“ 

His voice fades to the background easily, your anxiety peaking through with that annoying ringing in your ear. Spencer left to another state and didn’t call you. Logically, you know that his job and his feelings for you, however good or bad they might be, are not connected. Logically, it is easy to make that distinction. However, you are not a logical person all the time. You are not a genius like he is, and sometimes, you let your heart lead; you let your emotions take over like a tsunami inside of you, crashing and crashing and crashing, until you are nothing but a crumble of what you once was. 

You are ready, too. Ready to give up and delay the inevitable until the nurse can reach him directly, until you’re not the one having to panic, until he can deal with this personally. Consider it an addictive habit of a you of many moons ago, a Y/N who let things go to protect herself and avoid unnecessary confrontation. Confronting Josh was never the best option, so you had to come up with strategies. Plans, schemes, lies. You hate that you’ve become good at those, hate that all the work you’ve done to leave those behind is now at risk, but something deep inside of you can’t let this go. 

Something that you know very well is the need to make Spencer proud. The need to be there for him after all the times he was there for you. It’s your time to be the hero. 

“Call Hotchner.” 

There is a harshness in your voice that is very much planted there. The same goes for the twitch of your brows, the bite to the inside of your cheek, the averting gaze to the floor. It’s time to tell the story the profiler wants to read, and you double down when you let out an exasperated sigh, pushing your disheveled hair back. “I need you to call Hotchner and get Spencer back here right now.” 

You shouldn’t want to laugh with how he fumbles with his phone, quickly dealing the boss’ number, but all amusement is gone when he mumbles something about an Spencer’s girlfriend and passes the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.” 

“Oh god… hello?” You say, voice wobbling a little. 

“Miss Y/L/N?” In the background, you can hear some chatter and nothing else. Are they in the jet already? Have you failed? “Is everything alright? Why are you in the office?”

“I am truly sorry, sir,” You gulp down, glancing at the man in a silent request for some privacy. “But I need to speak to Spencer. He is not answering his phone and it’s an emergency. Penelope wasn’t answering either, so I thought I could come find her, but SSA Greenberg asked me if I needed help and–“

“Is that why you told him you were Spencer’s girlfriend?” 

“Family emergency trumps everything,” You explain, the heavy weight of you guilt settling in. For some reason, you think you got Spencer in trouble. 

“Miss Y/L/N, is this about your case? We explained that we would have cases alongside–“

“Sir, it’s his mother. I don’t know the details, but there was a call and they asked him to call them back as soon as possible.” 

The eery silence that follows has you holding your breath. You are not sure how much his team knows about the intricacies of his personal life, but they surely know more than you do, considering the immediate rustle you hear on the other side of the line.

“We’ve just arrived at the tarmac. I’m sending send Reid and Garcia back to help us from there,” Agent Hotchner says, voice dripping with authority. “Wait for him there. Tell Officer Kaper he will be relived as soon as Reid arrives.” 

“Office Kaper is… not here.”

“…We will discuss this later. They should be arriving in twenty.” 

“Okay. Okay, good,” You breathe out loudly. “Thank you, sir.” 

Once the call ends, once you give SSA Greenberg his phone back and evade all the questions he has about you and Spencer, once you push down the wave of relief that almost makes you fall to the ground… you make your way to Penelope’s office. You need credentials to walk into her lair, it’s not as simple as just opening a door– she is the gatekeeper of all things confidential, and you know not all people are authorised to walk in. The fact that this is the same woman who has invited you over for wine night and got so drunk she couldn’t stop talking about the one time she walked in on Morgan showering is actually insane. The Penelope you know can’t keep a secret for her life, but then again, this is not Penelope’s office. This is Garcia’s lair, and you need to remember that these are fundamentally two different people. Just like Spence and Dr. Reid. JJ and Jennifer. Prentiss and Emily. All of them had managed a level of separation that seemed practically impossible to you, leaving work outside of their homes in a perfectly packed box by the door. It makes you wonder, though, if when he walks out the door to go to the office, he leaves you behind in a box inside. 

Compartmentalising is not something you did well. You tried, back when you first arrived in Washington, at the recommendation of your therapist, but you seemed to struggle more than normal. At your core, you believe in honesty, in transparency, and despite everything you’ve been through, you never gave up on yourself, on your core self, not the self you’ve created to appease Josh. Though you did forget about her, for a while. Distracted by your new life, you missed your old self like you miss old high school friends; remembering the good old times but still doing nothing to reach out. 

Just like you told your mom, you’re scared it will happen again. That you’ll lose yourself in the beautiful world of Spencer Reid and lose sight of what matters– yourself. You might have learned this way later in life than you should have, but a relationship is a two way road and now you know that. Now, you want to know that, you want Spencer to show you that. There is a kind of romance in how he leaves books for you to read next to the armchair, a certain indication that he knows what you like. A type of care in how he buys the shampoo and conditioner you mentioned you liked one time almost eight months ago. This is where you are trying to meet him at, ordering the rare books he’s so desperate after through your unique contacts. Making him breakfast before work. Unfolding the corners of his books. Even though you express yourself better with words than actions, you don’t miss the way his eyes sparkle a little extra whenever he sees his coffee mug filled up for him first thing in the morning or how he always pretends to be caught off guard when you bring him a surprise book from the store. Spencer can read you like he has been born to do so, and yet, he still played along. For you, he’d always play along. 

Which is why, when they found you sitting on the floor next to Garcia’s office, he plays along. “Are you more comfortable there than sitting on my desk?” 

His casual tone shocks you a little bit. Scrambling to your feet, you meet him and Penelope halfway. “Spence!” You gasp, hands stretching out to touch him, feel him, ground him, anything. You just need to make sure he is paying attention, the hands on his biceps squeezing it slightly. “Spence, you need to call your mom! Something happened, and I tried calling you guys but you weren’t picking up, so I came here to tell you that you need to call her, you–“

“Y/N,” Spence whispers in that way that makes your heart speeds up. His eyes are stuck to yours, shinning with something you’ve seen before, something you’ve seen last night. “Y/N, my mom is okay. Hotch told me to call her as soon as he sent us back, she’s okay, everything’s been handled. Are you okay? Sweetheart, you’re sweating…” 

Garcia’s gasp falls onto deaf ears as you and Spencer lose yourself in each other. “I was nervous,” You mumble, trying to pull away and dab at your forehead, but he’s on it. His hands catch you by the elbow and gently bring you closer into what slowly turns into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Spence, I didn’t mean to listen to the message, I swear I didn’t, I was just there and the machine–“

“I know,” He nods his head distractedly and gently wipes you clammy skin with the wrist of his sweater. “I know, Y/N, you don’t have to apologise. Thank you for coming all the way here to look for me just to tell me to call my mom. I truly appreciate it.”

“Of course I would,” There is something building between you two, a tension very familiar to you now that you’ve been watching it pile on for the past couple of weeks. 

For Penelope, though, it is certainly news. 

“OH MY GOD!” 

Snapped out of the trance of those honeyed eyes, you turn to look at your blonde friend with a pale complexion. “Pen, no–“ 

“OH MY GOD, YOU TWO BONED!” 

“What?! No! Absolutely not!” Spencer takes a step back from you like he’s suddenly troubled by thought of being that close to you, and you can’t really hide how your heart breaks a little at that. 

“Yeah… apparently absolutely not,” You repeat, coming back down to your harsh reality since the bubble burst.

“What– What just happened?” She utters, but you don’t really give her a chance to develop her line of thought, grabbing the access card from her hand and swiping it through the reader to unlock her door. “Wait, wait, what–“

“I’ll stay here with Pen,” You say without looking back at Spencer. Your job here is done and until Officer Kaper can come pick you up, you know they won’t let you leave the building. “I’ll call Mike for a ride, so don’t worry about me going back alone. I–“

“He’s not here?” Spencer asks, looking around with that adorable confused frown of his. “Wait, Y/N, did you come here by yourself?! Didn’t we talk about–“

“No Spencer, we didn’t! We didn’t talk about a lot of fucking things, and then you left off this morning like you didn’t want to talk about it and, and, and I was panicking, okay?! You didn’t pick up the phone and I’m a big enough girl to take the subway alone!” Your voice certainly raises enough to have people looking at you two, and your cheeks fire up in embarrassment. You are causing a scene at his workplace, and in your opinion, that is unacceptable. Gulping, you look down, tugging Penelope into her sacred space and closing the door behind you. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’m really sorry.” 

“Y/N, wait–“ But the door closes midway through his sentence and despite him having access to enter, he knows better than to press on a sore spot. 

The worst part is that you kind of want him to. And you hate that part of yourself that wants such a reactive behaviour from this peaceful man. Spencer does plenty to show you he cares, even if he does it in his own quiet, subtle way, and that is enough for you. Fuck, that should be enough for you. Yet somehow, nothing seems to shut up that voice in your head telling you that yes, he is enough… but you aren’t. In your overthinking mind, you know that you are too average for Spencer. You’d never be able to keep up with him, with his spectacular brain and his humble attitude. At best, all you offer him are books, some observations here and there, and a warm body to hug at night. At worst, you’re a burden to a man who already carries the entire world on his shoulder. 

“You two?!” Penelope’s dramatic gasp is enough to put a pause on your pity party. “Boy genius and you?!” Scoffing, you sit down on the chair she pulled for you. “I know… sounds ridiculous, right? I mean, the man is a genius and I’m… well-read at best.” 

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, we’re not going there,” Barely does she know you’re already there, that you’ve been there this entire morning. “What happened? Last time we talked, it was a crush and nothing else! And now you and boy wonder are ‘sweetheart’ing each other and the forehead kiss was just so adorable and–“ 

“We kissed.” 

The way it comes out to her, unlike how it did with your mom, is a confession rather than a posing issue. It makes your heart race and your sad face lifts for a second, enough to let a giggle escape. This is what friends are for, and you are happy to be living through this again. 

“YOU WHAT?”

“Pen, don’t shout!” You whisper, looking at the door like it’s about to slam open at any second. “What if someone hears?” “Would that matter?” She laughed. “You basically told the biggest gossip in the FBI that you are Spencer’s girlfriend.” 

“Oh my god,” You groan. Slowly getting comfortable in your chair, you pull your legs up to your chest and let your head fall on your knee dramatically. “He’s going to hate me.” 

“Now why on Earth do you think that? I’m pretty sure Spencer has had wet dreams of you calling him your boyfriend.” 

“Penelope!” It’s suddenly way too hot in her office, your entire body flushing instead of just your cheeks. “You are wrong, by the way… He had a whole dinner planned, you know? He was turning his apartment into the perfect date when I got back home, and he was cooking and he looked so good, Pen, so, so, so good and we just– I mean, it just happened! And then…”

Penelope is holding onto your every word, perfectly painted lips biting on her fluffy pink pen. “And then…?” Her wiggly brows are a dead giveaway of where her dirty, dirty mind is going. 

“And then, just as we get to the room…” You repeat, leaning forward as if you’re about to tell her the biggest secret of your life, only to deflate right after. “He pulls away, kisses me on the forehead, and goes to sleep.” 

“No!”

“Oh yeah,” You sigh, body crumbling in a defeated lump of limbs. “And then this morning? Nothing. Nada. Not even a peck on the lips as a ‘good morning’.”

“Oh wow,” She says after a moment. You find some comfort in how she seems as wordless as you were early today. “Oh wow, that’s… wow. It’s impressive, but it’s not shocking. Still, it’s… wow.” 

“Not shocking?” You shriek. “It’s very shocking!” 

“Oh, sweet pumpkin,” There is so much comfort in the clicks and clacks of her heels when she gets up and comes to give you a hug. Admittedly, Penelope’s hugs are much like one of a mother; warm, caring, and all encompassing. It’s enough to heal wounds you didn’t even know you had, like she is searching your soul the same way she searches the web for evidence– with expertise. “I sometime forget you’ve never known little boy genius when he was, well, little. Our pretty boy over there is not… the best with people.” 

“That’s mean, Pen,” You sigh, frowning a little. He might not say much about his feelings, and sure, sometimes Spencer is quite reserved to his own mind in a way that makes you think he assumes people won’t really understand what’s going on up there, but never has Spencer made you feel uncomfortable or bad about yourself. Saying he is ‘not the best with people’ actually upset you because despite a couple of hiccups here and there, Spencer is great with you. He remembers everything you say you like or dislike, he cares about your opinions even though sometimes you feel like you’re just saying the obvious, he is gentle with his touches and hugs. “Spencer is amazing, he’s always so careful with everything and everyone, and he’s so kind, and gentle, and considerate. He’s just too in his head sometimes, but that’s okay! So am I, so is everyone, you know?”

“It’s so cute how you’re quick to jump to his defence,” She teased, shaking you a little by the shoulders. “I know he’s all of that, trust me. I would die for Spencer– no, that’s too easy. I would kill for Spencer, and I actually almost did once! And–“

“Wait, what?!”

“And what I’m trying to say is not that he is a bad person, but that he can get a bit awkward. Try to think from his perspective, Y/N, the kid went to college when he was 14. All those crazy life experiences we had in college, he didn’t. And then he joined the FBI, and time just… got away.” 

“Are you trying to tell me Spencer Reid is a virgin?” You gasp, mouth hung open in surprise, because from the little action you two had going last night, you would not have betted on that. 

“God, no… or at least I don’t think so, but what I am trying to tell you, my cute bookworm, is that his experience is… limited to a couple of people. Very different people. One of his exes was a famous actress kind of people. They did long distance every single time kind of people.” 

Little by little, the engines in your brain start turning, and things start making sense. “He never… had a proper relationship?” Somehow, this makes it feel like all that weight that is sitting on your chest, the pressure of figuring everything out by yourself, the racing thoughts that can’t leave you alone… it’s all gone. All easing up in a lighter mist of confusion and sadness. 

Her curls bounce around her face when she shakes her head. “Not that we’ve known. So just… god, please give him a chance. He’s a good egg, a perfect egg, even! Just a bit confused with his own brain and, and, and he’s probably wondering what’s the proper procedure from here on out! He’s probably confused and wondering what to do and– and he’s so happy, Y/N. This morning, he couldn’t stop smiling. He didn’t tell  

Morgan to shut up when he made sex jokes. He didn’t hog the coffee machine. It was like he was in his own little world and it was so cute to see him finally acting like the boy he should have been all along. I don’t want to see that go away.” 

Penelope Garcia has a tell that you are pretty sure she doesn’t know about. It usually peek through her desperate rambles that you love so much, squeezing her voice out of her until she’s barely speaking. You know she’s self-conscious about her rambles, the amount of times she has apologised to you enough proof of it, but when she starts feeling guilty, like she’s staying something she shouldn’t have been, Penelope’s voice dies down, to the point that her mouth is moving but no sound is coming out.  

“Pen…” 

“I know you like him,” The intensity of her eyes behind her glasses is enough to have you looking away. “I know you do, you like him so much that you broke your security protocol and ran to the FBI to tell him that he needed to call his mom. Please don’t give up on him.”

“I’m not,” You whisper back, shaking your head so fast your neck hurts a little. “Pen, I’m not giving up on him, I don’t think I ever could. I’m just… insecure. I understand Spence’s experience is unique to him, but mine is unique to me, and I think we’re both in the learning process. I just wish he would’ve talked to me, you know? Spencer kissed me like there was no tomorrow yesterday and this morning he didn’t even acknowledge it. What if he doesn’t want to do it anymore? What if he changed his mind? You know, his brain works too fast and he could’ve thought about all the future scenarios in which this goes wrong and–“

“You know, sometimes you two sound so much alike that it’s scary. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, get your head out of your ass, it’s not a hat.” 

“Hey!”

“Your intrusive thoughts are shitty!” 

“That is a really weird way to put it–“

“What are you two talking about?” Turning to look at Spencer, you’re surprised to see him all packed up with his satchel hanging by his side. You deflate a little at how ready he is to leave, thinking he’s going back to the tarmac to meet up with the team wherever they are, but he beats you to the punch. “Y/N, ready to go home?” 

“Oh,” You scramble to get up, grabbing your bag and your visitor’s pass and then nodding. “Yeah, I guess. Are you coming with?”

“Yeah, I told Hotch I’d be working from home in case my mom’s nurse called again,” He gives you that tight-lipped smile you love so much and you kind of swoon. 

“Alright,” You give Penelope a hug goodbye and from then on, you find yourself in the longest stretch of silence you’ve ever been before. 

The tension is there, taut enough that you feel like your stomach is being pulled out of your body every time he sucks in a breath a bit too hard or opens his mouth just to close it again. Every time, you think he’s going to initiate the chat, and, every time, he doesn’t. It disappointment after disappointment, and by the time you two make it back to his place, yo can’t keep it in anymore. “Spence,” You call softly, letting him open the door the the building without rush and following him inside. As per usual, he’s quick to let you lead, gesturing politely for you to go up first. “Spence, we need to talk about last ni– Abigail, what are you doing here?”

You’re not even at the top of the stairs when you see her, all sweaters and ponytails standing by your door. “Oh, hi boss!” Her joke makes you cringe a little, but you smile nonetheless. You must’ve done something to alert Spencer of how uncomfortable you actually are, his hand sneaking to grab yours as he squeezes past you to stand one step above, body almost covering yours completely. “Oh. Hi.” 

Her tone change is obvious even to your layman ears, and you squeeze Spencer’s hand in nervousness. “Abigail, right?” He asks, a small smile playing on his lips as if he’s trying to be nice, though the squint in his eyes tells a whole other story. “Good to see you again. Did you move in okay?” 

“Yeah,” The way she moves her head to the side, trying to get a glimpse of you, has red flags raised all up in  your head. “All moved in and ready to start work on Monday!”

“I’m happy to hear you’re excited, Abigail!” You reply with a forced chuckle, climbing the extra step to stand side by side with Spence. Your hands are intertwined behind his back, his fingers playing with yours, and if it’s to keep you calm or himself, you don’t know. “I’m excited for you to start at the store, too. Is there anything you need, though? I know I said I’d send you a starter email and a draft of a schedule, but I just haven’t had the time today. I’ll work on it as soon as I can!”

“Oh, no, no, no hurry!” Once she can see you, it’s like her whole persona changes. She’s bubblier when she’s talking to you, shoulders less tense and voice less tense. “I was just coming here to bring you this. It got delivered to my apartment by accident, but it has your name on it.” 

From behind her back, she pulls a brown package. It’s small and thin, and it doesn’t seem so have any logo on it. “Y/N, are you expecting something?” Spencer whispers, eyes not leaving Abigail’s hand and for a second you let yourself panic enough to believe she’s carrying a bomb. It felt like she was carrying a bomb. Like it was going to blow up and your entire life, your entire re-construed life with Spencer by your side, and everything would soon come crumbling down. 

“N-No,” You stutter back and your body goes frigid cold when Abigail takes a step forward to you two, arms stretched out to give you the package. “Oh my god, no, no, no one knows I’m–“

Quickly grabbing the box, Spencer wastes no time in getting you inside the apartment. “Thank you so much for bringing this, Abigail, but we really have to get home. As promised, you’ll hear from Y/N soon on that starter email. Have a great rest of your day!”

“Wait, I wanted to talk to Y/N about–“ The loud slamming of the door drowns her words out. 

Before even looking your way, Spencer is on the phone. “Hotch,” He breathed out, eyes wide in that crazed way that you’ve only see once before, in your shop when he had his gun out. “She found Y/N.” 

You know you can’t call this an ending, not when you two never even had a begging…

“We have to relocate her.” 

But it surely feels like one. 

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

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[eff-plays]

Long Taash storyline rant, by an enby

Listen. At first I was honestly not that offended/upset with the Taash enby stuff. And having an enby Rook who was able to help them out was honestly pretty fun. It was definitely the first time any video game engaged directly with nonbinary identity like this, and while it's not really 1-1 with my own experiences, I thought that it was. Fine? Ya know? I thought it was a very novel experience to finally have a fellow enby NPC that you could talk to about being nonbinary. It's never happened in any other game I've played.

But then it just ... kept going. And on one hand I get it, because you don't just decide your nonbinary and that's it -- it's a process. But the way it's handled is absolutely insane to me. First of all, how old is Taash supposed to be? They give off whiny teen vibes, and it's very off-putting. This is the character that's meant to represent me? Why are they written like a child?

Second, why are we using modern terms? The word "nonbinary" IRL exists because it is a rejection of the Western gender binary. It's a specific term that isn't universal, and since no previous game bothers to engage with the gender roles of Thedas to begin with, it's absolutely insane to hear these hyperspecific terms used in this made-up fantasy world. Especially since the Qun already has words and concepts for their gender roles -- why didn't BioWare just base this story on those? Why not try to contextualize this in-universe? There are other nonbinary characters in the game, but they just popped up in this previously unequal and often sexist world and are just vibing. With no explanation. Who's out there doing thedosian gender studies? How are they spreading these revolutionary concepts so far and so quickly that the terminology becomes universal?

Side note on that, why does Taash have a little counselling session with the other two trans people that sounds like something they'd do in sex ed class (in Sweden, anyway)? Why is this happening during a magical apocalypse? Hello? Look at this fucking codex entry and try not to cringe

Like. Who is this for? This doesn't make me feel good as a nonbinary person. This makes me feel like a freak, out-of-place, and like I'm a fucking baby that needs my existence validated by some fucking bitchass video game codex entry preaching at me about how totally valid I am. This doesn't feel like respect, or inclusion -- it feels patronizing. It feels corporate, like we're ticking off boxes. "Look everyone, we're using the appropriate terminology! We're so inclusive!" And you know what? The fucking anti-woke chuds are gonna look at this and think THIS is me. That all I care about is having my terminology and identity carelessly stuffed into places just so I can feel good about who I am.

And before tumblrinas get upset, I'm not saying I don't want rep, or that I'm one of the "good ones" who wants video games to be free of "ideology." I am one of the bad ones. Taash should be nonbinary and I should be able to play a nonbinary Rook and I want both of those things to be explicit and accepted in-game! But I want those in a way that respects me and my intelligence, and the world BioWare has created that I've come to love. Who is preventing BioWare from actually, ya know, unwrapping the sexism and misogyny that they started in Origins? Who's stopping them from actually tackling the gender politics of Thedas? Why don't we ACTUALLY sit down and figure out how a society like the Qun might approach somebody not willing or able to conform to their particular rules? Especially the Qun. Like, they had so much potential for something actually interesting here, and instead it's "mom it's not a phase, respect meeeeee!"

Third, and this is my favorite fucking part, they tie Taash's gender to their background, where the Qun represents conformity and Rivain represents freedom. (Which is an entire can of worms in itself that I won't go into here.) I don't actually mind this? I have some extra special boy insight on this part of the quest, because I am also an immigrant who was born in one country and grew up in another. Being nonbinary and being an immigrant, while separate, have both had a similar effect in my life. It's left me feeling like I don't belong anywhere at times, like I'm something different and strange, and at times like I'm a kaleidoscope of expression and freedom, with unique experiences not everyone has. There is an absolutely valid intersection there that could have been explored and would've been very impactful if done right.

But instead we get this

Hello? Oh my god HELLO?

Why is there a BINARY CHOICE in a story where a character embraces being NONBINARY? Why are we now equating Taash's background and cultural belonging to the demands of their mother? You can reject what your parent is forcing you into without completely rejecting your culture! Am I fucking taking crazy pills right now?

The idea that Taash, upon discovering they're nonbinary, has to now say goodbye to being a Qunari? When they weren't even ever shown to care about the Qun in the first place? WHY IS THIS A CHOICE THAT HAS TO BE MADE? WHY ARE THEY ASKING ME WHETHER THEY SHOULD CONTINUE FOLLOWING THIS CREED THEY DO NOT CARE ABOUT? (Side note: why did their mother escape from the Qun only to enforce it herself?)

Like? You can't spend a whole fucking subplot deciding you're neither a man nor a woman, but then equate being nonbinary to being Rivaini, and thinking you need to pick that or being Qunari. I'm sorry? I'm sorry? I'm sorry?

Why is there no third choice? Why is there no "Hey you can be both" or "Hey just pick whatever from either culture you want to keep and throw away what you don't?"

I am going insane. The game sits you down and condescends at you for ages about basic contemporary gender theory, but then tries to inexplicably tie that to Taash's cultural background, but then doesn't bother examining how those cultures treat gender at all, and then finally forces us into a binary choice ... for a character whose entire fucking personality is "nonbinary."

The Qun is a misogynistic society. Rivain is a matriarchal society. (This was true for the previous games, at least.) The way these cultures approach gender is vastly different. But instead of examining how such a person would struggle with their background and how that would tie into their gender identity, it's just "Rivain good" and "Qun bad." Pick one or the other. Conform or rebel. Pick one or the other.

And that's the storyline of the nonbinary character.

The reactionary chuds will hate this and blame nonbinary people for how much this fucking sucks. While I can't claim or enjoy it because it's corporate nonsense and fucking sucks. All this does is show people that when games include enby rep, it's hack shit like this, so why include it if it's gonna suck ass, right? This bad writing will just make your game worse, so don't bother!

So yeah. Cool.

Thanks, BioWare. I hope whatever you were trying to prove was worth it.

[sgt-tombstone]

y’all don’t mind if I ramble about a fic idea that’s been knocking around in my head for a while but will never get written, do you?

cool

it’s a grumpy-and-sunshine-professor AU where Simon is a history professor studying the history of death and Johnny is a professor of chemistry studying pyrotechnics. They both have fierce reputations within their departments; Johnny for being a lenient grader and an excellent teacher, and Simon for being a complete hardass

They’re secretly married to each other, but no one ever takes classes with both of them, so there hasn’t ever been a student that has found out. Johnny talks about his husband constantly, never by name, but his computer background is a picture of two unmistakably masculine hands with matching rings, obviously a wedding photo, and he usually starts class with a little story about something funny that his husband did the day/night before. It’s well-known that his husband is blond, massive, and an utter sweetheart. They obviously adore each other, if the weekend date stories that he tells are any indication (always innocent, of course)

Simon, on the other hand, never talks about his personal life at all. He starts class on the dot, getting straight to the point without any fanfare or chitchat. He’s a man of few words, and he uses them well and efficiently. He wears a ring on a necklace, and it sometimes slips out of his shirt during lecture, but no one dares ask (stories are told of the one student who did, and got a glare so acidic that he had dropped the class on the spot)

Then along comes (insert OC’s name here), who is a biology student focusing on infectious diseases. Johnny is her advisor and she adores him (not in that way, she’s a lesbian and he’s obviously besotted with his husband). She had him for her introductory chemistry classes and he was the only reason she passed; she’s trusted his judgment and advice implicitly ever since. So when she asks what class she should take for her required history elective, he recommends a class called The History and Impacts of the Black Death, and it sounds right up her alley but the professor listed gives her pause. She’s heard of Dr. Riley, of course; nearly everyone on campus has heard the stories of traumatized history majors avoiding Dr. Riley’s classes (ironically) like the plague. But she trusts Dr. MacTavish, so she registers anyway.

The class is tough. In her opinion, it’s way too difficult for an elective class, especially on top of her other upper level science classes, but she hasn’t gotten this far without knowing how to step up to a challenge, and Dr. Riley’s scathing feedback on her first assignment has her digging her heels in instead of throwing in the towel. The topic is interesting; she’d never really looked into the history of infectious diseases, and the Black Death is morbidly fascinating. She struggles a bit with the historical aspects of the class at first, especially when Dr. Riley expects his students to already have a firm grasp on Medieval history and she very much does not, but she’ll never pass up an opportunity to do some external research to catch up to where the rest of the class—populated mostly by history majors—is in their studies.

Towards the end of the semester, close to the end of November, the student’s mother finds out about her girlfriend and kicks her out late at night. With nowhere else to go, she remembers that Dr. MacTavish is both openly gay and has invited groups of students to his house for club meetings and field trips. It’s a little awkward, but she doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so she walks to his house in the rain. When she knocks on the door, Dr. MacTavish answers with clear concern, and he waves her inside quickly. She explains her situation, panicking about the entire thing because she’s standing in her advisor’s house at 10pm, her parents have just cut her off, and she’s scared and wet. Dr. MacTavish calls into the other room, presumably to his husband, asking for a towel.

The last person she expects to round the corner is Dr. Riley, holding a fluffy towel and an expression equally as concerned as Dr. MacTavish’s. His husband.

She has to sit down.

They sit and talk as she dries off and warms up. Johnny makes her a cup of hot chocolate while Dr. Riley—Simon—builds a fire in the fireplace. She huddles close to it as they talk, and she eventually ekes the story out of them; how they met, how they hated each other at first, how they fell in love. Simon is talkative and animated, drawing energy from the man sitting beside him, and the student finds herself enchanted by the two of them, the side of her professors that she never gets to see. It should feel like a breach of privacy, a line crossed, but it feels like staying up late with her uncles. They make up the guest bedroom for her and all go to bed, reminded that they all have class tomorrow.

The student ends up staying with some friends, couch-surfing in their apartment until she can get her feet back under her, but she spends several nights a week at the Riley-MacTavish household, delving into the intricacies of infectious diseases and their connection to society with Simon. She enjoys the friendly arguments the two professors get into and often chooses sides arbitrarily to keep them on their toes. She switches her advisor from Johnny to Simon (Johnny pretends to be upset, but he’s secretly overjoyed that Simon is connecting so well with a student), and ends up writing a thesis paper under his tutelage.

Idk how it’s gonna end yet, maybe with a far future scene where she sees the two of them at a conference and throws herself at them, wrapping them both in massive hugs. It earns her several very odd stares, especially from those who know Dr. Riley’s reputation, but she doesn’t care. They were there for her in the darkest night of her life, and she’ll always have a soft spot for both of them

[melliemell]

Pairing: Sigma x reader

Contents: NSFW, sex pollen, hand-job, blow-job, sigma's exemplary panic-managment (he's trying his best okay, he is), Sigma gets affected by a sex pollen and thinks he's perfectly capable of handling it by not handling it, Approx. 3.4k words

Sweat.

Sigma could feel it dripping down his back, his clothes becoming more and more uncomfortable. He stood stock-still, gaze glued to the file you gave him. He could barely read it, the words blending in with every stubborn blink to finally make sense of it. Some time had passed, but he could still hear you speaking, diligent as ever, as you reported on your most recent task.

Sigma was glad for your focus because he doubted he could keep up this front for long. Not when his recovery time was a mere 7.32 minutes. He timed it. He had to.

And then it would start again. 

It didn’t matter what he thought of or how many times he had to swallow down his own mortification– one hand would cover his mouth, the other working fast at unzipping his trousers before he was thrusting viciously in his palm, breaths ragged as muffled against his hold. He barely had time to think anything through, the need setting in sudden and merciless each time. He’s never had a high sexual drive to begin with, so wrapping his hand around his cock, stroking until he all but blanked out from the sensation– that was beginning to take its toll. The fact that he was still at work, glued to his desk, made it all the worse. And to top it all–

Nothing helped.

Which, well… Well. Sigma should have figured as much.

It’s not like he didn’t know how aphrodisiacs worked. 

He had hoped it was something else at first. He really should have focused on his morning paperwork instead of answering your call for assistance on a… problematic guest gathering. The drunkenness and rowdy screams had caused enough noise complaints to rouse the entire floor of the royal suites’ accommodations. Only, it wasn’t just alcohol.

A substance, dark as ink and staining just as easily– Sigma had made the mistake of inspecting one of the many bottles discarded at the scene, only for it to leave blotches on his fingertips, a headache not an hour later and one of the worst instances of arousal he had ever experienced in his life.

Waiting for your report was the only saving thought he could hold onto. And now to hear it, hear you– Sigma could only blink angrily at the sheets before him, mind blank save for the ticking clock by his desk and the need for you to go away go away go away.

Worst of all– you were with him then. Saw and wrote down everything he drew your attention to. Clenching his hand now would hide the marks there, yes, but it would only serve to quell his shame if just a bit. 

There was no point in it when you knew what was there. Your sympathetic gaze made it worse, even if you tried to maintain professionalism as you discussed the finer details of the substance and how the other guests were fairing after their exposure. 

“So far we’re certain the beverages were brought in from our own supply. Mostly wine, but there were quite a few hard liquors. Still no clarity on how the bottles we found were smuggled in, but the good news is that most of the effects are fading the majority of the guests who used it,” you said matter of fact, eyes reading off the tablet in your hands. 

You seemed calm. At least Sigma knew the situation was being handled by capable hands. 

He took a steady breath, jaw clenching as he forced an even voice. “Speak with Background Security about guest identification first. I’ll grant you access to their files and the Safety Feature protocol.” Identifying who the culprits were would be no issue for the Sky Casino. It was more a matter of time than success.

You nodded, handing forward your tablet for the access signature. “I’ll be done by 3 pm. Our suspects are narrowed down to seven individuals. I’ll pull them–”

“No,” Sigma said. His headache was back, making his hand tremble as he drew his pen over the screen. “Pull all of them through.”

You hesitated. “Sir, there were over 40 people on the list. Not counting the associates.” 

“Yes.”

“This will take a lot of time.”

Sigma looked up at you. “I am aware of that. Do it.”

It was an uncomfortable sight; having a coworker narrow their eyes at him, uncertainty written all over their features. This was proving to be far more troublesome than he liked. The Casino relied on him, he could not let his workers’ trust dwindle like this. 

“Sir,” and there was an edge to your voice. A warning, as you pierced his very being with your prodding observation.

Sigma stood up, leaning against his desk for support, just in case. He forced all the confidence he did not feel to seep into his posture. “It’s alright. I’ll wait for your findings.”

You sighed. “You don’t seem alright.”

“There’s nothing to fret over,” Sigma said, mustering a smile. It felt odd on his face.

Sigma’s worry began to rise again the longer you stood there watching him. 

Lower, the sensation of… something blooming anew was slowly ebbing away at his concentration. The thought of you seeing him like this was simply– mortifying. He could feel his trousers beginning to strain again, his cock filling with blood for god knows which time. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.

Sigma kept a neutral face, not moving a muscle.

“Frankly, you look like shit, and I worry. You have three more meetings before the evening. You can’t attend in this state,” you said.

Sigma pursed his lips. “I will be available in time.” He didn’t dare think of the alternative.

You blinked, not fazed at all. “I could call for an adult escort to be brought.”

Sigma’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not,” he said, the words coming out rushed and completely unprepared for that proposition.

“We can be discreet about it. Say she’s a regular guest and remove all records afterwards.” You cocked your head, considering. “Oh, I apologize. Or he. Whichever you prefer, of course.”

Sigma sat slowly on his chair, hand grasped firmly over his mouth as he could only look at you, not fully grasping that you out of everyone would suggest– suggest such a–

He took in a steadying breath. “No?”

“The effects of the aphrodisiac reduce after sex. At least according to the guests we interviewed so far. It was a scent thing, so long as someone’s near. It will be quicker this way… and less uncomfortable,” you said, resting your tablet on the desk. Sigma pulled back, feeling his back hit the chair as you leaned closer. “You look as if you’ve not slept in days and you’re constantly sweating. Sir. I– it’s just an idea, but please consider it. I know how much you care for your work and I don’t want you to worry even more. It might help.”

This… this was a complete mess. Sigma’s body sagged, and he dropped his face in his hands as his elbows rested atop the desk. The idea was absurd. He’d never even think of it, let alone agree. His hope stayed with figuring out more about the substance and who brought it. 

Even if he had to wait for your findings. He will manage. 

He will.

And maybe you’d find access to some type of sedative? Anything to counter it. 

But… he didn’t have the time. 

Sigma looked up at you through splayed fingers, dejection in his eyes. 

“Hey there,” you said.

“Hello.” I hate this.

“It will be alright,” you said, gaze knowing. But then you softened, eyes kind as you said,  “I have great respect for you, sir, and whichever decision you make– it will not change that.”

Sigma felt warm, the heat spreading fast. It was the aphrodisiac's work, he was certain of it. But just for a moment, he wanted to pretend… pretend it was your kindness that reached out and cupped his frail heart. Had his breath hitch. Gave him enough strength to keep on. The Casino was all Sigma had, and he wanted to do the best he could for it. For all of you.

“Well,” you said, drumming a finger on the desk’s surface. 

Sigma followed the movement with his eyes, mind going blank. Your hand was slender, fingers long and moving with an air of elegance the longer he looked. He liked them.

You were waiting for an answer. He couldn’t keep you here longer. Sigma closed his eyes, eyelids heavy with the weight of his failures. “Don’t call anyone. Please.” The thought of having a… a stranger touch him like that. Having to be this close and vulnerable–against his will if he’s honest–no. Such acts were reserved for lovers; someone who cared. He couldn’t use somebody like that, only to discard them later like it all meant nothing. It would feel even worse knowing they’d do the same to him. “I don’t want that.” 

“I understand,” you said, bowing in respect. “Although–”

Sigma wanted to shrivel up and die. “What is it?”

“Why not?”

“You’re asking me why I don’t want to bring a prostitute to our establishment?”

“Yes,” you said, calm as ever. It was driving Sigma mad by the second.

“Please go deal with Background Security,” Sigma said flatly.

“Oh, I apologize,” you said. Still hovering.

As much as it pained him to admit it, Sigma really needed you to leave. Now. Right now. The strain on his trousers was nearing painful, and the dampness from his already smeared precum made every move shoot jolts of sensation down his spine. He could feel his cheeks burning. What a sight he was making; all the more reasons to spare further embarrassment. 

For the both of you. 

Something must have slipped because instead of heading for the door, you took a step closer. “Damn it, I feel bad,” you began. “Just– you look really bad. Puffy.”

Sigma pursed his lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome? Sorry. I mean– I wanted to ask, although I’m no expert or with much skill, to be frank, I wouldn’t mind helping. You have a meeting in about an hour, you might make it if it works.”

Sigma just stared. 

It’s not that he didn’t hear your words, it’s just that you did not just say that. Not only was this unprofessional, it was downright unacceptable for this to even cross your mind. He would never take advantage of an employee like that left a bitter taste in his mouth. And yet…

And yet.

Sigma remained still, forcing his every muscle to move, to say something. He could only look on at you, dumbfounded. Maybe it was the shock that–

No. No. 

“I can’t possibly do that to you, it is unacceptable.”

“Oh, not sex, don’t worry,” you corrected. “I could use my hands and it would probably work as well. So technically I’ll be “doing’’, not you. I don’t mind. If you’re comfortable with that?”

…Right. 

Sigma buried his head in his hands. 

He didn’t feel comfortable with anything. Let alone that. He knew you were waiting for an answer, standing patiently before him. Probably looking at him even now. God, how pathetic he must look. He has nothing impressive about him; not much to look at, really. Yet he was the man you should look up to as your employer. The one you could rely on in times of crisis. 

Not the other way around. 

Sigma curled up even further in himself. “I’m so sorry.”

A man like him should never have been put in such a high position. He knew sooner or later you’d all realize. He was not cut out for this, any of it.

A caress, gentle yet firm. Sigma froze, feeling your hand rest on his shoulder. Your thumb moved, the gesture almost calming.

“Sigma-san?” Your voice was close. Had you moved? Sigma wasn’t sure. He didn’t dare raise his head.

“Sigma-san.” 

Firmer this time. The hand trailed to his back, and then another joined, the feeling of being engulfed spreading as you all but draped yourself over his back, your embrace pulling him closer to you as you rested a cheek on the top of his head. 

“What are you doing?” Sigma asked, voice trembling. 

“You looked like you needed it,” you said, squeezing him even closer. “I’m sorry too.”

“What for?”

“If I had dealt with those guests alone you would’ve been okay. I’m sorry it happened like that. But to be honest, I was panicking. Your presence helped a lot,” you said.

“Oh,” was all Sigma could say. 

You stayed like that for some time, your breathing the only sound in the wide open space of Sigma’s office. He tried to relax as best as he could, but the conversation you two had, combined with having a full body pressed so close to his now… You felt his shivers begin to appear, a chill running through his entire body as he desperately fought against it. 

Too close. 

You were too close and Sigma could barely keep it straight. Your skin was cold, pleasant against his and all the more tempting. 

He could just bury his face against your neck, try and collect himself. But he was scared that if he moved, your hand would stop caressing his hair, playing absently with his locks as you rested against him. He wasn’t going to survive this, Sigma knew that. He groaned in exasperation.

You hummed atop his head. “Tell me what to do.”

It wasn’t a request, but not an order either. Just words floating between you as he pieced their meaning together. Somehow, it clicked quicker this time. “This is more than enough. You don’t have–”

“Might as well cross the bridge since we’re at it,” you said, pulling away.

Sigma closed his eyes, dragging in a calming breath. The more he thought of where this was going, the more his confidence dwindled. He hated to admit it, but leaving you lead was the only calming grace he could think of. With heavy eyelids Sigma looked up at you as he uncurled from himself as best he could. “Okay,” he said, short and simple. Easy.

If only it felt like that.

The first wave of shock came when you pulled him up, positioning yourself beside him as Sigma leaned on the desk, eyes blinking and cheeks getting redder and redder. Heat pooled beneath his naval as you tugged his trousers down, concentration written all over your features. The moment Sigma’s cock came free, a cold shiver ran up his back. Keeping as quiet as he could, he waited for your hesitant touch. 

Your hands felt cold against him, but any thought of discomfort flew out the window as the first stroke of your long fingers against his shaft had Sigma clinging to his desk for dear life.

Sigma released a shaking breath, his brows furrowed as you moved your hand, drawing forth his pleasure with every stroke. His tip began leaking again, precum trailing down his shaft. Your fingers reached up, spreading it over his tip even more, drawing a low moan from Sigma’s lips in the process. 

“Oh, this is good?” you asked, using his wetness to draw forth more stimulation. 

“Yes,” Sigma panted, his face blazing bright red. Looking at you now would be the end for him.

He’s masturbated before, of course, but nothing born out of desperation quite as this. Your body felt warm against his, anchoring him in case he lost even more of his balance. Sigma rocked his hips, breath ragged, seeking more of your attention. This was humiliating, yet his body acted on its own, melting underneath you. 

Sigma buried his face against your neck, stifling another moan just in time as you sweezed harder. He didn’t know how much experience you had, but you were taking your time with him, observing and testing out with your movements.

Soon Sigma felt like a mess, and he probably looked like one too. You had nudged his legs wider at some point, nestling in between them as you pushed him back on the desk, his bare ass planted atop the files meant for reading.

And not this. 

The world was spinning, his cock harder than he’d ever been and leaking enough to coat your firm grasp in its sheen. The sound of it too, slick and lewd with your strokes made his insides twist, his Addam’s apple bobbing every time he swallowed back a moan.

Sigma’s eyelids felt heavy so he kept his eyes closed. Having you so close to him was beyond him now. He could feel your hand stroking his cheek, pushing strands of hair over his shoulder or playing with his earlobe, tugging gently.

It was overwhelming– all those sensations coming from everywhere and all at once. He wondered if you’d kiss him. You haven’t yet. The longer this stretched the more his mind wandered– to your warm breath against his cheek, lips parting as you explored his tongue with yours. He wanted…

“Hey,” you said, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he could only answer, seeking more of your touch. The muscles in his lower belly quivered, Sigma’s breath hitching as the pressure was building more and more.

“You’re okay, right? It’s good?” you asked–

–and Sigma had to open his eyes then, show you what you’re doing to him when he was certain his words would fail him.

But he wasn’t met with your gaze. No, you were looking down, almost transfixed by the way his skin moved as you dragged it up and down his shaft. You had used some of your saliva earlier to ease the movement, sending Sigma in an even bigger spiral. The sight was engraved in his mind for all eternity.

“That’s a stupid question,” he breathed, swallowing hard.

A thoughtful, “hmm…”  was all you gave him, and you tilted your head, an idea springing to mind.  “Actually–”

Words cut by the sudden shrill of the desk phone ringing, freezing you both in place as the melody engulfed you.

Fuck. “Oh, no.” 

You peeked over Sigma’s shoulder. “Told you there’s no time. Meeting’s manager?”

“Yes,” Sigma said, sight growing foggy again as your thumb moved over his leaking slit, forcing a shiver out of him. “No, wait– I…”

“Don’t send to voicemail, but don’t pick up either. Just– give me a moment.”

This was the second shock Sigma experienced. Barely having time to react, to blink away the confusion of your words before you knelt down, lowering your head and–

A low guttural moan escaped Sigma’s lips, head thrown back as you took his length into your mouth. The phone was still ringing, distant to Sigma’s ears.. The only thing in focus was your tongue licking down the length of his dick before drawing back to swirl around his tip. 

Again and again and again.

You bobbed your head, the movement fast and precise. Sigma’s abdomen began to twitch and he had to grab onto his mouth to stifle the string of moans that threatened to slip any second. He didn’t expect you to do this, you weren’t supposed to– 

Your hand grabbed onto his thigh for support, your nails digging into his flesh. Sigma hissed, feeling his eyes water, and he knew he was near. He could  feel it rising and rising faster than he could articulate. 

“Wa–” 

Not even paying attention to him, you tongued his slit before letting Sigma’s cock bottom out in your throat, your little hums of encouragement pushing, until– 

Sigma tipped over the edge in seconds, barely having time to warn you as his load shot down your throat. He was a mess, trembling all over and he could only look down at you in shock, blinking his long lashes stupidly as you brushed the saliva trailing down your chin. The sight of it still– you between his legs, his cock still in your hand as it slowly became flaccid. Even seeing it, comprehending what happened, was another story in itself.

“Come on,” you said, pulling his underwear up. “Guess we made it in time.”

It took a second before Sigma realized, before he heard the phone still ringing.  

He groaned, running a hand through his face. “That’s why?”

“We still have work to do,” you said, and you slowly stretched up. 

“Yeah.” And a small little tug formed in Sigma’s chest. One that wanted a bit more time. Just…

His hand reached, picking up the phone. “Hello? Yes, I’ll be…”

You looked at him then, shaking your head in amusement. It was a comfort, in a way; knowing you’re still on good terms as you poked him in the cheek before patiently sitting on his chair to wait out his call.

After all, you had quite a bit to discuss after this.

[hoony2k]

THE LOOKING GLASS

Synopsis: You've never had the best luck with love or in life, maybe that's why you're being comforted by your boyfriend's brother who happens to look identical to him.

Pairing: sunghoon x reader

Genre: a mix of fluff and angst, sunghoon is a twin, right person wrong time trope,

Warnings: mentions of being cheated on (reader)

Word Count: 1k

Note: hii another sunghoon post! I enjoyed writing this so much..why'd i eat with the title need to pat myself on the back

library

It's strange seeing your lover but not truly seeing them. Next to you under the dim porch light , sits Sunghoon with a cold glass of water.

The glass is frosty with condensation, droplets trickle down the boy's fingertips and your throat is flooded with an onset of emotions. His wrist must hurt from being in a rigid position for so long but there is no courage inside you that could take the glass from him.

It should be Sungjin next to you, but it's not- it's his identical twin brother. Park Sunghoon. The shadow. The ghost. The one no one talks about in family dinners, and often forget to message Happy Birthday!

Sunghoon lingers a comfortable distance, near enough for you to feel his warm yet far enough for you two appear as friends. He's always been respectful towards you, never dared to bring you discomfort, subtly looked out for you when he knew his brother was ignorant to your moods. Though, his kind actions never missed your radar.

Common sense urges you to thank him for the water, take the glass from him and down it in one go to prevent another pitiful crying session. But, your eyes are already misty. Sunghoon seem to doesn't mind the wait. You sniffle.

For eons the silence between your bodies stretches on. The house is vibrant with life and colour, muffled cheers and laughter resonate periodically. The wooden floor you took salvation in vibrates with bass.

Inside everyone in the Park family is celebrating Sungjin's new job across the country and you're bleeding out on the porch. Not alone in misery though, as it seems.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you speak, voice scratchy.

"I wish I never found out".

"Don't say that", Sunghoon whispers harshly. It almost floats away in the breeze but you catch it. You always caught his low murmurs and comments whispered under his breath.

Head heavy with shame you bow to nothing in particular. The deities must be laughing at you. How stupid were you really?

There's a shuffle as Sunghoon comes closer, his dry hand rests on your knee, warm, anchoring. the flame in your heart flickers dangerously.

From your peripheral, you eye him up and down.

His features look exactly like Sungjin's. Soft sloped nose sealed with a beauty mark near the ends, strong prominent eye brows and pouty plush lips. Though Sungjin has shorter hair that doesn't curl behind his ears, bleached so many times in his youth the ends are dry. Sunghoon doesn't have a mole on his left ear, a slight crooked canine or a rumble in his voice.

But Sungjin doesn't look at you like this. Hasn't looked at you like this- in years.

Brown eyed Sunghoon looks at you as if you're the most wonderful person he's ever seen. What swims in his pupils is fondness and a hint of worry, of protectiveness.

Sungjin looked at you as if he wished you were someone else. Almost as if he was trying his hardest to envision the doe eyed girl-who lived across the country-you caught him with.

And maybe you're a hypocrite for crying over him and whining about how he wronged you. Because your mind reels you back to occasions where you met his family, in those small moments where you disappeared in the background as Sungjin took the stage, or when Sungjin wasn't breathing down your neck for wearing a sleeveless dress, you caught yourself staring at Sunghoon.

Alone and silently wandering near the kids table. In those moments, it was only you and Sunghoon, trapped in a second together. A sweet secret moment where you truly saw him. Even if the adults didn't. Though, those moments lasted short, filled with Sunghoon rapidly asking you questions and your responding as quick, throwing in a joke or two, aware that something in the interaction would eventually become a secret inside joke. A fond jest he'd refer to during the next reunion, perhaps when he'd find you in the kitchen or when he'd raise his eyebrows at you from across the room. The pair of you trapped in time as all around you blurred past.

The feeling was mutual, it was pure, it was fondness, it was nothing serious.

"I wish I fell for you instead", your body moves on autopilot and you can't believe what you had just said. Shocked at the self discovery, a battle begins within you. Your face is warm with shame and guilt for roping him in your emotions, but you're relieved at the birth of the sentence. It was like finally confronting your reflection. Your heart felt lighter but your face heat up with shame.

Saying it out loud unsheathed the hidden truth, forced you to come in terms with the bitter reality. Sungjin stopped loving you when he was accepted as an intern in another city, maybe along the quiet days and lonely nights, you forgot how to love. Confused love for a routine, to be the polite, pretty partner wrapped around his arm.

Sunghoon sucks in a deep breath. His blown out pupils hide under his lids, lips pulled in a taunt line. Then he goes limp.

He slouches over his long legs clad in a black trouser, elbows resting on his knees.

Sunghoon's head hangs low, dark hair covering his face yet through the gaps of locks you see his eyes and his long yearning desires. His fingers, red from the cold sensation are numb, intentionally tipping the glass until water splatters on the chipped off wooden stairs. He lets the angle of his hand pour water until the amount doesn't reach the tip. Until it stops and the liquid can only slosh in the container.

Half full, half empty.

You glance at the small darkening spot, the wood dutifully soaking it all in. Then, stare at Sunghoon. Lip caught between his teeth, his eyes stare blankly at the ground but you drown in the abyss of despair and temptation inside them.

"I wish you fell for me too".

thank you for reading! Please do not edit/translate/copy.

[peachdues]

I understand that this might sound really silly but I am SO invested in the world building in Compass. It is SO well done and had left me with so many questions, not because it's incomplete or vague in any way but because it's genuinely peaked my curiosity. Is there a hierarchy amongst the Hashira? Is Sanemi somehow less respected then, say, Tengan, since he seems to have more privileges and a nicer hideout? Is it because Sanemi does more "dirty" or less profitable work? What jobs do the other Hashira control? Will we see more of Genya in the story? Feel free to ignore this, but I love your writing and this fic even though I'm not even a huge Sanemi fan.

NO NO NO NOT SILLY AT ALL?? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT THIS KIND KF ASK IS EVERY AUTHOR’S DREAAAAM AHHH

Ok ok, I’m calm. I’m so calm. THANK YOU SO MUCH??!?😭😭😭 I’m do questions first.

1. Is there a hierarchy among the hashira?

Not in any significant way except for when they’re all called together for a meeting, Uzui tends to lead — but I also think that has more to do with personality. Orders for jobs tend to come from the “higher ups” (*cough* Ubayashiki family). Other than that, they each help out on jobs for the others if the opportunity arises. Sanemi might be a little unique in that his job tends to be enforcement of the other Hashira’s jobs, which is why you see him doing a lot on behalf of the others. Future chapters will show him working jobs with other Hashira, though — namely, Iguro.

2. Is Sanemi less respected than the others because of his title?

Nah, Sanemi plays an important role for them, in that he’s able to hunt down/collect what the others can’t. Him living in a shit hole has less to do with his title and more to do with his personality. Uzui might have more properties, but they *all* live in the Silo, except for Rengoku. Part of that is convenience, since most of their activities run out of that end of the City/that’s where base is. For Sanemi, too, he doesn’t really need anything nicer — it’s just him, after all, and he puts most of his money into Genya’s (and now Reader’s) savings.

I could add in that Sanemi also doesn’t think he’s allowed to have better than what he’s got. That’s an ongoing theme with him, and it bleeds into his living arrangements, too.

3. What other jobs do the Hashira control?

So far, we’ve seen that Kanae ran a very profitable drug operation (RIP the Kochos) that’s now up in the air since her murder. Uzui runs nightclubs that are largely for sex work purposes. Iguro deals with stolen goods (like, high priced items), and Rengoku does white collar stuff. More details will come next chapter, as the Hashira will come together for a meeting. Note that one canonical Hashira is not a Hashira in the Corps in this story — in fact, they’re not a Corps member at all, but a civilian.

4. More genya??

lol, yes, Genya will come back!! He has a much bigger role to play later on/near the end of the story.

Okay, now I can say alsmsosmskskasm thank you so, so much. Not only did your ask make me feel all giggly and happy, but it truly made my day. Being asked about these kind of details is seriously every author’s dream — there’s so much I have that went into making the world/setting for Compass that might not ever make it onto the page, so to have someone ask about the dynamics and the background of the story just makes my heart sing. Thank you so fucking much.

[msunitedstatesjames]

I just played the House of the Dead quest in Veilguard, and it might be my favorite quest in the game so far.

Everything about this quest was great.

The mood was perfect and distinct from other questlines. It was spooky, and gothic, and mysterious, and it was emotionally resonant too with Emmrich's obvious distress over the torment of the spirits. The envionment was such a classic haunted house, which some people might find overused, but I love a haunted house tale.

It was also one of the more substantial companion quests so far in the game. I love all the short and sweet quests we've had so far, but this one took over an hour to complete, had a number of challenging combat situations, had romance options if you're interested in romancing Emmrich, had an engaging mystery, and continued to build on the interesting lore behind the Mourn Watch. It also took you back into the Fade proper, a classic of Dragon Age, and I thought there were lots of entertaining and interesting companion comments/banter on top of it all.

If all that wasn't enough, it does what all the best companion quests in rpgs do, which is to get at the nature of what makes this character tick. I think Emmrich really shines every time you take him out, but this quest really helps to flesh his character out. If his compassion wasn't obvious enough by now, his desperation to find and help the trapped spirits makes that clear. I also just love when the worst thing he can manage to say about the "rogue necromancer" is that he'll have some stern words when you find them.

And then there's Hezenkoss. First of all, she immediately sets herself apart as a memorable villain. I can't even seem to remember the names of the gods we're supposed to be fighting, but this chick gets five minutes of screentime and her name is seared into my memory. She's got that classic, supervillain aura that I kind of miss from movies and tv when I was a kid. She has a very distinct look with her mad scientist glasses, her shining eyes, and her bizarrely cringey hand gestures/dance moves. I was grinning ear to ear the moment she came on screen.

On top of that, she's such a great foil to Emmrich. They come from the same background, they were friends, they even have some of the same desires, namely a desire not to join the dead. But while she chose to use the spirits to her advantage, regardless of the consequences, Emmrich has chosen to be kind, and to live with his natural fears, and to be a teacher. Although I have a feeling that will all be tested a little later on.

A little bit of a side note here, but I love what The Veilguard is doing for Necromancers. I've never once cared about Necromancers before. (Well, maybe once.) They are always portrayed as gloomy and sort of dully evil. Between Emmrich's kind and gentle demeanor and Hezenkoss's whackiness, I'm intrigued.

Anyway, all that to say whoever wrote this quest deserves a raise.

Edit: I almost forgot the hilarious moment you can get where Hezenkoss assumes Emmrich is the main character and calls Rook one of Emmrich's "hangers-on." And then when the battle starts Rook is so offended they feel the need to remind eveyone that they're not a hanger on.

[imageingrunge]

A needlessly thorough review of DATV so I can move on with my life:

WHAT I LIKED:

The story pacing flows better without all that open world slog from DAI I am not bombarded by 50 side quests that have no baring on anything other than rp flavor

The game is pretty, CC is nice

They gave you far more opportunities to flesh out your Rook's background than in DAI and da2 but it's not as fun has having a mini origin story from DAO

no fall damage and if u run out of a combat zone ur companions follow u too

Hossberg wetlands really remind me of dragon age awakenings and I like the way the blight looks there, it gave me a nice nostalgic feeling for the older games

WHAT I DID NOT LIKE (IN DETAIL)

Voice Acting & Dialogue

It is really hard to be invested in a game that feels the need to recap everything you just experienced from 5 minutes ago, (verging on insulting my intelligence) and the silliest part is while i do hate this I got so checked out after act 2 I needed the recap 

A lot of the dialogue and banter is just empty small talk and meaningless pleasantries that sucked the life out of me, had me longing for the days of hearing Ohgren's beer belches reverberate off the walls in the deep roads:

 Voice acting is really consistent, I hated it when you never knew how your inquisitor would sound in DAI sometimes too serious for a funny comment or like yelling at Cassandra and cullen over nothing - Rook is more consistent but it comes at a loss of personality every line is uttered in the same annoying tone that had me being like damn can he stfu already (da2 was ideal voice acting for me if they cant deliver that again just go back to a voiceless protagonist)

Me whenever my rook opened his mouth: i was getting violent on that skip button

The dialogue between rook and their companions holds it back from being enjoyable at all really- here's some examples:

Emmerich's personal quest in act 2: "I want to do this immortality rite it's a very high honor in my order but rook I might die in the process permanently, I am an orphan and afraid of dying" Rook: "You could die?!?! That's awful". In Origins you can have a conversation with Wynn about her inevitable death and respond in a manner similar to rook and Wynn teases you by saying "well i'm not going to live for ever dear" it made me smile and sad about not being able to really help her. Did not feel that way Emmerich though, Im so uninterested in him as a character my response and feelings are "old people die all the time" and then 'wait why the fuck haven't you done this immortality ritual yet instead dragging me over here to collect some flowers"

Companions & Romance

the flirt options aren't all that flirty, its just rook being nice, all the romance content seems behind a 'romance locked in' moment (that comes in so late in the game u already forgot who u were even flirting with at times) so you can't hop ur way from one bed to another before deciding on 'the forever one' (remember when I could ride the iron bull then break up and be with Cullen- I don't think that’s an option here)

The companions are all pretty forgettable, I did everyone's personal quest (with the exception of Taash tried to kill a dragon for them n failed so bad i just moved on) and forgot there was even an approval system with them or that I was supposed to pick choices for them. It felt like i was on a train going in one direction where it did not matter what I said or did to them they would be fine. It’s like I've lost and gained nothing by doing these quests. The deepest thing I learned about Emmerich is that he is a 50 yr old orphan scared of dying. And it makes me not care all that much about them beyond “I just need you to function enough to get me to the end of the game sure Taash embrace being Rivaini, yes Harding live peacefully w that Titan shit inside you idc… Lucanis..ahh what was ur issue again I forget”

I made Lucanis live peacefully with Spite (stuck as an abomination that's supposed to be as volatile as Anders & Justice) Let Emmerich become a lich and no one batted an eye. Everyone just heehee haw hawing over Emmerich's new skeleton form and I forget about spite a lot unless he comments on something i've killed. Was there supposed to be some moral quandary? to make Emmerich a lich I had to "kill off" Manfred... the walking skeleton who might as well have been a rock with a pair of googly eyes attached to him for all i care

I don’t want to help Bellara light funeral pyres in a puzzle game play style that isnt a deep message about death. I want Aveline's speech about reading her favorite book to her dying father after hawke lost thier mother.

For Neve's romance, it took the whole world falling part and everyone dying for her to kiss me for a 2 time and then pity fuck me and afterword she’s like I’m leaving don’t want to be too distracting. All these lines carry no weight like bad actors w no chemistry

jaw on the floor comparing this (first time I said "i love you" to neve)

to the first time I said it to cullen and how he treats u before the big battle

I get that she isn't lovey dovey but at 70 hrs in and 2 kisses it feels like she just dont love me </3

Combat - as a spellblade mage*

combat was this weird mix of sometimes fun sometimes a new and unique form of human torture (wydm press shift 4 times n hold down e then press V C and 2 IM ON A KEYBOARD!) Once u make it past level 20 u are immortal but ur enemies are sponges I dreaded every single dragon fight despite that being my favorite thing to do in DAI. Don't ever want to see another Ogre in my life they body me into corners that hitting space can't save me from.

At some point u just gotta run around the place a lot hoping ur companions can do the damage for you bc the mobs aren’t interested in them at all. i was spamming 2 n slamming on that E key hopping it would be over n done with already, If i wanted to play a flashy monster hunter game, well then id play tw3 at least that combat is fun.

Lore & Story building

At the end of Trespasser, I was under the impression that the conflict in DATV would revolve around solas amassing an army of elves all over Thedas to rebel against the Evanuris. He had a whole network of Spies working against the Inquisition and the Antaam, and planned to restore the elven people, upend their religious views, and try to tear down the veil as a way of atonement. So I was understanding of there only being 3 import choices ( 1- who you romanced, 2- Save or redeem Solas 3- Disband or Keep inquisition). But that's not the story we get; instead its this??

The veil jumpers are like engineering mages with no ties to Solas beyond being an elves. There is no religious struggle they just seem to accept that these Gods have always been evil and need to be stopped. Solas is just a one man army trapped in the fade off screen for like 70% of the game. Should I have just kept the inquisition around after all? The only mention I got was my disbanded inquisition choice was inky going "my name still carries weight in southern thedas" and it seemed like disbanding or keeping it would have an affect on how easy or hard it would be to stop Solas but no it really doesn't at all

“It doesn’t feel like a Dragon Age game”

A criticism I rarely take seriously because that can mean so many different things? Like what is it the atmosphere? The aesthetics? The “dArK fAnTasy” none of these things have ever stayed consistent in any dragon age game. And I’d say DA franchise lost its teeth/edge when dai rolled around it was pretty light in the world of dark fantasy

However…theyre kinda right this time around....

It doesn’t feel like a dragon age game because they removed a lot of the lore your were exposed to in the previous games to the point where this might as well be another game all together. (i am not even a lore nerd but i do need something there to feel like i am in a dragon age game)

Yes the city is named Minrathos you were are told of its cultural significance and history as the seat of the empire but looks like a shittier version of kirkwall (and I kept getting lost going around the map so I hated it even more for wasting my time) Honestly the city felt super high tech and out of place in a fantasy setting imo, I missed it when everyone lived in a wooden hovel in the middle of the woods.

There is no reason for the venatori to follow Elgarnan and ghilian'nan or for the Qunari either but it all gets hand waved away with "they offered us power"

Reading the Inquisitors letters made me feel like im in a spinoff game and the real story is happening somewhere else. And sad to like baby take me with you!! i want to save u from this nightmare

A lot of the factions are sanitized to the point of being boring Darvin's little 'we're warden we don't do blood magic that's just not right" baby I let the wardens sacrifice elves to Corphyeus 3 weeks ago :/

Qunari Culture

So the whole reason you were fighting the Antaam in DAI was because they believed you were in cahoots with Solas, who's whole plan to them is to sow chaos and disorder- that is a HUGE no no in the Qun so they see it as their sacred duty to stop you. The Qunari we meet in DATV mindless npc mooks who attack you not because your with Solas but because the Evil elven gos promised them uhh power n shit for stopping you. Like I know I did not just waste my time in DAI reading about how egalitarian the Qun is everyone is like a Hive, they depend on each other so selfishness is rooted out so wtf was going on in Treviso with these guys. A whole culture decimated down to being darkspawn mobs part 2

What made me never want to play another DA game ever again:

Everything you ever did in Orlais, Ferelden, Kirkwall is pointless. No matter what the last letter from the Inquistor is "yeah the blight reached the south Denerim is gone, ferelden is blighted beyond repair, we took back Skyhold but barely. The Venatori disposed of whoever you put in charge of Orlais and there's giant leviathans rising out the sea in Ostwick"  There is no conclusion to this it's just the state of the world now

I cant even pretend my non solas romanced Inky is happy and safe after all this? My hof and Alistar might as well be dead for all that it ever mattered. I get that the devs wanted a clean slate but did they have to burn my house down and salt the fields? It feels so spiteful and mean, like they wanted to make a whole separate game and tack on the "dragon age" title to it for money. If they're not interested in the lore or world building why should I? it made me fully checked out of the rest of the story. Like damn idgaf about elgar'nan and the other one give me back Redcliff

TLDR I dont know if i should be sad that I still care about this or glad its over either way im blocking all datv tags n moving on

[chaifootsteps]

wr.t. leaks (spoilers, duh!). Viv really chose the most boring and uninspired rendition of Alastor possible, and I could not be more disappointed. The signs were definitely there in Season 1, but if you wanted to you could easily dismiss as sloppy writing and one-time reactions to extraordinary events.

Like, I know no fan is *entitled* to have their particular interpretation of a character be validated, but... really? He's been reduced to the form of a one-dimensional, entitled manchild you might find as the villain of a self-insert fanfiction. Ohhhh nooo luci hurt his feefees and Rosie didn't actually make him an all powerful god, so time to storm out and whine about it. Why make a deal in the first place? Well, duh, he gleefully murdered so many people for trivial inconveniences he didn't wanna end up a tortured soul in Hell. He's basically Valentino, but, on the 'good team', and not a rapist (yet.), or Adam, or Vox, or Mammon, or Stella (frankly, you could even put Stolas in this bucket, if he weren't so unintentionally manipulative). A parody of a threatening character, incapable of creating conflict in any way that doesn't involve waving around a big stick and reminding everyone and the audience who the author blessed with magical power don't you forget it!

I've said this about pilot!fanon!Lucifer too, but, the fandom interpretations are just objectively more interesting. It's not like you can't write a story, or even a good story, about an entitled man drunk on power obsessed with his own image and getting what he thinks he's owed. But why would you 1) choose an enslaved racial minority character (!!!) to do this and 2) do it instead of multiple more compelling options given you already have multiple of this exact character on the cast?

Fanon!Alastor has emotions other than anger and insecure whining, he just can't express them because decades of crawling his way up two different hostile societies have beaten into him never expressing vulnerability. His very smile is symbol of societies like Hell ultimately victimize both the powerful abusers and their victims. Fanon!Alastor had a deal with ___ not because he's drunk on his own desire to murder but because he's vulnerable to the very same weakness and temptation he's learned to exploit in others. Fanon!Alastor has a natural dual conflict with Charlie: Alastor's connections and practical knowledge represent a way of making her dream a reality, at the cost of potentially corrupting her and having her get there in an incorrect/immoral way. And Charlie's dream presents Alastor with a pathway to more power and stability, but unbeknownst to him threatens to unwind his entire psyche in allowing himself to care about something. Fanon!Alastor, far from being image-obsessed with a need to be constantly in the limelight, is capable of being subtle, fading into the background when it benefits him.

I could go on, but I'm just tired. It hurts me that, come release, fan works which I enjoy making and reading will be expected to comply with this. I don't want to write Alastor this way. I don't want to be told I'm writing him 'wrong' for not doing it. I hope that in some way the earlier fanons are preserved and kept alive even as canon is polluted with all this slop.

It's sad and exhausting, for sure. It also doesn't help that the standom will attack you pretty viciously if you have the audacity to prefer the pilot to the actual series.

[scary-grace]

Off-Script (Act 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Act 1

Act 2

Tomura’s done stunts on at least four big-budget superhero movies by now, and the one thing he’s learned is that there’s always a lot to do – and at the same time, basically none of it is his job. He’s got a lot of downtime. Tomura counts the time he spends observing Dabi’s scenes as downtime, too, since Dabi’s a perfectionist who will do as many takes as a director will put up with. It takes Tomura a maximum of two takes to memorize what Dabi’s supposed to do, and after that, he’s free to do what he wants.

Nap, usually. Play a game on his phone if there’s WiFi, don’t burn through his data if there isn’t. Watch everything else that’s happening on-set, and since today was set aside from the beginning of the shoot to rehearse the second of the film’s three major battle scenes, there’s a lot for Tomura to look at.

He thought he was going to have to double Dabi for the fight scene, but because Quicksilver’s fighting Archangel rather than Psylocke, there’s no swordfighting involved. Dabi and Hawks got their fight choreography set early on, and it’s boring. Trade hits, banter, trade a few more hits, banter some more, drop a snippy one-liner, and flee the scene. Easy. More complex stuff is happening in the other battle groupings – Storm, played by Miruko, is fighting Cyclops, played by Bakugou, while Nightcrawler, played by a guy named Shirakumo who’s been around forever, zips around in the background. In Tomura’s opinion, having Quicksilver and Nightcrawler in the same movie is kind of pointless, but no one’s asking him.

Beast and Colossus are fighting. Tomura’s never bothered to learn their actual names, and he’s not planning on it today. The most interesting fight is the one that’s happening off to his right – a three and soon to be four-way brawl between Mystique, Jubilee, Phoenix, and Psylocke. It’s the most interesting, but also the most complicated. Aizawa hasn’t left you and the other three alone for more than five seconds since rehearsal started.

Tomura’s read the script, but the scene’s gone through some rewrites since then. The choreography hasn’t changed, though – there’s still an extended hand-to-hand exchange between Mystique and Psylocke, and it still ends with Psylocke getting thrown across the battlefield by Phoenix. Aizawa’s made you practice everything but the throw so far, probably in preparation for Midoriya’s sure-to-be-stupid plan to film everything in one take. According to Spinner, it’s getting to be sort of an obsession.

Not that Tomura can really blame him. He got a copy of the single-take fight scene he did with you and he’s watched it at least a few times a day ever since. It looks incredible, even though Tomura’s in it and Tomura knows he can’t act worth a damn. Even with half your face covered up for most of the scene, you’re acting enough to make up for him, and Tomura can’t get over how fluid and natural the exchanges look – like somebody choreographed them and the two of you practiced until it was flawless. No wonder Midoriya wants every fight to look like that.

But most fights never look like that, even with choreography, so everybody’s getting choregraphed within an inch of their lives. Tomura’s just glad he’s not involved.

“Hey, Shigaraki!” The voice belongs to Aizawa’s assistant or apprentice or whatever, who’s hurrying towards Tomura. “Aizawa wants you to come over. We’re going to practice the throw and we need someone to run the new girl through the basics.”

Tomura’s been avoiding you as much as possible. “Did she say she’s got it? If she said she’s got it, you don’t need me. You go over it with her.”

“This is a stunt. If it was Dabi’s scene, you’d be doing it,” Shinsou says. ‘We can’t afford a double for her. Just run her through the basics, and then you can go right back to doing fuck all.”

Tomura was already annoyed. Now it spills over. “Yeah, sure. Why not? I can do my job and yours and still spend the day doing fuck all while you run around in that stupid hat.”

Shinsou yanks the brim of his sunhat down, scowling, a second before he pitches a bottle of sunscreen at Tomura. “Put that shit on. FX will kill me if they have to edit out a sunburn.”

Tomura hates sunscreen, and he doesn’t give a shit if FX is mad at him. But he’s too experienced to make a mistake like that. Only newbies end up with sunburns on set. You’ve probably got one already. Tomura smears the sunscreen on as they walk, and Shinsou updates him on the proposed stunt. “It’s gonna be a launchpad, but it’s angled, so it’ll throw her backwards, not up in the air. Phoenix doesn’t have to be anywhere nearby, since she’s using tele-whatever –”

“Telekinesis.”

“Yeah, that. So it’s literally just going to be the fight, and then she steps back on the pad and gets launched. Easy.”

Tomura can do a stunt like that in his sleep, but you’re new. “How far is she supposed to get launched?”

“They’ll decide once they start filming. This is just to test it out.” Shinsou fumbles the slimy bottle of sunscreen when Tomura throws it back at him. “Come on. Dabi can play this shit off as eccentric, but you just look like an asshole.”

“I am an asshole,” Tomura says, only to realize that Shinsou’s stopped walking, and Tomura’s continued right into the middle of the scene. “Uh –”

“Thank you for sharing,” Aizawa says blandly. “Shigaraki, you’ve met –”

He says your name, and Tomura looks at you. You’re in the same set of practice clothes as everybody else, and your face is smudged with dirt and dust. And you’re not happy. “I can do it myself. You don’t need to bother Shigaraki.”

“You’re not bothering him. He was doing fuck all when I came over there,” Shinsou says. Him and his stupid hat. Fuck him. “Better safe than sorry.”

“The sooner we do this, the sooner we can go hang out somewhere with shade and air conditioning,” Ashido says. She’s wearing a few pieces of her Jubilee costume. Some actors like to. “Come on.”

Shade and air conditioning sounds nice. Tomura’s been out in the sun for three minutes and it’s already too hot. “Let’s get this over with,” he says to you. You nod. “Before you do any stunt, you need to check the equipment. Since you don’t know anything, I’ll do it for you.”

The crash pad you’re supposed to hit is lined up wrong. Tomura drags it into place, then crouches down to examine the launchpad itself. He knows who made this thing. “This had better not be a prototype, Hatsume.”

“It’s not! We already used it today for Kirishima’s student.” Hatsume has even more dirt on her face than you do, and she’s about ten times as hyped. “My precious baby works just fine.”

Even if the equipment’s been used before, Tomura’s not ready to sign off. He turns to you and finds you studying the launchpad yourself. “Hey, pay attention. I know you know how to fake hits. Have you ever done this before?”

“On wires,” you say. When? “Same principle, right?”

“No. Once they launch you off of this, your trajectory’s out of your control.” Tomura studies the distance between the launchpad and the crash pad. “Stay tensed up. You need to be in control of your body the entire time or you’re going to break something.”

You’re listening now. You nod. “This is still a movie and you want it to look believable, even if it’s stylized. Think about what you’re going to do with your arms and legs so you aren’t just flailing around,” Tomura continues. It’s weird to have you looking at him like this. Your eye contact was really intense during the duel, too. “Even if the throw gets out of hand, protect your head and neck. You can absorb a hit anywhere else, but land on either of those and it’s game over. Got it?”

“Got it.”

You’re still looking at him. Tomura racks his brain for something else to say. “If you’re in trouble and you can rotate, try to hit on your side instead of your back. That’s it.”

You nod. “Can you show me?”

“Huh?”

“I want to see what it’s supposed to look like before I try it,” you say. That’s – smart. Irritating as hell, because Tomura wasn’t planning on getting launched today, but smart. “Do you mind?”

“Yes,” Aizawa says. “The temperature is climbing and we’re on a tight schedule.”

“This will take fifteen seconds.” Tomura repositions the crash pad one more time, glances at you to make sure you’re watching as he steps onto the launchpad. You’re watching. It’s weird. “Count off. Three – two –”

Hatsume launches Tomura on one, as usual, and Tomura spends a split second being surprised at the force before he remembers that he’s supposed to be demonstrating. He chooses his arm positioning at random, rolls slightly in the air so he won’t strike the crash pad spine-first, and hits hard enough to wind himself. “I told you it worked,” Hatsume crows.

It works. Like being launched out of a cannon, sure, but it works. Tomura’s not going to hop up looking out of breath. He stays sprawled out for another few seconds, long enough for you to come over and offer him a hand up. You look a little worried. “Are you okay?”

“That was nothing,” Tomura says. He’s been doing stunts like that since he was a kid. He ignores your hand and gets up on his own. “Any questions?”

“What happens if it throws you harder than you expected?”

You’re observant. Tomura doesn’t like that very much. That plus the staring makes him feel like he’s under a microscope, and he’s way too experienced to get caught being caught off-guard. “Make sure you exhale when you hit. You won’t get as winded if you knock the wind out of yourself first.”

You nod. Tomura takes a closer look at him, wondering if you’re actually worried about him or just worried about stepping on Hatsume’s rocket launcher for yourself. Probably the latter. “Thanks for showing me,” you say. You’re standing close enough that Tomura can smell your sunscreen, which smells a lot nicer than whatever Shinsou threw at Tomura. “It helped a lot. And thanks for checking the equipment.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Tomura turns away to head back to his spot. He’s got fuck-all to do, so maybe he’ll nap, and maybe when he wakes up he’ll watch the fight scene again. Fighting you is a lot less awkward than talking to you, even if the fight ended with you pinning him to the ground.

“Tomura-kun!” Toga draws up alongside him. Like Ashido, she’s wearing part of her costume – the wig and facepaint for Mystique. “That was a nice throw. But you need to be nicer to the new girl. She’ll never go out with you if you keep being mean!”

“Why can’t you and Spinner drop it? I don’t want to go out with her.” There aren’t words for how much Tomura doesn’t want to think about this right now. Or ever. “Why do you even think that?”

“Why do you keep watching that fight scene?” Toga challenges. Shit. Tomura’s face heats up. “It’s because you have chemistry. I know all about chemistry. You’re mean to her when you aren’t mean to anybody else because you don’t want to have chemistry with anybody. I’ve never met a guy who hates being horny as much as you do.”

“I don’t hate being horny.” Tomura doesn’t even know where Toga dug that one out of. Then again, he’s known her since they both started working on the X-Men films, so she’s got ten years of Tomura’s bullshit to back herself up with. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t want to like people because you think nobody will like you, but that isn’t true!” Toga pats Tomura’s arm. “But she’s not going to like you if you keep being mean to her. That’s not how you sweep a cute girl off her feet.”

Tomura’s got a lot of problems with that statement – mainly that he’s not being mean to you, that he doesn’t think you’re cute, and that he doesn’t want to sweep you anywhere, let alone off your feet. You don’t need him to do that when you’re doing your own stunts. And there’s something about the stunt that’s bothering Tomura, something that’s got nothing to do with the crush everyone’s pretending he has on you. The launchpad threw him hard. It must have thrown Kirishima pretty hard, too. Tomura’s not as tall as Kirishima, but both of them are taller and heavier than you. If Hatsume doesn’t recalibrate the launchpad, she’s going to throw you into the sun.

Tomura whips around and takes off back towards the practice site. Toga chases after him, but they’re both too late. Somebody’s already shouting, and Shinsou books it past Tomura in the opposite direction, already calling for a medic. Fuck. The others are crowded around you, and Tomura can’t see. He shoulders his way into the huddle and finds himself staring down at you.

You look sort of pale, and you’re smiling, but Tomura can tell it’s faked. Whoever taught you to smile through pain didn’t do a good job. Either that or you’re really hurt. You’re already trying to sit up. “Stay down,” Tomura snaps. He crouches down next to you, looks you over for obvious injuries, but you aren’t bleeding and nothing looks broken. “Where did you hit?”

“Just my shoulder. I’m fine.”

You don’t look fine. You look rattled as hell, and Tomura feels a sharp surge of guilt. He checked the equipment. He knew the throw was going to be hard, and if he hadn’t been so busy being pissed that you were looking at him while he talked to you, he’d have realized that what was a hard launch for him could actually throw you clear of the crash pad. In the bigger picture, this is Midoriya’s fault for not hiring a stuntwoman for you. Right here, right now, it’s on Tomura.

He hates feeling like this. “What happened?”

You don’t answer, but Uraraka, who plays Phoenix, fills in. What happened was exactly what Tomura could have predicted if he’d been paying attention instead of being stupid – you were thrown almost completely clear of the crash pad, and the only part of you that hit it was your shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt,” you insist, and you sit up, getting right in Tomura’s face. He can still smell your sunscreen. “It was just a shock. I’m good. Can we try it again?”

Ashido’s eyes widen. “Are you crazy? That thing almost threw you into orbit.”

“I’m calibrating it down,” Hatsume calls.

“She’s calibrating it down,” you say. “And now I know what it feels like, so I’ll do better.”

“Quit trying to be a hero,” Tomura says. “If you’re hurt –”

“I’m not hurt,” you say. Tomura realizes that short of pushing you back down in the dirt, he can’t stop you from getting up. He gets up first so he can offer his hand. Which you ignore. “I’m not bleeding, nothing’s broken, and I didn’t pass out. Let’s do it right this time.”

Aizawa’s phone buzzes, and he glances at it. “The medics are dealing with three cases of heatstroke. It’ll be a while.”

“Then I’ll go see them after we’re done here,” you say. “Come on. I thought we were on a schedule?”

Schedule is the magic word. It gets Aizawa’s attention, and everybody else still wants to get it over with and get out of the sun. Tomura sticks around to watch, or supervise – after what happened, he doesn’t trust anybody not to fuck things up. He sees Toga check in with you, and the others do the same. People like you. Sure, they like working with you, but based on the way they’re joking around with you, they like you for yourself, too. And they’re probably not the only ones.

Tomura’s stomach cramps at the thought, and his shit brain decides it’s a good time to think about the fight again. Thinking about it turns into watching it, as usual, only this time Tomura knows what your stupid sunscreen smells like. And just like every time he watches the fight, he’s caught off-guard by just how good the two of you are together. How easy you make an improvised fight scene look. Like you know each other’s moves by heart, even though you’d never met before, let alone watched each other fight. That’s chemistry. That’s why Tomura’s been waiting so impatiently for his next fight scene with you. He wants to feel like that again.

Toga was right. Unfortunately, Spinner was right, too, when he said Tomura looked into it. Tomura looks really into it. Tomura puts his phone away so he won’t have to look at his own stupid face any longer.

The second run-through of the four-way fight goes well, and nothing goes wrong with the launchpad, so Aizawa calls it good for the day. The actors scatter to their trailers or to the shuttle back into town with more urgency than usual. There’s some kind of producer party/press thing going on tonight, and all the big-name actors are supposed to go. Dabi included.

But Dabi’s back on his bullshit, of course. When Tomura goes to check on him, he’s lying facedown on the floor of his trailer with music playing in the background and a giant water bottle within easy reach. Water’s not the only clear liquid on the planet. Tomura pries open the water bottle and sniffs it. Just water. This time.

“You really think I’d chug water out of a Nalgene? Fuck off,” Dabi says from the floor. “Who did and made you my sponsor?”

“I’m not your sponsor. You asked me and Spinner to check in with you about this shit.” Tomura wasn’t crazy about being part of Dabi’s official sober support system, but he does spend more time with Dabi than almost anybody else who’s involved. “Are you going to that party tonight?”

“Sure, why not?” Dabi flops over to his back. He’s famous for looking bored whenever he’s not on camera, but this looks worse than usual. “Dress up in a stupid outfit and go watch my coworkers have fun drinking stuff I can’t drink and snorting stuff I’m not supposed to touch. It sounds like a great time.”

It sounds like shit, but that’s how Tomura feels about most parties. “I should make you go,” Dabi says. “If you got trashed you’d just puke in the bushes like a college girl instead of going batshit crazy in front of the paparazzi.”

He sits up to drink some water, then flops back down. “Too bad you don’t look more like me. I’d make you do all the stuff and I could go die in peace.”

The door to the trailer opens and Spinner comes in without asking first. “What are we talking about?”

“Me dying in peace.”

“Okay, are we seriously talking about that? Do I need to call somebody?” Spinner’s a lot better at this than Tomura is. “Or do you just not want to go to the party tonight?”

“Don’t call anybody,” Dabi growls. “If you were me, you wouldn’t want to go to a photo op, either.”

“Yeah, I guess this would be your first official one since the thing,” Spinner says. He sits down on the floor next to Dabi. Tomura leans back against the wall with his arms cross, idly tuning in to the music. “Want one of us to come with you?”

Tomura kicks him, glares when Spinner looks up, but Dabi’s already shooting the idea down. “No. My sister already gets DMed way too much RPF with you dipsticks in it.”

“Okay, then find somebody who’s going to be there who’s not a huge partier,” Spinner suggests. “Just glue yourself to them the whole night and do whatever they do.”

For a second Dabi looks like he might go for it. “They’re all partiers except the lame ones.”

Spinner punches Tomura in the leg. “What do you think, Shigaraki?”

“I don’t care about this,” Tomura says. Spinner punches him again, harder. “Just hang out with Hawks. He only gets wasted at the wrap parties.”

“No,” Dabi says at once. “Not him. I hate him.”

“So go hang out with him and you’ll hate him less,” Spinner says. Dabi groans. “Worst comes to worst, text us and we’ll come get you.”

“Like that’ll happen.” Dabi sits up for another swig of water, but doesn’t lay down again. “Get out. I have to find a ride.”

“Have fun,” Spinner says. Tomura’s out the door already, and Spinner catches up to him before he’s down the steps. “Was that water in there?”

“Yeah, I checked.”

“Good,” Spinner says. “Speaking of parties, though –”

He trails off like he’s expecting Tomura to fill in the blank. “What?” Tomura asks.

“Everybody who’s not at the producer thing is throwing one of our own. Tonight,” Spinner says. “And that means you should –”

“What?”

“Invite her to the party,” Spinner says. Tomura starts walking faster. “Seriously. She’s not a big enough star to get invited to the main one and she might not know ours is even happening. Go find her and ask.”

“No.”

“Do it.”

“No,” Tomura says. “Leave it alone.”

Spinner shakes his head. “Go ask her or I’m sending everybody that livestream where you played a dating sim and got shot down by all the characters.”

There was a while where Tomura wanted to be a streamer, but what little there is that’s engaging about him in person absolutely fails to translate live on camera. He had to resort to gimmicks to get views, and one of the gimmicks was playing easy games while getting drunk. Or at least Tomura thought they were easy games. Dating sims are harder than he thought they were, and once every single romanceable character had rejected him, he secured the achievement Turbo Virgin, won by the 0.06% of players who couldn’t pull even one fictional girl.

That would have been bad enough all on its own, but Tomura teared up during the last rejection cutscene, too. The fact that the stream still exists somewhere haunts Tomura daily. “You wouldn’t.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help make your dream a reality,” Spinner says. “Go ask her to the party. The worst thing she can say is no.”

In theory, that’s true. In practice there are a lot of ways to say no, and Tomura thinks of all of them as he heads off in search of you. Of course you’re nowhere to be found. You might have caught the bus back to town already, or maybe you got invited to the actor party after all. The only thing Tomura has to work off of is you telling the others that you’d go see the medics after shooting wrapped for the day. He sticks his head in the medic tent and steps back out again in a hurry, his face going up in flames. You’re in there, all right. You’re sitting on a cot with your back to the door and your shirt in a heap next to you.

You’re just sitting there with your clothes off when anyone could walk in. What is wrong with you? Sure, there are plenty of actresses whose costumes are revealing as hell, and sure, half the women Tomura knows dress for a trip to the convenience store like they’re headed to the club, but you? Tomura didn’t think you were that type, and if you are – this is an even worse idea than he originally thought.

Tomura needs to get his shit together. Of course your shirt’s off. You hit your shoulder and the medics need to look at it. He’s pretty sure you’re wearing a bra, and even if you aren’t, you’re facing away from the door. He’s not going to see anything, and if he keeps this bullshit up, he’s going to earn a real-life Turbo Virgin achievement half a decade after he lost his virginity. Tomura steels himself and ducks back inside.

The medic’s talking to you. “I put the rib back in place and it should stay there, but no more launching stunts for the next day or two, all right? And I’m giving you one of these so you’ll sleep tonight – but don’t take it until after the party. It doesn’t play well with alcohol or anything else.”

“I’m not going to the party,” you say, reaching for your shirt. Tomura gets a good look at the bruise darkening across your shoulder blade and back before your shirt conceals it. “I’ll take that and go to bed early.”

“I meant the other party,” the medic says.

“There’s another party?”

Fuck. “Of course,” the medic says, surprised. “Hasn’t anyone – what are you doing here, Shigaraki? You should know better than to just barge in.”

The medics don’t like Tomura very much. He ignores her. “There’s another party,” he says to you, and you turn slowly to face him. “Everybody who’s not A-list goes to that one. I came to invite you, in case you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” you say.”

“Well, now you know,” the medic says briskly. “Remember what I said. Don’t mix that medication with anything.”

“I won’t.” You get up from the cot and brush past Tomura, stepping back into the sun. The smell of your sunscreen drifts over his face as he follows you out. “So there’s a party?”

“Yeah. We throw one whenever the A-listers call some over-the-top press conference a party.” Tomura falls into step next to you. “You dislocated a rib?”

“Only a little bit.”

“You can’t dislocate something a little bit. It’s dislocated or it’s not.” Tomura glances at you. “You should have made them wait on the second stunt. Keeping going after you get hurt makes you stupid, not tough.”

“Really?” You look up at him. “Where I come from, anything that’s not performance-impairing is something you can push through.”

“Right, because there’s no difference between a Broadway show and a superhero movie.”

“No, there’s a difference,” you say. “Broadway’s a lot hard than this.”

Tomura scoffs. “Nice try.”

“It is,” you say. “Six to eight weeks of all-day rehearsals, plus physical conditioning on the side, and after that it’s seven shows a week – the same thing, over and over again, for however long the show runs or however long you can take it.”

Huh. “The leads have it the toughest,” you continue, “but the ensemble’s made up of understudies, and there are multiple backups for each of the leading roles. You know, because the show must go on. In practice that means being responsible for ensemble work plus one or two entire roles – which you only get to perform if something happens to the person above you. It’s a house of cards, and if enough people fold the whole thing comes tumbling down.”

You stop walking, and so does Tomura. “So yeah, I’d say theatre and this aren’t comparable. I don’t know where we’re going.”

“I was following you,” Tomura says. You give him a frustrated look. “So you’re saying you’d do a whole show with a rib out of place.”

“I did a whole show throwing up in the bathroom every time I went offstage,” you say. Tomura blinks. “Your job’s a lot rougher than mine, though. Catastrophic injuries are kind of rare in theatre. It’s hard to break your neck falling off the stage.”

“It’s a lot easier to break it falling off a building.”

“You – what?” Your eyes widen with surprise – and worry. “How?”

“That one space movie – Venus Rising or something.” Tomura always pretends he doesn’t remember the title. You must know it, though. He sees your mouth twitch. “The villain falls off a building at the end of Act One and comes back as a crazy cyborg. I didn’t double-check my equipment, and my harness snapped right when it was supposed to catch me.”

Your mouth turns down at the corners, in the same moment as Tomura remembers why you wound up in the medic tent in the first place. He grits his teeth against the guilt. “I should have learned from that and checked yours better.”

“I should have known how to do it myself,” you say. “It wasn’t on you.”

Maybe it wouldn’t have been, if Tomura had only checked the device instead of trying it out. “I knew the launch was too hard. If I’d been thinking instead of –” thinking about you “– I would have told Hatsume to recalibrate it before it was your turn. I’m sorry.”

“It happens,” you say. “Nobody died, and now I know to ask about that stuff. It’s okay.”

Tomura wants to tell you that you’re being naïve, but before he can do that, you change the subject. “So, this party. What are crew parties usually like?”

“Like any party. Drinks, food. Games, sometimes.” Tomura thinks about it. “Music. Yamada, the composer – he has this DJ person he puts on. There might be karaoke. It’s not the worst.”

“Are you going?”

“Yeah,” Tomura says. “You think I’d invite you to a party I’m not going to?”

“I didn’t think you’d invite me anywhere at all,” you say, and shrug. And wince. “I’ll see you there, okay?”

Is Tomura supposed to walk with you or something? Is that how this is supposed to work? “Just follow the music. I’ll see you there.”

Tomura watches you walk away, a disgusting knot of anticipation pulling tight in his stomach. He’s pretty sure he asked you out. He’s pretty sure you said yes. And he’s damn sure that whether you show up or not, whether he drinks too much or nothing at all, and whether he gets called to drag Dabi out of some easily-photographed situation he got himself into, he’s in for a really rough night.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 57 Cope Posting

Not like this, dear void... not like this. The blessing/curse of Kagurabachi chapters ending in 7 being absolute banger cliffhangers continues and there is not enough copium in the world to get me through to next week. This entry is an absolute mess...

Let's start with practicing on the editor's comments again. Sorry if the colours are hard to read on brighter backgrounds, I live in Dark Mode as much as possible.

First page: ハクリが飛宗の転送に成功! そして- [Hakuri ga Tobimune no tensou ni seikou! Soshite-, Hakuri successfully transfers Tobimune! And then-] Last page: 座村, 漆羽… 事態は混沌へ… [Samura, Uruha... jitai ha konton he..., Samura, Uruha... the situation turns chaotic...] noting that the word used for "situation", jitai (事態), specifically has negative connotations (as opposed to 状況 [joukyou], which is neutral).

These comments are rarely more than fluff just to give the editors some presence in the work itself, so I don't take them as definite indicators of anything going on in the plot. But man. Man. "Bad situation" seems to be putting it lightly. I was ready to take you off the list of possible traitors, Samura! I was seriously going to do it! Whyyyyyyyyyyy

Chihiro and the Pink Menace

Fine, first up... school?

How does our cast stack up to the average student after getting home schooled in murder and cool action poses?

It was obvious to everyone that this arc would involve Chihiro learning about the unpleasant sides of his dad's legacy. So this is just a "hey don't forget" moment for us that also highlights how far removed Hiruhiko and Chihiro are from regular society. Those two (and Hakuri) should be in their last year of high school, complaining about homework or stressing about their future college/job plans right now instead of fighting to the death. Poor guys.

I don't want to presume too much about Hokazono-sensei's views, but I really like directly acknowledging that winners write history and so their wartime cruelty is often downplayed or re-framed as heroism. These kids and even Chihiro only know the revised version of what happened, not the truth of the matter.

Home schooled Chihiro confirmed! Kinda!

Anyway, some more John Plan Reveal. He wants Chihiro to learn the truth about his father's legacy and the impact it's had- that's why he hasn't been "harvested" yet. This implies that there's some terrible thing that could upend Chihiro's entire worldview to be learned. But we kind of already knew that based on everything I just said.

I hope this isn't a flag for John trying to convince Chihiro to join him. There are awful secrets that are going to be unearthed about Kunishige and the Kamunabi this arc for sure, but it's kind of a waste of our time to do the "oooh it was worse than you thought why don't you join us to set things right" rigamarole.

Obviously the Hishaku have some compelling reasons to do all this if they can get someone as loath to kill as Samura on their side to murk his war buddies. It's just never gonna convince Chihiro so I hope we don't get a moralizing yapfest to accompany John's outstretched hand. I trust the writing though! So far it's been almost nothing but excellence so... chill, me. Just wait and see.

I think that no matter what happens Chihiro will continue to forge his own path with allies who care for him at his side. He won't choose the government's path, or the Hishaku's, or even his dad's- he'll create something new. Standard stuff for a shounen series but I never get tired of seeing it!

Before moving on to the coping session, there's something neat in this scene that I want to ramble about:

Local yapper yaps while the guy listening to him literally overthinks

I'll use the JP version if I have to, but I like how Chihiro's inner monologue deliberately overruns Hiruhiko's speech bubble to show that he's not paying full attention while his thoughts are in overdrive. He's still partially listening but he's not quite as composed as he appears to be on the outside, which is confirmed by the close-up zoom into his stressed look with the sweat drops. Yet when we zoom out, he seems a bit more put-together like usual. He's still exhausted from yesterday, man! Really should have rested up... at least the author acknowledges it. (Forced bed rest soon? Hopefully?)

This is how Hiruhiko was able to get the drop on Chihiro. Chihiro's got a lot on his mind and he has trouble focusing, just like Uruha chided him for on the train. His resolve is unshaken but he's still prone to wavering in the moment as he tries to process things. He even misses the fist time Samura's name was mentioned! Clearly Chihiro needs Hakuri or Uruha or someone there to yell encouragement at the right time to stop him from getting lost in his own head. But he's got a lot to think about and work through right now, so it's understandable why he's so stressed out.

Poor Chihiro. He's coming to the conclusions that we, the readers privileged with having weeks IRL to ponder new information, came to long ago. The Master is not treated like a hero but a prisoner, and probably for very, very good reasons. Ones good enough to convince Samura to make a deal with the devil.

What Actually Happened?!

Not all the blades have themes from nature, it seems. Geisha offered many different types of entertainment to guests, from performing music to conversation to serving sake. So now we have the idea behind the name [Swaying Sake]!

First up to delay just a little longer: Kumeyuri power reveal! Seems to be based in some kind of performing arts aesthetic with the geisha that were conjured. Fitting for the guy who wears kabuki eye make-up right? ...And for the next bearer, who interrupted a kabuki performance to pick it up in a theater... I see you and your foreshadowing, Hokazono-sensei.

Fine. I'll admit it. The ending of the chapter makes it crystal clear that Hiruhiko is the new bearer contracted to Kumeyuri by having his origami butterflies come undone as he grasps the hilt in his teeth. Can't even hope it's another case of someone "borrowing" power like Kyora did with the Shinuchi of the bunch.

Magatsumi's the only blade that can be used by someone not contracted to it, hence the extra protections it needed.

So that means... yeah. Uruha's gone. Just like that.

There will be thousands of theories about what exactly happened to Uruha, why Samura made a deal with John, what the details of that deal were- we'll get the truth soon. I'm most interested in the reasoning that ties into Samura's sincere beliefs of killing being an evil act.

The burden of death weighs so heavily on him that he blinded himself in penance. But he's willing to let his own apprentice die -probably even kill him himself!- because of... what? What was so horrible about fighting with the Master and Kunishige's weapons for the good of the nation? What compelled him to help the Hishaku kill the remaining bearers and upend the peace they earned?!

Hey, Samura. Is it really so bad to be called a war hero while being treated like a prisoner in a comfortable government-provided jail facility? Is it so horrible that "alternative facts" pass for real history to bury whatever horrors you witnessed and possibly perpetrated? Is it truly awful to have people willing to die for you despite all the grave sins you've committed? That they're likely completely unaware of thanks to government propaganda and being too young to have witnessed the truth?

...I need those Seitei War flashbacks pronto.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

Wait a minute. Jail? Even the friggin' onsen?

Yup! The Master's the only one being treated like a dangerous criminal outright, but the 慚箱 [sanso] are just dressed up prisons for the Bearers. The Kamunabi ain't even subtle about it.

慚 [san] - to feel shame 箱 [sou] - box

The government put these guys in specially-constructed (or repurposed) buildings officially referred to as "shame boxes" and told them they couldn't leave. Even the name given to one of them is a bit much! 国獄温泉 [Kokugoku Onsen] translates to:

国 [koku]- country/state/national government 獄 [goku]- jail/prison 温泉 [onsen] - hot spring

Gee, I wonder if Uruha was having a good time at State Prison Hot Springs?

That said, while there may well be some bitterness between the Bearers and the Kamunabi, it's not the main motivating factor for Samura. His is definitely rooted in how they all acted during the war and how guilty he feels now that they're promoted as heroes.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

It looks like Chihiro's being summoned by Hakuri in the very last panel so we might get some perspective on Samura's reasoning next week. Probably no clear answers right away, but at least enough to see if he really was the one who killed Uruha and a bit of insight into why. And to see if Uruha's dead at all... I mean, if we don't see a body... let me be delusional, okay?!

I'm just not able to go all-in on believing Uruha's dead. But it's not because I don't think he actually is... it just doesn't feel real after spending weeks preparing to let go of Samura. Not to mention the tried-and-true tactic of baiting out strong emotions with implied character deaths.

Normally I don't take death foreshadowing like this too seriously in shounen series. I just wait to see if the author is faking me out or not before getting stressed (unless it's Hakuri, in which case I stress responsibly). But Kagurabachi is a series that lured the MC with a child's severed leg and showed two suicide attempts on-screen, one of which was horrifically successful- right in front of someone who was already traumatized too. Hell we lost most of the anti-Kuregumo squad without much fanfare back in the Sojo arc! Only actually showing a child being tortured on-screen is too much, apparently. This series is dark as hell when the author wants it to be and Uruha's death is probably another one of those times.

There's hope in me that Uruha can still come out of this alive just because I like him so much, but I want the author to follow through on his death when it's presented as such an ominously real scenario. All signs point to Uruha being a goner, so don't make it look iron-clad then say "nah" the next chapter with some technicality that we couldn't have known about until the reveal. I would rather lose Uruha in an unexpectedly painful way than be faked out just to get the reaction out of me, y'know? Don't toy with me. Commit to crushing my heart, dammit.

But, God... oh man. I fell for the bait and got stupidly attached to a Bearer in the arc named after killing them. I even knew bad times were coming because of all the levity at the start of the arc but still went on hoping nothing would happen so soon. Laugh at me, I deserve it. I probably helped this manifest by mentioning how awful it would be if Chihiro found out a Bearer died because Hiruhiko was able to contract with one of the blades. Saying "I crave the angst that will come from this situation with every fiber of my being" in a post tag was overkill. It's just:

Author: names the arc after assassinating the bearers

Reader: gets attached anyway

Author: assassinates a bearer

Reader: ╚(•⌂•)╝

Coping Theory

May as well put my two cents in on how it could have gone down while I'm here...

I wonder if he planned to die in the raid instead so it looked like an unavoidable accident, sparing everyone else from the carnage.

This exact sequence- the Makizumi talking about honor in death for saving Samura, and Uruha's words that the Bearer's lives need to be valued above others'- is what solidifies Samura's resolve. This man is filled to the brim with guilt and self-loathing (much like another swordsman we know). He cannot save himself, but... perhaps he can take some equally bad sinners down with him for the greater good. He's not only a mirror for Hakuri, but Chihiro as well- one's resolve to save no matter the cost to one's self, and one's resolve to go to hell for what they believe is right. That's how I'm reading this until we get his own insight on the matter, at least.

It's not a stretch to infer that Samura thinks the Bearers are better off dead in large part due to the powers they command and things that were done during the war. That's still a huge mystery to be unraveled but I mean:

Seeing the bare minimum of Magatsumi in action really drives home how horrific these "heroes" could seem out on the battle field doesn't it? No wonder the clone sorcerer described the Seitei war as "hell on earth". But the public has no knowledge of this. They only got the sanitized version fit for PR purposes and feel-good stories.

The Hishaku seem to be intent on dismantling this image. Perhaps that's how they got Samura on their side? Not sure how the current Bearers dying and giving the Hishaku access to that dreadful power is better than the status quo, but that's something that will become clear with more reveals about the ideology driving the group. Maybe Samura doesn't care so much about the rest of the world and just wants to do what's best for the truth that's been buried under nearly two decade's worth of secrecy.

As to what happened with Uruha... two things come to mind. One I think is more likely, and one I want to cling to until it's ripped away as I sob and beg for just one little bit of comfort.

Most likely, I think Samura and Uruha had an exchange about ideals and the value of their lives. Samura overpowered Uruha per the plan as the "trump card" and that was that.

In delulu land, I want Samura to have been double-crossed. As in he made a deal on the condition that the lives of the people he cared about would be spared, but of course Uruha couldn't be allowed to live. So the Hishaku ensured that he'd die there no matter what. It's a bunk theory since Mr. Hatshaku left once the situation turned against him... maybe incorporate some of the datenseki mind control stuff in there somehow? I don't know. Just let me have this until canon proves otherwise.

Hakuri and Chihiro, Though?! And Miscellaneous Questions

(Ch. 46) I'm not going to be okay for a while and neither are they.

Best boys are really gonna go through it no matter what Chihiro is summoned back to. They'll be in a rough way... not only did they lose Uruha and hand Kumeyuri to Hiruhiko, but Samura betrayed them all... oof. So much for proving themselves to the Kamunabi. They're going to get an earful and be set back in the "negotiations" big time.

No doubt Chihiro will put this burden on his shoulders too, even if no one could have predicted Samura's defection to the enemy. It's his dad's legacy that's causing all this strife right now. He'll be more motivated than ever to unravel the war's true history and I'll be right there with him hoping he doesn't push himself too hard or harshly. The son shouldn't be responsible for the sins his father committed before he was even born. But that's just like, my opinion, man.

Meanwhile...

"I'm still good for it," wheezes the guy with blood gushing out of his nose at an alarming rate.

Hakuri will probably blame himself too. Depending on how things shake out, it could be for anything from accidentally arming a traitor to seeing someone die in front of him again. There's a good chance he'll (temporarily) lose the thing that makes him useful too, so that'll be an extra layer of angst for him to deal with. What value does a broken tool that couldn't fulfill it's one purpose have?

I also wonder what prompted Hakuri to summon Chihiro away from Hiruhiko. He's kind of in rough shape to do it just 'cause he misses his (boy)friend. They have cell phones to communicate with so it seems a bit abrupt to summon him back without checking first. Hakuri's also not the type to impose on someone to protect him. Nor is he the type to drop Chihiro into the middle of a life-or-death situation without a sense of mutual understanding first. So there had to be some kind of pressing need. The timeline of events means he's summoning Chihiro right after Uruha was killed, so... more soulmate stuff maybe? Their souls call out to each other and resonate when they're in distress, after all (it's canon baybeeeeee). They're in perfect harmony and all that. Sorry for the shipping nonsense I just need any bit of fluff I can get right now.

So many questions that might not get answered...

What about the Makizumi? Will they defect to serve Samura? Or will they try to help get Hakuri to safety with the Kamunabi? Samura doesn't want to kill them at all so no matter what happens they'll live at least. Hooray an elite squad that didn't bite the dust... (I think they will choose Samura because of everything he did for them).

How did Hiruhiko know when Kumeyuri was usable anyway?! Was it some signal from his mystery supporter that was lurking outside the window? And who was that- did Worst Jeanist show up?

Samura's loath to kill innocents, but does Hakuri count as one? Would losing his sorcery be enough to count him as neutralized for the Hishaku's purposes? Was exhausting Hakuri the main reason why Hiruhiko sent all the forces to the temple in the first place?

Hiruhiko wasn't surprised to see Tobimune disappear, so the Hishaku probably know about Hakuri's power. Their mole within the Kamunabi should get a bonus for the turnaround time on learning that bit of info and sending it on. Unless John's playing 5D chess and knew about Hakuri's awakening and team-up with Chihiro before they even met the Kamunabi anyway... perhaps even orchestrated it too... that would definitely need a very good explanation.

Alright. Okay. Let's wait on tenterhooks together, dear void. No waterworks until they show the body, got it?

[sob]

[tgirlblogger]

The Lambs on how good they would be at Cookie Clicker:

Sy - Depends, if its younger Sy then he's pretty good, if it's later on he sucks very much. A lot of Cookie Clicker is A) Having the patience to have it in the background for 500 hours B) Executing a 127 step 30 second long process after precisely 512 hours 37 minutes 46 seconds and 35 milliseconds of preparation. In early Twig most of the Lambs' jobs are "wait for a year to prepare and then strike in one night" kind of things. Later in Twig Sy would just forget he's even playing Cookie Clicker after not looking at it for a while. A for young Sy, F for Old Sy

Jamie/Jessie - Jamie and Jessie are pretty identical as far as things go, so I'll be pairing them up together. As I mentioned before, Cookie Clicker is about patience and swift but skilled execution. Caterpillar is almost specially designed for this. It's noted that they are slow in thinking, but memorization and execution of specific keys and movements is pretty simple, and so I think they'd be pretty good. A+

Mary - A+. She's pretty skilled in almost everything related to the physical human body. A lot of her offensiveness is that she plans her attacks really well. She kills one guy and in that same swing uses her knife to poke the guy behind her in the throat, killing him. She's probably really good at all of that.

Helen - She's not very patient as a person, but her mastery of her own body would let her perfectly execute the tricks. Honestly I think Helen would almost be as bad as late Sy, as she's, well she isn't fidgety, but she gets impatient. Wildbow really like his squid girls who can't control their impulses to kill people I guess. B-

Gordon - Gordon is the stereotypical athletic. Stick him in an 80's coming of age film and either he's the bully of the main character, or he's the meathead athlete with a heart of gold. However, this is only his mask of appearance, as he's not an asshole, but he's also not a great person, and he's also very intelligent. So I think if he has an audience, Gordon would not play Cookie Clicker, as to maintain his reputation, but alone? Honestly I can't say. Cookie Clicker probably wouldn't suit Gordon's tastes very well if I'm being honest. B

Lillian - Lillian is an academic before all. She probably wouldn't play Cookie Clicker at all, more focusing on studying or whatever it is an Academy Student should do. She doesn't have the time to play Cookie Clicker at all, and even if she did, she probably wouldn't. F

Ashton - It's actually never directly stated, but the reader can infer that during Twig, Ashton was actually mentally simulating Cookie Clicker in the background. We actually see that Ashton has gotten all achievements. S+

Lara - She has bug claws, and probably couldn't handle a computer all that well. If you made a specially designed computer though, she'd probably be good. D/B

Nora - The same as Lara. D/B

Duncan - Much of the same as Lillian. Though he's not as strong of an Academic as her, from the perspective of a normal person, he probably seems like a well disciplined man with an iron will. F

I'm not doing Emmet, Abby, or the Fairy-tale Lambs because I don't even know anything about them actually. They appear so infrequently that I don't even know who they are.