#it’s funny because sometimes the behavior i’m exhibiting makes me wonder if this is how the man i loved felt

[emo4life]

i’m so mad with myself i could cry. i don’t want to be a bad person anymore but i just fuck up again and again. maybe this is a sign to continue this non-alcohol/ liquor even longer.

[brocflowers]

I must confess, I still believe.

“Do you believe I’m the Herald?” Slowly, carefully, Varric lays down his quill.

[AO3]

Tags: Inquisitor!Anders AU. Varric POV. Vanders. Religious themes. UST. Men exhibiting various behaviors.

Title from Baby One More Time by famed 20th century poet Britney Spears.

Word count: 3267

-

“Good, you’re awake.”

Varric looks up from the paper as Anders approaches, stops directly in front of him, just the low table between them. His hair is loose, clean but clearly slept in. It falls in his face, pools a little at his shoulders, casts funny shadows against his features even as it catches the red-orange of the firelight at the same time.

His eyes are bright. Not quite wild, but getting there. It’s nostalgic in a way that Varric really does not like. Keeps him bound up and tight, waiting for danger, for bad news.

“Something I can do for you, Inquisitor?”

Anders opens his mouth, closes it again. Varric thinks that it throws him off sometimes, being addressed by the title. It's part of the reason he keeps using it.

“What are you writing?”

“It’s-”

“Do you believe I’m the Herald?”

Slowly, carefully, Varric lays down his quill.

“I might’ve heard something about that.”

“That’s not-” he sounds frustrated, then seems to swallow it, “I’m not asking what other people are saying, Varric, I’m asking you. Do you believe I’m Andraste’s Herald?”

Varric can’t begin to explain how little he wants to answer that question.

“Anders-”

“Don’t dodge the question, just answer.”

“You’re really putting me on the spot here. I mean, it’s kind of an awkward question to just-”

“Varric.”

He should just lie. He lies all the time. It’s easy for him, like writing, like breathing. There’s no benefit, that he can see, to telling the truth here.

He wonders why he isn’t lying, even as the words are coming out of his mouth, he wonders what in the world is compelling him to be honest.

“Yes?”

Anders blinks slowly, as if he can’t believe what Varric’s saying either.

“Ah, maybe. Probably.” He sighs, shifts in his seat. He feels terribly… watched. As there are a lot more eyes on him than there really are. Why isn’t he lying? “I mean, shit. Either you’re the Herald or you have impossibly bad luck.”

Anders gives a short, skeptical, humorless laugh.

“What? Think about it. After everything that happened in Kirkwall, everything that happened before Kirkwall, you end up at the Conclave, you survive the Breach, an Archdemon, Corypheus, for a second time, you’ve got that fucking thing in your ha-”

“So that’s your argument? I must be Her Herald, because it’s not reasonable for me to be this unlucky otherwise?”

“Yeah, yeah I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

His expression is unreadable, the lighting makes his eyes seem unusually dark, and it makes Varric want to squirm. Crawl out of his skin. Run a mile. Something.

After a moment, Anders pulls a nearby chair closer, then falls into it heavily. He sits loosely, leaning back with his hands joined behind his head, knees open. He doesn’t say anything, but looks at the tabletop between them, thinking. 

It’s like Varric isn’t even there.

He picks his quill back up, but he doesn’t do anything with it. Just watches Anders watch the table. It reminds him of the old days, the two of them across the table from each other, not talking, deep in separate thoughts. 

Except the Hanged Man was always loud, even upstairs you could always hear people, always feel them nearby. Took a lot of the pressure off of one-on-one conversations and non-conversations alike. The great main hall of Skyhold, in comparison, is dead quiet, empty except for the two of them and the wooden scaffolding, and thousands of pounds of rock. Stone hewn straight from the mountain it sits on

Varric swallows. The stuff that Skyhold is built of is old. Really, really old. He pretends he doesn’t notice, can’t feel it, but he does. It's like a humming, almost, but silent. A noise that isn't a noise. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, fills him up with restless energy and makes him want to pace, to press his hands against the stone walls or- or, to lick them or something. Fuck if he knows. It’s weird for his stone sense to bug him like this. Practically unheard of. Other dwarves got the itch, the feelings you just can’t shake, the Call of the Stone, but not Varric. He figured that, because he grew up on the surface, because he wasn’t religious in the dwarven sense, he never would. And now he doesn’t know what to do with it, how to cope, how to make it stop.

Anders’ shirt hangs loose in the front, open enough that Varric can see the scar low down on his ribcage. The length and width of a broadsword blade, it parts him down the middle, carves his body into a symmetrical right and left half. Varric’s seen the matching exit wound on his back. It’s higher up, closer to his shoulders. Evidence of the blade’s angle, that the blow started low and was then thrust upwards into him, scrambling his organs, barely missing his spine.

It always makes Varric feel a little sick, if he thinks about it too long, and he tries not to, tries to keep his eyes up but they keep getting drawn back down to that thick, faded line of scar tissue. It’s not something you’re supposed to survive, being cut open like that, split nearly in half. Anders shouldn’t have made it long enough to tell him about it, shouldn’t have lived long enough even to see the wound close, let alone heal and scar.

Anders has a lot of stories like that. Things he shouldn’t have survived. Sure deaths that could be prevented only by a miracle. But he did survive them, every single one, and here he is, alive and warm and breathing, eyes bright as he watches the fire, hair disheveled and falling in his face. Varric wants that to mean nothing, wants all of it to just be a- a funny series of coincidences. But deep down, he just can’t convince himself of it. 

Anders drops his hands into his lap, turns his head from the fire to Varric. He looks tired.

“I didn’t let you finish,” he says, softly, “what are you writing?”

“I’m not, it’s paperwork.”

“Yours or the Inquisition’s?”

“Mine. Ruffles is doing all that other stuff.”

Anders hums, leans foreward to put his elbows on the table, chin resting on one hand.

“Right,” he says, then sighs, “I suppose I should’ve known that.”

“Big organizations have learning curves, especially if you’ve never actually been part of one. You’ll get there.”

“It does change everything, doesn’t it?”

“What does?”

“Me being- everything that happened before, who I was, what I did in Kirkwall, it means something different now. If I’m the Herald, that changes everything.”

“I mean, not everything.”

“A lot, though.”

“It does change a lot.”

Anders heaves a big sigh, runs both hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face, holding it there behind his head.

“You want a tie?”

“I’m fine,” he says, dropping his hands and letting his hair fall loose against the back of his neck, his shoulders. It’s longer than it was in Kirkwall, Varric wonders if that was intentional or just something that just happened, because he forgot to keep up with it, “now what?”

“For you?”

“Yeah. What do I do now?”

It seems like a genuine question. Like if Varric told him what to do, right now, Anders would actually do it.

Varric throws his hands up, lets them fall heavily back into his lap.

“Fuck if I know. Anders, I don’t even know what I’m doing still here.” Deep breath. “I never, I mean I never officially joined the Inquisition. I don’t know how to do this… disciplehood thing. I’m a businessman, I’ve never really followed a chosen one before.”

He meant it to be… comforting, almost. Camraderie-building. You and me, Anders, we’re in the same boat. Out of our element, figuring it out as we go. But Anders just stares at him for a moment, expression blank, eyes slightly wide, as if Varric had just reached out and smacked him.

“Disciplehood,” he says, as if he’s choking on it, “Maker, Varric.”

“What?”

“Is anyone- no one else is calling it that. Varric, I haven’t heard anyone else- are people saying that?”

“That they’re disciples?” 

Anders nods. 

“I mean, no.” Varric admits, “Not in those exact words, but that is what’s going on, isn’t it? I don’t think there’s any other word for that.”

And he knows a lot of words. And he’s tried on a lot of them, but none of them seem to really fit and that’s- that’s the one he keeps coming back to. Maybe Anders is right, maybe that’s not what it is for anyone else. But its starting to feel like it has to be that way for him. If he’s really going to do it, really going to join the Inquisition, really going to commit then, well…

And he is committed, now. The letter went out this morning, Mal should get it within the week. Should be back in Ferelden less than a week after that, assuming she is where he thinks she is. The fact that he even considered bringing her into this is a mark of, something. Something more than he's usually willing to give. The fact that he actually told her to come and that she will actually likely be here in two weeks' time is…

He hopes he’s doing the right thing. Fuck. He hopes that he’s not making a mistake with this one. That he isn’t in over his head. Because this isn’t something he can backtrack, something he can escape easily. Once you say that someone is divinely touched, the very first time you follow along with them on that basis, put the lives of people that trust you in their hands on that basis…there’s no taking that back.

“I wasn’t expecting this from you.” Anders says, quiet and serious, eyes on the table, “That’s why- I was just laying upstairs, I was trying to sleep and it just hit me all of a sudden. I believe it. I actually believe it. I mean I still don’t- I still don’t remember anything, but I believe that- that it’s possible. That that could really be what happened. That I’m- and that’s why I came here. I needed to be talked down or- or something. To be told I wasn’t that special,” he laughs a little, in a half-hysterical way that Varric wishes wasn’t so familiar, “and I figured… I figured that if anyone was going to do that it would be you. You were always good at talking me down, you- I thought I’d come here and ask you and you’d say “no, no. Really Anders, Andraste’s Herald? You? Be serious.””

He looks up.

“But you believe it. You think it too.”

It’s not a question. Varric’s mouth is dry when he swallows. He goes over a couple of responses in his head, dismisses most of them, settles on his fifth choice. It’s the most dismissive, it’s barely even a response at all, but it’s also the least… earnest, choice. The least incriminating.

“Was that voice supposed to be me?”

“It was.”

“Anders, that was terrible.”

Nothing for a second, a beat, then Anders’ face splits into a closed-mouth grin, like flesh parting under a blade, like something soft making room for something sharp.

“Sorry,” he says, sarcastic, almost fond, “It’s been a while, I’m out of practice.”

His eyes crease around the edges when he smiles. They always did that, but it’s more pronounced now that he’s older. The lines are deeper.

He wonders if it was like this with Andraste. If the people traveling and fighting with her ever looked over and thought- and had it hit them how human she was. How flesh and nature her body is. If they ever thought: here is fire in too small of a bottle. In his mind’s eye he imagines Ealisay or Brona, Maferath even, sitting by the savior’s side and looking over and thinking: this is a woman. I have known her for many years. Mortal years. I see the places on her face where she is aging, I remember when they were young.

Maybe it wasn’t as hard for them as it is for him. Because they doubted less or, because She had never done something so big it couldn’t be fully forgiven. Maybe the weight of history did not hang so heavy on them.

Then again, Maferath clearly had his opinions.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, in the same nudging, coaxing, quiet voice he used to use on him back in Kirkwall, when he would keep himself up late into the night or for days at a time. Head too full of the nightmares he never talked about, or else his whole body too full of light and sparks and frantic energy for him to rest, “it’s been a long couple of days.”

Anders makes an odd face. Varric supposes you could call it smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Varric has always suspected that he’s maybe not quite as subtle as he thinks he is, but he hates being reminded of it nonetheless. He wonders if Anders ever resented it, his poking and prodding and mother-henning. The sideways manipulations. He never said anything, and Anders has historically been the sort to not keep quiet if he felt condescended to, but that's no guarantee of anything. There were other factors involved, things that would understandably affect what Anders would and would not say. Money, to pick one example. And-

Varric shakes his head. The only way to know would be to ask. And he doesn't intend on asking.

Anders sighs deeply, like he's about to stand, and Varric, assuming that's the end of it, reaches again for his quill. There's a relief, in knowing the conversation is over now. That it will just fade out of both their memories, at least in a functional sense, and they'll never speak of it again. Just like so many other late-night conversations that came before.

"I missed you."

The pointed tip of his quill punches straight through the cheap parchment, splitting the numbers beneath it.

"What?"

"I missed you," he says, and it's just as baffling to hear the second time.

Varric realizes that he was hoping that Anders would say something different, if Varric made him repeat himself. And the look on Anders' face suggests that he can tell.

 "I know how it sounds but, in a way, I'm glad that things worked out the way they did. The idea that we would never see each other again it… weighed on me."

“Weighed on you.”

“It made me sad.”

Varric doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels like he’s losing control of the situation, like he’s standing on uneven ground. What do you say to someone who you only half-believe to be a prophet? What do you say to someone who can’t be forgiven, when he says that he missed card nights in your room? What do you say to fire in too small of a bottle?

What does it say about Varric that he almost said it back?

It’s all just so absurd. He wishes that Anders had chosen to say nothing at all, and left him out of it. Kept it to himself. He wishes Anders hadn’t forced him to think.

“Maybe I’m pushing my luck here,” Anders says, “maybe this isn’t fair for me to ask but- I don’t need disciples, Varric.” 

(Don’t say it, Varric thinks, please don’t say it.) 

“But I could use a friend.”

Varric is losing control of the situation. He is in over his head. Maker-sent, god-touched, herald, that’s one thing. Friend is quite another.

And what does it say about him that he can half-believe both, but only the second one is hard to say? That only one of them makes him ashamed, makes him feel guilty? That he’s so much more disappointed in himself for one than the other? 

Anders’ hand rests on the table, palm-up, long fingers slightly curled in a way that’s almost inviting. He doubts that Anders had done it on purpose, but that doesn’t change the fact that his instinct is to reach across the table and grab it. Squeeze his fingers tight until it almost hurts them both and say of course, of course we’re friends. Blondie, when have we never not been friends?

Because that’s what he would’ve done in the old days. Because for reasons he doesn’t understand and doesn’t think he’d like about himself if he did, some part of him really wants to just forget. That it all happened, that it was real, that he’s angry for a reason. If he doesn’t remind himself not too, he forgets, his head slips back into the good years and stays there. If he doesn’t constantly remind himself, it all just slips away.

He stares at the open palm in front of him, the small pale scars and the calluses. It would be easier to forget. To stop fighting his instincts and let it happen. He resents Mal, for half a second. Resents that spending all these years with her has forced him to think about what is right, and not just what is easy. What he doesn’t have to repress or handwave to be able to live with.

The Inquisitor’s hand closes.

“Nevermind,” he says, “no hard feelings.”

He stands, looks almost embarrassed.

“Goodnight, Varric.”

“Goodnight.”

Anders leaves him, finally, and for some time after he’s out of sight Varric just stares vaguely in the direction he walked off in. He’d say he was thinking but the truth is, there’s not a single thought in his head. All empty, dark, ringing with the non-sound of ages-old mountain rock.

He tries to finish his paperwork and fails. He’s tired, and the words bleed together, the figures melt into meaningless piles of numbers. He forces himself to bed eventually, tosses and turns there for a while because, despite the ache in his eyes and the heaviness of his limbs, he just can’t get comfortable.

And then, right before finally drifting off, he has what he can only describe as an epiphany. A moment of wild clarity.

And because he’s a much more polite man than Anders is, he decides that it can wait until morning.

                                                     *

“I’m your friend, and I’m in this with you for as long as it takes to finish it. All in, one hundred percent,” he takes a deep breath, “and I don’t forgive you. And I never will.”

Anders sort of… relaxes. He honestly seems more relieved by the addendum than the original statement. 

Varric is never going to understand how his head works.

“That’s good to hear.”

For you maybe, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

Hawke’s coming, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that either.

He’ll tell Cassandra first. Get that out of the way and Maker knows she’ll tell Anders for him. Two nugs with one stone.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Inquisitor, I have to go give the Seeker some bad news.”

Anders raises a wary eyebrow at him. He looks more put together now, a little tired, but very sheveled. Fully dressed, for one thing, hair pulled back and up, features catching the sunlight and casting a completely different set of shadows than they were by the fire.

Different and the same.

“Bad how?”

Varric grimaces.

“I mean she isn’t going to be very happy about it.”

[bugcatcherwill]

Which makes me curious if they can find a way to protect the Gibdo hive unhatched eggs from the yiga when that attack happens as I feel like real ants: if you dig up their nests or move a rock where their nest was you see them running around their eggs, larva and pupa (when all referred to at once by is brood) to get them away from the danger.

I can imagine same applies to freed Gibdo and their subspecies redeads: they don’t get brought back via blood moon before being freed or under the malice they get one life meaning to them the next gen is important for them and their hives survival ESPECIALLY the new royal larva and pupa which become new queens for the hive

I can imagine Keene must be thinking that too now that the yiga will be targeting their hive as as she mentioned when she sent cross way for abit: I don’t want the first thing the young to smell is blood.

Her mind instantly goes to the hives next gens, and for the hives future or if something happens to her they need a new candidate for Queen So if the lab can find a way or the gerudo help hide to take in eggs or brood even if it’s just keene’s successor(s) eggs or brood the free Gibdo hive will have a future.

as I’m also taking the fact free Gibdo are sentient and have a culture just like other monsters of hyrule same as the races of hyrule, so having Keene have a heir is normal: take the zora who are the only royal family after the calamity thus Sidon is the only heir and if you remember in botw and age of calamity the king of hyrule sacrifices himself and tells link to protect Zelda as she is the heir of the kingdom and the only hope next to him as the hero for hyrule’s people.

Which makes it sad when you remember Gibdo queens will defend the hive if the threat is too much for the normal soldiers or drones but risk dying leaving the hive with no queen or secession

I feel like Keene would die for her hive but with her being a freed Gibdo queen she MUST have a heir in the situation something happens to her when defending the hive so the remaining hive members can evacuated the royal brood with the normal brood as I feel like that’s what happens when the Gibdo queen joins a fight to defend the hive it’s to also by the drones time to evacuate brood.

The kohga says they know how to deal with Gibdo meaning next to the queen and her soilders and drones they need to kill the brood especially the royal brood.

So the Gibdo next gens are very important for the sake of the hive’s future and must be protected from the yiga I wonder if Riju and ganondorf knows this

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM INTERESTING OBSERVATIONS :3

Well with insect queens, how bees and termites sometimes go about it is that a hive will suddenly have two queens - and then one will either leave to make its own hive or fight the current queen for control of the hive.

Obviously, with sentient insect-like beings, there'd be a little more civility than just trying to rip each others' throat out. So I can imagine if a Moth Gibdo starts to mature into a Gibdo queen, they'll have to enact some form of protocol.

Like if there's two queens they start going "okay, let's send over a chunk of our workers over to help make you a new hive somewhere - who wants to move?"

Like it's really funny because even though Keene would be considered "royalty" by our standards, wei doesn't have an "heir" since Keene's the one that's birthing all the Gibdo grubs in the first place. Technically all of them are weir "heir" since any of them could mature into a queen/chuvayze.

OR ALTERNATIVELY if a queen dies, bees will often go into overdrive and start looking for the young that exhibit queen-like behavior and do some shit with pheremones idk nature is weird.

So I could imagine something like that would happen with the Gibdo

Food for thought :)

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 4 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer and Reader go on their first date. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW 18+) Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), exhibitionism, masturbation, fingering, spanking, penetrative sex, Prof/Student fantasy Word Count: 8.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

—————————————————

When I was younger, I hated going to museums. Granted, I'd only ever really had the opportunity to go during school field trips. The crackling, barely coherent ramblings of a stranger through a loudspeaker had never been my idea of fun.

In fact, I'd been to that exact museum before. But the present time was a little different. That time, I was enthralled with the objects on the other side of the glass. With wide eyes and childlike wonder revived, I was hanging on every word out of Spencer's mouth.

I knew the guy was probably a genius, but I had no idea how much of a genius he was until he was recounting the entire history of civilization like he'd been reading straight from an encyclopedia. He looked like a hilarious mix of proud and embarrassed when he finally admitted his IQ. Meanwhile, I had to admit that I not only had no fuckin' clue what my IQ was, I was certain it was significantly lower than his. 

He didn't seem to mind.

In a way, I thought it was strange when he told me he wanted to bring me to a place like that. After all, I'd told him I wanted to learn more about him. I figured a museum would teach me about everything else, not him.

But seeing him in this environment told me more about him than I ever could have imagined. I learned about his avid love for the most trivial facts, the way his inflection changed when he got excited, and that despite reading probably hundreds of thousands of books, his hunger for knowledge was still very much alive and well.

Most of all, I learned that Spencer Reid was unlike any man I'd ever seen before.

It was a bad idea. Because when we finally made our way out of the final exhibit, I didn't want to leave. Not even close. If you'd told my mother I spent several hours in a museum and didn't want to leave, she'd never believe you.

"Hey, so..." I started, pausing outside the gift shop on our way out. "It's almost 5. Did you want to grab dinner before we head back? I have worked up quite the appetite listening to you for the past 4 hours."

"Has it really been that long?" he asked incredulously before glancing down at his watch wrapped over his shirt.

I tried very hard, and failed, to suppress a giggle at the habit.

"I'm honestly surprised you still have spit left in your mouth," I joked as I swayed closer to him, almost enough to touch him.

"Ha ha, very funny," he replied. A slight pout formed on his face. I almost enjoyed the swapped roles; it wasn't often that he was the one who looked so forlorn.

"Come on, I'm joking!" I laughed before slipping my arm around his and pulling him closer to me.

Spencer glanced down in surprise, staring at my chest that was now fully pressed against his arm. Although, the way he looked at me was nothing compared to the response he'd given after I showed up in a pleated skirt that better belonged on a Catholic schoolgirl.

But I mean, like I'd said, I used to go there on school trips. It was only fair.

"I love listening to you talk, Spencer. You know that."

The speed with which he looked away when I finished talking was enough to tell me that I had said the wrong thing. His goofy, playful demeanor vanished so quickly, I'd almost gotten whiplash. He didn't remove his arm, instead clearing his throat and pulling out a brochure from his pocket to look at nearby places to eat.

A bit reserved, he asked if I was interested in one of the closer casual restaurants, to which I agreed. At that point, I removed myself from his side and was only a little surprised to see the way his body immediately relaxed.

I wanted to believe he just didn't like to be touched, which I was certain was true, but he was behaving differently with me than he had before. We'd touched in public before, a lot more than that, and we'd known each other a lot less!

But of course, that was probably why. The closer we got, the farther away he felt.

The walk to the restaurant was slightly awkward, so after a moment I decided to break the silence.

"You said you grew up in Vegas, right?"

"Yeah, until I moved to go to school," he explained, looking around at the surroundings of the D.C. crowds winding down rather than turning his attention back to me. 

At least I was finally learning more about him.

"Where did you go?"

"Caltech."

He was keeping his answers short, but I feel like he might still be a little embarrassed at my little jab at the museum. That was fine, I knew ways to make him talk. I clasped my hands behind me as I walked by his side, still tempted to touch him somehow, however ill advised.

"Was it hard being away from your family? That's a few hours away, isn't it?"

He laughed awkwardly, a sure sign that I'd forgotten that him and I come from different worlds.

"Well, I was barely 13, so... My mom was kind of legally obligated to follow me."

He was so cute, and he definitely wasn't aware of it.

"Right, sorry, forgot about the genius thing for a minute. Don't know how."

The smile he returned was genuine, which helped my guilt for bothering him yet again. But in my defense, it was easy to do when he was a literal genius and I was barely scraping by half the time.

As we arrived, we were seated in a booth near the back of the restaurant. I offered him the booth with a view of the door because I'd figured he would want it. He gave me a strange side glance at my assumption, like I was hiding something from him that would grant me the knowledge that it would be more comfortable for him to be able to see the door.

I didn't want to talk about how I knew that, though.

Instead, I asked, "Do you like it here? In Virginia?"

He nodded as he flipped open the menu, speaking almost scripted answers absentmindedly, "I do, but mostly because it's been so long that everyone I know is here."

I'd already been here before, so I didn't bother looking at the menu. Naturally, he'd only required a few seconds to read it. When he made eye contact again, I spoke through my thoughts.

"You said you're a profiler for the..."

"Behavioral Analysis Unit."

His tone was a mix of pride and nerves, which immediately made me nervous.

"I haven't looked it up yet because I'm scared about what I might find. What do you guys do, exactly?"

The server brought us drinks just in time to pause his answer, which he seemed to appreciate. I figured it was either a tough job to explain, or he didn't want to share that part of his life with me just yet (or, potentially, ever). 

Spencer lowered his voice like he usually did when he talked about work.

"We profile the behavior of serial killers. Sometimes for research, but mostly to assist local police in catching them."

"Oh..." I started, stopping mid-sip of my drink. It was a lot to take in at once. "So... yeah, I'm glad I didn't google it."

He scrunched his mouth in that unsure way, like he wanted to explain to me how he really felt about his job. Something in the bags under his eyes told me he hasn't talked about this in a long time. At least, not like he should. But he didn't talk about it. He looked away, opting to say nothing at all.

"Doesn't it get to you?" I pushed, trying to offer him the platform to talk about the thing that no doubt consumes most of his life.

"Does what get to me?" His voice sounded so far away.

"Spencer, when I met you, you were whisked away at the crack of dawn to go talk about serial killers. On a weekend. The second time you showed up at my place after clearly not having slept, I'm guessing straight from work..."

His eyes narrowed as I spoke, like I was talking from a tightrope that I could plummet off any second. He seemed scared that I would speak something into existence he wasn't ready to face himself.

"You're surrounded by evil all the time. You're responsible for learning, recognizing, and manipulating evil. That can't be easy."

Spencer's eyes were glazed over in a way I couldn't describe. He seemed defensive, steeled, and absolutely terrified. He wouldn't look me in the eyes, opting instead to stare down at the menu in front of him.

He shrugged as he halfheartedly concluded, "I guess that's one way to look at it. We also get to see a lot of good."

"Yeah..." I nodded solemnly, recognizing the dismissive thoughts from my own experience.

He was downplaying the great likelihood of traumatic memories he carried, as if he could will away the damage. Like it would stop existing if he could convince himself it wasn't that bad.

I wondered what had happened to him on the job for him to already have forgotten that things didn't have to be the worst possible to matter. That he still deserved better. That hurt does not require permission.

I couldn't stop myself, needing to see how he reacted when I continued, "But which do you see more of?"

I never got my answer. The server once again saved him from a conversation that got away from him. The presence of a third, impartial person shifted the mood back to what it was in the museum. I wondered how much was an act, both back then and in that moment.

Deciding it best not to dwell on the thought, I tried to forget about the darkness brewing in those coffee colored eyes. Once our orders were in, he turned his attention to the cocktail menu still laying in the middle of the table with a smile.

"I'm almost surprised you didn't try to order alcohol," he half-joked.

I leaned forward on the table, bringing a hand up to my mouth and whispering, "I heard there might be an undercover fed here, so, never can be too safe."

The bubbly, childish laugh that followed renewed my faith in him. He had that kind of infectious laugh that made you forget that badness existed at all. Once our ruckus had died down, he looked at me with the softness that had drawn me to him in the first place.

"You're cute."

When the words registered in my mind, I couldn't believe I'd heard them. The way his expression changed shortly after the words left his mouth told me he hadn't meant to say them aloud. But their effect on me was not at all stifled by his momentary lapse in judgment.

I'd wondered if it was getting hotter in the building, or if it was just my nerves getting the best of me. But it wasn't bothering Spencer, who was about to down yet another cup of coffee in front of him. I cleared my throat, trying to not look like a schoolgirl whose crush had just checked 'yes' on a note asking if he liked me.

Pointing to the mug in front of him, I joked, "How do you sleep?"

"Honestly? I usually don't."

That was the goofy overly literal dork I wanted to see more of.

"I can think of one way to wear you out," I suggested, lifting my leg to press the top of my foot against his leg under the booth.

He raised his eyebrows, giving a simple glance down to acknowledge the contact. Then his eyes were back on me, staring deeply with a hunger that would not be satisfied by whatever dish they brought out to us.

"I can think of several."

Humming cheerfully, I continued to run my foot up and down his leg. My cheeks flushed with my growing desire that I'd managed to put off for several hours. I was honestly shocked that I'd spent the whole day with this man, and only then thought about sleeping with him.

"It's too bad we can't," I pouted. "My roommate is back in town. Not sure she'd appreciate all the noise."

That time as my foot drew up his leg, he shifted in his seat so that his legs moved closer to me, extending the contact for a few seconds longer.

"Not to mention, I don't think you'd like to deal with several 20-year-olds."

The way he behaved whenever I pointed out my age was endlessly entertaining. That time, though, he seemed significantly less bothered.

"One is already borderline for me," he teased back.

I gasped, clutching at my chest as I batted my eyelashes just dramatically enough to showcase my pride.

"You flatter me, Dr. Reid."

He almost choked on his coffee as he stifled a chuckle, putting it down as he shook his head.

"Only you would take that as a compliment."

Recognizing this repartee as the foreplay it had always accompanied, I leaned forward on my elbows towards him. He immediately mirrored the movement, putting our faces much closer to each other than they'd been all day.

"What can I say? I enjoy being a challenge."

"Yes, you do." He hadn't even thought about it, responding almost instantaneously, suggesting once more that he could actually read my mind.

"How are you so good at that?" I kept the question vague on purpose.

He didn't fall for it.

"I'm good at a lot of things. Which are you referring to?"

What a cocky bastard. A very handsome, ridiculously sexy, dork of a bastard.

But he wasn't the only one at the table that knew how to get someone hot and bothered.

"Your humility is my favorite part, Dr. Reid." I stuck my tongue out at the end of the sentiment, a cheeky grin that reflected on him just as quickly.

"Quoting me? That's bold."

Deciding it had been too long since I had touched him, I lifted my hand to press a single finger against his chest as I taunted, "You aren't the only person with a good memory."

He leaned back at this point, backing away from my finger and the heated exchange.

"I don't have a good memory. I have an eidetic memory."

He had been very proud of that fact earlier when I asked him why the hell he was able to list off every single word from a museum display we'd seen an hour earlier. I'd asked him if it was the same as a photographic memory, and he'd gone on a rant about the pejorative connotations of the term. I wasn't going to go down that rabbit hole again today.

Instead, I took the same hand that had touched him moments before, curling all but one finger into a fist.

"So you'll be able to remember this forever?" I cooed as I held up my middle finger.

"I'll just file that away with the most important memories, like birthdays and the works of Arthur Conan Doyle," he sighed in response, graciously admitting defeat.

I was not brave enough to tell him I had no idea who that was, but I was sure I'd learn one day. That one, I thought, was probably safe to google. While he filed away my crude gesture, I filed away yet another fun fact to surprise him with later.

"You are, by far, the most interesting person I've ever met," I implored, to which he immediately shot back, "I could say the same about you. And I regularly talk to serial killers."

Touché, Dr. Reid.

"I'm flattered," was the last word I got in edgewise before our food arrived.

The rest of our time in the restaurant went very similarly, with teasing comments that built the sexual tension that was already too big for this tiny room. Our legs never stopped touching throughout the entire meal. Maybe that was why, when it was finally time to leave, we both felt a strange mixture of excited and sad. Once we were no longer behind the booth, it was back to pretending like we weren't constantly trying not to pounce on the other.

The walk to the metro was equal parts long and tense. At one point I'd swayed closer to him than I intended, and our sides brushed up against one another. Unlike before in the museum, he hadn't moved away. I couldn't believe something so minuscule could made me so happy.

The metro was more crowded than I'd anticipated. The fact that the station is underground was usually enough to make me feel a little claustrophobic, but the number of people bustling around me felt especially overwhelming. I couldn't help but chastise myself for having worn a skirt, considering the stark number of perverted men in places like these.

Spencer's touch woke me from my reverie. His arm had wrapped around my lower back with such unassuming delicacy, I'd hardly registered it at first. He was looking down at me with concern covering his features as he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry, there's a lot of people here."

I had one hand holding my skirt down against my leg, the other crossed over my chest.

"Makes me nervous," I further explained.

"Can I help?"

Even though he was offering, I could tell the crowds bothered him just as much. Thankfully, his presence was enough for me.

"You already are."

There was something so calming about his presence that was hard to explain. It wasn't his ability to physically protect me, considering he didn't  have his weapon with him most of the time I was with him. It wasn't his emotional availability (or lack thereof). It was more like he  exuded some chemical that made me docile. It was hard to explain.

I just liked him, okay?

When our train pulled in it was relatively crowded, but we managed to grab two seats near the back of a car. I sighed in relief as I plopped down into the plastic chair, happy to finally be able to rest my legs.

With Spencer on the aisle seat and us on our way back to Franconia Springfield Station, I let myself relax. My head dropped down onto his shoulder without much thought, and my entire body slumped over with it.

"How am I supposed to stay awake for this when you're so comfy?" I mumbled, looking down at the hem of my pleated skirt as I fiddled with it.

"That certainly sounds like quite the predicament," he said in what I assume was jest.

He sat up, bumping my head off his shoulder for a moment. I interpreted it to be a subtle way of telling me not to do it, but once he had shrugged off his cardigan, he looked at me like he was confused I hadn't resumed the position.

Armed with a simper, I cuddled up even closer this time, wrapping my arms around his and resting my cheek against his shoulder. I wasn't sure why he had gotten so open to touch, but I wasn't going to complain. 

He didn't say anything when he draped his cardigan over my lap, covering my knees peeking out from under my skirt. A nice gesture, I thought as my body instinctively gravitated towards him. It wasn't until I closed my eyes that the pieces started to come together.

I was on the metro, in a skirt, with Spencer Reid's hand slowly but surely inching up my thigh.

My eyes shot open, and I tensed my grip around his arm. It was the only thing I did to betray my otherwise composed and unassuming position.

His breath was hot on my ear as he leaned over to me and began to whisper, "Do you know the idea that people fall asleep after sex is less true for women than men? Many speculate it's because women are just neglected in bed, but that's not quite it."

I didn't dare respond, hardly trusting myself to breathe as his hand continued to move closer to me.

"Both sexes do release the same chemicals during orgasm. Oxytocin to stimulate smooth muscle contraction and initiate the need to bond, prolactin to relieve arousal and signal satiation, and the leftover gamma aminobutyric acid, dopamine, and serotonin..."

I couldn't understand how he'd managed to make the lecture sound sexy, but I was too lost in the sound of his voice to bother thinking about it then.

"Still, women are less likely to fall asleep. Sure, they typically exert less physical energy during sex, but what about those women like you with a penchant for going for a ride?"

A woozy, lovesick smile spread across my face at the reference to our first encounter.

"Those women might still stay awake for longer and may actually be more invigorated after reaching climax. And it's all thanks to their naturally lessened refractory period."

I nodded dumbly, gasping lightly once I felt his fingers make contact through the flimsy cotton of my underwear.

"Which might sound like a curse. But it's not. It means that those lucky women can reach multiple orgasms in succession. Some partners just aren't willing to put in that kind of effort," he continued, tracing a finger up and down my folds through the fabric.

"But I'm not one of them."

His words were strong, and I buried my face into his shoulder, trying not to alert the entire car what was happening underneath his cardigan.

"I would much rather watch you come undone. Again, and again, and again. I want to make sure that when I'm done with you, you can't keep your eyes open."

My breath was getting quicker, and I let out a small squeak against his shirt as he pressed down on the bundle of nerves at my center, drawing circles around it.

"That being said, if you need something to keep you awake, I do have a solution. But if you make a single noise, I will stop."

I had to bite down hard on my bottom lip to prevent any noise from slipping out. My legs were wavering between opening and closing as I tried to keep them apart. I could feel how damp I was getting. My hips were moving with a mind of their own, rocking toward his hand. It took all of my concentration not to give us away.

I choked on my breath as a sly finger snuck into the side of my underwear, allowing entrance to the others that followed.

"Shhh," he hushed, pressing a soft kiss on the top of my head. Underneath my skirt, though, he was much less chaste. Slipping two fingers into my heat, I could have sworn I heard him laugh from above me.

I didn't dare look at him, nervous that the moment I did, I would lose all control.

"I had no idea it would be so easy to get you to follow directions. Are you that worried you might get caught?"

He could feel my heartbeat against his arm. He must have been able to, because I was suffocating against his arm. My hands clenched around him like he was the only lifeline in an ocean of pleasure.

"Imagine what they would think if they knew what you let me do to you. What you beg me to do to you."

My legs were beginning to tremble around him as he stroked me from the inside. All I could feel was him. His hands, his breath, his words.

"Is that why you wore this skirt? A naughty little schoolgirl fantasizing about an older man touching you like this?"

He quickened the pace of thrusting into me, his words getting more insistent as the train was almost empty now, closing in on our stop.

"Is it everything you thought it would be? No. Can't be. You wish there was something else of mine in between your legs."

I couldn't explain how, but my climax snuck up on me. When it happened, it smashed into me like a wave crashing onto the shore. I gasped for breath against his arm, and he thankfully took mercy on me. Despite definitely making a noise, he continued his motions, palming at the crest of my folds to give me one last boost of stimulation.

I shook around him, my thighs tightening onto his arm as I finally found release. I could hear the announcement calling for our station, but it felt worlds away. Still, Spencer pulled his hand out from underneath our pile of clothes, wiping the evidence of our escapade against the inside of my skirt before also removing his arm from underneath my tight grip.

"Son of a bitch," I puffed, relaxing all my muscles at once as I tried to retain control over my pulse. I could barely think straight.

"You're welcome," he beamed, as if he hadn't just gone full dominant as he finger fucked me on the metro.

I didn't understand how the hell he expected me to get up and walk off like nothing happene, but somehow, I managed. I stood with wobbly legs and a flustered state of mind until he linked his arm with mine and led me off the car and into the station. I clung to the assistance, grateful that he was once again taking pity on me.

However, it felt like it wouldn't last long. Once we'd gotten to his car, he helped me in before climbing into the driver's seat. It was silent for a moment, like he wanted me to ask him a question that I wasn't willing to ask.

I didn't want the night to be over, but if he asked me if I was ready to go home, I'd have to say yes. After all, it wasn't proper form to invite myself to his apartment. Especially with how weird he got whenever I got close to him.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

The pity was gone.

I didn't think before I spoke, immediately responding as a joke, "Not unless it's yours."

The silence was back.

Oops.

I realized that I'd spoken out loud at the same time he delivered his response; I was going to stop him, but he was too quick.

"My place it is, then."

I couldn't help but smile, my cheeks burning as I asked quietly, like my volume might change his mind, "Really?"

"Sure, why not?"

I didn't have an answer. We didn't talk for a moment, enjoying the contented silence as I texted my roommate to tell her that I was going to be late home, if I came at all. I was hoping for the latter. Once that was sent off, I returned my gaze to the man paying almost full attention to the road.

"You know, I have to get you back for what you did back there."

He smirked, not breaking away from the road as he replied, "I did you a favor."

"A cruel favor," I whined, turning in my chair as I buckled my seat belt so I could get closer to him.

"No such thing," he corrected, although I think we both knew there very well could be such a thing.

"Uh-huh."

I watched him for a moment, trying to decide the best way to get back at him. I could always try the most relevant payback...

He didn't even notice my hand reaching out until it was already sliding up his thigh at a rapid pace.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as if it weren't already obvious.

"Getting you back," I snickered as I finally made it up his leg, palming the quickly forming erection under his pants.

"I'm driving!" His voice was so high pitched it was heartwarming. It was like our roles had switched, even just for a second.

"I'm not stopping you from driving!"

Obviously trying to compose himself, he grabbed my wrist and held it in the air and out of reach of him.

"Unless you want to crash this car, you'd better wait until we get back to my place."

It was a valid warning, but not one I wanted to hear.

"Spoil sport."

"At least you're alive!"

It was back to the sexual tension from before in the restaurant. I wanted to touch him, and I was guessing based on the visible tent in his pants, he wanted me. So, I got to thinking, and I figured that if I wasn't allowed to touch him, that only left one other person.

"... What are you doing?"

It was a valid question. He'd glanced over to see my hand traveling up my own skirt as I parted my legs just enough to maneuver beneath my underwear.

"Nothing," I hummed, now looking at him with half-lidded eyes as I rocked forward onto my hand.

"That's cruel." He sounded so devastated to see that I was doing what he couldn't, despite the fact he had his hand in this exact spot not that long ago.

My fingers dipped between my folds, collecting the remnants of the orgasm he had given me as I crooned, "What? You said I couldn't touch you while you're driving. I'm not touching you. You're welcome."

I opened my eyes just enough to see the way he tightened his grip on the steering wheel while trying not to look at me. Couldn't drive distracted. That was the entire reason why I was touching myself and not him.

"Unless, of course, you do consider this part of me as your property. In which case, I'm not going to stop, anyway," I snickered. 

Rewarding myself with a soft moan, I tried to prolong the experience the best I could. It was hard when every couple of seconds he would look over at me. I hadn't thought that I would find his anger that attractive, but there I was, coming apart at the seams already based on nothing but a look. 

He was thoroughly unamused, which only egged me on, honestly. I didn't care if I was being overdramatic as I touched myself, I wanted him to think about what he was missing. Which was why I didn't stop myself from moaning. Pants and gasps echoed throughout the car as I picked up my pace.

"I hope you're ready for the consequences of this very poorly thought out decision."

On the contrary, Spencer. I had very clearly thought it through. I was thinking it so clearly I could picture his hands where mine were, among other parts of him.

Thinking about how to dig an even deeper hole for myself, I found the perfect mechanism.

"Mmm, Professor Reid," I cried, recognizing that it would either infuriate him or bring him a great sense of pride. I was fine with either.

I closed my eyes so I could better envision the fantasy that was actually just a memory. For now. With my eyes closed, I couldn't tell much of what was going on outside of my touch, trying to ignore the man beside me as best as I could. I wanted him to suffer.

Spencer, however, had other plans. With both eyes still on the road, his hand had found its way to my legs, where it shot up to join mine. He removed my hand quickly and replaced it with his own.

There was no subtlety or warm up this time. Without any hesitation, he dipped a finger into my heat just to remove it and begin rubbing harsh circles over my clit. I couldn't stop the yell that resulted, and seconds later I came undone against him.

As soon as the spasming stopped, he removed his hand, not speaking a word or even looking at me. I'd realized at that point that he'd only finished me off because he hadn't wanted to grant me the satisfaction of doing it myself. He was asserting that yes, in some sense, he viewed this as a part of his property.

I was oddly okay with that.

"Is the silent treatment my punishment?" I asked with a pout after a few moments of nothing.

He laughed bitterly back, finally looking at me for a moment before vaguely replying, "No. Your punishment will be much more fun for me."

I had to admit the implication that the silent treatment wasn't fun for him was flattering, at least. I was glad to hear that he enjoyed talking to me as much as I enjoyed listening to him talk.

But for the moment, I was sort of exhausted. Not in the way that would make me fall asleep, but in the I-just-had-two-orgasms-let-me-recoup way. Even though we enjoyed talking, those moments were refreshing in their own way. The best kind of connections were the ones that could always be maintained, even in the quiet.

Despite it not being my punishment, Spencer remained fairly quiet the rest of the way home. I wondered if part of that was due to him brewing a plan for what would happen when we got there.

God, I hoped so.

As we pulled up to the nondescript building, I had to admit I was a bit disappointed to find Spencer didn't live in some whimsical fantasy like I'd always envisioned. The building looked like every other one. But, at the same time, I couldn't want to see the inside. If I had to bet, there would be a lot of books and a stark lack of computers.

Walking into Apt #23, I was only a little surprised by what I saw. The warm green tones of his walls were complimented by red and brown accents, and my theory was quickly proven correct.

"Whoa," I mumbled under my breath, "It's like a library."

"You must go to some pretty small libraries, then."

I rolled my eyes. Like his usual attempts at humility, Spencer failed horribly.

I spun around on my heels to face him, but at the same time as I heard the lock flip into place, I felt his hand around my arm. Spencer's movements were quick as he gripped tightly on my wrist and pulled me towards what I could only assume was his bedroom.

Weirdly, I was still trying to take in my surroundings rather than focus on fucking him. It made sense, I figured. I had already experienced two orgasms today, whereas he had none.

Oops. Guess I really was a spoiled brat.

But seriously—I was in his apartment! I wanted to snoop, dammit!

Spencer wasn't going to give me an opportunity, though. He'd even made a point of shutting the door to his room once we were inside. Something told me he would keep a close eye on me as long as he could. That was probably deserved, considering that within the first few hours of interacting with him, I had answered a call from his boss.

In my defense, it had been fucking hilarious.

He led me to stand in front of him, and out of instinct and habit, I moved forward to kiss him. I never made it to his lips, though. Spencer pushed me aside toward the bed, and I laughed as I leaned over it, making a point of flipping up the back of my skirt.

"I've been bad, Professor," I giggled, turning to glance back at him from the position I had happily assumed without being told.

He had that dark fire in his eyes that usually came before a storm.

He looked like he was ready to break me. I was ready to be broken.

"Are you going to teach me another biology lesson?"

When his hands touched me, they were as tender as ever. He caressed my hips where I had turned the skirt up, hooking his fingers around the waistband of the underwear and casually removing them.

"No, I'm afraid not."

He sounded delighted despite the words he spoke.

"This will be a very different kind of lesson."

Oh, I realized all at once.

"A lesson in discipline?" I inquired, swaying my hips underneath his hands and waiting for confirmation.

The loss of his hand on one side caused anticipation to build. I could hear the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

It was hard to tell which happened first. Instantaneously, his hand came down hard on the soft skin of my backside as he responded, "Yes."

The adrenaline that coursed through my veins in response shook any feelings of fatigue I might have sustained throughout the day. I welcomed his body heat against my back as he leaned forward against me, and used his weight to press me down into his bed.

"Unless you've changed your mind."

"No!" I shouted back much too forcefully before gripping onto the sheets in front of me. "I deserve to be punished, Professor Reid."

He withdrew from me and, within seconds, brought his hand down on me again, that time striking the other side. The snapping sound of the contact was enough to elicit a response. I clamped my legs together and gave a soft mewl. Appreciating my vocal response, the next two hits came in rapid succession. I could feel the warmth building in the skin, the breeze from the motions acted as a buffer for the delicious sting.

He roughly grabbed both cheeks in front of him, for no reason other than wanting to. I groaned at the sensation of the tender flesh being handled, which only led him to release one to smack it once more. He followed with the other, appreciating the balance required of this particular punishment. I wasn't going to stop him. I was happy to continue. But something told me that he was breaching the point of comfort in his own conscience.

He was always so worried he would break me. I couldn't say it wasn't endearing. That didn't stop him from giving each side one more forceful blow, however, which earned him a mangled cry from deep in my chest. His body was against mine again, one of his hands reaching around to tilt my head up, despite not being able to see him. I was beginning to think he just enjoyed manipulating my body at will. To see how far I would let him.

"I think you're starting to get it, (y/n)."

"Yes," I responded, not caring if it didn't make much sense in response.

Despite the fact he'd already finished me twice today, I somehow already wanted him again. Maybe it was the allure of finally being able to fuck him in his own bed, or maybe it was the desire to see him fall apart as a reminder that I'm not the only one desperate for the other's touch.

So quickly he returned to the gentle, barely there traces along my skin.

"Punishment looks good on you," he praised, and something about the way he said it filled me with pride.

"You look good on me, too, sir," I slurred as he continued to draw feathery markings on the abused skin. He chuckled, finally moving up along my back before I interrupted his thoughts and appreciation once more.

"Fuck me," I begged. I wanted him and didn't care how I got it. "Let me help you feel good."

The hands that had inflicted pain moments ago were now gently massaging my shoulders through my top. I sighed, relaxing further into his touch. So easily I had become complacent to his desire. I let him do whatever he wanted, trusting that he would never do anything to truly, honestly hurt me. 

"Something tells me you're more interested in making yourself feel good," he asserted — quite correctly.

"Can't we have both?"

His silence told me he was considering my words. I knew that he didn't want to, since that would ruin the whole idea that this was a punishment in the first place. Then again, I didn't think he was fully committed to that idea anyway.

Dragging his hands once more down the plane of my back, he stopped to grip my hips and shift me backwards until I was pressed against him.

"You're lucky you look so fucking cute in that skirt," he growled.

I felt dizzy again already, drowning in the way his bed smelled like him.

"Mmm, I wore it just for you," I admitted, rubbing myself gently against his crotch now pressing into my bottom.

"Smart girl," he responded.

It felt like I was in a dream, to be there with him like that. For a long time, I'd thought I'd never see him again, let alone be laying on his bed.

I could hear him stripping behind me, and I peeked over my shoulder with a modest smile.

Time was not moving fast enough, I thought, but it was also moving too fast. Because as badly as I wanted him to ravish me, I was afraid what would happen when it was over.

I couldn't think about that in that moment, though.

Once he reached into his nightstand, I giggled with anticipation. He raised his eyebrows at me, unable to contain his own laughter.

"Oh, you're happy with yourself, huh?"

"A little bit, yeah."

When he returned to me, his hands were still gentle as they pushed my skirt back up where it had fallen. He revealed my body to himself, and I didn't have to be able to see it to know that my arousal spread down my inner thighs. I had, after all, already had two orgasms before now thanks to the man behind me.

"I'm also pretty happy with you," he whispered as he leaned over me.

With no warning, he fully entered me with one swift thrust. I whimpered at the feeling of him hitting against angered skin, mixed with the pleasure of being full once again. I clutched at the sheets and wished that they were him, wishing that I could somehow be even closer to him than I already was. 

"We'll see if you still feel like smiling after I'm done with you."

It was the last thing he said before he began to ruthlessly pound into me. I struggled to scream as loudly as I wanted to, but I couldn't make any noise at all. My body seemed to have relented all control to him within seconds; I didn't put up a single battle. Although his grasp held me in place, I still attempted to cant my hips forward to allow him better access.

My chest and face were warm with friction from rubbing against the bed, and my knuckles were blanched from the force exerted to try and remain grounded. Each movement seemed so purposeful, much like the way he thrashed at my skin with his hand.

"Fuck me," were the first words I managed to string together.

With one forceful thrust, he held me down on him as all the moans I couldn't make previously came pouring out of me. I thought I might actually cry from how overstimulated the day was  becoming. Seemingly reading my mind, Spencer pulled out of me entirely. I tried to reorient myself, but he stopped me. Using one hand to grab hold of my arm, he flipped me onto my back beneath him.

I hadn't even realized I was still wearing basically all of my clothes until he had to force my skirt back up again. Missing him between my legs, I began to crave him everywhere else, too. I struggled to pull my shirt over my head.

Spencer didn't stop me, just watching while he playfully rubbed his arousal at my entrance.

"Please, sir," I pleaded once I was finally able to lift my legs. I wrapped them around his hips and pulled him closer to me without letting him slip into me just yet.

"Just as impatient and needy as ever, (y/n)."

I chewed on my bottom lip, looking up at him with the puppy dog eyes that had always worked on him up to that point. It must have worked again, because he was sinking back into me before I knew it. My arms spread out across the bed, holding onto whatever I could reach as he set another brutal pace.

Our bodies melding together in a chaotic fusion of skin and fluids, I let myself get lost in the bliss of Spencer Reid laying claim to my body. I threw my head back, my eyes clamped shut as one of his hands came up to caress one of my breasts through my lacy bra.

"With undergarments like this, I have to wonder if you planned this all, young lady," he teased, no doubt referring to the matching underwear now discarded on the floor.

I opened my eyes to meet his, and for a second I was left breathless at the sight of him pumping into me. How I managed to say anything at all is a miracle.

"Never a plan, sir. But always a pleasure."

A flirtatious sparkle in his eyes, he slowed down as he pressed, "Did you wear them for someone else, then?"

The way I arched my back caused him to push even further into me, and I had to pause to moan before I continued.

"Are you jealous?"

His hips snapped forward, producing a simultaneously jolt of pain and pleasure. His voice was breathy as he tried to hold himself together while speaking, "Should I be?"

Our eye contact caused tension so powerful that I was certain it was palpable. A devilish grin and a bit of a snicker was the provocation he needed to drive into me harder once again. I didn't even try to suppress the noises he elicited from me, tightening my grip around him with my legs.

"Take me," I whispered under my breath, almost hoping that he wouldn't hear me.

I couldn't tell if he did, but his hand switched sides of my chest, and our faces grew closer together.

"I'm yours," I slurred. I truthfully hadn't thought about the words when I gifted them to him, but he clearly took note of them. That time, it was his moan that filled the air in the room, and I had never felt so excited by one of his responses. I chased after the feeling, locking eyes with him as both his hands grabbed my hips to begin the race to the finish.

"I'm yours, Spencer."

I didn't stop to wonder if I could play this off as part of the fantasy. I mean, it was part of my fantasy; the fantasy of being his, and him being mine.

He didn't object to my words then, either, and he had definitely heard me that time.

I smiled, barely noticing that he'd placed his fingers back on my heat, swiping frantically at my clit until I lost all composure underneath him. My hips rocked at no apparent rhythm, and distorted versions of his name broke through my mouth.

I hadn't even come down yet when he rammed into me with full force, bottoming out once again. I felt his cock twitch inside of me, followed by my muscles pulling everything out of him that they could.

The view of his satisfied face through my lust-filled daze was angelic. It appeared that he saw the same in me, but I couldn't be sure. Just as quickly as the moment had come, it had passed, his arms giving in to his weight as he collapsed onto my chest.

His hair tickled my collarbones, and I laughed at how incredibly out of shape he was. Especially for an FBI Agent. Even if he did go on the field often, I figured the resident dork didn't need to be totally ripped, anyway.

And, hey, he was strong enough to treat me like a ragdoll, so who was I to judge?

"Tired?" I asked, taking a shaky hand to his head, playing with the soft brown curls damp from sweat.

"You aren't?" he slurred, his words smothered against my skin.

"I am fucking exhausted."

That time, we both laughed. He was clearly pleased that, despite any perceived weakness, he was still able to thoroughly wear me out. When he moved to leave me, I dropped my legs. I was surprised I had managed to hold them until then, honestly.

He fixed his hair that had fallen in his eyes first, and I smiled at the peculiar priority. It was cute, though.

"Do you have to take me home?"

I tried not to let the disappointment bleed into my voice, but it did. He tried not to notice. He didn't answer as he cleaned himself up, and I sat up to look at him — once the world stopped spinning, anyway.

"No."

The butterflies spiraled out of control, spreading through every inch of my soul. I must have been beaming, because he looked so very nervous.

"Thanks."

His response came in the form of an unsure smile, followed by a genuine appreciation.

I briefly wondered if he realized just how transparent he was, but then decided I didn't want to think about it. I excused myself to clean up before bed, taking a long moment to rub my skin with aloe from under the cabinet, only to realize that I had basically nothing clean to wear. I rolled my eyes at the situation, wondering how many red flags it would set off for me to ask Spencer for some of his clothes.

I could just be naked. He seemed to like me that way.

I padded back into the room, expecting him to be waiting up for me. He wasn't. Spencer had passed out on the bed before he even had a chance to get under the covers. I stood at the door for a moment, trying to appreciate the value of this quiet moment while I still could.

Stripping off my clothes as quiet as possible, I was careful not to wake him. However, that also meant I couldn't climb under the covers, either.

It isn't exactly snooping if I'm looking for something innocent, right? That's what I had to tell myself, regardless. Because I was not going to freeze my ass off over a hookup's paranoia. Glancing at the dresser, I almost convinced myself it wouldn't be an invasion of privacy to open it. Luckily, I didn't have to. Directly next to it was a hamper of clean, folded laundry, with a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt on top. While disappointed that I had lost my excuse, I was grateful I had stripped myself of the choice.

He deserved better than me trying to pry into his life like that.

Slipping into his clothes, I stopped to hug myself in the soft fabric. With him asleep, I felt comfortable taking a moment to revel in the position he'd allowed me to exist in. I was in his apartment, in his clothes, and I would soon be back in his arms.

For now.

I chased the inevitable end out of my thoughts, slinking onto the bed and shimmying over to him until his hands found me in his unconscious state. I faced him, my hands pressing softly against his chest to feel his heart happily working under my touch.

His eyes fluttered open for a second, just long enough to see the wonder in my own. A smile crept along his cheeks, and he wrapped a lazy arm around my waist.

I wondered if he recognized his own clothes, or if he even realized this was real. Then again, the alternative was him assuming that it'd all been a dream... and it was a pleasant one, it seemed. 

"I'm happy," he confirmed in a hushed tone.

My heart almost stopped, and I peeked up at him, inching up so I could better see his face. His breathing evened back out as I felt the way he relaxed, quickly retreating back to the comfortable embrace of sleep.

"About what?" I whispered back.

Our legs twined together, and a soft sigh left his lips. I waited with bated breath  for his response, although I don't think I could have ever been prepared for what followed.

"I'm happy that you're mine."

... What?

 —————————————————

| Part 5 |

[dc41896]

Extra Help

Pairing: Teacher!Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: None, all fluff💕!

You weren’t quite sure what to expect when your best friend called needing you to fill in for her at the monthly parent teacher conference. Ronan wasn’t a bad kid by any means, so you doubt that it was about him being disruptive or getting into a fight. Then again, like any 10 year old boy, he could have his moments, bringing you back to square one wondering what would be discussed at this meeting.

Reaching the wooden door, you turn the handle revealing a childlike, decorated classroom brightly lit from the remaining sun shining outside before it was due to set. Various drawings from stick figures to flowers littered the walls along with scholastic posters showing the water cycle and how to use the infamous PEMDAS, just to name a few. There were also posters of superheroes and even some of puppies that made you softly smile.

“Auntie Y/N!,” Ronan smiles hopping up from his desk to hug your legs. “Mom’s not coming?”

“Not this time, she had to work late. Now what did you do that we have to have this meeting?,” you ask eyeing him suspiciously making Ronan giggle.

“Nothing bestest auntie.”

“Bestest auntie? Now I know you definitely did something,” you respond tickling his sides.

“Hi! You must be Ronan’s godmother.” Red plaid button up hanging over his dark jeans, a man who you assume to be Ronan’s teacher emerges from his office with black frames resting on his cheeks and impeccably clean white sneakers on his feet. His gold pendant gleaming in the light only brings more attention to his broad chest, and rolled up sleeves display his muscular arms. “I’m his teacher Mr. Evans.”

His hand envelopes yours in softness and warmth as he greets you with a handshake. The bright smile on his lips not only captures you, but somehow brings comfort even though you only just met. Ronan had told countless stories of his favorite teacher, Mr. Evans, and how he was so cool, funny, and smart.

The figure standing in front of you now compared to who you envisioned then, though, was definitely not the same.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N,” you smile back. “Nina apologizes again for not being able to make it.”

“She doesn’t have to apologize, I completely understand. Please have a seat at my desk and we can get started.” Pulling up one of the bigger chairs for you as Ronan gets one of the student chairs for himself, you both sit in front of the mahogany desk soon meeting with his welcoming blue eyes.

“Is everything okay with Ronan? He hasn’t been any trouble has he?”

“No! No, behavior wise Ronan’s one of the best in my class! He’s polite, always tries to help out, follows the rules.”

“That’s great!,” you smile lightly nudging his arm making him shyly look down to his feet. “And what about his work?”

“For the most part it’s good, but that’s the main thing I wanted to discuss. In his other subjects, Ronan completes his assignments with no problems and participates in our class discussions answering every question I give him. However, I’ve noticed with science he struggles a bit and will kinda close off, not even wanting to try when he doesn’t understand something.”

“Why don’t you ask for help Ro? That’s part of the reason your teacher’s here.”

“I know, but I want to try to figure it out on my own. By then, everyone’s moved on though so then I can’t catch up.”

“Well that’s when you ask for help. And if you don’t want to ask in front of everybody ask after school or during downtime. Or you can always ask me or your mom. Does she already know about his science grades?,” you ask looking back at his teacher who was lightly scratching his thick beard.

“That’s um the other thing I wanted to discuss...”

“Mr. Evansss,” Ronan whines attempting to talk in a hushed tone clearly forgetting you were sat right next to him and could hear every word. “You said you wouldn’t tell.”

“I said I wouldn’t tell your mom bud, not your godmom,” he replies in the same hushed tone nearly making you laugh from their interaction. “If any of the kids have a C or lower, I make a note on their progress report or report card and they have to give it back to me signed. The last report card and past two progress reports Ronan brought them back signed and everything was fine. I ran into his mom at the store one day and she asked why did we switch to having grades online rather than physically handing them out, which confused me until I put it together and realized someone had been forging his mom’s signature.”

“Ronan Michael..”

“You do it all the time though auntie!”

“Yea to send off bills your mom may forget to sign or to get packages for you guys, which she knows about me doing! You signing for your grades is definitely not the same and wrong Ronan, you know that.”

Guilt apparent from his deep brown eyes to his pouted lips, he lightly swings his legs back and forth with hands placed under his thighs. “I was gonna bring my grade up so then I wouldn’t have to do it anymore and then mom wouldn’t know. No harm done.”

“While that’s a nice plan, you still weren’t getting any help though. So what would’ve happened if your grade didn’t get better?”

“....I uh didn’t really think that far ahead,” he answers shrugging his shoulders.

“Okay well since we don’t have a plan for that, here’s what I think. Everyday after school, you meet with Mr. Evans to go over your science lesson and do that until your grades get better and stay that way,” you suggest before once again meeting the soft eyes of his teacher. “But what do you say Mr. Evans? I don’t want to take away from your personal time or home life.”

“I don’t have a problem with it. Plus it’s just me and my dog, who I’m sure wouldn’t mind me not being there to annoy him,” he lightly chuckles making you smile. “And in fact, you and Nina are both welcome in to hear how it’s going so you don’t have to wait outside for him.”

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to let her know. Mostly it’ll be her coming, but the days she can’t make it I’ll be here.”

“Sounds good,” he smiles drumming his fingers on the desk. “Well that was pretty much everything I wanted to discuss. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No, at least not right now.” Scribbling his information down, he peels off the sticky note containing his number and email address before handing it to you.

“If anything comes up just give me a call, or you can email me. I usually respond back the same day if I have time.”

“Thanks, I could’ve gotten all this from Nina though. You didn’t have to waste a stick note on me.”

“Um right,” he sheepishly states, cheeks turning a light pink as he nervously chuckles to himself. “Well one less step then.”

Looking between both your laughing faces, Ronan wasn’t quite sure what was going on between his favorite teacher and bestest aunt, but he didn’t like it.

The weeks that followed, he met with Mr. Evans as he was told usually being joined by his mother who would sit beside him making sure he really understood what was being taught. You would show up sometimes also sitting next to him making sure he got everything, but he couldn’t help but notice Mr. Evans smile a little brighter when you walked in the room. Similar to how he would get excited when his mom would say they were having pizza for dinner. And he was more talkative too, asking about her day which would eventually turn into a random conversation about things they liked or some other topic.

“So, um we’re having a field trip to the planetarium next week and I was wondering if you wanted to come along?,” he asked one day trying to be quiet as Ronan answered his last couple questions.

“To chaperone? I’d love to help out but honestly if I have to look after more than five kids, it’s gonna be a disaster,” you answer making him laugh.

“You don’t have to worry, on paper yea you’re a chaperone but really you’ll just be with me. And since we’re not having class after and the kids can go home as soon as we get back, I was thinking we could go grab dinner at that place I was telling you about.”

You tried to hide your face so he wouldn’t see the giddy smile forming on your lips, but from his own deep chuckle and his fingers briefly grazing yours resting on the table you knew you weren’t quick enough.

“I’m hoping that smile means yes?,” he whispers.

“Done!,” Ronan interrupts before you can answer, quickly gathering his backpack before pulling your hand. “Cmon auntie I’m starving.”

“Hold on Ro, we have to see if your answers are right first then we can leave,” you giggle.

“But I know it’s right! I’ve been doing really well, even Mr. Evans will tell you.”

“Yep everything’s right, and that is true he is doing much better.”

“See? Now time for food! Bye Mr. Evans!,” Ronan rushes pulling you behind him.

“Bye Ronan,” he chuckles before looking at you. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Yea, I’ll let you know if anything changes though.” With a final wave, you feel your heart swell with excitement for your upcoming date as you walk down the hall. Ronan, on the other hand, hoped for anything to stop you from going with his teacher next week.

———

“Hey what’s up with your godmom and Mr. Evans?,” Sarah, one of friends, asks as they watch the two giggle while going over the constellation map shining on the wall.

After getting all the students organized in their groups with their chaperones, and saying everything he needed to, the both of you had been connected at the hip walking around and exploring everything the exhibits had to offer. Ronan wanted nothing more than to go home so he wouldn’t have to see you two together.

“Nothing.”

“Because they look at each other the way my parents do. All lovey dovey and cutesy like.”

“They’re just friends,” he answers, a little annoyed by everything going on around him.

“Well if they do get together,” Zach, his other friend begins, “say bye to your aunt.”

“Say goodbye?”

“Yea. It’s like with my older brother, he got a girlfriend and now I barely see him.”

“Ooh and if Mr. Evans becomes your uncle, he’s gonna be tougher on you,” Sarah adds. “My grandma was my mom’s teacher and she said she was so hard on her she couldn’t even make a B and if she did, she got in trouble.”

Ronan knew his teacher and he’d never do that. He was like a friend and friend’s wouldn’t be mean to each other. Plus his godmother would never let him treat her precious godson that way. Watching the two of you walk to another exhibit, he began to think though, what if you forgot all about him now that you had Mr. Evans?

What if his friends were right and you dating him caused all these bad things to happen? He didn’t know how he would do it, but he had to stop this quick before things got worse.

———

“Did you know Jupiter is so big, 1000 Earth’s can fit in it?,” Chris asks as you both walk through the life size replica of the solar system.

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“And the sun makes up 99% of the solar system’s mass, which is crazy since what can be seen in the sky is just a small dot. And although we know about our own galaxy, there are so many more we’ve discovered, and have yet to, possibly with various planets of their own that have their own unique properties, which just astounds me and-.”

Hearing your slight giggle, he turns to see your brown eyes on him now realizing how you probably felt like you were back in elementary school yourself from his information dump.

“S-sorry about the rambling. I know it’s probably boring, and I’ve been told I really need to stop-.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not boring at all! I’d actually like it if you keep going,” you shyly smile holding onto his hand. Thumb rubbing against the back of your hand, he slowly steps closer to you stopping inches from your chests being pressed together.

“Okay well let’s see. Both Neptune and Uranus have rain storms of solid diamonds. And while I’m sure that would be a beautiful sight, it’s nothing compared to what’s in front of me right now.”

Before you can speak, you both hear approaching small footsteps making you separate to find Ronan grabbing his stomach as if he was in pain.

“Ro you okay? Why are you holding your stomach?,” you ask walking up to him with Chris following close behind.

“No, it hurts auntie. I think I need to go home.”

“Well the bus is our ride back, do you think you can hold on until it’s time for everyone to go?”

“No, I think I need to go now,” he groans rubbing his stomach.

“Alright, let me call your mom and see if she’ll come get you.”

“I want you to come too though,” he whines hugging your mid section as you dial your friend’s number.

“Ro your mom can handle it. I’ll come by and check on you later though okay?”

“No, you have to leave when I do!,” he protests hiding his face in your abdomen as you rub his back confused by his outburst and sudden clinginess.

Clearly something else was going on here besides an upset stomach.

“Hey, can you give us a minute?,” you ask Chris, to which he nods his head giving you a sympathetic smile.

“I’ll be outside if you guys need me.” Sneakers squeaking against the tile floor, you wait until he leaves before squatting down to meet Ronan’s red eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“What’s really going on Ro? Is somebody bothering you?,” you ask wiping his tears.

“Yea, Mr. Evans.”

“How is he bothering you?”

“Because he’s gonna take you away and we’re never gonna see each other again. Then he’s gonna be mean to me for making less than an A and-,”

“Whoa whoa where is all this coming from?”

“Well...i-it’s what my friends said,” he responds making you softly laugh.

“Honey no one will EVER take me away from you. Not Mr. Evans or any other guy that may come along. And your teacher would never be rude to you like that, he cares about all of you guys and just wants to make sure you do your best. Look how much he helped you get your science grade back up.”

“Yea but that’s before you get married and he changes,” he sniffles.

“What all do these kids talk about?,” you wonder as you shake your head. “Buddy I can promise you marriage is definitely a far far FAR off topic that isn’t in sight anytime soon,” you softly smile. “But from what I’ve seen, even if we did get married, he would still be that fun teacher you always say is your favorite. You don’t need to worry about that though okay? You keep focusing on being the funny, smart, amazing kid I know and love.”

“Okay, and you promise nothing’s gonna change?,” he asks with those big brown eyes that could turn stone into the softest powder.

“I promise with every breath in my body.” Hugging him close, he giggles as you repeatedly kiss his cheeks squeezing him tight.

“Auntie I can’t breathe!”

“Too bad because I’m not letting you go,” you both laugh as you hug each other.

“Hey they’re about to start loading up the buses soon so we can go back to school,” Chris says walking up to the both of you. “Your stomach still hurt Ronan?”

“No, it’s better now. Just a false alarm.”

“That’s good, if it starts again though let one of us know and we’ll call your mom okay?”

“Okay,” he smiles up at the much taller man. “Um Mr. Evans?”

“Yea bud?”

“It’s okay if you and my auntie like each other. I’m fine with it now.”

“Oh, um, well thank you for your blessing,” he chuckles looking at you softly laughing yourself.

Proudly nodding once, he walks to the door with you and Chris not that far behind.

“What was that about?,” he asks still amused by what he just witnessed.

“I’ll tell you later,” you giggle joining hands as you both walk out side by side.

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[yayeetsonny]

“I’m sorry, What?”~ USWNT x Baby Reader

Prompt: Team finds out Baby R has a girlfriend.

Requested by: @rainbowpants27​

I know you requested this ages ago, sorry about the wait!

No ones PRO//

The players on the USWNT were some of the best in the world, there was no doubt about that. On the field they were a force to be reckon with and when doing interviews or press conferences they made sure to maintain a certain degree of professionalism. Off the field and away from flashing cameras and microphones was a different story…

Their fanbase often knows just how crazy they can be and they often exhibit “crackhead” behavior. The age range of the team is from 36 to the youngest at 17. When it comes to their young teammates they get extremely protective and sometimes a little nosy. One such example of this was the day they found out their youngest teammate Y/N L/N had a girlfriend that she hid from them for an entire year.

Alyssa PRO//

I was heading down to the bus because we had practice soon and they told all of us to start boarding. When I got there I noticed that almost everyone was there, everyone except the youngest Y/N.

“Hey, guys?”

“Yeah Lys?”

“Where’s Y/N?”

Everyone stopped talking and began looking around for her but when they realized she was no where to be found they started to worry.

“Has anyone seen her today?”

“Yeah, just before I left our room.” Abby said

“Was she okay when you left?” Tierna asked worriedly

“Yeah, she said she’d be down in a sec and to not wait for her.”

“How long ago was that?”

“10 minutes?”

“We have to leave in 5, I’m going to look for her.” I said throwing my stuff on the bus, getting the card to her room and sprinting back into the hotel.

 I made it to the floor our rooms were on and used the key card Abby had given me to open the door. When I did I heard Y/N talking quietly to someone, she didn’t seem to know I was there but what I heard her say next had me extremely worried.

“No, I can’t tell the team.”

The was a pause before she spoke again.

“Because they’ll freak out and get all protective.”

Another even longer pause.

“I just… I can’t. I- ”

“Y/N?” I decided to interrupt and make my presence known.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard me and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I gotta go, sorry!” She rushed out before quickly hanging up on the other person.

“Hey Alyssa! What’s up?”

“I just came up here to see if you were okay since we have to leave in 5 minutes and Abby said you told her you’d be down over 10 minutes ago.”

“Oh, yeah sorry about that. I just had to make a quick phone call.”

“To who?” I asked as we started running to the elevators to get back down to the bus.

“Just a friend.” She said a little too quickly

I Just nodded in acknowledgement as we made it down just in time and got on the bus.

“Jesus, there you guys are. What took so long? We almost left without you.” Alex said from her seat next to Kelley.

“Just got caught up on the phone.” Y/N replied

I could tell she was nervous and so could everyone else, she was avoiding eye contact and fidgeting quite a lot.

“Everything okay?” Christen asked concerned

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Everything is fine.”

We all let it go after that but I knew everyone was still sending worried glances her way. I needed to tell the others about the conversation I overheard and we would need to find a way to get her to tell us what was going on. Normally I would stay out of things and mind my business but when it concerned our youngest player, someone who I considered a little sister to me those rules were null and void. I knew the rest of the team felt the same, the older players even more so. 

We got to the practice facility after a short ride and after getting off and going to the locker room to deposit my stuff I went out onto the field and joined the circle of players that had gathered in the middle. 

“Are you guys worried about Y/N too or is that just me?” Abby asked

Everyone said that they too were worried and began talking about what could possibly be going on, some imagining some really bad scenarios and others reminding everyone that she was a nervous kid and that whatever it was, was probably not as bad as they were thinking. I had stayed quiet for the most part but finally decided to tell everyone what I heard earlier.

“Guys wait. Okay so before I tell you what I am going to, I need everyone to take a deep breath and let me finish talking before asking questions, okay?”

They all agreed and then I told them about what I overheard her say on the phone.

“And you’re sure she said “I can’t tell the team.”?” Mal asked

“Yes positive.”

“And you absolutely sure she said we’d “Freak out. And get all protective?” She said those exact words?” Alex asked

“Yes, guys I swear that’s word for word what she said to whoever was on the other line.”

“Well now I’m even more concerned.” Tobin said 

We all knew that sometimes when something bad was happening or she was in trouble at school she didn’t tell us right away. Her home life wasn’t the greatest so our reasons for concern that she was keeping something from us were understandable. 

“Okay, everyone listen up.” Carli said, using her “Captain voice”

“I know you’re all worried, and so am I but we have to let her come to us and we can not… I repeat can. Not. Jump to conclusions. Understood?”

We all agreed and went about our usual practice routines. Y/N emerged for the locker room shortly after Carli finished talking and joined the circle on the field.

“What did I miss, guys?” She said completely oblivious to what we had been talking about.

“Not much kid, just asking anyone if they had seen my shin guards.” Carli said, ruffling her hair.

“Come on, kid, come do some passing drills with me.” Alex said whisking her away.

We continued on through practice and the younger players were goofing around with Y/N when given the chance, she seemed more at ease than before. When we finished and headed back to the hotel we all decided to do a game night in Abby and Y/N’s room. 

After much convincing Vlatko and the other coaching staff agreed to let us order pizza and eat other junk foods. “but this counts as your cheat day for this week.” He told us and we agreed that, that was a fair sacrifice to make. We ordered a bunch of pizzas and sent Megan, Becky and Allie on a snack run. When they returned that brought with them everyones favorites, ranging from candy, chocolate and ice cream to different kinds. Of chips and cookies. The hotel staff probably thought we were having a party and regret letting 23 teenagers/childlike adults into their hotel. 

We played all of the stereotypical party games such as spin the bottle, truth or dare, never have I ever and so on. We also split into different groups to play cards or board games, making bets on who would win or lose the most and some also took to playing Mario kart and other games on the Nintendo Switch Tobin brought along. All in all it was pretty fun night but I could help but still worry and wonder about Y/N. I noticed that while she was having a lot of fun, she was also spending a significant amount of time looking at her phone, sometimes she would get this really big cheesy grin on her face and other times she would look slightly worried or anxious, it was slightly confusing and I could tell Ali and Ashlyn had caught onto it too.

Things took a turn however when Lindsey noticed Y/N lost in her phone and she snatched it out of her hand. 

“Hey! Give that back!”

“Who are you talking to that’s more important than us?”

“No one. Just give me back my phone.”

“No, don’t think I will.” She said while laughing, getting up to run away.

“Lindsey! Give it back!”

Y/N got up and jumped on her back trying to wrestle it out of her hands. At first we thought it was funny but when we saw that Y/N was actually upset we started to try to get them to break it up.

“Guys, stop it!”

“Then tell Lindsey to give me back my phone!”

“I just wanna know who you’re talking to!”

“None of your fucking business Horan!”

Becky, myself, Julie and Tobin all stood in between them as Alex, Christen, Mal and Rose pulled Y/N away and Crystal, Emily, Jessica, and Megan did the same for Lindsey. Everyone else just stood and waited.

“Everyone needs to settle down. Now.” Carli said leaving no room for anyone to argue.

“Okay but she fucking- ”

“Hey watch your mouth.” Alex chided 

“No! She took my phone and I want it back.”

“Y/N, calm down. Take a deep breath.” Christen said

She and the others were still holding Y/N back, Alex had a firm grip on her waist so she couldn’t go anywhere and everyone else stood in front of her, trying to block her from seeing Lindsey. Jessica and that group were doing the same on the other side of the room.

“Lindsey, give her back her phone.” I said sternly

“Why? You were the one who told us about her weird phone call and you know she’s been being weird and secretive all day.”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N asked

“Oh, so you weren’t having some super secret phone call earlier with someone?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t say it was “super secretive.” How much of that did you hear Lys?”

“Just the part where you said you “can’t tell the team.” And that we’d “Freak out and get all protective.”

A look of realization took over her face and she slowly pushed her way out of Alex’s grip and passed the group of people to get to Lindsey.

“Please give me my phone. I’ll tell you guys the truth.” She said

Lindsey complied and when Y/N had her phone again she took a deep breath and said 

“Okay now before I go any further I want you all to know that I am okay and nothing bad is going on. I promise. I also would appreciate if you waited to ask you questions until after I’m finished talking.”

We all nodded in agreement and she began ti tell us what that phone call was really about.

“Okay, I have a girlfriend. Now you guys didn’t know about it because I hid it from everyone except my really close friend back home and some of my cousins. We’ve been dating for the past year and I said I couldn’t tell you guys because I know you’ll go crazy and want to have the talk with her.”

There was a beat of silence before Kelley was the first to speak.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I have a girlfriend.” she repeated

“Our baby has a girlfriend! Holy shit!”

After her outburst several other people began talking over each other.

“No way! Dude what the heck?”

“How did you guys meet?”

“Did you ever plan to tell us?!”

“Can we see pictures?”

Y/N PRO//

“Okay, Okay! Guys, take it easy. Let her breath.” Alex said coming up to hug me from behind.

“To answer you questions, Yes it’s true. We meet at one of my school soccer games, yes I was planning to tell you eventually and yes you can see pictures.”

“You know, you don’t have to let us in on your relationship just yet. If you’re not ready that’s okay.” Ashyln said

“No, it’s okay. I was talking to my girlfriend today and she was wanting me to finally tell you guys and I knew she was right but I wasn’t sure how and I was nervous because of that. But I’m okay now.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

I ended up telling them everything from the day we met, to how long it took for us to start dating, who kissed who first and everything in between. I felt relieved that they now knew about my relationship and was glad not to have to hide it anymore.

“Can we get a name?” Sonnett asked

“Yeah, who is this lucky lady?” Mal joined in, everyone else following

“Her name is Y/GF/N.”

“Oooo. I love her already.” Julie said giggling.

“The real important question is... how is she in bed?”

“Okay, nope! absolutely not!” Ali said slapping Sonnett upside the head

“What?! Curious minds would like to know.”

“For both your guy’s sake, you better tell me you aren’t having sex yet.” Alex said sternly

I was beet red now and the younger players were laughing at me and teasing me while the older ones looked ready to kill.

“No, no we��haven’t had sex.”

Several of them let out big sighs of relief while the others looked disappointed.

“Well, when you do, I want an in detail account of everything.” Sonnet said, dodging another head slap, this time from Julie

“Emily!”

“What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is, she’s far too young for that.” Alex said pulling me into her and covering my head

“I’m turning 18 next month!” I said indignantly

“Doesn’t matter, you’re still a baby.”

“Well once she’s 18 she’s, technically...”

“No.” All the veterans of the team said at the same time.

“Sorry kid, guess you’ll be a virgin for your whole life.”

“Damn right she will.” Julie said.

“Guyssss” I whined.

“Aw, we’re only kidding kiddo. You’ll only have to a virgin until you’re 30.” Ali said laughing when I pouted at her.

We decided to send a group selfie to her to tell her that the team knew and the text I sent along with it read “Surprise! You have 22 “moms” and sisters dying to meet you! They love you already!”

She responded quickly by saying

“I’ll prepare myself for the talk then haha. Tell them I can’t wait and I hope we meet soon! I love you!”

I spent the rest of the night showing the girls our best (and worst) pictures together, silly videos we took and just overall gushing about my lady. I was a little worried they would ambush her when they met her in person but I also knew that they were all super happy for me and excited to meet the girl I love.

//

Sorry for any mistakes, mostly unedited.

-N

[cruelfeline]

The Hordak Bleatings Masterpost

The new and improved Masterpost! All of my ridiculous bleating in one place! Now with categories to allow you, dear friends and neighbors, to better marvel at the utter nonsense I get up to in my spare time. It shall be updated every so often/when I remember. 

some of these categories may overlap or perhaps not be perfect; I tried; there was... a lot

Enjoy!

Biological/Medical Musings

A Fairly Comprehensive List of Hordak’s Clinical Signs

I Wrote Too Much About Hordak’s Arms

And Then Someone Asked About His Elbows So Voila

Someone Else Asked About His Eyes

Yes; I Did Measure Hordak’s Ears via Fuzzy Math; You’re Welcome

A Brief Word About Dentition

Some Sad Thoughts About Clone Lifespan

I Like to Headcanon that Clones Have Naturally Different Eye Colors

Counting Hordak’s Ports

Thinking About Terrible Ways Prime Could Institute Biological Control

Doing Very Fuzzy Math And Wondering Just How Young Hordak Could Be

Spending Way Too Much Time Figuring Out Whether Hordak is Left or Right Handed

Why Tiny Food is Probably Ideal for Hordak (a joke ask I essentially took Seriously)

Discussing Hordak’s Temper

Considering Whether Hordak Needs Oxygen

Discussing Whether Prime and his Clones are Genetically Identical

Hordak in Relation to Other Characters

Entrapdak

Hordak Can Get Close to Entrapta Because He Needn’t Fear Her

Discussing Entrapdak Age Discourse

Bit More Regarding Hordak’s Maturity vs. Entrapta’s

Hordak Didn’t Manipulate Entrapta… But Catra Did

Assessing that Unfortunate Moment When Hordak Snapped at Entrapta

Further Assessing Hordak Snapping at Entrapta by Noting When He Doesn’t

On Hordak’s Wardrobe Change

Entrapta Shushing Hordak is One of My Favorite Interactions

The Entrapdak Scene Was Also One of Self-Love

I Really Like How Entrapta Talks to Hordak About Failure

Hordak Tells an Actual Lie and Succeeds

Entrapta’s and Hordak’s Social Differences Help Them Connect to One Another

I Would Have Appreciated A Scene Where Entrapta Learns About What Happened To Hordak

Hordak Takes Strength From Realizing That Entrapta Came For Him

Hordak and Entrapta Just Like One Another, and I Enjoy That

There is a Huge Difference in How The Alliance and Hordak React to Entrapta Being on Beast Island, and it’s Jarring

This is Mostly About Catradora But Kind of in the Sense of Why Entrapdak is Better, so Here it Goes

Entrapta Didn’t Teach Hordak How to Love; She Taught Him How to Be Loved

The Soup Scene is a Condensed View of Why Entrapdak Works in Light of the Rest of Hordak’s Arc

Hordak and Entrapta Search for One Another Alone, and it Makes Me Sad

I Love How Hordak Scooches Over for Entrapta to Join Him on his Throne

Catra

The How-Catra-Manipulated-Hordak Masterpost

Watching Catra and Hordak Switch Roles in Season Three is Fascinating

Hordak and Catra’s Low Points Indicate Their Core Problems

Did Hordak Abuse Catra? Did She Abuse Him? The World May Never Know

Comparing Hordak and Catra in Terms of Consequences and Agency

Hordak and Catra’s Apparent Ages Likely Affect How People Judge Them

Why Doesn’t Hordak Subdue Catra?

Losing and Regaining the Will to Fight is Another Hordak/Catra Parallel

Sometimes I Wish The Show Would Focus Less on Catra and More on Hordak

Why Catra Besting Hordak Isn’t As Satisfying As Catra Besting Shadow Weaver

Hordak Exhibits Some Level of Trust in Catra Even in Season 2... and She Betrays It

The Difference in How Hordak and Catra Handle Relationships followed by Why They Are Like This 

Some Brief Words on the Differences Between How Hordak and Catra End Up Driven to Destruction in Season Four

Musing About What I Actually Would Accept as “Hordak Abusing Catra”

I Think It’s Kind of Funny that Some Expect Catra to be Suspicious of Hordak Post-Canon

Two Scenes That Look Distressing Side-by-Side

Discussing How Catra and Hordak Start Off as Parallels but Later Deviate Due to Character Differences

Adora

How Adora and Hordak End Season Four Differently

Hordak and Adora Parallels

I Wonder if Adora Recognizes Some of Herself in Hordak

Other

This is Actually About Shadow Weaver, but Compared to Hordak, So…

Hordak Doesn’t Seem to have a “Rule the World!” Moment (compared to Shadow Weaver)

On Hordak’s Weird Interactions with DT

Watching DT Circle Hordak is Interesting

Let’s Compare the Circling Scenes, Shall We?

What Wrong Hordak’s Arc Teaches Us About Clones and Hordak

Wondering if Hordak Actually has Control Over the Etherian Horde (could he have stopped the war?)

Prime

There Is A Huge Difference In The Standards Prime And Hordak Hold Others Two Versus Themselves

Hordak and Horde Prime Handle Their Own Vulnerabilities Quite Differently

The Difference Between How Prime and Hordak Use Anger

The Moment Prime Touched Hordak’s Face is the Moment I Truly Knew That Something About Hordak’s Backstory was Very Wrong

Clone/Origin/Prime-Related Sadness

The Clone Thing

More Distressed Bleating about The Clone Thing

Hordak’s DMV Photo Disturbs Me

Hordak Isn’t Actually an Idiot About Disease Transmission

On Hordak’s Bodily Autonomy, or Lack Thereof

How Much of Hordak is “Hordak?”

I’m 99% Certain That Hordak Sucks at Lying Because he Literally Couldn’t

You’d Think Hordak would Think Things Through, But…

Hordak isn’t Really Proud of “Hordak” (with a bonus Adora mention)

Hordak Provides Excellent Fridge Horror

Hordak’s Behavioral Pathology Isn’t Actually Pathology

So! That Purification Ritual was Really Something

Despite Erasure, Hordak Remains Himself

The Clones Are Essentially Trapped By Prime And It Upsets Me

I Get Annoyed That The Clones Aren’t Discussed More By Our Heroes

Again, I Wish The Show Acknowledged The Clones A Bit More, Wrongie Edition

Wouldn’t It Be Swell If Prime Really Did Manage The Clones Like Livestock? 

It’s More Emotionally Poignant That The Clones Are Individuals Rather Than Drones

Prime’s Doctrine Ensures Hordak Blames Himself, and it’s an Awful Control Measure

Hordak Probably Isn’t Dumb for Using Uninsulated Cables; Rather, Clone Sadness is in Play

Why I Can’t See Hordak and the Other Clones As Colonizers (unlike Prime) (also a whole convo thread)

Thinking About Clones and Self-Care

Each Clone Will Have to Realize That They Were Victimized

Wondering if Horde Clones Might Feel Anxious Sleeping Alone

Why Prime Might Encourage Some Autonomy in His Clones (spoilers: for cruelty)

Completely Arbitrary Classification of Clones Post-Prime!

Prime is an Actual God to the Clones and it is Terrifying

Canon Plausibility of Blanket Burritoing Horde Clones!

I Appreciate That, Despite Their Devotion, the Clones are Portrayed as Legitimately Suffering due to Prime

Catra and Adora have Happy Memories; do the Clones?; does Hordak?

Morality/Punishment/Redemption Related

Morality is (sadly) not a Universal Thing

Don’t Talk to me About the Reset as “Proper Punishment”

Why Hordak Doesn’t Just Become a Good Citizen

I Think About Hordak’s Choices a Lot

Hordak as an Abuse Mimic Rather Than Pure Evil

Looking at the Horde Child Soldier Thing From a Certain POV

Emotional Support is a Necessary Part of Healing

Hordak Was Forgiven Without Redemption, And I’m OK With That

Hordak’s Arc Speaks Directly to People who were “Raised Wrong”

I Wonder if Hordak Would See anti-Princess Propaganda as Propaganda

Semi-Intelligent Plot/Story Observations

Hordak’s Portrayal is a Function of Character Lens

Hordak Gets Very Legit Development in Season Four

She-Ra Isn’t a War Drama and Here’s Why

Hordak Suffers From a Distressing Lack of Agency

Hordak is a Weirdly Unenthusiastic Lord

The Season 4 Finale Reframes Hordak’s Vulnerability 

Untangling Hordak’s Backstory in Light of What We Now Know

Why Hordak Getting Possessed is Narratively Good

Hordak’s Rebellion and Subsequent Possession Essentially Summarize His Story

There Are Big Differences Between Hordak and Prime’s Etherian Wars

It Is Pretty Unlikely That Hordak Would Have Pulled The Portal Lever

It Occurred To Me That Hordak May Initially Ignore FO’s Tech Because It’s Just Really Old

An Assessment Of The Villain Intro Cards, Focusing On Hordak

I Think It’s Silly To Blame Hordak For Everything - Especially When Considering Prime

Literally Just a Thread Explaining Why Hordak is Sympathetic

Some Words On Exactly How Terrible DT’s Reveal Was For Hordak

The Escalation of Hordak’s Situation is Really Something

An Anon Asks a Normal Question and I go on a Tangent About Hordak Compensating for his Inability to Innovate via Entrapta and Catra

There are Monumental Differences Between the Galactic and Etherian Hordes in Terms of Brainwashing and Agency

Thinking About Why Chipped Etherians May Not be That Sympathetic To Clones After All

Random Bit of Logicking About Why Hordak Calls the Princesses a Rebellion

Figuring Out Why I Find Hordak So Much More Sympathetic Than The Princesses

Brief Musing on How Hordak Might Face Antagonism From Both Sides Post-Canon

Hordak’s Story Touches on the Concept of the Imperfection of Authority

Someone Asked Me if I Found Hordak’s S5 Arc Satisfying

Discussing Whether Or Not Hordak Planned on Leading Anything After Conquering Etheria

Taking Apart an Abysmal Twitter Take Because It’s Fun

Talking About Prime’s Clone Troops v. Robot Troops

Talking About Hordak’s Emotional Age

Hordak’s S3 Backtory Being Part-Delusion Helps Emphasize the Inequality in Attachment Between the Clones and Prime

A Few Not-So-Nice Acts Hordak Commits That I Find Justifiable

Random Headcanons of All Sorts

Stupidly Cute, Pointless Headcanon #3825 (ears covered)

Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #4853 (yawning, with appropriate artwork)

Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #2938 (snoring)

Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #1423 (REM sleep)

Stupidly Cute, Pointless Headcanon #7845 (blushing)

Random Hordak-Related Thought #2935 (forearms)

I Like to Think That Hordak Does Cute Things in his Sleep

I Like to Think That Hordak’s Eyes Dim While He Sleeps

Literally Me Just Having Emotions

Thinking About the Stress of Maintaining His Image in the Horde

Why Hordak’s Trauma is Particularly Disturbing To Me (compared to Catra/Adora)

Catra Overcomes her Fear of her Abuser; Hordak Does Not

All of my Emotions over the S4 Finale

Hordak’s Goddamned Smirk Lied to Me

I Have Feelings about Hordak’s Enforced Self-Care

I Need Hordak to Know that He is Loved

Hordak Goes Pew Pew and It’s Cute

Watching Hordak Lift Things Makes Me Smile

Hordak’s Unreasonable Expectations Make Me Sad

Please Just Let Hordak Rest

A Sassy Post About People Complaining the Hordak and Catra are Forgiven

All My Words About That Hordak/Adora Scene

Hordak Taps the Asphyxiation Lever With Two Fingers And It Makes Me Happy

I Wonder If Individuality Felt Blasphemous To Hordak

Please Don’t Stab Clones In Their Ports, Thank You

Hordak Clasps His Hands And It Makes Me Anxious

Hordak Shaming Catra Mimics the Purification Room And It’s Disturbing

Watching Hordak Give Up Is Heartbreaking

I Worry About Hordak Handling Anxiety

People Being Considerate of Hordak Makes My Heart Smile

I Wonder If Magic Was Frightening to Hordak at First

Thinking About Hordak Progressing in Terms of Self-Care

Prime Never Calls Hordak by Name, not Even Once

Just Being Sad While Realizing the Sort of Life Hordak had to Look Forward To

Strange Fic-Like Things No One Should Read

Please Consider: A Concept Masterpost

Hordak Practices Eyerolling

Imp Hacks Up The Worst Color of Hairball

[many-gay-magpies]

short (or not so short) little kpop fandom rant below; putting a readmore because i feel kind of weird saying all this stuff on a blog that is pretty much kpop dedicated, who's follower-base is made up of mostly kpop fans, but i also just feel the need to get it out there, so. here we are

(disclaimer: im not using 'you' to direct this post at anybody in particular, if anything it's directed at myself, you just feels more direct)

kind of going off of that post about parasocial relationships i just reblogged but like. ever since watching that one video by a dude im subscribed to on youtube about stan culture and fanfiction and stuff (i think i might have linked it on tumblr at some point? maybe?) my experience in the kpop fandom had gotten... interesting, from a personal standpoint

like im starting to wonder about all this stuff and think about the fact that ALL fanfiction, even the nonsexual stuff, is still crossing a bunch of boundaries in a way? because like youre writing all this stuff about REAL PEOPLE and literally making headcanos for how they would be as boyfriends, how they'd react to certain situations, how they would be in fights for god's sake, and its just-- these are real people. you dont know them. you will probably NEVER know them on a level higher than maybe meeting them through a fanmeet, or if you're lucky running into them on the street or something. and you can't... know how these people you've never met will REACT in situations like the ones you're thinking about, you can't know what they're like off-camera and outside of idol life. and i kind of had a point with this particular section of the rant, but i forgot what it was, so i'm just gonna move on

the thing with me is that like... i think all of this stuff, and yet i still read the occasional y/n fanfic or (god forbid) full group fanfic, often with ships involved. and i justify it to myself by saying i know these aren't the REAL people, they're just characters someone else created in their image; all of this stuff is written based on the images, the characters presented to us, and not the real people underneath (but the problem is a lot of fanfic writers probably dont feel the same way; they think like it's the real people they're writing about and treat it as such). I tell myself I read and enjoy ship fics because I would enjoy the samd dynamic with ANY two people, because the relationship is something i'd admire and long for in real life, it doesn't matter who with. I don't ACTUALLY think these two idols are dating or think they would act like this—its just characters. But it's still just like... where does the boundary lie? I'm thinking all of this stuff, but if i dont act on it, do the thoughts even really matter? Because its what a person's actions say about them that matters, just thinking about something... right?

So as you can see, I'm conflicted.

Now, something else worth noting is that I... don't necessarily think fantasizing about idols, in whatever way that might be, is bad. They're attractive, the images and characters they present often compliment that by being nice, sweet, funny, etc. It feels normal, to me, that you might fantasize about dating them or hugging them or kissing or being friends with them every so often—especially during the pandemic, when people rarely got the chance to actually see other people and (im speaking for myself here but i think its something that can apply to others as well) sometimes ended up filling the void with parasocial relationships instead. the fantasizing isn't the bad part—to me that just feels like a part of being human. its that we're taking these fantasies and putting them out into the world in the form of writing, reactions and fanfictions and the like—we're writing down our fantasies and letting other people read them and fantasize about them in turn.

and to me that feels... weird. personal. kpop idols don't need to know the fantasies you have about them, and no matter how impossible you think it might be, if you post something online, anywhere, there is a chance that they'll see it. and above that even, our fantasies, in our own heads, feel like something that doesn't need to be—or even shouldn't be—shared out loud (artzyy if you're reading this, you can probably figure out why i got so awkward and felt like i'd overshared during our conversation yesterday). i mean, if you're comfortable sharing your mental fantasies with the world, by all means, you do you; im just... not.

a lot of this is why i... actually don't feel uncomfortable writing enhaverse fanfiction (exhibited clearly by the two vampire jungwon fics that are now floating around my blog, the sunoo lily fic in progress in scrivener, and the various other ideas for fics still floating in my brain). because it isnt "real people" we're writing about, or idols' on-camera faces that we ACT like are real people, it's characters these boys and their company have created specifically for their music videos and lore; entirely different, fictional people, just with the same names and faces, which we've basically taken and spun into whatever the fuck the tumblr enhaverse is now (delightfully full of angst, gay longing, softness and a whole lot of fucking projection... you get the idea.)

but its just-- weird, having all these feelings, making all these justifications and having all these morals in place, and yet being part of a fandom that for the most part goes against every one of them. but i haven't left, or really changed my behavior at all, so its... yeah. weird.

[lula1991]

My Jewel

Summary

   An ancient spell causes a millenary young lady to weaken, it is up to Larry and her friends to help her find the key to return her to normal while a stranger pretends, along with three already known individuals, to take over a captive jewel somewhere in Egypt with the in order to proclaim it “yours.” (The shock of all the chaos in her).

   Objective? The guard and the exhibits must prevent it from falling into the wrong hands while between Ahkmenrah and the girl, a romance will slowly emerge that will bear fruit over time.

Genre: Adventure, comedy, romance, fantasy

Warnings: None, for now. But, I can assure you that if you continue to give it a chance, I promise you that later there will be smut of the good, which you love so much in at least two chapters. If you want me to tag you to receive notifications to follow the story closely, don't hesitate to ask me 💕

Chapter 2

   The time for the treasures of the British museum was extended for a good period, thanks to how captivating the English exhibitions turned out to be for the visiting public. And although with the reopening of the Hayden Planetarium, the establishment of New York has not undergone many modifications that we say, only some sculptures, vases and figures have been replaced. Well, there was a change but from the heart, since the aforementioned Larempteh has aroused the sudden love interest of Pharaoh Ahkmenrah..

Teddy: Young Ahkmenrah? — Mr. Roosevelt made the king jump a little because of his distraction.

Ahkmenrah: Mr. Roosevelt, what happens? — his strained smile missed him.

Teddy: What are you doing, son?

Ahkmenrah: Ah, I was going around a few times. I know it wasn't a pharaoh's routine to do it but I wanted to make sure everything was under control. — he didn't believe that lie.

Teddy: It's almost dawn, son.— his voice was kind but he was still a little surprised.

Ahkmenrah: Oh yes, just one more look.. — and he sneakily saw among the plants that decorated the African room as his beloved secret Larempteh moved his hips delicately enjoying the moment by putting on a smile that illuminated the place while some of the mammals they moved around her but did not harm her, her dancing was very fine, since the tradition in Ancient Egypt was for young women to go from small to dance classes among other royal subjects to fulfill their role as wives and please their Kings. Ahk sighed and then realized that Teddy was still there. — Ready, there is no one. — he smiled and ran away.

   Sometimes Ahkmenrah could behave like a small baby despite having already had 18 years and with a fulfilled mandate under his hands post mortem. Maybe love put it that way..

    But one thing should be noted, 4000 Egyptian years had passed and he was still such a handsome young man..

   Teddy denied twice by putting on a bright smile since he knew the reason for his behavior..

That day in Larry's apartment ..

Nick: A new exhibition? Was there a new exhibition and you didn't tell me anything, Dad? — the young man reproached him.

Larry: Nicky, your college studies are more important than distracting yourself with this.

Nick: Dad, I left college. At least another year. I want to focus more on being the best known DJ in Ibiza.

Larry: Do we agree that your mother and I don't agree?

Nick: You're still angry at the last party, right?

Larry: I just want you to focus on your future and take advantage of the early hours, not for parties. You must resume college, son.

Nick: I'm already a man, dad.  and Larry gave him a dissatisfied look. — I'm about to turn 18.

Larry: We'll talk about this tomorrow. Team Daley, you will go to college and I will go to work..

   The night program was a thing of almost every night since the museum opened it and how it was expected there would be a new function to captivate its visitors..

    Many reviewed their respective attire, colonial women accommodated their hats, those of the civil war rehearsed their steps, Sac enlisted what was already prepared, Rexy and Trixy were waxed, Attila and his Huns sharpened their weapons, Mr. Roosevelt combed his mustache, she had already checked the fire manual with the primitives and Dexy had accommodated his funny bun..

    And of course, how could we put aside our king who was very comfortable talking with the beautiful girl..

Ahkmenrah: Good luck today, friend. — he followed in her footsteps, improving the appearance of her crown.

Larempteh: Thank you. Being never exhibited at night I hope to please the public by appearing to be technical magic for those who do not know that we are true.. — she winked and both laughed. "And make my ancestors look good in the Planetarium.

Ahkmenrah: Of course. — he assumed in a sweet whisper. — Oh, I almost forgot, an old friend will come to see us, his name is Larry Daley, the Brooklyn Guardian as I like to name him.

Larempteh: Brooklyn Guardian? You are a funny king, very witty and original.. — the genuine came out of her lips as she arranged her little cape.

Ahkmenrah: It is in honor of why he has helped me many times and I am in eternal gratitude with him, you know? He is a great person. When you meet him you will notice.

Larempteh: I trust your words. — she smiled at him kindly.

Sacajewea: Guys! Ah Larempteh, thanks to my ancestors that I find you. You act in five minutes, sweetie. — she informed him with a warm smile.

Larempteh: Thank you Sac..

Sacajewea: Hey Larem, I need you to come, I want you to corroborate if what you say here is correct.. — in your concern, the Native American showed the tablet to the girl with her personal information.

Larempteh: Yes, yes, it's perfect data.. — she once said close to the beautiful woman and they were walking together to the planetarium.

    That night, Larry was welcomed with open arms by the young pharaoh..

Ahkmenrah: Good thing you could come..

Larry: Yes, my students behaved and I could finish class before..

Ahkmenrah: Okay. It will be a great night.. — this one escaped a fabulous smile of anxiety and that night guard could not go unnoticed how radiant the pharaoh was, his gaze shone in a way he had not seen before. As if that glare owned.

Larry: Is there something that I have not heard? — he wanted to get information but the king preferred to ignore him.

Ahkmenrah: What?

Larry: Ahkmenrah, you are a great king but keeping things a secret you are terrible. — he assumed what the young man gave him by his side, giving him the reason with a funny head tilt. — It's about Larempteh, right? It's that girl who has you so distracted, right?  — and the king was discovered, smiled.

Ahkmenrah: You discovered me but you'll see why I'm like this..

   Each exhibition had already made its exhibition and now it was the turn of the Egyptian queen, Larempteh, the poor woman was scared to death but Sac was there to give her confidence..

Sacajewea: You'll do well. — she smiled.

Larempteh: Thanks again, Sac. — she sighed, relaxing her tense muscles with nervousness, filled herself with courage and climbed the steps that led her to the stage.

   The audience was considerable in the Planetarium but she was so excited that she didn't care about the number of spectators, she wanted to look her best and hopefully she would make it. Of course, visitors were still convinced that those figures were animated only by special effects although Larempteh how a kind of girl conveyed the magic of her authentically perfect world..

Larempteh: During remote times and even further away, Egypt has always been the focus of attention preferred by many. He has given what to speak as a place where too many people have been captivated with their infinite unsolved mysteries, stories that go from one to the other and return to the same place, their myths and beliefs, legends, riches, writings, dances, important adversaries, rituals, pharaohs, palaces, festivities and other wonders; since I was a little girl of 11 years I have also been and not for being Egyptian but for the fact that it is my home, which fits my immense pride, and will be a part of the planet worshiped by hundreds of individual beings for thousands of add more. My parents have blessed me with the name of Larempteh, it means the sacred light of the Sun. I was born in Waset about 4000 years ago..

   Everyone was captivated listening to the young woman climb to a marble platform illuminated by a spotlight that made her more beautiful in the eyes of the young Ahkmenrah who from a corner watched her with devotion and heard her relate as a professional..

Larry: I know it's hard for you to stop seeing her, but hide a little, Ahkmenrah.. — he put a friendly whisper in his joke and in wasting it because of the way he looked at the girl, he was hypnotized.

Ahkmenrah: With her beauty, she opaque to Karnak's temple. Larry looked at him. — I exaggerated? — he made a funny face and his friend laughed willingly knowing why he was so anxious.

    Not at all, she was very precious..

Larempteh: And then there, I've lived some time. Surrounded by both natural and material beauty, but what mattered most to me was to be loved at heart. I was respected, adored and even treated as a deity too. I keep the most important piece where a queen stands out, the crown, which I wear from the moment it was my royal coronation that took place in my 14 years. An element of utmost excellence in my time and a majestic weight that must be known to be sustained from the moment you were conceived life; If you wore one, well, you could do what you wanted, of course my parents had to deal with my multiple rebellions.. — she said and even laughter arose. — But that's something on the sidelines. Now to close this beautiful evening, I would like to share that if you have the opportunity to travel to my ancient world, do not hesitate for a second to delight in such magnificent delicacies, one by one, that in my case and in my belief, Ra has created For any human eye that knows how to appreciate beauty. Thank you and you have been very kind. — she smiled and loud applause erupted in that room, she was fired very warmly.

   She went down the last step and received with congratulations all Larry's friends and even himself..

Sacajewea: Wow! That was incredible! My prayers to my spiritual ancestors bore fruit.

Octavio: Wonderful!

Jed: Unsurpassed!

Larempteh: I think I even overcame my scenic panic..

Larry: Even more. It was great, congratulations Queen Larempteh.

Larempteh: Thank you! You must be the famous Brooklyn Guardian. — the young woman bowed her head in greeting. —  King Ahkmenrah has told me about you.

Larry: Yes, I'm not that fabulous..

Larempteh: Do not be modest Mr. Daley, each and every one of us is special in some sense.. — she was interrupted by colonial exhibitions and had to be educated in attending to her compliments.

Colonial girl: You are amazing! From now on you will be my hero. Take, it's for you.. — the girl gave her a wild flower while the young queen knelt on one leg to be at her height and receive the flower with tenderness.

Larempteh: Oh, thank you, beautiful..

Larry: Now I understand why you were so happy. She is amazing.

Ahkmenrah: It is, isn't it ..?

Larry: I think it's your type and you should ask her to marry you. — he whispered convinced walking slowly to the exit of the place and the king felt a soft blush flooded his cheeks.

    Ahkmenrah was smiling nervously until she felt peace when she mentally thanked her for not having heard that comment when some colonial people among other historical figures continued to surround her to congratulate her..

Ahkmenrah: Are you crazy? I'm not going to do that or ask her to commit to me. I just met her..

Larry: Hey Ahk, it is customary at this time for men to flatter girls with roses as compliments or as a method to invite them out, so.. — he chose a rose that decorated a vase and gave it to the king by assigning a mission.

Ahkmenrah: But I don't know how that is done, I'm from another era and we didn't conquer in the same way. Also if I wanted to go out with her, I could not because we are museum exhibits, do you forget..?

Larry: You know, tell her how beautiful she was, how well she expresses herself, how intelligent and beautiful she is.. You don't need to leave here for a date, what can you lose, boy? Nothing is impossible. Do not live in the past, after all they are two young real conservations of flesh and blood..

Ahkmenrah: But, I.. —  this one was pushed by the guard.

Larry: Good luck, boy. He encouraged him by giving him one last push to leave him out of the Planetarium and close enough to her. And so, Larry and the other boys left the kings alone.

   Larempteh perceived the king a couple of centimeters behind her in that long, beautifully lit corridor, tilted her body a little confirming her intuition and knew of her intentions when she smiled since seeing him with a rare flower in her hands meant a moment alone..

Larempteh: Can you excuse me for a moment? Thank you.. — she asked with fine manners and those figures bowed out of respect.

   She said goodbye to the friendly exhibits to pay attention to the handsome pharaoh walking a few steps to the entrance of the Planetarium..

Larempteh: Hi.. — It was an audible whisper.

Ahkmenrah: You're all a star. — he said and once Larem was face to face, he looked at her groggy, spreading the rose on the advice of his friend.

Larempteh: Thank you. — she accepted his gift by being affable when her eyes met his that shone with the same intensity.

Ahkmenrah: And now, I have to go.. — he excused himself by swirling on his shaft swirling his distinguished clothes and with a lot of tension he walked to some corner of the museum while his gold-colored cape flamed elegantly.

   Larempteh contained a soft laugh at the young man's not very carefree attitude..

     On the next night..

   The new classical conservation (Larempteh) walked through the diagram room accompanied by Jed and Octavio on each of his shoulders..

Jed: Then the boy and you.. — the cowboy thought and the beautiful hazelnut-eyed girl laughed softly.

Larempteh: No Jed, Ahkmenrah and I are still nothing. In fact we met in this life and how I remember some things about my past, I can not say whether or not he was promised to me or if it was and we could not. — she sighed and did not know why. — Well, as far as I know, my father wanted to force me to marry a king if he chose someone to marry me before he died. Ahk is, but I'm not sure he is the one because I only knew him very recently. — a thought ran around his head, shook him internally. — It was typical that in Ancient Egypt the sovereigns of different lands arranged commitments with their respective children to maintain the royal blood between the families. The opinion did not count on the unknown spouses or even perhaps relatives, it did not matter if these young people would agree or the opposite, had to marry whether they like it or not. That is why in my belief that it is still a difficult situation to handle. Because what if Ahkmenrah is my brother; well, at that time it was not so bad to marry among relatives, it is more common but now it would be shocking and terrible. Many malformations were conceived by such incest. — she closed her eyes trying to forget that thought. — I told my father, but he refused to hear me by telling him that if at that time I got married, I wanted it to be out of love, not obligation or divine whim. — she explained and the two little men jumped to the back of a sidewalk.

Jed: And you still think about that idea?  — the cowboy inquired and the beautiful Egyptian thought it a bit.

Larempteh: Seeing how I am analyzing it, I have no other way out. You will see Jed, from the moment I arrived in the world in the year 1104 BC possessed total abundance, I had everything, I was heir to the throne, a secured crown, I came to command an entire town when I was young, I reigned, I had the better comforts, in the palace where I was born they were all at my disposal and I did what I could but I never got to make my marriage and I fear that I am in a great fault with my parents for that and I would like to give them back the love they gave me. That is, seeing them happy fulfilling that dream pending that a king would take me from his hand to the altar and that tomorrow they would leave in peace knowing that a good man took care of me. But I left before them and it was tragic..

Octavio: How did you get to your bed, sovereign?

   She sighed deeply..

Larempteh: A spider stung me and I died. The years in Cambridge I could learn more about my story, Octavio. Every day I listened to the guide mention in the many tours that a daily occurrence occurred near my residence in Waset, baptized by the Greeks as Thebes..

**** Flash ****

Guide: And finally, this is the temple of Queen Larempteh and in that sarcophagus, there is the queen. And hanging on the wall behind her, her most precious possession. The Jewel of Larempteh. 24 karat gold, worth a real fortune, a lot of luxury. Any questions? — the man in a shirt and jeans with sneakers asked the group of schoolchildren, who many raised their hands eager to know more about the ruler.

— Yes, there is much speculation since its outcome itself was a complete mystery. Does anyone really know what happened to her?  — a teenage girl let go of her curiosity by holding a notebook and pencil how to take notes.

Guide: There are many theories but one is the possible causality. It is said that he died from a spider bite..

    We are within the thread of past experiences..

   It was a beautiful day in Waset, the Egyptians work on their routine tasks, the farmers reaped wheat among other rich foods, some built beautiful works, the women collected water and washed the clothes on the Nile, and young and young were running around that fertile land..

   A happy Larempteh, between smiles and laughter escaped from her friends who were running it, must be a game. The young woman suddenly tripped and rolled around being a bundle of tangled clothes, dust and laughter when she turned on her back with her legs sunk in the fresh and crystalline oasis..

—I used to hang out on the banks of the Nile where the torrid days in that place became good when fresh water flooded my feet, that relaxed me a lot, it was very exquisite, almost considered a luxury for the travelers who accessed it. That way I lost track of time sleeping among the green palm trees and reeds while the Sun was tanning my skin and listening to my friends babble remembering the above falling into a deep sleep..

   Without her noticing, a arachnid about the size of a fist of purple and black colors wandered around, perhaps searching for its prey and its target was located..

— I felt a strong pain in my right wrist that made me wake up crying, alerting the boys who called desperate to come and help me..

— Queen!

— Your Majesty! — Shouted a young woman with golden skin taking the affected wrist to the young woman when she vanished. — Help! Please help! The queen suffered an accident!

   A crowd of former members of Egyptian royalty surrounded their sovereign to help her..

— The last thing I remember is that they took me in my arms and placed me on top of a bed where the high priest examined me. — Despite being in a confused state I listened, I looked blurry and I felt forced; his voice informed my parents that only a miracle by the gods would save me, since the poison of that creature was so deadly that I could kill a person in just a matter of seconds and that total had spread through me body in less period. They couldn't do much for me, I agonized 1 day and never woke up. My whole family cried my end, my parents, my brothers and sisters, each member of our lineage carefully selected by my father and from that period 18 days of mourning and 18 days of feast in honor of me were decreed to go beyond..18 because it was the age at which I began to live with the gods..

Guide: What if she did her job well in ancient times? For some yes, for others it is debatable. But his generosity was seen out of focus in that Era. Being a young girl of only 18 years, her sudden death has been of great occultism over time. It was always known what it entailed to have the weight of a responsibility as great as it was to command an entire reign in Egypt and at that age, Larempteh was considered the only genuine threat to the nearby Empires. Although there are papyrus records from which they mark data about the event, there is still no exact information about the culprit. It is rumored that perhaps she was killed by some enemy whose nothing is known or how she achieved such evil because it is not common for the arachnid community to live in that Egyptian area.

— And it is true, I am an enigma and will continue to be for ever and ever. To date, the hypotheses are still being opened, but it was never known exactly about the one who caused my death and I don't want to find out. The first time I woke up 61 years ago, I was in gloom in a sarcophagus, wrapped in linen and bandages..

   Maybe something magical was close to her that made her relive but she didn't know what, that something that forced her to wake up from her lethargy for some reason and that why she still didn't have certain answers..

   She detailed herself sitting on her sarcophagus, she analyzed herself, she looked at how to memorize from zero..

   It was confusing at the beginning until she left her ornate coffin and walked through the great hall dimly lit by spotlights that she supposed would be her home but that minutes later she discovered her sad truth..

—That exhibition was not what was called home, but the walls recreated to my Era welcomed me and brought me closer to him. I had to conform..

    She approached the walls that with melancholy stroked the hieroglyphs, those exquisite writings that completely covered the four ends of her room, delineating some and sighing others, realizing that this idea of ​​being in her true house was very far away..

**** End of Flash ****

Larempteh: I know I lived in Waset. Born under the protection of Amun. My steps were consolidated in a beautiful, huge and colorful house surrounded by great respect for almost every Egyptian inhabitant. My death occurred in 1098 BC as it marks the exact date on my discovery plate, they watched over me in the Valley of the Queens as the protocol dictated, so I was able to collect the lessons heard. Decades passed until I was discovered and exhumed near the pyramids of Giza where they baptized the expedition with my name, in that same period they exhibited me at the University of Cambridge where I therefore spent 18 years as a historical piece of my time; since I came to New York I felt that something essential is missing from this necklace while my stay lasts in this museum and it was a little less than a month, I knew that here I came back to life thanks to Ahkmenrah's table, since he told me about her effective power and what she causes by explaining that she gives us the chance to live again no matter what our outcome has been and gives us even the opportunities to choose what we believe is right. And if so, if I could not complete subjects in life, how about.. —  and she was absent for a few seconds.

Jed: It only takes one gentleman.. — he completed with ingenuity.

Larempteh: And how it didn't happen, I guess so. Hey Jed, do you think there is any pharaoh besides Ahk in the museum?

Jed: I fear not, little one. — and in that answer, the girl showed her faint and confused grief.

Octavio: Can we help you with something, damsel?  — before that question the girl was thoughtful.

   Close to there..

Ahkmenrah: I don't know, Mr. Roosevelt.. — he looked dazed walking down the hall and looking forward keeping his head up following the man riding his Texas steed.

Teddy: If you have an Ace up your sleeve, everything is possible, boy. — he encouraged it with momentum.

Ahkmenrah: Yes, well, I, I don't know.. — his words tripped nervously.

Teddy: Stop babbling! — he ordered and the king opened his eyes in fright.  — Will you do it yes or no?! — and the boy nodded. — Young Ahkmenrah, good luck. — he said willingly continuing on his way.

   The king could hear that melodious voice coming from the exhibition of the miniatures, it was not far, so the steps that Ahkmenrah had to take were short and when he could see the girl, he kept hiding letting see his exotic profile right where a smile from trust escaped from the lips of our pharaoh..

Larempteh: Sorry guys. But in this case they can't do anything. — she said regretfully while maintaining a sweet smile.

Ahkmenrah: Larempteh.. — her voice rumbled in the room, calling the girl's attention. — I've been looking for you. — he was heading towards her while his cloak flamed thinly as he walked.

Larempteh: Well, here I am.. — she smiled and in that Jed and Octavio looked at each other with gracious complicity regarding the two young men.

Ahkmenrah: Can I talk to you? I have to tell you something.. — he detailed it carefully as if nothing else existed in the museum.

Larempteh: Sure, what happens, Ahkmenrah? — she looked at him in the same way although the young woman hid her feelings quite well, the boy did not, the boy was very obvious while the two little men covered their mouths so as not to let their laughter escape.

Ahkmenrah: I.. — he was going to talk but Jed's laugh and Octavio interrupted him. — Do you care, guys?

Jed: You should have seen your face..

Octavio: And how he looked at the damsel. — at that comment Larempteh sighed a laugh.

Ahkmenrah: Jed, Octavio, I want to be with her.. — he mentioned in a certain tone.

Jed: Of course you want to be with her.. — and upon hearing this Larempteh raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Ahkmenrah: Alone.. — the king's voice made his intention clear.

Jed: Okay, we understood, we understood.. —  and got off the bench followed by the Roman. — We'll leave the turtles alone.

   The two little men followed another path leaving the kings personal space..

Larempteh: Well, I think there will be no more interruptions. — she whispered letting out a pretty laugh and he melted every time that grimace was repeated on his face. — And, I guess what you want to tell me is important.. — she clasped her hands over her long, beautiful one-piece skirt.

Ahkmenrah: Sure. Ah, I, I brought you some gifts. — He commented and she formed a beautiful smile at the expectation.

Larempteh: Gifts? How sweet you are. — she murmured beautifully.

Ahkmenrah: Take. It's for you. — he pulled a blue lotus out of his cloak.

Larempteh: My favorite. — she sucked her scent even in Ahk's hands. That flower was preferred by the Egyptians, they regularly had one of that type that smelled with adoration. She in particular loved her.

Ahkmenrah: May I decorate your noble face, your Majesty? — he graciously addressed her by taking her cloak with one hand maneuvering a slight bow and the girl laughed at the gesture.

Larempteh: Of course, Your Highness. — she granted him the request and he politely placed the flower next to his hair, it was beautiful.

Ahkmenrah: How beautiful you look. — he took her chin as she flattered her with a velvety voice as she squinted her eyes admiring her with love, let her fingers caress that part of her face once she gave him a warm smile. — And here my second gift..

   And then he handed her sweetly a golden beetle, lapis lazuli and turquoise, the girl opened her hands receiving the second present that was worth more than a fortune..

Larempteh: Ahkmenrah, it's very beautiful but I can't accept it.. — she felt a whirlwind in her being.

   From somewhere very close to there..

Jed: What does he say?  — he wanted to know but it was impossible to hear from where they were.

Octavio: Octavio does not know how to speak Egyptian.

Jed: Come closer, Kimosabi.

Octavio: No, come closer..

Jed: No, you..

Octavio: No, I'm the oldest for two thousand years, so I order it to you..

   And returning with the two young people..

Ahkmenrah: Please, I don't accept a no as an answer. — in that he approached the girl as much as he could. He wanted to memorize every line of his body because it didn't often happen that a purity beauty adorned this earth. That flower lost prominence in the case of that Egyptian cutie, it was so perfect for its reasoning, as if the gods had carved it by hand for him.

   The girl did not imagine how great was the devotion that the boy had him..

Larempteh: For Ra! I really don't know what to say.. — due to the surprise, she brought a hand to her chest and laughed with a mixture of emotions in response to such a sweet courtship.

Ahkmenrah: I would love you to keep it.. — he joined his hands with hers to close them protecting the gift and the beautiful Egyptian detailed it, discovering the beauty of it, in every way.

Larempteh: You're cool, Ahk. I mean it. — and at that she gave him a kiss on the right cheek, the young pharaoh received his bemused gesture, so that she would then give him a tender smile and go towards the route that led to another room.

    He saw her walking with steps worthy of a true queen, elegant..

   Larempteh walked without going to a special corner in the museum, without thinking she came to the lobby where Teddy was waiting for her with a bright smile and she frowned as a sign of confusion..

Larempteh: Why so smiling, Mr. Roosevelt?  — she said finally smiling and warm.

Teddy: Oh, my girl, I'm happy for you. — he patted her shoulder.

Larempteh: Why? I haven't done anything out of the ordinary. — she waved her hand to her dress to clean an imaginary fluff.

Teddy: I ​​admire the love of youth and I can't say happy enough that I feel for you.. — he argued leaving the girl even more lost.

Larempteh: What are you saying, Teddy?

Teddy: Ahkmenrah and you. — at that moment she could hear her heart move and echoing in her ears. — At first I wasn't sure, but once I noticed the way he looks at you and his eyes shine when he mentions you, it had to be how I introduced him. He is in love with you. — and upon hearing, she formed a tender smile.

Larempteh: He's such a sweet boy. — she looked down, caressing that precious gift. — He's very special to me too. — she was very frank, her tone was pure honey when her pupils dilated in love?

Teddy: What a joy, little girl. — Mr. Roosevelt smiled brightly.

   Ahkmenrah let out a crooked sigh, he didn't look like a serious king, he looked more like a fool with a real title on his head, received with scholarships and all-inclusive, anyone who saw him would say he wasn't worthy of wearing his ornate dress and a high headdress. but who would blame him, that girl was too sublime. He stayed like that for several seconds until something took him out of focus..

   He directed his way to a sector where the voices of the little men could be heard continuing with his discussion, he stood up to interrupt everything..

Jed: No, come closer..

Octavio: Octavio orders you to be you.. — he stopped speaking when the king adjusted his voice loudly. — My Sir..

Ahkmenrah: I was listening to them from the other side.. — and smiled discovering them.

Octavio: I told you we should talk like that.. — he lowered his voice when Jed stepped on his foot. — Auch! It was not necessary.

Jed: Yes it was. It also didn't hurt. Hey, how was everything, champion? — he adjusted his hat.

Octavio: We saw that everything is growing like the Roman Empire, my Lord. —  he addressed him with respect.

Ahkmenrah: Yes, it is growing but she and I.. — he sighed with endless seconds of mystery.

Octavio: What? — he inquired with scandalous pressure.

Ahkmenrah: It's complicated to explain, Octavio. Before I died I was obliged to marry a queen if I decided to choose one to marry her and I doubt she is Larempteh, I don't know her enough to say that she is the one but that didn't serve as an excuse when the real inheritance was in danger..

Jed: So you and the girl have the same problem.  — the cowboy deduced by remembering the conversation he had with Larempteh a while ago.

Ahkmenrah: That's right, unfortunately. Only a miracle on Ra's part would relieve me. — he entrusted himself looking at the ceiling asking for a sign.

Jedd: Calm down, these things always happen. Maybe tomorrow you and the girl will be together, get married and have hundreds of little Egyptians running around the museum or in the other museum. — and Ahk laughed willingly.

Ahkmenrah: Or rather in the next life.. — he was interrupted by himself. — Wait to?

Jed: You make such a beautiful couple and you don't even know it ..

Ahkmenrah: Love? Do you think she and I..?

Jed: Even that mustache rider realized, Ahk..

Ahkmenrah: Marry Larempteh? Yes, it would be great.. — he smiled hopefully.

Jed: Or are you going to deny me that you don't make eyes at him from afar? — and Ahkmenrah swallowed thickly remembering an event about it.

**** Flash of Memories ****

    Larempteh was talking animatedly with Sacajewea in the lobby but something distracted the beautiful queen, it was Ahk leaning on the desk and making eyes with killing smiles. Ahkmenrah had his thing, despite being a sweet and attentive king, he also resorted to romance tactics when it came to young girls. The young woman's eyes came and went, without deciding who to pay attention to. He did what he could but the looks on his body were impossible to avoid, the young queen smiled shyly..

**** End of Flash ****

Octavio: You must master very well the real flirtations, my Lord. — pharaoh felt an unbearable heat rising in his face.

Jed: You already looked at her, champion! Admit it, you're dead for her.

Octavio: Besides, he has hypnotic blue eyes. — and the king strangely processed that praise. — her eyes are the color of beauty.

Ahkmenrah: You guys are weird..

[theorynexus]

The 30th One: In Which ROMANCE Is Discussed

That is an interesting effect that I have not heard of happening in real life~

This is definitely a conversation that I thought they’d have had before, but I guess those three just like repeating stuff, based on what’s been said before. I am not opposed to some useful exposition to the audience about things that we have missed for the sake of also demonstrating that Jade is constantly pushing for the development of their romance, which had been said but not shown, earlier~

And yet trolls have been talking about this with humans nearly as far back as their formal reveal (I don’t want to pinpoint the exact moment it began, considering all the skipping around from different temporal perspectives that was going around at the time), and humans in real life have been discussing troll romance+using it as a way to discuss romance in other series/franchises from nearly the point it was properly explained. Be a big boy, Karkat, and don’t treat these guys as if they don’t already know possibly far too much about the topic. (Not to mention the fact that I’m sure that you know that they know about it, you derp head!)

I do quite appreciate the idea of them being special enough to each other that it goes beyond the norms and/or labels of traditional romance in either culture, considering the lore relating to the Ancestor Trolls (particularly the Signless, and his own suppose matesprit). Karkat being Dave’s Karkat, and Dave being Karkat’s Dave sort of works toward that logic being fulfilled. On the other hand, I feel somewhat conflicted insofar as this could suggest that Dave still has a bit in the way of hangups concerning perceived “homosexual behavior,” which I thought that he had gotten over by this point. As such, this could be interpreted as character regression.   I, personally, think that it seems pretty natural: while a character might have epiphanies, sometimes it is hard to put what one mentally realizes at one point into practice, and therefor to so cement it in one’s mind and being. It’s also quite rational if one or both of them feared potentially hurting their relationship by pushing things too far.  Most importantly, though: they don’t have to push things into a more physical direction if they don’t have to. Relationships between loving and consenting individuals don’t necessarily have to be restricted/oriented to societal norms/expectations. If they are fine with bonding in other ways, then that is fine. Jade does not necessarily overstep by bringing up these sorts of questions, though, especially considering what she’s feeling, and how things are between them. It makes a great deal of sense for someone in her situation to question and see if things can be properly laid out/codified/disambiguated. 

I do like that Karkat brings that line of thought up. Also, I would just like to say: friendship does not necessarily need to stop at the borders of romance. Romantic partners, optimally, should have been friends to begin with, and that friendship should continue after the beginning of a relationship that extends into romantic territory. (On a related note: Before the scientific drives that humans began exhibiting in earnest around the mid 1800s took hold, friendships had a capacity to be much deeper than they often are today, as well, to the point that it was quite normal and even expected that a person would have a bond deeper than the one that would be shared with one’s sexual partner [read: husband/wife, in most circumstances, for having lovers outside of marriage was not anywhere near as accepted at the time, with the exception of kings/queens and perhaps the higher tiers of nobility-- because it pays to be powerful, I guess] with one or more of the dearest companions that one possessed. It is honestly sort of a shame that sexual drives and fulfilling them have become such a big part of modern culture. Honestly, that may detract from the formation of deeper and more fulfilling relationships.) Honestly, I really do understand Karkat’s frustration, here. He comes from a society where intimate relationships are not related to or restricted by gender/sex at all, so it remaining a bit confusing that the concept of “gay” keeps being brought up (even if it does not necessarily persist as something that is relevant on that planet; I am not certain: it’s left as ambiguous whether this is sortof a hang-up that Jade has, or if it continues to be used in society at large) is something to be expected.  I’m sure that part of the reason they are “Dave and Karkat” is as a sort of compromise. The two of them likely don’t want to have to deal with labeling what they are, in order to avoid the perceived weird interactions between human and troll notions of romance.

Oh, she was still wearing glasses. For some reason, “lenses” made me think of contact lenses. Must be a bit too early in the morning. 

Hey, you can have a whole lot of fun staying in. Regardless:  I guess I sortof understand what Jade means, there. She wanted to potentially experience what it might be like, even if she couldn’t get Karkat and Dave to make the dive with her. It makes it out like she was using the two chess people as stand-ins, which is rather cruel, honestly, but at the same time, I know that people who are desperate can potentially do things that otherwise might not seem too rational (such as pursuing a relationship outside of the one she really wants). It’s not too crazy, and I’m quite surprised that Karkat seems surprised by this. I guess maybe he convinced himself that that meant Jade had given up, for a while.

I do wonder if this is meant to suggest if Karkat is entirely uncomfortable with a polyamorous relationship (which could be a little weird to some extent, considering a troll being involved in one is honestly rather normal, though I guess it’s not necessarily super common, given the difficulties in balancing relationships that were associated with such an arrangement?), or if it’s just that he’s worried that Jade is a bit too flaky, and needs more experience being in a stable relationship before he’s comfortable “risking things” by including her. ... Oh, and Dave using flash step to dodge his wrist being grabbed was pretty hilarious.

I thought the expected limit was four. Hmm.  That said: accidentally, huh?  Heh. I wonder how much this is intended as continued flirtation on Jade’s part. I’m sure she understands the concepts of kismesisitude quite well enough to put that kind of effort/pressure into things (particularly under the lens that she seems to be interpreting the two of them as being flushed, rather than pale in relations, meaning that having a third person as a pitched partner could be considered optimal, assuming a set of three was all that was included, here).

A very valid question!   And also one that is very funny to see the reaction to.

***laughs hysterically***    (On a random note:  Dog hormones were previously mentioned as being a thing that she deals with.  This makes me question if she is in fact in heat right at the moment... which is a really weird thing to be bringing up in analysis of someone who at least used to be a human being, but, really, is made somewhat necessary here. I don’t even know how to begin properly guessing whether or not that’s the case, though, so I guess this is probably about where the inquiry must stop: wondering.)

This is an extremely strange and silly conversation. ***wonders if this is about to cause mention of the Sufferer, or if the obvious comparison and possible in-story inspiration for/with Jesus is going to be ignored***

***begins to laugh like Karkat, especially as a result of the Problem Sleuth reference***

[thedeadishscribe]

Sidestep/Ortega

My Fallen Hero fic is, more or less, finally done! It features my Sidestep, Rysen Adri, and his thoughts on post game Fallen Hero: Rebirth. I seem to be doing a lot of post games.

I’m probably gonna post this to ao3 later because formatting is a bitch.

Please, enjoy!

Love, the dead dude

Julia had asked a fair question—what did that kiss mean?

I’m not sure myself, all I knew is that hearing the name Rysen was sweeter than I cared to admit. Was that even my name anymore? Again, not sure. What the hell, exactly, was going on in my life? Ortega, John, Mortum, The Rangers. Ouroboros. The new name I had chosen. The thought came to me at the party, the classic description of a serpent devouring its own tail, often used to signify the cycles of the universe and the process of rebirth—and it felt right at the time—but it felt positively wonderful in the afterglow of the gala. Fitting as can be really. Reborn, baptized in flame, smoke, and blood. Definitely several bruises and broken bones. Hopefully no corpses.

An odd sentiment for a demon of Los Diablos.

          First I had considered ‘Mindflayer’, but it wasn’t exactly me, as menacing a choice as it would have been. ‘Demon’ would have been too cheesy, too on the nose. Can’t really remember what made me think of it, but it simply fit. Even now I savor it on my tongue. Ouroboros. That one news station somehow fucked it up into ‘aurabeesknees’, but they’re in the minority so I guess I can let them off the hook. May have to pay a visit at a later date, however.

          Her and I text, call, all the things kids do nowadays. I hate that I can’t get enough. Of her laugh, her smile, the damn way she seductively wiggles her eyebrows to make me blush. Fuck, I hate admitting I blush too. I’m supposed to be a damn villain, not an anime protagonist. Speaking of which, I haven’t checked up on that lately. Like at all. Been too busy with villainy things. Anime can be villainous, right? We all know the ones. Not gonna name names though, that wouldn’t be fair.

          Just skirting around my problems now though, as per usual. I keep meaning to bring up how I’ve changed (minus the specific details, of course), to say something, and yet every time I choke and bring out my classic comedic deflection bullshit instead. I’m almost entirely positive Ortega can see through that, she’s just gotten… more subtle and less brash. Well, ‘less brash’ isn’t a good way to put it. ‘More selective in her bullrushing’ is more apt. Selective dumbassery is still dumbassery. I should know, I started my own little dumbass enterprise, may as well make a sign to post around the city. I can see it now, ‘Dumbass Incorporated seeking henchs now, will provide free lunch, health, and dental’. That’ll really draw them in. You don’t see many villains offering dental anymore. Could be a real selling point for when I want to expand.

          Truth be told, I’m a fan of the whole angels and demons trope we’re playing out. Sure, being a hero is nice and all, but being bad simply feels so good. Clichés? As many as you want. Monologues? Not recommended, but certainly entertaining. The utter sense of power? Fantastic. Maniacal cackling? My favorite part. No really, there’s nothing like a good laugh over the beaten forms of your enemies.

Beaten.

          That’s right, I had beaten Julia… no, Charge, to a pulp. Herald first though, and then Lady Argent not quite as much. There’s a sense of guilt around the first two mentioned. Argent not so much. It felt good in the moment to finally feel an equal to that massive shadow that loomed over me, coddled me, treated me as glass. It felt so good to beat down that perfect picture of a hero with his own vanity in front of his adoring fans, the new guy that got everything I didn’t. Yet, I mangled the woman that I, well, I dare not use the word. Then after learning that Herald wasn’t just a fan of Sidestep, but that Sidestep was his idol? His hero (pardon the pun)? I didn’t think it would hit me this hard but Jesus-fucking-Christ. Just another person I let down. No. No, not me. Sidestep. Sidestep let him down. Ouroboros simply fought him. That’s all. No more, no less.

          Of course, that feels like a lie, though at the same time, it doesn’t? It was difficult enough trying to distinguish Rysen from John sometimes—if Rysen even truly existed anymore—but now I have to differentiate three personas. Four if you included Sidestep, but they are firmly dead and gone. The exhibit, or rather lack thereof, is proof enough of that. I wonder how Ortega feels about it. Angry that someone defiled the memory of the former hero? Motivated for pay back? Does she not care? That would almost feel the worst, and I don’t know why, and I hate it.

God, I can hear her words now, ‘Don’t say you hate things so much, it’ll make you ugly on the inside’. Well guess-fucking-what, Julia. I’m ugly on the inside now. Or have I always been? Everything’s kind of a blur since Heartbreak, which is a long time. Seven years now, more like seven and a half. Yet it all felt like nothing. A bittersweet blob of memory, oddly enough. Incredibly bittersweet.

Should I ask her out on a date? She had promised one. Would that be going too far, however? Too close? Too prone to liability? I’m already in the position, what’s the threat of a little more tragedy in the already turbulent storm? Villains thrive on tragedy, right? Why am I asking so many questions? Too many already.

Fuck it, I’m gonna ask her. Not over the phone, that seems a tad disingenuous. When she asked me to the gala she asked me to meet in person, I should do the same. I’m sure as hell not going to the Rangers HQ. Don’t want to give myself away, let alone the fact that I’d feel like I was asking Steel if Ortega was home and if I could talk to her as if he were her dad. ‘Excuse me, Mr.Chen, is Julia home?’. As team leader was he the dad of the troop? Herald’s the baby and Argent the angsty teen, so definitely. Dear gods, Steel’s a father. Devils help us all. He certainly has the glare down.

I still miss him oddly enough. Not enough to give up my life of crime and don Sidestep’s mask once more. Hell no. I’m not even sure if it’s still in one piece. I’m not sure I want to know.

          Would I do it for Ortega though? As much as I’d love to help, I can’t, I just can’t. Y’know, aside from being a villain now and all, I just… couldn’t. The thought of feeling that thin nanomesh over my form alone made me want to chuck my skin like a meatbag alias. I guess in my position it really is a meatbag alias that I can toss aside whenever I so wish. Rysen and John. I often wonder what would happen if I just decided to live in John full time. What would happen if Rysen were to die while I were inhabiting John’s body. Would I—my consciousness that is—die? Would I just be stuck in a head blind body for the rest of said body’s life? Become him in every sense of the word. I don’t see why not, not that I’m seriously considering it or anything. Though the thought of resigning to a life of underworld business alongside Doctor Mortum isn’t half bad. Not one bit.

          Sometimes dating Mortum as John and trying to respark the old flame with Ortega as Rysen at the same time feels wrong, feels weird, but then I remember that Ortega was flirting with both John and Rysen at the same time, so I guess that totally excuses bad behavior. Definitely. I mean, she’s the master of flings, or at least was. It’s an interesting debate if nothing else. When I’m playing John, I’m still me and yet not. I’m john. John’s even developed his own mannerisms and behaviors, things Rysen would never do or wouldn’t even think of. I suppose this is like how superheroes have their hero and civilian identities. Both are just as real, right? And functionally they’re different people. This is way too much like way too many science-fiction pieces on the self and personal identity. I take ghost in the shell to an entirely other, meaty level

          But boy oh boy, Los Dioblos, hold onto your pants; you’ve heard of the double identity, I now present the triple identity! Groundbreaking, truly. Worn down, tired and retired telepath. Villain representative who just wants to keep his boss happy, hoping to get his cake and eat it too. Then finally the villain himself, Ouroboros, mastermind behind the impossibly elaborate plans. Ok, no one knows Ouroboros is a he, but that’s a good thing. The longer they’re all guessing, the better. I thought balancing Rysen and John was difficult, but Rysen, John, and Ouroboros? Son of a bitch, I didn’t know one person could get this tired. Thank the universe for coffee. Lots of cream lots of sugar preferred, but I’m not too terribly picky in a pinch, I already buy the cheap shit as is. Cheap ol’ Rysen. Yep. That’s me.

I keep talking about all these different identities, and yet I keep coming back to Rysen. Rysen. Rysen. Fuckin’ Rysen. I’m beginning to grow tired of the name. After… everything, I fully expected to shove off that particular shell of a man when I made my debut. I was apparently wrong. He keeps coming after me like a damn ghost. Ortega coming back into the mix certainly didn’t help, any chance of falling off the map died with her recognizing me in the diner. Oh well, I suppose, no plan survives first contact. I should really be surprised it didn’t all snag sooner. A lot sooner. Oh, but what a snag. That jawline, those lips, and gods above, those biceps.

She gives excellent hugs. Yep. That’s definitely what I like about them. The only thing.

          It was only recently that I realized a good memory I often draw upon—one of my few good memories—was that of Ortega kissing me after a particularly hard fight. She almost always initiated, and one time she even used her sparkles to shock my own lips ever so gently. I miss that sensation, funny enough, even if it was only the once. And, despite the fact that she always looked at me like I was fragile, she gave me this look like I was wanted. Like I belonged. Another thing I hate to admit, but I belong in her arms.

Fuck, what am I thinking? I shouldn’t allow myself to think like that, and yet such was the tendency of any good snag.

One other thing I hate to admit to myself—I love her. Son of a bitch, I always loved her, and I regret never telling her.

          I don’t think I could work up the courage to tell her though. Not then, not now, not ever. Aside from not being able to afford it, I don’t have the guts. Attacking a gala with some of Los Diablos’ richest and finest? No problem, just give me some time to plan. Facing a woman significantly larger than me on a date, looking at me with a sweetness in her eye? Nah nah nah nah nah. No way. Can’t do it. I’m weak, absolutely weak. Positively weak.

I hate myself.

          Julia doesn’t want me talking like that, she already made me promise to see a shrink, but she’s not here, inside my head walking down the street to get a cup of sweet, sweet addiction. She can’t dictate my self-talk. Except myself no one can. I doubt it will change any time soon, therapy or no. I hope the couch is comfy enough though. They always look comfy in the movies and on tv. Teary eyed tortured souls letting out their deepest secrets to some stranger taking notes on their entire life. Ew. Probably won’t tell them about the whole villain thing. I wouldn’t go at all and lie about it if I knew Julia would keep tabs on me and make sure I went. She’d probably drag me there herself. She always did care like that.

Oh well, she won’t leave me alone; but that’s a good thing, right? Because damn, what a kiss.

[deadpoet117]

Ohoho

It’s finally “done”! My Fallen Hero Sidestep fic! This take place between Rebirth and Retribution I haven’t played the alpha/beta pls don’t spoil or be angry. I might post it on my ao3 in the relative future because formatting is a bitch and I don’t feel like it.

Enjoy!

Julia had asked a fair question—what did that kiss mean?

I’m not sure myself, all I knew is that hearing the name Rysen was sweeter than I cared to admit. Was that even my name anymore? Again, not sure. What the hell, exactly, was going on in my life? Ortega, John, Mortum, The Rangers. Ouroboros. The new name I had chosen. The thought came to me at the party, the classic description of a serpent devouring its own tail, often used to signify the cycles of the universe and the process of rebirth—and it felt right at the time—but it felt positively wonderful in the afterglow of the gala. Fitting as can be really. Reborn, baptized in flame, smoke, and blood. Definitely several bruises and broken bones. Hopefully no corpses.

An odd sentiment for a demon of Los Diablos.

          First I had considered ‘Mindflayer’, but it wasn’t exactly me, as menacing a choice as it would have been. ‘Demon’ would have been too cheesy, too on the nose. Can’t really remember what made me think of it, but it simply fit. Even now I savor it on my tongue. Ouroboros. That one news station somehow fucked it up into ‘aurabeesknees’, but they’re in the minority so I guess I can let them off the hook. May have to pay a visit at a later date, however.

          Her and I text, call, all the things kids do nowadays. I hate that I can’t get enough. Of her laugh, her smile, the damn way she seductively wiggles her eyebrows to make me blush. Fuck, I hate admitting I blush too. I’m supposed to be a damn villain, not an anime protagonist. Speaking of which, I haven’t checked up on that lately. Like at all. Been too busy with villainy things. Anime can be villainous, right? We all know the ones. Not gonna name names though, that wouldn’t be fair.

          Just skirting around my problems now though, as per usual. I keep meaning to bring up how I’ve changed (minus the specific details, of course), to say something, and yet every time I choke and bring out my classic comedic deflection bullshit instead. I’m almost entirely positive Ortega can see through that, she’s just gotten… more subtle and less brash. Well, ‘less brash’ isn’t a good way to put it. ‘More selective in her bullrushing’ is more apt. Selective dumbassery is still dumbassery. I should know, I started my own little dumbass enterprise, may as well make a sign to post around the city. I can see it now, ‘Dumbass Incorporated seeking henchs now, will provide free lunch, health, and dental’. That’ll really draw them in. You don’t see many villains offering dental anymore. Could be a real selling point for when I want to expand.

          Truth be told, I’m a fan of the whole angels and demons trope we’re playing out. Sure, being a hero is nice and all, but being bad simply feels so good. Clichés? As many as you want. Monologues? Not recommended, but certainly entertaining. The utter sense of power? Fantastic. Maniacal cackling? My favorite part. No really, there’s nothing like a good laugh over the beaten forms of your enemies.

Beaten.

          That’s right, I had beaten Julia… no, Charge, to a pulp. Herald first though, and then Lady Argent not quite as much. There’s a sense of guilt around the first two mentioned. Argent not so much. It felt good in the moment to finally feel an equal to that massive shadow that loomed over me, coddled me, treated me as glass. It felt so good to beat down that perfect picture of a hero with his own vanity in front of his adoring fans, the new guy that got everything I didn’t. Yet, I mangled the woman that I, well, I dare not use the word. Then after learning that Herald wasn’t just a fan of Sidestep, but that Sidestep was his idol? His hero (pardon the pun)? I didn’t think it would hit me this hard but Jesus-fucking-Christ. Just another person I let down. No. No, not me. Sidestep. Sidestep let him down. Ouroboros simply fought him. That’s all. No more, no less.

          Of course, that feels like a lie, though at the same time, it doesn’t? It was difficult enough trying to distinguish Rysen from John sometimes—if Rysen even truly existed anymore—but now I have to differentiate three personas. Four if you included Sidestep, but they are firmly dead and gone. The exhibit, or rather lack thereof, is proof enough of that. I wonder how Ortega feels about it. Angry that someone defiled the memory of the former hero? Motivated for pay back? Does she not care? That would almost feel the worst, and I don’t know why, and I hate it.

God, I can hear her words now, ‘Don’t say you hate things so much, it’ll make you ugly on the inside’. Well guess-fucking-what, Julia. I’m ugly on the inside now. Or have I always been? Everything’s kind of a blur since Heartbreak, which is a long time. Seven years now, more like seven and a half. Yet it all felt like nothing. A bittersweet blob of memory, oddly enough. Incredibly bittersweet.

Should I ask her out on a date? She had promised one. Would that be going too far, however? Too close? Too prone to liability? I’m already in the position, what’s the threat of a little more tragedy in the already turbulent storm? Villains thrive on tragedy, right? Why am I asking so many questions? Too many already.

Fuck it, I’m gonna ask her. Not over the phone, that seems a tad disingenuous. When she asked me to the gala she asked me to meet in person, I should do the same. I’m sure as hell not going to the Rangers HQ. Don’t want to give myself away, let alone the fact that I’d feel like I was asking Steel if Ortega was home and if I could talk to her as if he were her dad. ‘Excuse me, Mr.Chen, is Julia home?’. As team leader was he the dad of the troop? Herald’s the baby and Argent the angsty teen, so definitely. Dear gods, Steel’s a father. Devils help us all. He certainly has the glare down.

I still miss him oddly enough. Not enough to give up my life of crime and don Sidestep’s mask once more. Hell no. I’m not even sure if it’s still in one piece. I’m not sure I want to know.

          Would I do it for Ortega though? As much as I’d love to help, I can’t, I just can’t. Y’know, aside from being a villain now and all, I just… couldn’t. The thought of feeling that thin nanomesh over my form alone made me want to chuck my skin like a meatbag alias. I guess in my position it really is a meatbag alias that I can toss aside whenever I so wish. Rysen and John. I often wonder what would happen if I just decided to live in John full time. What would happen if Rysen were to die while I were inhabiting John’s body. Would I—my consciousness that is—die? Would I just be stuck in a head blind body for the rest of said body’s life? Become him in every sense of the word. I don’t see why not, not that I’m seriously considering it or anything. Though the thought of resigning to a life of underworld business alongside Doctor Mortum isn’t half bad. Not one bit.

          Sometimes dating Mortum as John and trying to respark the old flame with Ortega as Rysen at the same time feels wrong, feels weird, but then I remember that Ortega was flirting with both John and Rysen at the same time, so I guess that totally excuses bad behavior. Definitely. I mean, she’s the master of flings, or at least was. It’s an interesting debate if nothing else. When I’m playing John, I’m still me and yet not. I’m john. John’s even developed his own mannerisms and behaviors, things Rysen would never do or wouldn’t even think of. I suppose this is like how superheroes have their hero and civilian identities. Both are just as real, right? And functionally they’re different people. This is way too much like way too many science-fiction pieces on the self and personal identity. I take ghost in the shell to an entirely other, meaty level

          But boy oh boy, Los Dioblos, hold onto your pants; you’ve heard of the double identity, I now present the triple identity! Groundbreaking, truly. Worn down, tired and retired telepath. Villain representative who just wants to keep his boss happy, hoping to get his cake and eat it too. Then finally the villain himself, Ouroboros, mastermind behind the impossibly elaborate plans. Ok, no one knows Ouroboros is a he, but that’s a good thing. The longer they’re all guessing, the better. I thought balancing Rysen and John was difficult, but Rysen, John, and Ouroboros? Son of a bitch, I didn’t know one person could get this tired. Thank the universe for coffee. Lots of cream lots of sugar preferred, but I’m not too terribly picky in a pinch, I already buy the cheap shit as is. Cheap ol’ Rysen. Yep. That’s me.

I keep talking about all these different identities, and yet I keep coming back to Rysen. Rysen. Rysen. Fuckin’ Rysen. I’m beginning to grow tired of the name. After… everything, I fully expected to shove off that particular shell of a man when I made my debut. I was apparently wrong. He keeps coming after me like a damn ghost. Ortega coming back into the mix certainly didn’t help, any chance of falling off the map died with her recognizing me in the diner. Oh well, I suppose, no plan survives first contact. I should really be surprised it didn’t all snag sooner. A lot sooner. Oh, but what a snag. That jawline, those lips, and gods above, those biceps.

She gives excellent hugs. Yep. That’s definitely what I like about them. The only thing.

          It was only recently that I realized a good memory I often draw upon—one of my few good memories—was that of Ortega kissing me after a particularly hard fight. She almost always initiated, and one time she even used her sparkles to shock my own lips ever so gently. I miss that sensation, funny enough, even if it was only the once. And, despite the fact that she always looked at me like I was fragile, she gave me this look like I was wanted. Like I belonged. Another thing I hate to admit, but I belong in her arms.

Fuck, what am I thinking? I shouldn’t allow myself to think like that, and yet such was the tendency of any good snag.

One other thing I hate to admit to myself—I love her. Son of a bitch, I always loved her, and I regret never telling her.

          I don’t think I could work up the courage to tell her though. Not then, not now, not ever. Aside from not being able to afford it, I don’t have the guts. Attacking a gala with some of Los Diablos’ richest and finest? No problem, just give me some time to plan. Facing a woman significantly larger than me on a date, looking at me with a sweetness in her eye? Nah nah nah nah nah. No way. Can’t do it. I’m weak, absolutely weak. Positively weak.

I hate myself.

          Julia doesn’t want me talking like that, she already made me promise to see a shrink, but she’s not here, inside my head walking down the street to get a cup of sweet, sweet addiction. She can’t dictate my self-talk. Except myself no one can. I doubt it will change any time soon, therapy or no. I hope the couch is comfy enough though. They always look comfy in the movies and on tv. Teary eyed tortured souls letting out their deepest secrets to some stranger taking notes on their entire life. Ew. Probably won’t tell them about the whole villain thing. I wouldn’t go at all and lie about it if I knew Julia would keep tabs on me and make sure I went. She’d probably drag me there herself. She always did care like that.

Oh well, she won’t leave me alone; but that’s a good thing, right? Because damn, what a kiss.

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 94: Greg the Babysitter

“We all gotta grow up sometime, right?”

Right off the bat, this episode’s greatest weakness is that we don’t see Baby Buck and the Baby Pizza Twins as we do in Lamar Abrams’s promo art. How dare we not have more baby teens?

Lack of infant variety notwithstanding, this is a great episode, if not a subtle one. Greg is no stranger to hammering out the lesson of a story, but here it’s made so explicit so often that it threatens to weaken the actual plot. Fortunately the plot does a good enough job of showing that it makes up for all the telling, but still, it’s so on the nose that Vidalia calls Greg out when he belatedly repeats the moral it in response to an unrelated statement. 

(But to be clear, this is a story about growing up. Growing up is what this episode about. Gaining maturity is valuable. Emotional development is important. Taking responsibility as you age: good. Staying a kid forever: bad!)

As with Annoying Steven early in the series, this lesson is achieved by presenting us with Douchebag Greg. Douchebag Greg slums around and mooches off a single working mother, depriving her of her own food and taunting her for working to feed her child. When tasked with babysitting, he does what he wants instead of focusing on what a baby might need, and when the kid goes missing, his search includes a pit stop to the arcade to play video games.

This is the second episode where Greg is awful for the bulk of the runtime, and the first, House Guest, was so bad that it earned my inaugural “No Thanks!” rating (a brutal assessment, I know). By that metric you might think I’d dislike Greg the Babysitter as well, because boy oh boy is Douchebag Greg unlikable. But the key difference is the level of intent: even looking past the age and maturity gap between these two Gregs, the Greg of House Guest chooses to lie to his son despite seeing how hard Steven takes it, while Douchebag Greg’s actions stem from sincere cluelessness. Neither is great, and younger Greg is still old enough to know better, but ignorance is far more digestible than purposeful shadiness from this character.

Both House Guest and Greg the Babysitter stay somewhat true to Regular Greg by making him driven by love, whether it’s paternal or romantic. The problem of House Guest is that this emotional core is tainted by him wronging Steven in a way we’ve never seen before or since (compare his feigning of an injury to his negligence in Maximum Capacity, where he instead makes a mistake and is immediately regretful). Nothing in Greg the Babysitter diminishes any sense of authenticity about Greg’s feelings for Rose, because for all his flaws, he doesn’t take advantage of Rose or their relationship.

Moreover, I appreciate that his flaws come from the same character traits that kicked off this relationship, which so far has dominated his flashbacks: Greg is a dreamer and a romantic, which works great in Story for Steven, and he takes the relationship seriously, so he matures on that front in We Need to Talk, but now we see that he’s so focused on Rose that he’s ignoring every other element of life as a functioning adult. 

This episode works because Greg is realistically irresponsible. His head has always been in the clouds, and now he’s in a relationship with someone that’s literally magic, so he has no incentive to reflect on himself barring a dire situation. But this episode excels because Greg’s decision to grow up has nothing to do with Steven. We get the groundwork for Rose wanting a kid, but Greg getting his act together is something he does for himself. It would’ve been so easy for this shift to be prompted by impending fatherhood, but it’s far more satisfying to see a character improve himself because he wants to, rather than out of obligation to others. It allows the moment he takes agency to be triumphant without being mixed up in a sense of begrudging acceptance of his duties.

Finally, while I still think it’s ridiculous that the Crystal Gems treat him like a total flake in Laser Light Cannon given his clear improvement since the Douchebag Greg days, it does make a little sense that beings unaccustomed to change would have a hard time getting past this first impression. If you go back and watch the second season of the series after Greg the Babysitter, it’s not hard to imagine which Greg they’re talking about. It’s a stretch, because they’ve seen plenty of evidence to contradict this impression, but if you’re looking to explain their behavior then it’s the best reason I’ve got.

Greg the Babysitter marks an unspoken milestone in the series: this is the last time we’ll ever see Rose Quartz before her web of duplicity begins to unravel. In just four episodes, we’ll learn that she bubbled Bismuth away and lied about it to everyone. In another three, we’ll hear that she shattered Pink Diamond. The veracity of that second part is irrelevant, because the truth only further proves her capacity for deceit. We’ve seen already that Rose wasn’t perfect, but this is her final appearance before the dominoes begin to fall. One last happy memory that directly leads to the creation of our show’s title character, in an episode that emphasizes how dreaming is nice, but reality will always force people to make a change.

We see way more of Rose in this swan song than we did in Story for Steven or We Need to Talk, and like Greg, her mistakes here can be attributed to cluelessness. She admits how confusing humans can be for her, particularly babies, so it’s hard to blame her for not taking good care of Sour Cream. It’s especially hard to blame her considering how excited she is for him to exhibit independence. And it’s impossible to blame her, at least for me, when she references one of my favorite dumb Simpsons jokes in regards to watching him.

The Pink Diamond revelation adds new layers to her explanation that Gems are made for specific purposes, but the funny thing is, it doesn’t add that many new layers: even before learning just how high up Rose was, we still knew she was rebelling against what she was made to do. I think the more interesting aspect of her speech is how it lines up with Bismuth’s repetition of her insistence that Gems could break away from their intended roles. Seeing Rose talk about it here, less than twenty years ago, is made fascinating by knowing she was saying the same thing thousands of years ago. For a Gem that’s interested in change, she hasn’t really changed that much. It’s one thing for her to know that and talk about it, but it’s another for us to see it in action.

I love how an episode that’s this unsubtle (about being a story about growing up, in case you didn’t catch it) manages to quietly explain why Steven exists. We see a baby, and we see Rose loves babies, and we see Rose admires the human capacity to change, and we’ll soon see that Rose herself stagnated there a little bit, but we leave it at that. Judging by the age difference between Sour Cream and Steven, it’s a few years until she and Greg make an actual decision, so it makes sense to not reference it too explicitly this early, but it’s still a direction the episode could’ve taken and I’m very glad it didn’t.

I’ve made no secret about how much I love Brian Posehn voicing Sour Cream with his regular grown man voice, so obviously the best part of this episode is his further use of that voice for Baby Cream. It’s the gift that keeps on giving, and by itself ensures that Greg’s dickishness can’t pull the episode too far down. As with Onion Friend, the strange connection between Sour Cream and Steven is left unspoken, but it’s wild to consider that this side character is a big reason why our protagonist exists. While I’d be fine with this continuing to be a quiet part of the backstory, I can’t say I wouldn’t be interested in seeing Steven and Sour Cream talk about it one day, even as a small gag. 

Onion Friend was also the last time we spent any meaningful amount of time with Vidalia, and it’s neat to fill in some gaps between her debut cameo in Story for Steven and her modern iteration. Marty’s flakiness is further proven by her being a single mother from the start, but she’s clearly risen to the occasion and loves the hell out of her kid. Her patience with Greg is tested by his awfulness (and honestly makes said awfulness hard to watch, given how much is on her plate), but it speaks volumes that she’s so welcoming to the ex-friend of her ex. She’s probably the only human Greg knows in Beach City at this point, and I honestly wish we saw more of their modern relationship when we have such a vivid image of their history.

I Think I Need a Little Change might not reach the rocking heights of Comet or What Can I Do For You, but it’s catchier than either and has that wonderful twist on the double meaning of “change.” The wordplay speaks for itself, but it’s a cool trick to reveal that this musical montage is as diegetic as the other two songs: this is something he’s actually singing to people. We get a hefty break from songs after Mr. Greg, so that might be meddling with my opinions, but I think this is my favorite of the three. Puns beat electric guitar, and the song crystalizes Greg’s similarity to Steven come Change Your Mind.

And so we end Season 3, Act 2. We’ve had the aftermath of the Cluster, and we’ve had a series of slice of life episodes from this particularly magical life, but we’ll soon be back to the high-octane plotting of the Cluster Arc. It’s a bit strange that Greg the Babysitter comes between Alone at Sea and Gem Hunt, considering the Jasper of it all, but it’s nice to have this respite before we barrel towards the pivotal moment of Steven’s series-wide arc, especially when this respite tells us a lesson that’s about to become a lot more obvious in the coming storm:

Steven Universe is a story about growing up.

Future Vision!

Good thing nothing bad happened to Sour Cream, or else Greg would’ve had to pray that his space goddess's magic could bring people back from the dead. That would be a ridiculous power!

If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have inconsistencies…

Vidalia got this top from the T-Shirt Shop where she works. This top has a collar. T-shirts do not have collars. It’s unresearched nonsense like this that makes Cartoon Network put this show on hiatus so often, come on people.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

While I do enjoy this episode and stand by it being great, I don’t necessarily love things that I critically find great. Greg the Babysitter doesn’t do quite enough on the emotional level to make me truly love it, considering how much time we have to spend with Douchebag Greg. I appreciate the importance of his douchebaggery, and the importance of this episode as a whole, but this isn’t an something I go out of my way to rewatch. Sorry, Baby Cream. I still like it!

Top Fifteen

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

No Thanks!

     5. Horror Club      4. Fusion Cuisine      3. House Guest      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

[reddieaddict]

You’re Gonna Live Forever In Me (Part 5/6)

Prequel to Richie’s Eulogy

Official Cast

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

A/N: Oh and just a reminder, in my fic Richie is hispanic, his full name is Ricardo Alonzo Tozier, and he speaks fluent spanish. Why? Because it’s MY fic, fuck off! jk I love you. 

Pairings: Reddie 

Warnings: Mostly fluff, but with plenty of angst and mentions of abuse, death, homophobia, suicide, drug use and suggestive themes. 

Summary: It’s senior year and Eddie has began to notice Richie exhibiting strange behavior. He is worried he might be hiding something, but doesn’t know how to confront Richie about it without setting him off and making matters worse.

Father’s Day 1995

“Dude, I’m high as fuck!” Eddie Kaspbrak was never really much of a smoker, but Father’s Day was always rough for him and he needed some form of escape, which Richie was more than happy to accommodate. He and Richie lied on their backs in opposite directions with their heads meeting at the center of Eddie’s bedroom floor, similar to the soon-to-be infamous upside down kiss shared by Mary Jane and Spiderman in the yet-to-be-released first film. [KINDA LIKE THIS] Sinuous streams of smoke swirled deviously through the air, marbleizing the space above them. They studied the ceiling unsure how they had ended up in that position, having been sitting cross-legged facing one another when they had begun to smoke, but they didn’t really much care at that moment. 

Had it been a typical year, Bev would have been right there with them getting smoked out, but (un)fortunately this year Ben had invited her over to his house for a celebratory dinner with his parents. This left the two boys on their own, not that they had any problem with that. Neither of them ever had anything to do on Father’s Day, since Eddie’s father had passed away twelve years ago, and Richie really had nothing to celebrate his dad for. 

Besides every father’s day since freshman year, Eddie had only been high a handful of times, every single one with Richie. He hadn’t really made a hard stance on how he felt about it. He never could get used to the burning sensation he felt when he smoked and he feared that, one day, it all would catch up to him in the form of lung cancer. Yet he continued to do it, because he liked the way time seemed to ripple and fold in on itself- moments and memories bleeding into each other like a kaleidoscope- and he loved how his senses felt heightened and numbed simultaneously. Every single one of his nerve endings tingled, making everything feel as if it was vibrating against his skin. Most of all, he adored how uninhibited and unburdened he felt for those few hours. It was a taste of how he had always longed to feel, but could never achieve without assistance from some kind of substance, and he savored it blissfully.

        “Me, too. That guy said this was some good shit, but I thought he was just blowing smoke up my ass (no pun intended) to justify the higher price. He wasn’t kidding, though. This is some GOOD weed,” Richie said with a dopey grin, his eyes never deviating from the celling above him. He laced his fingers together atop his stomach with his legs extended, one crossed over the other. One of his favorite mixed tapes played in the background on Eddie’s humble but functional cassette player. “I am glad it’s just us two, today. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love Bev and she’s always a good time, but I really like when it’s just us two. Like you’re really cool and adorable and hot and you make me feel relaxed. Oh my god, I think that’s why I made you my boyfriend.”

“Okay, you are REALLY high.” Eddie giggled at his boyfriend’s ramblings.

“Oh yeah . . . I’m up there.” Richie said nodding with a smirk as he turned his head to face Eddie. “I really mean it, though. Father’s Day sucks ass, but I kinda look forward to it every year cause it’s just you and me . . . and Bev . . . sometimes.”

“Isn’t it ironic that the two guys with the most daddy issues in the Loser’s Club ended up together?” Eddie gasped dramatically and then paused with an exaggerated expression of feign realization. “Oh my god! Is it ironic, or is it WHY we’re together? Dun! Dun! Dun!” Eddie cackled, finding his own joke hilarious, and Richie, instead, laughed at Eddie’s ridiculous behavior.  

“You’re dumb,” Richie said turning back to face the celling and became entranced by the celling fan and the fuzzy shapes it created as it whirled above them. 

“Whatever, you just feel threatened be cause I’m funnier than you when I’m high.” Richie could practically hear the smirk on Eddie’s face as he teased him.

“Oh, you coming for me, Eds?” Richie challenged “You think you can dethrone me as the funniest member of the Loser’s Club?”

“I know I can, but I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, Ricardo.” Eddie said condescendingly as he turned and placed a sloppy kiss onto Richie’s stubble riddled cheek. Surprised by the sudden pricks against his delicate skin, he then pulled away with a grimace. “Ow! Babe, you need to shave!”

Richie scoffed, then turned and nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s smooth plump cheek, igniting a blush that spread across the bridge of his nose and then onto his other cheek. “Awe, You’re just jealous, mijo. (baby boy)”

The smile that had spread on Eddie’s lips as a result of Richie’s affection evaporated from his face and was replaced with a questioning leer and an arched brow. “Jealous of what, exactly?”

“That you can’t grow any facial hair, yet.” Richie confronted Eddie’s intense glare with a teasing smirk, which irritated Eddie even more.

  “Yes I can!” Eddie exclaimed with a sneer, but the tone of his voice betrayed him, dripping with insecurity. “I’m just not lazy and shave everyday, unlike you.”

  “Eddie Spaghetti, I know for a FACT that you don’t shave because you never have any razors in your bathroom. I always have to bring my own from home when I spend the night,” Richie said matter-of-factly. Eddie shot his gaze back up to the celling, embarrassed. A smirk tugged on Richie’s full lips, knowing he had Eddie against the ropes, before delivering the finishing blow. “I can even see peach fuzz still on your cheeks! If you DID shave, you wouldn’t have any. Your face would be completely smooth.”

  “Beep, Beep! . . .You’re an asshole.” Eddie voice was low and faint, but the hurt it contained was loud and evident. Richie realized he had gone too far and immediately guilt began to pool in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry, bebe! (Baby) I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It-it’s not even a bad thing! I think its adorable that your don’t have any facial hair, really! It means your face feels soft when I kiss it like this!” Richie sat up and took Eddie’s face, which was upside down to him, in his hands and began to pepper what felt like hundreds of kisses all over it, in rapid succession. Eddie giggled, no longer upset, then used his own hands to grab onto Richie’s face and pulled him in for an upside down kiss that started off gentle but quickly evolved with passion. Richie pulled away smiling contently and lied back down where he once was, his limbs sprawled out dramatically, exhaling blissfully upon impact. “Wow!”

  Richie and Eddie had always bickered like this; it was one of the hallmarks of their relationship, present since it’s conception. People often wondered, because of their explosive dynamic, how they could possible be a couple, but what they mistakenly overlooked was the love, respect and loyalty that tethered the two to each other. They were complementary, but unlike yellows and violets, they didn’t muddle when they collided, but rather created a new color all their own.

“Richie?” Eddie reached up with is right hand and began play with Richie’s thick dark curls, occasionally gently scratching his scalp with his immaculately manicured nails. The feeling felt so soothingly pleasurable that Richie almost wanted to purr, but quickly decided against it, realizing it would be kinda weird. “What’s up, Eds?”

“Who-um,” Eddie hesitated. “Who taught you how to shave?” 

“Oh!” Richie knew what Eddie really wanted to know was if his father had taught him how to shave. He understood where the curiosity came from, since Richie’s father was a total dick and teaching him would be totally out of character. “Well- um- It was Stan the Man.”

“Stan!?” Eddie exclaimed; his face riddled with a shocked grimace.

Richie chuckled softly under his breath at Eddie’s reaction. “Yup! Yup!”

“How the fuck did that happen?” Eddie interrogated expectantly after pausing for Richie to elaborate, only for the taller boy to sit there looking back at him blankly.

“Okay! So- funny story- one morning, after I had spent the night, we were getting ready and he caught a glimpse of me shaving. Apparently I must have been doing a really shitty job, because he decided to stop me and then took it upon himself to give me some ‘pointers.’ Well, as you would expect from Staniel, those pointers turned into a forty-five minute lesson in the Art of Shaving, as he called it.” Richie made air quotes as he chortled at the memory. “Honestly, I lucked out cause before Stancine taught me the proper way to shave I kinda had to figure it out on my own and I was always nicking the fuck out of my face.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed with skepticism. “I don’t mean to be rude, but-“

“I’m sure you’ll power through,” Richie interrupted sarcastically.

Eddie rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Shut up asshole! Seriously, though, who made Stan such an expert on the art of shaving?” He said the last the works in mockingly low tone.

“Okay, settle down Diane Sawyer,” Richie said teasingly. “I guess his dad had taught him a long time ago, but you know how meticulous Stan is. He took it to this whole new level with his own special technique and this long ass skin care routine. It was nuts.” 

   “Hm, well that’s cool.” Eddie hummed wistfully. “I’ve always been afraid to do it. I mean I don’t have to yet, but I am afraid that whenever I do, I am going to cut myself and get some kind of infection on my face. I know it’s a stupid irrational fear, but still it’s a sharp blade against your face. Just the idea of it frightens the shit out of me!”

“Well, I can teach you- if you want me to. O-or you can ask Stan! I’m sure you’d probably prefer him teaching you, since he’s, like, better at explaining things and-yeah,” Richie offered apprehensively, marred with self-doubt. 

“No! I-I would like that! You teach-you teaching me, I mean. I would prefer it if YOU taught me.” Eddie said with a little too much enthusiasm, stumbling through his words. “Sorry, let me start again . . . I would be honored if you, Richie Tozier, taught me how to shave.” 

“Dude, I would be honored to teach you! We can even practice on OTHER parts while we wait for your facial hai-“ Eddie’s hand clasped onto Richie’s mouth, preventing him from spewing out whatever disgusting perversion he was about to say. “Well, great Trashmouth. You ruined another moment by being a total perv. Cochino! (Nasty)” 

Richie pulled Eddie’s hand down, just enough for him to be able to speak. He smiled mischievously. “You LOVE me!”

“For reasons known but to God.” Eddie admitted begrudgingly. He looked into Richie’s rich molasses eyes and felt himself lost within them. They were dark but still managed to sparkle with life and warmth. Eddie loved when Richie didn’t wear his magnifying lenses; it was like seeing a whole new side of him. When he wore his glasses, Richie was adorable and charming in a juvenile way, but when he stripped himself of them he seemed mysterious and dapper, yet enchanting just the same. Richie had a lot of unconventionally beautiful features, but his eyes were Eddie’s absolute favorite. He smiled amorously. “I love you, Trashmouth.” 

“I love you too, Eddie Spaghetti! Since the first day I met you, until death do us part and even after that! Forever and for always.” Richie lips caressed Eddie’s again and Eddie smiled at the sensation. Richie shamelessly flirted with Eddie all the time, but rarely was he so . . . romantic. He professed his love for him frequently, but when he spoke with such daring sincerity (in a way that he reserved for just Eddie and only in intimate moments like this), it made Eddie’s heart swell and his chest burn with love, so much so he feared he might combust at any second. 

Whenever Eddie was enraptured in moments like these, it was hard for him to believe the two of them hadn’t always been like this- been together, but at one time that was the case. Their love for one other had always been effortless but that was exactly the problem. All their lives, they had been force fed this ideal archetype of what a family should be and anything that deviated from it was shameful, if not an abomination. They were two people (or, more accurately, two children) that loved each other without intending or wanting to, but did so fiercely. It was confusing and daunting, but no matter how much they tried, it could not be denied. 

“When did you know?” Eddie asked with reluctant curiosity.

“When did I know what? That I loved you? I just told you, since the day I met you.” Richie responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“No, not- I don’t know how to phrase it. Like, when did you KNOW, not when did you first feel it? Do-do you get what I mean?” Eddie stammered. He began to get frustrated with his inability to articulate what he was thinking. In his head it made perfect sense, but it just wasn’t translating how he hoped. Maybe it was cause he was so high. 

“Nuh-uh.” Richie shook his head as he looked at Eddie blankly. 

“I guess-Okay, so- let me try again! When did admit it to YOURSELF for the first time? THAT- the way you felt that way about boys- or about me.” Eddie eyebrows furrowed with uncertainty as he asked Richie what felt like a very personal question. He wasn’t sure why, though. 

“Oh!” Richie exclaimed, dragging out the “o.” His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up, almost meeting his hairline, finally grasping what Eddie had been trying to ask. His eyes darted around the room as he gathered his thoughts and contemplated how to best approach the question. “I dunno. Always, I guess.”

“No you didn’t!” 

  “Yes I did, Eds!” he assured, “I always knew you were the one!” 

Eddie paused with narrow eyes and pursed lips, disbelieving of Richie’s response. “Then why did it take you SO LONG to ask me out!? Why did it take you until the end of junior year to finally kiss me?”

“Why are you asking? W-Whe-Where is this coming from?” Richie questions came across like a counter, but Eddie could tell Richie didn’t mean any of it in an offensive way. 

“Well, you and I have never talked about it. Like, we just got together, and never talked about our sexuality, other than the superficial stuff. I mean, you told me you’ve loved me for a long time and that you identified as Bisexual, but you’ve never told me HOW you realized it or how you came to terms with it. Like, was it hard for you? Were you afraid? I dunno- I-I guess I am just curious, but it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. It’s not like it’s that big of a deal.”

“Honestly Ed’s I thought we were already together. I just thought you were taking it slow and I didn’t want to push you. I assumed you didn’t want to kiss me cause of your hypochondria, or whatever, but then I got impatient and went for it. ” This was a half-truth.

“Oh my god! Nevermind, if you’re not gonna answer honestly then forget it. We can just talk about something else!” Eddie complained.

“Eds, honestly! You can’t tell me that after the summer of 89 you and I were ever JUST FRIENDS!” Richie exclaimed, exasperated. “Friends don’t act like we did! We crossed a lot of lines . . . especially at night! All that cuddling!? Come on!”

“I’m not arguing that we didn’t have a . . . weird friendship, but I don’t believe that you really thought we were together.” Eddie contended. “If that was the case, then why did you go out with Heather freshman year or Amber during sophomore year!?”

Richie rolled his eyes at the mention of his past relationships; he had always considered them too brief to hold any insignificance. “Those relationships weren’t even serious. We barely even kissed!”

“That’s not the fucking point! You asked THEM out, which means you couldn’t have thought we were together, UNLESS you were okay with cheating on me! To some extent you must have felt a little ashamed, if you felt the need to try and date girls when you were allegedly already into me!”

“I was not ashamed, Edward!” Richie exclaimed embittered. His contemplative eyes flickered away from Eddie and then back to him intently. “My dad wouldn’t get off my case about not having a girlfriend . . . not since he caught me being too “friendly” with you.” 

Eddie frowned in startled confusion as he sat up to face Richie properly. Once the older boy saw this, he too sat himself gloomily across from his boyfriend. “What do you mean? You never told me that! . . . W-when was that?”

“ 8th grade.” Richie answered, sullenly. 

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Eddie ruminated, with furrowed brows, on one-sided memories that had long befuddled him. “Is that why you were so awkward around me for, like, half of 8th grade? I-I remember you started coming over more at night, but wouldn’t be caught DEAD here during the day. I had always just assumed it had something to do with my mom or something she had said.”

Richie’s face turned pained and stern with eyes that darted around the room pensively, but also avoiding of Eddie’s. “My dad never- NEVER comes home early, right? I mean, i-it’s a fucking miracle if he even comes home more than two nights in a row, you know? But, one day he did JUST THAT!” Richie chuckled dryly.  Eddie sensed this was much harder to talk about than he led on. “I guess on his way home he had driven passed your house, which could only means he was coming from one of his mistresses’ houses, cause it’s not even on his route home from work. Well, as luck would fucking have it, he drove by right when I was giving you a kiss on the forehead, after walking you home. He just, um, he-he just lost it.”  

A thick coat of guilt layered itself over Eddie’s chocolate eyes, threatening to spill down his reddened cheeks. “Richie, I’m sorry- “

“No-no-no-no! Don’t do that! It’s NOT your fault!” Richie interrupted, leaning in purposefully, tenderly cupping Eddie’s cheek.  Their gazes intermingled with heartfelt intensity. “He’s an asshole and it has NOTHING to do with you, so don’t you dare feel guilty. That is exactly what he would want, and I refuse to let that prick win.”

Richie instinctively hid behind his characters and voices during moments of extreme emotional duress, like this one, but with Eddie those tactics were not an option. Eddie was Richie’s best friend first and foremost and through the years he had developed a deeper understanding of him, easily seeing right through his defense mechanisms. This forced Richie to be himself- his REAL self, much to his chagrin. Those formative teenage years are usually when people try to find themselves, but all Richie wanted was to be someone else- anyone else. His voices were those of characters he imagined were stronger than him, unaffected by fear or heartache, and he preferred to hide behind them, forever if he could. 

That was the thing about Eddie, though. He wasn’t in love with the invincible characters, but rather the sensitive boy that created them. Sure, he found them amusing, but he knew they were just fabricated illusions intended to camouflage Richie’s true feelings. He wanted Richie for who he really was, not an “easier” version of him. Where other could only handle Richie in small dosages, Eddie was willing to overdose. He loved and revered his boyfriend profoundly and sincerely believed he could change the world with his hands tied behind his back, if only he could stay out of his own way.  

“Look, if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t want to love you, but I DID! I tried not to love you, but it had nothing to do with shame. It wasn’t that I thought it was wrong. I-I jus-“ Richie’s voice began to quiver and break with emotion, as tears began to stream down his face. “I just did want to give my dad anoth- another reason to hate me. How fucked up is that?”

“That is not fucked up, Richie! You do-“ 

Undeterred by Eddie attempted to comfort him, Richie continued on with his self-deprecating rant. “Not only is it fucked up, but it’s also pathetic. How could I admit that? That is something you feel unwillingly, but should never admit to yourself and you CERTAINLY don’t say it aloud- to anyone! That’s so fucking pathetic! I’m . . . pathetic.”

“Don’t say that!” Eddie interjected. He hated beyond expression whenever Richie spoke so vehemently about himself.

   “After everything they’ve done . . . after every tear and every bruise . . . I still- I- I still want them to love me.” Richie confessed resentfully between sobs. His despairing eyes finally met with Eddie’s empathetic ones after shamefully evading them up to this point. “I- I want them to love me, Eds. What’s wrong with me?” 

With overflowing tears of his own, Eddie urgently took Richie in his arms as tightly as he could. Overwhelmed by Eddie’s act of compassion, Richie wrapped his own arms around his boyfriend, grasping onto the back his shirt for comfort. The smaller boy consolingly caressed Richie’s head as he buried his face into the crook of his neck with heaving sobs. “There is NOTHING wrong with you, Richie! You deserve to be loved!” he assured, passionately. “You are not pathetic! You are the most beautiful, intelligent, loyal, amazing human being I have ever met. I love you and I refuse to let you say that! They might not have the capability to love you, but I do! And I will love you twice as hard for every person that doesn’t! Okay?”

“Okay.” Richie answered, weakly.

“Look at me!” Eddie pulled away and ardently glared into Richie’s eyes. He asked again, this time more pleadingly. “OKAY!?”

Richie eyes flickered around Eddie’s features with a melancholic smile; he wondered how he got so blessed with such an altruistic boyfriend. “Okay, Eddie Spaghetti.” He answered with more certainty and sincerity. 

“Good!” Eddie nodded with a teary eyed smile before leaning in to place a chaste kiss onto Richie’s plump lips; the older boy melted contently into the kiss. Fatigued by the arduous conversation, Richie moved to lay his head on Eddie’s lap, which the other welcomed eagerly. 

“I’m sorry I ruined our day together with my depressing bullshit,” Richie apologized, sheepishly. 

Eddie gifted Richie with a soft, understanding look. “Richie, you didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, raking his fingers through Richie’s thick waves. “You have nothing to apologize for! You can talk to me about anything and I will always be here for you. Don’t feel ashamed.” 

“Okay Spagheddie.” Richie smiled gratefully up at Eddie as he took his free hand and pressed an earnest kiss onto it. “Okay-okay! Let’s talk about something else. Something lighter.”

“Like what?”

“Literally ANYTHING else, Eds.” He insisted with raised brows.

Eddie took in a long dragged out inhale before exhaling dramatically. “Hmmm, well, there is this thing I’ve always wanted to ask you, but haven’t cause I thought you might think it’s weird,” he said, voice soaked in reluctance. 

“What is it?” Richie asked with a mistrusting tone and furrowed brows. “Does it have something to do with your secret kink?”

“Ew, no dumbass!” Eddie smacked Richie’s forehead as to chastise him, but still chuckled at Richie’s perverse humor. Laughing, Richie looked up at him with a scrunched nose and furrowed brows as he rubbed soothingly on his forehead, indicating that it actually did hurt a little. “If I ask you, do you promise to answer honestly?” 

“Of course, Ike Turner!” he teased.

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asked holding out his tiny pinky finger for his boyfriend, a wry smile adorning his lips. 

“Fucking hell, Eds . . . YES!” Richie rolled his eye and begrudgingly linked his pinky with Eddies. “I pinky promise, you dork.” 

Eddie smiled wide with a crinkled nose, which Richie found adorable, before proceeding tentatively. “Okay! Um, so, I know you’re bi, but, like, do you have a- uh- I dunno . . . a preference?”

Richie tiled his head slightly as he tried to decipher Eddie’s question. “Are you asking if I like one gender more than the other?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“Y-yeah,” Eddie answered, abashed. 

Richie chortled. “Why would you be afraid to ask me that?” he asked, incredulously. “Well, I guess . . . um, honestly I like both almost equally, BUT if I had to choose I guess I like girls a little more.” 

“Really!?” Eddie asked, flabbergasted. “Well we all have our flaws.” The tone of his voice was dismissive, but it was obviously intended to be taken as a joke.  

“That’s not a fucking flaw!” Richie laughed. “But, it’s not like it matters cause I like you more than anyone other person in the world, besides your mom.”

Eddie cautiously contemplated whether or not to ask the question that hovered about in his head. He knew if he did, it would make him seem insecure, but it wasn’t like he didn’t actually struggle with insecurity. “Fuck it!” he thought. “Is that why you like that I don’t have facial hair?”

“Wha-“ Richie was taken aback by the question. “No!” 

Eddie continued, despite Richie’s futile attempt to dispel his insecurities. He had come this far, might as well trudge on. “So, are you not going to find me attractive when I finish puberty? Are you not gonna want to kiss me when I have a stubble of my own? What about when I have a full beard?” Eddie had always felt insecure about his place in Richie’s heart. Richie was tall, dark, and handsome with charisma and charm to boost, and Eddie felt he paled in comparison. Eddie believed himself to be average (at best) in appearance and annoying in personality; he couldn’t understand what redeeming qualities Richie saw in him. He fearfully expected Richie would get fed up with him and his attitude someday; god knows he would have years ago. 

“The hell . . .?” Richie wondered out loud. It was almost a whisper; and although it was both phrased and said as a question, it was clearly more of an exclamation indicative of bewildered exasperation. “Eddie, are you fucking serious!? I’m BISEXUAL, not bi-curious! I’m not dating you as some sort of-of experimental phase! I love you, Eds! I think you’d look hot with facial hair . . . if you had hair all over or-or even if you were bald! It makes no fucking difference to me. You could stay cute and petite, or get all buff like a dwarf Schwarzenegger and- I’m telling you- it would make absolutely no difference to me. Trust me, babe, you have nothing to worry about!” 

“Oh. Okay . . . Good!” Eddie nodded, relieved and embarrassed. “Well, don’t get your hopes up, cause I’m not planning on getting buff anytime soon. I’m way too lazy to that shit. I mean track? Cool! Weights? Fuck that shit,” he joked, trying to distance them from the awkwardness that lingered in the air just seconds ago.  

“That’s fine with me.” Richie insisted. “I like you just the way you are, Spaghetti Man! . . .even if you are extremely ticklish.”

“What does that have to do wi-“ Before Eddie got the chance to finish his question, Richie sat up from his lap and lunged towards him, fluttering his fingers up and down his clothed ribs. Surprised by the unexpected attack, Eddie cackled involuntarily and threw himself back onto the floor in an attempt so squirm away. Richie swiftly climbed atop the smaller boy and sat himself over his lower stomach, then proceeded to pin both of Eddie’s arms over his head. Both of Eddie’s slight wrists fit effortlessly within Richie’s giant claw, leaving his other hand free to continue gleefully torturing his boyfriend.  

“Stop . . . it!” Eddie begged between fits of laughter.

“What’s wrong, Eds?” Richie asked mockingly, his fingers still tormenting Eddie’s sides. “Can’t handle a little tickling?”

“Stop! Stop . . . fucker!”

Richie laughed maniacally. “Nope, not until you admit you like your nicknames!” Eddie helplessly writhed and convulsed beneath him, trying fruitlessly to get away, but to no avail. “NEVER!” 

“Then I guess I can’t stop!” Richie warned with faux remorse.

“Seriously . . . Richie . . . Please!” Eddie pleaded, panic beginning to set in. He desperately wanted to get away, but Richie was much stronger than his gauntly physique would lead one to believe.  

“Nope! Sorry! Cant!” Richie chanted cheerfully. 

“RICHIE . . . I CAN’T . . . BREATHE!” Eddie howled with tears running down the sides of his face, which was entirely fire engine red. 

  Richie chuckled skeptically. “Nice try, Eds.” 

“I’M . . . SERIOUS!” Eddie began to wheeze and cough between laughs. ” . . . CAN’T . . . BREATHE! . . INHALER!” 

Richie’s fingers abruptly ceased their onslaught at the sound of Eddie’s labored breaths and rough coughs. “Oh shit, you’re serious?” 

“YES, YOU DUMBASS!”

“Oh fuck! I’m so sorry, babe!” Richie lifted himself off of his boyfriend and scrambled towards his backpack. He rummaged through the sack, searching for the spare inhaler he carried for Eddie. It had been years since Eddie had used it or even carried his own, but Richie still hauled it around in case of an emergency- like this one. Richie could hear Eddie continue to wheeze and cough on the floor, and he cursed his inability to move quicker. Unable to locate the aspirator, which was lost in the abyss that was his bag, he flipped the entire sack upside down and emptied its contents all over the bedroom floor. There, between his notebook and pencil case, was the teal green apparatus. He picked it up and hastily clambered over to his boyfriend and inserted the opening into his mouth. Eddie wrapped his lips around it and Richie pressed down, releasing the medication into his mouth, which then traveled into his struggling lungs. Immediately Eddie’s labored breath became stable, much to Richie’s relief.

As a precaution, Richie pressed down one more time before pulling the inhaler away. He remained close, incase he needed it once more and continued to monitor the smaller boy’s breathing. Eddie’s breaths were deep and could have easily been mistaken for consecutive sighs. “I honestly thought you were kidding!” Richie was beyond apologetic. “I thought your asthma was fake! What the hell was that?!”

Eddie remained silent as his eye retreated away from Richie’s. His face became blank and Richie, knowing Eddie so well, began to suspect it might have all been a ruse. Eddie knew he was on to him and if he tried to lie his way out of it, Richie would immediately figure it out. There was no point; lying would only make things worse. Fuck, he knew Richie was about to be super pissed at him. The jig was up, though. “Okay, fine! I was faking it.” He admitted warily.

“You dick!” Richie exclaimed, fury written across his freckle spotted face. “That’s not fucking funny, Eds! I was seriously scared!”

“Well, what the hell was I supposed to do? You wouldn’t fucking stop!” Eddie argued.

“NOT THAT!”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Eddie apologized, resigned. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Whatever,” Richie grumbled bitterly, as he sat himself against the side of Eddie’s bed, a bright red aura of fury radiating from him. Eddie was sure if he tried to touch him his finger would burn on contact. 

“I’m sorry, Richie!” Eddie begged. This time his apologies came out more whiney and supplicating than before. “Please forgive me?”

“No, that was fucked up!” Richie asserted loudly, his face displaying a look of resolute indignation. 

Eddie paused, realizing Richie was genuinely upset and passively asking for forgiveness would get him absolutely nowhere. When Richie got like this, Eddie knew there was only one way for him to quell his anger. He had to pull out the big guns. Smiling mischievously as he locked his now half-lidded eyes with Richie’s, he got on all fours and sensually ambled his way over to him, resembling a cheetah stalking it’s prey, ready to pounce at any second. The lanky boy gulped loudly as Eddie erotically climbed his way onto his boney lap, straddling him. Richie threw his head back, shutting his black orbs as Eddie weaved his fingers into his curls and began to trail soft kisses from his cheek down to his neck, slowly increasing in intensity. Eddie worked his way back up from his neck to his ear and began to nibble on it gently, inciting a sigh of contentment from his boyfriend. Eddie knew he had Richie right where he wanted him, so he leaned in and in a low seductive whisper pleaded once more. “Will you forgive me? Please . . . Daddy?”

Richie’s cheeks emblazed with an intense flush and his breath hitched deep within his throat. Eddie always did this! Every time he wanted to get his way or wanted Richie to do something he knew he wouldn’t want to, he would use that triggering word and Richie would melt into a compliant idiot. Richie would leap head first into the mouth of a volcano if Eddie asked him to- like THAT. He pulled away with an annoyed sigh and gave him a look that clearly stated “Goddammit, Eddie! That is NOT fair!” before smiling dopily in enthusiastic defeat. “You’re lucky you’re so adorable, you little brat.”

Eddie chuckled loudly, wrapping his arms around Richie and taking him into a tight joyful embrace, and pressed a firm beholden kiss onto his temple. Leaning back and sitting on Richie’s upper thighs, Eddie looked into his eyes with his own bloodshot ones.  “Dude, I am so stoned, it felt like you were tickling me for hours.”

“For real?” Richie asked, leaning back onto the palms of his hands.

“Yeah, it was intense.” Eddie replied with wide red eyes. 

Richie chortled mockingly. “You sound like such a stoner.”

Eddie gasped, horrified. “Okay, I’ll stop.” 

As Eddie straddled his lap, Richie reached for the cherub-faced boy’s hands. He wrapped his massive hands around Eddie’s smaller ones, engulfing them protectively, and began to play with them absentmindedly. He ghosted the tips of his fingers up and down Eddie’s palm, tickling him slightly. His gaze met Eddie’s at the sound of his faint giggle, biting his lip as he smiled at the smaller boy. Eddie’s hands looked elegant and dainty, but were actually quite dry and somewhat rough due to his constant washing and scrubbing. His palms were plump and spongy with translucent pale skin and often times were clammy due to his anxiety; but his was not one of those times. 

Thinking Eddie had grown tired of it, he stopped playing with his hands and tried to let go, but Eddie immediately reached back for them and began to massage his hands from his knuckles all the way down to the tips of his boney fingers. Where Eddie’s digits were smooth and tapered longingly, Richie’s were blunt and knobby, with dirt underneath his fingernails. Eddie admired their stark differences in physicality. One would expect Richie’s hands to be rough because of their masculine appearance, but, while they were large with square palms and some callouses, his hands were surprisingly soft and smooth. Freckles spotted the pale skin on the back of his hands and Eddie ran the pads of his thumbs over them. Richie’s hands were strong and logical, and Eddie felt safe within them.  

“Hey so you never told me how it was for you.” Richie commented, nonchalantly.

“What?” Eddie asked still admiring his hands.

“When you realized you were gay, or whatever! You never told me what it was like for you.” Eddie froze, but didn’t look up at Richie.

“Oh . . . Um . . . C-cause you didn’t wanna talk about it anymore.” He explained unconvincingly.

Richie chuckled at Eddie’s inability to conjure up a believable excuse. “I didn’t wanna talk about ME, anymore. I love hearing about YOU!” he insisted.

“You really wanna know? It’s kinda a depressing story,” Eddie warned apprehensively, his amber orbs were still avoiding of Richie’s. Anxiously, he set Richie’s hands back down, resting them atop of his thighs.

“Of course I do, amor (love)!”Richie maintained with less enthusiasm, but still very much sincerely. “Only if you want to, though. If it’s too hard you don’t have t-“

“N-n-no-no, it’s okay!” Eddie interjected. “It’s only fair. You showed me yours, now I show you mine.”

“Eddie, careful with those kinds of jokes!” Richie warned with narrowed eyes as he wiggled his brows suggestively.  “Don’t start something you aren’t willing to finish.”

Finally confident enough to meet Richie’s gaze, Eddie leaned in dangerously close once again, near enough in proximity that he could whisper and still be fully heard by his boyfriend. “Who says I’m not willing to finish it?” 

“Well then, lets get to it right HERE . . . on this floor . . .” Richie challenged lewdly. “I want YOUR body all over MY body!”

Eddie’s face contorted in shock. “No, it’s dirty!” 

“I knew you wouldn’t want to.” Richie griped, shaking his head tauntingly. Eddie’s cheeks burned as they became crimson, both abashed and annoyed because of Richie’s barb. “You’re a fucking tease.”

“I don’t want to fucking do it on this filthy ass floor, DICK!” Eddie retorted, offended. “Later, when we go to your house . . . I promise.” Richie’s smile widened so much that his cheeks actually started to hurt. Eddie was so stubborn and plagued with pride that it made embarrassingly susceptible to reverse psychology, and Richie knew how to use this to his advantage.

“Okay, fine. Well, how about we kill some time until then by listening to you tell me about your childhood traumas.” Richie suggested jokingly.

“Beep beep, Richie.” Eddie’s voice turned soft, almost defeated.

“Okay, sorry. Not funny.” Richie admitted, remorseful of his insensitivity. “Seriously, though. I am all ears.” Eddie, clearly unsure, paused hesitantly. He climbed off of Richie’s lap and sat himself against the bed, next to the taller boy. He stared off at nothing in particular, but clearly avoiding Richie, as he began to speak, while his hands began to fidget nervously.

“Well, you know how you said that you never felt ashamed or thought that being gay or bi was wrong? I-I feel that way, too- most of the time, but I didn’t always feel that way.” Eddie’s licked his lips nervously before releasing a ponderous sigh. “My mom always said horrible things about people like us and- I- dunno- I didn’t want to be gay.” Eddie scoffed dryly with watery eyes. “You know, I HATED going to church on Sundays, I always felt even more disgusted with myself whenever I was in there. I-I used to sit though the service and just pray in my head- I would ask God why-“ Eddie’s voice began to break, but his demeanor remained almost placid. “Why me? O-Out of all the people in the world, wh-why did I have to be gay? There are literally BILLIONS of people in the world, but-but-but I had to turn out this way. I used to ask, genuinely expecting an answer, but . . . I-I never got one. You would think I would take this as a sign that there was no God, but nope. Instead I believed that He didn’t want to answer me. I started to believe that because of my-my perversions I was unworthy of His response.”

Richie’s heart felt as if it had suffocated and withered dry behind his sternum. He had known Eddie struggled with his sexuality, but he had no idea to what magnitude. He felt unbearable guilt for not noticing how much pain his Eds had been in for years, so selfishly wrapped up in his own. “Do you still feel this way?” 

“Sometimes.” He answered blandly. “I never question the way I feel about you, though. My love for you is the only thing in my life that feels . . . right. It’s just- sometimes when my ma says things- she gets to me. I get confused.”

“What does she say?” Richie asked with cautious concern. 

Eddie paused pensively as his eyes darted around, his tongue poking out the slightest bit. “Richie, you know how I never talk about my dad?”

Richie hesitated. “Yeah?”

“I know that you guys all assume that I don’t remember him because I was so little when he died, and-and I liked it that way because then you guys would never ask me about him or force me to talk about him.” Eddie began to fidget more with his hands as he spoke. “I do remember him, though. I remember a lot, actually. I remember we used to play catch in the backyard.” Eddie smiled nostalgically, despite his tears. “I remember how he used to carry me on his shoulders on the fourth of July so I could see the fireworks. We even used to watch cartoons together every Saturday morning, while eating sugary cereals. Then when he started working more, we couldn’t play together as much, but he would tuck me into bed every night and we would talk about our day. He said that even though he wasn’t able to be there, he still wanted to know everything I had done or learned that day. It became my favorite part of every . . . single . . . day.” Eddie let out a melancholic chuckle. “I always wanted to try something new or do something fun so I would have a new interesting story for my dad at night. I used to look forward to it all day.” 

“Eddie . . .” Richie felt an unbearable pressure within his chest as a flurry of intense, conflicting emotions accumulated in it with no form of release to alleviate their burden.

“After he got sick- after- a-a-after he . . . died . . .I started to get scared of the world and I-I didn’t want to try new things anymore. I began to think the whole world was-was dangerous and my ma only reinforced those fears. But-bu-but I still wanted to talk to him, though. So, every night I would lay in bed and l would talk to him until I fell asleep. I would- uh- tell him about my day, about all the new friends I made- about you. I would tell him- I- I-” Eddie’s small voice began to tremble and break as be stammered through his story. Richie’s heart felt like it was trying to violently claw it’s way out of his chest. “I- I-uh– I would tell him how much I loved him and . . .  and how much I missed him. It was still my favorite part of the day, because I still felt like he was there, e-even if I could see him.” Eddie sniffled as tears cascaded down his rosy cheeks. His eyes seemed distant and full of unimaginable sorrow. “I did that every night until I was 12 . . . until that summer . . . until . . .  the leper.”

“Why?” Richie asked apprehensively.

“What the leper said- It made me start t-to suspect I was . . . different. I didn’t understand how, or-or, you know what, maybe I did be-because I knew enough to be ashamed. I was SO afraid to talk to my dad after that. I-I was afraid he would find out about me-I was TERRIFIED to tell him about what I felt- how I felt about you.” Small sobs began to develop in Eddie’s voice, which he desperately tried to will away. Even though tears were streaming freely down his face and sobs were escaping his chest, Eddie seemed oddly calm and collected- emotional, but not hysterical. “I was afraid I would disappoint him. I-if God was disgusted with me, then how could my father not be? I began to hate the nighttime, as STUPID as that sounds! . . . I would to cry myself to sleep every night.”

Richie began to deduce Sonia’s role in Eddie’s story. “Is that what your mom- does she talk about your dad?”

Eddie hummed and nodded in agreement. “S-she says that my dad- my dad would’ve hated me, if he saw the person that I became. That he could-could’ve never loved a-a . . . a faggot.”

Richie lifted himself off the floor and kneeled himself in front of Eddie, who seemed completely unfazed, and cupped his cheek, looking deeply into his eyes. “You know that isn’t true right?”

“I just- I think about how much my mom loved me, before I came out. I wonder sometimes if she’s right- if he would- if he would have reacted like her. D-does he hate me, too?” Eddie’s eyes burrowed into Richie’s after evading them for most of the conversation, darting around as he tried to extract coherent words from the jumbled thoughts in his head. “I keep going over all the memories I have of us together, his face- his voice. I don’t want him to hate me, Richie!” he said in a hoarse whisper, tears continuing to fall without any sign of stopping.

“Eds, if your dad truly loved you, he could never hate you for being who you are- for something you can’t control. AND, from what you’ve told me, it seems he really loved you UNCONDITIONALLY! I’m sure wherever he is, he is happy that you’re happy. He must be so proud of you for facing every day with such bravery. All these people hate us for loving each other, and it would be so much easier to hide- to deny who you are, but you DON’T. You face the world and all it’s hate and hostility valiantly!” Richie said, as he leaned in, cradling Eddie’s face in his warm hands. “You are such an astounding person, Eds. You just can’t see it, but I can . . . and I’ll be here to remind you whenever you forget.”

Without hesitation, Richie leaned in and closed the gap between the two of them- soft plush lips colliding with dry chapped ones. The kiss was intense, as if Richie was attempting to draw out all of Eddie’s pain and suffering through his lips and adsorbing them into himself. It was passionate, but also with purpose, not just to coax but also to heal. 

“I dunno how I could have made it this far without you, Richie Tozier.” Eddie whispered as he pulled away, but immediately leaned back in, pressing their forehead together. A faint, but sincere smile began to creep onto his lips. “I forget how secretly brilliant you are, sometimes.”

“Awe, shucks!” Richie mumbled as he scrunched his nose with a lopsided smile, as if to say “Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” He paused briefly. “Wait, but I used to come over all the time, and I never heard you crying.”

Tilting his head slightly, Eddie smiled and looked at Richie tenderly through his tear soaked lashes. “That’s because I didn’t cry when you came over. The nights we spent together were the only nights I slept. I, kinda . . . used to hope you would come over every night because you made them easier.”

Taken aback by Eddie’s confession, Richie looked away with raised brows, nodding to himself. “And that fucking whole time I though I was annoying you!”

“Oh no!” Eddie chuckled. “You were the only reason I even made it through my early teens!”

Richie’s eyebrows furrowed at Eddie, who immediately regretted what he had just said extemporarily. “What do you mean by that?” Eddie’s eyes retreated anxiously and Richie’s chased after them, but, due to Eddie’s determined evasiveness, never caught up.

“Sometimes I- I wasn’t always in the best headspace.” Eddie said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He allowed it to drop back onto hip lap only to immediately begin fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “It was just a lot to deal with. I mean, we joke around about it now that we are on the other side of it all, but before I accepted who or what I was- whatever- I was really depressed. I felt a this-this hopeless despair and I didn’t know how to get out of it. I had all this shit going on inside my head and I thought I had no one I could talk to. I was afraid everyone would hate me- I was afraid YOU would hate me, so I had to handle it all on my own . . . I was just a kid . . . It was just too much, sometimes.” 

“Do you still feel that way?” Richie asked attentively as he reached for Eddie’s hand, massaging his knuckles with the pad of his thumb. 

Eddie deliberated for a moment. “Sometimes.”

“You’re not alone, though. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Eddie stated blandly, his eyes fondly admiring their intermingling hands.

Richie leaned it and proceeded to affectionately nudge at Eddie’s jaw with his nose, making way for himself to press soft kisses onto his neck. An amorous smile began to break through Eddie’s somber visage. “I am here for you, no matter what . . . and so are all the others.”

“I love you, Rich. I don’t know how you always manage to do it, but you are always saving me!” Eddie confessed as he tilted his head back, granting Richie more room for his lips to roam. His eyes fluttered shut as he continued, “I’m not certain when I fell for you, but you’ve always been the most important person to me. I know I don’t say it often, because we are always bickering, but you are everything to me.”

When they were children, Eddie immediately felt drawn to Richie, much to his perplexity. He was everything his mother had taught him to fear: dirty, defiant, foul-mouth, and reckless. Despite this, Eddie cared deeply for the raven-haired boy. Richie lived his childhood the way Eddie believed one should, carefree with skinned-knees and bruised elbows in all their filthy glory. He envied Richie, but was also happy that he got to experience the youth Eddie knew he never would. 

Eddie fondly remembered little Richie, with his adorable buckteeth, wild mane, and massive frames that made his eyes look cartoonish in size. Richie had a smile that could light up the night and Eddie thought it was (ironically) the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. Richie always managed to get dirtier than any of Eddie’s other friends, but when it came to him it didn’t matter (and with Eddie’s mysophobia, that spoke volumes). If anything, he felt it added to his charm. Eddie loved Richie with all of his little heart and, even then, knew he always would. 

Richie grinned smugly as he continued to press soft kisses down the length of Eddie’s neck. “Mmh, Tell me more words!” 

“Seriously!” Eddie pulled away to get a proper look at Richie for emphasis. “If anyone else- any other guy- would have kissed me that night, I would have ran away. And I CERTAINLY wouldn’t have come out of the closet, but because it was you- because I already trusted you and had loved you for so long . . . because it felt so right, I did it. Before you, I was fully ready and willing to live the rest my life in the closet.”

Richie’s cheeks illuminated with a rosy glow. “Really!? How could you admit to yourself that you were gay, but be willing to DIE in the closet?”

“I figured if I was going to lie to the rest of the world, I might as well be honest with myself.” Eddie confessed with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. ”I didn’t need act on those feelings, especially if no one else felt worth it. Whenever I thought about dating a guy, it just seemed wrong or only made me feel worse. Not with you, though. It was all worth it for you. I am willing to face all these homophobes, my mother, my fears, the fucking clown- for you.”

  Richie couldn’t help but beam euphorically. Eddie had always felt Richie could light even the darkest night in December with that beautiful lopsided smile. “You’re worth it too, Spaghetti head! I would do anything for my little munchkin! Mi bebe henanito preciosos! (My precious little short baby!)”

“Okay seriously don’t call me that!” Eddie complained with an all too familiar roll of his eyes.

“Don’t call you what? I just called you a bunch of shit, baby.” Richie asked tauntingly with a cheeky smirk across is sharp features.

With a deadpan expression, Eddie responded flatly. “You pick.” Eddie began to list each of his complaints with the use of his fingers. “They’re all humiliating! 1. I’m not a baby, I’m a man! 2. I’m not a fucking munchkin and 3. I certainly don’t have a head made of spaghetti!” 

“Don’t lie, you love my nicknames!” Richie retorted as he pinched Eddie’s bright pink cheeks.

“NOT THOSE!” Eddie yelled, swatting away his boyfriends hands. 

“AHA!! SO YOU FUCKING ADMIT IT!” Richie cheered, earning an irritated sigh from Eddie. “Ugh, okay so some of them aren’t THAT bad. ‘Eds’ and ‘Eddie Spaghetti’ are kinda cute, but not ones where you’re making fun of me, asshole!”

Richie’s smug grin fell- replaced with a frown of sullen disappointment. “You- you think I’m making fun of you?” The dynamic of his voice disintegrated into a soft mumble.

“Yeah! You tease me for my height, for looking young, my fucking shorts, and a bunch of other shit!” Eddie asserted.

“Ssshhh . . . Shut your pretty, pretty, pretty little stupid mouth.” Richie cooed as he pressed the length of his finger against Eddie’s lips, silencing him on contact. Rolling his eyes, Eddie giggled underneath his digit. “Eds! I don’t do that cause I am making fun of you! I do it because I love you. All those things you hate about yourself, I genuinely adore. I like that you’re short and that I can easily wrap my arms around little body! I love your adorable baby face! AND I don’t think you’re just cute, I think you’re fucking hot ESPECIALLY in those little shorts! I love you, mijo! (baby boy)”

Richie really did love Eddie with all of his broken heart. On the surface, Eddie could seem like a snob, but Richie knew that Eddie was just a person who had been burn to many times to let his guard down. Eddie didn’t like most people, but Richie understood that he is just scared, not evil. Richie saw things in Eddie that most people chose to ignore or overlook because of his aloof demeanor. Richie believed Eddie was kind and nurturing with unwavering loyalty. He often wondered how such a tiny body could house such a giant heart. 

Bravery was not something Eddie was known for, but Richie knew, when it mattered, he had it in spades. In fact Richie wished to be more like Eddie in that regard. Richie was fearless, but Eddie was brave. Richie wasn’t afraid of spiders, heights, bullies, or monsters; he was afraid of much more intangible things and whenever forced to confront them, he would cower and retreat. Eddie was the exact opposite. He had many fears that plagued him all throughout his life, but unlike Richie, Eddie never ran away. Eddie would face anything head on, no matter how frightening or menacing. Richie grew to believe fearlessness was the trait of a fool and only truly strong people could be brave.   

Warmed by Richie’s heartfelt declaration, Eddie climbed back on to his lap and linked his arms behind his boyfriend’s head, leaning atop his shoulders. He leaned in and softly grazed his lips without actually kissing the taller boy, whose breath hitched in his tensed throat. “You really mean that?”

From such a close proximity, Richie could see every breathtaking detail of Eddie’s face, from his dark, impossibly long lashes to the constellations of freckles that danced across his smooth caramel skin. He felt his heart raced in his ears as he nodded like an idiot, struggling to articulate a response. “Of-of course I do! You a-are the most perfect bo- MAN in the entire world and I-I-I love you!” 

“I love you too, Trashmouth.” Eddie whispered before finally closing the small gap that divided their lips. Richie snaked his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and pulled him flush against him; Eddie giggled but didn’t break away from the kiss. Richie murmured and smiled at the dulcet tones of Eddie’s little laugh. After a brief but very heated mini-makeout session, he pulled away with a sly grin. Eddie knew from plenty of experience Richie’s trashmouth was about to ruin the moment. 

 “Plus, I love how red you get when I piss you off. It’s such a fucking RUSH!”

“Ugh! Nevermind, I hate you.”

taglist: @bloggingandstruggling @bitchardtozier @purejaeden @breakmyreddieheart @reddieformeerkat @greywatertozier @11stayradstaybad11 @julietissue

[faithandfairies]

So...something bothers me so I thought I’d talk about it. Where to start...

I think...the more I see of men, the less I actually like them. As a prospective partner.

I’ve been watching The Nanny and mr. Sheffield is one of the kindest, gentlest men I’ve ever seen on TV and in real life.

But...

and this is an important but, there is also the fact that Fran is sometimes genuinely scared of him when she messes up and he finds out.

I mean, they play it for laughs and they chase each other around the house a bit and you know he’ll never hit her, but a man doesn’t have to physically harm a woman for her to fear him. Although come to think of it he does have the habit of grabbing her roughly. And not in a “let me kiss you passionately” way. And I just think that there is something inherently wrong with a woman fearing the man she loves and wants to be with.

I also think it might be that there is something inherently threatening about men as a concept. Or a group?

It’s interesting because women can be threatening too, without looking the part. They can harm as well as the worst of men. Or even worse.

But I think there’s something about testosterone and violence that goes together. And women know the threat men pose and are always on guard for it. And men that exhibit threatening behavior as the norm are everywhere. It’s just the degree that varies.

But I also think it’s because of how society portrays how men should be and young boys look at that and that is what most become.

Masculinity is almost synonymous with being overbearing, threatening and violent.

And then, the other problem I think is the way we women raise our men ourselves. Women are often the primary influence in their children’s lives because the amount of families where the father plays an active role in the upbringing of the children other than a financial one or where he’s present at all isn’t that huge. And we know what we dislike about men and yet we encourage it in our young boys. And then we’re surprised when a new generation of the same kind of men springs up.

Even looking at The Nanny there are examples of this.

It’s interesting because Fran is a great influence on the children. She’s forward-thinking and has made them all better than they were by being in their lives.

And yet even she encourages bad masculine behavior in Brighton.

Like telling him that he could take advantage of the crush Gracie’s friend had on him by making her his slave. And he doesn’t do it. *Oop, I take that back. I started writing this post this afternoon and now it’s night and I am actually watching an episode where Brighton blackmails his sister in order to be able to treat her like a slave. And again, both are played for laughs. And it’s funny. Until it’s not. Not when you realize it’s teachings like this that foster disrespect for women in men. And teach women that it’s okay for men to disrespect and control them. That it’s funny and can even be romantic and acceptable. Hell, I watched this show as a child and I’m pretty sure I never consciously picked up on how wrong all of this is until now. 

And these are the boys we raise. I suspect most have that “disrespectful towards women” bone in their body because that’s how they’re taught to be by their mothers who’ve suffered at men’s hands, their fathers who’ve enjoyed having that kind of power and a society that expects their men to fit a certain stereotype. It’s just the size of the bone that varies. 

And I’m starting to wonder if sometimes women don’t just simply outgrow men, or being with them. That when they figure out their own worth and get tired of men’s shit or men treating them like shit they either try to reason with the guy and get him to treat them differently, better, or they just...leave. Or the first failing leads to the second.

I have aunts who are attracted to men, but are actually single or don’t stay in long-term relationships because of this very reason. I have others that have had the husband and the 2.5 kids, are now divorced and have decided against doing it again. They’re tired of being treated like shit. They’re tired of their men cheating on them when they decide to have a bit of a life outside of their men, like because they decide to go back to school to make something of themselves, instead of waiting on the guy hand and foot. They’re tired of having to do all the heavy-lifting in the relationship and the upbringing of the children, while the guy is a passive partner that doesn’t even appreciate them and all they do. They’re tired of building up their men while they’re being torn down. I think they’re tired of being tired.

And I think that maybe, just maybe, something has to change.

[zentheknightingale]

I took examples from my own experiences to do this, so sorry if the scenarios look iffy, or even a teensy bit angsty to some :P

I am so sorry that 707′s is huge! I got carried away with it :P ~Admin Bloo

RFA+V+SAERAN REACT TO AN INSECURE AND CHUBBY MC

Yoosung

Most of the times, it doesn’t even pop up as often.

Pizza nights, game nights and go out for movies. It’s like the perfect college love life.

But one day, Yoosung was meeting up with a bunch of friends, and he wanted to bring you along.

You had already met them through webcam, so why were you suddenly so anxious to see them in real life?

The day before the meeting, you suddenly pull out.

This poor boy is so confused.

Why won’t you meet them? You’ve talked to them before? Are they not nice? Did they say something to you?

It was very difficult to calm him down, but you finally tell him that you were insecure about how fat you were.

He’s super quick to correct you that he doesn’t even let you finish.

“You’re so soft, both inside and out. It’s just who you are, and there is nothing to be ashamed of about that.”

This prompts the both of you to share your insecurities with each other.

By the end of the day, you both feel like you know each other better.

“No matter what you look like, it’s you as a person I love.”

Zen

The insecurities got worse when you started dating him

Every time you’re in public, you can practically feel everyone judging you from every angle.

You start going out on dates less frequently, and this irritates Zen to no end

Especially since you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about what’s been on your mind.

One day, you tell him you want to go to the gym with him

He’s ecstatic (since this is the first time you wanted to go somewhere in weeks) but confused as well.

Then he sees how hard you’re trying to work out, but tire so much quicker than him that you start sulking.

When he stops what he’s doing, and asks you what’s wrong, it all comes pouring out.

About how he’s so perfect, and you’re not, and you don’t deserve to be with him

*cue dramatic gasp*

“Sometimes I wonder what did I do to deserve such a kind and pure person like YOU, and here you are worried about what you look like?”

“I fell for you because of how you supported me through tough times, not because you looked a certain way.”

Jaehee

She’s already super busy, yet she still looks so pretty and slim.

It gave you an inferiority complex on so many levels.

Overtime, she notices that you want to go out less; preferring to stay at home and relax.

Which she doesn’t argue over; it is nice to have room to breathe once in a while.

Your clothes are always loose and free flowing; She admires your style a lot.

Overtime, you have lessened your food portions to the point where now it is half of your usual.

Get ready lads, shit is about to hit the fan now.

Suddenly your behavior, your clothes, and your patterns.  Everything makes sense.

She forcefully serves you how much you should be eating, despite your protests.

“There is absolutely no reason to adopt unhealthy practices simply because you have all these misconceptions about yourself.”

Before you can defend your “misconceptions”, she heaves a big sigh and apologizes for snapping at you.

“Your beauty shines through every little action you do; your body has very little to do with it. So please, don’t worry and be happy.”

Jumin

This man thinks the entire world revolves around you; and sets his standards according to you.

This leads you to try to match the standards of everything a corporate heir’s significant other should be like.

One day, he had decided to take you shopping, just to shower some love on you.

One day, while you two were out window shopping, he had found a shimmering black dress that he absolutely wants you to try on.

When you tell him that it is a few sizes too small, he immediately calls in the manager of the store to ask for a size more suitable for.

The manager looks at you very piercingly and then states that the store does not cater to plus sizes.

It tore you apart to hear the words that had been toiling around your mind the entire day. His world doesn’t provide for plus sizes

Jumin very easily sensed your mood rolling downhill and threatened the poor manager to rid him of his job by the end of the day.

Before Jumin could ruin anymore livelihoods, you drag him out of the store.

He doesn’t understand why you let that manager and other people talk to you like that.

He is rambling and ranting as you two continue walking around the area.

“You are still leading a better life than all those women who starve themselves to death just for the sake of something as shallow as appearances.”

It’s almost funny how much offense he is taking on your behalf.

You pull him to kiss him on the cheek, and he stopped immediately.

He takes this as a nice way to shut him up and takes you to your favorite café

707/Luciel

Boi has military training to back him up on his unhealthy obsession with junk food

MC YOU CANNOT CALL HONEY BUDDHA CHIPS AND PHD PEPPER THAT DREADED J WORD 

You scold him every. Single. Time. And all he does is take another packet and eat it in front of you as you’re yelling at him.

Even you don’t understand why you yell at him so much, it’s an uncontrollable reflex at this point.

One day you were enjoying a family sized packet of Doritos by yourself in the kitchen.

Seven strolls in, whistling as he grabs a packet of HBC.

Then he notices your packet of Doritos

Both of you narrow your eyes at each other playfully.

You thought it was going to be another match of Doritos vs. Honey Buddha Chips

DORITOS IS BAE FIGHT ME

You bring out your usual point that HBC has a lot more fats in it than Doritos.

But then he points out that you’re the one who is fatter than him, so you were just projecting your problems against HBC

OH NO YOU DIDN’T

You look down in silence, suddenly extra aware of the fact that you are wearing shorts.

He’s slapped his mouth shut and is raining apologies upon you, but you just get up and leave; leaving behind the packet you were munching on as well.

Over the next few weeks, he’s doing everything he can to apologize

Grabbing onto your leg, bowing and begging, bringing your favorite food.

But you just wouldn’t budge.

What finally wins you over is the presentation he made of Doritos being better than HBC while wearing a sumo fatsuit that puts regular sumos to shame.

“You’re still my wonderful and bootyful MC; maybe the Doritos have some kind of power to give you such beauty and grace.”

V/Jihyun

He had invited you as his date/honored guest to his latest photo exhibition

You were so happy about the level of success this particular collection had achieved, you had bought a dress just for the occasion.

YOU WERE SO HAPPY, EXCITED AND PROUD ASDFJKL;DFLKG;J

He had headed out to the gallery before you to check on some things, so he gave you a peck before saying goodbye

It’s a good luck kiss, don’t I deserve one?

You hurriedly go and change into the beautiful dress- looking forward to V’s reaction when he sees you

But when you put it on, suddenly it doesn’t look as good as it did before?

Was it always this short and tight?

Were your arms always so... bulbous?

You sat there in front of the mirror and tears started pouring out of frustration

You were planning out how were you going to cancel on him, until suddenly he burst into your shared bedroom and grabs his camera from the bedside table.

He then looks at you and jumps at the sight. You get even shyer aww

“You are so stunning in that dress! But why are you crying...?”

You hug him and mumble something about not deserving to be standing next to someone so acclaimed as him.

“Do you know why you are my muse for most of my photos? It’s because no matter how many different ways I click the camera, I’m never able to capture your perfect essence.”

Unknown/Saeran

It was never an issue that stayed at the forefront of your thoughts. Back of your mind, sure.

Saeran was never particular about how you looked, and you knew that.

One day, you had finally coaxed him into going out on a date.

But then surprise surprise, all your nice clothes are waiting in the laundry pile

Both of you are just too lazy to do chores and now it’s just biting you in the butt

Now all you have is the lacy camisole you had bought last week, which could go with some capris.

You weren’t sure why you bought it; it just looked pretty at the time.

You refuse to wear it, and try to find something else to wear but it’s just. not. right.

Saeran literally doesn’t give two shits about your problem.

“Why don’t you just wear what you’re already wearing?” No I just wanted to wear something special

He holds up the camisole “What’s wrong with this then?”

You stammer out that it doesn’t compliment your figure and it shows off your flabby torso.

You could practically see the irritation on his face and just give up and wear it to prove that its not good enough.

But when you show it to him, he suddenly can’t look at you in the eye.

See, I told you this looked bad.

He then looks up in alarm and grabs your shoulders.

“THIS DOESN’T LOOK BAD. IT LOOKS FINE”

You’re probably just saying that so that we can get going.

No matter how much he is refusing, you try to change out of it, but he doesn’t let you.

Instead he’s practically forcing you out the door.

“For Christ’s sake, MC. The one time I agree to go out so that I can show everyone that you’re mine and you want to just sit there because your tee shirt is too small”

You want to correct him that it’s a camisole, but you let him go as you both make you way to the mall.