#it’s really funny you call him the second coming of Shakespeare though he keeps making references to that guy

[lanternsquids]

You just sound dumb as shit enstars is not well written enough to be called anything but shallow akira meatriders are honestly so strange he ain’t a good writer he isnt the coming of Shakespeare why do you hype him up so much

You must be really fun at parties

[lonesomedreamer]

The Rings of Power Liveblog: “The Great Wave” and “Partings” (Episodes 4 & 5)

“The Great Wave”

As always, I appreciate this show’s commitment to being gorgeous!

The foreshadowing of Tar-Míriel’s dream is fine as a narrative device, but it feels…deceptive? Númenor was destroyed because they deliberately broke the Valar’s Ban by sailing to Valinor, not because one Elf showed up. (To be fair, they did so due to the influence of [redacted], so…)

Yeah, the whole “the Elves are gonna come take our jobs!” thing is, um…it’s too much.

Love that Al-Pharazôn is using their descent from Elros, the son of two half-Elves who both chose to live as Elves, to pump these people up…bc the Númenóreans had come to resent “the choice of their ancestor” by this time! They don’t fear the Elves. They envy them—resent them. They enjoy life and want to keep on living it. They want to be immortal. That really shouldn’t be a difficult idea to get across on screen!

I initially appreciated the obvious Mediterranean influences in this design, but now it seems over-the-top and doesn’t fit in well with the aesthetics of the rest of the universe.

It’s really dumb—and rude—that the queen keeps calling Galadriel “Elf”

It’s a shame they’ve stripped her of all her wisdom.

Unsure if it’s the fault of the writing or the acting, but Tar-Míriel is not doing it for me at all. Alternating between widening your eyes and smirking does not a compelling performance make.

Cheap comic relief from Elendil—thanks for nothing, writers!

“Isildur” continues to provide this show with unnecessary, meaningless teen angst/drama. No thanks.

More grimdark Orc stuff. At least Arondir’s finally getting out.

Oh, the horror movie nonsense, bad CG, and bad costumes that make up the Southlands subplot…I didn’t miss it.

The actor playing Celebrimbor looks more like someone you’d cast as a Hobbit than an Elf. I’m getting way more “old Bilbo” vibes from him than “master smith of the Noldor”…

WHAT is going on with the timeline? Most of Episode 3 took place over a few days in Númenor. In that time, Bronwyn’s village has run out of food at their watchtower refuge—believable enough—and the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm a) decided to help build forges in Eregion after all and b) already partially completed said forges! Make it make sense.

“Are you suggesting Durin’s got himself a wee girlfriend?” “These wee’uns are turning my mind to much.” I did Shakespeare in high school, and once, after our director asked us to project for the umpteenth time, she shouted, “You do not mic the Bard!” That’s how I feel about these line. I’m so sorry, Professor.

Elrond just wandering around in the mines of Khazad-dûm, alone, like it ain’t no thing, lmao.

Mithril!

Not them making me care about this made-up friendship between Durin and Elrond a tiny bit.

Huh, a Palantír. I didn’t see that coming.

“Palantíri show many visions. Some that will never come to pass.” Cribbing directly from Galadriel’s actual canon dialogue!

“I will not second-guess the gods.” This is so funny to me, bc like…Galadriel lived among the Valar! It’s giving “do not cite the Deep Magic to me…I was there when it was written.”

Arondir saving Theo and then holding his own against like a bazillion Orcs while also trying to defend him…as if!

We just saw the Orcs running around a village in broad daylight, but suddenly they can’t keep chasing Theo and Arondir because the sun’s coming up??

The power of music…now that’s very Tolkien. ♥ This scene also gives the Dwarves, with their exaggerated Scottish accents and bad dialogue, a few all-too-rare moments of dignity.

Which is quickly destroyed by Durin angrily screaming about his “old goat” of a father.

I’m grudgingly going to admit that I kind of like Elrond. Though I still think the actor is wrong for the part, he does have a certain gravitas when a scene calls for it.

“For ever am I with you, my son.” Oh…oh, it’s a good scene. And King Durin also has dignity and gravitas! I didn’t think these writers had it in them.

As surprisingly compelling as the Khazad-dûm stuff is, the Southlands subplot is dull. I’m not interested in Theo at all, and I’m barely interested in Bronwyn—and since they’re not going to bother to develop her character properly (there are just too many characters at this point), it doesn’t matter.

Also: the exchange between Theo and the guy in whose barn he found the Sauron sword about the return of their “king” is really heavy-handed foreshadowing.

Númenor is lowkey a narrative disaster. Aesthetically pleasing, though!

Wait, how did Halbrand get out of prison…? Did I miss that??

“I’ve decided to personally escort the Elf back to Middle-earth to aid our mortal brethren who are now besieged in the Southlands.” Again “the Elf” instead of her name…also, how is Tar-Míriel accompanying her going to make a difference? Sending troops, sure—but having the reigning monarch leave Númenor???

“Brave sons and daughters.” Do we think there were Númenórean shield-maidens? Genuinely asking. Yes or no, an absurd number of women volunteer to serve. I’m genuinely all for gender parity/equality, even in fantasy. However… a) it seems unrealistic in this setting/the style of combat they’d be training for, and b) women can be valuable and valued beyond being soldiers (Tolkien knew this—just look at Éowyn)!

Okay, this one was a doozy!

The Good:

Visually stunning, as anyone who’s gotten this far should now expect. I’m going to say that every time. (Tbh it’s why I’m even still watching.)

It’s nice to return to an Elven location (with the promise of more next time!) They gave a magical, ethereal atmosphere to the first episode that’s been missing ever since, and they feel a lot more escapist than Númenor and the Southlands.

Elendil continues to be hot

Some really touching, well-acted moments in Khazad-dûm*…I even thought Elrond was solid. And mithril!

The stuff with the Palantír was kind of cool.

Tar-Míriel is almost a real character rather than a Cersei Lannister knockoff. The acting’s still meh, but an improvement from the previous episode. And her headpieces/crowns are to die for.

Numerous references to Eärendil, most of them cheesy, but still…the little things.

The Bad:

Everything else.

The entire Southlands plot is spiraling into absurdity. I’m not invested in any of the characters involved, and since this is the halfway point of Season 1, I don’t expect that to change. It’s ridiculous that Theo and Arondir are even still alive after that forest chase scene.

Most of the dialogue is mediocre to Bad. *I think the Dwarves might be the worst offenders…poor Disa, the actress and the character both deserve to do more than spouting stereotypical “Scottish” sounding lines!

Even if the Númenóreans were less sympathetic if they openly yearned for immortality, their perspective and hostility towards Elves would make a lot more sense than “the Elves are gonna take our jobs” or whatever…

Isildur, his OC sister and her OC maybe-love interest are all wasting my time with their personal drama and angst. @ the writers: please stop wasting screentime on this!!!

Time passes differently depending on where you are in Arda, I guess? That, or the Dwarvish craftsmen in Eregion have superpowers.

No Nori at all. :(

I know it’s nitpicky af, but as a history lover, there’s something too historical/not fantastical enough about this Númenor. The design borrows heavily from classical Greece with a helping of Byzantine aesthetics and, confusingly, some generic “medieval” elements thrown in as well…overall, it just doesn’t mesh convincingly with the rest of show. It’s beautiful but imo it feels too grounded real-world motifs.

“Partings”

“I’m peril.” Sadface! Nori and I love you, not-Gandalf.

Listen, I understand exactly why people don’t like the Harfoots. I just do like them, contradictions, clumsy dialogue and all.

Poppy’s song is a real treat! It feels like something Bilbo might have written. No Tolkien adaptation other than the Rankin-Bass films has ever featured enough singing. As anyone who’s read LOTR knows, songs are ubiquitous and inescapable in Middle-earth.

Maps!

Why in the world do the Harfoots migrate THIS far every year? No wonder so many of them keep dying! And the Brandyfoots have definitely become separated from the rest of their village by now…

Overall, a delightful opening five minutes.

Weird “witch” (?) characters, Orc subplot… I’m using the fast-forward option liberally.

Who nominated Bronwyn to be in charge of the Southlanders?

Nitpick alert: We see some other women wearing the same spaghetti-strap style dress that Bronwyn has—good consistency—but why is hers the only one with any color? Some are black, and it’s not like black dye is easier/less expensive to get than blue…

The conniving tavernkeep guy instantly wins over half of the people who were willing to “stand and fight” with Bronwyn thirty seconds earlier. Lol.

I just like to look at him.

Oh no! Mean Daddy Elendil is Disappointed in poor Isildur. It’s a good thing Elendil’s easy on the eyes, because this is dismal. (Maybe it’s supposed to echo Denethor and Faramir, but to me it’s just giving teen drama.)

I don’t buy Halbrand’s Jon Snow “I don��t want it” routine, and neither should Galadriel.

It makes no sense that the Harfoots are willing to leave five or six of their own to die to avoid “making a widow or an orphan” of someone else. Sure, the needs of the many—but there’s no real evidence that the Brandyfoots are endangering anyone.

Not-Gandalf coming to Nori’s rescue…my heart…

Galadriel’s definitely into Elendil. (And who can blame her?)

The swordfighting scene was a little silly. That’s okay, though. I don’t hate fun, and it’s not unreasonable that a millennia-old Elf would be able to show up some overconfident human teenagers.

“When all this is over, the Elves will take orders from us.” How does Al-Pharazôn figure that? Yes, he will eventually take power and lead Númenor to ruin, but someone needs to tell the writers that this is not Game of Thrones.

Too bad the dialogue is leaving something to be desired.

People who haven’t read the Silmarillion are still wondering who tf Aulë is (and now Manwë, too).

How does Durin, a future king, expect to find out what the Elves are “up to” if he can’t be a little more tactful/diplomatic than accusing them of thievery?

“The ore containing the light of the lost Silmaril.” lmfao, WHAT. That’s…ridiculous.

Why and how would mithril—even if it did contain the light of a Silmaril—help heal the blighted tree in Lindon?! Be serious, writers…

More teen drama and hijinks with Isildur…you can go to the bathroom or get a snack without pausing any of this and miss almost nothing.

“This mithril is our only salvation?” It sure fucking isn’t! Why would the Elves even think so? The thing about the Elven-warrior-and-the-Balrog story is that most of these Elves would’ve been alive when it supposedly happened and should therefore know whether or not it’s just mythical nonsense (which it is lol)!

“We believe that if we can secure vast quantities of it quickly, enough to saturate every last Elf in the light of the Valar once more—” Except that doesn’t make any sense. What are they even talking about!!!

I’ve been coming around to this Elrond, but he’s leaning way too hard on the whole “sad puppy eyes brimming with tears” shtick this episode.

Me, currently rereading the Silmarillion: actually, Galadriel had more than one brother (sorry, Orodreth, Angrod, and Aegnor…none of you matter ig).

“They could not longer distinguish me from the evil I was fighting.” ??? ? ? ????? What?

Whether it’s the lighting, the direction, the writing, or Morfydd herself (most likely, a combination of all of them), the delivery and facial acting in this scene…ain’t doing it for me.

“We’re bowing down to the evil bloodthirsty orcs we just fled from because we’re scared and it’s obviously the only way to save ourselves” is a cop out and lazy writing! So is the idea that the Southlanders might somehow be more susceptible to evil by nature.

“Without [mithril], my kind must either abandon these shores by next spring or perish.” This is such utter, arbitrary bullshit. By next spring?!? Five episodes in, I’m coming to a full understanding of why this show pissed people off at last. To me, this is almost worse than the Halbrand subplot.

“Our immortal souls will dwindle into nothing.” And they believe this why? Based on what???

So pretty, and for what?

oh my GOD, they really did everything in their power to make him look like Viggo Mortensen!Aragorn here and I SCREAMED (not in a good way).

Don’t worry, Isildur’s OC sister: your dad and insufferable brother both have impenetrable plot armor.

Speaking of armor, this is truly hideous.

It’s great that the opening five minutes of this episode were so enjoyable, because the rest of it was a HOT MESS.

The Good:

Visuals: some gorgeous landscapes + the beauty of the Lindon set design is still breathtaking. A couple of really good costumes, though fewer standouts than in previous episodes.

Poppy’s walking song ♥

I admit it: the banter between Durin and Elrond is charming.

Not-Gandalf and Nori’s scenes (until the last one) are very sweet. I love that, for her, he’s the hero she sees in him.

I like Elendil and Galadriel’s faces.

The Bad:

Everything else!!!

Al-Pharazôn’s political scheming/machinations and Tar-Míriel second-guessing herself are just pointless filler, as is almost everything that we see in Númenor (though the teen angst plotlines of Elendil’s children are still the worst).

The Southlands subplot(s) are almost unwatchable. They’re boring and depressing—so, the opposite of why I love Tolkien. Frankly, I don’t give a shit what happens to Brownyn, her kid, Arondir, or any of them at this point.

Halbrand. I wish they’d reveal the twist already instead of trying to make him seem like this dangerous but sympathetic dude with amnesia who just wants to start over in Númenor or whatever.

The unexplained three witches/priestesses/whatever they were supposed to be

What the HELL is going on with the Lindon/Khazad-dûm subplot?! Mithril contains the light of a Silmaril and therefore of the Trees and therefore of the Valar? And that residual light will then heal all the Elves, all of whom are suddenly sick/fading??? WHAT were they thinking?! This is not based in any kind of lore or even any internal logic informed by the lore. It’s awful nonsense inspired by the fact that the Elves were indeed fading—at the end of the Third Age, i.e., thousands of years after the events of this series! TROP features not only legacy characters, but also legacy character dynamics (i.e., an odd couple Elf/Dwarf friendship, not-Gandalf and the Harfoots, a disapproving father and the son trying to impress him) and now legacy subplots, because why not?

More bad dialogue, and the acting is leaving a lot to be desired. Good-to-great acting can elevate mediocre writing; the combination of mediocre acting and mediocre writing is a lot less enjoyable.

This was the worst episode so far by a significant margin and the first one to make me actually upset with the changes they’ve made. Unfortunately, I don’t expect it to be the last.

[hi-my-name-is-dotdotdot]

Ok I was not expecting anyone to ever see this and forgot I made the post but @therainbowwillow replied and reminded me it existed

anyways this is gonna be a very limited ap english style essay complete with the worst hook ever and the "could possibly handwrite it in 45 minutes" part

the prompt was basically use one (1) example of the motif "the powerful are fools" to explore a theme

that one example part really really limits it and makes me sad

sometime tomorrow i will reblog again with my not-an-essay ramble on gender (and related) thoughts

Comedies are meant to be funny, but they often reveal social truths as well. One such comedy is Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. In Twelfth Night, Shakespeare portrays Lady Olivia as a fool in order to reveal that sometimes people place more importance on performances of love than feelings of it. In other words, people fall in love... with being in love.

Lady Olivia is not literally a fool/clown such as Feste, but her actions often make her appear to be. The audience’s first introduction to her is when Feste calls her a fool for still mourning her brother even though she herself said that she knows his soul is in heaven. Clearly, it seems foolish to be grieving for someone that you firmly believe is somewhere better. But Olivia is still in mourning because she loved her brother. Now, we know nothing about her brother, but he would definitely have been the Lord of the estate before he died and she became the Lady. It seems likely that he would want his sister to take good care of his land rather than put on this show of grief, but that's what she chooses to do.

It’s not only familial love, but also romantic that makes people act a fool. When Olivia realizes her feelings for Cesario, she makes a big show out of ordering Malvolio to “return to” Cesario a ring that he supposedly gave her. Everyone involved, from Malvolio to Cesasrio to the audience, knows that there was no such ring. Olivia is the most powerful character (socially/politically), but it doesn’t stop her from chasing after her love like anyone else. Again, her love makes a fool of her. Despite her queen-like status on Illyria likely meaning she would be well within her rights to simply request for Cesario to come visit through a note, her feelings insist that she must send him a message right that second, leading to the whole ring-giving debacle. Again, it's as if the performance of giving the ring to show her love was the important part and not the feeling itself.

It could be argued that Olivia falling in love with Cesario in the first shows her foolishness. After all, she only knows him as a servant. Added to how the audience is aware that “Cesario” is really Viola and is in love with Duke Orsino, Olivia appears quite a fool for falling in love with him. However, it doesn’t make sense to blame her for something she could not have known. For something she did know? Absolutely. At the point where she meets Sebastian and subsequently marries him within hours, she has already asked Cesario – multiple times! – if he loves her and will marry her. Every time, the answer has been a resounding no. And yet, the second Sebastian says yes, she arranges for the marriage to happen within minutes. Her eagerness to get married so quickly is foolish, and her persistence in asking despite multiple very clear rejections emphasizes how she puts the performance over the feelings. If she loved Cesario that much, she should have respected his answer.

Now, why Olivia? Simply put, Olivia is one of the few in this time period that could afford to be so foolish. Her power in Illyria comes with responsibility, but it also comes with benefits. She can afford to mourn her brother for so long because she has servants and advisors, namely Malvolio and Maria, to take care of business for her. They, too, were part of the household and would have been in mourning for the social-norm required length, but since they have work to do, they can’t just keep on grieving as Olivia does. It’s also her power that allows her to fall in love so quickly and react in such ridiculous ways to it. Anyone less powerful likely would not have been able to get a priest so quickly to perform the marriage, nor would they have had to contrive a reason to send a servant to send chasing after their love.

Overall, the powerful are fools in Twelfth Night because they can be fools with little consequence. And whether it’s her actions or feelings that make Lady Olivia foolish, she illustrates how people often confuse love for love of performing love.

does anyone want an essay on twelfth night because my timed writing in english went pretty bad and now my brain won’t shut up about what i should have written

[babbushka]

Change of Plan

Lawyer!Kylo x Reader

5k ; Mostly fluff. CW: Rivals/enemies, possessive behavior, name-calling (but in a playful way), NSFW (PIV, dirty talk, bathtub sex)

Available on AO3

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

Of all the days to cancel a date on, Valentine’s Day really had to be the worst.

Not that you had been dating that guy or anything – what did people consider dating these days anyway? – you’d only seen him a couple times. Work made things hard, made dating hard, and as much as you hated to admit it, part of you was really looking forward to spending the holiday with someone.

So when the text came through that he’s so sorry but something came up, any and all excitement you had had went straight down the toilet. 

Which is how you find yourself with your arms crossed over your chest, making your way down the sidewalk at three in the afternoon, doing some sort of walk of shame. Of course you were on the way to the meet-up spot when you got the text, wanting to be there early to compose yourself and get those butterflies in your stomach to calm the fuck down. If you didn’t care so much about punctuality, you might be in bed still right now, nursing your feelings with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

If you didn’t care so much, you might be in the safe warm comfort of your apartment, instead of being so exposed like this. The thought only becomes more prevalent in your mind when those butterflies turn to anchors in your stomach, your mood only sinking further, as a familiar black car pulls up to you. 

“Hey!” The window rolls down, and you hold your breath and will yourself not to look so obviously just-gotten-dumped-on-valentines-day-even-though-we-weren’t-even-dating.

“What the fuck do you want, Kylo?” You sigh, trying not to shiver. February in Manhattan wasn’t exceptionally freezing but you had definitely dressed for aesthetics over practicality – just another thing to make you feel like shit about it all.

Kylo, as ever, looks perfectly handsome. 

It’s infuriating.

“Get in the car.” He calls to you from the backseat, the driver going at a slow enough pace to match your speed.

You don’t stop walking, even though the offer is tempting. What was he even doing there in your part of town, didn’t he have the case to prepare for? Shaking your head, you wave him off.

“No, I – I want to walk.” You swallow around the sound of your voice breaking, hating the way your eyes are betraying you. Kylo hears it anyway, and you brace yourself for him to make fun of you for it, but the taunting teasing mocking jokes never come.

Instead, he rolls his eyes at your stubbornness, and says something to his driver because the car stops then, and Kylo opens the car door, standing outside it and gesturing for you to come in. You notice that he’s dressed exceptionally well; sporting one of his nicer suits, winter light from the sun reflecting off his shiny black Allen Edmonds.

“The forecast says rain, you’ll get soaked.” He argues, and you hate him, hate how he’s right.

Steeling yourself with a big deep breath – because you are not going to cry in front of Kylo fucking Ren – you make your way over to him, barely able to look him in the eye as you slide into the backseat of his car. Happily, Kylo sits himself nice and close to you, closes the door, and at once, the driver pulls back onto the main road, matching speed with the other vehicles.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you smack a hand over it before he can even take a breath in, leveling him with a dark glare and threatening, “Before you say anything, I want you to know that I cannot handle any criticism in this moment.”

“I wasn’t planning on criticizing you.” Kylo shakes his face a little to get your hand to fall off his mouth, and you aren’t so sure you believe him.

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’m taking you out.”

Blinking, you stare at him. Was this some kind of joke? But the more you look at him, the more it makes sense. Belatedly, you realize he must have been on his way to your house, because he was driving the same direction you were walking. The nice suit, the shined shoes, the freshly done hair…hell he had even trimmed up his goatee.

“Excuse me?” Is all you can ask, wondering what this is, what kind of angle he’s coming at you with. Because with Kylo, there’s always an angle.

He shrugs, scratches at a spot underneath his chin and casts a glance down to his lap, and you for a moment think he might be…nervous. Well, sincerity certainly wasn’t the angle you had been expecting.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, and people tend to go out to celebrate.” Kylo is distracting with the way he talks, hands gesturing all over, masking a flash of vulnerability in his tone with sarcasm as he continues, “And I figured if you’re the only woman in New York City who isn’t out celebrating, you’re going to be a real fuckin’ bitch on Monday when we go to trial, so, here I am.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re terrible at being romantic?” You mutter, your heart pounding in your chest so loud that you’re sure he can hear it.

Cracking a wide grin, he taps the underside of your chin with his knuckles, before reaching forward to grab a big bouquet of red roses from the front passenger seat, careful not to disturb the petals as he pulls them over the center console and hands them to you.

“Look I even brought you flowers and everything – not to be romantic don’t go getting heads over heels or anything; some schmuck was giving them away for free down the road, I figured you’d like them better than them ending up in the garbage.” Kylo’s mouth runs faster than your mind can process it as you’re presented with the flowers, and if you hadn’t sworn to hate him for all eternity, you might have leaned in to kiss him right there.

“You figured right.” You smile, trying to remember when the last time anyone bought you flowers that wasn’t your secretary congratulating you on another case won, and fully accept the idea of a night out with Kylo by asking, “So, where are we going?”

With that go ahead, the driver speeds up a little more, makes a couple right turns. Kylo doesn’t tell you, just slings an arm around your shoulders and keeps his plan a secret. Those damned butterflies are back, and wouldn’t you know it they’re better than ever, and you can’t help but think that you’re lucky you were already dressed. It’s then that you evaluate what it is that you’re actually wearing.

On the date that never was, it was supposed to just be some wine tasting thing, so you had put on a beautiful dress that showed off all your favorite assets, as it were, and a pair of shoes that looked nice, but weren’t really meant for any sort of outdoor activity. Hoping beyond hope that Kylo wasn’t an outdoorsy sort of fella, you let yourself lean into him as the car zips through the Manhattan streets.

That hope slowly starts to die, once Central Park starts to come into view, and you realize that whatever he’s decided for his surprise is definitely not going to be conducive to these heels.

“Don’t worry, we’re not running or anything.” Kylo senses your mild stress, and with that, lies straight to you as the car slows down to a halt, and he grabs your hand and pulls you in a light jog into the park.

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

Central Park is, as it always tends to be, bustling with people. It’s not quite late enough in the day, or cold enough outside for it to be a more secluded spot – if anything in Manhattan ever is. You clutch the bouquet of roses to your chest, having forgotten to leave them in the car, as Kylo forgets to give you back your hand, the both of you chuckling and out of breath.

“Destination number one.” Kylo gestures grandly to a bench, when he stops jogging after a few minutes, once you’re deep inside Shakespeare Garden, making you give him a funny look.

“There’s more than one?” You ask, wondering just how involved this whole evening was going to be.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Kylo replies with a cheeky grin, before bringing you closer to the bench.

When he said this was the first destination, you had thought he was referring to the park, but as you come closer, you recognize this bench as the famed Whisper Bench, mostly because there’s a couple of people already trading secrets there. It’s made entirely out of concrete, twenty feet long and curled on each end.

Kylo waits politely until they leave, and then he’s leading you by the hand to one side of the bench, jogging over to the other end.

Like the people before you, you each bend over and cup your hands around your mouth.

“You want to go first?” You whisper, wondering if it’s really true, that your words will travel across the bench and reach him.

You don’t have to wonder though, not for very long anyway, because soon after his deep baritone is shooting across the bench, making your cheeks heat with something too close to affection for you to ignore it, especially when his big secret is, “You look very beautiful tonight.”

“You’re not half bad either.” You send back to him, making him grin with all of his crooked teeth.

There are people waiting for you to be finished, so Kylo comes back around the other side of the bench, and breaks out into a sprint the second he has a hold of your hand once more, making you yelp and laugh as he tugs you along to the next spot on his list.

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

From 79th street, he brings you to 64th, where you’re faced with the charming little Chess & Checkers House. It’s in the children’s district, but thankfully there aren’t too many children around. The octagonal building is surrounded by twenty-four permanent tables that have inlaid boards.

“Put the flowers there so no one takes the table.” Kylo instructs, and you do as he says, along for the ride.

“We’re playing chess?” Your eyes widen happily, and Kylo immediately recoils in a cartoonish way, shaking his head and making you sigh with exasperation.

“No fucking way, you’d kick my ass in a heartbeat.” He says, making those butterflies go crazy once again. Kylo walks up to the window of the little building, “We’re playing something I have a more even playing field on – one checkers set please.”

“Oh you’re so on.” You grin, taking him up on his challenge.

You set up the table, giving him black and keeping red for yourself. After three games, it becomes incredibly evident very early on, that Kylo has no idea how to play checkers. Taunting him the entire time – because really, who doesn’t know how to play checkers? – you collect your wins easily and smugly.

It felt good to win, that’s the whole reason you became a lawyer in the first place after all, but it felt especially good to win against your arch rival. The fourth game ends when you eventually take over the board, using a few strategic moves that have him completely pissed off.

“You can’t just do that!” He protests, the vein in his neck jumping out, as you jump over three of his pieces and turn your piece into a queen for the second time in a row.

“Of course I can! Don’t be such a sore loser.” You roll your eyes, but he’s not having it.

“You’re a fucking cheater I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea.” Kylo takes all the pieces off the board and shoves them into the small box that they came in, angrily muttering to himself, “Making up rules as you go along and all this bullshit.”

“I won fair and square and you know it. Consider it a prologue for our case on Monday.” You rest your chin in your hand, watching with satisfaction as he scoffs and grumbles all the way back to the small octagonal house to return the pieces with the shame of losing four games in a row.

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

Not far away at all down 65th street is the next stop on Kylo’s route, and you almost don’t believe that this is where he means to take you, when you stop your giggly jogging in front of the carousel. It’s getting pretty dark outside, between the rain forecast and the short winter days, which only lets the lights from inside the carousel shine brighter.

The golden inviting warmth of the lights blink and pulse along with music that plays, and standing there in line, with this big bouquet of roses, half of which have lost the majority of their petals just from all your running around, makes you feel like you’re in some kind of romcom.

Kylo lets you go in front of him, a hand on your waist as you take the big step up, immediately seeking out the perfect horse to claim as your own. You know that there’s two-seater options, but nothing beats the classic design of a galloping horse.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” You ask him once the carousel begins to spin, and he remains standing next to you, one hand on a golden pole to steady himself, the other resting gently on your thigh.

“And break one of these things? I don’t think so. The last thing I need is for the park to sue me.” He jokes, and you laugh at that, my my how would the tables have turned in that case.

“You made a good call, it’s chilly up here.” The movement of the carousel has the wind biting at your face, and at once your hands come across your chest to warm up the tops of your arms through your dress.

“I was wondering why the fuck you didn’t bring a coat.” Kylo immediately begins to fuss with you so you don’t go falling off the damn horse.

“I hadn’t planned on being outside today!” You defend yourself and your poor choice of attire as the carousel horse moves up and down, making it harder and harder for Kylo to get his hands on you, in turn making the two of you laugh.

“Yeah yeah, a likely story I’m sure – take my jacket.” He gives up trying to warm you up himself, and instead shucks off the thick wool jacket and drapes it around your shoulders.

It’s an intimate gesture, one that you’re not so sure how to take. You and Kylo hated one another, really loathed each other’s existence. Every day you thought about him and got a headache, and you knew he felt the same way. He had said as much, even. Kylo was a ruthless, terrible, awful, handsome, funny, charming…oh sonofabitch.

“But…then you’ll be cold.” You whisper, watching as the twinkling lights shine and shimmer in his big brown eyes, wondering when he got so close.

“So?” Kylo whispers back, holding a hand out for you to take when the carousel comes to a halt.

With his jacket around your shoulders, you don’t hesitate to take that hand, once again conveniently forgetting to let go of it even when both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, once you’re both off the carousel and are walking a little less purposefully, just meandering down the park.

“I could go for some hot chocolate if there’s a place around.” You appreciate the question, finding that you don’t want the evening to end just yet. Not yet, not when you’re having so much fun.

Kylo must be thinking the very same, because his face lights up, and you can practically see the gears turning around and around in his head as he nods, “I know just the spot.”

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

People in the park were so smart, you decide as a vendor hands you one of those eco-friendly paper cups filled nearly to the brim with piping hot cocoa. Big marshmallows float gently and melt steadily as you take a loud sip and thank the man while Kylo pays. How the hell Kylo knew this guy would be here, you don’t know, but knowing Kylo, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had the guy’s number on speed dial or something.

It’s quiet, in this little spot of the park. As it gets darker and colder, more people start to head back to their own homes. You know too that realistically, you will have to go back to your apartment as well, so you take small, deliberate sips of your cocoa, hoping to draw out the time left.

Kylo is quiet, sipping on his cocoa too. You wonder if he’s thinking all the same things, if he’s dragging it out so that he doesn’t have to say goodbye yet either. You wonder where his driver is, what that poor sap is doing while you and Kylo dance around each other like this.

He keeps stealing glances at you, and you keep pretending to ignore them. Yes the sun has officially gone down beyond the skyline, and yes you’re probably colder than you should be comfortable with, even with his jacket around your arms, comically too large for you. Yes the flowers have all but wilted completely from the wind and the running, and yes your feet are killing you.

But you don’t want it to end, not yet.

Never in a million years did you think you’d have so much fun with Kylo of all people – never in a million years did you think you’d be so glad to have a date cancel on you. Who the hell needed a wine tasting anyway? You knew what wines you liked and didn’t like. Even though you were both well into adulthood, being with Kylo tonight made you feel like a kid again, in that sense that you hadn’t had this kind of fun in a long time.

It is at that moment, that the sky opens up completely, and rain begins to fall in freezing cold sheets, all at once. Shouting out of surprise, the two of you are shocked, and it’s all you can do to not drop the cocoa and somehow freeze and burn yourself simultaneously.

“Shit, let’s get out of here!” Kylo breaks the silence by saying, and you agree at once, the two of you running running running through the trail, looking for a place to take some shelter.

In the dark, it’s hard to find such a place, so Kylo cuts through a shortcut path that he knows, that has you popping out on the other side of the park, through a big gate and onto the street. No more than a few seconds go by, before his car pulls up, and Kylo practically yanks the door open, pushing you in quickly and climbing in behind you.

The two of you exchange glances, soaked to the bone, and burst out laughing, shivering and trying to warm your hands by the heater. The car seems too small then, seems like there’s no space for the both of you. You’re acutely aware of how his leg is pressing up against your own, how his bicep nudges yours, how his face is practically right up against yours, as you both turn towards one another to get near the heater.

“What did you have in mind now?” You whisper, and you’re not sure, but you think that you can see him swallow nervously.

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

When Kylo’s car pulls up outside the Baccarat, you really wish that the rain hadn’t ruined both of your outfits. No one seems to mind the two of you dripping on the floor of the lobby, as Kylo exudes all the confidence of New York City’s top prosecutor, but you certainly wish that you looked less like a drowned rat.

A key is slid across the counter, and into the elevators you and Kylo go, stealing little glances back and forth, looking away shyly when you’re caught. Eventually, the doors open again, and it’s a short walk to one of the most beautiful suites you’ve ever seen.

“You don’t get to say I’m not romantic ever again.” Kylo smirks, and you’d smack him for that if you weren’t still taking everything in.

Not only is the room beautiful just because it’s a luxury hotel, but Kylo must have gotten some sort of romance Valentine’s Day package, because the room is completely filled with tasteful and elegant décor.

On a silver bar cart that’s been wheeled into the sitting area of the room, there’s a bucket of champagne and crystal glasses. Gourmet chocolates in a satin box sit next to it, as does a small wrapped present that you’re dying to open at some point. Cashmere robes are laid out neatly on the massive bed, and large spherical rose bouquets are placed all over the surfaces, complete with rose petals leading to the bed from the room’s front door.

“Bubble bath?” Kylo offers, and you give him a knowing smile, grateful to both be warm, and to be naked with him.

His body never fails to make your eyes wander, you think. Between how hard he works and antagonizing you, you wonder when he ever has the time to work out, because surely he must work out. Kylo’s solid and strong in a way that makes you feel absolutely primal, and as he helps you step into the steaming water of the bathtub, you don’t think you’ve ever felt more safe.

“We have a five-course dinner coming.” Kylo murmurs softly as he settles in behind you, pulling your back to lean against his chest as he grazes his lips against your ear, “And breakfast in bed tomorrow, among other things.”  

“What would you have done if I had plans?” You ask as you chuckle and lean more fully against him, scooping up some of the thick frothy bubbles and blowing them into the air.

“I would have convinced you to ditch them.” Kylo says right away, making you roll your eyes.

“You’re so smug."

“I think I’ve earned it.”

You can’t argue with him on that, as much as you love arguing with him. Kylo kisses along your shoulder, up up up to the edge of your jaw, your cheek, making his way to your temple as your bodies soak in the hot water of the tub and you get the chance to simply relax and be together.

“You know, I almost had plans.” You bring up softly, the sting of rejection not hurting so badly anymore. In fact, you pretty much forgot about the date that never was, and you’re not so sure why you’re bringing it up now. Maybe because you can admit that this was a better Valentine’s Day than you could have ever hoped for.  

“I do know.” Kylo splashes his hand in the water for a little while, before dropping the unexpected admission of, “I asked him to cancel.”

Water sloshes over the side of the tub with the speed at which you turn to shoot your eyebrows up at him, mouth dropping open in surprise.

“What? Really? Why?” The demanding questions fall from your lips at once, the thoughts in your head coming to a screeching halt.

“I haven’t been planning this night for ages for some nobody in copyright law to come in and fuck it up.” Kylo has no hint of regret in his voice, and that catches you up. “Are you mad?”

Instead of answering him, you lean in and wrap your arms around his neck, your lips crashing onto his. It’s possessive, to a degree that you should be mad about, but…but you’re just not. In fact, you feel the complete opposite of mad, you feel relieved. Kylo wasn’t just taking you out on some pity date, he wasn’t just trying to get you to not be such a bitch on Monday, no he had planned this out.

For weeks, possibly even a month, to get a reservation like this, Kylo had planned to surprise you. It was incredibly sweet, so as you kiss him hard and slip your tongue into his mouth, as his hands smooth around your back, cradle the base of your skull, hold you close, no – no you’re not mad.

Needing to be closer to him, you straddle his lap, as the kisses turn deeper, more passionate. Kylo’s hand tangles through your hair and crushes you to him, soft groans and grunts spilling out of his throat. Chest heaving as you gulp down breaths, you gasp as your nipples brush against his pecs, and stiffen at the contact. Kylo swallows down the sound, nips at your lips, gets them swollen and kiss-bitten.

“Fuck me?” You ask breathlessly, and Kylo grins with all those teeth of his again, and you let him manhandle your legs to better support yourself on either side of his thick waist.

“Sit on my cock baby, let me do the hard work.” He encourages, and you moan as you do just that.

The hot water helps relax you, but you’re not nearly stretched enough to take him in one fell swoop, so you let your head tip back, mouth open as you moan and slide down onto his cock inch by inch, hands bracing on his chest, letting gravity help.

“Goddamn you’re big, Kylo.” You moan, and he puffs up with pride in a way that you regret feeding his ego, but not really.

“You can take it, you’ve done it before pretty thing.” He’s focused, focused on making you feel good, and he’s good at it.

Kylo lets one of his hands slip down to rub at your clit just enough to get your thighs trembling, legs spreading to sink further down onto his cock, pulling out the sweetest whines and moans out of you. He sits up against the wall of the tub, one hand on your hip holding you steady as he rubs his fingers against you under the water, and that’s a good thing because when he does finally bottom out inside of you, you slip on the floor of the tub a little.

“I’ve got you,” he assures you, leaning forward to press kisses all across your breasts, smothering praise into your flesh, “Good girl, just relax for me.”

It’s hard to relax when he feels so fucking good, and you tell him as much, making him chuckle. But then he’s planting his feet and lifting his hips, fucking his cock up into you, and you can’t tell him much of anything at all.

“Oh fuck,” You sigh happily, eyes rolling back into your head as you ride him, “Yes – yesyesyes Kylo -- !”

“Did you – fuck keep squeezing my cock baby – did you really fucking think you’d have a good time with whatever his name is?” Kylo asks darkly, possessively, as he thrusts into you with a rhythm that has you gripping the side of the tub, body rocking back and forth, covered in bubbles that stick and pop all over you.

“No,” You whine, “But dammit you haven’t spoken to me since last – oh! Oh yes, yes please Kylo.”

He’s managed to find your gspot like this, and fucks up against it with each thrust of his cock, the head pressing and rubbing against it back and forth and back and forth, making your eyes roll back into your head, your toes curling under the water.

“Just because I didn’t tell you – this pussy is so tight holy shit -- I was taking you out doesn’t mean I wasn’t planning on it.” Kylo says, and you don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about anymore, especially as he latches his mouth to your throat and sucks bruises and marks into your flesh.

“Well – Ah! – well next time warn a fucking woman, would you?” You swat at his arm, your thighs working to bounce on his cock, sweat and steam curling around you, making your bodies stick to one another as the both of your hands slip and slide all over, wanting to touch and pinch and grab.

His cock spears through you in the most delicious way, your cunt throbs and pulses around it, the moans and gasps and sighs and grunts of pleasure sing through your bodies. You and Kylo don’t have sex often – but every time it’s like this, every time it makes you wonder how you could do anything else in the world, other than get fucked by him.

“If I – fuck baby, fuckfuckfuck – if I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” He grunts, and that’s all the warning that you get before he’s coming.

You can feel the hot load of it spreading through your body, and you whine, desperate to come too, digging your nails into the muscle of his shoulder as he fucks you through his own orgasm. You’re so close, just on the precipice of bliss, just a little longer, a little more – and then he’s dropping a hand to your clit once again, and that’s enough to send you over the edge.

“You’re such an asshole.” Resting your head on his chest, you press a kiss to the sweaty line between his pecs, and melt against him as your orgasm ripples and shakes through you.

Kylo being the most insufferable man on the planet, only tucks some of your hair behind your ear and presses a kiss to the top of your head. His hands trace patterns against your back under the water, and there’s a distinctly teasing sort of softness in his words, the kind where you can practically hear the smug smile in his voice, as he wishes you a, “Happy valentine’s day sweetheart.”

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

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

Tagging some pals! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag  @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions  @direnightshade  @reyloaddict55  @thembohux  @kylorenswhxre  @sunflowersinthesnow  @babayagakeanu  @safarigirlsp  @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks  @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief  @materialisthicc  @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri  @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa 

[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 8 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“Oh, hello there Sakura.”

She almost lost her balance when she saw her next customers. Standing beside Kakashi with her arm entangled in his was a brunette, a spitting image of Dr. Aki Nohara, a giveaway that this was her sister. Sakura’s surroundings dimmed out of focus, and her hearing became muffled as if she was submerged underwater.

“Couldn’t mistake that green eyes for anyone,” Kakashi continued. “I’ll have a caramel butterscotch with extra whipped cream – make it super heavy – and Rin –“

“That’s supposed to be my order, you dummy,” the woman replied beside him. He chuckled in fascination and tightened his hold on her arm. “Besides, you don’t like sweets.”

“You’re still on a specialized diet so allow me to eat and drink whatever you want while you stick with – “ Kakashi glanced at Sakura, and she immediately mustered a tight-lipped smile. “One iced americano in your smallest size please. Thanks, Sakura.”

She took in a deep breath, suddenly aware that she wasn’t able to acknowledge her teacher and his companion, but so many things have been running through her head – like how did he know it was her? Why was he with Rin? Did he propose already? She hasn’t even confessed yet.

Somehow, in the dragging silence in her ears, she heard Sasuke cleared his throat. That was enough to break her from the spell, and she put on her bravest mask. “Hi Kakashi-sensei. Nice of you to drop by! I’ll have your order ready in a jiffy.”

Kakashi turned around and waved lazily at Sasuke. “One of my students is here too. Are you on a red eye advance study?”

“Can’t sleep so might as well have caffeine.”

“You’re too young to have this energy.”

Rin jokingly slapped Kakashi on the arm. “You talk as if you’re old already.”

“But aren’t I?” The pair slowly drifted away to find a table, but Sakura noticed the flash of recognition when Rin took a long good look at Sasuke, but her friend stared at them like he was throwing sharp draggers.

“He looks happy,” Sakura noted as she fixed their drinks.

“I want your favorite coffee,” Sasuke quipped out of nowhere.

“There’s a thing called palpitations. It’s caramel macchiato.”

“Might do me some good while I wait for you to finish your shift.”

Sakura sighed, feeling the tiredness come upon her all of a sudden so she relented. “Just take it to-go. I want to get out of here.”

She quickly asked permission from the manager, saying she felt sick and fatigued, and with her clocking overtime in the past few weeks, her request was immediately approved without deductions. The mixed winter and spring air hit her lungs as soon as she stepped outside. Sasuke waited for her across the street, a gesture that implied she could go to him or separate ways right now. As she vied for time to decide, she took one last look through the window.

It was a foreign sight. She has never seen Kakashi’s attention torn apart from his books. Even if he was talking, there would be an open page on his side, stealing glances on passages when the conversations got boring, yet there he was, fully attuned to whatever Rin was saying with no book around him…like she was his favorite book and he enjoyed reading every letter of her.

And Sakura realized she could never be the story he would even want to pick up.

She felt the tears coming so she started her pace on the same road. Across from her, Sasuke got the signal and went the other way.

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

The last term of their second year came like a bazooka. Sakura threw herself on her pet project as a sort of coping mechanism. The announcement was done during the general assembly which did not generate the intended buzz or reaction. After all, it was a tricky topic to handle and many facets of which were still stigmatized when talked openly in public. Naruto, ever the people magnet, broke the agitated atmosphere in the auditorium with a slow clap and was soon joined by many others.

The council created a Google form which allowed students to anonymously register, and they get assigned a schedule on the day their contracted psychiatrist comes to visit. All they had to do was provide their designated client number. The council further complemented this with short programs that serve as mental health breaks for the student body. Sometimes, this would be as light as a block screening of a coming-of-age film or heavy like a conference with faculty and teachers and questions and concerns are remotely flashed.

Then came Valentines’ Day, and the council organized this some kind of literary showcase that presented the opportunity to mingle woes of personal sadness and griefs with confessions that would have been left unsaid. Naruto and Sasuke both helped in constructing the makeshift stage in the middle of the soccer field that would be used later that afternoon.

“Cookie points for my crush,” Naruto grinned as he hammered away. “Thanks for picking the poem I will be reciting tonight, grumpy. Didn’t know you were into literature.” He jokingly elbowed the raven-haired beside him, and he got a death glare in return.

“Do it properly. Look at that nail sticking out like your porcupine hair,” Sasuke grumbled. “And yes, I’m not as uncultured as you are.”

“But I still don’t understand it though.”

“Ugh, just use the internet to search its meaning, idiot.”

“Meanie!”

A fellow runner peeked into their work area and knocked on wood. “Hey Uchiha. Some girl is looking for you.” Her face expressed grimace, having done this for more than five times already within the span of an hour. If it wasn’t Sasuke, it was one of Naruto’s fan girls or boys.

Sasuke went to her and fumbled around for cash in his pocket. “Next time someone looks for us, tell them we went home for the day. Here’s money for your date later. If you have anyway.”

“Whatever grumpy.” The runner replied, still half-angry, half-frustrated, but she took the money all the same and told the girls that ‘They told me to tell you they went home for the day so shoo shoo.’

Naruto laughed at Sasuke’s successful attempt at bribery. “Look at that rich money. I wonder whether Sakura will give us chocolates.”

“Have you seen their office?” Sasuke flipped open the curtains that will be hang as backdrop. “Their desk is filled with chocolates from her admirers – platonically, romantically, whatever. Some people from other schools dropped by too. You got serious competition.”

Naruto chuckled nervously. “As if I do not know that already. Haven’t you told me before- she likes everyone and everyone likes her.”

Not really true at all now, Sasuke thought to himself. But ignorance is bliss, Naruto.

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

The three sat on the grass beside the stage, having full view of the student body listening to the reciters. Throughout the program, Sakura went through each package given to her, visibly stressed with evident signs of sleepless nights under her eyes.

“Before I forget, happy Valentine’s day you two. My council-mates told me you didn’t get any chocolates,” Sakura gave each of them a pouch of small chocolate bars. Sasuke didn’t have to guess if it was store-bought or homemade based on the cuts on her fingers.

“Sakura, stop eating. I almost gagged at the seventh chocolate,” Naruto complained. He tried to get the basket of sweets from her, but she just moved it away from his reach.

“Everything tastes bitter,” she muttered under her breath. “I need sugar. My energy can’t keep up with the countless interviews. I understand that the school board liked the exposure, but the burden falls on me. At least have a teacher back me up?”

“Heard Kakashi-sensei volunteered to accompany you in interviews?” Sasuke was too late in shutting Naruto up, but the most that question got out of Sakura was an eyebrow raise.

“I need more sweets.” She proceeded to jam the rest of the Hershey’s kisses in her mouth.

“Okay, we have a submission from Uzumaki Naruto,” the announcer said. “Shout out to our rookie MVP!” A round of applause. “And who might be the recipient of this poem? We heard through the grapevine that he hid from his admirers all day. I know several people are waiting to confess to him!”

Sasuke instructed him earlier to send the poem anonymously and address it to Sakura, but the dumbass blonde mistakenly exchanged it. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance, but he can’t bring it up right now.

“Just read the poem!” Naruto shouted on the side, clearly embarrassed now. Sakura looked up at him, genuinely curious now, and her sticky chocolate-filled mouth was on the edge of firing him questions.

“Sasuke and I sent in poems! Just to support your program, nothing really too deep into it ehe.” Naruto glanced at Sasuke with slightly widened eyes. “Right, Sasuke?”

“Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare,” the person started.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Sakura slapped Naruto on the arm. “Didn’t know you read Shakespeare! What a romantic!”

“Isn’t it a tragedy?” Sasuke remarked, a look of disgust in his face when Sakura mindlessly offered him a toblerone. “No sweets for me.”

Sakura guffawed at Sasuke’s remark, and her laughing was a rare sight recently. She was in too deep in her student council functions that they barely see her. And when they did, she’d be a little bit closer to fatigue.

“What’s funny? Who’s Shakespeare? Let me in on the joke!”

“Let’s call on Kakashi-sensei, our very own student council advisor and youngest teacher in the university. He’ll be reciting a poem by Pablo Neruda. A man of culture, we see,” the emcee announced.

Sakura stopped laughing as soon as she heard his name. If Sasuke could glean into her thoughts, she’s probably making up excuses to escape right now.

Kakashi stood in the middle of the stage, holding an open book. “Let me just ramble on here for a bit. Neruda is a Chilean poet and a politician, but just as much as he is a revolutionary, he is a romantic and a worshipper of ideals and ordinary things. He often compared his muses to earth and nature – basic providers of our existence. It’s interesting to see. Now, this poem is what I would have wanted to say to someone who is fundamentally part of my existence, but she won’t listen to me.” Kakashi smiled even more at the onset of outburst of giggles from the students. “So you’re gonna be the audience whether you want it or not.”

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

A thundering applause followed Kakashi’s poem and random shouts of, “Drop her name sensei!” “Good luck to your love life!” “Happy for you, sensei!”

As the lights went out on the stage, Sakura fished another pouch from her vest pocket, and Sasuke knew at once that it was Kakashi’s. She popped a bar into her mouth, staring blankly ahead.

“God, it’s so bitter.” Her lips started to quiver, and she started to cry.

Naruto threw a worried glance at Sasuke, but his expression must have given something away because the blonde didn’t prod, and he looked as if all the puzzles fell into place.

Sasuke just didn’t expect to be confronted about it as soon as the program finished. He was carrying blocks of wood to the shed when Naruto dropped the question – a question he already knew the answer to.

“You like Sakura.”

Sasuke inhaled sharply and halted his steps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stacked the wood against each other and turned to face the blonde. “Besides, shouldn’t you be worrying about exams?”

“What exams? We’re exempted from it,” Naruto bristled.

Sasuke smirked. “No, you’re not. You didn’t qualify for finals.”

“Oh shit.”

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

“What do we get in return?” Sakura asked as she munched on her bento box. Shouts of the practicing dragonboat team filtered through their space.

“But last time you volunteered!” Naruto said.

“We’re friends so my services don’t come free anymore,” she chided back.

Naruto glared at Sasuke. “If she’s not gonna do it, you’re gonna do it.”

Sasuke nonchalantly shook his head as he skimmed through Naruto’s notes. “What she said.” They weren’t notes per se, but doodles of Sasuke and Sakura and interestingly, projections of different batting stances. “I’m also not gonna forgive you with the duck butt hair.”

“But you have a duck butt hair!” Naruto crossed his arms and huffed menacingly. “Ramen?”

“Same old, same old.” Sakura finished her lunch and started to sip her cranberry juice. “Give us something new.”

“Ramen and…..karaoke?”

Sakura brightened up at the prospect. “Deal.”

“At least add snacks to your place,” Sasuke interjected. “And not just ramen. Put some nuts or fruits in your fridge.”

Naruto grumbled but raised two thumbs up in defeat. “Deal.”

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

Sasuke has thin patience when it came to teaching Naruto, Sakura observed. She didn’t know how these two managed to do the supplementary math lessons when she wasn’t a part of their group yet. She didn’t mind teaching, but Naruto’s short attention span was a devil of its own. He would be attentive to her for 15 minutes and then drowse off so Sasuke and her agreed on non-negotiables.

“No ramen break for you if you don’t finish this set of problems,” Sakura told him.

“You’re demon spawns,” Naruto cried out in defiance.

“If you don’t get a passing score on this sample test, no kani toppings for you.” Sasuke raised the stakes.

“Demon spawns,” Naruto repeated.

“You won’t call us demon spawns if you see your name on the list of passers.” Sakura started the stopwatch on her phone. “Now go.”

This took her mind off things, from Kakashi’s public confession to the blank career form hidden within the pages of her history textbook. It was a good distraction until the penultimate exams day. Naruto came in with a bandana on his forehead with FIGHTING written in the middle of it. Sasuke, as usual, breezed through it, already finished by the thirty-minute mark.

And she? Well, she liked exams. The time limit and the pressure allowed her the reprieve to shut the rest of the world out so she relished answering each number until the bell rang. It was a moment where she can focus fully on the paper in front of her, the sound of her pen scribbling, and her mind working full force to cull out the answers in her memory. Her utmost concentration on questions suspended her own questions on her feelings for a teacher, on her parents’ divorce, on her future.

When the school plastered the results on the bulletin board, she couldn’t help but release a satisfied chuckle. She turned to Sasuke who was surprisingly stoic about the results. “First place! The bonus point really helped.”

“Why should I bother with a teacher’s middle name for the bonus question?” Sasuke grumbled back. “Congrats. Stop rubbing it in my face already.”

Naruto was too busy pointing his name on the board and bragging about it to the student body, most especially the freshies. When he found them on the back of the crowd, he rushed to them and placed his arms around their shoulders “Drinks on me!!!!!”

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

“He really shouted drinks on me in the middle of the school, sauntered in here like he’s loaded, and ordered two pitchers of iced tea.” Sakura kept bringing this up since they entered the karaoke room ten minutes ago.

Naruto was preoccupied with inputting song numbers on the machine to respond to Sakura’s banters. “Technically, they’re still drinks!”

Sasuke was on the phone with the kitchen, and from what she could hear, he was ordering almost everything on the menu. When he sat down on the adjacent couch, Sakura leaned forward to him. “Are you gonna finish all of that?”

He jutted his index finger to Naruto. “No, but he will.”

The first notes of Michael Jackson’s Thriller wafted through the room, and the blonde made a quick impression of the artist’s famed moonwalk.

“Why are you opening with that?” Sakura cried out in amusement. “It’s not even Halloween!” Sasuke watched Naruto try to dance with a straight face, but she thought he was itching to face palm the whole time.

Naruto kept beckoning Sakura to join him in the middle of the room, but she was busy laughing at him and taking videos. “I’ll send these to Haru as a pick-me-up. I think this is the best remedy.”

Next was Sakura’s pick – Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle. She couldn’t contain her laughter in between verses when the two boys finally heard that she was tone deaf. Naruto joined her with the other mic, trying to drown out the off-key notes. By the bridge, Sasuke stood up with them, a glass of juice in his hand, and mouthed the words.

“You know this song!” Sakura said excitedly.

“I don’t live under a rock!” He yelled back amid the loud music.

“OOOH BABY DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S WORTH OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH. THEY SAY IN HEAVEN, LOVE COMES FIRST. OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH!”

“Okay who’s next?” she asked when the next number flashed on the screen. Sasuke silently took the mic from her and faced the monitor with a hand in his pants’ pocket.

Naruto gripped the mic harder when the song started. “I’ll be your second voice, grumpy!”

She immediately went to the front and started recording. “One for the road.”

“No videos, Haruno,” Sasuke warned.

“Come on, it’s my remembrance,” she whined. He wasn’t able to clap back when the lines started to move.

“Turn around…” Naruto sang.

“Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming ‘round,” Sasuke’s baritone voice filled the room like an empty coliseum.

“The fuck. You can sing?” Sakura gasped out loud. “How can you have that voice and not sing - like you know, every day?!”’

Sasuke gestured her to stop as he belted, stoic-faced, through the chorus with Naruto singing like a slaughtered pig in the background. Sakura stopped recording and joined them for the rest of the song.

Two hours and three pitchers of orange juice later, they finally settled on the couch and munched on Naruto’s leftovers of fries, buttered chicken, nachos, and calamari. On the karaoke monitor was David Bowie singing Heroes.

“Can’t believe we’re already seniors two months from now.” He stared at the ceiling, his eyes following the tag game of disco lights. “Elections of officers will be tomorrow which means Captain Haru will be formerly stepping down.”

Sasuke reached out and shook his hand. “Good luck next captain.”

Naruto immediately pulled out from his grasp. “What do you mean next captain?”

Sakura chuckled and patted his back as assurance. “Everyone knows it’ll be you. Have you seen how your teammates look at you when you’re discussing strategies?”

In the dimness of the room, she saw the flush on Naruto���s cheeks, and she found it amusing how he cannot take compliments.

Naruto scratched the back of his head. “Well, everything is possible, right? That said, I still haven’t filled out my college form, but I’m really set on getting an athletic scholarship and eventually be part of the national team! How about you grumpy? Changed your mind yet?”

“About what?” Sakura glanced at the silent raven-haired guy beside her. To be able to see this much of him was a nice privilege.

“I’m moving away after high school.” Sasuke fiddled with his half-empty glass, his eyes trained on the slushing juice. “I already sent applications to some universities in Europe.”

“We also have good medicine programs here. I don’t get why you have to move away so far. I’m so bad with converting time zones.”

Sasuke scrunched his nose in annoyance. “Are you dumb? The schools you listed are also out of this district.”

She seemed to be moving farther and farther from their exchange. Like an outsider peeking in, she understood the frailty of the moments in front of her, and by the time the next two months set in, the stopwatch would have started running its last lap. The bonds she has made so serendipitously were in danger of being cut off by dreams. She breathed in, engulfing the noise and scent of this room, panning every color and shape assembled like supercut in her head, praying that someday if she would lose herself, she’d come back here right at this frozen memory and relive the wonderful indecisiveness of adolescence and the chance to say I don’t know without repercussions.

“Sakura to earth?” Naruto’s voice.

“Idiot. It’s earth to Sakura.” Sasuke’s voice.

She blinked fast, returning to the moment that wasn’t finished playing out yet. She quickly brushed her hands on her eyes as if something got into her eyes, hoping they don’t see the small droplets of tears that have formed. “Oh uh, I have a list of prospects, but I’m not quite sure what to take.” The form was still blank actually.

“That’s a usual problem of anyone who’s too good at everything,” Sasuke replied.

“Are you complimenting me?” I wish I was.

“Should I take it back?” He proceeded to gulp down the remnants of his glass.

The monitor suddenly turned off, indicating their time has run out. “Hey guys, for our last term, let’s make the most out of it, all right?” Naruto asked. “I’m so happy we became friends.”

“No hugging please,” Sasuke said, but it was too late. Naruto’s arms were too strong to pull away from so the two allowed him a few seconds of skinship.

Naruto’s words struck a chord in Sakura; it was a resolve she tried to form and disfigure for several months now. Before they could stand up to fix their things, Sakura blurted it out loud before her courage took the best of her.

“For our last term.” She flexed her fingers and curled them up against her palm, placing weight on her lap as she ground her fists onto it. “For our last term, I’m gonna confess to Kakashi.”

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 9

[winterscaptain]

infirmity.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: part four of our 100 arc, covering 5x02, haunted! I forgot how much i love this episode, so i really leaned into this one. it’s a labor of love!! i can’t wait to hear what you all think (i crave feedback and affection) and if you reblog, i’d love to see your cheeky lil thoughts in the tags!!

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.3k warnings: language, bad decisions

summary: “a friend should bear his friend’s infirmities” - william shakespeare, julius caesar.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You knock on the door at 8:30 sharp. Almost thirty seconds pass before he answers, and you note the hand on his holster as he opens the door. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you chirp. “Ready to go?”

He turns, gathering his things. “What do we know about this case in Kentucky?”

Thrown a little by the lack of greeting, you follow him into the apartment. The sight of the Foyet files on his desk aren’t foreign to you, nor are they a surprise. They’ve been there every time you came over during his leave (in fact, you’ve sat on them more than once), so why you expected them to go away once he was back you had no idea.

“Um, no connection between Call and his victims. They’re canvassing, but no sign of him so far.”

“Start with his recent history. Find the stressor.” His voice is flat, impassive, and you frown. 

He was just getting better…

You’re about to head back toward the door when -

“Don’t move.”

Right. The alarm. 

He stands by to arm it. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

+++

You arrive at the tarmac, Hotch in the passenger seat of your car. He looks a little resigned, but straightens and takes a breath before he opens the door, settling into his role as he steps out and straightens his suit jacket. 

It’s always a little funny to watch him transform. You’re honored you get to see it, even if he’s in rough shape. 

Especially then. 

You climb the stairs and follow him in, settling in your usual place. 

“Good to see you,” Dave says as Aaron scoots down the aisle. It makes you smile. 

“You, too.”

Aaron gets settled and you shift, trying not to hover but finding it difficult to be separated from him after his weeks of absence. He greets the rest of the team, exchanging pleasantries and checking in with Reid about his knee. 

“Any other attacks?”

JJ shakes her head, while Spencer elaborates. “Call’s proven hard to track. He’s never had a driver's license so he’s probably still on foot.”

“Or public transportation,” Emily notes.

You hum. “He wouldn’t take the bus. His face is everywhere.”

“Has anyone found a stressor?” You weren’t sure if Aaron’s brusque affect was going to continue once you made it to the plane, but his tone just about answers your question. 

Stepping back into authority quickly, there, Aaron. 

“He just lost his job,” Garcia supplies. “He’s worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.”

Derek tilts his head. “That’s a long time to be bitter.”

“Or he doesn’t care?”

JJ looks at Spencer and shakes her head. “Not if he’s got a family to feed.” 

“Actually, he’s of the hermit variety as far as I can tell. He’s got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.” You watch Garcia’s eyes flicker around the screen as she talks to you, doing what she does best. 

“Nothing to live for.”  Derek’s looking a little too pointedly at Aaron for your taste, but your evaluation is interrupted. 

“So why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

Your brain sputters at Aaron’s offhand delivery. “What?”

“Sprees usually end in suicide. If he’s got nothing to live for, why hasn’t he ended it?”

The energy in the room grows uncomfortable, fast. Aaron’s voice is still flat - you might go so far as to say it sounds dead, but that inspires a kind of heavy sullenness in your chest you’d rather not subject yourself to. 

You wish Haley was around for no other reason but to kick his ass. 

You’re thankful for Spencer when he answers Hotch’s question. “Because he isn’t finished, yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim.”

“Well,” Aaron continues, “the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”

You meet Derek’s eyes and you can tell he’s trying to read you - trying to see if you’re as concerned as he is. You don’t give him the satisfaction. 

+++

Later, you corner Morgan on the plane before landing, keeping your voice low. The case is in your lap so there’s a valid distraction when you need one. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He stops and turns. “I thought Hotch was cleared to drive.” 

“He is.”

“Then why did you pick him up this morning?”

You shrug. “I wanted to.” His eyes bore into the side of your head and you look up with an exasperated huff. “What?”

He sighs. “He’s only had a month off.”

“Well,” you say, aware that you’re being pedantic before you even get there, “thirty-four days. That’s a little more than a month.”

His stare is withering, but you’re impervious. “And you think that’s long enough?”

“Are you asking me as his coworker or as his friend?”

“Is there a difference?”

You shrug. “Maybe.” Yes. “But if you don’t think he’s had enough time, you should tell him.”

He scoffs. “No thanks. I like my job.”

“You like him more.” A little smile crosses your face. “Though, I know you don’t like to think so.”

“No. I like you.” Derek corrects. “He also happens to like you, so I tolerate him for your benefit.”

“Much appreciated.” You return to your work, but Derek’s eyes linger. You don’t look up as you ask, “What?”

“What if he has PTSD?”

Still writing, you answer with a general air of nonchalance. “He was evaluated.”

“Oh, come on. We wrote those questions. Hotch knows exactly -“

You slam your pen down and lean back with your arms crossed. You draw Spencer's eyes and lower your voice again. “So, what? Are you going to pick at me until you get me to say something you want me to say?” You let out a sardonic chuff, settling back to work. “If that’s the case, you’re gonna be here a while.” You tip your head a little toward the little table by the window. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

You admittedly feel a little bad for being short with him, but everything seems to be testing your patience today. 

And if you’re honest, you’re worried about Aaron, too. 

After a few minutes of work in silence, you call out to him again. There’s the smallest of apologies in your voice. “Derek?”

He looks at you, dark eyes open and yielding - concerned and forgiving. “Yeah?”

“He’s back because he has to be. He needs to know we’re here for him.”

“He knows that.”

You offer him a small smile. “Don’t let him forget it.” You pause, your head wavering a little bit as your tone turns a touch facetious. “I can’t do all the heavy lifting around here.”

You get a laugh out of him - just a little one - and it’s enough. “Don’t push it, kid. I remember when you were dead weight.”

You roll your eyes. 

That’s enough, for now. 

+++

Even your seemingly-endless patience with Aaron rapidly wanes as you spend more time at the crime scene. It’s frustrating. 

“He was on an antipsychotic?” You ask with a little frown. 

The pharmacist nods. “Well, that’s why I wanted him to calm down. He’s been off of them at least a month, now.” 

“And when were you going to tell us this?” Aaron asks, harsh and sharp. 

You look at him, your frown deepening. 

What the fuck is that attitude?

“He’s armed, he’s delusional. Who’s his doctor?” Hotch’s tone grows even pointier, somehow, as he pushes harder. 

“I don’t remember - my computer…” She gestures behind the desk, where the computer has been fried by a bullet. 

“Great. That’s great.” He walks away, already making a call. 

“Excuse us,” you say in an attempt to recover. Derek echoes you and you try to avoid running after Hotch as he strides down the aisle. 

Long-legged asshole. Slow down. 

“Hotch,” you call. He doesn’t listen. 

“Call JJ and tell her about the meds.” He’s still walking. You’ve caught up. 

Derek chimes in, gesturing back at the pharmacist. “This is not her fault.”

Aaron turns on him. “Morgan, he’s in a psychotic break. It changes everything.”

“You want to talk about this?” Derek asks, taking another step closer. 

Squaring up to Derek’s shoulder, you’re ready to pull them apart if they get really heated. 

Wouldn’t be the first time.

In some ways, Morgan’s admission on the plane was truer than he let on. You are the link between Derek and Aaron, almost like a balm. You see things in them that they can’t see in each other. It helps. 

With a pang, you think of Haley, for some reason. 

You miss her. 

“No.” Aaron’s interruption is sharp and it startles you out of your thoughts. “I want to find him - Garcia,” he turns, continuing on his warpath forward, “he’s been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?”

Your mouth drops open and Derek’s about to deck Aaron while his back is turned. You push in front of Derek, getting between them to give him a chance to cool off. The last thing you want is to handle more wound dressings - for either one of them. 

Aaron hangs up and walks out after what you imagine is a rather unilluminating update from Penelope. You turn, putting your hand on Derek’s shoulder and looking him in the eye. 

Still think he’s alright? His eyes ask.

 You grit your teeth. I don’t know. 

+++

The psychiatrist and patient lay dead on the floor, Call nowhere in sight. Derek directs the local officers to check the perimeter, just in case. 

You look at Hotch, who still doesn’t look completely checked in, himself. 

Or maybe he looks too checked in?

I don’t know. 

You’d be lying if you said his behavior didn’t freak you out. Though he’s standing beside you, you miss him. 

Come back to me. 

You miss the man who pliantly sat under your hands as you washed his wounds and brought him takeout and forced him to take naps in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. 

You miss the man who fought you for the remote and stole far too many of your fries, who would change the channel if you made the mistake of going to the bathroom on a commercial break. 

That man was with you as late as Saturday. Returning has brought something else out in him, the part of him that spent (often very) late nights looking for Foyet has risen to the forefront. 

“We’re too late.” 

Before the rest of you can do anything, Aaron leaves the room, pushing past Dave in his haste to leave. 

Emily calls after him, but he’s long gone down the hallway. They look at you. 

All you can do is shake your head with a downturned curve of your mouth. 

+++

After a little while, you go downstairs and find Hotch outside. Before you can say anything - 

“I should have seen the blinking on the video.” 

You huff at him. “Hotch, it could have been a nervous tic. You couldn’t have known - none of the records were available, yet.” 

“But it wasn’t a tic. It’s a classic sign of long-term antipsychotic use, and I missed it.”

You step in front of him, squarely meeting his eyes. “We all missed it.” 

He’s got another pessimistic jab that you choose to ignore just before Emily and Dave arrive with news from Garcia. 

Oh, Aaron. 

+++

The officer huffs. “I don’t care why he took him.” 

Aaron had, once again, escalated the situation with local police. Tensions are high, and you only hope he can get his shit together at some point. “You should.” 

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

He continues, advancing on the police captain. “Call’s memory is no longer suppressed. He’s reinventing his past and unless we understand how, we’re not going to find either of them.”

“Well, I’m not gonna just sit around and speculate.” 

It’s an old-fashioned Western standoff, now. 

Who’s Clint Eastwood?

Well, Hotch has the looks but -

Quit. 

Fine. 

“Then don’t.”

The captain turns to you, Emily, and Dave. “You don’t think we should chase him either?”

“We need to get ahead of Call,” Dave answers evenly. 

The captain looks at Aaron once more before storming off. The rest of you approach Hotch, and Emily’s a little frustrated when she reminds him, “There’s a kid missing.” 

“They don’t need the extra manpower.” 

You squint at him. “Since when?”

“If we had studied Foyet’s initial crimes -”

Oh for the love of fuck. 

“- we would have known that a survivor didn’t make sense.”

“What does he have to do with this?”

Great question, Emily.

“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet’s history. But we didn’t, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I am not making that mistake again.” He leaves the three of you stunned in his wake. After a moment, you follow him. 

You always do. 

+++

“Let’s go.” 

You’ve got the address to the unsub’s home and you take the car with Aaron, the rest of the team following behind you. 

He drives fast, but that’s nothing new. He throws the siren and floors it. You call SWAT yourself, getting Derek prepared for staging. 

When you get out of the car, you throw your vest on, helping Emily with the straps across her shoulders before she can reach them themselves. 

“Prentiss,” Aaron says, putting his earwig in. “Check in with the lieutenant, see if there’s anything we can use.” 

She nods. “Yes, sir.” 

“You good?” You ask, looking over at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

You throw your head to the side, and he takes your flank as you get closer to Emily. Her briefing with this particular lieutenant could go sideways, but you don’t want to leave him feeling trapped. 

“...The kid’s in there. We got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. He’s still focused on the old man.”

Emily squints, adjusting her comm. “For now, but we’re gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”

“I’ve got a team in the back and one on the way. We’re going to infiltrate.” 

“You do that and someone else dies.” The balance of firm and collaborative rests delicately on her tone. She’s doing well. 

“Either Call or a child murder. Flip a coin.” 

His tone frustrates you, but you leave Emily to her devices, checking your magazines for the third time. Your sidearm is in place, as is your backup. 

“It doesn’t have to end like that. We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” She pauses, and a streak of white flashes in your peripheral. “Hotch!” 

You whirl, ready to sprint after him as he walks decisively past the rest of you, past the gate, and into the house. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a break for it. A wall of arms stops you, and you know Derek’s behind you when you hear, “What the hell is he doing?”

No vest...Is he even carrying his gun? 

“Let him go.” 

You turn on Dave, your face plastered with fear and fury. “What do you mean let him go. Rossi -”

“I’m not letting him go in there solo.” Derek pushes against Dave again, but to your surprise, he’s locked in tight. 

“We have to trust him.” 

That cools Derek off, but not you. You thrash, freeing yourself from one of the local cops. “The hell we do.” 

“Kid - wait, no.” The roles reverse, and Derek catches up to you and locks you in his arms before you can breach the perimeter. Your elbows don’t land against his vest, but you sure try. “You’ll get him killed.” 

There’s only stress and silence as you stop struggling. All you can do is wait. 

Derek keeps his arm around you, but you almost feel like the contact is for both of you. You take deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. It’s through the roof. 

“What’s he doing?” Emily asks into her mic. 

Dave leans into his comm. “Stalling.” 

You can almost feel Derek’s jaw tightening. “He has nothing to lose.” 

He has everything to lose. 

You have everything to lose. 

Don’t be a hero, Aaron. Don’t do anything stupid. 

You hope that he can hear you somehow. 

Too late. 

Hotch appears in the window, followed by the boy. 

There’s a quick SWAT conversation in your ear. 

“Do you have the shot?”

“Negative, negative.”

He’s blocking the shot. 

Goddamn you, Aaron. Goddamn you. 

“Bringing the boy out,” a faceless voice on the radio says. The hostage runs down off the porch and you catch a glimpse of Aaron before he disappears behind the door again. 

You turn your head a touch, keeping your eyes on the door. “Get him out of there.” 

Dave shakes his head. “That’s his call.” 

Your body is wound tighter than a coil and you’re not sure if you’re ready to storm in there or just start walking home. 

There’s a gunshot, and you’re out of there like a bat out of hell. You launch yourself over the short fence and attach yourself to the first SWAT agent you see, remembering your training at the last moment. 

You breach the house and find Aaron cuffing Darin, whose father is dead in the armchair in front of him. Your jaw has never been tighter. 

Once you confirm that he is in fact still alive and still only has nine holes in him, you turn on your heel and you storm out of the house. You don’t stop until you’re leaning on the front of one of the cars, trying to catch your breath. Your hands shake and you don’t trust your knees to hold you up. 

The relief wars with something hot and unpleasant, leaving you more exhausted than you’ve been in weeks. 

You keep your head turned away from Aaron as he approaches you. It’s petty, but you also don’t want him to see the fear on your face. 

He calls you with a sigh in his voice and it finally ignites the fear into anger. 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you spit. Your voice isn’t loud, but it certainly carries. JJ’s eyes flicker to you from the other side of the yard. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” 

His jaw tightens. “Let’s not do this here.” 

Your brow draws across your eyes and your mouth opens, indignant. “Let’s not do this here? You’re fucking kidding me.”

In his current state, nothing is off the table. His temper is running short and you know you’re capable of pushing him until he breaks. It hasn’t happened yet, but today might be it.  

Much to your surprise, a sigh leaves him, and he knows he’s stepped in it. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You scoff, shaking your head. 

His remorse only stokes your anger. Go figure. 

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry. You could have died, Hotch. What you did was so beyond protocol I don’t even know if I should start with the necessity of your life because we need you as our unit chief or the importance of your safety as my friend -” You cut yourself off and look away from him, frustrated you even got that far. 

He has nothing to say to that. You’re completely right. The guilt might as well be written across his face in Sharpie. 

His absence fucked with you, to say the least. It felt awful, empty, in the field without him. And then when you were home - well, back at the apartment, he was only ever in pain. 

Overall, your anxiety regarding his health and safety is riding high. 

Much to your frustration, your eyes water, and your lower lip shakes - angry tears an ever-present threat. Your arms cross over your chest. “I can’t even look at you right now.” 

He reaches out for your arm, but you throw him off before he can make contact, turning your head. You stare at the ground, watching him flounder out of the corner of your eye. 

“Go. Go do your fucking job, Hotch.” His nickname is acid in your mouth. It feels like a punishment, a lash of a whip. He doesn’t move, and you turn on him, meeting his guilty brown eyes with your flinty ones. “Go. Make the arrest. They’re waiting on you.” You throw your chin to Derek and Emily, who are indeed waiting for him on the porch with the unsub. 

With another heavy sigh, he turns and rejoins the rest of your team. 

You stay where you are, directing coroner and local law enforcement personnel to relevant staging areas as the crime scene is processed and handled. Aaron’s eyes try to find yours, but you avoid them, focusing on someone, anyone else with crisp professionalism that hardly belies your fear. 

You’ve never been so angry in your life. Even if you have, you can’t remember it feeling this wretched.

+++

He sits beside you on the plane once you’re up in the air and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The rest of the team sleeps scattered around the cabin, but you suspect that at least one of them is faking it, waiting for some kind of spectacle or spectacular blowup between the two of you. 

You haven’t spoken to Aaron since leaving the crime scene. You drove back to the precinct with Emily and Dave, staying close to JJ and Spencer while you packed your things. There’s a part of you that feels bad for creating what Strauss would call a “hostile work environment,” but the other part can’t bring itself to care. 

You can’t even begin to articulate the fear that coursed through you as you waited for him outside that house. You couldn’t begin to explain the extent of your fear, but after the stabbing and the removal of Haley and Jack from your lives, the prospect of losing him in the field was beyond unbearable. 

It’s frustrating to feel so comforted by his proximity while you’re still so angry with him. The familiarity of it all hardly blunts your anger. If anything, the relief at having him back at your side sharpens your anger into something that scares you. 

The impossibility of it is beyond measure. You’ve known for some time now, but this is the first you’re willing to admit it. 

I love him. 

Fuck.

You love him. You love his son. You love his wife. 

You love the weird look he gets on his face when he has to say “penetration” while he’s delivering a profile. You love the way he tries not to smile when Emily beats Spencer at chess. You love the way he twiddles with pens when he’s thinking or nervous or both. You love that each of his smiles feel like a gift just for you. 

There’s nothing you don’t love about him. 

Except, of course, the way he, with profound idiocy, endangered his life today for no particular reason in addition to his generally asshole-ish behavior. 

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m sure you know that.” 

You do.

He waits on you, quiet and still. 

You take a deep breath, finally looking at him. “You scared the hell out of me.” 

He nods, his jaw flexing. 

“Don’t do it again.” 

He blinks once, slowly. You know he can’t promise that, but you appreciate his acknowledgment nevertheless. There’s quiet for a moment. 

“Aaron…” You look at him, nothing but concern in your tone. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“I was just going to say…” You swallow, trying to find better words but coming up short. “We’ll get him.”

+++

Derek’s voice echoes down to the bullpen as you finish up the last few pieces of your paperwork. “I will not stand by and watch this man kill himself.” 

Aaron’s door is closed as he works. You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if you’d rather he hear it. You can’t really hear Dave - not that you’d want to, you’re almost as pissed at him as you are at Aaron - but it doesn’t matter. You know what he has to say. 

Derek’s voice drops lower than you can hear. Dave drops his head. 

Moments later, Derek flies back down the stairs, grabs his jacket, and takes his leave with a cursory goodbye thrown in your direction. Dave returns to his desk and Aaron’s door finally opens. 

You look up as his lights turn off, gathering your things at your desk. With a little sigh that looks a bit like defeat, he stops at your desk. The smugness doesn’t completely leave your tone. “Need a ride?”

Of course, he does. “Please.” 

You rise and walk to the elevators together. In the silence, you tell him, “I’m still really mad at you.” 

A sigh. “I know.” 

+++

You walk him upstairs and take care of the alarm while he removes his suit jacket and throws it over the couch. 

“Do you think Call’s gonna be okay?” You ask, still facing the alarm. 

“I don’t know.”

“He got his answers,” you note, turning to him. “He killed the man who haunted him.” 

His eyes are fixed on a spot on the carpet. “And what else is there?”

“Years of torture.” You both know you’re not talking about Call anymore, but it’s nice to pretend. It gives you the opportunity to say things you wouldn’t - shouldn’t - say to him. “Fear. Grief.”

“Think he’ll get over that?” 

“How could he?” A humorless smile pulls at one corner of your mouth. “But at least he doesn't feel like he’s alone.”

He finally meets your eyes. “He doesn’t have anyone.” I don’t have anyone, his brow says. 

“He has Tommy. He’s not alone.” 

You have me. You’re not alone. 

His brows pull low over his eyes, and you take another opportunity as it comes. “Do you want me to stay again tonight?”

“No, I’m alright.” He takes a little breath and you round the corner, pouring him a couple fingers of whiskey before making a slow, purposeful trek across the room. “Thank you,” he says, taking it. 

“Of course. Anytime.” Now, you both know you aren’t talking about the drink. 

Nevertheless, you pat your pockets for your keys, phone, and various federal paraphernalia, finding them all where they belong. “I should head out, then. Call if you need anything.” 

He nods, watching you with quiet eyes as you close and lock the door behind you. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless​ @jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

[pinkanonwrites]

love me, please love me

Akaashi x Reader

Happy belated Valentine's day! I wanted to write a bittersweet piece for the occasion, but I caved right at the end and made it 100% sweet instead. Basically Akaashi is a delight and I wanted to see him pine, and pine hard. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

(also the song title is from a song of the same name by Michel Polnareff, which I highly recommend listening to in order to get that yearning vibe)

Akaashi had already decided by himself at an early point in his professional career that writing romance, for all intents and purposes, was easy.

Sure, there would always be details and characters and overarching, more interesting plot to work out, but the overall premise was always the same. Two characters with undeniable chemistry, kept from admitting their true feelings because of Person X or Situation Y, rinse and repeat misunderstandings and 'almosts' until the manga was ready to end. Maybe even leave room afterwards for a cute, episodic spin-off.

Easy.

The real world, however, rarely offered such simplicities.

For example, Akaashi was in love with an office worker whose desk was once across from his, and he was pretty sure they didn't even know his name.

It's not like he'd known he was going to fall for you. How could he have? There was no chorus of angels, no heavenly light from above as the world seemed to fall into slow-motion. No. On his first day in the office you had been late, stumbled in with messy hair and a haphazard stack of manuscripts that you smacked down onto your desk, and had nearly tipped your overfull coffee mug all over the floor. He could hardly call it a good first impression. And yet…

The other workers on your floor seemed to hold you in a very high regard. He'd barely been there a week when one of his concerns had been directed to your desk.

"Ah, excuse me. Takaoda-san told me you could help with this?"

Your attention snapped up from your screen to Akaashi and the folder tucked in his hands. Noticeably confused for a split second, it took a moment before realization dawned on you.

"Oh! You're the guy who just joined! Kashi-san, right? Yeah, I can help you with that!"

You didn't even give him time to correct your butchering of his name.

Not only had you solved his problem, you'd scooted your chair to the side a bit and motioned for him to drag his own over and seat himself beside you, carefully walking him through the entire process.

"There you are! I'll just email this over to you so you have the file on your computer then."

"Yes, thank you very much."

"No problem! If you have any more questions, I'd be happy to help you out."

Your kindness, it seemed, extended to the other members of your office floor as well. Not a day would go by without Akaashi seeing at least one person hunkered down beside you at your desk in various states of disarray, waiting for your kind and composed words to soothe their frazzled minds. Clearly you were a cherished member of this office.

He was sure that the warm stirrings beginning in his chest were no more than admiration at that point.

Mostly sure.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As his status with the editing company and his understanding of the industry began to rise, Akaashi was swiftly moved up to higher departments and higher pressures, longer meetings and tighter deadlines. He no longer spent as much time on the main floor where he'd started. But he still noticed you.

You'd been the first on the floor to cheer for him when it was announced that he'd be moving to his own private office. You patted him on the back and wished him well with a big, bright smile that made his stomach do something funny he tried to ignore. Occasionally you bumped into each other in the elevator, the break room, in meeting rooms as clusters of overworked people filed in and out.

And sometimes, on darkened evenings when he was leaving the building in the dead of night, he'd see you still sat at your desk. Alone in the office space, you continued to tap away at your keyboard. He'd never considered that for all the time you spent helping others with their problems, that was time unspent solving your own.

"Kashi-san?"

He faltered a bit under your tired gaze, lurking in the doorway of the floor, having finally caught your eye. He didn't even remember to correct you, again.

It didn't matter that much, though. Not when his body was already moving without him thinking, standing at the side of your desk and placing the canned coffee he'd just bought from the vending machine on its corner.

"It's almost 10. I'm surprised you're still here."

You blinked, then laughed, a sweet melodic tune. The coffee clutched in both hands, you looked up at him so sweetly that his heart hammered in response.

"Yeah, there's a lot to get done."

"Please be sure not to overwork yourself. You're a vital piece of this company."

I will, thank you… Hey, have you eaten?"

He startled, checking his watch. "N-Not since lunch."

"Let's grab something. My treat. Consider it a thanks for the coffee."

"Ah… if you insist."

Not that he needed much insistence.

And so began a comfortable pattern as late night dinners between the two of you became all the more common. It was rare that a week went by that didn't end a long and tiring day with ramen in a cozy booth, or snack foods scarfed down outside a 24-hour convenience store, your smiling face all the warmth he needed to stave off the evening chill.

Perhaps this was where he'd first realized, when you'd held a napkin out to him to dab away the teriyaki sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth: A sudden, longing lurch to do the same, to cup your cheek gently in his hand, to run the pad of his thumb over your soft lower lip. He walked home in a daze that evening, dusted with snow and brimming with warmth and confusion.

Realistically he knew that office romances weren't uncommon. He'd read enough manga and watched enough dramas to know that. And yet, he couldn't shake the concern so easily. What if your bosses found out? What would your co-workers think?

...What if it didn't work?

The only glimpses of yourself he'd gotten outside of a workplace environment were those short, shared meals. How could that be enough to judge whether you two were really meant to work well together? Was it worth risking the fallout?

No. Certainly not. Not for a silly crush. Akaashi could wait this out, he should wait this out. Keep his distance and wait until the butterflies faded and the fires died and he was left with the same feelings he'd felt for you in the beginning, appreciation and the occasional concern.

He would be fine.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On the dawn of week three of minimizing contact with you, Akaashi Keiji was decidedly not fine.

He hadn't realized how dependent he'd become on your presence until it was unceremoniously torn away from him. Is a grown man meant to crave another person's voice so much? Their smile? Their laugh? He felt like a schoolboy again, flustered and frustrated and brimming over with emotions he wasn't sure how to outlet.

On Tuesday morning you'd come in early, clearly dressed for a date. Takaoda confirmed his suspicion a moment later when he complimented your outfit.

"I've got a blind date tonight, actually."

The butterflies in Akaashi's stomach choked and died, falling like stones into the pit of his gut. He nearly shocked himself with the single word that screamed across his rushing mind, that he didn't dare speak aloud.

No.

He felt like a jerk. He felt like a coward. He felt like a horrible, selfish child. But when you saw him standing in the hall and lifted a hand to wave, Akaashi ducked his head and hurried to his office, pointedly and obviously ignoring your greeting.

Well done Keiji, surely they would return your feelings now.

Very little got done that day. And as the clock ticked ever and ever closer to 5pm, Akaashi knew he needed to make a choice. And he knew he needed help making it.

Lifting his cell phone, Akaashi called the one person he knew could give him an easy answer.

"Hey, hey, hey! Akaashi! How are you? Aren't you at work right now?"

"Yes, Bokuto-san. However, I had an important question I was hoping you could help me with."

"Of course! Must be real big if you're calling me about it, huh?"

"Yes, it is."

Faced with the possibility of finally having an answer to his concerns, Akaashi found himself at a loss of where to start.

"Bokuto-san, have you ever had feelings for someone but weren't sure if telling them was the best idea?"

"Oho? Romance questions? Now I'm real interested!" He could hear Bokuto's big, silly grin even over the phone. "Well yeah, some of the cheerleaders are pretty hot. And you remember that guy at the ramen place who always gave me extra coupons? Pretty sure he could've been my soulmate!"

"Bokuto-san, I believe my situation is a touch more serious than a waiter who gives me extra coupons."

Bokuto maturely responded by blowing a raspberry into the receiver.

"Well, if it's that serious why haven't you asked them yourself? You've gotten this torn up about it to call me, so it must be the real deal."

"It really isn't that easy…"

"Isn't it? I mean, they either like you or they don't, right? If they do, great! If they don't, well then you can just start getting over them faster."

Akaashi found himself struggling for a reasonable response to that.

"Hey, all I can say is, you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take! Someone famous said that. Shakespeare, I think."

"Wayne Gretzky."

"Bless you."

Sighing, Akaashi glanced at his watch. You would probably be leaving soon. You might even already be out of the office. "...Thank you, Bokuto-san. If you'll excuse me, I need to catch an elevator."

"Sure thing bud! Lemme know how it goes!"

Click.

Akaashi's office door swung shut alongside the soft click of Bokuto hanging up. He skittered on the tile, trying to right himself as he sprinted around the corner, stopping only for a second at the window to the office floor. No one there.

He was probably too late already, why wouldn't you have left early on the night of your date? You worked so hard every other day, surely you would take the few extra minutes to prepare yourself. You were smart like that. Smart, and beautiful, and considerate, and there was no way Akaashi was going to just let you walk off with another man, not without even trying…

Around the corner, standing at the door to one of the elevators, there you were. Why did you look so… grim?

"Oh, hey!" You forced a smile onto your face as you gave him a little wave. "Clocking out on time? That's not like you."

Akaashi opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He tried again, clearing his throat hard.

"Oh, damn. Here."

You pressed a half-empty water bottle into his hands.

"Were you running? You're wheezing like crazy."

Staring down at the bottle in his quivering hands, his mouth moved before his mind could work.

"A date!"

You froze, finally focusing up on his face, staring so, so deeply into his eyes. Or maybe you were just looking at him normally. He could no longer tell. "Oh, yeah. I had one. He had to cancel."

The water bottle clattered to the floor as he gripped both your hands in his.

"Would you consider dinner, then?... With… me? Not like we usually do, this one's…. It's…."

Your hands were so warm. You could probably feel how sweaty his were. Gross. He should probably let you go before you got creeped out or-

"A date?"

"....Please."

A giddy, boisterous laugh bubbled out of you, one he had only heard after you'd downed a few drinks yourself. You squeezed his hands tight, giving him a smile that washed his anxieties away like chalk beneath the rain.

"I'd like that."

"Ah. Yes. Shall we go then?"

"We shall." You hooked your arm around his elbow, giving him a playful grin. "Lead the way, good sir."

Akaashi had already decided for himself at an early point in his professional career that writing romance, for all intents and purposes, was easy.

Living it, though? That was much harder. But he couldn't find it in himself to mind.

"Oh! Takaoda finally told me I've been getting your name wrong this whole time? Why didn't you say anything? I feel like such a jackass!"

"There, uh, a good time to mention it never seemed to come up?"

"Well I have a lot of making up to do, don't I Akaashi?~"

"I'm looking forward to it."

[dato-potato]

Broken

Yo, here’s a thing a wrote a while back and decided today was the day to post it. Anyway, I totally ignored canon for this but when do I not? Enjoy!

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Tim groaned as he lay in bed. This was the worst. Being on bed rest with a broken leg? Bad. But your (adoptive) father calling your (adoptive) brother, who, by the way, only just got over not trying to murder you to come by and look after you while he goes off on a trip? Worse. That was worse. 

Tim chewed on the inside of his cheek as he waited for Jason to arrive. They had started to get better, Jason stopped trying to kill him on sight so that was improvement, right? Tim looked down at the cast on his leg and cursed it. If only he hadn’t been stupid, he wouldn’t even be in this situation. It wasn’t even during patrol, he fell on the stairs and broke his leg, how lame was that?

He heard Jason’s bike pull up and tensed up. He wasn’t sure how Bruce had convinced him, or if he had even convinced him yet. If he told him to look after Tim, surely he wouldn’t just listen. 

Tim received his answer in the form of crashes and loud voices before a vehicle left the manor. He was sure it was Jason who left until there was a series of stomps getting closer and closer to his room. 

His door slammed open, Jason glaring holes as his gaze passed over Tim’s room and finally fell upon Tim, lying helpless in bed. Jason grumbled about something but Tim couldn’t hear. He then threw himself into Tim’s desk chair which Tim was sure would break under the force. 

“I’m here to look after you until Bruce gets back,” Jason informed Tim with a scowl. 

Tim nodded, “Right, uh, how exactly did he convince you to do that?” he asked curiously, but cautiously. 

Jason’s glare met Tim’s eyes, “He didn’t.” Tim waited for Jason to elaborate. When Tim didn’t drop Jason’s glare, he sighed, “Alfred called me, saying there was an ‘emergency’ so I came over as soon as I could and Bruce told me he needed me to stay and look after you, and then he left. Just like that.” 

Tim furrowed his brows, “You could’ve said no or just leave.” 

Jason looked as if he hadn’t considered that and then promptly shook his head. “I already told Alfred I would. It’s fine, it’s only until B gets back. Just have to waste time until then.”

“Right,” Tim agreed.

The silence that fell over the two of them was not by any means comfortable. Neither really knew what to say, Tim wracking his brain to think of something he could talk to his brother about but coming up with nothing. He wasn’t sure what they really had to talk about. Should he thank him for not trying to kill him? 

Before Tim could decide, Jason cleared his throat. Trying to lessen the tension, he spoke up, “So,” he started awkwardly, “You like books?”

“What?” Tim chuckled lightly. 

“Books, you know, to kill time,” Jason explained lamely. 

“Are you suggesting you read me books or something to pass the time?” Tim couldn’t suppress the grin on his face. He never really pegged Jason for a book kind of guy. 

“It was just an idea, you got any better ones, replacement?” Jason asked gruffly and Tim shook his head. 

They sat in silence, listening to the clock tick. Tim desperately wanted to say something but the silence had grown too heavy. It was like when you ordered something at a restaurant and they gave you the wrong order but you just eat it anyway. Or maybe that was just Tim. Shaking his head, he decided to just sit back and wait it out. How bad could a whole week of just, this be?

Turns out, really bad. By the second day, both boys were even more awkward than the first, even though Tim didn’t think it was possible. They’d watched movies for the rest of the day, Tim letting Jason pick whatever movies he wanted. They all turned out to be pretty interesting to him. On the third day, they tried to make small talk but that had ended horrendously and they turned back to watching TV for help but there’s only so much TV one can watch before it’s just boring. On the fourth day of rotting their brains, Jason finally snapped. 

Jason stood up abruptly, startling Tim. “I’m calling Dick,” Jason announced as he sped out of the room. 

Tim was grateful for a moment to himself but was slightly worried about Jason calling Dick. Bruce would have called him but he seemed to be busy lately and they didn’t want to bother him. Not even a full minute later, Jason returned to his spot in Tim’s desk chair. 

“He’s on his way,” he told Tim simply. 

Tim contemplated for a moment, surprised. “What’d you tell him?”

Jason shrugged, “He didn’t let me get past telling him you had a broken leg before he was out the door and on his way here.”

Tim nodded and let out a short breath. It wasn’t great with only Tim and Jason, maybe having Dick there would help?

He could only hope.

Dick showed up with his arms full of an assortment of goods from snacks to games, blankets to puzzles. He spent a good hour fussing over Tim to make sure he was comfortable before he brought a second chair into Tim’s room and finally started asking questions. 

“So what happened?” Dick asked Tim before turning from Jason and back to Tim, “He didn’t do something did he?”

Jason looked rightfully offended and fully prepared to defend himself but Tim spoke up. “It wasn't him, I did it to myself a few days before he even got here.”

Jason nodded, throwing a hand out in Tim’s direction. “See?”

Dick nodded thoughtfully, seeming satisfied that Jason hadn’t assaulted their youngest brother. “So what did happen then?”

Jason turned his attention to Tim, “Yeah, how’d you get your arm broke?”

Tim chuckled nervously, “Well, that’s a funny story…”

Neither brother budged as Tim continued to avoid both their gazes, to no avail. It was a difficult thing to accomplish when you’re on bed rest. 

“Ok… well you’ll have to tell us eventually,” Dick told him with a raised eyebrow.

Dick pulled out the games he’d brought, starting with Uno. It definitely got both Tim and Jason to relax which Tim was immensely appreciative of. Turns out it’s kind of fun to play games with your older brothers. 

The next day, they played some of the other games Dick had brought, making much more comfortable conversation than when it was just Tim and Jason. However, there was only so much bed rest Tim could take. 

“I want to get up,” he stated as Dick shuffled a deck of cards. Jason had suggested they play poker using the snacks as money. 

“That’s gonna be hard in your current state, replacement,” Jason said, eyeing Tim’s cast. 

Tim rolled his eyes, “Obviously. That’s why I need your guys’ help. I want to move, at least to like, the sitting room. Please?”

Dick looked between Jason and Tim before sighing. “Come on Jay, let’s just move to the sitting room. Probably have more comfortable seats for us too.”

Jason thought for a moment and then nodded. Tim exhaled with a grateful smile. Dick dug out a pair of crutches for Tim so he could move around easier and then the two older brothers helped him down the stairs. 

They played some more games in the sitting room until Tim spoke up. “Can we maybe do something else? This is getting mega boring.”

Jason swiped the game pieces into their box and folded the board, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Dick sighed, defeatedly. “And I was winning that round too.” 

Jason looked around them, “Any ideas for what to do next?”

Dick looked behind himself at the things he brought, bringing his hand to his chin in thought. He turned back to his brothers with a mischievous grin. “I have an idea.” 

Dick and Jason began to travel around the manor, gathering every blanket, pillow and cushion they could find and brought it to the sitting room where Tim would sort them into which materials would be best for what purpose. They moved the furniture in the sitting room around and after all the materials were collected, they started building. 

Before long, they had a decent sized fort, complete with a laptop, snacks, the games Dick brought, extra blankets for comfort, a table and Alfred brought them tea. The boys all settled in, making sure there were a few extra pillows to elevate Tim’s leg as well. Once they were all comfortable, they decided to watch a movie. After a lot of arguing, they decided on The Princess Bride. 

Alfred called them out for dinner, the boys having to crawl out of their fort. When they finished, they were all pretty much done for the day and returned to the fort. They lay on their backs, Dick playing with a flashlight, making shadow puppets, making up random stories as he did. 

“I fell down the stairs,” Tim said abruptly.

Dick turned to him, worried, “When?”

Tim gave him a look and Jason burst out laughing. “Replacement, you broke your leg falling down the stairs?”

Tim’s face felt heated, “Yeah, I just missed a step…”

Dick was obviously trying to keep his laughter in but Tim sighed, “It’s fine. You can laugh.”

Dick joined Jason laughing hysterically and even Tim couldn’t keep himself from smiling. It was pretty stupid, he knew that. 

After they’d all settled back in and finished laughing at Tim, he turned his head and looked over at Jason. 

“Hey,” he said, getting Jason’s attention, “What about a book?”

Jason raised a brow at him, “What book?”

Tim shrugged his shoulders, “I dunno, you mentioned books the first day. You got any in mind?” 

Jason grinned at his little brother, “Oh, replacement, maybe you’re not so bad after all.” Before Tim could ask what Jason had in mind, he was already up and out of the fort, his footsteps retreating to presumably get a book. 

Dick chuckled beside Tim, “Now you’ve done it.”

Tim looked inquisitively at Dick, “What? What’d I do?”

“The kid’s a literary nerd,” he told Tim with a smirk. 

Tim shifted into a more comfortable position, “Can’t be that bad.” When Dick didn’t say anything Tim got a little concerned, “Is it that bad?”

Dick didn’t answer again and Jason returned, holding a rather thick book that Tim only caught one word from; Shakespeare.

Before long, the boys began to doze off to Jason’s reading of Hamlet. As Tim fell asleep, he briefly wondered why Jason stayed after Dick came. He could’ve easily left, saying that Dick was there and he’d look after Tim. And yet, here he was, sitting in a pillow fort, reading Shakespeare for Tim and Dick. Not to mention the few times Tim was struggling to move and he huffed about how useless Tim was but still helped him.  

Tim glanced over at Dick who had long fallen asleep and leaned over on him. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but think about how he never thought he’d get even one older brother, and now he had two. It was nice. Maybe the week wasn’t so bad after all. Tim didn’t think Jason would admit it, but he thought they’d all really enjoyed their time together. 

Bruce returned later that night, hoping to let Jason off early. 

“How bad was it?” Bruce asked when Alfred greeted him at the door.

“Oh, simply atrocious, Sir,” Alfred informed him gravely. “In the sitting room,” he directed.

Bruce rushed inside and to the room, finding a mass of blankets and pillows, a light shining from inside. He had to crawl through the small opening. Inside, he found his three boys, sleeping side by side. Jason had the big Shakespeare book from the library still open, laying on his chest, Tim was leaning on Dick who was sprawled out across Jason. All three were fast asleep. Bruce looked behind him at Alfred who smiled through the entrance to the fort.

“I dare say they had a good time,” he said as he stood up.

Bruce nodded and looked back at his boys. Moving carefully, so as not to wake them up, he draped blankets across each of them. 

[lovelylunarwriting]

Haechan Soulmate!AU

The first words your soulmate says to you are the words tattooed on your wrist.

Ever since you transferred from your old high school to this new one, all you've tried to do is not draw too much attention to yourself. 

The first couple days after you transferred in the middle of the year, you made a few friends and called it quits as far as climbing any social ladders goes. It's just not something that interested you. 

There is, however, someone who is interested in you. And his name is Jaemin. 

By some stroke of luck (to him), Jaemin managed to have almost every class with you. The only class he doesn’t have with you is fourth period history, the final class period of the day. 

You don't really know Jaemin, but it seems that trouble follows him everywhere. 

Trouble being his entourage of friends who are probably some of the most chaotic people you've ever encountered. 

Your last school was a lot more boring than this, so at least these boys keep you entertained. And generally speaking they keep the entire class entertained. 

They're all just so loud and not very low-key about their antics. 

Which is funny most of the time but can get annoying if done too often. 

Back to Jaemin though.

Jaemin has been obsessed with you ever since you transferred but is too nervous to talk to you- let alone ask you out. 

Some of his friends however, are astonishingly bold. One of these friends being Haechan.

And Haechan (along with most of Jaemin’s friends) is absolutely tired of him moping around all the time wondering if you’re his soulmate or not.

Renjun: “Dude just talk to them. Then you’ll know”

Jaemin: “Respectfully- no thanks”

Jisung: “Fine but if you don’t do anything you’re not allowed to whine about it”

Haechan: “I second that”

Jaemin: “Ugh but it’s bothering me! They could be my soulmate and I can’t know unless I talk to them but I can’t taLK to them?? Ya know??”

Renjun: “No we don’t know, just do it. Even if you’re nervous”

Jaemin: “But what if they’re not my soulmate?”

Jisung: “True, what if they’re MY soulmate?”

Chenle: “Oooo plot twist…”

Jaemin: “They’re not your soulmate, Jisung. You don’t suit them at all”

Jisung:”Oh and YOU do?”

Jaemin: “I could!!”

Jeno: “This isn’t helping! If Jaemin wants to talk to them then he will”

Jaemin: “Thank you, Jeno”

Jeno: “...but also could you talk about something (other) than them sometimes? It's getting old”

The next day Jaemin runs into the school building early, and up to the third floor staircase, where the boys usually hang out before the bell rings. 

He goes on this entire rant about how life’s too short and he’s gonna finally talk to you and confess his feelings.

The boys nod along and try to encourage him but… deep down they all know he’s not gonna do it.

Jaemin explains his plan to the eager listeners:

He’s gonna pass you a note during third period, since that’s the last class of the day he has with you.

Because then he doesn’t actually have to talk and risk saying something dumb. His logic is, that if you are his soulmate and he says something stupid, you might be pissed at him because that’s tattooed on you forever.

In his words, “I gotta make it count!”

Everyone agrees that this is an okay plan (Renjun claimed to have a better one but was quickly hushed), and that Jaemin should meet up with them after fourth period (the last class of the day), and tell them how it goes.

Jaemin agrees, the bell rings, and everyone goes their separate ways.

Jaemin spends the next five hours regretting his life decisions and desperately trying to refrain from nervous-puking up his breakfast (and later lunch).

Finally, third period arrives and as Jaemin walks in, you meet his gaze.

You think literally nothing of it, because you are more focused on cramming for the history quiz you’re gonna have to take next class period.

Why must you know every president and their political party? Because fuck you, that’s why.

Or at least that’s the thought that runs through your head almost the entire class because they’re going over Shakespeare and some other boring poetry stuff.

Jaemin though…. Jaemin is s w e a t i n g. Clammy palms, moist back, the whole package.

He asks the teacher if he can go to the bathroom (as an excuse but also because he feels like he might throw up his lunch after all), and slides the note onto your desk while you’re turned talking to your friend about how next period is gonna s u c k.

Jaemin leaves the room, and you lean back against your desk, unknowingly knocking the note onto the floor.

When he comes back inside (after like fifteen minutes of pacing in the bathroom and trying to not be anxious), Jaemin walks back to his seat but slows down when he passes you, giving you a chance to respond.

You though, have no idea of this boy and his well-meant schemes, so you just ask “You good, Jaemin?” as he hovers around your desk.

Jaemin blinks a few times, looks at his wrist, and sadly sighs. 

“Yeah… I’m fine”, he says, and plops down in his seat.

He traces the words “Wait- if it’s not butter, then what is it?” on his wrist with his finger, feeling stupid that he thought you might say that to him.

The context wasn’t right at all, but wishful thinking got the best of him.

He thought about texting the group chat and letting them know that you weren’t the one, but decided it was too embarrassing of an event to have to write out over text.

You on the other hand, still blissfully unaware of the shenanigans going on around you, head to your last class.

Dreading the quiz to come, you glue your nose to your textbook until the very last second.

The bell rings, the teacher hands out the quiz, and you write down everything you just spent the past hour cramming so you don’t forget it.

You finish early enough, and walk up to the teacher’s desk to turn in your paper.

The whole way there, you feel like someone’s watching you. And when you turn around to make your way back to your seat, you lock eyes with one of Jaemin’s friends, Haechan.

Sitting down, you space out and think about if maybe that Jaemin is the Jaemin your tattoo is referring to.

Your soulmate tattoo mentions the name Jaemin, but you never bothered talking to the boy because it wouldn’t make sense for him to talk about himself in the third person.

Plus, Jaemin is a pretty common name. If you jumped up every time you heard the name, you’d never sit down.

Something snaps you out of your thoughts. It’s that feeling again, like you’re being stared at.

You glance over and see Haechan looking at you again. He mouths something to you, but you can’t make out what he’s saying.

The only word you think you see is “soulmate”.

Maybe he saw your wrist and thinks Jaemin is your soulmate?? But you’ve already talked to Jaemin before, just last period. And it wasn’t him.

When the final bell rings, before you can get out of your seat, Haechan glides over to the front of your desk, slamming his palms on top of it.

Haechan: “You know Jaemin has a big ol’ crush on you, right? It’s so obvious”

You: “I guess I do now, since you just told me, but I don’t see it going anywhere if I’m being honest”

Haechan: “Is he not your-”, he starts but stops abruptly.

Haechan stares at you, wide-eyed, and then power walks out of the room.

You sit there with your mouth agape, looking back and forth from your wrist to the door he stormed out of.

“You know Jaemin has a big ol’ crush on you, right?”

It- you didn’t think it would be about this Jaemin. He was always so quiet around you and you literally hadn’t spoken to him until today.

As a kid you used to get your hopes up every time you met someone named Jaemin, thinking someone they knew was your soulmate, but after the fifth or sixth Jaemin it became too exhausting.

You’d honestly low-key forgotten about it by now… because the stress of school kind of gets in the way of life.

BUT NOW WE’VE GOT A LOT TO UNPACK BECAUSE JAEMIN HAS A CRUSH ON YOU BUT HAECHAN IS YOUR SOULMATE.

Loud, boisterous, diva, Haechan.

Speaking of Haechan though, he’s trying to figure out what the hell to do now.

Does he tell Jaemin? Or should he just not say anything?

Luckily, by the time Haechan meets up with the boys outside the school, Jaemin hasn’t shown up yet.

Haechan: “Okay I have bad news and good news and I don’t know which to say first”

Jeno: “Then just say both at once”

Haechan: “Okay well uh Y/N isn’t Jaemin’s soulmate”

Chenle: “Yeah I didn’t think so because of the butter thing, but how do you know?”

Haechan: “Because I talked to them and they’re my soulmate”

Jaemin: “They’re what?”

Jaemin had just gotten close enough to hear the conversation, but he heard every word.

Dead silence fell upon the group, Haechan not daring to make eye contact with Jaemin.

Jaemin: “Honestly Haechan… congrats”

Haechan: “What?”

Jaemin: “They’re not my soulmate and I’ve known that since third period. That’s what I came to tell you guys, but I guess you beat me to it. I’m not mad at you, it’s not like you could help it”

A collective sigh of relief and some quick banter, then the boys head their separate ways home.

Jaemin’s relieved to finally know one way or the other, and Haechan is now the one who gets to be a nervous wreck.

He’s not nearly as bad as Jaemin was though. He’s overthinking for about half an hour, and then just mildly jittery until he sees you tomorrow in fourth period.

Before you can say anything, Haechan repeats his routine of walking right up to you and planting his hands on your desk.

Haechan: “Hi so apparently we’re soulmates but I don’t know you very well but I want to and I don’t know if you’re busy or like boba but on Fridays we go get boba and play board games and it’s Friday so I thought you might-”

You: “I love boba. And board games. What time?”

Haechan: “O- oh. I thought I was going to have to convince you. Right after school we head across the street to that new boba place. It’s usually just me, Jisung, Chenle, and Jeno”

You: “Okay, then I’ll just walk with you after this class, right?”

Haechan: “...right. Shouldn’t you be more careful? I’m inviting you to go hang out with a bunch of guys you don’t know”

You: “You’re my soulmate. And I don’t know you very well, but you seem like a really sweet person”

This sends Haechan into a blushing frenzy, and it's all he can do to not sneak glances at you for the rest of fourth period.

He collects himself a bit, and when the bell rings he escorts you to the courtyard where you see three mildly familiar boys.

You think one of them is in your grade, but the other two look younger.

After Haechan introduces you and each boy briefly introduces themselves, the awkward politeness fades away and what replaces it can only be described as anarchy.

“Did you know Haechan fell asleep during our choir concert while some girl was doing a solo and he snored so loud she shushed him?”

“Yeah and Haechan can be dramatic at times so if he’s being too extra just let us know and we’ll keep him in check”

“Oh remember that time when we were long-boarding and the path flooded but Haechan tried to cross it anyway? Legend says the board is still floating down the creek to this day….”

It became a shit show of “who can embarrass Haechan the most”, but after a lot of complaining from Haechan and threats to do this to them when they found their soulmate, the boys managed to stop themselves.

Everyone orders their boba, and you all play uno, jenga, and other games until it becomes dark out.

Jisung: “Shit guys, it’s getting late. I don’t wanna miss the train”

You: “Yeah and I hate walking alone in the dark. I should probably go soon”

Haechan: “It’s fine, I’ll walk you home”

You: “Really? I was right, you are sweet~”

Chenle: “What but Haechan you usually walk with me! Now I’m gonna have to walk alone!”

Haechan: “Go spend the night at Jeno’s then! Walk home with him!”

Jeno: “Yeah let’s have a sleepover~”

Chenle: “Fine but we’re playing mario kart”

The boys disperse, and you lead Haechan down the street towards your house, chit chatting the whole way.

Even though it’s been a short amount of time, you and Haechan kind of just…  click together.

But that’s the whole point of soulmates, so you’re not that surprised.

He drops you off, but not before you ask for his number.

Haechan: “Wh- why?”

You: “So you can text me when you get home. I want to make sure you get there safe”

Haechan: “o- oh…”

You: “And so I can text you in general, of course”

Haechan seems to lighten up at this.

You head inside and immediately go to sleep, dreaming of the future you would have with that boy from your history class.

Oh and also Haechan failed the history quiz from the day before

34%. Rest in rip.

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 9

Buster hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and stared up with admiration at the 120-foot crane. Having been delivered to the set in multiple pieces by a fleet of huge trucks, the workmen had just finished putting it together. “Beautiful, ain’t she?”

At his side, Joe grimaced. “Did you have to?”

“ ‘Course I did,” said Buster. “How else are we going to lift the hospital off me in the cyclone sequence?”

“I just didn’t expect it … it’s so big, you know?”

“Damn right it is.”

“How much did it cost?” “How much did it cost? Really?” Buster said, feeling like Joe had just stuck a pin in his mood and popped it. “It cost what it cost.”

Joe rubbed the back of his neck as he looked up at the crane. “I just wish you’d said something first. Harry’s worried about going over budget.”

“Tell him he can blow it out his ass,” said Buster. “I’m getting damn sick of Harry. Didn’t we all sit down and agree a cyclone was just fine?” He bit his tongue and didn’t say ‘I told you so,’ because if they’d stuck to the original plan, there wouldn’t have been a crane. He wasn’t sure how much the cyclone had run them so far, but it was already over $20,000.

“Yeah, I guess we did. Just try to—” said Joe. “Well don’t go overboard, is what I’m getting at.”

Buster, who had already handsomely paid to go overboard, kept his silence again. “Sure.”

They took a street car to K Street. The sidewalks were still busy when they arrived at the Senator theater around 6:30, everyone parading around in their Saturday night finery. She felt good about the ensemble she’d chosen, a short-sleeved dusty peach cotton dress with a mauve straw cloche hat and silk stockings. Inside, the Senator was cool. She’d been to a picture there only once before, but it was enough to make her fall in love with the place, which had been built just two years prior and was new like everything on the West coast was new. It was adorned in velvet drapes and jardinières heaped with fresh chrysanthemums, plush wall-to-wall carpeting, and fringed lamps, but her favorite feature was the painted dome and the enormous multi-tiered chandelier hanging from its center.

As she and the Kimbles took their seats in the balcony, she looked to the box seats on either side of the theater, half-expecting to see Buster in one, but she didn’t. Maybe he was in the crowd, but there was only so much gawking she could do before attracting attention. She saw him in person nearly every day now, but always at a distance and always when he was busy in front of or behind the camera. River Junction had been a bustle of workmen and noise in the mornings as they rebuilt sets for the cyclone and put together the biggest crane she’d seen in her life. Bert allowed her to take breaks a couple times a day to watch the filming. Even though she was behind the scenes now and could see everything, from the cluster of noisy cameras to the even noisier rain machines, the sight of Buster falling into a puddle up to his waist or being blown off his feet by a gust of wind was still a laugh. On Thursday, she’d been called upon to place an order for five large loaves of bread from a bakery, but they were spirited off to an unknown part of the set and their purpose remained a mystery. 

Her brief acquaintance with Buster seemed to have come to an end and she wasn’t inclined to press it any further, having made an ass of herself the first day in his dressing room and then later after the party at the blind tiger. It was enough that he knew her name. She’d begun hoping that the company would keep her on when they wrapped filming and packed up for Hollywood in a few weeks. The more she stuck around, the more people would know her face, and the more people knew her face, the greater her chances were of being recognized by a studio.

She shared Joe and Maggie’s jumbo box of Junior Mints as the lights went down and the opening short started. An organ in an arched box with pillars provided accompaniment. 

When the opening credits of Buster’s feature began, Nelly’s pulse quickened a little bit. It was surreal when he finally appeared on the screen, walking beneath an umbrella with his mother in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin; she’d gotten used to him as a flesh-and-blood person. She now knew how his production company made that rain and that there were cameras in front of him tracking his every step. She also knew that the person inside the truck driving down the street in the background was an extra. Nevertheless, the scene still looked believable, and pretty soon she was sucked into the story like the rest of the audience.

Buster played a brainy college freshman without a lick of athletic ability, which happened to be the only thing his girl cared about. He spent most of the picture trying out for sports to impress her and failing miserably. Buster often took two or three-hour lunches to play baseball with his production team, so Nelly couldn’t quite buy that he didn’t understand the rules of the game and couldn’t hit a ball to save his life.

As the movie wore on, she became aware—and it gave her an unpleasant sensation, like an itch—that he was better-looking than she remembered. It embarrassed her somewhat to see him in his skimpy track outfit. In one scene where he sat on the sidelines, the shorts rode up so high she could see where his tan ended and his natural skin tone, considerably paler, began. She was almost glad when the movie ended. The last few seconds had been queer, besides. The scene of Buster and his girl walking out of the chapel after being married had melted into a scene of them sitting at home while their children played in the background, then one of them in old age, before concluding with a shot of two headstones.

The organ died away and the lights went up. 

“What on earth did that ending mean?” said Maggie, with a look on her face.

“I don’t know,” said Nelly, but it had given her a bad taste. Judging by the expressions on their neighbors’ faces, they weren’t alone in their confusion. Even in Shakespeare’s time, everyone knew that you ended a comedy with a marriage. To do otherwise was to let your audience down. The abrupt, morbid ending brought her back to reality and reminded her that the real Buster was not to be confused with his handsome, whimsical on-screen counterpart.

Joe was the only one who seemed to find the ending funny and tried explaining it as they made their way up the balcony and down the stairs. Nelly was busy searching the exiting crowd for Buster’s face and only half listened. They made it out onto the sidewalk before she accepted she wasn’t going to see him that night. 

Maggie proposed getting hamburgers before they went home and Joe and Nelly agreed. They found a diner on L Street and sat in a booth with a checkered red-and-white tablecloth.

“So what’s he really like?” Maggie said, after their food arrived and they were tucking into burgers and coleslaw. She was a heavier girl, pretty, with auburn hair and freckles on her nose. Her claim to fame was that her maternal grandfather had been one of the original inhabitants of Sacramento when it was first incorporated. She’d asked Nelly the question before, but Nelly didn’t mind answering it again. Buster had rubbed off some fifteen minutes of fame onto her and there was no sense in not using them. Of course, she hadn’t told them that he was her savior the night of the party; in her untruthful retelling, Bert had played that role. They did know, however, that he had invited her to be an extra and that she’d baked him cookies after his accident with the baseball.

“Not much like that,” said Nelly. She looked up and scanned the faces in the other booths as if one might belong to Buster, but they didn’t. “He smiles in real life, but you know that, I’ve said that before. He can be very solemn. He’s not boyish like he is in pictures. I think he’s a kind person, mostly.” She was almost surprised to hear herself say it, but it was a conclusion she’d come to in spite of how he’d appalled her at their first meeting. He’d been a gentleman through and through when he rescued her at the party and took her back to his hotel room, and she couldn’t help but alter her opinion because of it. “He keeps a lot to himself and sticks to his own pals. And he’s very funny, just as funny as his movies.”

“He’s a real athlete too,” Joe said. “He can’t hide that.”

Nelly agreed. “Yes, he plays a lot of baseball with his team.”

“I liked the picture anyway. The gags were funny,” said Joe.

“It was alright,” Nelly said.  

Maggie added, “I’m still not keen on that ending.”

“No,” said Nelly. 

They ate their burgers and the conversation moved to the Senators game (everything was called Senator here since Sacramento was the capital) and how, according to Joe at least, the team hadn’t been the same since Brick Eldred (whoever he was) left. It was getting late by the time they left the diner, and they took a taxi back to 22nd Street, Nelly and Maggie deciding that they’d forgo the dance hall for the evening. 

Nelly had almost forgotten about Buster by the time she crawled into bed around eleven. She tried to drift off by boring herself with thoughts of baseball. Her father and uncle liked the White Sox, but she’d never really understood or cared for the game. Her only memory of the game she’d been taken to as a little girl was of eating hot dogs and popcorn and wandering the stands with Ruthie. Although she couldn’t say why, fantasies of men had not been satisfying since the incident with Tommy, not even her go-to of John Barrymore. The idea that a man might take up baseball or another sport he was abysmal at in order to win the love of a girl seemed laughable now that she thought about it, but Buster had done it—and more—in College. He’d even rescued the girl from his rival who was trying to ruin her reputation.

Her eyes shot open. She hadn’t thought of it until now, but Buster had rescued her that night at the blind tiger. Of course, he hadn’t done it out of a sense of love and there was no reading into the coincidence since the picture had been shot long before she’d met Tommy or Buster, but it struck her regardless. Maybe Buster’s pictures did reveal something of his character. As she puzzled over it, her thoughts got hazier and hazier, until finally she dropped off to sleep.

Note: Bonus update this week. I think you all deserve it after current events! Also, do admire this screengrab where Buster’s tan ends and his normal skin color begins. 

[mikrokosmos]

“Beethoven Sucks at Music”

A Response from a Classical Geek

So this video by the ever insightful 12tone channel came up in my YouTube recs, and I knew from the clickbait title I had to respond. To be fair to him, the argument is much more legit than the title would give off, but there are still some points that I want to comment on

“Can you name a Beethoven tune?”

He starts off saying most people can maybe hum a few melodies, but probably don’t know most of Beethoven’s work. Bee’s one of my favorite composers, and I have listened through all his major works. But sure, there are many classical fans who either haven’t listen to much of Ludwig, or don’t even like what they have heard so they listen to others. However, the general public? Well how much of the general public can name a Van Gogh other than Starry Night? How many know the name of the painter of The Scream? If you showed a random person on the street a set of Renaissance paintings, could they tell which artist painted which? What about impressionist paintings? Or have they read anything by Flaubert or Ibsen or Woolf? I’m not trying to gatekeep or be a snob [I couldn’t name the Renaissance painters, and I haven’t read any of those three], but rather to point out that “greatness” in art doesn’t have to equate with popularity. And Beethoven is definitely more popular than most classical ‘greats’.

The Canon

This is a pretty big insight that more people should reflect on. Why is Beethoven programed so much? Because he sells, and he sells because of people who like his music, but also people who want to be the people who like his music because Beethoven is a mark of cultural capital. Doesn’t mean they don’t “really” enjoy it, but that there could be an subconscious [or maybe deliberate/weaponized] desire to show others “I appreciate fine art”. Again, not trying to gatekeep, but think of the difference between...I don’t know, a random teenager who comes across Beethoven online and falls in love with the power of the scherzo from the 9th and wants to hear more, and someone like Ben Shapiro playing a Beethoven violin sonata after making a podcast about how Rap isn’t real music or that today’s music is “worse” than the Western greats. You see what I’m getting at? There is unfortunately a vocal minority of classical fans that want to use the music as fodder for their reactionary arguments.

Next, he does a great job covering the history of “the canon” and the cultural factors that created it.

We say Beethoven is good because of German-centric nationalism

Partly true. It’s especially funny to look at what composers of the 19th and early 20th century were thinking and saying about Beethoven and the Germans. Both the French and the Russians were annoyed by the German superiority being pushed in the music world and wanted to make their own cultural standards for ‘greatness’. And famously, both Debussy and Ravel were sick of Beethoven and were “anti-Wagnerian” in their aesthetics, and most of the “classics” of the Modern era were reacting to and against Beethoven, Brahms, and Wagner. Of course it doesn’t mean that Beethoven’s music isn’t great, rather that German nationalism and also ethnic pride coming from the German immigrants of 19th century America has a lot of cultural dominance. Ask a French person who the greatest composers are and they’re likely to say Couperin before Bach, Berlioz before Beethoven.

He then points out that, while the Canon is a cultural agreement, it is kept fixed and fossilized.

Focusing on Beethoven keeps music students from focusing on what they care about

You don’t have to love Beethoven. But if he’s saying that schools should only focus on what is ‘culturally relevant’, then are we throwing Shakespeare out of the curriculum? I don’t live in the same culture and time as him, but I still find Macbeth compelling, and Julius Caesar, and Othello...they are still great stories, and forget the idea of ‘high art’ because they’re full of lowbrow death and murder plots, sex jokes, fart jokes, and have a lot of badass moments [the witches of Macbeth, the ghosts of Hamlet, the assassination of Caesar, the sword fights and taunts of Romeo and Juliet, etc.]. I don’t live in Beethoven’s time either, but the Eroica pounds in my heart. I don’t think that the old classics should be the only thing we look at, but I don’t think we should only look at contemporary popular culture either. And frankly the best academic courses and professors are those who examine both with a similar eye. We always draw cultural parallels across art through time.

Who gets left out of the Canon?

This is a legit thing to look at. Lately there has been a greater shift at performing and looking into the music of otherwise ‘marginalized groups’. Though it may be too little too late, especially when the zeitgeist of today is knowing that there are so many stories and perspectives that are ignored or shut out from a canon. How often do you see the distinction of “women composers” instead of mentioning people by name? The same happens with “black composers”, or composers from non-European or non-”Western” countries. It’s important and overall a better thing for our culture to highlight these people, but there is still the connotation of them as a footnote to the “real” canon that doesn’t need a modifier [I mean, how often do you hear someone call Beethoven a great German composer, instead of just “great composer”? Lili Boulanger is a great composer who is almost always called a great woman composer…]

I also agree that there is the issue with the idea of teaching only what’s “important” for understanding a class, especially with art since it is cultural but usually it is taught like a forward thinking narrative. The major influencers are mentioned while great artists who can’t serve the narrative are left out. An interesting example would be Schopenhauer and his philosophic influence on classical music for his time, even though his major ideas are from Hindu and Buddhist theology filtered through 19th century German philosophy.

The Invisible Hand of the Canon

Also a great point. Why do we assume that the music of black composers isn’t “good enough”? Or “women composers”? Or “Turkish composers”, “Mexican composers”, “Filipino composers”, etc.? Where are these standards coming from? Let’s bring up two other greats, Mozart and Debussy. Who is better? Really, it falls down to opinion, because the music aesthetics of the two are so different, that you cannot make a real judgment without admitting that you’re assuming one set of standards over the other. Now, the music of Boulanger is much closer to Debussy than Mozart, so why would we judge her against Mozart to determine if she deserves to be sanctified into the Canon?

And I hate to be a gatekeeper, but I love out-snobbing the snobs, so when someone takes the conservative position of the Canon’s greatness, I wonder are they able to listen to a piece by Schoenberg and explain its relation to the German romantic tradition, regardless of if they enjoy it or not? Because I have seen ignorant defenders of Beethoven and Mozart call his work “random noise that a cat could play” and I want to know if they actually engage with the music beyond listening to 30 seconds and getting a rage wedgie

Does Beethoven suck?

He admits no, it was just clickbait. But his attitude or proposed attitude toward Beethoven is much more honest. The ‘greatness’ of his work is the experience you get from listening to it. Or, you can respect his art without really caring about it or listening to it much. But yeah, the more we acknowledge the artifice of the Canon, the easier it is for us to look at more music with a more critical eye, and I think that’s much more engagement than passively agreeing with the assumption of greatness for cultural capital. No, Mr. Shapiro, you don’t look smart or impressive for talking about Mozart instead of Lamar at a cocktail party. And if you do, it’s because you’re trying to impress stick-in-your-ass dull rich people who have no taste.

The End :D

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 2.5k

Warnings: Smut, swearing

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 6 Part 8

Part 7

Liam's phone rang. He ignored it and let it go to voicemail. When it rang again, he made a noise of disgust and took his phone out of his pocket to look at it. "It's my publicist. I had better take this."

Liam answered the phone and went outside to talk. I turned the oven on and started to unpack the groceries. Then I got the roast, put it in a baking tray, poured olive oil over the top and seasoned it with salt and some pepper. I got out some onions and garlic and started to cut them up to place around the roast to give it some added flavour.

"That looks great," Liam said when he came back in.

"Thanks," I said, and I gave him a grin. I took the tray and put it in the oven. I got my phone and put an alarm on, giving myself time to cook the veggies before they finished. A thought came to me, and before I could bite my tongue, I said, "They do say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Really?" Liam licked his lips, looked down at his pants and said, "I'd say they were aiming too high."

It took me a minute to work out what the joke was. When I finally did, I couldn't help but laugh and hide my face in my hands.

"You've gone so red!" Liam appeared to be having fun with my inability to control my blushes.

"Oh, my God!" I said, still hiding my face and laughing. "Alright, that was funny."

It took me a while to stop laughing. When I did, Liam said sombrely, "Sweetheart, I have to tell you something."

"Uh, oh, it doesn't sound good."

"It's not bad. I don't know how you will feel about it." Liam then told me that his publicist had called to let him know there were pictures put on Instagram and Twitter of the two of us kissing at the pub last night. "Your name hasn't been mentioned, and the photos look to be shot from pretty far away on a mobile, so someone in the pub took the pictures. Sarah says they probably aren't going to tell who you are by the pictures unless someone who knows you well comes forward."

I think if my eyes bulged out of my head any further, they would have fallen out and rolled on the floor. "That quick?" It was all I could think to say.

"Yeah. It's hard to know what will come out and when. A lot of times I go out, and no one notices me, but other times I have paps or members of the public following me for hours."

"Who's Sarah?"

"My publicist." Liam reached across the bench and took my hand in his. "Are you ok?"

"You say they don't know who I am?" Liam nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't happy but what was I going to do about it? I picked at my nails. I needed to paint them; the pale pink polish was starting to chip.

"You ok?" Liam asked again

I shrugged. "Your life is weird."

Liam chucked. "You keep telling me that."

"So, what happens now?"

"Well, usually Sarah would say to private all social media, but she had a look and said she could only find a Facebook profile for you which was already private. Do you have any others? Instagram? Twitter? Snapchat?"

"No. I have a YouTube account that I use to watch videos, but that isn't linked to my real name or email. Also, a Tumblr account, again not associated with my name. And no pictures of me."

"Tumblr?" He raised an eyebrow. His fucking lip twitched.

"I was a confused 22-year-old ok?" I said a bit defensively. "I haven't used it in years," I remembered then the dating site we met on. I quickly logged on and selected the options to hide the account.

"Ok, well, there's not much else right now. A few rags called Sarah for comment. She said the standard no comment and asked for my privacy to be respected. The rest is up to you."

"Up to me?" I asked, confused. "What's up to me?"

"When you want to confirm the relationship and release your name."

"Liam, I met you less than 24 hours ago and have known you only a few months. I'm not ready for that. I like you a lot, but maybe you pick your nose and eat it, and I'll have to dump your arse tomorrow and then it's been a big song and dance over nothing." I joked. The mood had gotten too heavy for me. I wanted to talk about something else.

"Sweetheart, I'd never do that." He smiled sweetly, "I'd make you eat it."

"Ewww!" I screamed.

"Get over here." He chased me around the bench, and after a few evasions and some more squeals, he caught me. Perrin came in through the doggy door and barked at Liam a few times. Our behaviour obviously scandalised him. "Perrin," I called. "Come here, boy."

"You think your dog can save you?"

"Of course, he's very protective of my honour."

"We will see about that." Liam bent over, and I thought he was going to tackle me. Instead of flying backwards, I was hoisted forward and found myself over his shoulder. I screamed as I heard a loud crack, my hands flying to my bum.

"Did you just smack my arse?" I must admit I was finding all the manhandling arousing. I wasn't going to let him know that, though.

"Yes, I did. Want another?" Liam was heading down the hallway, taking me to the bedroom.

I giggled. "No!"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Liam quoted. Shakespeare sounded good with his accent. I giggled some more, and I got another one. Yes, very arousing.

Liam hummed. "I quite like the view here." He rubbed my bottom and took me into my bedroom.

I was very close to his round bum. "This view is not so bad either," I said and smacked his arse. Unfortunately, it probably hurt me more than it hurt him. His butt was tight!

Liam dropped me onto the bed at that point, and the look on his face was hysterical. I couldn't stop laughing, and tears were rolling down my face. Then I did the most embarrassing thing: I snorted.

That was it. Both of us couldn't stop. Every time I calmed enough to think I could speak, one look at Liam's face, and I'd be off again.

Eventually, we stopped, and I was able to say, "Oh my God, your face! That was so bloody funny." I wiped my eyes.

"I think that may have been the first time someone's done that to me."

"Really? Didn't you go to an all-boys school?"

"Yes, but it wasn't the US." Liam tried suppressing a grin as he said, "we got ball taps."

I tried not to laugh. I really did. "Oh, my God!" I was off again.

We watched the original Mad Max before I had to go and finish dinner. I was horrified when Liam said he hadn't seen it before. I immediately made him watch it. He said it was ok, the concept was great, but he didn't love it. I told him he needed a brain scan.

When I went to make dinner, Liam offered to help, but I told him not to be silly.

Liam sat at the kitchen bench chatting to me while I chopped and blanched the vegetables. After a while, he said he had to call Sarah and his assistant Ryan to make sure he had organised the dog walker to take Cole for a walk and play.

"Any update from Sarah?" I asked Liam when he returned. I feigned disinterest while I finished slicing the roast.

"All the same right now. Some sites have posted the pictures, saying I was spotted drinking with an "unknown female companion." The pictures have circulated a bit on Twitter, but it's mostly just by fans. They haven't hit the mainstream yet. It's all fairly standard, and it will go away by tomorrow by the looks of it."

"Good," I said. A look I couldn't interpret passed over Liam's face. He masked it pretty quickly. I opened my mouth to ask if he was ok but shut it again. I said, instead, "dinner's ready." I passed Liam his plate.

"Thank you," Liam said, leaning over to kiss me before eating. I watched as he cut up some beef and started chewing. "Pretty good. Almost as good as Mum's," he teased with a wink.

I elbowed him, and God bless him; he pretended it hurt.

We ate in silence for a while. I gave a few pieces to Perrin. He was so old, and I couldn't help but spoil him occasionally. He won't be around forever.

After dinner, Liam insisted on helping me clean up, and we stacked the dishwasher. Watching him bend over, his jeans straining as he put the plates in, stirred some feelings. Erotic feelings.

"Want to watch another movie?" He asked.

"Not really," I said. "I'm in the mood for some dessert."

"Ice-cream? I can't have any, but you can."

"Not ice-cream," I said, shaking my head. I looked at him with my very best bedroom eyes.

"What do you want then? Want me to go to the shops?" He said, not catching on. I put my arms around his waist. "If you let me borrow your car, I'll go. I can just go on my own."

"No, you wombat." I met his hips with mine, his eyes widened. "What I want is right here." I wriggled against him. Liam grinned widely, his cheeks creasing in such a sexy way.

"I thought you were shy."

"I am getting used to you," I said. "The real me is coming out." The truth of my words took me by surprise. I looked away, second-guessing myself. Why did I do that?

"I like her," Liam said hoarsely. If he hadn't spoken then, I think I would have stopped. But when his hands went into my hair, and he pulled, stretching my throat, I knew I wasn't going to stop. He kissed me there, and his teeth grazed my skin. My fingers reached under his shirt, and they gripped his back. My nails dug into his skin.

"Bedroom?" I whispered.

"Bedroom," he agreed and walked me backwards to my room.

"You promised me something earlier today," Liam said in between kisses. We were close to my bed.

"What's that?"

He stopped kissing me and cupped my face with his hands. "You said I could undress you."

Liam took hold of my t-shirt and waited. I nodded. He slowly lifted my shirt up and over my head before dropping it to the ground. He tilted his head as if contemplating and gently turned me around.

I felt Liam gather my hair and put it over my shoulder. He caressed my back with his fingertips, making me shiver with pleasure. I heard him give a satisfied hum before undoing my bra. He turned me around again and took hold of my bra straps, pulling them down my arms.

When I dropped my bra beside my shirt, Liam took a step back. He looked me up and down, his eyes hungry. I wanted to cover myself under his intense gaze, my earlier courage wavering under his scrutiny.

My arms started to move, and he gave me a stern look. "You're not thinking of hiding now, are you?"

I shook my head and forced my arms back by my sides. "Good, because I want to look. You're quite the sight." As if to emphasise his point, he adjusted himself through his pants. I felt a thrill of excitement flow through me and felt the familiar throbbing between my legs.

Liam got down on his knees and kissed my belly. His rough stubble tickled. "Your skin is so soft," he said in a low voice. He undid my jeans and kissed a trail down as he unzipped me. His breath was warm, and I felt it through the cotton of my briefs, his last kiss placed just above my slit.

It was almost agony. I moaned at his teasing breath and lips. Then Liam pulled down my underwear and kissed my mound. I felt his tongue part my lips, and when he found what he was looking for, he flattened his tongue and moaned into me.

I didn't know what to do. For a moment, I wanted to stop Liam, but it felt too good. I could feel my resolve waning. I didn't want to wait. Why should we wait? What was I waiting for? I had to stop thinking and go with it, enjoy him, enjoy the experience. I put my fingers in his hair as he licked and sucked at me. He seemed to remember what I liked, and soon I was close to my peak.

One of his fingers played at my entrance. I silently begged for Liam to put it in. My core was desperate to be filled. His finger slowly entered me, and I was lost. I needed him. At that moment, all I wanted was to feel more of him inside me, have him fill me.

I felt like this was the moment. If I don't ask Liam now, I probably never would. If I didn't want him now, why am I even allowing this to happen? I wanted him. He excited me like no one had done since Andy. He had knocked down the defences I'd built to keep myself alone. Keep me in my grief and guilt. I didn't want to be alone anymore. I wanted to feel desired again.

"Fuck me?" I asked. The words just tumbled out. I knew at that moment I would beg if I had to. "Please, Liam, I want you to fuck me."

I wasn't sure if Liam heard me. He increased his attention, and I felt the pressure building. His hand gripped my arse, his fingers digging into my cheeks as he pulled me closer to him. The short rough hair on his cheeks and chin tickled against my thighs. My legs buckled. I couldn't stand up anymore. He held me there while I panted and moaned, seeking release.

I felt my climax arrive like a bolt of lightning. It was sudden and intense. My body contracted as waves of pleasure exploded over me. Short, wordless shouts came from my mouth until it was over. I collapsed onto the bed.

I laid there a while, eyes closed, trying to catch my breath. Liam was shuffling around and heard his belt come undone. I felt the bed dip, and I opened my eyes to find Liam naked, climbing up the bed until his face was above mine.

Liam supported some of his weight with one hand and laid on me, our whole bodies skin to skin. He was warm to touch, and he almost felt hot to my now cooled skin.

"Ask me again," Liam said.

Part 8

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire!ravn x reader

genre: vampire!au, humour, fluff

warnings: unresolved sexual tension, a lot of shakespeare lmao

word count: 2.2k

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part five 🌙 part six  🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part nine 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven 🌙part twelve 🌙 epilogue

A month after you started living in Ravn’s castle and you were getting anxious to go out. Not that you weren’t doing fine inside. The vampire was treating you great and you were happy to read books together, feed each other (literally) and have interesting conversations. However, you missed the fresh air outside, you missed just walking around aimlessly and wandering to new places. You didn’t want to risk your parents spotting you so the village was out of the question. The forest, though…

You wondered how to bring it up. Ravn had initially said that he doesn’t expect you to stay trapped in his castle forever, but he never mentioned it after. Maybe, he enjoyed just chilling at home. You did, too. But your adventurous spirit was eager to try something new.

As you were lost in thoughts, Ravn touched your shoulder and you jumped at the sudden contact.

“Sorry, did I frighten you?” he asked gently and sat down next to you on the couch.

“N-no, it’s fine, I was just thinking.”

“You do seem a bit antsy. Anything bothering you?”

“Why? Everything is peachy,” you quickly responded, because you still hadn’t figured out how to ask Ravn if it was okay to go out without upsetting him. You didn’t want him to think that you were ungrateful for everything he had done for you.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N,” Ravn said in a serious tone, which made shivers run down your spine, reminding you of the first time you met him. “I can’t take that.”

“I’m s-sorry,” you whispered. “I was…hoping we could go out sometime? But I didn’t want to seem unappreciative of your efforts to make me feel at ease. Which is why I had no idea how to ask for it. I’m so sorry.”

Ravn smiled softly.

“Is that it? You didn’t have to lie. I told you that I won’t keep you prisoner, didn’t I?”

You nodded slowly.

“I know you did, but still, I’m so used to being a burden that I don’t know how to act around…around someone like you.”

“A vampire?” Ravn laughed ironically.

“No. Around someone who doesn’t judge everything I do or say.”

“Oh,” Ravn was surprised at how you viewed him. He was supposed to be the monster in the story. So, why did you treat him like a saviour of some sort?

“I mean it,” you insisted once you noticed how unsure he was.

He shook his head. This emotion thing was too new and too scary for him and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Maybe the forest?” you asked quietly.

Ravn was shocked at your choice.

“Haven’t you been there a lot? Don’t you want to try something new?” he suggested casually.

“As long as it’s not anywhere near my parents, I’m game,” you chuckled.

“Do you want me to surprise you or would you rather know where I’m taking you?” Ravn teased, a wonderful idea already forming in his mind.

“Surprise me, then,” you lifted your chin and looked at him boldly.

“You trust me?” he repeated the question you had so far responded to negatively.

“I do, actually,” you decided to be honest for once, because he had warned you not to lie to him ever again. He was obviously taken aback by your answer.

“You stupid lamb,” Ravn chuckled and placed your hands around his neck. Then, wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up. “Hold on tight.”

And he began running at a speed that shouldn’t have been humanly possible. But yet again, he was no human. At one point the accelerated motion made you so sick that you closed your eyes and hid your head in his chest. You had no idea where you were going but the realization that it didn’t matter amazed you. He didn’t scare you. But this terrifying journey did. You probably should have warned him you had never travelled with anything faster than a bike. You had spent your entire life in your small village and the forest nearby. You were pretty sure you would pass out soon, but before that happened, Ravn stopped running.

“You may open your eyes.”

You did as he said and looked around. The first thing you noticed was how big everything around you was. The buildings, the towers, the cars, the bridges, the river. How…magnificent. And not in the way his castle was. Ravn’s home felt familiar in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. This place, wherever it was, felt so strange. But in a good way.

“Where are we?” you murmured nervously.

“Can’t you tell?”

You shook your head in embarrassment.

“Welcome to London,” Ravn informed you of your current whereabouts.

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope,” he laughed. “I thought you were into Shakespeare. How can you not recognize where we are?”

“I only managed to borrow and read some of his plays in my village. I’ve never seen…”

“Pictures of London?” Ravn helped you out when he saw you were struggling to find the right words.

You nodded, suddenly feeling intimidated by the vampire’s vast knowledge of the word.

 “I’ll be your guide, then,” Ravn offered you his hand like a gentleman. “Do you want to visit the Globe Theatre first? It’s a reconstruction of-“

“I know what it is,” you responded. “Again, I haven’t seen pictures, but I read about it in one of the introductions to the book of plays.”

Ravn smiled proudly.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked.

First, he’d called you his human and now this? You could swear Ravn was going to kill you. Not with his fangs but his words.

The two of you spent the morning visiting many interesting places. Starting from the Globe Theatre, where Ravn showed you around like an expert, pointing out curious facts about Shakespeare that got you staring like a wide-eyed puppy. He also led you to a couple of lovely vintage bookshops and insisted on buying you some of Shakespeare’s plays you hadn’t read.

“But you have these already in your library!” you reasonably argued.

“Yeah, but I want you to have them. Besides, they’re different editions.”

“Ravn…you really don’t have to,” you were ashamed that he was spoiling you so openly.

“Y/N…please, let me,” Ravn whispered in your ear. It was like he was asking you to get him something and not the other way round.

You finally conceded and once the two of you left the bookshop, you found yourself clutching a paper bag with Shakespeare plays. You weren’t sure how to thank him properly for doing this for you and you couldn’t exactly offer him to drink from you in such a public place, so you did the one thing that came to mind. You lifted yourself on your toes and gave him a quick but heartfelt kiss on his cheek. Ravn seemed flustered and you could swear you saw his usually pale skin turn red for the briefest of seconds.

“Thank you,” you told him, your smile full of gratitude and affection.

“It’s nothing,” Ravn coughed and suddenly found the ground beneath you very amusing. You smiled when you reached the conclusion that he could get so easily embarrassed.

“It means everything to me,” you confessed. “No one has ever given me such a precious gift.”

“Come on, we still have many places to see,” Ravn grabbed your free hand and pulled you along.

You were lucky enough to see a couple of museums associated with famous British writers. The afternoon was dedicated to the more “basic tourist destinations” as Ravn called them such as the Big Ben, Tower Bridge and the River Thames. Everything was so grand that you couldn’t help staring at it like a lost puppy. Finally, as the sun was setting, Ravn suggesting going to the London Eye, which was most magnificent at night. Its lights shining through the dark, you were completely awestruck. Suddenly, you remembered a story you must have heard around the village.

“Wait, how did you survive throughout the day?”

 Ravn laughed.

“Funny, it took you so long to notice. And if you’re referencing the foolish myth that the sun harms vampires, fear not, my lady, I am perfectly immune to daylight.”

You were relieved to hear that but a large portion of your mind was choosing to focus on the part where Ravn called you my lady, which was honestly making things to your heart that you couldn’t quite control or comprehend.

“I’m sorry for being such a dim-witted person,” you looked down in shame.

“You’re the brightest person I’ve ever talked to,” Ravn reassured you.

You faced him in the dark; the London Eye lights were giving his features a mystical, supernatural glow. He was so beautiful. You wanted to trace your fingertips down his porcelain skin and tell him how much you ached to touch him. It was insane, you knew. He was supposed to embody everything little kids were taught to fear, every dark fairytale, every warning whispered before midnight, to force the kids to finally go to bed or the scary vampire would take them away. But he was nothing like the stories. In the brief time of your acquaintance you’d seen nothing but tenderness. Who were you supposed to believe? These foolish myths or your own eyes, your mind and your heart?

“Shall we?” Ravn urged you to approach the London Eye, thus, breaking the spell he held over you. You followed him in a rush.

“Oh no,” you mumbled, pointing to a sign. “It says here it’s closed.”

Ravn smiled devilishly.

“When has that ever stopped me before?”

“Ravn…what are you planning?” you asked cautiously, but it was already too late.

His hands were already on you and the next second you had somehow ended up on top of the London Eye, with a view to the whole city, its lights making it look even more beautiful at night.

“This is…insane,” you gasped, holding tightly onto his shirt for support.

“Yeah.”

“Bite me,” you requested out of nowhere, looking into his dark eyes.

“W-what?” Ravn choked.

“Bite me, so I know I’m not dreaming.”

He laughed, amused by your reaction.

“If I bite you, we’ll both fall from here.”

You scoffed lightly.

“Thus with a bite I die,” you joked, slightly paraphrasing Romeo’s last words.

“Rawr,” Ravn teased.

You looked around the city street lights. Everything seemed so tiny from up here. And there you were, a human and a vampire on top of the world. It felt surreal.

“It’s so beautiful,” you said, completely stunned by the view.

“It really is,” Ravn confirmed, only you had no idea it wasn’t the city he was staring at…

🌙🌙🌙

Once you were back in Ravn’s castle, you walked to your room in a daze, still finding it hard to believe how you’d spent the day. But the paper bag with Shakespeare plays in your hand was the material proof that it had, in fact, been real. Ravn followed you silently and the minute your back hit the bed, he tucked you in gently.

“Good night, Y/N.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” you asked sleepily.

You were so exhausted from the journey and you still found enough energy to care for his needs. Ravn couldn’t believe he’d met such a selfless, precious human.

“I can manage a couple more hours,” he chuckled.

“You’ve given me so much more than I deserve,” you murmured weakly.

“That’s not true,” Ravn said. “You deserve all the stars and the moon.”

“O, swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon,” you were still able to recite Shakespeare despite being so tired and it was only fitting, considering today’s adventures.

“What shall I swear by?” Ravn played along and you could feel yourself falling, not only asleep.

“Swear by thy gracious self and I’ll believe thee.”

🌙🌙🌙

You woke up to the smell of something delicious. Eggs? Bacon? What was this enticing odour? You hurriedly put on a robe and ran down the stairs and towards the kitchen. You were struck to find Ravn cooking human food!

“What are you up to?” you asked, sneaking up behind him. To your further astonishment, he hadn’t heard you, maybe because he’d been so focused on the task at hand.

“Nooo, you should go back to bed!” Ravn scolded you. “You ruined the surprise.”

“This all for me?” you inquired curiously and wrapped your hands around his waist, which made Ravn jump in shock.

“Duh,” he replied. “I can’t eat that.”

“So, you’re just fattening me up so that you can eat me later?” you admonished him playfully.

“Oh, no, you’ve uncovered my evil plans!” Ravn groaned dramatically.

“What shall we do, then? Do you think I’ll be so easily tempted?” you continued to joke around and ran your fingers down his back, making him slightly tense under your timid touch.

“I think,” he started. “That after you try my eggs, you’ll be begging me for more.”

“Yeah?” you giggled at the double entendre. “We’ll have to see about that.”

You were still trying to distract him from cooking when Ravn turned around swiftly, grabbing your hands.

“Don’t play with me,” he hissed, aiming to sound threatening but you were having too much fun to feel any fear.

“Why not?” you pouted adorably.

“Because you’re making it really hard for me to resist you.”

“You can have me whenever you wish,” you pointed out. That was your arrangement, after all.

“Not like that, I can’t,” Ravn whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Key word: almost. “The eggs are ready. Eat up.”

You didn’t question it, because you were too hungry to care what exactly he meant by that.

To be continued…

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 3: GOOD Grief! (we finally have a good episode on our hands)

To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)

Drawing of Thomas More’s Son AKA who Margaret Pole at this point wants to be the step baby momma of ;).

To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.

Without further ado...

First Scenes: 

LMAO the way Wolsey suggests they break their alliance with Spain is freaking hilarious because the actor delivers the lines as if he were a high school girl making a personal attack by suggesting the prom change its theme to 70s disco to the chagrin of the peppy up-and-coming rival.

Also @ Henry VIII looking like the peppy up-and-comer’s bff and shy stan with that pencil bite and small smirk when Catherine loses her cool against Wolsey.

I’m sorry... who is Henry married to again?

Also what is Margaret Pole doing at the council meeting?? I’m not saying I don’t like it.

Margaret Pole warning against certain repetitive thinking creating madness :(((

Attempted Naked Twister:

Oh Catherine, what is with you and all the other STARZ protagonists and that weird politcky bedroom talk? Who actually finds this sexy?

‘Catherine you are unnatural’ ooof that line delivery was somehow haunting.

Was the whole ‘I can’t be rushed you are off-putting with your overpowering’ a callback to Arthur and Catherine? Apparently there’s another writer for this episode so I won’t put all subtly past them. 

Scotland:

‘Shitey men’ asdkjashd

Look I’m tired of all this ‘my children won’t be safe’ line getting repeated. Look mate, murder of royal infants and children was not exactly a common occurence, even in cases of deposition. The Princes in the Tower are an exception to this but a very infamous case for that reason. Child murder was extremely taboo. In situations like this with an infant kid, no one is going to bother murdering the babies and taking their thrones, the lords will just vie for power and make themselves de facto rulers and oust the queen. It’s not a question of safety but a question of holding power. Stop giving all women characters perma mummy brains.

Maggie being all caring:

‘Barnaby’ *scoffs* ‘Such an English name’ - OH MAN 0_0 is Catherine mocking them for trying to adapt ? Like I know it’s meant to show her envy for Lina, but it’s coming out all messed up.

Our girl Maggie’s smile screams I’m beating your ass in chess.

Anyhow this is the least histrionic we’ve seen Catherine so far.

Chaplain vs Catherine:

I’m interested how Catherine will feel at Stafford’s execution given that I have noticed this show build up to a friendship between them.

Why is everyone laughing at the whole ‘will you delight us with new schemes’ line was not that funny?

LMAO at Thomas Boleyn’s attempted brown-nosing. 

You know what? Ruairi is a decent actor. When he says ‘so you admit it? you lost the child because you tried to be a man?” the actor conveys Henry’s troubled mind, lowkey scare towards Catherine and bewilderment all in one. The way his eyes do not move but just widen emotionlessly also gives this sense that he is being manipulated (which I guess they are going for with Wolsey). Then the whole choir music in the background.. I don’t know.. I’m liking this, it’s creating a vibe of a king of haunted and increasingly paranoid Henry. I’m sure they are going for that, so good.

Ursula Pole and Mama:

Maggie Pole say ‘riches don’t keep you safe’ with tears in her eyes :’(. Please tell me how this is not her thinking on her parents and granddad Warwick and what befell them ;’(.

I find Ursula refreshing actually, don’t get those types of heroines often. But they are making her similar to a gold-digger, an exhalted marriage was first and foremost considered a thing of honour. Noblepeople wouldn’t speak in such mercenary terms regarding their marriages. 

Post Mary Defiance:

I love the ‘horse’ nickname from Brandon n’awwww

Also just realised what made TWQ so atmospheric - that wierd ‘oooo’ sound effect in the background when a character was being paranoid or worrying. They are using it during Henry’s ‘How is it that I have no sons?’ and it is just... so effective.

Catherine calling them ordinary children... she just keeps striking me as more and more classist. Like ok, I know every royal was... but still, I thought she was meant to see Lina as a friend and equal despite her race and status. To add the race element, this kind of rubs me the wrong way.

Also it is so clear by the end when Catherine states how the king is upset with her, she expects Maggie to ask her about it.. but she doesn’t lmao.

Back to Scotland until Sexy boy fencing:

I love me this soft boi. Angus <3 <3

I like how they address that some men don’t really like killing and that violence isn’t inherent in a man’s nature.

Oh man, are we supposed to look at Lina’s house and deplore the impoverished conditions? It would go for at least 3,000,000 pounds in today’s property market?

Is Catherine being particularly classist again with ‘Why u not becoming a butcher Wolsey, ey?’. 

Though I will admit the ‘but giving meat to the poor is also good’ was one of her only smart comebacks.

Just realised, Catherine’s pink dress pretty as it is, looks straight out of the 1570s... why?

Montage and After:

You guys are right, there is this weird longing between Henry and Wolsey lmao. It is actually insane.

So basically Catherine is officially depressed

OOOFF we have Stafford as regent instead of Catherine. (edit: I suppose it’s cause they go to France which they didn’t historically? Also if Stafford is at home then what is his son later doing in France, why would he be there without his father. This show didn’t think this through)

Meg Singing:

An impassionate speech is not too anachronistic. But despite the title of this post (what hasn’t been said) I will reiterate that 16th century and Medieval people’s problem wasn’t that they were ashamed of their grief and didn’t cry. In fact, crying was somewhat more socially acceptable then than it even is now! Even manly men like Arthur were written as crying in literature such as Malory’s Morte d’Arthur. Obviously you couldn’t go overboard, but in truth crying was indeed often too performative rather than hidden too much behind doors.

Pole and More UWUWU in France and after:

I LIKE THIS INTELLECTUAL FLIRTING

It’s nice to see a depiction of romantic feelings between mature and level-headed subjects.

God Mary Tudor is so beautiful in this scene jesus. and the music when she was being presented was also very beautiful.

Maggie Pole getting given ‘a modest income’ yeah... she was one of the wealthiest peers of her day.

Also Maggie’s lady cousin not lady aunt Frost!

‘shaking of the sheets’ lmaoooo

William Compton cracks the hell out of me. I love this guy. He is just so creepy and twisted yet super keen and friendly. ahaha He looks like a riot, I hope we see him more. lmao tiles.

Also this palace feels very anachronistic almost 18th century-ish.

I like the Louis and Mary sequence, it’s nice seeing him trying to make her feel less scared, but OMFG when he lay on that chair.. for one second I thought they were trying to kill him off already.

Scotland: ‘Love is an open doooooorrrrr’ + Last Scene:

I ship Meg and Douglas ahhhh this soft boi x strong woman match is everything Henry and Catherine could have been.

I wonder... why is Lina speaking in Spanish more than Catherine. hmmm Are they trying to foreshadow Lina’s eventual return home and how Catherine become a true englishwoman?

Conclusion:

7.5/10

I cannot in all fairness believe it. This was actually decent. I’ve given up on historical accuracy long ago so by this point I’m focusing more on how it stands as as drama. I mean, TWQ was also a flop when it came to grasping the complex issues of that era but why do I feel compelled to rewatch it every year? Because it had atmosphere when it came to acting, music, certain aesthetics (though the costumes let me down often). It felt adequately gothic and dark, yet bright and jewel-lish when it had to be, sometimes both at the same time. Some one-liners were also memorable etc...

So far TSP 2 did not have any of this. Everything felt way too off and anachronistic. But not even consistently anachronistic. The music was also often very meh (though I just noted the absence of the spanish stringy theme that kept playing in season 1 - I guess I understand why), the dialogue very clichéd (‘alright lads let’s throw in the words: king, crown, power, fight, battle + other buzzwords and we have ourselves Shakespeare’) and so on... but I saw a change in this episode and I couldn’t initially point out what it was.

Upon rewatch, I identified some of the improvements (noted above) but above all: The producer was different! Boy does it show. Unfortunately, I think she is only for this one episode which really sucks. Come back! There is more chemistry between the couples, less predictable interactions, pervy Compton, cinnamonroll Douglas, better music, more scenic shots (e.g Douglas and Margaret in church) e.t.c. I hope it will match the rest of the STARZ productions in getting better towards the end.

Look it’s no masterpiece. But I’ll give credit where it’s due because at least this time it didn’t leave me feeling wanting and unsatisfied (if that makes sense).

[vexillumalbum]

Hi, I would like to ask you since your askbox is open what are your favorite characters in games you play? or maybe you could rank all the characters? thanks in advance, take care :)

Hello, Anon! Of course, I’ll gladly do that! I actually play a lot of otome games (or games like MLQC since I don’t know if it classifies as otome) so I’ll only do it for IkeVamp, IkeSen, MLQC and MysMe since these games are the closest to my heart. 

I tried to keep it spoiler free and I think I succeeded but please be aware that I’m talking about the games mentioned above so there might be some tiny spoilers.

Also, be prepared for a long post.

Let’s start with MLQC:

1) Obviously Gavin - he’s the love of my virtual life, I adore him so much sometimes I catch myself staring at his karmas for a good few minutes. I know he has some flaws, but in this house we stan Gavin despite them. Overall Birdcop Agent B-7 10000/10

2) Victor - partially because my boyfriend is very similar to him and that just makes me have a soft spot for him and partially because I love men in power (yes, I have issues, I'm aware of that). I’d say 8.5/10

3) Shaw - he’s okay, I have not enough info about him to really place him anywhere but some fanfictions made me feel some things for this man. So we can say I love him on Tumblr, not in game (yet, maybe it’ll change in future chapters). 6/10

4) Kiro - okay, hear me out, I don’t like men like him. I prefer dark types over these bubbly personalities. Since this is spoiler free I won’t talk about him more but if you want to know my thoughts on him, let me know. Maybe 5/10

5) Lucien - I’m sorry, Lucien stans. It’s not that I dislike him or something, I just don’t have a good connection with him. And his voice in eng dub is really creepy for me, I can’t handle his phonecalls. Oh but his dates are amazing, I’ve read 4 so far but I loved them all. 4/10

Okay now IkeVamp. Here I’ll rank them in a different ways: routes I played (they will have explained a bit about character) and routes I haven’t played since they are not available in English version (there'll just be names) (please know I haven't played Isaac’s route too since I haven’t had time to fully dedicate myself to it since it came out):

1) Comte

2) Arthur - my husbando 2.0, I love him, his character is my go-to in otome games. Again, I am aware of his flaws but I love him regardless. Thank you very much. 10/10

3) Theo

4) Leonardo - he reminds me a lot of one of my brothers so I see him more as a friend than love interest but I like him regardless and Think his route deserved some better drama(but that just my opinion). 8.5/10

5) Mozart - I loved his route, truly, and I like him a lot, just something about him seems off to me, I don’t know... 7.5/10

6) Napoleon - he’s okay, nothing too much, nothing too little. A good boyfriend, calls me nunuche (so like dummy). Overall 7/10

7) Vincent - I really struggled through his route, but he seems to love MC so much. Ugh, he reminds me a bit of Kiro, so 6/10.

8) Dazai

9) Issac

10) Jean

11) Sebastian

12) Shakespeare

Time for IkeSen, here I will only do Oda forces and Uesugi-Takeda forces (without Kennyo, Ranmaru, Motonari and the others, sorry):

1) Nobunaga - again, men in power, ekhem. But really I just love how his relationship with MC blossoms through his route and his dramatic route is awesome for me. 10/10

2) Hideyoshi - mamabear, I get him, he’s like a male version of me so I sympathize a lot with him. I feel like he would give great hugs. 9.5/10

3) Shingen - I actually don’t know why I like him so much. Maybe because he’s somewhat similar to Arthur from IkeVamp or maybe his dramatic route made me so emotional I cried for a few day straight. I don’t know. I’d give him 8.5/10

4) Mitsuhide - we all know he, we all love him. I was a bit disappointed by his route but overall a good experience. He would do everything for MC I think so I'd give him 8.5/10

5) Masamune - he was my first route in IkeSen so I’m a bit sentimental when it comes to him. Also, he has a sexy eyepatch, come on. 8/10

6) Sasuke - in every route he was there for me so of course I like him a lot. Sometimes his jokes were weird but hey, we all love weirdos here, right? 7/10

7) Ieyasu - sometimes I don’t know what to think about him. Playing his route was a challenge for me but in the end I found I liked it. Just not a lot. 6/10

8) Kenshin - I get why people like him, I just don't so much. He’s okay, his story was okay, a little bit... too much for me. I’d say 5/10

9) Yukimura - meeeh, he calls me boar woman so it’s an instant no from me, sir. But sometimes he’s funny. 4/10

10) Mitsunari - he’s soooo sweet but also soooo much not for me. 3/10

And now MysMe, please don’t bash on me for this, I’ve only played for a couple of months with breaks so I’m not an expert yet:

1) Jumin - I TOLD YOU MEN IN POWER, he’s actually very sweet and caring, he makes me feel really loved all the time and he’s also intelligent and can make pancakes (my boyfriend can't even boil eggs even though he’s been trying to do them properly since March so please let me fangirl over someone who can do pancakes). He’s my husbando 3.0. 10/10

2) V - at first I liked him a lot, then I didn’t like him, then I liked him even more. Now he’s my second place because I really sympathize with him and I think he deserve a chance to get a normal loving life. Also he’s super caring and attentive so point for him. 9/10

3) Ray - his route is a rollercoaster but it’s worth it I think. There’s so much I want to tell about him but I don't want to spoiler anything so I’ll just say he’s my precious baby. 8.5/10

4) Zen - his route was boring for me but his character made up for it I think. He’s also caring and I like his good ending so much (I don’t know why). Overall 7.5/10

5) Seven - I have a bit of love-hate relationship with him. He’s okay, but I expected so much more from his route. I see him as a very good boyfriend, just not for me. 6.5/10

6) Jaehee - It’s not that I don't like her, but it's also not that I like her. You know, she’s just there. Her route was very plain and in Jumin’s route she played on my nerves a bit. 5/10

7) Yoosung - I’m sorry but I really don’t like him. I see him as a child and only thing I like was his DLC. 3/10

8) Rika - I hate her. I understand her but I still hate her. 0/10 Thank you very much

Thank you for reading this whole thing, I know it was long, I’m sorry. If you would like to ask me more about certain characters please send me an ask! Love you all!