#maybe he wants someone to pin him down and fuck him silly and fuzz out his constantly over-vigilant brain

[cloudburst-ink]

🌈 Free the gays from weird heteronormative top/bottom discourse 2k24!!! 🖤 (And by extension, the dom/sub associations that go with it!! Which are also a completely separate though sometimes overlapping concept!!!)

Write your violent angry murder blorbo getting railed!! Make that sweet shy angel baby a top! Make them both verse and throw the concept out altogether because it’s inherently a bit silly to start with!! ✨ And your personality in the rest of your life often has nothing to do with your bedroom preferences anyway! ✨

Or don’t! Do whatever you want because it’s fanfiction! 🥰✨ Write them with whatever dynamics or lack thereof that you want—that’s the point! And no one can tell you what is and isn’t okay to write in your own fics!! 🎊 They're fictional characters, have fun!!!!!

Happy new year fellow fandom gays!!! Go wild!

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 6)

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Join the taglist in here (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87)

“What did you fuck up?”, you heard Loki’s sharp whisper through the earbud, while you frantically searched through papers and papers and some more papers.

“I didn’t fuck up. I have the guy. I have information”, cleared Bucky. “Hey, DON’T MOVE”, he shouted at the kidnapped, cocking his gun. He cleared his throat before talking again. “Good and bad news”.

“Must be Christmas”, you said.

“No, Christmas is when you only have good news”, said Bucky.

“Not in my family. Generally, there was only bad news and food. Food was the good news”.

“I love how professional and focused on the mission you two are. Stark would be so proud”.

“Wait, I’m invested now. Tell me more about your family, y/n”.

“For the Norns, I don’t have much time. The information, Barnes”. You could hear Loki's footsteps resonate. According to plan, he should've been walking through a hall full of burocrats, so he was right; he did not have much time.

“Okay, so, I know who has the stick”.

“Good”.

“He’s dead”.

“Not so good”.

“Not really, no”.

“What do we do now?”.

An alarm on the building had set off and every door locked down, with a man on a speaker announcing the disappearance of an important object followed by an awfully accurate description of the three of you.

“We run, that’s what we do now”.

You didn’t have to say more. Bucky threw himself off the window before it finished closing. You looked around desperately, trying to find a way to free yourself from that office. Two security guards entered the room screaming for you to get on the floor, and instead you made an unstable wall with the desk and chairs, avoiding getting shot and giving you enough time to figure out some sort of weapon to take them down.

The watch was already used, the knives were useless if they had guns, you didn’t have a gun yourself (silly you), and the parachute was apparently not working anymore, so you couldn’t jump off the window like your teammates. Damn.

“By any chance”, you whispered through your microphone “could you tele…”, but Loki gave you no time to finish the sentence and teleported himself to the office, still in the shape of a security guard.

“My dearest friend”, he said to one of the shooters, opening his arms welcomingly, “how’s the family?”.

“What the fuck, Robert?” asked angrily one of the real guards. “How did you…”.

Loki kicked off his gun and touched his head with a halo of green lights, making him fall unconscious to the floor. He looked up and down at the second security guard and formed half a smile.

“And what about your wife? Is she well?”.

“You ain’t Robert, ain’t ya?”.

“Mmh, nah”.

You grabbed the second security guard from behind and made him trip, immobilizing his arms and legs, and held his own gun to his head. Loki watched you amused, and then transformed back into himself.

“Oh, there you are”, you greeted him. “Did Buck say anything about the walking dead?”.

“The… what?”.

“The man with the stick. If he’s dead, who activated the alarm? Someone has to have it”.

“He didn’t say anything else. Can’t you track it down?”.

“If I could, why would we have done all of this for?”.

“Point made”.

“I need to get back to our room, take some things off the checklist before going all in for a new plan”.

“Alri…”, he started saying, but his gaze fell back on the immobilized guard you were holding down. “What are you planning on doing with him? He saw our faces”.

“If you let me live I won’t talk about this at all”, he pleaded, face squished against the floor. “I have kids, please”.

“He’s lying, he has no kids”, he said with a neutral face, and you looked at him trying to tell him to communicate telepathically. Surprisingly, he understood. “What?”.

“I’m not killing him, what do we do?”.

“Just kill him, what’s all the fuss about?”. You looked at him horrorized and he rolled his eyes “alright, just threaten him enough”.

You let him go, still pointing the gun at him, and gestured to the door so he could leave. When he reached for the door knob, you shot twice at the wall, mere inches from his head, and he froze in place.

“Talk and I’ll find you”, you threatened.

“I won't say a word, I promise”.

You looked at Loki and he nodded, letting you know the man was telling the truth. You kept your eyes fixed on him while he ran away, terrified. Must be new, you thought. Loki grabbed your waist.

“What the Hell are you doing?”, you pushed him away.

“Teleporting us, as you asked”.

“You have to grab me to do that?”.

“I don’t have to. It’s so you get stability”.

“Oh. Give me a big bear hug, then. No, better, let’s cuddle” you spat with sarcasm. He sighed annoyed, massaging his temples.

“Fine. I’m not even touching you”.

As he teleported both of you, you felt your whole body tear its own cells apart and dissolve, and then regenerate them. Your head spinned like it never has, and something hit your head; but you weren’t sure if it was the floor, a wall or the roof, for your sense directions were nowhere to be found. You took a few seconds to compose yourself before opening your eyes once everything stopped moving. When you finally managed to realize where your head even was, your eyes met with Loki’s, who was holding back a smirk with his arms crossed.

“Reconsidering that cuddle next time, are you?”.

“That was… hilarious. Such a shame I missed the previous part to give me context, though”, said Bucky from the counter of the hotel room, munching on some chips. “Look, the tiny fridge had these. You were right, they’re actually great”.

“Yeah. Grab whatever, they’re on Stark’s”, you said, still with your head a bit fuzzed. Loki offered his hand to help you get up but you did it yourself. He sighed.

“How do you fit your clothes with that huge ego of yours?”.

“I don’t, I walk around naked”, you answered, opening the nearest laptop and starting to work on the checklist.

That night was like the last one. Dark, silent and with your head full on the work. Bucky was barely snoring, and Loki was sitting on his bed reading a book. Every once in a while you glanced up your work to look at how painfully beautiful he was. You hated every thought about it, of course, but you couldn’t deny his sight grew on you a bit. He was an asshole, of course. A parasite on your head. An inconvenience. A distraction, sometimes. But the warm light of the bed lamp and the shadows it formed on half of his face enhanced his features, almost like a sculpture, a piece of art.

While you thought of that you checked on his expressions, making sure he wasn’t listening to your highly embarrassing thoughts.

After a few hours, Bucky had already woken up and you were still spread on the floor, surrounded by the files and laptops from before. The light conversation had caught half the attention of the God, who was still reading peacefully. He seemed so calm you wondered what kept him up anyways.

“You think he still has it on him?”, asked Bucky, changing his shirt.

“I think it’s a possibility. I’m tracking his body down. Should be in the morgue by now, maybe they haven’t taken off his clothes yet. But if not, the security cameras would have recorded who took it from the body”.

“Groovy”.

"Oh my God, James".

"What?".

"What does groovy even mean?".

"You know... it's like saying cool beans".

"Coo... alright".

After a while, you collected all the data you needed for tomorrow. You were so exhausted your eyes were getting dry and blurry. Loki was still reading in that same place, not even fazed by the amount of hours that had happened. You got up to clean the dishes from the last meal, and he lifted his gaze up from the book.

“Wait”, he stopped you. With a wrist movement, the dishes got as clean as they could get and arranged on the shelf. You chuckled.

“I wish I had that ability”.

“Are you going to sleep now?”.

“A few hours”.

“Sleep here”, he said from his bed. You looked at Bucky’s; he fell asleep back again.

“You haven’t slept yet. I don’t want to occupy your bed”.

“I won’t, don’t worry”, you nodded, kind of worried he might pass out of tiredness in the middle of the mission. Why the hell was he not sleeping? “If it doesn’t bother you, I’d rather finish this book on here too”.

“I think there’s enough space”.

He moved and gave you space for half of the tiny bed, and you laid by his side with your arms crossed and a leg on top of the other. He went back to his book, and even though he was sitting and your sight couldn’t reach the pages, you were sure it was in Old Norse.

“What are you reading?”.

He didn’t answer right away. Doubtfully as in to share it with you or not, he then proceeded.

“Hamlet. It’s a translation in Old Norse from an author I adore. I’d say it’s an even better version than Shakespeare’s”.

You felt yourself about to smile. You tried not to, but you probably did. That was your favourite piece of literature of all times. You wondered how could that have gotten to Asgardian hands, and why would he (certainly a Midgardian hater) want to read Earth’s literature. You were so curious in that version. Was it really that good, that would be better than Shakespeare himself? Sadly, you didn’t even know how to say hello in that language.

“Do you like it so far?”.

“I’m re-reading it. Brings good memories”, he said with a subtle smile he had hoped you wouldn’t notice. But you did. Something in your chest warmed up a bit and you shook it off. No, no. Not feelings. Don’t confuse your physical attraction, don’t feed your touch starved soul. No. You had to repeat to yourself a couple of times. You were just very, very tired.

“Brings good memories to me too. I love this book”. You figured it was alright to open up a little. The situation was relaxed enough. He wasn’t snarky or avoidant. He looked… melancholic. Sad, even. Like a facet of himself he didn’t allow everyone to see.

You connected with that. Maybe you could even relate to him in some way. For years, you had a feeling of something not adding up quite right. A longing for something you couldn’t exactly pin up. Melancholy for a blank space.

But there you were, barely knew him for three days yet felt close enough. Not too much. Just a feeling. Just the traces of something that maybe happened in another life. But in this one, you would get the mission done and leave. So don’t get attached, you ordered yourself.

“It’s a really good version”.

“Wish I could read it but I don’t know Old Norse”, you said slower than you intended. Loki chuckled at your tiredness. Maybe you could push your curiosity a little further. What was the damage? That he could just say ‘piss off’ or something like that? “What good memories does it bring to you?”.

He sighed and muttered almost to himself “I used to read it to my beloved”.

You almost gasped, surprised he actually answered you. You didn’t ask for more. It was already a lot he had just trusted you with. He told you he had a beloved. You didn’t even know he had a lover, but of course he had. He was nearly a thousand years old; why wouldn’t he? Did he lose that lover, in past tense?

Curiosity grew bigger on you, but fear pushed you aback. But the questions floated around in your head as a lullaby. Your head started to weigh a little more on the pillow and everything happened slightly slower. Loki closed the book and left it resting on his lap. He whispered “I feel you have questions”, and you denied it with your head. Your eyelids fell heavier than before.

“I’m mmnmnnhnm”, you managed to sort of say before getting knocked down by sleep. You heard his laughter, but nothing more after that.

[ill-skillsgard]

is faith dealing w being away from fausty? I miss them so :(,, I hope you’re well love xoxo

Warning: 18+ Mentions of sex/phone sex, mentions of alcohol and drug use, violent threats, non-consensual touching, brief mentions of rape.

Note: I missed writing Faust stuff so much over the holidays. He’s definitely one of my favourite secretly soft boys. I can’t wait to get back into the swing of writing. Thank you to the lovely anons who haven’t given up on this pairing yet! I will try not to go 2 months between posts for these guys.

Summary: Faith starts to miss Faust so much while he’s away on tour that she goes to his apartment to spend the night in his bedroom. However, her plans are interrupted by the people Faust warned her not to hang around.

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke in a sweat, chest pumping hot torrents of blood to her head as the ceiling came into view, the walls containing her after a flight through a nightmare faded into obscurity. She rolled onto her back, her flimsy cotton nightgown sticking to her dewy skin, and tossed the comforter from her top half. Streetlamps and passing cars cast geometric blocks of light on the ceiling, illuminating the dust motes floating by her face. Faith breathed in and out, shaking her head free from the gripping terror of unconsciousness.

She had dreamed of receiving a phone call from Faust in the middle of the night, and when she answered, he explained to her in a laconic, matter-of-fact voice why they shouldn't continue seeing each other. He was too busy to maintain a relationship with a girl who's path would never intersect with his goals. She was too young, too naive, too proper. Too this and too that and in no way matched him. The terrible sinking in her chest returned as it had in the dream, but she dismissed the sensation. It was all a silly dream, a manifestation of her worst fear. Faust loved her and would never break up with her—least of all over a phone call.

The cellphone next to her pillow came to life, vibrating a couple of times before she found it and squinted at the bright screen. Faust. She sat up, and her lungs froze, the cavernous hole opening up under her skin. When she answered, voices and loud music came through like warring radio waves.

"Hello?" She whispered, not wanting to wake her dorm mate.

"Faith? You there?"

"Yes," her voice crawled from her throat, no louder than a rasp. She cleared her airway and said again, "Yes."

"Aw, are you sleeping, babe?"

"No," she whispered.

"Hm? I can't hear you. Hang on, let me find a quieter place."

Faith swung out of bed and left the dorm to go to the shared washrooms where she could speak. She entered a stall, put down the toilet seat and sat atop the cold plastic, waiting for Faust's deep voice to tickle her ear again.

"You there?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"That's better, yeah. I can hear you now."

Faith squeezed her knees together, his voice like warm liquid flowing into her stomach. She sighed, relieved.

"Sorry, I know it's late for you. We had a really late soundcheck, then I was in the green room until we went on. I didn't forget to call."

Faith nodded, smiling, though Faust couldn't see the respite his words gave her after the unpleasant dream that had jarred her awake.

"It's okay. Where are you again?"

"Utah, probably a couple hours behind you. We're out of the venue now."

"How was the show?" Faith asked.

"It was good—big stage. Couple hundred people, but maybe a quarter of them were there for us. We sold a lot of merch, though."

"That's great, babe. I'm glad you're having fun."

"Yeah," Faust sighed. "I miss you, though. Can't believe there's still another three weeks of this."

Faith leaned her head against the stall's metal barrier, reading the scandalous notes engraved in the chipped paint. "I know. Seems like forever."

"You're still good to come to our last show?"

"Yes. I told my parents I'm going to a friend's cottage for the weekend."

"But really, you're getting on a Greyhound and coming to see me."

She closed her eyes and giggled. "That's right."

Faith wondered if she should tell Faust about her bad dream. She knew what he'd say to her: it was just a dumb dream, and he would never break up with her, so she shouldn't let it bother her so much. She accepted this assurance without bringing it up.

"I'm in my bunk now," Faust told her.

"I'm in the bathroom," said Faith.

"Wish you were here, though. It gets so boring sometimes, driving from place to place, listening to these dumbasses argue over the shower."

"It's the same here. I've started taking showers at midnight just to avoid the headache and bargaining. These girls all have the same night routine. There's always a line-up to use the shower."

"Mm," Faust grunted. "Yeah. Stupid."

A moment of silence passed between them. Faith savoured his soft breaths coming over the line, wishing she could feel the warmth behind them. She craved his scent, the smell of his shampoo, the distinct mentholated freshness of his deodorant. She wanted to stroke his face, and touch his biceps, inspect the hair underneath his arms until he told her she was weird for finding such things fascinating. She wanted to feel the twin ruts coming to a peak below his navel, leading down to his groin where he'd snatch her hand and berate her, ultimately relenting and letting her stroke the soft skin underneath the band of his plaid boxers.

"I wanna touch you," she whispered.

"Fuck," he drawled. "Me too, babe."

"I had a bad dream you called me in the middle of the night to break up with me... then you actually called. Do you think that's weird?"

Faust scoffed in that indignant way he always did. She pictured the corner of his mouth snagging, his brows descending at such a silly thing.

"That's kind of weird."

"I hate not being able to sleep next to you."

"Don't worry, babe. I'll be home soon. You can get through the next few weeks."

"Yeah, but... Do you miss sleeping next to me?"

"Oh, definitely. I really miss you hogging the blankets, pushing me to the edge of the bed, punching me in your sleep."

"I don't do that!"

Faust snickered. "Yeah, you do. But it's okay. I'm like way stronger than you. I can move you like nothing."

"Don't remind me," Faith groaned.

"Don't remind you of what? How strong I am?"

Faith made her voice small. "Yes. I can't think of that kind of stuff right now."

"You can't think about me overpowering you?"

"Sh. Quiet."

"What? Don't want to think about me pinning your arms above your head with one hand while I finger you? S'that what you don't want to think about?"

"I hate you," she said.

"Hate it when I pick you up and fuck you against the wall?"

"Yes."

"So...You're definitely not thinking about my cock, then? You haven't been playing with my pussy while I've been away? Pretending your fingers are mine? Or using that toy you bought to fuck yourself in your dorm when your roommate isn't there?"

"Oh my gosh, Faust. Please."

"You don't make yourself cum to the thought of me eating out that pussy? You don't miss my fat cock stretching out that poor little slit? Making you bounce on it? Sucking it until I cum buckets down your throat?"

"Faust," she whispered. "You're bad."

"Answer me. Do you think about riding my cock every night before bed? Rub yourself against a pillow between your legs?"

"Yes, I think about it all the time."

"Can you do me a favour?" Faust asked. Faith agreed before hearing the terms of said agreement. "Tomorrow, I want you to go to all your classes without wearing any panties under your skirt."

Faith's cheeks burned from his request. "What if it's windy and it blows up my skirt?"

"I don't really care," he said. "Know what? Never mind. Scratch that. This isn't a request; it's a command. I want you to take pictures while you're in class to prove you listened."

"I can't! Someone will see."

"Think I give a fuck? Sit in the back if you have to."

"I'll try," said Faith, toying with the sleeves of her nightgown.

"That's my girl."

They spoke for a few more minutes until Faust's bandmates flooded onto the bus, yelling and searching for the drummer who'd stowed away in the bunks. Faust said his goodbyes, made sure Faith understood her instructions for tomorrow, then said goodnight. She heard his friends mocking him in the backroom, calling him pussy-whipped, listened to him threaten their lives and giggled.

"I love you," Faust said, loud enough that anyone around him might hear. His unabashed affection filled her to the brim with warm fuzz.

"I love you, too," Faith replied, then looked at the phone screen until he hung up.

Later in the week, Faith started having trouble sleeping. Even if she filled her days with activities, studied into the night, ate properly and read before bed, her mind swam with anxiety. She told Faust about it, but he had no solution other than to stop by his place to grab one of his hoodies to sleep in, maybe one of his blankets if she missed him so much. Delighted, Faith accepted the suggestion, and Faust texted his roommate to leave the apartment door unlocked for her. She made her way over after dinner one night and walked in on Faust's roommate hosting a party.

The apartment was in disarray—worse than she'd ever seen. Beer bottles and cigarettes overflowing the ashtray was commonplace, but now there were grease-stained pizza boxes open on the floor, salt stains on the rug from people coming in and out from the balcony. The sofa pocked with several more burn marks, the dishes hadn't been washed since Faust left, and the entire living room reeked of stale food and smoke. Not only that, but she'd come in at the precise moment the music transitioned, and every eye in the place went to her.

She recognized half the people in Faust's apartment from other parties—Anika, the most familiar face that turned in her direction. The tall, blond girl smiled and pushed a guy's hand off her shoulder before approaching her. The metal music picked up, drowned out the silence, and Faith relaxed when Anika hugged her.

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming!" Anika exclaimed.

"I wasn't... Well, I didn't know anyone was here. I just came to get some stuff from Faust's room."

"Oh, cool. How is Frosty? I haven't seen you guys since Halloween!"

"He's good," Faith said, voice tapering off when she saw a pair of malicious eyes grilling her from across the room. "You know... Just touring."

"Yeah, I heard. That's awesome. Hey, you want anything to drink? We have beer in the fridge," Anika said.

Faith felt awkward standing in the middle of the front hall, while groups of people occupied her boyfriend's apartment. She realized she had very little dominion and shrank into herself until Anika pulled her into the kitchen. The blond pulled out two cans of domestic beer and handed her one, noticing Faith's unease.

"What's the matter?" Asked Anika.

Faith wondered if Faust knew about all the people in his apartment, if his roommate had asked him if he could have a party and invite all the people Faust talked shit about—the people he warned her not to hang out with.

"Uh, nothing. Just feels weird being here without Faust," said Faith.

"Aw, it's okay, girl. We party here all the time."

Faith questioned the verity of Anika's claim. She couldn't recall them having any big parties there since she started dating Faust eight months ago. Faust didn't like too many people in his space. Whenever they partied, it was always at someone else's house or out in the bush around a fire.

The same pair of blue eyes had Faith in a stranglehold. She cocked her head, and Anika noticed her attention locked on a man with fine blond hair touching his collarbone.

"Is that—?"

"Sven? Yeah. You probably remember him from that time we went camping."

Faith wished to turn in on herself, abandon the can of beer Anika had given her, grab what she needed from Faust's room, and leave. Anika sensed her discomfort and placed her thin hand on Faith's shoulder.

"Don't worry, he won't bother you. He has a girlfriend now."

"He's a creep," Faith muttered.

Anika shot Sven a look over her shoulder, and he turned away, pulling on a beer and wiping his mouth. Faith remembered the stench of his burnt hair in the fire, how Faust had punched him and dragged him through the dirt toward the pit where he held his face in the flames. Sven complained about the scratches and scrapes on his arms and legs from Faust dragging him the entire way home after they cut the trip short. The same tension that pierced the atmosphere in the van while Sven took the front seat and Faust held her hand in the back seat was the same strain she felt now as he stole glances at her. His wispy mustache had grown back along with his eyebrows and pale lashes.

Faith felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but dismissed the feeling with a swig of beer and Anika's encouragement. Faust would get angry with her if he knew she felt even an inch of remorse over what happened. Sven deserved what he got, and that's what she kept telling herself throughout the night as she drank a couple more beers with Anika and took a hit off a joint someone offered her out on the balcony.

A few of Faust's friends asked her about him, and it filled her with pride knowing everyone there knew who she was, who Faust was. She told them where the band was that night, where they were slated to go next, that they had sold out of merchandise and had to place an emergency order and have it shipped to the next venue. After a few hours, Faith felt the tug of exhaustion creeping over her shoulders and told Anika she had to head out, though she'd already missed the last bus and had little money in her bank account for a cab. Faith considered asking someone for a ride back to campus, but nobody seemed sober enough to trust behind the wheel.

Instead, she went to Faust's bedroom and shut the door and all the noises behind her. In his room, she took in a deep breath, and then another, filling her senses with the comforting scent of pine, stale air and the boyish aroma Faust carried with him. She went to his closet and brushed a hand over the black t-shirts and one of his leather coats. Next, Faith opened the third drawer in the lowboy and pulled out a hoodie that had shrunk in the wash and didn't fit Faust anymore. She often wore it when she came over, but he refused to let her take it home until now. She slipped it on over her blouse, smoothed it over her skirt and wrapped her arms around her ribs. The hood still smelled of Faust's hair.

Without thinking much, she arranged the objects on his dresser into an organized system rather than a mess of pens, splintered drumsticks, guitar picks and snack wrappers. She shovelled the waste into the garbage can under his desk, made his bed, fluffed the pillows, cleared the dirty clothes off the floor and kicked it all into the closet. If there wasn't a party going on right outside the door, she'd have done his laundry and took the dirty plates and forks to the kitchen sink. She did what she could without having to set foot outside the bedroom, and by the time she finished folding the clothes in his dresser into neat stacks, it was far too late for her to go anywhere.

Faith took off her panties and skirt, changed into a pair of his pyjama pants and sat on his bed with her hands folded, wondering if Faust would care if she spent the night in his bed. The fluffy pillows called out for her head. His comforter promised visions of them together again. She considered texting him to say she was staying over, but there was a knock on the door as she went for her phone.

She lifted her feet off the carpet and tucked them under her thighs, balled herself as small as she could until whoever knocked got the hint and walked away. The knock came again, and Faith's throat tightened.

"Yes?" She called.

The door opened, and she expected to see Anika's blond head poking in, but it wasn't her. The person was blond, but the face was not smeared with white foundation, nor were the blue eyes overlined with charcoal black. Sven stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked.

"What are you doing in here? This is my boyfriend's room. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Sorry," said Sven, opening his palms to show he meant no harm. "I wanted to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?"

"I don't see why that's necessary."

"Mmkay, well, you don't have to be a bitch about it. Your boyfriend is the one who almost burnt my face off."

"Well, you were being weird. You're being weird now by coming in here. You should probably go."

"Sucks when he's not around to intimidate everyone that ever wants to start a conversation with you, huh?"

Faith pressed her lips together. Was he threatening her? She wasn't sure. He kept his distance, though his eyes ricocheted off the valuable objects in the room. The Gibson guitar hanging on the wall, the vintage RD bass in its stand just below, the electric drumset next to the desk, Faust's five-thousand-dollar computer, and finally, her. Faust's prized possessions all in one room.

"What do you want to talk about?" Faith broke the silence, sweating.

"I wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot back in the Summer. I was really drunk. I shouldn't have said that shit."

"Okay, well, thanks for the apology."

Sven gestured at her, pale eyebrows high on his freckled forehead. "And?"

"And what?" Faith asked.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"You can apologize on behalf of your psycho boyfriend. That’d be a start."

Faith scoffed, heated by the insult. When it came to Faust, she never wanted to hear the negatives. It reminded her of her father's disapproval, filled her with useful venom. "Sorry, if you want an apology from Faust, he’d have to give it to you, and I don’t think that’s happening any time soon."

"Wow," Sven said with a click of his tongue. "And I thought you were a nice girl."

"I am nice, but right now, you're in my personal space, and it's making me uncomfortable."

As she spoke, she noticed Sven's knees wobbling. He was drunk. His beer breath filled the room. Faith shifted closer to the wall, clutching her crossed legs, silently begging for him to leave. He took a step closer, and she gasped.

"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Jesus, you chicks watch too much TV, thinkin' every dude is a rapist or something."

"Whatever you say, man. Look, if you're done, I think it's time you leave."

"Why? You going to sleep?"

"You just shouldn't be in here. If Faust were home, you wouldn't set foot in this room or even think about talking to me."

Sven threw his head back and laughed. "Just because he caught me off guard once doesn't mean I'm afraid of him. He can suck my dick, and so can you."

"Get out," Faith said.

"Hey now, hey... It's all good. Christ, I'm just trying to mend bridges, but you're being a total bitch when I'm here apologizing."

"You just told me I could suck your dick. You're literally insulting me to my face. I've asked you to leave, and you're not!"

Sven pushed air through his teeth, teetered closer to her and sat down on the foot of the bed. Faith's body froze, her limbs stiff as boards as the man laid on his back. His face was a foot from her.

"If it weren't for your boyfriend, I'd be on tour right now. I'd be the one selling out venues and merch, signing shit and having people ask me to take pictures."

"It was your fault."

When the words floated from Faith's mouth, his forehead crinkled, and he shot up. She gasped, scrambling against the wall like a cornered rodent.

"Fuck you! Stupid fucking slut! Faust is a way bigger piece of shit than I am. Ask anybody! Everyone knows how much of an asshole he is. Nobody actually likes him. They're just afraid of him because he threatens to kill anyone whoever disagrees with what he says."

The venom roiled in Faith's stomach, blistering up her neck and filling her mind with violent static. Her hands shook as adrenaline pumped into her veins. One more minute alone with Sven and she thought she might lose control of herself.

Sven got off the bed and went for the bass. Faith hissed at him not to touch it, so he leaned over and spat on the finish.

"Get out!" Faith cried. "Get the fuck out right now!"

The music outside the door must have drowned out her yells, for nobody came looking for her. She stood up on the bed, back pressed against a poster. Sven grabbed at her ankle, but she kicked and slapped the top of her foot against his forearm. He laughed and swiped again as she danced away.

"LEAVE!"

"Make me!"

"I'll fucking call the cops on you!"

"Do it, bitch. I'll knock you out and do what I want before anyone even realizes I'm in here."

"Help!" Faith hollered. "Rape! Rape! He's trying to rape me!"

"Woah, woah, calm down. I didn't say that—"

The venom boiled over, shot up through her esophagus and escaped her mouth in panicked screams. Stunned by the banshee shrieks ripping through the air, Sven backed toward the door, feeling around for the doorknob while Faith screamed her face red, blood vessels popping in her eyes, throwing explosions of stars across her vision until he left the room and she dropped onto the bed, crying. Faith felt around the bed for her phone and called Faust.

He answered on the first ring.

"Faust," she blubbered.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm coming home right now."

"W-what?"

"Look over at the computer."

Faith wiped the snot from her nose onto the hoodie's sleeve and glanced at the desk where the computer monitor stood. "Huh? I don't understand."

"See that light right beside the monitor? Wave at it."

Faith lifted her hand. She squinted at the blue dot belonging to a small camera set up between a speaker and the monitor.

"I installed a Bluetooth camera before leaving for tour. Don't trust people to not go into my room and touch my stuff."

"You mean—?"

"I saw everything. Heard everything, too. It's motion-activated."

Faith paled at the thought of Faust watching her cleaning his room, the way she'd caressed his clothes on her face and huffed his scent before Sven came in.

"What should I do, Faust? He's still out there."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Should I call the cops?"

"No, don't call anyone. Don't say anything. I said I'll take care of it."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Faith, I'm serious. Let me handle this," his voice was stern.

"What're you gonna do?"

Faust went quiet for a moment until she motioned at the camera. He sighed. "I can't tell you right now."

The adrenaline depleted, and Faith let out a sob. "I need you, Faust. I'm scared."

"Don't be scared, babe. I got you. I'll be home as soon as I can, but I need you to be strong. Don't talk to anyone about what happened until I get there, understand? Nobody. Not your friends, not your parents, don't write it in your journal or breath a word. I promise I'll make it better."

[antigonick]

Out of sight

DISCLAIMER : Everything belongs to Malin Rydén and Fallen Hero, as you must know by now. THERE’S ALSO : I guess this one and this one feature the same idiots, though they all work as stand-alones. WHAT TO EXPECT : Well, I said I’d do a bit of farm-angst for Una, so that’s where we’re at. I’m still trying my hand at their POV, and it’s all very vague and very where-are-you-going-with-this, I have no excuse, I just had a free night and stopped using my brain halfway through.

2013. The Farm.

You’re not closing your eyes now, not in this place, not ever. Blink and you fucking disappear. Things have changed. You’re just biding your time. You’re just crouching low. You look at them straight in the face and if they’re too soft you bare your teeth to make them stumble back. You can smell the fear on them, the unease. They’ve seen you quick, they’ve seen you wild. They can prod, they can slice, they can tear. You don’t care. You lock your muscles and you give them a smile that will turn their dreams to anguish. Oh they know, that they’re threading dark water. 

What did they expect? 

You fled once, and you had no-one then. They don’t stand a chance this time. No slipping away into the night. No fleeing on silent feet. No mercy. You’ll be ready when the cavalry breaks down the door with a quip and a zap. Any day now. Keep your eyes open ’til then.

─────

No windows underground. No clocks in the labs, only watches that the white coats hide under long sleeves. They keep you awake, but you wouldn’t sleep anyway. Your brain left to its own devices tends to spew a bloody-black tar of vertigo. Your eyelids feel vellum-thin and your fingers mauve-cold, and that’s all fucking fine. Jittery means paranoid, paranoid means alert, alert means lethal. Or as lethal as you can be when they tie you to the exam table and inject you with enough tranquilliser to kill a small dog. Guess you shouldn’t have slammed your forehead in a-too-close-nose on—when was it? Day three? Day four? No more than that. 

You can see your synapses blink and flash on their black screens. Their speech is muddied, but it trickles in eventually, molasses-slow; sometimes it comes back quick and sharp when you break the surface of awareness, heart mad with the return of life. 

In the morning (is it morning?) they pin your tongue with a metal probe that tastes like a gun barrel and your name screamed too late.  You’re not worried though. Too late once, but not twice.

─────

It’s not that you can’t do it alone. They’re not stashing you in the same facility, weapon that you are now, but you’re starting to get the hang of the layout, stumbling in blinding corridors between two guards, listening to a stray hint and a whispered conversation. If you take them by surprise—a well-placed elbow when they free your wrists—you might be able to slip and hack your way through those keypads they thumb carelessly. The white coats don’t have guns, but the guards do. You’ve become more than adequate; you should be able to beat one of them up, even if your limbs right now feel like pulp, even if your mind— The dampeners make your telepathy buzz and writhe inside your skull—too long, too long without stretching itself, without extending its fingers to brush at a reality blurry as a nightmare.  Experienced like this, stuck inside your own body, bereft of those mind thresholds that allowed you the grey freedom of liminal spaces, the world has grown unreal. Maybe it is. Maybe you’re not here. Maybe you’re already gone.

Hey, come back. What were you saying? You should be able to beat one of them up and run run run to that metal door you hear shut like a sigh when the white coats finish their shift. Really—it’s not that you can’t do it alone. It’s just good thinking. You’re stronger with someone on the outside. When he comes, you can split this place open like a bruised fruit. 

You just have to hold out a little longer.

─────

Any day now.

─────

You don’t know what’s happening to your eyes. You’re not closing them now, not in this place, not ever���or maybe just a minute, only because the light needles at your optic nerve like a nail—you can feel it shift inside your pupil, nudging your brain with a wet ripe sound, all the way… All the way, far far far down to the back of your throat. 

Stop. 

Where are you? You haven’t seen your face in so long. Behind the mask there’s a mask that hides a mask that hides a mask. No—that’s not true. It was all real, it was, it was. You remember your face, unveiled on a grey-fog night, glimpsed one last time in the glass panes before they shattered into emptiness—it can’t have been more than a week. You know he’s coming for you like you always come for him. They’ll be here. They’ll all be here. They’re heroes after all. You’re heroes after all. None of you would let the world fester like this. None of you would let the tubes leak black, the air turn to rust, the HOWL enter you until it spreads and slashes at your brain, until the trigger clicks. Where are you? You haven’t seen your fa—Wait. Rewind, don’t get lost, he’s coming for you like you always came for him. Shouldn’t you prepare yourself? Get up? Move fast? Cover your bare spine, your naked legs? You wouldn’t want them to see your skin. 

You’re running now. There’s a good chance you’re running. Remember? Remember? Remember the city how the windows reflect the street how the skyscrapers melt into the sky how the sky dissolve into the dark mad sea? The pavement is thumping against the sole of your feet and the heat is swarming up your legs up up up through the tip of your fingers to the root of your hair. Yes you remember the heat. Outside, inside. Heart bursting with it. 

You think you gasp awake.

─────

Don’t forget again, you have to keep your eyes open. Blink and you fucking disappear.

─────

Time is sluggish around here. No clocks, and you miss the toxic purple of the Los Diablos sunset, the velvet cover of the night, you miss, you miss, you miss Anathema, their voice, their hand on your shoulder, that smile you saw melt like too-hot play-doh under their stained fingers—shut up—you miss the heat of the sun on your nape—yes that’s better—you miss coffee rich and dark, you miss the mind-voices weaving in and out of your head, never alone, always alone, you miss the supple cover of the suit, the darkness of the mask, you miss you miss you miss your name so roundly shaped by tongues warm and familiar. 

You remember your name, right? One of the white coats joked about it the other day. Asked you if anybody ever fell for that cardboard Irish heritage you aimed at. They’re growing bolder now; they get in your face, they laugh, they don’t hesitate before they pull at your eyelids, stab at your arm, open your jaw. Too close, too cocky, leaving on your tongue the foretaste of revenge.

One night (is it night?) two of them move around you snake-like in the yellow daze and while they stick their electrodes on your scalp they jeer, they circle, they ask again and again—so did you like it, the glitter, the fame? Say, how was it? Did you party your heart out? Did you touch your heroes? Did you wear a dress? Did you think you could be a person? Did the tattoos turn your little friends on?

As if they didn’t know that what you snatched for yourself back then was only a half-life, hidden and veiled like prey, every opening making you weaker, making you reckless, making you—what? Hopeful?  Still they shouldn’t, shouldn’t snicker, shouldn’t touch, shouldn’t spit. 

You could still bite. You will, won’t you? You were supposed to be crouching low. Feels like you might have fallen to your knees instead.

─────

Time is running out. You’re not stupid. You can feel your palms turn soft, your muscles turn liquid, the mellow ginger fuzz growing thicker and thicker when you slide a hand on the head they shaved—when? A week ago. A month ago. A century ago.

Any day now. He knows you can take it until he’s ready. He must be planning something big. Silly man, always so dramatic. He’s had time to track you down now, to gather what he needs, to convince Steel, even. You can see it now, the bursting in all guns blazing, the brilliant grin, the righteous anger, the flash of blue and white. You’ll be ready, you’ll be ready.

It’s not that you couldn’t do it alone, but you’re a little tired. It’s so much easier when someone’s got your back, right? He taught you that. You should tell him when he gets here. You should tell him a lot of things.

Hours—days—weeks—seconds unfurl like a shroud.

They leave you alone a little sometimes and when nothing moves when nothing hurts it’s difficult not to sleep. Pain soft and hushed has settled at the base of your spine, reminding you where your body starts and stops. You haven’t felt the edges of your mind in so long, you have to cling to flesh. 

Today they’ve settled you in the familiar lab, sitting slightly swaying on the exam table, waiting, useless and empty. Your patient gown is thin and papery, gaping at the back like a hungry mouth. The air is hot and humid, the neon tubes sizzle and pop like bug zappers. On the white boards, they left a few of your scans—lovely colourful waves on translucent black. On the nearest work table, you can see the coffee growing cold, and two library books wrapped in neat plastic covers, and even a trashy tabloid with a cover so crisp and new—  So crisp and new—

You know that smile. Suddenly swallowing is stretching your throat. You know that stupid fancy shirt. You know those camera flashes. You know that lazy hand caught in a cheeky wave, two fingers up. You know that sloping shoulder, that arm wrapped snugly, warm as a secret and light as electricity.  Oh yes yes you know that sun-drenched happiness. You don’t know the girl, you don’t see the venue, you can’t read the title, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ve seen enough.  You close your dry eyes before they burn. He’s not coming. Nobody’s coming. You fucking disappeared. 

[punkcupcakestyles]

Love Song

Part 7

The world was spinning.

Maybe it was on fire.

I couldn't tell anymore.

Silly me, worrying about boys.

Catch up!

No kissing.

No more touching.

No private PDA.

No sex.

“What kind of sex?”

Fuck.

Now, I could understand Harry's question. It was pretty fucking valid.

Harry was a heavy sleeper, I was just realizing that. The warmth of his body as he hugged me around my waist, kept lulling me to sleep, despite my best efforts to remain awake and awkward. I could feel his heavy breath fanning over my shoulder, and I couldn't help but smile when he snored lightly, fuzzing a little bit as he tightened his hold on me. Absentmindedly, I let my fingers brush over his knuckles, staring at the purple sky through the open window in the far corner of the room.

It occurred to me that it was the first time I was sharing my bed with someone. Well, no, not really. I had shared a bed with Cat, and it was downright torture. She stirred and kicked, and talked in her sleep, and the only way to calm her down was to pull her to my chest and hug her, whispering sweet nothings until she finally caved in.

I had also shared my bed with Sam, but that was something neither of us ever talked about.

I kept wondering if I should get out of bed and go to sleep on the couch. It was probably my best option, but if I was being honest, I didn't want to go anywhere. I was comfortable there, felt warm and safe, even when every one of Harry's sighs sent a new shiver down my spine, a wave of joy mixed with worry and anticipation. A sort of deluded happiness and veiled apprehension.

Was I going to think about it all night?

Was I going to do it again?

I kept replaying every second of the night, from the way he pinned me to the bar, to the desperate kisses we had shared. I closed my eyes, cursing the thoughts that kept reminding me that he was looking for someone else, running away from them, and I was just tagging along.

Fuck.

Harry stirred a little bit more, slowly slipping away from me as he rolled over to the other side of the bed. I felt a sudden coldness around me, and I turned to look at him as he slept on one side. The darkness of the night only allowed me to look at the silhouette of his broad shoulders, but it was enough. I could remember most of it, anyway, the way his muscles tensed as he undressed to take a shower and the little droplets of water that ran down his skin when he got out of it.

Maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to share the bed with him.

***

I woke up to a hug. That was a first as well.

Harry's arms were wrapped around my waist, holding me close to his chest as he slept peacefully by my side. Once again, I could feel his breath, slow and heavy, over my skin, and the light brush of his lips over the bare skin of my shoulders. My fingers trailed over his arm and I smirked as he sighed in content at my touch. I could feel him, pressing close to my body, until there wasn't even an inch between the two of us. The raising of his chest, his leg pressed to the back of mine until I gave in and allowed him to slide it between them, his fingertips curling around the curves of my body, I was aware of it all.

I let my fingers slide between his and I sighed, trying to shift just slightly so the new sensation of his arms around me wouldn't feel so overwhelming. But it wasn't easy, I was trapped against his body, legs and arms tangled in each other. If we added the fact that I was only wearing a t-shirt, it was fucking weird.

"Don't move, babe." It was just a mumble, low and groggy with sleep, A cold shiver ran up my spine and I turned to see him, eyes barely open and his face half-buried between the pillow and my neck.

"Hey," I whispered, already feeling myself blush, red, deep, hot. "Sorry."

His fingers released mine, and I held my breath, as I was painfully aware of the feeling of his hand brushing over my skin until it reached my hips and rested there. A low grunt echoed in his throat when I moved my hips lightly. His lips pressed a soft kiss on the curve of my neck, and his fingers curled tightly around my hips.

"Don't, please," he whispered back. "Stay right there."

I couldn't stop looking at him. I saw him open his eyes and cast them over me, saw his lips parting to let out a shaky breath and his mischievous smile as I grinned at him.

"Why?" I asked.

"I actually like this."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "I was...I was dreaming about you, that's why you can't move..."

"Why am I being punished for your dreams?" I smirked at him, laughing when he grunted lowly and leaned closer to me. He was so impossibly close, that our breaths were one, and our lips brushed against each other without really having to make any effort. His tongue darted out of his mouth and swept across mine and he hummed, moaned, protested, I really couldn't tell, when I shifted my weight to kiss him better. The tip of his nose bumped against mine as he went to look at me, and my fingers flew to his neck to press softly to his skin as I inhaled heavily.

"This is getting ridiculous, Harry," I breathed out, after a quick kiss. It was, we shouldn't be kissing, we shouldn't be touching. We shouldn't be doing any of the things we were doing. What was wrong with us.

"Yesterday was your fault, though," Harry replied in a low voice, the echoes of his gruff voice waving in me until I could feel my legs go weak. His lips still hovered over mine,  and if I moved even just slightly, I could kiss him once more.

"Was it?"

"You were the one to kiss me," he smiled softly. All I wanted to do was kiss him a little more, perhaps all day long.

"Today's on you, then," I said.

"It is."

His fingers left my hips long enough to allow me to turn around and face him. Once again, they made their home out of the curve of my waist, while my hands rested over his shoulder, grazing over it until I reached his neck.

"So, if I'm gonna take the blame," Harry said, and I smiled at the feeling of his pulse under the tips of my fingers. "We should do something fun."

That same anticipation I had felt the night before was taking over me once again. My heart beat faster and my mouth went dry as I looked at him, and I imagined exactly what something fun could be. It had to involve him, and those sinful lips of his. It would be even better if his hands were also required.

"It's a shame we don't have our phones. We could google ideas of fun things to do in bed. I bet Buzzfeed has a list."

"I can think of a few ideas," he smirked, and I felt the urge to kiss him, just kiss him and let myself go.

"What was I doing in the dream?"

"Y'know, that day in Diana's office, I thought I was going to be the troublemaker here, but you're giving me a fucking run for my money."

"I'm just curious."

"How curious are you, S?"

Curious enough to lean in and kiss him, his plump lips parting as my tongue swept across them, and his fingers knotting in my hair. He did exactly what I was craving, and kissed me leisurely, taking his time to lick and taste my lips, and to explore my mouth with his tongue. I sighed into the kiss, and let myself get lost in the touch and the storm of feelings that came with it. His fingers felt like fire against my skin, and I could feel myself running out of breath. But none of it mattered, cause his muscles were tensing at the touch of my hand, as I blindly took it under the sheets.

"Can I touch you, H?"

"Just a warning," Harry mumbled against my lips. "If you go down there, you're gonna have to help me wank."

"I've never done that."

"Want me to teach you?"

I nodded at the question, eager and giddy at the thought of touching him. Two times, he had managed to make me feel like I could burst out of pleasure, tummy shaking at his touch, and legs trembling at the pulsing fire in my center. I wanted to know if I could get the same kind of reaction from him, if my tongue and my fingers were good enough for it.

"Can you?"

I didn't get to hear his answer to my question, despite the desperate tone that snuck out of my lips. The loud knocks on the door interrupted us, and I stared at him as he bit his lips, almost as if he were considering to leave whoever it was outside, and stay with me in bed. His eyes rolled and he let out an annoyed sigh, before he pushed the covers off of him, and gave me a quick peck on my lips, and got up.

"Get dressed," he mumbled as he walked out of the room.

***

It took me around 20 minutes to make myself presentable. Sort of. I was wearing a pair of black leggings and a white Arctic Monkeys' T-shirt, and my hair was dangling from a precarious braid. Still, Diana beamed at me as soon as I walked into the living room and if she had any kind of comment on my look, she didn't say, jumping to her feet to hand me my phone.

"There you go," she smiled.

"Thank you..."

"Pro tip: don't leave your phone unattended ever again."

"I'm sorry," I stammered in my words, feeling myself blush as I looked away from the blonde in front of me. "We left in a hurry."

"Oh, I noticed, Honey. Still, you need to be more careful. But don't worry, that's what I'm here for."

"It's definitely not what I'm here for." I heard a male voice say, and I almost jumped in my bones before I turned around to see Jeff standing behind me. He was glaring at Harry, who was carelessly scrolling through his phone as he leaned against the door. "Take care of your shit, Harold."

"You love him," Diana sang in response. "You love being his babysitter, don't lie."

Jeff disagreed by grunting lowly, But Harry didn't seem to care, or to even have noticed the jab his manager had thrown at him. Instead, he furrowed his brows and started to type furiously on his phone, mumbling barely audible excuses as he went back to the room. I looked at him until he disappeared behind the door, and I felt my stomach drop. I had a feeling who he was talking to, and I hated that I cared. My eyes met Jeff's, and I could've sworn he offered me an apologetic smile before he turned around to follow his friend. 

"So how was it?" Diana asked, and even if I wasn't looking at her, I could feel the excitement in her voice. I wasn't up for excitement. Not now.

"Why are you so chirpy?" I asked instead, walking to one of the counters to serve me a cup of coffee.

"Can't a bitch be happy?" She smirked at me.

"The last time you were this happy, I ended up with a boyfriend I didn't know I had."

"Oh, save it. You're loving it. And it's working. Today, I was called by Reese's people and they told me they don't need the chemistry reading anymore. The romantic lead in Again but Better is yours. They just need you to meet Noah. Besides, he's fucking hot..."

"Noah or Harry?"

"Both...I'm a fucking genius, S, don't forget that. Now, tell me everything."

"There's nothing to tell, D. He saw his ex, wanted to take her out of his mind, I was close."

"Oh..."

"It's ok, baby, you're still a fucking genius," I cooed her.

"I know, but it's no fun anymore."

Diana followed me to the couch holding her own cup of coffee, and she stared at me as I sat crisscrossed next to her. She turned to me and chewed on her bottom lip as she considered her next words.

It was never good when she did that. She had bad news, and I didn't think I could handle them.

"The crew will arrive in about an hour," she said casually, starting off softly, so I could grow comfortable until she was ready to deliver the blow. She considered the best way to handle bad news, I thought she just delayed the torture. "We'll go to Jimmy Fallon, I want your natural beauty to glow, so you'll be going for minimal makeup. You still need to meet with Noah this afternoon. Midge wants to poach him, so be nice to him. After that, I set up a meeting with an Elle editor, we want the cover...Also, I called Sam this morning..."

The last bit caught my attention and I turned hastily to look at her. Diana wouldn't be caught dead talking to Sam...There it was.

"Is my mom ok? Cat?"

"Yes, yes, sweetie. They're ok. I just...when I found your phone, there were a bunch of missed calls from him. At first, I thought he was calling you to confess his eternal love, but then I decided to call him back, and he told me that your dad had come by your house."

"What?"

"He talked to Cat. Your mom was at the hospital, so he couldn't talk to her."

"Oh..."

The world was spinning.

Maybe it was on fire.

I couldn't tell anymore.

Silly me, worrying about boys.

"I'm sorry, S. I thought that if I gave him money, he would go away. I could give him more. If we talk to Midge, we can set up a monthly stipend to keep him away."

"He doesn't want money," I shook my head, lowering my voice as I felt Harry and Jeff walking to the room.

Suddenly, the fact that Harry was talking to his ex after spending the night in my bed seemed meaningless.

I smiled at Jeff as he sat next to me, and I nodded absentmindedly as him and Diana started to talk about common friends and things that no one in this world could actually care about.

I had fought so hard. We were good now. I had made sure of it.

"You're ok?" It was more of a whisper, and I had missed it. What really caught my attention was the soft touch of his fingers as he took my hand in his, and let his thumb run over my knuckles. I looked at Harry, and for the first time, I realized Jeff was no longer sitting by my side.

"I am," I whispered back, pulling my hand away from him as I tried to focus on Diana's rambling.

"I haven't decided yet, we're just thinking about it," she defended herself from a suddenly tense Jeff, and he shook his head as a sarcastic laugh rumbled in his chest.

"No, we're not going that way. You can't make this decision by yourselves, you need Harry to approve, and he doesn't," he finally said.

"It was great, Jeff. No one believed it, but everyone still talked about it," D pointed.

"What?" I asked, looking from D to Jeff, and feeling pretty confused at their discussion. Perhaps I should pay more attention to my business meetings.

"You knew about it, right?" Diana asked me as if I could answer her.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, D."

"Taylor and Tom! They were together for a month or so and were photographed maybe 25 times together. Harry's about to go back to tour, and we don't want to lose our buzz."

What was she talking about?

"No," I heard Harry reply, and I turned to look at him. His eyes rose to mine and I gulped, as I stared at his green eyes. "None of us want to be photographed 25 times in less than a month, Diana."

"Who would want to see my face that many times?" I burst out, I slowly grasping the meaning of the conversation.

"Ok, we won't do that then," D sighed in defeat as she turned to Jeff to throw him a mean look.  "But you need to give me something, Jeff."

"Think about it, and we'll consider it."

This negotiation didn't involve Harry or me, they weren't even asking us, even if we were the subjects of their decisions. Diana stared at the man in front of her, and rolled her bottom lip into her mouth, deep in thought. She looked at me, and then at Harry, and she sighed again, twitching her finger around her wavy hair as she let out a heavy breath.

"If Harry's going to go away...How about S goes to him? She'll be seen in a venue, in a VIP booth, next to Harry's people. Maybe 2 concerts, one city after the other. That's all we need. How 'bout that?"

"I don't love it," Jeff said. "But, uh, anything's better than Tom and Taylor. What do you say, Harry?"

Harry's eyes landed on me at the question, as I could give him the answer he was looking for. I could not, I didn't even know he was going away. He hadn't told me, but I guessed that wasn't important information for me to know.

"Do you wanna come see me?" He asked, and I shrugged off in response.

"I'll do whatever Diana and Midge consider is good for me. I don't care otherwise."

Had I looked away for even just a second, I would have missed the furrowing of his brows as he heard my answer. But he soon recovered and offered me a tired smirk.

"Sure," he said, letting his eyes travel to Jeff, as he nodded. "Why not?"

Diana smiled in satisfaction at his answer and stood up from her seat to shake Jeff's hand. He begrudgingly did so and rolled his eyes as she went back to her seat.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Jeff."

"You played me, didn't you?"

"I would never do that, Jeff," the blonde girl said innocently.

They continued to talk, but I truly was not in the mood for it. I mumbled my excuses, saying I going to take a shower before the crew showed up, and walked to the room to be alone. I pressed my back to the nearest wall, and let myself slide down to the floor until I was sitting down.

Sam was right, I should have become a teacher.

I took a couple of minutes there, breathing in and out slowly until the jumble of thoughts that were taking over my mind started to untangle itself. Slowly, I got myself up and walked to the bed, where I threw the shirt as I took it off. I was starting to take off my leggings when the door opened, and with a jump, I pulled them back up again.

"Fuck," Harry said under his breath, closing his eyes as I stood in front of him only wearing a black bra and my leggings. "Sorry, I'll come back."

"You can come in, Harry." Ridiculous.

I picked the shirt between my fingers and pulled it on once again, so I could face him as he walked into the room. He was soon sitting on the bed, looking at me as I hastily looked through my clothes to find something to wear.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked me, and I smirked, feeling an annoyed satisfaction that I couldn't quite describe.

"No, I'm not."

"You sound quite angry for a person that isn't angry."

"Did she fall for it?·" I asked in reply, looking at him in the eyes as he stared at me in confusion.

"Fall for what?"

"The little stunt we pulled last night. Did your ex fall for it?"

"I-I guess," Harry answered, only this time, he wasn't looking me in the eyes as he did so.

"Good," I offered him a crooked smile, as I pulled out a blue stripped shirt out of the suitcase.

"Is that why you're mad?" Harry chuckled, confusion still reigning on his face as he looked at me.

"I need to call Sam, Harry. Can I please have the room?"

"S..."

"Harry, please."

After a couple of seconds of looking at me in disbelief, and an annoyed sigh later, he left, closing the door behind him a little too loudly.

I sat on the bed and waited for a couple of seconds until I wasn't so mad anymore, and the world didn't seem like it was setting itself on fire.

My phone was cold in my hands and I stared at the screen before I facetimed Sam. It was what I needed at that very moment, to hear his voice and let him calm me down, cause right now the world was burning, and I felt like I couldn't escape the fire.

"Hi..." Sam answered after a couple of rings, and his voice was hoarse with sleep. The video was dark, as I supposed he hadn't even woken up completely yet, and I smiled as I saw him rub his fingers on his eyes.

"Don't poke your eye out, Sammie."

"Don't call me in the middle of the night then," he replied groggily.

"It's almost 10 in L.A., Samuel."

"Night."

"Sam!!" I hissed into the phone, making him grunt a little louder. "Wake up."

"Fuck, give me just...ok, I'm up. I think, can we keep this conversation light while I wake up?"

"Sure...You let my dad into my house. How's that for lightness?"

He woke up alright. He looked at me guiltily and held his breath for a couple of seconds. It was a habit of his, to hold his breath while he gave himself time to think. It was usually followed by him puffing the air out. I told him he was going to run out of neurons if he kept doing that.

"Sorry..." he said. "I, uh, I was with my mom at a doctor's appointment. I wasn't there. Cat told me when I went to your place that night. She asked me not to tell you anything, she doesn't want you to worry."

"Does my mom know?"

"No, Cat and I...we think it's best if we don't tell her."

"Is Cat ok?"

"Yes, yeah, Cookie," Sam said and I didn't think he realized he had called me that. It had been years since he had last called me Cookie. Cookie Monster, I even had the stuffed toy to go with it.  "She's a fucking fighter, she's gonna go all Sansa Stark and survive us all."

"Good...Do you think I'm Cercei or am I Dany?"

"You fucking hated that show, I didn't even know you knew those names, S. I wouldn't like to fight you, though."

"I would kick your ass, Samuel," I smiled to the phone, and saw him smiling in return.

"You would...It's everything ok?"

"It is. I'm just worried, maybe we should move."

"He would find you again. It doesn't help that you're getting so fucking famous."

"I fucked up in that one, didn't I?"

"You did. But your heart was in the right place."

"It was."

"Don't worry about it, Sof. We'll figure it out when you get home," Sam assured me, and I nodded, even when I wasn't so sure about it.

"Thanks, Sammie."

"It' ok, that's what I'm here for."

"I'm thankful for it."

"I know. I need to go, but, uh, I'll call you later."

He hung up and I let myself fall back over the bed, staring at the ceiling, letting my phone rest over my tummy as my hand drummed lightly over it. I almost missed the door as it opened, and I pushed myself up on my elbows to look at Harry as he entered the room.

"Sorry," he mumbled, leaning against the wall as he looked at me. "Diana politely asked me to get out of there."

"How politely?"

"Nothing at all, actually...So, do I get to be mad because you called Sam?"

"No, you don't. This is all fucking pretend after all"

[chyrstis]

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it., K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?, M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?, N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?, S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?, V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?, Y: A character you want to protect

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I can’t pick just one favorite, but while going through But I ain’t finished, I’m devoted, I did find an exchange between Troy and V that I loved from this chapter (and I’m having a day dedicated to those two, I feel):

“Do you know how hard you make my job sometimes?”

She opened her mouth then shut it fast when he glared at her. Rhetorical question. Of course.

“I don’t know if I even want to touch on any of that shit, especially with how it’s continuing to develop on all sides. There’s blind, there’s stupid, but maybe I’m giving myself too much credit for trying not to be either when four groups of people keep on trying to rip this place apart. Am I?”

V looked away.

“And what are you trying to do? Take it back? That still your plan? Even if the whole place goes up in fucking smoke?”

“I’m not the only one-”

“Wake the fuck up, V. You’re not, but I need someone to think about the consequences.” He sounded so worn in that instant that she had to turn, and he didn’t avoid her eyes. “Even for a minute.”

“You want me? Need me?” He didn’t say yes or no, but he didn’t need to. “Not sure we see the same person when I look in the mirror, Chief.”

Up close like this disappointment was hard to ignore as well. “Get them up.”

This one I love, because trying to pin down the massive shift in the relationship between the boss and Troy was a challenge enough, but FUZZ is an activity that I know Troy would have an opinion on, and really wanted to dig into that. Also, Troy is tired. He is so damn tired, and feeling the pull between what he wants to do, and what he feels he should do with every minute he hears and/or sees her or the Saints, and this struggle continues throughout the entire game and series, if we’re being honest.

And also, just this part in general:

Standing next to their car was Troy, and he appeared nothing short of furious. Arms crossed, posture tense, and partially in uniform, he must’ve been on his way home when he took a detour.

Lucky her. Or maybe she would be lucky if she was able to stop coughing her lungs out. V pointed towards Ken, who’d gone pale, then shook her head hard. That didn’t help any when Troy walked right on over.

“Don’t. You,” he pointed right at the cameraman, “get out of here.”

Ken shook off the nervousness and plastered on a smile. “What’s the harm, Chief Bradshaw? Just going around and cleaning up the streets! I know you and our producers didn’t have the best talk, but-”

“You know how much those cameras run, pal? Want to guess how much I give a fuck?”

This just amuses me greatly, because Troy really doesn’t. Not even a little.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

Well, dang. Angst is usually something I don’t heavily dive into, but I think one of the prime candidates had to be the V/Troy fic I did around Valentine’s Day why would you do that, I still ask myself where they’ve broken up during the gap between SR3 and 4, Troy’s started reluctantly dating someone else, and they end up meeting again at the yearly Policeman’s Ball. He’s not expecting her there, but she is, and they spend the rest of the night dancing around each other literally (and figuratively).

The next drink he took finished the glass and he found himself itching for something else. A cigarette. He'd tried cutting down again about a week ago, but the urge was back and getting worse. He knew why, but at least it'd be an itch he could scratch.

V's eyes drifted towards him and he held them for a good minute until he realized someone was talking to him. “Sorry, what?”

Anne shifted in her seat so she could face him better. “She won't tell me the answer.”

“To what?” he asked, keeping his attention on Anne.

“To why you keep on putting up with my bullshit,” V answered, her grin taking on an edge. “Thought it was obvious.”

Troy had no choice but to look at her then. “It is. Ultor pays me enough for it.” He pushed his seat back and got up, excusing himself before leaving.

Um, ow.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

For SR, I do have an early SR1 fic where V actually stumbles into the first few minutes of the game. I also have a pre-SR4 one where Troy comes to visit her and see what some of the hubbub’s about when she’s ready to take office, and either of those would be fun to do, but would also tug at the old emotions a bit.

For FC5 I have a ton. I feel like this is summer fling, but would love to stick with it for a while. The one that I’ve been mostly working on today is a post-mission idea where the Deputy recovers the Widowmaker (a pretty sweet truck with a paint job you have to see to believe) and proceeds to get into some drunken shenanigans with her partners in crime, namely Sharky and Hurk. There may be feelings involved at some point as well, but she’s not telling.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

The rest of But I ain’t finished-

No, honestly. There have been some tough places where I wished I had more motivation to write, but I wouldn’t give my silly doof, or any of these stories away.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Most of the romance tropes I’m pretty weak for. Slow-burn fics are totally my jam, and I could read over a hundred chapters of build-up just to get to the good stuff. On the flip-side, I also do enjoy when the feelings end up rushing in after, and it all gets complicated fast.

I do also love absurd amounts of UST and banter, and if one half of the pair’s a little in denial of just how much the other person’s started to mean to them all the better. By which I actually mean, I’ll be sitting there screaming internally in front of my computer screen.

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Oh, goodness no. I’ve read beautiful things by some very talented people, and I couldn’t even begin to think I’d do justice to their work. It also wouldn’t feel right unless it was done under the premise of it being a remix, that they’d give their blessing for, and even still I’d sweat bullets the entire time.

Y: A character you want to protect           

Troy. This times a thousand, mostly because the poor guy’s been through enough, and I will always have a soft spot for him.

In recent times, I find that I’m feeling very much the same about Sharky. The poor guy is a total sweetheart and a disco disaster, and he deserves to be happy.