#on one hand i want to delete them plain and simple so bad i get that some people might miss them

[autistickaitovocaloid]

I think I might delete/orphan all the works I wrote on ao3.

[reyesranch]

I feel like atp even if there were plans to make bvddie canon theyre gone now. if tim minear is even half as petty as I am he would see that reaction and go u know what fuck you u actually don't get what you want now cause ur acting so goddamn entitled. like when tarlos fans got mad about the deleted scenes instead of appreciating them being released and his reaction was to say "okay fine then I just won't release deleted scenes anymore" (like I'm sure it was mostly a marketing decision but part of me thinks they intentionally released a scene about bucktommy just to prove a point.) idk man it's just really upsetting as a bi man to see the absolutely vile shit bvddie stans are saying and even tho I love the ship I now never want it to go canon cause they've fuckin ruined it

hey anon, at first let me agree with the fact that i do in fact also love bvddie a lot and i still love reading fics for them, the edits of them are fantastic and the fanart is S tier. it’s a great pairing with a lot of potential there IF the writers decided to ever go there but…

huge answer below

yeah, i agree. i honestly think before tommy was introduced again in 7x03 and the kiss in 7x04 that in my brain, bvddie was the most logical endgame for buck until it wasn’t.

i came into the show shipping bvddie much like a lot of new fans to the show but instead of hopping onto the tommy anti express hate train i found myself falling in love with buck and tommy together. at first i was still on board with bvddie still being endgame but as each episode aired after 7x04 i became faced with the reality of the situation (at least the way i see it) that bvddie might always be fanon and that’s ok because fandom keeps ships alive whether they’re canon or not. some of the biggest ships EVER are non-canon (i mean, cmon spirk? one of the OG MM ships?) so it didn’t really deter me from enjoying bvddie to this day. what HAS deterred me from interacting with bvddie content is toxic bvddies. i don’t like using the lil nicknames, idc if other ppl do, whatever, but i prefer just referring to certain kinds as just toxic plain and simple.

toxic shippers have made it difficult for anyone who multiships to interact with bvddie content. while there are incredibly nice & welcoming bvddie endgamers out there, it doesn’t overshadow the hateful ones in my online experience at least. i’ve blocked so many ppl over this ship discourse, which ive never had to do with any other fandom before the extent i have with 911. everyday i still find new ppl to block, you go under almost any comment section on the 911 insta and its filled with nasty comments abt tommy and only caring abt whether bvddie will be canon in s8. people projecting their hatred of tommy/lou onto the cast/crew of the show when it’s be said and proven time and time again that it’s quite the opposite. now im certain there’s bad apples in the bucktommy side as well, but from what ive seen online so far it is not nearly to the caliber of the bvddie side. ive blocked maybe a handful of bucktommy’s for being hateful towards eddie or being toxic overall, but ive probably blocked over 100+ toxic bvddies. i can only imagine it’d be worse if i was active on 911 twt which i’m not (thank god) but i have ventured into the tags before on there and let me tell you, it’s fucking horrifying how gross ppl are over there. twt is a cesspool for fandom anyways tho, the fucking asshole of fandom, it’s a septic tank really.

now im my own opinion which could be completely untrue of course, but just basing my thoughts on what i’ve seen online and interviews and such, tim seems to be really happy about bucktommy and idk how ppl believe otherwise. tim has expressed he loves LFJ and wanted him back on the show. tim showed up on set for the kiss scene. tim posting an entire youtube vibe abt bucktommy being soulmates that touches on the invisible string theory and explains how they accidentally found buck’s perfect match. tim sharing the deleted tommy scene is also huge but im waiting to see if he releases more (because i remember seen somewhere that he said there’d be more?) and if he does then great but it’s also still pretty telling to me after the whole karaoke fiasco.

oliver has said nothing but praises towards buck’s queer storyline. he quite literally said if you dont like it then watch something else. despite ppl saying he’s never interacted with bucktommy content online, that’s a lie because he has liked fanart of them.

aisha, kenneth & tracie have all expressed how they like tommy/lou and love working with him.

jlh said she loved bvddie before but is excited to see where buck and tommy go and then on an insta live said she doesn’t think bvddie is happening and was bombarded by toxic fans to the point of ending the live early.

ppl think it’s all some ruse to make it seem like bvddie is never happening so when it does happen it’s a “surprise” ……..

the nasty hate comments are doing nothing but exposing these types of ppl for who they are and that honestly to them, 911 is just the bvddie show to them. the people who run these social media accs for 911 are looking at these comments and cringing, they aren’t running to tim and abc being like “we must give these crazies what they want!” they’re mostly likely being ignored or honestly, as you said, being looked at and just reinforcing their decision to most likely make tommy buck’s endgame so as long as his schedule is open for filming.

what gets me the most about the hate these types of shippers spew online is how they aren’t embarrassed because they are so sooo convinced they will be right one day and therefore their insane, nasty behavior online will be justified. oliver stark literally left twt because of fans like this, people act like he was joking around, that he was shooting the shit probably because “he’s british and british people just have that kind of humor” which yes to a certain extent but let me just add these posts to set an example to why if oliver were still on twt he absolutely would not be happy with the way toxic bvddies are acting right now.

oliver (and ryan&other cast too) being positive abt bvddie never meant it was going to be canon of become canon one day. they do not decide these things, whether they believe it should or not. a lot of bvddie shippers come from previous fandoms where queerbaiting was there, where they were made fun of by actors of their ships, by the creators of the show! so i understand the frustration but oliver is not queerbaiting and buck is not a queerbait character when he quite literally is now confirmed bisexual and in a relationship with a man.

he’s just not the “correct” queer to these people. despite headcanons (hell even i hc eddie as queer!!) eddie so far, in canon, is not queer. by the end s7 he is still shown to not be over shannon and ruins his relationship with his son over this. ryan has stated in interviews he sees eddie as heterosexual, possibly pushing this because of the influx of ship discourse, and he’s glad to see a vulnerable and deep friendship that buck and eddie can have as a straight man and a queer man and how important he thinks it is.

every single thing that points to bvddie never going canon is like they’re being shot point blank in the chest. i get it, your ship not becoming canon sucks, but again, that is what fandom is for! shipping has never been about how canon smth is, there is 20k fics out there for bvddie and they aren’t canon. they can turn that into 40k, 100k, 1M if they really wanted to! instead they use their time and energy posting death threats, wishing death upon a gay character, bullying ppl online for enjoying a ship.

meanwhile from what ive seen bucktommys are rolling with goofy ass spy tommy theories created by antis and making jokes for our own fun.

so yes, i agree overall. they truly don’t deserve what they think they do. we didn’t whine and scream for a deleted scene. they did. we got ours without even expecting it and are having fun.

maybe if they behaved better i wouldn’t be so petty abt it. it’s a shame because of how much potential it has, unfortunately it is just not going that way atm. and even if it does one day, it is not because they paraded online with hate, it is because that’s the story tim and the others wanted to write and abc approved it.

🫳🎤

[masterwords]

echoes in my head

Summary: Hotch doesn't want to fly back to Quantico with the team. He says it's because of his ears, but maybe it's a little more than that. And maybe what he learns is a lesson in what it means to be home. (Coda to 4x02 - The Angel Maker)

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 5.1k

Warnings: mention of sex, injuries from canon, grief (this is an angst fest with a soft ending)

AO3: echoes in my head

Notes: THIS IS MY 300TH CM fic! Well, okay, let's be real...I've deleted a lot of them over the years (shhhhhh) and there are tons floating around Tumblr that never saw AO3 because I'm notoriously bad at organization but...for the sake of excitement...this is my 300th CM (Hotch) fic on AO3. 180th Hotch/Morgan fic. I've surpassed 500k words for 2023 with this fic, too. So for all of those reasons, I thought it would be fitting to have it be an Angel Maker fic, a Mayhem fic, because that's my bread and butter. This is a slightly different take - a quieter one, no dramatics, just reflection, sleep and a soft place to land. This is the first of many one-shots that will fit into the Restless Heart universe. Thanks, as always, for indulging me!

I listened to a lot of Dwight Yoakam while I wrote this. That should set the tone.

I've got bruises on my memory I've got tear stains on my hands And in the mirror there's a vision Of what used to be a man

I'm a thousand miles from nowhere Time don't matter to me (A Thousand Miles From Nowhere | Dwight Yoakam)

Restless Heart Masterlist

**

There isn’t much to do between Ohio and Virginia, not for one broken down man and a government SUV. There were plenty of places he might stop if he had Jack with him, quirky little tourist traps and amusement parks that stretched up into the skyline and hummed electrical tunes in the distance. But one man, all alone, with a pounding headache didn’t hear the siren song of the amusement park and didn’t hear the call of the tourist traps. In fact, this man didn’t hear much of anything. There was the slow, rhythmic beating of his heart and the shattered, shaky breaths, and the fog. The way his right shoulder clicked in its socket when he extended his arm to the side, the way his heart stopped when he unlocked the SUV, the way his internal monologue sounded a lot like static.

The night before, he’d broken his cardinal rule. He showed up one Derek’s hotel doorstep with every intention of staying. Of sleeping in his bed. They never did that – it wasn’t like they’d discussed it, made a list of rules, it just made sense. Work and home didn’t mix, they couldn’t mix. But the case was over, and they’d opted to stay another night because the town didn’t have a bustling airport. They weren’t going to insist the one tiny little airstrip be manned for their departure during off hours just so they could get back to their metropolis, back to their desks and their paperwork and the next case. They could wait until sunup when the staff arrived and take a much-needed breather. He’d tried to sleep, to lay on his bed and stare at the ceiling counting flecks of foamy popcorn texture, counting and categorizing stains by size shape and color, counting the drips from the leaky faucet in the bathroom. The world was muffled through his painfully ruined ears, and lying in the strange stillness of his room had sounded like heaven but quickly became hell when his thoughts took over. The physical assault had almost been preferable.

He closed his eyes and saw Kate lying in the street. “Am I moving my legs?” Only it was barely her in this vision, she was already dead. She was gray and speaking through lifeless lips. It was her voice, her body cold, the light in her eyes gone. It was horror, plain and simple. He didn’t know what to do with any of this. Where to put these thoughts. She deserved better.

So, Derek’s doorstep it was. He figured if he was going to get any peace at all that night, it was going to be lying beside Derek and breaking relationship protocol would be worth it. It was.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked with a towel draped over his shoulder. He was getting ready to shower, the water was already running and the sound of it made Hotch feel almost peaceful for the first time in days. The smell of sandalwood and eucalyptus, Derek’s open bottle of body wash in his hand, made his senses swim.

“I’m interrupting, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, letting Derek pull him inside. “I couldn’t sleep. My head.” He didn’t finish the sentence, and by the look on Derek’s face, he didn’t need to.

“I’m heading out for drinks with Prentiss in a little bit. There’s this cowboy bar down by the precinct that had a mechanical bull and we had this bet about where that bastard’s remains were...anyway, I won. She’s gotta ride the bull.”

Hotch smiled and nodded. “You’re going to ride it too.”

“Damn right I am. I’d invite you to join us but…”

“I wouldn’t be any fun.”

Derek didn’t argue and Hotch wouldn’t ask him to just to save his wounded pride. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, you wanna join me?”

Hotch had never, not once, turned down a shower. The steam from the bathroom billowed out from beneath the door and called to him. “Sure,” he said quietly as Derek headed toward the bathroom. Their shower was quiet, soap suds and water spray and Hotch closed his eyes and relished the feel of Derek’s slippery skin against him. They held each other there for what felt like forever, lost in the timelessness of water. “I could stay here all night,” Derek whispered against Hotch’s good ear. “But Prentiss is gonna be here soon and the last thing she needs is to see this. Let’s go lay down for a bit first.”

Derek, who knew exactly what Hotch had come for, got himself ready to go out to the bar while Hotch slipped into some of Derek’s sweats and a t-shirt. He hadn’t brought his own things, hadn’t really known what his plan was except to be near Derek. Luckily for him Derek brought sweats and pajamas, though he rarely wore more than his underwear to bed. They were more of a precaution, in case of a shared hotel room with someone other than Hotch. It wasn’t often they had to share rooms anymore, but Hotch was glad that Derek remained prepared for such an event anyway as he slipped into clothes that weren’t his. Clothes that smelled like home.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out the minute your head’s on the pillow.”

“That’s the plan.”

As they lay down, Hotch couldn’t help feeling overcome with gratitude. Everything in the world felt harder since Haley left, but the one thing that he hadn’t managed to screw up yet was this. With Derek. He almost had, he’d come dangerously close to lighting it all on fire, but Derek was too stubborn to allow it. He fought for it when Hotch couldn’t, and he still couldn’t completely understand it all.

“I’m not flying back with the team tomorrow,” Hotch said quietly as Derek wrapped around him beneath the covers. He was wearing crisp jeans and a soft sweater; he smelled warm and green like a summer evening. Like lying under the stars watching fireflies blinking in the trees, like listening to the owls hooting and the frogs humming.

“You gonna drive?”

Hotch hummed in response, already half asleep.

“Want me to drive with you?”

“No,” Hotch whispered, closing his eyes. He felt Derek stiffen a little behind him and he pressed his back in closer. “I just think I need a little time alone. To think.”

“Yeah, I got you. What are you gonna do?”

“Drive.”

“Not gonna stop and smell the roses?”

“No.”

He fell asleep shortly after, curled up in Derek’s summer sun warmth and didn’t hear when Emily knocked on the door or the conversation they had in hushed whispers as Derek pulled on his boots and left.

The room was quiet and steamy, the air thick after their shower and it held him in place for longer than he thought – hovering somewhere between sleep and awake, dreams and void. When Derek got back, a little drunk and a lot smelling like cigarettes, they took another shower together. Hotch, whether asleep or awake, found himself able to do little more than just lie in the bed not moving. He hadn’t been still like this in so long, letting his bones sag heavy in the middle of the bed, that it almost felt luxurious if not for the pain in his head. That persistent jackhammer pain, the screaming siren wail in his ear that made it hard to focus. Derek had asked him that morning if he wanted his glasses, made a crack about him getting old, because he was squinting through a particularly painful ear-scream brought on by nothing louder than a few cops telling a joke and laughing feet away.

Derek’s voice, the volume and the pitch, hurt his head as he told stories about Emily on the bull, and getting on it himself. “I knew it,” Hotch whispered with a smirk and Derek shrugged, continuing without a break or a breath. It was 2am, they had succeeded in shutting he place down. “Even Rossi joined us,” Derek said at the end. “He laid down some bills tonight. You shoulda been there.” They both knew that wasn’t exactly true, but the sentiment wasn’t lost on Hotch. Derek had wanted him there and that made him smile.

The shower was hot, almost too hot, and Hotch would have been content to stay under that water for hours except Derek was doing that sleepy eyed thing he did when he’d had too much to drink and was about to pass out standing up. “Let’s go to bed,” Hotch said quietly, turning off the shower and angling Derek out of the tub and toward the towel rack. It took him almost five minutes to get Derek dried and into the bed, not bothering with clothes for either of them this time. It felt like wasted time when the alarm was going to go off in just a few short hours.

Derek was still a little drunk when he woke up, that kind of hazy half-asleep half-buzzing bleary-eyed world that seemed unreal and was glad when Reid and Prentiss made comments about his driving. It afforded him the perfect excuse to toss the keys in the direction of someone who wouldn’t be a danger behind the wheel without having to admit that was what he’d been hoping for. He watched from beside the vehicle, chugging his second bottle of lukewarm water as Hotch took the plate of baked goods (the sight of which turned his stomach) from the Sheriff and told Prentiss and Rossi he wouldn’t be flying back with them. Feigning disinterest, he looked the other direction, absorbing the last of this town in the middle of nowhere, glad to leave it behind. He offered Hotch a small wave before getting into the SUV. They’d already said their goodbyes – first in the shower, and then under the sheets. It was fast and sloppy, and he had the distinct impression that it hurt Hotch more than he let on, but it was Hotch whose hands and lips and desperate little whimpers initiated it, and it was his moans and his quiet pleas that sealed the deal. Derek would have been content to stand beneath the shower with all the cotton in his skull and kiss forever. But then, he had still been holding out some little hope that Hotch would change his mind and ask him to come along, to drive with him and keep him company but he held firm.

He had to do this alone.

But now, as Hotch drove down the endless stretch of highway with nothing very interesting to look at outside of various colored road signs begging him to stop and enjoy the best pancakes, the best pie, the biggest hamburger in the world, he didn’t think much of stretching it out instead of just getting home. Dave had given him a list of places he recommended, restaurants and places to stop and have a look around, a little bed and breakfast set on a sprawling farm, but the further Hotch drove, the less he wanted anything more than a locking door and a bed. It didn’t matter where or how nice or what the service was like, he planned only to use the bed. He hadn’t had a real night of sleep in over a week.

After four hours of driving, he found a roadside hotel with a diner attached and called it good. It was barely 2pm, he wasn’t even sure they’d let him check in yet so he wandered into the diner for a cup of tomato soup and some garlic toast. It was the first real meal he’d eaten in days and it hit his stomach like a rock. There was a little sign on the counter as he paid letting him know that hotel check-in began at 3pm and he could take care of that right along with his check, one stop shop – there wouldn’t be anyone in the hotel office until 6. He smiled at that and asked for a room and a piece of chocolate cream pie to go, figuring at the very least if anyone asked whether he treated himself he could at least mention that he’d gotten himself some pie. It was weak but it was something.

The room wasn’t bad, not as bad as he’d been expecting. He and Derek had stayed in worse, being sent out on the road for weeks at a time doing police training and custodial interviews. There were no bells and whistles, nothing that had been updated since about 1975 by his estimation, but it was clean. And quiet. There were no strange sounds, nothing clicking or squealing or rumbling, just the soft white noise of the mini fridge and the heater beneath the window churning out as much dusty warmth as he could make it do. He sat down at the foot of the bed and began the arduous process of forcing his body to bend to his will for the simplest tasks like getting his shoes off. Every joint was stiff, his bones ached, his head was a cement block on his shoulders. He hid it well through sheer force of will but when he was on his own and didn’t need to perform for people who looked to him for guidance, even Derek to some extent, he moved slow and methodical, making room for the long pained breaths as he hinged forward at the hips to untie his shoes and then used his toes to nudge them off. Getting blown up is no joke, he knew that, but every time it happened it seemed to take longer to recover. Of course it was rare he was this close to the explosion; he hadn’t been up close and personal since Adrian Bale in Boston and he was much older now. Things didn’t heal as fast. Or maybe he just paid it more attention now.

Sleep came surprisingly easy once he’d checked the locks, set the heat as high as he could stand it, glanced out the window at the bright blue afternoon sky, at his SUV (not exploding), at the parking lot. Sleep came easy and hit hard. He woke once and cracked an eye open, squinting bleary and foggy until he saw that it was 3am and promptly closed it again. His alarm went off a half-hour before check-out time and his body said no, absolutely not, so he picked up the phone and told the front desk he would be staying another night.

He didn’t wake fully until 4pm, and he woke with no memory of having called the front desk. There was a quick panic in his chest when he saw the time and it didn’t click in his mind that he’d called until he reached for the phone, until his fingertips grazed the beige plastic and then it came back. He’d been asleep, off and on, nearly 24 hours and he still thought he could force himself back under if he really wanted to but he was hungry. No, not hungry, starving. The pie only teased him – it was divine, silky and sweet, a little bitter from the dark chocolate shavings, just the right amount of savory from the fresh whipped cream that had begun to melt and weep over the edges. It just made his stomach growl angrily by the last salty crust crumb, so he grabbed his keys, slipped on his tennis shoes, and made his way back to the diner. It wasn’t until he walked inside that he realized he was wearing nothing but one of Derek’s t-shirts and his sleep rumpled slacks. Luckily for him, he was the only patron in the place. The only other living souls (of the human variety, anyway, he’d seen a few flies in the windowsills and a cat milling around outside the front door waiting for scraps) were the waitress and the cook who looked like they saw their fair share of tired disheveled folks because they didn’t even bat an eye. He sat in the booth at the back, the view of the restaurant stretching out before him, and took in the kitschy charm of the place. There were trophies in a case on display near the metal skeleton of what once had been a small salad bar. Trophies that proclaimed them to be co-ed softball champions year after year after year. He wondered at that; how many teams played? These small towns had a way of feeling invisible, barren, who could possibly live here? But if you looked hard enough, you saw a whole new world. His father had played in a recreational men’s baseball league growing up, sponsored by law firms and restaurants and grocery stores. He and Derek tried to play for the FBI’s rec team, but their schedules made it hard to commit fully. Hotch’s innate ability to get hurt on cases didn’t help either.

“What can I get ya sweetheart? Coffee?? You look like you could use a whole carafe.”

He wanted to say yes – god he wanted coffee so badly, but his body said no. He needed more sleep somehow, this was just a break. “Tea, if you have any. Please.”

“Comin’ right up. You know what you want to eat or need more time?”

“I’d like the tuna melt with potato salad, and a slice of the chocolate cream pie to go.” Yes, he would now be able to proclaim that he’d been truly wild...he’d gotten himself two slices of pie. He was living dangerously.

The tea came as a cute little set – a personal pot full of scalding water, a caddy full of various types of tea, and a little dish of sugar packets. He flipped through the colorful array of tea packets until he found one that didn’t have any caffeine and decided that would have to be good enough. While waiting for his food, he breathed in the astringent, herbal steam as his tea steeped – there was chamomile and vanilla and lavender, not exactly his favorite flavors but if sleep was his goal then sleep he would get. His mind wandered back to New York, back to the street. The silence, the smoke-filled air, how surreal it was and how long it felt he was alone on a whole new planet. He’d seen the footage, watched the way the explosion blew him off of his feet, sent him flying through the air in the shape of a flock of geese, he saw the way his body hit the asphalt and somehow, inexplicably managed to pull himself upright not long after. It looked like something out of a zombie movie, all broken misshapen limbs that work independent of one another, getting upright only to fall back down over and over. He couldn’t remember any of that. He watched himself on the screen going through these motions and had no recollection of it. In fact, the first thing he really remembered was asking Kate to repeat herself. “What?!” he’d asked, like the world suddenly came into focus and his mind returned to his reanimated body. He was doing what he was trained to do, what his body did naturally, he was helping. He responded when people were in trouble whether his head was in the game (or even in the area code) or not.

“Sir?” the waitress’s voice broke through the waking dream and he blinked up at her stupidly. He was doing a lot of that lately, losing full moments in time. Forgetting or just never knowing, they both felt the same. “Sorry for startling you – here’s your food. Can I get you anything else?”

He looked down at his plate and thought about how hungry he was very seriously before deciding. “Could I get a bowl of soup? Whatever your special is today.”

“French onion.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

He managed to eat it all and make his way full and content back to his room. He probably could have eaten more, if he was being honest, but knew he shouldn’t. After a shower and a few answered texts (there were a lot of people who were threatening to come and drag the state of Pennsylvania looking for his mangled corpse if he didn’t answer soon) he fell right back into an easy sleep and didn’t wake until his alarm told him to in the morning.

There was a physical map laid out on his bed while he ate his slice of pie for breakfast and brewed the terrible hotel room coffee. The headache that felt like a scratchy wool blanket stuffed behind his eyes told him he needed some caffeine or he might just die, and by any means necessary became the mantra as he tore into the little foil packet and filled the carafe with water from the bathroom sink. He stared at the map, at the stretch of highway that remained between where he was and where he was going, wondering whether he was going to make another overnight stop or if he’d just get home. He’d missed every sunrise and every sunset since heading out on his own, hadn’t taken a single beautiful picture of something that moved him, he’d just been sleeping. Everyone told him to stretch it out, to feel, to process, to experience and all he could seem to do was lie horizontal with his eyes closed. He would return home after days with nothing to show for it.

Ultimately, he decided to play it by ear. There was a part of him that felt a little reckless, egged on by Strauss’ demand that he tell her exactly when he’d be back or if he was taking an extended leave “as I suggested last week, mind you, Aaron”...he didn’t have the patience for that. He might just drive to Atlantic City and send her a photo of him in a casino. Okay he wouldn’t do that, he hated gambling, but there was a small part of him that found it amusing enough to imagine that it got him through a good fifty miles of driving on that feeling alone.

That first fifty was nice, but the next fifty sent him down a different path entirely. He started to feel sick with grief as he approached the Maryland state line. A song, a wave of nausea, Kate’s voice, the smell of ozone and gasoline. He pulled over and breathed through the worst of it with his hazard lights on, his forehead pressed against the cool leather steering wheel. But he didn’t cry. He realized, as he came through to the other side, that he hadn’t cried yet. Not for Kate, not for himself, not for any of it. Jessica had once told him, after his father died, that he needed to cry. “Force yourself,” she said. “If you’re not sad about your dad, think about something that would really make you sad. You need to cry or you’ll explode. It’s like letting off steam, depressurizing.” He never did find a way to cry for his father, either. He’d cried for Sean, for his little brother growing up without a father and with a shitty older brother who was already too busy with his own life to be anything more than another person breathing down his neck when he made the wrong choices. That cry hadn’t felt good, it wasn’t cathartic, it was exhausting and made him feel sick. It turned out, he didn’t like being depressurized.

He didn’t cry, even after all of that. Even after feeling that painful tightness in his chest, that squeezing in his lungs, the racing of his heart. Even after his eyes burned. He just got back on the road and started driving, passing the last logical turn that could still take him to Atlantic City, leaving that little fantasy in the dust. He headed south now, toward Virginia, toward home. His chest got tighter, until it was hard to breathe and as he passed streets filled with hotels, with beds for him to rest his weary head, he knew for sure it wouldn’t be as idyllic as those first two nights. Something had changed in him there between the first fifty and the second, something had changed at the Maryland state line. Something broke, and now he felt wrong. Being alone was no longer relaxing but almost scary. He’d become somehow vulnerable there on the side of the road, wide open and raw. If he stopped to check in to a hotel he might just burst out in tears and scare the hell out of the poor front desk attendant who did not deserve that during their shift.

He thought about Derek and he drove, put his foot on the gas and pressed his car above the speed limit just enough to make himself believe he’d be there sooner. He’d make it before total breakdown. It was happening whether he wanted it or not, he was just about out of time.

Passing his own apartment, he almost stopped. His eyes were cloudy and red raw, his contacts scraping and moving every time he blinked his salty teary eyes. The crying had begun slowly, just a few tears leaking at the outer corners that he could swipe away and pretend that was it, but then his lashes were wet and the red yellow green of the streetlights caught in the tiny crystal droplets. He really should have stopped but Derek’s house wasn’t that much further. He could make it.

The car came to a full stop not in front of Derek’s house, but in his driveway. He pushed up as close to the motorcycle as he could and got out and away from the SUV as fast as he possibly could. It had become almost suffocating, and he couldn’t bring himself to lock it. Not happening. To push the button on the fob, to hear that sound, it would be absurd. His shoes clicked on the cold sidewalk under the pale early evening moon, he’d made record time and when his fist pounded on Derek’s door it was with such intensity that he felt ashamed. This was the first sunset he’d been awake for in days and he was missing it, laser focused on the task at hand. He pounded urgently, and sucked in one two three chest rattling breaths. Derek was going to fly to the door thinking there was an emergency only to find this shell of a man, pathetic and crying, on his stoop. No emergency, no danger, just a man who can’t figure out how to process his grief like everyone else – it either didn’t exist or he was falling apart and there was no in-between. He was thankful, at the very least, that the second option was rare.

“Aaron,” Derek said, opening his door. Clooney was at his feet immediately, tail wagging, tongue lolling to one side, looking about as dopey as any German Shepherd had a right and Hotch couldn’t help smiling through his tears. Clooney turned his dark eyes up at Hotch and almost seemed to be begging him to pat him on the head, a plea that Hotch couldn’t turn down. He let one hand drop, fingers dragging over fur, scratching at his bony forehead. “I thought you were staying out another night.”

He shook his head, words failing him completely, and practically fell into Derek’s arms the minute they were open to him. Derek wrapped him tight, one hand at his neck, the other behind his shoulders, kissing the warm place behind his ear that smelled like hotel soap and salty tears. Hotch buried his face in Derek’s shoulder, in the scent of onions and garlic, the smell of dinner cooking. The smell of home.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay man...come inside. Dinner’s almost ready, you wanna help me make the biscuits?”

“Sure,” Hotch whispered, swiping at his eyes the minute he was moving forward. Like it had worked before, like wiping them away would stop them. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Derek just laughed and shook his head. For someone so incredibly brilliant, who was so in tune with everyone around him, he could be incredibly thick when it came to introspection. “Uh, I do. The whole last week just came over you. Finally.”

“I suppose.”

“Oh. You suppose. He supposes, you hearin’ this shit?” Derek was talking to Clooney now, walking at a brisk pace toward the kitchen with Clooney on his heels. He was barefoot, in a tank top and basketball shorts, his ball cap backward, warm and relaxed and everything Hotch loved and needed. Hotch stopped and watched them as he stood, gathering himself, stilling his breath, knowing he was home. And that was the only place for him to be. Not Atlantic City telling Strauss where to shove her medical leave paperwork, not out on the road in some nondescript hotel and diner, not some fancy Bed and Breakfast with cocktail hours and sheets that Dave said were among the most luxurious he’d ever slept in. Not commiserating with cows and goats on sprawling idyllic farms, taking pictures of sunsets. This was home. Where Derek was, where Clooney was, where he could call Haley in the morning and ask if he could have Jack for the day. (Of course, she would say. Because she could use a day to herself, and he could use a whole lot of Jack’s little snorting toddler laugh.) Where he could listen to Jessica tell him he needed to cry to release his grief over Kate or ask him if he’d eaten anything, where she could mother him because his own never really had.

“Let me make the biscuits,” Hotch said finally, clearing the thick emotion from his throat. He’d likely spend the rest of the night crying off and on, if the past was any sort of indicator. Once it was open it was hard to close back up. He would smile and cry and eventually find his way through this path of grief, but it wasn’t going to stop him from living his life. And more importantly, it wasn’t going to stop him from saving dinner. “Your biscuits are always like rocks. Go do something else.”

Derek looked at Clooney with a sly grin, like he’d just won something. “You believe this guy? He’s here five minutes and taking over my kitchen.” Clooney let out a little bark and Derek laughed. “Yeah. Okay. He’s right, my biscuits do suck. I’m glad he’s home too. Even if he is an asshole.”

[azucanela]

SKIN DEEP DECEPTION 

PAIRING: TSUKISHIMA KEI X READER [SOULMATE AU]

SUMMARY: In a world where the number of lies your soulmate tells each day is written in your wrist, Y/N has found that her soulmate has two moods. No lies, or dozens at a time. 

WARNINGS:​ CURSE WORDS (WH*RE). ANGST. MILD VIOLENCE. 

WORD COUNT: 4K.

A/N: happy anniversary? marriage? engagement? @bbykutos​​ <3 this is my first time writing an au so pls lmk how i did and uhhh idk i feel like this is bad

HAIKYUU!! MASTERLIST

IN A WORLD FILLED WITH LIES only one person knew when you were really telling the truth. That person being your soulmate. Though it’s not always a lover, that tended to be the most common occurrence when it came to soulmates. The whole point of soulmates had been to have someone perfect for you, though this wasn’t always the case of course. 

Growing up, Y/N had always viewed soulmates as a false ideal, a distant fantasy, though the number on her wrist was confirmation enough that soulmates existed— that didn’t mean they were truly meant to be. 

She’d learnt that the hard way. 

At times, kids would find their soulmates in their first year of school; which normally went either really well or really poorly. Others in high school, college, some mundane moment at a coffee shop or a more dramatic one at one of the biggest moments of their lives. Sometimes it was romantic, other times it was chaotic, or just plain dull. Most of the times finding your soulmate meant catching them in the midst of a lie... several times. Sometimes people found love, an enemy, or... they just found their soulmate.

Y/N wasn’t the only person who’d become rather apathetic towards the whole idea, though there was no denying the small part of her— in the back of her mind, the part she’d tried so hard to bury— that hoped, that wished, that dreamed of a soulmate who cared for her. 

And yet, even her own parents were an example of this false ideal. 

Not that it mattered, seeing as she was yet to meet her soulmate. There was no reason to dwell on it, that had become abundantly clear to Y/N, and yet here she was, allowing her mind to wander as she stared— maybe even glared— at her wrist in class. 

“I need to use the restroom.” 

The word’s pull her out of her daze, eyes rising back up to the board where her teacher stands— smile on her face as she replies, “of course! Go on ahead.” Y/N’s eyes trail over to the student in question, the blonde boy seated beside her, Tsukishima Kei. She was familiar with him seeing as they’d gone to the same middle school. He also happened to be the class’ star pupil due to his stellar intellect.

With a frown, Y/N exhales deeply and looks back down only to come face to face with the number on her wrist having increased by one.

1 lie so far today, huh. 

Most days Y/N had found that the lies didn’t start piling up until the afternoon, other times there were slim to none, and assuming they were in high school as well— what were they lying about. It truly left her baffled at what in the world they could be saying. Aside from this curiosity, the thought of her soulmate returned to the back of her mind as a hand tapped her shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts once more.  

A green haired boy stands beside her— she recognizes him, Yamaguchi Tadashi. They’d been friends in middle school and remained so when they’d entered high school, though they weren’t as close as they used to be, Yamaguchi had tried and failed to keep it that way. 

The bitter memories resurface, though Y/N simply pushes them to the back of her mind alongside all the over thoughts she doesn’t want to address as she turns to Yamaguchi with a smile, “hey Yamaguchi, what’s up?”

He offers her a nervous smile, eyes flickering across the room before returning to her before he replies, “I was wondering if you wanted to be in my group?”

Tilting her head at him, a small laugh escapes Y/N as she asks, “group?”

For a moment Yamaguchi’s brows furrow, though his eyes drift towards her single rolled up sleeve, the number one displayed on it, “oh! We have a group project for the next few weeks.” Comes his response.

“Project...” Y/N mumbles out, eyes scanning the room as she watches people enter clusters of three, talking and writing things down in their journal— even exchanging numbers. “Right.”

She had a feeling that Tsukishima’s sunny disposition hadn’t done them any favors when it came to getting other members to join their group projects. Coupled with Yamaguchi’s need to end all conflict between his friends.

That must be how they ended up here. 

Opening her mouth to speak, Y/N quickly shut it as she searched for the right words, bringing an arm to the back of her neck as she scratched it awkwardly. “I just don’t know if that would be the best idea—”

“If what would be the best idea?” Behind Yamaguchi comes Tsukishima, hands shoved into his pockets as he looks between them.

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Y/N looks away, brows furrowing as memories begin to surface. Seeing as the last time they’d interacted, Tsukishima had elected to use some... crude words. Well, Y/N had expected awkwardness when they inevitably spoke to each other once more, and the fact that he seemed to unfazed left her wanting to wipe the smirk off his face.

Preferably in a violent way.

Yamaguchi seems to answer for her as he replies, “well I was thinking since we need groups of three, Y/N would just join us.” Yamaguchi looks between the pair before saying, “like old times.”

Y/N wants to gag.

Moving to stand, she offers Yamaguchi a tight lipped smile, “I’ll probably join a different group but—”

“There are no other groups.” Tsukishima interrupts, though there’s no emotion in his words, as though he’s simply stating a fact. Because clearly, he doesn’t care. 

Inhaling deeply, Y/N nods slowly, looking between the both of them before saying, “well you both have my number.” The bell rings, and Y/N can’t help but let out a sigh of relief as she continues, “text me about the project whenever.” Before immediately grabbing her bag from beside her desk and swinging it over her shoulder.

Tsukishima is watching as she leaves, a sigh escaping him as he adjusts his glasses before turning to Yamaguchi, “you’ll need to make a group chat.” 

“Why?” He asks, brows furrowing as he pulls at his phone to do so regardless, fingers typing away at the screen.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Tsukishima shrugs, “she has me blocked.”

Yamaguchi pauses his typing, sighing. Though he doesn’t look up at Tsukishima as he replies, “Of course she does— well I would too.” Yamaguchi exhales deeply, “you should apologize to her.” 

It had always been a touchy subject in their friendship, the way that Tsukishima had elected to end— more accurately, ruin — his friendship with Y/N. Though Yamaguchi wasn’t there to hear what he’d said himself, he’d heard it had been pretty bad from others. After all, Tsukishima had received his first, second and third punch to the face that day.

It was deserved. 

“Yeah.” Comes his reply, shoving his hands back into his pockets. 

In an attempt to combat the uncomfortable silence between them, Yamaguchi asks, “so where’d you go?” 

A smirk breaks out on Tsukishima’s face, “not the bathroom that’s for sure.”

THE NEXT TIME TSUKISHIMA KEI TEXTS Y/N, the message actually goes through. For some reason he can’t bring himself to delete the ones that came before, the apologies from a year prior followed by his messages of realization that she had blocked him. 

Maybe it was the fact that his pride had taken a blow or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t want to know if he was forgivable, Tsukishima had never made any attempts to apologize fact to face. 

Actually, that’s a lie, he had. But he had chickened out last minute, the panic flooding his veins as he was faced with a situation almost identical to the one that had gotten him into the mess. Seeing her alongside the very person who had punched him in the face that day— well, the first person who had that is— a broad smile on her face.

And who was he to ruin that. Did he even want to know what she’d say? Would she call him ridiculous, a fool for even thinking an apology could mend anything between him?

Would hearing her voice one more time, even if it was just riddled with insults, be enough for closure? He’d done this to himself Tsukishima was well aware but that didn’t make him any less upset at the fact that he’d lost his best friend. 

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of those memories as he stares at the message, a simple:

hey, it’s tsukishima. 

He was fairly sure that not only had he been blocked he had also had his number deleted, so starting with an introduction seemed right.

we’re meeting at my house tmrw after school. yamaguchi and i have volleyball practice, you can wait for us at the gym or just head over to my house i dont care. 

There are so many implications to the message and they all leave Y/N’s head spinning, or maybe she was reading into it. She wasn’t sure at this point, but it was clear that Tsukishima was well aware that she still had the key to his front door. 

Y/N elected to show up to volleyball practice rather than face his mother alone.

Stepping into the gym, the sound of shows scrapping against the floor, and volleyballs hitting the ground at an almost rapid pace as people moved around the courts just as quickly.

Y/N scrunches up her nose as she’s hit with the smell of sweat, something to be expected in a gym of course, lips pressing together into a straight line as she steps further into the gym and looks to her left. There stands another girl, albeit slightly intimidating but she looked far more approachable than the other people around the gym 

“Excuse me?” 

She turns, brows furrowing slightly at the sight of Y/N before offering her a smile and asking, “hey. How can I help you?”

Smiling back— albeit awkwardly— Y/N replies, “I’m waiting for someone,” Y/N quickly realizes that isn’t much information as she adds, “someone in this club. Actually, two people— that’s beside the point. Is there anywhere I can just sit, until the end?”

Once more her brows furrow, “our practices tend to go on pretty long, especially since some of the boys like extra work and we have a few practice games coming up.” Shaking her head slightly, the girl gestures to the bench beside her, “you can sit here with me, I’m Kiyoko by the way.”

“So who are you waiting for?”

“Oh, uh... Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

Y/N finds herself coming by the gym more often after that day, although it isn’t because she has to walk back to Tsukishima’s house after with him and Yamaguchi, it’s because she finds herself enjoying Kiyoko’s presence. She’s a quiet girl, but she’s rather witty behind the scenes, and certainly and entertaining and fun person. And so were the other boys in the club.

They’d quickly become intrigued by the presence of another girl and—

“Another female manager? Nice!”

“Another manager? Why?”

“Kiyoko are you leaving us!?”

Okay so maybe Y/N had inadvertently joined the Boy’s Volleyball Club, but she really had nothing better to do with her time, much less with all the time she had between school and when the practice ended, allowing Tsukishima to go home with Yamaguchi and Y/N. But it’s not like it wouldn’t be over soon, right? The groups would only last two weeks and then Y/N would be free of her old— or more accurately, ex-friend.

Wrong, the groups became permanent. For the rest of year the students have to use them, for every single group project. Leaving Y/N to dread the class each time she entered due to the burning anticipation of a possible group project. Though Yamaguchi had made several attempts to approach Y/N since their last project ended just a few weeks prior, going as far as ditching Tsukishima entirely to sit with her at lunch some days.

Y/N entertained him, it’s not like she wanted to be rude or anything— not to Yamaguchi that is, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t been the one to randomly explode and call her a variety of... colorful words upon finding her with a friend last year. 

Neither Y/N nor Yamaguchi bring it up of course, how Tsukishima had driven her away with his crude words that she never expected would ever be directed towards her. 

But...

“We’ll be having another group project for the next two weeks!”

The conversation was inevitable. 

Y/N nearly rams her head into her desk as she sighs, eyes drifting upwards towards the ceiling as though that would solve any of her current problems, before looking back to Tsukishima with a rather sarcastic smile that he returns with one of his own. Yamaguchi on the other hand, is waving rather enthusiastically from his seat in the classroom, beaming. 

It’s not like it was a bad group. They got things done, and when grades were returned, they were good. It’s just that Tsukishima was... Tsukishima. And as annoying and rude as he was, Y/N couldn’t help but feel more annoyed with herself because she still couldn’t find it in herself to hate him. 

Backpack slung over her shoulder, Y/N exhales deeply as she looks back at Yamaguchi who remains at his porch, “make sure she gets home safe, Tsukki!”

“That’s really not necessary, Yams.” She assures, giving him a pointed look when Tsukishima turns around with a disinterested shrug. But of course. the boy waves her off, simply shoving her forwards with Tsukki, offering her a thumbs up and a smile. 

Y/N simply turns around and follows Tsukishima with a scowl, quickly moving ahead of him as she tugs her backpack strap tighter onto her shoulder. 

Tsukishima is rolling his eyes as she moves ahead of him, “how am I supposed to stop you from getting kidnapped when you’re a mile ahead of me?” He calls out to her, maintaining his pace. Y/N doesn’t reply, continuing on ahead, “Y/N.” He repeats, “Y/N.” Once more, she ignores him, until she hears his steps pick up behind her, a hand wrapping around her wrist and stopping her movements. 

“Yes Kei?” She exclaims in annoyance, turning back to him. Only for her mouth to gape open as she grimaces, “Tsukishima. I mean.”

He exhales deeply, looking away momentarily before saying, “I’m sorry.”

So, Y/N laughs. “Wow. Tsukishima Kei swallowing his pride to apologize? Impressive.” Tsukishima opens his mouth to reply, only for Y/N to speak first and say, “I hate you.” Before tearing her arm out of his grasp and stepping ahead once more.

Y/N isn’t looking at him as he replies, “no you don’t.”

And Tsukishima would’ve believed had he not looked to his wrist, the number rising with each insult Y/N spewed. Though there was no denying that he deserved it, but that didn’t stop the grimace that came on his face before he asked, “you done?”

WHEN TSUKISHIMA FOUND OUT Y/N WAS HIS SOULMATE, it did not end well. He wasn’t really sure if he had a plan that day, but if he did it went out the window once he saw her with one of her friends from another school. Though Tsukishima had never met the boy in question, it didn’t take long for him to realize that Y/N liked him, whether that was platonic or not it didn’t matter. Because watching her laugh along with him in the convenience store only served as a reminder that there were people better than him.

Tsukishima had never considered himself insecure per se, much less an over thinker or anything of the sort. But the simple fact of the matter was, Y/N didn’t want him, she was stuck with him as his soulmate. 

And though she was blissfully unaware of this fact, why did that need to change? 

Perhaps she could be happier with that boy, with anyone other than him. Tsukishima had known Y/N for years and though he would never admit it, he respected her, he cared for her, long before he’d discovered they were soulmates. And prior to his discovery he’d always found the system idiotic, so why did his mindset have to change?

It was a bitter ideology, and a jealous and foolish reaction that put him in the place he’s in today. Though Tsukishima was fairly sure it only proved his point, that she deserved better, that didn’t make him any more remorseful of their friendship.

He’d nearly told her several times, like the blunt and straightforward person he is, Tsukishima had almost stopped her in the halls of school and simply said— “surprise! We’re soulmates. Sorry about calling you a whore and all, I was just jealous and bitter because I realized there are people out there better for you and somehow you got stuck with me!”

Yeah, that would’ve blown over real well. Tsukishima was fairly sure he would’ve received an addition hit to the face from her and Yamaguchi, again. 

Yamaguchi was not happy when he found out about the convenience store incident. At all. 

Tsukishima couldn’t recount many times when he was scared of Yamaguchi Tadashi, until his fist was flying towards his face. Of course, he laughed it off, wiping the blood from his nose, but that didn’t make it a fun experience by any means. 

Now, Tsukishima was just trying to amend things, slightly. It’s not like Y/N owed him any of her time, and it’s not like she needed to know that they were soulmates.

It would be better off that way for the both of them, or at least, that’s what Tsukishima told himself— much to Yamaguchi’s dismay. The boy had been urging Tsukishima to just tell her the truth, for a while now, to no avail. And when Tsukishima returned to class one day having discovered he would be in a group with her and Yamaguchi, well he couldn’t help but thing Yamaguchi was scheming. 

But looking up to Yamaguchi and Y/N, who are seated at the table of some café Y/N had insisted on coming to, Tsukishima can’t help but think it was worth it.

No, she didn’t need to know. 

And so, against her better judgement, Y/N had allowed things to return to normal. The same weekly hangouts they once had becoming daily because of volleyball practice each day, forcing Yamaguchi, Tsukishima and Y/N together for even longer periods of time. Walks homes becoming progressively longer as they all speak amongst themselves— or more accurately, Y/N and Yamaguchi speak. Then again, Tsukishima had always been more of the quiet kind unless he had something witty to add on.

This revival of friendship meant the return of the late night calls as well, of course. Albeit, most of them filled with a comfortable silence that Y/N finds herself relishing in a she lays in bed, eyes glued to the time shining in the corner of her phone screen.

11:52PM.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N rolls over on her bed, tugging at her sleeve to pull it down and reveal the counter on her wrist. There have been a few lies today, though there hadn’t been any in the past few hours. In recent months the number had been fluctuating more which Y/N found... odd. 

Tsukishima seems to notice her shift in mood, though he doesn’t look up from his work as he asks, “what is it?” When Y/N doesn’t respond, he simply repeats himself, asking, “what’s wrong?

Y/N’s brows furrow as she huffs, bringing her arm back down and pushing herself up on her bed using her elbows before replying, “what do you mean?”

“The dramatic sigh.” Comes his reply, eyes still glued to the page in front of him as the sound of his pen moving against the paper fills his room.

Y/N looks to him on the screen incredulously as she scoffs, “it was not a dramatic sigh.”

A pause on his part as he looks down before replying, “I don’t even think you believe that Y/N.” He responds, rolling his eyes before adjusting his glasses at the bridge of his nose. 

Sometimes Y/N wondered how he’d always been able to do that, read her like a book. Was she truly that predictable? Grimacing, Y/N brushes away the thought, “nothing is wrong?” Her response sounds more like a question, leaving her cringing at her inability to lie.

Tsukishima raises a brow as he dryly responds, “that was convincing.”

Y/N just sighs again, eyes drifting to her wrist once more— the counter now reset to zero as the day starts anew— as she pauses, wondering if the conversation would be worth it. 

“Do you ever think of you soulmate, Tsukishima?”

His pen stops, and if Y/N was looking at the screen rather than her wrist, she would’ve seen the way he straightened in his seat as he replied, “no. I don’t.” He clears his throat, “no point in dwelling on someone I haven’t even met yet.”

Maybe Y/N would’ve replied had the counter not ticked up to 2 as he spoke. 

But it was a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence. 

“So... you haven’t met your soulmate yet?

Another moment of silence before he replies, “no.” With a sigh.

3.

Y/N brings a hand to clasp over her mouth, “you’re kidding me.” A bitter laugh escapes her, “you’re fucking kidding me.” Y/N finds herself inhaling deeply as she attempts to calm herself. “How long have you known?”

Y/N WAS AVOIDING HIM, not that he didn’t deserve it, again. But that didn’t make it any better. Tsukishima found himself frowning as he stared at his eyes pierced into the back of her head, and for the first time he found himself hoping for a group project.

What a change in events. 

Tsukishima was honestly more worried about what Yamaguchi would say once he found out that he and Y/N were fighting again but... that was something to worry about for another time.

“We’ll be having a group project once more today! If you haven’t realized already, this class is oriented around the idea of building you collaborative and social skills.”

Okay, maybe not another time.

Tsukishima can practically hear Y/N’s head fall against her desk, his eyes drifting back to her as the teacher drones on about the requirements of this assignment and how they’ll pick up the rubric once class ends and they can further review it tomorrow. 

Probably because the bell rings almost immediately after. 

Y/N has already shot up from her seat, tugging her back over her shoulder as she beelines for the exit of the class. And for once, Tsukishima finds himself making an effort to keep up with her as he calls out her name, “Y/N, stop.”

This seems to garner Yamaguchi’s attention, who jogs to keep up with the pair as they all exit the classroom, “guys? What’s going on?”

“Everything is fine, Yamaguchi!” Comes Y/N’s response from ahead of them, waving him off. 

Yamaguchi’s brows furrow as he grabs Tsukishima’s wrist only to see that the counter has risen, causing him to look up at Tsukishima when he finally yanks his wrist away. “What did you do?”

Tsukishima looks to him incredulously, “what makes you think I did something?”

Yamaguchi looks to him blankly as he replies, “well Y/N isn’t chasing you through the halls, is she?” He rolls his eyes, jogging to get ahead of the both of them and block their path as he looked to them with furrowed brows, “what is going on guys?”

“Not now, Tadashi, please—”

“Tadashi?”

The group pauses in the empty hallway, most of the other students having left now that the day had ended, and the sound of Tsukishima’s voice is unlike anything Y/N has heard before as she sighs. 

“I wish you had told me, Tsukishima.” Is all she mumbles out, before dragging a hand through her hair and pushing past the both of them, turning the corner of the hall and leaving them alone there.

A/N: gasp :0 yamaguchi? 

[beyscape]

Secrets

Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: “Ransom Drysdale is the father of a child but he doesn’t know it” requested by @evansrogersmarvelcomic​

Word Count: 2010

Warnings: a swear word or two

A/N: No spoilers from the movie! The daughter’s name is Mary, just a lil’ reference to Gifted :’) Also, this has been one of my favourite prompts for a veeery long time, so thanks a lot for the request!

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3

  Ransom Drysdale was a selfish asshole. Everyone who had spent as little as five minutes around him could easily see this. His history with women, the way he felt a trail made of broken hearts and tears wherever he passed through and how he only cared about his own interests were all facts well known to you. Yet still, he wasn’t all bad, you had told your friends when they tried to stop you from a mistake. A mistake, they had called it, going out with Ransom never ended well. You assured them you would be fine, just having some fun with a hot, charismatic guy.

  It was strange, how the conversation with your friends when you told them you were dating Ransom kept playing in your head as you sat on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. The handle of the cabinet dug into your back uncomfortably, but you barely noticed the pain.

Deep down, you had always known that it wouldn’t last. So, the year and a half you spent with Ransom was a surprise to you, as well as those around you. It was an endless repeat of a cycle, dating Ransom. It would start exhilarating, from the breathtaking dates and the way he made you feel, like the only woman on earth. Next phase would be you inevitably being mad him, the fights were passionate and tiring. He was unable to admit that he was wrong, that he was being a complete jerk and paired with your stubborn nature it would take days to end the screaming match. Then would come the angry make up sex, whatever you were fighting about melting away. This cycle repeated for a little less than a year and a half, until you couldn’t take it anymore and broke things up for good.

 That was a month ago.

 Even though it was your decision to end things and knew that it was the best thing to do for the long run, you couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken over the whole thing. Yes, you had known who Ransom was, but that didn’t change the fact that you still secretly hoped things would work out. That he would change. Just as a month passed and you started to feel better, to see clearly why you had to make that decision, it all came crashing down.

  Positive.

  You stared at the small stick between your shaking, cold hands. It was only supposed to soothe your worries as there was no way you were pregnant, just being paranoid, you had comforted yourself at the pharmacy. You were, however, very wrong, you realized with a startling halt as you turned over the three other sticks. All showed the result you dreaded.

  Positive.

  You dropped the stick next to the other ones on the floor, pulling your knees up to rest your head on them. You weren’t ready for this, a child was a huge responsibility, and the father wasn’t even in the picture- you cursed. Not only were you pregnant, you were pregnant with the baby of the one person who was absolutely not supposed to be more than some causal fun. After some hours of sitting in the same position, thinking through every possible outcome, you rose on your feet with determination.

  Many seasons passed since then, and in a blur you were the proud mother of a baby girl who now sat in front of you, playing with blocks of Lego. You watched as the five-year-old grabbed piece after piece to build a rocket, her mop of blonde hair too familiar. One last cruel joke from the man you tried so hard to forget, his daughter looked like a carbon copy of his, so you had to see the little face every day that reminded you of him. Never allowing you to completely forget the time you had spent together all those years ago now.

 You had moved out of the small apartment to a slightly bigger one, needing more space for all the things a baby brings into one’s life. You were still in the same area though, and a part of you was surprised at how well you kept your little secret. Some of your friends expressed their worries about your location, but after some thought you decided it would be too expensive to move over states. And after all, best hiding spots were always in plain sight anyways.

Those close to you knew who your daughter’s father was, but all of them made sure to never utter a word about it. Ransom Drysdale wasn’t really cut out for being a dad, it was just a simple fact. You knew too, and that was exactly why you had decided to keep him in the dark. Nonetheless, there was a part of you who wished one day, long into the future, he would get to meet his daughter.

You didn’t know how soon your wish would come true.

 It was a warm Sunday morning when you noticed you were out of milk and a trip to the grocery store was much needed. Your daughter, Mary, was thrilled at the idea and spent extra time making sure her dress had just the right amount of sparkles on it.

Maybe you had gotten too comfortable over the years, but you no longer felt the fear of running into Ransom every single time you left your house. But, you didn’t exactly hang out in the same circles even before you started dating him and become a mom. And there was also the fact that he most likely would be too busy to visit your local grocery store, instead he would be sleeping in after a night of drinking and maybe even bringing someone back to the whatever hotel he favoured at the moment. You pressed your lips together at that last thought. You had heard of him dating casually, seen pictures of him with different girls at different clubs, it was hard not to hear of Ransom Drysdale even when you did your best to avoid him. You shushed the part of you that was bothered with how fast he had gotten over you.

 “Don’t wander off.” You warned your excited daughter as you rolled the cart around. She gave you a smile, not straying from your side, watching you make progress with the list in your hands. As expected from a five-year-old though, she soon got bored.

 “Mommy,” Mary whined, tugging your hand, “Can I go and get cookies?” you noted the empty isle and the general quietness of the store before giving her a nod. You watched for another second as your daughter moved to the aisle across from you, skipping with the thought of cookies. You returned back to the long list.

–

  Ransom Drysdale took off his sunglasses as he entered the small store, wanting to grab something to snack on before he continued the drive for his grandfather’s house. He grimaced, not looking forward to seeing his family of hot messes, the hangover headache he was nursing not helping the matter at all. He sighed softly, making his way to find some cookies or something, to give him the energy he would need very much so in the coming hours.

  There he noticed a small blonde girl, trying to climb on the lower shelves with one hand reaching up, her tongue was out as she concentrated on her prize. Ransom snorted slightly before grabbing two packages of the chocolate chip cookies the small girl was so focused on getting. She looked up at him, Ransom stopped for a second as two very familiar eyes stared at him. He shook his head, many people had blue eyes.

“You’re gonna fall if you climb shelves.” He stretched out one of the packages. The girl just looked up at him, clearly hesitant. “Take it.” Ransom nodded.

“My mommy says not to talk to strangers, or get candy from them.” She retorted, still eyeing the cookies.

 “Your mommy sounds smart. So, should I put these back, or?” His lips curled a little at the corners as the girl grabbed them out of his hand. She muttered a thank you before running off. Ransom watched as she ran to the woman at the end of the other aisle, he had just turned around to leave when his head snapped back in recognition.

You were just about to cross of the last item when Mary came running with her favourite cookies clutched safely in her arms.

 “Mommy, I couldn’t reach so the nice man helped me.” She said, pointing before placing her precious cookies carefully in the cart. You raised your stare from your daughter’s figure to the man to thank him, and your eyes met with the one person you had been avoiding for the last six years. The can you were just about to place in the cart fell out of your hand, rolling away, sending Mary to catch it.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out, your heart thumping in your chest loudly. Your eyes drifted to Mary who was so unaware of her mother’s panic, and then back to Ransom, standing only a few feet away. He eyed Mary too, the initial surprise in his eyes leaving its place for a stormy look.

 “So how old is she?” He asked, finally looking at you with squinted eyes as he put two and two together.

 “Ransom.” You breathed out and took a step towards him.

 “Answer me, Y/N.”

 “She’ll be six in a couple of months.” You gripped the metal cart, steadying yourself as you didn’t trust your feet.

  “Why the-” he exhaled sharply, his eyes drifting between you and Mary who know looked at him with big eyes that were too damn familiar, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Mommy?” Mary turned to you; her little face twisted with confusion.

“Ransom, please, not now. I,” you sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this one, “I promise I’ll tell you everything. But not now. Give me your phone, I’ll text you.” You babbled, words slipping out of your mouth as your hands shook ever so slightly, you held one out towards him.

“I have your number, if you didn’t change it.” He mumbled, crouching, his eyes never left Mary. You stared at him for a second, dumbfounded, you would think a man like Ransom would delete your number the second you slammed the door as you left, never to return again.

“What’s your name?” Mary’s eyes turned to you, searching your face. Upon seeing your small nod, she took a step towards the man.

“Mary.”

 “Nice to meet you, Mary.”

 You watched the whole thing unfold in front of you, your mouth slightly open. You had imagined this moment for so many times, over and over, yet the gentle expression on Ransom’s face was so… Foreign. Unexpected.

 “Come on, honey.” You scooped Mary up in your arms, unable to watch any more. Your gaze turned to Ransom. “I’ll text you.” You turned, feeling all sorts of emotions dance in your chest as you pushed the cart away with Mary, who turned her head back to where the man was still standing.

 Ransom stood there, watching the woman he had once loved, walk away with his daughter. His daughter. Family dinner would have to wait, as Ransom found it hard to walk away. He was still standing there, watching you place Mary into her car seat, when he felt something new in his heart. He gulped.

 Ransom Drysdale was a selfish asshole, but in that moment, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his daughter.

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

My GOD I suck at titles. Might write a part 2 if anyone’s interested! Also, my inbox is open for requests!

[kominum]

rewatching old sailor moon and thought of like... disgruntled tuxedo mask!corpse but with unrequited love because i’m a glutton for angst

wc: ~2.2k 

warnings: death of a minor character, implicit knowledge of sailor moon lore, modern twist, unedited

please send in ideas you might have that i could write short blurbs for! this was honestly fun to write. 

It’s a scratch he can’t itch. It’s what has him waking up in cold sweats, confused and moderately annoyed that his hard-earned sleep has been so rudely interrupted. He hates the cape, he hates the itchy suit, he abhors the top hat – and the only things he doesn’t really hate are his baton and endless supply of darkened roses.

The first time he transformed, he was half-asleep and struggling to understand why he was speeding down the highway and parking two blocks away from some random back alley. His pain was relatively dulled, which was surprising, and his body suddenly possessed a world of fighting skills that felt foreign yet familiar. All he could recognize was a slightly disheveled woman cursing and just trying her best against some odd form of demon spawn, and before he knew it, he’d thrown down a dark purple rose and engaged in combat. Once said woman found an opening, she took off her headband/tiara, performed a throw that would put professional frisbee players to shame, and the monster disintegrated into dust.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted, body hunched over and hands on his knees. “What the fuck was that?”

“More like who the fuck are you?”

“Fuck if I know,” he muttered and dusted himself off.  

“What’s with your get-up anyways?” She failed to hide her snickering. “You’re 3 decades behind.”

“Do I look like I want to fight in a suit? Plus, you’re fighting in some rendition of a schoolgirl uniform.” Her black thigh-high boots were killer, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.

“You should’ve seen what it was before, but I was able to make some changes. Good heads-up for you and—”

“Sailor Moon, are you okay?!”

Oh. So she’s got a talking cat, too. What in fresh hell was going on? Did he take something? But also—“Your name is Sailor Moon?”

“We’re working on the name change,” she grumbled, bending down to let said feline jump up her arm and settle on her shoulder. “Anyways, uh…thanks. I was kind of in a bind, but I’m usually not I swear. Good timing, I guess?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it.” But she was already in the wind, hopping from roof to roof with no inhibitions, and left him completely dumbfounded.

His silly attire dissolved back into his previous clothing as he ambled back towards his car, thought not exactly at his own will. But he shrugged, slid into the car seat, and dialed the only person he could think of who would readily pick up at this ungodly hour of…2:37AM. That was just the start, and he can’t tell if things went downhill from there.

-

He should backtrack.

He met you almost two years ago at a hospital.

You had been waiting anxiously for your boyfriend to come out of surgery after being in a bad car accident, biting your nails, occasionally pacing back and forth, smoothing your hands worriedly against your jeans, and gnawing your bottom lip to death. It was midday, sometime after lunch, and he’d come in for some routine checkup he can’t remember what for now, and sat a few seats away from you in the tiny hospital coffee shop. He’s no therapist or expert, but he highly doubted that any caffeine would alleviate your anxiety. Yet you sat there with two to-go cups and a granola bar wrapper, and something told him to stick around for now.

He’s never been one for a lot of small talk, but you looked to be about his age and no one else was with you. Tragedy tasted most bitter when alone, and some force of the universe told him to at least say something, anything. So he stuffed his hands into his hoodie and shuffled awkwardly to your table, tentatively asking a, “Hey, uh…is everything okay?”

You’d looked up at him with wild eyes on the verge of tears, heart battering against your chest, and the only intelligible thing that left your mouth was a “Huh?”

And he’d casted a gentle grin, eyes laced with a mixture of pity and concern, and asked again his first question. “My boyfriend’s in surgery. He got in a bad accident. There’s um…roughly two hours left, I think.”

“And you thought coffee would make it better?” He jutted his chin towards your large cups.

“Hot chocolate,” you chuckled. “I’m not keen on torturing myself like that, not now at least.”

“Well, I’ve got an appointment soon but I should be done before his surgery’s over…want me to come check up on you?”

Dumbfounded was the best way to describe your expression, and he was so close to retracting his offer before you gave him one of the most thankful smiles he’d seen in many years. “I’d really appreciate that.”

He nodded. “Sounds good then. Give me a sec.”

At the counter, he paid for another cup of hot chocolate and added in a chocolate chip cookie for good measure before bringing it back to you. “I hear chocolate helps.”

“Thank you, again. Go, don’t want to make you late.”

But an hour and a half later in the waiting area outside surgery, the doctor came out with a solemn expression, and you all but collapsed into the plastic chairs, tears leaking like waterfalls from your eyes. Part of him wanted to bail and go because there wasn’t much he could do, but it wouldn’t be right to leave you to drive home now. He wanted to make sure that you were calmed down, all cried out, and breathing properly so you could at least operate a vehicle safely.

The same unknown force had him offering you his number in case you needed anyone to talk to, yet the conversation sat empty for weeks until curiosity and guilt ate at him. He tapped out a message, deleting it, then another one, more deleting, before he settled on a plain, “It’s the guy from the hospital. I know it’s been a while but…how are you?”

Your reply was almost instantaneous, to which he worried if he’d accidentally woken you up at 4:13AM. First, it’s a casual, “hey, thanks for checking up on me! I’m doing okay,” but he knew better. And the other shoe dropped in the form of a simple, “I miss him.”

It’s a quiet, heartwarming friendship. You know nothing specific about him – he’s incredibly vague on any identifying information. Hell, you’d be willing to bet that the name at the hospital was a fake one. Nevertheless, he’s one of your closest friends. You know he mainly works online, has a lot of trouble sleeping, is chronically ill and has a number of medical conditions, his general disposition and feelings on things, but overall, just wonderfully easy to talk to.

Yet something just feels wrong about falling in love with him. It’s a horrid combination of guilt and disbelief. Are you rebounding? Are you subconsciously searching for your dead ex-boyfriend? Are you so desperate for romantic connections that you’ve twisted yourself into believing you love a man that you’ve seen fewer times than the number of fingers you have?

You come to peace with it when his custom ringtone chimes softly on your nightstand in the middle of the night. Rain or shine, stars or none, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. Nothing has ever woken you up so quickly, not even alarms on interview days. “Hello?”

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Kind of, but it’s fine. What’s up? Wait,” you interrupt yourself and listen carefully to your speaker. “Are you…driving?”

“…yeah.”

“Should I ask from or to where?”

“I…honestly don’t know. Something felt off, felt like I had to get out of my place and just fucking do something. So uh, I drove somewhere and just started driving back home.”

You curl up under your sheets on your side and plug your earbuds into the phone. “Well, did it get rid of whatever you were feeling?”

“I think so? Honestly couldn’t fucking tell you. Still really bizarre to me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you murmur. “Well, feel free to call me whenever you feel like that again.”

“I don’t wanna fuck up your sleep schedule though. Feel like it’ll happen more often than I’d like.”

“How about this – if I don’t pick up, it’ll just be my nice way of saying ‘fuck off, too busy sleeping right now’?”

A soft, deep chuckle warms your chest and cheeks. “Sounds good. So how’ve you been?”

“Well, you know…”

It’s the same night that you think you might have a chance at love again. You fall asleep with his voice weaving stories and tales in your ears and wake up to a message that says, “Wow, didn’t know I was so fucking boring that it made you snore so loud.” The hope that creeps through your veins is dangerous and thrums urgently whenever you get a call or message from him.

And as bright as a star, it all comes crashing down in a firey blaze.

You crash into a girl as mysterious and serenely beautiful as the moon with a talking black cat one afternoon. She exudes a gorgeous amount of confidence in her stance as she protects you from a creature that looks like it’s out of a horror video game, and you can only stare in awe. The cat from before yells instructions at you, throwing what looks like a pen with a red cap on it and you blindly follow them. Your subsequent red heels feel incredibly comfortable and you can’t remember the last time you wore a skirt – but there’s no time to ponder as you push the girl you were admiring out of harm’s way and somehow manage to direct fire at them from your fingertips.

The monster burns and screams in agony before getting hit with what looks like a glowing frisbee. Your savior wipes the dust off her outfit before extending a hand out to you, “Welcome to the club, Sailor Mars.”

Say what now?

“There’s gotta be a better name than that,” is the first thing you say as you get pulled up. She throws her head back and lets out a charmingly obnoxious laugh. “We’ll work on changing it. I can tell we’re gonna be good friends.”

“Her name ended up being a rip-off of my name,” the cat quips and receives a scowl from the supposed plagiarizer. “I’m Luna, and this is Sailor Moon, or Lunaria she says.”

“You gotta admit, that’s cutting it a little close,” you agree and Lunaria flips the bird. “How the fuck am I going to change Sailor Mars? Also, can I do anything about this outfit?”

“We can go shopping tomorrow for sure. Luna and I can fill you on everything and – oh, before I forget, there’s a guy—”

“So it looks like you don’t need my help?”

You freeze in your steps, startled by the familiar baritone approaching you two. He was involved in all this?

“I told you, I don’t need your help—”

“Is she new?”

“Yeah, which means, we really don’t need your help. She’s got actual fire power. Literal fire.”

“That’s pretty fucking cool,” he accepts. “Good to meet you.”

You spot a set of veiny fingers that appears in your peripheral and you tentatively turn in his direction, hoping that your hair will obstruct your face as much as possible. “Same,” your throat manages to squeak out as his warm hand engulfs yours in a firm handshake.

“Get out of here, Corpse,” Lunaria chides and lets go of you to push a finger to his chest.

“I’m only here because you fucking needed saving. Now you’ve got another person dragged in.”

“I told you, I’m not some fucking damsel in distress,” she hisses. The mirth in his visible eye only causes the infuriation to grow and swirl more vigorously in her gut.

You watch the exchange from the sidelines as Corpse’s teasing only increases and provokes Lunaria further, disheartened that you’ve never heard him laugh so much in one exchange before. Dread from deep within your veins begins to freeze around your heart, something so set and undeniable that causes your brain to realize that falling in love with him was a mistake. It was the kind of mistake that would strike you with pain for years and the intense foreshadowing has you spinning on your heel and bounding through an alleyway. Your outfit shifts back to what you’d been wearing before, the characteristic weight of your phone in your back pocket seeming heavier than ever.

You call him that night, holding in a deep breath when the dial tone breaks midway. A rustle, a breath, and then, “Hey what’s up?”

Oh god, you scream to yourself as your heart shatters at the bottom of your chest. His voice, again, cannot be misconstrued as anyone else’s – the inflection, the tone, the volume, everything belonged to him.

And the universe told you then and there that he, undoubtedly, belonged to her.

[plutoswrath]

i’m sorry to annoy you with this again. i just look up to your kpop mixed with astrology content. but lucas’s neptune contact with his mc is going to annoy the shit out of me until this is fixed. the cloudiness that neptune brings to his public image is something that i think possibly fuels these situations further. false accusations and mixed perceptions based off of them is exactly what makes these scandals to continue on and on. and i’m sick of it. both sides ignore what the other is saying and it gets nowhere. neptune, the malefic bastard.

Hello! I saw your recent asks and I appreciate your words regarding my content, thank you so much for the kind words! <3

I will touch on astrolgy under the cut, but before this happens, I want to leave a few words. There's a reason why I didn't answer the previous questions I received (not only yours op) regarding the Lucas situation so far. For several reasons I didn't want to feed into any sort of (perceived) sensationalism in regards to the Lucas situation, even though I'd really love to look at the situation from an astrological point of view. That people are divided on this topic is to be expected, but I think the way it has been handled by majority so far is very bad. I really want to elaborate on my reasoning why we should rethink the way we talk about/represent the Lucas situation right now, but as this topic is very kpop specific everything will be under the cut.

My reasoning for avoiding any questions about it until now:

1. People already don't take the situation seriously enough: Regardless of what your standpoint is, I'd like for people to consider looking at it from a more critical point of view for a second: The allegations are not about him being exposed as ‘just a f-boy’ as some people make it out to be, they are more serious than that. Lucas allegedly manipulated and used these women for his own emotional/sexual/financial needs and ego boost. The fact that he has money and allegedly still used other people to provide financially for him just demonstrates the power play underneath it all. He abused his position of power as an idol, the power dynamics between him and fans who idolize him are plain and simple just completely off. Please think about the fact, that he allegedly decided who to date on at fansigns. This alone gives no security to any fans that want to attend fansigns in the future. TW SV: he also talked one of these women into having sex with him + doing it unprotected, which is not only emotionally/sexually manipulative/coercive and can possibly be traumatic for them but also heightens the risk for transfering STD's as END TW he was supposedly seeing people at the same time/cheating. In general, the behavior he gets accused of leaves trauma and is abuse, to be more specific abuse of power on multiple levels and his social position makes it just easier to continue abusing that power. As you've mentioned yourself op, there is a huge back and forth about the allegations, and I know people like to take situations like the one of Taeyong as an example to justify that not every public apology is real and that allegations turn out to be false years later, but I believe it's different this time and that the allegations that came forward were real. Even his cbar closed, a fanbase that works closely with Label V (!), that alone shows that there is 'at least' some truth to the story, or else his hardcore fanbase wouldn't have decided to turn their back on him in matters of just days. Also, all the 'jokes' and the portrayal of 'juicy gossip' people make about the situation just downplays and ridicules the possible traumatic experiences of the people that were hurt by his actions. If anyone decides to not believe these allegations until SM gives a more specific statement, that's fine, but please do so without making fun of the people who were victims of his behavior, as there is already little to no sympathy for them online. It makes it just way harder for any survivors in the future to speak out on their experience. People say it's 'nothing illegal, just morally wrong' but given the fact that he is also a person in power, the line between 'just' morally wrong and illegal can be very thin in some cases. And please overthink arguments such as: 'this is typical boy behavior for someone in his 20's'/ 'he's just an f-boy' or 'boys will be boys' because they are deeply misogynistic and we shouldn't normalize behavior like that, thus making the root of the problem actually way deeper than most people think.

2. WayV's future: This mainly goes for people who are fans of WayV. I know not everyone probably likes to hear this, but another thing why wild speculations, sensationalism or even possible defence about this situation should be kept on the low is WayV's career. I want to be honest here, but I'm scared for their future, their comeback for october has been cancelled for now and they are put on a hiatus for several months as far as I know. They were on a good path of gaining more and more recognition and establishing themselves even better as a c-pop group, but now Luca's reputation in China (their target audience) is as good as gone and that pulls all of WayV down to rock bottom with him. People really need to try seeing the story out of the eyes of the korean and especially chinese fans as well, their perception of the allegations (especially after the Kris Wu situation!) are way different and more serious than the ones of i-fans and i-fans have to accept that. Also, we all know how companies (especially SM) handle these type of situations: keep the people on the low till the storm has calmed down. But will the storm ever calm down for Lucas when his public image is basically destroyed, and thus WayV as well? What I want people to understand is that this whole situation affects WayV and their career directly, actually on the biggest scale possible. All the work so far is at risk to be for good and I think a lot of fans tend to forget that, things look especially critical for HenXiaoYanKun if WayV would be to continue/redebute/fall apart. It doesn't matter if Lucas talking bad about the members/the companies/shows he works with/for was real or not in the end, because unfortunately damage is already done, WayV's image (WayV= family) is already tarnished and WayV as a group will suffer from this. You summed it up with malefic Neptune the best actually: We all don't know the full confirmed truth about the situation and will most likely never know it. (small astro insight here as well, but part of Neptune is to accept fantasy for what it is: fantasy, and thus turn to cold reality when you're in too deep)

3. What O'd advice the fandom to do right now: Regardless of your opinion on the situation, what we as a fandom can do best right now is staying on the low, wait things out, and stop adding more fire to the situation with our actions and wait how the situation actually developes, since a) we can not fasten the process and b) a lot of rumors, false information and unnecessary details get exposed to mudd the waters and to discredit the statement of the victims as well. I've seen some strong reactions from both sides, but as someone who's a big fan of nct in general I really just want to say that part of the fandom throwing a fit on the internet leads basically to nothing, it actually only reflects even worse on nctzens/weshennies and thus on WayV's (and also NCT as whole) image as well. Things right now are handled internal, not extern. Whatever gets through to the public will be half of the story anyway. A lot of people seem to forget, that we talk about SM and all they care for right now is saving themselves economically (think about the domino effect this situation has on the whole group/company), so we will have to see what their final decision is going to be, if anything will happen at all. For now, be patient, wait and see. Last words: It's okay to feel hurt/confused/angry/drained. Even though most of us are aware that we dont know any celebrity's character, it's still hard to swallow and to digest because you were a fan of that artist. Let it take time and vent. Take a break from it if it gets too much! Talking about it to process your emotions better is okay and very valid, but keep in mind that you should not worsen the situation by doing so - it's already absolute chaos.

Also: This statement is by no means a direct attack to anyone or me trying to push my opinion onto you, just my two cents in how to handle the situation best right now, because our hands are basically tied. Also: agree to disagree. If you don't like that I side with the victims (unless there is an official statement that Lucas is proven not guilty, which I doubt, unfortunately) then so be it, but don't start a war in my inbox for our opinions differing.

-------

Now, to astrology:

Disclaimer: This analysis will not be very light-hearted, but remember that it's just a theory and not me trying to confirm anything!

First of all op, sorry for just answering you know, but I neded some time to think through how to adress this without adding to the fire with my astrological analysis! Boy, does the birth time fit the shoe right now. To be fair as I did my short rising sign analysis about him recently, I cancelled out every other fire rising except for Leo, because I got stuck on the ego part a bit. Anything for me made sense, as long as it highlights his ego, which by itself doesn't have to be a bad thing automatically, but there's always two sides of the coin as we all know.

I looked into the transits the past week and added a few asteroids/mathematical points as well. An anon before pointed to the full moon happening in his tenth house, conjunct his sun, etc. (I deleted the ask because I didn't know what was going on at that time and thought it was just the 'usual' rumors that once in a while get spread around, but after looking more into it I decided this was not the right time to stirr the pot in any kind of way or treat it as funny, hot gos). But yeah a full Moon in Aquarius happening in his 10th house AND on top of that Saturn in Aquarius, conjuncting that Moon and his natal Uranus in the 10th! Talk about destrcution of any stable foundation and a change in a public image! Honestly, looking at astrologically the way his public image just got radically destroyed over night, with Saturn and the Moon having been in a conjunction (in his chart it was in the 10th house) is kinda eery even. Talk about collective consciousness - not only exposing quiet literally the feelings of the collective, but also doing so in the favor of others and gaining collective emotional consciousness. Take this with a grain of salt (!), because we're still in a tense situation, but I'm tapping into the darker, unfriendlier side of astrology now. Taking his confirmed birth time, he has Nessus in Sagittarius in his 8th house and as I saw that I could feel myself shifting into the surprised pikachu face. I am not saying that this prooves the allegations whatsoever, but as you seemed to be very interested in anaylzing the case in-depth as well, the allegations fit his Nessus - jumping from partner to partner, carelessness (regarding physical intimacy as well), making people share all their ressources with him/finacial gain, and basically the whole jist of gaining control/being in a power position in intimate connections. Keep in mind that this is only one interpretation of Nessus though, Nessus can also show the complete opposite to someone 'turning to their dark side'. On top of that, his Nessus was conjunct transit Phollus the past week, so if anything, we can see that a large event triggered him to 'open his eyes' and face anything of an 'obstacle' that hinders him from seeing the 'truth' to a larger picture and his own nature/destiny. Pholus can symbolize change that will alter your perception of the responsibility you have for yourself and others.

But my latest new interest with these two asteroids aside (asteroids just add a little more nuance to a situation after all), I want to touch on Lilith too, since you (op) have mentioned Lilith before in one of your asks!

He has his Lilith exactly conjunct his Descendant when we consider his confirmed birth time. What happened just now can be seen as 'backfiring' of his actions, either Lilith embodying the women who expose him now for his 'inappropriate' behavior, but also simply fans shaming him now for his alleged manipulative/imoral behavior, especially shaming him about who he chose to date and how. Next to that, you've mentioned Lilith opposite Moon and it just makes me think about him possibly feeling very indecisive and potentially in denial about what he actually needs to be fulfilled in order to be emotionally happy and thus leading to him appearing to have this 'second, dark side' to him now. BML is not necessarily opposite the Moon in my opinion, it's just the side of the subconscious we don't really like to deal with and all we're told not to express and desire because it can be conflicting in the eyes of others (thus BML also leading to a lot of recklessness on the negative side). I think if we take the allegations into consideration, regardless of how much of it is true of it, it can be a good example what happens, when an opposition gets out of balance, as it also manifests outwardly a lot! Lilith shows in his 'double life' aka what he allegedly did with fans. Lilith wanted an outlet and found one by working behind the scenes. If we take in his supposed Taurus rising, which his Lilith is in an exact opposition with, it's a good example of what can lurk underneath the surface.

And of course, last but not least, Neptune and Sun conjunct his MC. People are quiet literally blinded by him more than they would like to think. Also: Lucas was always known for his 'flirty & charismatic' nature, this is another reason why people think we shouldn't be surprised he 'turns out to be like that in real life'. I'm not analyzing this argument right now, but what I think is very interesting is how Sun conjunct MC literally ties a good amount of their personality to their career - they want to be accepted and shine for their personality/big part of their individuality. Idols play a role, no matter how transparent they appear to us, but it's really funny how this 'image' of him melts almost seemingly with parts of his personality (almost af if you were to quiet literally sell your self) and as you've mentioned: Neptune only adds to that, unfortunately.

[saintandsinnerwrites]

A/N: Saint and I decided to try to write this prompt collaboratively. (Also somehow I managed to delete the ask so here’s a screenshot lmao) I primarily wrote Jan and she did Rosé. It was a fun way to fill this prompt. Let us know if you enjoyed our little collab 😘 -Sinner

CW: monsterfucking, inhuman anatomy, and blasphemy probably

Blacklist tag cwmonsterfucking if you’d rather sit this one out 💖

-

Jan couldn’t deny there was something strange about the sorority house, but she liked the girls so much that she’d accepted her bid and pledged. Education was now over and it was time for initiation.

Jan did think it was odd that the ritual was one at a time instead of all together as a pledge class, but each night at midnight one of the pledges would go down to the basement alone for their initiation ritual and tonight it was Jan’s turn. She had to admit she was a little nervous.

Denali had been in her pledge class and had been initiated the night before and she’d told Jan not to be scared and just ‘let it happen’, whatever that meant.

Jan was dressed all in white as an angel, complete with wings and a halo, her soon to be full sisters all in black as they prepared Jan for her initiation. She held her big Jackie’s hand, waiting for them to tell her it was time.

When it was, she descended quietly to the basement, not sure what to expect. The whole sorority was upstairs. Surely it was nothing too bad? All the girls were nice and sweet. She couldn’t imagine them doing anything bad to her.

Jan looked around the fairly plain basement. Oddly, the only thing down there was a plush bed. Jan looked under it. Nothing. She sat on the side and waited for something to happen...

Rosé looked on from the shadows when the girl was led downstairs for her initiation. An angel costume, huh? Well that was certainly interesting, and she smirked to herself knowing damn well the other girls did that on purpose. Jan was her name as she had overheard Jan's sorority sisters talking about this very day. She knew Jan had no idea what was about to happen, none of them did. They were just led to the bed to await their fate, but all the girls loved every moment of their little ritual. After a couple minutes Rosé decided to speak to her, but still stayed cloaked in the darkness. “Are you excited about your initiation? Anxious? Curious?"

Jan jumped at little at the unexpected voice and then gasped at the owner of the voice. The... creature? Beast? Devil? was completely red, furry in parts with hair horns, large inhuman ears, and long nails or claws, but a still rather humanoid appearance.

Jan was surprised, but the creature was smiling at her. She was pretty, with a curvy figure and a handsome face. “Very curious. Are you the one initiating me?” She had wondered who would do the actual ritual with the whole sorority upstairs. “Who are you?”

"I am." Rosé chuckled, mainly to herself. Bless this girl. She was so fucking cute. “I'm the Devil, baby. But you can call me Rosé"

Maybe it was the years of Catholic schooling but Jan just stared at her. She was so humanoid it occurred to Jan, a theater kid herself, that this was probably an actress in a costume. “The Devil huh? You don’t look like The Devil. The one and only?”

"Tell me, what exactly do you expect the Devil to look like?"

“The most beautiful of God’s angels, Lucifer Morningstar, who became Satan himself, The Devil. You are not he?” Jan looked at her skeptically. “I would have paid a lot more attention in religious studies if the devil had looked like you.”

"I am going to stop you right there at 'he'. God, nor I, the Devil, are men or male presenting at all. But we all know the human men writing everything down hated women, so here we are. With yet another inaccurate portrayal of the divine and the damned. Though, I don't consider myself damned in any way, just a hedonist, babe."

Jan frowned. “Is this part of the initiation ritual?” This actress was really into this role...

"I like to correct those who still believe the falsehoods those so-called churches taught them. But no, it's not. The initiation ritual is much more physical."

“Physical?” Jan stood up. She was a cheerleader and a soccer player. She could do physical. “What do I do?”

Rosé walked over to her and pulled her close, "I can tell you're curious about me. Touch me."

Jan couldn’t lie. She was very curious about this devil. “Your costume and prosthetics are incredible.” She very gently stroked an ear, not expecting it to be warm and responsive to her touch. “Oh!”

"That's because it's not a costume, baby," she said with a chuckle. "Also, it's quite appropriate that you're dressed as an angel. Or maybe it's inappropriate, considering the circumstances."

“Inappropriate?” She asked quizzically. She was starting to wonder if this wasn’t a costume. “What do you mean?”

"Do you realize what being dressed up as an angel means for this initiation?"

“...isn’t everyone?” She hadn’t seen Denali dressed as an angel yesterday. But like her she’d likely arrived in just her white dress.

"No, lovely, only virgins are dressed as angels," Rosé purred.

Jan assumed that was part of the initiation, not realizing fully what Rosé meant. “Oh is that why full sisters wear black? They get ‘devirginized’?” She made air quotes.

"Essentially, yeah, it mainly signifies that their ritual is already complete, but no longer being a virgin is just part of the territory," Rosé explained, tipping Jan's head up to face her. "Do you get what I'm saying, darling?"

Jan studied her eyes and then realized. She blushed deeply. “Oh!”

Rosé pulled Jan into her lap and pressed a kiss to her cheek, "I'll make it good for you, baby. I've always made every single girl I've been with cum fucking hard. I'd never hurt you, I'm only about pleasure."

Jan blushed deeper. “I’ve never even been kissed before,” she admitted.

Her brows rose, "Never? You're too cute to have never been kissed."

Jan blushed. “I went to Catholic school my whole life. This year is the first year I’ve ever been away from home. And I just don’t like any of the boys here?” She blushed. “I’ve never liked a boy actually. Any boy.” She blushed deeper. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” But Jan did feel safe and comfortable around Rosé...

"You're in luck, baby, because this entire sorority is a bunch of lesbians," she cackled. "But I am glad you're opening up to me, I don't like to fuck anyone who I don't get to know at least a little bit."

Rosé gently tilted her head up to look at her again and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She wanted to rectify the little issue of Jan never being kissed immediately. Her lips were soft and sweet and Rosé knew that kissing her would be blissful each and every time. She understood why Jan wasn't allowed to have any sort of sexual experience, but it was still a travesty in her eyes.

She loved that Jan was getting more comfortable around her, and more comfortable with intimacy in general, but she would still take it slower with her. At least until Jan asked for more, and not to be a little cocky, but Rosé knew that once they got into it, she would absolutely be begging for more.

"Tell me what you want, baby~"

Jan stared at her wide-eyed and innocent. “I don’t know what I want. Isn’t it a set ritual?”

"Right. Catholic," Rosé snickered. "And no, certainly not. The ritual is individualized. Here, let me show you."

She carefully pushed her back onto the plush bed, running her hands down her body. When she trailed them back up, she pushed her dress up with her. Leaning down over her, she pressed more kisses to her jaw and down her neck. She still took it slow, looking for any cues of hesitation, but found that Jan was giving her none thus far.

Jan wore simple white cotton panties under her dress. She certainly hadn’t expected for anyone to see them. But she didn’t feel shame, only curiosity about what Rosé was going to do to initiate her. Her nipples felt sensitive and she felt a heat in her lower belly. This was all so new and unexpected.

Rosé gave her another kiss, one that was deeper, this time pushing her tongue into her mouth with a little more force. Her fingers found their way between her legs, rubbing at her through her panties. Little by little she would bring Jan's arousal forth, making her soaking wet and fucking needy for her.

Jan gasped, knowing this was naughty, taboo and forbidden. Was she going to Hell for this? Absolutely. But Jan didn’t care. It felt so good. It didn’t take long at all for her to feel things she’d never felt before and didn’t fully understand, but she knew that she needed Rosé to keep going and give her more. “Please...” she whimpered. “Please.”

"You're so cute," Rosé chuckled against Jan's skin before she sucked on her neck. She kept rubbing at her, but now her fingers were against flesh and she could feel just how wet Jan was getting. With claws retracted, she pushed one of them inside the blushing girl beneath her. Slowly she'd prepare her, make sure she was fully worked open so she would have an amazing first experience.

Jan gasped as her fingers slid inside. She’d expected them to be sharp, as she’d seen her claws, but they weren’t. There were so many new good sensations going on Jan couldn’t process them all. She bared her neck, surrendering to the experience. Denali had told her to just let it happen and finally she knew what she meant. She whimpered. “Rosé! Please! I need more.”

"Well, someone's getting into it~ But that's okay, I love that you are." She slid another finger into her, fingering her faster and a little harder, maybe she'd make her come on her fingers first. Having a multiple orgasms never hurt anyone.

Jan gripped her furry shoulders. “Please! It feels so good!” Her hips rocked against the fingers inside her, eagerly chasing after her own pleasure. “I never knew it was this amazing.”

"You never got the chance to experience it," Rosé purred in her ear. She worked her deeper, faster, loving that she was chasing her own pleasure at this point. The poor girl deserved it. She also assumed that she had never touched herself so this was the first time she experienced any sort of pleasure like this.

Jan was losing her mind. Why had she be warned away from this for so long? Thank goodness she had great core muscles so she could rock herself onto Rosé’s fingers, because she was desperate for more at this point. “Rosé!!”

"Do you think you can handle a third finger, baby~?" she asked, wanting to be sure before she gave her more.

Jan nodded. “Please! I’ll take anything you give me.”

"Let's just keep it to my fingers for right now, babe." She did add a third one though, knowing that Jan really could take it. She was so wet and so needy, she was well aware Jan's body craved this so fucking badly and Rosé was going to be the one to give it to her.

Jan had never felt like this before. She clung to Rosé like her life depended on it. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the feeling.

Rosé could see that she had reached that intense climax. She fingerfucked her through it until her body slumped back down onto the pillows beneath her signaling that she was fully spent from her first orgasm. Rosé wasn't going to go right into the next one, instead she wanted Jan to come down from this one and relax for a moment. She has never had these sorts of experiences before, and Rosé did not want to overload her.

"Are you doing all right?"

It took Jan a second to regain control enough to nod. Her breathing was ragged, but she’d never felt better.

Rosé pulled her fingers out of her and licked them clean before wiping them off on the sheets. "I take it you enjoyed that~"

She nodded. “I never realized it was like that.”

"Well, now you know, love~"

Jan bit her lip. She wondered if that was it, her initiation complete. She kinda hoped there was more.

She stroked a furry shoulder tenderly. “I do... but I feel like there’s so much more I don’t know...”

"I'm not done with you yet, I just don't want it to be too much at once."

“I’m ready for more, even if I don’t know what that is. Please, Rosé. Will you show me?”

"I love how eager you are now," she murmured against her lips before kissing her. "I'll definitely show you."

Rosé sat up and pulled Jan's panties off. She unlaced he dress and let it fall off her so that she was completely naked beneath her. Gently, she caressed her skin, running her fingers between her breasts right down to her pelvis. Goddamn, she was so gorgeous, she could get lost just touching her, kissing her, so much so that she had to pull herself back down to earth for a second. She didn't want Jan to feel exposed though, and it was only fair that she get rid of her own clothing too. Her garment had a long, full body zipper making it easy to take it off.

Jan hadn’t realized how much of that was clothing as the devil was suddenly naked before her. Jan gently reached out and touched her, like Rosé had done to her. “You’re stunning...”

"Yeah~? Tell me something I don't know, babe." She laughed, "Thank you though, I'm glad you think so. You are too, absolutely fucking gorgeous. I can't wait to ravish you, to have you moaning and mewling underneath me."

Jan blushed, her thighs rubbing together shyly. “May I ask, is it true that if you don’t put it in... the front it doesn’t count?”

Rosé was so taken aback by that question, but didn't show it on her face. God, these poor humans really were fucked when it came to, well, fucking. She hated how taboo sex was in the mortal realm, all because of how virginity was basically worshipped in her adversary's religion. It irked her to no end, because most humans wanted to engage in sex and they deserved to have actual education on the subject so they can keep their sex lives fun and safe.

"That is absolutely false. Anal sex is sex, and it counts. That is just a stupid ploy perpetuated by stupid boys who want girls to sleep with them. It can be pleasurable when done correctly, but for your first time it will feel so much better right here," she said as she slid her fingers down between her legs.

Jan blushed. “Sorry it’s all just so new to me. But I trust you. And I want you.”

"You don't have to apologize, lovely." She kissed her again. "Also, tell me if anything gets too intense, okay. I don't want you to think you don't have a say in your own pleasure."

Jan nodded. “Thank you. Shall we get started?” She didn’t know how to do it but she trusted Rosé.

"Of course, love~ But I will warn you, my anatomy is not the same as yours, or any human's honestly. I mean, I can mimic it to be that way, but normally it's like this," she said, letting her tentadick come forth and rub against her.

Jan gasped. “Oh!” She hadn’t expected it to be able to stroke her on its own. Did men have that in their pants too?? She bit her lip. “Will I... will I get pregnant?”

"No, babe, I'll make sure of that. Magick and all. And to answer your other question, because I know you're thinking it, no men don't have this," she told her with a smug smirk. As if a man could live up to what she was about to give her.

Jan blushed. “You can read my mind?”

"No, not really, but I just knew you were thinking about that." She chuckled a little as she continued to tease Jan. Still rubbing at her, wanting her to be a whining, desperate mess before pushing inside.

"How much do you want this, baby?"

Jan blushed. “Oh.” She rocked her hips, loving how it felt at her entrance. “I want it so badly,” she purred. “I’ve never felt this good before.”

"That's my girl."

Rosé started to enter her inch by inch, making sure she was okay as she gave her shallow thrusts at first. She wanted to make sure Jan could take it before going deeper. Rosé could tell that Jan was already completely hers, and she couldn't help but to let that go to her ego, just a little bit.

"Goddamn you feel so good."

Jan scooted down so that Rosé could get deeper into her, so eager for it all. She felt... full but in the best way possible, loving the sensations of Rosé pushing inside her slowly. “Ohhh you do too!”

Rosé's movements started to quicken, and she gave it to her somewhat rougher, still being careful of the fact that this was her first time. Of course, Jan was doing nothing but moaning her head off and Rosé took that as a sign to keep going, increasing her pace little by little. "I've heard you're quite the vocalist~ Let's see how loud I can make you sing."

Jan wasn’t ashamed of the sounds she made, didn’t even know that was a thing most people would be ashamed of. As an athlete and a singer, Jan had excellent lung capacity and vocal abilities. “You want me to sing for you?” She asked breathily, so caught up in the pleasure of it all.

"I mean, I'm going to make you sing regardless."

Rosé grabbed her hips and started to fuck her hard now that she was worked open and oh so willing to take it all. Watching Jan's eyelids flutter closed, her mouth open with such sweet sounds coming from it, along with her nice tits bouncing with each thrust made Rosé love this even more. She wasn't sure what to expect with Jan being so closed off from sex, and so innocent at first, but now? Now, she was sure she'd end up like Denali and Mik.

Jan raised her hips up to meet Rosé’s thrusts, gripping the blankets as she moaned loudly, trying to sing for Rosé just like she wanted, enjoying every second of it all. Jan vaguely wondered if her sisters above could hear her singing out for the demon.

Rosé reached between her legs and started to rub at her, "I want you to cum for me, baby. I want you to cum fucking hard.”

Jan whimpered. She was close but she wanted more. Jan chased Rosé’s touch, crying out loudly as she squirted.

Rosé grabbed her hips and fucked her through it, groaning as she chased her pleasure this time. She'd make her cum again, she'd make her cum three, four times before the night was through at this rate. She knew she was overly sensitive now and it would be so easy to destroy her completely.

Jan gripped her shoulders, clinging to her, desperate for more. She wouldn’t mind if the Devil turned her over and switched so she could take her from behind. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind whatever Rosé wanted to do to her. She was so utterly hers.

Rosé leaned down and murmured in her ear, "Do you want more, baby~?"

“So much more,” Jan panted. She was energized and greedy for more. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Rosé knew that all the other girls loved it when she turned them over and fucked their brains out, and so she'd do the same for the cute little Catholic girl who just lost her virginity to the Devil herself. That in and of itself was hot as fuck. She pulled out and flipped her over before sliding back in all the way to the hilt.

"Fuck~" Rosé moaned.

Her lips found her neck, kissing the warm skin and giving Jan a little love bite there, just something to remember her by after the fact. She kissed down her shoulder blade and took in all her cute sounds she was making at all the touches and kisses. Rosé sat back up, grabbed her hips and continued to ruin her, able to fuck her even deeper now.

"Fucking take it, take everything I give you. I know you love it, you little slut~”

Jan moaned her pretty little head off, absolutely loving this new position. “Give me everything, please! I’m yours! I’m your little slut!”

"Damn right you are, you and all your sisters love my big cock inside your tight little cunts," she cackled, giving Jan a spank. "Did those uptight nuns ever spank your cute ass with their rulers?"

Jan blushed. “No, I was a good girl.”

"I'm not even surprised by that, you've been such a good girl for me too~"

“I wanna be the best,” she admitted.

"The competitive type then, I take it?" Rosé chuckled.

“I played soccer for years,” she confirmed. “I always like to win. I have to be the best.”

Rosé couldn't help but to snicker a little, oh playing on her competitive nature would be fun. But perhaps another time, for now she just wanted her to feel good and cum as many times before she was completely exhausted.

Jan had to wonder if Denali had been like this too, as her sister was just as competitive as she was. But she didn’t really want to think about her right now when she had this lovely devil absolutely destroying her in the best way.

“Harder, please!”

She grabbed the back of Jan's neck and shoved her face into the pillows as she fucked even harder, not holding back. She knew at this point Jan wanted every single thing she had to give and that she could take it. It was cute how Jan went from blushing virgin who had never even been kissed to a moaning little slut wanting the devil's cock to destroy her pussy. It was a wonderful turn of events.

Jan didn’t stop to think about anything but the pleasure of the moment. She’d never realized sex could be like this. Why had she been denied this for so long? She didn’t want to give this up.

“Are you only around for initiations?” she inquired.

Rosé snickered, "No, baby, I can fuck you whenever you want~ Well, as long as someone else doesn't have me already."

Jan pouted. She definitely needed to be the best now. She pushed herself back into Rosé thrusts, trying to get her as deep as possible. “But I need you,” she moaned.

Rosé knew damn well that little quip would bring out her competitive nature. She had to wonder if Jan and Denali would try to compete for her tentadick, that would be amusing to say the least. "Don't worry, baby, if you really think that I can't satisfy you and all your sorority sisters, then you don't know me at all."

“Oh I have no doubts you can satisfy me. Or anyone lucky enough to share your bed.” Jan just wanted it to be her all the time.

"Is someone feeling a little selfish? A little envious~? A little lustful?" she purred in her ear. "That's cute~ Give in to all those feelings, baby."

Jan knew this was a sin... many sins actually, but she didn’t care. She needed Rosé to want her as badly as she wanted her. “Yes. I want you so badly. I don’t want to have to give you up. I wanna keep going as long as I physically can.”

"I can go all night, darling, and you know I will give in to any temptation~" Rosé purred. And she would, she'd give it to her as long as she could stand it, but she knew that Jan was getting to the point of exhaustion just by the energy that vibrated around her.

Jan kept giving it her all, trying to impress the demon with how much she could get it, but she was definitely tired. She’d cum... five times? six? She’d lost count. But she wanted to be the one the demon came to. This was the demon she’d cling to. She’d made her choice. “Rosé!” she cried out.

Rosé had held off long enough and she was full on animalistic, and she grabbed Jan's hips and fucked her hard until she came just as hard inside her. She fucked her through her orgasm until she was completely spent. "Fuck... goddamn that sweet cunt of yours was amazing."

Jan panted, utterly spent. She’d cum so hard when the demon did that she barely registered the words and could only moan in affirmation. She reached for Rosé, for her hand, for some kind of affirmation that she’d done well.

Rosé pressed a kiss to the back of her head and murmured in her ear, "You were wonderful, babe~"

Jan attempted to turn around but she couldn’t quite manage. She just wanted to face the demon and be held by her for a bit.

She pulled out of her and laid down beside her, pulling her close and giving her a kiss on the forehead. Despite who she was, she sure as fuck wasn't going to leave a girl alone with no aftercare. After all, she was a hedonist, she wasn't evil.

Jan snuggled closer, kissing the crook of Rosé’s neck where she’d curled into. She needed the closeness.

"You doing okay babe?"

Jan nodded. “I just need you to hold me for a bit...”

"Of course, lovely. I'm not just going to leave you."

Jan smiled. “That was...” she didn’t quite have the words for it but she offered a soft smile. It was incredible, pleasurable, and so much more than Jan had ever expected it to be. She hadn’t anticipated losing her virginity to a demon... but that was something she’d have to come to terms with later. Right now she just wanted to cuddle.

"Mmm, just rest, baby." Rosé kissed her forehead and trailed her fingers through her hair. She knew this was a lot for the girl, the sexually repressed Catholic virgin at that. Rosé didn't see it as a ruining, she saw it as an awakening. She always thought it was unfortunate that so many women don't have amazing sex, that they settle for mediocre, or even bad sex, that they don't know how to ask for it, or to pleasure themselves. She also hated the fact that so many women didn't get the aftercare they needed after intense sex, but that is exactly why she wanted to open the eyes of these women.

Jan drifted off, feeling safe and cherished in the arms of the demon.

Rosé pressed another kiss to her forehead, letting her rest against her, knowing that she was exhausted after that rigorous session. She was glad that Jan got to experience this, and that she enjoyed it as much as she did. She also couldn't help but to be a little smug about being Jan's first...

Upstairs they got the signal that Jan’s initiation was complete. Denali went with Jackie to go fetch Jan and tuck her in. They took her upstairs and got her into her bed.

Denali climbed in with her and held her close. “I’ll stay with her, Jackie.” Denali couldn’t wait to hear all about Jan’s first time, especially since they’d heard her singing. The story was bound to be good.

[forever-rogue]

Agent Whiskey is given a target, but when he gets close to her, he realizes she's innocent of what she's being accused of.

I hope you all enjoy, my little honey bees!

»»————-　♡　————-««

Whiskey never really questioned the assignments, or the targets he was given. He knew the jobs he was assigned were given to him for a reason; because he was capable of carrying out almost any mission with adept precision. 

But as soon as he was spotted you, he was taken aback. You didn’t fit the normal picture of the targets he pursued…no, you were much different. Normal. But not in a bad way by any means. In fact, you were downright breathtaking, but so very not what he expected. You didn’t look like you were any sort of expert smuggler meets cat-burglar. But he supposed that the information and sources he was given had to be correct, surely they wouldn’t royally mess up and get their information screwed up, right?

In reality, which Whiskey would soon find out for himself, you were anything but what you were made out to be. In fact, you were a simple school teacher, enthralling a class of young children day in and day out. You just happened to look almost exactly the same as a wanted woman, who was a criminal. Talk about a bad time to have a doppelganger. 

But you weren’t privy to any of that information, at least not yet. Naturally, you didn’t question anything when Whiskey made his first appearance, catching you by yourself at the bar a girls’ night out as you tried to order another round of drinks.

“Why, do my eyes deceive me, or have I just seen an angel?” it was the warm southern drawl that first captured your attention, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the man as he leaned against the counter and watched you intently with honeyed eyes. A smile was playing on his lips as you tried to flag down the overwhelmed looking bartender.

“I think you should get your eyes checked,” you playfully rolled your eyes, trying to fight off the flush that was crossing your features. 

“Why I think they’re working just fine,” his tongue darted out and wet his full lips as you tried to keep it together. He was…hot to say the least, but not in a typical way. More so in older southern gentleman that you should try to avoid way, “may I buy you a drink?”

“I’m…ugh, actually here with some friends,” you beckoned behind you where your girlfriends were already staring holes into your back. They had spotted Jack approaching you long before you were aware of it. Naturally they would have no problem with you getting a drink from a handsome stranger. They were firmly in the ‘finally get you laid again’ squad, and any good looking man that approached you was a welcome sight.

“Somehow I get the feeling that they would be okay with you getting a drink,” he held up his hand and waved at your friends. You tried around and found them all giggling wildly. You narrowed your eyes at them but they just silently mouthed their approval, “unless I’m getting that old and reading the room incorrectly?”

“I don’t think you are,” you agreed with a small, nervous smile. Holy shit. Was this actually going to happen? You turned to him and tried to keep calm, “I guess I’ll take you up on that drink.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Old fashioned,” you replied as he effortlessly flagged down the bartender and placed your orders. Of course he’d have no problem getting service right away.

Jack was surprised that his plan was working so effortlessly. He was formulaic in his approach, much like he was in every aspect of his life, but he almost expected you to put up a fight. Surely, a career criminal wouldn’t fall prey so easy to him? But you did. You fell right into his lap…and after a few drinks you fell right into his bed.

That was something neither of you fought very hard.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next couple of weeks included a lot of Jack “accidentally” falling into your life. He happened to be in a lot of places you were at, and while you thought it was mildly suspicious, you decided not to question it took much. Maybe life was giving you a break and finally putting a decent man into your life.

Meanwhile, Jack was confused beyond all heavens as to why he hadn’t managed to extract a single piece of evidence or anything incriminating from you. You were that good. But the thing that surprised him even more was the fact that he found himself falling for you. Fast. Hard. Unconditionally.

He was sure it was going to be a hell of a time in once he learned of your secrets.

So imagine his surprise, after weeks and weeks of wooing you when he got a phone call from the Statesman headquarters while you were out at a fancy dinner.

Jack groaned when his phone went off, and told you it was work and wanted to brush it off, but you insisted he take it. You knew he had an important job, although you weren’t privy of any real details. Obviously.

“Go on,” you smiled at him, “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“I promise it’ll be a few minutes, baby,” he leaned over and kissed your cheek before standing up and answering his phone, making his way to step outside of the crowded restaurant.

“What?!” he almost shouted as he answered the phone, surprising Champ on the other end with his brashness.

“Whiskey,” Champ started and Jack could tell something was off, “I’ve got some bad news.”

“What the hell is it?”

“The woman you’re with?” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “she’s not the mark. Turns out she really is just a plain old schoolteacher.”

You were anything but a plain old school teacher in his heart.

“What on God’s green earth are you on about?” Jack growled, more confused than ever.

“The real mark has been on the move. The one you’ve been with, Y/N, apparently is just an exact duplicate,” Jack could barely believe what Champ was saying, “you’ve been with the wrong person this whole time. Intel was incorrect. You’ve got to get out tonight and go after the real one. She’s planning a heist tomorrow.”

“Champ, I cannot just up and leave,” he stated firmly as Champ scoffed at him, “it’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is. Just make up an excuse and leave.”

“No.”

“Oh shit, Whiskey, you got it bad for her, don’t you?” when Jack remained silent, he had answer, “it’s all been a lie, Whiskey. Do you really think she’s going to want to be with you when everything started off as a lie? Doesn’t bode well for a relationship.”

“My feelings for her are true, and real-”

“But is she going to believe that?”

“Maybe I don’t have to tell her…”

“So you’ll just keep living a lie?” Jack kicked the wall in anger. He had no clue what to do, “look I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, but you need to leave and fast. Your job requires it.”

“But-”

“No buts. You’re expected back at headquarters tonight for a new debriefing,” the line went dead before Jack could say anything else. He felt like he could cry. How was he just supposed to leave you after he had fallen in love with you?

He looked back in through one of the windows, easily spotting you inside. You looked beautiful; a sweet, soft smile on your face, a stunning dress on. Perfect.

How could he ever tell you that this whole thing, whatever you wanted to call your relationship, had started off as a lie? He could never break your heart like that. He’d never forgive himself.

Instead, he tucked his phone back into his pocket, and walked around to the front of the restaurant, hoping you didn’t see him. He hailed a cab and gave it directions to the back to the Statesman headquarters. He deleted your contact information, every single text message, every single photo of your hoping it would help. It didn’t. It never did.

Meanwhile you sat there and waited. And waited. And waited. And-

Eventually you realized something had changed. You threw some bills on the table before leaving, trying to the stop the tears from flooding down your face. It never worked. So you cried. For a long time, hoping that he might somehow come back to you.

But he never did.

[dulcaet]

paint my heart | yoongi

synopsis. you should have known that, over time, paint crumbles, and that time spare no one, not even the colors adorning your heart. 

pairing. yoongi | reader  genre. angst word count. 2,043 warnings. none

initially, there had been only an immensity of white. a simple, but gigantic, empty canvas ready to be offered to those wishing to add to it the most beautiful colors that existed. 

the life you lived was lulled by neutral feelings; your smiles were real but not bright, your eyes lit but not sparkling. the days were passing by, some slowly, others more quickly. they were chaining each other to the rhythm of the clock hands in your kitchen. the work you had managed to get was perfectly supporting you financially and you took great pleasure in learning what the profession of a sound engineer consisted of. everything was fine. but everything could be better. and everything would become soon. unfortunately, you didn’t know that yet.

you'd never consider your life boring, but sometimes monotony could be hard to bear. it, who always stood behind you, like your shadow, to remind you of the lack of laughter, smiles, adventure in an empty, gray life.

weeks, and months passed, that infinity of white still painting your mind. no painter had put his brush on your canvas, not coloring it with pearly, colorful hues, which would form the most beautiful of the artwork: that of a fulfilling life.

then, suddenly, there was an infinite number of colors. a palette covered with paintings all different from each other. blue. green. yellow. red. purple. one had been searched for the most beautiful pigments in the world, carefully making from them colors that all the greatest painters could have envied.

it had started as a normal day, a day tinted in white. you had stopped in the break room to drink your coffee before climbed to the third floor to reach the studio where your superior was waiting for you. the habit having taken over the rest, you had not knocked, judging that your arrival had already been announced a few seconds earlier by a message from your part.

maybe you should have.

“i’m really sorry, i didn’t think this studio would be busy!”

nervousness had taken hold of your heart, dragging it into a frantic waltz. a man sitting on a sofa whose upper body was leaning towards the coffee table had turned to the door squeaking. a pen in the hand, fingers stained with ink, glasses placed on the nose. this face, no, this portrait perfectly drawn by the hand of the most talented painters, you had seen and seen it again. on social media, in advertisements, on youtube. not a day had passed without you noticing this face so beautifully carved.

and he had been standing in front of your astonished face.

he had smiled with all the kindness present in the world and had looked at the time on his watch before apologizing for exceeding the scheduled hour.

“hello.”

“hello.”

this exact moment was your first meeting with min yoongi. the first of dozens of others.

a smile drawn on your two faces, fingers intertwined, the streets of capital had never looked so pretty. the yellow of the streetlights, the orange of the car flashers, the red of the store signs. the moon at its highest point reflected your candid faces, illuminating it in white and pastel blue. she was watching you, smiling at this birth of love.

adoration was a feeling whose aura could almost be seen as powerful as it was. these heartbeats rhythmed in unison, these candid laughs, all these little special touches reinforced the beauty of the idyllic picture that was painting in front of the moon’s eyes.

“yoongi, look!”

one hand holding your straw hat so it wouldn’t fly away, the other pointing to a multi-colored bird on a tree branch whose leaves were colored with a resplendent green hue. the smell of freshly cut grass intoxicated passers-by, plunging them into a euphoria that only summer could provoke. this feeling of being invincible, encouraged by the rays of the sun whose reflections chase away the patches of shadows, the bad memories. the five silk trees formed a globe as enchanting above the park letting these so-called rays of light pass through. the sweet pale pink flowers lowered themselves and rose to the rhythm of the wind oh so quiet.

summer was your favorite season, it was synonymous with holidays, sunshine, tranquility. happy to be able to enjoy the good weather, little laughs escaped from your lips without you noticing.

the characteristic noise of a camera caught your attention. turning your head, eyes obstructed by strands of hair, your gaze rested on the man standing a few meters from you. he was smiling at his screen, fiddling with the buttons of the device. curious, it was with a bouncing step that you walked towards him, making your light white and pink dress twirl. arriving at his height, you lean towards him, tiptoeing to see what seemed to hypnotize him. a grimace on your face, you quickly put a hand on the screen to hide the picture.

“delete it! i’m hideous!”

“don’t say things that are impossible.”

the pupils trembling, you watched the surroundings, hoping to see yoongi’s silhouette. you had begun waiting more than three-quarters of an hour ago on the forecourt of the restaurant where you had booked a table two months ago. there was no apparent reason for this event, if not to celebrate your love. it had been several days since you had seen him because of his rehearsals, so, excited to finally spend an evening with him, you had got all dressed up.

however, the soft light of day had darkened, giving way to this vast world called the night. the delight that had hitherto decorated your face, making it up in the prettiest of ways, for joy had this powerful power, had disappeared, dropping that mask on the concrete ground. as the dim light of the streetlamp illuminated you, all the gravity of your face increased, painting a face of sorrow.

one hand was rubbing your upper arm, the wind chilling you, the other furiously tapping on your phone’s keyboard.

me to yoongi ♡

where are you?

helloooo?

please respond! it’s cold out there.

well????

yoongi ♡ to me 

something came up. don’t wait for me. grab yourself something, i’ll pay.

a lump appeared in your throat, as did the pain that pierced your heart. you remained still, however, letting it spread in the hope that this horrible sensation would go away if not interrupted. what you did not know, for love blinded the heart and confused the thoughts, was that a piece of the first one was now laying at your feet.

a drop of grey paint fell on the canvas, staining the blue sky adorned with white clouds.

the clock above the kitchen counter reminded you how pathetic you were, standing until way too late at night in hope of catching sight of the man’s face you had got into the habit of calling your boyfriend. if you could still define him like this. a silence had taken place in the empty apartment, a silence that even seoul’s frenetic life could not break. you were sitting on the couch with your eyes staring at nothing but void. your pupils previously illuminated by the candor of love were no more than two impenetrable walls. you seemed empty, as empty as a hollow shell. your inner state represented the vision your apartment gave. whether it was the pieces of furniture, the frames hanging on the wall or the decorative plants; all were tinged in the same gouache.

nowadays, the colors had worn out. overtime, you supposed. time was, after all, one of the main enemies of love, especially when it became rare.

oh, how much you hated gray. it colored your life with a monotonous color where everything seemed sad, an impression so different from the explosion of colors that your retina had become accustomed to seeing. there was nothing but grey. grey everywhere. in your body, in your eyes, in your heart. the latter seemed to have been impregnated with it. it would not be surprising to see the normally red carmine liquid flowing through your veins turn into a grey color. a plain grey, without any reflection; there wasn’t light anymore.

no more conversations until late at night. no more encouraging little messages on your nightstand. no more signs of affection, whether expressed in the form of a kiss, an embrace or even a smile.

there was nothing left.

nothing more except a weariness that did not seem to want to leave your life. it was now an integral part of your routine. many times, you had wondered if you had become paranoid. yoongi was a busy man. everyone knew this detail about him, you knew about this and for a long time, this detail had been one of the reasons for your reluctance to engage yourself in this relationship. this fear, which was ubiquitous at each moment of your life. this fear was flowing in your veins. the fear of being sidelined.

for more than a year, he had succeeded in proving you wrong. he had shown you that even though his career was a source of significant demands and that his schedule would always be a delicate thing, the love he had for you would overcome that.

he had forgotten to point out that all these wonders would only last a while, the attractive illusion giving way to the harsh reality.

things had changed.

suddenly, as if in slow motion, your face, which had lowered in defeat, rose up when you heard the door open. without you being able to control your body, your eyes began to sparkle, your pupils dilated, your heart racing. overtime, through missed appointments, repeated absences, nights alone, you had learned to hate these physical reactions. how sad it was to achieve such a critical stage that your only possibility was to hate the love you had for him.

he did not undress nor did he take off his coat, merely heading to your room, whose sheets now seemed constantly frozen. not a look. not a word. it was almost as if you were just a mirage, something that didn’t exist or that wasn’t interesting enough to deserve attention.

“don’t wait for me, i’ll be late.”

the door was slammed, silence set in, a silence that was cut off by your sobs. you were crying, more than you had ever done in your life. in your tears came all the frustration, the sadness but also the pain that a lost love could cause to an already weakened heart. your thoughts were black, blacker than the ocean after a hurricane, your mind filled with disarming memories.

two long minutes passed. the grey darken. you swallowed, holding back a trembling sigh that reflected your sorrow. with your eyes focused again on your stress-bit nails, you ignored him when he came out of the room with a bag on his shoulders. this scene was recurrent, so recurrent that it was certain you could play it in your head. knowing this, no ounce of surprise crossed your mind when he uttered that sentence. that damn sentence.

someone once said, “happiness is screamed, sadness is written.”

you had always known how to transcribe your emotions perfectly on the paper. however, today, for the first time in your life, you faced a writer’s block. the page was blank of words, not strong enough to describe what you were feeling. a page that was soon flooded with tears, the revenge of this sadness that had been held back for too long.

min yoongi had never been yours. not even for a second. you should have known this. it had been obvious. you should have known his heart belonged to music.

with each of the tears that wet the notebook, making the black ink drool, it permeated the immensity of paper until there was only one color left to the eyes of everyone.

the canvas had now become black.

[thethirdamell]

Accursed Ones - Chapter 138 - A Gift of Flesh

This is an edited version of Chapter 138 of Accursed Ones that does not include the scene with sexual assault if you wanted to read more than the summary but did not want that content included.

9:35 Dragon 20 Eluviesta Late Afternoon Ferelden: Vigil’s Keep Courtyard

No.

It was such a simple thing to say, but Anders couldn’t say it. Not to Nate and not to Hawke. Nathaniel was the only person who questioned him, and Anders hated himself when he didn’t answer. Anders didn’t remember what he said - something glib - but he knew it wasn’t yes. The fact that he hadn’t said yes hadn’t mattered to Hawke and it hadn't mattered to Nate either.

Nathaniel dropped it. Anders wished he hadn’t. Anders wished a lot of things. The rest of the day passed at the Vigil, and there was no escaping Hawke. The worst of it was no one else seemed to notice how badly Anders wanted to escape him. To everyone else, Hawke was quiet. He only spoke when he had someone to translate for him.

To Anders, he was garrulous. The signing was endless. They shouldn’t have come to the Vigil. They should cut their visit short. The Wardens were making Anders unhappy. The Wardens were making Anders unhealthy. Anders should be at home where he wouldn’t be so vulnerable, so confused, so corrupt.

The only reprieve Anders could find in it all was that Amell couldn’t see them together. He couldn’t see when Hawke stood with an arm around his waist or his shoulder, or held his hand, or squeezed his thigh. He couldn’t see how virulently Anders didn’t want Hawke to touch him, and Anders could believe that if he could, he would notice where no one else did.

Anders noticed. Anders spent the afternoon noticing and the evening afraid of what he noticed and what it meant awaited him at night. Dinner was… insane. The chefs had prepared one dish for the entire Vigil. It was a wyvern, stuffed with a gurn, stuffed with a horse, stuffed with a halla, stuffed with a swan, stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a quail, stuffed with a bunting that had choked on a gold piece the chef had pushed down its throat.

“Abomination for the abomination?” Anders joked, watching a host of servants cart the wyvern’s head to the forefront of the half dozen tables that had to be pushed together and reinforced just to hold the thing.

“It’s-... called a Gift of Flesh,” Amell explained, a bit of color creeping up his neck. “It’s considered an affront to the Maker in Orlais.”

“What’s it considered here?” Varric asked, a dubious look on his face as more servants arranged the bloated wyvern's body to look like it was crouched to take flight.

“Dinner,” Amell said, “Excuse me.” He navigated crowds well, a guiding hand grazing shoulders and elbows almost like he was dancing through them. Watching him walk away made Anders feel sick, but he didn’t know how to go after him with Hawke’s arm around his waist.

“... Varric, do you think you could-... ask Hawke to do something?” Anders asked.

“... Sure thing Blondie,” Varric said, and switched to signing to get Hawke’s attention. “Hey Killer, you get a look at this thing? I think they left the horns on the halla. Check it out-”

Varric led Hawke away and Anders went after Amell.

“Amell,” Anders called, dodging a wheelbarrow of vegetables the servants were adding to the monstrous carcass. “Amell, wait up.”

Amell stopped close to one of the exits from the main hall, head tilted to make it clear he was listening to him. “What is it, Anders?”

Yes, what was it, Anders? What are you doing trying to get Amell’s attention when you already have Hawke’s? What are you even going to say? ‘Help, my extremely considerate fiance has been paying attention to me all day?’ ‘Help, Nathaniel asked if I was happy with my engagement and I didn’t answer him and now I’m afraid no one will ask me again?’ ‘Help, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore and I need you to ground me?’

“... No Dumat?” Anders asked.

“He’s around,” Amell said. “I don’t need him to navigate the Vigil.”

“So… a gift of flesh, huh?” Anders asked.

“... And anything else you wanted from me,” Amell said with a rueful smile.

… Hessarian save him, what was he supposed to say to that? Anders’ throat didn’t just close up on him - it packed its bags and left. Anders tried to laugh it off and all he managed was a flustered cough.

“It takes eight days to cook - it was too late to stop once they started,” Amell explained.

“You know wyverns are poisonous right?” Anders asked.

“The chefs had the venom extracted so we could serve Aquae Lucidius with dinner,” Amell explained. “I told them not to serve you anything but Aqua Magus - I know you’re not fond of hallucinations.”

Anders had only told him about his hallucinations last night. How was Amell already making accommodations for them? How could anyone be so considerate, so cautious, so compassionate?

“Not unless this is one,” Anders blurted.

“It’s not,” Amell promised, with a too-easy smile. "You can feel the Call in me. If you want, I can teach you to better sense it sometime.”

“... I want that a lot,” Anders said.

“I know you were still getting used to the taint when everything happened. I’m sorry I never got the chance to really help you with it.”

“You helped me with a lot of things,” Anders argued.

Amell kept his smile, but didn’t say anything in response.

"How much did all this cost?" Anders asked.

"... A fair amount.”

“You shouldn’t have done all of this for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve it,” Anders took a shaky breath, and he tried. Maker, he tried to tell him, but he couldn’t form all the words. “Amell - I feel terrible.”

“Why?” Amell found his arm, and squeezed. “You deserve to be happy.”

I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.

“So do you.”

“I’m trying,” Amell said softly. “Don't worry about the cost, Anders. We were overdue for a celebration. Was there anything else?"

Yes. Yes, there was something else. There were so many things else. Anders wasn't the Hero of Harring. He was just a man, and he needed a hero, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for one in the main hall anymore than he could in the courtyard. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Amell said. "Enjoy the evening."

The gargantuan feast came accompanied with a play. The Ballad of Ayesleigh told the end of the Fourth Blight. A lightshow conjured darkspawn more silly than scary, with exaggerated frowns in place of teeth, and children chased after them with wooden swords while the actors performed.

Anders spent the evening focused on it, and the night signing everything he could remember of it for Hawke. The retelling took him well over an hour, and at the end of it Hawke slept instead of sleeping with him. Anders breathed a sigh of relief when Hawke finally started snoring. He had to leave. He had to get away, but he didn’t know how to get away. He was too afraid to cast anything on Hawke. He couldn’t trust his magic, or his memory, and he didn’t know how to make sure Hawke stayed sleeping. He lay awake for hours, listening to Hawke snore, his heart skipping every time Hawke shifted or stopped, and must have fallen asleep eventually.

**Deleted Scene - Sexual Assault.**

Hawke never questioned a bath, so Anders made himself one, and threw up in it. It felt safe enough, knowing the sound was muted underwater and that the bath would drain. Anders lay in it afterwards, watching the bile float in the water, trying to remember what it was like to have sex with anyone but Hawke. Amell, Isabela, the countless women in his past and his time working at the Pearl. Had it ever felt this bad?

Hawke knocked on the door, and Anders flung a panicked handful of salts into the bath, but Hawle didn’t come in. He just said he was going to have breakfast with Varric, told him to enjoy the day, and left. Anders couldn’t enjoy the day. He couldn’t enjoy anything. He stewed in his own vomit, his head hanging over the rim of the bath, the rush of blood dizzying him until a knock came at the door to their quarters.

Anders forced himself to get dressed, and opened the door to Mistress Woolsey. The treasurer’s hair was an elegant blend of grey and white reminiscent of silver, braided into a bun like a coin at the back of her head, with eyes like the sovereigns she managed for the arling. She smiled.

“If it isn’t my favorite trouble maker,” Woolsey said.

“If it isn’t my favorite trouble unmaker,” Anders countered.

“No hug?” Woolsey asked.

Anders wasn’t sure he could stand to be touched, but he made an effort. Woolsey didn’t feel anything like Hawke. The old girl was wearing a plain linen dress, no velvets or silks, and she was soft and frail and not sturdy or broad. She gave him a ginger hug back, and her wrinkled hands felt so unlike Hawke’s he felt better. “No kiss?” Anders teased.

“Just one, and you will tell no one least they start calling me Mistress Floozy,” Woolsey kissed his cheek, grinning widely. “How have you been, Ser?”

“Peachy as a pie,” Anders lied. “I bet you’re just loving having me back with what this must be doing to the treasury.”

“I am absolutely livid,” Woolsey promised, patting his hand. “But the Commander insisted and he can be quite persuasive. Much of this was from his personal funds, in any case.”

Of course it was. Anders was an asshole.

“How much?” Anders asked.

“The wyvern, for one,” Woolsey recalled. “The Commander went hunting for it in Crestwood. Do not look so guilty - it is unbecoming. The Commander does nothing to his disadvantage. A few of the creatures were plaguing the town, and Bann Franderel could not spare the men to defend it. He’s indebted, and we should be so delighted.”

“As long as we’re delighted,” Anders supposed.

“Indeed we are. The Wardens have missed you - the Order and the men and women among it. They’ve asked for you to join them today. Walk with me.”

Anders walked with her. They stopped by the kitchens for a breakfast of muffins, and continued to the barracks. There were at least a dozen wardens awaiting his introduction, and Anders forgot most of their names as people shook his hand and passed him around.

Ser Fenley was a knight who looked like he’d lost his sword up his own ass, with a stern face and sterner disposition. Tamarel was an elven archer who was as lean as her bow with a presence that was anything but, and took up half the room with her laugh. Nolan was an ex-criminal who’d have put Andraste to shame with how he’d burn himself half to death for his sins. Ailsa was an experienced Warden who’d left Tevinter to serve beneath Amell, and by the stars in her eyes when he spoke must have meant it more literally. Martine was almost as old as Woolsey but not half as frail, with arms that put Hawke to shame.

There were others, but Anders didn’t remember them. The rest, he knew in some shape or fashion. Surana, an elven mage from the Circle who’d enjoyed more than a few healing lessons with Anders once upon a time, but no longer seemed to feel the same way about him by her scowl. Jacen, the old Dalish the Orlesians had rescued from Amaranthine’s prison who’d been arrested for poaching. Seranni, Velanna’s sister, and a ghoul they’d rescued from the Deep Roads.

Amell, Oghren, Velanna, and Nathaniel went without saying. Cards, and dice, and distractions took up most of the day. Anders didn’t have the coin to gamble, and couldn’t have been more relieved that the Wardens didn’t play for it. They gambled chores and patrols, or played for the occasional drink that Anders didn’t want to win if it wasn’t Aqua Magus anyway. After a few hands, the group dwindled down to Amell, Oghren, Velanna, Nathaniel, Jacen, and Seranni.

The little ghoul spent much of her time in Velanna’s lap, mumbling nonsense, and Anders couldn’t help but feel a little better that he wasn’t the craziest person in the room for once. The six of them sat at a table in the barracks, playing Wicked Grace, uninterrupted by the outside world, and all the horrors that came with it.

“So… not to bring up bad memories, but where is everyone else?” Anders asked, shuffling the cards in his hand. A bad one, as per usual.

“Leonie is serving in Jader, under Commander Clarel,” Amell reminded him.

“Legless Leonie,” Velanna chuckled.

Amell cleared his throat, a ripple of telekinetic energy nudging Velanna.

“What?” Velanna huffed, shoving him. “He knows - I could not wait to tell him.”

Anders had been told a lot of things. According to Amell, Leonie had been reassigned. According to Velanna, Leonie had been crippled. It felt like Anders needed to talk to everyone to get the full story, and there didn’t seem to be a better time to do it. “I know you said she lost her leg, but how did that happen?” Anders asked.

“Quickly,” Velanna grinned.

“It was a duel,” Jacen explained.

“An honorable one,” Nathaniel added, discarding a knight. Anders added it to his hand for no particular reason. He only had angels.

“Honorable,” Oghren snorted, greasy fingers making it clear which cards had been his when he discarded a few. “Shameful’s more like it with how quick she lost her leg. Stone knows what she was thinking, challenging the Boss.”

“The same thing you were, no doubt,” Velanna teased, gingerly retrieving one and wiping it off on Nathaniel’s sleeve before adding it to her hand. “The dwarf was so fearful he did not even stay to watch. As if the loss of Amell’s sight meant the loss of his magic.”

“Still waitin’ for you to lose your sense of speech,” Oghren muttered.

“Speech is not a sense, da’len,” Jacen said.

“How would he know?” Velanna asked. “He does not have any.”

“Leonie wasn’t willing to relinquish the post when Amell returned, hence the duel and the reassignment,” Nathaniel explained.

“And you just… what?” Anders prompted.

“I won,” Amell shrugged unhelpfully, and took a long drink from his tankard.

“I know that. I mean the magic. Come on, tell me,” Anders nudged him with his foot beneath the table. “What’d you do to her?”

“... It was crude magic,” Amell said.

“You-know-what magic?” Anders wondered.

“Blood and power,” Seranni mumbled from Velanna’s lap.

“No,” Amell said to both of them. “Spirit magic - a virulent bomb of corrosive poison that you plant in the blood. Larger veins were easier to sense at the time, so I went with her leg. She elected to yield when it exploded.”

“Crawled away crying, if I recall correctly,” Nathaniel said.

“Eheheh,” Oghren chortled.

“I am sure we all took no pleasure in it,” Jacen said gently.

“I did,” Velanna snorted, discarding a card and drawing another.

“... Is that okay?” Anders asked. “I remember before everyone was pretty adamant that you should keep the magic to a minimum.”

“Some still are,” Amell said.

“We have the Teryn’s support,” Nathaniel said.

“You have the Teryn’s support,” Velanna corrected him.

“Amell has mine,” Nathaniel waved off the distinction. “Fergus Cousland was ambushed by darkspawn during the Fifth Blight, and taken in by Chasind wilders-”

“Regular damsel in distress, that one,” Oghren chimed in. “Ambushed in the Blight. Ambushed after it. Ain’t much for an ally.”

“In any case,” Nathaniel said over him, “He lived with one of their tribes for a time, and their shaman healed him. I can’t say if the experience changed him, but he’s supportive of what we’re trying to achieve.”

“With mages you mean,” Anders said.

“Cleaning up your mess is what we mean,” Oghren muttered. "Still don’t know what the fuck you were thinking sending us the old broad.”

"Fuck templars, no doubt," Velanna guessed.

“Be nice, Oghren,” Amell said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oghren said.

“... Where is Johane?” Anders asked. “I haven’t seen her yet.” And Anders definitely did not want Hawke to see her first.

"Soldier’s Peak," Amell said. "It's more defensible than the Vigil."

“Getting it on with Avernus, prolly,” Oghren chuckled to himself. “Bet their old bones creak louder than the bed, if you know what I mean.”

“Oghren, we always know what you mean,” Nathaniel sighed.

“... Does it need to be defensible?” Anders asked.

“It might,” Amell admitted. “It was built after the second Blight during the Glory Age, and the Warden Commander at the time-”

“No one cares,” Oghren interrupted him.

“History is a luxury, da’len,” Jacen said. “We would all do well to remember it.”

“Our history,” Velanna corrected him. “Humans have enough of it.”

“We are Grey Wardens now, da’len,” Jacen argued. “Their history is our history.”

Amell didn’t pick his story back up. Anders was more for the future than the past, but if Amell cared… Anders watched him shuffle through his hand, his thumb running over the bumps on the edge of the card, and nudged him under the table again. “... What’d the Warden Commander do?”

“He went mad,” Amell said.

“Oh fun,” Anders said.

“He waited too long to go to his Calling, and expanded the fortress with hidden passages and alcoves, trying to protect himself from the shadows he saw. By the time he died, the path to the Peak had become a labyrinth of mine-shafts. It’s difficult to navigate unless you know the way, and we don’t share it outside the Order.

“King Arland Theirin tried to assault the Peak during the Storm Age, and the siege lasted months. When the King realized he couldn’t starve the Wardens out because of the Taint, he stormed the Keep, and only managed to defeat the Wardens because the demons they summoned in their defense turned on them.”

“Theirins,” Oghren grunted

“Theirins,” Amell agreed.

“And that won’t happen to us because… we won’t summon demons?” Anders guessed.

“Us?” Oghren repeated. “What ‘us,’ Sparkles? You’re farting off to Kirkwall with the fiance when the month is out.”

“Freedom isn’t something I'm fighting for in Kirkwall,” Anders argued, rather than address the sickened sensation he felt at any mention of Hawke after how he’d woken up with him. “It’s something I’m fighting for everywhere, for every mage.”

“A noble fight, da’len,” Jacen said encouragingly. “One our Keepers have long fought.”

“One we do not need humans fighting for us,” Velanna said.

“Come on off it, you’re the first person who ever agreed to help me fight it,” Anders kicked her chair.

“Perhaps I am simply feeling contrary,” Velanna hummed.

“Who are you and what have you done with my love?” Nathaniel joked.

Velanna rolled her eyes, “I am simply saying this is not just your fight - and you have a typical human arrogance to assume it is.”

“I’m the one forcing it,” Anders argued. “You’re not the only ones I’ve sent mages to for safekeeping. If you support me, if you support my cause, you put yourselves in danger.”

“You just figure that one out?” Oghren asked.

“... Why are you doing this?” Anders asked. From what Anders could recall of their letters, none of them had appreciated the fact that he’d forced his fight on them. From what Anders could recall of his conversations with Hawke, none of them appreciated him at all. He hadn’t seen them for years. They weren’t his friends. He wasn’t their friend. He was just an unstable danger they didn’t deserve in their lives, but they were all still here, inviting him to be a part of it. “Why are you all doing this?”

“Don’t see you left us much choice,” Oghren said.

“This is a good fight, da’len,” Jacen said. “One Our People must have if we are to hold Ostagar as we did not hold the Dales. If the Chantry does not respect the sovereignty of our Keepers, how will they respect the sovereignty of our land?”

“Like dragons they fly, glory upon wings. Like dragons they savage, fearsome pretty things,” Seranni mumbled.

“We have slain dragons,” Velanna said confidently.

“I would prefer a dragon to an Exalted March,” Nathaniel admitted.

“The Dalish have been our biggest supporters since we’ve declared freedom for mages,” Amell said. “Keeper Lanaya especially. She presides over Ostagar, and she’s an old friend and ally from the Blight. She’s agreed to stand with us if it comes to that, but her focus right now is on resolving the tensions with the Bann of Calon-”

“Yawn,” Oghren slapped the Angel of Death on the table. “Angel of Death. Play your hands, you blighters. Serpents high.”

Everyone played, saying their hands aloud for Amell’s benefit. Anders lost. Nathaniel won. Velanna gathered up the cards to shuffle for another round, and Seranni abandoned her to wander out of the barracks and into the shadows.

“... How did you find her?” Anders asked when she left.

“We searched the Deep Roads,” Amell said.

“We had help,” Nathaniel said.

“What kind of help?” Anders asked. “Dwarves?”

Oghren snorted.

“Not exactly,” Nathaniel said vaguely. “Let’s just say we live in strange times.”

“Is anyone going to tell me what that means?” Anders asked.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Sparkles,” Oghren said.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Anders joked.

“As a bronto’s backside,” Oghren agreed.

Velanna dealt another hand, and Anders decided to drop it. He gathered up his cards and arranged them in his hand, eyeing over the bunks scattered throughout the barracks and trying to recall who he’d seen and who he hadn’t. “What happened to Gerod?” Anders asked.

“Reassigned,” Amell said. “Montsimmard.”

“All limbs intact,” Nathaniel added.

“Unfortunately,” Velanna sighed.

“It seemed warranted with Kieran, Amell, and the other children at the Vigil,” Amell elaborated.

“Damn right it did,” Oghren muttered. “Sick fuck.”

“Did anything happen with him?” Anders asked.

“No,” Amell said. “He was a good Warden, but it wasn’t something I could overlook. Clarel found a post for him.”

“A good Warden?” Anders repeated - disgust welling in him for the memory of when Anders had pried Gerod off Sigrun in the middle of the night. “Are you serious?”

“Being a good Warden doesn’t make someone a good man, da’len,” Jacen said gently.

Amell tilted his head towards Jacen’s voice, as if concurring with him, but it wasn’t a comfort. The memory haunted Anders throughout the rest of the game. He couldn’t help wondering what Amell would have done if he had been there, down in the Deep Roads, faced with one of his Warden trying to rape another. If he would have killed him, like Anders had tried to kill him, or if he would have let it go, the way Leonie and Eram had let it go. If he would have done something then.

If he would do something now.

Anders couldn’t go back to his room that night, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He didn’t know if Hawke wanted to have more sex and he didn’t want to find out. If he could just get Hawke to actually sleep through the night, he might have felt better. He might have felt safer. He just didn’t know how to get him to sleep when he couldn’t trust his magic or his memory, but maybe he could trust someone else’s memory.

Varric didn’t even question it. He just handed over the knockout powder like he might a cup of chamomile tea. Anders hated him a little for it. If Varric knew why Anders wanted it, he shouldn’t have given it to him. He should have helped him instead, but Varric was so concerned with helping Hawke that he didn’t seem to care about helping Anders. But why would he? What did Anders even need help with? Having too much sex? Who needed help with that?

Anders stuffed the vial into his pocket, panic rising when Hawke walked them back to their room after dinner. He should have put it in Hawke’s drink, but he hadn’t thought about it. He just knew he needed it. He just knew he needed something. Now that he had it, he didn’t know how to use it, and it wasn’t like Varric was going back to their room with them. What if Anders thought he used it and then he didn’t, just like he thought he cast his spell but he didn’t? What was he supposed to do?

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have sex again. He didn’t want to have sex again. He couldn’t go back into that room, but the room was right there, and they were walking right towards it, and he couldn’t - he couldn’t - he couldn’t -

Where was he?

Anders didn’t recognize the room. It looked like a reliquary mixed with a bedroom. All along the western walls were shelves, filled with magical artifacts, perfectly and precariously arranged to give each their own unique space. Stencils and rune tracings and etching agents, bottles of lyriums, ink, and kaddis, a handful of books and tomes. A summoning circle along with a font of power stood before them, with a two-sided desk opposite them. On the eastern side of the room was a canopy bed, a chest covered with wards at its feet and an armoire behind it. In the same corner, a couch and armchair arranged around a low table, with a liquor cabinet and humidor atop it.

Amell’s room.

… He’d changed it. Just a little. Dumat lay on the bed, and spared him a disinterested glance before going back to sleep. Amell was dressed for bed, loosely tied slacks with a looser long-sleeved tunic, and what looked to be a hastily tied blindfold. He waved him towards the couch.

“What did you want to talk about?” Amell asked.

Again? Why again? Why did Anders keep trying to talk to him? Why didn’t Anders remember that he kept trying to talk to him? What did he even want to talk about? Anders sat on a corner of the couch with one leg under him. Amell went to his liquor cabinet.

“I don’t know,” Anders admitted.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” Amell asked.

“No,” Anders didn’t want to doubt himself more than he already did, and the thought that lotus might keep him from leaving Hawke again haunted him. “Is it okay if you don’t smoke?”

“... It’s okay,” Amell left the cabinet and the humidor atop it alone. He joined him on the couch, staring at him sightlessly. “... Is something wrong?”

Everything was wrong. Anders didn’t know how he got here. He didn’t know what was happening to him or how to make it stop. He didn’t know if Hawke was awake or asleep or looking for him and not knowing about Hawke was more terrifying than not knowing about himself. “I don’t know,” Anders said shakily. “... I don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember what?” Amell asked.

“What I’m doing here,” Anders said.

“You said you needed to talk to me,” Amell said. “... Justice said he needed to talk to me.”

“... He did?” Anders asked, staring at his hands, but no veilfire lit them. “... How do you know it was Justice?”

“... He feels different,” Amell said. “He feels like the Fade, and-...”

“And?”

“... And I think I can see him.”

“What do you mean you can see him?” All at once, Anders felt his fears forgotten. He scooted across the couch and reached for Amell, fingers inches from his brow, wondering what rights he had to touch him. “You mean you can see?”

“Not exactly,” Amell said. “I’ve met other people who lost their sight, but no one else had ever lost all of it. They still saw shadows, or shapes, or light, but I never did. There’s-... something, when he’s forward. I thought I was seeing things.”

“Haha,” Anders said flatly. “Be serious.”

“I am. There’s so much of the Fade in you, I wasn’t sure it was real. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“What’s it like?”

“Like closing your eyes, after you look at a light, and for a moment you think you can still see it, only fainter and farther away.”

“That’s good, right?” Anders asked eagerly. His fingers hovered over Amell’s face, and while nothing was stopping him, he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch him without knowing if Amell wanted him to after everything that had happened. “This is weird, but can I touch your face?”

“If you want,” Amell said.

Anders cradled his face, fingers skirting his blindfold. “... Can I take this off?”

“... if you want,” Amell said.

Anders did want. Anders wanted very much. He reached behind Amell’s head and unraveled the hastily done knot to pull the blindfold free, and reveal… nothing. Closed eyes. Probably normal closed eyes, framed in dark shadows from one too many surgeries. Anders traced along one eyebrow with his thumb, watching the way his eyes moved, and decided they weren’t glass.

“... Can I see your eyes?”

“… I'd rather you didn't,” Amell said, a nervous shake in his voice that Anders swore he wouldn’t betray having put there. “I made a deal for them. After Avernus tried everything.”

“What kind of deal?” Anders asked.

“They'll work when I need them,” Amell explained. “They’ve never worked. I thought it was a bad joke, at first… but after a few months, I thought it was because I didn’t need them. I wasn’t sure in Kirkwall, and I wasn’t in a position to trust what I saw last night, but now-... I think I can see Justice, and I don’t know why.

“... Was that the deal? Am I supposed to see him for some reason?”

“He’s a spirit,” Anders guessed. “He’s connected to the Fade. Maybe that’s why you can see something?”

“Maybe,” Amell allotted. “But I can’t touch the Fade anymore. I haven’t for years without lyrium. I’d have to forsake blood magic to see anything in the Fade, but if I did, I wouldn’t be able to have some semblance of something close to sight here.”

Amell retrieved his blindfold, and tied it back around his eyes.

“... I could fix them,” Anders said. “I know the spell your father used. It takes a sacrifice, but I could fix them for you. I would fix them for you.”

“... I’d rather you didn’t.” Amell took his hand off his face and held it. “Thank you, for offering.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll work if I need them.”

“You really trust the demon you dealt with?”

“Do you trust Justice?”

“Justice isn’t a demon,” Anders said rather than answer.

He did trust Justice. He did, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t trust himself, and he didn’t trust the influence he had on Justice. There was no reason for Justice to want to talk to Amell that Anders could imagine ending well. Anders was engaged to Hawke, and there was nothing just in what he was doing with Amell, and Justice had to know that and had to want him to stop, but Anders didn’t want to stop doing anything with Amell, he wanted to stop doing things with Hawke.

“Do you know why he wants to talk to me?” Amell asked.

“... I need help.”

[partyinthemysterymachine]

On Purpose

Harry wiped his hands on the dish towel. He leaned back on the kitchen counter and took his time rubbing his fingers dry, pushing the damp terrycloth fabric into the webbing, and rotating it over his knuckles. There was a man seated at the table that he wanted to watch fiddle with his smartphone. It’s been three years since they got home, took off their jackets, and packed them away into a box that went directly into the furthest corner of the closet. Those three years have been a hell of a bumpy hayride for the Mason family of two and the Sunderland of one. Honestly, Harry wouldn’t trade it for anything.

His hands were clean and dry. He tossed the bunched up towel back and forth, and inclined his head. “You good over there, babe?”

The wrinkle of his nostril answered that question. Harry smiled wide and warm. “What’s got you in a tizzy now?”

“I think I deleted my email,” James mumbled, distracted. “I dunno what I did.”

“You deleted your email,” the aging patriarch repeated, dumping the terrycloth on the granite top island. “From your phone or from forever?”

“Phone first, forever second,” he replied, the frown wrinkling his brow deepening. Harry strolled over and bent over the back of the chair, laying his arms around James’s neck. He tucked his dark head against the side of the one of blond and snuggled into his lover’s pale, and perpetually cold skin. James’s head was forced to tip to the side by the enthusiasm of his partner’s lion-like nuzzle, yet he had no intent to fight it. From there, Harry observed his frustrated swiping and fumbling.

He pressed a little kiss to James’s cheek and extended his arm, pointing at the phone. “Hold up, stop stop,” Harry spoke against him. “Go into setti— no, babe, go back. .. go back.. okay. Scroll down to ‘Mail.’” James felt the little frown pressed into his face. It caused his own to bear a soft smile. “Uh.. scroll back up. .. scroll down? Uh.. okay, what the hell did you do with— hang on.”

James patiently did as he was told while Harry patted his legs, then maneuvered his phone out of his pocket. All the while, he chose to tuck his face into James’s neck. Then he sighed and nuzzled up on his partner’s cheek again, wrapping his arms around him to hold the device out for both of them to see. “Okay. Let’s see here.”

He wasn’t so sure if he’d get over the strange initial discomfort he got when Harry unlocked his phone to a picture of Heather trapping James in a bear hug. She got caught mid-laugh, and he noticeably embarrassed, though his shy smile and the affectionate way he looked up over the camera at the person behind it always settled that discomfort pretty quickly. James liked that memory a lot, though getting to have it as a visual memory meant even more. He wondered, as he often did, if Harry knew what he’d captured.

It’s the little things that mean the most.

The picture was only there for a second, the settings menu being all there was to see now. Harry lifted his chin a little off his shoulder, moving the phone a little further down. “Maybe I should have my reading glasses for this.”

“Then go get them.”

“No. I don’t wanna move.”

“Put your accessibility settings at AARP member.”

Harry incredulously inclined his head, staring at his boyfriend’s profile. “Excuse me?” he inquired a younger man whose deadpan wasn’t holding up like it used to. James tried to withhold his smile, but it was no use; the only thing he could hold back was his laugh. A partial grin crept onto Harry’s face. “That voice sounds like James, but what I’m really hearing is Heather.”

It was war to keep the smile from becoming a full blown grin, but there’d be no sure victory from trying to keep it out of his words. “You might want to call an audiologist, then. Or tell your psych. You saying that worries me a little, Harry.”

James flinched and uttered an ‘ow!’ from the righteous flick at his ear. “Stop hanging out with Heather. She’s a bad influence on you.”

He leaned slightly to the side to look at handsome tyrant-in-training at his shoulder. “Why? She just says what we’re all thinking.”

“You’re a brat,” Harry told him matter-of-factly. “And she’s a brat. And he’s a brat - we’re all brats, hey!” he chanted under his breath at his ear, making James shake his head and return his attention to their little project. There were many reasons why he and Heather liked to complain about Harry, and this ranked in the top twenty of the endless list. “Okay, so,” the middle aged annoyance continued, “you should have ‘mail’ here under ‘passwords and accounts,’ and that kind of shit just doesn’t up and disappear, so.. what’d you do with it?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” James replied. “I thought it’d be a fun prank to see what I could delete from this phone and forgot to consider that I might not be able to get it back.”

“Look at you, Mister Technology Wiz,” Harry mocked. “I knew you were smarter than you let on.”

“I like to keep you guessing. It gives me a sense of superiority.”

“Wow, no shit?” He smiled at the soft chuckle from the former conduit and pecked another kiss on his cheek. “Okay. Restart your phone. If it’s still fucked up we can take it in to the Apple store and get it checked out. If you somehow unintentionally jailbreaked your phone, I’m gonna fucking die laughing.”

James held the appropriate buttons and watched the screen blacken. “Okay. Still want the cookie jar, or did you change your mind?”

“Nah, still married to the cookie jar idea,” he confirmed. “Just put it on somewhere on the counter to horrify guests when they come over.”

The phone lit up and James punched in his passcode. “We’ll keep it unsealed and put some cookies in for you to munch on in the afterlife.”

“Oh, James,” Harry sighed dramatically, smiling down at the picture he’d chosen as his wallpaper. It was a simple snapshot of Harry’s work desk. The yellow lamp light illuminated his spread of books, papers, and his open, but dark laptop, and cast dark yet peaceful shadows where they were meant to be. He’d known about that picture for a while. James has had it since he learned how to set a custom wallpaper on the same day he got the phone. Every time Harry saw it since, he nearly burst with the strain of resisting the urge to drown his boyfriend in kisses. “It’s like you know me.”

It’s the little things that mean the most.

“Not willingly.”

“Preaching to the choir. Okay, let’s see what you’ve got now.”

James leaned his head on Harry’s for the rest of their futile tinkering. Eventually he checked out of the the whole business and nudged his forehead to Harry’s warmth. He smiled ever so softly at the gentle caress on his neck from Harry’s heavy hand, and the kiss planted on his brow that followed. His eyes slid closed when it became evident that Harry had decided to work with one hand and left the other where it’d landed, lazily brushing sweet touches over his throat and behind his ear.

There was no solution to the email problem, and they’d both lost interest in it awhile ago. Now Harry folded his left arm across James’s chest, holding the sleeping phone to his shoulder as he combed his fingers up through blond hair that no longer smelled of lake water. He nestled his nose into the plainly styled cut and closed his eyes. James, in general, was a plain young man; always had been, always will be.

He loved that about him.

The dull thunk of the smartphone being set on the table didn’t affect him. In fact, he smiled so blissfully when James’s cool hands loosely found a place clasping his arm and hand that nearly all the lines of age on his face deeply creased. James felt it in his hair how happy that smile was. He loved to see it. He loved to feel it. It made his heart do Olympic gold medalist acrobatics, as it did now knowing it was there at all.

But lately within the last year, while his heart still leapt with joy to see that genuinely adoring smile on a daily basis (truly, he couldn’t recall a day where he didn’t see Harry beam like that at some point), he’d realized how many more lines there were. February had passed a few months ago. Harry’d turned fifty-three this year. And no, it wasn’t that he thought fifty-three was anywhere near being a senior. James had trouble explaining it to himself. All he knew is that his heart had begun to hurt while it celebrated seeing that look on Harry’s face.

The hurt was different than the way it hurt because he was loved, and because James loved him, too.

He idly stroked his thumb back and forth on Harry’s hand. The pressure against his head meant another kiss. James reached up and took Harry by the back of the neck, pulling him down as he tilted his head to get a proper kiss out of him for once.

You can’t say that to me, Harry! James had angrily spat at him at the time. I don’t want to hear it! Okay?! Just don’t— even start to even fucking think it—

Why? implored the distraught, heartbroken man. Why can’t I say I love you? I’ve said it before, James, and if you really want me to I won’t say it again, but I’m just— I’m trying to— I just want to understand why—

Because I can’t fucking hear it. I can’t fucking hear it from you. It drives me fucking insane.

But.. why?

His shivering, barely beating heart had sunk like an anchor from the pure agony that dripped from that simple word. Why? Why, he’d dare to ask? Why? James had hated that question from Harry Mason since day one. Today, that goddamn question made him burn so red hot that he wished that Red Pyramid Thing would come along and skewer him right through.

Because I don’t want to fucking hear it, Harry!

James had suddenly lost all that fury in a single breath. In one swift blow, he’d murdered a tired man who he’d caught smiling at him countless times already; who liked to take his hand and kiss his fingers; who liked to talk to him even though he had no obligation to respond; who fought with him, for him, and had almost given his far more precious life for his safety; a man that held him just because he wanted to.

I just.. I can’t take how sincere you are when you say it, he’d tried to explain, as weak and deflated as Harry looked. It’s like you really mean it, and—

I do really mean it. I love you. I don’t think I can even apologize for it.

But you shouldn’t, Harry, James had protested. You really, really shouldn’t. I can’t have it. I can’t deal with it.

Why shouldn’t I? the grief-stricken author had asked. Is it because of what you are? Is it because of what you did? Because of how depressed and hopeless you are, how sometimes you’re barely functional and a drag and kind of a shitty person and you hate yourself so goddamn fucking much that you can’t imagine why anyone would even care enough about you to pick a piece of lint off your shoulder? Is that why?

The had words hit home, and from Harry, wounded and shamed him to the point that he’d pathetically hung his head and stared at the floor.

“Sorry we couldn’t figure out the case of the missing mail,” Harry slurred on James’s parted lips. “Maybe we can ask Heather to figure it out later.”

A smile and a light breath from the other man was caught between another slow kiss. “You find a new way to disappoint me every day.”

“I have to get creative.” Harry’s palm pressed firmly into the back of his lover’s head to briefly strengthen their kiss. “Because I know you like it.” His nose was often described as a beak for the way it curved, and James thought it handsome, especially when it touched his own sloped one in what was known as an Eskimo kiss. “And what sort of bullshit would that be to disappoint you for me being unable to find a new way to disappoint you?”

That’s just too fucking bad, James. I’d say sorry to disappoint you, but I’m really not fucking sorry at all.

“Mm. But wouldn’t that have been a new way to disappointment me?”

“Oh, shit.”

What do you think this is? Tell me honestly, really, I’m very interested to know what you think. Because I’m going to tell you my side of things, so listen up, okay? This is not going the first or last time I’m gonna tell you this, either. I’ll say it every goddamn hour and every fucking day for the rest of my life even if you ever start to believe me. I’ll say it until the sun goes down for the last time and even then I’ll figure out a way to keep saying it to you.

Are you listening?

“Mmhmm.”

I love you. I am choosing to love you, because loving you is something I want to experience no matter the outcome. That’s it. Full stop. I know what you are. I know what you’ve done. I know who you are, even just a little bit, and I swear to fucking god, James, I love you. I’m not brushing off all the bad shit you’ve done or what kind of monster you think you are. You’ve done some pretty terrible stuff. I’m not forgetting that.

But even knowing that, even despite that, I have seen it for myself that you want to hear me say it. I hear it when you say my name. I feel it when you do something as little and thoughtless like grabbing my sleeve, Harry’s voice then broke and thickened, trembled with the beginning sobs of a desperate, begging heart. James covered his eyes behind his hand and had tried to clench his jaw to beat back an intense, once-foreign feeling that wouldn’t allow itself to be repressed any longer.

Harry loudly hummed and encased James in a strong bear hug about his shoulders as best he could from behind him. James’s exaggerated groan that sounded a lot more irritable than he actually was, which was not at all, got somewhat stifled against the author’s hairy, meaty forearm. His older boyfriend then transformed his hum’s pitch to match his groan, and together they raised their voices, swiftly building a challenging crescendo, a duel of lung capacity and stamina.

You never have to say it aloud, James. I know. You tell me all the time. You tell me all the time and yet you still think you don’t deserve to feel that way or have anyone give a rat’s ass about you. I love you because you’re you. I’m aware of everything you are and did and all that crap, and I love you.

Do you fucking understand me, James Sunderland?

James won the battle.

Harry forfeited with grace and maturity. Of course, that meant that when James decided he’d like to get up, the Mason patriarch used his bulky weight and strength to try to keep him in the chair and make it as difficult as possible for James to escape.

“Get— ugh, Harry! Get off me. Come on, don’t be a sore loser.” That groan he emitted at Harry’s decision to tighten his arms was a mite more sincerely annoyed than the last time. “God, come on. Why are you such a pain in the fucking ass—“

“Do unto others as you would have done unto you.”

Disgust distorted his face as the fact sank in that such a well-respected piece of ancient wisdom got turned into a crude double entendre. “Oh, aw, what the fuck— that’s gross, Harry. And blasphemous. And before you say it, yeah yeah, pot calling kettle black, whatever, don’t wanna hear it, I know, now let me up, old man.”

“Mm, mean, but not yet,” Harry both scolded and vetoed with a kiss to his ear. James sighed and sank his bodyweight onto the chair, still holding his boyfriend’s arm in both hands. He dropped his head the slightest bit back onto Harry’s soft shoulder.

He was wearing that cable knit sweater he’d gotten him last Christmas. It was a handsome, rusty orange, like if autumn were a color. Heather had laughed and called it a ‘dad sweater.’ Even though Harry agreed with her, and James sheepishly acknowledged the accuracy though he hadn’t intentionally chosen it with that in mind, he had actually blushed when Harry pulled off the navy blue he wore and donned himself in knitted fall.

Do you fucking understand me?

Harry wore that sweater often.

James smiled.

He didn’t reply.

“Hey. Harry.”

Listen to me again, James:

“Mm?” he mumbled on his pretty, pale neck.

I am choosing to love you. Because loving you is something I want to experience no matter the outcome. You need to internalize that. Someday, I want you to believe it.

“I love you.”

I want you to believe that you are so goddamn worthy and deserving of my love. I’m going to love you, or die trying.

James closed his eyes to soak in the emotional, radiant smile against his skin, and tightly squeezed Harry’s forearm to try to replicate the fiercely adoring way he wrapped him up in his embrace, even though the couldn’t at the moment hold him like he wanted to.

Everything I do, James - protecting you, caring for you, loving you, I do it all, and I do it fucking all--

“On purpose?”

His eyes opened, his head turned, and lake greens met deep, earthy browns. James loved the color of Harry’s eyes; perhaps even more than Harry claimed to love the color of his, too.

It’s the little things that mean the most.

“On purpose.”

[theshabozengine]

Rank the mainline persona and SMT protags by skill in bed.

Alright finally I can make my opinions about SMT sex known

So right at the bottom of the fucking list is Yu from Persona 4

any fucking dipshit that dresses like this is is 100% bound to expect you to do all the work in bed while he lays there like a dead rotting fish. The only fucking fingerbang this man is aware of is the fucking South Park one because he thinks its edgy and cool to watch South Park. He also friendzones you immediately after he pump-and-dumps, riding off into the fucking sunset expecting you to be happy about this outcome.

Never EVER get you a man like this.

Next up is Boy With Earring from Persona 1

This man just does not fuck, plain and simple. He looks at you, see how you’re dressed and scoffs at the idea of getting dirty with you. This man has no human drives whatsoever. This creature is barely sapient, yet still a better more considerate lover than Yu. Has a weird thing for ice play though.

Third worst is Flynn from SMT4

Now its not his fault, unfortunately. See he’s friends with two other dumbasses and theyre constantly interrupting whenever he tries to get things started. Sometimes youll even be gently kissing Flynn, looking deep into his eyes when suddenly his gaze goes behind you, eyes filling with worry and you dont have time to brace yourself as you hear the shout: “ILL END IT THUS” and then your asshole is on fire because his dickhead friend didnt use any lube and its just an overall bad experience cuz then you have to keep trying to start the night with Flynn over but Walter keeps fucking showing up so you have to keep pray for the love of God that Isabeau escorts this dumbass out but then because you thought of God suddenly Jonathan’s there now and he’s just a mood killer and the night’s ruined and its just...

Its really not Flynn’s fault, but he will never be able to satisfy his partner.

Next up is the Tamaki duo from If

They really wanna try their best in bed but just look at these two, they have no idea what theyre doing. They can be redeemed if you feel you can teach them the ropes, but thatll be a whole long drawn out process and itll take them a very long time to understand the concept of an orgasm.

Kei Azume from NINE is next on the chopping block

This dumbass is just high, constantly, and the sheer reek of weed nugs permeating through his sheer existence deletes any and all desire a person could ever feel around them. Look at this Shaggy-looking mother fucker. This dumbass lives in a van and fucks his dog. However, unlike Yu, the dog at least gets an orgasm from Kei.

Unfortunately next on the list is Joker from Persona 5

He really really wants to fuck good, and boy he sure does try, however he always talks about how adults suck which brings up too many questions while his dick is inside you, an adult, and he always tries to finish you off with some sort of unexpected sex move which is always 100% predictable and obvious as he telegraphed it the entire time. Not only that, but this whole time hes been acting weird and you try to enjoy what he really has been doing well his fucking cat just walks up and sits with his asshole directly next to your fucking face, and Joker refuses so shoo the cat and now you just keep glancing to the cat asshole every once and a while by accident whereupon you become very conscious of its existence every so often, and having that sight paired with getting pleasured the whole time leaves weird echo effects in your mind like Pavlov’s Cat Taint ringing through your brain.

Then it turns out his cat was fully aware of how awful it was being the whole time and doesnt apologize and in fact expects you to apologize for waking it up with all your stupid moaning. Bad experience overall, evne if Joker himself is very good at sex.

Next is Tatsuya from Persona 2.

He’s really eager to try and help you out, but ultimately his fingers just cant reach the way you want them to, his tongue’s just a bit too slow, and he cant thrust his hips well enough to hit the spots you want. Always out-shined by the people from beyond this point, but a nice enough guy that you wouldnt mind at least trying with him a few times.

Next is Nanashi from Apocalypse.

This absolute fucking retard has no idea what’s going on at any time during his entire life, however his big brother Dagda who’s always creepily standing behind him even when youre trying to fuck can at least guide him through it. With his guidance he can fuck like a champ, however you have to deal with Dagda watching intently the whole time and just muttering “ You've got a lot of work ahead of you, kid... And you're going to learn firsthand just how pathetic gods, demons, and humans are. Remember one thing, my Godslayer: You have no choice but to obey me.“ every five fucking minutes. Good sex but HORRIBLE experience overall.

Bit controversial this next one, but Demi-Fiend from SMT3 is next on the list.

Now his kicks are fucking great, he always listens to what you have to say, and hes a great partner overall however...hes way too rough in bed. Like there’s being rough and then theres getting donkey punched and a neck sprain and massive internal bruising. Itll be really good for a while, but unless you can stop it real quick hes gonna get really rough. This man has no control once he gets going. He will continue to escalate the situation and unless you can yell your safeword louder than an undead monk screaming he aint gonna hear. Dangerous, but youll definitely cum.

Next is Protag from SMT1

Bold choice, I know, but he will always try and pay attention to your tender areas and watch your face carefully for any reaction however slight, and then log it all in his stupid fuckin Google smart watch. Itll be a good fuck, really, but youll also have to deal with him taking a break every once and a while to fucking log it all. Does have a very big dog too, if you’re into that kinda thing I suppose.

Aleph from SMT2 just squeaks ahead of Protag

This man is just the exact same person with the exact same flaws and everything, except minus a dog. However, he knows hes packing some fucking meat in his factory. Every single other character on this list has absolutely no fucking crotch protection except Aleph. Aleph here knows hes got a fucking pool noodle packed away and hes gotta fuckin protect it. He will create a water park in anyone’s pants once he drops trow and shows off. Astolfo’s Monster cock? Nothing compared to this man.

As with Aleph, Maya also fucks like a champ.

She knows what she wants out of her sexual experience with you and what she wants is 15 simultaneous shared orgasms, and by god shes gonna fucking get it. She will run at you like a fucking Terminator and clothesline you so you hit the bed stunned as she takes absolute control of the situation. You will not be able to move a muscle once shes done, and it will be as though your Mara ran entirely out of MP. Only real flaw is once she’s done, she gives you a temporary tattoo of hearts around your nipples like her dumb fuckin shirt to mark her territory. If youre into it, then she’ll make it permanent.

Next up is SMT5 protag holding the copper trophy. Game isnt ever going to come out but you just know how nasty this slut is.

Look at this idiot, this absolute fucking baboon. This fucking man who fought Sweeney Todd to death and won barehanded gives no fucks. Look at his awful fucking outfit and his garbage fucking haircut, then realize that even with all this he is confident. He’s a chad even with all this stuff that everyone else would tear to shreds. Why? Hes one of the best in bed. He’s fucked everyone who tried to step to him out of house and home. Once this monster’s engines rev up he will force you to see heaven. “Oh, hon, I just want one orgasm tonight” you might try to say before he can make you see white but then he just fuckin looks at you and smirks. That one orgasm you have is so fucking powerful you become dehydrated for a month.

With the silver comes Makoto Yuki from P3

Similar to SMT5 above, this man should be bullied into oblivion but hes not. Why? Sex god. This man is so fucking powerful at sex he literally gets a clay golem and a robot to fawn over him for the rest of their eternal lives. This man fucked so hard his friends all got mindbroken once he moved on and they foguht each other to the death for the right to his dick. This man fucks so well that he defeated fucking death with the power of how much everyone loved his dick. When this man died from fucking too much you know what he did? He went on to fuck concepts and evil gods instead. This man literally ascended to a higher power through the sheer power of dickening. Also when he fucks you his music choice is the best for breeding.

And with the gold: Doomguy from Strange Journey

This absolute perfect specimen has literally everything a person could ever ask for: His cock fits snug, virile, fit, handsome, and best of all hes independent. He doesnt need to rely on an tricks or anything to get your orgasms flowing, hes just the pinnacle of sex. This man marches into your father’s house, and just through sheer presence without a single word said makes your father beg him to take your hand in marriage. Marriage whereupon he will be the perfect husband and always treat you with respect, and even if you mess up he will forgive you and help you through any difficult periods in your life.

Literally everything and anything you could want in a man: If you like it rough, he can do it. You want it gentle he can play ball. Whatever hole you want him to stick it into hes got the perfect way to arch his hips to fit what you wanna feel at any point in time. Ooh baby, absolutely get you a perfect man like him. The planet Earth itself tried to woo him, but he said no since he knew the person reading this post was out there, and he wanted to make sure he was there to love you.

[writingwitheli]

GrandMech

Most mechs were hard to function, even with experienced pilots.

They didn't move like people do, the mechanics don't really allow for that. You have to know the engineering intimately to clearly envision how the thing was going to react to your direction. Most pilots spend months learning their piece before going into the field. There were simulators, and for a while the board argued for mechs to be built in a uniform manner for faster learning.

But technology went a bit too fast for that. And the things were way too expensive to mass produce.

Grandma Katersfield knew this well. It was her life's work.

I mean she wasn't my grandma. But she kinda was. She was everyone's grandma, in a way. Most mechs these days still have her work in them, even if there were scraps rebuild around it. Some people called it practical. Pilots called it good luck. The engineers called it "Finally someone who knows what they're fucking doing."

When she passed away, in her garage (had she ever existed anywhere else?), the military held a funeral. Most of the planets held a funeral. The board, somewhere in their core-planet bunkers, held a meeting.

The war wasn't over, and we weren't winning. And we'd just lost our best engineer. It was a big fucking hit for morale. There were losses everywhere.

Presumably after sending a swarm of government drones through the property, the board very quickly touted "Katersfield's Final Work", and "The culmination of everything she's ever done". Some people pointed out the public images that showed how the thing was half-done. But enough people wanted hope that everyone gradually bought into the idea.

The board appointed Katersfield's daughter to lead the finalization of the thing. Ann wasn't exactly an engineer, but they knew how the public would read it. They gave her a team of their best to work with.

When construction was nearly done, the board officially announced that Katersfield's son-in-law would be piloting it. Everyone expected it; he was the only striped pilot in the family. But it hit the top of everyone's news anyways.

The public test run was expected to be simple, and broadcasted live as far as the outer-space colonies.

It… didn't go so well.

Okay, it went very badly.

I mean.

Bad.

What followed was a lot of media confusion. The board hastily tried to put the blame on over-eagerness. People were fired. We lost four moons while our squadrons re-evaluated their lives.

Mark and his husband, Will Katersfield, had a very public divorce. Some people argue it was the media pressure. Some people suspect that the board forced them apart. I think it was a long time coming.

For a while the board pushed forward other candidates. They ran competitions for new mech designers and engineers and electricians. Offered an absurd amount of money and resources. A lot of cool stuff came out of it, but nothing really compares to Katersfield's work.

It was three years after that when media went into a frenzy over a low-grade video of the mech doing cartwheels over the family farm. Fucking cartwheels, man. I can't even do those in my own body most days.

Every news ship went down there as quick as they could. A bunch of civilians, too. Granny says a board member actually showed up in person.

Everyone was immediately on Ann about it. She was the only one that really stayed on the farm. She knew the machinery well enough. And maybe she'd inherited the pilot skills of one of Katersfield's late spouses.

To the dismay of the board, Ann insisted that the pilot was Thoma, one of Will's children. The media went ballistic. Kids weren't even supposed to be piloting mechs in the first place.

Thoma gave an interview to their school teacher and described the sensation of piloting upside down as "even better than going all the way around the bar on a swing and then having Grandma's cookies with two scoops of ice cream!" Their wide grin with missing teeth was eventually made into metal-cards for soldiers to attach under their breast plates and remind them of home.

At some point, Ann made the mistake of admitting that she'd taken it out for a test-run while she was tuning up some joints (she hadn't been an engineer when this started. But things change).

The board came down hard. They publicly announced that Ann was the cartwheeling pilot, and further that she'd accepted a high raking military title with absurd honors and enough pay to buy a moon. They posted a date with a public countdown clock for her departure to the front lines.

Now the way Granny tells it; Ann didn't know about any of this until her neighbor came by with the milk and a congratulations. Granny would probably piss on the board if she still could. Don't let her try it.

Ann did go. She didn't have many options, really. Her bio-logs phrase the situation as "the board made a decision. I complied."

We pushed back the front by two whole planets. Ann wasn't much of a pilot; she spent too much time thinking, but the war pushed around her. Most of the time it only took a three second clip of her unnaturally smooth landing and quick gravity adjustment to a new planet. My old mech would take two minutes to land and readjust. A lot can happen in two minutes.

The official report says Ann died on Mitas 9. The board will probably censor this whole damn thing if I try to explain what happened, but just remember that official reports are. Well. Official.

The mech was commandeered immediately. They cleaned it up, threw on a new coat of paint, and put their highest ranking pilot in the hotseat.

Everyone was in a hurry to get back to it and have a plan ready before Ann's death was publicly announced. Yeru knew the schematics by heart and spent one month living with the mech every hour of every day to make up for lost time. The board went as far as making them legally exempt from standard reports. Yeru's bios were never made public, but you can pull them from the military archives in Section B. They clearly knew their way around a mech, and honestly seemed to be a good person as far as I can tell.

The board had seemingly learned from prior incidents. The Generals hosted a secluded military showing of the first test-run. Those archives are probably deleted, but all you really need to know is that Yeru never made it off the ground.

For a few months, the military looked into sabotage. Yeru's bio-post about the joints being "just plain creaky no matter how much I oil the thing" convinced a bunch of higher-ups that the mech had been swapped out or something.

I know. Creating a whole fake mech to replace it with? Somehow managing to swap the thing out with as much board, military, and media surveillance as it has? Absurd.

Also I'm sure you're well aware that plenty of good mechs have creaky joints. I hear you ran Sacrifice 2 for a while there. Lt. Jen complained about how loud that thing was for months after he shared a hangar with it near Osylus. Not sure if that was your time or not. I'm going to tell him it was, so he'll have something to complain to you about. When he does, ask him about the wardrobe cloning incident. I'm sure he'll know what you're talking about.

Anyways.

The news about Ann went public, and the board pushed it down the feeds with reports about a new Stealth Carrier that would move faster than a pilot-ship. It did. Everyone loved it. I'm sure it's shit compared to the last carrier you were on.

Thoma, meanwhile, had grown up and gotten their way through military school. It might seem strange to you now, but Thoma actually didn't touch a mech the first decade of their service. They had a few friends and plenty worshipers, but still hadn't officially earned enough stripes to be a pilot. The Generals wanted to make sure Thoma was knocked down enough to keep from getting big-headed about it. But Thoma didn't really care.

Thoma fought hard and studied harder. They proved themselves again and again. You can look up the public records of their medal-acceptance speeches. Every damn time they would say "This is a great honor. Can I trade it in for a mech?"

Pissed a lot of people off, but it was fucking hilarious if you ask me.

Eventually Thoma led a fairly large squadron and took a half a continent in a week. When I asked them about it, they said they had sent a text message to the Generals saying "I could've gotten all of it, if I had my own mech :,(". I know them well enough to know they probably actually sent a frowny-face emoji to the Generals. Don't do that. It's hilarious. But, Don't.

Probably.

For now, anyways.

The board reluctantly let Thoma break the mech out of some museum somewhere as a reward for their service. They weren't intending for Thoma to actually run as a pilot since Thoma had already gotten to be in charge of things. It would be a media mess, at best, a military loss at worst.

Thoma did a fucking backflip over live media.

Anyways the board and the Generals argued about it for a week, but eventually did the only thing they could do. They made Thoma a pilot. There were lots of assurances that Thoma would still be holding their responsibilities as Planetary Sergeant. No one cared. Thoma had done a fucking backflip; the Katersfields were at it again.

I'm told that week of debate consisted of at least fifteen other pilots trying the mech out and reporting up failures of various kinds. Don't worry about that, you'll do fine.

I'm sure you know most of the story from there. Thoma took Belet 5 through Belet 11, and some other smaller planets along the way. Majestic. War hero. Idol. Etc etc.

The board immediately pushed Thoma’s son, Madene, into the military and straight into pilot's school. They make a lot of dumb decisions, but even the board could see the pattern here.

You might not have read this about me, but I used to be an electrician. I worked on Thoma's team for a while. The Generals gave Madene special permission to visit us sometimes so he could learn the mech hands-on. He'd always wanted to be an artist or a planetary refurbisher. That was clear from the first day we met.

I'll tell you this now, it's not part of public record: Madene ran the mech just fine when it was just us around. Thoma would give some long drawn-out speech about minding your manners and being careful with her. It was their Grandmother's soul in that machine, after all. Madene didn't really listen, but the mech ran just fine anyways.

When Madene was nearing graduation, the Generals sent their scouts around to see how things were going. The mech ran straight into their drones and fell convulsing onto the ground.

It was a hard time for a while, Thoma was upset with Madene and Madene was embarrassed. There were lots of arguments, and the Generals tried to pretend Madene just didn't have enough experience as a pilot. The idea that Madene did it on purpose didn't get recorded, but it's what a lot of people assumed. I don't think that's what happened, anyways.

Madene tried really hard after that. He pushed himself in school, and as a result they let him try out a bunch of other mechs. He proved he could handle it just as well as some of our better pilots. He took Entrapment marching around the school-system planet four times.

Thoma tore their knee in a pretty brutal fight, and since they were nearing retirement anyways the board arranged for a public hand-off of the mech.

I used to talk to her when I worked. My old pilot - the one I worked electricity for before Thoma - had always been superstitious about this sort've thing. She used to spend a good half-hour reassuring it before she's let me do any work on it. I guess I'd picked up the habit. You might want to pick it up, too, if you haven't already.

I'd asked her to help Madene out. He'd worked so hard and I could tell Thoma was slowing down.

You might have seen the media of that. Afterward Madene was particularly… verbal. Even if you didn't see that, I'm sure you heard about what happened to him after. Don't be too harsh on him, it's really not his fault. We were all too hard on him.

All the media says the Generals did a lot of research and realized I was better suited as a pilot and they shifted me over. How that actually happened was… well. A little boring.

One of their scouts had caught me helping her move over so I could get a better angle at the spinal wiring.

Blah blah blah. I'm sure you know the highlights from there.

So here's where we get to the advice that was the whole point of this message:

I admit the public eye is a little difficult to get used to. Honestly I recommend you just ignore it. They'll say shit no matter what you do.

Don't call her by the name the board gave her. I know that's what you learned in school and in training. Don't do it.

Don't piss her off.

Be patient - her memory isn't what it used to be.

Don't tell her what to do. I read your file, you have a lot of experience. I know this will be the hard part.

If the mediacom switches to one of those awful family gameshows. Just. Let it happen. No, they do not get less annoying to listen to. Yes, she knows they're all the same.

The internal heating will be On when you're on any below-regulation temperature planet. I know you're from the outer colonies. I know that will be too warm for you. Get over it and try not to dress down too much; she's easier to maneuver when you're in layers.

The one exception to the above is her tune-ups and maintenance. She doesn't like it. She never does. We have four crews to make it easier and I still do it myself sometimes to help her get over it. You're going to have to get good at negotiating.

If you leave a battle with a sudden craving in your neurons for hot and hearty soup, go get some hot and hearty soup. She'll get stubborn with you next time if you don't.

Granny will take care of you from there.

-Captain Layfar

[iomhair]

I promised @johnlockismyreligion a teeny tiny ficlet about Boris getting a flu and Valery taking care of them. I don’t think that this is what you had in mind, so I apologize in advance >__< I posted it, then deleted it, then I decided to post it again, but anyway, it’s soppy and pathetic and hopeful. 

If you have more prompts, feel free to send them my way <3 But then I will probably ruin them as well, so do it at your own risk :D

* * * 

Moscow greets Valery Legasov with the ever-growing noises of the loud cars and scent of autumn rains. It's different, so different here now. It's actually strange, really: a couple of months ago, right before April Valery could not imagine his life without all of this fuss, all of the sounds of the city that never really sleeps. Now it all comes back as if Pripyat has never existed: distant and somewhat cozy roaring of autumn rain, traffic lights right under his windows, ticking clock, long forgotten smell of books and cigarette smoke.  

Valery slowly walks forward, avoiding stepping on the creaking board out of habit. He enters his study, gazing at the student papers that were left here many months ago. Right... He was about to grade them, kids were supposed to have an exam. Suddenly Valery wonders about this exam, being curious about the grades. Were they good? Did his students pass? Did he manage to actually teach them something? Not that their grades matter now, not that most of the things matter now, but simple thoughts and simple distractions always helped him to keep sanity. Why giving up this habit now, when it's mostly needed.

Despite the noises outside the apartment everything seems so deadly quiet, and when the loud sound of ringing phone breaks the silence Valery rushes to it without even thinking.

- Hello?

The same silence greets him at first. Just for a split second or two, but it's enough for Valery to get excited and hopeful at the same time. He does not even need to hear this voice. And yet... all he wants is to listen to it again and again.  

- Valery, this is Boris. Did you get home in time? It's stormy in Moscow, I just heard in the news.

Legasov smiles. Hundreds of storms would not matter now, all that mattered was the familiar loud voice that he got used to hear every day in Chernobyl. Voice that Valery missed more than he would ever dare to admit even to himself. It seemed odd, scary even: they have parted just a couple of hours ago, why does it feel like an eternity away?..

- Valery, is everything all right?

- Yes, sorry, everything is all right. Of course it's all right, really, I'm fine. I just... I guess it takes time to get used to it. Did not realize I am home.

- Well, we have a couple of days. Get some rest. We are going back soon.

- I understand. Thank you.

- Good. I will you see you then.

So many words Legasov wants to say. Maybe he even would if he was braver. But Valery knows that he is not brave whatsoever, and he allows himself to enjoy that little that he had - a simple call. They are going back in just a couple of days, and for some horrible, absolutely stupid reason Valery's heart beats faster now only of the plain knowledge that soon he will see Boris once again. Pathetic, Legasov thinks to himself. What an old fool he is. Both of them need some reprieve and he better enjoy it.

In fact, he is not.

Valery walks to the window, watching the rain and taking out the cigarette from the pack, lighting it up. He tries to come up with some excuse that would allow him to call Boris back and to listen to his voice just a little bit longer. Maybe he hanged up too fast and it was quite rude. Maybe they need to discuss further plans. Maybe Boris had something to add to Valery's report to Kremlin's officials. And maybe, just maybe he would not mind hearing from his friend once again.

Solitude never really bothered Legasov, he did find it quite enjoyable, and it was always easier to work when his mind was not occupied with anything distracting. But somehow now it seems like a burden and Valery was secretly asking himself if there was even a slight chance that Boris feels the same. The second cigarette brings a false sense of the determination and Valery almost picks up the phone once again.

- Don’t do it, - he whispers quietly, making the warning vocal and therefore more real, - Don’t even think about it.

The early evening falls on Moscow very quickly, wrapping it in another layer of rain and fog.

Not today. But maybe tomorrow.

 *  *  *

 Waking up when you are utterly in love and have to keep quiet about it is not easy, that Legasov realized on his first week in Chernobyl. Not impossible, but very much heartbreaking. Every day seems like a burden and a blessing, and today, Valery already knew it, would be especially strange. Yet he will have to go through it, preferably using this chance of being in Moscow to their benefit, maybe meet certain people, ask some very uncomfortable questions, or even see his friends.

The weather is horrible even for the early autumn. Legasov thinks that he would actually love to stay at home today, but he has only few days in Moscow and he has to use them.  

It all comes back to him very quickly: crowded metro, traffic outside, loud students chasing the bus to Kurchatov institute, kiosks with newspapers, pieces of conversations, and people, actual people outside, and none of them looking like the ones Valery used to see in Chernobyl. It feels… reassuring.

The fuss of his usual life quickly envelops Valery in its embrace, taking the familiar form of friends, colleagues, students, even his own office. It seemed like life has not changed for anyone except of him, although Legasov knew that it was not true. He found it quite amusing that some of the colleagues tried to avoid him on purpose. Everyone knew where Valery came from. Everyone knew what happened there. And Legasov knew that no one would dare to ask him any questions and put themselves under the unnecessary risk. He expected it, anticipated the silence. But the unnerving feeling of being crossed out from the life that he used to have was getting stronger and stronger.

It’s stupid, really. Dangerous even. But it’s the end of the day and Valery needs to know that he still exists. That Chernobyl happened. Still happening. After all, he has a perfect excuse: a fresh report with the actual data that Boris will need to see.  

Legasov sighed, watching his own hand lingering over the red phone on his desk. Just seven numbers, he can certainly do it. He was near the open reactor, he spent last months in the most dangerous place on earth, surely one call can’t be that scary.

The circle with dialed numbers slowly spins there and back. One by one Valery touches the digits, actually hoping that maybe Boris would not pick up, maybe he is already sleeping, maybe is drinking somewhere with friends, maybe he is somewhere else, maybe he is at…

- This is Boris Shcherbina. Who am I speaking to?

…or he can actually pick up the phone.

- Boris, this is Valery, I needed to…

Needed to what? Hear you? See you? Make sure you exist?

The loud sound of sneezing interrupts Valery and getting him worried. He keeps silent for a couple of seconds, giving Boris some time to recover.

- Perhaps this is bad timing, sorry, Boris, I can call tomorrow.

- It’s all right, I am fine.

- Yes, you clearly are.

Legasov could not see, but could almost hear the usual growl, that Boris used to make when he was unhappy with the way things were.

- It’s nothing urgent, really. I just wanted you to see some new changes and make sure that you are aware of them. But it can wait.

- Do you need me to look at it?

- Yes, but if you are not feeling well…

- Nonsense, I am perfectly fine.

Valery does not really know what to say to this. It was always tough to overrule Shcherbina’s decisions, but it never stopped Legasov before.

- Boris, listen…

- I’ll give you my address. Come by and we’ll talk.  

He should not agree. Under any circumstances he should not accept it, Valery already knows it. This is a very bad idea, in fact, he should decline it right away…

- I’ll be in an hour.

…but those words slip off his lips before Legasov could stop himself.

Valery’s palms are shivering when he hangs up the phone. His heart is beating almost three times faster when he collects everything that he wanted to show to Boris. None of those papers are very important and Legasov knows it, all of this could actually wait. But the need to see him, maybe just to make sure that everything is all right is way stronger than his own pride.

 * * *

 Shcherbina opens the door and it’s pretty obvious to Valery that something’s not right. Boris does not look like his usual self, in fact, he looks far from it. And Legasov does not need to be a doctor to realize that his friend probably did not sleep that night very well.

- Boris, how are you feeling?

Simple question, that would usually require a simple answer, but not with Boris Shcherbina, never with this man. He would never admit that something is wrong with him, as if accepting help from another human being would make him less of a man.

- I am fine. Just did not sleep well.

- Right…

In any other time Legasov would have accepted this explanation even if it was far from truth. Despite Boris’ opinion, he could play those social games to a certain extent, could spare someone’s ego, could avert the eyes in case it was needed. Valery never managed to master it, but at least he learned the very basics.

But now… Now it was different.

Legasov walked into the apartment, still holding the folder with the papers. Even in his wildest dreams, whenever he imagined being at this place, he never expected it to be this… intimate. Everything around him kept the feel of Boris, making this apartment so incredibly personal, that it was impossible to ignore. Somehow Valery knew that Shcherbina was feeling the same, but for some odd reason he did not make any attempts to stop Valery or to let him know that he is not welcome here. He just sighed, for some reason giving a quick glance to the mirror, quickly touching the collar of his shirt, and walked through the dark corridor. Valery heard the sound of cups and teaspoons, turning away from the massive bookshelf, filled with different books and beautiful atlases in fancy covers. Legasov suspected that most of them were here just for decoration, but some part of him desperately wanted to give this cabinet a closer look.

- Valery, I am making tea, will you have some?

Before Valery could even say something, he heard a loud sound of sneezing that Shcherbina was obviously trying to cover. He walked to the kitchen, freezing at the doorframe and watching Boris wearily sitting onto the chair, looking somewhat offended. With the quiet sigh Legasov stepped forward, gently touching Boris’ forehead with the palm, measuring the temperature.

- I have not been sick for so many years. Always healthy. Even when my daughter was sick and I had to spend nights at her bed – never caught anything. And now… the one evening of rain and look at me, what the hell is this.

Valery could not help, but to allow himself to smile – Boris always tend to be dramatic despite his everlasting composure. How he managed to balance it, letting his emotions be mixed in the right way, remained a mystery.

- Did you even sleep tonight?

- Not really. I’ve been up all night. I took some pills, but it did not help much.

Valery sighed, stepping away and looking at Boris, desperately trying not to show anything that could be considered more than a simple concern for a sick friend.

- Where do you keep medicine?

Boris nodded to the far drawer, still looking somewhat pale and tired.

- You don’t have to do this.

- Do what exactly?

- Staying here for a start. Wasting your day. I am sure, you have plenty of other plans. Valery, really, it’s fine, I can take care of myself. You don’t get to my age without fighting a flu or two.

Legasov smirked, turning away from the drawer, already holding a big box filled with different pills, glass bottles, even the tin cans with medical lotions.

- I thought you said that you’ve never been sick. Was this an imaginary fight?

- I still can take care of myself.

With these words Boris bent forward, trying to fight the cough once again and then simply giving up to it. Valery felt his own fingers clenching the box even tighter.

- I know you can, Boris. Just… just let me make you tea, deal?.. And what the hell is that, it’s been expired, of course it would not work!

- I told you, I never needed any of those! Legasov, I am barely even home. I have work to do. I have no time to be sick!

Valery sighed, putting the box away and turning to Boris. Suddenly he realized that he has absolutely no rights to order around, that he is actually in another man’s apartment, which was the absolute last place in the world that Valery should have been visiting. Simple words “go to bed” got stuck in Legasov’s throat, and he felt his cheeks were getting covered with the very distinctive blush. It was impossible not to notice this, but Valery knew that Boris had good enough manners so to ignore it. At least for now.

- Right…

The whole situation Valery found himself in was far from ordinary. It would have been uneasy, even scary, but the past months were full of quick events and quick decisions and Legasov wanted to think that this experience was sufficient enough to use it in the current circumstances.

- You do need some rest, Boris, you might have a fever. I will make you tea and get you something that did not expire last century, but you need to… you know, what sick people usually do and try to stay in warmth.

Boris got up. It seemed like Valery’s words were finally making an effect or maybe he just did not feel like arguing, Legasov could not tell.

Rain outside was still pretty heavy, seems like autumn came early this year. But it does not matter, like grades of his students, like most of the things now. Valery knows that even if it was storm and tornado outside, he’d still go to this damn store, just to make sure that Boris will feel better. It actually takes him some time to find the pharmacy in the new area, get everything that he used to get for himself whenever he was getting sick and to come back to Boris’ apartment. His thin jacket is all wet, scarf is actually dripping with water, but the sudden feeling of this welcoming warmth of someone else’s apartment makes it all it worth it.

Twilight shadows were now covering the rooms, somehow making everything look more cozy. Legasov turned on the dimmed lights, trying to be move as quiet as possible, deciding to check on Shcherbina and doing his best to not actually think of the fact that he was now entering his bedroom.

- Boris? It’s me. I got you some pills, and this syrup, look, it’s not much, but they did not have lots of choice and I’ll check another store tomorrow, and…

- Thank you…

Valery shivers. How he longed to hear this voice once again. And yet now he would prefer not to hear it at all, rather letting his friend get some sleep. He was never the one to be too affectionate, was never able to declare anything he feels, preferring to keep everything a secret. It was safer. It was a right thing to do. Always was. And now it was not the time to make an exception.

Valery bit the lips, gently touching Boris’ forehead, letting his fingers slide over a couple of visible wrinkles. For the split second he met the gaze of the grey eyes, that haunted his dreams for many months. Is it… No, it can’t be. Boris’ just not feeling well. He is tired. He needs sleep. He needs a friend and not the loud declarations that will ruin everything and put them both into an extremely shitty position.

- Give me a couple of minutes, I’ll come back.

Boris nods. And his lips are stretching in a slight smile.

It takes Valery a couple of minutes to brew the hot tea with the generous portion of honey, make the cold wrap and sort the medicine, leaving most of them on the table. It is somewhat strange to take care of someone just like this, but at the same time Valery is terrified of the fact that it feels so natural. Even the simplest of things, such as mixing honey with tea seemed so painfully domestic that some part of Valery dared to enjoy it.

He came back to Boris’ room only to see him settling under the blanket with nothing but an undershirt on. And although this was something Legasov expected to see, he did not really know how to react to that properly. Best would be just to turn away, or maybe pretend like nothing is happening, or maybe just drop this cup here, put everything on the bedside table, leave this place and never ever come back. Yes, that would be preferable. But then Boris shifted, opening the eyes and trying to pull the blanket higher with the visible effort.

- Hold on, Boris, let me help.

- I am perfectly fine, look, I can even get up myself, Valery.

- Of course you can, I know, yes, but just… here, drink this.

Valery moved forward, trying not to think of the fact that this was the closest he has ever been to Shcherbina and that he was just about to touch his arm, leaning back the last second. He passed the cup to Boris, watching him drinking the hot tea and obediently swallowing all of the pills, not even asking any questions about them.

- There you go. See, does not feel that bad.

- It does not feel good either.

- Yes, but you need to wait. That’s usually how the medicine works.

- What if I don’t want to wait? This is boring.

Valery sighed. He could not believe it. Boris now looked at him with the expression that reminded Legasov of his own students, unhappy with the final result of their exam. He did his best to hide the smile, while slowly moving away from the bed, trying to be as subtle as it was possible.

- I am sorry, I wish I could… make the effect immediate?

- Can you?

- No, but I can make it a bit easier.

Valery slowly put the cold wrap on Boris’ forehead, watching his lips opening in a quiet sigh.

- That should help… - he whispered, slowly backing away, at this point unable to avoid looking at Boris, - I… I probably should go, you need some sleep, I can’t help with that. Listen, there are… pills on the table, I found some honey, I will come back in the morning to check on you. I turned off the stove, but I can make you another cup of tea, let me just…

- Stay.

- Excuse me?..

- Stay, Valera.

This very second it seems to Legasov that his world has shuttered into millions little pieces. And as if those words were not enough, he suddenly felt Boris’ hand in his own, instinctively clenching the palm around his fingers. It was impossible, absolutely unbelievable, and yet it was happening.

Boris’ eyes are closed and it makes Valery think that this all is not real. That Boris’ fever probably reached the point when people do crazy things, say the words they don’t mean, act stupid – he heard about that. It is totally possible.

But Boris’ hand is still in his own, although the grip was now getting less strong. He is falling asleep fast, probably because of the warmth, or maybe it’s the rain outside, or the pills. Hundreds of reasons for that, really. All of them way more possible than any stupid fantasy.

- I’m here.  

Valery hopes that Boris did not hear that. That he has already fell asleep, that his treacherous voice was too quiet. And as if this was not enough, Legasov sat on a bed once again, trying to take as little space as it was possible. His heart seemed to jump out of the chest, but the hands were steady. Not even thinking what he was doing, not even caring of the consequences, not even knowing if it was the right thing to do, he leaned forward, for a split second pressing the lips to Boris’ knuckles, already knowing that he will stay by him all night, if needed.

- I am here.

He should let go of Boris’ hand. In fact, he should leave immediately, it would have been a right thing to do. But the rain outside is getting only stronger and Boris is finally falling asleep, and he is still holding Valery’s hand, and his fever will be gone tomorrow – somehow Valery already knows that. And this is all that matters now.

[giggleandtears]

What I need

Summary: Ben has a surprise for the OC

Pairings: Benedict Cumberbatch/OC

A/N: I wrote this for my bestie that was having a bad day. Sam is the NSA agent that monitors our messages. It’s an ongoing joke ;-)

Enjoy!

Red Whip - Silencer of Men: Sam is at it again

Giggle Tea: SAM! AHHHH!!!

Giggle Tea: What he do now

Red Whip - Silencer of Men: Sent me a flight confirmation email right after I told you I need  a vacation

Giggle Tea: Dang it Sam! Stop twiddling her vacation  berries. It’s not nice

Red Whip - Silencer of Men: I hate you so much

Giggle Tea: You love me

Red Whip - Silencer of Men: I don’t

Shaking her head, although reluctantly smiling at her best friend, McKay got back to work. Their small conversations throughout the day were always a needed distraction. But inevitably they would end and she was left with her thoughts. Releasing a weighty sigh, McKay hoped it would ease some of the tension in her shoulders that was slowly creeping into her neck. She had been doing it a lot lately. God, she needed a break. 

Rolling over from another restless sleep, McKay grasped blindly for her phone. The insistent buzzing was getting to be rather annoying. Cracking an eye open to the bright display, a lazy smile rolled onto her lips. Just the sight of his name sends tingles to her extremities and a heart constricting warmth blooms in her chest. After hitting the ‘answer’ button, McKay snuggles deeper into her covers and puts the phone to her ear. 

“Hey-woah.”

Ben’s breath hitches as he sinks further into his chair. Her voice is still heavy with sleep and all too adorable. How he wishes he could witness it in person. Blankets wrapped around them. Her soft breath tickling his neck. Curls bouncing in every direction. Gently waking her by smoothing the creases on her cheek made by the pillow. And being rewarded with that lovely contented smile when she finally opened her eyes and saw him. To say he missed her was a mere shadow of the deep longing he felt. 

“Good morning, Love.” The deep richness of Ben’s voice instantly calms her. His voice is so soft, warm. It’s exactly how he sounds when he wakes her from a sweet slumber. Her eyes still shut. Cocooned in the warmth of the covers and his exposed skin. Legs tangled together amongst the sheets. His clean scent filling her nose. Soothing strokes of his finger upon her cheek. Hearing his gentle greeting mixed with the steady thump of his heart beat. Fluttering her eyes open. Smiling at spending yet another day with the most precious gift she’s ever received. Her heart aches with an inner desperation only his presence can relieve. Closing her eyes, McKay tightens the blankets surrounding her yet again, eager to be enveloped by even this small piece of him. “Did I wake you?”

“Yea,'' McKay says, with a yawn, “but I don’t care.” 

Chuckling lowly, “I know you don’t but you need your rest”. A large part of their relationship has always consisted of persuading McKay to go to sleep. She declares it’s a waste of time even when their conversations are reduced to more yawns than actual words. Although, he can’t blame her. Each hour sleeping is an hour closer to goodbye. 

“But not as much as I want to talk to you.”

“And I you. That's why I'm calling so early. Did you get the email with your flight details?”

“My what?” McKay asks, now fully awake. 

“The email I forwarded about your flight tonight.” 

The long silence on the end of the line is very telling. 

“Did you delete it again?” A smile radiating from his voice. “You do it every time I try to surprise you.”

Furiously scrolling through her trash box, “I thought it was Sam!” 

“Don’t worry, Love. I'll resend it. Take a look when you get up. You have plenty of time to get ready.”

Sadly, Mckay has an inkling that their conversation is coming to a close.

“Do you have to go?” Her voice is so small, hesitant. Ben can hear the soft rustle of her blankets. Her legs no doubt started to twitch and bounce. She’s fighting every cell in her body to not ask him for more time. She hates to sound needy and the last thing she wants to do is pressure him. 

But Ben is already silently cursing himself. This was supposed to be a happy call. “Yes. I’m incredibly sorry. I’m already late for an appointment.”

“Ok,” disappointment evident in her hushed tone.

He has to make this better somehow. Using the same hushed tone but warmed by his deep-seated affection, “Just think, my love. We’ll be together in less than 18 hours. No interruptions, no distractions. Just us.” 

And that’s what McKay did. After receiving the email with the flight details, a second email came as well. She could tell it was written in haste, probably in a cabbie on the way to a meeting. It was simple, to the point. It boiled down to, ‘I love you. I miss you. I will always need you.’ It’s exactly what she needed to hear. Her implicit love and renewed excitement propelled her through cleaning, hair washing, and eventually packing. Her flight was of course First Class with all the amenities. Ben never skipped an opportunity to spoil his woman. She is ‘The Woman’ after all. 

So much excitement and anticipation tired McKay out. She was knocked out the moment the plane reached cruising altitude. After she retrieved her bags at baggage claim, she made her way to arrivals. Her feet carried her at double time toward the man holding the placard reading ‘Mrs. Payne’. He recognizes her immediately and greets her with a wide smile. She abruptly halts. Although he’s roughly the same height and build, he most certainly is not Ben.

Extending his hand, "Hello Mrs. Payne. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m your driver for the evening." McKay takes his hand, eager to know why Ben isn't here to meet her. "Mr. Cumberbatch has just a few more appointments", her face visibly drops, disheartened. Rushing to console her, "But Mr. Cumberbatch has assured me he's not far behind."  

Mckay nods forlornly and follows the man to the awaiting car. In his conversational babbling, she learns his name is Christopher. After stowing her bags in the boot, McKay slides into the car. Sighing, she leans her head back against the headrest. 

A rumbling baritone voice is heard across from her. “Hello darling.” Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she snaps to attention searching for the disembodied voice. Peeking out of the partition is her one and only Ben. He smiles that goofy grin of his and disappears. 

“What!” McKay says, frantically looking at all the windows and doors. When the right door opens, her breath is stolen. This is not the polished Ben of red carpets and premieres. No, this is just Ben. The jeans he grabs pastries in, a random shirt of unknown origin, his favorite scarf from 4 anniversaries ago, topped with a worn tweed cap. It’s McKay’s absolute favorite Ben. She lunges for him before he’s completely in the car. They’re a toppled mess of limbs and neither could care less, desperate to touch every piece of the other. 

Once they righted themselves, Ben brushes her curls behind her ear and gently holds her face in his slender fingers. He has so much he wants to say, so much he wants to share with the world he has cradled in his hands. But each and every syllable has died on his tongue. They dissolved the moment he chose to look into her eyes then travel down to the heavenly plains of her lips. The spell was cast and he lacked the power to retreat. A simper rolled onto his lips as he slowly drew her in. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, until they remembered oxygen was a necessity. 

Pulling back, McKay catches her breath. Her entire body is buzzy and delicious. Senses heightened but somehow calm. She notices that Ben’s hat is askew and reaches to straighten it. But it’s Ben that takes it off completely. He smiles to himself, knowing she can’t resist what comes next. McKay cards her fingers through his silken tresses, thrilled when his curls spring back.

“Your hair’s growing back.” She says, with an almost holy reverence. She pulls another curl closest to his crown and giggles when it bounces back into place. Ben beams at her unparalleled joy.

“My god I’ve missed you.” He kisses her forehead and she sighs against him. McKay clutches his arm and rests on his shoulder for the remainder of their journey. 

They reach their cabin a little after nightfall. The air is crisp and clean but the short walk from the car to the door makes it clear it’s very cold. Ben uncharacteristically goes in first, quickly switching on the lights. When McKay walks through the threshold, she’s dazzled by the tiny twinkling lights strewn delicately around the living room. Blankets and pillows make every surface plush and cozy. It’s like walking into the perfect cup of earl grey.  After Ben puts the bags in the bedroom, he returns to find McKay leisurely walking around, lightly touching whatever object calls to her. She picks up a throw off the back of the couch and sinks her fingers into its soft fibers, perfect for snuggles. A familiar scent tickles her nose and she lifts the blanket to her nose. It smells of jasmine. Ben thought of every detail. Love blooms in her as she replaces the throw and looks for her husband. 

He stands in the doorway, patiently watching her take in all the small touches he thought she’d love. Each and every smile they elicit is another treasured memory. She starts to slink over to Ben seductively but loses her coordination halfway there. They laugh together as she seductively shuffles over to him. She places her hands on his chest, looking up through her lashes. 

With sincere appreciation, “It’s perfect.”

Ben wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close. Nuzzling her nose, “You’re perfect.” 

McKay bounces on her toes and places a loud kiss on his neck. “So, what’s next.”

“Well Mrs. Cumberbatch”, he never tires of calling her that and she never tires of hearing it, “would you like to eat a venable feast that I will prepare or would you like to take a moment to relax with the bath of your dreams?”

“Bath. Definitely bath.”

A knowing smile graces Ben’s lips. “It’s already running. Go relax my love.” McKay can’t wait to see what awaits her in the bathroom but realizes Ben has no intention of joining her. She pouts. Tipping her chin up with his knuckle, “Never fear. There’ll be plenty of time for that.” He kisses her nose sweetly before releasing her but his tone was anything but.

Yes, Ben started the bath but he said nothing about the pillar candles flickering, soothing music echoing, or decorative bowl of bath bombs. He even laid out a pair of soft jammies beside her towel. Her whole bath experience was perfect but she had a hankering for a certain ginger. Also, she was hungry. 

Coming into the living room, she surveyed the scene and found she wasn’t quite ready to disturb it. Ben sits on the couch, book in hand. The flames from the fire he’s started dances along his reading glasses. He gently turns a page, lolling his head to the side in concentration. Oh, to be that book. A perfect curl falls onto his forehead. He tries to swipe it away but the gesture is futile. He must be using the products McKay recommended. 

A contented sigh rolls from her lips, catching Ben’s attention. He looks over the couch, a smile springing onto his lips. Looking at the woman leaning against the door frame, his face drops. She is not wearing what he laid out. The blue silk top and shorts hang elegantly off her figure. On any color chip this blue could be overlooked as ordinary or basic. Ben would agree. But this is his favorite shade. It's not about the color itself. It's about this particular shade of blue against her porcelain skin. She becomes a mythical creature only found in the most imaginative minds or in pages of ancient texts. She’s a fairy or nymph glowing brighter than the fire before him. Ben never believed in magic until he met her. 

Swallowing, he offers his hand. “Join me.”

She walks over to him, never feeling as beautiful as when Ben looks at her. He slides onto the floor and Mckay sits between his legs. On the coffee table before them is every sweet and savory horderve she could ever want, paired with two different wines. They eat and drink, talking of everything and nothing. Ben laughs heartily into her back when McKay falls in love with a particular cheese, although it's rather ordinary. 

“What? It’s really good!” She proclaims. 

Ben absentmindedly draws small circles on her thigh. He hasn’t said much but has that derpy grin on his face. He loves to listen to her talk. Her ideas about the world, her balance of compassion and justice, her creativity. Ben wants to hear it all. He hears a good portion but before long, McKay draws him out. Now it’s her turn to be in awe. Ben speaks of the projects that he’s most excited about. He tries his hardest not to drop any spoilers but it’s inevitable when he gets excited. There are two charities he’s thinking about supporting but he’s doing his research and due diligence first. 

“Hey, switch with me.” McKay says, after the food is mostly gone and they are both in that relaxed, satisfied post-food coma. McKay sits against the couch and Ben lay his head in her lap. She lovingly outlines his chiseled jaw with her finger. Tippling his chin up, McKay kisses along his jaw and cheek. Ben smiles, taking in every touch as if it’s their first. HIs heart begins to beat faster and faster. It always does. Once she finds his lips, his pulse skyrockets. McKay feels it ricocheting under her palm as she grabs a fist of his shirt. She explores with a hunger of refined skill and precision. Ben can only hold on for dear life. But once he buries his hand in her curls, changing the angle to deepen the kiss, Mckay loses all grasp of reality. 

Fireworks crackle behind her eyes and she could swear she was floating. Slowly pulling back and unfurling his shirt from her hand, they both pant softly. “Now, what were you saying?” Smiling up at her, he continues. Before long, Ben stops mid sentence, a moan rolling from his lips. This woman is trying to kill him. McKay started massaging his scalp. Through thorough experimentation, she found the perfect amount of pressure and rhythm to make Ben come undone. She eases up a little so he can continue speaking. 

When her hands completely still, he looks up to see her eyes brighten in wonder. Gasping, she eases Ben off her lap and scampers off the floor. She trips on the side of the carpet with a yelp but rights herself before she gets to the window. The night sky swirls with indescribable colors. Greens bend into pinks and purples into oranges. They shimmer in unison with the skill of a well practiced painter. Who knew you could see Aurora Borealis from the Swiss Alps? Ben did. Of course he did. 

Ben comes behind her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. They both stand in awe of the magnificence right outside their window. But Ben is infinitely more in awe of the woman in his arms. He traces her exposed shoulder with his nose. McKay squirms a touch at the sensation. He leaves butterfly kisses on her shoulder and neck, feather light. She releases a breath at the intimate gesture, the inner sting of yearning slowly starting to ease. 

Mckay turns in his arms, nuzzling against his cheek. “Thank you for this. It's literally exactly what I needed.”

“A romantic getaway?”

“No.” She says, pulling away. “You. I just need you.”

Ben places his forehead against hers.

“And I, you. My love.”