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whosscruffylooking · 4 months ago

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The Purest Things: Stars & Midnight Blue

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: Murder. Blood. Death. Weapons. Canon typical violence. Everything that makes Criminal Minds, Criminal Minds. a/n: my heart broke a little. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! October 2009

Bookend: "You have lost yourself in dreaming. I have lost myself in you. Now we lie beneath the sky. Stars and midnight blue." -Enya

The next few months pass in a relentless haze—days consumed by cases, nights swallowed by the hunt for Foyet. You and the team, but mostly you and Hotch, stretch yourselves thin, existing on the barest minimum of sleep. The world outside the office blurs, reduced to crime scene photos, timelines, maps covered in red ink—always searching, always just behind him.

Tonight is no different.

The conference room is dimly lit, the glow of desk lamps casting long shadows over the endless array of notes and charts pinned to the walls. The air is thick with exhaustion, with frustration. You run a hand through your hair, staring at the whiteboard filled with Foyet’s movements—if you can even call them that. The bastard moves like a ghost, slipping through cracks before you can ever fully grasp him.

Your grip tightens around the dry-erase marker. And then, with a sharp exhale, you hurl it at the board. It bounces off, landing on the table with a dull thud.

From across the room, Hotch looks up from his notes. “You okay?”

“I hate him so much.”

The words come out raw, almost quivering. The frustration, the helplessness, the sheer rage of knowing that Jack and Haley are still out there, still living in the shadows because of him.

You press your palms against your temples, fighting back the emotion clawing at your throat.

You barely register the sound of his chair scraping back before he’s in front of you, kneeling down, close enough that his warmth settles over you like an anchor.

“You’ve been working yourself into the ground,” he says, voice softer than you expected. “Take a break.”

You shake your head, inhaling sharply. “I can’t.” Your hands tighten into fists in your lap. “I can’t let them stay there any longer.”

Hotch remains silent at first, his chestnut eyes probing yours. Yet, after spending enough time with him, you can sense the apprehension beneath his quietude—the way his fingers dig slightly deeper into the arm of your chair, as if he’s battling the impulse to reach out and bridge the distance between you.

“You think I don't feel the same way?” His voice is soft yet laced with an unmistakable intensity, a gravity that compels you to meet his gaze completely.

You do. You know he does. But the difference is he buries it better.

“Then why are you telling me to stop?” you counter.

“I’m not.” He exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “I’m telling you to breathe.”

Something within you falters.

It’s the way he expresses it—not as a command or an order from your superior, but as something entirely different.

Aaron.

Not Hotch.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to suppress the emotion, to bury it deep and maintain your focus. But then his hand finds yours, gently pulling them away from your face.

The touch is delicate, almost ethereal, yet it sends a jolt through you.

“You can’t carry this alone,” he murmurs.

You almost laugh. “I’m not. You’re right here with me.”

He knows what you mean. You’re in this together. The late nights, the exhaustion, the shared burden of pursuing the man who shattered his life. Neither of you can let go of this case, not while Jack and Haley’s lives hang in the balance.

His thumb grazes your knuckles, a subtle gesture, yet it anchors you to the moment. To him.

For the first time in months, you feel something beyond anger and fatigue.

You feel him.

And then you realize just how close he is.

The office is silent, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights. The warmth of his breath brushes against your skin, and you suddenly become acutely aware of the space between you—or the lack thereof.

If either of you moved even an inch—

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

You remain there, ensnared in a tension you no longer have the strength to resist. His gaze flickers downward—to your lips, just for a fleeting moment—before snapping back up.

Your breath catches.

And for an instant, you swear he’s about to close the distance.

But just as quickly as it began, the moment dissipates.

Hotch pulls back. The warmth of his presence fades as he stands, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off an invisible weight.

“You should get some rest,” he says, his voice returning to its usual steady tone, as if nothing just happened.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to nod. “You too.”

He doesn’t respond. He lingers for a moment longer, as if something still hangs between you—something unfinished.

But then he steps away, retreating toward the table, toward the case, toward anything that isn’t this.

You remain frozen in your chair, your hands still resting in your lap where his had been only moments ago. Your pulse races, your skin still warm from his touch, and no matter how hard you try to refocus on the case, you can’t.

Because for one brief, impossible second, Aaron Hotchner almost kissed you.

And worse—you wanted him to.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The next day, the air between you and Hotch feels altered. He remains himself—composed, measured—but there’s a hesitation in the way he gazes at you, a moment too long where his eyes linger before darting away. You feel it too, a heaviness that wasn’t there before last night.

You both go through the motions of the morning—case briefings, checking in with Garcia, organizing files—but the tension remains. It doesn’t dissipate.

It isn’t until after lunch, when the office is quieter, that he finally broaches the subject. He finds you in the conference room, feigning interest in the same timeline you’ve both been obsessing over for weeks. But you’re not really seeing it, and you know he knows that.

He closes the door behind him—not all the way, but just enough to create a barrier.

“We need to talk about last night,” he says, his voice as cautious as his posture, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders taut.

You exhale, setting your pen down. “Yeah,” you reply, meeting his gaze. “We probably should.”

A silence stretches between you. He’s studying you, searching for something in your expression, as if hoping you’ll speak first and spare him the burden. But you don’t.

His throat works around the next words. “It… shouldn’t have happened.”

Your stomach tightens, even though you anticipated it. “It didn’t happen,” you remind him, your voice steady.

His jaw clenches. You both know that’s a lie.

“It almost did,” he counters, quiet but resolute. “And that’s—” He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “That’s not something I can afford. Not now.”

You nod, pretending that it doesn’t sting. That it doesn’t leave you aching in a way you can’t quite name.

“I know.”

His expression softens just a fraction. “You’re—” He halts, reconsidering whatever he was about to say. Then, more gently, “You mean a lot to me.”

Something tightens in your chest. “I know,” you repeat, because you do.

Neither of you moves. Neither of you dares to voice what you’re both thinking. That if circumstances were different—if the world weren’t crumbling around you, if Foyet weren’t still out there, if he weren’t burdened by too many ghosts—maybe last night wouldn’t have ended the way it did.

Maybe it wouldn’t have ended at all.

But you both know better.

So you swallow it down. Bury it deep. And when you move to leave, brushing past him through the half-open door, he doesn’t stop you.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Rossi isn’t surprised when Hotch shows up at his house that night, but he’s taken aback by the look on his face—troubled, adrift in a way he rarely allows himself to be.

Wordlessly, Rossi steps aside, inviting him in.

Hotch paces the living room, his footsteps echoing in the stillness, before finally stopping in front of the fireplace, staring at the darkened embers as if they might whisper some hidden truth. He exhales, runs a hand over his jaw, and then finally speaks.

“I let it get too far,” he admits, his voice taut with tension.

Rossi leans against the arm of the couch, watching him intently. “With her?”

Hotch doesn’t answer immediately, but the silence speaks volumes.

Rossi nods slowly. “How far?”

Hotch closes his eyes for a fleeting moment. “Almost.”

There’s a rawness in his voice that makes Rossi take a breath before responding. “But it didn’t...go too far.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

A flicker of pain crosses Aaron's features. “Because it shouldn’t happen.”

Rossi scoffs softly. “That’s not an answer.”

Hotch turns to him now, sharp yet weary. “The rules, Dave.”

“The rules.” Rossi echoes the words, slow and deliberate. “The same rules you two have been bending for months?”

Hotch exhales sharply, looking away as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

Rossi lets the silence linger for a moment before pressing on. “So what was it, really?”

Hotch doesn’t answer right away. He grips the mantle, his knuckles turning white. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“It feels wrong.”

Rossi tilts his head, searching for understanding. “Why?”

Hotch swallows hard, his vulnerability laid bare. “Because Jack and Haley are in hiding. Because they’re out there somewhere, cut off from everything they know, because of me. And I’m here—” His voice catches, thick with emotion. “I’m here, wanting something for myself.”

Rossi studies him carefully, his heart aching for the man before him. “Something, or someone?”

Hotch remains silent, the weight of his unspoken desires hanging in the air.

Rossi sighs and pushes off the couch, stepping closer. “Listen, Aaron. No one’s saying this isn’t complicated. Hell, nothing in your life has been simple since the day you put on that badge. But tell me this—does being miserable make them any safer?”

Hotch tenses, the question striking a nerve.

“You think denying yourself every good thing in your life is going to change what’s already happened?” Rossi shakes his head, frustration mingling with compassion. “You think it’s going to bring them back?”

Hotch’s breath is slow, measured. “No.”

“Then what are you punishing yourself for?”

Hotch looks at him, caught between exhaustion and frustration, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Rossi nods, as if he expected that answer. He places a reassuring hand on Hotch’s shoulder, grounding him. “Then figure it out. Because she’s not going to wait around forever.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You gaze at the transfer request form resting on your desk, the words meticulously inscribed in your precise handwriting. All that remains is your signature.

Your pen hovers over the line, your fingers tightening around it. This is the right choice. The only choice.

The memory of that night is still too vivid, too piercing. The way Hotch had looked at you, the way the space between you had evaporated in an instant. How neither of you moved at first, simply inhaling the same air, ensnared in something impossible to reclaim. And then—he pulled away.

Of course he did.

You exhale, shaking your head as you press the tip of the pen to the paper. The ink bleeds into the line as you sign your name.

It’s done.

You rise, the request cradled in your hands, and make your way to Hotch’s office. The bullpen is quieter than usual, the hum of agents working fading into the background as you ascend the stairs.

Hotch’s office is a sanctuary of stillness, the only sound the faint scratching of his pen against paper as he reviews a case file. The dim glow from his desk lamp casts a soft halo around him, accentuating the hard lines of his face. Your fingers tighten around the envelope in your grasp, its weight far heavier than the paper inside.

You shouldn’t be here.

You could leave it on his desk and slip away, letting him open it when you’re not around to witness his reaction. But that would be cowardly, and you owe him more than that.

Taking a steadying breath, you step forward and place the envelope deliberately in front of him. The motion feels monumental, though your pulse thunders in your throat.

Hotch doesn’t look up immediately. The moment stretches unbearably before he finally sets his pen down, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours. His gaze flickers to the envelope, scanning the neatly printed name in the corner, before returning to your face.

A beat of silence. Then—

“What is this?” His voice is even, yet there’s an undercurrent—something restrained.

You swallow hard. “My transfer request.”

His expression barely shifts, but the atmosphere in the room thickens. He doesn’t touch the envelope, doesn’t even glance down at it again. Instead, he leans back slightly, studying you with the kind of intensity that has unraveled criminals and cracked open cases.

“Why?”

It’s such a simple question, yet it knocks the breath from your lungs.

You should’ve been prepared for this, but standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, everything you rehearsed in your mind feels flimsy.

Because it’s becoming too painful.

Because I can’t be near you like this anymore.

Because I almost kissed you, and I don’t know how to come back from that.

But you can’t voice any of that. Instead, you force yourself to stand a little taller, steady your voice, and say, “Because this is becoming too complicated.”

His eyes darken, but he remains still, his only reaction the slight tightening of his jaw.

“You think leaving is the solution?” His voice is quieter now, measured, but there’s something else lurking beneath—something that makes your breath catch.

“It has to be.” The words feel irrevocable, but they don’t settle right in your chest. “We can’t keep pretending nothing’s happening, and I can’t—I won’t—be reckless about this.”

A muscle flickers in his jaw, the only outward sign that your words resonate with him. “So instead of confronting it, you run?”

Your stomach twists. “This isn’t running. It’s safeguarding my career. Protecting yours.”

He exhales slowly, looking away for the first time, as if searching for something to anchor him.

“Do you truly believe I’d let this cloud my judgment?” he asks, voice low.

“I think we’re already there,” you reply, softer now.

That seems to strike a chord. His fingers flex against the desk, the tension in his shoulders palpable even through his crisp dress shirt.

For a fleeting second, you think he might say something else. That he might finally acknowledge the truth neither of you have dared to articulate.

But instead, he nods, slow and deliberate.

“I see.”

The finality in his tone stings more than you anticipated.

You nod once, turning before you lose your resolve. You make it to the door, gripping the handle with fingers that feel ice-cold, when his voice halts you.

“I’ll review it in the morning.”

You don’t look back. Because if you do, you might change your mind.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The dream comes in fragments—flashes of heat, of craving, of something that’s been held back for too long, finally breaking free.

It starts with the kiss. The kiss that didn’t happen, but in the dream, it does. The air between you crackles with tension, the soft lighting in his apartment making everything feel too intimate, too close. His hand cups your face, pulling you in with a force that takes your breath away. Your lips meet—slow at first, testing, but then it deepens, his mouth molding perfectly to yours, taking what you’ve both been craving.

His hands move to your waist, fingers tracing the curves of your body like he’s memorizing every inch. You can feel the heat of him against you, his chest pressing into yours, the hard outline of his body telling you everything he’s trying to keep inside. His lips trail down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re not afraid of this, are you?” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.

You shake your head, pulling him closer, the friction between you igniting something that can’t be denied. “No,” you whisper back, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the muscles beneath.

He groans softly, his hands finding their way to the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss—this time more desperate, more raw. You let him take control, his mouth claiming yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. Every part of you is alive, every inch of you aware of him.

He trails kisses along your throat, his breath shaky against your skin as he moves lower, and you can’t stop the sound that escapes your lips—soft, needy. You tug at his tie, eager to feel more of him, and he groans again, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard edge of him pressed against you, making your pulse quicken.

“This is what you wanted, right?” His voice is a growl now, low and filled with desire.

You nod, your hands gripping his shirt tighter, needing him closer. “Yes,” you breathe out, before pulling his mouth back to yours.

But then the dream shifts.

The warmth fades, the kiss halts, and suddenly, he’s not there. The space between you is empty, and in its place, there’s an envelope on his desk—your transfer request.

His eyes snap open, his chest heaving with the remnants of the dream, the desire still burning beneath his skin. He runs a hand over his face, the weight of everything hitting him all at once. His pulse is still racing, but now it’s a different kind of tension—frustration, regret, and something else… something that tells him this transfer might be the best thing for both of you.

Because if you stay, this—whatever it is—might destroy him.

And if you stay, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself from taking it too far next time.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Hotch stands by his desk, the dream still suspended in the air like tendrils of smoke. He watches you, every fiber of his being drawn to the choice he knows he must confront. The desire that clung to him in his sleep has morphed into a quiet ache in his chest, a pulsing reminder of everything he’s been repressing. You can see it in his eyes—the turbulent conflict between duty and his emotions, the pressure escalating with every heartbeat.

The decision is resolute in his mind, though his feelings swirling beneath the surface are anything but clear. “I’ll let you transfer,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but the finality of it slices through the space between you.

You feel your breath catch, the sting of tears already pressing against your eyes before you can fully absorb his words. You swallow hard, striving to maintain your composure, but it’s futile. The dam breaks, and a single tear slips down your cheek, quickly followed by another. The meaning of it—the thought of leaving, of him saying it—brings everything crashing down.

Hotch steps closer, unsure how to navigate this moment. His breath hitches when he sees you, the tears making it all too real, all the more unbearable. He reaches out hesitantly, then pulls you into him, his arms enveloping you as if trying to hold you together against the storm.

It’s strange, comforting, and overwhelming all at once. His embrace feels like the only refuge where the burdens of the world dissipate.

“I didn’t want this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, his breath unstable. You can hear the battle in his words, the rawness of what remains between you. He tightens his grip around you as if he's preserving you from breaking.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice cracking. You press your face into his chest, the tears flowing faster now, soaking the fabric of his shirt.

He doesn’t say anything more, but the way he holds you, the delicate strokes of his hand against the back of your head, speaks volumes. He’s striving to be strong for both of you, attempting to do the right thing, even as every part of him aches to keep you close.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and vulnerable. His words are faint, almost pleading, as if he’s relinquishing the last vestiges of his control.

“I have to,” you reply. You pull back slightly to look up at him, your hands pressing against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart. You search his eyes for any sign of what this means, but he’s too guarded, his walls too formidable.

He swallows hard, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, but you both know the apology isn’t for what’s happening now—it’s for everything that led to this moment.

You take a shaky breath, trying to still yourself, but his presence, the way he holds you, makes it all the more difficult. You don’t want to leave. You don’t want this to be the end. But you know it must be.

“Goodbye, Aaron,” you say in concession, finally pulling away.

His eyes remain on you, filled with pain and regret, before he nods. “Goodbye.”

And even though the words are final, the silence that follows is heavy with everything left unsaid—everything neither of you had the courage to confront until it was too late.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Tag List :)

@percysley

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bisclavret · 8 months ago

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what SICKO wrote the last scenes between gwaine and merlin is what i want to know. because even lancelot's last episode with merlin - which had to have been intentionally gay-coded since it's obvious the man is grappling with his feelings for merlin morphing from platonic to explicitly romantic - is still subtext because he doesn't have the tools to healthily express his feelings so he goes for the biggest romantic gesture he can think of: sacrificing his life to save a loved one. the writers also make sure to root this gesture back to gwen by adding a scene where she's inadvertently asking him to make that sacrifice first, so although it's very obvious that it's more for merlin than for gwen that lancelot dies for, she is there to add some plausible deniability, thus keeping his sexuality within the realms of subtext.

i don't want to delve too deeply into arthur's last scenes with merlin as there is both so much to unpack about what they mean to each other and there is also somehow nothing left to say that hasn't been said before. my point is just that there's so much at stake that if the viewer doesn't want to deal with the romantic subtext between them they can hang onto the 38 other dynamics merlin and arthur have represented to each other that the writers spent 5 years plastering on top of the gay subtext. basically, while the romance feels textual emotionally-speaking, it isn't "canon".

i don't mean to say that any relationship is better than another (even though i obviously have a preference) but that in gwaine's final scenes with merlin there's just no subtext anymore. his becomes the most explicit expression of romantic love towards merlin, and therefore the most explicit acknowledgment of homosexual love and the existence of queer people on the show:

it starts out with merlin suggesting that gwaine saved a girl from the saxons and then looked after her because he has a more than platonic interest in her, and they show us that merlin is right - gwaine and the girl eira slept together - even as gwaine half-heartedly denies any interest (which, why even deny it? merlin saw them holding hands! unless the lie is part of the point). then in that very same scene and directly after this exchange, merlin needs rescuing from the saxons, calls after gwaine, and gwaine performs the exact same role for him that he performed for eira: he saves him from the saxons and looks after him (for as long as merlin lets him).

the parallel between merlin and eira with such quick cause and effect (it literally all happens within the same minute) is where the shift from subtext to text becomes undeniable. yes, there have been other moments on the show where a character's affections towards two different genders are beat-for-beat the same, but, again, there has always been plausible deniability. in this case the parallel is meant to be taken at face value: the core point of it is to show us how gwaine expresses his attraction.

then, the dialogue they chose to bookend this scene with takes it a few steps further by functioning as a textual love confession to merlin himself: the scene opens with gwaine thanking merlin for everything he did for eira, and merlin saying that there is no need to thank him as it was the least he could do. a minute later, after merlin thanks gwaine for protecting him from the saxons as both merlin and the show just concluded gwaine did for eira for romantic reasons (even as he denied it by outright lying), gwaine parrots what merlin said when gwaine thanked him: no need to thank me, merlin, it's the least i could do.

but this comes off as the opposite of dismissive: in fact, this echoing of merlin's words is meant to jolt both merlin and the audience. by saying this right after saving merlin from the saxons, gwaine has now intentionally pointed merlin's attention towards the explicitly romantic parallel between himself and eira. gwaine is directly implying he just did for merlin what merlin correctly deduced he did for a woman because he desired her sexually and romantically, and he is using merlin's own words to challenge him into seeing past the initial flimsy lie that there is nothing between them. and what's behind the lie, of course, is that gwaine has done all of this and more because he desires merlin sexually and romantically. the camera even lingers on merlin, allowing him and the viewer to absorb what just happened. that for as long as we have known gwaine, his motivations have always boiled down to "i want to be there for merlin". and now both the audience and merlin finally know for sure what was motivating him the entire time.

what's more, by using merlin's own dismissive words, gwaine also implicates merlin's penchant for repression and denial and never allowing himself to be given credit where it's due. this unfortunately never properly gets dismantled on the show, but this moment shows that gwaine knows merlin well enough to know that he goes above and beyond for people, and that merlin's reasons for this ring as false to gwaine's ears as gwaine's reasons for saving damsels do to merlin. it also bittersweetly implies that gwaine has accepted that these are the platonic, repressed terms on which he can have a relationship with merlin. but i think the way in which he explicitly points all of this out to merlin is meant to imply that he isn't entirely happy about having to accept that. or, to circle back to eira, that merlin seems to be cheering for him to enter a heterosexual relationship when gwaine would clearly rather be with him.

what's additionally interesting to me about this is that this is one of the only scenes on this show that touch on same gender attraction that isn't using magic as a metaphor - because merlin doesn't have magic at the moment, yes, but also because gwaine is the more active character in this sequence, and he's an adventure hero, so he simply fights the bad guy to protect the person he loves. there is no metaphor to wrap this in, so he just gets to explicitly state his bisexuality. in the next scene, the very last one he and merlin share, it all becomes about magic again, which is both representative of merlin's sexuality and the show's "plausible deniability" approach to gay-coding, and so neither gwaine or merlin are permitted to acknowledge it. also, and this is for another post altogether, but all things point to "gwaine knew". not least because he gets to come out as queer without the complications of the magic-as-gay-metaphor which in turn emboldens him to ask merlin for the truth as directly as the metaphor-suffocated narrative will allow it.

tldr gwaine textually and canonically expresses and then confesses his feelings to merlin in a shockingly well-written and layered scene which makes gwaine the most explicitly queer character on bbc merlin and it's entirely because he exists outside the magic-as-gay-metaphor plot while loving someone who embodies that entire metaphor and it's crazy to me that we don't talk about this more. once again i ask what SICKO wrote this and where were they for the entire rest of this fucking show

tldrtldr at least gwaine is bi. its like i always say. at least gwaine is bi. at the end of the day. gwaine is bi. dont cry ok? gwaine is bi. at the end of the day. gwaine is bi. when all else fails. gwaine is bi. we'll always have. gwaine is bi

#[normalgirl voice] i care a normal amount. about canonically bi gwaine. come closer i promise i am normal about canonically bi gwaine #i should make like that bi lancelot guy and submit this as a paper. the people need to know bbc gwaine is bi (REAL NOT CLICKBAIT)#gwaine #bbc merlin #gwaine x merlin #merwaine #bbcm #ALL OF THAT packed into a 2 minute scene. after having gwaine sleepwalk through almost two entire seasons #they even managed to make giving gwaine a last-minute female love interest feel less like a cop-out the way these things usually do #& more like a quick way to make him explicitly bisexual. and then they made it even funnier by making her fuck off and betray him for money #eira with the bleach blonde hair you will always be famous. to me #this show would be so good if it was good. the “gwaine” show on the other hand IS good. it just unfortunately . doesnt exist

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shallowseeker · 2 months ago

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WHAT DID I SAY THOUGH

Under the guise of talking about Michael, Dean is trying to figure out... what he actually SAID to Cas while under duress

DEAN: "What's HE doing now?" (i.e., “he” is me; how do you see me and my current state right now?)

Ss Cas says that he has no idea how "he"/Dean is, and that Dean was very distraught. Dean even nods a little bit in agreement. (Yes, I was distraught.)

THEN WE GET THE FLASH OF VULNERABILITY AND FRUSTRATION:

But what exactly did "he" say? And Cas answers:

And Dean is over there like:

oh come on i didn't say THAT (LEAVE???? I NEVER WANT YOU TO LEAVE and i never want you dead)

...did I?????

"We didn't bond" is when Dean starts to legit look like he's gonna cry tho because he and cas DID bond, right from the beginning.

Cas has lost hope in that bond for the time being (a normal response to the -everything- and -the chuck of it all-)

And now all this TERRIBLE stuff has happened and it's got a LOT. OF. COMPLICATING. COSMIC. ELEMENTS.

(Cas holds back for many reasons, and most recently, the Empty deal DOES emotionally handcuff him in a new and more lethal way, and it exacerbates ALL the stuff... and Dean... isn't often allowed to speak, especially about THIS IN PARTICULAR. He's put under so much duress about it, too...)

*dean swallows and swallows and swallows, eyes flicking around in a panic and trying his darnedest NOT to cry*

we didn't bond

we didn't

Dean is swallowing WORDS here.

and when Cas looks down, lips twitching, and we see that he's holding back words too, almost forming a "y—" before pivoting to safer ground, to ask about Sam. After all, saying YOU would break the illusion Dean's illusion of the "HE."

So Cas brings them BOTH to safer "work talk"

Dean with the thousand yard stare:

and then

Interesting that his body language does this chin tuck again here:

it's the hiding of emotions, the defensiveness, the hiding of the throat of it all

He also did this at the beginning of the convo when he started the coded communications in EARNEST. They're bookends, almost, in terms of Dean's acting/headspace.

This signals the end of "he" as being about Dean himself and shifts back to "he" being used normally, about another person (Sam).

I do love how that conversation is a small step toward mending their bond. They broached the painful wounds of lone-wolfing, Mary’s death, Jack’s death, siding with Chuck, and losing Rowena..

Now, when trouble shakes out, and Michael starts doing his earthquake thing, they look to one another, and this time, they go together to face him.

*looking to one another*

When Michael stands up and moves towards them, we see Dean's natural needs to shrink away.

Dean barely shifts his weight, like his instinct is to get behind Cas (I mean, hello—AU Michael was a huge trauma for him), but he straightens up again almost immediately.

And when Michael asks to be freed for giving them the spell and the door, they still check in w/each other:

#i do think there's a high chance dean doesn't completely know what he actually said to cas #too much THIS ISN"T HAPPENING red alert shit going down #god themmmmm #i love how they say things sideways #even cas can be QUITE adept at picking up this kind of emotional dean-language...#spn 15x08 #cas called his father for help and bottom line... that father stepped in to actively HARM them all that's just...#i sure you can blame cas for calling his parent for help or you can empathize with... how that father took thay cry for help and wounded hi #instead

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thewalrusespublicist · 6 months ago

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Went to see Paul last night. I’m still on cloud 9 and can’t articulate anything so here are some disparate thoughts in no particular order:

The last hour is non stop banger after banger so if he tours again go to the bathroom BEFORE (missed Obla di 😭😭)

I like Come on to Me, sue me

The crowd took a bit to warm up which was very annoying like c’mon even Jet they were mid energy (it got way better by the end)

Oh Darling playing before he came on in the context of all the Get Back graphics on stage made me suddenly very tinhat about that song. Not that they did it on purpose ofc but my brain connecting the contextual images and the lyrics was… well. All interpretation of course!

Not a big response to I’ve just seen a Face or Drive my Car! Incorrect crowd again.

I loved In Spite of All the Danger. It got me weirdly emotional though with it being the first song they recorded and it having the line ‘I would do anything for you’ and the last words John said about Paul reportedly being ‘I would do anything for him’. Again not saying the initial song is about each other, it’s just one of the cosmos’ tragic little bookends

Have the lyrics to Let Me Roll It been officially changed from she to he? Because it was he again tonight. I wasn’t hearing for it but it shot out when he sang it.

The graphics could do with some work, Paul you’re a billionaire gets some people on that. Though Get Back just being everyone smiling in the studio was so cute.

Reminded once again that McBeardy was the hottest man alive.

Weird that Something got a montage of George but Maybe I’m Amazed and Here Today had no pictures of Linda or John. I can see why with Linda in terms of jt being awkward for Nancy but still.

Hey Jude lasts forever but it was magic and I wanted it to go on longer.

Paul forgot My Valentine and thought the guy reminding him was showing him a heart to say he loved him lmaoooo. He added it back in but it was wild to go from My Valentine to Maybe I’m Amazed. (Also why was Johnny Depp there?!!)

Paul was at his cuntiest and it was so funny. Just casually mocking peoples whooping and I love you’s (alpha bitch is at it again).

Whoever that guy in the audience was that had gone 135 times I salute you. Wish it could be me.

1985!!! My soul left my body my hands started seizing it was so SO good.

Jet is a banger, sorry to that crowd I had a great time.

The girls with the ‘I love you more than yesterday’ sign I know what you are and you are so funny for that.

Cried and beamed at Now and Then, it hits different in the arena (and a crowd favourite). It obviously means so much to Paul as well. Just emotional all round.

Live and Let die is incredible but Paul the fire!!! The banging!! I was so stressed the entire time, how can he still hear?

HELTER SKELTER

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime for those who enjoy whimsy (Paul telling the kids they did great was cute as hell)

Ohhh that last medley really got to me (carry that weight…)

As a lot of others have said Paul’s voice is inconsistent. Sometimes it’s great and you can’t believe he’s doing it and other times he shows his age.

Which brings me to…

I’m not sure Here Today would stay on the set list if it wasn’t the song for John. In fact I’m certain it would be off it as it’s too hard for Paul to sing now. That being said, I think he may have broke down a bit. I wish I had videod it because either he did the ‘no, no, no’ that he’s done the past couple of performances or it was just a singular emotional no. I can’t remember which but It took me off guard and it didn’t seem intentional. :(( Edit: seen it again by people who have kindly posted it online and it was just him struggling with the notes, yay for video, not yay for Paul’s vocal chords).

I did laugh when Paul was talking about telling people you love them and the crowd just started screaming I LOVE YOU at him like it’s not what he means guys.

Overall 10/10 one of the best nights of my life.

#Got Back #if you can somehow get tickets for the last show tonight GO!!!!!#the beatles #Paul #paul McCartney

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mariasparrow · 26 days ago

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Analysis/Prompt: Aurora and the Adventure of Link is the Thematic Foil of Flora and Breath of the Wild

Its always interesting when one character is the foil of another - often it serves to enhance both characters, showcasing aspects and traits that otherwise might go notice.

One such dynamic that is being slept on is that between Aurora and Flora. They would make great Foils. Its even in their color scheme: Aurora being associated with Reds and Flora with Blues. One is the near the beginning of the franchise, the other near the end. They are bookends, in more ways than one. So here are the four that stand out the most to me.

1) Aurora was trusted and held in esteem by her father, while Flora's relationship with Rhoam was...complicated.

We all now that Flora relationship with her father was overshadowed by the coming Calamity. The danger and increasing tension strained their relationship to the breaking, a fact made more painful by the fact that love/fear for his daughter's survival (and the Kingdom's survival) was mostly likely driving Rhoam's actions, as harsh and sharp-tongued as they were. Rhoam insistence that Zelda gain her goddess power shows a believe that she was not ready to face what was to come.

In contrast, Aurora's father, the last Great King of the Golden fully trusted his young daughter to handle complex and tough situations. That is why he trusted her with the Triforce of Courage instead of Aurora's older brother - who was the King's own heir. And Aurora rose to the task admirable. She hid the Triforce and refused to yield when her brother and his Dark Wizard corrupter pressured her to.

2) Aurora was revered by her people, while Flora was seen as a disappointment.

While she was cursed into endless sleep, clues from the text of the Adventure of Link manual imply that Aurora's courageous refusal to surrender the Triforce's location was held in held regard by those who knew about it. Impa tell Hyrule that this was where the Legend of Zelda got its name (before, maybe the called it the Tradition of Zelda or something...)

Flora wasn't so lucky. As her father states, the court's "gossip mongers" are whispering, and growing louder the longer she goes without the goddess power. Saying that she is "heir to a throne of nothing". Ouch.

3) Aurora was affectionate/smitten with her Hero from the moment she laid eyes on him, while it took Flora a while to warm up to Wild.

(Art is by the Fantastic La-Sera, for a fanfic of mine, isn't she great?)

Zelda 2's Zelink is notable for being the first game Link and Zelda were hinted to have romantic feelings for each other (and thank god this was established as a possibility early, or we might not have Zelink at all). Its even more noticeable for being the only time Link and Zelda kiss at the end. In universe, I read this as Aurora being smitten and profoundly grateful. I mean, ladies come on be honest, if you wake up from a sleeping curse (that was suppose to be forever) to see that a cute, goofy, insanely brave boy with messy brown hair decided to go on a quest from hell to rescue you...not the kingdom...not the world...you...wouldn't you kiss him too? In true fairy tale fashion, Aurora adored Hyrule from moment she opened her eyes, for his goodness and moral worth.

Flora's relationship with Wild is more rocky at first. She resents how easily his destiny seems to come to him, while she is struggling to understand it. She is harsh, snappish, melancholy, and it takes time, plus some life threatening situations to bring thier bond with each other into being. Even then, its subtle, filled with complexities like a periodic table. Which brings us to the last contrast.

4) Aurora's game is Thematically based in Fairy-Tale/Fantasy, while Flora is based in Sci-Fi/Science

It's no secret that Aurora's game is inspired by Sleeping Beauty, which is linked to much older legends from around the world, such as Byrnhildr and Persephone. It is linked with themes of Rebirth, Resurrection, Love and Connections. It ends with a Happy Ever After, a promise after years of darkness and suffering, your Hero will rescue you, and together you can make it out of the woods, and your goodness will be rewarded.

Flora's game on the other hand leans more Sci-Fi/Post-Apocalyptic. Technology and its perils are involved (one could argue that the Gardians that nearly kill the Hero could represent the dangers A.I. much in the way the moive Terminator did.) There is aura of Tragedy in BOTW, a feeling that it all could've been avoid, if only science had been listen too.

Given all they ways Aurora and Flora are bookend/foils, the potential for them interacting is filled with possibility and shouldn't be slept on.

#linked universe #lu #lu aurora #lu flora #adventure of link #breath of the wild #zelda ii #princess zelda #lu hyrule #lu wild #aurora/hyrule #flora/wild #anaylsis #fantasy #scifi #legend of zelda

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theflyindutchwoman · 2 years ago

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So, did you have something you were gonna ask me? I can't remember. Don't make me hurt you. Do you want to go out on a date? Yeah. I do.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.09 - Take Back

There is something deeply romantic, dreamy even, in the way this scene is directed… The dimmed lights, the heart eyes, the hushed tones… All of this just give off this very intimate feel… this mysterious and exciting ambiance.

Now add the imagery of Tim playing with a piece of glass from the scuffle, examining it like it's a diamond or something equally precious... Of Lucy saying 'I do'… Bookending this scene with these two moments is certainly bold, but it does paint a clear picture of their level of commitment. There's also the ever present motif of the door : the one left, literally and metaphorically, open by Chris' departure... and the one in Tim's office, left open as well, for Lucy to come in. Not to mention the symbolism of them starting this new journey together in their Watch Commander's office. A not so subtle reminder of the last obstacle standing between them : having Tim and Lucy take that step there definitely underlines how they don't plan on letting the chain of command tear them apart. As it is, the fact that Lucy barely waited after breaking up with Chris to come back to the station and talk to Tim, dispels any doubt that she might have had second thoughts, like he was worried at first. Like he still worries when she shows up, a bit hesitant before walking in… or when she mentions Chris… But it doesn't last long.

And then, add the body language, the movement of the scene. Like how Tim and Lucy mirror each other flawlessly, emphasising how they are both on the same page… Or how they stand on opposite sides of the office, gradually coming together. First with Lucy, entering the office slowly. Then Tim, getting up to meet her halfway. There's still a gap between them though, and it coincides with their discussion about Chris. By this point, they're facing each other, hands clasped in front of them, a gesture made to appear more confident while feeling vulnerable : they know what this means now that they're both single… It's as scary as it is exciting. They just need to take one last step. Literally and figuratively.

That's when the atmosphere turns really electric… And Lucy being the one to take the leap this time, looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to them, subtly telling Tim she is ready, is perfect. Her bedroom eyes when she invites him to ask her out again… She exudes so much sensuality here. His look of surprise is endearing, as if he can't believe her forwardness to do this at work, in their boss' office, where anybody could see them or walk in. As if he can't believe they're finally there… The way he has to rile her up, something he loves doing, by pretending he doesn't know what she means… Or how she simply threatens to hurt him, introducing a new love language for them in the process - and taking a page from his own playbook, when he used to threaten her as a rookie… This is the perfect combination of old and new… A subtle way to illustrate how some things never change… And some do. How their dynamic will remain mostly unchanged.

They are both so excited to start this new relationship. Her smile… The intense look on his face… The longing, even more apparent than when he was about to come in her apartment… Walking slowly towards her, maintaining eye contact, and taking that final step - literally - to join her… Properly asking her out on a date this time, not just have dinner, looking all smitten… Her smile and twinkle in her eyes… 'I do'… They're beaming and glowing and ecstatic… And it's such a good look on them. This is both soft and sizzling at the same time. That final shot of them looking happily at each other, their position still mirroring the other, without a care in the world on who might be watching, is gorgeous. They're just enthralled, spellbound… And this time, there's no interruption, they get to have this moment just for them. To bask in it. As they deserve. As we deserve.

#the rookie #chenford #chenfordedit #lucy chen #tim bradford #5.09 #Anatomy of a scene - Chenford Edition

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keepsmagnetoaway · 6 months ago

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Uncanny X-Men 148 (August 1981)

Chris Claremont/Dave Cockrum & Joe Rubinstein

The soap-like, arc-driven storytelling of Uncanny X-Men occasionally necessitated an issue like this one, full of loose ends and plot threads that feel both like too much for a single issue and yet not enough like one satisfying story. There's some very gay sparring between Kurt and Logan...

...a baffling hissy fit from Angel, who maybe sort of quits (?)...

...an appearance from Piotr's little sister (who I'm vaguely aware will shortly become an important character)...

...and the extremely unexpected reveal that the recently introduced Siryn is actually Banshee's daughter. This is basically discussed and then concluded in these three panels, making this - presumably quite significant - revelation feel extremely rushed.

None of these, though, are either of the two main threads in this issue, somehow. Instead, we have one story that, while inevitably feeling rushed, I really like, and one I really don't. The former is the storyline that provides the fighting and action in this issue, although it's all squeezed into, like, eight pages, and includes the Mandatory Dazzler Appearance as well as - my god, as if this issue needed more characters - Spider-Woman.

Anyway, the party is crashed by a new bad guy who turns out not to be a bad guy at all: Caliban, the weird third-person-talking sewer mutant with the power to find others of his kind, driven by a terrible loneliness.

I'm a sucker for this kind of stuff and immediately love Caliban. Poor Caliban! It's also obviously a very fruitful angle for the comic to want to look at - the X-Men, after all, for all their troubles, are the privileged mutants, and what must life be like for the others?

It all ends amicably and although he appears to vanish, obviously he'll be back, and I look forward to it. I also just love his design, the appearance that he eventually reveals. We Calistan.

But all these storylines are bookended at the start and end of this issue by yet another one, answering the question: what the fuck is Scott up to with his weird sea captain girlfriend?

I don't know if the art for these bits was being farmed out to someone else - although the whole issue is credited to Cockrum, so officially it wasn't - but there's something very odd about the faces and figures of these two. It seems like Lee - the sea captain - was meant to have some very specific face, although she ends up always looking just...odd, with huge, exaggerated features atop a Barbie physique.

But the same strangeness also extends in these sections to Scott, who as we all know is meant to look like Mr Generico White Guy but here is a romance comic hero with constipation instead.

What the fuck was I talking about? Right, anyway, they got shipwrecked, they're on this island, castaways or whatever. Also the island is basically - not officially, but basically - R'lyeh.

I mean, that is a cool design. But again, look at those faces down in the corner. Why are they like this. Why is any of this plotline happening. But wait...

Yes! YES!

He's back, baby! I forgive this bizarre plotline everything if it gets us back to Magneto. And I hope you can forgive me this absurdly long post about a very forgettable issue.

#x men comics #an xmen a day #xmen #uncanny xmen #magneto #caliban

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eisforeidolon · 2 years ago

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Question: I was just wondering what sticks out to you, like straight away, of those final days of filming?

Jared: So much. I remember vividly - so we, it was, COVID had just kind of, I don't want to say ended, I guess it's still - I've had it four times now, so? The gift that keeps on giving. But I remember the two weeks we had to spend in quarantine. Coming from America into Canada, we had to stay in our places for two weeks. And so some of the crew who had been up to quarantine would come leave, like, care packages, you know? They'd be like, shoot a text, hey, here's some food or some vitamins or some Gatorade or something outside your door. And so open it up and do that. And then he and I and Rob Benedict and Jake Abel would text each other. I remember our Zoom conversations with each other -

Jensen: Yeah, we had party Zooms. Party Zooms.

Jared: We had, like, party Zooms. Yeah, yeah.

Jensen: Lockdown. Yeah.

Jared: And then every day I also remember very vividly - I mean, the bridge, the barn [hurk noise]. I remember when they told me - I remember shooting the last scene in the Men of Letters bunker and when they were like, yeah, we start breaking it down tomorrow. And so standing there [gestures down face like tears falling, makes sad noise]. You think y'all cried during the barn scene, you should have seen me in the bunker when they were gonna tear it down. I was like, trying to grab shit? And now I have, like - I did. So [chuckles] there were a lot of real books in there, a lot of which I took. And then there were fake book fillers that I use as bookends. And then there was stuff that I've seen for the last three years and been like, what am I gonna ever do with this? Maybe I'll auction it for charity.

Jensen: Did I ever tell you what I grabbed? So in the bunker there, there's the two library tables that we sat around all the time. I didn't take a table but -

Jared: [mimes carrying a table off over his shoulder]

Jensen: But one of the tables had some initials carved into it. And I asked them, like, what's gonna happen to this table. And they're like, nothing, we're gonna probably break it down and scrap it. And I was like, will you cut [draws] that out? So I have this [demonstrates size with hands] like that big that's got all of our initials carved in it. So I have that collecting dust somewhere.

Jared: Thank you, good to see you. Alright, Ackles.

[Jensen continues briefly retelling how they were sad/deflated that they had to say their goodbyes during COVID when everybody was wearing masks and divided into pods with restrictions on interaction]

Jared: This is the saddest morning of all time. Can we get a happy question? Pick a fucking happy question.

#honcon 2023 #j2 gold panel

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padmerrie · 3 months ago

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ODDS AND (BOOK)ENDS [ONGOING ; AO3 LINK HERE]

Various unconnected snippets set in the Bookends universe, updated whenever inspiration strikes.

ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ

Like Father, Like Son

There was something to be said for the fact that Kakashi was the one herding Sasuke out the door in the morning to get to school.

“Hustle it up, kid. We’ve got to hit the road.”

Kakashi stood outside Sasuke’s bedroom, dressed for another day of teaching and rolling up the sleeves of his button down shirt. He bent his head close to the door, listened for any signs of life, then rapped on the door again.

“Your cereal’s getting cold.”

At Kakashi's feet, Tabi played sentry to his master’s domain, circling his prey in silence. He kept a generous berth between him and Kakashi’s legs lest he brush up against him and suggest that he actually fancied his attention. This was strictly business.

“I’m coming in,” Kakashi announced pointedly at the floor. It was as much a warning to Sasuke as it was to Tabi, who froze and stared right back at him, daring him to make a move.

“Ah, you’re so cute when you think you can scare me,” Kakashi murmured, reaching down and scratching behind the cat’s ears. Under such an unprovoked and vicious attack, Tabi had no choice but to roll his head back and let out a wailing cry for help.

That Sasuke came out for.

“Good morning,” Kakashi deadpanned. It wasn’t like he’d been knocking on his door for the last half hour or anything.

Awake, dressed, and groomed Sasuke swooshed past him, and Tabi dutifully scampered after him, Kakashi’s assault on his head completely forgotten. Kakashi hadn’t even had time to turn after him before Sasuke was back with a book in his hands, Tabi still on his heels. Both disappeared into Sasuke’s room, while Kakashi hung back. He watched as Tabi leapt deftly from the floor to the chair to the desk where Sasuke was packing his backpack. He circled the clutter on tiptoe before sitting down and watched Sasuke intently, as though waiting for his turn to be picked up and crammed into the bag.

“Since when do you care about being late?” Sasuke demanded abruptly, like he’d been as much an active participant in Kakashi’s morning as his bedroom door.

Kakashi leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest. He took in the unmade bed and small empire of books and dirty mugs spilled over Sasuke’s bedside table. “Since the principal requested a meeting with me.” He paused. “Are you really going to let me walk into this thing blind?”

Sasuke dropped a book into his bag, then sighed, more tired than annoyed. “I know as much as you do.”

“Which is nothing.”

“Yep.”

“Great.” Kakashi glanced at the clock next to Sasuke’s bed. “We’re going to miss the bus at this rate.”

Sasuke looked up. “Bus? What happened to the jeep?”

“You really don’t hear anything I say when we’re watching Storage Wars, do you?”

Sasuke bit down on his lip. “What’s wrong with the jeep?”

“It’s making that weird, crunchy noise again.”

“Huh,” Sasuke huffed, not sounding at all surprised. “Maybe it’s time to pull the plug.”

Kakashi gave him a mildly affronted look. “And what? Dig out your old LEGOs and build a new one?” He shook his head, dug into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. “Cars cost a fortune. Even used ones.”

Sasuke eyed Kakashi scroll through his contacts. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling Iruka.”

“He’s not going to pick up.”

“Of course he will.”

“It’s 7:30. He’s at school already.”

“Not with Naruto slowing him down.”

Sasuke made a face. “How do you know Naruto’s with him?”

“You smell that?”

Tentatively, Sasuke sniffed the air. “...no?”

“Burnt toast.” Sasuke tch-ed, but Kakashi moved past it. “If Iruka is resorting to toast, that means Naruto staying with him was probably unexpected and he didn’t have a chance to stock up on the cereal he likes.”

“Fine,” Sasuke conceded with barely contained annoyance. “But that doesn’t explain the burnt toast.”

Kakashi looked at him, bemused. “In what universe does Naruto put bread in the toaster and not walk away?”

“And Iruka?”

“The idiot who trusted Naruto to toast toast. Are you sure investigative journalism is what you want to do after you graduate?”

“Just call him,” Sasuke muttered, and went back to packing his bag. And then, unpacking. “This backpack is too small.”

Kakashi strolled over to the desk, phone pressed to his ear, and glanced inside. After the third ring, Iruka answered.

“Hello?” said a harried voice.

“Hold on, Iruka.” Kakashi pulled the phone away from his mouth and, to Sasuke, said, “That bag is not too small.”

“It’s miniscule,” Sasuke retorted, yanking out a ginormous textbook and reaching for another piled on his desk.

“Just take what you need for school and leave some of the other books.”

“I need all my other books.”

Kakashi surveyed the mess of books and gave an incredulous snort through his nose. “You don’t need all these.”

“I think I do,” Sasuke insisted dismissively.

Kakashi picked up an intimidating leather bound book and held it up in question. “Saigo Takamori?”

“That’s my car book.”

“We don’t have a car today.”

“We could if you talked to Iruka.”

Kakashi reached for another book, ignoring the suggestion. “Yōko Ogawa?”

“My other car book."

“So just take one car book.”

Sasuke’s chest puffed out. “No. The Takamori is a biography, and sometimes if I'm in the car and I pull out a biography and I think to myself, 'Well, I don't really feel like reading about a person's life right now' then I'll switch to the novel. And then sometimes if I'm not into the novel, I'll switch back.”

Kakashi couldn’t remember the last time Sasuke managed to keep his eyes open an entire car ride to school, short as it was. But he wasn’t about to point that out. Instead he watched Sasuke closely as he force fed books to his backpack.

Kakashi turned his head to the phone. “Still there, Iruka?”

“Yes, I—”

“Hold on.” Kakashi reached into Sasuke’s bag and pulled out the book he’d just stuck in there. “What’s the Yoshida Kenkō?”

“That’s my lunch book,” Sasuke replied, grabbing it out of his hand and shoving it back in.

“Uh-huh. So lose the Ogawa or Kenkō. You don’t need two novels.”

“Kenkō is essays.”

“But—” Kakashi snatched the paperback Sasuke made to reach for before he could get his hands on it “—Kyoko Nakajima’s not essays or biographies.”

“Right.”

“So it’s another novel. Lose it.”

Sasuke’s dark eyes stared at him, unimpressed, then he yanked the book out of his hands. “Nuh-uh, it’s short stories.”

“This is a sickness,” Kakashi concluded in grim defeat. “Iruka?”

“This sickness you speak of, who do you think he caught it from?” Iruka's annoyed voice grouched over the phone

Ignoring him, Kakashi asked, “Give us a ride to school?”

“I’m already there.”

“Is that so?” Kakashi mused aloud, tone thick with speculation. “I could have sworn I heard Naruto begging you to take him to Ichiraku just a moment ago…”

Iruka cursed under his breath—which only sparked an explosion of familiar laughter from someone in the background.

“Iruka,” Kakashi said, all gentle and sweet, “come pick us up and I promise I’ll treat us all to Ichiraku for breakfast.”

Sasuke’s head snapped up. “I thought you said we were already late?” he whisper-hissed, but Kakashi only waved a hand to quiet him. Sasuke rolled his eyes and turned back to his backpack, looking resentful.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.

“Fine.”

“See you in a bit.” Kakashi ended the call and pocketed his phone, cheerily. He turned to Sasuke. “You’ve got 5 minutes to figure this out,” he said, gesturing to the regurgitated mess on the desk.

Shortly after, there was a loud banging on the door. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Kakashi answered the door and was met with a pair of bright, shining blue eyes ogling up at him.

“Kakashi-sensei! Is it true?!”

“Is…?” Kakashi trailed off. Naruto was looking at him like he was on the brink of tears.

“That you’re treating us to Ichiraku!”

“Oh. That,” Kakashi chuckled lightly. “As long as Iruka’s ok with it, sure.”Naruto tittered through his teeth and let himself into the apartment as Iruka stepped into view behind him looking properly rumpled, shirt half-untucked, hair pulled back with a rubber band, and — to Kakashi’s immense satisfaction — a lingering smokiness about him. He’d make sure Sasuke caught a whiff of that before the morning’s end, yes indeed.

With an easy smile, Kakashi held his arm out inviting Iruka inside. “That’s some fast car you’ve got.”

“At least I have a car,” Iruka retorted, not moving.

“Now, now,” Kakashi soothed, draping an arm around his friend’s shoulders and guiding him inside. “Just think how much better you’ll feel when you see how much Naruto’s breakfast alone costs me.”

“Well… that’s true,” Iruka admitted, and he brightened somewhat, allowing Kakashi to give him an encouraging pat on the back without retaliation. In the hallway, Naruto was on the ground, cackling like a maniac while half-heartedly fending off the dogs vying for his attention.

Sasuke appeared with his backpack slung over his shoulders and a rare bounce in his step. Casting Kakashi a smug look, he said triumphantly, “I made it all fit. Takamori, Ogawa, Kenkō, and Nakajima, all safe and sound.”

“Cool.” Kakashi’s gaze slid to the couch’s end table behind Sasuke. “You forgot your math book.”

“Huh?” Sasuke spun around to look for the book in question. The pause that followed was a second too long. “Oh, I know.” Sasuke said in a rush. In three long strides he was in the living room, sweeping the incriminating evidence of his miscalculations into his arms. He let out a thoroughly unconvincing laugh. “I’m carrying my math book.”

Kakashi’s eyes crinkled in amusement, while Iruka looked on interestedly. “You so thought that math book was already in there.”

“I did not,” Sasuke snapped automatically as he clutched the book to his chest and strode towards them, trying hard not to look at Kakashi. His escape, however, was hindered by the literal dogpile blocking exit. Sasuke did his best to maneuver around them — but not so much that he missed stomping on Naruto’s hand. The resulting yelp did nothing to distract Kakashi.

“You have a problem,” he sang as Sasuke bent down and struggled to put on his shoes.

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re going to tip over from the weight of that backpack.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Forget a new car,” Kakashi called after him when Sasuke finally managed to secure his shoes and elbow past him and hurry out the door. “I’m going to have to buy you a forklift!”

An unintelligible, angry shout echoed outside, and for a moment, Kakashi simply smiled at Sasuke’s retreating form.

Iruka was giving him a knowing look when he stepped back into the apartment. He tipped his head in Sasuke’s direction. “That breakfast is going to cost you.”

Kakashi shook his head and continued to smile. “No, he’ll be too annoyed to eat. He’ll order a cup of tea and give me the silent treatment in true Uchiha fashion. There are far worse fates, trust me.”

Iruka chuckled, shaking his head, and stepped out into the hallway. “You’d be the expert.”

“That I am.” Kakashi beckoned Naruto, who was still fussing over his crushed hand. “Come on. He’ll be halfway across the world if we don’t catch up to him.”

#naruto #naruto au #sasuke uchiha #kakashi hatake #iruka umino #naruto uzumaki #bookends #odds and (book)ends #fic #i posted this on ao3 awhile ago but forgot to post it here whoops

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peachy-cheeks · 1 year ago

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Defined

ch: 1 | 2 | 3

synopsis: you and nanami are coworkers and former friends with benefits grappling with the decision to consciously uncouple as a non-couple (aka stop doing each other)

word count: 1,937 words

characters: nanami kento x gn!reader

warnings: angsty kinda, slight sexual mentions this chapter

a/n: i was gonna talk a bunch here about clarifying intentions, labels and titles meaning things, etc. but i thought that was entirely too much... i imagine if you've been anywhere on the fwb/situationship spectrum then you'll just get the gist of it all

"With this, there was no dating. No tender moments in public or meeting family. And no telling coworkers... absolutely not. The closest semblance to a normal partnership was the rare mission assigned together. The ones you both went on afar from Tokyo, apart from the blood and guts, felt a bit like little vacations.

But even if his hands fell onto and held your waist a certain way. Or if his teeth tugged your bottom lip as his to claim. Even with the smiles that bookended your meetings of intimately learning the other's weaknesses. This was not that kind of relationship."

Violet with dying rays of orange and pink melted into the growing spread of navy sky. The moon always seemed to look brighter up north.

So many mundane blessings clicked for you in moments like these. The daily changes in the sky, the gentle crumble and cushion of leaves beneath your sore soles, an intact spine... it all felt so nice. Normal miracles.

Lucky, some would say. You were lucky to experience those blessings.

"Ah, so you're headed to Hiraizumi?" "Yeah well, nearby. There've been quite a few disappearances near the Satetsu river. I've never been but it seems fairly quiet there otherwise." "It's pretty... beautiful really. But you'll want to be careful up there. Lots of concentrated energy." "Of course. I'm looking forward to it." "Try not to take offense to this, but who'll be going with you? I don't imagine they'd send anyone near there alone unless it was Gojo." "Well, I'll be with Nanami... we've worked together a couple of times. I think we get along just fine. Should go fine." "Aren't you lucky..." "Mmm." "Seriously though, be careful. For them to assign a grade 1 and semi grade 1 on a single assignment. Sounds like they don't even know how big of a problem it really could be." "Right... you sure you don't wanna swap places with me, Kusakabe?" "Don't make me laugh. Try to come back in one piece."

Last week's conversation played in your head while you gradually retreated from the wilderness toward the nearest town. The replay was a welcomed distraction from the internal and external bruises that slowed your pace. It also took away from the freshly-made replay of you nearly being split into pieces by the wickedly sharp appendages of the curse you faced not even an hour before.

"Nanami?" "...Yes?" "Thank you... for watching my back there."

Met with silence, not that you were expecting much. An expression of gratitude is a hard conversation point for someone unenthused to relish in their own good deeds. Because he was there, your near-fate was returned to its sender. As planned, the 7:3 Sorcerer's dull blade tore apart the sickened flesh that held the curse together. No rumination of the act on his part out of politeness, sure, but more so out of professionalism.

His position, tried and true, was simple: what kind of sorcerer would he be if he stood by and allowed you to be decapitated by a curse mere feet away from him?

'I need to work on my reaction time...' Who doesn't? You're at the best that you've known yourself at. 'I'm sorry for being a burden...' Fuck no. That doesn't make sense and it sounds pathetic.

Thoughts trailed off as your steps continued. 'Just leave it...' A breeze slapped against your cheeks and your adrenaline continued to fall.

Even now, the silent air between you both was not uncomfortable. Though, it never usually was. Besides, many sorcerers pray for minutes of peace to grow into hours, days, and months. Most find the time after intense combat to be the purest form of peace; from one extreme to its polar opposite in seconds. Colors, light, scents, and temperature all came through so much clearer... more precise in those after moments.

Auras too... and his captivated you. It had for so, so long, but in the duration of your relationship you had rarely seen this particular quick swell, bright glow, and slow decompression. Witnessing it made you grateful.

Strong. By nature and nurture, his strength was hardwired into his body, mind, and soul. It struck a perfect balance with his kindness, something unwavering that you witnessed the moment you ran into him years ago (literally, by immaculate chance) as a salary man.

Kindness and strength, just two of his many traits that defined the humanity you adored. Steady in your meeting, brief union, and eventual break. At every stage, it was never difficult to find Nanami admirable.

“There’s no way they properly considered the risk of this assignment."

What were you two talking about again? Oh—

"Yeah. It's odd that they sent us both." "It’s… a disheartening situation.” "..."

You sincerely hoped it wasn't becau—

"...Not because of you..." "Oh, I... I understand."

Of course you understood, it came with your own strength. But surely he could've handled that curse without yo—

"Thank you for your hard work. You created a wide opening for me to assist. I'm not sure I would've been able to do this without you." "...Mm. No problem... me either. I certainly couldn't have done this alone."

Your statement was obvious, as you were covered in far more wounds and marks compared to your coworker. You may have landed more blows against the curse, but he certainly managed to move efficiently and avoid the brunt of what you got.

"Are you feeling faint?" “No… I’m okay. Thanks.”

Maybe faint wasn’t the proper word, but the goosebumps on your skin made it harder to move. Colors, temperature, and that growing navy sky felt colder and colder. Terrible shame that the nearest town was still a 30 minute hike... and that the nearest auxiliary manager was another 20 minutes away.

“Are you sure?” “…Yeah… I’m just a little chilly…”

In a singular, swift motion, the weight of Nanami’s blazer comfortably swallowed your shoulders. Without hesitation, he had removed the layer for your benefit.

“Your adrenaline is dropping.” “T-thank you… thanks... but so is yours. Aren’t you cold?” “My injuries are minor and we don’t have long to go.” “Okay… well... let me know if you want this back at any point.” “I’ll be fine.”

If Nanami was anything, he was an excellent coworker. A professional and selfless team player in every sense. The evening grew cooler and despite the donated layer, the chill sank into your exposed skin and down your bones. 15 more minutes, huh?

"Do you think you can make it for the next-" "Next 15 minutes? Y-yeah, I think so." "..."

You figured, at least until his question made your knees buckle. His ever watchful eyes took in your attempt to conceal a growing limp. Did this curse really fuck you up that bad?

"Hold on."

Nanami placed a firm hand on your shoulder prompting you to pause and repositioned the harness that holstered his weapon from his back to his shoulder.

"If you're comfortable with this, I'll carry you until we reach town. Please don't feel indebted to me, I don't want your injuries to worsen from oversight." "I... Nanami..."

God. First, his coat. Now, his back. What more could he give?

He certainly wasn't being chivalrous to prove a point... was he? What point would he even be making?

Well... how long were you going to make him wait...?

"I don't mean to pressure you..."

Hazel eyes, bare of his glasses, were kind and waiting for your answer. A familiar air of disarming patience carved the cold air between you. Were his eyes always this way when looking towards you? Even now?

"N-no. No, it's... I..."

Deep breath... okay.

"Thank you. Thanks... I really appreciate that." "Okay. Just try not to lean back, I might lose my balance."

He wouldn't, you both knew, but the warning put you at ease. You smiled, nearly drawing out a teasing quip in response. As gently and respectfully as possible, you made your way onto Nanami's back. Your body was pressed flatly against the broad, dense surface of his. With sturdy arms roped around the plush of your thighs that rested on both sides of his waist, he resumed a slower pace.

The bob of his walk complimented the steady rhythm of his heart, both of which reverberated through your own chest making you wish you could sink into him. The newfound warmth soothed the growing aches and you slipped into sleep. No matter how hard you tried, your body could never forget the comfort that his brought you.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea..." "...Sure." I guess the illusion of this fantasy had finally caught up to you two. Five months of willingly bending your own limits, testing the line of professionalism and personal boundaries. Neither of you would've ever sought out another sorcerer as a long-term partner. Sort of stupid to think that indulging in each other carnally would be a sustainable form of healing. With this, there was no dating. No tender moments in public or meeting family. And no telling coworkers... absolutely not. The closest semblance to a normal partnership was the rare mission assigned together. The ones you both went on afar from Tokyo, apart from the blood and guts, felt a bit like little vacations. But even if his hands fell onto and held your waist a certain way. Or if his teeth tugged your bottom lip as his to claim. Even with the smiles that bookended your meetings of intimately learning the other's weaknesses. This was not that kind of relationship. "I don't regret where we are. But being like this might do more harm than good longterm." What an incredibly stupid conversation to have in bed. And what a crazy thing for him to say with his lips still pressed to your neck. "Kento... I don't think we were planning on doing this forever, right?" So why do this in the first place? Maybe he doesn't need a friend (is that what you are?) like you anymore. The sex, itself, was never the problem. If it was, the conversation wouldn't have followed your pleads for him to consume every part of you (and him fulfilling every request.) Pillow talk and waxing poetic about alternative lives or separate futures would eventually run dry. Neither person wanted to escalate beyond where you two comfortably were. Blissfully uncoupled. And as cathartic as it proved, unpacking core memories and histories as a non-couple was... very intimate for the type of relationship you agreed to share. But sometimes you figured you could do this... it all... forever, at lest with him. Not that forever was particularly long for the average career sorcerer anyway. Your own trauma was similar to his own formative heartbreaks, both spoken about in bits and pieces scattered across your time together. Compassion and the embracing calm of your bedroom beckoned Nanami's largely regulated vulnerability. Five months of unlocking each other to see and be seen, if only for a few hours. Maybe what you both really needed was a good therapist? "Hey... Kento?" "Yes?" "Do you still want to work together?" "Of course... but I think we'll need distance." "Of course. Yeah... ok. Ok... just don't treat me like a stranger." "I never will."

Of course. Responsibility was never solely about physical strength, but about balancing the variables: endurance, intuition, experience, maybe even spite at times… but, most importantly, care. And he was always so responsible.

A responsible, capable, and careful man would do what he could to protect you. How cruel would it be for him to suddenly change when your heart had been so close to his, then and now? Of course a responsible man would carry you when you were down and he'd even let you dampen his shoulder with your tears, awake or not. Naturally, he'd let you grieve what should have been let go.

For the sake of work, sanity, and your friendship.

So here you two were. Nearly five more months down the line since your last meeting. And as much as the partnership changed, the players stayed the same. Accepting another rare assignment together, but with the new goal of making it unremarkable. Just work. Open and closed, with no strings attached.

#jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk scenarios #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami headcanons #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami #nanami x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami x you #gn reader #jjk angst

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neonscandal · 6 months ago

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Polishing off 2024: Fandom Style ✨

This year has been especially exciting with actually launching my little sticker shop but my actual account oscillates between a lot of shows, ships, kinds of content, etc and it’s funny thinking about the different ways my lizard brain experiences, digests and manifests these little fixations. Whatever it is, here’s to more in the new year.

FAVORITE WRITTEN PIECES

I did not write to my heart's content this year and that makes me really sad. Here's to hoping this year will be more fruitful.

I cross post my fics to ao3!

One Shot, The "Honored One"

Summary: Gojo spent his life alone until he didn’t. The time burns bright in his memory despite how short lived it was because the bookends of his youth were marked with burdens known only to the Honored One. Filed Under: Jujutsu Kaisen

Meta Piece, tied: Sad SatoSugu Edition (Because That’s Literally the Only Flavor There Is) Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: There will, inevitably, be a third installment because their circumstances are that which caused endless suffering in universe to those around them and to me, personally, because it's all I think about. Filed Under: Jujutsu Kaisen

Meta Piece, tied: CSM and the Concept of “Want” and “Home”

Summary: There's an unseen tragedy that gets overlooked because of other off the wall elements of the story. Filed Under: Chainsaw Man

FAVORITE ART CREATED

Here’s to creating more, in all capacities, in the new year.

Cosplay: Master Roshi from Dragonball

This was not a good cosplay, per se. I still don't know how to lay a bald cap but it was by far my funniest.

Living in the World: Baku Bottle Blasters

This was actually an amazing year for art because I set a 2024 goal to apply to an artist alley and started my online store this year. These bottle openers were kind of an outlandish passion project that I really couldn't afford to fund but I'm so glad that I did. To date, I've sold them to fans in 3 different countries!

Comp: Mighty O's Cereal Box

Ignore the fact that I'm overly excited and wearing zero makeup. This was the first shirt I sold at Otakon and he came back to my booth like three times before eventually buying it then wearing it the next day. THEN he wore it to a local coffee shop where he was spotted by someone who later found me on IG. So I guess I love how small the world can be sometimes and how such small things mean so much to people (BECAUSE LOOK AT MY DUMB FACE).

FAVORITE ASKS

I also have a few Asks I'm still working through, I've just been slammed through the holidays! Either way, these were my favorite questions to answer this year. Thank you for your curiosity. Come off anon, I don’t bite!

Relationship Dynamics of Some of My Fave Ships by anon (because I adore when someone sees a game somewhere else and thinks "what does this other weirdo on the internet think?" like, thank you for including meee)

Gojo's Moral Alignment by anon

In Defense of Gojo by anon (I stay caping for my mannn)

But Also, Let's Be Real About Gojo by anon (because I like reading other metas, obvi, but I also like the idea of other people thinking I can or would be a peer review of brain rot)

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for tuning in. Have a safe and happy 2025.

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twig-tea · 1 year ago

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Love in the Big City Part 3: Kylie Recontextualizes Everything

I have waffled all week about what to write about this chapter. There have been some great essays about HIV and the stigma in Korea by @stuffnonsenseandotherthings here, as well as how antiretrovirals and pre-exposure prophylactics work and when they were available from @wen-kexing-apologist here. This context was all critical to understand everything Young doesn’t talk about in this section of the book.

I’ve been stuck on so many parts of this section of the book. The way stigma holds people back from care, from maintenance, from life-saving treatment and knowledge, from understanding their condition and preventing them unnecessarily from living a full life, which @doyou000me had me thinking about with their comments about Young’s coping mechanisms of minimization and emotional distance that possibly worked in conjunction with the Korean government healthcare policies and social stigma to keep Young from being informed about his own condition. The way Young holds himself back from happiness, and how it’s so heartbreaking to watch him open up to it slowly in this section and then, as @my-rose-tinted-glasses wrote , he let the shame and self-loathing take control again. The way this relationship feels so real; @lurkingshan wrote so eloquently on how this section describes the details of a relationship as it started to settle. The relationship with Hyung was entirely ephemeral, in the liminal period of time between when Young was visiting his mother in hospital and before everything opened again for the day. There is so much that Young and Hyung never talked about–more than was obvious in chapter 2, because he never told Hyung about Kylie. In contrast, as @bengiyo pointed out, his relationship with Gyu-Ho started with honesty and was rooted in the physical presence of their apartment, which as a beautiful metaphor was grounded and improved slowly over time through the work they put into it but was also too small for them.

I keep thinking about how Part 3 is bookended by Young disappointing Gyu-Ho with his absence. How he leaves him at the airport both times, thinking he’s doing Gyu-Ho a favour actually–he characterizes Gyu-Ho’s trip to Japan without him as much more fun, and he imagines Gyu-Ho’s future in Singapore will be better. In both cases, Gyu-Ho was only going because of Young, because Young wanted to, and Young planned it. But our narrator cannot get past seeing himself as something that brings Gyu-Ho down, and so he sabotages his own future. I feel for Gyu-Ho, being shepherded onto a plane alone when he was envisioning his future with the man he loved. It must have been devastating to be pushed away.

This is not related to anything but I just love the detail of Young’s split lip and how he tastes blood when he kisses Gyu-Ho while drunk at the club and not yet knowing his name, and then panics, and we as readers don’t yet know why. Brilliant storytelling.

I can’t stop thinking about how this reveal recontextualizes everything in parts 1 and 2. How the “incident that earned me a medical discharge” means Kylie was already in Young’s life as he took the engineering student he was seeing with him to get an STD check; as he was screamed at by an ex who prophesied that Young would get sick from being promiscuous and called him a ‘dirty rag that could never be cleaned’, which Young took with stoicism. I loved @bengiyo ‘s observation in his post linked above that Kylie’s presence likely coloured his reaction to Jaehee outing him to her fiance.

Kylie was present as he watched his coffee be stolen by Hyung, when he thought about introducing Hyung to his mother, while he was wrestling with how Hyung (and, I think the narration makes clear, how he) was ashamed at how Young couldn’t ‘pass’ and was ‘obviously gay’, when he choked Hyung in his mother’s kitchen and it was seeing his tears on Hyung’s face that made Young let go. Kylie was part of him when he drank pesticide and tried to die, while he sat by his mother’s sickbed and had her head in his lap in the park, when he said “disease can turn anyone into a completely different person”, when he said he would “hope that she would die without having known.”

Mostly, my brain keeps getting stuck on how familiar Young is to me. His choices, his self-loathing, his refusal to take anything seriously because at his core he’s terrified of facing what his reality means. And that fear ironically gets in the way of him understanding that his reality is not as scary as he thinks it is. He functions like he has to be alone, and so much of that comes from his internalized homophobia and his HIV diagnosis. He’s been told he’s dirty, something to be cleaned but irreparable, by so many people in different ways through his life. The man he claims as his greatest love barely even liked him as a person, and didn’t fully know him. I think that’s why he was able to feel more fully with Hyung, because in a way that relationship felt safer..Gyu-Ho, the person who knew all of him, and who wanted to build a life together with that complete and full knowledge of him, must have been terrifying, and I’m not surprised it felt easier to push him away than to fight for their future together. But it breaks my heart.

There’s something rattling in my head about the T-aras that I don’t really know how to get out onto the page. In this chapter it’s revealed that the T-aras have been around the whole time, but they weren’t mentioned in parts 1 and 2. I think the fact that Young’s life feels more rounded, filled in with other people, and rich, than in parts 1 and 2 speaks to his emotional state in this part, as well as to how his time with Gyu-Ho wasn’t obsession but was more grounded in the mundane and the everyday. The T-aras themselves feel like familiar friends. Like with Hyung and JaeHee (at first), Young is drawn to people who he can remain emotionally distant from and who remain emotionally distant from him. People who will buy the story of “ruptured disc” for why he left military service early. People who joke about being poz and won’t ask questions and who hear the news about his new boyfriend as an ‘in’ to their favourite club. People who don’t take things seriously (or in Hyung’s case take things so seriously that Young can’t take him seriously). I was so glad to find out they existed because up to this point Young felt so isolated most of the time, with his world circling around one obsession in each part. But he had the T-aras the whole time; I’m choosing to read this as he just didn’t hold their importance to him in the same way in parts 1 and 2. As was already clear in the narrative but this makes even more obvious, Young’s isolation is not only self-inflicted but it’s in some ways a lie he tells himself to feel safer. He has friends, he just refuses to acknowledge their presence or importance, or to let them in to be more important, because he is so braced for being rejected for core parts of him that cannot be excised.

#litbc book club #love in the big city #sorry i'm so late with this one #this got more florid than i like to be #this Part had me way too in my feelings

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bumblepony · 6 months ago

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✨End of Year Bookends Game✨

Rules: Snip first and last line/paragraph/section/artwork you created this year - bookends, if you will 💖 and don't forget to tag some friends! I've taken first and last to mean first and last posted for myself but you do you and pull from wips if you want!

First paragraphs posted are from A Little Boy So Old In My Shoes on 01/03/24:

The valley is still covered in pockets of frost where the sun has yet to grace it with its rays. Crocus and other early spring flowers push up from the earth to mix with the green of the grass, just starting to come back to life after the long winter. The air feels crisp on Joel’s skin, and he cups his hands together in front of his mouth to blow in them, trying to bring back some of the warmth. He should just pull his gloves out of his pockets and put them on, but something about the spring air feels rejuvenating, and Joel wants to soak up as much of it as he can before it turns again. The weather this early in the year is still so fickle it’s worth enjoying the good days as much as you can because you don’t know when the next one will be. He hears Tommy grunt and turns to him where he’s laid out on the ground next to him.

“Joel, I got someone. Can’t tell if it's infected or not, they’re stumblin’, but it could be for other reasons,” Tommy says, his rifle braced against a log, eye to the scope.

“Let me take a look,” Joel asks, motioning for the gun. Tommy hands it over, and Joel scoots down so he can get a good look through the scope. He sees a figure almost immediately right out in the open. Tommy’s right; they’re stumbling, but the movement is all wrong for infected. Joel has seen enough of them to know what they look like, and this ain’t it. He could be wrong, but it looks like a human, and they look like they’re in bad shape. “I think it’s a person. Let's get closer, see if we can get a better look.”

Last paragraph posted was from Forgotten Memories on 12/30/24:

“Frank kept boxes of clean clothing upstairs, should be able to find some stuff that fits you.” Tess gestures for Ellie to precede her, and the kid scampers quickly up the stairs. “Fuck, holy shit, kid, slow down. It’s not a race.”

“Old lady knees can’t take it?” Ellie yells from the landing.

“Har, har.” Tess huffs. " Wait until you're my age, and then we’ll see how you feel.”

Cackling, Ellie disappears from view.

“Fucking teenagers crying one second, then sassing you the next. I can’t keep up,” Tess grumbles, trying and failing to keep the smile off her face.

Tagging: @messydepressy95 @ameerawrites @sixhours

#tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #bookends game

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bijoumikhawal · 1 year ago

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Bite the Hand That Starves You: Chapter Eight

Fic as of the chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation, kidnapping, explicit sexual content

Kardasi: -ijje: an affectionate Kardasi suffix. One adds it to a shortened version of a name. It is inappropriate to use this for a person you aren't very close to.

Whoo, final chapter! The sex scene here is the section that starts with "Garak had wanted to be alone, Julian guessed."

---

“We're within range to transport.” Garak rolled his shoulders, sitting up. “Alright. Do you have any questions about the sensor scrambler, or anything else I'm leaving with you?”

“I don't know if you should be going alone.”

“That's a no, then, I take it. I can't explain your presence if I don't. At best, Lokar will deny any knowledge of Dr. Bashir.” Garak began patching in a comms signal. “Besides, if I know Lokar- and I do- he'll try to sabotage the ship. Someone needs to keep an eye on it. And you have 15 seconds before they start getting video of this room.”

Sisko narrowed his eyes, but left quickly. Garak suspected there'd be… an interesting debriefing, after this.

Sisko had no qualms about strong arming others for a good cause, but he rarely appreciated it himself.

Garak was put through to a secretary he'd never seen before first, standing over the shoulder of a traffic controller. “Ship 5371-B, state your purpose. You are not scheduled to be here, and without good reason and authorization, you will be subject to detention until trial.”

Garak smiled. “Of course. Tell Barkan Lokar that Elim Garak has come to pay him a visit.”

She gave no sign of recognition. “What nonsense is that? Elim Garak is not on our list of those with authorized access.”

“-if you tell him that,” Garak said, cutting off her next sentence, “I think you'll find I have an appointment. And do tell him it was very rude to schedule one without asking me about it first.”

She bent and pressed some keys on the console, sighing. Garak felt the shift in gravity and momentum as a tractor beam took hold. “I hope detention is worth your little prank, sir.” The video switched off. Presumably, she was double checking his statement.

Typically a secretary would not be immediately available to traffic control. Barkan had not mentioned him by name, but clearlh he'd told his staff to expect someone. This was going well, so far.

Garak got himself a glass of rokassa juice.

The video came back on, though the tractor beam didn't turn off. Garak expected as much- odds were they'd set up a stasis lock, or potentially tow it into dock. The secretary was good. Her face betrayed no sense of shame or embarrassment. “Get on the transporter pad and you'll be beamed in.”

Garak bowed his head to her with a smile. “Thank you.”

Barkan and a helmeted guard were waiting for him. Garak gave the latter a curious look. “Updating the uniform, are we?”

Occasionally Cardassian units used helmets, but they didn't look like this, with a full face cover- giving no indication of who was underneath. “Something like that. Why don't you sit, Elim? It's been so long since we talked.”

Garak did take the offered seat. “Has it.”

“Within the bounds of the Union, I mean.” Barkan amended his statement. “There's something freeing about being here instead of on enemy territory, isn't there?”

“I don’t know. The line designating “the Union” and “enemy territory” simply passed over me one night- I didn't find much difference in how I spoke in the evening or the morning that bookended it.”

“How about the evening and the morning that bookended the last time we spent a night together?”

Garak let himself tense. Better to make Barkan think he really had the advantage, to let him revel in it. "I was interrogated after, you know. I imagine you find that funny."

Barkan laughed. "You make me so cruel in your imagination, Elijje. Sometimes I worry I won't meet your expectations, and leave you disappointed."

"I find you meet them effortlessly."

Barkan sat, resting his head in his hand. "You're wanting your Terran doctor back, I take it. Have you ever noticed how similar they look to Bajorans? It's uncanny."

Garak rolled his thumb over the transmitter in his pocket. "They also look much like Vulcans. I wouldn't have come for anything else, Barkan."

"So we're back to first name basis, then." Barkan smiled. "Perhaps you'll be amenable to my suggestion, then."

Garak didn't bother to respond.

Barkan's mouth twisted. "Obviously, I don't want your doctor. He means less than nothing to me. Palandine has… gone missing, while I've been away. And as I've made clear, I do not consider our partnership annulled."

Garak had long suspected such was the case with Palandine. His few contacts didn't run in her circles, but they had heard nothing of her- and no news had remarked on Kel's emergence party. A girl of her standing would have a public one, and to not have it would normally make the news as well. The confirmation made his stomach drop all the same. It dropped further knowing their disappearance had not, as he had assumed, been at the military's direction.

"My brother died in the war with the Federaji, as you know. I am the last Lokar."

Garak flexed his hand in his pocket. It was a quiet admission regarding Kel, but a quiet admission was still terrifying. "It always comes back to this with you."

"I can end your exile."

Garak’s tongue stuck.

Barkan smiled. "Yes, even considering that incident on Bajor."

Garak centered himself in his mind. The cost of ending his exile this way was being alone with Barkan. Without the Order behind him. And if he struggled to conceive… Lokar would not examine himself. Besides, he surely wanted revenge.

But, to be on Cardassia again… and he still had contacts outside the Order… he could even find Palandine, he was smarter than whoever Central Command had assigned to look for her.

If it was Tain before him, he knows he wouldn't bother weighing the options. No matter what he'd asked, Garak would do.

He will still have to earn Tain’s forgiveness if he accepts. Until then, he will still treat Garak as a traitor and enemy. And Garak knows- Tain prides himself on outliving his enemies.

“You seem overwhelmed.” Barkan stepped behind Garak, squeezing his shoulder ridges- not in a way appropriate to do in one's office. “I'll let you sleep on it, hm?”

“In a cell?”

“Hardly.” Barkan’s grip eased, hands sliding down Garak’s shoulders. “Second. Show Elim to our guest quarters.” The helmeted guard nodded.

It was a cell. A comfortable cell (not silk quilt comfortable), the one you got when you fucked the warden, but a cell nonetheless. He couldn't leave, after all.

But if he was smarter than Barkan, he could get out. And if he could get out, he could trust himself to take the deal and come out on top.

---

Julian laid on the floor of his cell, pressing his swollen cheek to the cold tiles.

After Lokar was satisfied with himself, the helmeted guard took him back here. According to his internal clock, it was well into the night.

He turned, giving his the other side of his face a chance with the tile. Left-down, left-up, right-up...

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of feet.

Earlier, a medic had come to see him, and promptly left upon being satisfied that Julian's injuries wouldn't kill him. He'd expected to be left alone for some time after that- it had only been three hours.

Julian kept still, closing his eyes most of the way.

The security field's hum ceased abruptly. Whoever it was walked in, stopping by his hip- Julian could just make out the toe of a uniform boot. Not the medic again, then, or anyone else interesting.

"Preparing for death." The helmeted guard muttered to himself. Julian heard him sling his rifle onto his back, out of immediate reach.

Nothing for it.

Julian braced his arm against the floor and swung his legs up and forward, catching him below the knee.

It wasn't his best, but it worked- knocking the guard off balance and having him flail a bit, hands away from his gun.

Julian got up, grabbing the rifle and strap. It wasn't that hard to tear the two apart- there was decent give, and the snapshot unfastened easily.

The guard spun on his heel. Julian hit his side with the rifle, between his ribs. Unfazed, the guard grabbed Julian by his shirt and hauled him forward. Julian hit him on the side of the head with the rifle, then jabbed him in the front of his neck with his elbow.

The helmet was more about secrecy than armour. The guard grunted in pain. Julian hit him again, then threw the rifle, skittering, across the room.

The helmeted guard slammed him against the wall. Julian grabbed for his throat, shaking off the dizziness.

At first the guard ignored it, slamming him again. Julian's grip did not break.

It was a common misconception that you couldn't strangle a Cardassian, because of the shape of their cervical vertebrae. It was certainly near impossible to break a Cardassian's neck- the force required would decapitate most. But strangulation simply required one to know where to put pressure- just below the corners of the jaw.

Two more slams, a little more panicked, then the guard grabbed his wrists, trying to break his grip.

This wasn't the time to worry about being found out.

Julian threw the guard to the floor once he slumped against him and began stripping his uniform off.

If nothing else, he could get word back to Deep Space Nine about where exactly he was- though Barkan wasn't too unlikely of a who, narrowing things down still would take time, and wouldn't help them much. It wasn’t exactly easy to get prisoners out of the Union even during scheduled exchanges.

The fit wasn't terrible. Fortunately, most Cardassians were Julian’s height, or a bit taller.

Now he just had to hope Second was the one monitoring his cell.

He pulled Second under his cot, so it wouldn't be too obvious who was laying on the floor looking in from outside. Pressing a fob hidden in Second's pocket rematerialized the security field.

Julian took a second to breathe, and turned. Would he be able to send a message from Barkan's office? That was where he knew to go- if nothing else, it'd be safer than wandering around.

Julian adjusted the strap of the rifle, and began heading for the first locked door. Before he even got there, he ran into trouble- not for himself, thankfully.

The first tell was that the lights were darkened- someone had cut the power here. Julian steeled himself, pressing onwards.

Garak was a welcome sight, even when fighting a guard by himself. Neither paid him attention- Garak was focused on winning, and the guard had his back to Julian.

Julian had never seen Garak get physical while in his right mind before. During his withdrawal- well. It hadn't come down to it, but Julian had been afraid of hurting him precisely because Garak was too strong to easily subdue.

The guard lost.

Garak faced him, and stood, approximating a stance. "Well, Second. I didn't expect a friend of Barkan’s to be so chivalrous as to wait his turn."

Julian took off the helmet and allowed Garak’s genuine surprise to warm him.

"Doctor." Garak stared a moment longer. "I was coming to get you- but it seems you only needed some help, hm?"

Julian touched the bruises on his cheek. "These are from earlier, actually."

Garak raised his brow ridges. "What a busy week you've had."

---

Julian had let Garak take the lead on their detour, though he wasn't entirely happy about it. He said nothing, but it showed in his posture.

Garak had never been to this particular prison before, but he was familiar with the particulars of their construction. Seperate maintainence corridors with manual locks were necessary- not too unlike the station's, though with more vertical space.

"May I see that?" Garak held out a hand beside him, eyeing the lock. Julian handed him the rifle.

Breaking it was a little louder than Garak would have liked, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Garak had Julian slip inside before him, and urged him to walk a few meters before leaning against the wall to rest.

“You don't seem surprised to see me.”

Julian looked up, having chosen to sit on the floor. “Should I be?”

“We fought the last time we talked.”

Julian managed not to laugh, but couldn't help a smile. “Garak, anyone could tell that fight wasn't about me.”

Garak narrowed his eyes in slight annoyance. Yes, it hadn't been his best showing.

Julian looked down. "Besides, practically speaking, there's not many people who would get here so quickly. The rest of the senior staff, you, Odo... you're about it."

And it hadn't been so long that a quick rescue was utterly improbable to him, compared to drawn out negotiations, or no rescue at all.

"I presume I make that list because of my connection to Barkan. After all, compared to the rest, my qualifications are lacking." Lying was always easy for Garak, even silly, obvious lies.

Julian looked up again, this time serious. "Barkan isn't going to leave it at this. He knows where you are." He stood.

“I know.”

“So we can't just escape.” The hall was narrow, and Julian’s expression was made all the more intense this close up.

“What else can we do?” Garak raised his eye ridges. “I got caught trying to get to you. You only haven't gotten caught yet because you got lucky with the uniform and you have decent aim. Do you think assassinating a warden is a spur of the moment decision?”

“What's your plan, then?” Julian didn't hide his frustration.

“To get out of here alive, just like it was when I beamed down. We are in his territory, doctor. He has the advantage. That's why you were brought here. I am far safer on the station than just about anywhere else in the quadrant.”

Julian covered his eyes with his hands, frustrated. Garak, being the one who lived this careful balance, had a point. Even if Julian didn't like it.

Garak took his transmitter out of his pocket and began adjusting the dials on it.

Julian looked up again, probably in response to the clicking Garak himself only barely heard. “What's that?”

“A transmitter. We'll have ten minutes to talk when it's activated.”

Julian stared at him. “To who?”

“Commander Sisko took your disappearance personally.”

“Ah.” Julian paused, clearly reasoning through it. “By himself?”

“He didn't want anyone else in trouble if things went poorly. I only barely convinced him to stay on the shuttle.” Garak stopped for a moment. “The only things of use on you are that uniform and rifle, correct?”

“More or less.”

Garak nodded to himself and hit the last button. “Commander, can you hear me?”

There was a slight crackle on the other end. “I can hear you. Do you have Dr. Bashir?”

It'd ended up more the other way around- “I'm here.”

“I take it Lokar isn't simply handing you over.”

“No. We're going to need to break out.”

A moment of silence. “Alright. What are we working with?”

“I've got a uniform with a helmet and a rifle. And I stole some gloves from the medic who they had look at me earlier.” Julian shifted to rest against the wall.

“I have everything I beamed down with: this transmitter, a spare knife, nothing else interesting.”

“Did you find an angle with Lokar?”

“No.”

Julian looked at him with a tinge of suspicion. It almost made Garak feel better. “Nothing?”

“He wants revenge. Unfortunately, I can't give that to him- and if I did, I don't think he'd let you go anyways.”

Julian accepted that, but his brow remained slightly furrowed.

“I don’t think your suspicion of possible sabotage is wrong, Garak, but so far nothing has happened up here. They did weaken the strength of the tractor beam, but that’s all. And judging from what I saw of the engine earlier, it won’t be able to break the hold on it’s own.”

“That won’t be a problem. Remember what I told you about the triangular device?"

“The one you clearly soldered together on the way over? Yes.”

“In…” Garak checked the time on the transmitter. “Half an hour, attach it to the spot I told you about. You won't need to worry about the tractor beam once its active.”

“That's me taken care of. How are you two getting out of there? You don't know where the transporter room is.”

“No need.” Garak said quickly. “We just need to get to Barkan’s office. They beamed me directly down there. Many in administrative positions have the transporter block stripped from their offices for convenience. It seems he picked up the habit.”

“Do you know how to get there?”

“Of course,” overlapped with Julian’s “Yes.”

“He had me brought in a few times to harass me.” Julian gave as explanation.

“That explains your face,” Garak said to himself, then spoke louder, “Once we're in, I can signal you on the other transmitter. The transporter controls aren't too different on the shuttle compared to what you're used to. There shouldn't be any other life signs to be confused by once the signal goes up.”

“And if you don't get there?”

“It's still what we agreed to on the station.”

“Alright. I'll be waiting for both of you.”

Garak ended the transmission, looking down the corridor as he put away the transmitter.

“What did you agree to?”

Garak looked at him, managing not to startle at Julian speaking so close to his ear that he could feel his breath across it. “My dear doctor. What do you think?”

---

They couldn't get to Lokar's office from the maintenance corridor, unfortunately, but it did let them bypass most of the locked doors.

Garak peered out in the hallway first. "Clear, so far."

Julian put the helmet back on before stepping out after him. There was another door, a few meters away, not locked, and then they'd be at Barkan’s office.

Foot steps sounded. Quickly, they turned to each other- Julian grabbing Garak roughly, and Garak putting up a theatrical struggle.

It was one of the normal guards. He laughed, amused. “I heard the warden had a guest. Did he not like his accommodations?”

“Not at all.” Garak snarled. “One is hardly a guest in a prison."

Julian jerked on his arms, pulling him down the hall.

“I am not going back in there!” Garak was testing the limits of of the strength Julian normally allowed himself to use, but not too badly. “Central Command will be hearing about this!”

Julian raised his eyebrows. Banking on the guard not knowing how nonsensical that statement was wouldn't have been his first choice. He kept pulling on Garak, they were almost to the door, and-

“Second, since when do you wear gloves?”

Julian kept pulling on Garak. He'd hardly premeditated all this- he wouldn't be able to imitate Second’s voice on his first try.

The guard raised his rifle. “Second.”

Julian stopped. They did not have time to get to the door before the guard fired his gun.

Unfortunately, the very act gave him away.

“Well, at least he won't be such a smug bastard after this.” The guard advanced.

Garak was clearly thinking too much to admonish him for the potentially fatal error.

“Take off the helmet or I'll shoot the other one.”

Slowly, Julian did so.

“Ah. That's why you're a special interest prisoner.” He laughed.

Julian hadn't turned around yet, but it sounded like he'd walked until he was just out of arms reach.

“You do know he was planning to go back to the warden, don't you?”

An odd look entered Garak’s eye, then- he yanked the helmet out of Julian’s hand and lunged forward, pushing Julian aside. He swung down first, nearly knocking the rifle from the guards hands, then at his head.

There was a loud crunch.

Julian grabbed his own rifle from its holstered position and aimed. His parents had gotten their money's worth. Sometimes he was even glad of it.

Garak stalked back to him, pulling the helmet down over his head.

“You aren't taking his…”

“We can't shoot our way out, doctor. We have to keep up the charade successfully if we run into someone else.”

Julian felt a hot rush of shame, but Garak seemed content to leave it at that. He pushed past Julian and through the door.

---

The hall to Barkan’s office had not been busy before, so Garak didn't expect to see anyone. At the same time, the absence of others had him on the knife's edge of aware and nervous.

"You didn't happen to get Second's access fob, did you?" Garak asked.

"Actually..." Julian stuck his hand in his pocket. "I might have." He handed something over.

Garak looked at the polymer in his hand.

There was such a thing as too easy.

There was, also, no other good path out of here. He'd failed the parameters of his own test- he couldn't stay, take his chances with Barkan, and leave Julian in custody. Especially not after Julian had attacked Second.

Garak pressed the fob up against the door's scanner.

The door opened to a dark room. The power hadn't been cut- if it had, the door wouldn't have opened, and there would have been emergency lights. Garak shut the door behind them and pressed the button on his transmitter, letting Sisko know they'd reached their goal.

Julian stood in place, shifting his weight. "Something isn't right."

Garak didn't reply. Hopefully, this part would be fast, and the rest would catch up with them after they were on the runabout-

The door creaked behind them.

Garak kept still as light cut across the floor.

"Second? Did our guest get antsy in his quarters?"

Barkan’s tone was easy. He assumed he was still in control.

Garak saw Julian’s fingers tighten on the rifle. Don't, he thought, wishing it could be heard. You won't be able to commit. The fallout will spin out of control immediately. Don't.

Luckily, Second was a somewhat quiet man, and Barkan had interpreted the finger tightening as a "yes, something like that". He circled around them, sitting at my desk. "Am I lucky, Elijje? Have you reached a conclusion about my proposal?"

A good Cardassian doesn't believe in fickle luck, Garak thought. "Perhaps."

Barkan’s smile broadened. Naturally, he assumed his offer had been too tempting for Garak to refuse him. "Are you always shy at times like these?"

Garak almost laughed at him. He'd been acting both times- was Barkan not suspicious of the first?

He replied easily, "Perhaps not all of me has outgrown being Ten Lubak."

There was no way to signal to Sisko that they'd been interrupted. He would know soon enough, in any case. Julian remained tense beside him.

Barkan let out a soft laugh. "Ten Lubak could be rather shy, couldn't he? Back then, that was... alluring."

At what point, Garak wondered. Their first two meetings had been marked by scorn.

The trouble with transporters was, without a badge, the operator had to select individuals manually, going off life signs- species, age, height, and weight. Barkan was taller, but otherwise, he and Garak had similar readings.

Barkan's desk terminal beeped, indicating an incoming call. Barkan pressed the button to answer it.

"Warden, that Federaji prisoner you were interested in has escaped. We just found Second on the ground in his cell."

Barkan and Garak both reacted quickly. Barkan lunged for Julian, and Garak lunged at Barkan, throwing him back into the wall.

Garak’s stomach lurched, and he had enough time to be grateful Sisko had chosen correctly even with unfamiliar controls before the sight of Barkan’s office faded.

He and Julian had been of the same mind, it seemed, as each had a hand on the other, keeping them supported as they rematerialized on the runabout.

Sisko turned his chair to face them. “Next time I'm bringing the Defiant.”

Julian took off the helmet and looked at Sisko. “What do you mean next time?”

"It's good to be prepared, doctor." Garak let go of him. "Thank you for all your help- I'll take over here for awhile, commander." He leaned over the console. "You and Dr. Bashir should get some rest."

---

Garak had wanted to be alone, Julian guessed. And he was- for as long as it took Julian to take a nap.

He woke up to the sound of Sisko getting out of his bunk. "Commander?"

"Ah, I'm sorry, Julian. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's fine. I expect you're probably going to order me away from work when we get back anyway." Julian sat up. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. However, I expect Garak didn't sleep during the time he beamed down, and I know he didn't sleep beforehand. I'm going to relieve him in a bit."

"In a bit?"

"I'm going to shower first."

Julian got out of bed. "Don't use the water setting. I'll go tell him."

Garak leaned over the console, carefully going over every readout he could get displayed, it seemed.

"Sisko's in the shower. He wants to take over once he's..." Julian trailed off.

Garak had turned to look at him. Very... particularly. Julian’s hand had come to rest on the back of the pilot's chair. Garak’s own hand crept up to cover it. "Yes, doctor?"

"Uhm. He'll be out in a little. I warned him off using the water setting. I know the temperature can be difficult." Julian backed up a bit, his mouth dry and face growing warm. "He had the top bunk, but we can swap if you want."

Garak kept staring a moment. "I'll decide after I get a look at them."

Julian nodded, and retreated to the sleeping cabin.

He laid back down on the bottom bunk, facing the wall. His heartbeat was fast and his cheeks stayed flushed with heat, even as he heard Sisko pass behind him into the cockpit, the door opening, closing, and opening. And closing.

He was able to feel that stare again.

The mattress dipped behind him as Garak slipped under the covers. Things were quiet for a moment.

“You said you didn't want anything else, that night. Have you never wanted anything else of me, doctor?”

“Garak,” Julian started, then cut himself off with a gasp as Garak's hands slipped under his shirt, pulling him close.

“Yes?” Garak

"I- we-"

"Surely, you know why Barkan focused his attention on you, doctor. The conclusions he jumped to the second he saw you."

Julian closed his eyes. "Yes, I suppose it's rather ridiculous." A faint dissuasion.

Garak was quiet for a moment. "To be condemned for something you haven't done yet, yes, I suppose it is."

Julian opened his mouth, then closed it. He turned in Garak’s arms to face him.

Garak shifted back slightly. “Just once. We don’t have to think on it ever again.”

Even Julian could appreciate that it was a pretty lie, even if it wasn't a happy one. It was his move- Julian leaned forward, tilting his head to kiss Garak.

"I'm still not safe." Julian reminded him as he broke away.

"How convenient. So am I." Garak nudged Julian onto his back, rising up over him. "It's nice to be on the same page." He pulled Julian’s pajama bottoms down to his knees.

Garak’s gaze had dimmed in intensity somewhat, but Julian still felt pinned. It wasn't exactly a bad feeling. One only had to look down to confirm that. He kicked his trousers the rest of the way off and began pulling at Garak’s tunic- fair was fair.

Garak let him, but pulled his own trousers down. He leaned down, blanketing Julian and pressing him onto the mattress. Garak kissed him as he shifted into what Julian guessed was a more comfortable position.

Julian’s cock slipped between Garak's thighs, and groaned into the other man's mouth as he jerked upwards against him. Noticing, Garak pressed his thighs together. Julian let out a choked moan. Apparently Garak had been anticipating this for some time, as the soft flesh between his legs was slick.

Garak grabbed Julian’s knee and pulled it to the side, spreading his legs apart.

Julian broke the kiss. "Garak-? Oh!" His head fell back as Garak- it was, what he could best describe as a thrust, with Julian's cock trapped between his thighs. Julian grabbed his hips, letting out a string of breathy moans as he tried to meet Garak, thrust for thrust.

He'd certainly never tried intercrural like this.

Garak’s teeth grazed his earlobe, making Julian flinch away.

Garak pulled back, and Julian stroked his shoulder, trying to soothe him.

"It's alright, you just- startled me." Cardassian front teeth were sharper than many other species, despite not looking so obvious.

Julian’s hand tightened as Garak's teeth met his skin again, this time the soft flesh neat the hinge of his jaw.

No longer occupied by kissing, Julian looked down at the shoulder in his grasp, watching the deepening blue color spread over the ridge, and the shift of muscle under the skin as Garak kept thrusting against him.

Garak's teeth traveled down his neck- never biting down fully, as Julian half expected. Only grazing, nipping- almost like a tease.

Julian’s cock slipped out from between Garak's thighs as Garak groaned into his collarbone. A rush of warm wetness spilled forth, and Julian felt something new sliding out of Garak, prodding against his stomach.

Garak’s breaths changed as he ground his cock against Julian’s. Julian could feel ridges, though instead of the scales he was used to, they were of soft flesh that reminded him of the inside of a body. It also felt teasing- brushing against his cock, but more forcefully against his stomach, leaving wet trails.

Julian slid a hand down between their bodies, wrapping his hand around both of them.

Garak shuddered above him, halting for a moment before fucking into Julian’s hand, against his cock, with renewed vigor.

---

Garak would die before saying so, but having had his cycle hit its peak after the removal of the wire violently confronted him with the fact that while he certainly felt arousal, orgasm carried shockingly limited pleasure for him now. Perhaps it was temporary.

Pleasure hadn't really been the point, of course. And the rest of it had still been nice enough.

They had had to part to clean up- tired as they both still were, neither had really wanted to go to sleep like that. Julian was in his arms now facing the wall of the bunk in a mirror of before.

Garak had known the vagueries of the human body, but of all the aliens he'd met, he'd never seen one naked before. Some parts were unremarkably similar to other species- the same body hair he could expect from dozens of others, the nipples, the navel indention.

What had stuck him was, though the muscle of Julian's body was lean and hard, his skin was delicate. That the graze of his teeth had caused such a reaction, on unbruised flesh... and of course, the sight of darker bruising on Julian’s face and chest.

He could see the marks he'd left with his teeth now, a few above the collar of Julian’s sleeping clothes. They were superficial enough to hopefully fade over the next few days. Enough not to come up when Julian would surely be physically examined and debriefed regarding Barkan.

Barkan...

“You were thinking about going back to him. Weren't you.” Julian spoke, evidently not asleep. It was almost like the thought had drawn his attention.

A snarled feeling rose in Garak. “Who?”

“Lokar. He offered you something, didn't he?”

There was that infuriating pity again. “It doesn't matter.”

It was quiet for a moment. "Alright."

If Barkan persisted, Garak would refuse. He couldn't rely on himself to deal with the man- he'd proven that twice now. There were other ways back to Cardassia, and this wasn't the first time an opportunity was simply untenable.

He just had to be clever in the future.

#cipher talk #Fic: bite the hand that starves you #ds9 #garashir

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