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n3rdybird · 4 years

Text

Healing Touch

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan‘s Hamilton Lyric challenge! This story went through so many re-writes and changes, god I hope this mangled mess is okay, haha. My prompt was the line “My name’s been through a lot. I can take it.”

Vikings

HeahmundxReader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Some blood, talk about Church, self-flagellation etc (referenced, not described in depth) suggestive language, oogling a man of the church (haha)

Gossip was always a funny thing in small villages. Perhaps you had not been thinking clear when you established your home on the edge of the holy town of Sherborn. Nestled in the woods near a stream, you were both close enough to the town to visit for supplies but far enough away that your arrival stirred up a bit of mystery.

As an unmarried woman with no known family, you already raised a few brows of the more prominent families. But it was your talent for herbalism that set most of the tongues wagging. The smallfolk were more pragmatic towards your skills. They could overlook your marital status if it meant well-made salves and tonic for their aches and illnesses. With their payments, usually traded goods that you could not make yourself, and the bounty of the forest, you rarely had any need to visit the town marketplace. Which only furthered the mystique around you.

When you did grace the town with your presence, most of the townsfolk gave you a wide berth, allowing you to shop in peace. Even the merchants seemed to deal in your favor, giving you more than was due for your wares. You heard the rumors. Half the town believed that you were a cunning woman and would bring misfortune to any who wronged you. The other half sang your praises, that you were even more skilled than the clergy.

So it was to your great surprise as you kneeled to rearrange your parcels in your basket that a shadow loomed over you. You glanced upward, schooling your features as you saw the Bishop of Sherborne himself, Heahmund, standing over you.

You nodded your head in greeting before standing, slinging your basket over your shoulder. The bishop was a popular man, known for his devotion to God as well as to the sword. And lesser-known, his propensity for women. Mostly gossip, but living as you had, you knew there was at least a kernel of truth to any rumor. His handsome face did not help, nor the way his stubble gave him a rakish air. He was a far cry from the average holy man, fat and week from a sedentary lifestyle.

“Your Grace,” you greeted and dipped into a shallow curtsey, giving the most powerful man in Sherborne due deference for his position.

“You know who I am?” he asked.

“Of course. One could scarcely live in Sherborne without knowing of its Bishop,” you answered.

He nodded in agreement, before gesturing for you to walk with him.

“Please allow me to escort you home if you are finished for the day,” he offered.

You had no intention of spending any considerable time with the church official, but you erred on the side of caution and walked in step next to him.

“I apologize for not making my acquaintance sooner, I meet most of my parishioners on Sundays for mass,” he said, keeping his eyes forward.

You hummed noncommittally, but inside, you blanched. Heahmund's statement seemed polite on the surface, but you knew he was angling for an answer to why you had yet to make an appearance in church. In all honesty, it wasn’t that you weren’t Christian. You were, in your own way. It was the idea that one had to go to church to be considered religious that you didn’t agree with. So you had to pick your words carefully.

“Well then I am pleased that I’ve had the chance to meet you today,” you said, avoiding the point about the church, focusing on his former words rather than the latter. Heahmund cut his eyes towards you, clearly noting your evasion.

“Quite.” His tone was sharp and you felt as if you failed an unknown test.

The conversation dwindled to Heahmund telling bits of history about the town or gesturing to points of interest as the two of you left town. You were glad when you walked past the boundary of Sherborne. You were used to the curious stares when you were alone, but with the Bishop as company, it seemed the gazes were amplified. The gossip mill would soon be in a frenzy. The path home took you past the open fields and into the shaded forest along a winding path.

“Living alone, so far from town, must worry you,” he noted.

“Why would I be worried?”

“Well a woman such as yourself, living alone. You would be far better protected living in town. Roaming bandits, animals, or even the occasional Viking incursion.”

“I worry as much as the next, I suppose, but living in town has never appealed to me. Not to mention it is easier to collect wild plants,” you explained.

“Yes, I’ve heard of your skills. Where did you learn?”

You paused your walk, noticing a crop of comfrey sprouting from the ground. You knelt in the dirt, brushing the purple buds with your fingertips. Too young. You’d have to wait a few more days to harvest. You stood up, wiping the dirt off your skirt. You glanced back at Heahmund who had stopped several paces away. He was watching you closely but looked away as soon as your gaze met his.

“Family mostly, I’ve never learned formally. I’ve found that there is much in nature that can help or hurt. It only takes a practiced hand to know the difference.”

Heahmund stiffened, his hand resting on his sword. His gaze turned to stone as he eyed you critically.

“And do you only heal? Or do you hurt? I admit this meeting was no coincidence. There have been rumors that reached my ears. Half the town believes you to be a cunning woman, a witch, and I do not suffer pagans under my watch.”

You swallowed. You shouldn’t have disregarded the gut feeling you had the moment he began speaking to you. If the Bishop found any fault in your words, he could kill you now and be firm in his belief that he was in the right in his duty as a man of God. There was no one around who could come to your aid, not that any would stand against the warrior.

“Do you deny it?”

“Perhaps you could tell me which rumors have graced your ears, so I may better defend myself.” The words you spoke were calm and confident, the complete opposite of how you were feeling. The sounds of the forest melted away and all you could hear was your rapid heartbeat as you tried to control your fear.

Heahmund tilted his head as if trying to suss out your guilt or innocence.

“‘Which’ rumors? You are aware of what people say about you?”

“My name’s been through a lot. I can take it. Women are always subjected to gossip, especially unmarried ones. I would be a fool to believe otherwise. I hardly see the point in trying to change someone’s opinion of me. People do not like to be wrong.”

“Lord Oswald has claimed that you hold dark influence over his daughter, causing her to act out and defy her father. And that you placed a curse upon him, causing illness.”

At the mention of the man, you clenched your fist. You had first met his daughter when she visited you, draped in a cloak to hide her face. The purple bruise that spread across her cheekbone like a wine stain caused your immediate hatred towards the man she called father. You may have let out a few choice curse words as you treated the abrasion and consoled the young woman.

“That man is a pig. I couldn't care less what he thought of me. As for his illness, perhaps he should be blaming his poor diet.”

“Lord Oswald is an upstanding and-”

“Upstanding? That man would sell his daughter to the vilest devil on earth if it meant he’d get more power!” You blurted the words out, angry that that man would be considered upstanding.

“His daughter is his by rights, and as such may marry her to a man of his choosing. That is the duty of daughters,” the Bishop intoned, repeating the words drilled into him by years of church teachings.

You scoffed at his words, biting back harsh curses. Duty, you’ve never cared for that word.

“Duty, what a hollow promise. Is it not a father’s duty to protect his daughter? And not to lay a hand on her in anger?”

Heahmund’s face softened at that particular bit of information.

“Did you place a curse on Oswald?” he asked again, his voice low and stern.

“I wouldn’t have to. That man will drink himself into an early grave,” you spat. You nodded to where his hand was still resting on the pommel of his sword.

“So what is your judgment? Is thinking a man worth less than a pile of shit enough to die? Or not congregating with hypocrites on Sunday who profess their goodness only to hit their wives or cheat on their husbands or sleep with clergymen? Are those my crimes?”

The last bit of course was aimed at the Bishop. He was taken aback by your words. He too knew the hypocrisy of humans, he had seen it firsthand in others and himself.

“Regardless of any sin committed, man can repent and ask forgiveness.” It was what he told himself every time he failed in his duty to God.

“But I am judged by the words of one man, and that’s enough to condemn me? And what of all the kind words said in my favor? Because they are from the smallfolk they aren’t as important? But as soon as someone with ‘prestige’ speaks horrible lies, you must come running to investigate. Like a trained hound set out by its masters.”

Dismissing the warrior bishop, you shook your head. Rigid, sanctimonious, and arrogant.

“If you are going to kill me, kill me. I do not wish to suffer your presence any longer.”

When Heahmund did not speak but removed his hand from his sword you gave him a terse nod.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, your Grace.”

Heahmund watched as you walked away, your skirts swishing behind you. You had spoken the truth. He had no interest in you until the upper echelon started their complaints. He was all but demanded to get to the bottom of it. As much as your words stung, you were correct. He could have denounced the hearsay as soon as they were spoken, owing to the fact that smallfolk all but revered you. So he bowed under the demands to keep his place secure.

You, however, were not what he expected. Young, unmarried, and striking. He thought you might be an older widow, with the talk of your skills. Instead he got you, a fiery, educated young woman, who wasn't afraid of speaking her mind. It was almost refreshing to have someone not fawn over him. Yes, you treated him with respect but did not trip over yourself to please him. You had no problem criticizing him.

He rubbed the pommel of his sword, worrying the raised designs with his thumb. You were interesting indeed.

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After you left the bishop to mull over your words, you had hurried home, half expecting him to come after you and take you in for your supposed crimes. When he did not follow, your steps became shaky and you found yourself stumbling into the small cottage you called home. You flung the latch closed and leaned against the door, trying to regain your wits.

You had been accused of crimes, as untrue as they were. The Bishop himself was sent to investigate. And you had thrown a tantrum, insulting him and his life. The next few days you did not venture far from your home, fearing retribution. You debated leaving your home, going to another area. But you tired of running away. As the days passed, you breathed a little easier. No one had come to take you away, and the smallfolk continued to do business with you.

After a particularly grueling morning over a cookfire, and setting a poor child’s broken arm, you were exhausted. With the hot sun overhead, you plucked at your tunic as it stuck to your skin. A dip in the water would do nicely.

Gathering your satchel and clad in a lightweight chemise, you began your trek to your preferred bathing spot. A small bend in the river where the water calmed and you could bathe in relative peace.

Placing your bag within reach of the water, you glance around before unlacing your chemise, letting it fall to your feet. The water was cool, refreshing on your overheated skin. You ducked under the water, brushing your wet locks away from your face. You wiped the water from your eyes before reaching for your soap to wash away the grime of the morning.

“Perhaps you are not a witch, but a water nymph from Greek stories,” a familiar voice called out. You spun and stared gobsmacked at the bishop sitting near the edge of the water. You bristled at the nerve of him openly staring as you bathed.

“Shouldn’t a man of the cloth look away when a woman is bathing?” you retorted, wishing for the first time that the water was not so clear.

“Ah, but you have already judged me a hypocrite, would that not be proving you wrong?” he replied but turned his head away from you.

You grumbled, a bit irritated that he had thrown your own words back in your face. Making your way to the shore, you all but snatched your chemise with outstretched fingertips, and dressed with haste.

“Is there something you need, your Grace?” you huffed out, irritated that he had spoiled your bath. You grabbed your satchel, swinging it wildly over your shoulder, hitting his chest with the soft leather. You immediately dropped your pack in alarm when he hissed in pain.

“I came to apologize,” he said between clenched teeth. “Would that be amiable, or would you prefer to hit me with your bag again?”

The weight of your bag should not have caused him any pain, especially if it caused him to grit his teeth. You peeled back his tunic and gasped at the sight of several scratches adorning his chest. Though most were superficial, a few deep welts drug across the expanse of his skin.

“What on earth happened?”

Heahmund jerked away from your grip.

“It’s nothing to worry about," he said, brushing off your concern.

“I’d ask you not to lie to me. Take off your shirt.”

When he didn’t follow your command you rolled your eyes.

“Lord save me from bullheaded men,” you muttered, reaching for his shirt.

“You can either take off your shirt, or I will cut it off. It matters not to me what you choose.”

Heahmund raised a brow at your demands and pulled his tunic over his head with a grunt of pain. Kneeling in front of him, you tried to not ogle the Bishop as you took in his wounds. Most were already scabbed over, others dark with crusted blood. You curled your lip in dismay. You traced your fingers over his skin, the newer cuts crossing over old scars. Some of the deeper gashes were warm to the touch, a sign of infection. You looked up, his eyes watching your hand as it moved across his chest before looking at you.

You pulled your hand away, clucking in a scolding manner. Rifling through your pouch, you pulled out a strip of cloth and some salve. You dipped the cloth into the cool water, wringing out the excess before blotting at the wounds.

“You would think someone with your knowledge would know to treat cuts, no matter how trivial,” you said, as you washed the crusted blood away. “You look like you got in a fight with a cat,” you joked.

“Thorns actually,” he amended. When you looked at him confused, he clarified.

“My self-penance, along with asking for your forgiveness.”

You paused in your ministrations, horrified at the thought.

“You believe God would want you to harm yourself to seek forgiveness?”

“It brings me clarity, to better understand what path God wishes me to take.”

You shook your head before reaching for the salve.

“What is there to understand? God gave us free will, for us to make the choices in our lives. Maybe making mistakes is part of his plan?” you said softly, applying the paste with deft fingers.

“I fear I make too many mistakes, stumble too often in my path,” Heahmund confessed.

“You were right. About Oswald and the rumors. His daughter confirmed it in confession. She was quite worried about you when she heard I came to visit you.”

You shook your head, sighing. The last thing you wanted was to cause more trouble for the young girl.

“I hope you told her she was not at fault. I can take care of myself. Please tell her not to worry.”

He took your hand in his, his calloused fingertips running along yours. Your hand was calloused, but not from holding a sword. You had burn scars from hot pots, tiny cuts from mishaps with knives. Your hand that he had accused of witchcraft and misdeeds was the hand that wiped away his blood and applied medicine, something he did not deserve. A healing hand.

“Choices and mistakes shape our lives, make us who we are. My life brought me here, to Sherborne. As your choices brought you to me. It was your choice to let, rather than kill or imprison me, something I am grateful for,” you said matter of fact.

Heahmund laughed.

“We shall see if that works in my favor. Provided you didn’t poison me,” he said, nodding towards his chest.

You rolled your eyes and licked your fingertip, still coated in salve. Heahmund’s eyebrows jumped in surprise at your action.

“Well if it were poison, now I would die as well. So fear not your Grace, you should be on the mend quickly,” you jested with a smile. Heahmund returned your smile with one of his own. You felt your stomach flutter at the expression on his face, and the threat of a blush warmed your neck.

He brought your hand up to his lips and planted a warm slow kiss on the back of your knuckles. The rough brush of his stubble sent a zip of desire down your spine. This was dangerous. This was a mistake in the making. But you found yourself caring little as you stared into his eyes.

“Please, allow me to repay you.”

#vikings fanfic #heahmund x reader #star's hamilfilm lyric challenge #heahmund fanfic #vikings fanfiction #bishop heahmund

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years

Text

love me naked

pairing: fox / reader

word count: 1749

summary: you and fox both overwork yourselves and in order to get him to slow down, you have to do the same.

a/n: i love fox dearly and had intended on saving this for a while but i got impatient. i’ve never written for fox until now so he may be a bit ooc, fingers crossed that he isn’t. hearth is an oc and i love him so much, if you have questions abt him or any of my other oc darlings i’d love to answer them. (listen to this song)

“he hasn’t come out in ages,” thorn’s voice is rightfully worried as he approaches you. you’re treating a shiny that came back from his first rough shift. the poor thing was shaking, nervous and still reeling from the fact he was attacked by the civilians he was so eager to help. hearth, he said his name was, and you recognized the name from hearing chatter around the medbay. medics were flies on walls, and hearth was quickly becoming known for his empathy and what some claimed were the best hugs in the guard.

you knew that thorn was talking about fox. your boyfriend had a reputation that heavily revolved around the way he would throw himself into his work and burden himself with more than anyone ever should, but to point fingers would be quite hypocritical on your part.

being the chief medical officer of the coruscant guard’s medical bay, you’ve pulled all-nighters that could put some front lines medics to shame. you hadn’t slept in nearly three days, spending all of your time elbow-deep in blood and bacta. there wasn’t even a reason for you to be up; your staff had recently been replenished (there had been several civvie medics quit after a particularly bad riot) last week so there was no dire need for you to stay in the medbay.

it could be seen as hypocritical of you to chastise fox for his behavior with your current state as well as priors, but someone had to take care of the self-sacrificing commander.

“i’ll be with you in a minute, just let me take care of hearth here first.” thorn nodded and stood nearby while you finished up with the last of the bacta patches the former shiny needed. it would’ve normally taken a minute or two tops, but you wanted to go slower; you could tell that hearth needed the extra attention.

after a few minutes, hearth is completely patched up. he’s leaving the medbay with a sucker in his mouth and a calmer demeanor than when he came in. your area is sanitized and the bloody gauze and gloves are unceremoniously thrown into the biohazard basket, and you’re off.

it’s time to rescue your fox from his own mind.

--------

three knocks snap fox from the hypnotic daze the datapad had over him. he hadn’t moved his eyes from the screen in what was probably hours, his eyes no longer registering the burn the blue screen caused. he called out a gruff come in and was surprised to feel how dry his throat was. when was the last time i actually talked?

you were in your greys, thorn standing slightly behind you. your eyes were a little hollow, probably from pulling the third triple shift this week. why didn’t you try to rest? you had the authority to maneuver the schedules of your medics however you wanted to, there was no reason you had to put so much on your shoulders.

but what upset him the most was the way your eyebrows shifted when you took in his surroundings. datapads were anywhere from six inches to two feet high stacked like a fortress around and on his desk, crumpled balls of flimsi scattered throughout. one stack of datapads had several dirty plates stacked from what little food he’d actually eaten in the past couple days.

your voice is soft, worried, when you speak. “fox, can i come in?”

fox hated the way you were using your gentle medic voice on him because it meant that his state was more pitiful than he cared to realize. “yeah, baar'ur’ika.”

thorn nods, seeming to be satisfied now that you were here to get his commander the rest he needed, and leaves. you slowly make your way into the room and fox goes to meet you in the middle so you don’t have to navigate his datapad fortress, but he must have been sitting far longer than he thought he had been. his legs start to give out under him and he leans onto the corner of his desk for support. his weight jostles the desk a smidge too much and one of the datapad stacks is seconds from falling on top of him before you’re pulling him towards you.

you both end up on the floor after you tripped during your daring rescue but it was fine.

the datapads crash into the space fox was occupying seconds before and for a moment, the office is completely silent. then fox laughs, and he laughs and laughs and laughs. it sounds like the heavens are singing, his weary smile shining brighter than the stars could even hope to. you grinned, soon joining him in gleeful fits. neither of you remembered the last time you both found something funny enough to show it this much and it was peaceful.

fox sat up, pulling you into his arms and resting his chin on your shoulder as his jovial demeanor mellowed out into a peaceful, easy feeling. you and him sat in comfortable silence for a while, letting you both heal from the long hours at the other’s side. moments like this are rare and you don’t think anyone or anything could drag you out of fox’s embrace.

that is, except for fox himself.

he pecked your temple lightly before shifting you out of his lap. there was no hint as to what he was deciding to do, no way for you to gauge his next move. when he picks up a datapad from the toppled stack you’re immediately standing. he was not about to start working again so soon, you wouldn’t put up with it.

right as you’re about to scold him for leaving your spot on the floor, music reverberates through his office.

it wasn’t a song you recognized but it was soft and slow, the kind of music you’d sway to on a date or in your bedroom after nights spent in his arms. it was relaxing and you could see the way fox’s shoulders released some of his backup supply of tension that it had the same effect on him.

fox knew he was working himself into the ground, and he knew that you had a tendency to do so as well. if taking care of himself would get you to do the same for you, he just had to take the bullet. for you, of course, not because he thought he needed (or deserved) a break. when there was an opportunity to rescue you from responsibilities for a little while, he had to take it. here you were, eyebags darker than he’d seen them in a while and a soft gleam in your eyes that reminded him of the first time you treated him in the medbay, and he felt at peace for the first time in a while.

he extended a hand out to you as he set the singing datapad precariously on one of the pillars of its brethren. “would you like this dance?”

the last time fox had danced was at a stuffy senatorial party, before either of you made your affection for the other known. that night he didn’t pull you as close as he wished he had, but today he held no such reservations about maintaining proper space between the two of you. he was so graceful when dancing, his body having an elegance about it in those moments that was utterly hypnotic. you didn’t realize how much you missed the way his body felt against you until he was beginning to guide you to the song.

but what if i told you

there's nothing i want more in this world

than somebody who loves me naked

someone who never asks for love

but knows how to take it

the words resonated with you, the softness of the instruments driving the sensitivity home. it made you pull fox as close to you as possible, his chest flush with yours. with the proximity, fox seemed to debate with himself for a moment before abandoning the structure of your slow dance in favor of both of his arms wrapping around your waist. yours went to his neck while one hand gently played with the hair at the nape of his neck, relishing in the serenity around you.

no matter how hard i try

to run away from love at the end of the night

i need somebody who loves me naked

you gasp when there’s an unexpected twirl, your feet somehow able to carry you away and back into fox’s arms with ease. fox shoots you a sly grin when his hands take new positions against your skin and you bury your face into his neck. he’s warm against you and you can feel the calluses of his hands even through your scrubs.

i need someone who loves me when i wake up

who thinks i'm beautiful when i'm looking fucked up

i want the perfect love, am i asking too much?

someone who shoots for the stars

knowing i think i’m never good enough

you allow fox to lead in the swaying (because let’s face it, it stopped being actual dancing after the surprise spin) and let the words and the solid body of your commander bring you to peace.

are you that somebody

who sees a wall and breaks it

are you ready to fight just to see what's lost behind my flaws

can you love me naked

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thorn returned to fox’s office a few hours later with two trays in hand stacked high with food from the mess. he’d asked around base if anyone had seen either of you since you left the medbay, but no one had. this brought the commander to the conclusion that you never left fox’s office. it also meant that neither of you had dinner, which was an error that would soon be rectified.

with a sense of balance thorn didn’t know he possessed, he was able to successfully rest one plate on a raised knee while entering the entry code for fox’s office. upon entry, he found you both curled up against the front of fox’s desk, clinging on to each other as if your lives depended on it.

“it was about time they took a damn break,” thorn mumbled to himself. he set the food down on fox’s desk and searched his vod’s office for a moment before finding a blanket to drape over you both. maybe this way you two would actually get some well-earned sleep.

#star wars reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #star wars #commander fox #commander fox imagines #love me naked #commander fox x reader #clone trooper x reader #commander fox deserves more love

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galahadwilder · 5 years

Text

Unwise

Ch. 2: In Which Too Many People Turn Patrols Into Dates

Happy birthday @alexseanchai! You wanted more Unwise? Here you go!

Convincing Fu to let her bring out the other Miraculi on a semi-permanent basis had been a chore in and of itself. Feast had proven the depth of his paranoia—though, to be fair, it’s not technically paranoia if people are actually out to get you—and she wasn’t prepared to lose Tikki a second time. He’d refused to allow her to bring out more Miraculi, until she’d forcefully reminded him that A. she is a full-fledged Guardian now, he’d said that himself, and B. She, a child, is the one on the front lines while he hides. (She hates bringing that up, because she knows why he’s doing it, but it was that or go insane.)

Eventually, he’d relented, though he’d let her take only the ones who’d already proven themselves. Which was fine, it wasn’t like she was planning on doing any recruiting anytime soon.

She’d been planning to hand out all of the Miraculi herself, as usual, but as soon as she’d had them in her hands she’d paused, reconsidered. Chat was right—trying to do everything herself has been driving her insane. She already knows that, if she goes down, Chat can take the earrings and Mister Bug it up—or, in an emergency situation, just Cataclysm a butterfly and wait for her to get back up—so there’s a little bit of the weight off there. But the fact is, he was originally never supposed to know the identities of any of the backup, and if she were to have gone down in that situation he’d have been left to continue the fight alone in a way that she never would. The thought makes her want to vomit.

And she can’t deny that the way Chat’s face lit up when she asked him to help her distribute the Miraculi had done something funny in her tummy. Not love, of course, nor attraction—absolutely not that, stop laughing Tikki—but something. She’d laid out all of the Miraculi Fu had let her take on their favorite rooftop, then, after a moment’s consideration, handed him the Horse, the Bee, and the Dragon (she’d briefly passed her hand over the snake, but she saw the way he tried to suppress a shudder; curious as his reaction made her, she knew she couldn’t let herself think about what that was about, lest she learn something she shouldn’t).

She picked up the Fox, the Snake, the Turtle, and the Mouse, then paused, thought, made a decision. “You already know who the mouse is,” she said. “If you ever need an illusionist, and I’m not there to help you...” She held up the foxtail necklace. “This one goes to the Ladyblogger.”

Chat froze. “My Lady,” he said, the Dragon choker dangling between his claws, “are you... sure I should know this?”

She nodded. “You said yourself, I can’t keep doing this alone,” she said. “You’re my partner.”

There’d been no big meeting; someone might’ve noticed that Multimouse wasn’t there, and that would lead to questions she doesn’t want to answer. She’d made a list of reasons why, but surprisingly, Chat had asked for none of them, simply agreeing with her out of hand.

The whole thing is going swimmingly, and yet she can’t help feeling guilty about how she’d arranged the patrols. She’d insisted on not letting Rena Rouge and Carapace patrol together, since there was no way either of them could tear away from each other in a non-emergency situation, so for the first two few nights she’d rotated them through everyone but each other, just to keep from ill-advised makeouts. And yet, here she is, having intentionally arranged herself on patrol with Adrien...

God, she’s a hypocrite.

She can honestly say that after a week of letting other holders cover patrols, she’s more rested than she’s been in a while. But she’s done so many stupid things to spend time with Adrien, it’s not like one more will make a difference at this point, right? And at least this way she’s doing something productive with it. She hopes. If she can, you know, actually hold it together around him to do anything.

“Tikki,” she groans into her hands, her elbows propped on her desk. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing.” The cursor blinks on the anonymous Google schedule she’s been sharing with the team, waiting for her to confirm the time of her first patrol as Multimouse. Her first patrol with Adrien. She wonders, idly, what he’ll choose for his name.

Tikki sighs from her spot on Marinette’s pincushion, rolling a chocolate chip between her paws. “I don’t know,” she says. “Master Fu had very good reasons not to let the rest of us out of the box, but you also have very good reasons.” She looks up at Marinette, her blue eyes shining with compassion. “I do worry about you.”

“I’m just happy to be out and about,” Mullo says, climbing onto Marinette’s phone and poking the screen with delight. “So much new technology! I didn’t get to see this last time you wore me.”

“Not that,” Marinette says, dropping her hands onto the desk—then she tilts her head. “Well, yes that, but not what I’m asking about right now.” She sighs, staring at the calendar block. “Am I being... selfish, with this schedule?”

Tikki purses her lips, then turns the chocolate chip on its side and starts rolling it back and forth on the desk beneath one paw, staring at it pensively.

“Tikki?” Marinette whispers.

Tikki grimaces. “You know you’re not supposed to use your powers for personal gain,” she says. “I’ve told you before.”

Marinette swallows. “I remember,” she whispers.

Tikki tilts her head. “On the other hand,” she says, “this might be more practical than you think.”

Marinette blinks. “What?”

“If he is going to be a full-time member of the team, it might help to acclimate yourself to his presence?” Tikki says, a small smile spreading across her face. “We wouldn’t want you to start tripping over your words in the middle of combat.” She flings the chocolate chip straight up, then launches her tiny body from the desk, swallowing it in a single gulp in a manner reminiscent of the poster for Jaws.

“Hey!” Marinette protests. “I did fine last time!”

“You said one sentence and you had to use Sass to practice it eight times first,” Tikki says with a smug grin, crossing her arms.

Marinette bites her lip, then rolls her eyes. “You see how mean she is to me?” she says to Mullo.

“Hm? What?” the rat says, her head perking up and twisting back and forth. “I’m sorry, I was distracted by this...” Her turns back to the phone, where she’s been swiping between app pages with wide eyes. “Um, magic screen thing.”

Tikki giggles. “Not everything humans do is magic, Mullo.” She flits around to Marinette’s eye level. “Marinette. The day I told you not to use your powers for personal gain? That was our third time out. I didn’t know you then. I do now.” She reaches out, laying her palm on Marinette’s cheek. “You’ve grown into a responsible and professional young woman, and Master Fu has selected you to be the next Guardian.” She floats back. “I trust your judgment. And besides, you deserve a break.” She gestures to the computer screen, where the calendar is still waiting, unfinished. “If this is what you want to do? Then you should do it.”

Marinette swallows as tears brim in her eyes. “I—thank you, Tikki,” she whispers.

“Of course,” Tikki says, zipping forward to hug Marinette’s cheek again. “I love you so much, Marinette.”

“I love you too,” Marinette says, cupping her Kwami to her cheek with her palm.

“Oh my Guardians!” Mullo sobs. “You—you two— you are...” She rolls over onto her back, letting out a tiny melodramatic wail. “Your friendship is so perfect!”

Tikki snorts, backing away from Marinette’s cheek. “Okay. Back down there, Squeakers.”

Marinette sets her jaw, looking at the screen. “So,” she says, “I’m doing this?”

Tikki nods. Mullo rolls back onto her stomach, looking back at her expectantly.

Marinette nods back. “I’m doing this,” she says, and presses her finger down on Enter.

This was a mistake this was a mistake this was a mistake this was a mistake—

Sapis (who looks amazing in his costume, his gossamer half-cape floating off his back, furry cuffs on his wrists, black streaks in his carefully styled hair to resemble antennae—oh, she’s going to be gushing about this to Tikki later) is looking at her with eyes like the night sky, golden irises inset on black sclera, and she feels all the breath leave her body. She’s seen enough of Adrien’s patented “Soft Eyes” in candid shots from Alya that she thought she’d be immune, but nope, photographs have in no way prepared her for the real thing. Sweet Kwamis, she’s going to die and she hasn’t even said a word to him yet.

Say something, Ladybug, she tells herself. But under Sapis’ gaze, in Multimouse’s suit that she’s suddenly aware came out far more cute than her usual reassuringly minimalist design, she doesn’t feel like Ladybug, so when she opens her mouth, she only manages to squeak.

Nice, she thinks, mentally kicking herself. Well done. Very professional.

“H-hi!” she yelps. “Are you, um...” She grips her elbow, her free hand playing with the tail of the jump rope tied around her waist. “Queen Bee’s replacement?”

“Yep,” he says in an exaggeratedly deep voice. He takes a Superman stance, pressing his fists to his hips, and turns his eyes dramatically to look somewhere slightly behind her. It looks generally ridiculous, and he clearly knows it. “Sapis, at your service.”

“Sapis?” she says, squinting one eye, trying to remember if she knows what that means in Latin. Sagesse... that’s the same root, right? “Wisdom?”

His whole face lights up, and her heart leaps in her chest. “Old Latin pun,” he says. “Si sapis, sis apis.” He steps forward, holding out a hand. “If you’re wise? Be a bee.”

She stares at him, looking at his hand, then his face, then his hand, then his face. She has—she knows what she’s supposed to do here, but this is Adrien trying to introduce himself, and she knows it’s him, and he doesn’t know it’s her, and she has to get this impression exactly right. The joke is stupid, silly, it’s so very Chat Noir that she’s caught off guard and suddenly her chest is bubbling, she’s laughing, and oh god is he going to think that she’s laughing at him? Is he going to be disappointed? Is he going to be crushed? Oh Kwamis, is he going to hate her forever?

And then his eyes shut, and he giggles, pure and clear, and it’s just like that moment after the umbrella closed on her head. Lightning strikes in her heart all over again, and it’s everything she can do not to fall on her steadily reddening face.

Finally, he calms down, but when his golden-black eyes turn back to her he’s still beaming. “So,” he says, gesturing to her necklace, “Chat Noir tells me you’re really good with that thing.”

She reaches up, fingers it nervously. “I—pretty good, yeah.”

Sapis grins, hoisting his trompo. “Wanna show me what you’ve got?”

A slow, sly grin spreads across her face in answer as she reaches for her jump rope, the confidence building in her chest. This is familiar territory. This, she can handle. “You’re on, bee boy.”

Adrien wants to see what she can do? He won’t even know what hit him.

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rinadoesstuff · 4 years

Text

Secret Soldiers

While Maggie has to live being another punching bag of Sobel, Claire has to face a talk she hoped never to have since her arrival in Dresden.

Chapter Eleven

After the whole of Easy company finished their run up Currahee, they all lined up as they did every single day, It was routine for the company at that moment in time - run, line up, get berated and shower. Maggie, amongst probably all of the men, hated being lined up after running. They were tired, they were dirty and they were frustrated by their CO. As they stood at attention in front of Sobel, Maggie stood beside Lieutenant Winters, only Easy companies breathing could be heard.

Sobel was quiet, walking up and down as if he was a cat stalking a mouse. It wasn’t long before he stopped and turned to face Easy company, eyes narrowing as they settled on Maggie. “Lieutenant Walters.”

“Yes, sir?” Maggie knew what was coming, the whole company did. They weren’t stupid, they had all seen Sobel picking on Maggie since the moment she arrived. Whilst many found it funny to begin with, the realisation that they could head to war at any moment had hit a lot of the men. It wasn’t as funny anymore, they needed someone that was competent and knew what they were doing - many of the men realised that Maggie was that person.

“You have constantly disobeyed orders, making a mockery out of my company. You are to be on latrine duty and until I am satisfied you are not to return to your lodgings.” Maggie wasn’t even mad, she was tired and upset. She had been sweating all day, her body ached and she needed a shower more than anything. It took everything within Maggie not to cry, to not break down and quit right there.

It wasn’t as if she had anyone to talk to about it either, Camilla off base on another assignment for a few weeks - Maggie didn’t blame her for wanting to go but she did resent the red haired woman slightly for leaving her. “Yes, Sir.”

Once dismissed, Maggie obediently trudged to the supply cupboard with all the supplies in for the latrines. She knew that she just had to get it over with, knowing that Sobel would be around soon enough to make sure that it was done. After collecting the things she needed, Maggie was startled by the presence of another soldier behind her. He smiled gently, guilt hidden in his eyes as he saluted Maggie.

Smile on her face, Maggie saluted and allowed the private to relax. “Sorry Lieutenant, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wondering if you wanted a hand with the latrines.” He paused for a moment, quickly backpedaling. “Not that you’re not capable, uh, I mean I just-”

Maggie let out a small laugh. “Private,” She paused, trying to recall his name. “Grant, it’s okay.” When the man didn’t correct her, she let out a small sigh of relief subtly. “Thank you for the offer but, go get a shower and get some food. We both know that Sobel would have your head if he caught you.”

Both laughing gently, Grant bid the Lieutenant goodbye and made his way to his own barracks. Maggie was too tired to realise that it was strange - first Luz and Guarnere, now Grant. Letting out a small yawn, Maggie took a breath and entered the latrines.

Dresden, November 1942

The tension in the room was unbearable as Claire sat at the kitchen table. The dim light the lamp above her head provided, was barely bright enough to light up the small kitchen. The walls of the room felt so close to her almost suffocating.

Tapping her fingers down at the sturdy wood did only little to calm her nerves as she tried to find the right words. Claire got what she wanted. She found out what had made Hans so nervous but now that she had to confront him about what happened a little over an hour ago on the dark road, right next to a Wehrmacht truck, she regretted following him. But maybe that’s what she deserves for using him like this. For using him to have a good stay in Germany.

“We both have secrets.”

She wouldn’t be having this conversation if she stayed in France together with Andreé and Lise.

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Claire turned her full attention to the man sitting across from her. Her plan was to not show weakness during this conversation but as soon as her eyes met with the regret filled eyes of Hans, her facade crumbled. She wanted to reach out and take his hand in hers to calm him the same way she did in their childhood. She wanted to tell him that everything was going to be fine but deep down Claire knew that it wasn’t that easy.

“Hans, I want to trust you, I really do but I need to know what you are doing.”

She felt like a hypocrite asking him like this as if she was innocent. Seeing him and Viktor stealing Wehrmacht gear in the middle of the night while the driver was probably taking a break was enough for her to figure it out but she had to hear it from him.

The man in front of her swallowed hard and leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what we are doing under the circumstances that you explain this.” Hans reached over to Claire’s side of the table and tapped his finger a few times on the welrod pistol which laid in front of the woman.

With a simple nod Claire accepted his condition. It wasn’t what she wanted but he deserves to know the truth about her. She just hoped that there won’t be any big consequences.

“Alright, so, uhm,” Hans started, obviously unsure of what to say. “Viktor and I are stealing Wehrmacht, SS and SA equipment on a regular basis. Just enough to have them not realize it and we overpaint swastikas as much as often as we can. Ilse gives us an alibi if anyone asks.”

“You three are risking your life for this, you know?”

“We know the risk but something has to be done, Clara. We can’t stand by while innocent lives are lost in this useless war.” Hans reached out and laid his hand on top of Claire’s. He wasn’t sure if it’s because he wanted to keep her at the table, out of fear of her walking away or simply to give her a feeling of trust. That she can be honest with him and that he trusts her enough to reveal something like this.

Taking the following silence from Hans’ side as a clue, Claire straightened her back a bit and wiped with her thumb over her friend's knuckles, a soft smile on her lips. “You have to promise me not to talk with anyone about what I’m about to tell you.”

Hans nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“I’m working for the special operations executive, or SOE for short, as a spy. My job is to keep an eye on the people, to cause a bit of trouble for the Nazis and of course to steal information.” Claire swallowed hard as she averted Hans’ eyes. From the promise she made herself about staying strong was no sign anymore. She could practically feel her best friend staring at her in disbelief but the almost childlike smile that was on his lips was still unbeknown to her.

“You are a spy? As in a spy, spy?“ Hans asked with excitement in his voice Claire still recognized from their childhood. In confusion she raised her head only to be met by pure and utter excitement. Before she had the chance to answer him, Hans started again. “So you had real training? Do you have any secret weapons? You actually know what you are doing? Holy shit I can’t believe it.”

Claire couldn’t help herself but let out a soft laugh. She expected him to be mad, to kick her out for bringing his life into danger along with hers but instead she was met with nothing but excitement. “Aren’t you mad?”

“Mad? Clara, are you serious? I was just told that my best friend is a spy. There is nothing cooler than that! Do you have a codename or something? Sorry I’m talking too much aren’t I?”

Claire nodded as a response. “To all of your questions: Yes. My codename is Veritas. It is latin for truth. Since you know, I’m here to find out the truth behind the Nazis and all.”

“Alright so uhm, I have one last question.” Hans reached out and took Claire’s other hand into his just as well.

“Shoot.”

“I still have to talk with Ilse and Vik about this but would you join us?”

Claire swallowed hard. It would be good to have people she could rely on and now that Hans knew the truth there wasn’t much more to lose. “Under the condition that when I help you guys, I want to be able to trust you with helping me doing my job.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

• • • • • •

Taglist:

@wexhappyxfew @immrsronaldspeirs @trashgoddess600 @junojelli @kmorecoffee @vintagelavenderskies @order-of-river-phoenix @adamantiumdragonfly @happyveday @alrightnicelighter @easy-company-tradition @keoghans @jamie506101 @ultralillylove @pxpeyewynn @pinkesfaultier @madstertb

#band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fanfic #fanfiction #historical fanfiction #alternate history #secret soldiers #claire harding #maggie walters #hans müller #easy company

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msladyrosa · 4 years

Text

I'm here to tell a story that my heart is screaming at me to tell.

This is me. I fucking hate myself, just as much as I fake loving me. I don't think I've ever been this contempt as I was in these photos. I'm awkward and I fake confidence by throwing sarcastic and snarky comments. My coping mechanism consists of lying and just hiding behind my fake me. I've created a confident, pretty and delusional front that isn't me, but it's just as real as the raw version. My raw is ugly and disgusting and I hate it. I hid it and for the love of the non existent God there is, I wish I didn't have the raw side. I write in my skin, because if I went back to cutting, then I would no longer have pretty skin that people can love. I love eating, but I don't do it, because of the fear of losing my 36,28,42 measurements. I'm suicidal, but heavens forgive if I make a joke about it in order to cope with my insane itch to make my skin purple. My arm hair is soft and the last time I shaved I was scared that someone might see the thin, white lines that are underneath. My body is sexy as fuck, but Heavens forgive me if I actually feel comfortable in it. Thoughts of "they'll be fine without me" or "it's better if I'm not here" are drowned by the words I told someone who was a suicidal as me, "killing yourself would not make the pain disappear, you're just passing it on to someone else". I'm such a fucking hypocrite, or is it just a twisted way of actual introspection? What is wrong with the way I walk funny because I'm dizzy for the lack of food is that people notice. Oh great deity in the sky, please allow them to notice, but forgive them is they dare to ask what's wrong. I look happy and relaxed in the photos, hell yes, but not I'm an anxious mess that's writing this in the middle of a mental breakdown. Parents are never the one's to blame, no forgive them for not validating their children's emotions and struggles. No, strict parenthood creates strong-willed, rightful and successful people that think of themselves as worthless, weak, pathetic excuses. Oh we lie, and we lie good. Ask actors if they had strict parents... You'll find none, why? Because strict parents will inforce you an internalized fear of failure outside of social norms and acting is "a waste of time" to their standards. Support doesn't come from the right sized bra, but it sure as fucking hell is welcoming to be held and somehow relived from a burden you didn't fucking asked for. I was so happy ya'll. I was in cloud nine. That day I had a date with a guy I like that I thought was way out of my league, I lied my way through his pseudo intellectual remarks and he believed it.

We know how to lie so good and so true that eventually you lose track of your actual motive to do it in the first place. Society wants you perky and pretty, fuck yeah they do. How do I get all perky and pretty when I only see disgusting, overdosed surroundings? It's easy to get worried when you finally realize somethings not right. It wasn't right to be kneeling at someone's feet screaming a nasty and raspy wail of pain. 10 years it took me to fucking do that and yet nothing really changed. Now I'm just looked at with pity and the quizzical look that can only mean "when is this one gonna blow up again?" Oh, honey, I won't, you're just worried that you're just realizing this now. It's easy to be outside and just stay that way.

I was so happy, all the time. I was forced to lie in order to move forward. You love me? Yeah, as long as you earn it. Are you proud? Sure, as long as you don't fail. Am I okay because I feel like this? Well, it's fine as long as you keep it in. It's beautiful. "As long as..." my reality had always been subjected to a condition, and clause, a fucking constant reminder that I have to earn my happiness. I have to earn my own idea of self worth that is diluted through your standards. I have to earn reassurance from the people I surround myself. I must assume the best case scenario but I can't be surprised when it's the worst outcome.

Having loved a mad human made me realize how flawed I am. I was happy. So, so happy I forgot I wasn't. I tortured myself through endless nights of doubt, starvation with a full kitchen. Sleepless nights contemplating self harm and then decided against it because I had work and the cute client at work would see how damaged I was. I tortured myself with the idea of loneliness in a see of people, only to realize I've been in that see long enough that I grew a tail and fins. I was plagued my guilt because I didn't love them, but when exactly did it go from happy to uttermost bullshit? I was so happy I forgot what sadness was.

I was so happy it started hurting. Hurting when I failed to do something. It was excruciating when I was not able to buy a car because I had noticed I had spent my money of pleasing those who swore they'd provide for me. I was in pain when I showered and instead of singing, I just blasted music loud enough so that nobody heard my hyperventilating bitch ass. I was in so much pain that I welcomed it as my way of happiness. I loved my pain, because I've had it my whole life.

I had it when I was in forth grade and in order to fit in I had to go a sneak around to kiss a boy, and I didn't want to. It was there when I was accused of fighting other girls, but in reality I was trying to establish my self worth, so I was punished. In fifth grade I loved a boy so much I had written beautiful words to describe how much I loved his smile, and so he said I was stalking him and he got scared; 2 months later I was in a shrinks chair talking about it; fast-forward to last night, that same boy explained to me how much he wanted to fuck me now that he had lost weight. Middle school was terrible. Seventh grade, I was constantly degrading myself because another pretty blonde chick was only my friend when she could laugh through me. I insulted a perfectly great teacher because she noticed my self destructive behavior. Eighth grade came and I was lost with a blonde boy. He was beautiful and I was not. He was friends with the girl that swore fielty to me and he chose someone else and because he chose the pretty pale skin on someone else, I settled for the kid that wantedto finger me in the bleachers during recess. Ninth grade came and I was failing classes, parents were strict and hurtful, but they aren't to blame for my shortcomings. That's when I found myself in the arms of the pretty blonde thing I had fallen for. The pretty girl had him in public, I could only have him when we snuck around and he would hold me and kiss me like holding on to his life line. I was letting him touch me, but my self hatred didn't know no boundaries so I suck to my knees and gave my first blowjob at the top of staircase wearing only a lazy purple bra and the school uniform and the shame I'll forever wear because I did it without wanting to, but because I was expected to.

I was so happy to be out of there, that I ended up sinking deeper into my lie. I was smart, new and vulnerable. That's how I met the wholesome boy I called my first boyfriend who was nice and respectful, but he was as ugly as they come. I was a queen to him, but he was looking more like the ogre on the fairy tale and there came my vanity, my ego, my selfishness. I was brutal and I couldn't care less. High school started with a bang with the boy I played with, and when he got to close to my actual raw person, I kicked him out with a bang and he cried. I just stood there not knowing how to react, so I just went on to the next person I could lead on and play. Junior year I knew was difficult, and a black boy with a nice boy and a promising basketball future came around, I once again craved approval and degraded myself to it. That's how I ended up sneaking around 10 minutes before my parents picked me up. In the second floor, I'd found myself again on my knees, and expected to give a blowjob in exchange for attention, and like before, I was hidden, and I expected to be I had tears in my eyes, but because of my shame. Senior year came in, and the black boy with the attractive body was replaced with another, but this one only had pretty eyes and the promise of spoiling me with his family's money. Once again, I said yes when he said he wanted me to be his girlfriend, at least this time I was not hidden, but I was back in the cycle and I ditched my best friend in a movie theater so that I would be in the backseat on a Dodge, sucking my pseudo boyfriend's dick with tears on my eyes, not becauseofhis size, but becausethe disgust towards myself. Like before, I was expected to do so, and so I did.

Heavens above forgive the religion to blame women for sin and lust, but instead punish us for the boys who couldn't keep their dicks to themselves. The end of senior year came, and I was relieved, but then I fell for the guy my parents liked. Humble background, similar interests, and a promise of stability. I was ditched because for him I was a whore and his friends told him so, I accepted the insults and insinuations.

I was so happy, I forgot the rest. College was great and a religious nut job, a platonic love, a semi smart dipshit with the complex of being over everyone in experience, a quiet mature man that treated me with decency, the suicidal broken guy who needed healing #1 and the suicidal broken guy who needed healing #2, later, here I am.

I was so happy in these pictures, I had no idea was contemplating my own disappearance. I write this with migrane, blue ink from a ballpoint in my thighs, with nostalgic memories of moments where my mind wasn't this crowded. I was so happy it hurt. I guess that my logic dictates that happiness is painful and that my pain can bring me joy, but fuck I was so happy.

I had everything. I was pretty, I was smart, I was important. I'm still all those things, but right this very second, I'm happy, and painful so. Heavens above forgive for I have sinned...

I dared to fail... I sinned

I dared to fall into lust... I sinned

I dared to judge... I sinned

I fucking dared to wake up every miserable day... I had sinned.

I dared to be painfully happy... I sinned

I lied... and so that's my greatest sin of all.

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thethirdwheel404 · 4 years

Text

Med Rewatch Series (#5)

S3 e3: Trust Your Gut. From what I remember this is a big one. I just remember this episode title honestly but we’ll see what happens.

-look at that! ava’s just casually in this scene, minding her own business, doing her job! you would never guess that this is a character who would later have a psychotic break and commit suicide.

-that’s really the point i’m trying to make. I hate all those posts where they’re like ‘i hated ava before, but season 4 has finally shown her true colors’ like not even?? no??? we’re trying to prove that that was never even a thing. i want to eliminate the possibility of s4 happening from your minds. nothing from s3 should ever be used as foreshadowing. that’s what the rewrite is about, ava being a good character. ava was never going to commit suicide. she was never gonna go psychotic. that should be ingrained in everyone’s minds.

-anyways, back to the episode.

-connor takes everything like a personal attack. relax

- i never realized how fun stoll was. like obviously not in the story but as a character he’s hilarious. unattached by everyone else’s drama

-awww. this maggie interaction is amazing. tapping sarah on the shoulder (neck actually but whatever) just to say hi. adorable. and sarah is already super jumpy. come on. her anxiety is already setting in. they really gave sarah two huge storylines in the same season.

-maggie... no one else would ever slash sarah’s tires. i mean honestly

-WHY DOES CONNOR HAVE TO CONTROL OF EVERYTHING - honestly ava was just reading off the chart and he can’t even let her do that he has to take over just to say the same things.

-and the way ava just takes it with her smug smile

-she is such a strong character there is no reason she would have gone crazy over connor she literally needs nothing from him.he has not ever had anything that she needed.

- SHE’S JUST ROLLING HER EYES, SMIRKING, AND SHAKING HER HEAD AT THIS INSECURE MAN ava I love you.

-okay there’s no way i can explain it but after rolling her eyes at connor Ava turns and looks at the patient and instantly her face changes and you can see such pure concern in her eyes?? s4 ava could never (can someone please rb with a picture of what i’m talking about? it’s uncanny and so so sincere.)

- she’s in control of her emotions. she cares so much for her patients so don’t even try to play that card. the only thing connor has done literally since she got here is get in her way.

-AND CONNOR LOOKS AT HER WITH SUCH DISTRUST AND CONTEMPT. TELL ME HOW. this is insane. exasperating.

-and the way she smiles and comforts the patient. i mean come on. she’s just so amazing. AND COMFORTING. if ava really was as heartless as people say, she wouldn’t take the effort to do that. connor didn’t even do that, he just scowls at ava.

-which just proves my point, ava is only ever mean to people who she thinks deserve it. and, the more that I think about it, she’s never really actually mean. sure, she’s blunt and rude, but never cutting. she’s nice to her patients (and I know what you’re going to say, it’s not because she has to be. she’s a doctor, she still wants to help people). but when her patients are dicks, she’s not nice to them. she’s as snarky with as she’s professionally allowed to be.

-like, take this guy. he seems nice enough. he’s funny, polite, comes across charming, so ava is nice and is polite back to him.

-let’s move on.

-why is connor always so suspicious of ava. come on. he’s the one who should be sus. she literally said ‘Don’t worry, Ray, we’ll take good care of you’ and he’s giving her this weird side eye.

-ethan and will being in this board meeting is really adorable to me. like, just, bros.

-oh godddd sarah please relax. sweetie. please.

-sarah fucking tranqed him oh my god

-oh my god noah asking people for help literally shut the fuck up

-straight people are gross. not to hate but how does anyone sit through manstead

-connor literally needs to chill. I know this bit (they’re arguing over menial things in surgery) plays more to them just picking on each other, pulling each other’s pigtails on the playground if you will (i didn’t like that analogy but I used it anyway), but if you look at it, ava was only trying to help connor (suggesting a wider possible target and an easier to handle stitch) and connor took it wayyy to personally. sure the second bit of advise is just poking at him, but she suggested a better spot on the base and he shut her down without any thought.

-and then latham points out that there is no point in arguing, to which ava defers, then connor snidely says ‘Thank you, Doctor, Now, how about from here on out we keep the background noise to a minimum’ and ava just shakes her head, scoffing.

-at this point ava just likes annoying connor because its fun. it’s entertaining. he gets so upset. everyone’s done that, just be annoying for fun (its bad to say but i mean come on everyones done it)

-another point, ava immediately deferring to latham might read to some as her being a suck up but that’s not what it is.

-ava really likes seeing how close to the line she can get. she goes right up to it, but she never crosses it. the same is true with her interactions with other people outside of surgery.

-I really like this story of the girl who passed out and hit her head, and her brother’s a wreck, and her parents obviously think the brother’s a disappointment. and it was finals week so of course she wasn’t taking care of herself. and the brother knew that, and you can tell he cares so much and feels so bad. it’s nice

-complication on the surgery they were working on. ava comes in with a solution (off of connor’s mistake during surgery after not following her advice) but I have a sneaking suspicion that by the end connor will be back on top

-the effort it took connor to say ‘it’s a good idea’ come on man just fucking let it go

-i’m glad we’ve all agreed that connor’s just a dick

-aw look at that she even held the door for him. connor would never

-i don’t want to overly push the ‘med is sexist’ thing but how is it that in a storyline between nat and ethan, characters who have never been romantically involved, they still pull the woman thinks one thing, man refuses to believe it and is right dynamic. i mean come on med seriously. what the fuck is wrong with you.

-the look of annoyance and disbelief on ava’s face that connor hadn’t actually messed up. comedic, but also i get your pain.

-glad that latham sides with ava, ava advocating for a riskier procedure so they could ensure the blockage is removed)

-(something could be said about ava’s high-risk, high-reward ideals. you could even draw the parallel to events in s4 and s5, even though I really don’t want to. it’s an interesting and notable character trait to say the least)

-YOOOO I FORGOT HOW METAL THE PSYCH STORY GETS

-dude straight up cuts his abdomen open and his intestines spill out

-the fear and shock and emotion on sarah’s face make me feel so bad for her

-WAIT IS THIS THE EPISODE WHERE SHE LOSES THE END OF THE INSTRUMENT? IS THAT WHAT THIS IS? i am not prepared to watch an ava bekker breakdown rn.

-the shock on ava’s face when connor said nice job.

-ava actually tried to apologize to connor. well, not apologize but she feels a little bit bad for just how abrasive she’s been to connor. (connor didn’t necessarily have to make it super competitive). Ava said “Look, I know i have the tendency to step on toes. it’s nothing personal”

-and now they’re not arguing and are this close to actually working like a team

-and i cannot believe connor’s big one-liner is ‘Murphy’s law’

-the emotion on april’s face when the girl’s parents won’t even let her brother grieve for her. I feel it. astounding. its so painful omg

-ava: “your optimism is enchanting.” when i was writing earlier I was worried I wasn’t being accurate with her dialogue and making it sound too overly formal but i guess I nailed it. also, this line reinforces how much I love her (so does every other line)

-connor just refusing to give ava anything, no credit, no nothing. doesn’t even give her credit for earning the surgery saying “you may have elbowed your way onto the case, but he is still my patient” (I JUST TRANSITIONED INTO A QUOTE SO SMOOTHLY WHY CANT I DO THAT IN MY LANG RHETORICAL ANALYSIS ESSAYS YOU’RE KIDDING)

-hey it’s joey!

- i can appreciate him so much more when he’s not chasing after reese

-do you remember their first meeting? bickering over who gets the last splenda? (real meet cute amirite)

-dr. charles remarking how all the scientific advances can’t beat human instinct, nice little tie in to the episode title

-ava just smiling while connor waits for her to apologize. she. takes. no. shit.

-i literally hate connor’s face so much. it fucking looks predatory like stop looking at her like that. it’s almost like you were planning her psychotic break

-ava’s cunning, saying ‘we’ instead of ‘i’ when talking about the decisions being made. she’s smart. she knows what to do. She knows how to present herself. (and yeah, a little hypocritical that she said to connor ‘when you fail, I will make sure that it is noted that it was your fault and not mine,’ but like I said, she just knows how to present herself)

-latham: “Dr. Bekker seems to enjoy this discordance.”

-rhodes’ face when changing his mind and saying ‘maybe I do’ when asked if he enjoyed it too - he literally makes the dumbest faces. please. stop. (is it a straight people thing?)

Alright. Another episode down. 17 to go. This was actually a pretty good episode all around. Ava took none of connor’s shit and you’d have to squint to find any sort of romantic subtext in their interactions, which is huge win in my book. reese’s storyline wasn’t too bad, she didn’t go through too much trauma, which, the bar for watching med is incredibly low i guess. This was a really good episode for ava. like I said before, very little romantic subtext, and she had a redeeming quality in the way she obviously cared for her patient at the beginning of the episode.

The main point is something I’ve been reiterating again and again. Ava cares about her patients. Ava is mean to connor because she knows someone needs to put him in his place, and she is glad that it is her.

All in all, this was a pretty good Ava episode. Very happy.

thanks for sticking with it.

read the rest here:

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Extra

#chicago med #med rewatch series #mine #trust your gut

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pumakaji64 · 4 years

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fuck im gonna watch the film theory on Ratatouille even though it’ll make me mad

part 1.

preface: It’ll probably look like im taking this way more seriously then I actually am ( I mean I love the movie so on some level yes I am ) but I tend to come across way more aggressive then I mean too in my writing oops. Like I don’t mind people having different takes on a piece of media, you can respect and authors intent while still having your own thoughts about a work even if they don’t line up because sometimes what a creator tries to convey and what they really do aren’t exactly the same. But if you’re gonna have such a wild take you better be able to back it up with some real good evidence. Overall tho I’m mostly just doing this cuz im bored lol ( also I haven’t seen the movie in awhile so my memory is a little foggy )

So going in I already know what the argument is gonna be “ good guy bad, bad guy good” whatever, so I’m just gonna comment on the argument and presentation itself as I watch the video

Ah I see we’re going with the good ol’ “ not technically lying but intentionally omitting and/or wording things in a manner that benefits my argument “ technique, I’ve used that before.

Nitpick: As someone on twitter brought up: Protagonist doesn’t mean “good guy” it’s the leading character that the story if focused on, so even if Remy is a bad guy he’s still the protagonist.

I get it’s probably a joke but Remy’s whole deal isn’t that he wants to be famous. He just genuinely loves cooking but can’t do with without fear of being murdered since he’s y’know a rat.

He doesn’t willingly leave his colony, he’s separated from them after he blew their cover by getting caught while cooking and for prioritizing taking the cookbook over escaping.

I’ll just say it now since i’m sure it’ll be brought up later, yeah Remy is kind of selfish, and thats actually a good thing. Him being a flawed character makes him more interesting and this also swiftly sets up his character arc early into the film.

“ If this sounds like an inspirational story about overcoming obstacles and achieving your destiny... you missed the point.” bruh the arc words of the film are literally “Anyone can cook”, it’s about overcoming prejudice to achieve your dreams in spite of everyone telling you not to because of the identity you are born with ( this is not just seen with Remy but also Colette, a female chef )

“Narcissist” As I said before yes Remy is selfish and at times this makes him unlikable but he genuinely cares about his family but he struggles to connect with them since they can’t understand why he’s so passionate about cooking.

Calling it now, the crux of this argument is going to be the scene where Remy gets mad about Linguini taking all the credit for Remy’s work during an interview. Which yeah I’ll agree that Remy was being unrealistic but Linguini had been ignoring Remy’s advice and had grown a bit of an ego which of course eventually leading to Remy having a heated gamer moment and doing abusing Linguini’s trust which the story punishes him for. It’s not a simple right or wrong situation but more of a two wrongs don’t make a right type.

“Jerk of a creature” Newsflash! Not all protagonists are nice, even the ones that aren’t villain protagonists!

First point: Remy is a thief and a hypocrite. I’ll admit I was agreeing that Remy is a hypocrite until he gets to the point of Remy letting his family steal from the kitchen. 1.) This was when him and Linguini were starting to have a falling out, he was angry at him and starting letting that affect his judgement. Was this wrong of him? Yes and he regrets his actions. 2.) Remy cares for his family even if they don’t always get along and his anger at Linguini makes it easier for them to pressure him into letting them steal.

“Remy never learns his lesson” maybe not explicitly but he does face punishment throughout the story. Stealing the book and food from the old lady costs his family their home and gets him separated from them. Allowing his family to steal from the kitchen leads to Linguini calling off their partnership. I don’t remember him stealing again after that.

Also is he implying that Remy is bad for stealing the will that proves that Linguini is the rightful heir to the Gustaeu that Skinner was trying to hide so he could keep profiting off of a dead mans work?

Remy is aware that what he’s doing is wrong, we are shown this through the figment of Gustaeu which represents his conscience reprimanding it but Remy continues to justify himself until it’s too late. He is a flawed character.

“In a realistic context.” Good thing this is a Disney kids film

Fraud!? You’re gonna grill Remy for fraud when Skinner is the one intentionally keeping Linguini from learning about his birth right?!?!?

“Poor Linguini. The sap that Remy controls like a puppet.” here we go again with the manipulative wording hooray

I see where he’s going with this one and it’s really funny to me that’s interpreting Gustaeu’s “Anyone can cook” line the same way Ego does for most of the film. Ego takes the opposite stance MatPat does by mocking the line because to the critic not everyone has what it takes to be a great chef. It’s by the end of the film he changes his perspective on the line to the idea that a great cook can come from anywhere even in the most unexpected of forms like Remy.

Gotta love the clip he added of pre-character development Remy being a jerk to Linguini before to two even met. It really ads to the manipulative wording he uses to make Remy look underhanded and shifty.

Is he really gonna gloss over Remy attempting and failing to teach Linguini how to cook? Remy is a fucking rat who can’t talk directly to Linguini attempting so teaching him would be really damn hard. Not only that but they are on a time crunch and don’t have the time necessary to teach Linguini how to cook like Remy can.

Also whose to say that by watching what Remy is making him do Linguini hasn’t picked up any cooking techniques by the end of the film.

It’s not like Remy freaking forced Linguini into being his man-puppet. Remy is a small animal who can’t talk to people so honestly Linguini has most of the power in their dynamic. Linguini can call of their partnership anytime he wants and even does so after Remy is caught letting his family steal.

“And whats it for? Just so Remy can cook! Just for his own benefit!” BRUH, DID HE NOT SEE THE PART WHERE SKINNER THREATENS LINGUINI’S JOB IF HE CAN’T RECREATE THE SOUP!??!? (Also skinner only wants to keep Linguini around if he can make money off of him )

God damn he really is taking advantage over the fact that most of his viewers either have never seen the film or only watched it when they were young to straight up ignore elements of the fucking plot lmao

“Who hasn’t forced un-consenting adults to kiss “ I can’t believe MatPat is trying to #cancel Remy for being #problematic, #remyisoverparty. The stretch is real my dudes.

LMAO HE LITERALLY MAKES A CANCELLE ON TWITTER JOKE BRUH FUCK OFF

Jesus I feel most of what I have to say will just be me restating what I already said. Ugh lemme just summarize it: Remy is a flawed and selfish rat who often prioritizes following his dreams over his responsibilities putting not just himself but his family at risk. But guess what? He faces consequences for that! His actions get him separated from his family and lost in a giant city, the only reason he doesn’t die is because he got lucky and found Linguini ( also because it’s a film and it ending at the start would be lame )

Also so is he arguing that Remy should just accept his lot in life and give up on his dreams because he can’t change the fact that he’s a rat ( which MatPat often reminds us by calling him unhygienic a lot so far ) as if that’s not the crux of his character dilemma.

I agree it’s wrong of him to put his family at risk but that only applies to the opening of the movie. How is he the only one in the wrong later in the film when both him and Linguini acknowledge to risk of their teamwork?

Here we go with the disease thing again. This is anti-rodent propaganda and I will not stand for it! >:(

Also bruh it’s a fucking kids movie.

??? how the fuck would Remy be aware of rats carrying diseases??? does he work for the fucking CDC????????

“Remy is bad because he kidnaps the pest inspector” Because it would get the restraunt shut down if word got out about the rats!!! And the only reason there are so many rats in the kitchen during this part is because the staff except for Colette all walked out!!!!!!!!! Which, guess what MatPat, wouldn’t just fuck over Remy but Linguini too!

“Oh sure they wash themselves but only after they walked into the kitchen!!!!” and I thought I was bad with nitpicking!

No need to bring up that The Jungle is a fictional story, nope! I guess it’s only fitting to use a fictional book as evidence for an argument covering the logistics of a fictional movie!!!!!!

Remy didn’t fucking “quit” his “job” as a rat poison sniffer, he still does it but he also cooks in secret. When he’s caught he’s separated from his colony ( which MatPat still hasn’t brought up ) so of fucking course he can’t keep sniffing for a clan when he is literally not there!!!!

Also if he’s talking about later in the film when Remy refuses to rejoin the colony when he reunites with Emile then we get the moral dilemma of Remy rejoining his family while fucking over Linguini who can’t cook because Remy is a small rodent and can’t adequately teach him do to a language barrier.

lmao this dramatic emotional music he’s playing bruh

He really is taking the kiss thing that seriously

“I’m not saying Remy shouldn’t follow his dreams” Thats literally what you are saying

“Chef Skinner does nothing wrong” Okay you law-loving bootlicker lol

I’m not ready for the second half of this so im gonna take a break and make a part 2 later

#Ratatouille #long post #vent #GT critcal #g/a//me th//e/o//y

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marcuspierce · 4 years

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@casimania replied to your post “anyways, something that i love is the fact that...”

I'm dying... watching Lucifer developing a vendetta against specific farm animals is Marcus' new favourite past-time. The Devil speaks like every tongue, would he be able to like communicate with them? Like interpreting sounds and body language? I'm just imagining Marcus seconds from pissing himself because Lucifer is like 'Oh that chicken is rude, that cow is entitled, that horse would kill us both in our sleep for a carrot-' and so on, and he argues with them too.

yes!! (and now i’m gonna add a read more because this got long oops)

the whole thing starts off randomly when lucifer is looking at properties one time because why not and he just falls in love with this gorgeous farm and he, of course, now needs to own it and live there for a bit (a bit... for an immortal) and marcus tries to be nice about it as he tells lucifer that that is a bad idea but lucifer gets so stubborn about it and insists that he'd do just fine on a farm, actually, and that he'll make sure that marcus will see it too sooner rather than later. and that's how they end up on the farm!

lucifer very quickly learns that marcus was right and that despite the fact that their house was nice and with all the appliances and etc. he still needs to wake up at the crack of dawn every single day and nope they cannot take a day off or just sleep in. he also learns that managing a farm is dirty work and he learns that the hard way (he is down with the fashion.... but all the stuff that he wears is... expensive or designer and just.... not things that you get dirty which was a very bad idea. marcus on the other hand gets like..... cheap stuff and on bulk because he knows that none of it will make it for very long. lucifer has to- painfully- do the same eventually).

and then... then there's the animals which lucifer finds a complete and utter pain in the ass and marcus finds lucifer mumbling cusses at the animals way too often. (for that reason he doesn't allow lucifer anywhere near his beloved plants because he knows that lucifer's terrible vibes will be like arsenic for his plants fflskfkskgkskgk).

and lucifer definitely has grudges against specific animals which marcus finds hilarious and he cannot wait to either hear all about it at the end of the day or to cross paths with lucifer during the day and hear lucifer complain. (lucifer also.... sucks at it so marcus has to quietly pick up the slack but that's ok with him. he'd do all the work by himself if lucifer would allow him. but since lucifer won't, well at least he can amuse himself with just how ridiculous lucifer can be. marcus: you're so ridiculous (honorific)!).

and i do love the idea that lucifer can indeed speak/understand every single tongue, animals included! and marcus finds out about it because lucifer tells him about what marcus assumes are lucifer's impressions and various animals but nope lucifer can understand them.

he can talk to them too and he makes use of it... a lot. marcus is very glad that that reads to him as english because yes it would be hilarious to watch his husband just makes noises at different animals but watching his husband argue in english with said animals in a seemingly one sided argument is infinitely funnier.

but yes lucifer is like "oh this horse would kill us for a carrot no hesitation" and marcus assumes that lucifer like... said that because that horse has like terrible vibes and he finds it funny and he teases lucifer a little about it but it is very lighthearted- particularly because he also has opinions™ about certain animals (particularly about that horse. he would absolutely kill that horse if it wouldn’t be useful and he is actually glad that the feeling is mutual), he just isn't quite as... passionate about them as lucifer but it would be hypocritical of him to actually be seriously teasing lucifer about it.

but then he learns that nope, lucifer is not just making shit up and actually he understands the animals and that is just what they think. marcus is pretty delighted by that and his eyes just lit up and lucifer feels instantly better. lucifer, in general, feels much better once he gets to rant to his husband while he watches marcus just buzzing around the house.

and one time, fairly in the beginning of it, before lucifer learned that he should not be wearing his best clothes while doing farm work, he ends up completely covered in mud.

when marcus finds him he's literally shaking with rage and he switches languages several times while telling marcus about it to the point where it is a bit unclear to marcus what actually happened (not because he couldn't understand but because he couldn't process it all. he didn’t have the time to, especially since lucifer was going at a 1000 words per minute speed) but he knew that lucifer needed to just... stay inside for the rest of the day... or week.

so he takes lucifer inside and helps him clean up and then runs him a bath to get him to relax and makes him a snack. after cleaning up, a relaxing bath, a delicious snack and a nice nap lucifer feels much better and he tries to \t least make dinner, but marcus doesn’t let him. marcus doesn’t let him do anything for the day... except be spoiled. lucifer is allowed to be spoiled and lucifer can’t say that he minds,

but the next day he needs to get back to work. marcus lets him sleep in so he’s already off to a nice start and marcus thinks that everything is gonna be fine because of just how cheery lucifer is in the morning but then he finds lucifer... ranting... at a pig... in a language that marcus doesn’t know.

marcus finds out, about 5 minutes later, that apparently maze can understand what lucifer is saying and that she’d gladly translate except that no words in any human language can convey... any of that but she can say that she pities whoever that rant is directed at. marcus then has to explain that that rant is directed at a pig. he then assumes that said pig was responsible for lucifer being covered in mud the previous day. that pig does not make it to the end of the day (and, no, lucifer doesn’t have anything to do with it.)

also, there’s a stray cat that keeps showing up and lucifer starts feeding it and soon enough it is no longer a stray. lucifer really bonds with that cat and he is lowkey jealous of it because he too wishes he could go back to when he could sleep in and dress nicely and always smell well and he misses the fancy food that he used to eat and he misses coming home to a room full of flowers and/or chocolate and he just really really misses being the feathery equivalent of a house cat!!! but the cat is nice and likes him and loves sleeping next to him (not on him but next to him which lucifer is very appreciative of) and it starts purring whenever it sees lucifer.

the cat (and just how much marcus is enjoying himself) is a real silver lining in all of that and, after a year or two, he finally admits that marcus was right and he is just simply not made to live on a farm!

#mine: replies #i tried to reply on the actual original post but about 10 replies in i realized that i just... shouldn't <3 #but yes after lucifer realizes that he and the cat have bonded which means that he has a pet #(which is something that he is like... vehemently against because of all the fur and scratched furniture and such)#he starts searching for a pet for marcus because he thinks that his husband also deserves to have a pet #he settles on a big and very energetic dog. just 100 pounds of fluff that marcus can jog with in the morning #and yes lucifer is the cat and marcus is the dog #and this is just my thinly veiled way of saying that they're literally a cat and a dog dating yes! love me some opposites attract!!#also once lucifer admits that he is not made to live on a farm they do not move funnily enough #lucifer has actually found ways to enjoy himself so he manages to 'make it' through a couple more years #before he wants/needs to move back to the city

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ultraklll · 4 years

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Tony Miller as a Gun For Hire! Tagged by the lovely @envyfelled ! Ty! This was super fun! Also, I'm on mobile, so sorry for the garbo formatting! (Fun fact, tonys voice claim is laura bailey as fiona/fem!boss)

Paired With Fangs For Hire:

Boomer - "Heya buddy!" followed by excessive scratching behind the ears | "Fuckin' love this dog, can sniff out a peggie like shark sniffing out blood. Good trait to have! Awfully convenient too…" | [patpatapatptpataptap] | "Atta fuckin' boy Boomer!" When she sees him get a kill | "Who's a good boy! Who wants to kill some cultists!" | "Wanna play fetch? Rip out their necks?"

Peaches - "Good girl…" | stealth gang stealth gang | peaches: mows down peggies/tony: a baby!" | "I jus' think it's funny that when we went to the Henbane, we picked up a cougar, Addie, an actual cougar, Peaches, and joined a crew called the Cougars… Just'a thought,"

Cheeseburger - "This reminds me'a Vegas pride, saw plenty'a bears there too" | "Kinda ironic to find you in Jacob's region, all things considered," [snickers to herself] | [PATPATPATPATPATPAT] | "Get outta my pockets! These snacks are mine, not yours!" | "You remind me of those like, beware of dog signs, but the dog is always a sweetheart who'd rather play with a home invader rather than attack them,"

Paired With Other Guns For Hire:

Jess - stealth gang stealth gang stealth gang | Jess has a MASSIVE crush on Tony. Everyone can tell. Tony knows | jess: guns are fucking lame and the sniper rifle is the cowards weapon/ tony: uses a sniper rifle/ jess: actually sniper rifles are cool as fuck | "Good shot Jess!" "S-shit, um, thanks, Tony,"

Grace - sniper gang sniper gang!! | [steals a headshot Grace was lining up] "Cmon Gracie, thought you were meant to be Olympic level!" | highly competitive, do a shot whenever they get a perfect headshot to die instantly | smug top solidarity | also heavily depressed solidarity

Adelaide - [acts like she's not sleeping with her nephew even tho Addie knows she definitely knows] | Tony is either constantly laughing or constantly face palming over the shit addie says | have gotten into an argument once bc addie said john was a top

Nick - "What's up eye in the sky?" | [flirts over radio] [flirts over radio] [flirts over radio] [fli | Nick: speaks/Tony: god I just love the way you fucking talk | often talk about kim together | "Can we have a barbecue at your place once these fuckers are dealt with?" | [pretends not to be bitter the Deputy got to help deliver Carmina and not her]

Sharky - "Heya baby!" | [constant back and forth flirting. It's embarrassing] | any second they're both not talking is a second they're making out | Can and Will go john wick on some peggy ass if he gets hurt badly | "Do you wanna have a sleepover?" "Lemme ask my momma," | she calls him Charlie :> | loves him so so much they're just constantly talking about anything and everything | literally like A Comedic Duo. Have together for certified funnies

Hurk jr. - "Junior! This'll be just like Kyrat!" | competitions about who can shotgun a beer faster every 4 seconds | WILL tell you stories about their time in Kyrat together | Tony has punched Drubman sr in the nose before and she'll do it again | "Hey Tony? You still in contact with Ajay?" "He sends me a royal postcard every now n' then. Apparently it's boring being king, and his only solace is that his new bodyguard is cute,"

In Combat:

Seeing an enemy - "Fucker in my sights," | "I got a bullet with your name on it… actually I don't, who the fuck has time to carve names in bullets, but you get the idea- im just gonna shoot you now" | "You're dead on arrival, shithead,"

Sneaking - "You'd think me sneaking is counter productive because I'm 6'4 and have a very loud gun, but you're the boss Dep," | "Shhhh… we're huntin' shitheads… Heard it in a game," | [shoots alarm boxes] "You ain't allowed to call your friends, you're all grounded," | *peggy triggers alarm* "Fuckin snitch!"

Killing an enemy - "SKULLCRACKER!" | "I just don't miss!" | just fucking headshot after headshot after headshot | [sucks in breath through teeth] "God damn I'm good," | when shes not using her Wifle (wife rifle, a 45/70) she's being FUCKING EFFICIENT with her ak-ms or just blasting ribcages open with her shotgun

Reviving - "Up you get, baby," | "You ain't dying on me that easy, Dep" | "Not today Satan!" | "You gonna let some unwashed asshole kill you?"

Hurt - "Motherfucker!" | "That's another scar I'll tattoo over," | "Thank god people find scars sexy," | "God fuck that's smarts!"

Downed - "Dep! Give me a hand?" | "Clean up on Aisle 4 needed!" | "Don't worry about me, just bleeding out over here, no rush,"

Revived - "Drinks on me when this is over Dep," | "Thanks babe!" | "I'll kiss you when we get outta this mess," | "I owe ya!"

Driving:

Entering a vehicle - "Lemme take over I'm a way better driver than you," | "Floor it!" | "Hang on I've got a mixtape, just hope I havent fuckin' crushed it," | [takes the opportunity to roll cigs] | *peggies roll up* "Keep her steady!" [leans out the window and headshots the peggie on their ass, causing them to crash the car, like that isnt the coolest shit you've ever seen] "Aight cool,"

Reckless Driving - "Watch the fuckin' road asshole!" | [desperately tryna grip the wheel so she can take over driving] | "STOP THE CAR! I'LL JUST FUCKING WALK!" | "Are you tryna kill us?! Fuckin' swap seats now!" | tony is the designated driver bc one she's fucking good at it and two shes also a really bad backseat driver. Just let her drive

Changing Radio Stations - "Now don't tell Charlie I said this but some of the peggies music is actually good,"| "John's a prick but his music taste is fuckin' good," | [punches radio in when Only You comes on] "...Sorry… Force'a habit…" | "Bold and brave my ass, John looks like he needs help getting spiders out of rooms and wears fuzzy pink bathrobes,"

Idle:

"Man, John's a freak, and yeah I mean that in the sexy way. Someone who demands so much outward control whilst being a shithead little brat likes to get trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey and stuffed like one too. Don't give me that look Dep, I'm right and we both know it,"

"That dude Jacob ate was called Miller?? God, that could've been me if I was much older and way uglier!"

"Faith just makes me fuckin sad man. She's been manipulated and groomed into this life by fuckin Joseph- she's so goddamn young too. I'm not gonna tell you what to do Dep, but that's just my two cents,"

"Joseph's the worst kind of man- a manipulator. He tells you what you wanna hear, targets the misfortunate who have nothing left to lose, builds a fucking army out of em. The other heralds I'm ok with arresting, but Joseph's got to go,"

[Lights cig with either her fancy lighter or by striking a match on the bottom of her shoe] "Don't start smoking, Dep, bad for your health,"

Location Specific:

Testy Festy Aftermath - [pinches bridge of nose] "Not again…" | "Anyone got a water and like, 3 aspirin?" | "Ain't the first time I've woke up passed out in a field, won't be the last," | "Did we at least get a photo from the night? I've won the competitions here for the last 3 years in a row now, I'm not fuckin missing one cuz of these peggies,"

Falls End - "Fuckin shame to see Falls End like this, but Mary May and Jerome will take good care of her now weve got it back, they always do," | "Think we'll get free drinks for life at the Spread Eagle when this is all over? Actually, we probably won't even get free drinks for week, so for life is wishful thinking," | she enjoys playing with the singing fish on the front of the speed eagle and keeps tryna convince Mary May to let her take it for herself bc tony goddamn miller has the biggest singing fish collection in the entire county

Seed Ranch - *loud whistle* "this place is swanky as fuuuuck… Not that big a fan of all the dead animals though…" | "IS THAT WEED ON THE TABLE? Johnny boy you fuckin' hypocrite!" | "Oh he's definitely got a secret room behind one of these bookshelves, like a home torture room? Oh my God, what if he has more than one...?" [starts frantically pulling books off shelves] | regarding his shelves with peggie memorabilia [takes baseball bat to it] | [pretends she's never been here as she frantically stuffs any of her own belongings she might've forgotten here into her bag]

Entering the Henbane - "Don't trust a goddamn thing you see here. You think you see something you're not supposed to, hit it," | [swinging at bliss induced angel/animal/faith visions] | "Can we try savin' Faith? Don't feel right killin' her, she's so young…" | "Can we go to Sharky's place? I left some stuff there that could be worth picking up,"

Hope County Jail - "Sheriff Whitehorse has always been a good man to me, Dep. Would appreciate it if he lived through this," | "I always feel like a giant whenever I come here, everyones like 5'3. Virgil, Tracey, Charles, all shortasses," | "I think it's cute they gave you a little pin! You're part of their Pride now! Or whatever the cougar equivalent is to a lions pride… do Cougars even travel in packs? Aside from when Addie used take the girls out for drinks,"

Entering the Whitetails - "Always feels like something's watchin' you in these woods. Keep your eyes peeled," | "Always felt like there's something in these woods that there ain't supposed to be…" | [Shifting from foot to foot] "Can we get a move on? Aint'a big fan of standing around waitin' to get shot by some fuckin' sniper with a bow," | [watching Jacob's video punishing Pratt] "I'll fuckin' get you outta here, Stace… you just gotta hold out a second longer," | [about all the dead bodies and 'you are meat' graffiti] "Love what Jacob's done with the place,"

The Wolfs Den - "Eli Palmer is a good fuckin man. Kind, smart, careful and ruthless against peggies. We've made a good friend here, Dep," | "Heya Wheaty! Got a few more vinyls for your collection! They're all my own though, so be careful with em," | "I don't think Tammy likes you that much Dep. I don't think she likes much of anything anymore, other than attaching jumper cables to Peggy's nipples… Oh god, my piercings hurt thinking about it,"

Joseph's Island - [hand firmly on rifle grip] | "Creepy, evil motherfucker, had him pegged right from the start. Well, not pegged. I'm not pegging Joseph. I'd rather stick my dick in a ceiling fan then go anywhere near him- I'm just gonna stop talking," | "You know what? No one else has asked it so I'm gonna- where the fuck does Joseph sleep. In the church? In one of these houses? In the dirt somewhere? What if he hangs upside down from trees like a bat?"

#shut up mof #oc: tony #long post #ty miles!!!#this was really helpful actually was super fun thinking about tony being a gun for hire #amd got to help me with writing her

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somekindofseizure · 5 years

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When the Ink Dries Part X

<Conclusion. Rated for adults. Thank you @icedteainthebag, @gazeatscully and all of you for your help and support over the years (wtf?!!) it took to finish this. Hope you enjoy.>

Chapter 26

Stella had been bracing herself to enter a courthouse with the two of them for three years, ever since Scully had delivered news of their engagement. Self-preparation for this had involved two phases. One: fuck all of London for about six weeks and two: settle into the rationalization that nothing would really change. Mulder and Scully were a couple before any sort of documentation, and they would be after. Stella had made peace with it, anticipating that they might spring the actual event on her any time, that every time she came to America, it might be the one. But that had not happened.Scully didn’t have a dress. No one spoke of dates and no one had given her the address to a courthouse...until today.

“Why don’t you sleep over,” Mulder stage-whispered, leaning in beside her. He smelled of whatever he’d been chewing on the car ride over - almonds? - no, seeds, those fucking confounded seeds. “You haven’t been to our new place. It has a guest bedroom.”

“Hotel is fine.”

He hesitated, hovered over her shoulder in a particular way that men generally did not have the temerity to do. Luckily she liked him more than other men, still liked him, even if he was poised to marry the only person for whom she’d ever considered unravelling the tightly wound spool of her existence. Thankfully, circumstances had not allowed her to make such a mistake. She reminded herself to be thankful often. Forcefully.

“Why?” he pressed. He was eager to keep her close, Stella knew. On her better days she believed it was because he cared for her, was her friend. It was also possible he only wanted to be forgiven for winning. Most days, when she was feeling her cheerfully doubtful self, it struck her as strategic. One distances one’s wife’s female friends at one’s own peril, particularly if said wife has had sex with said female friend.

“I’m not sleeping in your guest bedroom,” she declared in the hushed voice required of their environment.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not your great aunt,” Stella said, her eyes firmly rooted on the hulking shoulders of the man in front of her in the light grey prison uniform. Mulder righted himself beside her, took a sharp inhale. The air was stiff and stale in the room, tasted of chalk. This must be as frustrating for him as it was for her - watching Scully testify on Jerse’s behalf twenty some-odd years after she’d helped put him in jail. Only fair that Mulder was distracting himself with matters of guest bedrooms.

Ed was taller than Stella remembered. Also, less nimble, the kind of man who might lose his balance trying to kill a mosquito rather than someone who had escaped notice as he escorted human beings to their unwanted cremations. His tattoos had multiplied over the years behind bars - all the faces of girls, and each one turned out to be meaner than the last. Stella and Mulder had both taken turns judging Scully as she made phone calls over the years to keep him out of or remove him from solitary confinement. But even her (arguably inappropriate) kindness had not spared him. Time had passed for all of them, but it had passed hardest for Ed. A courtroom was a very good argument for the health benefits of freedom.

Funny that Stella had always assumed they’d get married in a court and not a church. Scully was Catholic, after all, but somehow she’d always pictured herself in a skirt-suit set and a plasticky smile watching an uncomfortable hour-plus of Mulder pawing gently at Scully as she stood steel-eyed and stiff-jawed before a government clerk, her favorite skeptic allowing an indulgence of incalculable faith. It was enough of a stretch without bringing God into it, maybe.

She had kept her negativity about marriage to herself, had made a concerted effort not to spoil things. It would be unseemly considering. But she had tried to talk Scully out of this, and Mulder had tried too. But Scully was adamant right up until last night’s spaghetti carbonara; there was an uncommon amount of swearing, flame-freckled seething, tossed crumpled napkins and waiters trying not to look.

They’d relented - what else could they do? He was her potential murderer, after all, not theirs, and one supposed she was entitled to a certain amount of possessiveness on that account. Many was the sleepless night that Stella had spent cursing the people who had interfered with her plans for Paul Spector.

The worst part of hearing about the engagement had not been the news itself but the manner in which it was delivered. Scully’s lowered volume, the gentle lovers’ cadence, lips pressed against the mouthpiece, two hands surely cupping the phone. The worry, the consideration, the sizzling quiet on the other end of the line as Stella rustled up a response she thought she might be able to live with forever. The grand poetry of it all, the drama and Scully’s quietly feverish attempts to mitigate it.

Scully, neatly trimmed in burgundy, hair just so, shifted at the small cafeteria-style table where she sat with the other testifiers. As someone else stood to speak, Stella saw Scully clasp her hands in loose prayer, gaze resting on her fingernails. She had not turned to look at them since it had begun. Perhaps she was thinking of the first time she met him, trying to reincarnate the moment when she knew him only as an innocent entity. A memory that had been discounted by such drastic measures lived on uncomfortably, vividly, a spider pinned alive and preserved under glass.

And what about the day Stella had met him? He’d impressed himself upon her almost by accident. It had been a lark, something to get her out of England and keep her busy, but had turned into something she would never forget, scenes in a movie that only later seemed significant. The heavy stench of fear-twinged anger, the impressive composure of the beautiful ginger-faced detective, the nearly imperceptible twitching of her fingers at the table, the lanky male counterpart’s eventual leap at the killer’s throat. Stella had felt safe and separate from them all, even the killer; she’d ridden the experience like a seasoned surfer, keeping an eye on the two young kids desperately paddling in the frothy tension beside her. That is how she used to do things before Paul Spector had gotten under her skin. Or maybe it was how she used to do things before Dana Scully had. Sometimes, Stella was unsure which had been the bigger danger.

Stella glanced down at the skin of her bare knees and thought maybe she had unravelled a bit over the years after all.

Jerse appeared to be watching the speaker, but with a slight tilt of the head, Stella could see that he was focused on Scully. The others were guards, cafeteria workers, psychologists - but Scully was something else, someone he’d had feelings for, someone who had known him as good before evil. Mulder must have caught the look in his eye as well, for beside Stella, he gave an angry swallow, widened his legs in macho (and pointless) provocation. Stella knew that Mulder’s concern about today was the physical threat of Ed - what he might do if he were out, how his fixation with Scully might manifest into an act of violence or possessiveness. But Scully could handle her own safety well enough. Stella worried instead about the subtler effects - the nightmares, the guilt she might experience wondering who he was luring in the dusty pick-up joints of Philadelphia. Things you could not fix with a lock and key or a sidearm.

But when Scully stood and spoke, it seemed she was not worried about any of these things. Her voice was steadfast and clinical, though it carried a heartfelt quality that unsettled Stella to her core. Stella had heard the rundown of events before - years ago, when she’d asked as a matter of professionally curiosity and Scully had answered as a matter of courtesy. But now Scully spoke of the invitation to dinner and the subsequent date with a matter-of-fact tenderness. The way he seemed before “the voices” had interfered, her belief in an underlying true nature beneath his mental illness. She had been sparing Mulder the nuances back then. Stella had been just an acquaintance. But inadvertently, she’d spared Stella too. For all these years, Stella had not had to look at the inky snake on Scully’s back and think: she liked him. She’d been spared the pain of identifying with how that must have felt. To have been so wrong about someone.

Scully finished without flourish, smoothed the wool skirt at the hips with two hands and sat - still not looking back at them, seemingly alone in her moment, and perhaps rightly so, for this was her unsupported decision. Stella felt vaguely hypocritical for even attending, but then not attending had seemed wronger.

Snippets of Ed’s report cards were read aloud, brief and modestly generous endorsements he’d received over the course of the years. Mistakes here and there, but a generally cooperative nature, etcetera - no compliment as persuasive as Scully’s sincerity. They were going to let him go - Stella could feel it the way she could sense a confession coming or intuited a multiple murderer’s next attack before he actually crept up someone’s back flight of steps.

Mulder’s hand startled her as it descended heavily atop her own and quieted her wriggling thumbs. The weight of him in the lap of her skirt made the mucous in her throat thicken - was he holding her hand or asking for his to be held? He tightened his sweaty fingers around hers. There was no reason to cry. This was not her moment. Not her murderer and not her fiancé. She was in the role she’d always found most comfortable - observer. Someone to put in the guest room.

When it was over, Scully stood, looked at the floor and moved toward them like a funeral attendant in the aftermath of an Irish wake - sad, but relieved - attending to the memory of something she’d long past buried.

“That tattoo hurt at all?” he asks with a dipped clefted chin and a gleam in his eye that reminds her of her little performance in the shop. Scully is not even sure why it happened – the booze or the slow burn of the needle or the way he looked at her. It makes her look away for a second now in shyness - the fact that he’s already seen that face she makes. But she did not call him up earlier to be shy. She did not sit in a dirty dive all night with a handsome stranger all night to be shy. She did not break skin, make permanent marks she might later regret to be shy. She is too quickly running out of time to be shy.

She steals glances at him standing there across the room with his flop of dark sailor’s hair and suggestive sailor’s tattoo and she stammers through something about feeling different. This is true but she doesn’t mean the heavy handed flashart on her lower back. She supposes she might feel strange the next time she’s at the beach with her mother. Supposes, the next time, really, anyone looks there, she’ll probably have to laugh. But nobody ever looks there. And that’s why she’s here. She’s responsible. She’s a woman of faith. But she’s human, she’s mortal, she knows that more now than ever, even before the doctor’s appointment, and tonight she wants to act like it. That is what feels different.

He looms over her as he lifts the back of her shirt to peek and she actually believes he just wants a peek. He’s enormous by comparison, a monument to masculine threat. He could crush her. He will try to crush her. But she doesn’t know that now. Has no way of knowing that now as he traces the outline of the snake with his finger and tells her it looks all right. It actually seems like too much of a cliché to fear someone who looks like him, like flinching when you walk down the street past a Doberman. Every cop knows the scrawny ones can be meaner.

She likes him, has liked him from the moment he spoke to her. She considers herself a good judge of character and she feels in her soul that he is good, but she’s not looking for a soul mate. She’s in the mood for someone who’ll look at her like she’s a problem, not their problem-solver. Someone who’s not just handing her instructions and checking in. He is not a slap in the face to Mulder. He’s just not Mulder.

He doesn’t leer and he doesn’t suggest. He offers to take couches and asks her if things hurt. He’s aware of his own strength even as he displays it. It may be that none of this counts at St. Peter’s gate, but it will count for something when she’s letting a man a full foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier fuck her standing up. It will count when he tries to kill her too, but she has no way of knowing that’s what fate – God? No, not God, that’s not the God she believes in – has in store.

If she were going to stop him, she would’ve stopped him by now. But instead, she’s telling him she’s a doctor and nothing turns her on like telling people she’s a doctor. Instead, he’s holding her wrist firmly in the dance partner position, looking down at her like he doesn’t care about his bleeding infected arm as long as he’s got her. She has wanted to be needed in this way, has been wanting someone who will trade in their other obsessions for five feet two inches and a few hours of her, and she’s been ashamed of that desire. Then such a person appeared, offered himself up and she’s accepting. She feels compelled on behalf of her mortality. Funny - it’s the very thing he’ll turn out to be after.

It’s a quick rundown of events, some of which she’ll be forced to mention later to law enforcement or doctors or both. She’ll glare and ask them what that has to do with anything as they jot down her perfunctory details. There are some she doesn’t give. That she reaches for the hem of her shirt two seconds into the kiss, feels his tongue touch her nose when she sloppily backs away to get it over her head. That he unbuttons her pants as she runs her hands over his chest and his stomach, makes shapes across it with her mouth. They look for cause and effect, these medical doctors and detectives - she knows because it’s how she normally thinks too. But the system is working in reverse. The moment his hands graze her ass over her underwear – simple briefs, work underwear, investigate-the-Russian-mobster-underwear – is when she realizes she’s wet. The moment she drops his pants and puts her hand over his erection is the moment she hopes she’s wet enough. Effect is what she notices first.

It’s been a very long time. This might hurt a bit, she tells herself, and gets wetter.

He takes out the condom of his own will but she insists on being the one to put it on him, stares, buying time, as she rolls it down his shaft. It could stop here, she thinks. She could still wake up tomorrow not feeling a bit of regret or the urge to confess, still go into work and not duck from Mulder’s gaze, but it doesn’t occur to her that she could still avoid waking up concussed in a hospital, and that ought to be a fair oversight.

She brushes the infected pinupped bicep by accident, but when she does so, an evil little smile appears on his lips. Blood as permanent as ink itself smears beneath her hand and there is something beautiful about it or something perverse, something she doesn’t take the time to put her finger on because he’s a very good kisser and he can span the entire width and length of her torso with two spread hands, and now he is lifting her with those hands, tossing her up like a lost princess, starting to carry her toward the bedroom. Just think - Dana Scully, a princess.

“No, here,” she says and so he backs her into the wall as she squeezes her thighs around his thick body. He shows her with various little touches that he’s willing to take this step by step, but if he does, she’ll lose the nerve, and if she loses the nerve, she knows how she’ll wake up feeling nothing tomorrow morning, because that is how she has woken up many mornings, and she doesn’t think at the time that it might even be worse than waking up in the hospital. “Fuck me here.”

And then he gets a look in his eye that makes her not care whether there is a tomorrow, not that she has reason to wonder (no cancer moves that fast, has that glib a sense of timing). It’s a look that says he’s going to ravish her, take her and at the same time sacrifice himself. It is the look that will haunt her when she’s bandaged and stitched, when she hears of him going to prison, when Mulder makes his stupid, insensitive quips about ass tattoos.

He fucks her with her bra clasp digging into the wall, her underwear pushed to the side, his upper body curled over her like a cobra as he tries to kiss her neck and stay inside her at once. She lodges her fingernails in the plates of his back lest he drop her, listens to the sound he makes as they penetrate his skin, feels his dick go so high inside her that she’s sure despite all knowledge of anatomy that he’s occluding the base of her throat.

For the moment, with his cock stiff and wholly inside her, she is the threat, the overpowerer. He’s awed by it, grateful for it, and - she’s sure - fearful of it.

“You can do whatever you want,” she orders, “I want you to.” She hears but barely feels her shoulder blades bruise the wall, any remaining sense she has left sliding out her ears onto the paint job. He holds her waist very still to the wall as he thrusts upward into her and she tilts her head toward the heavens to moan. Her eyes burn and her hips ache and she will laugh in a few minutes when he holds her sweetly and still offers to sleep on the couch after giving her a pounding like none she has experienced.

“Come for me, Dana,” he begs and she clutches at his hair, presses her open mouth to his jaw, uses her tongue to try to reach him when she’s not using it to swear, digs her heels into his backside for leverage, consistently pressing the full weight of his hips into her body and she lets herself slide into the deepest, slickest, hardest home plate she’s ever come across. Or at least that she can remember coming across. It has been a very long time. As of tomorrow morning, that won’t be true, but then a lot of things won’t be true anymore.

He’s looking at her like she’s the only thing that can save him but the reason she is doing it is to save herself.

The decor was sleek and dripped in silver grey, an unslept-in bed at hip height. There was a photograph of a naked woman in a carnival mask on the wall opposite, the figure’s seductive pout leering over the edge of a dressing-room-style vanity mirror. The room looked like it belonged in another home - a distinct departure from the oaky, slightly inexplicably Asian-influenced-Americana couple-who-hikes aesthetic of the rest of the townhouse. Sleek and sexy and cool. Nobody’s great aunt would have slept there.

“Hope this is all right,” Scully said behind her, leaning against the doorjamb with pantyhosed feet piled one on top of the other.

“Fine, more than fine.”

“Thank you for staying.”

Mulder’s sports announcers prattled on in the master bedroom down the hall. The bedroom Scully should be in, would be in by the end of the night.

“I wanted you to be close tonight,” Scully said, punctuating the statement with the kind of breathy chuckle that stood for self-criticism. The days of their holing up in hotels with platonic devotion for a weekend were long gone. Now, Stella stayed in those places alone and Scully visited for dinner or shopping - a pair of regular friends. Scully no longer came to London - Stella’s request - and she did not generally make admissions, however innocently voiced, of wanting her close.

Stella spotted a bronze-brown silk robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

“Pour moi?”

Scully smiled, nodded and Stella grabbed it, turned her back to Scully as she exchanged her clothes for the robe with as much modesty as she could. There was a brass-edged glass bar cart in the corner, fully stocked with red wine and whiskey - the place was a veritable theme park in her honor. Stella resisted the urge to tease and instead took advantage, tweaked two glasses in one hand, opened a bottle of Macallan’s and poured. Anyway, there was no way to know if the room had been decorated for her because it was meant to court her visit or because there was no one else’s visit to court. They were solitary people, all three of them. It was part of the reason they had held onto each other the way they had.

Scully stepped fully into the room for the first time, rolling from heels to toes like a soft-footed doll in stockinged feet.

“Sentiment get to you?” Stella inquired as her drink pooled, syrupy, in the bottom of the lightly dust-coated glasses. She lightened her tone to a mild taunt in order to refract any impression of flirtation. “Whenever we visit Ed Jerse together we sleep under the same roof?”

“Something like that,” Scully murmured, untouched by the sarcasm. She had known Stella too long, had developed an immunity to it. Sometimes people could say they meant nothing by their sarcasm; with Stella, something was always meant and yet one had to be able to take it in stride. It was not one of her best tendencies but she had never been able to control it.

She handed Scully a glass sympathetically, gestured for her to sit on the bed. Stella sipped and Scully gulped...

“You all right?”

Scully’s eyes began to water. She looked at the ceiling, preemptively tightened the skin near her eyes with her fingers. Stella came and sat beside her.

“Do you think it’s wrong, what I did today?” Scully asked.

“You know I don’t see the world that way.”

“But do you feel like…”

“You’ve a good heart, that’s all.”

“I remember when you first told me I was good, do you?”

“Not really.”

She’d always thought it. It was rare for her. Usually she suspected people of things, even when she liked them. Scully stared at her, chewed her lip until it was practically blue.

It would pass. It would pass. It would pass. They had more practice letting it pass than anything else. But this time, it didn’t.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Stella said finally and she meant it.

“You don’t really want me to marry him.”

“It doesn’t matter to me if you marry him.”

“You don’t care if it means you’ll lose me forever.”

“What do you want from me, Dana.”

She’d said it quickly, not meaning to, was immediately angry with herself for doing so. But Scully’s shoulders softened, some long-suffering secret released.

“You sent me back here for my own good, didn’t you? Because you knew about William. Not because you wanted me to go. I need to know.”

That was three years ago and in that time Stella had gotten the hang of her being gone. This was no time to undo that, not with an engagement pending.

“I sent you back because I couldn’t do it anymore,” she said methodically.

“You couldn’t do it every minute of every day-”

“No - not with anyone-”

“But you could do it sometimes.”

“What does that matter?” Stella said, her voice rising into the tight part of her throat like a trapped scream. Fighting with Scully was like fighting with a teenager sometimes - ridiculous and yet impossible to come out on top. Stella always had the urge to tell her not now, you’re tired, you’re emotional, and yet, there was always a devastating honesty to Scully’s behavior when she was being influenced by such feelings. “You want something constant, that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed. But it doesn’t mean I need everything to be constant.”

Stella’s head ached - she shook it, rubbing her temples, sipped her whiskey.

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about,” she said, sorry that she’d come here.

“I’ll stop,” Scully said. “It’s been a long day.”

Stella drank. Yes, a long day. Scully was tired, emotional, deserved a pass.

“Can I lie down?” Scully asked.

“It’s your house.”

“It’s your room,” Scully said and Stella couldn’t help but smile a little.

She let the Scotch burn the back of her throat a bit as Scully scooted back on the bed, dropped herself into the center of a stack of white linen pillows, put her buttoned-up wrists by her ears.

Stella lay on her back until the remainder of her anger dissipated into the plume of Scully’s perfume. Stella pictured Scully dressing, powdering this morning, pretending to herself it was like any other day. She turned onto her side, placed her hand carefully in the center of Scully’s sternum, carefully avoiding the structured brassiere swell on either side. A warm heartbeat patted at her palm.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable in these clothes?” she asked.

“Deeply.”

“Want to go change?”

Scully shook her head no.

“May I?” Stella asked as her hand drifted button by button down the front of Scully’s shirt. “I won’t touch you, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Scully said.

Stella half-smiled, flicked the front clasp of the bra, dragged the side zipper down Scully’s hip and finally rested her hand dutifully on the comforter next to Scully’s still wool-crepe skirted, nyloned thigh.

“I’m still deeply uncomfortable,” Scully said, face turning toward her, the malted, woodsy scent of alcohol drifting on the air between them. A forest, an orchestra pit full of string instruments, hollow and waxed and just removed from velvet cases. “I am actually more deeply uncomfortable than before.”

“Sorry.”

Stella held her breath, her nipples hardening against the silk of the borrowed robe as Scully licked her lips at her, breathed with her whole body so that her open blouse slipped from her chest to her sides.

“Want to kiss me?” Scully asked.

Goddamit.

“He’s down the hall.”

But she was salivating, tasting Scully, the memory of her. It had been years. Scully slithered out of her clothes, shedding them like snakeskin, looking new as she lay back down on the pillow.

“I dare you,” Scully whispered.

Stella brusquely threw a knee over Scully’s opposite hip, straddling her as the golden robe slipped its knot. She shook it down off her shoulders, let it fall to her thighs. Her chest rose, naked and weighted by her heart as she dipped forward toward Scully’s face.

Scully caged her ribs with two hands, traced the black and white tattoo on Stella’s body, draping a finger this way and that in the shape of the rose.

The door was open. He would hear them. It would be a betrayal greater than any Stella had ever committed. But she could feel her entire body sinking toward Scully, melting at the heat of her. Muscles trembled, spine withered like an end of summer plant, hips rolled, changes Stella assumed would be imperceptible but Scully’s body moved in response to each one.

She reached down, took Scully’s chin in her hand -

And in a flash of Scully’s eye contact, it all made sense.

“He knew you were going to do this,” Stella said, measuring her surprise.

Scully gulped. Nervous.

“You can live in London, come and go as you please...”

Stella tensed, probably would have moved away but in a burst of effort, Scully reached for Stella’s neck, pulled her close so that she could speak directly into her ear.

“I need you.”

Stella closed her eyes, trying to process the enormity of what was being asked of her but paralyzed by the scent of Scully’s skin and hair and mouth so close.

“I don’t know,” Stella said, her pores sucking up Scully’s skin like the air. She was drowning in her.

Scully’s heart beat faster, she’d begun to sweat, and rightly so. She was gambling with her future - all their futures. Stella wanted to be angry with her but it was impossible. Impossible not to lift her mouth to Scully’s, just briefly enough to leave some of her shimmery gloss on Scully’s lower lip. She paused long enough to settle, to let herself enjoy the certainty of a decision having been made. Sometimes she thought this was the best thing about sex - the rare moment of knowledge, of conviction, of committment. She could not agree to whatever Scully was asking of her, some sort of future promise, but she could agree to right now. The moment would come and go, and in a few minutes, when they were having sex, she would have other ideas about what the best thing about sex with Scully was. With other people, this was often not the case.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” she said. “I’m going to make you pant and swear and moan and we’ll see if your fiance will come down the hall.”

“Do you want him to?”

“I don’t know,” Stella said. “But either of you cries, I swear to God, I’ll never speak to you again.”

She covered Scully’s body from the palms of their hands to the tips of their feet, slipped her tongue into Scully’s mouth before either of them could ruin it by saying anything further.

Chapter 27

He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it until he saw it. He had agreed to it without reservation. It was even possible to interpret it as having been his suggestion. But still, he could not be absolutely sure how it would feel. And if he was going to live with it, he needed to see it with his own two eyes at least once. It had always been him or Stella, not both. He’d only shared her once - the first time - and the second time they’d tried had ended in disaster. They’d all kept things separate, Scully in her actions - he doubted she had ever been unfaithful to him when they’d been a couple - and he in his mind. He’d approached his memories of that night with the chastity of a priest, resisted even thinking about it until Scully had made this recent proposition. It was not an unpleasant memory to relive but still, it was a memory.

And now he had arrived at the reality. Stella’s mouth suckling Scully’s nipple in a room wreaking of Scotch and women, her arm’s well-hewn muscles spasming as they worked on Scully beneath the weight of her body, four rounded thighs swathed in a pond of flaxen silk. Scully’s skirt and nylons had been discarded near her ankles, and one of her hands was cupping Stella’s jaw, the other raking up her back. He had waited until he could hear Scully from down the hall, which meant that he had waited until things were very near the end, too near to undo - he could not have stopped them now if he begged. It was a scientific experiment, a matter of proving to himself he could handle what he’d feel.

What he felt when he stood in the doorway to the guest room was hard. Superman fucking hard.

He watched for as long as he could stand it, cleared his throat when he couldn’t stand it any longer. Stella pulled back and sat on her haunches with a well-well-well sort of expression on her face, hair whipping like a blonde gauntlet over her shoulder as she held Scully deep-breathing beneath her palm.

“Come here,” Stella said. He stepped up to the side of the bed, resisting the urge to look anywhere but her eyes. They turned bluer when she made love. Of course - he’d only seen her with Scully. He wondered if they did the same when she was just having sex. “I’m very impressed.”

“With my middle-aged hard-on or my open-mindedness?”

“Both. Have a drink, you might need it.”

She gestured at the friendly half empty glasses left gawking and scandalized on the nightstand. Scully took his hand, squeezed Stella’s thigh with the other. She was in no mood for banter.

“Finish me.”

“You talking to me, honey?” he asked with a slow smile. “Or your girlfriend?”

“Both of you.”

Mulder picked up the glass and sipped - just a bit because he was old enough to be negatively impacted by substances at such critical moments - and then he tipped the glass at Scully’s chest, poured it over her body from navel to neck. She gasped, body rolling like pavement over a growing root. He sat on the bed and leaned to kiss the tip of her drunken shoulder.

They settled in on either side of her, Stella’s breasts nestled beneath her armpit, his dick wedged against her opposite hip. His arm slid under Scully’s back, his hand pinned by Stella’s trembling belly as she arched it into the hollow of Scully’s waistline. Stella playfully hooked her foot over his leg in the space between Scully’s spread calves.

“So wet,” Scully murmured and he wasn’t sure if she was talking about herself or the stamp of Stella’s body on her hipbone, but either way it made him desperately want to fuck her. He settled for a kiss, first on the mouth and then the side of her neck the way she liked as she turned her mouth to Stella.

“Shall we make her come now?” Stella asked without looking at him. Scully’s little ovular fingertips dug into his skull.

“You want to come, honey?” he teased in her ear, and Stella said something similar in the other, each talking to her as if they had her to themselves, but revelling in the knowledge that they didn’t.

Scully gave a feverish nod yes to all the questions she was being asked, hot tears of simultaneous need and something else - relief? - dripping from her tightly shut eyes. This would not just be the conclusion of a steadily built orgasm, but the proof that her love could carry them all, that she could have the life she wanted but feared was too much to ask.

Their arms draped Scully’s body in the shape of a V, two pageant queen sashes - one ivory, one olive - as they reached inside her together. Stella’s finger was slender and deft against his, leading him sportingly as they found a rhythm they could both live with. Scully hooked her elbow around Stella’s neck, put her hand on Mulder’s cock.

“Dana,” Stella whispered.

The sound of her so-rarely-uttered first name made him ache like a dirty word. He writhed naked against her thigh, and across from him, Stella’s head hung loose toward Scully’s shoulder as though it might unhinge from her neck. Scully held the center with ease, the flexible crux of an unwieldy machine.

“You’re both so incredibly beautiful,” he said.

Stella thanked him in that a spare, sweet tone she sometimes used but which every time sounded like someone else, and Scully told him to shut up in a voice that sounded exactly like her. Everything slid, slithered - the hand he had wrapped around Scully’s waist bathed in their combined sweat, the whiskey sheen tanning Scully’s chest as she curled it this way and that between them, dipped her tailbone to grind against their hands.

“Good girl,” Stella purred, composed enough even as she gripped Scully’s hip tight between her thighs,. “Good -- girl.”

He lowered the hand up between Stella’s belly and Scully’s waist, bent his knuckles to be of use. Stella found them as she rolled her clitoris from Scully’s hip over his knuckles and back down, delivered a soft fuck from her lips.

Scully liked it too.

“We’re going to -- take such good -- care of you, Mulder,” she said.

It happened soon after that, the two of them in swift syncopation, Scully moaning and swearing liberally as Stella held her breath, her lips frozen open in the shape of an O. There was a rush of tension and release, sore, slick fingers, wet hair sticking to skin like a sacrament, baptizing a long night to come, and maybe, a new reality.

Chapter 29

The sequence of events was not identical but it was close. A questionable interaction with Ed Jerse that she stubbornly stood behind, come hell or highwater. Stella’s seduction (she had, admittedly, played more of a role in that this time), the precise feminine touch combined with the loving enthusiasm of Mulder’s involvement. And finally, waking up in a bed with him, snoring like a Golden Retriever beside on one side, while Stella’s side was a cool evening desert, bereft of the musky morning jasmine scent that should have been wafting over her shoulder.

Twenty years and somehow she had still not got it right. In some ways she felt they had all been through everything, moved the pieces around in every configuration that existed and she’d landed on a new one, one she knew she wanted best, one in which she knew she could make them both happy. But in other ways, she felt as though she’d been standing still ever since that night, learned nothing, come nowhere.

And more than anything, she was angry at Stella for letting her feel that way. The least she could have done was stayed, told her she hated the idea, rubbed her temples grouchily over a cup of inferior tea while Mulder flipped pancakes. Was that really too much to ask from someone she had known and loved so long?

And in place of that tiny bit of consideration, she’d left a little gift box.

“Sorry...xo” said Stella’s haughty half-script on a prismed, torn-off piece of paper she’d turned into a card.

A hasty unwrapping revealed a shiny little ivory-colored porcelain replica of Big Ben. A delicate and expensive version of something you’d get an an airport. Its base stood in the center of a small dish.

“What’s that?” Mulder grumbled, squinting one eye open. He’d lost some of his voice, left it in one or both of their bodies.

“Stella left us a wedding gift.”

“She left it? You mean she’s not here?”

Scully didn’t answer, so he took the object from her and looked closer.

“It’s a ring holder,” he said. “What does that mean?”

Scully slammed it on the nightstand hard enough to get some satisfaction but not hard enough to crack it. She knew that at a later date, she would cherish this object as the only connection to their union that Stella condoned. She had Mulder had not exchanged any rings - she was no more a jewelry person than she’d been when Mulder had first bought her that Elvis thing and then second-guessed himself. But maybe they should, maybe they would. Maybe she had clung to all the wrong ideas she could have about herself, let all the wrong things slip away into the unlived version of her life. She flexed her fingers over her forehead with a groan.

“She’ll come around,” Mulder said gently. “Let me get you some coffee.”

He was only gone a minute when she heard him calling her name from the kitchen. She joined him, expecting to be shown the spectacle of an ant problem or a pretty bird sitting outside the window or a strange neighbor out to get the mail in a funny outfit - he looked hard when he was aiming to cheer her up. Instead, the presentation involved a brown paper bag on the table, the oven-y smell of bagels hovering, and Stella... leaning against the counter in the rare odd wrinkled t-shirt, lips pursed, arms folded under her breasts. Scully clung to Mulder’s bare back for protection.

“She came around,” Mulder said.

“Isn’t that getting old?” Scully demanded of Stella, stepping forward, and Mulder sat down, pulled the bag of goodies over. He hesitated to open it in a sudden bout of manners, waited for Stella to answer her.

Stella dipped her head for a deep look at the ground, as though checking to see if she’d stepped on something. Her arms did not uncross.

“Yes,” she said finally with the bluntness Scully imagined she applied to a cold case re-opened and placed unwelcomed on her desk.

“It’s childish, Stella. I asked you a question, all you had to do was answer it,” Scully pressed.

“You asked me a question while I was taking your clothes off -”

“Because I thought if I combined it with sex, you’d be more likely to unders -”

“You thought I’d be more likely to say yes. Is there any behavior more childish than that?”

Scully opened her mouth, made a couple of sounds that didn’t turn into words.

“You’re right, Stell...” Mulder chimed, “Is what Scully is trying to say. She has trouble with that sometimes.”

Scully swallowed her pride, realizing only then that she could let go of both her disappointment and her anger. Stella was still there. They were both there.

“Sorry,” she said softly.

Stella nodded matter-of-factly, uncrossed her arms.

“Eat a bagel and re-ask the question clearly and while I have my wits about me.”

Chapter 30

The neighborhood was full of cobblestone and good bones, svelte-faced buildings painted in aristocrat white, noses in the air as people swept past with briefcases, the damp winter wind whipping chilled hair in their faces. Scully hugged herself tighter in her long black coat and little white dress, swayed from side to side as she picked a wave of red from across her forehead. She looked too perfect for this stuffy old courthouse. She also looked nervous.

“She’ll be here,” Mulder said.

Scully smiled close-lipped, dusted the chest of his jacket, tightened his tie and lied to his face.

“I’m not worried.”

When she looked at him here on the courthouse steps, she saw him as he once was, young and bitter, eyes that looked perpetually impressed and a smooth-lipped mouth that looked forever disappointed. She saw their son, the short exchange Stella’s cleverness had allowed her to have with him that day in the park. She saw all the close-calls, the times they should have been parted from one another forever and yet somehow found their way back. They were, as a couple, simultaneously inevitable and a miracle. They were each other’s something old and time itself, their something borrowed.

And Stella - though she’d met her just a few years after Mulder - was still her something new - and that’s how Stella liked it. It was part of the allure of her and the problem of Stella Gibson. She liked to maintain the shiny, silvery lacquer of mystery, and Scully knew Stella worried today would tarnish it. She had considered Scully and Mulder’s offer very carefully, very sensibly, then delivered her answer as she tore bread from the inside of a bagel, a calm voice but a tear in her eye, an embarrassed smile, a mellow-limbed embrace - joy. But there had also been signs of anxiety that day and ever since. It didn’t upset Scully, it only worried her that it might upset Stella. Along the way, Stella had become something else besides the shiny new toy, she had been for some time.

She moved in closer to Mulder as they waited, let her nose rest against his Adam’s apple, a small concession to the robust unflappability she was determined to show off today. She did not want him to feel his presence meant less to her - it was just that, in this current incarnation of her life, she worried less about losing it. He was sturdier these days, took his medicine and jogged and read novels rather than nonfiction and conspiracy theory websites. He less apt to disappear on her or on himself.

“Maybe we should have stayed at her place last night,” she said. “Reviewed things.”

“All she has to do is show up, what’s to review?” he remarked casually but through it Scully could see he was more concerned than she was. “You tried her phone?”

“Three times.”

Him too.

“I could go to her place, make sure everything’s okay?” he offered.

“No,” Scully said, her face stoic but her fingers slipping up and down his tie. The gesture brought him back to the moment and he smiled. His eyes were greener than usual here in the English afternoon.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Mulder? There’s no part of you that would be relieved if we didn’t pull this off today?

He took her chin in hand.

“I’m sure, baby. We’ll do it another day if she can’t make it. Something must have come up.”

What he didn’t say was: we could do it without her. Because he wasn’t sure that he could. It was almost perfect, him and Scully alone. Almost, except that at the same time, always teetering on not-at-all. Stella’s involvement made it possible somehow, even when she was physically apart from them, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. They seemed to need her to survive each other. And as stubborn as he was about not needing people, he was also too old, too experienced not to admit when he did.

Suddenly, Scully smiled and he saw Stella getting out of a black cab in a wooly grey dress and the highest heels he’d ever seen. She turned to pay the driver through the window, at first glance betraying nothing but her usual charmed confidence, although upon closer inspection, he could see the way she was gripping her leather clutch with nerve-wrecked white fingertips.

“See? She’s here,” Mulder said and twirled a length of Scully’s hair between her shoulder blades.

She kissed him briefly on the lips and in a moment Stella approached, tapped their cheeks with her own, careful not to smudge her lipstick.

“Sorry I’m late. You look lovely. What are we doing afterward?”

“We’ll go get you a stiff drink,” Scully said dryly with a tweak to the neckline of Stella’s sweater dress, playing as she’d done moments ago with Mulder’s tie. An excuse for contact, a doctor’s emotional temperature-telling.

“Drink, yes, maybe several,” Stella said a little more gently, as though she too had merely been awaiting the doctor’s call to feel better. A malady that eased by benign diagnosis. You will not regret this, I will not let you regret it, Scully tried to communicate telepathically as she looked Stella over, but couldn’t quite rein in the eye contact necessary.

“I’m surprised she doesn’t have a flask on her,” Mulder said.

“Who says I haven’t,” and she handed Mulder her little bag. “Here, just a second.”

She smoothed her dress, checked the backs of her earrings. Perfume stabbed the air and committed Stella to memory with every flick of her wrist, every twist of the neck.

“I hate weddings,” she said. “You know that right?”

But Scully was not fooled by the mask of Stella’s comfortable complaints. She busy staring at Stella’s body, trying to place the odd feeling of deja vu and then -

“I remember this dress.”

And for the first time that day, Stella steadied, really looked at her, let her eyes rest there in the cradle of Scully’s gaze. Her cheeks colored pink a little and her eyes deepened, the greyness of them taking on the hue of brushed denim, the deep hint of indigo.

There it was, the something else Stella had become, her something blue.

It was one of Stella’s great weaknesses that being told she was loved made her want to cry and not in the so happy tears are falling sort of way, but rather in the way of someone falling to pieces. There was only one way she could handle it - in the passive elocution. There were people, mainly men, she’d known over the course of her life who’d somehow learned and observed the rule. One of them had probably taught it to her in the first place.

“You are loved,” her father used to say, or her favorite uncle, or her late-mentor at the academy. “You are missed,” Mulder would sometimes tell her on the phone. But Scully either couldn’t or wouldn’t get used to it. She was restrained in the frequency of her expressions of affection but not in the manner or delivery of them. She gave her love actively, when given.

So of course she remembered the dress, the thing Stella had been wearing that first time.

“Yes, I thought you might,” Stella said, allowing Scully to believe that she’d done it on purpose. She had not consciously thought of that day this morning when she reached for it. But admittedly, there could be no coincidence in such an action. She had dozens of outfits that would have been suitable, in fact two others she’d bought expressly with this day in mind.

“My, you do look lovely, darling,” she added, tingling with warmth as she looked Scully over. More ethereal and yet more solid all at once. “What is it about white that makes a woman look like a new person?”

Actually, all of it was new to Stella except Scully - she was the only thing familiar about this willingness she felt, the generosity of spirit. She was not pretending to be pissed off for having been asked to do this. But really she was self-conscious about not being pissed off. It would have been more comfortable to resent being here, would have felt more herself.

Inside, there would be waiting to do, the collective and similar but varied anxieties of twenty other strangers pledged to do this same thing this same day. She and Mulder would bicker amiably, tease about who was going to be fucking whose wife later. Scully would hold her head high, pretending to be above it all, threaten them with moving entire affair to a church, but secretly be glad she’d done it here, in the shadow of all the petty tragicomedies of bureaucracy. They all three were creatures of the system, and they were also its rebels. That included Scully. Sweet, silently subversive Dana Scully, who was sneaking her hand into Stella’s palm, the other already tucked deftly and permanently into Mulder’s elbow.

It had been Mulder’s idea to configure it this way. He’d said it made sense because then she and Scully would be able to visit one another longer. And it would make it easier for her to move to America if she ever wanted to join them there. She had marveled at the breadth of his spirit, his confidence and his love, had been glad she’d fucked him the previous night. But she’d also panicked. She had only just returned from possible escape minutes before.

Scully had hedged when she heard it and fidgeted, twiddled her fingers and smiled shyly as she admitted to approving of the plan. They each took turns making sure Mulder was in his right mind. And ultimately Stella agreed to it because she wasn’t sure any other way would feel binding enough, would serve to remind her that somewhere, someone expected something of her. And if she didn’t feel that, well then what was the point of being involved at all?

Courthouses could be jarring settings for ordinary people but they were familiar to her, and this one in particular. She’d come out of them over the course of her career in all manner of states - furious, indignant, satisfied, vengeful, victorious - all three of them had. When she came out of this one on this day, she would be no more and no less than... married. No one was changing their name. But hers would be a little different because it would be signed on a piece of paper beside Scully’s, with Mulder’s below as the “witness.”

He would get Scully with his morning coffee every morning. She would get her on vacations, on special weekends, and, somewhere she had never in a million years expected to either get or look forward to getting - on paper.

The law would be involved, black ink and clerks, a mess to undo if needing undone. And the fact of all this did, at moments, make her want to run. But what did Scully deserve if not that? Her momentary fancies of flight, her panic. That was worth more than her love, it was more than she had ever been willing to entrust to anyone else.

Overhead, a couple of birds scattered noisily from the ancient stony doorway. Mulder and Scully watched them in tandem, eyes arching from here to there with expressions of matching surprise and gratitude.

“Are those pigeons or--?” Mulder asked, and Scully tightened the lobster clasp of her fingers. “Doves,” she said. “Mourning doves.”

Stella squinted and smiled alongside them in the breeze. For once, for the moment, there was nothing for any of them to mourn.

The end

#wtid #myfic #stella and scully #xfiles fic #the fall fic #thank you all for being a part of this

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gb-fics · 4 years

Text

Vibrations

Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: This fic is for the song “Shindou”, therefore the theme of (sound) vibrations.

Shou’s mobile buzzed.

He dropped the damp towel he had used to dust off his CD shelf and dashed over to pick up his phone from the coffee table.

His stomach took a weird little leap. Of course, Yutaka always messaged him around this time of day. Or earlier. Or later. There wasn’t really a scheme behind it, if Shou was being honest. He had tried to establish a rule, to reconstruct Yutaka’s daily routine based on his incoming messages. But for the most part, his schedule remained unpredictable.

It was Shou’s upper abdomen that felt weird. He didn’t understand why people referred to this feeling as having butterflies in their stomachs. To Shou, it felt like having heartburn. But happy. He was glad it only ever lasted for seconds after each incoming message.

He switched on the screen of his phone, curious how many messages Yutaka had sent him this time. Just one? Or two? Maybe even three?

He stared onto the LINE notification.

It was Kenji checking in on him.

Shou sensed something that felt like heartburn again. But sad this time. And somewhat angry. He wasn’t sure if he was angry at Kenji for leading him on, or angry at himself for getting his hopes up like that.

He swiped the notification to the right, so it would disappear from his screen. He didn’t feel like replying to Kenji right now. He would do so later.

Shou hated himself for how much he had wanted the message to be from Yutaka.

They didn’t message each other often, usually just once or twice a day.

But Shou looked forward to the messages too much. Yutaka’s texts where always interesting and funny and kind. Much kinder than he was in a face to face conversation in fact. They weren’t just messages Shou read and forgot about. He kept thinking about what Yutaka told him, wondered how he felt about those topics in return. He carried his messages around with himself at the back of his mind for the next hours and furrowed his brow, when he wasn’t sure about what to reply and smiled, when he remembered a funny line. Yutaka’s messages brought him through the day, especially at a time like this.

It wasn’t a reason to get so excited, though.

Since the messages made him happy, Shou assumed he was allowed to feel a little excited about them. But this strong, physical reaction was just getting ridiculous. Especially since it had been weeks now since the lockdown had started. It had felt new and exciting at first, but by now, the flavour of the new should have faded. By now, he should remember that it was just Yutaka he was talking to.

Still, his body reacted like he was back in high school and talking to his crush.

But Shou did not have a crush on Yutaka. Not really at least. He was just bad at telling honest affection apart from romantic involvement. Sure, he liked Yutaka. He had always liked Yutaka. He had founded a band with him. And their text messages lately had brought them closer together. It was normal to feel affectionate. It did not mean he had romantic interest in Yutaka, though. He was just craving the attention someone granted him, the interest Yutaka showed in what Shou had to say, the bare kindness of his encouragement.

Shou’s brain knew the difference perfectly well. His body, however, didn’t.

Usually, Shou’s brain was stronger than his body. Just when his body reacted this way – with heartburn and his pulse racing and his head feeling light and hot at the same time – hormones were set into motion and his body felt incredible happy, when he saw Yutaka’s messages. So, Shou’s brain started to associate Yutaka’s name on his mobile screen with happiness. Therefore, his brain reached the conclusion, that he liked Yutaka more than was reasonable – ergo had a crush on him – and it ordered his body to spill all kinds of romance hormones and those hormones confused Shou’s brain further. It was a vicious circle and sometimes it seemed as if his entire body had turned against him, to make Shou believe he was in love with Yutaka, although he knew that he wasn’t.

Shou sat down on the couch and stared onto his mobile.

He opened the LINE app. For some reason, there wasn’t always a notification when you received a message. Some error in the programming, he mused. Maybe, Yutaka had already replied to him, but Shou hadn’t seen it, because his mobile hadn’t informed him. Maybe he was missing out on Yutaka’s reply for unnecessary 18 minutes already, since the last time he had checked.

The message from Kenji was the only one unread.

Shou closed the app again and leaned back on the couch.

He was supposed to continue cleaning the shelf, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up and finish the work.

He was so bored. Lockdown made him bored with everything. Sometimes, he was too bored to do something, even if he had already started. The boredom seemed to lessen his concentration and he seemed unable to focus on any task longer than a few minutes. It made reading or even watching tv nearly impossible.

What he really wanted to do, was talk to another human being.

He could just check his messages again. See, if Yutaka had replied in the meantime. Admittedly, it wasn’t very likely. But it wasn’t about Yutaka this time. Shou just wanted to talk to someone. Anyone would be fine. He was just checking on his messages in general. He would be happy about any message, no matter from whom it came. Why was none of his acquaintances messaging him anyway? No one was checking in on him. It seemed as if the lockdown had made everyone forget about Shou’s existence.

Shou opened the LINE app again to see, if anyone would put him out of his lonely misery.

He realized he still had a message from Kenji, which he hadn’t even opened yet. He had forgotten about it.

Shou stared at the message for a long time. It only read “Hi, just wanted to check in on you. How are you?”

Shou realized that he had absolutely no motivation to engage in a conversation with Kenji.

He felt like a hypocrite.

He closed the app again and tilted back his head. He was still somehow angry at Kenji. He knew that it wasn’t reasonable. He had no right to be angry at Kenji for Yutaka not messaging him. He had felt so happy, when his mobile buzzed.

He really ought to get back to cleaning.

Instead, he closed his eyes and thought of men.

Shou was pretty sure that he was bisexual. Just sometimes, he forgot about it, because being bisexual was nothing like Shou had imagined it to be.

All the time while growing up, he had thought being bisexual was a third alternative to being gay or straight and that he would constantly be aware that he liked both men and women alike. He had thought his preferences would be 50/50.

But instead, Shou’s preferences changed. There were times when he could think of nothing but boobies and the smell of pretty women and the shape of their necks and he was completely convinced that he was straight. But then there were phases – and they usually came whenever there was a special guy in his life – where it was all broad shoulders and a crazily high consumption rate of gay porn.

Whenever those phases hit, Shou remembered every guy he had ever liked. Not his exes; Shou had never really dated another man. But he remembered how he had been too nervous to get out even one word in front of the cute friend of his brother in high school – divine dimples and the darkest eyes Shou had ever seen. Or how difficult it had been to meet the gaze of his former boss when still working at the convenience store – cheekbones, perfect cheekbones and something that Shou called ‘natural authority’. And he remembered that this with Yutaka right now was not just a moment of confusion, but something that had always been a part of him, although he forgot about it every time as long as it wasn’t urgent.

Currently, Shou only listened to male vocalists, because he loved their deep voices and how sexy they sounded, and every handsome actor on tv send him drooling as if he had never seen a man before.

Shou knew that he was going through one of his gay phases and he knew that it was because of Yutaka, most likely.

He had always thought that being bisexual meant feeling attracted to men and women alike, that it was 50/50. But Shou felt a 100% attracted to men. He also felt a 100% attracted to women.

It depended on his phase. The problem was, that those phases could change damn fast.

Shou might bump into a cute girl at the supermarket and she might smile at him and Shou would think of how soft her lips looked and how soft the curves of her body and how soft her skin and he would stare at her lips for far too long and think “damn, I’m so straight”.

And he might turn his head and watch a cute guy taking something out of a shelf and he’d stare at his hands, because wow, men surely had nice hands, so veiny and strong and masculine and Shou would think “damn, I’m so gay”.

Both thoughts could basically hit him within the same heartbeat and it was exhausting.

Because Shou felt damaged already. He was too greedy, too needy. He was looking for love so desperately, clinging to even the slightest display of kindness as if his dried-out heart could only be healed by another’s love. And he was a pervert, too. Thinking about sex all the time. Far more than the rest of the world for sure. Because if the rest of the world thought of sex as much as Shou did, humanity as a whole would never get anything done and they’d still be stuck in the stone ages today.

All this led to only one possible conclusion.

Shou wasn’t bisexual, not in the way that other people were at least. Because his desires seemed to be stronger than those of normal humans, Shou was both the straightest and the gayest person on the entire planet.

Sometimes, he wished to get a break from his own feelings. He didn’t want to be bi. He wanted to go to sleep.

Shou decided that he would check his mobile one last time and then he would go back to cleaning.

His phone would surely have buzzed, if Yutaka had messaged him within the last minute, but since he was about to go back to cleaning, he wouldn’t check his mobile in a while (ten minutes at least!), so it was only reasonable to check one last time.

Shou opened the LINE app.

He had two new messages aside from Kenji’s. They were from Yutaka.

Shou’s heart did a weird thing, where it stopped beating and then beat faster, or maybe it did nothing at all and Shou just imagined it, because his chest felt so strange suddenly, as if he was trembling on the inside.

Yutaka must have messaged him during the last two minutes. Shou’s first thought was, that Yutaka had looked at this chat only moments ago. He had thought of Shou, while Shou had sat here, thinking of him. They were soulmates! Their thoughts were basically synchronised! It was a sign of how well they went together! It was fate!

His second thought was, that it had been almost impossible for Yutaka to catch a moment where Shou didn’t think of him, or was not checking his phone. It wasn’t so much a matter of fate, as rather of percentage.

Shou closed the app without reading the message.

It wasn’t that he was scared of looking too eager. Yutaka usually read his messages pretty immediately. (Yes, Shou kept the chat open, to see when the notification would change to ‘read’.)

Shou didn’t read the message, because he needed to finish cleaning first.

It wasn’t that reading the message would be his treat. It was just, that reading Yutaka’s messages knocked him out for far too long and he didn’t get anything done afterwards, because his mind turned scatty and unfocused.

He usually read Yutaka’s messages once, greedy and curious. Then he read them again more closely, stopping at every paragraph to think about it properly. Then he stared into space some, thinking about his own opinions on the matter for a while. Then he read the message again, making sure he had not missed anything in it. Then he closed the app. Then he opened the app again and read the message again for the sheer comfort of it. Then he checked the time and realized he had no recollection of the last hour whatsoever. It was always the same.

Shou hated himself for being so unable to control himself and for being so unproductive and for feeling so strongly about Yutaka, when it was just Yutaka. At least, he could put off reading the message and force himself to get the minimum of work done that way.

Shou got up and went back to cleaning the shelf.

He kept thinking of the number two. Yutaka had sent him two messages. Shou wondered what they would say.

He also wondered what was the worst. That he hadn’t noticed how likeable Yutaka was for all those years already? That he was risking their friendship? Shou didn’t worry about the band so much. He was able to keep it professional. But if he fell for Yutaka, their friendship would be tainted. Of course, Shou did not intend to ever confess to Yutaka. But he would start to feel uncomfortable in his presence. Being alone with him would become painful. He would lose the intimacy between them, just by no longer bearing it. Or was the worst that Yutaka would not like him back?

Yutaka liked men. He had outed himself as bisexual to Shou years ago. He had been confident about it and not confused at all. Maybe it was 50/50 for him. Maybe Shou was fucked up. Maybe Shou was doing being bisexual wrong. Maybe that was why everyone else seemed surer about it. Shou wished he had Yutaka’s certainty.

The fact, that technically, it was possible for Yutaka to like him back, did not make it easier for Shou.

Should he try? If he liked Yutaka – which he still wasn’t sure about, because it would be a stupid thing to feel – maybe he could seduce Yutaka. Even if Yutaka didn’t like him now, Shou could try to charm him, flirt with him. Maybe Yutaka would fall for him, even if Shou wasn’t exactly the man of his dreams. Shou wasn’t handsome, but he was smart and talented and he was difficult to deal with, but he was loyal and generally kind, and if he could only convince Yutaka of his good qualities, maybe that would be enough to make him dateable. They had gotten along well for years already.

Shou imagined what it would be like to date Yutaka. How the staff would talk behind their back. How Jun and Kenji would look at them. What his parents would say, if he brought Yutaka home.

Shou loved the thought.

He knew that he shouldn’t, because all the scenarios were awful. But in a guilty pleasure reality tv show drama, he loved it. He imagined kissing Yutaka before a rehearsal. He imagined getting caught. He imagined how proud he would feel to get caught with a guy like Yutaka. He imagined how good it would feel to see that Yutaka wasn’t embarrassed, either. Because Yutaka would love him enough to take all the sneers and gossip and no matter what everyone said, with Yutaka by his side Shou wouldn’t feel ashamed for the life he was leading.

Shou knew that it was just a day dream fantasy he liked to entertain, of course.

Most of the time, he felt ashamed of the life he was leading already, even when he had nothing to hide.

Shou put away the towel and looked at his clean CD shelf. Well, that ought to be enough for today.

Finally, it was time to check Yutaka’s messages. He sat down on the couch again and opened the chat.

To be honest, my main problem

with not knowing what to tweet

about is that I don’t think I’m

very interesting LOL. I mean, I’m

doing stuff! I’m eating! If I made

a tweet, whenever I ate something

out of boredom, our fans’ timelines

would be FULL. I play videogames.

I read manga. But nobody cares!

I get, what you say about fans

wanting to know everything. I see

your tweets and I actually don’t

think they are boring. I get why people

would want to read them. But I

still can’t get used to the thought

of being a celebrity. I’m not Hyde! LOL

And even when someone I admire

posts about their breakfast, I

usually wish they would shut the fuck

up. Maybe it’s easier for you to imagine

the fans’ feelings, because you are more

curious by nature, aren’t you? You

always want to know what is going on

with the people you like. I just assume

the people I care for will message me

directly, if there is something in their

life I should know about. Maybe that’s

why my relationships always failed wwww

I wonder if I don’t care enough sometimes.

Wait, how did we end up here? I just

wanted to say, I don’t know what to

tweet about, because I feel pretentious

posting every time I yawn ^-^; I guess I’m

a little insecure, about why people would

find me interesting. I mean, most fans

like me for the crazy stuff I do on stage.

But you are the one writing most of our

performances. Maybe I should hire you

to write my tweets? Aren’t you jobless

now anyway? LOL

Speaking of which, it also hit me hard,

that all the concerts got postponed. I

really hoped we’d be able to go back to

normal in late summer. It really leaves me

at a loss for what to do with the rest of

the year, though I’m sure you little sadistic

bastard will come up with something to

keep us busy anyway ;; Since you are such

a workaholic, I can imagine that it must hit

you even harder. But I will try to take it as

an opportunity to rest, and you should do

the same. We’re not young anymore. Maybe

the time to relax and think of even new

concepts for the band is exactly what we need.

Aren’t people going to get bored with Kenji’s

ass sometime? We could try to think of

something new, to stay different and original.

Maybe we can get Kenji to show his balls next.

Or rather, the tv stations. Convincing Kenji

won’t be the problem LOL

And thanks for asking! I actually slept very

well the last night, too. I listened to you counting

sheep, but I feel asleep after just ten minutes.

Are you even doing the full ten hours?! No

one will ever know, everyone is asleep before

that wwwwww

Anyway, I’m feeling healthier now and more

rested. I guess touring was stressing me out. Or

your videos are really improving my sleep! I had

problems with it for so long and was always

tired, but now it’s all gone. Thank you,

Mr. Sandman ^-^

How have you spent the day? Hopefully you

weren’t all gloomy, because of the tour! Please,

watch some porn, to cheer yourself up LOL

Shou went to rereading the message. He wondered if Yutaka was right and Shou really was more curious than the average person – or at least more curious than Yutaka. Shou figured it was a nice way to say he had an obsessive personality and that Yutaka was absolutely right with that. Shou found it easy to imagine that his fans cared about what he cooked for dinner, because when he liked someone, he wanted to know what they ate, how many hours they had slept, whom they had talked to, what they had seen and thought and heard and smelled throughout the day. Because he was the worst and Yutaka knew. But he hadn’t pointed it out in a mean way.

In fact, his messages made Yutaka sound kinder, always. He sounded more vulnerable, too. Shou was sure, that in a face to face conversation, Yutaka would never have admitted to not knowing what to tweet about, because he didn’t find himself interesting enough.

Shou assumed that it was due to the format, that felt more like exchanging letters than having a real conversation. Taking your time to put your thoughts into words properly and not fearing a direct response made it easier to open up.

And Shou wondered if it was the format that made him like Yutaka to begin with. He liked vulnerable, honest Yutaka. He might even have a little crush on him. And maybe it was the real Yutaka indeed.

But that did not change the fact, that in real life, they would never be able to talk like this. Even on the phone, Yutaka would not say any of those things out loud. Shou probably wouldn’t either. Which meant, that his whole crush was a lie.

He liked Yutaka’s letters, not Yutaka. Hearing his voice, looking into his eyes, wouldn’t cause him nearly the same excitement as the buzzing of his phone did. Which meant that Shou was stupid and crushing on a fantasy construct build around only a small part of Yutaka and that construct would not outlast reality. It made sense, though. He knew Yutaka for so long already, if he liked the real him, he would have realized so long ago. He wouldn’t have needed a worldwide lockdown to make him realize his own feelings.

No, his feelings were based only on the soft and vulnerable parts Yutaka showed him in his messages currently. Admittedly, his messages also sounded a little rude sometimes. Reading them, Shou could imagine all too well, how Yutaka would sound while saying them out loud “Are you even doing the full ten hours?!” He’d say it angry and mockingly at the same time. He wouldn’t sound vulnerable, but the words had a different quality, when Shou knew how Yutaka meant them. The messages exposed a side of Yutaka, that Shou had not been aware of before. It made him regret his words at their last meeting even more. In real life, Yutaka hadn’t seemed bothered at all. But the Yutaka from the messages had probably been hurt. Shou had probably hurt him.

Shou left the chat and opened Kenji’s message instead.

“I’m good, thanks”, he typed. “Hope you are doing alright, too.”

Then he closed the app.

There. He wasn’t obsessed with Yutaka or anything. He hadn’t sat down immediately to answer to him. He had replied to Kenji instead. Therefore, he had proven himself that he did not care for Yutaka specifically.

Shou did not know why he had replied to Kenji at all.

He knew that he had done so to trick himself into believing he didn’t give special treatment to any of his bandmates. But since he knew he had only done so to prove a point, it meant that he wasn’t really in denial about his own motives, which again meant there was no point in replying anyway. He told himself a lie, although he already knew he wasn’t buying it. He might as well be honest with himself and admit that he had a horrible weakness for Yutaka.

Shou got up and decided to start preparing dinner. It wouldn’t take him long, because dinner would basically be meat with seasoning. He tried different seasoning every day. But he stuck to meat. Shou loved meat.

He got out his favourite pan and thought about Yutaka’s message.

Was Yutaka right, that Shou was more interested in people in general than Yutaka was? Was Yutaka’s indifference the cause of his relationships never lasting?

Shou tried to recall Yutaka’s past relationships, or what he had seen of them at least.

The memory made him feel queasy. He wasn’t directly jealous of Yutaka’s former partners, but they made him feel insecure.

Shou couldn’t answer Yutaka’s question from his own experience, because his dating experience was poor compared to Yutaka’s. He had never reached the point where it got really serious with anyone. He had never moved in with one of his girlfriends. He had missed out on a lot of things he should already have done at the age of 35 years. When it came to general life experience, Yutaka seemed to be older than Shou. Shou wondered why Yutaka even wanted to talk to him about such things. When it came to dating, planning a marriage or just making compromises in a relationship, Shou felt like a toddler. He had no interesting observations to offer to Yutaka in this regard.

Sure, Shou had other good qualities. When it came to their work, he was an expert. He took pride in the songs he had written and the stage programs he had come up with.

But when he talked to Yutaka about their daily lives, he still feared that Yutaka would deem him ridiculous at some point. In some areas, Shou was painfully aware of how underdeveloped he still was.

Shou also wondered, if Yutaka was right and he should use the sudden free time on his hands to think of new concepts for the band, to make sure they wouldn’t get stuck in certain routines too much. Golden Bomber’s biggest achievement was that they defied every set category. They had to watch out not to become their own category, either.

And Shou wondered, if his videos were really helping Yutaka with sleeping.

He knew that Yutaka had problems with getting a good night’s rest for years already. So, he had recorded the first video as a secret present to him, and to make up for what he had said.

He hadn’t expected Yutaka’s excited reaction, though. Yutaka had messaged him on the day of the first bonfire video, telling him how much it had helped him relax and how grateful he was. Somehow, they had ended up talking about what kept them awake at night, and the conversation had turned deep fast. They had exchanged the worries on their minds and then they had started to talk about the current situation and by now, the origin of the text messages didn’t matter anymore, because the topics kept changing and evolving anyway.

And because Yutaka had been so happy and excited, Shou had taken to record more and more videos.

Because the videos gave them something to talk about, too, and Shou made sure that their conversation kept going that way. And because Yutaka had actually looked rested during the last video conference and because Shou felt proud when Yutaka wrote him he was happy about a new upload, and because he wanted Yutaka to see him, to make sure he didn’t forget about him, while they were not meeting in person, although that was stupid of course, because after all those years, it wasn’t like Yutaka would just forget about Shou’s existence. And because he had wanted to apologize.

In the latest video, Shou had recorded his own voice for a change. He had sent it out to Yutaka to put him to sleep. And because he hoped that Yutaka would understand, what he really wanted to say with it.

I’m sorry I hurt you.

It would probably be easier to just write down the words and send them.

But then, Shou was scared of addressing the topic, because he still wasn’t sure about what had happened on the last day, they had seen each other in person.

There had been this cute girl from the staff again, who had talked to Shou a couple of times before. And because Shou was infatuated fast, whenever a cute girl took the time to acknowledge his existence, he had tried to impress her a little too hard. Shou was always bad at hiding his crushes. Yutaka shouldn’t have made fun of him in front of her like that, though. It had been rude. But it did not excuse the things Shou had told him afterwards. Yutaka wasn’t a good-for-nothing. He wasn’t dumb. He wasn’t ignorant.

But Shou was scared to tell him, that he hadn’t meant it, because then they would have to talk about that day. He was scared to ask Yutaka, why he had badmouthed Shou in front of the girl like that. He was scared that it might be, because Yutaka liked her, too. Now, that Shou liked Yutaka, he would be horribly jealous, if that was the case.

He was scared of Yutaka asking him, if Shou really liked her, too. Because he didn’t anymore. Not now, that he was chatting so intimately with Yutaka for several weeks already. But he couldn’t admit that. Because then Yutaka would know that Shou liked him, and things would turn weird and tense and Shou did not want to risk it.

So, he sent his voice out to Yutaka, saying other words than the ones he really meant. And the words faded away without reaching Yutaka, because Yutaka could not possibly understand what Shou was trying to say with them. His words were nothing but vibration in the air, because he couldn’t say what he really meant.

I’m sorry I hurt you.

Dinner was ready and Shou poured it into one bowl, that was big enough to hold everything he cooked, so he saved himself the trouble of having to clean several dishes afterwards.

He went back to the living room and sat down at the table. Before he started to eat, he fixed his mobile again.

He felt like a hypocrite, because Shou told himself constantly, that he wasn’t waiting for Yutaka to message him desperately. But he kept his phone on himself all the time, while he was waiting for Yutaka’s replies. As soon as Yutaka had messaged him, though, Shou forgot his phone lying around, as if he had suddenly lost all interest in it. His phone only mattered as long as Yutaka might text him.

Shou opened the LINE app. No new messages.

At first, he felt a tiny pang of disappointment, because he was so curious to hear Yutaka’s opinion on all the thoughts he had just had in the kitchen.

Then Shou realized that he hadn’t texted them to Yutaka yet and felt ridiculous immediately. Of course, Yutaka couldn’t read his thoughts through telepathy and reply to something Shou hadn’t written down yet.

Shou felt a little guilty for not replying faster to Yutaka. When it was the other way around, Yutaka could never reply fast enough for Shou’s means. Since he always took ages himself, he wasn’t mad at Yutaka for taking his time of course, but honestly, Shou wished Yutaka would text him every five minutes throughout the day. He couldn’t get enough of reading his texts and the giddy feeling they caused in his chest.

Shou ate in silence and wondered what he should do after cleaning the kitchen.

He could reply to Yutaka, but then, he’d rather take his time with that and wait for a moment, where he felt properly relaxed to focus on what he wanted to say. Typing the messages to Yutaka always took him quite a while, not just because they were long, but because he needed time to collect his thoughts while he did.

Yutaka had suggested Shou ought to watch porn to cheer himself up.

Maybe Shou should try that.

The thought, that Yutaka wanted Shou to watch porn was actually quite hot. Maybe he thought of Shou masturbating. Maybe the thought turned him on. Shou could send him a dirty message afterwards. Or even attach a picture. That would be sexy.

Shou loved sharing pictures of his dick. The thought of the other person seeing it turned him on somehow. Thinking that Yutaka would get aroused by the sight made Shou feel excited in return.

It would also be a good test, Shou thought.

He could put it as a joke. After all, Yutaka had brought up the porn first. And Yutaka had seen him naked many, many times before.

But it was also an offer to flirt. If Yutaka ignored the picture, or scolded Shou for sending it, Shou would know that Yutaka wasn’t interested in him and they could brush it off as a joke. But if Yutaka complimented his dick or wrote something dirty in return, Shou would know that Yutaka wasn’t opposed to him. He was pretty sure that Yutaka enjoyed their conversations as much as Shou enjoyed them. He just didn’t know if his messages caused the same fluttering in Yutaka’s chest, or if Yutaka spend way too much time thinking of Shou throughout the day, too. Yutaka’s reaction to a dick pic would make his feelings towards Shou a lot clearer – either way.

So far, it sounded like a good idea. But then Shou wasn’t sure, if he might not be crossing a line with that. Maybe it would make Yutaka uncomfortable, because he thought that Shou was sexually interested in him. Shou did not want Yutaka to think that. Unless Yutaka felt the same. Then Yutaka was supposed to think that by any means.

And what, if Yutaka just didn’t like Shou’s dick? It was a pretty good dick, at least there was nothing wrong with it. But maybe Yutaka didn’t find his dick sexy for some reason. Because it was too small or too big or not shaped the right way. Or because Shou was his friend and he couldn’t look at his dick objectively. If Yutaka didn’t find Shou attractive as a person, maybe he automatically wouldn’t find his dick attractive either.

All in all, sending a dick pic was a pretty bad idea.

Shou cleaned the kitchen and returned to the living room.

His mobile was blinking. The green light meant he had a notification from LINE waiting for him.

Probably Kenji, who had replied in the meantime.

Shou did not feel excited to check his phone at all.

Yutaka had already sent his reply. The message couldn’t be from Yutaka. Shou didn’t really feel like talking to anyone else.

He switched on the screen anyway to check.

He had three new messages from Yutaka.

Every single one of Shou’s organs took to tapdancing. He wanted to throw up. Why did he feel so excited? So nervous? He wished his body would calm down. Yutaka had messaged him thousands of times before the lockdown. How had those few weeks changed Shou’s feelings enough to provoke a physical reaction like that? He hated his body for not obeying to his mind and staying calm.

Shou opened the messages.

I was googling shit on the internet,

because I was bored. I found out that

this is a character from a children’s

program overseas. It made me think

of you immediately.

Below that was a picture of a life-sized loaf of bread with a face on it and arms.

According to Wikipedia, it’s a bread

with a gloomy personality and

depression LOL

Shou felt overjoyed.

The message itself wasn’t really great, admittedly, but Yutaka had texted him, before Shou had even replied to his last message. He had thought of Shou. Alright, he did have a good reason to message Shou about the bread character. With Shou’s love for bread, it was natural that Yutaka had thought of him.

But Shou still felt flattered and excited, that Yutaka had thought of him. He had read about a depressed bread and Shou had been the first person he had thought of, the first one with whom he had wanted to share his findings. He had seen the article and thought “I need to tell this to Shou”. It was a clear sign of affection. Solid proof, that Yutaka thought of him, even when they weren’t chatting at the moment.

Or just solid proof, that Shou was the only gloomy person with a strong love for bread in Yutaka’s life. Shou preferred the first option, though.

And Yutaka could have waited until his next reply, too. But he had wanted to share this with Shou so urgently, he had broken their natural text chain. It had to mean something.

Shou was aware that he was clinging to straws now. It was the picture of a bread, not a love confession.

But the sheer kindness of the words “It made me think of you immediately” overwhelmed him. Shou had always been bad at expression affection like that. Maybe that was, why all of his relationships had ended badly. He wanted to know everything about the other person, but he didn’t give much in return. He hid the words he really wanted to say under so many other words, that no one could hear them anymore.

He wished he could just text back “I’m happy you thought of me”, or “I appreciate you are not scared to let me know you care”. He felt appreciated by the short message and wished he could evoke the same feeling in Yutaka.

But then he thought of disturbing the routine they had established with their text messages so far and of appearing too clingy and of not finding the right words anyway and he closed the chat again. Shou sometimes hated being himself.

He wondered what to do next and decided to go for the porn. He could shoot some pictures, even if he didn’t know if he would share them with Yutaka yet. It was always good to have some back-up dick pics ready in case you needed them.

He thought of Yutaka looking at his dick and getting aroused. He imagined Yutaka touching himself.

Shou started to grow hard before he had even switched on his computer.

He could have switched on the VR headset as well. VR porn was pretty much the best thing that had ever happened in his lifetime. But today, he didn’t really feel like he needed the porn at all. He was just using it as an alibi. His thoughts were on Yutaka mostly, anyway.

He had bookmarked his favourite porn on his computer and picked one of the videos randomly.

Shou pulled down his pants and stroked himself lazily while watching the actress on the screen moaning and sighing. He did so until he was properly hard. It didn’t really take much for him. Shou was lowkey horny most of the time anyway.

He opened the camera on his phone and tried to get a good angle of his erection. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had a lot of practice at finding the right angle. As a celebrity, he shouldn’t have been doing so, but whenever he dated someone, Shou ended up sending out tons of dick pics anyway. He enjoyed imagining how excited it would get his girlfriends. In his imagination, it usually worked better than in reality. Most girls just told him to stop eventually.

Shou swiped through the photos he had taken. He was pretty pleased with at least three of them. His dick looked good on them. It wasn’t arousal he felt while looking at the pictures, but the pleasure of feeling sexy at least. If Shou received those pictures from another man, he’d be fapping to them for sure.

He put his mobile aside and looked back onto the computer screen, where the porn was still playing.

He tried to focus on the video, but he could only think of Yutaka. If he sent those pictures, maybe he would even get something in return.

Shou thought of pictures of Yutaka’s dick. He got excited by imagining the sight. But he also got excited by the thought, that Yutaka would trust him enough to share those photos with Shou. He got excited, imagining Yutaka wanting to be sexy for him. He imagined Yutaka saying his name.

Shou grabbed a tissue and ejaculated into it. He let out a low gasp and felt warm and peaceful now, although the orgasm hadn’t been exactly strong. Shou hadn’t really been in the mood. He had just been excited to take those pictures.

He switched off the porn and opened LINE on his computer.

It felt a little weird to reply to Yutaka right after having masturbated, but then, Yutaka would never know, so what did he care? And the sooner Shou answered to him, the sooner he could hope for a reply from Yutaka again.

I have prepared a bunch of tweets

for you! “I’m an idiot!”, “I’m a jerk!”,

“I’m a dumbass!” I really immerged

into your personality, so I’m pretty

sure, this will fool people into thinking

it’s actually you talking (^-^)

No, seriously, I understand why you

would feel insecure if what you have

to say is actually interesting. I feel

that way, too. I’m pretty sure that

everyone does. But don’t think of it

as telling the fans something about

yourself. It’s just about letting them

know you are healthy and alright.

Nobody cares what you had for lunch,

but a lot of people care to know that

you are okay. Even if you just tweet

“still healthy” and nothing else everyday

people will be happy. You are not boring

them, you are soothing them. So,

don’t think too much about what you

are tweeting. It doesn’t really matter :)

Also, I don’t think you are too cold at

all. Everyone who knows you can see

that you care. If your exes didn’t see

that, they weren’t paying attention to

you and therefore didn’t deserve you

anyway. You may be right about me

being more obsessively curious, but it’s

not like it’s a good quality. It’s exhausting

to feel like that. I wish I could care just a

little bit less at times.

And if people become bored with

Golden Bomber and demand something

new, we will just have to exchange the

members one by one. I’m sure that

will make things more interesting again :D

I obviously can’t leave the band, since

I basically AM the band, but with the

other members it shouldn’t be a

problem. You’re all useless anyway! We

will start the replacing with the member

around the longest, which would be …

oh, bad news for you, dude LOL

I’m sure we will find something to do

instead of the tour, though~

And I’m glad you slept well! Please,

watch my videos carefully (^-^)

Of course, I did the full ten hours,

though! I’m not a lazy asshole like

you!

I actually did watch AV today! Acky

got me fired up as always! Here, I’ll

attach some proof - to show I wasn’t

just gloomy all day ;D

Wwwww I love the bread! Bread is

the best! … though I wonder what

you are doing, checking foreign

children’s tv characters! You have

nothing better to do?! LOL

Shou went back to rereading his message. He always spent too much time editing them before sending. Deleting passages, which would mean he was oversharing. Adding passages, where something remained unclear. He always made sure Yutaka would understand what Shou was talking about, even without recalling the original question. Yutaka’s memory was pretty shitty after all.

Shou wondered if Yutaka spend that much time editing his messages as well. Probably not. It was Yutaka. He surely just sent the message as he had typed it down, without second guessing too much. He never filtered his words as much as Shou did. He never overthought his statements. And, most importantly, he did not care for Shou’s opinion as much as Shou cared for Yutaka’s opinion. Because from Yutaka’s point of view, Shou was probably just his friend since high school. Shou wasn’t someone he was romantically interested in. Of course, Yutaka cared less.

Shou stared at the paragraph about porn.

He had written it with the implication that he was going to attach a dick pic. Although he wasn’t sure he was going to. No, actually, that was bullshit. Shou had known he was going to attach a picture the moment he had taken them. He had even decided on which one to send already. Three of the photos had turned out nicely. But he couldn’t attach all three. That would look both vain and desperate. He had to settle for one. His favourite.

Shou hit send.

Then he opened LINE on his mobile and selected the picture of his dick. He clicked send once more.

Then he inhaled sharply.

He had probably made a mistake. But it was too late to take it back. The picture was out there. It was both a horrible feeling and a very liberating one.

He kept the chat open on his computer.

He took another long look at the dick pic. It was larger on the computer. It was a pretty good picture. His dick looked nice. He hoped Yutaka would think so, too.

Shou wondered, why he loved sharing nudes that much. He figured that he needed the appreciation. Of course, the fans told him he was cute and handsome all the time. But he wanted to be desired. Physically desired by a person, who actually knew him. Who knew what he looked like up close and without makeup. He wanted to feel sexy, just the way he was. He also wanted to be held sometimes and wanted someone to stroke his hair gently. He wanted to be attractive to someone, both physically and emotionally. But Shou wasn’t sure anyone would love him for his personality, not really at least. He was likeable. For the fans, he was adorable, too. But was he lovable? Shou wasn’t convinced of that. He’d be happy already, if someone just wanted to fuck him.

The status of the messages turned to read.

Shou felt sick again.

Yutaka had seen the message. He had seen the picture of Shou’s hard dick.

Would he react immediately? Would he tell Shou that he was gross and disgusting and should not harass him like that?

Or – and that was what he hoped for – would he react immediately with a more enthusiastic reply? Would he tell Shou how much the picture turned him on? Like, right now?

Shou waited.

He waited some more.

After ten minutes of just waiting he realized, that Yutaka would not react immediately. He would probably take several hours to reply, as usual. Those hours would be utter torture for Shou.

Couldn’t Yutaka imagine how nervous Shou was about his reaction? Or did he not consider that at all? Did he assume Shou had shared the picture as a joke, because he did not care about anyone seeing him naked? Knowing Shou’s attitude towards nudity, it wasn’t even an unlikely assumption. Shou couldn’t blame Yutaka, if that was, what he was thinking. Maybe he should be glad, if Yutaka didn’t read anything into the picture. Shou should probably be thankful that Yutaka was taking so long, it meant his feelings hadn’t been found out.

Of course, the original intention had been to find out, if maybe Yutaka returned his feelings in any way. But then, Shou wasn’t even sure if it was alright to speak of feelings on his side at all.

Sure, he was a little infatuated, but that happened fast - as soon as anyone showed interest in him, because he was just so starved for affection. It would probably blow over soon. At the latest, when he saw Yutaka’s stupid face again and remembered whom he was dealing with. His idiot high school friend, no one else. Shou wasn’t even sure he liked men that way. Yes, he had been recalling past incidents like the one with Yutaka now only recently. But if Yutaka didn’t count, those incidents didn’t count as well. Just because Shou thought of fucking the delivery man when he read out Shou’s name, didn’t mean he would actually do it. If he thought the same about a woman, though, he would certainly fuck her, if he got the chance.

Yutaka for example was so sure about being bisexual. Shou wasn’t sure. Which probably meant that he wasn’t bisexual. And if he wasn’t bisexual, it was impossible for him to be in love with Yutaka. And if he wasn’t in love with Yutaka, he had never been in love with another man, either, because his feelings had hardly ever been this strong before. If Shou had never been in love with another man, he therefore wasn’t bisexual. It was a flawless line of argument.

He figured that he needed to distract himself somehow, or his own mind would drive him crazy.

Shou did what he knew he wasn’t supposed to do.

He opened the latest ASMR video he had recorded to put his fans to sleep, switched off the sound and skipped right to the middle of it.

He stared at himself on the screen and tried to imagine he was seeing himself for the first time.

The first impression wasn’t that bad. Blonde hair, makeup. Alright.

He tried to imagine that Yutaka saw him like this. He wondered if Yutaka thought he was attractive.

His lips actually weren’t looking that bad.

But his teeth. Oh man, he really hated his teeth. And the shape of his face. Was his face really that round?

Shou told himself that he was just checking the video to make sure his fans were seeing him in a good light when watching the video.

But he could tell that the camera angle was awful.

Shou hated the shape of his face. And the eyeshadow was actually smudged on the left side. Why hadn’t he checked in the mirror, before recording the video? He looked fat, too.

Shou tried to imagine seeing himself as a stranger again.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad. At first glance, he didn’t notice the small details at all. To a stranger, he might be attractive even.

Shou skipped back a bit.

No, there was really no way to unsee it. He was fat.

The blonde hair, the makeup. It didn’t make him look good. It made him look like he was trying too hard. He looked like an ugly person, trying to look good, but unable to cover up his own ugliness.

Shou skipped forward in the video.

He was sitting so hunched over. His body was too small. It looked bad. He wouldn’t want to see a person like that naked.

Truthfully, he had recorded those videos for Yutaka to see him. For Yutaka to think he looked cute. Maybe even for Yutaka to tell him he looked cute. He wanted to make a good impression.

But he had failed.

Yutaka would see how small and chubby and ugly he was.

The whole thing was stupid, of course. Yutaka knew what he looked like. He had seen Shou many, many times before. He wouldn’t base his opinion on Shou’s looks on those videos.

But then, Yutaka wasn’t seeing him currently. All he saw of Shou were those videos and his face during the occasional video calls. He’d be influenced by what he saw for sure. And what he saw was ugly.

The video was over.

Shou jumped back to a random point of the video he hadn’t seen before.

His eyeshadow had been smudged from the very beginning. Without stylist, Shou was lost. There really was no way to make someone like him look good. The angle was not helping, either.

Shou thought of the fans as well. They would see his ugliness, too. And those were real strangers, people Shou had never met before. Maybe even people who weren’t fans would end up clicking on those videos. They would wonder why a person with Shou’s looks was even trying. He looked ridiculous with the makeup. Like he was too stupid to realize he was a lost cause.

Shou stared at the screen hypnotized.

During the last weeks, he had developed this habit, although he knew it was harmful. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop listing his own physical flaws to himself. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be hurting himself like this. Shou felt so ugly, he wanted to claw off his own face.

It was strange, because over the years, he had pretty much stopped feeling self-conscious about his own appearance. This was what he looked like, so be it. There were a lot of fans, who called him handsome. In general, Shou did believe that people out there might find him attractive. Just when he watched those videos, he couldn’t believe it.

He checked the time.

It had gotten late already.

He should stop watching the video.

He opened another one, one of those he had already posted.

He looked bad in there, too. His face felt uncomfortable hot.

Yutaka had seen him like this. What had he thought to post something like this? Surely, Yutaka had wondered about it, too. Surely, he had thought that Shou looked ugly.

Shou wished no one would look at him ever again.

Everything about the way he moved was awful. No other human being he had ever seen moved like that. And what was with those facial expressions? That wasn’t normal. Surely, people wondered how he could still leave the house without feeling ashamed of being seen.

Shou switched off the computer.

He shouldn’t be doing this to himself.

It was late and he should go to sleep. Lately, he had taken to getting up early. It was helping him stay positive. He should be going to sleep early, too.

Shou got ready for bed and lay down. He switched off the lights and stared into the dark.

He was alright. He had no reason to hate himself.

He imagined Yutaka holding him in his arms.

Shou knew that he shouldn’t be imagining such things, either. It was making his infatuation worse. He was adding more details to the Yutaka he had constructed in his mind. He was making it harder for himself to fall out of love with that construct.

But all the same, he couldn’t bear lying in bed alone.

The mobile on his bedside table buzzed.

Shou’s whole body went tense, but he relaxed again immediately.

Yutaka never messaged him that late at night. Yutaka had gotten his sleeping schedule under control recently. He was probably asleep already. It was most likely just Kenji replying to his last messages.

Not really interested Shou took up his mobile in the dark and checked.

He had one new message from Yutaka.

Shou inhaled shakily, before opening it. This time, Shou wasn’t even trying to put it off. He wasn’t trying to lie to himself. He couldn’t wait to read Yutaka’s message.

He thought of the dick pic he had sent and felt awful.

Now, he would find out.

Thank you, that was actually

pretty good advice! I understand

that the fans want to know if I’m

alright. I want to know the people

I care for are healthy, too. I will try

to view it that way and think less

about the contents of what I’m

posting. I want the fans to be happy

and not to worry about me after all.

And I think it’s nice that you care

so much. I’ve always liked that

about you. You’ve always been very

considerate of others. It shows in

your songs, too. The fans can feel

that you are interested in them,

and that it’s genuine and not just

one-sided on their behalf. That’s

why they love you.

Please, don’t fire me! I’ll get a new

haircut or something! LOL

Oooh, that’s hot! I’m glad you didn’t

loose your libido yet, otherwise I’d

start to worry ^-^

I swear, it was just an accident that I

was looking up those things! I was

doing, uhm, research? LOL

Shou read the message three times. Luckily, it was pretty short.

“that’s hot!”? What was that supposed to mean? Did Yutaka think Shou’s dick was hot? Like, in a sexually appealing way?

But if Yutaka thought so, why hadn’t he said so more explicitly? Was he just saying that, so he wouldn’t appear rude? It did sound like the bare minimum reply, that wasn’t totally turning Shou down, but not expressing interest either. It was the polite way of saying that he didn’t care to see Shou’s hard dick ever again, wasn’t it?

Or did the exclamation mark mean, that he actually really meant it? That he wasn’t just finding Shou’s dick hot, but very hot indeed. Was he too scared that Shou might have made a joke only to react more strongly? Was it a hesitant, polite way of letting Shou know that he was intrigued by his dick, but did not want to push the situation, in case it made Shou uncomfortable?

Shou wished Yutaka’s reaction had been stronger. He would have loved to read something like “your dick is sexy, I want to suck it” or “damn, you made me all hard as well”. In that case, he would know what he was dealing with.

But Yutaka’s reaction could basically mean anything.

Maybe it was Shou’s own fault. He had put his message like it was meant to be a joke. He had made sure that the backdoor was still open for escape. He had even mentioned Acky. A woman. Of course, he still liked Acky. He still liked her a lot. But rubbing that in could have been the wrong approach to get Yutaka’s attention.

If Shou had written something explicit like “I don’t need to watch porn, I just think of you” instead, it might have gone differently. If he had been brave enough to be that direct, maybe Yutaka would have been brave enough to be direct as well. Shou couldn’t really blame him for staying tentative, when he himself had been cowardly, too.

Maybe Yutaka had not understood what Shou was asking him with that picture, because Shou had once again chosen words that did not say what he really meant. Maybe, Yutaka hadn’t heard the words implied, because Shou hadn’t actually voiced them. Maybe he was as much at a loss about how Shou felt as Shou was at a loss about Yutaka’s feelings.

If he really wanted to know, Shou ought to ask.

He switched off his phone and put it aside.

Well, those were clearly problems for tomorrow. He preferred typing the longer messages on his computer and he had already switched it off. And it was late anyway. He was supposed to sleep. And even if he sent a reply now, Yutaka would probably only see it tomorrow, so why bother?

Shou tossed in his bed.

He should sleep. Why was it so hard to fall asleep?

He thought of all the things he wanted to tell Yutaka. I think I like you. I want you to hold me. You make me feel confused about my sexuality. What makes you so sure you are bisexual? Do you like me back? Why have you made fun of me in front of the girl I liked? I’m sorry I hurt you.

Shou picked up his phone again, turning it in his hands without switching it on.

Maybe he should just tell him.

Instead of just recording different words for Yutaka, that ended up as nothing but meaningless vibrations in the air, he should write down what he really wanted to say. He’d have it black on white. A remaining proof. Not just vibrations that would vanish the moment he spoke them. He needed Yutaka to know. It had been weeks now and still he hadn’t made sure that Yutaka knew.

Shou wondered if it was alright to text Yutaka now. He had only just texted Shou. There was a fair chance he was still awake. He wouldn’t be mad, if Shou didn’t reply to the rest of his message, would he? Or should Shou type out a full reply? The message wasn’t that long this time. But then, it would take too much time and Yutaka might fall asleep in the meantime.

Shou unlocked his phone and opened the app.

He stared at their chat for a moment.

Then he started typing.

I’m sorry, this is not the reply yet.

I’ll reply properly tomorrow. But I

can’t sleep. I keep thinking of what

I said the last time we saw each

other. Talking hasn’t been weird

since, so I guess you are not mad.

But I still feel sorry. I should have

told you sooner. I’m sorry.

He hit send, before he could change his mind. The message turned to read almost immediately. So, Yutaka was still awake.

Shou kept the chat open, wondering if Yutaka would reply right away. He hoped he would tell Shou that it was alright and that he forgave him for all the ugly things he had said.

The screen of Shou’s mobile changed. It started buzzing.

For a moment, Shou felt nothing but panic.

Yutaka was calling him. Shou hadn’t talked to him on the phone one on one since their last meeting.

Shou pushed the red sign to reject the phone call.

Then he inhaled deeply.

He wondered what Yutaka would think of him now.

His mobile started buzzing again.

Shou hit the red button again, faster this time.

He typed.

I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it in person.

Shou wondered why the thought scared him so much. He actually didn’t mind talking about his feelings openly. He put them into songs and when asked questions during interviews, he was never scared to answer honestly, no matter how personal the topic was. He didn’t mind sharing personal information with his fans.

But he had never been good at talking honestly, when it was just him and someone he cared for. All of his past relationships had ended because of that. He had hurt all of his ex-girlfriends and he had never been able to apologize.

Shou, please, we need to talk about

this. I can do the talking, if you want.

But I need to tell you something. I

don’t want to do this over the chat.

Please. I promise, I won’t make it

difficult for you. Just pick up the phone.

Shou read the message that had just come in. He hesitated. He considered, if he should call Yutaka.

Shou’s behaviour was ridiculous and not reasonable at all. He had been on the phone with Yutaka so many times before. Rejecting his call was just a panic reaction.

And after all, Shou was the one who had brought it up. Yutaka deserved a proper conversation, if he wanted to talk about it. Shou trusted him to keep his promise, too. Yutaka did not mean to make this difficult for Shou. He probably needed this call.

Shou’s mobile started buzzing again.

Shou inhaled, letting it ring for quite a while. Yutaka did not hang up. Finally, Shou picked up.

“Hello?”, he said quietly.

“Hey, Shou”, Yutaka said.

Shou had believed that hearing his voice would be weird. That it would remind him of the real Yutaka, who had not much in common with his imaginary construct. Shou had thought he would remember that he wasn’t really in love with Yutaka as soon as he heard his voice.

But instead, a huge wave of affection rushed over him the moment he heard Yutaka speak.

He had forgotten how much he cared for Yutaka. Sure, his construct was just a construct. But that was the point. No construct could live up to all the years of friendship they shared. Truth was, Shou did not care less for the real Yutaka than he cared for his romanticized idolization. He cared so, so much more.

“Hey”, Shou repeated softly.

“Are you in bed already?”, Yutaka asked.

Shou was irritated by this start of the conversation. He had imagined Yutaka would cut right to the point. Somehow, it made Shou feel disappointed. As if he had built up all this anticipation for nothing.

“Yeah, I went to bed half an hour ago or so”, he confirmed. “It’s late already. But I can’t fall asleep.”

“Yes, me neither”, Yutaka confirmed. “I was sleeping early those last nights, but tonight I couldn’t.”

Shou wanted to ask, if Yutaka had watched one of his videos tonight. In a chat, Shou would have written down the question for sure. In real a conversation, he couldn’t get out the words. They sounded too vain, like he really thought his videos alone might fix Yutaka’s sleeping problems. Maybe Yutaka did not even care for Shou’s videos at all. In writing, you couldn’t tell. But his voice might give him away, if he was just being polite about enjoying them. Shou thought, that he wouldn’t be able to deal with the disappointment well, if that was the case. He figured it would be safer to stay quiet.

Yutaka stayed silent, too.

Shou felt like Yutaka was waiting for him to bring up the topic, because he knew that Shou was the one uncomfortable talking about it. He obviously wanted to go with Shou’s pace.

Shou’s pace would be not addressing it at all.

“About the last time we met”, Yutaka finally said.

“I’m sorry”, Shou interrupted him.

Yutaka went quiet, as if he wanted to give Shou the time to voice his thoughts properly. Shou kept shut.

“I’m not mad”, Yutaka said. “You didn’t need to apologize.”

If Yutaka wasn’t mad, Shou wondered why he had wanted to talk about it on the phone.

“I’m sorry anyway”, Shou said. “I didn’t mean the things I said. Some of them were pretty cruel.”

“I deserved them”, Yutaka said. “I was acting like a jerk.”

Shou looked up at the ceiling. In the dark, he could only make out shadows.

He thought about how their voices where just impulses, rushing through the line to get to the other side. Just vibrations, in the end, just vibrations again instead of a real connection.

“You were”, Shou confirmed. “I still don’t understand why you had to embarrass me like that in front of the girl.”

Both of them went silent once more.

Shou thought, that silence could hold meaning, too.

“You like her?”, Shou asked eventually.

Yutaka chuckled.

“Oh, dear, no”, he said and then sighed. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about. We’ve been talking very honestly to each other those last weeks. But there is something I didn’t tell you. A big thing. And I feel like a fraud, telling you everything, but not this. Because it’s so essential for me. It’s been on my mind so much for such a long time already. But I didn’t want to send you a text about it. I wanted to tell you personally.”

“Why don’t you tell me after the lockdown?”, Shou suggested, suddenly scared of what Yutaka might have to say. “Once we can meet again in person.”

He didn’t want to hear about his secret. Not, when his secret might possibly hurt Shou. Maybe there was someone in Yutaka’s life, someone special.

“No, I think over the phone is best. I probably wouldn’t gather the courage, if I had to tell you face to face.”

Shou closed his eyes and listened to Yutaka’s breath. His breath was causing vibrations in the air, too.

Shou understood what Yutaka meant and at the same time, he didn’t. He had thought he wouldn’t be able to talk about his feelings over the phone, because he wouldn’t feel as safe as he did while writing a letter. But at the same time, he thought that he never felt as safe as he did while listening to Yutaka’s voice.

Maybe it was because Yutaka had always been so close to him. He had seen him every other day for years. It had felt normal to have him by his side.

But now, that the lockdown separated them, Shou realized that it wasn’t the fans he missed most, or Jun or Kenji. It was Yutaka. Maybe the messages they exchanged weren’t the reason he liked Yutaka. Maybe the exchange of those messages had been the natural course, because he missed Yutaka so much. Maybe they were just exchanging those messages, because Shou had liked Yutaka all along.

“So?”, Shou asked, bracing himself.

“I was jealous, when I saw how she smiled at you”, Yutaka confessed. “And I already knew you liked her. I thought you guys might actually end up dating. I was scared, so I wanted to destroy that possibility. I didn’t consider how that would make you feel, though. I want you to be happy. Even if it’s with that girl. I’m sorry, too.”

Shou licked his lips. They felt dry.

“So, you do like her?”, he assured.

“No”, Yutaka said very seriously. “I like you, Shou. That’s why I was jealous. And that’s why I was scared to tell you in person. I don’t want to ruin everything. You are important to me as a friend. Not just because of the band. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. But now that we talked about our feelings so much and about romance too, not telling you felt like lying to you. I had to say it out loud at least once.”

Shou hummed quietly, not sure what he ought to reply.

He had had the feeling that maybe his feelings weren’t entirely one-sided. Not because Yutaka had flirted with him. But because their conversations seemed to mean as much to him as they did to Shou.

Shou had thought that it was a recent development, though. That Yutaka got confused through their conversations, too, and that Shou might have a chance with him, if he only dared to try for him. He had thought, he’d have to put in more work to actually get Yutaka interested.

He hadn’t assumed that Yutaka had already liked him to begin with. It made sense, but it also seemed surreal. Shou had hoped for this and he could even understand what Yutaka saw in him. They had good chemistry. Their chemistry had always been good. And Yutaka was bisexual. It wasn’t unreasonable. But then, it seemed too good to be true.

“Are you sure?”, Shou asked.

Yutaka snorted quietly.

“Yes, I am, idiot”, he clarified, then he paused. “Please, don’t be angry. It won’t change anything between us, I promise.”

“I’m not angry”, Shou said, fumbling with the hem of his blanket. He knew that he was supposed to say something encouraging, something to let on that he actually felt the same. But he seemed unable to find the right words.

“Actually”, he said. “I’m happy. I was worried that it was her you liked. I mean, really worried. I think that’s why I lashed out at you so bad. It wasn’t about her.”

Shou went quiet as if to listen to the echo of the words he had sent out through the phone line. They were just meaningless vibrations again. Yutaka could not possibly guess all the words Shou was trying to transmit through that statement. He couldn’t hear all the silent words Shou spoke, which didn’t even cause vibrations in the air.

I’m confused about all this.

I’m sorry I hurt you.

I’m in love with you.

For another moment, Shou just listened to Yutaka’s breath through the phone. How was it possible that Yutaka’s breath caused vibrations, but Shou’s thoughts didn’t, although they sounded so loud inside his own head?

But right then, as if through a miracle, Yutaka whispered the words that Shou had not dared to hope for. It was just three words, but Shou heard all the other words beneath them, too, all the ones that didn’t even cause a vibration.

“I hear you”, Yutaka said.

#Golden Bomber #Kiryuuin Shou #Kyan Yutaka #kirikyan #fanfiction #fanfic #I hope you don't feel like I'm spamming you

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