#-- plan out how to shut that Potentially VERY TINY Possibility Of Pain down COMPLETELY AND THOROUGHLY then I just. Will not engage.

[crystalkleure]

Very Strong sneaking suspicion that I might have AVPD

[tommyspeakycap]

Would you write for John McGinn? anything at all for him haha

you got me

a nasty breakup brings you to the door of the aston villa player, ready to welcome you once again with open arms full of love.

Whistling to himself as he walks from his bathroom to the kitchen of his home, John towel dries off his hair when his doorbell sounds through the house. His immediate reaction is one of question. He tilts his head, furrows his brows and wracks his brain for a memory of potentially making plans that he had then completely forgotten about. Instead, he begins to wonder if there was a chance he had leaked his address and would be met with paparazzi or fans standing on his doorstep. The villa player draws blank on both of those thought processes, and is snapped from them when the a harsh knocking accompanies the sound of said doorbell.

His feet hurry him towards the door, taking the opportunity to look at the doorbell footage he could access from the little alarm box on the wall just next to it. His eyes are met with you standing on his porch dripping from the rain, shivering in soaked clothes and very possibly crying.

He reaches for the door immediately, tugging the heavy thing open with eyes wide, "Bloody hell, you have a key!" He exclaims, ushering you in as he removed his hair towel from around his neck to drape over your shoulders while you close the door behind you. Your lips are a little blue from the winter chill that had blown the cold rain through your clothes. "Forgot it." You chitter, entire body shivering with the painful force to try and conserve some form of heat.

John grabs a bigger towel, one that's much softer and warmer. "Strip off," he orders hurriedly, turning his back to go back into the kitchen and see if he left any clothes in his dryer from the load he put in earlier. "Sh-shouldn't you take me t-t-to dinner first?"

Your half hearted, shivering attempt at a joke doesn't make him laugh like it usually would. He turns around to shoot you a disapproving scowl. "I'll get you some warm clothes, get dried."

You do as told, or attempt to. It's hard when you can't feel your fingers to get a grip on anything more than the zipper of the zip up hoodie you'd had on. You try to shake the material from your shoulders, but your whole body is stiff with the tight muscles that the freezing temperatures had inflicted upon you.

"You'll end up with hypothermia," John rushes, dropping the warm clothes down on the cabinet by the door where you still stand, surrounded by a puddle of rainwater. He works quickly, but carefully to shed you of the zipper, then looks to you for permission to lift your t-shirt over your head. He hands you the warm, dry towel to cover yourself with so he can unclip your soaked bra. Shoes off next, he discards them off behind him as water literally pools from them. You keep that towel around you, patting at your skin as he tries to get your leggings off as painlessly as possible, but every touch still hurts. Your pants, you insist on doing by yourself even if it is a struggle while John holds up the towel.

He didn't bother to even make an attempt at pulling the hair bobble out of your hair, John just snaps the thin black band wordlessly, easily between his fingers before he orders you to flip your hair so he can tied it in another warm towel.

"Why were you out in that?" He asks as he sits you down in his cosy living room with a new, drier towel. You're still chittering, which is worrying but John had learned a lot from coaches behaviours towards the teams when they come off after games played on nights like these. "It's negative 6 degrees."

Warming up was the most important thing, just not too quickly.

You avert your eyes from his, chewing slightly on your lip. "(y/n)," John presses, moving to occupy the space on the couch next to you. You sit forward on the couch so you both sit shoulder to shoulder, his head turns to you while yours faces the floor. "David kicked me out, I didn't have my keys and my phone wasn't charged so I couldn't call you. Busses were off for the weather and the snow covered the train lines yesterday, plus I don't have any money with me so I was scuppered there too. I did some grovelling at the door then I walked here when he wouldn't let me back it."

John's jaw all but hits the floor as anger infiltrates the worry coursing through his veins.

"Don't..." you sigh, trailing off as you stand up with a loose shake of your head. "Don't look at me like that John. I'm gonna go get changed."

The sound of your bare feet padding off through his house holding the warmed pile of his clothes he gave to you was one that he would certainly like to get used to, but you had both done this dance so many times he knew it wasn't something he could count on. Usually you'll call him though, or he'll go and pick you up after a mutual breakup. You've never come on no notice and it's never been because of something like this. John hadn't heard from you in a few weeks either, you had his mind reeling.

Even more so when you reappeared, dry hair tied back out of your face with his grey joggers and black t-shirt drowning you in its size. They were him homebody comfy clothes, so they were bought to be even a little big on him. He had to admit they looked a lot better on you, though.

In the time you were gone, John had made hot chocolate and brought through his biscuit tin to sit on the couch between you both. Words weren't deemed necessary to find a movie he knew you would like. That and he knew you didn't want to talk, so even if he tried it would have been like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall.

He keeps looking over at you, trying to do so discreetly by flicking his eyes over in your direction. Those little giggles at Hugh Grants exasperated facial expressions while James Can disposes of a body in a trunk in the 1999 rom com you loved so much. The movie is good, but your reactions to every time you watch it just like each time is the first time. John can't understand why a man would ever do anything that would wipe that little grin off your perfect lips. How anyone could ever put anyone out on their doorstep in a  storm like that, but least of all someone who was supposed to love you. If it were up to John, you would have been wrapped in a blanket the second the rain pour started, curled in his arms falling asleep to the sound of the thunder rumble and the rain pattering against the street. That was his dream, the one he couldn't keep a girlfriend because of. All he wanted was you and nobody else ever lived up to that.

He wishes he could scream at you, tell you that those very sorry excuses for men that you end up with and what you have with them isn't love. Or maybe you do love them, but they do not love you. They like the idea of you, someone free spirited and always ready to fall in love.

It truly seemed as though you could fall in love with anyone but the one man who wanted you the most.

Watching you fall asleep on his couch, head resting on the high armrest with knees curled up and his blanket still tucked around you with a tiny little bit of chocolate on the corner of your lip sends his heart racing a mile a minute. It feels so right to have you there. He feels guilty for enjoying it. Your heart was broken even if you wouldn't say a word about it and here he was enjoying it.

He uses his foot to push open the spare bedroom door just along the hall from his room. John lays you down carefully on top of the duvet, letting your head nuzzle into his plush pillows as your eyes remain shut in soft sleep. He grabs another blanket for you and makes sure the heating is right up in the room before he leaves you there with an ache in his chest.

He goes to check on you in the middle of the night, finding you not in the room but instead standing in his kitchen still shrouded in blankets with crazy sleep hair and tired eyes.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, startling you ever so slightly. You shrug, moving to take a seat at his kitchen island. “Woke up and got all messed up thinking about how i have literally nothing.” You mumble in response, your voice thick with the desire to burst into tears. It breaks his heart to see you so defeated, your eyes never meeting his as they stare pointedly down at the marble surface. “I’m sorry.” John says, “Really. He’s an arsehole. I can go round and grab some stuff for you tomorrow if you want.” He offers, his apology as sincere as they come. But you shake your head with only a quick glance up at him. John isn’t hot tempered at all. He’s mellow, easygoing and funny. Never quick to anger and never the type to get into a fight but by god is he protective of you. You worry about the kind of blow that would come to his career if he gets an assault charge against your ex when he inevitably doesn’t let John into the house to get any of your stuff while probably barraging you with insults.

“It’s not worth it.” You admit. “It’s less physical. Just leaves me empty, i guess. ‘Cause i gave everything to that relationship and how i have nothing left to give.” The heartbreak and the weight of your words will weigh on John’s mind probably for years to come. How someone could do that to you he will never understand. There’s nothing he wants more in this world than for you to be his to love. He wants to shower you with praise, make you realise how strong you are and remind you every single day that he loves you. That’s what you deserve. You deserve kindness and encouragement and support. He wishes more than anything to be the guy who could give that to you instead of watching you enter into relationships with the worst men he’s ever known only to see you torn down at the other side of it.

“You’ve got me.” He offers. He knows that’s probably not what you want to hear and it might not give you the kind of relief he wishes he could give. But you smile softly and stand up, shuffling over to him under blankets and his warm clothes until you reach him. You don’t really hug him, just lean against him with your cheek on his chest. John wraps his arms around you tightly and feels you sigh contently. He’s your John. The burly Scottish lad who makes you laugh when you feel like crying, who looks after you and keeps you pushing forward when life feels like it’s stacked against you. “Yeah. I love you, John.” You hum softy. John can feel the small smile on your lips against the thin material of the shirt he wore to sleep in because his house was like a sauna with the heating to keep your warm. He can tell you’re about to fall asleep there because he supports most of your weight. He holds you to him, rubbing your back soothingly as you nod ever so slightly against him.

“Even when i’ve got nothing, i’ve got you.”

[notnctu]

to jaehyun, my first love ♡

To All The J’s I’ve Loved Before Series by notnctu ♡ jung jaehyun x fem!reader ♡ genre - fluff, slight angst ♡ wc - 2.1k ♡ warnings - explicit language ♡ synopsis - in which Mark accidentally sets you up on a date with your first love and ex-boyfriend, Jung Jaehyun ♡ taglist - @colpen​ ; @cestmoncoeur​ ; @hyucksberry​ ♡ a/n - i had to repost bc tumblr keeps randomly deleting our shit omggg pls ;-; let us know if you want to be on the taglist for the next ones!

Jaehyun,

I’ve never done this before, but the feelings you give me are too intense to not write it out. You’re like every dream come to life. A fairytale that came alive from the books. You remind me of a noble, quiet prince riding on his high horse. It’s not subtle, but not too grand to be overwhelming.

I think I love you. You’d be rolling your eyes at that word. It’s high school, what could I possibly know about love, right? And no, it’s not about you being my first boyfriend and my first kiss. It’s much more than those mundane things.

It’s the skipping of my heart when I’m the reason behind the dimples appearing. Or the butterflies I feel knowing that you, Jung Jaehyun, likes me back. I’m truly still in shock that you’re dating me. There are about two hundred people in this entire school and I’m the one who you send goodmorning and goodnight texts to.

My favorite day is still the day you asked me to be your’s. Cliche, whatever. But I’m not the only one who gushed at the sight of you holding the bouquet of my favorite flowers. Or the way you nervously couldn’t look me in the eye. You are the sweetest boy that has graced my life. I don’t know how I managed to get so lucky.

It’s a lie for me to not admit that I do feel insecure at times about our relationship. You’re not one to express your emotions or thoughts, you tell me it’s your actions. As your slow, yet improving partner, I am currently mindful of every action, like when you brush my hair out of my face because you want to get a good look at me. To see the real me. I like that the most.

Do guys feel these same strange intense feelings? Like my heart bursts thinking about your shy glances and your fingers tangled with mine. Whenever you hug me, I feel like I’m holding the very thing that makes me feel alive. I’m experiencing excitement, joy, and a weird burning sensation that spreads across my chest. It’s like we’re living a movie, but it’s better because it’s real life.

You’re the one, Jaehyun. It’s hard to explain and I’m absolutely being dramatic. But it’s not too far fetched. We’re still young, but I can see a future with you and how you want to chase your dreams with someone by your side. Don’t act like you don’t look directly at me when you say that.

Don’t feel pressured, I’m not asking for your hand in marriage just yet. I just have an inexplicable feeling that you’re someone that I’m going to love forever.

In this fairytale, do you believe in forever?

-from your hopeless romantic girlfriend, y/n

If anyone were to be blamed for this very awkward encounter between you and your ex-boyfriend, it would be Mark Lee. He went on for ages, boasting about some hot guy he wanted to set you up with since you had been single for quite a time. He only meant good intentions, so you could stop holding yourself in your apartment alone during the weekends.

And there was no possible way for Mark to know that his Jung Jaehyun was the same Jung Jaehyun you dated back in high school. Though, if Mark had been specific by telling you the mystery boy’s name, you wouldn’t have to be standing in front of Jaehyun in a stiff atmosphere intended for a harmonious date.

“I didn’t expect to run into you.” Stupid and you knew, you weren’t the only one who thought so. Jaehyun practically scoffed so loud that it physically pained you. Arms crossed, weight barred on his left leg, eyes rolled all the way to the back of his head. He was definitely expecting someone else who didn’t make a fool out of themselves.

“(Y/N), don’t act like we didn’t apply and commit to the same college. We were bound to see each other in some way.”

“Fine, you’re right. I guess, I didn’t expect it to be like this.” Your eyes diverted shyly to the ground as you played with the ends of your sweet dress. At this point, your bed and pj’s seemed much better than a rekindle of the mess you made.

Jaehyun cursed at Mark underneath his breath before running his hands through his brown locks. There was too much you wished to stare at. Jaehyun still managed to make your heart stop with his attractiveness. Time benefited him more than anyone else you’ve met from your past. Through his changes, there were the similarities you loved: the depth of his dimples, the softness of his skin, the charm with a simple look, the fluffiness of his hair.

He dug his hands into his jean pockets and pursed his lips together before saying, “look, I don’t want to date you again and truthfully, Mark never told me your name when he talked about you, so I don’t know what twisted setup you two planned for this to be.”

Your facial expression reacted before you could collect your thoughts at the harsh rejection, which was a complete spin from when he had first accepted your heart. You were really regretting the pitiful letter sitting in your childhood room at the moment and the fact that he was the first letter.  

“Listen, Mark didn’t mention your name either when he talked about the ‘hot, sweet boy’, so you can kiss my ass if you really think that I purposefully set this up to get back together with you.” Jaehyun’s eyebrow rose and his jaw tightened at your response.

“I’m supposed to believe that this was a mere coincidence or a sickly twisted fate that we ended up together again?”

It was your turn to scoff, roll your eyes, and cross your arms. “Like how I’m supposed to believe you’re the same guy that Mark raves about. You’re far from a kindhearted, wholesome person who volunteers at the dog rescue center and to think, I ever fell for someone who had the potential to be this arrogant!”

A quick spin on your heels sent you dramatically walking off to your car. Though, the sounds of heavy footsteps caught up to you and a hand closed your car door shut before you could step in. “I’m sorry. I haven’t completely forgiven myself and you for the breakup.”

“It happened a long, long time ago.”

“You’re right, but I still beat myself up to this day that our relationship could have been saved if we both didn’t give up.”

Sighing, you held his cheek gently and he faced you with hurt reflecting in his eyes. “We were young and stubborn. We gave up because we didn’t have the emotional capacity to fix it, Jae.”

He lit up at the sound of his nickname and how much he missed hearing it roll off your tongue. It was like a switch flipped on. “Haven’t heard you say my name in a while. I almost forgot how much I loved it.”

The appearance of his dimples and brightening smile caused a disruption of butterflies to swarm in your stomach. This feeling could only be produced by him and no one else. The true holder of your heart has returned and left you a bit unsettled.

If he hasn’t already charmed your pants enough, his cool lean against your car definitely sealed the deal. “Are you flirting with me, Jung Jaehyun?” Your narrowed eyes zoned in on the unmistakable smirk that plastered his face.

His lips rolled together, emphasizing the crescents in his cheeks more. “We can’t let poor Mark down. How about we try going on this date?” He paused to gauge your reaction, “so we don’t have to lie when we report back to him.”

“Fine, for the sake of Mark and because I’ll admit, I did miss your presence.” Every detail reminded him of the most amazing times he spent with you. It was like he was watching one of his favorite films or listening to a forgotten playlist that triggered all kinds of emotions he had felt before.

He jumped off the vehicle with the biggest gleam that was not present earlier. This was the Jaehyun you remember. He couldn’t contain his excitement and oftentimes, only being able to express his emotions through his actions.

“Well, you’re not one who’s hard to miss. I don’t think I can get your smile out of my head for the next few days.” You quietly pondered the thought of how easy this all was for him.

Hours flew by, endlessly chatting away to catch up with each other’s lives and reminiscing the good parts of your relationship. The restaurant had grown empty and quiet, to the point of being kicked out of the establishment. Before either of you could process the mutual feeling of happiness, there was a brief moment of wondering what the next steps of this was. He cleared his throat when you two arrived at your car.

“I had a great time today, Jaehyun.” The sadness in your voice was not unnoticed by him.

“Can I ask why Mark was so persistent in setting us up?” Jaehyun inquired as he took off his jacket to wrap around your shaking, exposed shoulders. His thin shirt blew wildly in the breeze, but he’d rather have you warm and him frozen by the night.

The tiny thanks escaped as a whisper and you hugged his scent tighter. “He just wants me to stop being alone on the weekends because that’s when he goes back home with his family.”

Jaehyun nodded knowingly, “I can still change that for you.”

“Don’t give up your weekends at the shelter for me and it sounds like you already have a lot on your plate.”

He chuckled delightfully and there was hope to hear it again. “I can sacrifice a few hours at the shelter to be with a friend. Plus, you’re important to me and like I said many years before, I want you by my side as I chased my dreams. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner. I take the responsibility of being bitter over something in the past and tonight really made me realize what all the anger stole from me.”

Jaehyun pulled you into an overdue hug. His cologne engulfed you like old times. “Just to avoid confusion, we aren’t getting back together.. ever.” His chest muffled your words, but he heard you loud and clear.

“There’s not a sliver of hope?” It wasn’t hurt that laced his question, but something light and playful. Jaehyun’s strong arms pulled away, but his hands dropped to hold yours. A small smile rested on his face, his lips looked as tempting as you remembered them to be.

“No, there’s not.” The mood shifted to a more serious atmosphere, but it was finally time to address the elephant in the empty parking lot. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m always going to love you. People don’t call it a first love for nothing. Back when we were still together, and I told you I believed in forever, I meant it. But that doesn’t mean my heart wants you back, I want you to be happy with someone else.”

Jaehyun’s eyes sparkled underneath the dark night sky, but he broke the gaze when he grew shy at how the conversation had turned. A warmth spread across his chest and suffocated him tenderly. “Nice to know that I’m not the only one that still holds you in a special place in my heart. You’re right, my first love is unforgettable. You are unforgettable.”

Warm cheeks and shy, averting eyes wrapped up the date nicely. And all of which was thanks to Mark, who cluelessly set you up with your first love. You coughed to fill the tense air, noticing the goosebumps that rose on his arms. “We should get going, it’s too cold to be standing out here.”

“Right, I don’t want you catching a cold. You know how needy you get when your nose starts dripping uncontrollably.” His laughter mixed with yours as you handed his jacket back to him.

Rolling your eyes, Jaehyun helped you open your car door. “Anyways, are you up for a movie night this weekend?”

“No horror movies unless you want to end up in my arms.” He winked and you punched his arm playfully at his flirty banter.

“Don’t push it, Jae!” You giggled, entering your car to shield from the bitterness that was abandoned to linger in the air.

“Okay, princess. I’ll see you at your castle real soon.” With that, he closed your door and waved a small goodbye. Watching his figure disappear into his own vehicle, you realized the thought that Jaehyun was always the reason you started to love. Even in this reality, he was the reason you believed in a forever.

[grapefruitsketches]

Loose Ends

For fytheuntamed’s Untamed Fall Fest Day 18: Crisp

Rated T, 1,406 Words. Blood mention, canonical character death mentioned (MXY), post-canon, angst, POV Lan Wangji, Mo Xuanyu deserved better (but canon still happened in this one)

(Technically CQL-verse for Mo Manor layout and sword spirit mention, but these are pretty minor)

Also available on AO3

It took weeks after everything had ended before Hanguang-jun even thought of the place. Months more before he found the time (and will) to go back, only being able to bear it with Wei Wuxian by his side.

“It looks the same,” Wei Wuxian commented mildly, twirling his flute and looking up at the placard, still proudly reading “Mo Manor.”

Lan Wangji nodded, not much else to say beyond that. Wei Ying was right, of course, but they both knew that appearances had never held the true story here.

The gates stood open, just a crack, but enough for the cultivators to see there would be no use in knocking.

The courtyard, at one time busy with servants or packed with curious villagers, hoping to catch a glimpse the lives of the closest thing their small town had to nobility, was now deserted.

It was as Hanguang-jun had suspected; had feared. He knew he should have come back earlier. He and the Juniors had left very clear instructions to the servants before they’d left, but Hanguang-jun always followed up on such matters soon after anyway – especially where a clan was wiped out, where it would be reasonable for fear among those left behind to run high, and where the potential for resentment may have run deeper than the one spirit the cultivators had been summoned for. He always came back to check that the cleansing rituals, the burial rites, were performed adequately. But so much had happened, so many wonderful, tragic, unexpected things happened in the weeks following their visit that Lan Wangji had let his diligence lapse.

There had been an attempt here. That much was clear. And he and his Juniors had at least made sure the bodies had been dealt with quickly and correctly. But it seemed that eventually, the remaining servants had, not unreasonably from their perspective at least, fled the residence. The air here remained stagnant. Heavy.

They walked silently through the manor grounds, trying to get a feel for just how much work would have to be done.

“I wonder how long he...” Wei Wuxian broke the silence, hushed tone to his voice. Lan Wangji followed his gaze to the tiny building.

Mo Xuanyu’s room, Lan Wangji realized.

As though in a trance, Wei Wuxian stepped forward, pulling open the door.

Lan Wangji was at his side moments later, holding Wei Ying steady as he swayed. The man smiled up at him, “Sorry, Lan Zhan. Thank you. I just... the air here is so...” he shook his head, shrugging, “Loud.”

Lan Wangji nodded, only able to guess at what Wei Wuxian might be feeling, what his sensitivity to resentful energy might be reacting to here, if even Wangji felt a heaviness tug deeply at his heart.

The room made him shudder.

It hadn’t been cleaned up. There had not even been the slightest attempt by the look of it. The Lans had not thought to encroach on the privacy of the rooms they believed belonged to a still surviving Mo heir, and it seemed no servant had deemed it necessary to look into either, before they had fled the site forever.

The room smelt musty, the coppery smell of blood having faded to something more pungent, seeping deep into the walls and floors. The hanging talismans danced eerily in the breeze the two of them had let in.

Lan Wangji swallowed. This had been where it had happened. This was the place where the man he loved had been reborn. The reason he now stood by his side again.

But to see it here, to see the mechanisms, the details, the reality of where Wei Ying has awoken? To take in the evidence of precisely what Mo Xuanyu had done in order to give himself up for the Yiling Patriarch? It was nauseating, to say the least.

Lan Wangji thought back to that night, thought back to what his Juniors had described. The Mo-gongzi who he had just missed, who wasn’t nearly as crazy as the Mos seemed to believe.

He had let himself assume for a long while that all of that could be explained by the fact that the man that the Juniors had met had not been the young Mo Xuanyu, not the beaten nephew of the Master and Lady of the Manor, but instead his brilliant Wei Ying.  

But now... He looked at the signs of the ritual’s complexity, the precise lines on the talismans, the circle on the ground... Like he should have by now expected of one of Wei Wuxian’s inventions, it was clear that every detail mattered. Now he wished he had tried to meet, to take some interest in the shy Jin disciple. Though he knew that the Hanguang-jun of the last sixteen years would have had no reason to do, no presence of mind or interest in the affairs of the sects to motivate him, he knew he must have seen the young cultivator at least one of the Jinlintai celebrations his brother had dragged him out to. A boy taken into the sect, neither truly part of the family, nor outside of the inner circle. A boy driven – through reasons the rest of the cultivation world seemed to have missed – to demonic cultivation.

He sighed and was unable to resist glancing briefly at Wei Wuxian, who was already quietly taking down the talismans, piling them on the floor with more care than was strictly necessary.

They worked their way through the room, then through the rest of the Manor, where the energy was still strong, but not nearly so dense as it had been in the little room.

The sound of a guqin and a flute, harmonized, united as one, rang out in the Manor day after day.

Slowly, gradually, the stale air began to dissipate. The resentful energy - from the sword ghost and the Mos, but also from what seemed to be several experiments of his own that Mo Xuanyu had attempted - began to settle. To rest.

And then, after a week or so of their joined efforts, Wei Wuxian pulled the flute from his mouth, and looked to his cultivation partner. “We’re done.” He whispered, almost reverent in tone.

Lan Wangji nodded and dismissed his guqin. He breathed in slowly, the truth of Wei Ying’s assessment evident in the clean, crisp air that now graced the Manor. The grounds seemed... brighter, almost. The grass, the trees, were now showing deep greens rather than dull greys.

Here, Lan Wangji had completed the last night hunt where he still believed he was alone. Here, he had unknowingly worked alongside his beloved for the first time in sixteen long years. Here, Wei Wuxian has taken his first breaths, his first steps, in just as many years. And here, a young man had given up his life, his body, for...

Lan Wangji still didn’t know exactly what for. For revenge? For Wei Wuxian? Out of pure rage, pain, maybe desperation? He still didn’t even know whose idea the ritual had truly been, Wei Wuxian seeming to want to put the details of Nie Huaisang’s, of Jin Guangyao’s plans in the past, and Wangji was the last person to intentionally reopen old, benign wounds that his partner wished to remain untouched.

It was here that so much had changed for him. Here that he got the chance to live a life he loved, rather than for the choices he regretted.

But he didn’t know anything about the man who had made that possible. Didn’t have even the vaguest sense of who, of what, had been given up to make it possible.

Because at the end of the day, Hanguang jun didn’t know Mo Xuanyu. He never would. And perhaps no one left alive truly ever had.

And even as he selfishly knew he would never trade the life he had now for anyone or anything, that realization hurt.

A gentle hand on his shoulder, a sombre whisper, “Come on, Lan Zhan, let’s go.”

Lan Wangji nodded and let Wei Ying take his hand, lead him out the Manor gates. Watched as Wei Wuxian closed the gates, shut that pocket of the world away from them. Their work was done here.

But before the gates were out of sight, before they left this village, likely never to return, Lan Wangji turned back one last time.

“Thank you, Mo-gongzi,” Lan Wangji whispered, “And I’m sorry.”

[maulsscream]

(gif by obimauls)

MUTUAL TEMPTATION Maul x Ahsoka

This was just going to be a M fic but y’all are making me write another E because the muzzle has usyou feeling things. I 100% agree. Watch me and my thirst traps delivering another banger. Bless @mandalora for the newest addition to the thirst pile.

Please assume Maul had his legs chopped off above the knees for obvious reasons. It’s not rated E for nothing loves.

Disclaimer: as I’ve stated before please assume that Ahsoka is a fully grown adult woman in all my fics. Thanks.

SUMMARY Rated E - 1,815 words

Maul is a lot more agreeable when he’s tied up and gagged. Ahsoka can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure what her game plan is. She decides to make him wonder some more.

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

Her lightsaber was pointed down at his jugular as Maul sat with his arms locked behind him back, tied up to his elbows by some sort of device from another time. His mouth was clamped shut by the muzzle he had been fitted with on Mandalore. Truly the Mandalorians had a taste for the eccentrics and the barbaric. It was all a little overboard, even for him. The binding of his arms and ankles he could understand, but the muzzle? Were they afraid he would somehow talk his way out of the justice Ahsoka wanted to inflict on him?

The low buzzing of the lightsaber caught his attention if only for a second. His eyes followed the blinding blue length of it back up to her face. Her intimidation techniques were weak at best. If her goal was to keep him from trying anything rash, she could have simply kept to the bounds he was in. But the look behind her eyes spoke of something else. Maul arched an eyebrow in a questioning manner. What exactly was her game plan here?

“You might think you know everything about me, but you’re wrong.”

Maul doubted that. He had searched the clone’s head thoroughly to gain every drop of intel he could about the young woman. It had been fascinating. She was as arrogant as she was headstrong. Of course there had been no place for her with the Jedi. She had a thirst for adventure. Had she finished her training under Skywalker, the thrill of protecting her precious republic would have never satisfied her just like it hadn't satisfied him. She had a greater purpose.

“Now don’t try anything.”

She said as she leaned her face in close threateningly, the tip of her lightsaber forcing him to tilt his chin up towards her. She turned her wrist just so and he could see in her eyes she was debating whether or not he deserved justice after all. There was darkness there, a potential he had seen during their duel. The conclusions he had drawn from the trooper’s memories of her were correct. Ahsoka Tano was neither good nor evil. She served no one. She simply was.

She saw his eyes glimmer with anticipation and delight as if he were daring her to just get it over with. Kill him or free him. Those were his options, not the ones she had picked for him. The blade of her lightsaber disappeared at the press of a button and she placed it back at her hip. Maul followed the motion carefully. He couldn't wait to see where this was all going.

What fun!

She was still too close for either of their comfort, although the zabrak couldn’t complain much. He hadn’t been subject to any torture yet but he guessed that might have been the reason she was in his holding cell. He had heard her sending his guards away before entering the room. It wouldn’t be her style but with no one to answer for but herself, it might have been her last desperate attempt at getting answers. Still, there was one last option she hadn't tried if torture was her last resort...

To his surprise, Ahsoka lowered herself in a squatting position in front of him and Maul had to strain to maintain eye contact. With the very restricted range of motion he possessed, it was almost impossible to see what she was doing down at that level. His legs spread further apart and he squirmed to sit up straight. There was an attempt at leaning his upper body forwards but the jolt of her hand to her weapon stopped him dead in his tracks.

She held his full attention.

“I hear these came as a reward.”

The former Jedi said as she knocked on the mechanical part of his leg with her knuckle. Maul rolled his eyes. The antagonising game would only last so long. He could see in her eyes she wanted more than to just look at his prosthetics.

Her hands encircled them and ran up their length ever so slowly, feeling every tiny scratches and small indents in the metal underneath her palms. For the first time that he could recall, Maul wished he had sensations in his lower legs. Just so that he could feel what she was depriving him of. Clearly this was her game. She would only give him so much, just a taste that was enough to feed the fire and make him long for more.

Her hands stopped at his knees, tapping her fingernails against the junction of flesh and metal. Maul caught himself wanting to feel those nails against his skin, across his body. Seduction tricks had never worked on him, he was not that kind of being. He was too smart to be so easily distracted by hollow promises and lustful glances. No. This wasn't it.

This wasn't a trick. Maul could feel it through the force. This was genuine. The attention he was paying her doubled, his senses sharpening and his psyche honing in on her presence.

Ahsoka used his knees as leverage to rise back up on her feet, causing Maul to tense in anticipation. She pressed on the his legs harder, reminding him of just how restrained and uncomfortable he was in his shackles. Was she expecting him to plea for his freedom back?

He chuckled, a soundless rumble that shook his whole body. She could read how amused he was by the way he was devouring her with his eyes. Her web was tightening around him. Whether he knew where she was headed or not with that line of interrogation, she didn't care. She only cared about him lowering his defences enough for her to penetrate his mind.

“I wonder... what’s going on up there?”

Ahsoka brought her fingertips to his temples and focused. She could feel him resisting, his mind straining not to let her in. He was going to fight her all the way, building walls as she dug deeper. Her jaw was clenched and her eyebrows furrowed. Fine, if he wanted to play the hard way so could she.

She climbed on top of him, making sure to drag the motion of her pelvis closing the gap between their bodies as much as possible. His breathing was quickening from both the mental blocks he was putting up and the sudden act of intimacy, his chest heaving. She had no trouble fitting her small frame onto his lap. He was oddly comfortable and warm, a reaction she guessed she had caused.

Maul continued to observe her with carnal fascination, the sound of his hearts loud in his ears. She was persistent. He knew what she would be searching for inside his thoughts, but he could give her something else. Something she might have wanted even more. Surely the thrill of the forbidden fruit would outweigh her need of answers.

Ahsoka had to focus on the task at hand. They could have fun later. As much as she wanted to see more of the tattoos littering his chest, she wanted answers first. She squeezed her legs harder around his waist and gave one last push into his mind. Her hands were fully wrap around his head now, her fingers toying with the release of the muzzle. Perhaps the promise of a reward would make him take the bait.

That he did.

Maul caved in all at once, his eyes closing as her forehead touched his. His thoughts were the definition of organised chaos. There was a sea of pain and suffering that Ahsoka quickly waived in favour of a less threatening and much more enticing dark corner of his mind. What was he hiding in there?

She had been baited, too. Her need for answers suddenly flew out the window. Maul focused his mind on the unspoken truth between them. She had just openly began her little dance of seduction leaving him barely any room to reciprocate given his physical situation. 

But that’s what you like, isn’t it?

His thoughts were louder than a wampa as they echoed inside her own mind. She didn’t have to focus so much on making sense out of all of the glimpses of could-have-been he was showing her. The picture was clear enough.

In their conjoined minds, Ahsoka was clutching the top of his tunic, their bodies desperately pressing together. He was still tied up at the exception of his muzzle that had been discarded on the floor. Maul was kissing and biting along her exposed shoulder and throat, leaving marks on her feverish skin. He wanted to claim her just as much as he wanted to be made hers. In the vision, although she wasn’t sure now what was fiction and what was reality, one of her hands ran down his front and shakily entered his clothes, past the large belt and into his pants to grasp his length.

Her head was spinning. It was hard to focus when she could see from both of their perspectives. When she could feel both of their sensations and needs. It felt like an eternity before she reopened her eyes to find herself in the same exact position as the vision, only the muzzle was still on this time.

Ahsoka could feel him throbbing in her hand, a satisfied look in his eyes. She didn’t hesitate as she started moving her hand around him. Maul’s eyes were glued to hers, watching ever little change in her expression. The slight curl of her lips speaking of victory. His pupils were blown wide open with want. Ahsoka could see his breathing fogging up the metal of the gag. It would have been cruel to leave now. After all, she would be left begging for more too. But she could take care of herself.

She nuzzled her face into his neck, pressing a couple of kisses there but stopping when she heard his head thud against the panel behind him. Maul’s eyes rolled back into his skull and his hips rocked into her hand with a loud groan. He was at her complete mercy and there was something to be said about just how much he was eagerly giving in.

Her movements slowed before completely stopping. Maul understood the nature of the game. Ahsoka removed her hand from his pants, determined to make this last. She tucked his clothes back onto his large frame properly, giving a tug at his restraints to make sure they were still fully in place before gracefully unlocking her legs from around his waist and standing up. It left Maul admirative. She could show more self control than he had anticipated. Next time, he’d have to do better.

She’d visit him again now that she knew he was pliable.

Maul gave her a look that let her know he was looking forward to it.

[delbeugre]

Have you seen SADIE BEUGRE? DEL is in HER/THEIR SENIOR year. The MATHEMATICS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say SHE/THEY are GRITTY, BEWITCHING, RETICENT and WASPISH. Rumors say they’re a member of HASTINGS. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE BIT AN EX-BOYFRIEND’S PINKY FINGER OFF AFTER SHE FOUND OUT HE CHEATED, AND THEN HAPPILY SERVED TIME FOR IT.

im tommy im a freak and of course i am here to get freakalicious with u all... this is my newest frankenstein type creation named sadie i know .02% about her yet but i am more than confident she will b nothing but a fun time! like this if ur down to plot!

TW: VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF JAIL/PROSECUTION, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, DRUG USE

BACKSTORY

capricorn sun / virgo moon / scorpio rising

raised by her uncle Big (his name) who is a hermit shut in town local in the depths of the florida marshland like some goosebumps protagonist. hes gone far past socially acceptable in terms of his ability to connect with the modern person but is wise beyond belief... his whole vibe is a warped cross between a cryptid and a mountain man that forages and cooks neighborhood plants. married for 27 years before his wife passed from illness. its quite possibly the only thing hes ever been emotional about

but dels entry to his life throws a wrench in his sadness (despite abandonment being what they bond over). she takes the focus away from his loss with her presence; her dad, his brother, died in a tragic train-car collision around the same time (which is speculated to be a suicide bt nobody can ever really be sure). he was a single parent so her custody is thrown up in the air for a few months as cps decides what they r gna do with this freshly orphaned little scrapper

she just kinda turns up on his doorstep n from there they cohabit a space. shes arnd 6-7 at this time... big never seemed to b phased by the fact tht she was a child n tended to treat her more like an apprentice or guest. he was never close to her father because of their age difference, being the older out of the two, so to have his daughter become his responsibility is just..... weird

this doesnt mean that he wouldnt provide for her bt it was. not very parental whatsoever.... no conversation or interaction beyond what was necessary. she was a mute fr a while and still is? to a degree.... very short spoken

when she got to her preteens he offered her an allowance in exchange for little odds and ends of stuff to be taken care of around the house. errands n all tht.... sometimes he wld purposefully leave things for her to pick up n take care of without mentioning it for a bonus. taught her the importance of saving your money and the horrid corruptness of a society basing everythings worth off paper. big exposed her to a lot of knowledge and took advantage of her silent curiosity by fueling it with books, homeschooling, life skills (catching a fish, setting a trap, knowing your berries in the woods...... the works)

her teens carried out the same way bt with the introduction of a real job, a spot down at the local butcher shop checking people out at the register and helping around the back of house. del knows a great deal abt cow/pig/chicken/etc anatomy from her years here..... she committed to being 100% vegan into her early twenties because of her trauma frm this occupation

it paid very well tho n was the best gig she was going to get within a reasonable biking route from home. so she settled!

the plan wasnt to keep it up for long anyway. she worked rly hard for her spot at yates and didnt intend to ever screw herself over. her plan was to get her bachelors, masters, become a professor, pursue a personal hobby of agriculture and build an elaborate greenhouse to live in

bt things happen..... 

some 35yr old douche with a green thumb woos her at a gardening store n swoops in to teach her a little more abt romance; all of this, of course, under the guise that he had all these tips and tricks for living environmentally friendly. a lame hippie wannabe that shouldve never even approached her bt alas.... he did

love is a touchy subject n it hadnt been something she set her sights on, but she was interested in wht this dude could teach her n at 19 she ended up falling in love. she delayed her education to stay an extra year back home and work out another plan which included him

this was very disappointing to her uncle bt he didnt have anything to say abt it. it was never parental before n it was never going to be, so this was another lesson she wld just have to overcome on her own

it turns out that she doesnt care for infidelity. when the confession comes out its met with a lot of screaming, bawling, blistering white hot anger. the whole incident is blacked out of her mind to b honest....

matters of the heart are no longer something to concern herself with because of the repercussions of her rash behavior regarding heartbreak O________O she spent a year in jail n still has to attend therapy / anger management meetings

deep down she is still hurting. there was a lot of pain... bt the sadness is not over the loss of some noob. she is in a state of constant disappointment, detaching from herself out of shame. putting her own life on pause only for it to turn out like that? stupid stupid stupid... 

PERSONALITY

chugging along! tldr spectre-like swamp nymph aura with the slightest (not so slight) unhinged feral tendencies

delicate like a moth resting in the gleam of a flashlight.... her anger singes her wings when shes too comfortable staying in one place, so theres always constant stimulation, always shifting gears. shes prone to feeling threatened; that being said, sadie is wary of walking in crowds, a little bit skittish when approached without making eye contact beforehand. like a small grey kitten..... in a big wide world

has a hard time keeping a conversation bt is very interested in debate, and even more so in studying alongside someone in complete silence. it reminds her of home in the same sense tht her uncle wld nudge her to keep reading by always having his own book open

doesnt have many friends and is alright with that. rumors are tht she is still a virgin bt who really knows? not i...... bt i wldnt be surprised if this was true. shes not impressed by people nor material items so this whole yates crowd is a turn off

she is truly clueless when it comes to how to behave around anyone her age. i think she understands but it just doesnt compute. she could come off as impolite bt it is just standoffishness? some people cld try to crack her but i dont think even she knows what that would be, or what that would look like. even in her one (1) failed relationship it was never deep heart to hearts or sharing dinner..... solitude is her realm

del is very comfortable with herself, very open with her wardrobe! doesnt leave too much to the imagination? she appreciates the human experience n expresses that thru this whole “body is a temple” type thing.... not quite confidence, but proudness of being. has gotten multiple notices frm professors for her tops being too sheer, nylons too ratted up, etc. has dirt under her fingernails half the time, chipped polish, some chapstick. smudges her eyeshadow on with her fingers

doesnt smoke cigarettes all too often but is dependent on weed. it kinda perpetuates her paranoid demeanor bt at the same time it keeps her lax enough to be able to mentally handle city life

her room is a playground for huge monstera plants, christmas cacti, ivy creeping along the doorway. she sleeps on a tiny thin mattress on the floor with a linen sheet and has her books stacked up on the ground next to it to hold her ashtray. the whole thing is dumb empty

takes her studies seriously and pinches every penny she can..... she has never ordered herself a coffee frm somewhere before, ordered food frm a restaurant... nothing. i wld think the most she would branch out from harvesting everything on her own is buying a bag of sunflower seeds frm a gas station, but even then, she much prefers eating stuff she grows herself. has a tomato plant, some basil beginning to sprout, etc.... manageable crops for any college students tiny space

...

bt yea thats it thats all! connections cld be all over the place. im legit open to anything. theres only a few tht come to mind right off that bat: 

a few people that get along with her? same classes? they shared a bowl n now theyre getting into the nitty gritty of some personal conversation that is veering into no mans land....

some sort of clueless makeover moment? arent rly into sadie as a person bt see a lot of potential... perhaps need a plus one to a party on the fly and figure thats the best option theyve got

crushes? this wld be fun n potentially dangerous! like playing with a hot cast iron pan or something :)

again im vry new to rp so i wld like to leave a lot of stuff up to chemistry, brainstorming n stuff like that, but please consider everything on the table! what i hav mentioned is the tip of the iceberg im so burnt out n i wrote a lot more than i intended to i am so sorry but i promise i am friendly

[lunamusings]

Gravity Well

Chapter 9: Ruin and Preservation

A Loki x Lithium Fanfiction (CanonxOC)

Set before the events of Thor, Loki receives as large mysterious crate of alcohol the day before his birthday. What seems like a strange yet benign gift from an anonymous person ends up being more than he, or the woman at the bottom of the crate bargained for.

Chapter Warnings: mentions/aftermath of torture, Odin being awful

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Who knew oblivion would be made of deep void, sticky humidity and volcanic temperatures?

And gnawing thirst.

Loki was in the depths of this tailor-made hell when he heard the voices.

Not the voices of those who held him here, the ones that stripped him of every dignity and left him to rot here until they needed him to enact parts of their plan. Not the one in his head that solidified all his doubts and fears into tangible darkness in his mind.

Frigga's gentle bell-toned voice pierced through first, but Lithium's strong gravely words followed, both settling in his chest more than his ears. Hope and alarm bloomed in there with the reverberations of their astral voices.

"He’s in here, but there is much interference. I cannot say exactly where."

He felt a pull, like the very fibers of his being were coaxed forward.

"I can. I smell him."

"Scent should not work when projecting, not for a human."

"But I do smell him. I feel him. Trust me."

Then they appeared, silvery-tinged phantoms, glowing almost blindingly in the utter darkness before him.  As much as his heart cried out in joy to see them, he could not show it.  There were eyes in the darkness, eyes that saw beyond sight as his mother did. They would see them and there was nothing he could do to protect their astral projections should they attack. His state was far too weak to do battle in the astral plain, his powers in relative tatters.

His resolve lasted until he saw the looks are their ethereal faces, his face breaking as completely as theirs.

Lithium choked back a startled sound. "Loki, what the hell did they do to you?"

"You have to leave. It's not safe here."

Frigga found her voice. "If he says its dangerous, we cannot linger long. We must hurry. I will discover what I can."

Lithium's projection floated to him, kneeling, though he knew it was not necessary when walking in different plains. Still, it was a small comfort as her ghostly eyes met his. Her hands went through his face when she touched it, but he could feel her soft presence fill his mind, the cooling tingle of magic she pressed into her touch.

"When did you-"

"Shortly after we lost you."

"What are you-"

"It's better you don't know so it's harder to be undone."

Frigga returned  to them. "There's another walking the Plain. Remember you cannot battle here yet."

Lithium's face fell as she pushed more magic into him. "I'm sorry we can't do more."

For a brief moment, cold spread across his forehead as she pressed hers to it. She slowly retracted her hands, one hand lingering on the surface of his cheek. "I missed you."

As the unseen door burst open, all but blinding him, Lithium and Frigga disappeared, not doubt retreating back to their bodies in the material plain.  But something lingered in the residual feeling of her spectral hand on his face, something he pulled further into himself, a thin thread of life in the wasteland that he had barely lived in for…well he did not know how long he had been there.  It settled where he put it, like the echo of his pulse, small and subtle.

What spell could this have been and for what purpose?

Having thought that, he realized he did not care. His mother had found him. Lithium had come with her. That was all that mattered. While there were times, in his lucid moments, that he knew there were things to discuss with Frigga, seeing Lithium had been only joy, as short-lived as it was.

For now, as his jailer stated as his men pulled him from his chains, the plan was ready to begin.

He hated it with every bit of hate in him., but his mind, broken as it was, was not about to give up without a fight. He would do as he always did; adapt, survive and turn this in his favor. Let them think they had him under their control more than they did.

His body ached from the effort of standing before the Other and Thanos. But he would be their perfect little puppet. He already knew how to do that, it had been his life so far. Make it a good show and they would be none the wiser that he was not so completely theirs.

The Other cast his gaze at him as they finished his marching orders. He had already told him failure or treachery would leave him begging for pain instead of what they had to offer. What more could he possibly add?

"Remember, we do not just have to exact punishment on you to do this.  How long will the woman last under our care? Or the girl? Do not think for a moment we did not know they found you."

Loki schooled his expression into appropriate passiveness, though his knuckles went white around the scepter he was handed, the last piece of the puzzle he needed as the man they had been pushing him to influence put the finishing touches on the Tesseract portal generator.

I cannot say this was what I had planned to do in Midgard, but if it keeps them away from Mother and Lithium,  I can just make throwing Bart through a window a side-trip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wrapped in several blankets with an enormous pot of tea beside her earthenware cup and an equally huge magic tome, Lithium hunkered down on her bed, more than happy to rest while Frigga informed all those who needed to know that they had successfully found Loki, and due to the magical thread Lithium had connected to him, they knew he would not be staying where they had found him. She knew Frigga had her work cut out for her in delivering this news, as Odin had moved on with life with barely even a spare two seconds to what was thought to be Loki's suicide, and she did not want to be there for it. Sweet Frigga already stated, as they came out of the Astral plain, that she would insist that Lithium go with whoever was sent to retrieve him, which had the potential to cause problems.

Odin never had been particularly fond of her, especially after she managed to fracture his nose the day Loki let himself fall off the Bifrost. At best, he thought of her as a short-life, at worst…well, she had heard some unappealing comparisons of herself and undersized farm animals, when Odin thought she was too far away to hear him.

Good hearing from more than one source in her genetics was a mixed blessing,

She took a sip of tea and burrowed a little further into the blankets. Though she had been warned of the side effects of astral projection, she had not expected the intense cold to be bone-deep. The tea was helping, but only with her physical cold.

“Worth it." She took a bigger sip of tea and flipped the page in her book.

After the first few days of mourning, Lithium was going stir crazy on top of the emotional upheaval, so she went to Frigga for something to do. She would have taken menial labor at that point but the queen had other ideas.  The magic tome was but one part of said ideas. Even if she had never been able to cast magic like her two favorite Asgardians, she would have found the theory fascinating. While it did require a great deal of study, it was as much an art as it was a science, and given that that was the case for her anatomical drawing skills, it was not too much of a mental leap to make.

As it turned out though, Lithium had a natural affinity she was completely unaware of that she could only attribute to that mysterious "Other" category in her genetic profile. Frigga believed it to be latent magic ability that humans used to possess the last time she had been there. Either way, she threw herself into studying with all the hours she had to herself, taking reams of notes when not doing practical work.

While a magic user could learn all the many and varied disciplines, each had certain ones that came more easily than others. Frigga had been a practitioner long enough that she had become a master of nearly every discipline, though she started off with divination, while Loki blended transformation and illusion magic with his combat spells most of the time, tossing in the heavy-cost teleportation spells when needed. Lithium had found that healing and defensive magic were her strengths and utility magic seems to be on its way to that status as well, as she worked through that section of the book.

Or at least it would be once she stopped reading the same page for more than an hour and comprehending none of it due to anxiety over the conversation she knew was happening in the throne room.

She snapped the book shut and stuffed it back in her bag, pulling out a stack of sketches instead. She wandered over to her desk, still swathed in her blankets and pinned the sketches to a plush corkboard she had made when she found out Asgard had its own version of cork and the seamstresses had scraps of cloth that even they could not find use for. She stood back and admired her collage of obviously-drawn-by-someone-smitten-with-Loki sketches, confirming with herself once more that it was better not to take them with her when she left to find him.

This is probably going to be rough situation, no need to make it worse by having to explain THESE.

It was a struggle to keep her skin on when Thor burst in her door, speaking in his usual manner for the first time in months. That was the silver lining in him scaring a large amount of daylights from her.

"TINY LITHIUM, YOU MUST HURRY! FATHER HAS AGREED TO SEND YOU WITH ME BUT YOU HAVE ONLY FIVE MINUTES TO GET READY!"

Lithium tossed her blankets back on the bed and shouldered her bag, almost positive that Odin set the time limit to exclude her. One thing she had learned shortly after she woke up from her three-day grief nap was that not only was Odin a questionable father, but likely a misogynist on top of that, at least when it came to women other than Frigga. Women took forever to get ready for anything, right?

She rolled her eyes as she smoothed the front of her incredibly simple tunic after pulling her Asgardian-style boots on. "Good news, I'm ready now."

She grasped her bag in both arms when she suddenly found herself tucked under Thor's arm as he ran back to a secluded courtyard behind the throne room complex. She accepted that this was her fate when it came to living in Asgard. Even the ladies in Asgard had, at times, lifted her and put her elsewhere, though that was usually for clothing fittings from the sweet seamstresses. Still, the number of times she had been moved about in such a manner was growing by the day. Thor did not even bother to put her down when they found Odin, though this was probably for the better, because it redirected her withering glare to the ground instead of right to Odin's face.

Odin did not even bother to greet her, merely raised his hand and began his dark transportation spell. "If the power tears you into minuscule shreds, girl, do not blame me in the afterlife."

Lithium sighed. "I'll keep that in mind, Majesty."

If the sarcasm she could not entirely contain came through, Odin did not show it, aside from casting the spell almost immediately afterward. The dark power did not bother her at all as they were taken apart and put back together by it, just as the Bifrost would have had it not been in multiple pieces. Arriving in the middle of a Thor-induced storm, in the sky just above an all too familiar style of mid-sized aircraft was far more jarring.

She felt the tug of her spell immediately linking her to the aircraft below. She yelled as Thor shifted her onto his back with surprising ease has Mjonir pulled them toward the craft. "He's in there! In the back, probably a cargo hold!"

Thor nodded and dropped below the clouds. "I'll set you down in a safe place and go back for him."

Lithium nodded, even though she would have rather been there with him. There was sense in leaving her behind for a short time, though, if only because they did not know who else was there with Loki. She sat down on a large rock and watched Thor take back off into the sky. She twiddled her thumbs in the literal sense, watching the place where Thor disappeared.

In hindsight, she should not been surprised when Thor slammed Loki into the ground mere feet from where she was perched, yet she fell off the back of the rock with a less than dignified squawk. The contents of her bag spilled all over the ground as the hook popped open on impact. She scrabbled to gather her things and popped back up to find out what the yelling was about.

"Now listen here, brother-" Thor went flying sideways with a blast of smoke by some strange red and gold blur.

Loki tilted his head slightly. "I'm listening."

Lithium stifled both the laugh that bubbled up and the sob that competed with it. He was there, both of them in the same place, on the same plain of existence. It had been far too long.

"Loki?" She slid out of the shadows, irrational nervousness stilling her approach. She ran one hand across the other, unable to keep going until he turned to face her.

"Lithium? You're here?" His mildly amused expression broke when his eyes met hers.

Her feet did what her mind could not, carrying her right to him. She threw her arms around his chest, but stopped just short of squeezing him too hard. Despite her rolling emotions, she remembered the heat of the room he was in, the injuries she felt as she connected her astral self to his, and held him gently.

"Of course I am here." She looked up at him, her tears falling freely.

Several emotions flashed across his face, but settled on the most tired smile she had seen before he returned her hug. His embrace was far tighter than hers had been, his arms shaking around her.

[the-rebel-archivist]

Love & Duty

The camp was so empty without him there. It had always felt full to bursting when Alistair was around. His personality pervaded through any space he was in, leaving no room for loneliness or sadness.

Lyna had set up her tent while it was still light out but now shadows cast by the light of her bonfire danced on the canvas. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted and its mate answered as they hunted together in the darkness. The sky was devoid of stars, the only light from above faded moonlight partially obscured by clouds. It felt a little like rain, heavy and silent. It would be appropriate if it rained tomorrow. 

She shivered in the chill from the evening and moved closer to the fire. Before, he would have put his arm around her and pulled her close, freely sharing his warmth; he always had run hot. Now she was alone.

She hadn’t had to be. She could have been inside the city at the palace instead of on her own just outside the tall stone walls. Alistair certainly wasn’t lonely tonight, on this, the last night before he was wed. He was probably completely intoxicated and surrounded by the gaggle of vapid women who seemed to dog his steps nowadays. It was embarrassing to watch them throw themselves at him. She would never fawn over him the way they did, simpering and swooning at every stray glance or word from his mouth. She respected him more than that. He’d invited her to come tonight, of course - she was his best ‘man’, after all. But attending the wedding and feigning happiness tomorrow would be trying enough as it was so she had made her excuses and left the city. She would return to the castle before the sun was up to dress for the grand event. She needed time alone to think, and couldn’t get it inside the confined, monochrome palace.

The fire was dying down and she threw another small log on, wanting a bit more time before she resigned herself to restless sleep. The light flickered and tiny pockets of sap crackled as the fire consumed the new wood. She would have to be up very early to bathe before leaving or else she’d smell like smoke, but she’d do it. She was determined to outshine any of the fine ladies who were far more suitable for court life than a Dalish elf such as herself. Ladies who were acceptable to be queen or princess or teyrna or whatever foolish, invented title they held.

This wedding had always been coming. She’d arranged it herself, a perfect marriage of convenience to secure peace in Ferelden. Of course, when she had pushed Alistair take up the kingship she had intended to share his throne. She was going to end the Blight and then have her perfect happily ever after ending; she should have known better than to believe that even then. She hadn’t been so naive as to think that her being an elf wouldn’t be a problem, but her feelings and misplaced confidence had blinded her. How had she allowed what she felt to cloud her judgement? She knew better than that. 

When she had faced resistance to her plans she had changed tack with barely a blink, orchestrating a union between him and the dowager queen, with whom she had made an arrangement that would allow her to remain by his side. Everything had been meticulously planned, all possible outcomes accounted for. She had only failed to consider the impossible. The hurt she felt now wasn’t her fault, it was his. There was no way she could have possibly considered that he would leave her. It was a variable that had she had never factored in.

She picked up her spade from her pack. With no one else to mind the fire she would rather wrap herself tighter in her blankets to keep out the chill than allow for the fire to potentially become unmanageable while she wasn’t conscious to control it. She should try to sleep anyway -  this disgusting self pity needed to be suffocated before it began in earnest. It served no one well for her to start thinking about what ifs. The flames hissed as she piled earth over them to snuff them out. 

It was much darker now that the fire was only scattered embers, but she knew instinctively where her tent was; she always set it up the same way when she was alone.

She hadn’t used this blanket in a while. For some time now she’d been recovering in the city and hadn’t needed it. This was the first occasion for her to take it from her pack. The smoke from the fire had irritated her eyes, she thought to herself when she unfolded it. That was why they were watering, no other reason. She hadn’t cried since she had seen that Alistair was still standing after the archdemon was dead and she blamed that weakness only on the sudden lack of adrenaline. There would be no tears now, even if the blanket did still carry the smells of leather and sweat and harsh lye soap, the same scents that she had loved to breathe in as she curled up next to him. That part of her life was as over as the Blight.

If Morrigan were here, she would know what to say. The witch had disappeared after the battle and so both of her dearest friends had departed, though only one was physically distant. Morrigan could have shaken her from this abyss she found herself in, knocked away the heartsickness that made her feeble with a few well chosen jabs. But she was gone and presumably pregnant with the child of the man Lyna loved. She felt a pang of some indefinable jealousy and swallowed hard. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. It was unpleasant.

For a moment she had considered refusing Morrigan’s offer to complete the ritual that would allow both her and Alistair to survive. Some brief dramatic inclination had tempted her to allow the archdemon to take her now that she was without the man she loved. She still didn’t know what had come over her then. Morrigan had helped. Even though Lyna was well aware that she had her own private motivations for the ritual, the witch’s words to her had rung true. It was not worth it to give up everything for any man, not even the one who had pieced back together her fragmented soul after she had become a Warden, the one that she needed to complete her. 

No, she didn’t need him. She shouldn’t allow herself to think that way. It was more than possible for her to be whole alone, she had never felt like she was missing anything before him. He was to blame for ever having made her so pathetic, with his idiotic, beautiful grins and stupid, clever jokes. It was his fault that she was heartbroken.

Maybe she flattered herself, but she thought he needed her too. 

No, not too. Stop that. 

He wasn’t shrewd or calculating. He was too trusting for his own good. She had decided to become his chancellor to help him. It was all for him. It was to preserve the peace she’d brokered. Her girlish emotions would be put aside so that she might be of service to him. She was not interested in any political gains for herself.

Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she balled up her fists and bit her lip until she tasted blood. It was all a lie. She had always made an effort to be brutally honest with herself when the situation required. The lies she whispered to herself were just that, and she was uncomfortably aware just how untrue they were even as she told them. She would never beg for him to take her back, not ever. But the thought of a life without him was intolerable, completely unimaginable. There was no altruistic desire to help a country that she felt little attachment to. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to be near him because she was an idiot and couldn’t let him go. Perhaps helping him would allow her to assuage her own guilt.

Maybe this situation is all your fault, she thought as she stared upwards at the darkness. Alistair didn’t break your heart, you stupid child, you did. It was something she must accept; she had miscalculated. She had reduced people to chess pieces on a board rather than living, feeling beings and had grown upset when they didn’t behave like automatons. It was not a mistake she was liable to make again, but now she must endure this path she had unintentionally chosen.

She lay on her bedroll, unsleeping, for the rest of the night.

---

Nobody seemed to notice her entering the next morning. Servants fluttered about, busily preparing for the feast that would begin in the afternoon and not end for two days. No one had a single thought to spare the quiet elf, hair still damp from river water, resolutely striding down the halls before most of the nobles had arisen. Lyna was glad of it. It was going to be trying enough to converse with the other guests later; needing to put on her social mask early and act the happy Hero of Ferelden to any servants might overexert her before it mattered.

Her room wasn’t in the guest quarters. As chancellor, she had a room nearer to Alistair’s than was quite comfortable. She hadn’t taken any pains to make it feel like hers, but nobody who entered would have assumed that it was anyone else’s - it either belonged to her or was a storage closet for Grey Warden memorabilia. All of the commemorative glasses and dishes and ridiculous carved figurines of archdemons and griffins were stacked in a corner - Alistair had insisted she get one of everything made. It was unclear what their purpose was or what she would ever do with them, and so they sat, untouched, in a pile. 

The room itself was lavishly furnished, with a four poster bed made from some dark wood that gleamed with lacquer, a rug so plush that it made her somewhat uncomfortable to walk on in stocking feet, and reddish coloured tapestries with images of Mabari embroidered on them on the walls. Alistair had told her that he’d replace the musty old wall hangings with anything she wanted but she hadn’t made any suggestions. He took far more of an interest in her living space than she did. 

She had left her dress laid out on the bed and the tiny pots and jars that held the cosmetics she made herself by the glass in the room. The mirror was the only part of the room she had requested. It was the largest she had ever seen; she could almost see her whole body in it while standing up. She still wasn’t used to the luxury of being able to see her reflection when getting ready, but appreciated it today.

Piece by piece, she laid her armour on the stand in a corner. It had been broken and repaired so many times that it was likely beyond fixing now. It hadn’t seemed to be worthwhile to invest in something better - a week ago she had received a missive requesting that she travel to Orlais to meet the Warden Commander there and be fitted for new armour. She was sure it would look nicer than the leather that had grown soft and ragged; Orlesians were known for their fashion sense. It would be uncomfortable until she became accustomed to its stiffness though - new armour was always so unpliable.

Her dress was long and as green as her eyes, the fabric shiny and stiff in its own way. Though it was tight around her waist it had no corset. She couldn’t have worn one even if she wanted to anyway due to the long wound from the archdemon’s claw that wrapped from just under her right breast to the back of her left hip. It had mostly healed now but was taking longer than the mages and physicians had expected. Ever since the blight sickness that had necessitated her becoming a Warden everything seemed to take longer to heal, even with magical help. Her own frailty and powerlessness to make herself heal angered her.

The gown left her shoulders bare and revealed a decolletage that she was really quite proud of. It could definitely hold its own among humans, and Alistair certainly hadn’t complained. Golden threads were embroidered across her bodice and the loops of fabric that served as sleeves. Roses and griffons - it had been her special request that everything be connected by sharp, thorny vines. She could almost feel their prickliness. The seamstresses had done well. 

She looked impassively at herself in the glass. Yes, this would do. She cut quite a serviceable silhouette. This gown was far longer and nicer than any she had ever worn before, and yet it already felt like an extension of her skin, made exactly to her taste, protecting her. Anora’s dress would likely be overcomplicated and gaudy in its detail in contrast to the simple elegance of this one. Good.

Taking one of the jars from the top of the dresser she applied a powder to her face. The cut on her right cheek was still so ugly and angry. Just when she had thought it was almost healed it had gotten infected, twice. At least now it would be less visible. The powder covered her vallaslin too so she traced over it with something dark green, darkening and filling out the tattoos. She used the same green on her eyelids before darkening her eyelashes and pinching her cheeks, finishing everything off with a reddish-brown lip paint. There was a time when she didn’t wear makeup as heavily, but today she needed it. It would help her hide the feelings she was determined to suppress. It would allow her to be beautiful again.

Peering into the mirror again she took in the full effect of her transformation. Last few touches now, she thought as she dabbed perfume from a small vial onto her pulse points. Amber, jasmine, tuberose. All difficult to come by but important for the occasion. Hair down. He’d always liked that. She brushed it out and styled it quickly; it had dried nicely, the platinum waves cooperating for once and falling softly midway down her back. 

She was going to torture him.

There was a knock at the door. Arrayed for battle now, she was ready to be charming and sociable and nothing like the Dalish savage she’d heard herself described as.

His lopsided grin nearly broke the resolve to control her feelings that she had so carefully nurtured all night. She was going to torture him? The man hadn’t said a word and yet he’d dispelled all the determination gained the evening before.

“Soooo, how do I look?” he asked, as he exaggeratedly posed to show off multiple different angles.

Lovely. Adorable. Handsome. Happy. But she couldn’t tell him those things. Was there anything to say to that that was safe, for either of them?

“Like you could almost be the minor lord of some distant province.”

“Ouch! I think I clean up rather well, thank you very much.” He looked away from her face for the first time and was less than subtle in his appreciation of her dress. Oh, he was trying to be subtle, there was no doubt about that, but she knew him better than she knew herself. 

“I won’t tell you how nice you look - it’s plain on your face that you know exactly how distractingly beautiful you are and I don’t need you going and getting cocky on my day.” He had always been so good at deflecting with humour. Sometimes it had annoyed her, but today it seemed like it would be her saving grace.

“Now if you’ll let me in, I promise it’ll be worthwhile,” he said as he pulled a flask out from an inner pocket of his jerkin and waved it at her conspiratorially.

She looked at him incredulously. “I don’t know how you can even look at that after last night.”

“A fair point. And yet...” He laughed with that beautiful, full laugh that made her want to burst out laughing with him. She didn’t. “It ended earlier than planned, actually - less fun without you.” He looked down as he said the last bit and refused to meet her eyes.

She made a space for him and he entered the room, making a beeline for the stack of trash in the corner. Rooting through the boxes, he produced two low glasses with pewter griffins stuck to one side.

“See, I told you this junk would be good for something.” 

His voice was a little less confident than it usually was. It made sense that he would be nervous today.

Lyna sat down on the bed. While Alistair poured the whiskey, focusing intently on ensuring that the liquid was even in both glasses with his tongue to the side of his mouth, she took the opportunity to really look at him. He was starched and ironed within an inch of his life and the red and gold of his clothing was positively regal. Theirin colours. He might not like it, but kingship did suit him. Her Ali, put together for once in his life.

He’s not your Ali. What is wrong with you? Al-ist-air. No more nicknames.

A glass was placed in her hand and the space on the bed beside her taken up as Alistair sat down. 

“Just a little drink, is it?” she asked him as she swirled the rather generous amount of amber liquid around. She could smell how smoky it was even from far away.

A flush spread over his cheeks. “I needed a little courage, and well, I just kept trying to make them even and then there was so much…”

“You’re an idiot, Alistair.” She smiled at him softly and felt the doe-eyed expression on her face that she couldn’t seem to stop. You’re the idiot here, Lyna. Stop it. Why does he make you so weak?

“Cheers to my idiocy.”

The whiskey burned in her mouth, then left a sweetness on her tongue that faded away into a bitter aftertaste.

“I wanted to see you before everything, just us,” he said, meeting her eyes intently. “Lyna, I’m terrified. It’s going to be so… there are... a lot of people. It will be hard.” Somewhere in the middle of his speech he had had to turn away and look down at his lap. His fingers traced the embroidery at the bottom of his vest. She didn’t think her heart could break more - maybe it couldn’t for herself, but it broke for him.

He had never been one to mind an audience; she knew what he was saying. The stolen glances and studious avoidance of any physical contact told her that he was still pretending, too. If she was thinking clearly she would put her guard up now, shield herself with anger, but this was Ali. He needed her.

“I’m scared too,” she said in some attempt to be reassuring. Scared to lose him, scared that she would somehow become unhinged and scream or cry, scared that she wouldn’t. She wished that she could take his hand in hers, at least comfort him properly. But it was too risky. She couldn’t allow herself to do that if she had any hope of not telling him to run off into the sunset with her. She would not under any circumstances let herself be that weak. They both had duties to fulfill. 

“You can’t be scared! If you’re afraid then there’s no hope for me.” He was still uncharacteristically serious, but a slight twinkle appeared in his eye and a half smile played in the corner of his mouth. She did love that little smile, the one that so often broke out into a dopey grin. Sometimes, when he did that after he said something stupid and funny and looked at her like he was just waiting for her to groan she used to wipe it off his face with a kiss. It caught him off guard every single time.

That is enough, Lyna, why are you doing this to yourself.

“Tell you what,” he began, “If you can keep it together then so can I. I’ll take your lead, just like old times.”

Like old times. Times when this ridiculous boy had been so afraid of command that he put an untested girl in charge - and she’d made him king. Another reason why she needed to stay here in Denerim to look out for him.

“I can guard your flank and pick off any enemies who get too close.” 

He chuckled. “I’m glad you’ll have my back. You were always good at that - except for that one time, you remember, the day I said something that was very likely quite horrible to Morrigan and she hit me with my own frying pan while you just watched.”

“I didn’t have time to react! And besides, it was just a little tap.” She was truly smiling now. It had been really funny, though she had worried for him at the time. Morrigan had been so angry; she couldn’t even remember what about now. 

“Oh was it? Easy for you to say. I’ve never felt more betrayed by something that usually brings so much joy. By which I mean the pan.” He grimaced petulantly and Lyna took another sip of her whiskey to try to contain her laughter.

That solemn expression returned to Alistair’s face and he shuffled slightly in his seat before opening and closing his mouth as though he was working up the courage to say something.

“I’m glad you’ll be with me,” he said softly. “I could use my family being near - we are still family, right?” They had promised to always be that to each other, but that promise was so very long ago, before everything.

“We’ll always be family.” She still meant it, even if she was hurt, even when it was difficult to spend time with him. It was the only way left that she could allow herself to care for him.

He gathered her up in one of his enthusiastic, tight hugs and she had to take care not to spill her glass due to his fervour. Her face was pressed against his shoulder, the satin of his finery soft on her skin. He smelled like soap. And warmth and love. The heat from his body made her realize how very cold her arms were. She was afraid to let go; letting go meant that all of this was over.

Her clan had never stayed in one place for too long, certainly not long enough to grow attached to a place. The concept of home was one that she had barely understood - until she had met him. Here, now, together: this was home. 

I’m so sorry, she thought, not sure whether she meant it for herself or for Alistair.

---

The golden band in her hand felt as though it was burning a circle into her flesh. 

Some insane part of her had never truly believed that it would actually happen, even as she got ready - even while she took her place slightly off to Alistair’s side. Why had she agreed to stand beside him? She could have refused. She could have been a guest, like their other friends in attendance. There were so many eyes on Alistair, and on her, their hero. She would need to keep tight control over her features so that she didn’t accidentally betray herself. At least she was sure that she wouldn’t cry. She had held it together with Alistair earlier. She would be fine.

Music played as Anora walked from the back of the great hall towards where he stood. It sounded joyful, but to Lyna it was as mournful as a funeral dirge.

Alistair shifted from one leg to the other uncomfortably and pulled at his collar before turning to her for reassurance. Their eyes met and a wash of understanding flooded through both of them: it was a goodbye. There had always been some hope while they were both still free, but this marriage denoted a definitive break. 

I love you too, Ali, she told him in her answering gaze. He turned back and squared his shoulders, prepared now to do his duty.

She would never again express her feelings on the matter. Not with words, not with her eyes, she would hide it all.

Anora caught her eye as she approached and looked at her graciously, inclining her head ever so slightly toward her with a polite smile on her face as befit such a well-bred lady. She knew she had won; she understood courtly games and intrigue far more than Lyna did. The place she filled could so easily have gone to another - maybe even to Lyna, had she been more experienced and well connected. Maybe something could have outweighed the fact that she was an elf. Lyna was a quick study; she smiled back, beaming at her as though this was the outcome she had intended all along and made an effort to hide the ice in her eyes. 

Wedding dresses in Ferelden were going to be black for years to come, Lyna could already see it. Anora’s gown was as decorated as she had expected it to be, a dusky satin overlaid with complex embroidery in golden thread and embellished with rubies. It wasn’t simple like her own dress, but it was far from gaudy despite the sheer amount of ornamentation. Anora had impeccable taste. She could choke on her perfect fashion sense. Was there anything that Lyna could do that Anora couldn’t do better? She stood a decent chance to be a good, perhaps even great monarch, but dread wolf take her.

She had never seen a chantry wedding. It didn’t seem much different from the bonding ceremonies in her clan, just presided over by a woman in a big hat rather than a keeper. There was a time when had wondered if Alistair would have agreed to be bonded in the Dalish way. Maybe if she’d pushed to run off and get married in the woods she wouldn’t be standing here now, watching the queen promise to love and care for the man she loved.

She was going to keep that promise - Lyna had made it clear to her how seriously she should take it. She wasn’t sure if it made it easier or more difficult to know how little Anora cared for him.

As Anora made her promises in her clear, confident voice, Lyna could have sworn that she heard a sharp crack as her heart broke. 

It was Alistair’s turn next. She had to hand him the ring. Something that was not Lyna but took her form walked forward and placed it in his hand before returning to her place. Their fingers touched, but she might as well have been made of wood for all she felt. She was frozen, lifeless and cold, watching with unseeing eyes, listening with unhearing ears as Alistair said his vows. 

Somehow, it didn’t hurt.

The chantry mother pronounced them husband and wife and more music played. Very little was different, only a few words had been spoken, and yet everything had changed. She had worried that what came next would be the hard part, but it seemed that the hardest part was already over and she had come out the other side. Here there was no sadness, no pain… no feelings at all. Now she could be strong again, no longer distracted by childish dreams. 

Her heart was buried, the dark closing around it. There was some comfort in the knowledge that it would not be disturbed any longer.

She played her role as the supportive friend, the Hero of Ferelden, for the rest of the day and felt absolutely nothing.

[touchmycoat]

kinktober: day 28

day 28: writing on the body

this wasn’t meant to be sickfic, much less incomplete sickfic, but here we are. I’ll finish, clean, and post to AO3 later.

The rendezvous was on a summer island once more, the air so superheated this time that even Ace wanted to run around fully nude. He couldn’t feel excessively hot or anything, what with literally being fire and all—it was just the atmosphere the whole island brought about. It made him want to sweat and run for a dunk in a freshwater lake or wrestle someone for an icy shower.

Others didn’t have it so easy. Thatch’s hair had gone fully limp since day zeroth, whatever he used to keep up the ‘do melting and dripping off his forehead in nasty milky trails. Marco was okay, though little licks of blue fire keep getting spotted on his exposed skin, healing the sunburns he swore he didn’t get.

Sabo, when he got to the island, promptly took off all his clothes.

“Don’t,” he ordered, dunking his hands into the tub of water that had gone tepid in a matter of minutes after Ace prepared it, “touch me, ‘cause I won’t be held responsible for what I’ll do.”

“Aw, babe, I’ve missed you too,” Ace replied, tone as dry as Sabo’s hair was wet, now that he’s gone and sank his entire head into the water. “Aren’t Revolutionaries supposed to be hardier? You’re gonna let a little heat wave get you down?”

“I may also be running a little fever,” was Sabo’s admission. Ace scanned him in alarm, and now noticed an unnatural pink flush under his skin. “Everything is unpleasant and I’m dying.”

“I’m assuming that’s hyperbole.”

“Well I don’t keep sucking a doctor’s dick for no reason—where the fuck is Marco?”

Exploring, was the answer to that, and Sabo looked as impressed with it as Ace expected him to—which is to say, not at all.

“The one time I need him,” Sabo cursed in blatant mistruth. “That’ll teach me to ever trust again. There’s no way around it then—Ace, we have to go old school.”

“Unless you’ve brought your own eel’s blood, I can’t help you there,” Ace answered warily.

“I meant—”

“Nor do I have ginger root and all the necessary needles.”

With a sigh of frustration, Ace approached and hovered his hand about Sabo’s forehead, taking heed of Sabo’s warning against physical contact and hoping, sometime in the past five minutes, his fruit has given him some miraculous sensitivity to temperature in air convection. It hasn’t, but Sabo heaved a sigh of his own, and sullenly leaned his head into Ace’s hand.

“...Yikes.” It took a moment for Ace to translate the sensation on his hand to a normal human context. “You’re really burning.”

“If you truly love me,” Sabo muttered, peeling his head away with a grunt, “you’d go hunt an eel.”

“If I truly love you,” Ace corrected, pulling a den den mushi out of his bag, “I’d call Marco.”

One of Marco’s division members picked up.

“Hey Commander!” was Aoi’s cheery greeting. “Gimme a sec, our Commander’s left us a bit behind.”

“Just put me on the loudest volume,” Ace advised. As soon as she did, Ace yelled into the sparse canopy of trees in the broadcast, “hey Marco! Sabo’s dying!”

A beat. A burst of blue flames. A familiar face emerging with a frown.

“I’m assuming that’s hyperbole, yoi.”

“How would you know?” Sabo complained, not even looking at the den den mushi, so bleary-eyed he was and swaying on the spot. “You’re not here to anally probe me with a thermometer or anything.”

Giggling, and a cough. “Thanks, Aoi, I’ll take it from here.” Marco took his den den mushi and walked off down a more secluded path, waving his exploration team ahead. He wove between thick purple tree trunks until finally settling against one, staring into his side of the projection with overt concern. “Are you feverish? What symptoms are there yoi, and when did they start?”

This time, when Sabo opened his mouth to speak, a pallor suddenly washed across his face. He ended up tossing his head back in determined swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as the tendons in his throat stood out in stark relief.

“Well,” Ace took over in dismay, “I think it’s safe to say he’s experiencing nausea. No coughing or sniffling so far. He just came in with a fever and didn’t want me to touch him.”

“Oh?” Marco took in the sight of Sabo standing completely nude, presumably assessing the cause. “Sabo, is it just general sensitivity, or does contact with your skin actually hurt?”

“Hurt is relative,” Sabo said, because even halfway to incoherent he needed to be difficult, “but I’m guessing you’re not telling me to compare it to being burned alive by actual fire.”

“Good guess yoi, I’m not telling you to do that,” was Marco’s flat reply. “Just compare being touched right now to, oh, your regular old knife wound.”

“Then sure, it hurts.”

“Okay any wounds, potential infections? Insect bites?”

“Not that I can see,” Ace reported, after an inspecting circle around Sabo. “Do you think he was poisoned then?”

“I mean, maybe?” Neither Sabo nor Ace had a response to Marco’s bewilderment. “But if he’s not saying anything about being poisoned yoi, we should just assume it’s a regular cold.”

Ace frowned. “How do you mean?”

“How do you mean, how do I mean?” Marco asked slowly.

“Well someone must’ve done this to him,” Ace argued logically. “How else could he contract an illness?”

“He could be immunocompromised for any number of reasons, and just—germs, viruses yoi. I don’t—” At Ace’s unyielding moue of incomprehension, Marco scratched frustratedly at the back of his head. “Honestly, if you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, then that actually makes the possibility of Sabo being poisoned higher. How about it, Sabo? Any possibilities?”

“Yes.” Sabo blinked, and almost actually collapsed, knees buckling for just a tiny moment. Ace darted out to catch him, but refrained at the last moment from actual contact when Sabo managed to stay upright. “Okay I confess, I wasn’t listening to anything you guys were saying.”

“Lie down, for goodness sake,” Marco hissed, more out of worried sympathy than anger.

“It’ll hurt.”

“It’ll hurt a lot worse when you fall on your face, and I gotta carry you over to the bed,” Ace pointed out. He waved his arms about to herd Sabo in the direction of the mattress. “Just—lie flat on your back, and don’t move.”

“Breathing hurts too,” was Sabo’s whimpering complaint. But he did shy away from Ace’s hands and start moving toward the bed. His movements were stiff and obviously pained, and when one knee sunk into the mattress, Sabo made a sound of such utter distress that Marco flinched, all the way on the other end of the line.

“Okay yoi, I’m on my way back. But in the meantime Ace, grab the first aid kit I brought.” The tree trunks started to blur behind Marco as he jogged, then sprinted down the mountainside. “There should be a jar in the top right corner full of thick dark red paste.”

The first aid kit was a sizable buckle-up box that Marco brought onto every island landing. Every doctor and nurse practitioner in his division carried one.

“Looks like chili? Yup, got it.” The jar was larger than Ace’s fist and densely packed. He popped the top and sniffed it, expecting a punch of spice. What he got instead was an herbal sweetness, not overwhelming at all.

“Water down the paste a little bit, but leave it thick enough to paint with. There should be a pretty big brush in the kit as well yoi.”

When Ace found the brush and wielded it up in the air, Sabo’s eyes widened.

“You better not be planning on touching me with that thing.”

“At this point,” Ace commented with a side-eye look at Sabo’s awkward positioning, three limbs braced on the bed with the fourth still pending pain, “would it be worse?”

“Hopefully it’ll relieve the discomfort.” Marco made an unhappy noise, aimed at himself. “I gotta hang up—I’ll get there faster if I fly. But yes Ace, paint the liquid on any surface of the skin that’s in pain. It should be absorbed pretty quickly, and it’s fine if you paint over the same spots yoi. If it hurts worse, stop, and we’ll figure it out when I get back.”

“Got it.” Ace offered Marco a little smile meant to reassure. “We’ll see you soon then.”

Marco hung up with a rush of blue flames, and Sabo let out the most agonized groan yet, settling fully back onto the mattress. He’d tossed the pillow on the floor, and now held himself so rigidly against the soft sheets. Ace busied himself with the preparation of the water and paste in the basin he had given first to Sabo, but could barely take his eyes off of Sabo’s expression, eyes screwed shut and lips pressed into two pale, bloodless lines.

“Sabo,” Ace said lowly, in comfort, “the medicine’s ready. We’ll start with a small spot, okay? Where does it hurt worse?”

Sabo’s hands couldn’t even clench into fists—they were flexed tightly, like even touching himself was out of the question.

“Chest,” he bit out through teeth gritted so hard, Ace was genuinely keeping an eye out for blood spots along the gums. “Over my heart.”

The paste that Ace has mixed up looked like Thatch’s signature berry reduction, dripped with the consistency of that same dessert topping. With just one corner of the flat brush (the kind used for painting planks of wood and walls), Ace soothed a spot of it on Sabo’s left pectoral, watching in fascination as the color immediately soaked into the skin, drying until it sat like a tattoo.

“Can’t feel a thing,” came Sabo’s grudging admission. “You might need more.”

“Alright,” Ace agreed, soaking the entire width of the brush bristles. They were soft-ended and flexible, as if Marco prepared it for this very purpose in mind—minimizing pain in hypersensitive skin. “Here we go.”

Sabo’s breath came ragged and harsh when Ace stroked the brush more fully down his chest. The moment the paste started soaking into the skin however, a keening cry of relief left Sabo’s throat.

“That,” he demanded. “That. Just—everywhere.”

[hymn2000]

Where The Darkness Ends - MCU AU fanfic - C5

Story summary: The concept of having a baby has been more of an idea for a long time now. Ideal candidates for a three-person baby, Loki and Tony have finally, after many Peter-based setbacks and challenges, got to the point of being tested. Now, they just have to wait for the results before they can move on to the next stage.

Previous Chapter(s): 1 2 3 4

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family stuff, mental health stuff, hurt/comfort, hospital/medical stuff, fertility stuff, IVF, potentially some medical inaccuracies

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 5 - If It Helps

-

In a misguided attempt to carry on as normal, Loki went to work the next day. He ignored Tony’s cries and protests and very firmly said that he was going regardless. Tony was too worn down to fight him too much, and too hurt to try to beg him to stay any more than he had done already.

-

It felt strange going to the hospital, as though he hadn’t been there for weeks. Still, he felt like he needed to keep busy, and in his mind, this was the best way to do it. He knew that everyone on his ward knew he’d had some bad news, but Jo Jo was the only one who knew exactly what that bad news was. So hopefully he could avoid the pitying glances.

Jo Jo knew better than most just how horribly the results of the fertility test were going to affect Loki, and he also knew that calling attention to it wouldn’t be wise. 

Jo Jo popped up as soon as Loki reached the hospital.

“Hi!” he said brightly. “Say, have you got any of those cherry energy drinks that I could steal? I had a late night and I’m definitely starting to slow down already”

Loki watched him for a moment, touched that he was trying to act normal, and grateful of the immediate distraction. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as he was expecting.

-

Loki didn’t last long. He knew he was foolish to think he could just carry on as normal. Everything on the ward suddenly had much more gravity to it. He was surrounded by expectant parents and babies and everything that went with it. He tried to distance himself a bit, doing light duties like blood work. But he couldn’t escape from the conversation of medical notes, and the excited families talking about their latest buys and possible baby names. 

Loki generally got to know his patients pretty well, and a lot of them wanted to speak to him, and tell him how they were getting on - and show him their latest ultrasound scans and nursery plans. 

Loki fought to stay strong for as long as he could, but it was hard work, and his mind couldn’t help being heavily distracted by what had happened at the clinic, and what he’d lost before he’d even had the chance to have it. 

There was one patient who Loki had gotten to know a little bit, who was having her first scan and check up after a successful round of IVF. Loki tried to distance himself, but the more she spoke, and the more he found his mind wandering to the realms of what could have been, the worse he felt. His heart was thudding, and he was starting to feel sick. He took a deep breath and grabbed a passing colleague.

“Mary, could you take over here for me, please?”

“Yeah, ok..”

Mary took over, giving Loki a concerned look as he rushed off. She knew something was wrong - all the staff had been told that much - but she knew it must be something even bigger than she’d first expected. She’d never seen Loki like this before.

-

Loki shut himself in the locker room and sat down heavily on one of the benches, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. This was so much harder than he’d thought it was going to be. But he was an idiot to think that he could work on a ward surrounded by babies and pregnancy and not feel horribly struck down by it all. 

There was a knock on the door. Loki didn’t look up, but he heard the door open and close, and he felt someone sit down beside him.

“Hi, Loki” the person said. “Jo Jo told me what happened. He said you wouldn’t mind if it was just me”

Loki sat up straight and looked at Mr Lesley. He was a consultant Loki knew from handovers and the occasional after-work drink. He didn’t know him too well, but he knew a few things about him. Like the fact they were in the same boat.

“We didn’t even think about the possibility of this result. We just thought it was a formality”

“I know. No one wants to think about that possibility, and men aren’t usually prepared for it. You were just taking another step closer to getting your baby. You had no reason to consider you’d get those results”

“Exactly” Loki said. He swallowed hard. “...I can’t have children. I’m not going to have a baby and I don’t know what to do”

“There’s nothing you can do, not in the way you think. You can’t change those results, or ‘fix’ them. I know it’s hard. But the only thing you can really do is try to come to terms with it and move on”

“How can I move on? I’ve been waiting for so long to be able to have this baby, and now it’s just been torn away from me. In fact, I’ve torn it away from myself. Tony’s results were fine, good. I was the one with the knackered results. I’m the one who can’t have kids. They don’t even know why yet. It’s probably something I did in space. I don’t know. Maybe it’s always been this way. All I know is there’s nothing I can do and no one I can blame but myself”

“You can’t play the blame game, Loki” Mr Lesley said. “It’s not a case of blaming or finding fault. I know you want to, but these results? Well, it’s just the way it is. There’s no changing it, and there’s often not even a way to find out why. You’re allowed to be angry, just don’t let it consume you”

“How did you do it?” Loki said, trying to stop crying. “There must have been something that helped”

“It was hard” Mr Lesley said. “My wife and I, we were quite bad; we judged our assumptions on stereotypes. We both expected it to be her who was unable to conceive. I was totally unprepared to find that it was me firing blanks”

Loki winced.

“You’ve gotta do the doctory-nursey thing of using comedy to cope sometimes, Loki. Welcome to the jaffa club, I say”

Loki looked at him. “Jaffa?”

“That’s a seedless orange”

“Ah” Loki sighed and shook his head slightly. “I don’t think I want a badge”

“You might find making light of it useful at some point in the future”

“Is that how you coped?”

“Not at first” Mr Lesley said. “It was hard. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I got so depressed, I took extended sick leave, almost went on a sabbatical. My wife was sympathetic for a while, but... Well, I think she found it tricky to deal with me. I don’t think she thought it hurt as much as it did. She started pushing for the other options far sooner than I was ready to hear them”

“You’ve got children, though, haven’t you?”

“Yes, one. Sperm donation” Mr Lesley said. “It was a pretty long time after I found out about my infertility, but my wife and I so wanted a child, and eventually we made the decision to do it that way”

“How old are they?”

“She’s nine now. I love her so much. You’ve got an adopted son. I’m sure it’s a similar kind of thing, in that you forget you’re not biologically related, because it doesn’t really matter. I’m not sure it’s that important. It’s love and time, and all the rest of it that makes family”

“...I love Peter so much. He’s still my little boy” Loki said. “But having a baby was just something me and Tony wanted so, so much. All of that planning. Everything we planned, it just took one tiny appointment to complete tear it down. It was all for nothing. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to accept that”

“You’ll find a way” Mr Lesley said. “You can cry and scream and shout and swear about it. But make sure you talk. How’s Tony doing?”

“Not great” Loki sighed. “He’s about as devastated as I am. But I think his pain is only skin deep. Not that it doesn’t matter, but... I think my pain goes deeper. He can be upset about it, and we can mourn it, but I can’t shake the thought that this is my fault. If my body worked properly, things would be different”

“I know how you feel, believe me. Loki, listen. I know you’re heartbroken. But you know there’s other options if you decide to go for them. But even if you don’t, you’re lucky, because you’ve already got a child. Some people find that helps”

Loki took his phone out of his pocket, looking at the photo on his lock screen. Mr Lesley peered at the picture.

“He’s a cute little kid. I know you love him. How does he feel about all of this?”

“...He was so ready to be a big brother. He wanted it too. He’s upset too. So much of our home life has been riding on this three-person IVF for months now. He liked staying involved in our plans... I don’t know if he really knows what’s what right now...” Loki swallowed. “He’s not at home right now. He’s staying with my brother. Tony thought it was best. Just until we’re a bit stronger. But I don’t know how long that’s going to be. What if we never get stronger?”

“You will. It’s horrible, but if you look in the right places, there’s places you can go and people you can speak to. It’s harder for us, I think” Mr Lesley said. “There’s not really any help at all out there for men going through infertility. Countless resources for women, which is good, I suppose, but still... I hope it’s different for you - I’m sure it will be, seeing as you’re not with a woman - but when I first told people, I was told to ‘just get a sperm donor’. Or to adopt. Some people even scoffed. It’s dreadful, but I think things are different now, even just after these few years. Hopefully you can fight off the press if this story gets out. I can only imagine what that kind of gossip can feel like. Loki, you’re headstrong and stubborn and I know we don’t know each other hugely well, but allow me to offer some advice”

Loki wiped the tears from his eyes and made himself look at him.

“Ignore everyone who doesn’t know you. Talk to your husband, and your family, and your friends. Talk, and write your feelings out. And go home, Loki” Mr Lesley took Loki’s hand. “Go home. No one is expecting you to work through this. You’ll only make yourself worse, especially on this ward. Go. You need to look after yourself first”

-

Loki wouldn’t speak to Tony when he got home. He hugged him, but quickly excused himself and went to his room, closing the door firmly behind him. He needed some time to himself.

-

Tony felt dreadful, and all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide from the world. But he’d promised himself he’d visit Peter every night, and he wasn’t going to break that promise. Once again, Loki didn’t accompany him, but he had Happy knocking about the house again, so Tony felt ok to leave him for a little bit. At least he wouldn’t be alone.

-

Peter was cuddled down on the sofa when Tony got to Thor’s.

“How has he been?” he asked quietly.

“He’s been ok” Thor said. “He’s been eating, anyway. He’s been pretty quiet though”

Tony nodded, and sat down at Peter’s feet. “Hey, kiddo”

Peter looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

“How are you doing?”

Peter sat up slowly, keeping quiet. Tony sighed. He didn’t know what else to say to him. He was tired, and he felt weak. He hadn’t looked after himself at all that day. He’d felt so lonely, considering Loki had gone out and then shut himself in his room upon his return. He wanted nothing more than to be with his family, but it seemed like none of them wanted to be with him.

“I know you’re upset” Tony said eventually. “I am too. But you know why you’re here. It’s for your own good, chick. Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s not so bad, is it? You get on well with uncle Thor. He’s always so nice to you. You know he loves you almost as much as I do”

“You look ill” Peter said.

Tony was surprised. “Um... Well, I guess I feel a bit ill. It’s been a rough couple of days”

“How’s daddy?”

“He’s resting” Tony nodded. “It was a rough day for him as well”

He pressed his lips together, looking straight ahead. Peter watched him for a moment, and then crawled onto his lap. Tony’s arms moved automatically and he hugged the boy close, resting his chin on his head. He sighed.

“You’re a good little boy” he mumbled. “Such a good boy...”

“I’d be ok at home, you know”

Tony sighed. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry, kiddo, but you’ve gotta stay here. Just until daddy and I have figured everything out”

Peter rested his head against Tony’s chest. “...Dad?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you... Can you hold me a bit tighter?”

Tony paused, and then wound his arms further round him. “Like this?”

“Just... just a bit tighter”

Tony did so, and Peter sighed and nodded slightly.

“Yeah, like this”

“You know daddy and I love you, right?”

“I know. But it doesn’t feel like daddy loves me right now”

“He does” Tony said. “You’re still our little boy, no matter what”

“You’re sad” Peter said. “Daddy’s sad. I’m sad. Pepper’s sad. We’re not having a baby”

Tony closed his eyes, trying to fight back the tears. “I know”

“You’re gonna keep visiting, though, right? And daddy’s gonna visit when he feels a bit better? Right?”

“Right” Tony said, sounding choked. “Just because you’re staying with uncle Thor, doesn’t mean we have to be distant”

“I was looking online today, seeing if there were memorials for infertility. That didn’t show up any results. I think there should be something, don’t you? Because it does feel like a loss. And it’s really sad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah” Tony said. “Yeah, it’s really sad...”

“They started to feel real, didn’t they?”

“Who?”

“Princess May and Oliver Anthony. It was like we were just waiting to meet them. Like they already existed”

“Yeah...” Tony swallowed, and then started crying. 

He held tight to Peter, rocking him gently as he cried. Peter started crying too, scared. Thor left them at first, but Tony’s cries started getting distressing, so he stepped in and carefully took Peter from him.

“Why don’t you go to your room?” Thor said gently.

“But-”

“Shh, go on. Go to your room”

Peter took a last desperate look at Tony, and then did as he was told. Thor sat down on the sofa and put his arms round Tony, who very soon turned and hugged him. 

“I can’t do this-!”

“Yes you can. You’ll get through it eventually, you and my brother” Thor said, holding him tight. “You’ll get there”

“I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve just felt so sick and hollow ever since we found out. I don’t know how to get my head around this”

“You’ll work it out. You need to talk to Loki” Thor rested his head against Tony’s. “Go home, Tony. I think you need to be with Loki. Don’t worry about Peter; I’ll look after him. You need to look after yourself. Put yourself first for once”

-

Loki was on the balcony, drinking and smoking, as expected, when Tony got home. He barely glanced at his husband. Tony swallowed and went over to him, climbing into his lap and resting his head on his shoulder. Loki wound his arms round him and rested his mouth against Tony’s forehead. A few moments passed, and Loki dropped his cigarette and held Tony tighter. He didn’t want to let go. He felt horrible for avoiding him. Now he wanted nothing more than to stay with him, indefinitely. 

“Loki?”

“Mm?”

“I think we need to talk to someone about this”

Loki was quiet for a moment. He took a deep breath. “Who?”

“I don’t know” Tony swallowed hard, three or four times, trying not to cry. “...I think we should call Li Allen”

“I think we need to talk to each other properly” Loki said, his voice trembling. “We haven’t talked properly; we’ve just cried. I can’t stop crying... I don’t know what to do”

He started crying properly again, and Tony did too. Neither of them could speak, but they held each other and cried, both knowing what the other was feeling. They felt so tired and sore and hollow and alone - but they had each other. At least, if nothing else, they were going through this together. That was all they needed right now. Just to be together. Indefinitely. 

-

Tony just about managed to force himself to go to Thor’s the next evening. He sat with Peter and tried to watch telly for a bit, but he couldn’t concentrate. He held Peter tight and stroked his hair, his thoughts always straying back to Loki and the baby situation. He couldn’t seem to focus on the little boy in his arms. 

-

Tony left just over an hour after arriving. Peter started crying as soon as Tony announced his departure, and Tony felt horrible. He gave Peter a cuddle and chucked him under the chin and told him to be brave. 

“I’ll take you out for dinner next time. Somewhere nice, somewhere we don’t go often” he said. “You’d like that, right?”

Peter nodded, holding his arms out for another hug, which Tony supplied. He kissed him hard on the cheek. 

“You be good. I’ll see you soon. Love you lots”

“I love you too”

Tony kissed him again, hard, and forced himself to let go. He wanted to be with his husband.

-

Loki never took care of himself properly when he wasn’t feeling great, so things weren’t going well. He couldn’t be bothered to eat, or take his supplements, or drink anything non-alcoholic. His stock of cigarettes that had long gone untouched was steadily starting to deplete. The liquor cabinet, which recently had been seldom used, was now open, with no sign of it being closed any time soon. The radio and stereo that usually played throughout the house all day was switched off, leaving a heavy silence in the air. Even FRIDAY had been muted. 

Tony flopped down beside Loki when he got home. 

“How is he?”

“He’s eating and stuff” Tony said. “He’ll be fine. Your brother takes good care of him” 

Loki nodded, lighting another cigarette and passing it to Tony. Tony paused, and then took it. Usually he only smoked on holiday. It felt weird smoking in such sad times. But it felt apt. Odd, but apt. Appropriate. The right thing to do. 

“What are you drinking?”

Loki answered by handing the glass to him. Tony took a good mouthful. Rum and coke. Or more, rum with a splash of coke. Enough rum to make his face twitch. He handed the glass back. Loki took it, and then reached for one of the bottles on the floor. He held the Grey Goose out to him. Tony took it, looking at the picture of the bottle for a moment before unscrewing the cap. He took a deep breath and raised it to his lips. He took a small sip, and then tipped the bottle, gulping down the clear liquid almost greedily. He could feel Loki watching him, and slowly lowered the bottle. He saw that Loki had been holding a glass and mixer can for him too. He took a deep breath.

“We’ll start doing things properly tomorrow”

*

[edenfalling]

[Fic] “Frog Hunt” -- Homestuck

Summary: SBURB is not turning out anything like you'd hoped, and your game session may be broken. Which is a problem, because you can't go back to Earth -- last you checked, it's busy being an apocalyptic wasteland -- and judging by your most recent dreams, the rest of the Medium beyond your little Incipisphere is an equally apocalyptic wasteland of ghosts and horrorterrors. The only way out is through. You have to win the game.

Winning SBURB requires frogs.

Note: I started this fic way back in 2012, hit Jade's horrorterror dreams, and had no idea where to go from there. Last week it occurred to me that actually the horrorterror dreams made a perfectly reasonable ending, provided I filled in a missing middle scene, established an emotional/thematic through-line, and tweaked stuff until the new parts played nice with the old ones. So I did. :) [2,325 words]

--------------------------------------------- Frog Hunt ---------------------------------------------

SBURB is not turning out anything like you'd hoped. You wanted to see your friends in person, go on cool adventures, and save the world. You guess technically the cool adventure part is happening? But it turns out that being in the middle of an adventure is mostly very upsetting and dangerous.

Also your game session may be broken. Which is a problem, because you can't go back to Earth -- last you checked, it's busy being an apocalyptic wasteland -- and judging by your most recent dreams, the rest of the Medium beyond your little Incipisphere is an equally apocalyptic wasteland of ghosts and horrorterrors. The only way out is through. You have to win the game.

Winning SBURB requires frogs.

You have a lot of pointed questions to ask whoever designed the symbolism behind this process.

You also have no idea what you're doing. Zoology is not your thing! Botany and rocket science are your things!

But you've done crazier things in the name of friendship than breed magic universe-creating frogs. And this time you'll have Dave by your side, even if all he can help you can do is win the Olympic gold medal for synchronized flipping out, which might as well be a thing now since Earth is gone and if anyone ever reestablishes the Olympics it will be you and you can stick in any sports you feel like.

That analogy may have gotten away from you a little. You decide to preemptively consider it Dave's fault, and send him another message asking for an ETA.

"Kanaya says we won't have enough time to collect all the frogs, let alone raise them and do the breeding and mutation stuff. Not even if we yank Rose and John into the project, and especially not with just you and me," you tell him when he shows up in person, popping out of nowhere with two discs floating at his side. They look a little like Grandpa's old vinyl records, but with red gears turning underneath them. "Not that you aren't helpful! But there's only so many seconds until disaster."

Dave arches the backs of his hands, fingertips still ghosting over the ridges of his floating record thingies. "Harley, c'mon, work with me here. What's my aspect?"

You blink. Oh. Time travel, durr. Okay, possibly your flipping out was a little premature. "Whoops, forgot that! Potentially infinite seconds, yay recycling. So how are we doing this?"

Dave shrugs, letting the records vanish back into his sylladex. "We have limited absolute time, basically from when I got your house up to reasonable height to, let's say, an hour before whatever runs us off the rails goes critical. So we have to maximize our use of space -- duplicate this ectobiowhatthefuck setup and run an assload of slime zapper tadpole tanks at once. I'm thinking one on each of the top ten floors of your house. We'll do one floor on each master loop so we don't keep running into each other. Mark the space and time coordinates for each croaker we target, then head out to poke them or whatever literally the second after we zap them, take notes on any other frogs that look useful, and move down a floor and back in time to start again."

"What about breeding?" you ask.

You think Dave frowns. It's hard to read his expression behind his shades, but he doesn't guard his posture as much as his face. "Whoops, forgot that. Uh, let's say every third floor and third loop is for breeding and mutation games. Shouldn't be too hard, especially if we whip up a regular appearifier. They don't have these bullshit temporal lock restrictions."

"Sounds like a plan," you say. "Let's get everything set up and start breeding!"

Dave's discombobulated expression is so faint and brief that if you'd blinked, you would have missed it. Hmmm, you think to yourself. Maybe...? But no, you probably just reminded him of something one of the trolls said. They can be so bizarre sometimes.

"Time to rock and roll," Dave says, and you shake off your daydream and get to work.

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

It turns out that ectobiology is actually very simple! You don't need to know genetics or metaphysical zoology, which you were a little worried about. You just need to zap frogs and run their ghost slime through the game-provided machines until you hit a gene combination that pings a little automated reward mechanism. Scanning for useful frogs is a little trickier, since you get the reward ping for any potentially useful gene sequence even if it's one you already have on file -- you have to weed out the duplicates manually, which is time-consuming and a total pain.

Creating hundreds of potential paradoxes to make sure the appearifier grabs slime instead of actual frogs is also time-consuming and a total pain.

It would be simplest to just shoot the frogs, but first of all, that's mean, and second of all, it would probably screw up LOFAF's ecology to storm around wiping out its native fauna less than an hour after thawing them out in the first place. If you had a dart gun you could trust not to mangle the frogs on impact, maybe you could stun them for a few minutes. Unfortunately, all of Grandpa's guns (and by extension, all of your guns) are designed to shoot projectiles straight through solid objects and totally fuck up their day. Which means that instead of perching in a tree like a cool and sexy sniper, you are galumphing around on the ground, hot and sticky and covered in a gross combination of mud and panicked frog secretions. Ugh.

"I look like a swamp zombie, don't I?" you say before you can think better of the words.

"Yeah, but in a cute monster-girl way," Dave says. "I'm just a scarecrow that got left out in the rain and turned into a mold sculpture."

You look over at him just as a clump of mud and moss slides down the left lens of his shades. "Um. No comment." You are determinedly not noticing that he said you're cute. Nope. Completely thought-free zone over here, nothing but genetics and logistics, which everyone knows require no brain power at all.

Dave shakes his head in faux solemnity. "Tragic. Faced with the death and destruction of my awesome good looks and you can't even dredge up a "That's sad"? I am betrayed. I am devastated. I am--"

"--still cute underneath the glop, stop fishing for compliments," you interrupt, and are furiously grateful for the mud hiding your blush. Stupid Dave and his stupid... everything. Why do you even like him? He's such a butt.

Of course, all your friends are kind of jerks. Possibly there's something miscalibrated about your friend-finding radar. Or possibly you're also a jerk? Hmm. That's something to ask Rose about, whenever you finally get to see in her person.

You will get to see her in person. You refuse to acknowledge any other possibility.

"Ouch," Dave says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up just a degree. "Damned by faint praise. I guess I'd better step up my frog-napping skills, can't let my dashing good looks outweigh my knightly swag. Speaking of which, have we been standing still long enough for that little orange fucker to stick his head out?"

You glance around, then down, then up. There's a tiny flash of color just over-- you shift slightly-- yep, right there on the tree by Dave's shoulder. "Um. Yeah. Just... keep standing still. Really still."

"Making like a tree, yes ma'am Sergeant Harley ma'am," Dave says as you inch slowly toward him through the muck between the tree roots. "It's right behind me, isn't it? Getting all ready for a jump scare, gonna leap out and poison me to death with its slimy frog toes, alas, Horatio, here dies a fellow of infinite memes, taken from us too--"

You lunge.

You catch the frog.

You also knock yourself and Dave flat into the muck. His shades knock into your forehead. Your own glasses skew against his nose. Your left knee is jammed between his shins and his belt buckle is digging into your stomach.

Your mouth is right up against his chin. If you moved just an inch or two...

"Ooh, Miz Harley," Dave says, somewhat breathless.

"Oh, shut up," you say, and shove the frog into your sylladex as you scramble back to your feet. "Look who's talking, Mister Swamp Thing."

Then you bend down to yank Dave up, too, because fair is fair.

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

By the fourth loop you're ready to drop from exhaustion and the weird, indefinable tension of actually being around one of your friends in person instead of getting to mediate your interactions through computers. "I don't care how tight the schedule is. I'm starting to see double and I'm taking a goddamn nap," you tell Dave as you drop to the floor and lean back against the wall. You lay your rifle across your lap and keep your hands carefully away from the trigger. You know your temper sharpens when you're tired, and Grandpa taught you never to take chances with guns.

Dave frowns, and you know he's tired too because this time you can see his mouth curve downward to match the annoyed set of his shoulders and the fuck-you shove of his hands into his pockets. "The more loops we run, the harder it is to keep shit from falling apart," he says. "You that eager to trip into a doomed timeline? I can go back and hit reset anytime, easy as cake and pie and banana splits, but every screwup costs one dead Dave and one Jade abandoned in a dead-end universe. I don't even know if that you would get erased or keep on living until you go shithive maggots."

He's been talking to the trolls too, you remember, especially the teal one who uses l33tsp34k. He says her name is Terezi. She's been running time loops with him too. He likes her a lot.

You are not jealous. That would be stupid. You are not stupid; therefore you are not jealous. QED.

"The more tired we are, the harder it is to keep from screwing up," you say. "We're creating a whole new universe and we'll have to live there after we win the game. It's kind of important, Dave!"

Dave presses his back against the wall and slides down to join you on the hard tile floor. "We're not gonna win the game, you know. There is literally no way to do that. The game was borked from before the word go was a twinkle in its druggie teen mom's eye."

"Maybe this session's broken," you agree. "But that doesn't mean we can't find a way to cheat, and even if we lose, I'd rather lose trying my hardest instead of half-assing shit because I was so tired I fell asleep while operating complicated machines."

Dave sighs. "Yeah, okay. Naptime. But not here. This is a work floor; we've gotta keep it clear for work loops. We'll go crash further down." He taps your shoe with his own. "Up and at 'em, Harley, let's go hit that transportalizer."

You groan and haul yourself to your feet.

The obvious place for a nap would be your bedroom, but then where would you sleep on the next loop? Anyway, you only have one bed and it'd feel... presumptuous? pushy? maybe just go with awkward. Yeah. It would be awkward to share it with Dave, especially without John and Rose there as well to clarify that it's strictly a friend thing.

So you alchemize an armful of blankets and pillows and make a little nest in one of the hundreds of blank, identical stories Dave copied from the real-world part of your house. It's still a little weird sharing the space -- Dave is so close you can feel him breathe, every exhale stirring stray wisps of hair over your ears -- but you think you could get used to this.

You think maybe you want to get used to this.

"Sweet dreams, Jade," Dave mutters as he flops over onto his side, one hand curled loosely around the hilt of his sword.

"You too," you tell him, before you remember he's just going to wake up on Derse as his dreamself, still stuck in this stupid, lying, Möbius tangle of a game. And you're going back to those weird bubbles in the monster-filled void. Neither of you can get free until you finish Frankensteining your magic frog and beat an unwinnable game.

"Heroes always beat million to one odds in stories," you say to nobody in particular. "Why not us?"

Dave mumbles something unintelligible in response, already mostly asleep.

You wiggle sideways until your shoulder brushes up against his, so the warmth of his body radiates through the thin blanket onto you and your warmth feeds back into him. He's alive. You're both alive. Somewhere else in the Incipisphere, John and Rose are (you hope) also still alive.

You would do anything to make sure your friends make it out of SBURB, to a new world safe from meteors and monsters and predestination. Anything.

You dream of bloody, mangled ghosts, groping desperately toward you for salvation while you stand frozen under the horrorterrors' incomprehensible regard.

In the dream, you imagine yourself reaching for Dave's hand. You imagine him weaving his fingers between yours. You imagine Rose and John standing beside you. You imagine all four of you stepping through a door into a new universe.

If you imagine something with all your heart, that makes it a tiny bit less fake, and being less fake means it's at least a little bit real.

The pressure of the horrorterrors' attention attenuates, just that vital fraction.

You turn away from the ghosts and think of frogs.

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

End of Fic

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

If anyone has constructive commentary, I am all ears! Also I am going to bed soon, because being awake is overrated and also I took a Benadryl in order to eat a BLT for dinner, so, you know, probably better to lie down than to slowly drift off in front of my computer. *wry*

[anearthstruckalien]

Here’s a writing thing that’s only kinda relevant to this blog in that it technically did happen in this blog’s canon but it got erased because it was a part of that timeline that Buzz Buzz’s time travel interference stuff ended up erasing i.e the one where Giegue’s plan in Mother 2 works.  This is set shortly after he succeeds and reports his success to his superiors only to get shot down which in turn prompts him to kinda go over and destroy them whoops.

[          There it is again.  The sharp and cold sting of rejection.  It is something that he should be well-adjusted to receiving given its status as a (rightfully) predominant theme in his life and yet… for some reason it’s particularly difficult to accept it this time… but then had he ever truly accepted  it at all when he failed during his first attempt at the Earth’s invasion?  An uneasy (and almost irritable) twitch of a rat-like tail just barely off the ground from where he was sitting, knees pulled up to a slightly cracked chest while dark blue voids stared at the blank walls in such an intent way, it was a wonder how a hole hadn’t been burned through them already.  No. That’s the very reason the second attempt existed at all.  To rectify the previous failure and prove his usefulness to the point of necessity.  To overlay that terrible feeling with praise of his capabilities through the successful execution of a plan so far-reaching and perfectly calculated that it would be irrational to react any differently. And this time, he had done just that and thus successfully terminated the human species.  This time he had really thought that it… would be good enough, but all he had received instead was another severe scolding.

           A sharp tail lash while pale hands claw into the desolate floors of the room.  After everything he had done for them… all the trouble he had gone through… all the pain he had endured… and the great success he had brought about for them… it was still the same.  Nothing had changed.  They still wanted to… –terminate him and construct a new creature to take his place.  Microscopic and colorless hairs covering his exoskeleton immediately bristle at the thought.  To serve the purpose in the ways he never could while retaining the same extraordinary power at its disposal.  It doesn’t matter.  To them he is useless and there’s no changing their minds on the topic.  A disturbing red luminescence begins to delicately outline his increasingly tense form, the swishing of his tail taking on an erratic and almost furious form.  As a matter of fact, they had likely sent other military forces to his location (something he had given away the moment communications had been opened to relay the success of the second attempt) to subdue him accordingly.  And for what, just because he had failed the first time and disobeyed their orders afterwards?  For instead trying his best to fulfill that all-important mission the second time around…?

           ‘Emotionally-disturbed’ they had said.  The red luminescence intensifies.  ‘Unstable’ and ‘defective’ they had said.  The crack just over the left part of his chest begins to throb with a kind of agony he could really do without and immediately has the pale alien firmly pressing a hand against it as if that would somehow make it vanish.  He hates that feeling.  It hurts.  He hates them.  It hurts. It hurts.  It hurts.  It hurts.  It hurts.  Dark blue voids tightly squeeze shut and both hands now tensely rub at the sides of his head, elongated ears flattening entirely, as an agonizing (and no doubt unnatural) pain spreads out beyond the edges of his mind with a nightmarish buzzing.  It’s distracting.  Like a white noise or static corrupting an otherwise clear transmission.  And it goes on and on and on until… silence falls anew and slowly yet certainly, the Psion rises to his feet but to a hunched posture that falls a little short of his full height of just over 10 feet tall. Then an inhalation and prompt exhalation which with it comes an opening of his eyes to a half-lidded state, a radiant red dangerously glinting from within dark pupils and the red luminescence from before only easing up a tiny amount in its intensity.

            That’s right.  He does hate them.  That’s… how it’s always been deep-down, has it not?  Those are his true feelings and no amount of conditioning can ever truly make it go away it seems.  The likes of such creatures seemed all too content to point out everything that’s wrong with him and insist that it is why he has to be better… or in this case why it means that he’s beyond the point of corrections.  Of ‘fixing’ what’s wrong so that he can once again be a ‘useful’ and ‘productive’ member of society.  It must be convenient to look at it that way.  To point out what made him wrong here… without ever acknowledging what he had achieved, the way in which he had demonstrated his capabilities in not only completing his mission, but overcoming the erroneous designs of fate itself.  That is something that even they had never done before.  Something that possibly no one else has ever done before and yet overcoming it… warping it in a way such that it could not interfere with his victory he had.

           And he had done this without their support.  He had engineered everything that happened for quite some time and done so in a way that no one was capable of pinpointing where he had been launching all his attacks. The pale alien straightens himself out and walks over to where he still had the Apple of Enlightenment in his possession and rather gently picked it up using telekinesis.  A beat.  And he merely stares at it and the (somehow) tired and somewhat sickly looking reflection of his demeanor.  But, that’s just…  ]

…how they work, is it not?  They make you think that you need them.  Their recognition.  And their approval.  But, in reality… it is little more than a means of control.

It keeps you weak.  Stunted.  Dependent. And in the end, effectively prevents you from realizing your true potential by the distraction that such trivial notations provide.

[           The pale begins to say to none other than the golden object in his telekinetic grasp.  And he does so rather calmly.  Gently.  As if coming to a realization (or having an epiphany) that had utterly escaped him before. Then a small yet undeniably bitter smile forms and what used to be just radiant red sparks has now turned his pupils the same color.  ]

All this time spent thinking that I needed them? it was a lie.  Because in truth… they were the ones that needed me. They were the ones that have been holding me back.

I am much stronger now than I ever was while serving them.  Stronger than they could ever hope to be.

[          And that is why it is absolutely imperative that he exterminates them so that they can no longer hold him back by constraining him with their petty goals and controls.  A subtle motion of his hand and the apple is put back into its place. He isn’t waiting for them to eventually come to him.  A widening of that smile such that the glint of sharp teeth can be seen underneath the artificial lighting.  No. He will be the one that will be coming for them.  They are the flawed and defective ones.  They are the irremediable ones.  The disturbing red luminescence intensifies and takes on a slightly more turbulent form. And beyond his own desires… that alone is why they need to be exterminated like the pathetic maggots that they truly are. And with that final thought… he vanishes from the room and sets out to do just that.  ]

[wynndygoon]

Synapse AU story

“Ah, dammit!” Elizzabet exclaimed as she sat up in her chair. She put her hand over her eyepatch which caused even more pain. She knew something was not right, as this wasn’t the normal type of pain she would experience sometimes that came from her eye.

“What’s wrong?” Apollo asked as Elizzabet walked by to the bathroom.

“Damn eye still giving me some trouble.” Her hand was still on her eyepatch and she felt it start getting wet. Figuring it was the last little bit of her tear ducts trying to flush something out of her ruined eye, she kept on to the bathroom. When she got there, she noticed that streams of crimson were flowing from her between her fingers and out from her eyepatch. Deeply unsettled and curious, she slowly lifted up the black eyepatch and saw that the scars hadn’t re-opened to cause the bleeding. Confused, she kept trying to see what the cause may be and that was when she saw that the white of her eye had started to turn a light pink color. “Apollo, start the car, now!”

“Why? What’s wro…”

“Just do it!” Elizzabet commanded, trying to see what was happening to her eye. As she tried to hold her eyelids open more to get a better look, the pain had flared up again. A sharp feeling from the very back of her eye started radiating and causing a fiery feeling with intense pressure behind it. She thought her eye was going to explode out of her head, but she put the eyepatch back down and ran out to the car and locked the door to the house. “The Hospital…Drive!”

Apollo could hear the desperation in her voice and he looked over to see the feathers on the right side of her face were more red than usual and that the eyepatch looked soaked with something. He knew better than to ask questions and press Elizzabet because he didn’t want to stress her out any further. He was genuinely afraid as to what was going on, and he held out his hand to Elizzabet. She took it and held tightly saying that everything was fine, but that it may just be time to get rid of the eye and get a glass one instead.

“Don’t say that, the doctors said that there is a potential to restore your vision. Just hang in there!” Apollo was trying to be hopeful, but Elizzabet just snorted.

“You know how lucky I’ve been so far, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to have enough luck saved up this time. It may have to go, you might have to start seeing some dumpy ass lazy eye from now on.” Elizzabet had her head leaned on the window and watched as the world whizzed by. She tried ignoring the burning pain, but some of the flares would cause her to squeeze Apollo’s hand with a lot more pressure than normal, causing pops and cracks to sound whenever she did so. “Sorry, I just…”

“Don’t apologize, please. Just because my hands pop whenever you squeeze them, doesn’t mean I’m in pain. We’re almost there.” Apollo reassured.

Another five minutes passed before they arrived at the entrance of the hospital. Both of them rushed in the emergency ward and Elizzabet got wheeled into the Radiology department to get scans done. After the scans were complete and the IV’s were set and her vitals were stable enough, it was a waiting game. Apollo had called in Joan and Noma. Noma had made up with her parents some time ago and they are all a family again. Joan, Noma, Em, and Elise all showed up and waited for the news.

About 30 minutes had passed before the doctor came back to give the results.

“Elizzabet Kindling. A very long track record you have in the military, huh? In fact, it seems like you have been here before for other issues. First time we have seen you for your eye though…so, let’s get to it. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any traditional ‘good’ news in this case. Whenever you had the surgery done to remove the metal shrapnel from your eye, there were very tiny pieces that were missed and that remained in your eye, near the skull. Unfortunately, due to time and movement and a multitude of other factors, these shrapnel pieces have burrowed into your skull which is the cause of the pain that you are experiencing.” The Meinshao doctor tried his best to hide any emotion.

“What does that mean?” Joan asked.

“You can fix it can’t you?” pleaded Noma.

“Dear God, those shoddy doctors who did the surgery ought to be fired!” Exclaimed Apollo.

“I am afraid that surgery will be difficult because the vibrations that would be produced could drive the shrapnel further in and possibly even get into the brain. It is possible, but the risk is high. If we do attempt it, there is no absolute guarantee for success and even if it is successful, it is likely that you would be severely handicapped, physically at least. I am sorry to bring such bad news upon you, I know that this isn’t what you all wanted to hear, but it’s better to know than not. I’ll let you all think it through.”

Everybody started talking frantically, but Elizzabet just stared forward at her hand resting on he blanket. All the noise and light faded out and she was left alone in the room with just herself in this own little world she had sunk into. She didn’t hear when anyone called out for her. She knew exactly what was happening, her luck was run dry. She had heard what her medic friends in the military would say about delivering news and what to take away from it. The way the doctor spoke about the chances of survival were not good. Best case scenario, she goes home, she lets nature take its course and eventually, the shrapnel will make its way into her brain and she would die. Plan B is, she goes into surgery, and if she makes it out of that, she will be completely reliant on other people for the rest of her life. After this moment of clarity, she snapped to and hushed everybody in the room. Her heart was pounding, the monitor beeps playing a deafening crescendo. Tears started to form in her eyes as she looked around at her family in the room. Apollo was worried and was starting to tear up when he saw her tear up. Joan was strong as ever, but her face was kind and sorrowful now. Noma was already crying, looking at the ground. Elise and Em both consoled their partners.

“Joan, Noma, come here…please.” Elizzabet asked. As they came close to her sides, she pulled them close. Pressing her face to both of theirs, she started crying intensely, apologizing. “You know, I hoped to be around the day that both of you got married. You both are beautiful and strong girls and even though I will never see that glorious day now, at least I have met your future spouses. I am so proud of everything that you girls have done and I know that you will grow into fine women, you both already have. Even though I may not be here much longer, I will be able to see everything you two do and I will be smiling the whole time! I love you girls deeply, but now, leave me and your father to be together for a little bit.” Elizzabet said, letting her daughters go. Teary eyed, they walked out into the hall, Em and Elise following behind.

“Elizzabet, why were you talking like you had given up hope? I know you can beat…”

“No, I picked up on what the doctor was saying, either I die or I am going to be as useful as a dead person. I am not going to be a burden on my family in the off chance that I live through surgery.”

“What do you mean a burden? Don’t talk about yourself that way!” Apollo was in tears now.

“Don’t raise your voice, we don’t need Noma and Joan worrying any more than they already are. Listen, I also saw the way that the doctor kept looking at the clock, he was holding back the time frame that I really have. I know that I won’t make it through the night unless a miracle happens. I am ready to accept fate, It’s tough, but what is any different here than being on the frontlines?”

As Elizzabet and Apollo kept talking, the monitor became increasingly irregular and slower in pace. Three more minutes passed before the monitor quit beeping all together and Elizzabet’s eyes were closed forever. Elizzabet saw the scans out of the corner of her eye on her way out of the radio lab, the shrapnel was already in her brain. The whole time they were talking, every word had pushed the shrapnel deeper and deeper into the brain. A rush of crimson fell over the right side of her face as her eyes lay shut and a steady stream came from the corners of her mouth and drops of cherry red perched on her nose, as a steady beeping started to drone out the crying and screams of sadness that filled the room.

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 29

Visions of myself eviscerating the bitch with a gleaming, razor-edged katana momentarily clouded my thinking as Tom dropped his phone back onto the table with a thunk, then shifted his body about in order to face me, my hand slipping from his lower back to his thigh. I was not a woman prone to fits of rage, but if there ever was an appropriate point in time to flip tables, this was is. That, I knew, would make me feel better, but would likely have the opposite effect on Tom as he’d be so inclined as to think he was the reason for my fury. The table stayed where it belonged, but despite my best efforts, I squeezed his hand a bit too hard and was unable to keep my trap shut.

“Jesus mother fucking christ in a fucking sidecar, what a fucking CUNT that woman is.” He met my gaze, expression unreadable, and it occurred to me that he might think I meant his mother as opposed to Jane, which wasn’t a leap I yet felt qualified to make. “Jane. Not your mother. Jury’s still out for her. Conviction on a lesser charge remains a viable possibility.”

The corners of his mouth curled upward just the tiniest bit, hand that had held his phone reaching up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my lips before he leaned forward to kiss me, softly at first, then rougher, his tongue thrusting inside to meet mine. He pulled away suddenly, taking my other hand in his, an overwhelming earnestness in his eyes that was so powerful it took my breath away.

I wasn’t the only one, apparently. His words came forth in a single exhale, a deep sigh winding through the darkness of the woods, stirring the fireflies into action and setting the forest alight. “I love you.”

Smiling gingerly, I briefly pressed my lips to his cheek. “I love you too. Now tell me what’s going through your mind. Don’t feel like you have to edit anything to spare my feelings. Just let it fly.”

His head tilted to the side. “You’re not angry with me.” A statement of fact, though he was obviously questioning why.

I shook my head. “No. Why would I be angry with you? I don’t see how any of this is your fault, Tom. Beyond your sphere of influence and control, all of it. Now that fuckwad douchecanoe…HER I’m angry with. After everything she put you through, how she made you feel, what she TOOK from you…I’ve got balls aplenty, this you know, but getting your number from your mother and not just CALLING but saying what she SAID…her balls must be so big she needs a cart to carry them around in. Either that or she’s certifiable. Anyway. I’m shutting up now. Your turn.”

Swallowing, he closed his eyes for a brief few seconds, the opened them. “Okay. What’s going through my mind. Well, first, the way I presented this to you, fucking hell…I played that with no warning whatsoever and didn’t consider how the content would affect you or what you might think or how you’d feel. I’m very sorry, Maude.”

“Don’t be. If I believed even in the slightest that you still have feelings for her I would have completely lost my shit, but I don’t so it’s fine. Please correct me if I’m wrong, though.” A tiny bubble of doubt threatened to burst and contaminate my entire cranial biosphere.

His head moved back and forth rapidly. “You’re not wrong. The only feelings I harbor for her are…I probably shouldn’t voice them, truthfully. And I have absolutely NO intention of calling her. Or seeing her. Ever. I know full well what she is, and exactly what she’s trying to do. Hearing her voice threw me, I’ll readily admit that. For about a half an hour everything she said…that day…repeated in my head and I had a bit of breakdown…” The look on my face must have clued him in to what I was thinking. “I knew you’d be home soon. That’s why I didn’t call or text. And I didn’t want to upset you at work, on your first day no less. Anyway. After I sorted that bit out, it was on to Mum.” His voice broke, and I squeezed his hands as he inhaled sharply, exhaled deeply, then continued. “I’m crushed, Maude. Absolutely crushed. And I’m so sorry she did what she did and said what she said…the part about you being beneath my station…god how I want to SCREAM at her…but, since Jane is essentially a pathological liar, I can’t be certain she DID say it, so…and here’s where the ‘my fault’ part comes into play, Maude. All I ever told her about the breakup was that Jane said no to my proposal and that I couldn’t in good conscience remain in a relationship after such a rejection, with no clear path forward. That’s all. She hasn’t a clue as to what really happened. If she had, would she have given out my number? Would she have gone to LUNCH with Jane? I’d hope not, but there’s only one way to find out. I have to talk to her. And I have to TELL her. All of it. Including the fact that I know my father was unfaithful. And about my drinking. And about…Claudia. If there’s one concept I’ve firmly grasped over the past few weeks, it’s that without honesty, no relationship is ever…real. Perhaps she’ll learn from my example…inexcusably long delayed as it is…that you don’t have to keep secrets from the people you love. You don’t have to hide your pain, that it’s possible to be free from shame. If she disowns me instead, so be it.”

I let go of his hands and leaned back on the couch. “Good fucking thing I’m sitting down, because that made me kinda feel like I’m going to pass out.”

He slid off the couch and knelt before me, between my legs, hands on my thighs, eyes deeply concerned and slightly confused. “Why?”

My head flopped back against the cushion for a moment, then lifted as I met his gaze. “Because, Thomas. My god. You are this…this…brave, gorgeous, glorious soul. And because…” I pointed at his phone. “That was totally not what I was expecting when I saw your face, and, as absurd as it may sound, I’m…relieved.”

Brow furrowed, he leaned in closer. “What was it you were expecting?”

I bit my lip and looked up at the ceiling, then down and back at him. “I had my own little freak out after you left this morning. Not to make this all about me or anything. But, yeah. Panic attack main course, self-doubt served up on the side. The causal agent, in part…how I was going to deal with it when you told me your therapist thought you’d gotten involved in a serious relationship entirely too soon, and proceeded within it at WAY too quick a pace, so much so that it has the potential to be detrimental to your mental health and that if you wanted to keep moving forward, to actually HEAL, you needed to slow things down. With me. Back away, that sort of thing. Maybe not be in a relationship. At all.”

He reached for my hands, which I’d unconsciously tucked under my arms. “We did discuss that, actually. It was an argument he lost in short order, mainly after I inquired as to how he’d ended up with the mother of the four incredibly lovely children in the photograph on  his desk. It was June 12th, 1987, at a U2 concert in Wembley Stadium. He’d just come out of a relationship with his childhood sweetheart who’d cheated on him the entire time she was away at college but thought he should still marry her anyway. While entering the venue, he saw a beautiful young woman in distress, who upon closer inspection turned out to be his ex-fiancé’s former roommate. Her friends were supposed to meet her in the parking lot but she couldn’t find them, and as they were the ones holding her ticket, she couldn’t get inside. As fate would have it, he’d purchased his own tickets prior to his breakup, and was planning on selling the extra one if the opportunity arose. Instead, he invited her to join him.”

“Dude, come on.”

Tom smiled. “All true. At some point while relaying the details he began to tear up, and when he regained his composure he informed me that perhaps he should pay me today, then took a break to order her flowers and make a dinner reservation at the Dorchester.”  

Removing my hands from his, I patted both sides of his face. “No one can resist the Hiddescharm.”

“Oh, THAT one I like. Though I have grown quite fond of Hiddlesconda.”

I snickered. “Heh. That makes two of us.”

We sat for a moment, in the stillness, until he broke the silence. “He was very surprised that I’d told you about the pregnancy prior to revealing it to him. I believe it spoke volumes regarding the level of trust that’s between us.” His chin dropped to his chest for a few moments, then lifted. “I hated telling him about the night in San Diego…what I did, what I said. It felt like I was betraying your confidence the entire time, even though I knew I needed to be truthful and most of it was a rehashing of what I’d told him previously over the phone.”

It wasn’t pleasant, knowing that someone other than us knew the particulars of our exchange. But that’s how therapy works. Which is why I’d never been into it, most likely. I’d tried it. Twice. Both times it ended with the practitioner advising me that if I wasn’t going to vebalize anything, there wasn’t any way to help me work through whatever it was I wasn’t verbalizing. “It’s weird, not gonna lie. But that’s the point of having a therapist, right? Tell all, no judgement? If it’s helpful to you in even the smallest way, say whatever you need to, you know?”

He pushed up off the floor and sat next to me on the couch again, eyes staring into mine. “Thanks. I’ll see him again when I feel it’s necessary, but for now…I think I’d rather just talk with you.”

I laughed. “Oh honey, I don’t think you can afford me.”

He chuckled as well, and we slowly retreated into another reticent state.

Placing my hand on his knee, I dove back in. “So. What’s the plan, Stan? Are you going to hold off on confronting your mother until you have some time to…”

Shaking his head, he stood, and I followed, lest I wound up with a sore neck from craning up at him. “I’m thinking of going over there right now, actually. Even though it’s a bit of a hike.”

I placed a hand on his chest. “Well, I’m sorely disappointed that you won’t be cooking me dinner, but it won’t kill me to just order in or something. Or maybe I’ll just go beg the neighbors until they feed me. So, if you want to get it over with, I say go for it.”

The timorous way he placed his hand over mine, along with the pleading glance that accompanied it, clued me in as to what question would tumble out of his mouth next. I beat him to the punch. “Holy fuckamoley, you want me to come with you.”

He nodded, slowly, emphatically.

Plopping back down on the couch, I reached behind my head and tugged nervously on my ponytail. “Tom…I don’t know…I mean, are you sure you want me there? I’ll totally go if you do…that’s not the issue. What IS the issue is that I’m…me. And it’s been clearly established that she does not approve, man. Let’s not forget that I’m a blunt, tell it like it is loose cannon even in the best of times. She’s, like, your family. I do NOT want to fuck that up for you.”

He leaned over, grasped me by the elbows, my forearms resting upon his, and pulled me to my feet. “Maude, you’re my family, too. We’re a matched set. Two halves of a whole. If she can’t accept either of us for who we are…” Tears had begun to stream down his cheeks. “And it’s already fucked up. Aside from all the unknowns, it’s an indisputable fact that she gave Jane my phone number. Which means she wanted her to get in touch with me, though she was aware that our relationship was at a level wherein I’d decided to ask you to live with me. Her blatant disregard for that, my feelings, your feelings…I simply cannot condone it. I hope I can manage to forgive it. If that’s what family means to her, manipulation and judgement…is that something I need in my life? I love her, Maude. So much. I’ve always respected her, her opinions, her strength…this just…it’s…”

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled his head to my chest, rocking him as he wept, his voice hoarse and muffled as he spoke between sobs.

“They were close, her and Jane. She loved Jane, thought she was the end all be all of possible mates for me. When I told her things were over between us, she was actually worried about how Jane was taking it. And she thought I was behaving impulsively and being incredibly foolish, letting such a good woman go just because she wasn’t ready to marry me…I believe her words were along the lines of ‘Thomas, you’re rushing into this and she’s not ready. Have some patience. Give her the time she needs. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. She’s worth the wait.’ And I couldn’t be angry with her, because she didn’t know. I just kept on pretending. She didn’t know I was dying inside.”  

Smoothing his hair, I kissed the top of his head as his sobbing escalated, rendering him unable to speak. “I’m sorry, baby. I know. I know. It’s okay. You’ll tell her, and she’ll understand. It’s okay.” I didn’t know if that was true, but it was what I hoped would happen, and what he needed to hear in order to walk out the flat door and face it all.

****************************************

He’d calmed down enough over the course of the next fifteen minutes to call Diana in order to make sure she was home. I could hear the delight in her voice when he said he’d be on his way over shortly, as soon as he got the car from the parking garage on Marylebone Road, located just a brief walk from York Street. There was no mention of me, which was an unexpected bright spot, as we’d decided if she asked he’d confirm I was coming along. This shifted it to a matter of don’t ask, don’t tell, which I was vastly more comfortable with. The dread I’d felt at the prospect of meeting her was still lurking under the surface, but my desire to support Tom as he’d supported me in New Orleans overrode the circuitry of fear. And, her bullshit had really pissed me off, which always gave me an extra boost of kickass bitchery.

Opting to take the Jaguar instead of public transportation seemed a better fit, since Oxford was nearly sixty miles away and the amount of time we’d be spending there was impossible to ascertain. Tom’s parking spot was on the second level, and when I saw the black F-Type Coupe I grabbed the sleeve of his Henley and shook it wildly.

“Can I drive? Please? Can I? Is it a STICK? It’s so PRETTY and I bet it’s so fucking FAST…shit.” I looked down at my walking boot. “I can’t drive anything. God. Damn. It.”

He chuckled. “I’d no idea you liked fast cars, Maude. Such a pity you’re incapacitated.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you. I’m not, like, INTO fast cars, per se, but I like going fast IN cars. And that one there screams GAS PEDAL FLOOR GO MAUDE GO.”

His chuckled transitioned into a loud burst of laughter. “Well, now you’re NEVER driving it.” He opened the driver side door for me, and then I remembered that this was England and thus it was actually the passenger side door. “Hmm, you thought for a moment I was going to let you try it out, didn’t you?”

I held my hand up to his face, palm towards him. “Shush up and let me sink into the butter-soft white leather interior, jerky.” And oh, it WAS. Everything was modern, tons of gadgetry, a large display…I would have sworn the seat reached out and embraced me as I pushed back into it. “Look at THAT, it IS a stick shift. Real rough life you have, Tom.”

He folded himself into the driver seat, all legs and arms and an inordinate amount of grace. My eyes roamed around the car, calculating if there was room to fuck. Possibly, but a feat for when I wasn’t wearing pants for sure. When I met his gaze he was smirking. “I’ll have you know I had to essentially hang out of a helicopter while appearing to calmly sip a cup of lukewarm tea in order to earn this particular reward. And we are definitely going to give it a whirl at some point.”

Shaking my head, I shrugged, pretending to be confused. “Give what a whirl?”

“Don’t play coy with me. I saw that look.”

“What look?”

“THE look. You were trying to figure out if there was room for us to go at it in here.”

I feigned innocence. “I was not.”

He reached over and cupped my right breast, thumbing the rock hard nipple he’d discovered through the fabric of my shirt and bra. “Liar.”

Rolling my eyes, I pushed his hand away and down onto the gearshift. “Fine. I’m a big fat liar who desperately wants to fuck you in the Jag. Happy? Now drive, Thomas. Christ.”

Our route was a nearly a straight shot, the A40 to the M40 which turned back into the A40, neither of which I’d had the pleasure of being on previously. I spent most of the ride staring out the window, trying to not be too much of a gawking tourist. The countryside as we passed through Buckinghamshire was a postcard come to life, as was Oxfordshire. Tom served as my guide, advising which town was which and pointing out landmarks of note. With another forty five minutes or so to go, my attention shifted to Jane, teeth grinding as I replayed her message in my head, dissecting it bit by bit.

“Tom?”

He reached over and rested his hand on my thigh, eyes moving from the road to my face for a few seconds. “Something on your mind, love?”

“That message. Cool if we talk about Jane?”

Nodding, he began sliding his hand up and down. “Definitely.”

I rotated my body sideways a smidge, the closest I could get to facing him. “You said you know exactly what she’s trying to do. And I think I do as well…it’s kind of obvious. Get you back. That’s the ‘what’. The thing I’m curious about is the WHY. Solely for her own gain, I’m sure. But what happened to Idris and all the mature fan base beneficial for her career bullshit? You’ve achieved a higher echelon of fame over the past year, and you have so many projects that’ll be released over the next, so those will boost you up even further, which she must find enticing, but in my opinion wider appeal means a more diverse fan base and, most likely, more of what she didn’t like about it in the first place. Is it I Saw the Light? Does she want to steer you in the direction of pursuing a musical career? I…you know I’m all about logic, and this is just so NOT….”

“Idris. I don’t think that panned out quite the way she expected. I saw him, after, when we shot some scenes for Age of Ultron.”

My mouth gaped open, left hand reaching out to slap the dash. “Fuck, seriously? God, I’m so sorry…how did you…what did…”

Shrugging, he removed his hand from my thigh in order to downshift. “I focused on being Loki and not being…Tom…for the better part of our time together. We did all go out for drinks the night before he left to go back to his stint in Ibiza, and after our tenth round of shots I asked him how she was, intent on instigating an altercation, chiefly because I hoped he’d kill me and put an end my misery. He didn’t remember her at first, until I described her as a record executive and referenced the event we’d attended. His reply, and I’m paraphrasing here, was ‘Oh, her. That’s one crazy bitch, Tommy. She said you’d broken up but were still going on your vacation together because it was non-refundable or some shit, where was it? Bora Bora? She came over to my place that night…a decent enough one-nighter that it turned into a fortnighter after she got back. Just a good time, you know? She thought it was more, though. Started calling me her boyfriend, making plans, acting all controlling…I ran in the opposite direction as fast as my size twelves could carry me, let me tell you. Woman stalked me for WEEKS afterward, Tommy. Constant texts, calls…finally had to block her. She even turned up at a few of my gigs. Totally mental. I’d thought about using her for my album, but after that, no fucking way. I’ve got enough lady problems, if you know what I’m saying. Heard she’s losing artists left and right lately, too. So that’s two bullets I dodged, mate.’ The rest of that night’s one big blur, though I do recall puking in the parking lot.”

I rested my head in my hands for a good minute, processing what their exchange must have done to him, then extended my hand and grasped his shoulder. “I am SO sorry for bringing her up. Like you aren’t upset enough as it is…oy.”

“Please don’t be sorry. If nothing else, relaying it makes me lean towards thinking that she duped my mother just like she has everyone else. Which makes me feel a tad less murderous.”

I snorted. “Well, I feel vastly MORE murderous. And I’m still sorry. What I said about her being a cunt? She’s an affront to cunts. I’m searching the database of my extensive vocabulary and I can’t find a word that…”

His shoulder began to shake in my grip and at first, I thought he’d begun to cry, but when I leaned forward to obtain a better view of his face I realized he was trying very, very hard not to laugh. Which made me start to giggle, which caused HIM to let the eheheheheh he’d been biting back spring free.

“Affront to cunts. Tremendous. Shakespearean, nearly.” He kissed me, fleetingly, eyes back on the road instantly. “Whether it’s your objective or not, you always manage to lighten the mood, my love. Thank you.”

Taking my hand off his shoulder, I relaxed back into my seat. “It’s my pleasure to entertain you, Thomas. Any chance there’s a McDonald’s around here or something?”

“Not here, but there is one up the line not far from my mother’s place. Want to stop there first?”

“Do they have hamburgers?”

“Are you joking?”

“I’m not from here, remember? And I’ve never been anywhere other than London. I have no idea how the rest of the country lives.”

“Did you notice the cows we’ve passed along the way?”

“I did.”

“Then it should be no surprise that McDonalds does indeed have hamburgers.”

“Okay, one, I don’t think they buy local. Two, they were all black and white.”

“So?”

“TOM, those are DAIRY cows.”

“I knew that.”

I patted his thigh. “Of course you did. Mmm, now I want a milkshake.”

“Knew that too.”

“That I actually believe.”

****************************************

I was still slurping said milkshake when we entered North Hinskey Village, turned right and traversed down a road of what I could only think to call country estates. Large pieces of property, elegant older homes, beautiful gardens. Tom turned left and onto a long driveway, up a slight hill, then parked in front a two-car garage, next to a white Range Rover. He frowned momentarily, then turned to me, smiling.

“Here we are. Where I grew up.”

The house was huge, the garage on the far right, that and the rest of the structure all light tan painted brick with black roofing tiles. I set my milkshake carefully in the cup holder as he came around to open my door, and we walked along the front of the house, past a small section that jutted out fifteen feet or so, then onto the covered porch with white double doors, windows to either side of them, eight rectangles framed in white. Most of the other windows were framed with wood, a medium toned oak. Tom rang the bell, his other hand entwined with mine, and we waited for the games to begin.

Almost immediately, the door swung open, and there she was, dressed in a light pink, long-sleeved button down shirt, khaki slacks, light pink Crocs on her feet. There was so much of Tom in her face it made me do a double take, and I wondered if his hair would turn that same shade of white as he aged. Hers was straight, though, styled in a modified bob that stopped just short of her chin. The expression she wore transitioned from overjoyed when she saw Tom to stunned when she noticed me next to him, then to annoyed, finally settling upon professionally detached. None of us spoke, and Tom had just let go of my hand and stepped forward to embrace his mother when a door slamming gave him pause. Footsteps sounded across the white tile foyer behind Diana, and a voice rang out, one that I recognized instantaneously as Tom grabbed hold of my hand once more, squeezing it tightly.

“Diana? Did I hear the doorbell? Is he here?” She appeared from the right and stopped next to Diana, taller than me and slender as a reed, straight, dark blonde hair hanging loose on her shoulders, clad in a light coral wrap around shirt, the tops of her ridiculously perky breasts bulging out of the V, tight white shorts that barely reached the middle of her darkly tanned, impossibly toned thighs, wedged espadrilles on her feet. A vision of those thighs wrapping around Tom’s waist wormed its way into my brain, partially erased by the feel of his breath in my ear as he whispered an apology. She came to an abrupt halt in front of us, smiling widely with her perfectly white teeth. “Hello, Thomas. I’m so happy you’re here. Wonderful to see you again…you grow more attractive with every passing moment, I’m beginning to think.” She turned her head, crossing her arms as she looked me up and down derisively. “And you must be…Maude.”

Channeling all of the righteous anger I felt into making her understand from the very start that I knew the truth of all she’d done to the man at my side, I replied without missing a beat, eyes narrowed, a devious smirk upon my lips. “And you must be Jane.” I leaned forward several inches, smirk all but gone, glaring. “Tom’s told me SO MUCH about you.” I’d over-emphasized the words ‘so much’ in such a way that they sounded capitalized, pausing between them for effect, smirk returning, widened, as I finished the sentence.

Diana stepped backward a foot, waving us in, but Tom remained in place as if rooted to the spot, only his head moving as he rotated it to face Jane. His voice was several octaves lower than normal, clipped, and tainted by an underlying fury.

“Why are you here?” Not leaving her an opportunity to answer, Tom turned his attention back to Diana, a finger pointing in Jane’s direction as he spoke. “Why is she here?”

Diana sighed. “Come inside and we’ll talk, Thomas. Please. Let’s not do this on the patio.”

Tom uprooted himself and took a single step forward towards her. “I asked you a question, Mum. Why the fuck is she here?”

“She’s here because I phoned her after we spoke to let her know you were coming up. I hadn’t the slightest idea you’d be bringing…her.” The tiniest of sneers curled her upper lip as she cast her gaze upon me. “Now will you please come inside? I don’t particularly want the neighbors knowing all my business.”

“Well I don’t particularly want to step foot in your house as long as she’s…” He gestured in Jane’s direction with his thumb. “…still in it, but I’m the sort of person who respects the wishes of others…unlike SOME people…so, fine. Inside it is.” He pulled me gently forward and to the left, leaving room for Diana to quickly close the doors.

She reached out and touched his arm, then pulled it away as if burned when she looked up at his face. “Tom, please, don’t be angry with me. She just wants to talk. You were together for a year. You were going to marry her. Give her a chance to tell you how she feels. Don’t you think you owe her at least that much?”

Tom let go of my hand, then moved to stand in front of me, left hand lifting my chin high. His lips met mine, tongue running over them, and I opened my mouth when he sought entrance. He pulled away as we grew breathless, speaking softly. “Maude, I’d like to apologize in advance for the behavior I’m about to display. And if the urge should strike you, do feel free to chime in, my love, my life.”

He turned around, leaving me with a view of his very tense back muscles as they rippled beneath his Henley until I shifted sideways so I could see past him. “I. Owe. Jane. Nothing. NOTHING. Not one fucking thing.” Gesturing in my direction with this thumb this time, he leaned in until his face was less than a foot from Diana’s. “Now. First off, ‘her’ has a name. It’s Maude. Please have the common courtesy to use it going forward. Second, whether you like it, approve of it, or whatEVER, I love her more than anything in this world, we’re together, and we’re going to remain as such no matter what schemes you concoct to make it otherwise. Love her, like her, dislike her or hate her…that’s your choice. I love you, Mum, but you CANNOT disrespect her again after this day if you want me to continue to be a part of your life. Is that clear?”

Diana stood motionless, still as a statue.

“I’m so upset, Mum. Downright devastated. I can’t believe that you’d stoop so low as give my number out to Jane, aiding and abetting someone like her, hoping you could get us back together because, due to reasons I, for the life of me, cannot fucking understand, you don’t approve of a woman you’ve never even MET.”

Her finger wagged in his face. “I may not have met her, but I’ve seen enough things online for me to safely say I know her TYPE, Thomas. She’ll ruin your reputation, your career…all of it. Everything you’ve worked so hard for. Nothing good will come of it, mark my words. She only wants you for what you can do for her, not because she cares for you. Now Jane, she LOVES you, Tom. She always has. The only reason she rejected your proposal was because she wasn’t quite ready. You rushed her, and even though she still wanted to be with you, you threw her away.”

The irony of her statements, how the very opposite was true, was not lost on me. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Jane smiling like the Cheshire cat, and I wanted to fuck her up in the worst way. Tom’s half bark, half sob laugh drew my attention away from her.

“Is that what she told you, then, Mum? How long has she been feeding you this line of shit, anyway? The entire time? She’s a fucking LIAR.” He spun and took three steps, putting himself right in front of Jane. “Would you care to tell her the real reason I proposed in such a hurry, or shall I do the honors?”

Jane’s face twisted into a mask of sorrow. “Oh Tom, please don’t. That’s our personal, private business. It’s too painful. I wanted to talk about it with you, about everything, but…not like this. I still love you, so much, but…I can’t bear it. I promise, I’ll leave you and her alone, just please…don’t.”  She reached for his hand, and he exploded.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME. DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

Tom’s eyes were wild, and it was as if Loki had apparated into our midst. As he spun round to spill all to Diana, Jane slipped in under the wire, bleating out three words dripping with despair.

“I was pregnant.”

Diana’s face fell, jaw dropping open, her hand flying up to cover her mouth after she gasped loudly.

Tears had begun to slide slowly down Jane’s cheeks. “We found out a few weeks before we went to Bora Bora, and I was so happy, even though I was sick nearly the entire time. When we got back I felt even worse and rested at my place for almost two days straight. When I went to see Tom again, he surprised me with dinner, candles, and a ring. Dealing with the prospect of becoming a mum had already been weighing on me, and I wanted to wait a bit before making another huge decision. He said if I didn’t answer then, we were done. Then he kicked me out. I miscarried the very next day, and the doctor at the clinic…” She’d begun sobbing. “He said it was directly related to all the emotional stress.”

Diana moved to comfort her, mumbling ‘oh you poor, poor dear’ but Tom blocked her path, turning his back to her in order to face Jane again, his rage escalating, like a pot of water boiling over and sizzling as it washed over the stove burner.

“YOU FUCKING LYING, CHEATING, BITCH!” He was inches from her face, screaming. “TELL. HER. THE. TRUTH!”

She cowered, stepping backward, and Diana pushed herself in between them. “Thomas William Hiddleston, what is WRONG with you? Stop this, at once! How dare you treat her this way, after all she’s been through?”

His words came out in a growl. “After all SHE’S been through? Fuck that. Lies. All of it. Want to know how it really went, Mum? She was unfaithful to me. Twice. First with Ben, right after I left on the Dark World press tour, for which I stupidly forgave her, and then with Idris, right before we left for Bora Bora. While she was pregnant with my child. She laughed when I proposed and told me she’d never really loved me, not enough, anyway, to stay with me, because my fans were damaging her reputation. That our entire relationship was nothing more than a well calculated plan right from the start, because she thought dating me would be BENEFICIAL to her career. She let me think that we were starting a family together, that I was going to become a father, all because she didn’t want to miss out on a free trip to Bora Bora. She didn’t have a miscarriage, she had an ABORTION. One she’d arranged for the very day after we learned she was pregnant. I begged her not to do it, told her I’d raise the baby on my own, but she insisted on terminating because she didn’t think Idris would have her otherwise. And would you like to know how long their ‘relationship’ lasted? Two fucking weeks! TWO WEEKS! A life extinguished, for a fuckfest that lasted TWO WEEKS.” His voice cracked on the last word, and I knew he was fighting back a bevy of raw emotions, rage, sorrow, pain…too many, and too much. He flinched when I stepped forward and placed my hand on his lower back, then relaxed and pushed back against it.

Jane shook her head rapidly. “He’s the one who’s lying. He just doesn’t want Maude to know what kind of person he REALLY is.”

A little voice in my head whispered to me that she’d used a word that seemed out of place, and I hoped with some fancy footwork on my part I could trip her up. The time to chime in had come.

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘clinic’? Things must work differently here, I guess…when I miscarried, I had to go to the hospital emergency department. Not a clinic. Those are for STD screening, annual gynecological exams, birth control and…elective procedures. Never emergency care.”

Tom’s head pivoted towards me, eyes narrowed at first, widening as he cycled back through the conversation and realized what I was up to. “No, things are the same here. Exactly the same.”

Jane’s hands were balled into fists at her side. “I meant A&E. I misspoke. And it was my personal doctor that I saw a week later for a re-check who mentioned that stress was the cause.”

He turned back to her. “Is that so? Funny, that’s not where you directed me to go in order to leave a blood sample for our paternity test…you sent me to the BPAS Willesden.” Diana let out a small squeak. Jane’s sobbing had ceased, face now pale, a mask of calm that was betrayed by the furious fire in her eyes as he continued. “They said they’d have to send it out, but I do have a copy of the permission form I completed there. Which bears your signature as well, written with blue ink on the original. Their name and logo appears in the header, and it clearly indicates that three samples were being included for testing.”

I raised my hand, as If I were an overly curious school student. “What does BPAS stand for?

Surprisingly, it was Diana who answered me. “British Pregnancy Advisory Service. They’re a charity organization that provides affordable services to prevent or end unwanted pregnancies with contraception or by abortion.”

Jane pointed at Tom. “I did NOT have an abortion. I went to the BPAS the next day to have my sample done. They didn’t do it at A&E. That’s why I was there and when I signed. The baby’s was sent from the hospital.”

I whistled, low and long. “You are TENACIOUS, Jane, I’ll give you that. All the plotting and planning…christ in a sidecar…”

Diana, surprising me yet again, interrupted. “Which A&E, Jane? What was the date? The day?”

Jane’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as she desperately tried to fabricate the answers, but she hesitated just a moment too long for Diana’s taste. “I’ve had a miscarriage of my own, and those are questions that require no thought when answering. You remember, that and all of it. Always.” She glanced my way, and I gave her a single nod before speaking.

“Tulane Medical Center. September 21st, 1996. Saturday. Doctor confirmed it for me at 7:42 PM.”

Diana met my gaze, very briefly, then looked down at the floor. “John Radcliffe Hospital. 14th of May, 1984. I’d been carrying twins.” Tom’s back muscles clenched under my hand, and I knew he’d had no prior knowledge of her experience. Raising her eyes, chin set resolutely in a way I recognized all too well, she placed one hand on her hip and pointed the index finger of the other at Jane. “You. Out of my house, right this very second.”

Jane was fake-crying once more, delicate little hiccupping sobs. “It’s still so fresh for me, and I’m so upset I couldn’t think…”

Tom’s left hand reached out to me, and I let my right hand slip across his back, then entirely off, in order to grasp it. His voice was calm now, wistful, yet dripping with disdain as he stared down the woman who had tossed aside a miracle as if it were of no more consequence than the wrapping on a two-year-old’s birthday gift.

“19th of June, 2014. It was a Thursday. 11:37 AM.” He inhaled sharply. “That’s when you texted me those words…’it’s done’. Still have the whole message, by the way. On my old phone.”

As if someone had flipped a switch, Jane’s carefully constructed façade disappeared and what I saw in its place made me glad she hadn’t continued with the pregnancy, as awful as that may seem. She reminded me of my mother, and the thought of her parenting Tom’s child caused a bitter chill to work its way up and down my spine.

She turned on her heel, walked through the wood-framed opening into what I assumed was the kitchen, located directly opposite the front entrance, then grabbed a white Coach bag off the table and returned, striding past us toward the double doors. Stopping as she laid a hand on one of the pulls, she turned back, smirking.

“Oh well. Worth a try, you know? Who doesn’t want to be on the arm of a hot as fuck rising star, even if he’s an insecure, needy mama’s boy underneath it all? And, I must admit I’ve missed the incredible sex.” She shrugged. “But, I’m sure I can do better.” She pointed at me. “And Tom, if that’s what you’d rather have on your arm…” Another shrug. “All your loss, darling.”

A malicious grin spread across Tom’s face. “Oh, no, believe me, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s entirely my GAIN. I should thank you profusely for being such a vile, callous, lying scumbag. If you hadn’t done what you did, I would have never met Maude. She is unquestionably who I’d rather have on my arm. And in my bed. Lord, what she does to me…you were nothing more than an inflatable doll in comparison, darling. Artificial, cold, dry, silent…” He shuddered violently. “Looking back on our, erm, experiences…it leaves me, dare I say, feeling quite…deflated.”

I roared with laughter, raising my left hand to high-five him. “Someone better call the fire department because…THAT BURN!” Stepping forward, I leaned in as menacingly as I could muster, my eyes zeroing in on hers. “What you did to him…I don’t know how you live with yourself. Or how you sleep at night. Probably lots of expensive wine, I’d assume. Or maybe it doesn’t bother you at all. Not now, anyway. But when you’re an old woman, dying all alone because you’ve fucked over everyone you’ve ever met, hurt the people who actually cared about you…it is my fondest wish that in those moments, which go on for what I hope will seem like CENTURIES, that then, THEN it bothers you. That you regret everything. That you wish you could change it. That you’re terrified, the entire time right up until the very end, and just as you think you’ve found peace, at that point, you begin to see all their faces, one by one, over and over, even as the light dims and you take your last breath.” I stood up straight, left hand on my hip. “And be aware that in the event of a zombie apocalypse, I’ll be coming for your skinny ass. When I find you, and have no doubt that I will, I’m going to tear out your fucking heart with my bare hands and stomp it flat while you look on.”

She flung open the door and walk-jogged down the driveway, and Tom rested his chin on my shoulder, speaking quietly.

“But what about the Carnegie Deli cheesecake, Maude?”

I sighed heavily, touching my temple to his. “I guess now it’ll have to be my second stop.”

[demonzdust]

Drabble/Sneak Peek

So it’s been a while since I’ve posted a fic or drabble (mostly because I’m still working on the big bang thing that’s 4.5 chapters long thus far).

But as tonight two amazing hashtags were born, I want to share a sneak peek to a smutty thing I’m working on for @sceoweek2018

Title: Entertainment Rating: Explicit Ship: Scott McCall/Theo Raeken Summary: Scott is on the road with Chris and Theo trying to warn unsuspecting packs about Monroe and her people. They stop for the night at a Motel, Scott catches Theo entertaining himself with...wait is that his sweatshirt?

Scott’s flipping through the selection of local stations on his small motel television looking for something to occupy himself with when it makes a hissing sound and goes suddenly blank.

He sighs and flops his head back onto his pillow in frustration. They’d picked this just off the highway two-story strip motel out of convenience, but now he’s kind of wishing they’d been a bit more choosy.

He picks up his phone to look at the time.

7:08pm. Chris had left only a few minutes ago to pick up some dinner. It had been a long day, with more fighting and driving than he’d ever thought could be possible to fit in before seven o’clock, but he’s still a bit restless waiting alone by himself.

There’s always somewhere he has to be these days. Every time he closes his eyes to get some rest he can’t stop his brain from thinking of all the people out there that might need his help at that given moment. The only way he’s ever able to get some rest at all is by reminding himself that he’ll be no good to anyone as an overtired insomniac.

A bit of television would have been a nice distraction. Even if it was just re-runs of Wheel of Fortune on a tiny grainy screen.

He groans and pushes himself up off the bed and moves to pull the long, slightly musty curtains back from his window.

On the second floor he has a nice view of the highway and the miles of desert stretched out behind it flooded with the orange and gold rays of sunset.

Not that different to what he’d been looking at for days riding shotgun next to Chris.

The only other item of note is the blue glow of a soda machine down at the other end of the balcony.

A Pepsi doesn't actually sound that bad. Maybe Theo wanted one while they waited for Chris to get back with Chinese food...

As he’s making his way to the machine he can’t help but think about how if someone had told him a year ago that he’d be spending his days in an SUV driving across the US with Chris and Theo, fighting side by side with them, finding people and protecting them...he would at least have looked at them with a raised eyebrow.

Even now, he’s surprised at how functional a team the three of them make. Theo in particular, has come so far in such a short period of time.

Earlier today Scott had watched him take a bullet for a small girl. He didn’t blink, didn’t think about it, just grabbed her and shielded her. Thankfully the bullet hadn’t been laced with wolfsbane, and Theo is already on the mend. Even if he does heal slower than a normal werewolf.

He still has to keep an eye on Theo, to watch for any potential regressions, but there’s been a trust building between them for weeks now. He knows Theo has his back in a fight, and he hasn’t missed the glances Theo sends his way every so often, seeking Scott’s approval.

Even outside of fighting and strategizing, Theo’s company isn’t unwelcome. With Stiles back at Quantico, the sarcastic humor every so often is much appreciated.

Thus Scott doesn’t hate the idea of sharing a soda with him while they wait for dinner.

                                                        *     *     *

In his room with the blinds drawn tightly shut, Theo is entertaining himself in a very different way.

It had been a long day. It started bright and early with a two hour drive that lead to them defending an unsuspecting pack from an ambush, during which he’d gotten shot, and ended with a second, much longer drive.

But none of that was what got Theo frustrated.

What got Theo bothered was what had happened directly after the fight, and before the second length of travel.

His back against a dirty brick wall, he’d been struggling to pull a bullet out of his leg when Scott had found him. Before Theo could even object Scott had knelt down in front of him and was pushing his hands away from the bloody wound just above his knee to survey it himself.

“It’s not that bad...” Theo had panted through the pain. “I’ve got it...”

But Scott had ignored him.

In a moment he was running his palm up Theo's forearm, taking his pain as his fingers slowly worked the bullet out. Scott had held his gaze through it, and there was a warm comforting approval in his eyes that made Theo feel like all the bones in his chest were slowly being rearranged.

When Scott's hands left him, he ached to feel them again.

If Scott only wanted him he'd have thrown his pants off and let the alpha wolf take him against that dirty brick wall in bright daylight.

It wasn't the first time Theo'd wanted his (maybe sort of?) alpha to lay him out and fuck him. In fact,  nearly every day Theo is stuck in the backseat of the car, watching the changing light of day and night hit the contours of his body as they travel.

He's not sure when it had started really, but he knows it was sometime after he'd been brought back above ground. Hour after countless hour he'd spend alone in his truck, contemplating the wrongs he'd done.

He wanted Scott’s forgiveness, he wanted Scott's companionship and approval (something he'd previously tossed away like an idiot), and he wanted Scott's thick swelling alpha dick ramming into his ass like there was no tomorrow.

He'd never wanted someone like that before. He’d never craved sex so badly, and certainly not from one specific person. It wasn't more than a few days after he'd realized what he wanted that he'd first pushed a few fingers into his ass to see what it might feel like.

Turns out, it felt awesome. Way better than he'd thought it would, though not half as good as he'd expected it would feel with Scott.

He has to think about Scott to get off these days. Nothing else does it for him.

Any attention Scott pays him, be it a glance in a conversation, or eye contact when Scott asks him what he wants from the drive thru menu, sends Theo's hormones rushing over a cliff.

That moment with Scott staring into his eyes, one hand on his thigh the other on his arm, a connection between them as Scott absorbed the pain from his veins, that had utterly wrecked him.

And then he'd had to pretend as though it hadn't for the next eight hours.

Nearly every night on this trip, the second he'd been by himself he would wriggle out of his pants, slick up his fingers, and pass the time with his hand between his legs and Scott's name on his lips.

But tonight is different. That moment on the battlefield was too much. He was already planning to really go at the second he was alone when fate offered him an unexpected opportunity in the form of Scott leaving his hoodie strewn across the front seat of the car.

Theo respects Scott. He really does.

But he wasn't about to kick a gift horse like that in the mouth.

He knows he’ll never get to be as close to Scott as he wants to. He doesn't have the right to tell Scott how he feels or what he wants. He knows he's lucky that Scott is willing to let him somewhat back into the pack at all.

He wouldn't dare try to make a move on Scott physically. Not even he is shameless enough to try something like that with their history.

But “borrow” some of Scott's clothes to rub his face into while he furiously jams his fingers in and out of his ass?

Theo's come a long way, but he still isn't above that.

His quick fingers plucked the red sweatshirt up and stowed it in his own bag so fast not even an alpha werewolf (or an Argent for that matter) could see it.

The second the cheap motel door had clicked behind him he was kicking off his shoes and wriggling out of his tight jeans. He unzipped his jacket and tossed it onto the floor, but didn’t bother removing his shirt as he retrieved the stolen article of clothing and a bottle of lubricant out of his bag.

In a moment he was laying on his side, breathing in the pleasant scent on the soft fabric, and pressing his fingers to his entrance. It was all too easy to imagine what it would be like to have Scott crawling on top of him with his warm earthy scent, like shaved wood and cinnamon, invading his senses.

He groaned into the hoodie as he felt the burn of his fingers pushing into himself and imagined it was the thick blunt head of Scott’s cock.

From there he lost track of time, or any sense of where he was. In the dark he was free to imagine a scenario where he wasn’t an undeserving wretch, or a touch starved insatiable slut desperate for something he knows he’ll never get and shouldn’t even have the audacity to want. He could imagine what it would feel like to have Scott want him in return, to feel the alpha wolf between his legs, ramming into him, to have his ass loosened up with each thrust, absorbing Scott’s tension and providing him with release. Having his own needs filled deeply and completely by the only person he can ever remember wanting to feel inside of him.

His body turned and twisted, as he rammed his fingers harder and more harshly at his insides. There was a rushing growing in his ears as he imagined the sound of Scott’s skin slapping against his own and the hot breath of the alpha on his face. He dug his nails into his neck fantasizing about having the alpha’s teeth gnawing at him.

He’s so deep in the fantasy he doesn’t hear the sound of someone approaching his room.

“Uh...fuck...Scott...fuck...please...” he pants, his fingers driving in and out of his ass in the shallow imitation of desperately desired thrusts.

                                                 *     *     *

With both his hands full, Scott doesn't think much of tapping the door to Theo's room with his foot. He'd only done it hard enough to make a thudding sound to signify his presence, and isn’t prepared for the cheap lock to slip and the door to fly open unannounced.

But what he really isn't prepared for is the scene he finds himself intruding on.

Theo, naked from the waist down, head thrown back, panting, his hair and brow damp with sweat, one hand wrapped around his throbbing length, the other just a few inches below, fingers burrowing deep and furiously as far as they could fit into the tight entrance of his voluptuously curved ass.

In the split second that he’s frozen in place, he can hear his name being uttered in long raspy moans and he feels every inch of his body snap to aroused attention. Any thoughts of what had transpired earlier in the day or what pressure they would be facing tomorrow are blasted to the farthest corners of his mind.

It doesn’t take long for Theo to realize that he’s no longer alone, but it’s already far too late.

[shintaroux]

IF WALLS COULD TALK

I

Nijimura Shuuzou was aware that all things, good or bad, ought to have a beginning.

His potentially bright future began when he got accepted into college on a scholarship.

His independence began when he moved into his own apartment.

His semester began with a few successfully completed first assignments.

His sleepless nights began when he got a new neighbour who happened to enjoy sex; and he did so loudly, every two days and without sparing a thought for the fact that their apartments were adjacent.

II

At the first crack of dawn, Nijimura’s eyes flew open. He sighed exasperatedly and turned to his side so he could cover his ears with his pillow. That did nothing to drown the moaning and groaning from his neighbour’s apartment. The scene from yesterday evening was replaying at the same volume and intensity; Nijimura often wondered where his neighbour found the strength.

He got up and made his bed. His apartment was small, as it befitted a college student, but it served him well for the time he spent inside. His kitchen and living room were joined and his bathroom was separated from them by a thin wall. The bathroom was in the narrow hallway which led to the front doors.

And his neighbour’s moans echoed throughout his walls.

I never even met the guy, Nijimura thought bitterly as he cracked eggs and prepared to whisk them. He was in the mood for pancakes when he heard rain pounding on the windows.

Ten minutes later, the noise has died down; he heard the door to his neighbour’s apartment slam shut but Nijimura paid no attention to it. He has already made five pancakes and they were all perfectly shaped, not a single one was chipped on the side like his mother’s were.

While he was making the seventh pancake, his nostrils were suffused by the smell of something burning. It was a faint, distant smell but where there’s smoke, there’s usually a fire. He switched his stove off and rushed out of his apartment. There, before Nijimura’s eyes, was his neighbour wrapped in nothing but a towel, his lean chest wet and his hair damp, as he stared back into his own apartment from which thin wisps of smoke emerged.

“Is something on fire?” Nijimura asked, distracted by the hilarity of it all. He couldn’t find it in him to laugh, however.

“I left my breakfast on the stove while I took a shower. A bad call, it seems.” The neighbour turned to Nijimura, eying him up and down just like Nijimura did a few moments ago.

“You think?” Nijimura curled his lip in disbelief; disbelief at how he was less worried about smoke and more worried about how low his neighbour’s towel was hanging around his hips.

“Don’t worry, everything is fine. Except for my badly burned eggs,” his neighbour explained and flashed a humorless smile of pearly white teeth. He looked almost angel-like, with his black hair and messy fringe clumsily hiding his eye. Except angels didn’t usually go for setting things to fire.

Nijimura didn’t allow himself to think twice before he proposed: “You can eat with me if you want.”

“I’d love that, thank you,” his neighbour replied fast as if he had been waiting for the offer. He wore a small smile on his thin, pink lips. The soft features of his porcelain face belonged on a doll, not a lean young man who can’t even make simple eggs without burning them. “Let me just put some clothes on and open the windows.”

Unbeknown to Nijimura, this was yet another beginning.

III

“I can hear you, you know.”

“Hm?”

“When you’re having sex. You’re really loud.”

“And here I was trying hard to be as quiet as possible.”

“If those are your best efforts, I don’t even want to know how loud you are when you aren’t trying to be quiet.”

A brief smile graced Himuro Tatsuya’s lips but he made no further comments on the matter. They have exchanged nothing but names and college majors but the familiarity that unraveled between them put Nijimura at ease; he felt as if he might challenge the elusive raven-haired boy to a video-game duel after the meal.

Himuro finished his breakfast first and placed his plate in the sink and when he sat back down, he put his elbows on the table and rested his head on his clasped fingers. He stared at Nijimura until he began fidgeting in his seat.

“How about a deal, Nijimura…?” Himuro suggested with his eyebrow lifted in challenge. Nijimura should’ve known that beauty is the finest mask; there’s always something sinister lurking underneath.

“I’m listening,” Nijimura replied, his mouth full of a half-chewed pancake.

“If you make breakfast for me every morning, I’ll stop having loud sex.”

Nijimura didn’t even swallow his food before he answered: “Deal.”

IV

Nijimura fell asleep with a smile on his face as he imagined peaceful nights and quiet mornings but what came to him instead was a knocking on his front doors at the very same crack of dawn he had been awoken at before.

Nijimura groaned and stretched, his bones creaking like an old wooden floorboard. He trudged to his doors and opened them to find Himuro standing in a plain black t-shirt and tracksuit with a plastic bag full of groceries.

He was too dazzling for his eyes still unadjusted to light so Nijimura blinked a couple of times. Perhaps he was dreaming.  

“I was thinking of waffles this morning,” Himuro explained and raised the bag to Nijimura’s eyes. It roused Nijimura awake. Himuro’s voice sounded as if he had taken it for a jog this morning while Nijimura could barely scratch his out of his throat.

“It’s six in the morning,” Nijimura mustered.

“Isn’t this when you usually wake up?”

“No, this is when you usually wake me up.”

Himuro put his best efforts into holding back a grin but he completely failed, and looked comically pained while doing so. Nijimura rolled his eyes and ruffled the bird-nest that was his hair. He took ingredients from Himuro’s hand and grumbled: “Fine.”

Himuro’s presence dyed Nijimura’s apartment in strange colours; he sat at the tiny, round kitchen table, his long limbs sprawled and his head comfortably resting on his palms as he observed Nijimura working his way around the kitchen. Nijimura, albeit busy over the stove, felt Himuro’s eyes staring holes into his back and he remembered all those times he had heard him moan. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t feel uncomfortable around Himuro; instead, there was curious electricity at the tips of his fingers.

“So,” Himuro broke the silence, his voice melted like chocolate Nijimura was preparing for waffles. “I was wondering if we could extend our little deal to evenings as well.”

“No,” Nijimura refused right away.

“No?”

“No.”

Himuro was silent for a while so Nijimura assumed he was done with his senseless request.

“Even if I bring the limited edition of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels?” Himuro asked as innocently as he could but his intentions were clear as day; Nijimura glanced at him over his shoulder, knowing that he was about to step into a bear trap.

“You have the limited edition of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels?”

Himuro smirked. “Is that a yes?”

“Maybe.”

“I knew you were that kind of guy.” Himuro said. He sounded amused. Nijimura was quite entertained himself if he were to judge by a shameless grin he couldn’t wash off his face. He thought he heard a soft ‘click’ between them.

“Is that so… How did you know?”

“Takes one to know one.”

V

“Who do you think the killer is?”

“The spouse. It’s always the spouse.”

“You aren’t even trying, Tatsuya.”

Nijimura has had years of experience with late night crime shows but he has never had anyone to watch them with and somewhere between playing fighting video games and watching comedy-crime 90’s movies, he and Himuro switched to a first-name basis.

“How about this: if I end up being right, you’ll let me sleep over at your place.”

“No way. I don’t have an extra futon.”

Himuro grinned, a spark of slyness flashing across his lidded eyes. “You were so confident it wasn’t the spouse so what’s the matter now, Shuu? Afraid that I’m right?”

“You wish,” Nijimura clicked his tongue. “It’s on.”

Fifteen minutes later and Nijimura still didn’t have an extra futon. What he did have is a sleepy Himuro who was apparently grumpy when he was tired. Himuro took his shirt off and didn’t wait for Nijimura’s approval before he wiggled his way underneath Nijimura’s covers. The closeness of his body made the bed that much warmer - and cramped.

“Really now?” Nijimura asked and tried to sound annoyed when in fact he liked how Himuro’s hair tickled the back of his neck.

“Yes. Afraid I’m going to jump you?”

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to?”

Nijimura shrugged, vaguely aware of the gooseflesh migrating down his spine. “Didn’t know you wanted to.”

“I want to. But I’m tired and I’m still recovering from the spouse’s betrayal.”

“You knew it was the spouse,” Nijimura teased for which Himuro lightly punched him in the lower back.

“It hurts to be right sometimes. You should be comforting me, not messing with my heart, broken by betrayal.”

“You so full of shit, Tatsuya.”

Himuro let out a bout of badly-suppressed laughter. “And you let me in your bed.”

“I didn’t let you, you let yourself,” Nijimura said, drowsy. The light conversation was lulling him into sleep.

Nijimura wondered if it was Himuro’s plan all along to wear him out, and then come as close as he was allowed to, because he had begun warily wrapping his hands around Nijimura’s waist to snuggle closer. Nijimura never had the intention of pushing him away but he noted how it made him feel.

“You know, Shuu, you let me let myself come closer to you.”

Nijimura pretended that he had already fallen asleep.

VI

After a month of intense hanging-out and an increased number of sleepovers, Nijimura had come to terms with the fact that, for once in his life, there was someone whom he wanted to keep by his side. But being with Himuro was like walking on a tight rope and he wasn’t well-versed in balancing on thin air. But there was their flirty banter, the shared knowledge of movies, a taste for a good video game brawl and compatibility of their bodies and how they occupied the entirety of space on the couch or bed – and all those made Nijimura want to join a damn circus.

He waited for two more weeks. Two weeks of Himuro prancing around his apartment with his silver tongue and his slender body and his smooth voice and with their late night conversation still at the back of his mind and Nijimura was ready to jump out the window with unwashed dishes in his hand.

“Tatsuya. I can’t do this anymore,” Nijimura turned to Himuro, a sponge in his left hand and a half-washed plate in the other.

“What is it?” Himuro asked, concerned.

“I have impure thoughts of you.”

“W-what…?”

Nijimura’s mind was running off on its own. “Yes. I want to bend you over a table and fuck the shit out of you and then watch Snatch. With you.”

Himuro all but burst into fits of laughter, his beautiful mouth stretching so wide his cheeks ought to have hurt after a while. But he kept at it until Nijimura felt stupid for saying anything in the first place.

He turned around swiftly and shoved the half-cleaned dish back into the dirty water. “Fine. Nevermind. Glad you find it funny.” He grasped around the water to check if he had broken the plate – lucky for him, he hadn’t.

While he was fuming in his shame, two slender hands wrapped themselves around his waist. Nijimura winced at the contact as if it burned him instead of offered him some comfort.

“I was laughing because you are adorable. You know, for a big, perpetually-annoyed guy who just happens to cook meals I adore so dearly.”

“You’re so full of shit, Tatsuya,” Nijimura repeated what he ought to have said before. He turned around and Himuro softly collided into him. “You’ve had this planned from the start.”

“Maybe.” Himuro smiled and pressed a feather-light kiss to Nijimura’s jaw. Nijimura thought he looked and talked like a soft kitten, but he had seen his claws and wouldn’t be fooled. “Maybe I’ve seen you yelling at the kids down at the park. Maybe I thought you were funny. Maybe I learned you lived next to me. Maybe I wanted to mess with you a little. Maybe I was just waiting for an opportunity. Maybe I accidentally fell for you instead.”

Nijimura wanted to cover his face to hide the embarrassment that must’ve painted his face crimson; his whole body was flush against Himuro’s and soaking in every word he said. He might’ve sensed it from the start but like Himuro had said: he let him. And he’d let him do it all over again.  

“Go finish your dinner,” Nijimura said.

Himuro wouldn’t detach himself from Nijimura’s waist. “And then?” He teased, his breath warm across Nijimura’s lips.

“And then I’ll bend you over a table.”

“And then…?”

“We’ll watch Snatch.”

Himuro let go of Nijimura’s waist. “Sounds like a plan.”