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usafphantom2 · 4 months ago

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#TomcatTails

#TomcatTuesday

“Well whattya know? A DMZ!!”

The following story occurred during my time in the VF-154 Black Knights. We were based on Atsugi, Japan and part of Carrier Air Wing FIVE onboard the USS Kitty Hawk (CV 63). The Kitty Hawk was the last conventional aircraft carrier (non-nuclear) and was actually quite good at what she did, despite her age (almost 40 in 1999).

I was headed to the Black Knights as a Department Head (Lieutenant Commander) and on the way I went to Forward Air Controller (Airborne) or FAC(A) school. This qualification was relatively new for the Tomcat and we needed at least 3 qualified crews per squadron. My RIO “Skippy” and I got the nod to go to the school on the way to Japan, which consisted of some school in the deserts of Marine Corps Station Twenty-Nine Palms for the ground portion, and then working with the Oceana Weapons School on a good portion of the flying syllabus. We eventually got our final graduation hop after we got to Japan, but that hop deserves its own #TomcatTail, so I’ll leave it there.

What the FAC(A) does is provide Close Air Support (CAS) to troops on the ground, working with a ground FAC to target the hostiles. In a nutshell, the FAC(A) will have some “assets”, generally sections of Tomcats or Hornets arranged in a “stack” separated by a thousand feet holding some distance away from the hot area (10 or 15 miles or so). As the ground dudes generate a target (building, vehicle, people, etc.) they’ll describe where it is and talk the FAC(A) overhead to get his eyes on it. Once the FAC(A)’s got it, he calls in his assets in singles or sections and they’ll follow the route the FAC(A) gives them to arrive in the target area, where the FAC(A) will then start talking the assets eyes onto the target.

He's also maneuvering to get in a position behind the asset and will eventually follow that asset as he rolls in on the target and if the asset appears to be aligned on the correct target, the FAC(A) will say “cleared hot” and the asset is then cleared to engage.

Now that’s the “low tech version” where the FAC(A) is doing max work to get the bombs on the bad guys. Later on, we were also able to lase targets with our LANTIRN pod, or the ground dudes could lase with their mules, so we could drop more accurate PGMs. You still had to follow the guy to make sure he was properly aimed before release. While I didn't have the honor of participating, after OEF/OIF started Tomcats made their bread and butter in the FAC(A) mission due to long on station time and lot’s of “spotting ordnance” (500lb bombs). All in all, it was one of my favorite missions and was always a real hoot……..especially at night with goggles on!

For the purposes of this story, our CAS training was going to be off the Kitty Hawk and to conduct some “Korean Contingent” training for when a hundred thousand screaming NORKs started breaking south. It was also a little show of force because….we can. The scenario is that we’re going to be working a “notional target area” about 30 miles south of the DMZ and me and Skippy would have 2 sections of Hornets and Tomcats (4 jets total) to “work the battle problem”. It was by no means a large exercise, just some fairly simple CAS training to keep those skills honed. Basic holding points and patterns, simulated 500lb bombs, fairly simple 9 Line Briefs.

A 9 Line is the basic information the FAC(A) delivers to the assets and contains Initial Point, Heading to Target, Distance to Target, Target Elevation, Target Description, Target Location (lat/long, grid, or description), Type of Mark (rocket, white phosphorous), Friendly Location, and Egress direction. When you read it over the radio, it might sound like “Alpha…..010°…..15 nm….500…….blue roofed building…..large intersection…..talk-on…..500 meters north….190°.”

We brief up (FAC does the brief), man up and bang off the boat and eventually find ourselves holding 35nm south of the Korean DMZ. Neat! What could possibly go wrong! After me and Skippy take a quick tour of the target area 5 miles to our north (nothing special….just a small town with some hills to the west, a few big roads, etc.), we come back and start preparing some 9 lines. The “stack” is established 10 miles south of us with the jets as a stack of four singles starting at 18,000 feet on up. The key training here is for us to practice our craft (9 lines, talk-ons, maneuvering) and for the strikers to work some basic CAS skills (taking 9 lines, navigating, visually acquiring the talked-on target, rolling in parameters, etc.). Just another day in Naval Aviation!

It looks about like this:

______________________ DMZ

Ӧ Target

Me and Λ

Skippy

The Stack Λ Λ Λ Λ

Hornet guys are going first because….well, they’re Hornets and they’re almost out of gas already (kidding….mostly). Skippy and I devise a good 9 line and we call the first guy in from the bottom of the stack. We pick him up 6 mile from the target area and we roll in trail at a half mile. As we talk him on, he has a little trouble finding “the house with the blue roof”. As anyone that’s flown over Korea knows, damn near EVERY building has a blue roof! And no, they’re not all IHOPs. We eventually get him lined up and he rolls in; we follow just behind, check his alignment on the correct blue-roofed building and give the “SIMULATE CLEARED HOT”. A quick sim delivery and he’s pulling off and left to 190° and we pitch off right to go back to our station.

We cycle the next Hornet through on a similar pattern, then work the two Tomcats so now everyone has one run. Those runs are pretty uneventful but good training in a dynamic environment, and by this time we’ve learned to NOT use “the blue roofed building” as a target. Hey, what can I say? We’re trainable. Our plan was to bang out two more with the Hornets, kiss them off to head back to the boat, and wrap; up with the Tomcats.

Now it’s time for the fourth run. We take one more trip over the target area to select some new targets and then position ourselves south of the target area to read the 9 line. Once complete, the first Hornet calls “pushing” and Skippy gets them on radar (RIO is REALLY busy with FAC(A) and so is the Pilot). First thing he notices is that he’s not quite heading in the direction of the target, off by maybe 10° to the east, heading maybe 020°. Hmm. The Hornet is trundling along and keeping that direction, making no corrections to the west (left) to put the target area on their nose.

After a few minutes, Skippy calls out for them to “check left, 30” to get him to steer toward our target. No response, no course change. He says it again and the Hornet comes up with a “all good” or something. By this time they’re abeam the target, heading north-ish, and are 30 miles south of the DMZ. Oh shit. He's had some kind of NAV failure. Skippy gets more strident with a call like “target is your left nine o’clock, come left hard”. By this time I’ve positioned us about 2 miles in trail and we’re watching him trundle unaware toward the DMZ.

This is gonna be bad. Real bad. The story of a couple US helos getting fired on for flying over the DMZ years back comes to mind and I’m thinking “Hey, we’re about to get famous.” By this time, he's 15 miles south of the DMZ and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. One more strident “come left hard” call with no response and then Skippy shouts to “BREAK SOUTH, BREAK SOUTH, DMZ TEN MILES NORTH!!!”. At that point, I think the pilot snaps out of it and actually looks out the window (he was probably navigating heads down on a bad system) and we can see his jet break hard right and flow south like a scalded dog. We do the same, but not before checking out the DMZ in all its back-side-of-the-moon splendor.

There are areas where it’s not quite as obvious, but when you look at it from 20,000 feet the actual line of the DMZ is easily discernable in the landscape. Kind of like the US border in the southwest. You can see it. Which is funny because guess how my friend “Baja” got his callsign after an errant low-level flight near the US/Mexico border?

We flowed south and decided that, discretion being the better part of valor, we should probably CNX the rest of the mission that day and maybe we can sneak back and no one noticed. After getting back aboard the boat, the debrief was interesting because the lead Hornet pilot was in fact fiddle-f**king with his NAV system and when he looked out the window (the canopy is clear for a reason, kids), he thought “HolyShitTheDMZ!!!!” and broke hard. All in all, no harm now foul. We all survived the day but did have to let our CAG know what happened. He was very cool about the whole thing, especially since his “phone didn’t ring. I’m sure the Hornet dudes got max grief in the squadron (“Magellan”, etc.).

The only better end to that story I could think of is if the ship was serving Korean BBQ for dinner, but they weren’t. Sliders again. Not great, but not bad. We can live on Sliders.🍔

@RSE_VB via X

#f 14 tomcat #grumman aviation #fighter interceptor #aircraft #navy #aviation #us navy #carrier aviation #anytime baby!#cold war aircraft

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duvetfawn · 7 months ago

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Chapter IV

PAIRING: Professor!Benedict Cumberbatch x fem!reader

WARNINGS: Some eventual swearing. Nothing in particular.

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

A/N: I finally updated! These days I mainly focused on one-shots, as I enjoy writing them a lot. I will post a Dr. Strange one soon. Enjoy your reading!

The morning unfolded in slow, deliberate motions. You went through your routine—shower, coffee, a glance at the clock every few minutes—but your mind was far from present. Instead, it clinged to the email you received the night before, the one that managed to unravel your carefully maintained sense of calm.

Professor Cumberbatch’s words had been brief, stripped of any unnecessary pleasantries.

There had been no warmth in his tone, no invitation to feel at ease. Instead, it read like a summons, as though you were being called to stand trial rather than meet with an instructor. You had spent the night combing through every page of Crime and Punishment, devouring lecture notes as though your life depended on it, annotating feverishly to ensure you wouldn’t embarrass yourself. Still, the knot of tension in your stomach hasn’t loosened since.

Subject: Preliminary Meeting

Miss Andrews,

I have reviewed your request to attend my course. Before our first session, it is imperative that you acquaint yourself with the material. Specifically, Dostoevskij’s Crime and Punishment. Attached, you will find the syllabus and my lecture notes thus far.

We will meet tomorrow at 3:00 p.m., one hour before the course begins, in my office to assess your preparedness and address any concerns. Do not be late.

— Professor Benedict Cumberbatch

By 2:45 p.m., you found yourself standing outside his office door. The hallway was silent save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights. The nameplate on the door—Professor Benedict Cumberbatch, Department of Literature—glistened with an almost intimidating polish. You hesitated for a moment, clutching your notebook tightly, before raising your hand to knock.

“Come in.”

His voice carried through the wood—measured, low, and effortlessly commanding. You stepped inside, and the room was everything you imagined. The walls were lined with bookshelves, each one painstakingly organized, their spines a kaleidoscope of leather and faded titles. The scent of old paper and ink lingered in the air, grounding you as your gaze finally landed on him.

Professor Cumberbatch was seated behind his desk, pen poised in hand as though your knock barely warranted his attention. He finished scribbling something on the page before setting the pen down with deliberate precision. His sharp blue eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and in that instant, you felt as though every part of you was being scrutinized.

“Miss Andrews,” he said, his voice cool and detached. “You’re early.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, standing straighter. “I thought it best.”

He gestured to the chair across from him, and you sank into it, careful to maintain an air of composure. He studied you for a moment longer before leaning back in his chair.

“Have you reviewed the material I sent?”

“Yes,” you replied quickly, opening your notebook to reveal the dense web of annotations you made. “I’ve read Crime and Punishment and studied the lecture notes. I also highlighted some sections I thought were particularly relevant to your syllabus.”

His eyes flicked down to the open notebook, scanning your notes with an expression so neutral it borders on dismissive. “Good,” he says finally. “Then tell me: what do you make of Raskolnikov’s justification for his crime?”

There was no preamble, no warm-up question to ease into the discussion. He was testing you, and you knew it. You took a steadying breath, forcing yourself to focus.

“Raskolnikov believes his crime is justified by his theory of the ‘extraordinary man,’” you began, your voice steady despite the tension in the room. “He convinces himself that some individuals are above morality, that they can break societal laws for the greater good. But his guilt proves otherwise. He can’t reconcile his theory with his own humanity, and that internal conflict ultimately unravels him.”

A flicker of something—approval, maybe—crossed his face, but it was gone so quickly you wondered if you imagined it. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled as he watched you.

“And Sonia?” he asked. “What role does she play in his so-called redemption?”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t know the answer, but because his gaze was so piercing it was as if he was dissecting your every thought before you could speak.

“Sonia represents the opposite of everything Raskolnikov stands for,” you said carefully. “Where he isolates himself with pride and intellectual arrogance, she is humble and self-sacrificing. She forces him to confront the parts of himself he tries to suppress—his guilt, his need for connection. Without her, I don’t think he could accept redemption.”

For a moment, silence hung between you. Then, to your surprise, the faintest hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth.

“Not bad,” he said, his tone softening just enough to make you blink. “You’ve grasped the essence of the text, though your analysis of Sonia could be more nuanced.”

It was the closest thing to praise you’ve ever heard from him, and it left you momentarily off balance. He didn’t give you a chance to dwell on it, straightening and gesturing toward the clock on the wall.

“The course begins in fifteen minutes,” he said briskly. “You may go ahead to the lecture hall. I’ll join shortly.”

You stood, gathering your notebook. As you headed to the door, you paused, glancing back. He had already returned to his notes, pen in hand, as though the last hour hadn’t just altered the course of your life.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

He didn’t look up, merely nodding in acknowledgment.

The walk to the lecture hall felt surreal, your thoughts a tangled mess of relief and intrigue. You took a seat in the middle of the room, your notebook open before you, though the words blur together. You replayed the conversation in your mind, analyzing every glance, every shift in his tone, searching for clues about what he might have thought of you.

When he entered the room, the energy changed. Conversations faded into silence as every head turned to follow him. He strided to the podium with an effortless authority, the same cold precision you’d felt in his office now amplified in the lecture hall.

As he began to speak, his voice steady and deliberate, you forced yourself to take notes, though your hand trembled slightly. At one point, his gaze swept across the room, and for a fleeting moment, it landed on you.

Your breath catched. It was a brief, unspoken acknowledgment that felt almost electric, gone before anyone else could notice. You quickly looked down at your notebook, gripping your pen tighter.

You only just began this course, but something told you that semester wouldn’t be anything like the ones that came before.

The classroom was filled with a quiet hum as Cumberbatch’s monotonous voice washed over the students, but you could sense the tension in the air. The topic of the day was the first chapter of Crime and Punishment, a brilliant piece of literature, yet his treatment of it was nothing short of clinical. You, however, were engrossed. You’d read and re-read the passage, thoroughly enjoying the deep dive into Raskolnikov’s psyche. It was, to you, an intellectual delight. The themes of guilt, morality, and the human condition stirred something in you, and for a moment, you almost forgot where you were.

Cassie, on the other hand, had her head resting in her hand, her blonde hair falling like a curtain over her frustrated face. She wasn’t even pretending to pay attention anymore. She never had much luck with literature like this—Crime and Punishment felt like an insurmountable wall to her. For Cassie, who was more the practical type, a dense psychological novel like this one seemed like a language she couldn’t quite grasp. She’d been visibly irritated since Cumberbatch had started, scribbling half-heartedly on her notes, trying to avoid his gaze.

Felix was sitting next to you, and he seemed to be holding up slightly better than Cassie. He wasn’t engaged, but at least he wasn’t visibly frustrated. He looked at you, mouthing a quick question, his brow furrowing in a mix of confusion and concern.

“Are we supposed to be focusing on Raskolnikov’s state of mind or the way Dostoevskij is framing his moral dilemma?” Felix whispered just loudly enough for you to hear, but not for Cumberbatch to notice. You could tell he was trying to make sense of the dense reading. He was one of those who wasn’t quite as adept with literature, but he tried, and you had to give him credit for that.

You glanced over at Felix, giving a small, reassuring smile. “I think it’s both. The way Dostoevskij presents Raskolnikov’s inner turmoil is key, but Cumberbatch will likely want us to focus on the moral aspects. He’s all about the philosophy behind it.”

Felix nodded, looking slightly more relieved but still unsure. You noticed that Cassie shot you both a quick glance, a faint but amused smile curving her lips. You could almost read her thoughts as she rolled her eyes. She was still not on the same page as the rest of you.

Felix tried his best to follow along with the professor’s lecture, his eyes flicking from his notes to the professor, and back to you for reassurance. Cassie, however, was openly rebelling against the whole affair. She whispered, “I swear, if I get another C on this, I’m going to lose it.” Her tone was bitter, but there was a dark humor to it too.

You wanted to offer her some support, but the environment in the room didn’t exactly encourage open conversation. Cumberbatch was pacing the front of the room, his presence somehow even more oppressive when he wasn’t speaking. You tried to keep your voice low, offering a soft reply. “Just stick with it, Cass. I know it’s tough, but the more you dig into the text, the clearer it’ll get.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but at least she didn’t push back. Her attention flickered momentarily back to Cumberbatch, who was still speaking about Raskolnikov’s disdain for the world around him. The professor’s voice was clinical and emotionless, almost as if the words had lost all their humanity. His lecture was devoid of warmth, even when talking about the most profound elements of Dostoevskij’s work. It was an academic dissection, stripped of any passion.

As you glanced at Felix again, you caught a brief moment where his eyes met yours. There was a fleeting understanding there—an acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all. The way Cumberbatch seemed to suck the life out of the material. But you knew Felix wasn’t one for voicing too much dissent, not like Cassie. He just took it in silence, hoping that somehow he’d pass, no matter how hard it seemed.

The lecture stretched on, and you found yourself more and more immersed in the text itself. You loved how Dostoevskij explored the fractured psyche of Raskolnikov, the way the first chapter delved into his conflicting thoughts, his inner justifications for his crime, and the growing sense of dread that overtook him. You could sense the weight of the guilt he would soon face, even if he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge it. It was all so beautifully tragic, and you were itching to discuss it further. But, of course, you couldn’t. Not while Cumberbatch was present, his eyes like sharp daggers, ever watchful for any sign of rebellion or careless remarks.

Meanwhile, Cassie was shifting uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting to the clock. She knew she wasn’t getting it. She knew she was going to fail again.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered to you, as quiet as a mouse. You could feel the weight of her defeat in her voice. You didn’t have a good answer for her. You were good at this, but you knew how different everyone’s struggles were with the material. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen her sink into frustration.

Felix turned to you again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think he’ll ask us about the moral dilemma? The whole ‘extraordinary man’ thing, or is he going to focus on the psychology of it all?”

“Probably both,” you answered, turning your attention back to Cumberbatch. He was pacing again, his sharp voice slicing through the air as he made a point about Raskolnikov’s belief that some people—those who were ‘extraordinary’—were above the law. You found it interesting that Cumberbatch didn’t seem to care much for the philosophical weight of the question, instead focusing only on the mental gymnastics Raskolnikov performs to justify his own crimes.

Cassie huffed, clearly losing patience. “Ugh, if he mentions that ‘extraordinary man’ thing one more time, I’m going to scream. I’m already failing, and now I have to worry about whether I’m ‘extraordinary’ or not.” She leaned back in her chair, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder as she crossed her arms, sulking.

Felix shot her a sympathetic look, then glanced at you, giving you an expectant look. You could tell he was hoping you had some magic solution. But there was no magic here. Only the endless grind of trying to make sense of a professor who seemed to enjoy creating confusion instead of understanding.

Despite everything, though, you couldn’t help but feel a certain pull to the material. It was fascinating to watch Cumberbatch unravel the moral philosophy, even if he was doing so in his own cold, detached way. You felt like you were in a strange intellectual dance with him, navigating through Dostoevsky’s labyrinth, even though he didn’t seem interested in guiding you through it. It was a fight you were willing to engage in. It wasn’t about the grades; it was about the knowledge. But you knew, too, that the others weren’t quite as driven.

The class wore on, with more subtle whispers between you, Felix, and Cassie, as you all tried to make sense of it. You found yourself unable to shake the feeling that, despite the tension in the room, you were still playing this game better than anyone else. And even if your friends were struggling, at least you had the insight to see through the fog, to pull meaning from the dense words of Dostoevsky. But it wasn’t lost on you that in this strange, academic world, Cumberbatch had already marked you as different—a challenger to his quiet authority in the room.

The lecture continued, each minute feeling like it dragged longer than the last. Cumberbatch’s voice was steady and unwavering, dissecting the moral philosophy embedded within Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment with a precision that left little room for interpretation. His delivery, while cold and analytical, held a certain intensity—an intensity you couldn’t help but be drawn to. Unlike Felix and Cassie, who seemed to shut themselves off from the professor’s lectures, you found yourself captivated, eager to immerse yourself in the complexities of the text. His ability to lay out Raskolnikov’s inner turmoil in such a clear-cut way fascinated you, even if his emotional detachment sometimes left you yearning for a deeper, more nuanced conversation.

As he spoke, you stole a glance at Cassie. Her blonde hair was tangled messily around her face, her fidgeting betraying the clear frustration she was feeling. She was rolling her eyes, muttering under her breath whenever she thought Cumberbatch wasn’t paying attention, but it was no use. She had been struggling with the course from the very beginning, and it only seemed to be getting worse. Despite her usual exuberance, Cassie’s mood was a sharp contrast to the enthusiasm that had once defined her.

Felix, on the other hand, sat hunched over his desk, fingers drumming against the wood in a rhythmic pattern of frustration. The sarcasm he usually wore so comfortably had faded. Every so often, he would turn toward you, raising his eyebrows or giving you a look that conveyed how little he was absorbing. Felix had always found it hard to keep up with Cumberbatch’s cold, calculating way of teaching, and his growing frustration with the course was becoming more evident by the minute.

You, however, felt something different. Where your friends saw an unapproachable, distant professor, you saw someone who, beneath that frosty exterior, had a depth of knowledge and passion for the material that was impossible to ignore. You had come to admire Cumberbatch’s ability to dissect Crime and Punishment with such an exacting lens. His focus on Raskolnikov’s philosophical dilemma, the conflict between his desire for transcendence and the moral weight of his actions, resonated with you on a level that others just didn’t seem to grasp. You were beginning to understand the power of his teaching style, even if it wasn’t what Cassie or Felix appreciated.

But as the lecture continued, Cumberbatch’s eyes scanned the room with a sharp, calculating gaze. His piercing look swept over the class, pausing briefly on each student’s face, as though weighing whether they were paying attention, or whether they had succumbed to apathy. You couldn’t help but feel that, in some way, he was constantly testing you, evaluating your understanding of the material.

“Let’s delve deeper into Raskolnikov’s character,” Cumberbatch said, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. “What does his justification for murder reveal about his view on society? Is his theory of ‘extraordinary’ individuals something that could be applied to the real world, or is it a sign of his inherent instability?” His eyes locked with yours, waiting for a response.

You straightened up in your seat, heart beating slightly faster. There was something in the way he phrased the question, a subtle challenge buried within his words. You knew this wasn’t just a simple answer about the book—it was a way for him to gauge your depth of understanding. You leaned forward, fully aware of the weight of the question.

“Raskolnikov’s justification for murder is deeply tied to his alienation from society,” you began, choosing your words carefully. “He sees himself as above the law, an ‘extraordinary’ individual who can transcend moral boundaries for the greater good. His theory reflects a radical rejection of traditional moral constraints. But ultimately, this belief is a dangerous delusion. It’s not so much that he believes he’s above the law, but that he’s unable to reconcile his intellectual ideals with his emotional and moral self. It’s a manifestation of his inner turmoil—his instability.”

Cumberbatch’s eyes narrowed, a faint glimmer of something—whether approval or contemplation—it was hard to tell. He gave a small nod, as though considering your words.

“Interesting,” he muttered, his voice low but clear. “So, you would argue that Raskolnikov’s philosophical beliefs are a symptom of his inner conflict, rather than a clear-headed rationale for murder?” His tone was clinical, as though he was conducting an experiment and you were a specimen under the microscope.

“Yes,” you responded, the conviction in your voice surprising even yourself. “Raskolnikov’s belief that he’s above others is rooted in a deep-seated insecurity. His rejection of the law is an attempt to rationalize his own weakness, to create a framework in which he can justify his actions. But it’s unstable. He can’t fully escape the moral consequences of what he does.”

Cumberbatch leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “And do you think his belief is entirely unique to him? Or could it be something that exists in others, albeit in different forms?”

You paused for a moment, mulling over the question. You had always believed that the core of Raskolnikov’s struggle was his isolation, his inability to connect with others. You saw it as an existential crisis, a personal reckoning that many might face in different ways, even if not so drastically. “I think it exists in others, though perhaps not in such extreme forms,” you said slowly. “The belief that one is somehow above society’s rules—whether it’s a direct rejection of law, or more subtle justifications for selfish actions—can emerge in anyone who feels disillusioned with the system or trapped by it. But Raskolnikov takes it to an extreme, believing that murder is justified for a higher cause.”

Cumberbatch’s lips quirked slightly, though it was hard to tell if he was impressed or merely evaluating. “Very well,” he said, turning his gaze to the rest of the class. “Anyone else care to weigh in on this?”

The rest of the class fell into a brief, awkward silence. You knew that most of your classmates were either too intimidated by Cumberbatch or too lost in their own confusion to contribute. Cassie was staring at the desk in front of her, her frustration mounting as she clenched her jaw, no doubt stewing over her inability to grasp what you were discussing so easily. Felix shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes glazed over.

But the focus shifted away from the class as Cumberbatch continued his lecture. He moved on to the philosophical implications of Raskolnikov’s actions, discussing the tension between theory and reality in Dostoevsky’s narrative. You remained immersed, following along, your mind buzzing with ideas and questions. The rhythm of Cumberbatch’s teaching, no matter how cold, was beginning to form a kind of structure in your own thinking. It felt like you were slowly piecing together a puzzle that no one else could see.

Cassie shot you a quick, frustrated glance, but you offered her a small, sympathetic smile. She shook her head in response, silently communicating that she was done trying to follow. Felix, too, seemed to have checked out, though he gave you an approving nod when Cumberbatch returned his attention to the rest of the class.

The rest of the lecture seemed to pass in a haze of intellectual fervor, each word from Cumberbatch drawing you deeper into the complexities of Crime and Punishment as though the novel itself had taken on a life of its own within the classroom. Your mind spun with new insights, while your classmates—Cassie and Felix, especially—remained mired in confusion. Cassie’s blonde hair, which had once glowed like sunshine in the lecture hall, now looked like a tangled mess as she sighed, repeatedly running her hands through it in frustration. Felix’s usual sharp humor was entirely absent, his gaze locked on his desk with a look that screamed exasperation. They hated the way the professor ran the class, how his cold exterior made him almost impossible to approach. But for you, it was different. There was a certain intellectual spark in his words that drew you closer, making you feel like you were engaging in an actual conversation, even if he barely acknowledged it.

Every time Cumberbatch’s eyes flicked over to you, there was an almost imperceptible pause, like he was checking to see if you were following him or if you’d be the one to speak next. You didn’t shy away from it—on the contrary, you leaned into it. Each time he posed a question or made a provocative statement about Raskolnikov’s philosophical dilemmas, your hand was the first to shoot up. You weren’t afraid to engage, and it felt as though you were gaining his respect with each response.

The tension between you and your friends was subtle but ever-present. As Cumberbatch’s lecture stretched on, you could feel the palpable discomfort in Felix’s posture—his arms crossed tightly, a faint scowl on his lips—and the almost physical distance between you and Cassie as she slouched further into her chair, eyes fixed firmly on the paper in front of her, where she was doodling aimlessly, likely to distract herself from the frustration mounting inside her.

It didn’t escape your notice that they rarely looked at you anymore. They were irritated by your enthusiasm for the class, though they never said it outright. Still, you could sense the subtle discomfort, especially from Cassie. Her resentment of the professor had only grown since the beginning of the semester, and now, it was almost as though she resented you, too, for the way you seemed to thrive in Cumberbatch’s presence.

Felix was quieter now, his sarcastic remarks stifled beneath his frustration. You knew he had never been good at hiding his displeasure, but even he seemed to have given up on finding humor in the situation. It was as though they had both resigned themselves to the fact that they didn’t understand what Cumberbatch was teaching, and no matter how many times they tried to voice their confusion, the professor never seemed to care enough to offer more clarity.

“You’re quite engaged in today’s lecture,” Cumberbatch remarked in his low, clipped tone, as though the words were meant only for you. He had been pacing the front of the room, lost in his own thoughts about Dostoevsky’s exploration of morality and human nature. When his eyes landed on you, there was that same faint, inscrutable look, like a challenge wrapped in quiet approval. “I appreciate that. Most of the class has been… shall we say, distracted.”

Cassie’s eyes shot up at the mention of the word “distracted,” and her jaw tightened as she met your gaze. You knew she didn’t like being singled out, especially not when Cumberbatch made it clear she was struggling to grasp the material. Felix, too, shifted uncomfortably, though his expression remained neutral, almost dismissive. But you didn’t feel the need to defend yourself. You simply nodded, maintaining eye contact with the professor, aware that his praise came with an unspoken challenge.

“Yes, Professor,” you said, your voice steady and composed. “I think the themes of moral degradation in Crime and Punishment are particularly compelling. Raskolnikov’s descent into madness isn’t just about his crime—it’s about the philosophy that fuels it. His inability to reconcile his theory with the reality of human emotions, guilt, and remorse makes his justification for murder completely unstable.”

Cumberbatch’s gaze seemed to linger on you just a bit longer than before, his lips curling slightly, though his face remained impassive. “Interesting,” he said, his voice cool but laced with something that resembled… approval? You couldn’t be sure. “And how does this philosophical conflict relate to the more practical aspects of the story? How do Raskolnikov’s interactions with others—the people he encounters—serve to challenge or reinforce his beliefs?”

You thought for a moment, careful to piece together your answer. “Raskolnikov’s interactions with people like Sonia and Marmeladov are crucial to his internal conflict,” you replied, feeling a spark of excitement as you spoke. “They represent the humanity that Raskolnikov is trying to distance himself from, the moral compass he denies but can’t fully escape. Sonia’s self-sacrifice and moral clarity challenge his intellectual justifications. And in his mind, people like her only reinforce his belief that the world is divided into the ‘ordinary’ and the ‘extraordinary.’ But, ultimately, it’s Sonia who cracks his façade. Her forgiveness is the catalyst for his eventual collapse.”

Cumberbatch didn’t respond immediately, instead allowing a long, thoughtful pause to fill the air. His eyes never left you as he continued to weigh your words. For a moment, it felt like you were the only one in the room, and the lecture had ceased to be a mere discussion of Dostoevsky’s novel. It felt personal—intense, almost.

“You’ve captured it well,” he finally said, his voice slightly softer than usual, though still commanding. “Raskolnikov’s belief in the superiority of his theory is shattered by his interaction with others. It is in these interactions that he’s forced to confront the very humanity he wishes to escape. There’s power in that confrontation. More than Raskolnikov understands.”

You nodded, though his words lingered in your mind. There was something about his analysis, something in the way he looked at you, that made you feel like he wasn’t just lecturing. It felt more like he was speaking directly to you—inviting you to understand Raskolnikov not just as a character in a book, but as a reflection of something deeper, something that transcended the text itself.

The moment passed, and Cumberbatch moved on, his next question directed toward the rest of the class, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation—this exchange—was far from over. Cassie shot you a quick glance, the flicker of annoyance still evident in her eyes, and Felix gave you a small, tight-lipped smile, though it was unclear whether it was meant to be encouraging or sarcastic.

But for you, the moment held something different. It was clear now, more than ever, that you and Cumberbatch were beginning to share a deeper understanding—one that went beyond the classroom. You weren’t just answering questions in a cold, detached lecture hall anymore. You were engaging with him, and that connection was something neither Felix nor Cassie could understand.

“Remember,” Cumberbatch said, his tone authoritative, “the crux of Crime and Punishment lies not in the act of murder itself but in the mind of the murderer, the ethical philosophy that drives it, and the inevitable disintegration of that mind under the weight of guilt. We’ll continue to explore these themes next week.”

There was a brief silence as everyone gathered their belongings, the only sounds the rustle of papers and the soft click of laptop screens closing. You glanced at Felix and Cassie—Cassie, as expected, had already begun muttering under her breath, likely cursing both the class and her luck with it. Felix, on the other hand, still looked as though he was wrestling with a million thoughts, his gaze far off and distant. Neither seemed particularly eager to talk, but they both knew you well enough to understand that you’d been thriving in Cumberbatch’s environment.

Felix gave you a fleeting glance, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t the sarcastic, mocking grin he often wore after a class he thought was a waste of time. This one was more sincere, tinged with a slight sense of amusement—or maybe resignation. “Looks like you’re his favorite now, huh?” he muttered low enough for only you to hear, his voice soft but filled with that familiar hint of teasing.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in your response. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you said quietly, knowing full well Felix’s half-joking jab was a defense mechanism. He wasn’t used to seeing you thrive in something you were so clearly passionate about, and the idea that you were somehow slipping away from him, aligning yourself with a professor he despised, seemed to irk him.

Meanwhile, Cassie, who had been busy stuffing her things into her bag, let out a loud sigh as she shot you a pointed look. “I don’t get it,” she said bluntly, not bothering to keep her voice low. “He’s such a… a pompous jerk. Why are you so into him? You’ve read the book a million times, so I get that, but he’s not exactly easy to, I don’t know, get along with.” Her words hung in the air, tinged with frustration and something else—jealousy, perhaps? She didn’t really understand how you could find Cumberbatch’s coldness stimulating, but that was precisely what had drawn you in. His aloofness only added to the intensity of the class, and his ability to challenge you, to make you think in ways you hadn’t expected, felt like a rare opportunity.

You shot her a quick, understanding glance, feeling the unspoken tension between the three of you. “He’s just… different,” you replied, your voice steady. “It’s not about liking him as a person—it’s about the way he makes us see things in a new light. Sometimes that’s more valuable than just being ‘liked.’” You could feel Cassie’s glare intensify but chose to ignore it, opting instead to pack your own things.

As you stood up to leave, you noticed Cumberbatch standing at the front of the room, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He was scanning a few papers, not paying attention to the students filing out. But just before you turned to join your friends, he caught your eye. His gaze held yours for a beat longer than usual, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between you. For a fleeting moment, it felt like you were the only two left in the room. It wasn’t warm, exactly—not the kind of acknowledgment that made you feel welcome or valued—but it was something deeper. Something that spoke to an understanding, a shared intellectual connection that no one else in the room could see or experience.

You stood there for a moment, caught between leaving with your friends or taking that extra second to savor the subtle but meaningful exchange. Finally, you broke the stare and turned, joining Felix and Cassie as they made their way toward the door. As you walked past Cumberbatch, you could still feel his presence, his silent attention on you. It was both unnerving and exhilarating in equal measure.

Outside the classroom, the air felt different—charged, perhaps, with the weight of the discussion you’d just had, or with the awkward tension between you and your friends. Felix walked beside you, his face still unreadable, but Cassie’s posture was stiff, her body language a clear sign of her frustration. You knew this wouldn’t be the last time they’d voice their discontent with the class or the professor. And yet, part of you found it hard to care. You’d never felt more connected to the material, and even more so to the professor who had been an enigma since day one.

As the three of you exited the building, the cold air of the late afternoon hit you, but it felt oddly refreshing after the stuffy intensity of the lecture hall. You took a deep breath, knowing this would likely be the first of many more such encounters with Cumberbatch. You were more than prepared for it.

The walk back to your apartment was a quiet one. Cassie kept her distance, walking slightly ahead of you and Felix, her usual energy subdued, likely from her growing frustration with both the course and, particularly, Cumberbatch. Felix walked beside you, his shoulders hunched as if he was already bracing himself for the inevitable conversation that would happen once you got home.

As you reached the front door of your apartment building, Felix gave you a sideways glance. “Are you really going to keep playing this game with him?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and concern. “I mean, I get that you want to excel, but you’re not going to get anything out of it if he keeps treating you like some sort of… puzzle to be solved.”

You didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to unlock the door. His words stung a little, but you knew Felix’s tendency to overreact. “I’m not playing a game,” you said softly. “I just think there’s something more to him. And… I don’t know. I feel like I understand his approach better than you do. You’re both too focused on the way he treats you—”

Cassie, having already opened the door to your shared apartment, whipped around sharply. Her expression was a blend of frustration and something else—maybe jealousy. She crossed her arms, her blonde hair falling in a perfect curtain around her shoulders. “You don’t get it, do you? He doesn’t treat anyone well. And you’re just letting him get away with it,” she snapped. “It’s not about what he’s teaching. He’s just a pompous jerk, and he’s going to end up ruining your grade just like he ruined mine.”

You paused, looking between Felix and Cassie. You could feel the tension growing, and the last thing you wanted was for it to escalate, but it was hard to ignore how their frustrations had been festering since that first lecture.

“I don’t think he’s trying to ruin anyone,” you said, keeping your voice steady, though it had a slightly defensive edge. “You two aren’t the only ones who’ve had issues with him. I’m not saying he’s perfect, but he’s teaching in a way that makes me think. And isn’t that the whole point?”

Cassie snorted, clearly annoyed. “Look, I don’t care how much you try to defend him, but I’m telling you, he’s no different from every other professor who thinks they’re above everyone else. And I’ve had enough of it.”

Felix sighed, rubbing his temples as he flopped down onto the couch. “Great. This is going to be one of those weeks again, huh?” His tone was dry, but you could sense the weariness in it.

You didn’t want to fight. Not today. Not when you still had the lingering warmth of Cumberbatch’s subtle attention in your mind, his unspoken acknowledgment that made your pulse quicken. It was the kind of thing you couldn’t easily explain to Felix or Cassie, who were both too caught up in their disdain for the professor to see the allure in the challenge he presented.

You made your way into the kitchen, trying to break the tension with the routine of making tea. You knew Cassie and Felix were still processing the class, the professor, and the odd sense of distance that had been growing between you and them. But as the tea steeped, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just the beginning. Cumberbatch’s cryptic remarks, the way he lingered just a little too long in his gaze, the undercurrent of something more… it made you crave another conversation with him.

As you poured the tea into mugs, Cassie followed you into the kitchen, her arms still crossed. “You’re being too naive,” she said, her voice softer now but still tinged with frustration. “You don’t see it, do you? He’s using you to make himself feel superior.”

You paused, the mug halfway to the counter. Her words cut, and you weren’t sure how to respond. Maybe there was some truth in what she said. But part of you also wondered if you were being too aware. What if Cumberbatch wasn’t just a professor trying to manipulate his students? What if he genuinely saw something in you, something that intrigued him just as much as it intrigued you?

“I don’t think he’s using me,” you finally replied, setting the mug down. “I just… I don’t know. I think he’s challenging me in ways no one else does. And it’s hard to explain, but I feel like there’s something more there.”

Cassie let out a long sigh, her expression softening just a little. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she muttered, her gaze shifting toward the window. “He’s trouble. All those professors are. They don’t care about us—they just care about proving how much smarter they are.”

You turned to her, your mind drifting back to that exchange in the lecture hall—the way Cumberbatch had asked you the questions that no one else dared to ask, the way he had sought your answers and listened. It wasn’t like the other professors who rushed through material, barely acknowledging the students who contributed.

But you knew, deep down, that Cassie was only saying these things because she cared. Even if she didn’t understand why you were drawn to Cumberbatch, she still wanted to protect you. You could appreciate that, even if you didn’t fully agree with her.

“I’m not blind,” you said quietly, lifting the mug to your lips. “I can handle it.”

Cassie didn’t respond immediately. She just watched you for a moment, her eyes softening as if she were trying to gauge whether you truly understood what she was saying. Eventually, she sighed and pushed away from the counter. “I hope so,” she muttered before heading back into the living room.

You stood there for a moment, the weight of her words settling over you. As you slowly sipped your tea, you couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow’s lecture would bring. Would Cumberbatch continue to push you further, to challenge you in ways you hadn’t anticipated? Would you find yourself growing closer to him, or would that distance between you and your friends only grow wider?

One thing was certain: you were ready for whatever came next.

#bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch smut #benedict cumberbatch x reader #sherlock #sherlock fandom #female reader #smut

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 months ago

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Anon Advice Asks - May 4

outlet anon, syllabus anon, elton john anon (new), maths project anon (new), not straight anon (new)

outlet anon

Hey Cas, Outlet anon here. I have (perhaps unfortunately) not Ascended, but that's probably for the best. (Btw I don't drink coffee very often, it's usually only when I've already pulled an all-nighter or two and need another one, (Yay finals :/) but I'll keep what you said in mind and stick to non-dangerous levels next time)

Okie doke...

First off, I ended up not talking to Doll about it until Wednesday (sending this Thursday morning) in part bc I wanted your opinion first, but mostly because I forgot. When I did, it was basically just You're important, I care about you, You're allowed to ask me for help, You're allowed to be selfish and take things for yourself, Okay?. Her response was something like 'Okay, it's just going to take me a while' and then she sent me a pin on pinterest later that day that pretty much 'I love you', so I think Success.

Next up, Probably Bad Decision #1,143,764: Doing Doll's work. Everything ended up being fine, but this had the potential to fuck me over astronomically. So she had done I think three assignments the whole semester, meaning I needed to do around thirty or forty to get her grade up. It took me three days (Friday-Sunday) and three all-nighters and I had to push back my own work. I don't even remember anything that happened on Monday, and the only part of the weekend I'm 100% sure happened is Sunday night. I passed out for a couple hours Monday night then dragged myself out of bed around 3am because I had a presentation due Tuesday afternoon that I had neglected in favor of Doll's work. BUT I got all the stuff done that needed to be done + a couple assignments due at the end of the week.

I want to talk about the reason I did it. Yes, she's my friend and I love her, but in all honesty... I did it because I'm not worth anything if I'm not useful, and if I'm not useful then Doll wouldn't want me around. I saved her ass, so now she's in my debt and would feel bad if she got rid of me. I know that's not true and whatever, but I was (unintentionally) raised to equate love to usefulness; I only got attention when I was in trouble (I still have breakdowns when someone raises their voice at me) or being helpful, otherwise I was ignored. I don't believe anyone can love me just for me. I do things and put effort into them, even when I don't have to, to make up for the fact that it's me. To apologize for the fact that I'm the one that did it.

I love silently for the most part and don't voice it very often. You'd think that means I can be loved silently, too, but I really can't. It doesn't even cross my mind that someone might care about me if they don't say it, and even then I need constant reassurance. But I don't get reassurance. The people I love are also people who love silently. So it ends up being I don't think they care about me. And. Like. I'm fine with that, though. In a twisted, messed up way. I'm okay with not being wanted as long as I'm needed, because if I'm needed then someone has a reason to care about me. I still would've done Doll's work regardless of if she ever looked in my direction again.

But I'm a walking contradiction. I need to be needed and don't care about being wanted, but at the same time I'm so terrified of getting left behind that as soon as I sense I've outgrown my use, I pull away. When I was younger, I got my heart shattered because My Person (like, if soulmates are real, they were mine) pulled away and left me bleeding out on the side of the road (metaphorically). They were the last person I ever believed loved me without needing something from me.

When I love someone, I can't just love them a little bit. I'm like James Potter in that way, because I give my entire soul to everyone I care about, and then I become Too Much Too Fast because it's not that deep for anyone else. But I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to just care a little bit. My friends become my entire world, and each and every one of them takes a little piece of my heart when they inevitably leave. I don't know how much I have left to give.

Anyway. Sorry for how long that is. Other than getting no sleep, nothing much has happened in my life, I'm just really looking forward to the end of the semester.

Cheers <3

Hi <3

Honestly you seem to have a very good understanding of yourself. but the thing is, you DESERVE to be loved for who you are, not just for what you do. And I think that goes along with like...being able to set boundaries, and take care of yourself, and put yourself and your heath (and sleep) first. Do you have access to mental heath care? A therapist can be really helpful when learning how to set boundaries, you know?

___

syllabus anon

Hey, syllabus anon here! Yeah, the trip went well and all, he was very nice to me and it was very cute. But now it's back to normal. I think I am the sort of person that cannot, like, keep texting for hours and stuff like that. Because almost all the time there's nothing to talk about. And for the past few days it's just me trying to drag a conversation as long as it'd last.

So yesterday I asked him what was wrong (like I'd always been doing), and he told me that he'd had this on his mind since right after our trip — that he felt as if I never gave him any consideration. As if he was just boyfriend by name. I was shocked. I had never meant to make him feel thaat way, and the fact that he'd just kept it to himself made me very upset. I tried to talk to him, to tell him what was going on with me. I think I have told you before, that this is both of ours' first relationship, and I'm particularly shy about such things, and since we meet in person for so less often, it takes time for me to open up and all. But I try my best. I told him that. I told him everything I wanted to tell him.

Then he just closed back up again. He said that he wished he'd never told me, like he wished he'd never started this conversation. That we had not started talking about this. I asked what use is that, because if we don't talk about things like this from the beginning, how are we supposed to move forward well? Keeping things like this to ourselves just hurts each other more. Whenever he goes all closed off and moody suddenly on me, I just get so upset. Because it makes me feel as if I did something wrong, and he wouldn't tell me. I told him that too.

And he told me to forget about it, and the conversation, and that we could just go back to normal. And he also immediately went back to normal. We didn't talk much after that, but that "just boyfriend by name" thing hurt me so bad. I have no idea how we're going to move forward from this. Because next year is busy academically for me, busier than the last one had been. It's very important for my future career and all, and I need to work hard. So if he already feels like he doesn't get any consideration from me, what will he do next year? I feel like a bad person sometimes, thinking about all this. I don't know if I'm doing the wrong thing. There are moments I wish this relationship had never started at all. I should have just remained single.

Hi!

"I asked what use is that, because if we don't talk about things like this from the beginning, how are we supposed to move forward well? Keeping things like this to ourselves just hurts each other more."

THIS. SO MUCH THIS. And the thing is, that means there's not much you CAN do. Because like....you can't force someone to talk. So you kind of have to decide what YOU need. Do you want to keep trying, or is this something that is hurting you too much? I think based on how much you've tried, and what he's said, it's clear this isn't on you.

If you want to do more, I think the only other thing you can do is out-andout say 'hey, if we don't fix this, I'm done' because he has to get his head out of his ass and communicate. But if you don't want to do that, if that's not your style, you're well within your rights to leave. Sometimes relationships are meant to teach us something, and it might be that you've learned what you needed from this one and it's time to go.

___

elton john anon

I would like to tell you a story

In 2016 my family and I went to an Elton John concert. He was playing his newest album at the time, Wonderful Crazy Night. Which pretty much sums up how the night went. It was incredible.

At the end of the concert, my sister (who is 4 years older than me) bought a t-shirt. I loved that t-shirt and I was so jealous I didn’t get one, but life went on.

Last year we were going through some boxes of our old stuff and I found the t-shirt. I don’t know why but when I saw it I got so emotional. I was crying over a t-shirt that wasn’t even mine. Since it had been 8 years since my sister bought that shirt it (unsurprisingly) didn’t fit her. It did, however, fit me. So I begged my sister if I could have it, and because she is the best person in the world, she gave it to me. To this day it is still my favourite thing to wear. Every time I see it it brings back memories of a night I don’t remember that clearly. Listening to that album and wearing the shirt so many years later just feels like I’m going back in time to a place I wasn’t so stressed all the time. It’s my favourite feeling

Elton John will forever be my favourite artist; his music reminds me of my childhood and singing in the car with my dad and my sister. My mum was never a huge fan, although I think she likes him more now.

I don’t know why I wanted to tell you this, I think I just wanted to share this story with somebody because all of it means a lot to me

aww this is such a nice story! I feel like most people have a singer or band like this...one that just stays with them. I'm so glad your sister gave you the shirt <3

___

maths project anon

Caaaaaas help meeeeeee

So I took maths this year and had two absolutely horrific teachers (great as people, horrible at teahing)

We had a really big project that was worth around 30% of my overall grade and the teacher that was handling that side of the course barely helped me even though ive done nothing like this before. I can count on one hand the amount of times he's helped me.

Hed say he'd go around the whole class but never get to me (most of the time getting to helping the two girls next to me but almost never me.)

Every time I would put my hand up to ask for his help he'd always be busy with someone else

He also said he'd print me out a template I could use (and spoiler alert: he never did)

This ended up with me only getting my introduction done and I didn't even bother sending it away to the people that mark it.

Now my other teacher handled the finance side of things and just could not explain basically anything in a way that made sense to me even after multiple attempts

He was supposed to teach us how to use excel (and he did try) but nothing he said ever made sense

Anyway this has all ended up in me being cornered by the head of the math department at my school after finishing another exam and being told I'm not gonna pass and they can remove my name from the exam if I want and if I dont respond by Wednesday (the 7th) they'll assume I don't want to do the exam

But the thing is I don't know how to tell my parents

I wasn't going to go to the exam anyway but I just can't decide if I should tell them, not tell them and attempt the exam or say I'm going and just kind of hang about the school until it would be done

But I've already been kicked out of classes like this for the last two years

I can't disappoint them again

I already know how my mum will take it, she'll be really mad at the teachers and not me

But I'm scared my stepdad will blame me and say its my fault

Because I think it might be my fault or it might be the teachers fault or it might be a mix of both I can't really tell

maybe I could've studied more and atleast I could've known the theory? I could've tried harder to get help for my project?

My mum was literally saying today that one thing about me that really annoys her is the fact that I'm a "defeatist" and I "give up so easily" and I don't know how to tell her that I practically gave up again

The only upside to this is I already have a basic qualification in maths and a place in college

But I heavily fear my stepdad will think I've wasted an entire year instead of getting a job (which he has been practically harassing me to do since I turned 18, but that's a rant for another day)

Sorry this is so long and sorry this is all being dumped on you but I had no idea who else to turn to

Thanks Cas

Hi!

Okay so I'm a bit confused on the requirements for the exam, the course, the project, etc, BUT

Looking at this from a teacher POV, I'd say that both you and the teacher hold blame. The teacher could have done a lot better about giving you the help you need, and that's not your fault at all. It sounds like they're not a very good teacher. But also, I wonder if you might have had opportunities to talk to the teacher after class, or during office hours/extra help hours?

I think before you tell your parents or decide on the exam, you should talk to the head math teacher about getting more time on the project. Explain that there wasn't a lot of time to get help in class, and hope for the best. If they say yes, then you need to ask for help. Contact the teachers who can help you, schedule time to meet and go over the things you don't understand. I know it's daunting, but it's necessary sometimes. If they say no, ask what they suggest for you to get as much credit as possible for the class, and do that. That way you have something to show your parents, you know? But yeah, don't tell your parents until you have a set plan.

Whatever you're doing, try to break it into small, less-scary parts. It's easy to give up when you have a big scary thing to do, but little things can sometimes make you feel better.

Wishing you luck!

____

not straight anon

Hey Cas. I think I might be not straight.

I’m a little scared. Some of my family is really homophobic (thankfully not so much my parents or siblings that I live with) so the idea that I might like girls is like. Really scary. Like, if one day I got a girlfriend I could not bring her to my grandparents’ house and I’d probably have to cut ties with my grandmother. I don’t know who to talk about it with, really. I have one friend, but she’s straight and it’s still scary and new. I know my mom would be loving, but I don’t know how seriously she would take it, y’know? I kind of don’t want to bring it up until I’m more certain. I’m also ace, and its really hard for me to distinguish between romantic and aesthetic attraction for people, which is Not Helping. And I’m Catholic, which adds a whole other layer of guilt and anxiety to the whole thing, despite finding a bunch of other queer people who are secure in their faith. I think I’ve been lowkey traumatized by my grandmother and her views, and find it hard to believe that most people don’t think like her. But girls are just,,, so pretty sometimes? Help?

Sorry for the rant, this has been brewing in my head for like a month and I wanted to just get it out. You’re the first person I’ve told, so thank you so much for being a safe space for so many people.

Love ya and hope you have a great day :)

Hi <3

I'm so honored you chose to tell me. I completely understand why you're scared. Coming out, or considering coming out, is scary for everyone, but especially someone like you who might not be supported by everyone.

I think what you're doing is exactly right--looking for people to be in your support system. You said you found queer people who are secure in their faith. Can you continue to seek out queer people in your life that could be safe for you? Does your school have a GSA, maybe, or something similar? Building a support system is always important, but I think it'll make you feel safer, and help you decide what to do.

Sending love!

#outlet anon #syllabus anon #elton john anon #maths project anon #not straight anon #asks #ask #ask cas

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snowdice · 1 year ago

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Tales From Logan’s Office (Part 4) [Sometimes Labels Shift Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Virgil

Characters: Logan, Virgil

Summary: Virgil invades Logan’s office. (Multiple times.)

This is a dealing with events set after my story Sometimes Labels Fail.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Virgil hesitated outside of Logan’s office door in a way he hadn’t done since the first summer he spent with him and Patton. He knew Logan was in there and probably just busy grading unless he’d already finished all of it. Logan was predictable like that.

Logan was… Logan was very predictable. So predictable that Virgil knew exactly what would happen if he knocked on that door and said what he’d come here to say.

And yet he hesitated.

It was like there were two Virgil’s in his head, at odds with one another. One Virgil knew everything was alright and was going to be alright and that Logan would help it feel alright much quicker. The other Virgil wanted to drop out of college, find a small space somewhere, and curl up into a ball while waiting to die. These two Virgil’s existed completely separate from one another, unable to affect each other or inspire Virgil to action, and left him rooted to the spot outside his dad’s office.

He was finally unfrozen when the door to Logan’s office swung open revealing Logan’s TA, Cas. “Oh, hi Virgil,” Cas said as though there wasn’t anything unusual about this, though for him there probably wasn’t.

Virgil swallowed down the go-cry-in-a-corner Virgil for a moment and said “Hey.”

Cas smiled and held the door open for him.

Well, Virgil supposed he didn’t have a choice now. (It was probably for the best.)

He walked through the door into Logan’s office, doing his best to not let Cas see his anxiety. The door closed behind him.

Logan glanced up at him briefly and seemed unconcerned when he saw it was him. “Hello, Virgil,” he said, turning back to his computer. “This isn’t the usual time you invade my office. Do you need something?”

Even if Virgil could think of words to say right now, they would probably have died in his throat. There were 3 seconds of silence, 4. After a 5 second pause, Logan looked back up at him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Virgil tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie and nodded. He had Logan’s full attention now and that was a relief for the rational part of him that had brought him here even while it made the anxious side of him squirm.

Logan stood up from his chair and rounded his desk. “Sit,” he told Virgil. Virgil sat.

He could feel Logan studying him but couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“Physical?” Logan asked. It was always the first thing Logan checked even though physical injury rarely put Virgil in this state. Virgil shook his head. “Social?” Virgil shook his head again. “Academic?” Virgil hesitated but then nodded.

“I see,” Logan said. “It is Thursday afternoon. Is anything past due, due tonight, or due tomorrow.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Okay. Then I will take you home tonight for the weekend.”

“I have class tomorrow,” Virgil managed to say, wringing his hands.

“You have class with Dr. Simmons,” Logan said. “She has mental health days in her syllabus for a reason. This is the reason.”

“I can go,” Virgil said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You certainly could,” Logan agreed. “You do not need to.”

Virgil felt a bit of the vice grip that had been squeezing his chest loosen. “I need to…” he tried tentatively.

“You need to pack an overnight bag while I teach my last class of the day,” Logan said, “and then sit on your bed watching whatever silly Youtube things you do while waiting for me to pick you up. We will discuss what needs to be done with your schoolwork tomorrow afternoon after you have had time to rest. You will have the entire weekend to complete whatever task is worrying you.”

“I shouldn’t skip class.”

Logan waved him off. “Do you know how many classes I skipped for worse reasons as a student?” he asked. “And now I’m a professor dealing with students skipping my courses for even worse reasons than that.”

“…Okay.”

“Good,” Logan said. “Now would you like a hug?” Despite everything, he couldn’t help but smile slightly at the business-like tone Logan took to ask. Maybe at one point he would have felt uncomfortable about it, but now he knew it was just Logan making sure he was comfortable with it before touching him.

Virgil nodded.

“Thank you,” Virgil said once Logan had reached forward to hug him.

“Anytime,” Logan said back. “My office is always open for you.”

Want to read more? Click below!

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #platonic analogical #labeled universe #sometimes labels shift #adriana writes #not pieces fic

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avacoleman · 1 year ago

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when the lights go out || a firstprince fic

summary: Henry Fox’s career is in crisis and his dating life isn’t faring much better either. After a chance encounter with a charming man becomes memorable for all the wrong reasons, Henry throws himself into his next assignment: writing the memoir of a beloved C-list actor. Henry, however, knows Alex best for the role he played as his random, awkward one-night stand. Henry enters their professional partnership keen on keeping their relationship just that. But after Henry confesses that their hookup was less than spectacular, Alex concots an arrangement that Henry is unable to resist. In addition to ghostwriting Alex’s life story, Henry will teach him a thing or two about satisfying a man. As they spend months out on the road together, they must decide if the connection between them is yet another story worth telling.

chapter 7/8 || rated e || read on ao3 updates every tues. and fri. *

Los Angeles, CA Day 1 They trade one sunny coast for another and Henry has mixed emotions, the likes of which he’s never experienced before. It all, as usual, is linked to his uncertainty over what comes next. He can now count on one hand the amount of days he has left in Alex’s company. He feels grateful for the time they’ve been able to share, but knowing that he’d soon have to part ways has made this all so bittersweet. Henry supposes he’s become spoiled on this tour by Alex’s company, the knowledge that there was always another city to accompany him to. The cold hard fact that this was officially the end of the line settled like an uncomfortable weight on his chest any time he allowed himself to dwell on it. He tries to cling to the good where he can.

Even after a delayed flight out of Miami, Henry saw the upside to it, getting more one-on-one time with Alex as they hung around the gate, trading music and stories back and forth. For all of the physical elements they’d breached while out on the road, it was this genuine friendship with Alex that Henry loved the most.

It’s been a bit uncanny though just how easily they’ve slipped back into a normal routine with each other after that night of their final lesson in Miami. They haven’t spoken about it since; neither of them has even come close to crossing that line now that they’ve finished with Alex’s syllabus. Henry figures that’s probably for the best. Safer even.

They head straight to the Crescent Valley lot from the airport after making it out of the absolute labyrinth of LAX with just enough time to spare.

Seeing the cast together again is a treat and Henry enjoys every bit of watching them film B-roll for the special. Henry wishes Pez could see it all now, but he reminds himself that his best friend will join him during the actual reunion. Alex had been gracious again and secured a spot for Pez alongside him.

Henry sits back and watches the photoshoot the cast does on different sets from the show, admiring their ability to go through outfit changes and touch ups to their hair and makeup. They take it all in stride and it allows them to wrap within a few hours.

It’s a surreal feeling after that to be alone with Alex again, to have him all to himself and journeying back to his place. Henry can admit he’s curious what home in L.A. looks like to Alex, this man who he’s known to be such a nomad over the last three months.

Alex’s condo is a gorgeous unit with floor to ceiling glass windows that bathe the entire space with natural light.

“I bought this at the start of season three,” Alex says as they stand now in the kitchen.

Henry cranes his neck back to take in the high ceilings.

“It’s more space than I really needed at the time. Hell, even now. But I don’t know. I just kinda fell in love with it.”

“I can see why. It’s incredible, Alex. Truly,” he replies, looking at Alex again.

Alex smiles. “I gotta say, it’s kind of trippy seeing you here.”

Henry laughs. “How so?”

Alex shrugs and takes a seat on one of the stools at the large island in the center of the space. Henry takes a seat beside him, their bodies turning toward each other. They're close enough that their knees just about touch.

“I guess after spending three months in hotels, it’s surreal having you in my actual place. It’s nice though, don’t get me wrong. It’s really freaking nice. You got to see my home in Austin and now here. It’s like the last puzzle piece snapping into place, you know?”

Henry doesn’t actually know what to do with that statement. He wishes he could actually fit into the grand scheme of Alex’s life, that he could be an essential piece to complete the picture.

Alex grows quiet, his eyes a bit soft. He rests a hand on Henry’s knee. His thumb brushes back and forth lightly, his lips parting. It’s been days since Alex has touched him this intimately before. It’s downright jarring and confusing how sudden this all feels.

Henry tenses and moves back.

“I think we should stop,” Henry blurts out.

Alex’s face falls for a moment before he schools his features as he pulls away.

“Oh.”

Henry sighs and rises from the stool, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“It’s just that we’ve tackled everything. There’s nothing left on the syllabus. I go home in a few days and with that, we’ll be back on our own coasts for good. I’m practically done with the book. I…I don’t think we should complicate things now.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, but it’s so clear his mind is racing.

“What are you thinking?” Henry asks.

Alex blinks twice and shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter. Wasn’t that a term in the agreement? One person wanting to stop was reason enough. You even went ahead and gave me your explanation as to why, though you didn’t have to. I respect that. You’re right. The lessons are over. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Alex stands. “I was out of line,” he says as he moves around the island.

Henry is quicker and he gently grabs hold of Alex’s wrist.

“I never quite mastered the art of mind reading in the months we’ve been together. Please talk to me.”

Alex looks down at where Henry is holding him and back up to his face.

“What is there to say?” he asks softly. “You made a great point. We go back to the real world in a couple of days. The smart thing to do would be to start preparing myself for that instead of clinging to whatever this has been these last few months. It wasn’t actually real. I can see that.”

Henry lets go of Alex as if he’d been burned.

“I’ve deeply enjoyed my time with you, Alex. I don’t want to give you a false impression nor do I want to make you think I’m somehow just biding my time, watching the clock until I’m meant to return to New York. I have felt the presence of our time together slipping away each and every day and I’ve loathed it. If I had it my way, this tour would never end and I could stay in your company just that much longer.”

Alex’s bottom lip quirks, his eyes looking glassier with unshed tears.

Henry stands immediately, framing Alex’s face with his hands.

Alex blinks and looks away, but Henry sees the tear race down his cheek. In that quiet cry, Henry understands everything at once.

“When did our lessons stop being hypothetical for you?” Henry asks, lowering his hands.

The muscle in Alex’s jaw flexes twice.

“Can I plead the fifth?” Alex asks, sniffling before turning those beautiful brown eyes back on him.

Henry shakes his head.

“We’ve both done enough dodging, don’t you think?”

Alex pulls in a breath, squaring his shoulders.

“Arizona,” Alex says.

Henry stares at him, his jaw dropping a bit as he grapples to make sense of what he’s hearing.

“Alex, that was day one of the lessons.”

Alex simply shrugs. “I know. But kissing you again, it brought me back to the night we met…the way we connected right off the bat. I felt that same spark when we kissed in Phoenix and I thought, I don’t know. It seemed like you got so lost in it. I thought you might’ve felt it too.”

“I did,” Henry says quietly, rubbing his face. “Christ, Alex. Every bloody second, it’s been real for me because it was real since New York. I’ve traveled with you, falling for you all over again in every single city. But, I…,” he sighs.

“I don’t know where this leaves us though. You don’t date outside the industry.”

Alex's face falls.

“That was my preference at one point in time. It isn’t a law. Things change and they should. They already have.”

Alex’s eyes water again as he lets out a deep sigh.

“The night we met…I felt something I never really have. That didn’t just up and go away after you left. I really like you, Henry. Sometimes I think I may even–,” he stops short and takes a breath.

Henry’s heart slams against his chest over Alex’s unspoken words.

Alex swallows hard and blinks twice.

“I don’t mean to complicate things and I sure as hell do not want to scare you off. But I can’t lie anymore. To you or to myself. I won’t.”

Alex searches his eyes. “Do you want to be with me?”

Stunned, Henry looks away. It feels like too much, the question too big and yet too exact.

“I don’t see how this could work. We don’t even live in the same time zone.”

“That’s not what I asked. It’s a simple question. Do you want to be with me?” Alex repeats slowly.

Henry glances back at him then. Alex is being so brave right now. It’s both admirable and terrifying the way he’s able to put so much of himself on the line. Henry knows he ought to do the same.

“Desperately,” he answers truthfully, seeing no other alternative. “But I fear it might not be as simple as you think it’ll be– though I want it to be. I wish that it were.”

Alex opens and closes his mouth, color draining from his face.

“Henry. Henry, please don’t do this.”

Henry lets out a breath.

“I’m not doing anything. I’m only being realistic.” He looks around himself.

“We lead such vastly different lives. Being on tour with you was exciting and fascinating, but also illuminating. I don’t know how or even if I could fit into your world beyond this moment.”

He dares to step a little closer, needing his next set of words to be heard clearly.

“But, Alex, please do not misconstrue that with what I feel for you. Never in my life have I felt this drawn to a person. I don’t expect that I ever will again.”

Alex puts a hand to his mouth, rubbing harshly against his jaw.

“Then why are you doing this to us? I don’t understand you. We’ve been at this for months now. We want the same thing. Why isn’t that enough?” he asks, his hand dropping.

“It seriously kills me to see you do this to yourself especially.”

His eyes are so intense, a perfect cocktail of frustration and sadness. Henry can’t look at him for long.

“At some point, Henry, you need to accept the fact that there’s so much waiting for you, if only you allowed yourself to actually experience it.”

His tone isn’t malicious, but the truth of his words cuts deep all the same.

“I’m not naive or stupid,” Alex continues. “I fully get that long distance would be difficult as hell, but I also fully recognize that you and the relationship we could have would be worth it. What we have matters to me enough to want to try.”

Henry’s head snaps back towards him.

“It matters to me too. That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Alex demands. He closes his mouth and steadies himself.

In all their time together, Henry has never seen Alex like this before, this indignant. The fact that it’s directed towards him makes Henry uneasy though he can’t deny it’s more than warranted.

“You’re cutting us off at the knees without so much as putting up a fight, without even making an actual attempt and for what? You don’t think I’m scared? I’m fucking terrified by what I feel for you. But I want whatever is on the other side of this feeling because I know it could be incredible if we let it be. All I’m asking is for you to trust me. To trust us.”

Henry shakes his head and looks away again, his eyes stinging. He looks around at Alex’s condo, the life he’s built for himself here in Los Angeles. For the times Alex would be away, he could be in any city across the country at any given moment. In just a few months’ time, the revelations in his memoir would be out and he'd have no shortage of far more interesting people vying for his attention while Henry continued drowning in his insecurities.

Yet here it was now, Alex telling Henry he wanted him. Alex was right. That should be enough. That’s all Henry has wanted to hear for months now, after all.

But Henry could do the right thing now, no matter how difficult, to spare them both the inevitable heartbreak down the line when they accepted love wasn’t enough.

Henry simply wasn’t the kind of person people ultimately stayed around for. Perhaps he’d be wiser and walk away before Alex could.

“I should go,” Henry says, wiping unseemly at his nose, nodding to himself.

Alex's face falls as he rakes a hand through his hair, his curls sticking out wildly at the ends. He looks nothing like the leading man on screen, the heartthrob that’s won over millions on television. He looks vulnerable and scared and Henry despises himself for reducing Alex to this.

“Please don’t. Let’s just talk it out. I’m not trying to pressure you,” Alex says quickly, voice panicked. All his upset from moments before fizzling like a fire being extinguished.

Henry shakes his head and looks at him.

“You aren’t. You’re saying all the right things and I know you mean them. I do. I care so much about you, Alex. I need you to know that. You deserve so much more than I could give you.”

“I just want you, Henry. I don’t care about anything else. You have to see that.”

In truth, Henry does. If anything, that’s what scares him most of all.

“I need to think. I need…,” he trails off, desperately looking around again. It feels like the walls are closing in.

“Time. Time away from me especially,” Alex supplies quietly.

Henry’s heart breaks.

“It’s not like that.”

Alex holds up a hand.

“I get it. Or at least I’m trying to.”

It’s a kindness Henry doesn’t feel deserving of at all.

Alex moves back, resting against the edge of the counter, his arms crossed to his chest like a barrier to protect himself. Henry can’t believe just how quickly he’s managed to become something Alex needs safety from.

“Maybe you really should go,” he says quietly.

Fresh tears prick Henry’s eyes at the gentle dismissal.

“I’m in no position to ask anything of you, but please, don’t hate me. I’m so sorry.”

Alex shakes his head and looks back at him then. There’s no malice or ire.

“I could never. You know that. We can talk when you’re ready.”

His tone is detached and whatever walls they’ve allowed themselves to lower over these last few months feel as if they’ve been reinstalled, built stronger this time around. There’s no fight in Alex anymore. It’s a deeply sobering and troubling realization.

“I promise, we will,” Henry says softly.

At least that’s something he knows he can make good on in time.

He looks at Alex again and his heart breaks just that much more. It doesn’t look as if Alex fully believes him. Henry can’t fault Alex. He knows he hasn’t given him a reason to.

~*~*~

The Uber back to the hotel the publisher arranged for him feels like the loneliest journey Henry has ever taken in his life, far worse even than leaving England for a new life in New York.

This isn’t how he pictured his first day in Los Angeles to go. Right about now, he and Alex should have been taking on the city, with Alex showing him around like a personal tour guide to all his favorite places.

It wasn’t supposed to end with Henry feeling as if he’s about to throw up, his stomach twisted into knots in the backseat of a stranger’s car, driving away from Alex instead of to him.

He fights back tears, having enough presence of mind not to sob like every cell in his body is demanding he do. No, that can wait. He’s already embarrassed himself enough for one afternoon. He doesn’t need an audience.

Mercifully he makes it to the hotel and gets checked in. The second the door to his room shuts behind him though, Henry loses it completely.

He isn’t sure how long he stands there, struggling for breath as he sobs, but he pulls himself together enough to seek out something to tether him.

He fumbles for his phone, overtaken for a moment with a thought to call Alex, to tell him he’s made a mistake, to grovel if he has to in order to set things right.

Instead, Henry pulls up Pez’s name in his favorites and clicks to FaceTime him as he steps further into the room, abandoning his carryon at the door and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Pez picks up mere seconds later.

“Hello, hello!” Pez greets brightly, his face falling immediately as he looks at Henry.

“My God. You look as if someone has passed on. Henry, what on Earth happened to you?”

“Pez, I ruined everything,” Henry says, his throat feeling so tight from keeping in his tears.

Henry feels homesick seeing Pez’s bedroom in the background, his posters of various pop stars and fashion icons in collages above his bed.

What Henry wouldn’t give to be back in New York now, to be somewhere familiar and safe. Instead he’s stuck in this lifeless hotel room feeling cut off from everyone he loves most.

“Alex…we…,” he trails off before a heavy sob overtakes him.

If this were anyone else in the world seeing him like this, save for perhaps Bea, Henry would rather die. But Pez has seen him through so many upsets. This one won’t be any different.

“I got scared and I took off and...he says he doesn’t hate me, but he most certainly should. I broke his heart. I know I did. God, Pez, if you’d seen his face.”

Pez looks anxious but he doesn’t push Henry to hurry along. He gives him his undivided attention and once Henry trusts himself to share, he launches into the full story of the afternoon.

Pez’s face grows concerned the more he talks and Henry thinks it says something about this story that Pez is uncharacteristically quiet.

“Everything was perfect. I don’t know why I did this,” Henry says, confusion coloring his words.

Pez lowers his gaze, his lips pinching together.

“What is it?” Henry asks.

Pez pulls in a breath, his cheeks puffing up before he lets the air out.

“I say this with absolute love. You are my nearest and dearest friend in this chaotic and beautiful world. You know you are like family to me.”

The preamble makes Henry nervous, but he knows he deserves whatever harsh truth Pez is gearing up to bestow.

“You’ve always had it in your head that you don’t deserve good things. When things feel too good to be true, it scares you. It’s almost like, you need to pull the rug from under yourself before someone else does,” Pez says, not unkindly.

Henry sits back and lets those words wash over him. It’s a fact. He’s always known that about himself, as much as he hates it.

“I don’t mean to do it. I can’t help it.”

Pez looks sympathetic.

“I know, darling. You’ve been hurt before by people you trusted. I’m no psychologist, but I don’t think it’s hard to see where it stems from.”

His brother’s and grandmother’s faces spring to mind. Henry squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block them out.

“Perhaps this time around, you might find yourself keen to do things differently. Seeing you guys, even from that little time in Denver and the way you talk about him…the fact that he wants to give this a fair shot…Henry, this could be so beyond amazing. There’s life outside your comfort zone.”

Henry runs a hand through his hair. He’s never been good at taking chances. His life has been a study in complacency.

“But what if something goes wrong?” he asks, searching Pez’s eyes on screen.

“On the severe off chance that it does, you’ll deal with it then. But right now? Hazza, I’ve never seen you like this over a guy before and I got just a taste of it. Darling, this man could give you a whole lifetime of happiness for all you know. It sure sounds like he’s willing to try.”

Henry’s eyes well up again, a sour feeling tight in his throat as he tries to keep from crying.

After a moment, he loses the battle. He allows himself to feel the hurt, to truly shed tears over the utter mess he’s made of things.

He wipes at his face, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks at his best friend. There’s no judgment or ridicule in Pez’s eyes and Henry wishes they were actually in a room together now.

“Henry, my love, my moon, my stars. Can you promise me something?”

Henry sees his confused face in the little window on the corner of his screen. Pez licks his lips, his eyes softening.

“Please don’t lock yourself away. Don’t go dark. I’ll be with you in just a few days’ time. Please try to hold on until then.”

Henry wants to be able to swear an oath, but the way he’s feeling now, he’s not so sure he will even have the strength to stand, never mind get back to aligning himself to Alex’s Crescent Valley schedule for the homestretch.

Dread courses through him just thinking about having to cross paths with Alex soon.

“It hurts so much, Pez. Everything hurts,” he says, a complete non-answer.

He can tell Pez realizes this too, but he must sense Henry doesn’t have much fight left in him. He doesn’t push the point again.

“Because it matters. You wouldn’t be feeling this much pain if it didn’t. Question is, what will it fuel you to do next?”

~*~*~

Los Angeles

Day 2

Though he hadn’t actually promised Pez anything, Henry does his best to uphold his best friend’s wishes the next day.

Every inclination Henry has is to stay holed up inside his hotel room, to pass the time by watching the sun cast shadows throughout the day until nightfall.

In all fairness, that is what Henry allowed himself to do after hanging up with Pez, but today, he’s determined to let go of at least one bad habit and not isolate himself.

He takes a shower first thing in the morning and makes a point to eat and get dressed in something other than joggers. Henry collects his phone and laptop before heading out into the world. It’s a strange thing wandering around a city he’s never been to before by himself, but it’s also pretty freeing too. He’s just another face in the crowd.

He sets up shop in a quaint coffee shop he happens across. He opts for a window seat, able to observe passerby as he nurses an Earl Grey. As his laptop comes to life, his phone buzzes on the tabletop, the screen lighting up with an incoming message that’s quickly followed by another.

Alex

you don’t have to respond to this message. i know you need more time and honestly? so do i.

Alex

i just wanted to say that, for what it’s worth, i hope you’re okay. i’ll see you soon…if you’re still planning on coming to the set

Henry stares at the screen, his heart twisting at the messages.

No matter what, the book ranked supreme. Whatever personal drama he was responsible for causing to unfold, Henry held fast to keeping his word. He wouldn’t let anything impact their professional dealings.

He’d see Alex for the filming in two days. There’d be little to say to Alex– if anything at all.

He could survive the awkwardness. After today, he only had to endure a few more days in California until he’d be back in New York, able to put this whole unexpected whirlwind behind him.

Henry sighs and sets his phone down again, opting not to reply.

He puts on his headphones and drowns himself in music and writing. He takes another pass at his most recent edits to Alex’s book but he knows it’s ready to go. He makes a mental note to find a shop in the area to print it out before closing the doc entirely and takes a look at his drive.

It’s truly a graveyard of unfinished pieces, stories he loved but grew discouraged by before fully completing them.

Henry opens up his favorite, his mind swimming with the memory of the promise he made to Alex, that he’d return to his original writing and pursue it in earnest this time around.

In a way, it almost feels like honoring the dynamic they were building.

Henry dives into it headfirst, fueled by the desire to keep his word in some capacity when it comes to Alex.

He’s interrupted an hour or so in when he gets an incoming call. Henry grabs his phone and sees Shaan’s name on the screen before he answers quickly.

“Hi, Shaan. How’s everything?” he asks, tearing his eyes off his screen.

The coffee shop is relatively empty; there’s no one in close range to him that he’d be disturbing by taking this call.

“Everything is brilliant or at least I thought you’d know that. Have you checked your email yet?”

Intrigue seeps through Henry enough to make him switch over on his browser to his inbox where an email from Shaan from thirty minutes ago sits right on top. Henry double clicks on the offer, his eyes catching first onto the insane figure at the bottom. It’s twice what he’s receiving for Alex’s book and yet he feels not even a fraction of excitement over it. He tries picturing himself working with this other actor, a name he actually does recognize as the man has been on the same procedural for half of Henry’s life.

Henry doesn’t even feel an ounce of interest nor can he even fake it.

“So? What do you think?” Shaan asks.

Henry frowns and looks out the window, trying in vain to muster up something to say. But Shaan reads his hesitancy for what it is.

“You’re really done, aren’t you?”

Henry closes out of the tab with his inbox and looks again at his own writing.

“In one sense, yes,” he says. “I can’t write for other people anymore. I’m losing myself too much.”

“Is everything okay with you and Alex? I thought things were going well on the road. Your passes have been impeccable.”

Henry bites on his lip. Technically things are far from fine with Alex, at least personally. But professionally, at least he can be honest and say, “I think he and I have been amazing together for his book. That’s actually what’s giving me this push now.”

Henry sighs.

“It was always going to come to this at some point. This new offer is incredible, but I just…I can’t wonder what if anymore. I still want to write, but I need it to be my words plus my name out there.”

Shaan is quiet on the line and Henry wonders if he’s somehow managed to break his agent’s brain. The amount of money being offered here is such a clear indicator that Henry is truly carving out a lane for himself with ghostwriting. But it’s not fulfilling. It hasn’t been for quite some time now with the exception of Alex’s book.

“I understand. I’ll decline the offer,” Shaan says. “I do hope this means you’ll get something to me soon that’s all your own then?”

Henry smiles. “I was actually just in the middle of that before you called.”

“I won’t keep you any longer then. Get back to work,” he orders, but Henry can hear the mirth in the command.

He’s ready to end the call when he hears Shaan speak again.

“Henry?”

Henry puts the phone back to his ear.

“Yes?”

“Pardon the sentimentality, but, I do hope you know that I’m quite proud of you.”

“You’re getting soft on me, Shaan,” Henry teases, but he soon grows serious. “I do though. I can’t even begin to tell you how much that support means to me.”

~*~*~

Los Angeles, CA

Day 4

“I feel like a bonafide star right now,” Pez says, completely looking the part with his cat eye sunglasses that he moves smoothly to rest atop his head.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks at the reserved seats in the front row of the stands with their names on it.

Ever since Pez arrived late yesterday afternoon, Henry has felt so much more settled. They spent the evening exploring Los Angeles, popping into different shops along Sunset Boulevard where Pez came across the very shades he’s donning now. Being out and about had been enough to take Henry’s mind off his troubles for a little while longer.

But today, there could be no avoiding the elephant in the room and Pez was armed at the ready with a well-needed pep talk before they arrived here at the studio for the reunion filming.

They take their seats as excited fans in the audience around them settle in too. The buzz is so reminiscent of the crowds at cons that, for a moment, Henry feels as if he’s right back on the road with Alex.

For the millionth time, Henry’s mind conjures up a montage of their time together on tour. These last three months haven’t had any shortage of good moments. But it’s these last three days that have put it all into such a tailspin.

Before Henry can spiral any further, the reunion gets underway. A video plays with some of the most popular, fan favorite moments of the series. Each time Alex’s face pops up on the screens, Henry’s heart twinges a little. The video ends with the final shot of the series, the Crescent Valley signage appearing as the video fades to black. The audience cheers and gives an enthusiastic round of applause that somehow gets kicked up twenty notches when the lights come up and the cast is seated on the soundstage.

Henry immediately locks his sights on Alex. It’s been three days and every moment, both waking and asleep, has been consumed with thoughts of him. He looks incredible, perfectly at ease among his castmates and before a crowd. Henry is all too familiar with this public side of Alex. He plays the part so well, Henry wonders if the other version of Alex even wonders or even cares to know if Henry is in the crowd tonight.

The reunion is an absolute treat. The cast recounts their favorite scenes and arcs on the show and divulge behind-the-scenes secrets. They share never before seen footage that hadn’t made it onto the show. In many ways, it’s truly a love letter to the fans. He can feel that with each tidbit that gets offered up, in every thoughtful answer to questions they receive from the show's creator who acts as host.

Alex’s eyes find Henry’s for the briefest of moments as they wind down and Henry instantly feels the air get knocked out of him. His skin tingles, his blood rushing so loudly in his ears that he can barely hear any of the closing remarks the actors are now saying.

He jumps a little in his seat when the audience begins to clap. Henry blinks twice and looks over at Pez who eyes him quizzically before looking back towards the soundstage.

Henry follows his lead and joins in the applause as the cast waves at the in-studio audience and to the cameras until they wrap.

All around him, people are getting to their feet, talking amongst themselves about the in-depth discussion with the cast but it all sounds like static to Henry as his eyes trail after Alex as he leaves with his castmates.

“Shall I see you later then?” Pez says.

Henry snaps his head back to his best friend.

“What do you mean? I thought we would go back together.”

Pez scoffs. “If you think I’d allow you to leave here without speaking to Alex, then clearly you’ve lost your mind somewhere in this city. I of course, being the generous person that I am, would help you find it. But only after you work your way backstage and talk to that man. We go home tomorrow, Hazza. This is your only chance to do this face to face.”

Henry frowns.

“So, as I’ve said, I’ll see you later, honey bunny. Ta.”

Pez gives him a kiss on each cheek before leaving without another word. It’s truly amazing how anxious Henry feels without Pez beside him. He’s practically been a human security blanket since they met years ago.

He knows Pez is right. This isn’t the kind of talk he wants to do over the phone. Alex deserves far better than that, especially after the way Henry left him a few days ago. Even if this time away from each other has somehow hardened Alex’s heart, Henry is ready to face the consequences of his actions.

He makes his way backstage, following the same path Alex and the cast just made.

A few members of the crew recognize him from his first day on set and let him through without incident.

Henry winds down the corridors towards the cast greenrooms. He hadn’t gone back here that first day, but the helpful signs guide him. He can hear chatter behind a few closed doors along the way, but he doesn’t pay attention to any room for longer than a second as he searches for Alex’s name.

He finds Alex’s designated room at the very end of the hall. He leans in close to the door, trying to gauge if Alex is still in. It’s silent but as Henry gets ready to turn away, he hears a heavy sigh on the other side of the door.

He knocks quietly twice.

“Alex? Are you in there? Might I come in and have a word?”

There’s the sound of rustling and footsteps and within a few breaths, Alex appears before him.

Henry’s heart sinks a little. Alex’s face is indifferent, closed off even. It’s as if he’s looking at Henry without really seeing him. For the cameras and fans just moments before, he was his usual vibrant self. Alone here now, the mask is completely off and shattered.

Alex searches his face, the only real indicator that he’s presently registering Henry’s appearance at all.

These last few days have clearly taken their toll on him.

“I thought you might’ve left already,” Henry says pointlessly.

Alex’s eyes haven’t stilled. After a moment, he blinks twice and shakes his head.

“I probably should have, but I needed a minute. Everyone is going out to celebrate in a bit. I’m not sure I’m feeling up for it though.”

Henry frowns.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil this for you. These past few days…I’ve acted horribly.”

Some folks a few doors down laugh about something, clearly in a happy mood. The contrast to Henry and Alex now is staggering.

Henry glances toward the sound of their merriment and back to Alex, looking past into his dressing room.

“Come in,” Alex says, stepping back so Henry can enter.

Henry looks around the room. There’s a clothing rack with a few of the outfits Alex wore during the promotional filming yesterday. There are a few floral arrangements spread throughout the room too, clear markers of just how much there is to celebrate now.

“I should have gotten you flowers to commemorate. But maybe you’ll like what I’ve brought instead.”

Alex’s brows furrow as he leans against the vanity, his arms crossed over his chest. Henry isn’t quite sure how to gauge what Alex must be thinking or feeling about his presence here. But the fact that Alex permitted him into his greenroom is at least somewhat promising.

Henry flips open his messenger bag and takes out the bound manuscript he had printed right after he left the coffee shop a few days ago, eager to hold this project in his own two hands.

Alex’s eyes widen, a soft breath pushing past his lips.

“Is that really…is that our book?”

Henry smiles as he steps forward and hands it over. Alex takes it from him, staring in awe and thumbing through.

“It’s your book, Alex. It’s your story. I just helped put it on the pages.”

Alex looks up at him.

“It was a partnership from day one,” he says and Henry hears the double meaning in it.

Henry concedes the point, his hands gripping the strap of his bag for something to do.

“I’ve actually received an offer to do another,” he says.

Alex looks up quickly at that, his hands clutching the manuscript tighter.

“Is that right? What’d you say?”

Henry smiles tentatively.

“That I want to end on a high note with your memoir as I leave ghostwriting behind.”

Alex sets down the manuscript and stands up straight.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Henry can feel his face warm up a bit as he nods.

“You were right. I’ve been depriving myself of a lot of things out of fear and it’s holding me back. Truthfully, it’s been rather debilitating most days. That’s no way to live and I’m tired of it. Of myself really,” he says.

“So, I’ve set about making some proper changes. I told Shaan thanks but no thanks on that offer and I spoke to him about wanting to query my original fiction. I went back to a few of my works in progress and I feel hopeful. Confident even that I might be able to make something worthwhile with them.”

Alex smiles at him, a genuine affectionate thing that Henry doesn’t feel worthy of but he basks in it.

“I’m so proud of you, Henry. Seriously. I can’t wait to be first in line to buy your books.”

This stuns Henry for a moment. For all that they’ve been through these last few days, it touches his heart to know Alex would still want to support him, that he’d remain in his corner.

“First I need to actually turn something in to go on submission. We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” he says, aiming to keep things light a little while longer. He’s all too aware of the elephant in the room.

Alex waves him off.

“I’m speaking into existence. It’s bound to happen for you. You were given a gift. This is meant to be. I know it.”

“You and the universe,” Henry says, more so to himself.

Alex shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms again almost defiantly.

“Some things are destined. I stand by that.”

“Like, maybe, you and I?”

The words fall from Henry’s lips so quickly that for a moment he doesn’t realize he’s actually uttered them aloud until Alex’s previously warm eyes shutter. He stands ramrod straight and falls silent as he stares at Henry.

Henry’s heart beats faster, but doesn’t lose his nerve. He can’t afford to. Not anymore.

“As I’ve said, fear and, admittedly, insecurity have been plaguing me for far too long. I've stood in my own way. I’ve held myself back from opportunities because I haven’t felt deserving of them. Doing so in my career was bad enough. Now with you…,” he trails off, arms falling to his side.

“I’ll never forgive myself for the way I acted back at your place. For months now, I’ve been dying to hear that you feel deeply for me, as I do for you. Yet still I froze when it proved itself to be real. It felt too good to be true and so I convinced myself that it was.”

Henry frowns.

“I’ve become something of a professional at blowing my life up. I don’t want to do the same with yours. There would be no coming back from that.”

Henry’s lips quiver, but he steels himself, forcing himself to keep going.

“In your text, you said you needed time. If you aren’t ready to talk about us now, I’d completely understand. Maybe now isn’t the best time to speak of this, but I didn’t want to leave here without at least trying. I know that makes me horrendously selfish. I swear I’m not trying to be. I only wish for you to understand. To know that you’ve done nothing wrong. I hope you haven’t been placing any blame on yourself.”

Alex avoids his gaze. Henry didn’t think it was physically possible, but his heart sinks even further.

“Oh, Alex.”

Alex looks at him. “I thought I came on too strong.”

Henry shakes his head.

“Not at all. You don’t know how much joy you brought me. I got in my own head and spoiled it for both of us. That wasn’t right.”

Henry sighs and looks around at all the flowers Alex has been gifted. This should be a happy time in his life, yet now he was spending almost an entire week troubled and filled with doubt.

“I feel like I’m overshadowing and ruining your reunion excitement with all my foolishness.”

Alex reaches for his hands.

“Keep talking. You aren’t wrecking anything, I promise.”

Henry brushes his thumbs back and forth across the backs of Alex’s hands. He marvels at the smoothness of Alex’s skin, not to mention the warmth.

He feels water begin to well in his eyes, his throat constricting.

“I need to know what you’re thinking. You’re annoyingly good at damn near everything,” Alex says, though his voice trails off a little.

“Except for letting people in,” Henry concludes.

Alex gives his hands a gentle squeeze, subtly urging him to talk.

“Think of it as an area of improvement.”

Henry recognizes his own words from their very first day of this tour being playfully tossed back at him. Henry smiles a little in spite of himself.

“I guess…I know that I’m worried I won’t be worth the effort at some point. I know you mean what you say now, but so much is in store for you once this comes out,” he says, tipping his chin towards where the manuscript sits.

“My life feels as if it’s in limbo, a no man’s land. You have everything in order and here I am just floating. I…truly do feel like a ghost sometimes. Apt career on my part, I suppose.”

Alex’s brows knit together. Concern etched into his beautiful face. He cups Henry’s cheek and Henry greedily leans into his touch.

“Well, I can see you,” he says.

“Thank God for that.”

Alex smiles, his thumb brushing the apple of Henry’s cheek.

“All the same,” Henry continues, “I go back to New York for good tomorrow. There will be three thousand miles between us. Sometimes I worry…proximity has played such a key role these last three months. Soon you’ll have scores of men added to the mix who are far more along with themselves, with their careers. They’d be vastly more interesting and perhaps better suited for you than I.”

He stops himself, realizing how pathetic he must sound. But from the way Alex looks at him, it’s clear the other man isn’t judging or pitying him.

“Hen, I could live on the goddamn moon and I would still want us to try. You mean everything to me. I don’t care who comes out of the woodworks when the news breaks. And I sure as shit do not care that you’re still figuring some things out. You’re currently talking to the poster child of that. We literally worked on a book together about that very same thing.”

Something changes in Alex’s eyes. They grow fiercer as he lowers his hand from Henry’s face.

“I swear to God, I want to cage fight anyone that’s ever made you feel like you aren’t worthy because there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be with you, do you understand me?”

“I do. I just…I don’t know why or even how I managed that.”

Alex swallows hard, his eyes softening again. He looks vulnerable and already it makes Henry’s heart ache.

“Henry, I love you. I love you so fucking much. You don’t even see how freaking exceptional and rare you are. I wish that you would. But I’ll be here to tell you every damn day if I have to because it won’t ever stop being true.”

Henry blinks twice and tears fall from his eyes immediately.

“I clearly have some things I need to work on. But I promise, I am in this with you, Alex. I love you too. Terribly. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I meant what I said the other day. You’re unmatched. You’ve had my heart for quite some time now and I know that you always will. It’s terrifying and exciting all in one breath and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The look of relief on Alex’s face makes Henry hate himself for ever making him worry or doubt his place in Henry’s life. He feels grateful now to at least be able to demystify Alex’s fears.

“So much of my life feels up in the air right now, but not my feelings about you. You’re one of the few things I feel sure of anymore,” Henry continues.

Henry leans in closer and touches his forehead to Alex’s. Alex hugs him at once and Henry sighs softly in the comfort of his arms.

It’s only been a few days since he last held Alex, but Henry has missed everything about this level of contact. He buries his face against Alex’s neck, breathing him in and clinging to the warmth of his body.

It hadn’t actually been New York he was missing when he’d called Pez the other day. It’d been here, the safety of Alex embracing him. Here in his arms, nothing can touch him, not even his traitorous, sabotaging mind.

Alex pulls back to look at him and Henry’s eyes sting with unshed tears, his mind racing with all the words he’s been keeping in since they last spoke openly.

Alex doesn’t give him a chance to say anything just yet as he leans in and kisses him. Henry’s heart jumpstarts, goosebumps rising on his arms as he kisses Alex back.

It’s still slow and sweet, but there’s an undercurrent of longing and anxiety coming from Alex. Henry answers it in kind with reassurance, imbuing the kiss with a wordless promise that Alex will never have to be without him again.

They break apart but stay close enough for their foreheads to touch. Henry keeps his arms wrapped around Alex as the man drapes his arms over Henry’s shoulders and combs through his hair lightly. It’s a simple gesture, but it lights Henry up.

There are still a million things he needs to say. Above all though, an apology seems most pressing.

“I’m so sorry.”

It hardly feels like enough.

I’m sorry I ran that day. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I almost ruined everything. He hopes Alex understands all that this encompasses.

Then again, he always seems to.

Alex sighs and Henry feels the slight tremble in his hands as he continues to stroke his hair soothingly.

“I’m just glad you felt safe enough to come back.”

Henry runs a hand up Alex’s chest, to the key that dangles near to his heart.

“I’m always going to find my way back home to you.”

#rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #userthai #tusersonia #tuserpaige #usernicholas #usersteen #tusersilence #userjamiec #iuserzoe #uservalentina #kimmy writes

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