#and as a child had absolutely zero fucking filter

[crows-of-buckets]

Had the stupidest idea of tyrian meeting Daeran as a kid (since they're both nobles) but instead of them being cute friends or whatever Tyrian calls him a cunt to his face and then goes about his day. Daeran thinks of this interaction at least once every few months while Tyrian somehow completely blacked it out of his brain (presumably out of embarrassment but areelu probably had something to do with that tbh)

[saerins]

⋆୨ prologue ୧˚ all see through, just like glass

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ next: chapter one - thorns without flowers, bars with no drinks ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 1.6k | ೀ content warnings: modern au, rich!reader & rich!sae, fluff/angst, swearing, somewhat boys being boys, manipulation/gaslighting, bad parents, yn has a sister here but won’t be mentioned too much !

i. y/n

“Don’t be so overly emotional, sweetheart. Isn’t this absolutely perfect for you?”

“You’re saying no? Can’t believe you’d say that… you know if you don’t do this you’re only damning your little sister instead, right?”

“Sweetie, we are listening to you. But don’t you think we would know what’s best for you? We’re only criticising you because we love you.”

Marriage; a concept you’d been familiar with since young, way back when you had a dream to marry your one and only Prince Charming—someone who’d appear one day and completely sweep you off your feet. Five year olds are silly like that. You’d believe in Prince Charming and fairytale endings and that two people in love would always work things out.

Being the daughter of a very successful businessman, a lot of things were given to you as a child. You never had to ask for toys, or books, or anything at all. Your father would ensure your material needs were well taken care of, and your mother would ensure you’re pampered from head to toe, buying you designer assets and making sure you look the best you can at each instance.

Life in the upper echelon is mostly desirable; the privileges are apparent, the favouritism rampant. You’re grateful for what you have, but there’s a small ball of thought inside you that wishes for your parents not to see you as a product, but as their child. Most of the people you had met had absolutely zero problems with their upbringing, perfectly content with being handed everything on a silver plate.

Most people except Mikage Reo, your best friend since the fourth grade. He hated having his life dictated for him too, and you both found common ground in that. Ever since then, you’d both been close as ever.

“Wait wait wait,” he nearly chokes on his rice, the disbelief in his tone overwhelming, an eyebrow cocked as his fringe falls over his left eye. “Repeat that again.”

A small sigh escapes your lips, your fork poking against the rice in your bowl, any form of appetite you had earlier being sucked out just by revisiting the topic. “It’s an arranged marriage.”

Reo appears unamused, but he restrains himself from commenting too much negativity. “And… what did you say?”

That’s why he’s a good friend—he feels you out first before filtering what he needs to say. He’ll still speak his mind, but depending on your decision, he’ll choose his words carefully.

You’ve always been eternally grateful for his presence. It calms you down, that sense of comfort irreplaceable. You know that if you ever really screw anything up that bad, you’ll have him—and really, that’s enough for you. Out of everything you have, you think this friendship’s probably the most precious one.

“The wedding’s in a couple months,” you half-answer, deciding to stop playing with your food and putting your fork down. The clang of the metal hitting the marble-top table is the last sound you hear for a while before Reo clears his throat.

Before Reo can get any words out, you interject. “The guy said yes too, apparently.”

Now he chokes on his rice.

You slide the glass of water across the table and Reo chugs it down, water trickling down the sides of his lips at his urgency. “How the fuck did your parents get Itoshi Sae of all people to say yes?”

Itoshi Sae. The name of your to-be husband. You know him as much as what you can search online. Twenty-five this year. No hobbies but it’s rumoured he’s good in soccer. He’s a lot like you when it comes to status and standing in the business world—the kid of successful self-made parents who everyone in your immediate circle automatically expects good things from. The pressure to perform and become someone of note since birth is probably something you both share. Except, maybe, Itoshi Sae looks like he’s a lot less obedient than you are. He looks like he’s more rebellious than not, and that’s why you wonder if he has any hidden agendas by agreeing to this business arrangement.

You know why you’re agreeing.

“Seriously, we raised this child and yet she’s so ungrateful!”

“Y/N, you know if you don’t do this then he’s just going to force this on your little sister, right?”

How can you let that slide as a big sister? Especially when your little sister is perfectly happy in a long-term relationship? Unfortunately, threatening their children isn’t below your parents.

Even when you revisit the conversation in your head, your mother’s faux concern is nauseating. She’s always been that way; everything your father says goes and she doesn’t offer much else other than what he expects of her. Maybe that’s why you grew up to be this way.

Shrugging, you turn your attention back to Reo, a small pout forming on your lips. “You know my dad. He’s always been good at talking.”

“What about you though? Are you really okay with this?”

At this point, Reo’s the only one who’s genuinely concerned for you. Maybe because he knows about all your childish dreams about finding The One. While you appreciate his concern, you brush it off.

“Yeah, I mean, how bad could things possibly get with Sae?”

Reo’s eyebrows show he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t say more.

“I’ll be fine, Reo, promise.”

You’ll just have to win Itoshi Sae over. Even if it’s hard, you’re determined to try and make the most of it. It won’t be that bad if you work hard on it… right?

ii. itoshi sae

“Either do this, or I’ll get Rin instead. It’ll be a pain, but don’t think I won’t do it.”

“Honey! Stop speaking like that… Sae, please try to understand, this will be a huge opportunity. It’s the least you owe us, hm?”

“You lost your shot, do you want Rin to lose his too?”

“If you don’t want her, I'll take her.”

“Go ahead.”

Sae’s completely tuned out of the conversation, the thoughts of his upcoming wedding filling his head. Now that everything’s settled between yours and his parents, it’s really kicking in that fuck, did he really let them dictate his love life like that?

“She’s pretty hot, though. I think she’s just a year younger than you?” Oliver’s scrolling through your Instagram—typical behaviour from his end. The moment Sae told them your name, it took only half a minute for Oliver and Otoya to find your online presence.

L/N Y/N. He’s always heard of you. Your name constantly leaves his parents’ mouths, ever since he was a kid. Apparently, your parents and his have been tight since high school. Sae is sceptical about the relationship, though. Nothing is ever that plain and simple between rich families. There must be a reason Sae’s never personally seen you, after all, despite his parents claiming to have a good relationship with yours.

“What the fuck’s going through their heads?”

And by that, Sae assumes that Otoya means his parents. If that’s the case, Sae has long decided he’s given up trying to understand what goes on in their heads—but if he had to guess, it’s probably all because of a simple business deal.

Having their kids wed each other would mean that one of them is absorbing the other. A little side knowledge that Sae doesn’t care for, so he only shrugs in response.

“Aw, little Sae is growing up,” Oliver sneers, earning a snicker from Otoya and a middle finger from Sae himself.

Otoya eggs him on, adding to the fire. “Yeah, to think that the guy who only ever dated once in his whole fucking life is the one getting married first,” he comments, eyes gazing to the side in deep thought, “what was her name again? Mirin?”

“Oh fuck, yeah I forgot about her,” Oliver exclaims, smirking at Sae. “First love type shit, right?”

Sae rolls his eyes, ignoring him, forcing him to change the subject.

“Shit, didn’t think you were the kind to ever say yes though,” Oliver remarks, eyes still glued onto the screen, likely still scrolling through your posts.

Oliver’s standards are quite high. Are you really that pretty? Sae’s never actually seen what you look like.

“I’m not fucking marrying her. I don’t even know her.”

“Maybe we should just pull Rin out then, get him to come back here and handle all this.”

“Sae, be a good boy and listen to us, okay? How about this—if it ever gets too bad, we’ll look into a divorce in the future, hm?”

As if he believes that. His parents are insufferable. There’s no point in ranting to this group though, so Sae brushes it off.

“Not like I care about this marriage shit,” he leans back, an air of nonchalance around him. “I’ll just shut my parents up and wait for the right time to leave.”

Otoya scoffs, smirking. “Lucky girl.” Sarcasm is his forté.

Oliver laughs, finally putting his phone down. “Okay you do that, and then I’ll pop up and be her Prince Charming and sweep her off her feet.”

Sae inwardly sighs to himself. His friends are insufferable as well, though he’d argue whether that’s the correct term for them. They’re only a group because their families happened to meet often. Somehow, Sae had been dragged into this weird association one day, and the rest is history.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

The rest of the night, Sae drowns out their conversation, choosing to ignore whatever shit they’re talking about. In his head, he’s only thinking about how long it’ll take before he can safely absolve himself from you without his parents threatening his younger brother’s career. More importantly, he’s wondering how the fuck he’s going to tell you he’s thinking of a divorce even before you get married.

Surely, you don’t really expect anything to come out of this either, do you?

If you do, you’ve got a rude awakening coming.

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover

[idea-hub-for-fanfic]

Right hear me out,

Alicent is fed up. Her youngest son Daeron has just been sent to Oldtown, Aemond has one eye and has turned vicious and cold, Helaena spends her time embroidering or looking ant bugs, and her eldest child Aegon is drunk 90% of the time. All the while her husband King Viserys ignores their children for his stupid model she wished she could set on fire, but she can’t. So instead she does something else.

She gets absolutely wasted.

And there’s one thing about Alicent no one knew, not even her father, is that a Drunk Alicent has no filter and Zero fucks to give.

Rhaenyra and her family come to visit at this time, and they are faced with a drunk Alicent just hanging them all out to dry. Calling everyone out on their shit.

Drunk Alicent: “Oh look! It’s Fucking Princess Rheanyra! Come to visit her father finally! And because the sun shines out her fucking arse it means everything in the whole of kings landing stops, by order of the fucking King himself because his spoiled brat of a daughter is here! The most precious heir to the stupid fucking throne that one day I will melt and turn it into something fucking useful. Like 100 door handles or some shit!”

Everyone is lost and confused because what?

Drunk Alicent: “ oh and by the way, I know how much you hate me because I married your father, like I had a fucking Choice! Who was I to deny my father and the fucking king! But you don’t understand that ‘cause you do as you fucking like! No care for anyone but yourself! Just like my own father, who can die in a whole for all I care!”

Daemons loving it, aegons also drunk and is also loving it, viserys is trying to shut her up but that’s not happening, Otto is getting his ass handed to him by his own daughter, and the rest of the kids have no idea what to do.

Just a bit of fun I thought of. Who doesn’t love getting wasted. Drunk Alicent speaks the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

✨please remember that these are fanfiction ideas, they may not or will not follow canon unless the writers of them want that to happen. I am just throwing ideas out to the world for people to play with and make into they’re own✨

[causeitsagame]

UNTITLED ANGST PROMPTFIC THE THIRD (out of four, I am guessing)?

Sequel to this and this, and will make zero sense without them.

-----

"So as I have said, all this time," Peko quietly finished, "Fuyuhiko has not given up our location."

Hajime's heartbeat thudded irregularly in his chest. It was exactly two months later, and he'd demanded the long-promised explanation even before anyone could eat.

Since they'd left the islands, he'd settled on one awful outcome as the most likely path. Fuyuhiko had promised to distract their would-be captors; he'd do anything to protect the knowledge he held; he'd said a rescue would be pointless after two months. One week after fleeing, a horrifying potential explanation for all of that had erupted into Hajime, unbidden: a suicide pill.

He spent the next weeks trying to think of absolutely anything besides that worst-case scenario. Over and over, he'd failed. When the day finally arrived, he'd grabbed Peko early as possible, wanting to collapse that quantum state of "dead" and "alive" into some known truth, whatever it was.

Never had he considered something even darker than Fuyuhiko offering himself up to die.

Hajime's jaw hung open at Peko's explanation, useless. No words came. It felt like his throat was swelling shut.

"And you did not stop him?" Sonia demanded, teary-eyed.

"Stop him?" Peko's eyes were just as glossy. "It was his idea. His choice to make. His decision that saved all of us."

Kazuichi looked lost, like some young child. "You both lied to me. I wouldn't… I wouldn't have sent the plane."

Peko's gaze drifted slowly downward. "It was the only way. He knew that, and so did I. If any of you pretend otherwise, you're diminishing his choice and his sacrifice. I won't allow you to dishonor him like that."

"Fuck that," Hajime spat. His blood surged hot as nightmarish memories crowded his mind. He remembered exactly what it had been like to be slowly sanded away to fit inside someone else. "And fuck you."

Peko looked back up and met his gaze with bloodshot, hollow eyes.

Hajime regretted the words as soon as they clawed out of him, but he swallowed hard and said nothing.

For a while, there was silence. A measured voice eventually broke it. "Ultimately, this was Fuyuhiko's decision. Peko is not his keeper. This has been a heavy burden for her to bear, I'm sure." The Imposter's face was solemn and determined. "But now, the rest of us can help. Hajime, it's fortunate that you negotiated that two month timeline. We'll put it to good use, now."

Sonia nodded slowly and lifted a shaking hand to her chest. "I'll start listening for any directions we might pursue. Kazuichi, can you please work on enhancing the ship's surveillance?"

He nodded, still bewildered and heartbroken over how he'd been used months earlier.

Inhaling, Sonia turned. "Ibuki, when I begin listening to those streams, will you help me work through the static?"

Ibuki looked up from where she gnawed on her thumbnail and nodded.

With clearly feigned confidence, Sonia forced a smile onto her face. "Then everyone, let us all do our very best with all of the tasks before us. Teruteru, I know you will have a wonderful meal for us to start our day. Let us do that first, and then get to work."

In silent unison, nearly everyone filtered out of the meeting room on the ship they'd adopted as their new home. The remaining duo took a while to say anything.

"I'm sorry," Hajime eventually mumbled.

"Perhaps I should have spoken up earlier." Peko gripped her wrist. "I am supposed to be making my own decisions, after all." After a heavy pause, she looked toward him. "You can't go."

Hajime's jaw set. "I have to."

"You were the main factor behind his decision. If we all only faced death, he might not have left. Simple death probably isn't worth these extreme measures."

It felt like the room's shadows abruptly deepened. For an instant, Hajime was back across the Pacific, feeling himself be stripped away. "So, if not for me, Fuyuhiko wouldn't have…"

"No. I really don't think so." Peko's gaze softened with understanding. "I know you want to help. But it's like he said, months ago: if you get captured, everything he's gone through will have been for nothing."

"But… I won't, they won't get me. But I'll get him."

"What do you think he'd do if you said that to him?"

Hajime tried imagining that, and could only picture soul-deep betrayal if he even made the attempt. "I just…" Biting his lip, he looked toward a porthole. Through it, he could see the cliff face that their ship was anchored along, helping to hide it in this small, tucked-away bay. "It's my fault. Something worse than death, and it's my fault."

"We'll get him back."

Hajime felt the ship tilt under his feet. They'd gotten used to living on the waves, but he was suddenly dizzy as it moved. He again remembered the unspeakable claustrophobia of feeling like his entire existence was closing in, followed by endless, useless freedom after that existence shattered. Will we?

It took another sixteen days until the question was answered. C O L L E C T E D, came each letter with agonizing slowness. The obscure data route was undetectable, but the speed meant that they hadn't been able to update everyone else on their progress.

Hajime's heart leapt as he saw Peko's transmission. Finding Fuyuhiko meant he'd been alive to find. And even better, she wouldn't have sent that until she, the Imposter, and their target were safely back on the helicopter they'd acquired. (From an abandoned Canadian base along the coast, and modified to remove absolutely all tracking elements.) "Mikan, get the infirmary ready."

The rest of the group was waiting behind him, unable to see the small communications screen. "For everyone?" Mikan risked asking in a tiny, tremulous voice. "Or did the mission… did things not go…?"

Hajime turned, grinning like he'd almost forgotten how to do. "For everyone."

Relief ran through them in a messy, joyous surge. They allowed themselves a few rounds of hugs before Mikan demanded to be let through, with the sort of confidence that only came to her for a patient's sake. Hajime's own relief practically felt like it had hollowed him out, and his hands shook as he moved to follow her there.

As the two of them worked on preparing the small infirmary, Hajime's mind skittered away from considering what state Fuyuhiko would be in when he arrived. His mind didn't allow him to view today as anything but amazing, and so every darker thought that piped up was quickly squelched. "He might hate how cold it is, up here," Hajime cheerfully said as he took inventory of their medical supplies. "Of course, he complained about how hot the islands could be."

"He might like it more here," Mikan agreed with a bright nod. The infirmary was on the other side of the ship, and its portholes looked out over water and onto the evergreen forest beyond. It might be Canada out there, or might be Alaska, but there were no still-living towns for a hundred miles in either direction. Unless someone knew exactly where to look, the Remnants were undetectable. There was food out there, too: berries and fish and meat and various other things that only Teruteru and Hajime could name.

It didn't feel like a home, but it had been okay. Maybe it would feel like home when all of them were together, again.

The two of them needn't have rushed. The helicopter had a long path to fly, and needed a stopover at an abandoned base in the Aleutians to refuel. Slow letters appeared again as the next dawn touched the trees: A L M O S T T H E R E.

"Stay in the infirmary!" Hajime ordered Mikan as he ran for the landing pad at the back of the boat. "I'll bring him in!"

The message had taken long enough to arrive that he could see the approaching helicopter when he ran outside. Hajime threw an arm halfway over his eyes to block the whipping gusts from its blades, but unlike the rest of their group, he kept walking forward against the wind. He could see the Imposter at the controls; Peko must be at the back of the craft with Fuyuhiko.

He's here, Hajime thought, and felt his eyes swim with sudden tears. We got him.

When he could finally slam the helicopter's door open and see inside, Hajime's heart twisted with mingled joy and fear. Yes, Peko was in the back of the aircraft, tenderly holding a slender figure wrapped in a blanket, but that figure was absolutely still. It took Hajime a moment to process that Peko's expression would look very different if she were holding a corpse, and he forced himself foward.

His heart twisted again; this time, only with agony.

Fuyuhiko's exposed skin was a mass of overlapping bruises and cuts, new and old and poorly healed. The scar over his bad eye had been further mutilated; there was probably no going without an eyepatch, now. And beneath everything, his skin was sallow and dry, with cavernous hollows under his eye sockets and cheekbones. One arm extended out of the blanket, and its wrist was awkwardly, painfully prominent. Fuyuhiko had never had weight to lose, but they'd stolen it from him, anyway.

Hajime looked at all that, and at the ragged red tips to all of Fuyuhiko's fingers, and felt a crimson wash pass over his vision. Focus on him, he thought, and balled his fists until they hurt. Think about them later. "I'll get him to the infirmary."

"Careful," Peko whispered. Her cheeks were marked with tear streaks, some fresh.

Hajime's arms shook as he slowly picked up Fuyuhiko. Despite his care, Fuyuhiko hissed as soon as his torso twisted even a bit. Probably broken ribs, Hajime thought, and began cataloguing the injuries as he walked forward. Limited movement prescribed for that. Significant dehydration; IV fluids. And…

The group split as he approached. Gasps and soft cries welcomed Fuyuhiko back to them, but everyone had more sense than to make any noise louder than a whisper. If he hadn't needed to limit the jostling that Fuyuhiko's ribs received, Hajime's arms would have shook by the time he stepped back into the ship's interior.

As he walked into the infirmary, Hajime whispered, "We got him."

Mikan's eyes filled with tears, and she moved for her supplies.

Fuyuhiko still hadn't come to, but faint groans and uncharacteristic whimpers suggested that consciousness was just below the surface. At one of those soft, vulnerable sounds, Hajime's heart seized anew. He couldn't help but kneel next to Fuyuhiko's shoulder, so their faces were close. "Hey. It's okay. You're safe."

That seemed to work, at least a little, so Hajime tried again. "It's okay. You're back with us. I'm right here and I'm going to help you. It's okay."

Fuyuhiko's good eye slit open. His gaze roamed slowly around the infirmary and eventually settled on Hajime, though he seemed to have trouble focusing. "Where's Peko?" The question came out as a cracked, tired sigh.

"We'll get her," Hajime promised, and nodded to Mikan. She nodded back and darted out of the infirmary. If Peko had been the one to actually carry Fuyuhiko to safety, he could only imagine what a relief she must be to see. They should have thought of that and insisted that she come along right away, despite the infirmary's tight quarters.

Fuyuhiko tried to run his gaze around the infirmary, again, but even that appeared to exhaust him. "Who're you?"

Hajime's heart skipped a beat. The optimism he'd used to brick off Peko's explanation of Fuyuhiko's horrifying plan began to develop thick cracks. "It's Hajime. Remember me?"

Fuyuhiko stared back at him, still unable to focus his vision. "You…"

Hajime barely kept himself from grabbing Fuyuhiko's hand to try to encourage him. Mikan hadn't bandaged the many, many wounds there, yet. "Yeah. Me."

"You must be all sorts of fucked-up," Fuyuhiko managed. "Looking at you feels like a whole burnt-out library."

Hajime's arms felt to weigh a ton apiece, suddenly. They hung heavy.

For the first time, Fuyuhiko's eye managed to focus, but he wasn't looking at Hajime. The relief and trust he'd hoped to see directed at him were finally there, but aimed only for the woman walking through the infirmary door. "So. What's the situation?"

"You're safe, young master," Peko whispered.

Hajime shook his head. Young master? He'd gotten her to stop saying that soon after waking up.

Fuyuhiko studied Hajime as critically as his barely-there energy stores would allow. "You mind?"

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be as bad as Peko had described. It couldn't be that bad, not really. Not when he was back and alive. "Mind?" Hajime dumbly echoed.

"Private conversation."

"I. Sure. Okay." Numb, Hajime stood and stepped past Peko. She brushed down his arm with quick sympathy, but then stepped in to take the spot he'd vacated at Fuyuhiko's bedside.

Perhaps Peko didn't realize that he could still hear from there, or perhaps she didn't care. Maybe she even wanted him to hear. "Young master, these are the people I mentioned. You can trust them all."

"…You sure about that?"

"Yes. I am."

"'Cause I must've burned them out for a reason."

"You did. You were protecting them all, because you care very much. You even went back to memories of meeting them, it appears. Doing so much was very." Peko's calm wobbled momentarily, as did her voice. "Very brave."

"I get that. But." Fuyuhiko took a long pause. "I didn't burn out a chunk of stuff that was just about me. That way, I'd still know what year it was, and shit like that."

"That makes sense."

Fuyuhiko took a longer pause. "So I remember what I did."

Peko was silent for a while, in return. "Things are different, now. Very different."

"If these people know me… did they do that kind of shit, too?"

More silence. "Things are different, now."

"What about the guy who just left?"

Holding his breath, Hajime flattened himself more against the wall, like they'd somehow notice him eavesdropping.

"Hajime? What do you mean?"

"I look at you, and I know I burned out a lot of big memories starting in high school. I looked at that fat guy, and I burned out anything big, too. But that guy just now… everything. I burned out every goddamn thing I know about him. Why?"

Hajime's knees weakened, and he barely kept himself from collapsing where he stood. It took him a second to realize that Mikan, unable to hear the quiet conversation inside the room, was asking if he was all right. He ignored her.

"He was who you were most concerned about. You found it absolutely unacceptable for him to be at any risk of capture."

"He's who got me all fucked up, then? That guy?"

"Young master, that's not… the situation is very complicated. It is not Hajime's fault."

"Sounds like it is. Heh." The soft noise earned a hiss of pain.

That, Mikan was able to hear. With an apologetic look toward Hajime, she murmured something about needing to interrupt them and walked into the infirmary.

After a moment, Hajime walked away with slow, heavy steps, again feeling like his existence had been shattered.

His mind spiraled, veering between Fuyuhiko's horrific injuries, those dismissive words, and his own memories of existence burning away. With each such cycle, he spiraled tighter and lower, and everything began to overlap into a screaming, endless chorus. Soon, the doctors who'd stolen his own memories were the faces torturing Fuyuhiko, and they thanked Hajime for showing them the way.

Hajime started running. He barely made it back outside and to the ship's railing before he doubled over and coughed up a stream of bile. A large, strong hand gripped one shoulder while a metal one gripped the other, and both men asked if Hajime was all right.

"No," Hajime said dully, staring into the distance. He wasn't.

Because Fuyuhiko was right. And he'd been right, when he said it to Peko.

This was his fault.

[mulderscully]

henlex ficrecs? i don't know where to start

i was like who tf is that til i realized some of u are calling firstprince that lol i'm sorry but i bring you porn only so i hope that's what you want 🫣

some of these are bookverse and some are movieverse and tbh i see no great difference bc it's the same relationship to me but i added a * to the ones that are specifically movieverse, the others are either an au or bookverse or a mix of movie and book

familiar gravity

"Yeah,” Alex breathes, and he pulls back to look Henry in the eyes. “I’ve been fantasizing about you fucking me in this chair for, like, weeks. Every time you sit down here with your stupid book.”

Henry likes it when Alex speaks Spanish and Alex has a request.

in the teeth of strong opposition

"You know what?" Henry says loudly, annoyed beyond belief that he has to hear for the millionth time how fucking cool Alex is with Henry's sexuality. "If you're such a good ally, why don't you suck me off? Since you're so insistent, why not get on your knees, Alex?"

He regrets the words as soon as he says them, but it's not like he can shove them back into his mouth; he can't take them back. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the shocked expression on Alex's face and takes a few deep breaths.

"Sorry," he says tightly a moment later, eyes still closed. "That was uncalled for."

"Do you want me to?"

the red side goes up

Henry brings home a little something new to try in the bedroom. Or: The One Where Alex Gets Jealous of a Butt Plug.

bedroom warfare (3 part series)

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault.

Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

voted most likely to run away with you*

Alex drifts into consciousness in a bed full of tangled limbs and warm, sleep-rumpled skin. He’s lying half on his stomach and half on his side, the shoulder smushed against the bed protesting in a way that tells him he’s going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day.

But fuck if he cares, with Henry stirring next to him, one of his long legs draped over the back of Alex’s thigh. Alex doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the room is hazy with filtered sunlight, spilling pale yellow through the carelessly drawn curtains.

who knew polo was such a turn on?*

Henry had no idea the horseback riding lessons he started as a child would lead to this.

save a horse, ride a cowboy

“Forget about walking,” Henry tells him boldly, giving him a hard kiss before he pushes himself back up vertical. “Just wait until you see me ride.”

baby*

Henry has plenty of pet names for Alex, but how did Henry end up with the pet name "Baby"?

i dream your name backwards

Three times Alex wakes up from a dream and can’t help but tell Henry about it, although they're apart and an ocean is between them.

And one time, Henry wakes up from a dream and Alex is there.

isn't it amazing how every line of our hands align

Alex knew it was going to be one of those days the moment he realized his third coffee of the day had absolutely zero effect on the turmoil of his thoughts. It was not even nearing ten in the morning when he had to face defeat, annoyed and broken down to a single thought: Henry was right. Not that he never was, far from it, but Alex had this kind of constant competitive streak with his boyfriend — and he hated admitting when Henry was right.

Or Alex is having a bit of a day, and Henry knows exactly how to help him out.

it's a scene (and we're out here in plain sight)

"I don’t want us to be in the press for anything other than how good I am at polo, and how charming you look in that shirt.”

Henry just wants the Fifth Annual Okonjo Foundation Polo Match to run smoothly, but that's harder than it seems.

i like that thing you do

Ever since the first polo match Alex attended, his obsession with Henry on a horse has only grew. Years into their relationship, Alex is still hanging onto the pitch's fence, watching with rapt fascination. Read to find out what happens when Phillip asks a question that creates a lust monster Alex can't control. No one ever said those white pants Henry wears aren't meant to be destroyed.

alright that's all 4 now i can do a non smut one later too but say hey if u see urself on her @ authors!

[original-character-championship]

SUMMER JET PROPAGANDA POST

Personality-wise, she's best described as "sassy bitch with a side of mom friend"—she has a loud-and-proud, take-no-bullshit attitude and absolutely zero filter whatsoever, but despite being very rough around the edges charisma-wise, she does usually have people's best interests in mind! If you manage to befriend her, you've got a fiercely loyal ally on your side who'll very much ride or die for you, and maybe even kill for you (...okay, maybe not kill, but 100% bash people's skulls in with her bat and leave them alive to deal with the consequences and hopefully learn their lesson). She's also a jeweler by hobby, and also as I mentioned in her introductory blurb a huge My Chemical Romance fan!!

As for her lore?

Summer was made for a tabletop RPG campaign based around Pokémon Mystery Dungeon, and before the campaign happened, things were Not Good™️ for her. Her dad Canary, the CEO of a mining company in Unova, really wanted her to be his heir and would get very cold & oftentimes downright physically/emotionally abusive whenever she protested, while her mom Snow tried to support her and help her find something she'd prefer doing... to very little avail, as she was a very lost child/teenager at the time.

Eventually, on her 16th birthday, Snow gave her the rose-gold bangle you see on her left arm, which immediately became one of her most prized possessions and is what sparked her to become a jeweler—which only served to piss off Canary even more. It really looked like things were going to end badly for Summer...

...and then one day, when she was freshly 19, after a particularly nasty argument with her father where he threatened to kick her out and take away everything she knew, she retreated to her room to take a nap—and vanished. Completely.

In actuality, that's when the PMD campaign started, as she had been isekai'd into the Pokémon world as a Sewaddle without any memories whatsoever, only that her name was Summer and that she used to be a human. She had that bangle stuck tightly around her neck like a choker and had no fucking idea why it was there for a while; the campaign is still technically in progress, even if it's on hiatus, and I have something planned for that when she evolves into a Swadloon if it ever revives, so I'm still keeping that a secret for now in case one of the other players sees this. (But you can send me (@kung-fu-cutbug) an ask on my blog and I'll spill the details there under a readmore! I might do that anyway.)

Anyways, eventually, after the adventure was over and everyone had gotten their memories back, Summer awoke back in her Opelucid City apartment as a human... sometime in 2022, around 2 and a half years after she had vanished initially (late 2019). Snow and, surprisingly, Canary were elated to see her back, although they were confused as to why she didn't look a day older than before she disappeared—she explained the PMD story and they were confused, but seemed to buy it. At the very least, it got Canary to stop bothering her so much about becoming his corporate heir. And she eventually got to reunite with her friends from the campaign too! She even got to adopt one of them as her younger brother after their reunion—he had woken up in Virbank City further southwest, met a girl named Cherry whom he told about a girl he knew in Opelucid, and tagged along with her while she did the gym challenge until they happened to meet up with Summer. Cherry eventually even started dating her. Lucky bastard.

She also has an Artfight page with a bit more tangential information I couldn't fit in here, so—with all that out of the way, vote for Summer!!

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

a kiss from the moon | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: All these years, all these summers, Jeon Jungkook has loved you. His problem? You have no idea. Mostly because he has always said it far too platonically and thrown up in your lap after saying it. Drunk. Fuck. Oh, yeah, and you're also Park Jimin's best friend since preschool. Shit.

warnings: language; alcohol consumption; pining; JK gets distracted by (your) tits during his quest, typical; non-idol!BTS - purple-haired!Jungkook x sleepy af, noona!reader, ft Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung radiating big soulmate energy; childhood friends-to-lovers

yes, it's JK from the 'Butter' beach photos

--

“I love you!”

You lifted your head out of the mountain of pillows, groggy and hazy, squinting at the moonlight filtering through the floating curtains. The night breeze was warm, drifting in softly with the low hum of cicadas. But what was that other sound? That other sound was familiar, wasn’t it?

You heard your name being shouted, followed by, “Wake up!”

You made a face and stumbled out of the bed, sticking your head out of your bedroom window, your own hair flying back and smacking you in the face.

“Yah! Jeon Jungkook, are you trying to wake up the whole damn neighborhood?!”

“Get down here!”

You put on your best disgruntled expression and peered down at the form on your front lawn, shoving your own hair aside.

“What are you going on about?” you muttered, seeing Jeon Jungkook looking up at you, puffing his cheeks, long wet purple hair fading to gray because of the chlorine from swimming all night at that party Park Jimin had invited you to earlier today, to which you had responded, no thanks, I’m going to sleep all day, I worked three double shifts in a row and I have zero desire to be flung into your family’s swimming pool at this time, but I will acknowledge that your offer is very generous, and then promptly passing out for a good – you glanced at your phone with the pink bunny case Jungkook had given you two summers ago – ten hours and it was still not enough for you to comprehend why your best friend’s best friend was standing on your front lawn yelling at your parents’ house that you were watching for a month while they were in Italy getting drunk on far too expensive wine and eating cheese they probably couldn’t pronounce.

Jungkook was shirtless, clad only in orange swim shorts and sandals like a fucking hooligan. He was clutching a plastic red Solo cup and he threw it at the house, yelling your name again.

“Oh my fucking God, don’t litter, you idiot!” you bellowed back, throwing yourself away from the windowsill and crawling on the floor to your bedroom door like the evolution of mankind, making it from all fours to two legs by the time you got to the stairs – good thing too, you might have broken your neck if you were still disoriented – and you dragged yourself downstairs, yanking your white slip dress straight. Not your choice of pajamas. Your mom’s, who told you to be more ladylike, whatever the fuck that meant, and who also informed you in the same breath that it was your only choice of pajamas since they donated all your clothes from high school.

Awesome.

You go to university and your parents yeet all evidence that they had a child and go vacationing.

Good for them.

You wrenched your front door open and shoved your feet into your dad’s giant brown sandals and clapped your way over to the pink-faced, mildly drunk, shirtless man in swimming trunks on your front lawn.

“It’s two in the morning. Why are you standing here drunk and professing your love like some kind of deranged Romeo?” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. “Why aren’t you at Jimin’s?” You spied the red Solo cup and picked it up, whipping your head back to Jeon Jungkook.

He was staring at you with his mouth open.

Charming.

He didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds.

“Alright, fine, let me call my loser of a best friend and tell him to pick up his loser of a best friend, so I can go back to sleep,” you muttered, about to turn around.

Jungkook seemed to sputter back to life. “Wait, um, noona–”

“He speaks! He’s not dead.”

“A… Ah… Um…”

You squinted at him and reached up to knock the side of his head. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

Jungkook blurted out, “I love you.”

His breath smelled a lot like alcohol.

“Yeah, I got that. You also said that when I got you through your Chemistry and World History exams. Both times. You also say that to like, what, six of your guy friends? Don’t get me started on the amount of times you’ve said it and thrown up in my lap right after. Don’t do that this time,” you added sternly, prodding at his chest. “I’ve got one set of pajamas because my mom forgets that human beings change clothes, so throw up on the grass.”

“Uh… that’s pajamas…?”

“Lady pajamas,” you grumbled sarcastically, lifting the lid and chucking the crumpled Solo cup into your parents’ trash can. “Since I’m not lady enough apparently according to my mom, even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure giant band t-shirts are completely unisex but, whatever, it’s just a dress, not a big deal.”

“Um.”

You looked at Jungkook, who looked back at you, who put your hands up and gestured him to say something, who in response rose his hands and flapped them in confusion, giving you absolutely zero helpful communication. The movement reminded you he had gotten his right arm and hand tattooed in the last couple years, the black ink standing out against tan skin. You hadn’t seen him too many times during your university years, too busy completing research papers and staying late nights in laboratories, only to now end up working on hospital software and sitting on your ass all day. Life, eh? These past three days were spent on working through bugs for the next software update and you had maybe lost all social skills as you attempted to unravel lines of code that you stared at for forty-eight out of the past seventy-two hours.

Fun!

“Do you need a cookie? A shower? The Bible?” you offered, waving your hands. “Maybe tell me why you’re here, yes?”

He was staring and you realized you were slightly bent over in your gesture, your breasts firmly pressed into the cups of the slip dress. You straightened and Jungkook’s wide dark brown eyes went back to your face.

“I… I didn’t realize you had come back, noona.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I told Jimin last week. He said he was hanging out with you and Taehyung. I figured he’d just tell you guys then.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, gray-purple hair flying about. He pointed to the left, where Jimin’s house was several blocks over. “He only mentioned it just now, when he was throwing up in the bathroom from doing eight shots in a row because Taehyungie dared him.”

“…. Maybe he needs the Bible…” you muttered, shaking your head.

Then the realization hit you.

“Did you walk here from Jimin’s and straight up abandon the party?”

Jungkook tilted his head and thought about it. “Yeah.”

You looked around to find the camera and see if you were being pranked, but there was no camera because this life wasn’t purely for entertainment, right? Nah, this wasn’t The Matrix.

Mhm.

“Hah, well, what’s wrong? Are you upset I didn’t go to the party or something? I had three double-shifts this week, I wasn’t going to be any fun passed out before actually drinking–”

“Yoongi-hyung was passed out before drinking.”

“In some ways, I swear that guy and I are the same person,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t go and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I really banked on Jimin not being an airhead, but once again he is, so maybe I should reconsider him as my best friend…”

“Noona, I…”

You looked up from your mental consideration of Park Jimin’s pros and cons, the first pro being he punched that ex of yours that cheated on you with some Tinder hookup and that was already enough to stop contemplating, so you blinked at Jungkook curiously, looking into wide brown eyes, long strands of ash-purple floating around his handsome face from the night breeze, brushing against his parted lips, highlighting the mole underneath them, placed perfectly in the center like a kiss from the moon itself.

“Can I take a shower and sleep it off here?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, sure. You can borrow my dad’s clothes. You should call Jimin though. You don’t want him to panic that he lost you.”

“Y… Yeah, okay…”

-

Jeon Jungkook really thought he could say it this time.

Collected all his courage and ran, ran as fast as he could, couldn’t believe Jimin had neglected to say she was coming home over the summer for more than a day, days without her reminding Jungkook that he was a coward for not saying it when he could have, having lost his most important person in the world because he was too afraid of telling Park Jimin that he was in love with his best friend.

He remembered that smile wearing nothing but a large t-shirt, sitting on Jimin’s bedroom floor, crushing all of them at UNO and cackling as Jimin blew up for ending up in last place for the third time in a row, yelling that the game was rigged, and Jungkook remembered thinking, I should tell her tonight.

And he didn’t.

He remembered her saying to Taehyung that she just wasn’t into girly things. They were having this argument over pizza and Taehyung was waving his around saying she should at least try a dress on every once in a while, never know, might actually like it, and her rolling her eyes as she shot back that she didn’t have to do anything just because it was stereotypical for her gender. Taehyung told her to stop using big words and waved his hands, accidentally flinging his pizza slice into her lap, and Jungkook remembered thinking, I should tell her after we clean up.

And he didn’t.

He remembered seeing her prepare to leave for university once again, holding a small package from the internet and handing it to her, a small but practical belated birthday gift, both of them surprised when she opened it, not the matte black phone case he had ordered, but somehow mixed up with a pink bunny phone case that had no business being owned by someone who didn’t like girly things.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order this–”

And she laughed, shaking her head. “That’s okay, I gotta go, thanks anyway, Jungkook!”

The years went by and every year Jungkook told himself, this is the one, and every year he just couldn’t say it.

He thought he could say it now, drunk and furious at Jimin for not preparing him for this moment, but on his way here Jungkook figured that perhaps this was preferred, that maybe it was better that he couldn’t sit around nervously overthinking what to say.

But, of course, the problem was…

He had already said it in a platonic way.

Shit.

He really fucked himself throughout the years.

Jungkook sighed, now wearing borrowed clothes, holding the note of her handwriting as he rubbed his hair with the towel.

I washed your shorts and they’re hang-drying now. You can sleep in the guest room. I left a glass of water and some hangover meds. If you need anything, I’ll be asleep but you can attempt to wake the dead if you want.

He walked down the hall, towel around his shoulders. Her bedroom door was open. He stood outside the entrance, sighing, seeing her sleeping form and her bedside table, her phone sitting on the charger.

His breath caught in his throat as he recognized that pink bunny phone case.

-

“Where’s Jungkook?”

“Probably at her parents’ place, confessing his love,” Kim Taehyung snickered, picking up the beer bottles left behind next to the pool.

“Hah, of course he would leave without cleaning up,” Park Jimin grumbled, pushing the recycling bin along as Taehyung tossed each bottle inside.

“You think he’s gonna tell her?”

“He didn’t even tell me,” Jimin muttered, shoving used napkins into the bag hanging off the side of the recycling bin that he was going to toss into the trash later. “I had to find out from you. I think he’s hopeless. Why does he like her anyway? She’s fun to be around, yeah, she’s good at school, yeah, knows a lot of random facts, yeah, if you get into philosophy with her like Namjoon-hyung does, you begin to question humanity and reality, yeah, but other than that…”

“You hitting on your best friend, dude?”

“I mean, she’s kinda hot, she wouldn’t say no to me.”

Taehyung snorted.

Jimin smacked him in the ass with the recycling bin.

“Anyway, he’s probably just standing in her bedroom creepily watching her sleeping.”

-

Jungkook stared down at her sleeping form.

He looked up, looking out the window into the late, late night. He was tired, and yet he couldn’t sleep, too busy wondering.

I don’t deserve her if I’m not brave enough to say it.

“Jungkook?”

-

You squinted at the large form in your bedroom.

“Why are you just staring moodily out the window?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Is something wrong? Are you hungry? I can make you a snack…”

“Noona, do you know what the worst feeling in the world is?” he asked softly, still looking out into the warm night.

You grunted and scrunched up your face. “Stepping on a Lego?”

You heard Jungkook laugh and you smiled a little despite your groggy state, hearing a little bit of his old self, the younger Jungkook hanging out with you, Jimin, and, later, Taehyung, the four of you getting up to no good. Somehow, in the past few years, he had gotten quieter and quieter, at least around you, but then again you only came home to visit for a day or two before going back to university.

“Have you ever been in love, noona?”

“Yeah, with the red bean popsicles they used to sell at the ice cream trucks, but then they stopped, those assholes, I’ve never been so heartbroken in my life,” you grumbled, remembering the day where the ice cream man told you they were sold out and your young teenage heart shattering.

“I love you, you know.”

Was this a fever dream? Why did he keep repeating himself? You looked over to his back, still looking outside onto the street, the street where you all used to run and laugh every summer, pretending you were surviving in the wild and not in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, sitting around sipping lemonade and complaining about the heat even though you all could have gone inside, lighting sparklers at night and seeing whose would last the longest even though such a thing was only based on chance anyway.

“Is that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” he added quietly.

“The worst thing I’ve ever heard was accidentally hearing Jimin jacking off. Twice.”

Jungkook finally turned around, giving you a disgusted look. “What?”

You placed a hand on your face and sighed heavily, trying not to remember. “For some reason he thinks the bathroom isn’t echoey or something, like, at least do it in the shower, so the water masks the sound…” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Anyway, I would much rather hear you say you have love for me than listening to Jimin getting off.”

“I don’t have love for you.”

You raised your hand from your face and shifted your gaze to him, half-smile lingering on your lips from remembering Jimin’s carelessness. You made eye contact the second the words left his mouth, those brown eyes shrouded in shadows, but still so clear, a little helpless, a little sad.

“I’m in love with you,” Jungkook whispered softly.

Your eyes widened.

A soft breeze swept through the window, lifting the purple-gray strands from Jungkook’s face, revealing his lost, desolate expression.

The cicadas hummed.

A car alarm honked loudly, screeching through the night.

Both you and Jungkook jerked to face the window. You bolted out of bed and you both threw your hands onto the edge of the window, yanking it shut, wincing at the loud noise.

“Ah, jeez… what the hell…?” you groaned, slumping to the ground.

“What’s with people…?” Jungkook muttered, falling to the floor beside you, yanking the towel off his shoulders.

-

“Fuck, I pressed the wrong button!”

“Taehyung, what the hell, turn it off!”

“I was just trying to put the tangerines your parents gave me in my car!”

“I don’t care what you were doing, turn it off!”

-

“Anyway, sorry, you were saying something important and you got interrupted by some dumbass,” you sighed, nudging Jungkook with your shoulder.

“Uh… well, that was it…”

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “What, that you’re in love with me?”

“Y… Yeah?”

You blinked some more.

“Not the, want to go to the arcade and see who can get the highest score in PAC-MAN or go watch shitty action movies and rate the unrealistic plot lines or dare each other to eat whatever expired delicacy is in Taehyung’s fridge, kind of love?”

Jungkook made a repulsed face. “I regret eating that tofu. Don’t think I can ever look at uncooked tofu without gagging a little now…”

You leaned over and caught his eye.

“Do you mean the… want to date and get married and make babies, kind of love?”

His lips parted and the moonlight lit the small mole placed perfectly underneath his lower lip.

A delicate kiss from the moon itself.

Then you realized he was staring at your tits.

You yanked the neckline up a little and Jungkook started, looking back up at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to you in a dress, sorry, I’m being really rude–”

“It assures me that you’re at least interested in the making babies part,” you chuckled.

His ears turned red and he reached up to cover them, trying not to look down. “S… Sorry…”

“So…?”

He chewed on his lip, messing with his earrings with his fingertips. “Um… yeah, that kind of love. The latter kind.”

You lowered your hand. “You’re not messing with me, right? I swear, if this is one of Taehyung’s elaborate ideas to mess with me, I’m going to ki–”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, purple hair flying about. “I’m not joking around. I wanted to tell you for a long, long time, but…” His eyes darted about, panicking a little, before looking back to you helplessly. “You’re Jimin’s best friend, besides Taehyung, and what if… what if you thought I was gross or something and then I don’t think I could hang out with you guys anymore, but then you went to that prestigious university far away and I thought, I’m so stupid, I should have said something, anything, but every time I could even think about it, I didn’t know what to say, nothing seemed right…”

He let out a big sigh and tapped his head against the windowsill, closing his eyes.

“Also, I said it before and threw up in your lap right after, so that kinda fucked me up.”

“Can’t say I was really feeling the romance, yeah.”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“I’d date you though. For real.”

Jungkook removed his hands and blinked at you. “What?”

You chuckled. “Why are you acting so surprised? I’m not going to date Jimin, blergh, I’ve known that guy since I was in preschool. I’m not dating Taehyung, I’m pretty sure he’s on a different brainwave than other human beings.”

You smiled at him and turned around to pick up your phone, holding it up.

“I don’t like girly things or cute things very much, but I kept your gift because it was from you and, funnily enough, I think it made me realize that I was rejecting femininity because society puts such a negative connotation on things young women like and because my friends growing up were primarily male, thus I wanted to seem cool or relatable so I rejected stereotypically feminine concepts…”

“… What?”

Now it was a confused what.

“Uh, never mind,” you laughed awkwardly, putting your phone back on your nightstand. “Anyway, Jungkook, you made me realize things about myself, and I love being around you, but I thought a handsome guy like you would want to date a pretty girl, and I’m not really that.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about? You’re the prettiest girl in the world. No one could ever be prettier than you.”

You felt your neck heat. “Yo, don’t inflate my ego when it’s not the truth,” you chuckled sheepishly, waving a hand. “You’ve been drinking anyway. Alcohol makes everyone prettier.”

“It’s the truth.”

Was he drunk or were you drunk? Why was Jeon Jungkook getting closer?

“Would you really date me?”

You stared into those chocolate eyes and smiled.

“Yes, I would.”

And you leaned forward and kissed him.

His eyes widened, staring at you and you closed your eyes, pressing your lips to his, inhaling his scent, memories of hot summers and mirthful laughter filling your head, standing beside Jungkook and kicking Jimin and Taehyung’s ass at table tennis even though Jungkook was doing most of the work, finishing a movie together after Jimin and Taehyung had passed out on the couch on top of each other and talking excitedly about it until you both fall asleep, getting lamb skewers after Jimin and Taehyung went off to eat ramen in a huff, unable to agree on the same meal as a foursome, but it was fine, no, better than fine, perfect even.

Because you were with Jungkook.

You broke the kiss and opened your eyes, smiling at him.

He blinked slowly, looking down at you.

“Noona…”

His hand raised, fingers spreading out longingly. You quickly reached up and pushed it back down.

“Jungkook, I swear, I do want to touch you in a less than holy way, but maybe not when you’re wearing my dad’s clothes, including his underwear, because that’s really fucking weird.”

Jungkook looked down at the brown t-shirt and beige shorts. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“You know, come to think of it, I feel like Taehyung has slowly stolen Jimin from me over the years, so maybe this was fated…” you mumbled, remembering at the moments you had shared with Jungkook were because your other two friends had abandoned you.

“I feel you, sometimes I feel like a third wheel…”

-

“I’m so sleepy.”

“I’ll tuck you in first, but I’m going to get us some water so we don’t die tomorrow morning.”

“Ugh, Jimin, bring another pillow please.”

“Hah, fine, but you’re buying breakfast tomorrow…”

--

masterpost

[woodchoc-magnum]

L*ne St*r Hate Watch 3x16

Disclaimer: As always, if you love the show, please don't read this, have a great day

Eddie Diaz to give us strength in these trying times:

He looks skeptical, and rightly so.

Let's get into it:

I'm 90% unspoiled, so let's go

Is this a flashback? The colours look even more dull than usual

"Mum would have a cow" – almost definitely a flashback

I'm guessing this is baby Owen and his brother?

IS IT? I'm so confused

I don't know where they are?? Is this meant to be the east coast? Is this an emergency? There's no ocean in Austin, right?

"Tyler" who is TYLER??

Okay so the context is there are two kids surfing and one of them just wiped out and I'm guessing has potentially drowned, but like, idk if this is an emergency or if this is a flashback to Owen as a kid

Baywatch style lifeguards? I feel like it's a flashback??

"LA County Beach" okay it's a flashback okay we're fine

Okay so little brother nearly drowned and Owen had to go call 911 but it ends there

Owen is going to California to see his "daddy"

Judd offered to go with him – no scratch that, he offered for TK to go with him, which is fair, I wouldn't want to go to LA with Owen either

Okay so Judd's surprise son has been arrested and Judd just had to bail him out

Arrested for vandalism

Judd's real mad

He "tagged a billboard" and they're confused because this is out of character for this child that we met like ten episodes ago and haven't seen since

His mother got engaged and he's been acting out ever since

They got rid of the LS filter for the LA shots

Also idk what year that flashback was set but I think they may have aged Rob Lowe down a touch

This is 100% going to end with Rob Lowe surfing again

And now we're back in the flashback

Little bro has yet to regain consciousness

I'm not calling shenanigans or anything but it's suspicious that in the OG we have an Eddie-going-to-Texas-to-confront-his-father episode coming up and LS is doing it in this episode with Owen confronting his father

Also Judd's dad is totally Brenda Leigh Johnson's father from The Closer

Guessing Judd has taken Wyatt to his dad's horse farm to do a little horse therapy, yet another stunning coincidence with the OG

It's very weird seeing LA in LS

Thank god they didn't do a crossover

Okay so now Owen has gone to see his father and there's a whole family gathered around his bedside, but I thought Papa Strand walked out on them when Owen was 13, so I'm guessing he had family 2.0

You know, his "real" family. The do-over, the one you get right

Shit am I sympathising with Owen? No I'm not guys, calm down

Also there have been ZERO emergencies so far

Oh shit I think Owen's little bro died

And there's a CLOWN on the wall, the root of the CLOWN TRAUMA

Now we have Rob Lowe's real life brother and he even SOUNDS LIKE ROB LOWE

LS really is keeping the Lowe family employed, isn't it?

Okay so these two don't know each other at all

So half-bro got their Dad at his best and Owen didn't

Does half-bro even know that Dad had a whole other family?

Now we're back on the horse farm with Judd

20 minutes in, zero emergencies

Also no TK??? So I'm absolutely not complaining

The mom getting married is not the issue with Wyatt, he's just "pissed off"

Oh he's pissed off at Judd?

Oh he's sad that they didn't have Judd in his life from the beginning and I feel that, Judd and Grace are fucking awesome

RATTLESNAKE

Judd's horse got spooked and threw him and JUDD IS HURT

JUDD HAS BROKEN HIS LEG??? AND THERE IS A BONE STICKING OUT OF HIS LEG?

That's in the OG and LS this week for the bones sticking through the fucking legs JESUS CHRIST

Judd's shin bone has come through his leg and it looks real bad you guys

Judd has no blood circulation to his foot and he wants Wyatt to "snap" his leg back into place

Shit you guys this just got real graphic

They keep cutting to the leg and I keep not looking at it

I can handle a bit of gore but not lingering shots of a bone sticking out of a leg in a jagged fashion

He snapped the leg back into place and Judd has absolutely passed out, which is the appropriate response to something incredibly painful

He's facetiming TK and TK doesn't know he's in LA

He called TK to tell him that he loves him and he's proud of him which honestly, coming from Owen Strand, is a very nice thing

TK might be putting two and two together that Owen isn't in LA

Okay so in the flashbacks Owen and his mother are moving to New York and his dad is like, fuck off

He's gone to visit his dad again

New wife is like, why the fuck are you here, get the fuck out

Okay so half-bro overheard and now knows that they're half-bros, unless he knew the whole time? I'm very confused

Judd and Wyatt are still awaiting rescue

He's even assembled a splint and a makeshift stretcher for Judd, all skills learned via The Walking Dead – which shows a remarkable commitment to that fucking god awful show

Judd is LOSING CONSCIOUSNESS AGAIN AND DON'T YOU FUCKING SCARE ME LIKE THIS SHOW

Honestly if there was no Judd and Grace there'd be no me, this show is hanging on by the thinnest fucking thread

Here comes the cavalry to rescue Judd

Owen is unloading on his catatonic dad

"You just didn't want to be a father to me"

He's blaming himself for his brother's death but like, he was a kid? It really wasn't his fault

Dad's awake

"You were just a kid" SEE I just SAID THAT

Oh turns out Dad's been keeping tabs on Owen

They're forgiving each other it's beautiful

(not really this has genuinely been one of the most boring episodes of LS I have ever watched)

Half-bro is Robert and for real they'll bring him back, you just wait

Gotta keep the Lowe family employed

Judd is home with his whole family and I'm thinking Wyatt is now cured of his vandalising ways

Here's Owen at the pier to go surfing JUST LIKE I PREDICTED HE WOULD

I would bet good money that's not Rob Lowe surfing

(SIDE NOTE: Idk what the FUCK is going on with Tumblr but it wouldn't let me insert my big bulleted list like always, so I had to space it out - it looks like shit and I'm mad 😡)

Okay to sum up…

I don't even know what to say. There were no real traditional 911-style emergencies in this episode – just Owen's brother dying at the start, and then Judd's broken leg. Aside from TK and Carlos' brief appearance, nobody else from the cast was in this episode.

I mean… it's the Rob Lowe show. What do I even say? There's a whole episode dedicated to his reconciliation with his father and not to sound jaded, but we'll be lucky if we get five to ten minutes (if that) of Eddie in Texas. And I get it – it's because the OG is the true ensemble show and this is Rob Lowe and his supporting players, but it's annoying that one show can dedicate so much time to one character and completely disregard the rest of them.

Like, I'm glad the OG doesn't do that, but fuck I would KILL for an episode that's just 20 minutes of solid Eddie! (it's because I love him okay?)

Aside from the Owen of it all, what's even going on with the other characters in the show at this point? Mateo and Nancy were maybe going on a date like two episodes ago, but that hasn't been mentioned since. Judd and Grace had a houseguest last episode and now Judd's broken his leg, but I'm guessing we'll have a time jump in the next episode or two and he'll be back at work.

Marjan? No idea. She's barely had any screentime since Paul's heart attack.

Paul? He's back at work. No real storyline going on. Barely any screentime.

TK & Carlos? TK's in AA and they had a killer lizard in their house, other than that, nothing else going on.

It's just such an epic waste, honestly.

Eddie Diaz to close this shit out for another week:

[sazandorable]

About moderating and banning content on AO3!

Okay so! I haven’t had the spoons to do this for a while but I cracked and ranted about it on twitter which is... not... conducive to long rants, so!

This is a h u g e discussion part of the l o n g history that led to the creation of AO3, which older, more informed, and more articulate people have talked about at length and can be found around if you look (I reblog some of it in my AO3 and fandom history tags for the curious). So I won’t go into that here, nor into the practical reasons why it’s not even possible to put that system in place anyway.

Arbitrarily, or the purpose of this post, because it’s the biggest topic I’ve seen brought up lately, I’ll be talking about fic depicting underage characters in se*ual situations, but honestly I could hold the exact same conversation on literally any controversial content.

This is about why you, specifically, if you are a content creator and especially if you are marginalised and especially if you are queer and especially especially if you are sensitive to fiction depicting certain things... do not, actually, want a banning system on AO3.

What? Of course we do. There’s a lot of p*do shit on AO3 and p*do shit is gross. No one should condone that, wtf? It would be easy to do — just periodically delete the entire Underage tag!

What will happen if that is done is that people will re-upload and continue to write it, they’ll just stop tagging and you will run into it with zero warning nor ability to filter it out. Again, this is not a theoretical — we know this is what happens. When I was a teen, adult content (all adult content) was not allowed on FF.NET; it was everywhere regardless, and without tags. The exact same thing happened on tumblr when adult content was banned as well. It’s not a matter of “staff not handling it well” — it just doesn’t work.

To keep safe the people who need to be able to exclude that tag, that tag needs to exist and be used.

Well, shucks. A reporting system then?

A reporting system would operate in one of two ways:

-an algorithm, which would delete a lot of stuff we wouldn’t want it to delete.

-humans, which is... the bigger problem.

An algorithm sounds great. We do want it to delete everything.

Okay. What about the daddy k*nk fics between consenting adult characters? What about the fics featuring characters that are children in the canon but are adults in the fic? What about the fics about teenagers exploring their se*uality together, written by adults about the experiences they remember having or wish they could have had? What about the thousands of SasuNaru and Drarry and other shounen and YA fics that will get written, by teens or by people who remember being teens? What about the se*ually explicit fic written by teens who are se*ually active in real life? What about the fics about CSA as trauma, about healing from it? What about the fics written by survivors of CSA to cope about their trauma? What about the fics that clearly show that it’s evil and traumatic? What about the super dark, harrowing, but beautiful and artistic that I’m glad I read even though it fucked me up for days? What about the ones that were really shitty but also horribly hot?

Well, some of these are still not okay, but maybe some might be. It depends on how it’s written. We’ll have humans moderating content and deciding, then.

Okay.

The thing is, I don’t know which of the things I just listed were okay for you to be depicted in fiction and which were too much. Odds are I don’t agree with you. Odds are if I asked 10 people randomly picked off the street, not everyone would agree.

Odds are, even if AO3 arbitrarily decided on which of those are allowed and which are not, you would not agree with their choice, and you would still be unhappy with the decision. (Or you would be happy, but your friends wouldn’t.)

Odds are, different AO3 content moderators might not agree on whether a given fic qualifies or not — is it artistic enough? Does it show enough that these actions are evil and wrong? Can the author prove they’re a teenager? Can the author prove they are a CSA victim? Can the author prove that this is to help them cope with their trauma? The author seem to be functioning alright, they mustn’t really be traumatised!

You know what I mean! There’s absolute, objectively gross shit out there that is not artistic and should not be published.

I agree that there’s vile stuff out there that makes me sick and that I think is very clearly just ped*philic trash. But there is no way to, 1) stop those from getting published anyway, 2) take those down and preserve the safety of everything else.

If we start forbidding some things, there’s two ways to go about it.

One single, clear, arbitrary rule — for instance, absolutely no adult content featuring characters under 18 (leaving aside the fact that this would not even work for the reason cited above). So we lose all the stuff from teenagers, all the coming of age stories about adolescence, all the stuff from CSA survivors; people who need to write it can’t publish it anymore, and people who need to read it can’t anymore either (and as a cool bonus, they’re told it’s wrong and made to feel bad about it). Depending on whether the rules applies to characters that are under 18 in the canon, we lose entire fandoms.

Or, subjective moderation by humans, according to what they estimate to be gross.

Let’s assume all moderators can agree on what’s gross or not.

If there is a system in place to ban some underage works because “gross shit”, then that means other gross stuff can be taken down on account of being gross and harmful.

Yeah! Gross stuff should be taken down! Come on, surely everyone agrees on what’s gross and harmful.

Ah.

But the problem is.

Here is a list of things I have seen — with my eyes seen — called harmful to be depicted in fiction:

Murder

Non-con

Inc*st

Cannibalism

Torture

Self-harm

Mental illness

Drugs

Racism

K*nk

Non-negotiated k*nk, but healthy k*nk is ok

Spanking k*nk

BDSM where the woman is a bottom, but woman top is ok

Healthy depictions of BDSM

Unhealthy depictions of BDSM

Queer people doing bad things

Abusive relationships

Rival/Enemies to lovers

Redemption stories

A happy relationship between a 17 yo and an 18 yo

A happy relationship between a 20 yo and a 60 yo

A happy relationship between a boss and their employee, or a college teacher and a student

A happy relationship between a 14 yo boy and an older teenage boy, because that’s reminiscent of older men preying on younger gay boys IRL

Se*ual content featuring a character whose age is unclear in canon and some people headcanon them as being underage, some as being a young adult

Loving, consensual fluff between characters that are evil villains, because it romanticises them and their actions

Dark content shipping female characters

Fluffy content shipping female characters, because it’s misogynistic to act like lesbians are only soft all the time

Consensual s*x featuring a canonically asexual character, because it implies that all aces can and should still have se*

Fics about the same canonically asexual character hating s*x, because that erases the experience of s*x-positive aces

Shipping a character who is perceived by some fans as queer-coded with a character of a different s*x

The tendency to ship a black character with white characters

Fluffy drunk s*x, because that’s not actually consensual

Sleep s*x, because that’s not actually consensual

Trans characters not experiencing dysphoria, because that idealises the trans experience

Consensual s*x between adults that are not married

LGBT+ content, because kids shouldn’t see that.

I guarantee you: you, I, and 10 random people plucked from the street will not agree on what, in that list, is and isn’t okay to publish and consume fiction of.

So why should your taste be the one followed? Why should it be the taste of mods you don’t know? Why should anyone get to dictate? What if the mods think your OTP is gross and your NOTP is fine?

This is the slippery slope argument.

Yes, it is the slippery slope argument. Because we know it happens. Because we’ve been there, because I’ve seen it happen myself twice already and I’m not even thirty. Because we know people do complain loudly about all of these things.

And because the second there is a banning system in place, assholes will use the system to abuse it and get stuff they just don’t like taken down using the “it is gross” argument, and one day you’ll wake up and the beautiful fic that helped you come to terms with your abuse/trauma/identity/orientation/k*nk for feet will be taken down and wonderful vulnerable creative people will have been harassed out of fandom because they argued with 1 person who didn’t like their foot k*nk fic that happened to also feature, for instance, a CSA trauma backstory.

Again: not exaggerating. Not theoretical. It happens, we know it happens, AO3 was created literally because it happens.

I still fucking hate that stuff.

That is completely fine and normal. No one likes everything. Me too! Most of the dark stuff is niche and the creators know only few people will like it the same way they do.

(For the record, I get grossed out and triggered by fics about an asexual character who does not like s*x having s*x with their partner to make them happy. Deep in my gut everything screams that that’s fucked up, terrifying and harmful, how can people write that. But I recognise that there are people who love and need that, and I leave those people and their content alone.

OTOH, I read a lot of otherwise dark shit and I enjoy it in the same way I enjoyed, say, Hannibal, in the same way some people enjoy true crime documentaries, horror movies or r*pe fantasy k*nk. It helps me explore stuff that I like to see in fiction, in a safe, controlled way. I’m also asexual, 90% s*x-repulsed IRL, and, obviously, I would never abuse a child. For that matter, I wouldn’t kill and eat people, either, nor would I do 90% of the tamer k*nky stuff I read.

Of course, Hannibal was fucked up and lots of people probably think Hannibal was gross and should not have been aired — but as exemplified by the fact that it was created, aired and watched, lots of people thought it was fine, interesting and even fun to watch.)

You can and should curate your experience and protect yourself. The AO3 website now allows you to exclude certain tags, and people have developed tools to help with that such as plugins that save your filters or hide fics that contain certain words.

But no, it isn’t going to, and it shouldn’t, get banned.

[rein-ette]

Are you still working on your Commonwealth study? Do you have any thoughts on Arthur's relationships with his colonies apart from Canzuk + US?

Not properly, unfortunately with exams and then work I haven’t had mental/emotional capacity to do real research (and probably won’t for a while 😔). But I have continued to think about and develop certain relationships, and I think I also have old hcs I’ve never shared, so I’ll put those down!

Born into the Empire

Australia

@oumaheroes has already done such great hcs on him idk what I can add, but basically he was a little bit of a rowdy child, always breaking windows and shattering fancy pots, never able to sit still. I think rainbow once mentioned that Ken (short for Kenneth, my name for Aus) was a lot like England as a child in his curiosity and energy, and I wholeheartedly agree. But I think Arthur’s intensity was more inwardly directed, pushing him to pursue and master new talents and learn whatever he could, while Australia is a little more carefree in his love for the outdoors, exploring, jumping around and off things, little wild animals. Unfortunately for him, he was born in a period of the empire when Arthur was very serious about his kids education, and therefore often praised those who studied hard and learned fast, which really just wasn’t Australia’s cup of tea. Australia took this kinda hard and thought he was the “dumb” one in the family that Arthur was always scolding, but in reality Arthur knew and appreciated that Australias interests lay elsewhere — he was just a frustrated, tired, parent who really wanted to give his kids the best while also holding his empire together, two goals that were never going to fit well in the end and would completely exhaust him.

As Australia’s grown older he’s realized a bit of this (not entirely, though) and also that 1) he really did break a lot expensive things and cause general mayhem 2) scolding us Arthur’s way of showing he cares, if he didn’t he wouldn’t have payed attention to him at all 3) despite being a penal colony, he was still one of Arthur’s more “legitimate” children (being white and a boy) and was therefore still incredibly privileged — never having to question, for example, why it was that Arthur was his dad, if it should be this way, or if he had a seat at the family table at all (more on this later).

New Zealand

Zee, from birth, was a clear favourite. Obedient, calm, quietly intelligent, he would also later develop a blistering sense of humour which combined with his appearance made it overwhelmingly clear who’s child he was. If Ken questioned his place in the family because of his poor academic record and others did because of their appearance/race/other complications, Kaelan never had such problems; his siblings called him the “prince.” Zee, however, also had a charm that, like Matthew, endeared him to his siblings and mostly protected him from jealousy, though he certainly still had issues with being called a try hard, daddy’s boy, bossy, arrogant. Certainly as a child Zee was a little prideful and, under that unperturbed demeanour, willful, but he grew out of it by the 20th century and became one of those most trusted by Arthur, second only to Matthew. He’s also always been inseparable from his brother Australia despite their differences, and today they both have one of the healthiest and most amicable relationships with Arthur of any nation, let alone former colonies (family road trips, every summer).

Bermuda

I absolute fell in love with this girl after reading about here, once, in this fic by @shachaai, and after that my mind just ran away with me. For me, her human name given to her by Arthur just has to be Ariel — for the little mermaid reference, yes, symbolizing her connection to the sea and stunning good looks, but also because:

1. Ariel is a biblical name, meaning lion of God. This makes sense to me, because Bermuda began as a Portuguese trade post, so Arthur definitely consulted our resident bad catholic Port before naming her.

2. Ariel used to be boys name. This also makes sense, because I hc Bermuda was and still is a tomboy. Bitch is fierce, takes no prisoners, and has zero filter. Her letters to Arthur, which all the colonies sent so Arthur could keep an eye on things, were full of shit like “I swear to god if the Spanish don’t get out of my waters I might eat one of them,” and “father, I asked you for destroyers two months ago, and yet you sent them to Hong Kong — could you explain this most unusual occurrence, surely it’s not that you forgot”, and “thank you for the harpoon on my birthday, I caught a small shark a couple days ago and have sent you some of its teeth for your collection.” Arthur tolerates this attitude because he’s weak when it comes to girls; he absolutely spoils his daughters (and flushes like a 16 year old when a woman so much as bats her eyelashes at him). Yes, p*ssywhipped Arthur is a hill I will die on.

3. It also suits her because? Ariel? Shakespeare? The Tempest? Bermuda Triangle? Shipwrecks? Daughter-like figure of powerful and vengeful sorcerer? Yeah. And this girl is a fire spirit — she is so lively, snarky, clever. As she’s grown older she’s mellowed out a little, but still: a no shit taken, no fucks given type of gal.

4. Speaking of growing up, she’s also become quite the beauty. Shacha, if I’m remembering correctly, described her as dark skinned, wavy-haired, and green eyed and that image has been burned onto the back of my eyelids ever since. Those Iberian genetics really be pulling through for her, that’s for sure. Engport love child if I’ve ever seen one. Definitely one of the prettiest in her family.

Singapore

I’ve already mentioned this to needcake, but I’m not too big a fan of canon Singapore, so this is my oc version. Singapore is fascinating to me because it had only a very small local population before it became a colony (The original settlement had actually been destroyed by the Portuguese about two centuries before the British started building a port there.) So nation-tans like Singapore and Bermuda really are Arthur’s children in the most direct sense of the word. And yet, Singapore is mostly ethnically Chinese, with Malays being the second largest group. Growing up Asian in a white, Victorian era family surely cannot have been easy and more than once Singapore probably wondered if there hadn’t been some mistake. To make up for the constant fear that he wasn’t “really” British, Singapore studied ferociously and had a truly terrifying work ethic. I’m not sure if this is common knowledge outside Asian circles, so I’ll mention that this hc comes from the fact Singapore is well known for having truly exceptional students and some of the most prestigious schools. Singaporeans score highly in literally everything and they have an advantage with good English learning environments, a highly desirable trait in Asia, but these results come from brutally long hours — and its really saying something that they’re known for working hard, considering the studying ethic of students in Korea, Japan, and China aint nothing to sneeze at, either. To me this actually fits really well with Singapore’s upbringing in Arthur’s household, because Arthur himself prizes intelligence and hard work above all else, being a workaholic himself.

As for their relationship, it was probably the best when Singapore was young and peaked in the 1930s with the massive naval base the British built at Singapore, at the time the largest dry dock in the world. Singapore was a well-behaved child, not necessarily introverted but not rowdy either, and all the way into his teenage years he truly admired Arthur and was proud to be a part of the British Empire, despite his lingering unease and insecurities. The British defeat in World War II, however, was a massive turning point. He had worked his ass off to be a good son, a good brother, to contribute to the only family and system he had ever known, and he had thought by the 30s he was finally on his way to becoming a fine adult. And suddenly, the British surrender brings his entire world crashing down. He had followed the rules faithfully thinking it was his destiny, but suddenly it was clear that all rules were made up. Of course, his insecurities exploded. If the empire was a ruse, what the hell was he? A part of the illusion? He couldn’t have a truly Asian identity, because many of the old East Asian nations shunned him for his Western upbringing, and he could not entirely understand their values either. So he was a kid who kinda had to figure out late and very very suddenly who the fuck he was and wanted to be.

And, well, he’s done pretty well for himself, hasn’t he. After having a total crisis and questioning everything, I think Singapore slowly started to realize that just because the British Empire as a political entity didn’t last forever, that didn’t mean that his entire childhood and identity weren’t real. The love he gave to his siblings and the love he got back, the hard work he put in, his bond with Arthur and the safe, happy childhood he had — those memories and feelings didnt have to be diminished by what came after. Essentially, he learned the lesson all nations have to learn, which is that one needs to be able to discern between duties as a nation and feelings as a human being, and to some extent keep them separate to protect both.

Whoooooo ok I’ll stop there because this turned into a dissertation, sorry. Let me know if there are any specifics u want me to elaborate on or anything I missed, but I’ll leave this here for today :)

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter 7

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 7,150 (being succinct is for wimps)

Warnings: Language, SMUT - this is your warning, no under 18s please.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

What the artist owes the world is his work, not a model for living.

Harry Crews

Chapter 7

Waking up comes to you slowly and languidly,as if the day was kind enough to filter softly into your eyes through a vaseline focussed lens, not unlike the ones shone onto Ingrid Bergman’s face and projected through Marcus’ iPad last night. Unlike your usual routine of falling out of bed and drifting with eyes still shut tight, in the direction of the kettle to make that all important cup of tea as your alarm sounds, you have instead woken as the first light of day paints the room in soft Degas pastels. Your sleep is normally quite fitful and filled with dreams that you wish didn’t cycle through your head for the rest of the day - but today feels different. Maybe it’s because your pillow is breathing.

Hang on, your pillow is breathing.

Shit, you fell asleep on Marcus.

How fucking professional, you absolute numpty!

Somehow during the night it was no longer just a case of you leaning into his shoulder but rather that your limbs had become confusingly entangled. From what you can work out, you must have both slid down the length of the sofa as whilst your head is still nestled on his shoulder, your forehead has now edged closer to the constellation of freckles on his neck. The steady percussion of his heart cradled within the gentle rise and fall of his chest is directly pressed against yours. Not crowding you despite the precariously narrow ledge you’re both huddled on, just fitting together like the most exquisitely cut puzzle.

For fuck’s sake, woman, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

You have one of the brightest minds in art history and are renowned for solving criminal activity but right now, you have zero idea as to how you will disentangle your limbs without both you and your boss showing willing.

But do you really want to?

There’s also a part of you that just wishes you could stay here- warm, safe and snuggled deeply in his chest. Jasper had always been so bony- all sharp edges and lean whereas Marcus offers a softer and more solid warmth as his body curls languidly around yours. His sleepy strokes and unconscious squeezes send little tingles throughout your body and whilst you’re utterly certain that nothing has happened other than the sheer exhaustion of two adults completely wiping out, you don’t feel ready to shatter the illusion of there being something more.

With the freest limb that’s slung over Marcus’ back, you try to wriggle some feeling into your fingers- psyching your body up to move. In an exchange of roles from the previous day, you stroke his cheek, tucking a curl of hair behind his ear before murmuring gently in his ear,

“Hey.”

Thick eyelashes start twitching before you notice an eye opening, darting around the room before coming in to focus upon your face, “Hey,” a shy grin slowly grows on his face, “I guess I didn’t get to put the comforter on you last night.”

“What?” In utter confusion, you push the back of your head into the cushion of the sofa so that you can angle your head to look more into Marcus’ face.

“I heard your breathing getting heavier last night n’ I thought of how you covered me the night before. Kept thinking I’d manage to do the same for you but you were so soft and warm, that I must’ve drifted off soon after,” his chuckling morning voice still painted with a sleepy rasp.

Giggling and grinning broadly at Marcus’ almost sweet gesture, you gently tease, “Well look, the quilt you nearly put on me, stayed on all night! Didn’t kick it off once.”

“Listen, thanks for not making this as awkward as it should be. No, no, no, I mean it,” Marcus emphasizes emphatically, his forehead wrinkling as his eyes implore you to believe him, “Not sure there are many people, who can wake up next to their new boss after less than 48 hours together and still crack jokes at their expense.”

Finally, working out a way to partially wriggle yourself free, you manage to push yourself into an almost seated position. A small groan and a flush runs through Marcus’ cheeks. And just before he flings his arm across his face to try to obscure his expression, you catch a look of embarrassment in his eyes.

In a low, gentle voice, you try to comfort him, “Come on, you have nothing to be embarrassed about- it’s a normal reaction. I’m going to shuffle across you, if that’s ok? I think it’s the only way we can get out of this tangle without both of us ending up on our arses on the floor.”

You take the small nod from Marcus as confirmation for the manoeuvre and start to crawl over him. Aiming to lift your hips up and away from the source of his embarrassment as possible, you end up overbalancing and tumbling to the floor in a heap of awkward limbs and laughter.

“Hey, you ok?” Marcus’ sleep creased face peers over the edge of the sofa down at you.

It’s now your turn for embarrassment to flush through your very being as you lie there staring at the ceiling rose and cornicing, “Ah I can’t ever pass up an opportunity to demonstrate just how clumsy I am,” you admit thickly through your eyelashes. Perhaps your limbs hadn’t been quite as ready as you’d hoped to carry your weight as you slowly shuffle yourself into a seated position on the deliciously deep pile rug that had cushioned your fall to the floor.

“Although, I may need to ensure that these rugs are kept around me at all times as at least there are no bruises this time. I swear my body is a map of mystery bruises,” you admit as you inspect the skin under your pyjama legs, pointing out inexplicable yellowing bruises.

“Well, Andy can look into that for you around the office,” Marcus says playing along with a wink, surreptitiously enjoying the little flashes you were revealing of your body, “Shame we’ve gotta leave today. I’m beat - but it’s been fun.”

“I’m not sure I’d have ever returned if it wasn’t for your insistence,” you admit, surprised at how the pain in your throat has already lessened to a mild dull ache.

“Guess we’d better get packed up and head off to the airport then.”

You observe Marcus’ bottom lip drop into a small pout, that delicious crease in the middle jutting out as if he was a petulant child rather than a man in his mid forties.

Oh how you’d love to suck...STOP IT! HE IS YOUR FUCKING BOSS, ANUSHKA MEERA LEAH PIERCE!

With an awkward wave and a quick turn of pace to hide the heat coursing through your face, you hightail it out of his room, stubbing your toe as you yank the door open far too viciously,

“SHIT ON IT!” You loudly curse, hearing the sofa creak as Marcus’ weight lifts from it. Not wanting to stick around for his latest sweet gesture when you don’t bloody deserve it, you painfully hop into the cool anonymity of the corridor to nurse your swollen toe.

Fucking smooth, Nush. REALLY fucking smooth.

✪✪✪✪✪

SLAM!

Marcus stands there, still slightly bleary eyed and dazed after experiencing some of the worst emotional whiplash he’s ever felt. How do you go from being genuinely sweet over feeling the morning glory of someone you barely know poking you in the belly to virtually running from the room and hurting yourself in the process to supposedly go pack your suitcase? Your words and actions seem so divergent- in total opposition to one another. Almost as if your brain and being are constantly at war with each other.

In one breath, you’ll tease him mercilessly, amaze him with the depth of your knowledge and the next you’ll shut off completely as if sharing even the time of day, would destroy you. You jump away from him as if it wasn’t the coffee that burns you but his touch and then, you lean into him, snoring sweetly with your face buried into his chest. He wants to shake you and scream WHAT DO YOU WANT in the same way that Ryan Gosling does in The Notebook, but life isn’t a romantic film. Something he’s never truly accepted.

Scrunching his eyes and scratching his head, rubbing the deep crevices that littered his brow, Marcus wonders what his next move will be. Should he run after you to check your foot? Wrap you in his arms and tell you that it will all be ok? Risk you running further from him? Unsure of whether your door would even open to him, Marcus sighs deeply before taking a few steps away from the sofa and tumbling face forward towards his as yet unslept upon bed.

Get it together, Pike.

How much of your constant pestering pushed Teresa away? It’s not a cute quirk, it’s fucking needy - and you need to stop before everyone runs from you.

Burying his face into the comforter, Marcus releases a deeply frustrated growl into its thick squishy noise-absorbing softness before using the springs of the bed to flip himself onto his back. Feeling his pulse throbbing a nervous beat in his neck, he shuts his eyes. All he can see is you. He can smell the tiniest imprints of your perfume and shampoo upon his t-shirt.

You’re fucking feral, Pike.

Feeling the blood rush to his groin as images of your face, bra strap and legs dance through his head, Marcus slides a hand under the waistband of his joggers to give himself a soothing stroke. He enjoys playing with himself as much as the next man- rubbing, stroking, cupping- but right now, all he can imagine is your hand being wrapped around it. Your hand gripping his cock - your skin so fucking soft - building up a rhythmic pleasure as you stare deep into his eyes.

Oh, fuck it.

With a quick arch of his hips, Marcus pulls down his pants in one smooth motion to allow himself full access to his dick. The immense pressure building and tightening as he works the shaft developing a pleasing rhythm whilst he is thinking of you. Filling in the gaps of the parts he hasn’t yet seen of you. How when you’d drifted off last night, he’d patted your hip and realised after feeling no ridge from where the elastic should have been that you had no panties on under your pyjama bottoms. The thought of your pillowy soft, warm, wet flesh so close to his fingers had made him grimace and groan last night when he couldn’t act upon it.

Now by himself, he gives into his basest wishes. Imagining licking, biting and stroking down your body, sucking on your nipples before lifting your hips to lower you onto his dick, sinking deeper and deeper inside you, feeling your warmth and wetness encase around him. Scraping his nails lightly across his balls, up the shaft and across the tip, he throws his head back as he thrusts harder into his fist. The first wave crashes over him pumping jet after jet of cum over his belly as his back arches up away from the soft mattress, his mouth crying out your name.

Dazed. Spent. Marcus lies there for a while, his hands and belly sticky from his release. Allowing the tiredness to wash back through him, his eyes close again- torturing his brain with images of you lying back with him. Being able to stroke your hair and press kisses into your sweetly almond scented skin. Hugging you tightly to him.

Never letting go.

Oh, you are utterly fucked, Pike.

✪✪✪✪✪

Lying upon your tummy, head resting on your arms, you rest upon your bed thinking over the events of the past two days. Burning yourself, burning others, coming back to France, panic attacks, confessions and oh, finding a piece of well faked art- nothing too taxing. The exhaustion is so exquisite as it courses through your veins. There is one thing you’ve tried to exclude from your list- the Voldemort of kindness- he who shall not be named.

Marcus Fucking Pike

When you’d seen his bank card, you’d noticed the F sitting between the M for Marcus and his surname of Pike. It had momentarily tickled you to think of what the F could stand for. You totally know that with his track record for openness, he’d have told you in a heartbeat but it was more fun to wonder. For now, it will stand for Fucking as from what he’d demonstrated of himself he can be really Fucking nice, a Fucking tease about your totally non-existent snoring and Fucking hot.

Stop it, Nush.

You’ve been there, seen that, done it and got the fucking t-shirt. You do not want to go down that road again.

Rolling yourself off the bed, landing with a little more grace than you had off the sofa previously, you set to grabbing everything- throwing it all into your rucksack haphazardly. You’d underpacked, not wanting to cart a wheelie suitcase with you, leaving you with fewer clothes than you actually needed for this trip. You don’t have a clean outfit for the office today. Shit. The dress, although pretty smart for work, wouldn’t be terribly comfy on the flight back and there are some small splatters decorating it from where your coffee shot out of your mouth from laughing hard. You’ll have to head home before travelling into the office today, meaning a later night to catch up with the work you’d not complete earlier. Cursing your inability to pack well and organise your life, you throw on your dress and hope that your cardigan covers the worst of the stains.

Dragging the Tangle Teezer through the motions of pretending to tame your mop before securing it in a high ponytail, you head towards the bathroom that is situated on the adjoining wall between Marcus’ and your bedroom. The old fashioned tap handle with its smooth enamel touches spins easily between your fingers with none of the guttering, spluttering and sudden gushes of cloudy water that yours does at home as you wet your toothbrush, ready to brush your morning breath away. Buzzing fills your bathroom as you set about starting your day, your eyes dancing around the room looking at the cool tiles, the elaborate cistern on the toilet- all very fitting of a Victorian era bathroom. Not your style in the slightest, but it suited the styling of the hotel well. You hated when buildings were stripped and gutted of their original features, fitted with cookie cutter IKEA furniture. Chairs should be a little creaky, floors uneven and tables a little rickety- no perfect lines. A bit like that gorgeous missing bit of beard from Marcus’ face- perfection in imperfection.

Stop it, woman.

Spitting the foamy bubbles into the porcelain of the sink, you turn on the tap to rinse it away. Spinning the handle to the off position, you grab the cleanser that Claire, your eldest brother’s wife, had convinced you to start using and to be honest, it certainly helped the hormonal breakouts when it was that time of the month.

Tearing the cotton pad packet open, you grab two of them, squeezing a blob between them, then squishing them together so that it makes a cleanser pad sandwich. It reminds you of those potions you used to make as a child out in the garden mixing any berries, leaves and soil, or in the bath where you used all your dad’s shaving foam and your mum’s stupidly expensive creams, oils and lotions, mixing wild concoctions that would stop your brothers from coming into your bedroom or your mum rolling her eyes at your grades.

Rubbing the cool ointment in soothing circles over your skin, a strange sound seems to come through the wall. From Marcus’ side. It’s muffled but did it sound like your name, or were you imagining it? Confusion creases your forehead- why wouldn’t he just call or text if he needed you, unless he’s hurt? Deciding that the only way to put your mind at rest is to ring and make sure that he’s ok, you scroll through the names on your phone until you hit Sir Agent Marcus Pike. Hitting facetime, you gaze around the room as you wait for him to pick up. A lopsided smile on a slightly flushed face arrives on your phone, “Hey! You ok?”

“Yeah, I was just ringing to check if you were- I thought I heard you say my name when I was in the bathroom,” you gently question, noticing Marcus’ face twitch awkwardly as his eyes widen, “I was just worried that you might be bleeding out in there. Can’t really have that happen twice or people will start to think it was me that did it!”

Covering his mouth, scratching his scruff with his fingers, Marcus tries to think quickly, “Urm, I was… just trying to um get packed up and I stubbed my toe. You probably heard a pained grunt- sorry,” Marcus shakes his head, flaming cheeks giving away his lie.

“Oh we’re a matching pair, now!” you giggle watching Marcus’ uncomfortable twitching and the way he keeps running his hand through his hair, not entirely convinced by his story but glad it isn’t anything more serious.

“Anyway,” you announce wanting to move the conversation along, “I’ve booked us a taxi to the airport- you’ve got about twenty minutes until it arrives.”

A genuine smile creeps across his face- his eyes creasing into half crescents, “Thanks Nush. Hadn’t actually considered how we’d get there. I promise I am capable of running this team.”

“No worries, Marcus. See you down in reception?” that delicious smile and a slight nod greets your question before a quick goodbye on both sides.

He bloody hadn’t stubbed his toe but what the fuck had he been doing? Eyes widening as a realisation crosses your mind.

He hadn’t, had he?

Giggling away to yourself at the very thought, you finish grabbing your things before flicking the switch on the kettle and opening those beautiful French doors so their gauzy curtains float like ribbons in the slight breeze. One more coffee on that glorious balcony before you head back to London. So that’s two major developments you have gained in regards to work- one faked picture and that Marcus Pike is a shit liar.

✪✪✪✪✪

The journey back to the UK had been pretty uneventful other than Marcus trying to take your bag from you whenever possible. A sweet gesture but entirely unnecessary when it is literally a rucksack with five light items inside and you are more than capable of carrying it unless he was secretly worried that you’d injure someone else by swinging around too quickly or something. In the end, it was just easier for him to hold it rather than bickering like an old married couple in the middle of Stansted airport.

“Just gimme it, Nush. You can concentrate on working out where on Earth I’ve parked my car- this is the info I’ve got from the email ticket,” Marcus pointedly says, passing you his phone screen.

“You don’t have to give me a lift. I have to go home first as I didn’t pack enough clothes to cover me for today too,” you own up, “You get yourself to work and I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours. I promise I’ll work late tonight to make up for it.”

Marcus shakes his head, “You hardly strike me as someone who does half a job. You’re in Blackheath too, aren’t you? To be honest, I could do with grabbing a few bits from home before going back into town, so it won’t be going out of my way.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take any more of your time than necessary- I know that I’m not the easiest person to be around and you’ve had to pretty much live with me for the past twenty-four hours,” you check noticing Marcus’ wince when you mention your difficult personality, “Ooof that bad huh?”

“You should stop talking about yourself in that way, Nush,” he gently soothes, lifting your chin with his thumb so that he can pick your eyes up from where they have fallen to the floor, “From what I’ve learnt about you in the past couple of days, you are an incredibly intelligent, occasionally clumsy but warm human. It has been a pleasure to have this opportunity to get to know you better and get to see the level of your skills so early on.”

Shifting uncomfortably in your coffee stained clothes, a smile crossing his face as he adds, “Can’t take a compliment can you? Ah well, that’ll have to be in your performance management plan- something for you to work on.”

“Ah hah! I’ve worked it out- your car is in the third bay, second row in Green Zone,” you triumphantly cackle.

“Lead the way, Nush. Let’s head home.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Roughly forty-five minutes later, you are kicking the base plate of your door to get the damp to release its powerful grip. Realistically, you had no need for a lock as the fluid retention of the wood would stop the most committed burglar in their tracks and unless you angled the kick just right, ah that’s it- home. You lean over the edge of the walkway to wave at Marcus, who is waiting below for a signal that you were in. He flashes his lights in acknowledgement of your gesture before smoothly reversing from where he has pulled in, watching his car disappearing from your estate, there is a tiny ache but you try to push it away as realistically, it is utterly ridiculous. You’re going to be seeing him in an hour for a lift into work.

After a scorching shower, a squirt of perfume and donning a pretty wrap dress with brightly coloured tights and your trusty cherry red Docs, you’re ready. Lying upon the sofa with your head upon a cushion, your knees bent and feet up on the arm rest, you flick through the various emails and messages that have slowly trickled in over the course of the morning. A sharp rap at the door, shakes you out of work mode.

“Hang on,” you yell through the door giving it the special shake and wiggle before muttering a prayer to the door gods to open first time, “Sorry, it’s the damn damp!”

A very smart, besuited, booted and bespectacled Marcus has a look of total alarm, “I’d say to get that checked but I’m guessing you already have?”

“Oh multiple times of pestering my landlord- apparently it’s on a list. Has been for at least three years,” you answer irritatedly, “Anyway, it’s my best security feature- no one can get in or out.”

“I didn’t realise you wore glasses. They look good on you,” you admire the black frames enjoying the flush being brought to Marcus’ cheeks before teasingly adding, “Ohhh, now who can’t take a compliment!”

“Get down your ass down those stairs, Ms Pierce, I’m pulling rank,” Marcus winks, lopsidedly grinning at you, “We have to at least pretend to do some work today.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus opens the door to the office for you- ever grateful to his wonderful manners, you slide into the office first and inwardly groan at the pile of files that have seemingly made themselves at home on your desk.

“Oh there’s my girl!” Andy’s arms wrap themselves around your shoulders, encasing you in a bone crushing hug, “Missed your face yesterday but I’m guessing you’ve had no time to think of us poor souls slaving away here whilst you’ve been gallivanting across the French countryside? How was the hotel room? Enjoy the view?”

Feeling a little ambushed by your friend’s questioning, you blink hard to steady your thoughts of the glorious view you awoke to this morning, “Yeah, it was lovely!”

And warm. And soft. Snored quite sweetly too.

“I know what a mardy bum you can be if you don’t have something nice to look at when you wake up,” Andy adds with a gentle shrug. He then turns his attention to Marcus, who’s shifting uncomfortably behind you, “Welcome back, Sir. Good to have you back here.”

“Thanks Andy. Um, I’m going to get set up,” Marcus says as he steps out around from behind you, placing a hand on the small of your back. The warmth exists there for a moment before he’s already passed your desk and opened the glass door to his office.

“Coffee’s already waiting for you on your desk,” Marcus swings back to look utterly amazed at his PA, so Andy qualifies this, “I get reception to let me know when all of you arrive so that you can focus on the important things.”

“By the way, Nush and Marcus, before you get swallowed by case files,” Andy addresses you both as you lower yourself onto your chair, “we’re all heading to the Model Market on Friday to find some food and drink before drunkenly throwing some moves to my cousin who’ll be behind the decks. It’s only Wednesday and it already feels like a week!”

Dian sneaks over to your desk with a pastel de nata, “I heard these are your favourites so here’s something sweet to start off your day right.”

Your lip trembles and tears start to form as she passes you this sweet treat, “Thank you. They are my favourites. You are a truly lovely human, Dian.” You reach across the table and squeeze her hand.

“Oh I’m alright, I guess,” she winks one of her anthracite eyes at you, beaming widely, “I am just looking forward to finally spending some time with you in a context that doesn’t involve work. It’s so hard leaving a place that you’ve got your people who you vibe with and then you upend yourself to live somewhere new, where you’re totally on your own and have a job where you work odd hours!”

A sudden hit of guilt pumps through your veins, “I am so sorry, Dian, I hadn’t thought of that. I am so lucky to be from the same city that I now work in- I should have taken you to Borough. I will, and I promise I will show you all the little nooks you won’t have seen around there.”

“I was very jealous of Marcus stealing you away. Ridiculous when it was just for a day but I’d really like to get to know you. I feel like we could be friends,” Dian squeezes back, “Harper has family and friends here already, and I swear I overheard Kiri talking about a rugby team he has joined and meeting up with some mates from uni.”

“Yup- that’s probably true- plenty of Aussies and Kiwis in London but sadly not so many Canadians! Right, we’ll do this old school- come over to mine at seven on Friday, I’ll put some wine in the fridge and we can pretend we’re teenagers getting ready for a night on the town,” you quickly scrawl your address on a piece of paper, pushing it across the table towards Dian.

The smile on Dian’s face is the prettiest thing you've seen for a while. It seems to extend from her eyes to the very depths of her soul. Her reaching out to you makes you think of Marcus. Perhaps he could do with a friend here too- maybe another pizza and classic film night? Even though it had only been two nights, you feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him not being there with you this evening. Ridiculous. Get a grip before you risk curling up on a sofa with him again.

As Dian returns to her desk, you are faced with the mountain of paperwork from yesterday’s adventure. Shutting your eyes to try and focus your brain, you try to figure out where to start- the report? Logging the video feed? Filing the pictures? Writing up the notes from the meeting?

“Already napping on the job?”

You open one eye to be met with Marcus’ amused face.

With a slight shake of your head, you dismiss his teasing inquiry, “Trying to figure out where to start. I’m not sure quite how we managed to achieve so much in a day but it allllll nowwwww neeeeeeds to be loggggggged, bleurgh!”

“Let’s start at the very beginning,” Marcus says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“A very good place to start,” you sing along, channeling your best Julie Andrews, highly amused by Marcus’ reference, “Actually- as my brain’s not quite in work mode yet, I should ask you before I forget. I was thinking- do you fancy making the pizzas and classic film night a thing? While London is always full of people, it’s easy to feel quite lonely until you find your group of friends.”

A genuine smile slowly crawls across Marcus’ face as he drinks in your offer, “I mean, it's just a thought. Of course you don’t have to and I’m not sure that my old sofa is anywhere near as comfy as the one in Lyon…”

“I’d love to,” Marcus grins at the fluster in your voice, was he happy to spend more time with you? “Let’s get something in place…”

“Nush- sorry to interrupt, Marcus- I have a highly animated woman called Élodie on the phone asking for you. Can I put her through?” Andy asks, “Seems like she has the lab results back for the possible Soutine.”

Lifting the receiver for your phone whilst whispering to Marcus that you’d catch him later, you lean into the backrest and spin yourself comfortingly from side to side, « Coucou chérie, ça va? Vérifie si mon numéro de téléphone fonctionne? » Hi my love! How are you? Already checking if my telephone number works?

«Coucou mon chouchou! Bien sûr- tu ne peux pas me quitter encore! Il a été complètement falsifié. Sur la toile, sous la peinture, se trouve une autre image qui me rappelle quelque chose qui a été peint par un ado troublé! » Hey my love! Of course- you can’t leave me again! It was completely faked. On the canvas under the paint, another image was found that reminds me of something a troubled teenager would paint! The words tumbling hurriedly from Élodie’s mouth into her phone.

You giggle remembering the angst-ridden art and poetry you’d created as a mopey teenager and are filled with amusement that someone might improve them by putting faked masterpieces on top.

« D’accord! Donc la radiologie l’a prouvé - mais qu’en est il des échantillons de peinture? Une joie avec ceux-ci? » Ok! So the X-ray proved it but what about the paint samples? Any joy there? Now spinning on your chair as far the cord would allow you, your mind wonders how on Earth it could ever have ever been thought to be real.

« Tous les échantillons montrent des peintures modernes telles que la phtalocyanine bleue et verte. Les résultats de la datation au carbone sont attendus plus tard dans la soirée, mais j'avais hâte de t’appeler! Je t’enverrai les résultats par e-mail dès qu'ils apparaissent» All of the samples show modern paints such as phthalocyanine blue and green. The carbon dating results are due later this evening but I couldn't wait to ring you. I’ll email you the results as soon as they appear. Élodie continues, « Comment s'est passé votre dernière nuit et le voyage de retour avec votre magnifique patron? » How did the last night and journey home go with that lovely boss of yours?

« Je raccroche le téléphone maintenant, femme ridicule, » I am hanging up the phone now, you ridiculous woman. You reproach your friend playfully.

Hanging up, after sending hugs and kisses to Jacques too, you see that your computer has now decided that no more updates need to be made. Perhaps it’s time to get started on that report…

When you read you begin with ay bee cee…

✪✪✪✪✪

The flurry of activity continues to hover around your desk and slowly your colleagues peter out in search of lives lived outside of the office space. In fact, you don’t notice the ageing of the day until Marcus goes to leave the office, “Hey, are you planning to sleep here tonight?”

“Had more sleep last night than I usually do so I am riding this high until I drop,” you snort without removing your eyes from your screen as you furiously type away, “You off home?”

“Gym first- gotta burn off the pancakes I’m going to have for breakfast tomorrow,” Marcus says as he fiddles with the strap on his laptop bag.

“That’s not the way that food intake and exercise should work. Food is for nourishing your body and exercise is for making it strong. Don’t get sucked in by that bullshit, Marcus,” you wag your finger at your boss, still hammering the keyboard with your other hand, “You have nothing to worry about, the way you look.”

You finally look up to see Marcus shyly smile, rocking from heel to toe in his highly polished brogues, his eyes on the toe of his shoes. Drawing a deep breath, he looks back up at you, nodding towards the report on your screen, “D’ya think you’ll be able to present that to the team tomorrow?”

“Yeah, just had the results from the carbon dating come through so I should be ready to speak to everyone tomorrow morning at the briefing, if that works for you?” You answer just as tiredness starts to take a grip on your body.

“Perfect. Can I offer you a lift home or are you staying a bit longer?”

“Staying,” you confirm, glueing your eyes back to the screen.

“Well, goodnight Nush,” Marcus wishes you warmly, as he makes to walk away from your desk.

“G’night Marcus. Try to sleep in a bed tonight.”

A throaty chuckle fills the cool office air before disappearing as the door shuts behind him. Bathed in the blue light of your screen, you try to jog your memory of which point you were about to make in your report but sit there utterly stumped due to the distraction.

Marcus Fucking Pike.

✪✪✪✪✪

“So what’s the big deal about this colour exactly?” Harper cuts directly to the chase, “Explain it like I’m five because as you are well aware, this is not my area of expertise.”

You always wonder how far back people need to know of a colour’s history to explain it well enough. Do you take it back to cave paintings or perhaps start in the Renaissance? Perhaps somewhere between the two?

“There was a blue that was known as the colour of the heavens. It’s called ultramarine and is created by crushing lapis lazuli. Now, lapis is only found in one country- Afghanistan, but it’s been used since antiquity to create this beautifully, insanely intense blue. The blue that you see in Tutankhamen’s mask, that’s lapis. Having been used by the Ancient Egyptian and Babylonian empires, lapis then fell out of favour as the Romans associated it with the woad used by Barbarian hordes.”

Tapping his pen on the table, Kiritopa nods in agreement,”Like Braveheart?”

“That’s a wee bit later in European history but a similar idea. Think more Boudicca- the Iceni tribes uprising against the marauding Romans,” Dian points out kindly before nodding encouragingly at you to continue.

“The use of ultramarine then slowly diffused through Europe thanks to the Crusades in the 13th and 14th century but even then, it was still an incredibly precious commodity and solely available to the richest of the rich. That’s why you only ever see it in pictures of the Virgin Mary, emperors, popes and other dignitaries. When a patron requested Ultramarine to be used, the contract would have to be super tight specifying exactly where it would be used and how much.”

“So over the years, scientists have attempted to replicate this paint to create a substance that’s more commercially available but when we try to make paints, we’re dealing with chemistry. When manufacturing paint, you’ve got to make sure that it’s a stable, preferably non-toxic product because well, we all know what happened to the Radium Girls.”

“It took until the first half of the twentieth century for the scientific community to create CuPc. I think it was 1927 when they first created a reaction between copper, cyanide and 0-dibromobenzene, finding that one of the byproducts was an intensely blue powder. This blue powder ended up being first manufactured in 1935 but it still wasn’t readily available until the sixties because Yves Klein tried in the fifties to create the blue used by Giotto and still didn’t manage to produce anything nearly as stable or non-toxic.”

“How does this all link up to this forgery in France?” Harper questions bluntly, clearly desperate for you to get to the point.

Blinking hard, you take a moment to steady yourself as Marcus’ eyes flit between you and the Australian agent.

“Kind of wishing that I’d asked you to explain it like I’m twenty five, might have reached the point by Christmas,” she mutters under her breath.

“Stop packing a sad, Harper. Nush has heaps of skills in this area,” Kiritopa shoots a glare in the Australian’s direction, “Keep going Nush.”

You go to open your mouth but Harper just can’t help herself, “There’s a skill in being succinct.”

“There’s also a skill in not being rude but you’re not managing that are you?” The look on Kiritopa’s face announcing that he is pretty much ready to kill.

“Whoa - guys…” Marcus chooses now to join in?

“Look,” you acquiesce- your heart racing in your throat, raising your hands to try and calm the situation, “Harper’s right, I’m blathering. I should have gotten to the point far sooner. The crux of the situation is that the paint found on the canvas in Grenoble dates from the sixties whereas the artist died in the forties.”

“All of the evidence points to it being a fake- carbon dating, x-rays- the lot. This was an easy find but I think we should be prepared for harder to spot ones,” after throwing paper copies of the lab results in the centre of the table for everyone to grab, you sit back in your chair. Your posture screams for everyone to leave you alone, burying your face in the agenda. Multiple sets of eyes look upon you but you refuse to meet them, feeling furiously obstinate and wholly uncommunicative in the moment.

As the meeting grinds to a close, you finally lift your eyes to find that Marcus’ regard has barely left you- only looking away when you catch him. Urgh, he’s going to be nice about this too. But it isn’t Marcus, who reaches out to you. It’s Kiritopa. Kiritopa, who wordlessly reaches his bear-like arm across the table and squeezes your hand before getting up and leaving the room. The gesture fills you with a grateful warmth and you decide to scarper from the meeting room before Marcus says something and makes you cry.

Time to put on my big girl knickers and get back to work.

✪✪✪✪✪

Friday passes in a blur of calls about a new possible forgery meaning that you can only pull silly faces at Dian from across the room. Kiritopa seems hugely excited by the prospect of a night out, chattering about how he’s invited some of the guys from his rugby team to meet up with him there later. Harper is her usual distant self, head down, beavering away- not really paying much attention to anyone or anything around her.

Where’s Marcus?

You throw a scrunched ball of paper at the PA’s head to get his attention, but entirely miss him, “Andy is Marcus not coming in today?”

Picking up the paper and without even looking up, he throws it back, hitting you square in the forehead, “Car trouble. Any issues, message him.”

Eventually, you hear his confident gait walk into the room. Looking up, you send him a smile which soon fades when you see what a mess he’s in. Hair sticking up all over the place from a stressed hand constantly running through it, a slight gleam of sweat across his skin and an oily mark on one cheek, shirt untucked, jacket draped over one arm, tie askance and lowered due to the top two buttons of his shirt being undone. All of him, in fact, looks undone and defeated.

Without thinking, you jump up from your seat, walk over to him and hug him tightly. With this action the other agents look up and see the state their boss is in. Marcus, whilst initially surprised by your gesture, leans into the hug and lowly whispers, “Thanks. I needed that,” before giving you a tight squeeze, releasing you and slowly trudging towards his office.

“Shit start to a Friday, Sir,” Kiritopa offers, “I’ll get the first round in tonight- you look like you could do with a beer.”

“Fuck, yes, I need a beer but as your boss, that’s my job,” Marcus forcefully asserts, “You can get the second round in.”

You make to slink off back to your desk but Marcus catches your hand, rubbing the skin lightly with his thumb, “You ok?”

“Yeah- just wanted to check on you. You look a fucking state,” you declare through an amused grin.

Marcus chuckles at your observation. “Not the best start to a day,” he grimaces, “I miss anything major this morning?”

“Not apart from the boss arriving at midday looking like he pushed his car all the way here,” you gently tease, “You know we have something called public transport in London- you should try it some time!”

“Yeah, I’ll have Andy look into that for me,” Marcus nods in mock-contemplation, “Hey, um, are you coming out tonight? With everyone, I mean?”

“Uh huh,” you concede reluctantly, “I’m not really a fan of nights out with colleagues but I think we could all do with a glass of something and some good street food in our tummies. What time are you getting there?”

Marcus scrunches up his nose, “Around seven but you know this job- it might be then or some time in September!”

Giving you a wink as he buttons up his collar and straightens his tie, Marcus turns towards his office and you head back to your desk- both with a renewed wish to get finished up and out of the office tonight.

Taglist: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @danniburgh @lunaserenade @leonieb @tardisfangurl @mouthymandalorian @disgruntledspacedad @zukoyonce @pedropascalito @absurdthirst @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @green-socks @lv7867

[acciomalfoy]

What a beautiful wedding (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Summary: While attending Bill and Fleur’s reception, certain secrets are forced to be revealed.

-

“Isn’t she beautiful?” I whispered in awe as I watched Fleur, the absolute goddess, walk down the aisle. She was breathtaking, and if she wasn’t about to get married maybe I could’ve convinced her to marry me. Fred nudged me.

“Come on, L/n. Don’t tell me you’re the type to go soft over a wedding.” I ignored him in favour of smiling at Fleur, who beamed back.

Fred was on one side of me with George on the other, and bridesmaids and groomsmen were scattered across in front of the guests, while Fleur eventually reached the front. Charlie hastily pulled out her ring and presented it to Bill, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. I would have been too, with a bride like that.

“Be honest. Do you think I could seduce Fleur and convince her to elope with me?” I whispered, and George coughed to disguise his laughter.

“I think you could do anything.” Fred whispered back, and the vows began.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way into darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine.” At this point I was seriously beginning to question my sexuality. That was, until I saw the smile on Fred’s face. Then Bill said his vows.

“It was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were truly supposed to be together, and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched you. It was like coming home, only to no home I’d ever known. I was just taking your hand to help you out of a carriage and I knew. It was the most pure form of magic that I’ve ever known.” Everyone, every single witch and wizard in attendance cooed, the witches tearing up and the wizards focussing on doing just the opposite.

“You may now kiss the witch.” The officiant said, and Bill did just that. We began cheering and screaming, and there wasn’t a couple quite as beautiful as this one.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen followed the newlyweds in a seperate carriage, and as I was squished between Ginny and George, I realised that life possibly couldn’t get any better. Ginny kept looking meaningfully between George and I, making me laugh harder and harder each time. She couldn’t have gotten it more wrong.

“I see you flirting.” She whispered in my ear, and I sniggered, patting George on the head.

“I don’t think so, Gin.” She narrowed her eyes and looked pointedly away, and that was just fine by me. Soon enough we reached the reception, Fred falling into step beside me.

“So, my dear Y/n. Were you ever planning on telling me that you want to snog my brothers tonsils out?” I shrieked with laughter, and Fred scowled.

“I’d sooner play tonsil hockey with Malfoy!” I cried out, and George punched my shoulder.

“Bloody tosser.” He mumbled, but his smile afterwards showed me there was no hard feelings.  

When we walked into the tent the sheer size of it shocked me; but then again, there were quite a lot of guests coming to reception that weren’t at the ceremony. Shortly everyone had arrived, and after introducing the bride and groom we took out seats. It was almost instantaneous - as soon as everyone was seated small pieces of paper appeared in front of each person. It seemed to be a checklist.

Find someone who’s patronus is an otter.

Find someone who’s painted their fingernails green.

Find someone who’s older than eighty.

Find someone who took more than four minutes to be sorted into their school house.

Find someone who was retrieved in the triwizards tournament.

Convince someone to confess to their soulmate and the spell they created.

I almost dropped the paper when I saw the last one. A soulmate spell? Those were incredibly tricky to cast, let alone invent.

“Fred! What’d you get?” We compared lists, and he laughed at mine.

“Look, one of yours has already been ticked off!” He said, and I got a horrible flashback to the tri-wizards tournament. Lucky Cedric had saved me relatively quickly, since my claustrophobia had already begun to set in.

“I wonder where Ced’s sitting.” I pondered, and George made a face.

“Why? You don’t like him, do you?” He asked, and I shrugged.

“No, not really. He’s fucking gorgeous, you’d have to be blind to not notice that, but I think he’s gay.” I whispered the last part, just in case the older brunette was somewhere behind me.

“I have to say, I agree.” Fred said gravely, and George rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes I think you’re gay, you dickhead.” Fred clutched his heart and I laughed at the twins - they really were the best.

“Anyway, Bill said that each list is charmed to cater to the person. So the answers to your list are the people you have the most in common with. Apparently you can’t leave until you’ve checked everything off AND you’ve checked what you can for other people. Take Hermione, for instance. She’s obviously the only one with an otter, so she can’t leave until she talks to everyone with that challenge.”

“I think I need a drink.” Fred said, and I agreed.

The night didn’t exactly fly by. Those with difficult lists were all too aware of how long it was taking them, and the only challenge I had left was the last one. I was on the verge of tears, and a drunken Fred was too. I didn’t know what challenge he had left, but the issue still remained. We were stuck here. There was maybe twenty people left, and the groom was one of them.

“Don’t fucking talk to me. I’m ready to throttle my lovely wife for the idea.” Bill warned as I approached him, and I groaned.

“Bill, I just want to go to bed! I’m begging you!” Bill only shook his head.

“I have absolutely zero power over it. I think a divorce is on the cards.” I brightened up at that, until I realised I would be stuck at the reception for the rest of life and wouldn’t be able to elope with the bride.

“What’s yours anyway?” I finally asked, and Bill glared at me.

“Watch someone fall in love. I know. Seriously, even if one person falls in love I have to fucking find them just before they do.” I had a good laugh at that. Bill seemed to be in a slightly worse position than I was, even though I was still fucked. I decided to take action, and stood on a chair before clinking a glass.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen. If you or someone you know has invented a soulmate tracker spell then please, I beg you, hit me the fuck up and we can have a talk.” I stepped down and almost stumbled. Maybe I shouldn’t have done those fire-whisky shots. When in Rome, however. Mental note: you absolutely cannot keep up with Charlie Weasley when it comes to alcohol. I made my way over to Bill, who had placed an incredibly drunk Fred into a chair and was patting his head. It would have been nice if it wasn’t just weird.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” I said breezily, and Fred grabbed my hand.

“Of course you’re not, sweet cheeks.” Godric Gryffindor, I tried not to blush. I knew he was only saying it because he was drunk, and because he didn’t have a filter, but it still made me smile.

“Control your brother, Bill. Oh! Cedric’s still here!” I let go of Fred’s hand and tried to walk away, but to my dismay Fred yanked me backwards and pulled me onto his lap.

“Look’s like he’s your problem now.” Bill said. “I’ll go see how Cedric’s doing, shall I?” Bill was off without another word, and Fred pulled me even closer.

“Why do you like Cedric so much?” He murmured into my ear, and I involuntarily shivered.

“He’s my best friend, you oaf. Now let me go!” I struggled against his grip, but I just couldn’t escape.

“I thought I was your best friend.” He said, and I gave up trying.

“You are. I can have more than best friend, you realise that right?” Fred shook his head.

“No you can’t. I’m not letting you go until you say I’m your bestest friend ever.” He clutched me tighter than ever, and I tried in vain to get Bill’s attention.

“You’re a child. An actual child, Fred.” When there was no response, I sighed. “Fine. You’re my bestest friend ever.” I said, and Fred cheered, letting go of me. I stood up quickly, and Bill came back with Cedric in tow.

“Look who’s left. How are ya, Fred?” Cedric sat besides Fred, and I leaned on Bill’s shoulder.

“Fucking hell, I might fall asleep standing up.” I murmured, and Bill patted my head in a similar manner to what he had done to Fred.

“I’ll join you. Who do you reckon’s the most likely person to fall in love out of everyone in this room?” Bill asked, and I snorted.

“It’s got to be your grandma, doesn’t it?“ Bill scoffed and rolled his eyes at my laughter.

“Har har. You’re so funny, Y/n. I might just die of laughter.” He said, and I let my gaze wander around the room. I wondered who was going to fall in love tonight.

“Ced! What do you have left?” I asked, and Cedric looked up.

“I’ve got fall in love. I know, and there’s no way it’s with Grandma Weasley, I can tell you that.” He said, and I laughed. A lot. I clutched my stomach as I laughed, and really, it wasn’t even that funny. It was just the thought of Grandma Weasley walking down the aisle to meet Cedric took me out completely. With a soft pop, I watched Cedric and Bill disappear.

“What just happened?” Fred asked slowly, and I wasn’t in the state of mind to know.

“They popped. They’re going to bed now, maybe we should too. We can sleep on the floor.” I sat down on the floor and it was horribly uncomfortable.

“What do you have left?” I asked with a yawn, and Fred sighed heavily.

“I’ve done my challenges.” He said, and I remembered he was the key to someone else’s puzzle.

“That sucks then. Maybe you should try and talk to people and figure out what it is.” I said, and he looked at me sadly.

“I know what it is.” The silence stretched out for a long time.

“Well?” I asked, and he laughed without a trace of humour.

“You really don’t know?” He questioned, and I shook my head.

“Unfortunately my dear, I’m the answer to yours.” I blinked slowly. My crush and best friend of five years had invented a soulmate spell and hadn’t thought to tell me.

“Fred, come on. Just confess to her and we can leave this prison.” I pleaded with him, but the man was being unreasonable.

“Absolutely not. We can live here for the rest of our lives.” Fred smiled award winningly, and I found that I couldn’t smile back.

“At least tell me who she is. Maybe I can try and see if she likes you.” I fiddled with the hem of my dress, and it was hard to look Fred in the eye knowing he belonged to someone else.

“I don’t think so, pretty girl. I don’t think she will be too thrilled to see who she’s mated to.” Fred confessed, and I rolled my eyes.

“Any girl with a heartbeat would kill to be soulmates with you, Fred. Why can’t you see that?”

“Any girl?” He whispered.

“Any girl.” I confirmed. Fred took a deep breath.

“You’re my soulmate.” Fred said eventually, and before I could blink we were standing in the burrow.

I looked at Fred, his brown eyes ever beautiful, and made a split-second decision. I flung myself into his arms, and he caught me with ease.

“You’re a tosser,” I murmured into his ear. “-You should have told me as soon as you knew.” I hugged him tightly, and his grip on me tightened.

“I didn’t know how you’d react.” He confessed, and I pulled my head off his shoulder. Godric, he was beautiful.

“Still.” I leaned in and our lips met, moving in perfect sync. His hair was softer than what I had always thought it would be, and it was perfect.

[chryuhwan]

helloooo i’m sol (21+, they/them) and this is yuhwan. he’s an old oc revamped too many times so if he seems familiar... my b dude i’m attached i guess. anyway, i’m excited to be here! please like this post if you’re interested in plotting and i’ll hit you up. i’m not on twitter and pretty sparse on discord, so i prefer tumblr im! but if that’s difficult for you, we can figure smth out! i have a short (haha) tl;dr under the cut, but you can also read up more on his BIO and PROFILE pages.

RUNDOWN

TRIGGER & CONTENT WARNINGS: physical abuse, underage drug/alcohol consumption, (attempted) suicide (lmk if you want a redacted summary!) 

BASICS — born and raised in busan up until the tender age of seventeen, when he was sent (“exiled”) to seoul to live with his aunt and uncle and attend hannam. the catalyst was a rebellious phase turned lifestyle (a lot of really reckless decisions involving drugs, alcohol, vandalism, swiping money from the tithes & offerings, u name it) and his parents deciding they a) didn’t want to deal with that and b) didn’t want that to reflect on their reputations. he’s been in seoul ever since and has never stayed in busan for longer than a couple of days.

ON RELIGION & FAITH — the only son of the head pastor of a well-known megachurch in busan, yuhwan was raised under the strict and watchful eye of his obsessive parents! he’s not religious anymore by any means, but faith (or his lack thereof) has shaped a huge part of his mentality. his lack of belief in a higher power is the foundation of his ‘if i have the confidence to own up to the potential consequences of my actions, then i’ll do whatever i want to’ mindset. he’s not going to be discouraged by a god that doesn’t exist! 

ON SEOUL — hates it. yep. he hates seoul, but he doesn’t really have the drive to try to find somewhere he does like because he hates busan too. when he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle, he was treated pretty poorly (still flinches when people raise their hand at him), like a glorified punching bag. hannam wasn’t any better, and the military was nice in the way prison cells might be. he hates cramped things and the only decent jogging path he knows runs him right by the bridge he almost jumped off of after his military service ended so. you know. you win some, you lose some. 

ON HANNAM — hated it. yep. straight up hated it. he was pretty good about being friendly around virtually anyone who held his attention for more than a couple of seconds, but yuhwan hates the idea of hierarchies! finds them downright stifling, and he doesn’t like the idea of being placed in a box, etc. hannam felt like an oppressive social pyramid and he thought that kinda sucked so as friendly as he was on the outside, he had zero interest in making friends and has probably only willingly kept in touch with a handful of people since graduating. 

ON GOSSIPS, RUMORS, AND SECRETS — he’s a tabloid writer. once a regular editor for a small newspaper, he gave that up and decided to sacrifice his morals for a higher paycheck. he blames his mom because she, as the pastor’s wife, had a lot of access to juicy gossip and liked to tell yuhwan about it. yuhwan’s probably the least trustworthy person he knows. he’s careful to keep the secrets of people he cares about, but as it turns out, he doesn’t really care about that many people. he’s friendly, open to listening, and honestly not that bad at giving advice etc., but be on your guard. wouldn’t want your dirty laundry to be aired out for the world to see, after all. 

ON THE PRESENT — he’s minding his own business. really. like i said, he’s probably kept in touch with some people, but otherwise he’s not really interested in the busy lives of almost-strangers unless they’re going to get him a bonus on his next paycheck. yuhwan very much so marches to the beat of his own drum. he doesn’t care much about the world around him and only cares when it inconveniences him. like a kite without a string, he’s floating wherever the fuck the wind’s going to take him!

ON HIS SECRET — after graduating from high school, and then university, and then finishing military service, yuhwan thought he might literally lose his fucking mind if he didn’t set himself free in one way or another. ultimately, he decides he won’t be able to coexist in peace with his parents unless they change. and because they won’t change of their own volition, he submits an anonymous tip about his father’s embezzlement of church funds. in the end, it doesn’t destroy his dad’s legacy or anything; the church is still up and running—but it’s an ordeal that takes months, years of being humbled by the weight of the world. he doesn’t feel bad about it. his mom gossips less and his dad’s less of an asshole, after all. makes family gatherings that much more bearable when they’re all tired of existing!

CONNECTIONS

BEST FRIEND — just one. no dramatic childhood friends story or anything like that. just one person he actually really genuinely sincereeeeeely liked from hannam that didn’t take any effort or slow build to figure out. probably the only person he really trusts in this big, bad city. you’ve got a huge weapon in your hands! he’s not used to putting this much trust in others. (+1000 if in a two-day relationship that ended terribly. ‘i would never date you again, but i’ll still die for u’ kinda vibes) 

HANNAM FRIENDS — there won’t be many, but! anyone? anyone?? he was a friendly, easygoing person (still is, tbh) during his hannam days, but was definitely a free spirit who did whatever he wanted. if you could keep up with his pace, then he might have liked your company. he’s not a fan of overly serious people unless they have the patience of a saint! (trust me, you’ll need it.) 

HANNAM... NOT FRIENDS — he’s not so conscious of his surroundings as to have enemies himself, but he definitely did get pushed around for a little while when he was first getting settled. and he’s also definitely spoken out of turn and said some rude shit (not on purpose) (he just doesn’t have a filter) here and there. want to hate his guts? please do. negative energy’s welcome in this house!

COUSIN — a similar-aged cousin, also the child of the aunt and uncle yuhwan absolutely fucking abhors. they might have a contentious relationship. might even be a positive one. either way, they lived under the same roof for a few years! 

TABLOID VICTIM — got a little fame to your name? have a nasty scandal you didn’t want to get out? well, now it’s out. and sensationalized, too! maybe you know it’s him who leaked it (and wrote the article, while we’re at it). maybe you don’t! 

BUSAN BUDDIES — and i use the word ‘buddies’ loosely. grow up in busan? have religious parents? religious yourself maybe? well, maybe you bumped into each other then. yuhwan had the reputation of being a prim and proper pastor’s son, amiable and cheerful and so so devoted, up until he was suddenly sent to seoul. all of his bad habits and reckless adventures were largely done behind his parents’ backs (until he got caught, at least!)—you know of them? partake in them, maybe? or maybe you didn’t know, and you’re wondering why the fuck he came to seoul in the first place

BLACKMAIL — he’s not above using underhanded tactics if they’re made available to him. sometimes he doesn’t even need a big reason. maybe he found out a secret of yours and he wants a secret you know about someone else. he’ll hold it over your head! call it a little game of cat and mouse!

[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 8

Catch up here >> AHBS Masterlist

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: 1739

Notes: This chapter is slightly graphic on the physical abuse. It's only like two lines, but I wanted to make it known.

Chapter 8 - Sorry for Now

After a while you may forget

But just in case the memories cross your mind

You couldn't know this when I left

Under the fire of your angry eyes

I never wanted to say goodbye

Four months, thirteen days, and ten hours, not that he was counting, since he left. Since the dark haired boy had walked away, leaving Rowan standing on the sidewalk. Since his mind spiraled out of control, and it felt like part of him died.

Rowan had been seeing a therapist for the last three months. It had helped, somewhat. At least he could function as a relatively normal human being again, when he was around people anyway. Most of the time. He almost didn't graduate. Thankfully, his mom, his friend group, and his therapist had helped him get through it.

But all in all, Rowan felt empty. Somehow his heart was broken. He hadn't realized someone could get so attached to someone so fast even though they never really talked or hung out. Maybe it was because they shared such vulnerabilities with each other that day in the park or there really was such a thing as a soulmate and his just left him. Either way, he was broken inside. Yet, he still went to parties with his friends, hung out, but he wasn't always present. Everyone noticed the vacant stares, but they usually left it alone. They all knew the general gist of what happened that day, but they could never understand the emotional gravity well that that day had caused. No one knew that Rowan had fallen for the other boy.

Except the ever observant Elide. She noticed everything. The way Rowan spoke about Lorcan, the way his eyes lit up when he saw the other boy walking down the hall, and the small looks they both shared on cast signing day.

But nobody had seen Lorcan after he had walked away. He never came back to school. No one knew what to think. Most assumed they moved again and they left it at that. Rowan assumed the worst after seeing Lorcan's bruises and him basically saying this was a usual occurrence.

Rowan was brought back to the present when a beach ball hit him in the head. He was sitting on the edge of Aelin's pool, sulking, feet dangling in the water. Aelin was throwing one of her parties, it was nearly the end of summer and soon most of them would head off to college. The noises from his friends finally filtering back into his head, it was suddenly too loud, too bright, and too hot. He ran a hand down his face.

Fenrys had been the beach ball throwing culprit, Rowan just glared at him.

"Come on, Ro. Try and have some fun?" Fen had swam over to Rowan and crossed his arms over the edge of the pool. The roguish blond just wanted him to be happy.

“I’m sorry.” He said that a lot now. Fenrys just raised an eyebrow at the boy… man.

He was eighteen now and he wasn't that scrawny, nerdy looking boy anymore. Rowan supposed that was one good thing that came out of Lorcan leaving, he got addicted to working out. There was a punching bag set up in the garage with some weights. He was fit now, muscles defined, but not bulky.

Elide walked up and mussed up his hair. "Come help me get some drinks." She didn't leave any room for argument.

In the kitchen, Elide just leaned forward on the island and looked at Rowan.

"I thought we were getting drinks."

"Yeah, we will. But-"

"But what?" He really didn't mean to say that with such an attitude, but he was hot and emotionally exhausted. Honestly, he just wanted to go home.

Elide was on her phone, waiting for him to chill. Taking a deep breath he said, "I'm sorry. What did you want to talk about?" Rowan was trying, he really was. She just slid her phone over the counter towards him. He furrowed his brows as he looked at the article on the screen.

Consultants for Erawan Enterprises arrested on counts of fraud, child abuse, human trafficking, and other illicit activities

"What's this?" He had no idea what this was about. Why would he care about Erawan Enterprises?

He picked up the phone and kept reading since Elide clearly wasn’t going to answer. It was short and there was a photo of a devastatingly beautiful woman with dark as night hair, that reminded him of Lorcan, and alabaster skin in handcuffs being pushed into a cop car and a very angry man shoved against the hood of the same car.

Maeve Valgerian and James Perrington were arrested Wednesday night. After some anonymous tips to the Morath Police.

"Who are these people?" Rowan didn't understand.

"Pretty sure she's Lorcan's aunt."

Oh.

Rowan had searched for Lorcan online after he disappeared, but there was literally nothing. Absolutely zero results. It was like he was a ghost.

They were consultants for Erawan Enterprises and moved all over the world for the very powerful man. Erawan Enterprises is under investigation for fraud, money laundering, and human trafficking.

After Valgerian and Perrington were arrested, MPD searched their residence and found incriminating evidence against them.

There was also a teenager held captive in the basement. They were taken to the nearest hospital with severely critical injuries. The name and gender of this individual will not be released for their safety.

The article was published nearly two months ago.

Human trafficking…

Held captive...

Severely critical injuries...

"Please, don't break my phone." He was squeezing the device and didn't realize it. Quickly handing it back to her, his hand went straight to his hair.

“Are you sure this is his aunt?”

“Well, not 100%, but they have physical similarities and their hair…” she trailed off. “And Lorcan had mentioned his aunt’s boyfriend living with them one day in class.”

"Fuck!" He felt like he wanted to rip his hair out.

"Ro." Elide's voice was quiet.

"FUCK!"

After a couple deep breaths, he ran his hands down his face, and then turned to face his friend. "Is he dead?" His voice cracked.

"I don't know. All of the other articles I could find are just about them and Erawan Enterprises. No mentions of Lorcan. Anywhere. It's like he doesn't exist."

Elide pulled him into a hug and he broke.

---

Lorcan had been through shit show after shit show since he left the Whitethorn house. As soon as he returned to the apartment, it was packed up into a moving van and they were gone.

They were in Fenharrow for a couple months. Maeve didn't enroll him in school. He was locked in the basement of the small house they rented, it felt like he had gone crazy. He hadn't seen the sun until they moved again. His skin turned a sickly gray. By the time they moved again, he could feel every one of his ribs, and his hips stuck out, his fingers overlapping when wrapped around his wrist.

Next move was to Morath. Lorcan didn't know if he would survive. He didn’t have a good feeling about this place. The basement became his home yet again. It was filthy. There were thick iron hooks in opposite walls and chains hanging from them. This was where he was going to die. He closed his eyes as Perrington latched the shackles around his wrists.

---

One day, Lorcan heard sirens intermittently. He kept passing out. He wasn't even sure he was hearing sirens or if it was just a ringing in his ears. They were always ringing nowadays. A punch to his face made his vision flicker. Blood and saliva leaked from his mouth as his head rolled down to his chest.

The ringing in his ears got louder. There definitely weren't sirens. No one was going to save him. He was going to die here. He knew it. It was what he deserved. The bastard born half-breed that no one cared about, left to die in his own filth in a disgusting basement. The world slowly faded to black.

---

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

He was in Hel. He had to be.

Beep.

The incessant beeping was there to drive him insane. And the smell of bleach was there to make him sick.

Beep.

---

Lorcan startled awake. How could he be awake? He was supposed to be dead. Right?

The nightmare he was having felt so real. Probably because he had lived it before. He assumed that was just what Hel was supposed to be, reliving the worst parts of your life.

But instead, he was in a bed, a hospital bed. Why did they save him? Lorcan wasn't worth saving. Yet, here he was covered in wires, tubes, a needle stuck in his hand, a device on his finger. It was dark outside and the lights were dim in the room.

Deciding he wasn’t actually dead, he took stock of his body, he was certain he had some broken ribs, but nothing else seemed to be broken which was surprising. He was definitely sore and stiff. And exhausted. So exhausted.

---

After… Lorcan didn't know how long he was discharged. He had put on some weight, though not a lot. The staff made sure he ate. They were all nice and cared for him. But now, he stood outside the main entrance of the hospital in some scrubs they gave him. Now, he had nothing. Nobody. He may as well have been lost at sea.

Why had they saved him? He still couldn’t figure that out.

Somehow, he managed to find the small house that he had been stuck in for who knows how long. There was police tape over the door. The door was open.

He pushed through the tape. The house was a mess. It seemed the cops had ransacked the place. But he finally found his things, they were strewn about the floor. Thank Hellas, his journal was still there. After changing, he packed up his books and journal, some clothes, and a few other other necessities.

He needed money or something he could sell. Maeve's jewelry would help. He could pawn it.

Lorcan asked the pawnshop owner for directions to the bus station, and then he set out to see if there was still one person who cared about him. Hopefully this wasn’t a bad idea.

____

Thanks for reading. Things will get better, I promise! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

Edit- oops! I forgot to actually put in tags... My bad. Sorry!

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #22- If You Don’t Love Thunderclash, Get Better Soon I Guess

One last issue before we reach Comic Event Hell.

Time to use a dead man to set up the rest of the nonsense that’s got to happen, because apparently 14 issues of setup, including six issues of literal prelude, wasn’t enough.

The first bit of information we’re presented with is the fact that Chromedome and Swerve are on the opposite sides of the camera-shy scale. I guess that’s bound to happen when your spouse has had his video-cam literally connected to his brain for at least several thousand years.

The art may look really gritty and hardcore here, but this is actually due to a filter Rewind has over all his footage that he’s neglected to take off, because it made all the wartime propaganda he would stuff into people’s heads all the more brutal-looking.

No, this is the style of our artist for this issue, James Raiz, who we’ll be seeing a fair bit of over the next several issues. Raiz has worked on the Transformers franchise over the course of multiple license-holders, as well as contributed to both Marvel and DC comics. He also works in special effects, including matte painting and VFX. That’s just neat.

Anyway, the reason Swerve’s completely frozen in place isn’t because Rewind  switched out his head-mounted camera for a gun that goes off if it hears you make a self-deprecating joke, but rather because he’s conducting interviews with everyone in the main cast. We get all their introductions, Cyclonus makes a statement about his political stances, Drift sounds like he’s high as a kite, First Aid strikes a sassy pose while not being bitter in the slightest, and Ultra Magnus makes a move that would get him murdered on any given film set in the universe.

You do NOT use your bare fucking hand to clean a camera lens, mister. Go get a microfiber cloth and try the fuck again, you complete and utter duffel bag of a creature.

We get a quick cut of the speech Rodimus made back in issue #1, with an angle that implies that Rewind was in the front row of the front row, then cut over to Rodimus asking Rewind to document their Capital-Q Quest. This is where we establish that this film doesn’t only contain footage from Rewind’s personal camera, but also that of the Lost Light’s security system.

Which feels like the sort of access you maybe wouldn’t want to give some nosy little film buff, especially when you have a secret giant serial killing sadist living in your basement like a disappointing adult child.

See? He was given the job to record the adventures of the Lost Light not five minutes ago, and he’s already using his powers for evil. Eavesdropping evil. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, Rodimus, and you just handed it to the guy with a massive Dominus Ambus-shaped chip on his shoulder.

So Rewind’s got permission to film just about whatever he wants, and Rodimus figures it’ll be nonstop action from here to the finish line! Fights! Intrigue! Mild hijinks and peril! Explosions aplomb! Oh man, I can’t wait to see what kinds of crazy shit will happen on this absolute roller coaster of a Quest!

Smashcut to Swerve literally falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. Yeah, as it turns out, no quest, capital Q or not, is nonstop action. Which is good, honestly, because that kind of seems like it would be exhausting after the first week or so.

Swerve, Tailgate, and Rewind are discussing cool alt-modes, which seems like an odd topic, seeing as Tailgate and Swerve have basically the same situation going on there, leaving Rewind alone in the camp of “does not have wheels”.

I worry about you sometimes, Rewind. Internalized Functionism is a very real problem. Uh, well, in your universe anyway. Us humans have to deal with regular ol’ classism and racism.

Rung gets brought up, and it’s revealed that the wheel on his back is almost purely cosmetic; it doesn’t even actually attach to his body. The lads decide that they’ve got nothing better to do, and set up a gentlemen’s wager- first one to figure out Rung’s whole deal gets 100 space-dollars.

Throwing shit at people’s heads will be a major plot point in the climax of this comic series.

Swerve’s go at trying to win the bet involved tossing a grenade at Rung to hit him in the neural cluster, which is rumored to be able to force an involuntary mode change if done correctly. Obviously, it didn’t work this go around. Then our narrative focus switches over to the crew’s hobbies.

You were listening to Prince, weren’t you, Magnus? Not even deep space is safe from the Cease and Desist.

Skids’ hobby is meeting new people, because he suffers from the terrible curse of being so fucking good at everything he tries, he always ends up dropping whatever he picked up, because what’s the point? This acts as a segue into another flashback, to even MORE bullshit that the fellas got roped into on Hedonia.

These are the Stentarians. They’re like the Cybertronians, if they were better in every way.

And by “better”, I, of course, mean “more bloodthirsty, warmongering, and driven enough to make their civil war last about as long as the Jurassic Period”. Also, they’re all combiners by default, and Whirl seems a little TOO into their whole situation. So much so, in fact, that when the Imperial Guard of their race show up to kill them, he decides to do them a solid by single-handedly ending their entire war.

You know, in most cases you’re supposed to show and not tell for visual media. This is way funnier, though, so it can be excused.

We jump back into the interviews, and Rewind’s just asked everyone if they’re happy. This might seem like an odd question, until you remember that everyone on-board this ship has crippling depression and PTSD, and Rewind’s married to one of the saddest motherfuckers to ever exist, so he probably has this question loaded into the proverbial chamber at any given moment. We won’t cover all of the answers here, because they’ll be more poignant to reflect back on later in the comic run, but let’s take a gander at the characters who’ve completed the first leg of their character arcs this season.

Drift, is that perhaps… an honest expression of your inner thought processes happening right there? Has Rewind broken through your carefully crafted persona, if even for just a moment, with his question? Perish the thought!

Because Tailgate outed himself as being baby in issue #21, I have zero doubt he’s not exaggerating here. He was a janitor, then he fell in a hole and became Dirt-Nap Supreme for six million years; even the most boring day on the Lost Light’s got to be better than that.

And it’s nice to see Chromedome on a good day for once. Hopefully he reveled in it while he had the chance, because this interview takes place maybe a couple weeks before he fucks everything up big time and has to blow up his husband with a missile strike.

Getting back to the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode plotline, we see Rung using his backpack as a wheelbarrow- no idea what he’s actually pushing in the damned thing- and wearing the most disgruntled face I’ve seen him pull in a hot minute. Someone yells for him to come down the eerily unlit and sinister-looking hallway, which he does. Rung would not do well in a horror film.

He winds up at Swerve’s, where Tailgate, Swerve, Brainstorm, and someone who is most likely Trailcutter, given the colors, are hanging out in their alt-modes. Tailgate’s ploy to find out Rung’s deal is to do what he does best- lie! They’re having an alt-mode party, and wouldn’t Rung like to join in? There are, of course, logistical issues with being a car in a bar, especially when your drink is on the table and your head is tucked up somewhere in your torso, but never mind all that! Let’s get crazy!

This doesn’t work either. Maybe we should cut out the middle man here and just get Rung drunk enough to agree to a wet alt-mode contest.

No, I don’t have any idea how that would work.

In our next vignette, Rodimus comes into the comms room, Rewind trailing behind him like a grim shadow of death, to see what the hell Blaster wants, other than just the hugest glass of water.

Raiz’s work is very detailed, and you really feel the weight of these giant metal space robots, but everyone looks like they’ve been put through a food dehydrator.

We get a lot of build up to the character who’s about to be introduced, with a common opinion being shared amongst everyone- even Tailgate, who hates successful people like his life depends on it.

Lovely readers, put your hands together for the ideal male partner for Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals alike:

A man with so much charisma and charm that only Rodimus could hate him, Thuderclash brings to IDW what everyone wishes Optimus Prime would, making our disappointing space dad even more mediocre by comparison. He fights for justice, and freedom, and the good of the universe- and he does it all while having a chronic medical condition that forces him to stay within a certain distance of his ship that is also a life-support machine, otherwise he will die. Despite his handicaps, Thunderclash seemingly brings to others what they need most, even if they don’t even realize that they needed it in the first place.

He also, in this one scene, appeals to Drift’s religious sensibilities, does a secret best-friend dance with Ratchet (who he helped to pass his medical exams- yes, Ratchet), and congratulates Rodimus on his questing so far.

Thunderclash is one of those characters that everyone in-universe is supposed to love, and I completely buy it- because he’s completely genuine and humble about all of this the entire time.

Compare this to the last time Roberts wrote Thunderclash, in Eugenesis.

Where he was an ex-Decepticon.

And kind of an abrasive asshole.

And then he died.

Y’know, now that I think of it, Eugenesis Thunderclash and MTMTE Ambulon being basically the same character makes a whole lot of sense, even without the horrors of Roberts’ Twitter getting involved.

Thunderclash reveals that he, too, is on a quest to find the Knights of Cybertron, much to Rodimus’ chagrin. But first he needs the Lost Light to break out the jumper cables, and then for his second in command to stop threatening his life.

Turns out, not everyone is as obvious as the Cybertronians with their naming conventions. Whirl assassinated the wrong folks; I’m sure the Galactic Council is utterly thrilled. Paddox wants to steal the quantum engine technology for the good of his people, so they can kick the ass of the up-and-coming Terradore leader.

Completely unaware of the situation unfolding here in the lab, Swerve is directing Rung towards the warm, loving aura of Thunderclash for another go at winning the gentlemen’s wager- through the power of lying about having friends, Swerve’s “agreed” to get Rung Thunderclash’s autograph, in exchange for getting to check that Rung’s transformation cog is still working. Then they bump into the nightmare currently unfolding. My, whoever will save us from this dreaded menace, who holds a gun to the head of the Autobots’ greatest warrior, confidant, friend, and perhaps even lover?

How about a bartender and a giant vape pen?

Okay, so Rung doesn’t actually turn into a vape. It turns out that the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode is also a mystery to the man himself. Because Rung is old as shit, the Functionists got to see this bullshit for themselves, and ended up testing him over and over and over trying to figure it out, lest he prove to be a flaw in their fascist ideologies. Fun fact: fascists HATE it when people they’re trying to oppress don’t play to their expectations.

The Functionists were the ones who gave Rung his little wheelie backpack, to make him at least appear useful. This sort of treatment tends to warp one’s head a bit, which would explain why he’s bothered to keep it for so long- internalized functionism’s a real bitch.

At least he’s not giving teenagers nicotine addictions under the guise of being somewhat better than cigarettes.

Back with Rodimus and Cybertron’s Autobot of the Year for 40,000 consecutive years, we get the unfortunate news that jump-starting Thunderclash’s ship is going to make the Quest go a bit slower for the Lost Light, much to Rodimus’ horror, though he does his best to put on a brave face; after all, that’s what heroes do, isn’t it?

It’s at this point that it’s revealed that “Little Victories” was being screened to all the Circle of Light members who didn’t get murdered or turned into Legislators on Luna 1, and man are these guys pissy. What was meant to be a recruitment video turned out to do just the opposite, because none of these guys want anything to do with what the Lost Light’s got going on.

Too bad Rewind didn’t have time for a cleaner cut for showing. Maybe they could have at least snagged a couple of these guys to tag along.

As all of the Circle of Light leave the theatre to go call everyone’s favorite Autobot to see if he needs a more crew members, the film plays on behind Skids, back to the interviews, as everyone promises more adventures just waiting on the horizon.

You’re not even on this trip anymore, you dork.

Chromedome gives us the title drop for the movie and issue, and we cut to Rewind organizing a group photo of all the interviewees.

And then Rewind died horribly like a week later. Thus ends season one of More Than Meets the Eye!

While I’m here, I’d like to take the time to cover a little bit of cut content from this issue, a scene between Drift and Ratchet.

Drift, during his interview, recalls the time that Ratchet called him into his office for a very serious discussion about his/Pharma’s hands.

Yeah, turns out they’re haunted.

Well, no, not really, because this is a prank. But Drift doesn’t know that yet.

Ratchet demonstrates this hand-haunting by punching Drift in the face, as he screams damnation at Pharma’s ghost. Drift, because he is a spiritual man, knows exactly what to do to deal with this possession; he draws his sword and chops Ratchet’s hands off, then throws them out the airlock.

This, too, is a prank, not that Ratchet knows it right away, yelling at Drift that he’s crippled him.

Clearly, these two belong together.

This bit of cut script was lucky enough to have gotten drawn by the colorist for MTMTE Season 1, Josh Burcham. Burcham’s line art is iconic- you won’t mistake him for anyone else. It’s rough and angular, and honestly just very charming. I’m a sucker for this sort of style. If you want to see his adaptation of this chunk of script- and trust me, you do- the link’s right here:

https://dcjosh.tumblr.com/post/107665292031/its-done-the-mtmte-22-deleted-scene-in-all-its

[oizilla]

yesss!!! the thing with the age gap that really disgusted me was that i see a lot of people acting as if it’s okay bc the mc is immortal but that’s actually one of the things that most disturb me, like he watched and “helped” (since he was his teacher) that child grow???? and the corpse thing was so fucked up, and i remember almost crying bc the way it was written it was supposed to look like something sweet since he was “taking care of it”, and then there’s the whole “i will forcefully make you drink my blood so i can control you and know where you are at all times”, the love from the student comes from a completely twisted perspective of someone who has zero knowledgeable of what affection is, and well, there isn’t actually love from the teacher

i remember being so shocked bc i’ve read it after mdzs and didn’t want to believe that it was from the same author aiskakdjks thank you for reading my rants, it’s just that after i read there wasn’t anyone that i could complain to and was so excited when i found someone!!!

I'm so late to answer this, sorry 😓 I didn't see I had an ask until I realized I hadn't filtered svsss and went to block the tag 😅

But this is exactly it! The things that happen are so fucked up, but they're shown as romantic, and only romantic. I can understand the intrigue into messy dynamics, bad even fucked up ones, but this isn't it. My favorite couple from TGCF is beefleaf, and anyone who's read that knows it's messy and pretty fucked. But that's never romanticized in the novel, and the fandom doesn't excuse it either. It's worked through and what isn't is pushed aside and isn't included at all.

My biggest problem with svsss is that it isn't ever even questioned, both in cannon and fandom.

Also, you put in to words my exact feelings that I was having so much trouble describing. Not only is there fucked up things, but Luo doesn't have anything else to go off of. People have made the point that after he transmigrated they were about the same age, but that doesn't matter when you take into fact that Luo has absolutely no emotional maturity. Not just romantic emotions, any emotions. And you can't just look at them from after he transmigrates, because Luo doesn't know that, he doesn't have that context, so it's still completely fucked.

Anyways, all this to say if anyone ever wants to rant to me about this feel free to send an ask or even message me about it.