#and plunking away at her keyboard

[beyonddarkness]

Means of Mastery

(Sauron's Influence in Off-screen Meetings)

I'm in the process of outlining all of this on the blog (yes, chapter 6), so this is relatively short. But I just realized something that I NEED to get off my chest, even if you don't have the full context yet. I've been plunking the same note on the keyboard for months now (that Sauron is scary, and not to be trifled with), but this one little aspect proves my point.

Sure, it may seem like everything just magically fell into Sauron's lap, but if you really think about it, he has always been in the background. He wasn't just sitting in his chair, waiting for Galadriel to do everything for him, crossing his fingers, hoping that by chance, he would automatically be pushed to the top of the power pole. Here is the little indication:

We saw many secret councils between those in positions of power, involving Celebrimbor, Elrond, Galadriel, Gil-galad, Míriel, Elendil, Pharazôn, etc. All of these councils were important, and led to important decisions being made.

But out of ALL the planned secret meetings that were mentioned, there were only two that we did not see. These two meetings had the most significant results.

But first, for a little context...

Fear of the Eldar and the Edain

When Gil-galad showed Elrond the decay of the Great Tree, he said:

"We first took notice of it just prior to Galadriel's return. We thought that by sending her away, and so bringing an end to the last vestiges of war, that we might arrest the decay. But despite our every effort, our decline has only quickened." (1x05).

Earlier, he said:

"We foresaw that if [Galadriel's search had continued], she might have inadvertently kept alive the very evil she sought to defeat" (1x01).

How did they foresee?

What is this random dish of water by the Tree?

...isn't there someone who knows how to manipulate such things?

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

When Galadriel asked Míriel why she was not faithful to the Elvish ways, Míriel informed her of the recent rebellion in Númenor. After Galadriel foresaw Númenor's future, the following exchange ensued:

Míriel: "It is Númenor's future you saw. [...] It has already come to pass. The vision begins with your arrival. [...] The Valar gifted us this isle in a day of virtue. They can take it away, should we turn to the paths of darkness." Galadriel: "The virtue you speak of was your ancestors' loyalty to the Elves!" Míriel: "My father believed that. His path nearly destroyed us! That is why tomorrow, I will announce that you are gone, and this crisis ended" (1x04).

How did they foresee?

What is this random ball they call a Palantir?

...isn't there someone who knows how to manipulate such things?

(sidenote: It is interesting how everyone believes that sending Galadriel away will solve all of their problems.)

What is the common fear between Elves and Men?—Extinction.

Now, let's get to the point:

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

Unseen Meetings

Everyone knows this:

"In an instance like this, it seems to me that you'd do well to identify what it is that your opponent most fears. [...] Give them a means of mastering it, so that you can master them" (Sauron, 1x04).

Is it really a coincidence that the only two meetings that we did not see were the two meetings that made Sauron rise to the top? Why are they the only two meetings in which "a means of mastering" the fear of Elves and Men was given? Why are these meetings the ones we DIDN'T SEE?

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

Lindon

The first meeting that was mentioned was the one that Elrond was not permitted to attend.

"The Council regrets to inform you, you won't be permitted to attend the next session. Elf-lords only" (Elf-maid, 1x01).

This meeting involved Celebrimbor, Gil-galad, and other Elf-lords. Presumably, it was here that the song of The Roots of Hithaeglir was discussed. Mithril was suddenly brought into the picture, and Celebrimbor (an artificer, who heals) proposed a Forge, powerful enough to handle crafting the sort of power they needed to survive.

Why does all of this sound like Sauron's intriguing suggestions (mithril being the means of mastering their fear, so that he can master them)? How could mithril be a means of mastery given by Sauron, if he was not in attendance?

He would not have to be physically present in order to have an influence. Recall that 'random dish of water' by the Great Tree.

Here was the ultimate result of that meeting:

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

Númenor

The second Unseen Meeting was first mentioned by Míriel, who was particularly intent on Sauron's attendance:

"This council will reconvene at first light to make a final decision. See to it Lord Halbrand attends" (1x05).

Galadriel informed him:

"Tomorrow, the Queen will call you to audience. Your voice at that meeting may well decide whether this mission stands or falls. Help me" (1x05).

The meeting involved Míriel, Galadriel, Sauron, Elendil, and Pharazôn. What did Sauron say to convince Míriel to save the Men of Middle-earth? Perhaps there is a hint in her conversation with Bronwyn.

Bronwyn: "What I owe you. My people are alive because of you." Míriel: "As I understand it, they are alive because of you." Bronwyn: "A burden I never sought to take up." Míriel: "Few of the finest leaders do. [sees Halbrand approaching] But if you would like some relief in carrying it, I may be able to help." Sauron: "You called for me, Your Majesty."

What was the means of mastering her fear? Galadriel gave it when she said, "Choose not the path of fear, but that of faith." This is probably why Sauron corrected Galadriel in the end: "You convinced her. I wanted to remain in Númenor." All Sauron had to do was reenforce that idea to Míriel with flattering words.

So, if we just change some names around in the above dialogue, the following exchange seems very plausible:

Míriel: "Your people will live because of you." Halbrand: "As I understand it, they will live because of you." Míriel: "A burden I never sought to take up." Halbrand: "Few of the finest leaders do. [pause] But if you would like some relief in carrying it, I may be able to help."

In any case, here was the result of that meeting:

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

Here's a funny sidenote:

That means of mastery may have been aimed at Míriel, who was afraid of the kind of death that comes with the Fall of Númenor. But we know that all of the Kingsmen become increasingly afraid of their mortality, and the means of mastery that Sauron gives is a bit dismal:

"[...] Darkness alone is worshipful, and the Lord thereof may yet make other worlds to be gifts to those that serve him, so that the increase of their power shall find no end. [...] he that is their master shall yet prevail, and he will deliver you from this phantom; and his name is Melkor, Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, and he shall make you stronger than they" (Akallabêth).

[kjmsupremacist]

something sweet, a peach tree (mark/jaehyun)

Mark begins the summer after his junior year with an unpaid internship and no other plans. But when he agrees to go pick his baby niece up from her music lessons, her teacher, Jeong Jaehyun, catches his eye. Too bad he's off limits, and not just because Mark's niece is involved. Jaehyun is 41 to Mark's 20.

To sate his curiosity about older men, Mark decides to look into becoming a sugar baby. He could use the money, after all. And he seems to find a willing patron right away. But for the first time in Mark's like, he finds he might be in over his head.

Chapter 1   |   next   mlist

Characters: Mark, Jaehyun, other members of nct throughout

Genre: romance, angst, smut, age gap, sugar daddy!au

Pairing: Mark/Jaehyun

Warnings: AGE GAP (older jaehyun, younger mark), alcohol mentions, poor decision making perhaps

Rating: Teen And Up (for this chapter)

Length: 3.1k

mandatory disclaimer: I'm not trying to romanticize or condone real-life age gap relationships because of the inherent power imbalance, blah blah, I'm writing this for fun and if you don't think you'll have fun go ahead and leave now, etc.

Mark drums his fingers against the cold metal pole as the bus lurches to a stop. He checks the time on his phone—5:25 p.m. He should just make it, unless this prehistoric bus takes any longer to open its doors.

After what he swears is a full minute of ominous creaking, Mark steps out into the muggy air. It’s still only the beginning of June, but already this summer seems like it’s going to be absolutely scorching. Mark supposes he’ll be doing a lot of swimming.

He crosses the street and heads up the sidewalk to the cluster of buildings beyond a small, uneven parking lot, squinting to make out the sign. Little Hands Musical Academy. It’s smaller than he imagined, somehow, but kind of quaint.

A receptionist greets him when he enters the lobby. Though the outside of the building is a bit understated, the inside is clean and bright. Mark says hello back to the receptionist, looking around as he steps up to the counter.

“Uh, I’m here for Lucy Lee?” he says tentatively. “I’m Mark Lee, I’m her uncle. My brother said he put me on the, um, the list?”

The receptionist nods with a smile, typing something in and then looks up. “Could I just see some ID please?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, one sec,” Mark stutters, fumbling for his wallet. He hands the receptionist his passport, feeling a little silly as she leafs through to the right page.

It’s all a little silly, really—that Mark is even picking Lucy up in the first place. He can’t drive, which is mostly fine since James’ house isn’t that far, only like ten minutes on the bus and a few blocks of walking, but Mark thinks if James and Annie are that worried about safety, having an irresponsible, driver’s licenseless twenty-year-old come fetch their only child is hardly helpful.

Still, they asked, and they also bought Mark a new AC unit after his old one finally kicked the bucket the very first day it was over eighty degrees, so here he is. James doesn’t get off work until 5:30, which is the pickup time, and though Annie works from home and can come drop Lucy off in the afternoon, she said she’d rather get a head start on dinner in the evening. And Mark’s internship lets him go at 5. So maybe it is kinda helpful, as long as Mark doesn’t lose his three-and-a-half year old niece on public transport.

“You’re all set,” the receptionist says, handing Mark’s passport back to him. “It’s the classroom at the end of the hall. A lot of parents are already here, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Mark says, putting his passport away and heading out of the lobby towards the back of the building.

There are many parents gathered outside the large window that looks into the classroom from the hall. Mark sidles up next to the group and spots Lucy’s pigtails instantly. She’s plunking away on a tiny keyboard. As Mark watches, the teacher—at least, Mark assumes he’s the teacher; he’s the only adult in the room—strolls by and pauses to say something to her. Mark can’t hear anything, but when the teacher walks away, Lucy is wearing a big grin.

After a couple more minutes, the teacher opens the door and gestures for the parents to file in. Mark gets his first good look at the teacher’s face and swallows. He’s hot. He’s also definitely a little older—forget Mark, he’s visibly older than James. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucking pretty, with handsome dimples appearing every time his expression leans towards a smile. 

Mark is so busy staring that he ends up last in line, but it turns out to be a good thing because the teacher stops him at the door.

“Sorry, would you mind if I just checked your ID really quick?” His eyes are a warm brown, Mark’s brain notes unhelpfully. “I’m sure you already got cleared by the front desk, but—I just like to make sure, you know?”

“Oh, totally, no problem,” Mark says, once again struggling to extract his wallet. 

“Come with me, I have the list over here,” the teacher says, waving Mark into the classroom.

“Mark-samchon!” Lucy zeroes in on him right away and totters over, pigtails flouncing with each step. “I played the piano today.”

“I saw,” Mark says, grinning at her. “Hang on, your teacher just needs to check that I really am your uncle and not a bad guy, and your Appa really did say it was okay for me to pick you up.”

“But he really is my uncle, Jaehyun-seonsaengnim,” Lucy says to her teacher.

Jaehyun, apparently, has produced his list. He gives Lucy an amused smile. “I think I’ll be the judge of that,” he replies. “Can’t let my students walk out with just anybody. Thank you,” he adds to Mark, accepting the offered passport. After a second, he hands it back. “All set,” he says. “Sorry again about the trouble, it’s nothing personal.”

“No worries!” Mark says swiftly, filing his passport away and pocketing his wallet again. “It’s cool that you’re looking out for them.”

Jaehyun gives him a somewhat wry smile, nodding. “I try,” he replies. “Well, see you in a couple days, Lucy! We’re doing percussion next time, you don’t wanna miss it.”

“I like the shaky ones,” Lucy tells Mark very seriously.

Mark’s pretty sure she means stuff like maracas. “Yeah, those are pretty neat, huh?” He holds out his hand to her and she takes it. “Thanks—ah, Jaehyun-seonsaengnim, right?” Mark’s never sure about honorifics in a mixed setting like this—they’re mostly speaking in English, and they are in America, but the area they’re in is really Korean, so he just goes for the way Lucy called him and hopes Jaehyun will correct him.

He’s right. Jaehyun’s smile turns warmer. “Just Jaehyun is fine,” he says. “It was nice to meet you, Mark.”

Mark’s stomach flops. “You too,” he replies, then hurries out of the classroom before he does something stupid like trying to flirt in front of his niece. 

Mark lets Lucy chatter about class as he walks them down to the bus stop. He wants to be paying closer attention to what she’s saying, but his mind keeps drifting back to her handsome music teacher. Jaehyun. It’s not like he needed a reason to do his brother a favor—and besides, Lucy’s reason enough—but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt. 

They get home in one piece. James stops working to play with Lucy and Annie tells Mark to stay for dinner. Mark’ll take a good, free meal with his family over a shitty expensive one alone in his apartment any day, so he stays and helps with the dishes, too. They send him off with leftovers, and Mark can hear Lucy’s laughter all the way down the street as he skips backwards, waving at her until the front porch of his brother’s house disappears behind a line of trees. 

He sighs, slowing to a walk as he turns to face forward, dropping his hand to his side. In some ways, he wishes he was like his brother. Found his person early, finished school, got a good job, settled right down and started having kids. A life that’s small and perfect, full of little excitements and little joys.

But Mark’s not like that. He readjusts his grip on the leftovers, leaving thoughts of his family behind him as he focuses his attention on tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. He’ll have the time for excitement later. He can settle down when he’s satisfied. For now, his life has to remain boring—busy, and boring. 

And from the looks of it, that’s how his summer’s shaping up to be. Busy and boring. And honestly? Mark doesn’t mind that one bit. 

///

“Damn,” Johnny says as he pulls into a parking spot. “Didn’t know you had a thing for DILFs.”

“Wha—dude, no, he’s not a—a DILF,” Mark splutters, already regretting telling Johnny anything. “He doesn’t have kids.”

“How do you know?” Johnny arches an eyebrow at him as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“It came up once,” Mark says. “I didn’t ask! He was saying it’s nice his job is to hang out with kids, basically, because kids are fun and he doesn’t have any of his own.”

“Hasn’t it only been a couple weeks since you started going to pick Lucy up?” Johnny throws this over his shoulder before getting out of his car. Mark hurries to get out, too, so he can argue.

“Lucy has lessons twice a week,” Mark says. “So I’ve seen him three times, which is more than enough times to clock if someone’s hot or not. Woulda been four, except my fucking boss made me stay late on Thursday.”

“I’m telling you, man, unpaid internships are straight up bullshit,” Johnny says.

“If I could’ve gotten a paid one, d’you think I wouldn’t’ve gone for it?” Mark retorts, grabbing his guitar from the back and slinging the strap of the case over his shoulder. “If this shit doesn’t get me a good job after graduation, I’m suing the entire career counseling office.”

“I got a good job after graduation and I didn’t have a single internship,” Johnny points out. “You’ll be fine. Unless you let this hot children’s music teacher distract you.”

Mark shoves him once they’re through the mall entrance. “I just like to look at him, that’s all. Though, I mean—I wouldn’t say no, is all I’m saying.”

“Yeah. He’s how old?” Johnny asks.

“Shut up,” Mark grumbles. 

Though they’re technically here to get Mark’s guitar looked at—one of the strings fucking snapped, he doesn’t know how—they meander through the mall on the way to the music store. Johnny ends up buying a couple of pieces of clothing and nearly convinces Mark to get a matching hat with him before Mark remembers, woefully, that he isn’t getting paid and truly doesn’t have the money to spare.

They finally get to the music store and Mark hands his guitar over, then follows Johnny away from the counter while they wait for it to be fixed up, poking through their record collection.

“Mark?” The voice is familiar, and Mark whips his head up to see Jaehyun of all people standing a few feet inside the door. He’s not in his usual casual clothes; instead, he’s dressed in smart business casual, a patterned button-down tucked into cropped pants. 

Mark swallows, trying to put a single sentence together instead of staring at his waist. “Jaehyun,” he manages. “What are you doing here?” It comes out way ruder than he means it, but luckily Jaehyun just smiles.

“I own this store,” he says, tipping his head to one side and looking around at all the instruments hanging on the walls. “I founded this brand, actually.”

“Really?” Mark would’ve never pinned Jaehyun as a businessman of any kind, but here’s the proof—one of the employees at the store has come up to Jaehyun with his hand extended. 

Jaehyun greets the employee, accepting the handshake. “I’ll come back in a minute,” he says, then turns back to Mark. “I wish teaching music class for kids paid the bills, but, ah…” He gestures vaguely. “Speaking of which, I missed you in the pickup line on Thursday. Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” Mark silences the part of his brain that immediately starts trying to make a pun about pickup lines. He can feel a flush rising up his neck, both pleased and embarrassed that Jaehyun noticed he wasn’t there. “My internship just kept me late is all.”

“Hope they don’t keep you too often,” Jaehyun says, and Mark absolutely does not know how to take that. “Lucy looked kinda put out her mom was there to get her instead of you.”

“Oh,” Mark laughs, wondering why he feels kind of disappointed. “Well, that’s probably because I’ve started bringing her snacks.”

Jaehyun nods, grinning. “That’s always a good way to win them over,” he agrees. “Well, it was a welcome surprise to run into you in my store! I probably shouldn’t keep them waiting, but I’ll see you next week—I hope.”

“Y-yeah, see you!” Mark stammers, giving an awkward half wave, watching Jaehyun disappear into the back of the store.

“That was painful,” Johnny says flatly. “You don’t just think he’s hot, you like him.”

“Shut up,” Mark hisses. 

“You wanna fuck your niece’s music teacher,” Johnny continues blithely. “You really wanna fuck him.”

Luckily, the employee that was servicing Mark’s guitar appears at this moment and spares Mark from coming up with an answer. Because, he thinks somewhat miserably as he heads up to the counter to pay, the thing is Johnny isn’t wrong. But, fuck, Jaehyun’s literally fucking beautiful, and good with kids, and also apparently a rich business owner. What else could Mark ask for?

“I’m just saying, dude,” Johnny continues as they head back out to the parking lot. “If you wanna fuck that old man so bad—”

“Oh my god, he’s not old, he’s like maybe in his early forties at most,” Mark interjects, grimacing in embarrassment.

“If you wanna fuck that middle-aged man so bad,” Johnny plows on, undeterred, “at least get him to fuckin’ pay you or something. You’re young and hot, don’t waste it. No homo.”

Mark resists the urge to bash Johnny over the head with his newly-repaired guitar. “Shut the fuck up.”

/// 

Mark can argue with Johnny all he wants, but it won’t change the fact that he’s right. He wants to fuck that old man. It’s kind of all he thinks about, outside of basic things like work and what he’s going to have for dinner—and even then, the thought of Jaehyun is still percolating in the background, waiting for whatever has grabbed his more immediate attention to be completed so it can muscle its way back to the fore.

He sees him again the next week when he picks Lucy up and it’s all Mark can do not to drag his gaze over Jaehyun’s body as he waits for the parents in front of him to grab their kids. When he goes home, he scours Instagram until he finds him—a public account, a small mercy considering the fact that he only has three posts, but still. Mark pores over the pictures, thumb hovering over the Follow button before closing out of the app altogether and opening his text chain with Johnny.

Dude I’m spiraling &lt;;<<

>>> The dilf?

yeah &lt;;<<

It’s bad. fuck me man &lt;;<<

>>> uh, pass

>>> I mean maybe you’re just horny

>>> download tinder or something

And get stuck in the talking phase all summer? &lt;;<<

Or find someone to hookup with and it’s like their first time &lt;;<<

I’m not teaching someone how to kiss again I know I’m just some guy but I deserve better than that &lt;;<<

>>> ok fair

>>> if it’s experience you want……… go on one of those sugar baby websites

>>> remember what I said about him paying you

>>> your internship’s getting enough of ur free labor as it is

Mark sighs, dropping his phone on his mattress and flopping back. Maybe Johnny’s right. Maybe he just needs a good fuck and he’ll be cured. And there has to be some kind of market for gay sugar daddies who are bottoms, right? Besides, God knows he could use the money.

okay im gonna do it &lt;;<<

>>> fuck the dilf???

NO try the sugar baby thing &lt;;<<

>>> if it works out, gimme a cut of your profits

>>> since it was my idea and all

what are you, my pimp? &lt;;<<

I’ll take you out to a meal, how’s that &lt;;<<

>>> deal

So Mark does exactly that. He does a little research, chooses an app, and downloads it. He sets up his profile, just some basic information about who he is and what he’s looking for. The app suggests he not upload any pictures, for privacy, and Mark’s secretly glad the pressure’s off on that one. He’s not sure if it would help or hurt, but at least this way, the playing field is level.

He could scroll profiles if he wanted to, he supposes, but he has a feeling he’s going to start eliminating people because they don’t seem like Jaehyun, and that’s not going to get him anywhere. He’ll wait and see who’s interested in him, and go from there. 

He sets his phone down instead and heads into his kitchen to see about dinner. But he’s only just pulled a couple things out of the fridge when his phone gives an unfamiliar buzz. With a sigh, he puts the eggs back and goes to his phone to see a new message on the app.

>>> Hey Minhyung!

>>> Are you new to sugaring? Know what you’re looking for?

Mark scans over his profile. CEO of his own business, dog person, plays guitar. Not looking for something too serious. Income between 600k and 800k. 

Hi Yuno! Yeah, this is my first time sugaring haha but I did my research &lt;;<<

I’m hoping for something more casual. I work during the week but my weekends are usually pretty free &lt;<< 

Not expecting a lot, just hoping to have a little extra spending money &lt;;<<

Yuno is typing before Mark even sends the final message.

>>> sounds like we might be a good fit :)

>>> do you want to talk it over in person? We could go get coffee, get to know each other, see if we’re compatible

Sure! I’m free this weekend &lt;;<<

>>> Perfect. How’s Saturday at 3?

Mark glances at his calendar just to double-check, but as expected, it’s empty. When he looks back at his phone, he sees that this Yuno guy has sent a coffee shop in the city, not too far from Mark’s apartment. 

>>> there’s this booth in the back corner I like, let’s plan to meet there

>>> if it’s occupied, we can meet at the tall tables by the windows instead

Sounds good! &lt;;<<

See you on Saturday! &lt;;<<

Yuno likes his message but doesn’t reply, so Mark pockets his phone and goes back to cleaning. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, pulse jumping in his neck. It’s not like he’s in danger or anything. They’re meeting in public, and Mark likes to believe he’ll be able to tell if the guy is a total creep or not. Worst case, he wastes five dollars on a coffee he’s not even going to enjoy and has to keep searching. Besides, he’s not going to be young forever. He might as well give it a shot while he still can.

[bacchicly]

BIG TROUBLE IN RIVER CITY: A GARVEZ CASE FIC (PART 7) 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7

Paring: Penelope Garcia x Luke Alvez

Summary: The team makes a plan to trap the unsub and delivers the profile. This is a “happier” (i.e. there is no talk of Luke and Pen breaking up) / stand alone version of the case fic which suddenly appeared in the middle of my lovers to friends fic (Deep and Crisp and Even). 

Words: 4000ish

Content This Chapter: Mentions / examples of fat hate. Sweraring. Mentions of CM type violence / themes. Luke thinking about how much he loves Penelope - while trying to keep their relationship a secret.

Content Overall Story: CM type violence / themes; unsub; sex (but can be skipped to or away from as I will put it in stand alone chapters - like PART 2); mentions/examples of fat hate.

✈✈✈

The ballroom is thick with tired wired cops.

The BAU Team take their seats in their own corner - no one looks particularly chipper but everyone is alert.  J.J. empties a big bag of M&M's into the ice bucket she brought down from her room and plunks it in the middle of the table.  Tara has snagged a handful before the plastic container has stopped shuddering from the mini impact - her hand bumping against Emily's on exit.

"So?" asks Luke as he pulls out a chair for Penelope since her hands are full with the laptop she picked up from the tech nerve centre on the way, "What's happened. Matt says there's been another victim?  It seems fast."

Penelope is typing even before her butt hits her chair -  which Luke is now pushing in for her.  The team exchanges a hidden smile but Luke and Penelope are oblivious. Spencer catches a few of the uniformed cops smirking at his solicitous colleague; so he serves up a first rate Paddington / Prison Yard worthy "hard stare" on their behalf and is somewhat chuffed when the cops turn away and are suddenly pressingly busy with some investigative odd or end.

Rossi catches the exchange and pays tribute to Reid's chivalrous defence with a smiling nod. Spencer catches the unspoken praise from the elder agent with a blithe crook of his lips and a raised eyebrow.  The exchange is brief and further covered by the attention going to Prentiss' response to Luke's question.  

"We're not completely sure if this death is not due to natural causes - let alone connected to our unsub - although there are some similariti-"

Penelope's fingers keep flying across her keyboard even as she cuts off her boss. "Fat-ish. Thomas Green, age 34, was heavy for his height. But as far as I can tell he was unlikely to be someone targeted by our unsub - firstly not that the world does a good job of parsing these things - fat is fat in a lot of people's eyes - but Mr. Green was nowhere near as heavy as the other victims. Also, no significant other. No history of confidently dating around. No children.  Mother lives in Connecticut.  Lives alone. Good student. Participates in an intramural Ultimate Frisby league.  A member of several online gaming communities.  Enrolled in… his 1st year of an online Master's program…in…ahhh… Biomimicry?! Interesting. I am not saying Mr. Green is definitely not a victim but I wouldn't have flagged him as one based on what I am seeing."

Tara's question is directed at their Unit Chief but her eyes are glued worriedly on Penelope, "So - who did flag this death as a potential victim and why?"

Penelope growls.  “No idea. The ambulance report certainly didn’t set off any of the digital alarms I set.  Although one thing did rise to the surface with my collating program about 45 minutes ago - it seems like all the victims are at least tangentially connected to a municipal boxing program for under-priviledged youth.  Which - again as far as I can tell - is not the case with Mr. Green.”

Prentiss lets her breath out in a soft whoosh.  She hates that her agents may have gotten called out of bed for a false alarm - she would normally have been more circumspect but the local police chief had just been so adamant.  But now that they are up…

“That is a great lead, Garcia. To answer Luke’s question first.  As Rossi pointed out on the jet - this unsub is devolving so we have no way to estimate how quickly soon they will reoffend - but what we do know is there is something about the 6th of the month that is important to the unsub and that the shortest times between victims - without counting what we now realise were a couple who were killed on the same day - was just over 24 hours-”

“Which happened in November and was most likely an attempt to get back ‘on schedule’ ”, Spencer adds air quotes to the words in a way he would never do if not so tired, “after the first round of deaths that he didn’t manage to execute on the 6th of the month. But since the 6th of January isn’t pending, I do not think that duration is a solid predictor of the unsub’s current timeline.  I think looking at the more recent breaks is likely a better predictor - and that pattern suggests that - while devolving - the unsub will wait at least 4 to 6 days have past - my guess is as long as the unsub feels that their message was heard that will meet their needs enough for now and if - they are not able to hold on to January 6th - they will at least try to time the next death on the 26th as a stand in.  So I would agree with Penelope - I don’t think this death is a victim of the unsub - but since we are coming up on the 4th day without a death and the pressure of the holiday could accelerate the timeline in ways that are hard to account for…it might…” Spencer gives a meaningful look at the Agent who, once upon a time, was their press liaison.

J.J.’s starts to nod. “So far we haven’t talked very much about the press strategy - beyond agreeing to not take any precautions against the story being picked up and coaching the local PD’s press liaison to stick to the release - but maybe we should do a bit more to make sure the case is hitting the news in a way that could buy us some time?”

“Can you and Rossi go and-?” J.J. nods smartly as Rossi stands, his head cocked in a question that a defeated sounding Prentiss answers without him having to ask. 

“Yes.  It’s a go.  Can you brief J.J.? It needs to be part of the new press strategy and if we can catch the morning news cycle... The team and I will take exactly 15 minutes to sketch out a preliminary plan and then I will brief the Police Chief while everyone else will be ordered to sleep - we only have four hours until I’ve promised the profile.  Rossi - JJ find me here or swing by my room after you’ve dealt with the release - knock hard if you need to - we’ll need to swap details and it will be faster in person. Now - go!”

Emily Prentiss scans the room one last time and then sits with purpose pulling a pad of paper towards herself - her one concession to her own fatigue - and looks hard at her agents.

“Ok someone set a timer. Based on what we have profiled so far, we have 15 minutes to agree on how to best tempt our unsub into targeting Penelope as their next victim. We, ladies and gentlemen, are setting up a sting.”

✈✈✈

It’s Christmas Eve, 7 am, and the team stands in their usual semi-circle but the mood of the muttering cops is darker than even the BAU Agents are used to. Emily and the Chief of Police better arrive soon - this gang is antsy.

Lines are being drawn between those who think this case should be a priority and those who think it's a waste of police time. Both the pro and anti factions' beliefs seemed to have become more entrenched since the Chief of Police got off the phone and announced that the coroner suggests that, while not releasing any official cause of death yet, last night’s fatality is likely due to complications from a head injury incurred during a recent Ultimate Frisby match and not the result of poison. 

Luke resists glancing past Tara and Dave to check on Penelope for what feels like the 5 billionth time since they took their places.  

Instead, he glares down at the taupe industrial carpet and tries to discern what the muttering is actually about… but his brain won't cooperate. It just keeps gnawing on whether the red and white dress was the right choice after all…maybe he should have insisted she wear the black one…what if these fuc-…officers… don't take her safety seriously enough? What if because she looks too much like a candy cane… and those shoes? What if…instead of listening to the briefing… they all just stare at her amazing legs and chest and cherry red lips and fantasize about how she looks good enough to…

Luke mentally gives himself a kick in the groin and forces himself to relax his hands which have balled back into fists. 

FOCUS, ALVEZ.

The plan makes sense.  It’s a good tactical plan. He could…WOULD…protect her.  They all would.  But wouldn't it be better to have the local cops giving their all too? 

Damn.  They should have chosen the black dress…. 

No. The red and white one makes sense for the plan.  …the damn fucking deadass…

At dinner last night, Prentiss had asked Luke to tackle the job of adding to the profile in a way that will reach the cops like J.J.'s assigned partner - but when things shifted and it became clear that this would not only be the delivery of the profile but also an outline of the planned sting …the role had not exactly taken away from him. Matt and Rossi had made it clear that they had that side of it covered - so his job was now to introduce the details of the plan in a way that would win over even the most cowboy cop and introduce the key elements tactical language that will be understood and instinctively taken as orders by the majority of those in the room.  He had also tagged on an extra personal mission to the task he had been given - he had to win them over but do it all without revealing the true nature of his current relationship with Pe- the principle. 

It had taken a couple hours but they had finally settled on two possible approaches and he was ready to go with either depending on how the Chief of Police wanted to play it.  Emily was briefing him now.  He had to be ready to wing it.  He wished they would-

It’s not often wishes are granted in this job - but Luke’s is when his boss strides angrily into the room almost herded by the Chief of Police who is sauntering smugly behind.  Luke watches closely as Emily crosses to them.  Her manner is professional and serious… brusque… tense…almost defeated… but then in a moment when her back is to the crowd and her face is to the team just for a second she cracks - smiling at them - beaming - almost bouncing? Like she just got told that Santa is real and he's bringing her tequila and scantily clad lovers to find under herChristmas tree.  The look hits Luke hard - like a slap of sleet in the face. He is suddenly reeling in a new unexpected direction and he doesn't know what to make of it.  Should he dance or puke?

The Police Chief's demeanour is not opposite from their boss' slip but the look he is giving his officers is pure "I'm in charge and you better not give these people shit or I am going to be very disappointed - not because they don’t deserve it - but because it’s a privilege of my rank."

Apparently it’s a go.  

Puke.  Definitely puke. 

Curse it all to hell and back on a pink unicycle. 

Fuck.  Even her elaborate cursing has rubbed off on him! 

“Alright!  Listen up!”

The Chief of Police’s strong goading voice cuts off Luke’s thought and he pushes everything but the moment away.  Game time.  

“You may not know, but I - despite my open and cooperative nature - was less than pleased when the Commissioner decided to call in the FBI.”  The cops laugh. Their Chief amiably shushes them with his hand and carries on,  “but, despite my objections, I have been ordered to let Ms Prentiss here and her FBI Behavioral Specialists to present the findings of their profiling exercise to all of you. Now I am not sure if I believe any of it - I leave it to you to judge for yourselves - but the one bit of credit they deserve is that while they were rambling on during the preview for the brass…I came up with plan to catch this bastard - some real Texan style “don’t mess with us” policing which I know y’all will like. Now, I may not believe in all the wishy washy stuff - but I will say that they know a good idea when they hear it - and I hate to admit it - but they’ve even added one or two improvements - so stay quiet for their little presentation - then we can get to the action.”

Emily's face is somehow both hard and soft in its determination.  Her hair falls sharp against her cheek as she lets space come between the words just spoken and those she will say next…then…like a flip switches..with a swift jutt of her chin and a tightly bowed smile - she breaks the silence she created. Heads whip in her direction.

“Despite your Chief’s somewhat lacklustre introduction - you should listen to what we have to say. We’ve done this a lot. A lot a lot.  And I can tell you that the information we can share can save lives. Those of potential victims - yes.  But cops’ too. We don’t want anyone missing Christmas dinner because they didn’t listen today… and since your boss has a plan…” 

Luke purposely turns away from his boss and steps away from his spot with the team - clenching his fists and jaw and then a bit too purposely relaxing them. He is not quite standing with the cops now - but almost… Matt throws an angry look his way that is so brief it is likely missed by most, then jumps into the frey without missing a beat:

“Your boss plays by a different playbook than us - but the two outlooks can work very well together and the plan is a good one - but it will work better if you understand a few things about the target.”

Rossi jumps in now.

“Like many of you here, we believe the target is physically fit and has taken great interest in improving his physique over the years.  We believe he is likely caucasian - between 6’1 and 6’3; potentially with a slim but strong build. Although - physical characteristics may differ so don’t rule out stockier or more sickly individuals.”

The cop who had been J.J. 's interviewing partner calls out from the back of the room “Isn’t poison usually a woman’s or weakling’s weapon?  What makes you think that this person is male and fit?  I mean - if this is really murder and not some huge hoax or lab jumping to conclusions  - wouldn’t it make sense for a woman to be killing these people - like that nurse? An ‘angel of mercy’ type thing - putting people out of their misery?”

A ripple goes through the crowd.  It’s one thing for the Chief to be rude to the FBI - but an officer doing the same is not amusing anyone.  Firing up some? Yes. Raising the ire of others? Sure. But amusing? No one. 

Spencer fixes the cop with a stare he perfected in the prison laundry room. 

“There’s no hoax or lab error here, Officer.  There is someone out there who has tragically cut short the lives of - by all reports - and you were at the interviews, Officer - we have a lot of reports - cut the lives short of twelve very happy people who just also happened to be fat.  None of them needed to be ‘put out of their misery’.  There is someone out there who has killed twelve people - that is already two more than the BTK Killer and six more than the Son of Sam - and we are all here to work together to stop them. None of us are going to let this person get away with it.  We’re all better than that - all better than him.  But, you know what?? You’re right, statistically, women do choose poison as a weapon more frequently than males. According to the imperfect but apropos 2012 Federal Bureau of Investigation Supplemental Homicide Report, while guns are technically the weapon of choice for both genders in the US - even though quantitatively way more men murder using poison than women - one way of looking at the numbers lets us state that women are 7 times more likely to choose poison as a weapon than a male offender. However, Officer, there are several elements of these murders and the letter that was sent to the Coroner’s office that tip the scales towards not only a male - but one who will appear physically fit,” Spencer leans back - his face finally dropping the fury and animating as he settles into his explanation - the thrill of explaining the profile apparent even though his countenance is still as tough as nails, “In the letter, the unsub presents the murders as part of a mission fueled by-”

Penelope cuts him off: “Hatred. Hatred of Fat People. People like me.” 

Penelope’s voice rings across the room.  She is suddenly so much more than just herself - she is mother, sister, favourite aunt, beloved fat-friend, their grandmother, their third-grade teacher, the bullied fat kid from their gym class - she is the prompter of half hidden derisive smiles and a reflection of some people’s biggest fear - some of the cops start to phrase the denial “You’re not-”... 

The look Spencer gives Penelope is inscrutable as he picks back up the thread of his explanation. “Yes.  Although I was going to say ‘a mission fueled by a desire to serve society by ridding it of those he sees as harmful’ - which on its own is not enough to deduce gender but it is the way the mission is phrased “The health of our city deserves better.  We are at war and you are either on the side of science or against us.” 

Prentiss takes her turn now - her arch voice steeped with confidence in her team and her own professional expertise: “It may be stereotypical but evoking the language of conflict instead of care - the attempt to appear detached and scientific - the lack of reference to children and families - even the use of “nay nay” which alludes to the late great John Pinette’s standup all point towards a male voice; but it is a detail from the crimes themselves that point most directly to the gender of our unsub.” 

Tara takes the floor now - arm sweeping in an arc to a photo of one of the marks found on a victim’s belly - her expression wide and open: “Serial killers fall into several broad categories when it comes the motive - which differs from the organised vs disorganised types most of the public are familiar with.  At first, the note and the targeting of fat people seemed to suggest that our killer fell into what we would call a ‘mission oriented killer’ - someone motivated to kill by their beliefs and a desire to ‘purify’ the human race of those they see as harmful or lesser.”

J.J. chimes in “You have all heard of this type of person - people moved to violence by hate and fear.  White supremacists - anti-semites - rival gangs.  The public and the unsub are familiar with these types of criminals and while hatred is part of the reason why these killings are happening; we believe the ‘war on the obese’ alluded to in the letter is being evoked primarily as a cover to hide the true motivations of the unsub; likely even from himself-”

“And,” says Tara still pointing at the photo, “it is this mark - this hickey - that we know the unsub left on the bellies of at least three of the victims that suggests most strongly that not only is the unsub male, fairly tall, and fit - but that the motivation for these crimes is much more personal than a hatred fueled mission to rid the world of people because they are fat.”

1 - 2 - 3…Luke waits for the penny to drop and then speaks up…turning his back on his team…stepping further into the midst of the cops… positioning himself as one of them… they rarely rehearse the giving of the profile ahead of time - but last night Emily had drilled him and Penelope on this next crucial bit…

“Our target has not killed these mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and husbands and wives and boyfriends and girlfriends because they were fat - no.  He is killing them because they are fat and happy and loved.  Many of the victims were not just in happy relationships - but in happy relationships with someone that society might say they didn’t deserve because they were fat and their partner was conventionally attractive. This has lead us to believe the unsub killed not because he hates fat people - but because he finds at least one fat person attractive but can’t be with them - maybe because he is afraid to admit it or because the person rejected him - but for whatever reason hates himself for wanting them - and hates every fat person who has what he wishes for.”

He looks across at his woman then. Even if they hadn’t been ordered to... Hadn’t rehearsed it… Luke doesn’t think he could not look at his Penelope in that moment; he struggles to keep his expression as neutral as possible - setting his jaw in a way that Emily had promised just hinted at a hidden longing - not his real feelings of loving this woman so much he can hardly stand being this far away from her. His heart asks to pound but he controls his breathing and genuine response as best he can; wildly hoping that the love he feels isn’t as nakedly apparent to the cops as he is sure it must be to his colleagues. 

Penelope is in her element and follows the script exactly.  Badly hiding a cheeky ‘you wish Newbie’ laugh and then turning to smile at everyone gathered wide and bright - her face radiating light and hope and her own secret sauce of knowing cheeky innocence - they are in the palm of her hand. 

“Sounds crazy doesn’t it? But as someone who is somewhat fat and has been labelled as very fat throughout my life - I can tell you that men see and treat fat women differently. There are men who are genuinely attracted to me - probably some of you here are - and some might not even feel shame for it… but that is not as common as you think.  I have been treated as though any attention shown to me was a favour - and…you know what men can be like when they think you owe them. But those men are players and reasonably easy to spot - and they are often not particularly worried about their genuine attraction or lack thereof - I’m a piece of ‘easy ass’ - nothing more - nothing less.”  

Just for a flash, Luke sees a ripple of memory wash across Penelope.  Is she thinking of how the man who shot her used her surprise at being found attractive by someone many would think was ‘out of her league’? He feels the familiar cocktail of relief that he is dead and the wish that he had been the one to pull the trigger. 

“Nothing worse than what most women deal with.  No, the worst are those that genuinely are attracted to me…may even date me happily for awhile…until..”, Penelope takes a sharp breath - sucking in oxygen like she’s drowning - but then comes back her voice hard and true - with the line they crafted and practised,   “Contempt.  Disgust. Shame. Ugly ugly feelings towards their own genuine attraction to my fat body… and you better believe that many of them found it more comfortable to blame me - punish me - than to confront their own reactions that they wouldn’t think twice about if only I was a size 2.  Cowards.”

Rossi speaks up then - his voice an echo of so many fathers telling their kids that the bully is far more afraid than they are - he directs his words directly to the cop who asked about poison being used by women. 

“The observation from earlier does apply - because while we believe that the unsub is of a certain height-”

Spencer pipes up -  “to be able to kneel before his victim and place his mouth to their belly and give them a so-called last ‘love-bite’-”

Rossi gives him an indulgent look but takes back the floor “-and is possibly physically pleasing…but don’t doubt for a moment that he isn’t a coward and a weakling… and between your Chief and our team… we have a plan to use his desire and his fear to trap him..and SSA - Ex-Army Ranger - Alvez is now going to tell you all about it.”

✈✈✈

So, while Luke outlines the plan which will see Penelope and himself reprise their act of being a happy couple visiting a boxing gym -across town, a man is filling syringes.

To be continued…

Master List | List of One Shots & Happy Versions  | Micro-Garvez

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[kyungwonrp]

+ ... // STUDENT PROFILE ... LOADING

HWANG SEONGBIN is 21 YEARS OLD and currently enrolled in kyungwon university. he is in his 3RD YEAR of the UNDERGRADUATE PROGRAM, majoring in MUSIC PRODUCTION with a minor in SONGWRITING. he is notably part of the MUSIC CLUB, and is the 2ND BASEMAN/SHORTSTOP of the BASEBALL TEAM. he works part-time ON-CAMPUS as a CAMPUS JANITOR. you may find him in the EAST WING (ROOM #3).

                           + ... // LOAD STUDENT BACKGROUND . . .

the first time he touched an instrument was at three years old. his mother took him to church, suddenly frenzied with the thought that she needed to get her toddler baptized despite the fact that she and her husband hadn’t set foot in a church since their wedding. after the service, he toddled around the sanctuary, waddling down to the little alcove where the church’s band performed. the guitarist had left his instrument on a stand there, and the child touched the shiny surface curiously. a moment later, his mother was scooping him up before he could do any real damage to things that don’t belong to him, but his eyes lit up when his littlest finger caught one of the strings, plucking it on accident as she pulled him away.

he’s six by the time he’s touching an instrument again, this time under his piano instructor’s watchful eye as he plunks out the keys and learns his first notes and scales. she adjusts chubby little fingers, teaching him how to arch his palms and stretch his hands so he can be good at this someday. he cries that she’s too strict to his mother, who makes him attend the rest of the classes she already paid for. he’s grinning excitedly and nagging to go to the next lesson soon enough.

in middle school, he’s off on his first adventure. the plane ride across the ocean is a long one, but he’s welcomed into his aunt’s home soon enough anyway. he throws himself into a new social life there, sharing music from home with new friends and listening to their favorite songs in return. he learns rudimentary guitar in music class with the rest of his classmates and then begs his aunt to buy him one of his own so he can continue learning and practicing. she does eventually, with money from his parents back in korea, and he throws himself into it just as excitedly as he picked up piano.

by the time he flies back to korea to finish up his education closer to his parents, he’s dabbled in percussion, in other strings, he tried learning brass before he decided that it was too difficult and a setting on his keyboard sounded just as good. he’s writing his own little songs, frankly cacophonous sounds that will never see the light of day, but he has fun doing it.

halfway through high school he realizes he’s going to need to go to college. his parents expect it, and even if his grades were only kinda good, never fantastic, he has no real excuse not to. he’s genuinely surprised when he passes his exams, maybe not with great scores but enough to get into kyungwon university. maybe he shouldn’t be shocked; he was born under a lucky star anyways.

[vegetacide]

Veggie art’ing Part II complete…  This is a continuation of THIS 

Also for something a bit new as I had several notes asking what was going on with the previous pic I wrote a little something to accompany this.  It took a rather unexpected direction on me as I had ordinally intended for this to be a reconciliation picture..   Just were my mind veered for some reason.. I blame these two idiots…

I have spent far too long plunking away at this so bare with me if its absolutely crap. 

Anyway.. if you wish to read it.. look check out below 

Working title: …haven’t come up with one yet.. meh. Sue me

Blanket warning: Hints to adult subject matter that some might find offensive or triggery..mentions of past trama…. etc etc

Rating: Teen.. I guess

Word count: 2726 words 

Characters: Virgil/Kayo

Fandom: TaG’verse A/U

Location: My made up beach house located somewhere on Tracy Island..  

Veggie notes:   Any errors are completely my own and I am sure I will catch them at some point on one of my obsessive read throughs of self doubt.  :D

Enjoy…

o0o 

Damn, how in the world had it come to this? 

Virgil watched as she padded on quiet, bare feet across the beach house deck.  Retreating again and effectively shutting him out.  Her slender shoulders so small under the too big flannel of his shirt, were hunched as she protectively wrapped her arms around herself. Closing off like she always did when things got too close and too real for her to deal with. 

His chest hurt, a dull ache behind his breast bone and he rubbed at it subconsciously.  Like his heart was too big and in its floundering it was trying to break through the meager sack of flesh that housed it.

Cursing, he rubbed at it again and resisted the urge to drive his fist in the plastered wall of the beach house.  The effort wouldn’t serve any meaningful purpose anyways other than splitting his knuckles. There was no detracting from his present circumstances and potential broken bones wouldn’t change that. 

He should have taken more care with his words instead of letting his thoughts run free as he did and he kicked himself for his short sightedness,  not that it fixed anything.  He’d been too caught up in his own little world,  completely forgetting the reality they were living and now here they were. 

On opposing ends of a vast chasm.  Him holding on with all his might to keep his family whole while Kayo fought against it. The horrible twisted image of family that a mad man had imprinted on her at too young an age warping her view on things to the detriment of them both.    An idea she had been fighting her whole life to make different and one she couldn’t escape, it seemed no matter how hard they tried to.  

The old doubts and worries were always just beneath the surface just waiting to spring forth to bugger things up. The present being a prime example.  

The morning had started out completely different and felt almost like a dream to where they were now.   Warm and lazy with a vague like quality one found just upon waking.   

Kayo had been snuggled in his arms. Her legs tangled with his among the rumpled sheets. A sweet ocean breeze blowing through the gossamer curtains and dancing pleasantly over their satiated bodies.  Wicking the dew of sweat from their skin as their pulses slowed and their minds drifted back from the bliss of carnal sensation. 

His fingers had been lazily tracing up and down her back, over the sinewy grace of her shoulders and down the curve of her spine. Paying homage and mapping every glorious inch to his artist brain. 

He’d been lost in a day dream of what could be. The gentle rise of her hip, the varied valleys of her ribs  directing the course of his thoughts.  A picture was forming of a future, one that stretched out before them like a blank canvas, waiting for them to take up the brush and fill it with colour and life. 

A story in images had started to sketch itself  in his mind’s eye.  The two of them, together.  Healing, growing and evolving with a world of opportunity before them and nothing to hold them back. 

Not being able to contain himself as he lazed with her, Virgil had voiced his thoughts. Letting loose all that he’d hoped for.   A tumble of words spewing forth that had Kayo suddenly growing still and stiff to his touch. 

“Virgil,  stop…”  Had been all she’d uttered before she’d turned from his embrace and slipped from the soft comfort of their bed.  Her hair a tumble of love tousled ebony, hiding her face. 

“It would be a nice picture to paint.”  He’d replied, mind still on other things and not on the present.   “Go anywhere, wherever we want.  Take in the sights for a change instead of just jetting by them.  Go to that little cabin by that lake I told you about… it would be a perfect spot to..”

“Enough! …” The abruptness of her raised voice had him snapping his jaw shut.  

With jerking motions, she’d grabbed up his shirt.  The match to his favourite pair of lounge pants.   The one she loved to cozy into and entice him with. A glimpse of flesh here as it rode up her thighs, a flash there as supple mounds peaked out between the row of loosed buttons. Now though it covered her in a different manner entirely.  Like a shield, she clasped it tightly 

He’d pushed up to his elbows, brows dropped low with concern as he’d finally taken note that something wasn’t quite right..  “Kay?"  

She’d cast her gaze back at him then.  The briefest of looks had been enough for him to catch the shadow of disquiet in them.  Their usual vibrancy muddied by brewing clouds of anger that had him sliding from the sheets and reaching for her. 

“Don’t.” Was all she said, shaking her head as he’d risen and moved towards her.  Her hands held aloft to hold him back as she’d strode from the room.  

“What… Tin,  what’s going on?”  

Grabbing up his pants Virgil had stumbled after her, hopping as he yanked them on amid a  litany of colourful words. 

“Shit… Wait..”  

Steps later he was confronted by a fury he hadn’t expected considering where and what they had been doing mere moments before.  

She had been pacing like a caged animal,  across the expanse of the living room and back again.  Rage flowing from her with each hurried step. 

“What…?”  Was all he managed to say before she turned on him.  Fire in her gaze,  colour high on her cheeks.  

“You know what?”  She seethed, poking a finger in his direction as she did another circuit of the room.

He’s own anger bubbled to the surface,  “Actually, I don’t. So would you enlighten me to whatever erroneous infraction it is that you think that I’ve done?”  

“Oh, don’t give me that.  You know exactly what the problem is.”

Virgil’s brows shot up as her words had struck a chord in his grey matter. “Problem? You really think…”

“What in the hell were we thinking?!”  She growled out, shoving a chair out to the way and knocking it over with a crash. “Selfish..Stupid.”

“With the lives we lead….You can’t ask this of me!”   

Her words had been like a physical blow and Virgil had taken an involuntary step back. She’d wanted her words to hurt and she’d succeeded.  She never did pull her punches and her aim was as impeccable as ever.

He’d seen the realization of what she’d said flicker through her gaze but she’d quickly buried it. Instead of saying more, she shook her head, turned  her back on him once more and walked out the open sliding doors putting more than just distance between them. 

And he’d let her go,  his shoulders slumping at the writing between the lines of what had been said. In his mind there was only one option open to them but maybe for her that wasn’t the case. The implications of those options was something he couldn’t dare to fathom…but it was a road he wouldn’t let her travel down alone.  

He had a responsibility to uphold,  as  her husband and as the man he prided himself on being.  A rescuer in dark times, when there was no one else capable of the job and sometimes those that needed rescuing were closer to home.

Squaring his shoulders he went after her.  She was begging for a fight. An obvious distraction from the core reasoning behind her lashing out at him but he wouldn’t take her up on the invitation.   He wouldn’t let her push him away to deal with whatever this was on her own. 

Passing through the doors,  his eyes scanned over the deck and his breath had caught.   

She looked so small, fragile and it had brought him up short. Slumping,  he braced himself between a support post and the beach house wall.  An uncanny exhaustion suffusing him as he saw the uphill battle of the task ahead.  A task he was determined to see through to the end, no matter the outcome. 

He hated seeing her like this and despite her best efforts to push him away, Virgil knew her too well.  Had spent most of his life knowing her.  He could read her nuances, gestures and mood even when she tried to close off from him like she was trying to do now under a mask of anger.  

“Tin,”  He said carefully, dropping his hand and pushing away from the post.  He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, letting the tension slip from his shoulders.   Approaching her with all guns blazing would only crank her defenses up higher and wouldn’t get them anywhere.

He watched her stance with a practiced eye as he stepped closer.  She was like an abused animal.  Even with all of her training, when she was emotionally compromised as she was right now the scared little girl she had been came to the fore.  The one they met when she’d first came to live with them, hiding behind her father’s leg.   

He hadn’t known her history then,  the actions of her uncle and the effect that it would have on the rest of her life.  How it would shape her into the strong, determined woman she was today.  Never letting anyone get close enough to see the frightened child she closeted away inside.  Virgil though had managed to find his way inside,  found the cracks in her apparent impenetrable armour and had broken through to  the core of the woman inside.  The one she tried desperately to hide from the world in a shell of fierce resolve and purpose.  

Under it all was a woman, who had seen too much.  Abused, battered, basically orphaned by her absentee father and desperately afraid.  To top it all off, she hated the weakness and fought tooth and nail to hide it from everyone.  With the exception of him,  she didn’t have a choice there. He’d wormed his way in and he wouldn’t stand by and let her retreat from herself or from him.  

Gently he placed his hands on her tight shoulders,  cupping their slender, wavering strength and he whispered her name again.  “Tanusha…”  

Her head bowed further,  a meager attempt to hide in the fall of her hair but he could feel the quiver in her body now,  hear the soft stuttered intake of her breath.  She was crying and trying oh so hard not to be. 

Pain and love swelled through his chest, and an undeniable protectiveness.  

Virgil pulled her back into his embrace, encircling his arms around her waist and with little resistance she melted.  

“I’m sorry,”  He whispered over the curve of her ear,  brushing his lips across the elven-like arch of it.  “I’m so sorry.”  

He put all his love he could into the words, hoping that by apologizing for something he wasn’t wholly the cause of would help alleviate her suffering in some way. 

“I wasn’t thinking and it was insensitive of me.”  He tightened his hold on her,  reassurance imbued into the gesture and slowly began to rock giving her the time to pull herself back together again. 

The slight tremor slowly dissipated,  her breathing settling into a somewhat normal rhythm and he knew that she was ready to hear. More so when she dragged in a ragged breath and exhaled a long drawn out sigh. He could almost hear her counting to ten in her head.  A method she used to reign back in some of her control and a calm he knew well creeped back in. One that camouflaged a great deal of hurt. 

He did the same,  his warm breath stirring her hair and ghosting across the smooth column of her neck which peeked out from the drooping collar of his shirt.   

“You know we’ve got this, right?”  He questioned though he wasn’t expecting an answer.  “Yes,  he’s out…”  She stilled once more in his hold but Virgil couldn’t stop now,  Kayo needed to hear this even if it was just a band-aid to the problem.   He couldn’t sit by and let her lose herself in fear so he pushed on. There was too much at stake.

“Yes,  he’s upped his game in a big way.  Dad knew he was capable,  your Dad knew….” A flinch at the mention of the absentee man but again he pressed on.  There was no backing down now.  What he had to say, needed to be said.  

“We were unprepared but we know better now and I promise you, Tanusha Kyrano Tracy;  just like I did on the day you said ‘Yes’.. That I will never,  ever let that man hurt you again.”  

He slipped a hand down,  between the soft folds of flannel,  across her silky, soft skin that concealed honed muscle and deadly skills. Brushed the edge of fine lace and stilled, cupped and shielded that which was only known to the two of them.  

With strength of purpose his chest swelled,  a determination unlike any he had ever known bulked up the threat behind his next words.  “I’ll do everything in my power to protect both of you, I swear it or the Hood will regret the day he heard the name Tracy.”

She turned, taking his hand in her own and lightly brushing her lips across his knuckles. “You’re too good for me Virgil Grissom Tracy and I don’t deserve you.”  

The brief storm of anger has fled from her eyes, leaving behind only doubt and fear.  “But I don’t think it’s as easy as that. You’re too good a man to stoop to such levels and I don’t think I could live with myself if you made that sort of sacrifice on my behalf. 

Besides,  what sort of life could we offer with him out there.   He’s already been the cause of so much pain.  You and your brother’s have suffered for years because of it..I don’t think I would have the strength if he was to get you or….” 

Virgil’s frowned.  “Tin,  I married you.  All of you and everything you brought with you. I knew full well what I was marrying into but that man,  that bastard… he can’t come between us and what we want unless you let him.”  

Her gaze dropped and with gentle fingers he lifted her chin and waited for her to meet his pleading eyes.  “Don’t let him win… not in this. Please God, not in this.”  

“We may not have a choice…” Came the whisper of her response, her forehead resting against his own as a lingering tear slipped from her lashes. 

“Tin, please….”

“Virgil, I love you.  God, how I love you but I can’t tell you what you want to hear.  Not right now. If the Hood found out…. 

Just then the island klaxon blared  and Virgil’s comms started to ping with urgency.

Kayo took a step back from him and he stared after her. Brain going a mile a minute with words he wanted to say,  emotions he wanted to express.   

“Go…” She said with resignation, her arms once more crossing over her frame.   “You’re needed..” 

“I’m needed more here.”  

His comms buzzed again followed by the voice of his star loving sibling. “Virgil, you’re needed in Ops. A.S.A.P.  Please confirm.””  

Conflicted, Virgil stood unmoving,  his fist clenched at his side.   Trapped between the woman he loved and the life they’d chosen.  

“Go,  I’ll be here when you get back..”   

His brother’s voice sounded again from his comms, pulling him in two directions at once.  The hint of stress he picks up in it though had him unfreezing and heading for the underground access to the hanger.  

Passing through the automated door and hitting his comms to reply to John, he looked back at Kayo.  His heart sinking and doubt filling him as he watched her turn away from him.  

Uncertainty prickling across his skin as he questioned the validity of her words but there was nothing he could do right now.   Lives were at stack…more so than just those that needed rescuing and his hands were tied… 

“FAB John,  on my way…”

FIN���.????

[unfriendlyamazon]

it’s @joukaiweek officially and i plunked away at my keyboard so i didn’t miss it. this is incredibly rough and i need to take a hammer to it, but i still wanted to post for day one so here it is!

The Final Countdown

rating T

characters joey wheeler/seto kaiba, appearances by yugi muto, mai valentine, and (unfortunately) maximillion pegasus

tags Secret Relationship (sort of), Commitment Issues, Love Confessions, Emotional Rollercoasters, Actual Rollercoasters (It’s Kaibaland Babyyyy), The Characters Actually Duel

1/19 - origin || conclusion

Joey and Seto’s relationship goes full circle when they attend “Return to Duelist Kingdom”. They’re forced to face their own emotional issues so they can move forward, or let it all fall apart.

Joey shielded his eyes as he stepped through the entrance of the large dome. The glass enclosure poured in the bright California light, and tall trees spread wide branches. The space was completely transformed with long brick paths tucked along flat ferns and bushes overflowing with flowers. A waterfall made a winding river underneath the pathways. It was easy, for a moment, to be transported to another realm entirely, except for the Slifer coaster peeking over the dome top, and the shouts of excited park goers as they tried to peer in at the duelists.

“Kaiba really knows how to go all out,” Yugi said from where he stood at Joey’s side.

Joey only nodded mutely and started down the path.

It’d been something of a surprise to receive the invitational to the Return to Duelist Kingdom a few months back, and even more of a shock to see it was being hosted at Kaibaland America. Considering the original tournament had been little more than a farce to steal souls and further corporate takeovers, it’d been regarded as a sort of dark time in the dueling world, before Battle City standardized the rule sets. Both Joey and Yugi had listened to Seto rant about how all Pegasus was capable of was making cards, while he made the game. In a long list of all the things they’d been through, Duelist Kingdom ranked fairly low on the trauma scale, depending on who you asked, but all in all their group decided it was best to leave it in the past.

Not that anything really got left in the past around here.

At least this time they weren’t on an abandoned island in international waters more likely to die from dehydration than from the psycho eliminators roaming the place. No, Kaibaland put them up in swanky five star resort rooms, complete with comped meals. If there was anything Seto Kaiba was good at, it was showing up the competition. Only those that had made it through the gauntlet were actually competing, with free Kaibaland tickets awarded to the past participants who’d been soundly kicked off. It was a rematch of sorts. There were a few people Joey wouldn’t mind getting his hands on again, now more experienced and with a top notch ranking. Bandit Keith, from whatever hole in the ground he decided to crawl out of, and Pegasus himself, still sitting on his throne, and then there was–

“Kaiba!” Yugi shouted and bounded towards the all too familiar shape of Seto Kaiba. Joey’s footsteps slowed as his best friend tossed his arms around his long time rival. The coordinator he’d been speaking too had a shocked look on her face and quickly tamped it down. Joey almost laughed. Normally touching Kaiba was a death warrant, but Yugi got a free pass.

“Oh, good,” Seto sighed. “You’re here.”

“Had to see what all the hype was about,” Joey said, tugging on the strap of his backpack. The tournament wasn’t until tomorrow, which gave them free reign over the amusement park the rest of the day. “This place is fan-cy.”

“It looks cool!” Yugi released his prey, eyes going up to the ceiling. “This wasn’t here last time.”

“Pegasus’ inane idea coincided with the opening of the new Enchanted Forest.” Seto adjusted his coat, despite the warmth from the sunlight. He looked the same as he always did, tall and lean and anemic, probably. Telltale bags sunk in his eyes. Joey wondered how much sleep he’d been getting. “Normally I wouldn’t entertain the old man’s fancies, but the marketing seemed worth the effort.”

“Is that all this is?” Joey asked, raising a single eyebrow. “Marketing?”

Seto’s eyes met his for the first time. Older, and more tired, he still had the steady steel gaze he’d always had since he was a child. Joey held it.

“That,” Seto admitted, “and I thought it might be fun.”

A grin stretched across Joey’s face. Seto looked away.

“You’ve already seen your accommodations,” he said. “If you’d like to see the tournament floor, it’s through there. The rest of the park is yours.”

“I guess you don’t have any time to ride rides with us,” Yugi said dejectedly.

“Not at the moment, no.” He took the clipboard his coordinator offered him, eyes narrowing as he went back to work. “Somehow you always manage to entertain yourself.”

“We’ll do that.” Joey scooped Yugi into a hold and noogied him. “We got more than enough yucks between the two of us to bother your skinny ass, eh, Yug?”

Yugi laughed, pushing away from him. “It’s true. Thanks for hosting us, Kaiba.”

Seto only hummed in response. Joey took his friend by the arm and pulled him along the path. It’d been a while since he’d been in a tournament with Kaiba, but he’d never forgotten the surly attitude he wore like spiked armor. Joey wasn’t going to spend all day in an amusement park not having fun. What was the point of that?

“Wheeler,” he heard Seto call behind them, and Joey turned. The same gaze hit him hard enough to make his breath catch. Seto eyed him for a moment, and then shook his head. “Don’t make a mess of my park.”

“No promises,” Joey called back and bounced away.

◈ ◈ ◈ ◈

It was a year ago when it started like this:

Hands and teeth and desperation. Joey didn’t know who made the first move, but it ended in messy sheets and heated air and quickened breath and hearts pounding. Seto told him he was worse than any rollercoaster, that Joey sent him reeling in ways that overwhelmed him. Joey’d worn the compliment with a sense of pride. Kaiba the legend, Kaiba the monument, but it was Seto that clutched his fingers into his skin and begged for more. It was explosive, it was heated, it was–

It was nice. Long nights became morning. Joey no longer felt a need to jump out of bed as soon as they were finished, which was all well in good because it turned out Seto was a cuddler. Mornings became breakfast. Breakfast became dinner dates. There were ups and downs. Joey was overwhelmed too, because Seto cared so much in ways he never could say. Affectionate and thoughtful, of all things. It wasn’t just sex anymore, but they both struggled to make it something else. What could it ever be, really? Seto was a public figure, who traveled for work, especially with the growth in Kaibaland America. The last thing Joey wanted was to be left behind again. They’d come to a forked road with no way back, not really, and neither were the type to let something stagnate. Go forward, brave an untrodden path, commit to something new, or let it all fall apart.

Joey, on his end, hadn’t made up his mind.

Dinner the night before the tournament took place in the Magician’s Mansion, at a long table nestled in a room overflowing with comically large books and holographic creatures flying overhead. Somewhere, an animatronic dragon screech sounded at regular intervals. The usual motley crew sat in a row down the length of the table. Joey sat between Mai and Yugi while Bandit Keith made the usual ass of himself. Pegasus stood and gave a speech that Joey made faces throughout. He glanced at the other end of the table, where Seto was hiding a smile. They were ushered to a viewing spot for the evenings firework display. Underneath the crooked top of the Magician’s Mansion, crowds of parkgoers peered past railings, or sat on their parents’ shoulders, or jumped up and down as the holograms raced across a manmade pond, reflecting bright points of color in all directions. A Dark Magician Girl stood in the center of the pond, waving her staff this way and that like the conductor of an orchestra. In the darkness of the alcove usually reserved for performers, it did feel like a whole different world. While the others laughed and cheered, Joey glanced up at Seto’s face. Reds and blues reflected off his pale skin. His face was the same sullen line it always was, but his fingers curled on the railing as his eyes lit up.

“Hey,” Joey said as the boom of another firework brought an array of bright pinks into the sky. Seto’s eyes turned down. His fingers curled tighter on the railing. “About–”

The crowd gasped together as a dragon joined the fireworks display, weaving between the lights and then flying down at the audience. The performer’s booming voice shouted across the park. The ever faithful Blue Eyes let out a screech and swooped down again. There was even a touch of wind as it flew past. Joey sucked in a breath as he watched the display. It was all so real. That was what Seto had always been good at. He made things into existence that others could only dream about, and he had all the means to do it. He was, in too many literal ways, the man who had everything. What did he need Joey for?

“About tomorrow,” his mouth finished, faster than his brain could function. He smiled up at Seto with uneasy, pained politeness. “Good luck.”

Seto opened his mouth, and then his eyes centered on their small group. The dragon climbed into the sky and roared.

“I won’t need it,” he said, and turned away.

◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ 

It was a beautiful bright day in California. Joey and Yugi shared a lazy breakfast at the hotel, waving at familiar faces and chatting with people who recognized them. Yugi hadn’t dueled in years, but he still carried the undefeated record. Joey’d started picking up sponsorship deals. Mai’d given him a run down of the business, and, well, it made sense. Still felt weird seeing his own face on cereal boxes.

The morning was dedicated to matches billed as old-timers versus newcomers. The familiar faces of old champs like Rex Raptor and Weevil Underwood went toe-to-toe against new champions pulled from the Kaiba dueling academy and Industrial Illusions own ranked picks. They used the upgraded battle stages, which felt like dinosaur technology compared to the duel disks Joey was used to battling with. Yugi was called off to do some interview as the original champion of Duelist Kingdom, and Joey sat on stadium seating high above and out of the way, chewing on popcorn as he watched the strategies of the kids below. That was the real trick of this game. It was always changing, and someone always had a strategy you’d never faced before. Joey’d had to learn to change with it.

“Why,” came a dry voice from behind him, and Joey jumped straight up to see Seto waltzing down the steps, “did I think I’d find you here?”

“‘Cause you’ve got cameras all over this park,” Joey said, mouth full of popcorn. He swallowed it down and wiped his hands on his shirt. “‘Cause you’re a stalker.”

He tilted his head to the side, the only admission he would offer. He stopped at the end of steps, and it was a narrow pathway down the seats to where Joey lounged. Neither made a move closer.

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” Joey said. “I thought you were gonna hit Pegasus with a brick last night.”

“There’s still time,” he mused. He leaned forward on the railing, watching the matches below. “You’ve been oddly quiet this whole time.”

Joey set his popcorn aside, forced to admit his own guilt with a sigh. “I guess… I guess I don’t know what to say to you.”

His brow furrowed. “The answer isn’t yes.”

“It isn’t no either.” Joey closed his eyes, remembering the conversation the night before Seto had left to set up the tournament. Seto held Joey’s face in his hands and asked him point blank: Is there something here worth kindling? Did they have a reason to follow through?

Seto scoffed, his head dipping down so that his dark bangs covered his face. As he stood straight, it was Kaiba that came into view.

“I don’t know why I’m wasting my time on this,” he said in a hard edged tone. “I should’ve known you couldn’t commit.”

“I can’t commit? Me?” Joey jumped to his feet. “You’ve been gone for nearly two months! You spend half your time living on the other side of the world and then get mad when I don’t want to wait around! You can’t keep a dinner date, or a reservation–”

“I have obligations,” he snapped.

“So do I!” Joey shouted. “So does everyone! I take the bus to your place, but you can’t have your driver take you around?”

“Maybe,” Seto snarled, “it would be easier, if you didn’t decide to walk out every time you don’t get your way.”

Joey laughed. “You’re calling me selfish? You’re the one with a theme park with your name on it!”

“You feel a need to break up over every little thing,” Seto said. “If I’m late picking you up, when we can’t decide on a movie, when I pick up the wrong thing for dinner–”

“It wasn’t about dinner!” Joey shouted as he marched forward.

“Then you have to tell me what it is about!” Seto snapped back. “I can’t read your mind, and I never know what’s going to set you off, and I need you to tell me!”

“I need to know you think about me!” Joey said. His hand slid along the railing, the metal growing heated as he charged at his foe. Seto stood straight and tall like a brick wall, ready to bring him to a brutal stop. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you! I want to, god knows I tried, but I missed you! Every second you were gone! And I can’t stay up by my phone hoping I entered your mind long enough for you to call! I can’t let you hurt me like that!”

“Of course I missed you!” Seto shouted. “I’ve been in agony waiting to see you again! But you said you needed space. You said you wanted to figure things out. You can’t tell me one thing and mean something different entirely. It’s utterly infuriating!”

“Well I’m sorry!” Joey sucked in a breath, shoulders squeezing together, and then he let it go all at once. This wasn’t how he planned things to go when he got Seto alone. He hadn’t planned anything. Maybe that was part of his problem. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I wanted. I thought distance would make things clear, but instead…”

He trailed off, scraping his bottom lip. Seto released his own breath he was holding. His features softened in a way Joey was getting used to seeing.

“I want you,” Joey said, with an earnestness that made him wince. “I know that. But I can’t–I can’t take it anymore. Wondering. Knowing I’m not good enough for you. Waiting for you to cut me off. I’d rather have nothing than have that.”

“Joey,” Seto said, and his hand cupped his cheek, guiding his face up. This was how the whole thing started, Joey remembered. An argument. A touch in the right place. It’d taken this long to grow this tender. “I’m not–”

Horns sounded from the arena, and the two pulled apart. Seto’s eyes drew up, and Joey saw the white security camera clearly placed. Right. Even alone, they were in public. He’d almost let himself forget. Seto’s back straightened as the PA announced the Duelist Kingdom champions tournament. They both had places to be.

“Don’t sweat it,” Joey said, brushing off the pain like he had so many times before. “I know how important this place is to you. I just never liked being second best.”

“You’re not,” Seto said. “Not to me.”

Joey let out a dry laugh. “You better check the tapes on that one.”

“I mean it,” he said. “I’m–”

His jacket pocket started buzzing, and he groaned low as he dug in to find his phone. Joey shook his head.

“I’ll see you on the battlefield,” he said and waved off any protests as he trotted up the stairs. No, Joey Wheeler didn’t stick around, not when he wasn’t wanted. Seto could say all the words he wanted, but Joey knew how he acted when trying to get something out of his reach. If he wanted Joey, he’d have him, and the whole world would know.

◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ 

When Yugi lost, the crowd went wild.

Things had played out pretty much as Joey remembered it. No one had expected much out of Bandit Keith, and he was soundly dealt with. Joey’s battle with Mai had been close, and she’d nearly tipped his life points over the edge when she wiped his field of monsters, but a well placed ritual summon brought him back on top. Seto replaced Pegasus as the final match, and so he waited on the sidelines as Pegasus commented on the Battle of Brothers. Yugi versus Joey. Yugi’s usual duck and weave routine kept things interesting, but they hit the turning point when Joey used Enemy Controller to bring his Summoned Skull to his side of the field, and a fusion card turned him into Black Skull Dragon. It’d kept him on the ropes long enough for Joey to play Time Wizard. It’d destroyed his last monster and given Joey a clear field to destroy his life points.

As the crowd screamed, Joey glanced at where Seto sat with a wide-eyed stare. Everyone had expected the final bout to be between Yugi and Seto, a return to rivals old school fans dreamed about. As the platforms descended back down to the stage floor, Yugi and Joey had gone in for the traditional handshake. Joey had scooped him up instead in a big hug. That was best buddy after all.

Then it was Seto’s turn.

There was no catchy slogan for this match up, no big rematch to sell. As far as the world was concerned, Joey had been some newcomer nobody grabbing onto Kaiba’s coattails. There were more serious matches to care about. Even their so-called “Battle for the Bronze” in Battle City had technically been outside the tournament proper. There’d never been a reason for the two to face off. It was unclear, then, if the audience caught the tension as the two climbed up to their roosts. The life points clicked into place. The duel began.

It was clear from the jump Seto had set up his strategy to counter Yugi’s usual play style. It was a head on barrage expected from his beatdown deck. Even in the quiet of Joey’s apartment, when they lazily laid down cards sitting on the floor across from each other, Seto battled with his usual intensity. Joey’d struck blows but usually fell short of actually beating him. Winning hadn’t mattered in those moments. Now it felt like the only thing that did.

“You’re so predictable,” Joey said as he summoned two of his Blue Eyes in one move. The duelists wore mics, making his offhand comment rebound across the glass walls. Trash talk was a staple of duels. No reason to leave the crowd wanting.

“And you don’t know when to stop,” Seto fired back. “You’ve never backed down from a fight before. You should learn to lose with dignity.”

“Alright,” Joey said, activating his trap card as the Blue Eyes fired at his Flame Swordsman. Evenly Matched wiped the field. As the Blue Eyes shattered into digital dust, he grinned at Seto from across the playing field. “Show me how.”

Backed into a corner was when Kaiba was at his most dangerous, and this duel was no different. They went round for round, monster for monster. Battling him had always felt like hitting a wall, a feeling Joey’d never gotten past, but this time it was different. Fight for fight, they bashed head on, their tactics weaving around each other. Seto tried to keep his most powerful cards on the field, but Joey kept every trick up his sleeve. And the banter never stopped. Back and forth like a volleying shuttle, and little by little it unwound. The frustrated edge in Seto’s voice faded away. Joey answered his calls with laughter and an ace of his own. Their life points chipped away. Joey felt it as he drew the card he’d been hoping for. He could’ve placed it blind. He nearly kissed it.

When he played Roulette Spider, Seto groaned, dropping his head in his hands as the animated creature appeared on the playing field. Only Saggi the Dark Clown stood between Joey and victory.

“If I lose because of Roulette Spider,” Seto said, “I’m going to kill you.”

Joey grinned wide and shouted, “Roulette Spider, go!”

The spider spun, same as it always had. Its arrow whirled around the arena, flashing past faces, past life points, whirling faster and faster.

And then it landed on Seto’s life points. The whole arena sucked in a breath as the life point counter ticked down, hitting zero.

“Holy shit,” Joey said.

The roar was deafening. Cheers from the front row where Yugi and Mai sat. Pegasus’ idiot voice still rambling. The podium couldn’t drop quick enough. Joey nearly fell off trying to get down. He couldn’t wait to see Seto’s face up close, couldn’t wait to rub it in his idiot face. No way he was living this one down. No way he was getting rid of him either. He wanted Joey to commit, then fine. He was committed to reminding him of this defeat every day of the rest of his life.

Lightbulbs flashed as Seto approached. His defeats were rarely public, but there was no denying this one. Seto’s whole face was furrowed as he strode purposefully towards the center to meet him. Oh god, he was gonna deck him. Joey almost wanted him to. Nothing excited him more than breaking that ice cold exterior. He wanted to take an ice pick to it with all his might, and for the first time he might’ve really done. Joey laughed, extending out a hand, and then shouted when Seto grabbed his arm and dragged him forward. Well, he said he’d kill him. This was honestly how he’d expected to go.

“I told you,” Seto growled as he pulled Joey close. “You aren’t second best.”

And then, to thundering cheers and with every flash going off at once, Seto kissed him. Right on the mouth. With the whole world watching.

Everything was white noise, the entire park their audience. Joey was laughing, tears dotting the corner of his eyes. Seto was smiling. There’d be interviews to follow, and an exhaustive round of questions where they were suddenly forced to define their relationship when Joey couldn’t say the word boyfriend without stuttering a week ago. Now they were on the record. Still, somehow, with Seto’s arms still around him, their faces still close, and everything else faded from view, this felt like the most intimate moment they’d shared together.

“You’re so stupid,” Joey said, and he kissed him again.

◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ 

Everything followed as expected. Hearty congratulations from their friends, siblings blowing up their phones, calls from agents and PR managers and marketing. Interviews, photos, partying.

Finally, it was just them.

The hotel room was dim, and the distant lights of the park cast blue shadows across the darkened floor. Exhaustion made them lazy. They kissed and touched and sighed, and then they held each other as the clock ticked closer towards midnight. Seto with his face buried in Joey’s hair, breathing slow, deep breaths. Joey closed his eyes as he listened to his heartbeat. Calm and steady. Everything felt alright.

Joey was drifting off to sleep when he felt Seto take in a sharp breath. The hamster in his head must’ve been whirring, he knew, but he let Seto take his time to say what he was thinking.

“Do you remember,” he murmured, “when you challenged me for the first time?”

Joey huffed out a laugh. “Don’t remind me. I didn’t have anything in my deck that could touch you.”

“You did,” he said. “Touch me.”

Joey lifted his head to look up at him. Light cut the edges of his cheekbones, the highlights of his eyes. It’d been years and years and years since Joey had tossed himself into the jaw of the lion. At the time, he hadn’t understood the full weight of what Seto was fighting for. Seto hadn’t understood how deeply those words managed to cut. It was an incident, a drop in their history, and the foundation of the mountain they’d had to climb.

“You’re stupid and brash and wreckless,” Seto said. “None of that’s changed. You never let your fear get to you.”

Joey laughed. “Is this your love confession?”

“Yes,” Seto said, too sincerely. He pressed his forehead to his. “I don’t know how long I’ve loved you. It feels like always.”

Joey looked at him. No quarter was given. Wrapped around each other, there was nowhere to go, no place to run, only the truth, as roughly hewn as it was. The words sat uneven and too sweet in Joey’s mouth. He’d always been a coward, that was true, but Seto was right. He’d never let it stop him before.

“I love you too,” he said, and kissed him.

And outside, the fireworks started.

[mrs-dr-reid]

Extra

(A Criminal Minds Fic)

Summary: Luke goes all out for when Reader comes over to his apartment for the first time, and she’s a tad overwhelmed by it.

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Maybe anxiety(?), but otherwise pretty fluffy, my doods.

Word Count: 1230

A/N: My very first Luke fic!!!! I’m surprised I haven’t gotten to him sooner, because I love him so much 🤷‍♀️. Hope you enjoy!

———————————————————————

Luke guessed he could’ve communicated his plans for the evening a little better (or literally at all) before Y/N got to his place. Luke and Y/N had been dating for a few weeks now, but she had never been to his apartment. Luke had crashed at her place plenty of times after they got back from a case because she lived closer to Quantico than he did, but they had never had a real reason for her to go to Luke’s place when they were just friends, let alone once they started dating. Luke decided that needed to change, and one day he plunked down on Y/N’s desk out of the blue, startling her from her paperwork frenzy and making her favorite pen fly over the desk divider and land in Matt’s lap.

He handed it back to her with an amused look on his face, and she looked back at Luke after thanking Matt quietly to see that he had a slightly nervous look on his face. She raised an eyebrow in concern and said, “Is everything okay, Luke?”, while putting a comforting hand on his knee, so he grabbed her hand with a smile at how caring she is and said, “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine, Y/N/N. I was just wondering if you’d want to come over to my place sometime. Given that we don’t have to go on a case,” which made Y/N’s eyebrows fly up to her hairline in surprise.

Luke said, “It’s just… I’ve been to your apartment like a hundred times, and since we started dating, there’s never been an opportunity for you to come over. You can totally say no, I just thought I’d ask, and Roxy’s been missing you a bunch, so…,” but Y/N cut him off and said, “Luke, I’d love to come over to your apartment. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask, that’s all,” which made Luke relax slightly. Y/N stood up from her chair, then said, “Sometime in the next week or two?”, so Luke said, “Can’t wait,” which made her smile before pressing a quick but tender kiss to his lips and bringing the small stack of manilla folders that was on her desk up the ramp to Emily’s office, Luke watching her go with a dorky smile on his face.

After a week of case-less smooth sailing, the team got called out to Utah for 5 days for a serial arsonist in Salt Lake. Since they were all so good at their jobs and Garcia was a wiz with her keyboard, the arsonist was caught, and they were soon back on the jet to head back home. Y/N collapsed into her usual spot with an exaggerated groan, and Luke plopped down right next to her with an equally exaggerated sigh, making her smile and snuggle against his side. He said, “Wanna go over to my place when we get back?”, so she said, “Sure! I just wanna go back to my place and shower first, then I’ll come right over. Sound good?”, making him grin and say, “Sounds perfect. I’ll text you my address,” before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

After everyone had dispersed in the parking lot to head home, Luke was the first person to pull out of the lot with an exhilaration he hadn’t felt since he asked Y/N out for the first time, because he knew he had to make this perfect for her. Roxy was right at the door when Luke opened it, and he bent down to give her scratches while saying, “Y/N’s gonna come see us, girl! Are you excited?”, which made Roxy’s tail start wagging while she let out a short bark, because if there’s one person she loved as much as she loved Luke, it was Y/N. Luke said, “I’ll take that as a yes,” then started getting everything ready.

Just as he finished setting everything up, he got a text from Y/N saying she just pulled into a parking spot, so he sent her a message saying he’d buzz her up in a second, then made a mad sprint for the bathroom to make sure his hair wasn’t rebelling against him. He steeled himself in the mirror, then went over to his buzzer when he heard it go off. He pressed the button and said, “Come on up!”, and Roxy was sitting nearby with her head cocked. Luke shot her a playful glare, then said, “Don’t give me that look,” just as there was a knock on his door.

Luke opened the door, and there was Y/N, in a purple long sleeve shirt, dark blue jeans, her favorite pair of Converse sneakers, and her (H/C) hair pulled into a low ponytail with her signature gleaming smile on her face. Luke said, “Hi,” then pulled her into a tender kiss by her waist, making her let out a little giggle against his mouth and cup his face in her soft hands. When he pulled his lips away, Y/N said, “Well, hi to you, too,” which made Luke chuckle slightly. Roxy trotted over to them, and Y/N instantly knelt down to give her all of the pets and scratches while cooing at her in baby talk, making Luke’s heart swell with love.

Once Y/N was done showering Roxy in affection, she stood up and said, “So, what do you have planned for us this evening, Mr. Alvez?”, so he smirked and said, “You’ll see, Ms. L/N,” before leading her to the dining room, where the lights were turned down, there were candles on the table, and there was a bottle of wine that Y/N knew couldn’t have been cheap. Y/N froze, and Luke thought it was in delight at first, but then he saw her face and realized that it was in shock and slight anxiety.

Luke was instantly on the defence, and he said, “Is something wrong?”, so she said, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but I thought we were just gonna order pizza and watch Netflix. I would have dressed up a little more if I knew that this was what you were planning,” before letting out a nervous laugh. Luke instantly softened, then said, “I’m sorry. I should have given you at least some kind of warning. I know you hate having things like this sprung on you when you’re on prepared. I just wanted tonight to be special,” before hugging her from behind and kissing her cheek. She smiled gratefully, then looked over her shoulder at him and said, “It is really sweet of you to cook for me, though.”

He said, “In all honesty, it’s a frozen lasagna I picked up on my way home. I didn’t have enough time to make you something from scratch,” so she turned around in his arms and said, “It’s still very sweet. I appreciate it even though you caught me off guard with it a little. Next time, I’d appreciate a heads-up,” which made him nod and say, “Yes, ma’am,” before chuckling and kissing her gently. They sat down at the table, and they toasted to many more nights spent at Luke’s apartment and to always give a hint or two when planning a surprise night in or outing.

———————————————————————

This was for @homoose’s writing challenge.

CM Taglist: @hotchsbabygirl, @hurricanejjareau, @xgoldentigerlilyx, @therestisconfettis, @less-intelligent-spencerreid, @aryaarathornson, @thomasgibsonfan01, @boketto2-0

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added

[theimpossiblescheme]

32 with jerrie

“What’s going on upstairs?” Jemima’s little voice was just audible above the noise from upstairs.  The muffled banging and shuffling, the squeaking of chair legs, the dull thunk of something heavy hitting the floor… however Macavity’s latest midnight conference was going, they’d all be getting another earful later.

Mungojerrie shrugged, pulling a face as he wrapped an arm closer around her shoulder.  “Just boring grownup stuff.  You wouldn’t be interested.”

“Do they have to be so loud, though?”  Something—or someone—else noisily collided with something heavy, and Jemima’s ears flattened against her head as she pressed closer to Jerrie.

Macavity had raised his voice to a roar, and Jerrie decided that was quite enough of that.  Fishing for the hook on the crate, he eased the lid closed over them and flattened himself against the blankets.  A shivering Jemima slowly backed away from the slats in the wall until she was crouched between his front paws.

“Will you sing something for me?”

Jerrie blinked down at her. “Huh?”

“Mama always sings something for me when… when I get scared.”  She leaned her cheek against his paw and turned those wide, twinkly brown eyes at him.  “Will you?  Please?”

For a second, every song Jerrie had ever heard in his life flew out of his brain, and he was left with his mouth dumbly hanging open, halfway between thoughts.  It had been so long since anyone had sang for him… he barely remembered any of the songs his mothers knew.  All of Jeny’s favorites were human nursery rhymes, and Jelly’s were in German or Italian (at least he thought they were?  Had it really been that long?).  But he could remember general tunes, at least.  Something he could probably plunk out on a keyboard or something given the chance.

“… I can hum something. Would that count?”

Jemima nodded, nuzzling his paw.

“Okay.”  Wracking his brain for the old aria Jelly used to sing at bedtimes, Jerrie haltingly hummed his way through it, tripping over some notes before correcting himself and straining to reach some of the higher ones. It was a complicated tune, but a sweet one, and it seemed to do the trick for Jemima, who’d stopped shivering so much and let her eyes drift shut.  When he came to a verse he just couldn’t remember, he started switching to other songs—first another aria with a certain refrain that repeated often enough for him to have an easier time humming it, then a little rhyme he could actually manage every third lyric of.  He felt a bit silly cycling through songs he hardly knew, and there was a little bit of shame there, too.  Macavity had kept him away so long, he could only just recall his own mothers’ lullabies… what kind of horrible son was he?  How could he be so stupid?  Maybe if they could get away with it, Jerrie could drop outside Jeny’s house, listen at the window for a while until they came back to him.  He’d never be able to go inside—one of Macavity’s enforcers might actually hunt him down if he stayed away too long, and he couldn’t leave Teazer by herself—but it was worth a try…

He was on his seventh (or maybe eighth) song before crate’s lid opened again.  On instinct, Jerrie pulled Jemima closer to him, only to relax when he saw Demeter’s face.  She looked harrowed and exhausted, and the gash across her nose had reopened, but she’d gotten away in one piece.  “Where’s—?”

She barely got through the word before Jemima’s eyes snapped open and she scrambled to her feet and launched herself forward with a cry of “Mama!”  Instantly catching her daughter against her shoulder, Demeter sat back on her haunches for a long moment, holding her close and nuzzling her ears and the top of her head. When she finally looked back up at Jerrie, she didn’t quite have the strength to smile, but her eyes were warm and glowing.

“Uncle Jerrie stayed with me, Mama,” Jemima said, voice still soft against her mother’s fur.  “He hummed songs for me so I wouldn’t be scared.”

Jerrie only gave another shrug, unable to keep from smiling himself.  “Least I could do.  At least until everybody came back.”

Demeter nodded faintly before her head bowed sideways to rest her cheek against Jemima’s.  Even without saying “thank you”, the sentiment was still expressed loud and clear.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What if Andy was obsessed with a coworker and overheard her talking about a date she’s going on after work

Cooler Talk

Warning: obsession, unwanted touching.

“So, you finally found your human side,” Canavan remarked as the cream clouded around the swirl of your spoon and melded into the dark brew. “Tell me about him.”

“He like baseball, um, he’s a counsellor, and he has the worst profile picture I’ve ever seen on a dating profile,” you chuckled, “But he talked me into it. Any one smooth enough to argue a lawyer into a night out... figure it might be worth it.”

“Not just any lawyer.” Canavan takes the pot and empties it into the same metal travel mug she’s carried around for years. The one she plunks on your desk when she’s about to have an important chat with you. A coffee-filled gavel that brings order quicker than any judge. “Where are you going?”

“Well, I managed to angle him away from a baseball stadium but he settled on the convention they’re having tonight at the arena. The one where all the washed up batters sign cards hidden for years in sock drawers.”

“That sounds like more than a compromise to me.” Canavan said. “Do you know anything about baseball?”

“I know he’s going to buy me as many drinks as I need to get through this thing... and if they’re not serving, he’s buying me the biggest bottle of top shelf cabernet we can find.” You turned and leaned on the counter as you brought your mug to your lips. 

“If you think of flaking, tell him my night’s free,” Andy smirked as tucked his hands in his pockets. You hadn’t even heard him enter. He glanced at the empty pot and sighed. “It’s always you two and no coffee.”

“Strike while the iron, or rather, pot, is hot, eh, Barber,” Canavan checked the clock on the wall and grabbed her big metal cup. “You tell me about the date on Monday... and pray I make it through this hearing.”

You shook your head and sat at one of the round tables in the break room. Andy brushed by your chair and went about loading the machine. Just outside, the sound of fingertips on keyboards, the metallic swivel of chairs, and the chatter of your co-workers filled the office.

You looked over at Andy between scrolling through your e-mails on your phone. He tapped his fingers on the counter as he waited. He turned suddenly, as if sensing your divided attention.

“So, is it excitement or anxiety?” He crossed his arms.

“Bit of both.” You shrugged.

“And you think you can get past this guys baseball obsession for more than one date?”

“What is it Andy? You jealous I bagged a good guy? I mean, he is more your type, isn’t he?”

“Sounds like actually,” he scoffed and turned to grab his faded Red Sox mug from the cupboard and filled it to the brim. “If it works out,” he turned back and neared the table. “Maybe you can bring him to me and Laurie’s next barbeque.”

“Maybe,” you smiled, “You know the date thing was always an excuse. I just hate those suburban moms and their judgy eyes.”

“Judgy eyes...” he mused as he sat, “I think I know what you mean.”

You laughed and the room went silent as you sipped. You had a few case files to get through before the end of your day, then the drive home, a frantic search through your closet for an outfit, the struggle to do your make-up without looking overdone...

You looked up as you felt a warmth in your face. Andy was watching you, the same way he did a perp in the interrogation room. His brows were lowered and the wrinkle in his forehead was deep.

“What?” You asked dumbly as you set down your cup.

“Just... thinking,” he exhaled, “You know, it’s been years since I went on a first date. Obviously. And it was so long ago.”

“You’re not crazy enough to miss it, are you?”

“Dating? No. Just that feeling. Of something new, someone new. The thrill of finding out more, of waiting for more. The possibility of what could happen. That maybe that person is that one person who fills in all the holes in your life.” He said.

“Wow, Laurie’s a lucky girl to have a guy as sappy as you,” you grinned.

He was quiet again. He looked down at his black coffee. His cheek twitched derisively.

“This guy, whoever he is, he’s the lucky one,” Andy said quietly and lifted his gaze to you. “If I’d known you had the stomach for baseball... if Laurie and I...”

You frowned, confused. He stared at you and grazed his beard with his fingertips.

“I always missed you at our barbeques. I just end up thinking about you the whole time, pretending she’s you as she makes her rounds with the guests. It’s easier in the dark, when it’s me and her to close my eyes and think of your skin instead of hers. To hear your voice in my ear...”

“Andy--” you hit your mug with your arm and the coffee spilled down your front as you stood. “Shit!” You stomped over to the sink and pumped out the paper towel. “You can’t--” you turned back as he stood, “You can’t talk like that. What are you even--”

“How else am I supposed to feel. I spend most of my day here. You’re here. Then I go home and she’s not there. She’s working, drinks with a friend, shopping, taking Jacob to one thing or another.” 

He neared as you tried to dry your front. Your blouse clung to your skin, brown and transparent. He reached past you and ripped away some more paper towel. He pushed aside your hand as he tugged the tails of your shirt loose. You tried to shove him away and he grabbed your hips and forced you back against the counter.

“You get me through the day,” he said as he dabbed at your stomach, “I know it’s just dreams but they help. And when you’re really there, smiling at me, all my problems just go away.” His hand slipped down to the front of your skirt. “But when this man disappoints you like all the others, I’ll still be here...” He pressed his hand to your vee and you winced. “And maybe you’ll realise that I can do for you everything they can’t.”

[leam1983]

Compensation Logic

So Mom's found something on Netflix that speaks to all of her guilty pleasures. She's currently sitting my father through A Castle for Christmas, where Brooke Shields' Sophie leaves America for the rugged crests of Scotland, with intent to seek inspiration in the local history and lore. She's a writer, you see, one of those Movie-Land Writers where actually sitting down and plunking away at a keyboard matters a lot less than piling unread books on an Antebellum desk, nursing a perky little cup of Espresso and going over your divorce on FaceTime using your 2000$ MacBook Air.

Dad and I have been playing a no-drinks involved drinking game of sorts, using text messages. Every time we see or hear something stereotypical, we text each other.

There's about 45 minutes left and we've got thirty-six exchanged messages on the subject.

Of course, Sophie's a recent divorcée. Of course, Castle Dun Dunbar's owner is a surly, premature coot (played by Cary Elwes) who's still grieving the loss of his previous wife. Of course, they've got a sheepdog. Of course, there's a single, extremely tokenistic Black woman in the castle's employees. Of course, Sophie manages to lead the locals into a rousing chant of Scotland's Hotel California expy and potentially the only Scots trad hymn an American - or Canadian like myself - might know, which is the Banks of Loch Lomond.

Of course, they get antagonistic, patch things up, fuck 'em up again, repatch and then manage to save Christmas. Of course, the American gets the more trad-focused Scots in the locals to bend the knee to a few rounds of Jingle Bells.

At this point, Netflix might just as well stop pretending and give Kirk Cameron a blank cheque to act all passive-aggressive about Western customs in front of a roaring fireplace. It'd have about the same effect. Who needs Hallmark, we've got a Netflix sub!

If I had to play Devil's Advocate, however, as someone who's studied in Marketing, I know exactly what's being sold here, and my mother bought into it hook, line and sinker. She doesn't care about the predictability of the affair, she cares about the comfort it brings. Why else do people read Nora Roberts books, if not for comfort?

A Castle for Christmas is that warm, threadbare, worn-out wool blanket you can't take anywhere for fear of eliciting gasps out of polite moviegoing society, but that obviously feels pretty freaking comfy nonetheless. In that respect, I can't shit on it too hard.

What, are you suggesting the Home Alone movies employ a similar framework aimed at a different market base? The audacity! Excuse me while I drop a dozen monocles!

Okay, yeah, it's pretty much the same thing. Comfort is as comfort does. I'll just go and watch the Avengers flicks while ignoring my own bias.

[homebody-nobody]

you’re a part of me

(WHAT?? Jax wrote ANOTHER fic?? THREE FICS?? in TWO WEEKS?? I know, I’m shocked too. We’re gettin closer and closer to bein a Real Fic Writer lads.) How many juke first kiss fics will you write, Jax? all of them. as many as I want. I dunno. you're an adult obsessed with a tweeny-bopper show. shut up. who even has the patience for 5 +1s in this house it's 3 +1 and only barely bc I don't know how structured fic works so it's not even separate like it's supposed to be. anyway enjoy some dumb teenagers falling in love if the dialogue is cringe sorry lol I was trying to stay in the tone of the show and may have gone a little bit too disney channel (Also if you see typos/the same adjective used twice in one sentence/paragraph, no you didn't I don't edit it makes me nervous)  ------------------------------- (ao3) ------------------------------ '... Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity. Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable.'

(3 times Julie and Luke almost kissed and 1 time they did) ------------------------------------ Luke is overly physical. Theoretically, Julie already knew this. She’s seen him with the boys, the way he lives in other people’s space, hanging off Reggie and lurking next to Alex, not caring where his lanky limbs or knees or elbows end up, even if it’s in other people’s ribs. He was never like that with her, too afraid of the crushing disappointment that came when she phased through his hands. But now, there isn’t the strange, tingles-up-her neck way-weird, way-wrong sensation that came when she accidentally brushed through him. So even though Julie’s used to keeping a respectful distance, Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity.  Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable. 

She notices it the first time during rehearsal, when they’re hashing out the particulars of a melody -- Luke wants it to go down, and Julie thinks it should go up. She plunks herself down at the grand piano to prove that her idea will sound better, fanning the half-finished sheet music out across the top, pointing out the measure they’re arguing over, smudged and crinkled from repeated erasings. 

Luke narrows his eyes at her from across the room, his face set in his trademark (adorable) grumpy expression. “It just sounds better!” she argues. “Listen.” She puts her hands on the keys, left hand hitting the chord, right dancing over her proposed melody. “So please, keep chasing me…” she sings, building to the last word and sliding her voice over an intricate run ending in a step up. Looking up, she tilts her head, her wild hair piled into a tenuous bun, curly tendrils framing her face. Luke’s stomach does an interesting flip. “See?” 

He stands up, swinging his guitar strap down across his chest before walking around her, putting his right hand over where hers had just been on the paper. He stands just behind her shoulder, sending goosebumps down her spine. “It should go down,” he insists. “It’ll flow better with the next line and then the break before the chorus makes more sense. Listen.” He puts his foot up on the bench and swings his guitar back up like it's an extension of him, playing a riff and singing the line they’re arguing about before dipping in to the next. “So please keep chasing me,” he sings, his voice gracefully stepping up and then back down, “Cause even though I’m runnin’, I know you’re the one I need.” 

“You’re making it too simple!” she cries, slamming her hands down in her lap and turning to face him. She opens her mouth to continue the argument, but when she looks at him, she starts, finally realizing just how close he is. The toe of his sneaker brushes her leg, and he leans over the sheet music, closing her in against the piano. His dark eyebrows pull together, mouth slightly pinched as he concentrates, solid and strong and very much in her space. “Um --” she says. 

He shrugs, shaking his head a little bit. “What,” he says, not understanding what she’s having a problem with. Julie’s eyes drop to his mouth, close and stupid kissable, and he notices the motion. The air crackles as both of them unconsciously draw closer, song forgotten, focused only on each other. Luke leans in, half an inch, and Julie’s breath hitches in her chest. This is stupid. She knows this is stupid. Luke is dead. Full ghost. Not real. Well, real, but not a viable option. He might have a physical presence now -- a very strong, very warm, very attractive physical presence -- but that doesn’t make him any more possible. And yet, here she is, pulled into him like he has his own gravitational field and she’s helpless to it. Luke licks his lips, and Julie tilts her chin up, fractional motion tiptoeing toward something irreversible and dangerous. 

Just as she’s about to step over that uncrossable line, there’s an almighty crash. Both of their heads whip up in time to see Alex topple off his stool -- he’d fallen asleep as they were arguing. The noise wakes Reggie, whose head was lolling against his amp. “I didn’t do it!” he yells, flailing into sitting up straight. 

Julie clears her throat and turns back to the keyboard, stretching her hands over the keys. “You’re, uh --” she says, glancing at Luke out of the corner of her eye to find him smirking in an infuriatingly adorable manner. “You’re right. It should go down.” He stands up straight, mildly surprised at his easy victory, and backs off from the piano to show Reggie the chords. They sketch out the verse and Alex adds a backing beat, the moment forgotten. 

That is, until Carlos comes in to nag her to eat. Alex poofs out and Reggie dives behind his amp. Since the whole discovering-corporeality thing, they’re not totally sure if Julie’s the only one who can see them still, and they’d rather not have to explain to Julie’s dad what three teenage ‘holograms’ are doing living in his garage. Carlos delivers his message and then darts back inside, eager for dinner, and Julie stands up from the piano, gathering the half-finished song and tucking it into the folder she keeps her in-progress projects in. 

Reggie emerges in a comic mess of limbs and grins at her, Alex poofing back on to his stool. “I’ll be back after dinner to finish this,” she says, hoping they don't notice the shake in her hands as she tucks the folder away. Luke pops his chin over the edge of the couch, behind which he’d taken cover. 

“Hey Julie!” he calls, and she turns back to look at him. “Just remember; KISS.” 

Her brain short-circuits, heart tripping over itself as she remembers his eyes on her, his shoulders and his hands and his stupid concentration face. “I, uh -- What are you --” she sputters.

A shit-eating grin spreads across Luke’s face as he puts his elbows on top of the couch and pushes himself up. “Keep it simple, stupid.” 

Julie practically runs out of the garage. Alex raises an eyebrow, his gaze arcing from the door to land on Luke. “That was uh…” Luke schools his expression into one of false innocence. “Bold.” Luke rolls his eyes and brushes him off, but Reggie gives Alex a knowing look. Their friends are idiots. 

It happens again one afternoon when Carlos has a baseball game and Julie has the house to herself. Or, so she thinks. She’s lazing around on the couch, avoiding her history homework spread out on the coffee table, Adventure Time babbling on the television. She’s slowly working her way through a bag of gummy bears and m&ms (her favorite candy combination),  wearing an enormous hoodie that used to be her mom’s, home alone; life is fantastic. Until -- 

“Oh, sweet, cartoons!” Luke poofs into existence directly next to her on the couch, and she starts violently enough to shake candy into the couch cushions. Some of it lands on his chest, and he holds up a green gummy bear with a wistful expression. Julie just stares at him, still mildly in shock, definitely still annoyed, and really not in the mood to endure his moping about food when she was having a perfectly nice time by herself. 

“Hey,” he says, either ignoring or unaware of what he’s just done to her heart rate and her peaceful afternoon. “You think now that I’m corporeal --” (he over-pronounces the word, having just learned it from Flynn days before) “I can eat like, regular human food?” It isn’t until he looks to her for an answer that he realizes what he’s just done. “Oh, sorry,” he says, that same stupid-ass grin settling on his face, not sorry even a little bit. “Did I spook ya?” 

His glee at the pun, which he definitely stole from Reggie, sparkles in his gray-green eyes, and Julie’s heart, which had just started to recover from his sudden appearance, trips over itself one more time. Emerging from the shaken-up snowglobe of her brain, she blurts out her first thought. “You’re the worst,” she says, even while thinking the opposite. 

He looks genuinely hurt for about half a second before turning the gummy bear towards her, too, and speaking for it. “You should be nice to Luke,” he says in an absurd voice. “He’s so handsome and talented!” He laughs at his own joke and pitches his voice up to continue with the bit, but she snatches the candy out of his hand and pops into her mouth, grinning. He feigns shock. “That bear could have had a family, Julie.” 

“If they did, they’ll all be happy together in my stomach,” she says, eating another one to punctuate the statement. Luke laughs, and the sound has a heart-stopping melody of its own. It’s comfortable, the relationship that they’ve developed with each other. He always laughs at her jokes and is the first to offer her a compliment after rehearsal, and she loves his dorky sense of humor, even when she gives him a hard time about it. They write music and goof around, and even with the (very strong) undercurrent of romantic (she hopes) tension between them, a friendship sits comfortably on top. He’s only been in her life for a short time,  but she can’t imagine it without him. Her feelings for him endanger that, so she does her best not to let it show. He asks her what she’s watching, and she explains the basic premise of the episode so that he can understand what’s going on. 

She’s hyper-aware of him as they watch the show, and  she envies the ease with which he occupies her space, his shoulder brushing hers, their knees occasionally bumping. He slouches all the way down on the couch, one foot kicked up on the table, turning the remote in his hands and messing with the battery cover, completely at home. (He’s always fiddling with something -- a pen, his necklace -- or bouncing his leg, or clicking a guitar pick between his teeth. It’s a habit that’s mostly adorable and only sometimes annoying.) If he notices her staring at him, he doesn’t say anything. 

It takes a couple more episodes, but she finally relaxes, and the distance between them -- already spare -- vanishes, her shoulder tucked under his, her head angled toward him, their feet bumping on the table. Half her attention is on Finn and the land of Ooo, and half on the boy beside her, who doesn’t seem to give any indication that he’s thinking about this as much as she is. Luke has a way of pulling her in until she’s closer than she ever planned to be, like she can’t help but touch him. Ever since the night they played the Orpheum, he’s become magnetic, his presence a force she can’t resist. If she tilted her head down, just a fraction, it would be resting on his shoulder. What would he do? Would he shrug her off, or rest his head on hers? She watches his hands play with the remote, imagining what his strong, slender fingers would feel like laced with hers. She’s had crushes before, of course -- she liked Nick all the way from seventh grade up to this year -- but nothing so real and powerful as this. 

“Don’t you think Finn sounds just like Reggie?” Luke asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks up at him, and he looks down at her, and -- oh. 

He’s very close. 

His eyes always remind her of an overcast sky, swirling with unknown depth, and they widen when they meet hers, filled with awe. Blood rushes in her ears, muting the TV, tuning out anything that isn’t him. Her heart is beating so hard and so fast she wonders peripherally if he can hear it, and then that thought fizzles out with the rest of any kind of logic when his gaze drops to her mouth. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her!! Panic and elation and anticipation all scramble in her chest. She’s never kissed anyone before, and even though she’s never asked, she knows he probably has. What if she’s bad at it? She’s half freaking out and half telling herself to shut the hell up as he turns his entire body towards her, his hand reaching up to hold her face and -- 

The front door slams open, announcing Carlos and Ray. “Mija!!” her dad calls. Luke jerks back from her like he’s been burned, eyes filled with absolute terror, before he disappears. 

“JULIEEEEE!!” Carlos hollers, launching himself across the living room at her and landing on her stomach, knocking the air out of her. Her arms come up around him automatically, despite all the sweat and the diamond dirt sticking to it. Feeling mildly shell shocked and like she’s been hit by a hell of a lot more than her little brother, she barely listens as Carlos and their dad babble over each other in an attempt at telling the story of Carlos’ game-winning home-base slide. She’ll be happy for him once her heart rate slows down. 

Luke stays away for almost a full twenty-four hours after that particular mishap, long enough she almost asks Reggie and Alex if he talked to them about it. There’s about a thousand reasons not to, but mostly, she doesn’t know if she can even explain just what happened. She does tell Flynn, who launches into a very confusing monologue that starts with her admonishing Julie for thinking anything good can come from involving herself with a literal ghost and ends with her gushing about how many cute love songs they could write together, zero percent of which makes her feel better. 

The only reason he doesn’t continue avoiding her is rehearsal, which, of course, he would never miss. She’s hoping to talk to him before they get started, but then the bus gets stuck in traffic and all of her boys are already set up with their instruments and having an impromptu jam session by the time she gets home.  “What --” she hisses as she heaves the doors shut behind her. “Did I tell you guys about playing in here without me?” Alex shrugs and apologizes, and she can’t really be mad at Reggie, at least not for long. 

But Luke -- he barely looks at her, nervous fingers dancing across a complicated riff even as the other boys stop playing. It takes a second of silence before he looks up to see the rest of his band staring at him. “Oh,” he says, the phrase ending in the discordant sound of fingernails on steel strings. “Yeah, right. Sorry.” 

They get started, but nothing sounds right. Luke rushes the tempo and refuses to make eye contact with anyone, spinning off into fancy riffs that have no place in the song they’re working on. Reggie keeps trying to keep up with him, tripping up Alex and frustrating Julie, and when the song grinds to a cacophonous halt for the fourth time, she stands up from the piano. Reggie takes a step back. 

“What is your problem?” she practically yells, stomping over to Luke. He’s been surly and unusually stubborn, and the shift from his usual cheerful, passionate demeanor builds her own stewing anxieties to a dangerous head.

“It’s not my problem you can’t keep up,” he says, and then, after watching the words register in Julie’s expression, immediately regrets it. Alex’s eyebrows shoot up and Reggie makes a very soft ‘ooooohhh’ noise under his breath.

“It’s not keeping up if you can’t hold a steady tempo,” she says, too upset over his refusal to cooperate to catch the reaction from her bandmates.

“Okay, so maybe I was rushing,” he admits, trying to walk it back. But Julie’s on a roll, and once she gets started laying into him, she very rarely lets up.

“Thank you!” she yells, the sarcasm clear in her tone. She’d been especially fond of the product so far, a song she thought embodied the perfect blend of Luke’s harder edge and her singer-songwriter roots. His sudden, uncharacteristic left turn is as much an interruption in their rehearsal as a knock to the tenuous pride she’d been building in the piece.  “And what are all those riffs you’re tossing in? You have to hear how they don’t fit.” 

“Oh come on,” he says, proud in his ability and therefore less willing to step down. He rolls his shoulders back and moves toward her, the challenge set in his spine. “I was shredding and you know it.” Luke is sweet and kind and silly and compassionate, but he’s also a musician, and a lead guitarist at that. His ego, though it rarely becomes an issue, is far from insubstantial. 

“If you want a solo, fine!” she cries with exasperation, her hands flying through the air like they always do when she’s upset. “But you have to say something so we can give you room for it!” Her annoyance has turned down the sensitivity on her Luke-nonsense monitor, caught up enough in the trouble that she can’t see that he’s riling her up on purpose.

“What, you afraid of a little improvisation?” He’s smiling now, and his obvious glee, such a stark flip from where she thought this was going, throws off her tirade. He starts walking toward her, and his newfound physicality gives him an ability to fluster her to a much greater degree than before.

“No --” she stammers, stumbling backwards, distracted out of anger by his sparkling eyes and the power in the body approaching rapidly. “That’s not what I --” There it is again, that power he has to turn the rest of the world into radio static, her vision blurring and her hearing dulling until it’s just Luke filling up the world in front of her. 

“C’mon Julie,” he says, and right now she hates his stupid smirk and the stupid way he rolls her name around in his mouth before letting it out. “you have to take risks once in a while.” She’s backed up against the piano now, her hands wrapped tight around the lid, and he’s still pushing it, strong and warm and undeniably, frustratingly male in her space. 

But Julie isn’t one to let him intimidate her into silence, no matter how cute and well-muscled he may be. She takes a breath and looks him in his ridiculous sparkly eyes, poking him in his absurdly firm chest.“I am not afraid of taking risks, mister,” she says, “Let’s not forget who performed in front of her entire school to get back into the music program --” 

“My idea,” he scoffs, not backing up. Why isn’t he backing up.

“Or who fronts a band of actual ghosts!” she continues, her voice increasing in volume again, and the speed of her heart tripping over itself could be from the argument or the boy who’s collarbones are less than a foot from her face. Both are entirely possible. 

“Less ghost now,” he reminds her, tilting his head, his weight leaned one one leg, his hand resting on the head of his guitar, relaxed when they’re supposed to be arguing. 

“You just get to poof out after we perform!” she says, only about two-thirds of her mind still focused on the fight itself, the other third completely wrapped up in the feeling of Luke in front of her. “I’m the one who has to stick around and ask questions!” 

“So you’re saying you take chances,” he says, diabolically diplomatic instead of challenging. He leans forward, putting his hands on the piano behind her, caging her in with his arms. She refuses to back down again, even though his face is now inches from hers. “You’d take a leap of faith?” 

“Yeah,” she says, only half-certain, because she’s not totally sure they’re still talking about music, and her heart is in the base of her throat and her stomach is somewhere around her shoes, and suddenly her hands are sweating when they definitely weren’t a minute ago. This definitely isn’t an argument about the song anymore. 

“Oh yeah?” he says, and there’s the challenge again, except this one sounds more like a dare, and he’s definitely looking at her lips this time, not even trying to be subtle about it, and her hands are braced on his forearms and when did they get there? And Luke is warm and when she looks up, his eyes are on hers, and despite all that bravado and provocation there’s still a question there, and all she would have to do to answer is lift up on her toes and finally, finally press her lips against his, and -- 

Alex coughs. The oxygen goes out of the room like someone opened an airlock, and Julie feels herself sink, just barely, back down on her heels. The world fills back in, colors and sounds suddenly too bright, too abrasive. Tearing her eyes off Luke, she glances over his shoulder to where Reggie and Alex are, still with their instruments, watching them intently. Alex looks politely put out, his eyebrows tilted up with incredulity, like he's asking if they seriously just made him watch that. Reggie, on the other hand, hides nothing in his expression, shock and amusement there in equal parts as he glances between Alex and the two of them still tucked close against the piano, jaw askance in a surprised smile. 

"Are you done?" Alex asks, in a tone that sounds less like a question. "It’s not that I mind…" he gestures between the two of them with a drumstick. "This, but like, time and place, dude." He's not talking to Julie. Luke clears his throat, appropriately chastised, but still looking smug as shit. 

"Um, sorry," she mutters as he returns to his spot next to his amp. 

Alex shrugs. "Not your fault," he says, "from the top?" 

"Uh," she says, frozen for a moment in embarrassment and confusion. She looks to Alex, and he gives her one of his soft, kind smiles, the sort that makes her feel like everything is going to be okay. “Right, okay,” she finishes, as her hands twitch and she settles back into her body. Rushing back around to the bench, she flexes her hands over the keys, curling them into fists and then back out again when they tremble. “From the top.” 

The rehearsal goes -- okay, after that. The magic is missing; therefore, while she usually feels inspired and courageous and empowered walking out of the garage, she just feels exhausted and drained. She eats dinner with her family, and her dad definitely notices that she’s uncharacteristically quiet, but saves asking about it until after Carlos is safely sequestered with his iPad. “How ya doin, kiddo?” he asks as she helps him clear up the dishes. “Everything okay?” 

Julie looks at her dad with mild alarm, wondering what exactly he knows. He does his best, he really does, but it took him a while to even notice she was in a band. Not to mention, he still believes they’re holograms. “Um,” she says convincingly. “Yeah?” 

He smiles kindly, in the way that means he’s very politely calling bullshit. “Alright, mija. What’s going on?” 

Heaving a sigh, Julie keeps her eyes on the dishwasher she’s loading, trying her best to plan an escape route out of this conversation. “I promise, Dad,” she says, “It’s nothing.” and then, what she thinks are the magic words. “Boy stuff.” 

But Ray’s been prepping for this, had conversations with Rose about it before she passed, while the cancer slowly ate her alive. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to be there for her daughter through the time in her life a girl needs her mother the most, and she wasn’t about to let him hide behind toxic masculinity and leave Julie to figure it out on her own. “Okay,” Ray says, trepidation clear in his voice but also not unwilling to approach the topic. “What’s his name?” 

Julie almost drops the pot she’s scrubbing. “Does it matter?” she asks, her voice crawling up several octaves. 

“Just trying to learn who is in my daughter’s life,” he answers diplomatically, sitting down at the counter to make it clear he’s not letting her out of this one easily. 

“I promise, Dad,” she says, doing her best to frantically dodge the interrogation she knows is coming, regretting she brought it up at all, cursing herself for being so obvious. “It’s dumb. You don’t even know him.” 

Ray nods slowly, pretending to believe her. Julie goes after the pot a little harder, because maybe if she just finishes the dishes she can go upstairs and bury herself in her bed and not have to have this conversation anymore. “It’s not that guitarist, is it?” he asks, and her spine goes stiff as a ramrod. Ray’s her dad, but he’s not blind. He’s seen the way they look at each other when they perform, the way the boy follows her around the stage like a puppy, desperate for her attention, disappointed when she jams with the other members of their band and not him. He’s an excellent musician, but Ray knows too many stories of near-legends gone sour with misdirected young love. 

“No!” Julie cries immediately in an obvious lie. “Of course not!” She turns, half-laughing, explanations falling out of her mouth “We’re just friends,” she insists, lacing her fingers in front of her and nodding exaggeratedly. “Just friends. Only friends. Uh-huh. Friends. And!” she continues, gesturing widely, “he doesn’t even live here! So that… wouldn’t even make sense!” she laughs awkwardly. “So no way. That it’s him. No way it’s him.” 

Ray sighs out a laugh that Julie’s too panicked to hear and leans forward on his elbows. “Alright, nina. Just be careful, okay?” She’s nodding along, edging her way towards the stairs. “You and your band…” She looks like Rose, in that hoodie that practically swallows her, hair piled messily on top of her head. Her mom was also a terrible liar, he remembers fondly. “You have something special. Don’t throw that away for a boy.” 

Julie nods rapidly and then bolts, thundering up the stairs before throwing her bedroom door closed behind her and diving headfirst onto her bed, burying herself in decorative pillows. How does everyone  know?? First Flynn and then Reggie and Alex and now her dad? Is she that obvious? (Um, yes.) She flops onto her back, staring up at the colorful tapestries slung across her ceiling, the string lights and posters and art. Usually, she loves her room, the feeling of her creative mind as a space she can inhabit, exploring her heart and the things she loves without having to shut out the outside world. But tonight, she feels trapped in her own head, so she grabs her notebook and squeezes out the window, perched on the roof outside her room. 

The evening air is cool and crisp, the gentlest bite warning the oncoming winter, as much as there is a winter in LA. She spends a while scribbling down half-baked lyric ideas and doodling angry black scribbles around the edges of the pages when nothing comes out right. It’s harder to write on her own, now, without the steady pulse of Luke’s genius behind her, the electricity that flows between them as they create impeccable harmonies. Sometimes, it feels like music belongs to the both of them together, a joined force, like they’ve given up their individual melodies for something greater. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. 

Eventually, she just ends up holding the notebook open to ‘Perfect Harmony’ with one hand, the other arm wrapped around her legs, her chin propped on her knees. She still hasn’t shown it to Luke, afraid of how real it feels, how clear it makes her feelings for him. Also, it’s a ballad, which they haven’t even approached yet, and she has no idea how Reggie and Alex will feel about such an explicitly romantic duet. She’s thinking that maybe she might be able to vague it up, maybe even make it a solo piece, when Luke appears next to her, like thinking about him draws him to her. (Which might actually be true -- she hasn’t examined that very closely.) 

“Hey!” he says cheerfully, all awkwardness from the evening’s rehearsal ostensibly disappeared. He plucks the notebook out of her hand, using the other arm to hold back her immediate demands for its return. “New stuff?” he asks. This is not normally such a grievous invasion of privacy. Ever since they started writing together, their songwriting journals have become common property, and half the pages in hers are marked up with his handwriting and vice versa. 

“It’s not ready yet!” she cries, pushing against the (stupidly strong) arm he has across her collarbone, willing to climb bodily over him to snatch the notebook back. Luke’s face very slowly falls as he reads it, the lyrics sinking in, and her protests trail off as she stops scrambling to grab it out of his hands. 

He stands suddenly, pacing across the roof. “Did you --” he starts, breathing shallowly, his tongue tucking his teeth between his lips, nostrils flaring before he speaks again. “Why did you copy this out of my songbook?” It’s not accusatory, only a question, born of true confusion. 

“I didn’t,” Julie replies without skipping a beat, equally baffled. 

“I wrote this after the garage party,” he says. “How is it in your notebook?” 

“I wrote it at school before the garage party,” she replies, doing her best to keep down the memory of the Luke in her imagination and the song coming to her fully formed in the form of a Patrick Swayze-esque daydream. She didn’t even tell Flynn about that part. 

“At school…” Luke repeats, studying the lyrics with a furrow between his eyebrows, and as much as Julie is also reeling from shock at the mystery, it’s kind of adorable to watch him try and solve it. “This doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking up at her, signature grumpy expression in place. He tilts the notebook flat, like he’s presenting it to her, hoping she has the next steps. Like he’s reached his conclusion, and it’s that he’s confused. 

“It doesn’t,” she says, and it comes out as half a laugh unintentionally, just looking at his ridiculous, adorable face. 

“Why are you laughing?” he demands with exasperated urgency. “This is super weird!” He rushes over and collapses next to her, a mess of flannel and limbs and beautiful dumbass. He shoves the notebook back into her hands as she folds her legs underneath her, relinquishing her grip on her knees. 

“Yeah,” she sighs, unable to wipe the grin from her face. “Yeah, it is.” Luke looks like he wants to ask her what she’s smiling at, but then he starts smiling, too, because her happiness is his happiness. Julie’s already past the strange coincidence, lost in the joy of his gray-green eyes and the feeling of him next to her. She’s too used to strange, to the ever-changing rules of the afterlife and the constant uncertainty that Luke and her boys bring to her life. Yes, it’s strange, but she’s in a ghost band and her crush is dead and still manages to look at her like that so she has a certain level of perspective when it comes to things like this. 

“What are you --” Luke tries to say, but her eyes are on his and they’re warm and brown and kind and he’s finding it a little hard to form sentences. 

“This is ridiculous,” she says, and he’s nodding without knowing what he’s agreeing to. “We wrote the same song on the same day,” she laughs, and he nods again, half-listening, half lost in her. She’s excited now, about the possibility brought on by magic and her connection -- their  connection -- souls tied together with passion and music and love. “That’s impossible!” It cements something for her, the feeling of coming together, of sliding into place. They’re so solid, tight, together, on the same wavelength… musicians have put it a thousand ways throughout the years, to communicate the feeling of a co-writer, a bandmate, a partner, reading your mind, singing the next line, playing the next riff that was just in your head. Julie and Luke get the added bonus of being inexplicably spiritually linked. Nothing can break that, or replace it. She’s not scared of it, anymore. 

“Impossible,” he echoes. He always feels a little bit stronger, a little more alive whenever he’s with Julie like this, just the two of them, hanging out or writing music, and he’s in her immediate proximity, soaking in the warmth of her brown skin and brown eyes and the chaotic energy of her wild, incredible hair. She pulls him in, without knowing the power she holds or the light that she emits, casting a golden glow over everything around her. 

“Luke,” she says, and he tunes back in, realizing that he’s steadily leaning toward her as they sit on the roof, Julie cross-legged, Luke angled toward her, one leg stretched out, his elbow propped on his other knee. “Are you listening?” 

“Um,” he swallows, “Yeah?” but he’s looking at her lips, not her eyes, and he’s thinking about kissing her, just once, just to see what she tastes like, remembering the smell of gummies and m&ms, hoping she’ll be just as sweet. She doesn’t say anything, mostly because she forgot what she was going to say in the first place, watching his eyes watch her mouth, breathing him in. He’s too close again, closer than any friend or bandmate should be, and there’s no mic between them, and the door to her room is closed, and there’s no bandmates or brothers or dads, and her heart pounds in her chest. 

When she tilts her chin towards him, she feels ready, finally, knowing what he means to her. Only a breath separates them, but they both stop, waiting for the inevitable interruption, the door slamming open, or someone calling up from the yard below, but it doesn’t come. Realizing what they’re both waiting for, they breathe out a simultaneous laugh, their foreheads dropping together. The tension fades, and Julie’s smile feels uncontainable, demanding every inch of her face as this beautiful, goofy, genus, talented boy adores her while she sits there, falling in love with him. 

It’s easier, this moment, than the one before, because it feels less laden with the weight of someone pulling away, unsure or unwanting. This moment is comfortable, joyful, the two of them acknowledging every minute of want and disappointment and hilarious misfortune over the past few days, acknowledging what they would have asked for instead. And when Luke finally reaches up, pulling her in gently with his hand on her neck, his thumb sliding over her jaw, it’s with confidence and tenderness, reassured that she wants this, too. Julie leans easily into the touch, and when their lips meet, the spark and rush is better than any performance, any screaming crowd drowning in lights. They kiss each other, moving together, leaning in as one, harmony made in the movement of mouths and the press of lips, and this moment -- it’s perfect. 

[andtimeisnotonourside]

It takes Nile less time than she thought it would, to get comfortable, to be able to talk to the singer/songwriter duo she had admired so long. It took her much longer to finally ask Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicolo Genova why their songs were always penned under Al-Kaysani-Genova, no matter the rumors of who actually wrote the song.

“Well, Joe is first of course,” Nicky stated from his position snuggled up to the man in question on the piano bench. He was wearing his uniform of a dishwater colored tee and plain jeans, scruffy bed head. He plunked a high note on the keys, and then another and Nile winced at the off tone. “He is first in my heart, first in my life, and the one who composed the bulk of every song, he graciously allows me to ride on his coattails.”

Nile rolled her eyes, but wasn’t surprised by the frankness he spoke with. If it hadn’t taken her very long to feel at ease with the duo, it had taken her even less time to get used to the easy and obvious affection they displayed for each other.

Sharing her eye roll, Joe swatted his husbands hand away from the keyboard, looking ever inch the rockstar he was in his fitted jeans, artfully draped tee under his leather jacket. His silver rings flashed on his long fingers as he artfully and effortlessly played a melody that was so lovely in its simplicity, it almost brought tears to her eyes.

“Don’t believe him Nile, of course he is on every composition; he is my muse, my light, these songs could not possibly exist without him to inspire them!” Joe scoffed, still playing the beautiful memory while his husband fussed with the phone on top of the piano, making sure their backup recording was still playing. The only giveaway to his pleasure at his husbands words were that the tips of his ears had turned bright red, which Nile thought was adorable.

Meanwhile, next to her, their manager Andy was looking like she was two seconds away from drowning herself in her coffee. “For god sakes you two, please just admit to everyone that it’s in alphabetical order!”

[keepcalmandbrewtea]

For @drreallyreallystrange

Muse

on AO3

She startles awake, with the distinct impression of being alone in the bedroom. A quick check with her hand to her left confirms that she’s been that way for a while. Donning her dressing gown and slippers, she forgoes turning on the lights and goes on a personal hunt.

Her quarry is easily found in the music room. Barefoot, dressed in simple white shirt and black trousers, sitting on the bench, half-slouched on the music shelf with his head resting on his arm and his mask removed, Erik plunks away at the keys of the grand piano distractedly.

Monotonously.

Tediously.

The legendary Phantom of the Opera, bane of Paris’ Palais Garnier management, the man who terrorized orchestra, ballerinas and stagehands alike, musical genius beyond compare, is obsessively hitting the same key over and over and over again.

Christine, leaning on the doorjamb, observes him silently for a little while then speaks before the repetitive notes become nerve-wracking. “Someone has hit a snag.”

Erik straightens and turns his head so fast; Christine thinks it’s a miracle he doesn’t snap his neck. A quicksilver thought robs her of a heartbeat or two. Nature played a grim trick on Erik, robbing him of half of his face, but the other side, the one she is looking at now, is so devastatingly handsome that she has trouble hiding her attraction.

“I haven’t.” He’s annoyed even at the mere suggestion, “I’m just – looking for my muse. Did I wake you?”

“Oh? And here I thought you left her all alone in bed.”

The way his expression rapidly shifts from vexed to thoughtful and finally to mortified makes her burst out laughing. “I didn’t! I mean – I didn’t mean to! I just -” He shakes his head. “For the first time in my life I finally know what happiness and love are. I have you. I have Gustave. All my dreams have come true. I should be able to write something that reflects that and not the same old self-loathing, dramatic, introspective music.” He contemplates the keyboard and his own hands in frustration.

Christine is touched by his need to express his newfound feelings through music again. She knows how the inability to truly compose in the ten years before their reunion heavily weighed on his soul and understands that this is all part of the process to become a better man.

A wicked idea enters her mind. She comes closer to the grand piano and asks, “So you want to write something light but moving?”

“Yes.”

If he hears the rustle of clothes and shifting of skin against varnished wood, he doesn’t give any indication. Christine continues her line of enquiry: “Carefree, exhilarating and - exciting?”

Erik scrunches his eyebrows together at the tone of the last word and finally looks up. The sight of his wife lying on the closed piano lid, clad in her flimsy nightgown, raised calves crossed at her ankles, her chin on top of her hands, looking at him intensely makes his throat drier than the sands of the Sahara and his mismatched eyes wide as saucers.

He actually gulps.

“Yes.”

“Stirring and intoxicating?”, her voice a bare whisper as she glides on the sleek surface to get nearer.

She bridges the last inches between them and kisses him deeply, then looks straight into his eyes

Breathless.

“Yes.”

“Play.”

And he does.

Note: This little piece would not be here if not for masterful help of @from-aldebaran and the encouragement of @flora-gray and the gang of the late, late night Saturday chats. @drreallyreallystrange hopefully this will be inspiration for your art.

[pettyprocrastination]

Hell is a Nine to Five Max Philips x Reader

Summary: Max Philips is your new boss at your hellscape of a job. He can’t help but be drawn to you and when he learns your lineage and last name (Harker) he fears this may put a dwindle on his plans. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to ask you out though,,,right?

Chapter summary: Max doesn’t show up until next chapter this one is just set up about your place in the office environment. And for those who don’t know her last name is Harker as in Jonathan Harker from dracula. Don’t worry future chapters will be full of that sweet sweet tension and yearning. 

@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ this legend has fucking iconic writing and got me to watch bloodsucking bastards and HERE I AM. Please check out their stuff yall holy shit. 

“Yo Harker!”

Your eyes flicked away from your computer screen just in time to see your grinning blonde coworker push himself over to you in his cubicle chair with a flourish. “Mike is kicking my ass this round and I know somewhere under all that nerd there is a girl who loves video games, tap in?” He pointed to his own cubicle, his computer screen flashing with some video game that he and 90% other men on the floor were constantly playing. You knew this because no matter how loud your sales call was, you can always hear him scream profanities in agony when he inevitably gets killed by some other dumbass who should also be doing his job instead of playing video games like a fifteen year old with a rattail.

You feigned interest for a moment, before your focus went back to your screen, fingers tapping away on the too-damn-old-and-fucking-sticky-to-properly-work keyboard so you can finish this report that Mike was suppose to have done...Yesterday. 

“Hard pass.”

“Oh come on!” Tim pushed his chair closer to you so he could slump his head on your shoulder, but you remained focused on the task at hand. The task being doing your goddamn job which nobody on that floor seemed to do. “I've got to piss like a racehorse but if I drop this round I owe him fifty bucks!”

Okay. That got your attention. 

“Where the hell did you get fifty bucks?” You pushed yourself away from your tiny desk for a moment, wheely chair spinning to face him. “I know for a fact that not even ten fucking minutes ago you asked Evan if he could spot you a twenty so you could pay Dave for the NBA pool that you always lose.”

Tim opened his mouth for a moment before closing it with a huff. “You fucking suck, you know that Harker?”

“Love you too Tim.”

That’s how your work days went. 

Spend hours on end stuck in a windowless room, hunched over a computer from the fucking 90’s, doing not only your work, but the work of 70% of your coworkers who are too busy playing video games, gossiping, or watching porn to even pretend like they're doing their job. Occasionally Tim would try to pull you away to tag in for him on his video games, rate the new interns, or make fun of Evan during your lunch break.

Speaking of which. 

The fluorescent lighting wasn’t any less nauseating in the breakroom, but it offered you a slightly lower volume of the endless ringing of phones, piss poor marketing tactics used by your coworkers to convince people to buy whatever dogshit product you had to push for the week, and the oh-so-obnoxious shouts of Mike, who’s main purpose in life was to bully nine-year-olds who he played video games with. 

“That’s right you fucking pussy! I’m the king!”

Keyword: slightly lower volume. 

“All I’m saying is that you're one of the smartest people here.” Tim plunked himself down in the plastic chair to your right, while Andrew sat on your left. “You’re always doing work-”

“Because I’m at work.”

“-you can type without looking at your hands-”

“Really not that complicated of a skill but okay.”

“-And you're not easily distracted!”

“Because nothing in this hellhole is worth my attention.” You mumbled into your sandwich, which was then flung out of your grasp and onto the floor as Tim slapped you on the back with what you assumed was supposed to be gusto.

Five second rule maybe?

“Which is exactly why you-oh my bad sorry- but that is why you should team up with me and Andrew to kick Mike’s pimply ass!”

Andrew’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Dude. I agree with you but I could do without the description.”

You stood up to retrieve your fallen turkey on rye. Looks like you're going without lunch today “Yeah, I second that notion.”

“Listen I just think-”

Evan, your lanky acting sales manager walked into the breakroom with purpose, and coincidentally, right onto your lunch.

Yup. Definitely no saving that. 

“Hey Tim, have you started on the Phallicite presentation yet?”

Tim froze, stroking his chin in fake thought before letting out a sharp laugh “Yeah no.” Evan threw his head back and groaned. “Sorry buddy.”

“Come on man! Could you please, just this once-”

“I already did it.” You cut in, Evan turning to you, bagged eyes wide. 

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked twice, then again before his mouth hung open.“Like..like the WHOLE presentation? All on your own?” 

You shrugged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of him as you waited for him to take his foot off your fucking sandwich. “Yeah. stayed overnight yesterday because I knew damn well Tim wasn’t gonna do it-”

“Rude but fair deduction Hark.”

“-so I pieced something together. I emailed it to you ten minutes ago. Now all you have to do is nail the actual presenting part.”

Relief washed over your not-acting-sales-manager-but-still-kind-of-sales-manager’s face. “Oh thank you so much Harker, really. That means a lot. If we land this then-”

Enough was enough.

“You're standing on my sandwich.”

“What?” Evan looked down at his feet and winced at the site of your squashed lunch under his shoe. “Shit. Sorry Harker.”

You gave your food one last wistful glance before shrugging. “It’s fine. My break is almost over anyway.”

“Harker.” Mike snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only goddamn person who adheres to a timed lunch schedule. Just stay over! Who the fuck cares?”

You stuffed your water bottle back into the fridge before standing up straight. “This job may suck ass, but it’s the only one I have and I don’t feel like losing it. So I do what I can to keep it.”

You turned on your heel, their voices dying as you walked back to your desk. As you sat down, the hairs on your neck seemed to stand and a prickle went down your spine, you turned around to see if anything was out of the ordinary. 

Coworkers not doing their job? Check. 

Interns being taken advantage of? Check. 

Broken clocks still broken because it keeps employees from constantly seeing if it’s time to leave? Double check. 

You pushed your paranoia away and answered a sales call, though the feeling never truly left you until the work day was over and you were driving out of the parking lot. 

Notes: Anywhomst chapter one is just set up of your place in the work place, as well as relationship to the other characters. In future chapters their will be plenty of interaction between you and max, as well as a deeper look into your family line! Please don’t hesitate to send me reuquests and headcanons i need some fuckin interaction lmao

[lihikainanea]

remember that ask you did about tiger over working herself and bill telling her to eat fruit then they're napping on the couch, what if bill is the one to doze off first and tiger's mind is so preoccupied with the work she hasn't done that she cant sleep (relatable lmao) so she untangles herself from him to sneak off but it isnt long before bill realises shes gone and he is just fucking livid

I actually do not remember this specific piece but I find it hilarious because literally I think that fruit will solve everything always so I feel like I included that totally subconsciously. It’s my (very much not effective) life hack. Slept like shit? Get some vitamins EAT FRUIT. Had a shit eating day full of junk? EAT FRUIT it’ll counterbalance everything (spoiler alert: it will not). Hungover? Be responsible, have fruit for breakfast.

ANYWAY

Okay look, I’ve said before. Bill--Mr. I Work 16 Hours a Day and I’d Work Longer If My Union Let Me--is no stranger to hard work. He will literally be giving 1000% on set every fucking day for 16 hours, only to come home and sequester himself to agonize and memorize the script for the NEXT day. So whenever tiger starts to work a little too much and he gets all up in ends about it--believe me, she’s the first one to call him out on the hypocrisy. Bill’s neurotic tendencies and his inability to walk away from something half done mirrors tiger’s.

So he’s had to sort of...adjust his approach, when she gets like this. He understands that it comes with the job--tiger is great at what she does so sometimes she gets put on projects and those projects--much like movies--demand a lot of her time and throw her life out of whack but they also don’t last forever. So Bill tries to level with her, tries to support her as best he can while helping her be healthy about it. He imposes breaks, because she’ll be more effective if she takes a step back for 20 minutes anyway. He makes sure she eats, and that there’s tons of healthy things to snack on. He makes sure she rests--that she relaxes, takes naps, sleeps as much as possible.

But I think it gets the hardest when she’s in the final stretch--when she’s been at it for so long but the end is in sight. It’s the hardest because she gets downright belligerent--she just wants to power through it, get it done, and every snack break or nap break or bed time he imposes just prolongs the project more and more and it’s like, instead of taking 24 hours broken up with naps and food and breaks and shit to finish it, tiger would much rather just work nonstop for the next 18 hours and get it DONE.

She was...a lot to deal with that day. Really snappy, exhausted, overworked. Bill knows she didn’t sleep well last night, and she’s basically burning the tank on more than empty now. He allows her two veto’s a day--If she’s smack in the middle of a really important detail or train of thought and he comes to get her for lunch or whatever--she can veto, but then the next break is mandatory. And this is probably one of those times where he came to get her for a break--which I mean, it’s Bill’s nap time so this is also selfish on his part.

“Veto,” she says, the minute he walks in. She doesn’t even look up from her computer.

“Sorry kid, you used up your two already,” he says, “Come on.”

“No,” she deadpans.

“Wasn’t asking,” he replies, “Save it, and come on.”

“Bill, fuck I just--”

But that’s quite enough of that. All Bill does is walk over, place his hands on the desk in front of her, and bend to meet her gaze.

“Tiger,” he says, and it’s eerily calm, “We have rules.”

She sighs heavily, saves her work, and stands up.

She probably petulantly goes to the couch and plunks down, curling in on herself and frowning. But Bill is a pro at maneuvering his small angry human, so he just wraps around her and cuddles her anyway.

“Set your fucking timer,” she snaps, “I have shit I need to do.”

“And you can keep doing that shit in 20 minutes,” he says and he ends the conversation by just softly putting a hand over her mouth, and she rolls her eyes.

But like, listen, Good Dude Bill is tired too. And in general he’s a big fan of naps, so he’s out pretty quickly and tiger is just like....lying there. Thinking about all the shit that still needs to get done. And it’s the equivalent of trying to fall asleep when you know that you only have two hours until you need to be up again--you just watch the clock. Watch it tick by, helplessly. She just has way too much to do, and god she’s ALMOST DONE the end is near, and she can’t take it anymore. So very slowly, she disentangles from the Kraken that is a napping Bill. She stops when he stirs, snores a little, smacks his lips. In his sleep his arms reach to tighten around her but she’s already halfway out of them so she quickly grabs a pillow and shoves it there, pushes her thigh forward so his hands can wrap around that and think it’s her back. And then when he settles again, she very slowly pulls her leg up and out of his hold. She tiptoes back to her home office, closes the door quietly so the tap-tap-tapping of her keyboard won’t wake him, and then gets back to work.

It doesn’t last nearly as long as she would have hoped. And for a big dude, Bill can be as silent as a cat when he wants to be--which is why she jumped a mile when the door is whipped open, ricocheting off the wall. For a half a second, she thinks about using her safe word--just because Jesus she’s almost done and she just wants to power through it. But she’s also becoming more and more aware how grainy, how sandy her eyes feel. How much her stomach has been rumbling. How cold her hands and feet are, that constant ache in the middle of her forehead, the way her jaw is throbbing from clenching her teeth so much. She’s a wreck, and all Bill was trying to do was make sure she got all of this done but in a much healthier, more productive way.

But she disobeyed, and now he’s standing in the doorframe, glaring at her.

“You are in big, big trouble,” he threatens lowly. She gulps.

“I’m almost done?” she tries. It’s worth a shot, she figures.

“Oh you’re so done, kid,” he says, “On so many levels.”

[deus-ex-knoxina]

classical pianist andrew minyard

okay i KNOW. i know we all love classical pianist kevin day. but LISTEN.

in juvie andrew joins the music program. or, well, he sneaks in when he’s not at exy, and eventually the program directors decide more activities are better than fewer, and if andrew wants to play music and figures he might as well play exy, then they will make it possible for him to do both.

he’s immediately drawn to the drums (because d u h you keep everyone else on track, don’t have to stand up, get to hit things and make loud ass noises)

and he gets pretty good at it but one day he breaks a drumstick over the head of some asshole and the program director decides not to let him play drums anymore :(

in fact, the program director decides not to let him play ANY instrument that could be potentially used as a weapon. this rules out pretty much everything up to and including the harp, but not piano

and hey, andrew’s already demonstrated that he has a good sense of rhythm, so why not, right?

and the piano is andrew’s need to be loud and to get some of his anger out, and he can slam on the keys as much as he wants, he can teach himself the atonal pieces and the twelve-tone pieces and silently appreciate how they are crafted, not just created. they are deliberate. they are intentional. every single note is placed intentionally.

also atonal piano pieces frequently involve some stabbing at the piano so that’s fun too, because like i said. gotta get that aggression out somewhere now that he can’t throw drumsticks at people (he still does they’re just not his drumsticks)

and andrew and his eidetic memory and his speed and rhythm that he got from playing the drums and being in fights and his appreciation for the type of music that is crafted make him a PRODIGY.

he starts learning some older things, classical piano concertos written specifically so their composers could show off, and because andrew is andrew, he learns them flawlessly. he would be insulted by anything less. it’s one thing to fuck with other people when you’re playing with them, it’s another thing entirely to fuck with yourself. and andrew does not fuck with himself.

he starts learning some variations and thinks ‘oh, that’s not that hard, i could do that’, and suddenly he can sit down at the piano and figure out a short melody and improvise twelve melodies on it like he’s fucking wolfgang amadeus mozart

andrew finds himself appreciating what he knows about some composers. mozart, beethoven, tchaikovsky. these are people who have suffered and were never properly recognized until long after their deaths-- recognized as they were. mozart who was a prodigy, who burned bright but couldn’t get anyone to hire him permanently, beethoven who concealed his deafness as long as he could and fought as long as he could only for audiences to think he had made mistakes or couldn’t hear the dissonance of his own music, tchaikovsky who struggled so much in the closet

and andrew is an instigator at heart. he loves causing drama. and he DOES. how can he interpret this sonata in the way that will piss off the most people while still technically being true to what the composer wrote? who says mozart *really* intended the third beat to be weak instead of the strongest one in the whole measure?

andrew being andrew, he wouldn’t have done anything about this. he gets out of juvie and he goes to live with tilda and aaron and then he and aaron go to live with nicky. he would have forgotten about piano, about drums too.

but nicky (and it always comes back to nicky, doesn’t it, all the little accidents that mean that the twins have a shot at a good life) has an idea. it’s a terrible idea but it’s an idea. he’s always been able to sing, he thinks maybe if he teaches himself some piano he can learn to accompany himself, maybe find some hipster bars or coffeeshops and play there, maybe earn a bit of money, maybe just some free drinks.

he buys a cheap electronic keyboard and practices diligently, with some increase in skill, and andrew tries to ignore the keyboard and almost succeeds, almost, but he wants. he wants to do the one thing that successfully kept his interest through juvie, the one thing that he... kind of misses. he can be alone when he’s playing-- nobody interrupts, people leave him alone, and if he plays long enough then they even go away before he’s done and don’t bother applauding or complimenting him or anything at the end. it is mortifying to be known and andrew does not want this. he doesn’t want to play for other people. he plays for himself, and occasionally to piss off other people.

and it’s satisfying, tactically, to play a piece and get everything exactly right. he... enjoys it. that’s a realization that surprises him.

so he takes some chances. when nicky is at work and aaron is in his room, andrew starts to play. he hopes aaron will interpret it as nicky magically improving, or maybe nicky playing some inspiration-- because nicky is learning, and andrew does not make a single mistake. he plays slowly, at first, re-learning and also learning for the first time an instrument other than the old upright piano he learned to play on, but he plays perfectly.

aaron never mentions it and andrew grows bolder. he plays whenever nicky isn’t home, and when aaron isn’t home either he plays loudly. he remembers everything he ever learned, and soon he’s finding new recordings, listening to them, playing them by ear, and then playing his game and composing variations-- only he wouldn’t call it composing because that’s not what it is to him, it’s just a game. how much can he fuck up this melody while still letting it retain its true character? it’s amusing to him in a dark way. how much does he fuck it up before it’s not the same anymore? i never said it was healthy for him

playing piano, like being gay, is a secret andrew keeps control over. he chooses who, and when, to reveal it to. nicky takes the keyboard to college when they all go, for exy, because andrew minyard is smarter and more capable than he will ever truly let on, and has managed to master goalkeeping as well, with the bare minimum of effort. at this point, the keyboard is a hobby for nicky, not a money-making scheme, but he brings it. why not? andrew is secretly pleased.

the first person he tells-- the first person who wasn’t at juvie with him, because even after all of that time he’s still viscerally uncomfortable with random people hearing him play-- is bee. the second is kevin. or, well, he doesn’t *tell* kevin. he wanders over to the piano while kevin is talking and whips out a scarlatti sonata in double time, banging on the keys, flawless and yet somehow sardonic and brutal in the way that manic andrew is. he drowns kevin out, because kevin stops talking. he is... shocked.

but kevin is not stupid. he knows that andrew does not give up secrets lightly, and he knows that this is a secret, because he knows this is nicky’s keyboard, and nicky would have told him if andrew played. if he had known.

so this is a secret andrew is trusting him with, and if anything kevin is amazed because what does it mean for their deal, if there is already something andrew cares about? or is this like goalkeeping, where he’s good at it because he had no choice but to practice but at the same time refuses to put in effort?

kevin can’t make himself believe that these flawless, energetic piano pieces at the speed of light are the result of not caring. he wonders if andrew chooses the fluttering, embellished, complicated pieces because they provide enough things for him to focus on. and he wonders how that’s different from a game of exy, but he also knows he might never understand.

renee is the third person he tells. he offers, actually, to teach her. underneath the medication he recognizes someone who has something they want to cling to, but who hasn’t really figured out a whole... person, to wipe away who they used to be. renee applies herself diligently and plays duets with him. they still fight, but sometimes they play.

after he comes off of his medication, andrew can’t make himself touch that stupid keyboard for weeks. he wonders what will happen if he does. it’s neil that causes him to snap out of it, accidentally. neil doesn’t know andrew plays. nobody except renee and bee know that andrew’s music isn’t dominated by heavy metal and screamo. but neil has never played piano and is intrigued by it, in the way that you’re intrigued by something you know people care about, and you can’t fathom why. it’s a mystery to him. he’s bugging andrew in the monsters’ suite one day and winds up turning on the keyboard and plunking out some notes just to see what it feels like, and to neil, it feels like nothing. there’s no exhilaration. it’s about as exciting as typing a few letters on his phone.

but neil can get under andrew’s skin like almost no one else, and when neil shrugs and turns away from the keyboard, andrew finds himself sighing, standing, crossing the room, and saying, ‘not like that.’ and neil says, ‘oh? then like how?’, and it’s a challenge, and andrew knows it’s a challenge. and he meets that challenge head on.

neil doesn’t know he’s in love but he’s a little bit closer to finding out, seeing how andrew looks when he cares about something despite not wanting to. and andrew is surprised, because he’s given up another secret to a pipe dream, but somehow, he doesn’t regret it.