#he was the ONE va i was like ill pull no matter what

[geoarchcn]

Noooooo I was gonna skip lyney but i didn't know he was gonna be voiced by shimono hiro 😭😭😭

[hersheythecure]

I almost lost today.

988

Called them and they sent a live counselor out to me. I went to a pace I feel safe and that's a Cafe. They met me there.

It was so hard. Getting to that point. I haven't had suicidal ideations In a while. But this is the season that they show up. Especially with everything we have going on.

I was so scared. I have to fight Frantic who's tye trauma holder for everyone. She feels like all the trauma in our nervous system and each separate part is an extension of her. The visual is insane in my mind. They're all hurting. But one thing for sure when she sends me that it's because we need help that is nowhere in our vicinity. It's when my brain realizes if we don't reach out we're going to take our life. She's combating the trauma alters who's adolescent outlet is death.

We literally have Noone. Lmaooo

All the questions. Were. No. Who can change your tire or take you somewhere? No one.

Who can you call? No one

Who can you ask for money from ? No one

Is there anyone here that you can ask for help? Nope

Any relatives? 2.5 hrs away so nope

I literally said roadside assistance is who I'd have rk call. Atleast I can afford that right?

If I was broke I'd be dead as fuck. Thank you brain for securing our Financials.

It's sad that if you're broke youre just dead. Buttttt 988. Please no matter how broke you are reach out. It's free. Verify. If you need them to email you that it's free have them do that. They sent two ladies out to meet me. Get my history and provide support as well as resources. Ones the VA doesn't even have or give. Smh.

I explained my symptoms and what I need. What is happening in my life. And where the stressor are.

My mom is not the person to call when I'm suicidal due to the inexperience with mental illnesses and disorders. But she's the only one that answered which I'm still so fortunate that she did. Almost took me out though. She made me feel like everything I did was wrong in relation to coparenting. Even when my social worker said otherwise. It sucks I can't count on my family for the advice i need because they don't have the info to respond In a supportive way. It suckssssss. I realized that my family was causing conflict in my mind. They have such a power over my mind because they are my ONLY support. The pull is strong. On my parts. But something the counselor said helped. Isolating yourself and cutting yourself off like Caribbean and black people encourage is actually the opposite and causes more harm. You cannot heal in isolation. And now I have to just he by myself mentally. I can only get support on a level I don't need it. I can't be myself or explain my pain because I can't pray this away. Wtffff. I just want healthy balck and Caribbean people who've dealt with their mental health and can give me advice. Damn. But that's not many per what? White supremacy.

And I'm glad the white counselor stated the disparities between black communities and mental health.

I am so exhausted. So exhausted. But so glad they sent someone to help me. Too much emotional stress. And no support. Online is nice when I'm not in distress. But like a bitch need a hug and I git no one. I remember when I was religious and I'd beg God to come down and hug me. To take this pain away and you know what, he didn't. And here I am feeling the same without believing in any God. Definitely shows me it's all just fluff. Words.

I am alive.

I am hoping to get some emdr. It'll help manage the symptom that is dissociation.

Im not dying.

I always go and check myself in if it feels like my body is being hijacked to suicide. It's happened before. But I'm better at detecting since having my son. He really saved my life.

[aprayerforclarity]

A Prayer for Clarity

Well, here I am. I'm back to Tumblr. I had forgotten about this site for many years, actually. I started sporadically looking back on my previous blog, the one in which I stopped populating almost ten years ago, a few months ago. Like looking back on my previous social media presence or writings, I expected to deeply cringe at my former posts.

But honestly, I'm kinda proud of how well a lot of it has held up.

It mainly consists of concept art and fan art from some of my favorite IPs. Final Fantasy, Fromsoft games, fantasy books or just movie shots I found appealing. Occasionally I reposted an edgy quote from a coming-of-age movie or from another irksome tumblr user, who had a romanticized version of what depression or self sabotage was. I even used tumblr as a blog to share my high school thoughts about things going on in my life. I wished I had shared more.

This brings me to this post and the creation of this new blog.

I'm now 28 years old. I'm living in Harrisonburg, VA and typing this post on a computer in my bedroom above James McHone's jewelry shop, located in the heart of downtown. This morning I ate two homegrown B+ mushrooms and washed them down with four shots of espresso. When I began feeling the mushroom's effects I went to my room to listen to ambient music and stretch for a solid ten minutes. After stretching I went to my gym and used the sauna for 27 minutes. While in the sauna, I read Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.

While reading his book I was struck with something. For the majority of my life, my thoughts are just nebulous sputtering in the form of a cloud. I live and process my life, day to day, in a foggy cloud, exacerbated by the unending stimulus of my phone.

An image came to mind of an overpopulated beehive. My thoughts were like the bees flying feverishly around a lumpy and cragged mass. The hundreds of bees are loud, their forms only made out for a few seconds before flying back into the slimy matter. Some of the bees feverishly circle the hive, only half landing before being pheromonically obliged to take off again. Some bees only peek their bulbus, fractal eyes out from insdie the hive before quickly darting back in. The emergence of their full form is abated by fear, as they would not dare to entirely present themselves except for in the most extreme of circumstances. Some bees emerge from the hive and land on it, idling for a while. With these bees one can fully admire the ingenious articulation of their chitin-cladded legs, the intricate detail of each strand of patterned fur, or the iridescence of their crinkly, translucent wings. Some bees just shoot straight from mass out into the ether beyond. Like a bullet they're barely visible as they launch to the great beyond.

It's hard to be conscious of this when I'm living in it- but the truth is that my brain is very cloudy, almost all of the time. It takes me reading Stephen King to realize that. The reason he is so good is because he can transmit his thoughts and images so clearly.

It could have been the alcohol, marijuana or research chemicals I experimented with back when my brain was developing in high school. It could be depression or anxiety; something I only fully recognized I deal within the past 5 years of my life. It also could just be "how God made me," in other words, my genetics, that make me predisposed to a jumbled brain. (I know at least 2 aunts and 5 cousin with undiagnosed mental illnesses. I'm even convinced the undiagnosed mood disorder, learning disorder and drug addictions of one cousin led to his unexpected death at age 25)

Even as I write this, I feel myself beginning to ramble as it becomes increasingly harder for me to finish my thoughts.

SO, I'm going to start populating this blog as a way to begin tying down to my thoughts. I want to begin pulling the thoughts out of my mind in whole, contiguous pieces and get good at it. I have a lot of problems focusing, and I want this blog to be an exercise in focus.

I love my brain, I love who I am, but god damn it, it is so frustrating when I can't get it to do the things I want it to.

So that will be this blog. It is my prayer for mental clarity. On here I'm going to be processing myself, whatever my mind decided to dwell on, and bringing refinement to that skill. It's gonna be messy and wordy. But my goal is to become better at formulating and concisely sharing my mind.

To whoever will be reading this, thanks for being interested enough to read this.

[pianostarinwonderland]

Riddle character bingo?

[From here!]

Aaaah my 2nd favorite 🥺

Riddle is the reason why I got into TWST. I first saw him back in March 2019, and I loved him because of his Queen of Hearts motif and his VA being Hanae. I sometimes think about the day that the Heartslabyul trailer was first released, and I listened to Riddle's voice the first time while the theme of the game was playing and the Heartslabyul dorm art flashed in the background. I was so giddy, but also, I was absolutely spellbound. It was a world I never knew before, a world of magic and mystery, with music that enchanted me and a voice that pulled me in.

If you ever saw my very first post in this blog, it was about Riddle. My first pfp was also Riddle because I liked him. But now... well, you know who I like now. 🤡

I wouldn’t super say that I am ‘mentally ill’ about Riddle since I don’t really simp for him. But sometimes, there will be one piece of fanart—or even official art 🧍—where Riddle looks so good, a voice line where he sounds amazing, or a story that highlights his personality in a very appealing way, and I just think, “Shit, why did I not stay with him?” even for a brief moment. No matter how much time passes, Riddle will always appeal to me in a lot of ways. 😭

Now as a player, knowing what Riddle went through, I would love to hug him and cherish him and give him the childhood he never had (and on the side, have a little talk with his mom <3). But damn, if I knew the guy, I'd both be afraid of him and pissed off at him. I'd be afraid because when he's angry over someone breaking the rules, while yes he's explosive, he has that authoritative tone that makes you shudder and go silent. But I'd also be pissed at him because there will come a point where I realize, "Oh, he keeps responding angrily every time someone criticizes the things he does, that's kinda immature lol", and I'd be less afraid and more mad at him lmao

But despite his tyrannical nature, I'd say Riddle is one of the kindest people in NRC. He's polite, he won't swindle you or make you do something in return for a kind deed, he also wants the best for his dorm mates (just expressed in the worst or most misunderstood ways possible). Honestly overall, he's a very good person. And it's so nice to see his real kindness in stories like Deuce's SSR Dorm story. He really just wants people to do well, and no, he doesn't have any ulterior motives (aside from the ego stroke from seeing that he is 'right').

I do love seeing Riddle's dynamics with others because here, you can see how Riddle, a sheltered boy, interacts with his peers, and in turn, this gives more depth to his character. Even if he's one of the nicer people in NRC, Riddle is still very prideful, and he still thinks that he's right. This bleeds into the way he communicates with people. He often assumes people immediately understand why he's telling them to do something, but the reality is, they don't because he doesn't properly communicate with them (as seen when Riddle tells Azul to stand back in chapter 6—Riddle does this so that Azul doesn't get injured especially as a transformed merman, but since he never said those reasons, Azul assumed Riddle sees him as weak, which is a blow to his pride). When people don't outright fight him, Riddle will also assume that he's right because well, they're not really disagreeing with him, yeah? He'll only concede if he perceives the other to be stronger than him (i.e. when Trey overwrote his magic, Riddle was distressed because if Trey is stronger than him and saying that what he was doing is wrong, all the stress he was going through with his mom would mean nothing).

ough I love this little red boi nskdngkjnksngjdkngskngs he's such a good boi

[baeshijima]

like an everlasting frost, my love for you is eternal

PAIRING : artem wing / zuo ran x gn! reader

WORD COUNT : 800+

A.NOTE/s : this fic was created with 80% guizhong’s lullaby 10 hour extended ; 14% tender strength piano comp ; 5% genshin cn vas singing hikaru nara and 1% snezhnaya’s greatest love machine 

thank u for ur time

tagging : @eggmarr​ @kazuqha​ @lilikags​  

Perhaps you should have seen this coming. The signs were all there and, looking back on it now, it all makes sense; it was inevitable, even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

It was only a matter of time before a situation such as this would arise. You were a fool for thinking otherwise.

“Artem...” you trail off, watching your lover hobble hopelessly away from the bed. “You need to stay in bed.”

With as much resolve he can muster, Artem slowly turns his head to face you and steels his steadily dying voice. “I’m fine.”

You don’t believe it. Not even for a second. Even a newborn can tell he’s lying.

Sighing, you bring your hand to gently rub your nose bridge. “Artem.”

“Yes, my love?”

“You caught a cold, and yet you’re trying to move on your own.” Striding towards the man, you gently push him down onto your bed. Even with his attempts of insisting he’s okay, the coughs interrupting his sentences do little to help his case. “Take a rest, and let me take care of you for once.”

Well, how could he refuse you when you put it like that? 

And so with a sigh of defeat, Artem leans back onto the pillow as you pull the duvet up to his chin. With one last smile, you softly lay a kiss on his forehead before replacing the area with a small, damp towel and go to leave the room to prepare some much needed soup for him while he rests.

In the midst of your cooking (you do your best to remember and follow the techniques Artem has taught you in your previous cooking escapades), you check in on Artem’s resting form at regular intervals; both to replace his towel, and to make sure he’s actually allowing himself to sleep.

Luckily for you, he did listen and has been sound asleep for the past two and a half hours or so. With the soup done, you leave it to simmer on the lowest setting as you await for Artem to wake up naturally.

Looking outside, you really should have seen this coming. It’s flu season, after all. But this winter has been particularly cold and there’s even been reports of snowfall happening sometime soon. You hope that when it does happen, Artem will be better so he can enjoy it, too. After all, he did come all this way to spend the off-days with you. 

A sudden chill washes over you, the slowly dropping December temperature becoming more prominent when you realise you’re underdressed (in other words, you’re not wearing one of Artem’s warm turtlenecks). With a newfound resolution, you quietly make your way upstairs and into your bedroom in search of his turtlenecks.

Slow and cautious, you open the door without making a sound in fear of waking your boyfriend up, only planning to get his cosy clothing and leaving after you replace his towel. What you don’t expect to encounter, however, is the sight of Artem sitting upright while staring blankly at the wall ahead.

“Artem?” His head snaps up at the sound of your voice. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, I feel much better now thanks to you, (Y/n). My head is a lot clearer, and my temperature has gone down.” He responds, a warm smile slipping onto his countenance. To further prove his statement, he pulls the blanket off of his lower half, turns his body so his legs hang over the side of the bed, and gets up before walking towards you.

A small, happy huff escapes your lips. “I see. Well, that makes me feel a lot better knowing I’ve done my job well!”

“You most definitely have,” Artem chuckles. His eyes follow your retreating form in confusion until they soften at the sight of you happily picking up one of his turtlenecks, and slipping it on top of your shirt.

Truthfully, Artem will never understand how you reciprocate his feelings, even after the past year of being together. Like a star, you were always within his sights, but never in his grasp. Constantly chasing after the fading image of your back, until you no longer continued on without him; until you turned and flashed him a welcoming smile upon finally catching up to you and holding you in his embrace, never to let go and to always cherish you.

In all honesty, he still feels as though you’re just beyond his reach but it’s moments like these that make him believe that he stands on equal footing with you — even if it’s just for a mere moment.

“Since you’re up and about, let’s go eat the soup I made.”

Artem perks up at the sound of your voice. “You made soup?”

“Yup! Some good ol’ vegetable soup will nurse you back to full health!” He chuckles at your excitement, letting you (carefully) drag him out the door, down the stairs, and into the kitchen where he fondly watches you reheat the soup again when sitting at the table.

Even though the day didn’t go as planned, Artem wouldn’t find any faults so long as he’s in your company; even if he’s the one who fell ill from when you asked him to dance in the rain with you last night.

[inkandguns]

The end of my foray in to providing affordable housing: a rant

I left my parent's home with nothing but my car, guitar, and bag full of clothes at the age of 19. At this time the economy was pretty shitty and I was living in the suburban sanctuary city area of Chicagoland. Gas and rent prices were high and the competition in the job market was intense. Latino workers new to the area had more years of experience and more skills than any of us young kids at the time, so they usually got the good high paying jobs that didn't require college. The young spoiled suburban kids competed with one of the best labor forces that has ever been created. Being homeless didn't phase me much. I had plenty of training in living outside from the Boy Scouts (I'm an Eagle Scout), and I had a good work ethic.

Times were tough, but one of the biggest blessings during that time of my life was that I was able to eventually rent a room from a friend who had bought a small condo. Rent took up anywhere from 50%-75% of my income, and I was taking home less than 15k a year. Any time I could I would pick up work with a temp agency or friends with landscaping jobs when they needed a bigger crew. It felt like no matter what you did, someone was there to economically push your head back under water every time you caught a breather.

I would continue to live in poverty like this until I enlisted in the US Army. Fast forward to one year after my Army contract and I was buying my first home. I had continued to work in the medical field and had applied for and been granted a small amount of disability money from the VA. The housing market in Colorado was, and is totally jacked, so when I bought the house it was actually more than 50% cheaper than renting an apartment. After my ex who I had moved in there with and I split up, I moved in a couple of friends.

Things started out badly. My long term friend who I had helped out by charging very low rent to is an awful person to live with. He's cheated me on rent, negligently discharged a 9mm round almost killing me, and has broken 2 windows he refuses to fix. Additionally I had included a discount for if they could keep the lawn mowed - but this guy just wouldn't help the other one. After two months of sitting them down and talking about responsibility and team work, they still couldn't work together. So I pulled the discount and collected the extra cash from them. Things would not improve as I tried moving in different people.

I moved in a young couple. I had gone to school with the boyfriend and he assured me their stay would be short. His mother was mentally ill, and their apartment had about 3 feet of trash, clothes, and papers in the entire dwelling. Reluctantly I gave my friend a chance. It was only a couple of weeks before I caught him stealing my tools. So that couple didn't work out. They left within the first two months. Next, I took in a friend who was living in a van by the pool hall. He had some kind of persecution complex - accused me of racism, all of that kind of stuff. I let him park the van in the driveway and gave him a key to my mini-house. Eventually he would begin refusing to pay the small amount of money I was charging him. He then stole my portable air conditioner and was never heard from again.

A guy that I served with in the Army was staying at my place for free. He began using meth and started drinking an insane amount of whiskey and was eventually stabbed twice in the chest by his ex girlfriend. After his manic episodes started to get violent I had to ask him to leave. I could keep going with these stories - I have many. In the end I've only had 3 people out of about 12 live there that have been decent people. One of the worst ones was when I tried to help my meth addict friend get back on his feet. I got my notary public so I could help him get his ID, let him live in my garage for NO MONEY AT ALL. My only condition was that he was the only one allowed in the garage and that if he used meth, to do it behind the garage. After coming home too many times to people smoking meth in my garage, I kicked him out.

So clearly I've had bad experiences providing affordable housing. But what's going to happen across the market when investors realize that low income housing is just a total waste of money? It seems like every week there's another horror story from Colorado Springs about renters taking complete advantage of their landlords. The biden eviction freeze didn't help either. Without the possible threat of eviction tenants were allowed to get away with some insane shit.

The move away from affordable housing is very clear in South Downtown Colorado Springs. Older affordable housing buildings and single family homes have been knocked down in favor of expensive high rise luxury apartments. Entire families are being priced out of the city - because why would an investor rent to a random? They can rent to people based on income and ask for a very high income level. They can rent to primarily military, in which they have the JAG officials and unit commanders to go to with grievances. In Moses Lake, the town I now live next to, affordable housing came in the form of the government leaving the small Army base for the locals to buy and rent. The Base, formerly post housing, is the dirtiest and most violent area of town. There are frequent shootings and the residents admit that they in fear of the growing violence. Blessed with the opportunity to live in affordable housing, the locals have chosen to sink to the lowest level possible - turning an affordable community in to a drug filled and violent shithole.

There is zero motivation to manage, build, or develop affordable housing. So what will happen? I think within a few years we are going to see a lot of cities starting to look like Portland with people living in their vehicles wherever they are allowed to. So will the government step in and force current property owners to rent at lower prices? Probably, since most cities are controlled by big government democrats. New York is already pushing to use hotels and empty offices for those that cannot or will not find housing. Medium sized suburbs will be flooded with vagrants, their police departments unable to stem the tide. In my situation I only had good renters 25% of the time. I attribute this to people just being shitty nowadays. Laziness and dishonesty were the two biggest problems with my renters. No matter how low I went with rent or expectations of decency, people were always prepared to go lower. What kind of sane investor want to make a 25% return on investment while at the same time incurring expensive damages, dealing with law enforcement, and having to deal with the county to serve evictions? I've got my favorite renter of all time moving back in this upcoming winter. He's a good friend who has never done me wrong. He's paid on time and really respected my space. When he moved out the first time, I could barely tell there was anyone in his space and it smelled like purple fabuloso. After that I am not moving anyone in ever again. My attempt at helping people has been nothing but an abject failure. And for my parting words of this rant I'll point out the most disturbing part of this in my opinion. The most disturbing part of this to me is the low quality of people's character. Most people's word cannot be trusted. I tell my young guys that work for me this all the time: You can be bleeding, naked, and dying in the gutter and the only thing that cannot be taken from you is your integrity. You must hold on to it at all costs. If you are a man of your word it will bring you farther in this world than any amount of wealth. Being a man of my word got me the excellent start in the career field I am in now. My current boss just wanted to know if I could be trusted and nothing else. I entered the agricultural industry with nothing but the honor of my good name, which will never be taken from me.

[angry-geese]

505

bruno bucciarati x reader

warnings: nsfw. 18+ Tender sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem recieving). some fluff. fem!reader

notes: more bruno/abba survives au. this takes place post the events of VA

You're not really sure how this became your job.

Don Giovanna sent him on some job he could tell you little about.

Over the past few weeks, you had basically become the gang's secretary. Your own injuries had kept you out of the field, which you found yourself eager to get back into. Bruno didn't want you pushing yourself too hard, and someone had to stay back to make sure the others didn't burn the place down.

This was the longest he's ever been away from home. What was supposed to be a one week trip soon turned into a month. Everything that could have gone wrong, did. Your phone calls were growing shorter, and less frequent. On the other end he often sounded tired, and had little to talk about. While there was no ill will between the two of you before he left, the distance was putting a strain on things.

Somewhere outside a car door shuts. The sound is muffled by the thick walls, and the clock that ticks a bit too loud. You've reread the report about a dozen times. It's nothing of note, just a mission brief from Mista, but you can't seem to focus on it. Bruno was supposed to call you an hour ago. Even if this isn't his fault, you can't help but be a bit angry with him. This wasn't what you signed up for. You wanted a partner that would be around, not constantly running errands for the don.

You don't hear the door to his office open.

"I've missed you, amore," Bruno's arms wrap around you from behind, "I'm sorry I was gone so long."

He pulls you up into a kiss- just a quick peck on your lips, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead. You rest your head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, your body caged in his strong arms. The scent of his cologne mingles with something metallic. He smooths his hand over your hair, pulling you in close. You pull him back down for another kiss, half drunk off the feeling of being so close to him. Maybe you missed him more than you thought. He looks at you with such adoration that you want to melt. Affection swells in your chest, your heart racing.

Bruno presses a kiss to your neck, gently nipping at the soft flesh. You wrap your arms around him, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Although you can't see his face, you feel his lips curl into a smile. His hands find your waist, working lower and lower. The movement is so slow that you hardly notice when he's at your thighs, tugging them apart. It's not long after you feel something hard pressing against your hip.

"Bruno!" It's hard to sound serious when you're giggling. His presence makes you feel giddy. "We can't do that in here."

Can't isn't really the right word for it. The two of you have fucked in his office before, but not with so many people at the hideout. If he hadn't planned on taking his time with you, he'd fuck you over the desk now.

He pulls away for only a moment. "You don't want the others to hear, do you?"

You shake your head.

"Good girl," his voice sends heat straight to your core. Unconsciously you rub your thighs together, desperate for any bit of friction.

You should be glad the door to his office locks.

Bruno hauls you into his arms, sitting you down on his desk so you're facing him. Gently, he shoves your thighs apart, giving him room to settle between them. His hands work to undo the buttons of your blouse before you get impatient and pull the thing over your head. Through the thin padding of your bra, he kneads the soft flesh of your breasts. He trails kisses down your neck, sucking a dark mark into your pulse point. His erection strains against his pants, painfully hard, leaking precum against his thigh. Although he's normally a patient man, today is challenging that.

There's not much privacy at the hideout. Under any other circumstance, you'd be embarrassed at how quick he can turn you to putty. His touch is far too distracting to let you think about anything but him. Bruno has a way of making you melt. At times its truly frightening- he knew all the different ways of pushing your buttons.

He pushes up the fabric of your skirt, humming in amusement when he realizes you have nothing on underneath. He's hardly touched you and you're already wet. His fingers trace across your soft skin, reveling in its warmth. Bruno moves so he's kneeling between your legs, pressing a quick kiss to your thigh. There's a dark look in his eyes. He licks a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound, glancing up to see your desperate expression. Your face is flushed, eyes half open, lips bitten pink. A heat pools low in your stomach, only amplified by his skilled touch.

"Bruno please..." You whine.

"Please what?" He rests his head on your thigh. His hair tickles.

"Fuck me-"

He laughs, the noise coming from low in his chest. Bruno presses a kiss to the flesh just above your clit, before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sudden action makes you jump. He hooks his arms around your thighs, pulling you towards him. He eats pussy like a man starved. Latching onto the bundle of nerves, he swirls his tongue around it. Your hands bury in his hair, tugging gently. Each little gasp and moan you make spurs him on more. You're trying to be quiet, but he wants the others to hear how good he makes you feel.

His long fingers press at your entrance- just one at first. You're so wet already he's not worried about hurting you, but he does give you a moment to get used to him. He adds a second, curling his fingers, stroking at your sweet spot. A particularly loud moan makes you clamp a hand over your mouth. In his hands, he can feel your legs shake. You're getting a bit more disheveled, and closer to your orgasm. The heat that pooled in your stomach soon turns scorching in intensity. Your legs tighten around his head, making him groan. The only noises aside from your own moans are the sounds of a man very content with what he's doing. He could die happy, trapped between your thighs. He'd spend hours doing this if you'd let him. Usually you do.

One final swirl of his tongue sends you over the edge. You cry out as you cum, clamping your thighs around his head. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue until the overstimulation becomes too much and you cry out. Bruno pulls away, the lower half of his face wet with your slick, his hair a complete mess.

You palm him through his pants. He wastes no time in freeing his cock, giving himself a few pumps before lining up with your entrance. It takes everything in him to not moan out your name. You're already so wet that he slides right in. It doesn't matter if this is the first time he's done this, or his hundredth. You always turned him into a moaning mess. His fingers dig into your hips- not hard enough to leave bruises, but his nails leave little indents in your skin. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him flush to your chest. Maybe he was a bit more pent up than he thought.

His thrusts start out shallow. Part of it is him looking for any signs of discomfort from you. Your eyes are half lidded, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. He smooths a hand over your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Harder," you rake your nails across his back, "you're not going to break me."

"I'm just taking my time, amore." He says, although he does pick up the pace a bit.

Your collective moans mix with the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin. He hits all the sweets spots you didn't even know you had. Before him, you had never cum from just penetration alone. At this angle, he hits deep. His hand that isn't grabbing your thigh finds its way into your hair, pulling your face to his. He pulls you into a kiss, nibbling at your bottom lip until you let him in, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth. His thrusts grow sloppier as he nears his own orgasm- which he's getting to faster than he'd like to admit. You're not very far behind, your stomach tightening when he strokes a particularly sensitive spot. By now, you've long since stopped trying to be quiet. It's not the first time this has happened- and certainly won't be the last. Bruno grunts when you clench around him, so close to your own release.

Your orgasm rolls over you like a wave, leaving you sleepy and sated. He holds your shaky form against him as he gives a few more thrusts, cumming inside. He stays there for a bit while the two of you calm down, his chest heaving. Your skin is tacky with sweat. Cum drips onto the table when he pulls out, staining the fabric of your skirt. Weakly, he presses a kiss to your forehead, mumbling a "I love you". you card your hands through his soft hair, saying it back.

Hopefully the don wouldn't mind his reports being a little bit late.

[nephilim-problems]

Rossi's Daughter

I sat sipping expensive wine in the middle of a crowded expensive, posh, Italian restaurant waiting for my old family friend. The only member of my family who knew what I'm doing for work. Italians are weird about family, the family name must always be protected, family is better than anything. You get the picture. Rossi was an extension of my family and he always treated me as such even promised my mama that he'd protect me in America. Then I saw him, dark black hair with small amounts of white peppered through. His beard was worse, he looked skinnier or maybe he was just taller I couldn't tell.

"Ah Rossi," I smiled standing up to meet him. "Che piacere vederti! Da quanto tempo."

Rossi grabbed both my arms and smiled "Che piacere vederti, cara."

We kissed cheeks and Rossi pulled my chair out for me and sat me down.

"You don't have to do that for me," I smiled warmly and grabbed the glass of red wine.

"But I want to," Rossi smiled and seated himself down and took a look at the wine bottle. "Contrada R? Are you trying to sweeten me up?"

"You're the one who called me here, remember?” I smiled and swirled the glass in my hand. “Come stai, Rossi?”

“Still sweeting me up my dear (Y/N/N)?” He smiled and held the glass in his hand. “But I am doing well just got back from a case.”

“Did you catch the guy?” I asked, crossing my legs and setting the wine down.

“Yes, but I would rather not talk about my work here,” Rossi replied, smiling warmly to me. “Come stai, (Y/N).”

“Va benissimo! Business is amazing, making great money. I have more new clients than I have ever had,” I smiled at him. “But I doubt we came here to talk business.”

“As a matter of fact we did,” Rossi paused and took a bite of his food when he noticed both our glasses of wine were empty. He called the waiter over before saying, “Mi porti dell’altro vino per favore.”

“Oh,” I smiled and took a bite of my food. “So you didn’t call me down here to banter like old friends,no?”

“Lets just say it’s a little bit of both,” Rossi let out a small chuckle while continuing to shove food in his face.

“Well then please elaborate,” I said, taking a sip of wine and laying back against the chair.

“I have a friend, he lost his wife last year but he hasn’t,” Rossi wiped his mouth and bearded then looked down, almost like he was nervous. “He hasn’t gotten back out there. It’s affecting him at work and he just really needs to get laid.”

“I see,” I said, leaning forward and tapping the silverware. “So you want me to seduce your friend, is that right?”

I made sure to put emphasis on the “friend” portion since I didn’t believe that this man was really his friend, perhaps a coworker; but not a friend.

“Well not exactly,”He paused again, done with his plate and handed it to the waiter. “Aaron is different. Stoic, a hardass, jobroni. He’s overly professional, he doesn’t want a girlfriend, he needs a companion.”

“I thought you wanted me to sleep with him, in your words he needs to get laid, no? So what is it, am I sleeping with him or just being another friend?” I was intrigued by this, maybe even a bit excited. I hadn’t had an overly professional in my bed or my wallet before. “I don’t think this friend is really a friend, coworker maybe? You know I won’t judge.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t sleep with him, I said he needs a companion. You can still sleep with him and be his companion,” Rossi laughed and leaned over the table.

“So what’s the price hm? You’re paying me, he’s paying me, i’m doing this pro bono,” I said, crossing my legs and leaning forward.

“Oh so you're interested?" Rossi asked smiling.

"I made that obvious, no?" I replied.

"I didn't want to assume," Rossi laughed and waved the waiter over. "Il conto, per favore."

The waiter noded and quickly ran off.

"Leaving so soon?" I questioned. "We aren't done talking business."

Soon the check was placed on the table. Rossi quickly pulled his card out and handing it to the waiter. The waiter quickly came back muttering a thank you in italian.

"I just thought the next bit of business was best left to be done while I drove you home," Rossi said pulling my jacket from the back of my chair. That was my cue to stand up.

"Grazie Mille," I said as he placed my jacket on my shoulders. I slipped my arms through and fixed it so I felt more comfortable then I looped my arm through Rossi's as he led me out.

"I'll do it pro bono if you'd like. A favor for a good friend free of charge," I smiled as we walked out the front door.

Rossi handed the valet his ticket and pressed a hand over mine.

"What about a favor for a favor?" He asked. Soon the valet was back with Rossi's car and Rossi opened the door then helped me inside.

"A favor for a favor? What did you have in mind?" I asked as Rossi slid in the driver side.

"I think you need a companion too," Rossi smirked.

Suddenly my smile fell slightly. He was right aside from him, my family, and my 2 best friends. I didn't talk to anyone. It's a lonely life as an escort. Woe men take their money and leave. I am always the companion.

"Okay ill do it, just send me his number and I can-" I started talking swiftly to get this over with.

"I need your help with one more thing," he interrupted as he pulled up in front of my house. "This one's for me."

"I'm always willing to help you, Babbo," I smiled warmly as his nickname slipped from my lips.

"Your father would be very upset if he heard you call me that," Rossi teased as he let both himself and myself out of the car and began walking me up the driveway to my home.

"My father would be very upset to see you as a Nerc," I smiled back and Rossi laughed.

"That is very true," he laughed. Soon we were standing in front of my front door having to say goodbye. "About why I asked for you, I have a case tomorrow, we're flying to Hawaii. I need your consult."

"I see. As I said anything for you," I smiled. "So I just need to be close to my phone, yes?"

"Actually id like it if you came with me. We might need you in real time, just in case," Rossi smiled.

"What time do I need to be ready?" I asked.

"I will pick you up at 7 A.M have a bag packed and ready," Rossi said before kissing both my cheeks. "Ciao mio caro, Ci vediamo domani."

I smiled and pulled him into a large hug, "Ci vediamo domani. Ti voglio bene Babbo."

"Ti voglio bene anch’io," Rossi replied and kissed the top of my head before heading down back to his car. "Stay safe tesoro."

"Wait, what's my new client's name?" I yelled standing from the door.

"My unit chief Aaron Hotchner. You'll see him tomorrow."

"Thank you."

I watched him take off then quickly put my key in the door and walked in. The house was dark and quiet as always. I had such a large house and lived alone. I made my way up the stairs and patted a hello pat to my pit bull Thor. He barked happily at me and followed me to my bedroom. I packed a bag for at least a week and got ready for bed. I have an early morning tomorrow.

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

Hi thank you so much for reading my first Hotch fic I've published I hope yall like it. I'm thinking of making it a series if anyone likes it.

[fireemblems24]

Post Grondor Field AM Analysis

I'm prefacing this by saying that I'm still not sure I can write a good analysis of this scene for two reasons:

1. I don't know what comes after, and

2. I'm very emotionally involved in what happened.

But I tried my best. One thing is for sure though, what happened in Grondor in AM was an incredibly significant turning point for AM and Dimitri and my thoughts and analysis on it will definitely expand as I keep writing about and playing the game.

Part of me is just so happy I got to see Dimitri's supports, have the inevitable turn around, and get to do things like tea and dinner time again that it's hard to be objective about this scene.

And by "this scene," I don't mean that actual fight at Grondor, but everything from Fleche's attack to Byleth's words in the rain later.

It wasn't all about Byleth . . .

Given how poignant Dimitri's character arc has been so far, I had a deep rooted fear player-pandering would ruin it. Byleth, as a concept, isn't bad, but too often the heaps of praise feel underserved and other things (like Claude's intelligence, Edelgard's relationships with everyone else) get ignored to make more room for player-pandering.

Thankfully this did not happen. Byleth, throughout the early chapters of AM's part 2, failed to reach Dimitri. And, honestly, seeing Byleth actually struggle for once has done wonders for how I view her character. Still, I worried that player-pandering-power, rather than something that felt earned, would cause the inevitable eye-opener for Dimitri.

But it wasn't just Byleth. Fleche's vengeance kicked everything off, what veered Dimitri away from his fate in other routes. He accepted his death at her hands, not bothering to defend himself. Rodrigue stepping in the way and his parting words forced Dimitri to confront things he'd ignored. Throughout AM so far, people have posed questions to Dimitri who refused to answer them because he didn't want to face what they asked. But Rodrigue dying for him, spending his final words telling Dimitri to live for himself - combined with Fleche's attack - forced Dimitri to confront things he avoided. It wasn't until after all of that when Byleth steps in.

And Byleth didn't "fix" him either. Dimitri's supports show a young man who's still very much struggling with his mental health, poor self-image, his previous actions, and wondering if he deserves not only to live for himself - but if he even deserves to live. Byleth didn't hand-wave Dimitri's problems away.

Everything about the scene is stronger because it didn't fall back on player-pandering, but more earned, realistic, and dramatic actions and consequences - including Byleth's involvement which felt far more earned than usual because of prior failure.

But I wish Dimitri's friends played a bigger role.

Not everything was perfect though. I wish we got a little more than we did from Dimitri's house mates - especially his childhood friends Sylvain, Ingrid, and extra special mention to Felix and especially, especially Dedue.

Throughout all of AM, none of the above mentioned characters feel utilized to their full potential. This isn't a problem exclusive to AM, and by all means it's far from the biggest offender, but given how close all the ties are in AM, it's felt when it's not there.

I still don't know what exactly I would've done with them. Maybe I'd need to make the game an actual novel to do it, and you can't forget how perma-death has historically held back games at times, limiting major moments to a select few "retreat" candidates.

Still, though, getting a bit more from Ingrid, Sylvain, Felix, and Dedue would've made the scene even more powerful.

I actually really liked the scene in the rain.

I haven't made it a secret that I dislike Byleth. Or maybe disliked is more accurate. Lately I've been rethinking my stance on Byleth, in part because I've heard from people who like her or found ways to make her work and from my own thinking about the game while planning future write ups.

I don't think it's Byleth I really dislike, but the player-pandering. Separating the two isn't easy, but it's easier since I've starting coming around to seeing Byleth as her own character.

There's been a few moments that made me care for Byleth, and this scene in the rain was one of them. Because she didn't just fix everything. She tried and failed for months to reason with Dimitri, and despite everything she never gave up on him or failed to keep offering her hand.

I'm not going to lie. I got all the bubbly, heartwarming, heartbreaking feels the writers wanted me to in this scene. Seeing Byleth reach for something and fail, and then finally, finally get through was rewarding in a way many of Byleth's prior accomplishments aren't because this one felt earned. And by God did she earn it.

Some people will likely disagree with that last point, but I disagree with them. She asked Dimitri hard-hitting questions, forcing him to come to unpleasant conclusions rather than trying to force him into anything. She kept Dimitri from veering to far off course, even at expense to herself when she killed Randolph. She saved Dimitri from Fleche when he refused to save himself. She quietly supported him, coaxing out the good she knew was still there and refused to give up on.

I'd never in a million years say someone in real life should put up with Dimitri's toxic behavior and verbal abuse, even considering his extreme trauma and aggravated mental illness. But seeing someone fuck up so badly still get forgiven, still get supported, still struggle but honestly change for the good, still get loved, start to accept and forgive himself through the power of love and forgiveness from others is very powerful, especially since media so often downplays those "softer" things as weakness in comparison to the "badassery" of ambition and stoicism. Using Byleth, who previously had little experience with feelings, who was encouraged to experience them in healthy ways by Dimitri, return the favor isn't really the worst choice.

It's cliche, but cliches aren't always bad.

The mentor dies. Redemption in the rain. Revenge against the protagonist's actions opens their eyes. Etc . . . This scene was chuck full of cliches, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Tropes serve an important narrative purpose because a writer can rely on them to convey a message to the audience that either saves time or sets them up for something unexpected or even expected. Fire Emblem has always and will always be incredibly cliche and full of tropes. It loves tropes so much there's in-universe ones that make some unit or character discussions sound like a foreign language to people outside of or new to the fandom, talking about "Ests" and calling someone a "Camus."

What matters is if a story pulled something off well, not if it's terribly unique. A mentor dying is powerful because it forces the student to grow. Redemption in the rain is high symbolic of water washing things away + the somber atmosphere rain creates. Someone trying to get revenge against a character provides an eye-opening experience about the ripple effect of their actions. We see these things in fiction all the time because they work.

All the tropes worked like expected in this scene. Using images instead of cut scenes did make less of an impact, but more on that later.

Tl;dr: There's nothing unexpected or terribly unique about what happened. It was honestly painfully predictable, but that doesn't make it bad and is in a series that does this all of the time.

The voice acting carried because those images can't.

A major downside to this scene is that it used vague images instead of a cut scene. I get that budget and time were likely concerns, but many cut scenes from earlier in the game seem rather trivial. Did we really need that dance one? Really? I don't think so.

This was a hugely important, action heavy moment. Using one or two still images to convey everything that's happening and all those emotions, really makes it less than it could've been.

That said, the voice acting saves it. I've raved about how amazing Chris Hackeny is as Dimitri, so nothing new here. Rodrigue's and Fleche's VAs also did a fantastic job. No one oversold or undersold the emotions. Even without the cut scene, you felt what happened thanks to the skill of the actors. This scene would've been so much harder to engage with without them, if this was an older FE game where all you got was text. This is 100% one of the moments highly elevated by the decision to have a fully voiced game and choosing high caliber talent (let's not talk about Radiant Dawn's voice acting).

Questionable support timing.

One issue I had came right after the scene when I viewed Dimitri's supports. The nature of some - like his with Raphael and Alois - didn't quite line up with the character I saw in dialogue right after. I wish they staggered them a bit more or got picker about what you could get in part 1 or 2.

This isn't limited to Dimitri either. In the same support batch, I also got a Marianne B support where she still had no confidence or self-worth. And then like 10 minutes later I talk to her in the monastery and she mentions about how seeing all the death in Grondor made her value her life even more.

In the past, I've also received entirely valid opinions that Dorothea in part 2 is hard to understand because she's cherry and flirty in her supports, and morose and hates the war in her monastery stuff, making her seem inconsistent.

It's a bit jarring. It's not really an issue for characters who don't change much like Edelgard or Raphael, but even for characters with more subtle differences than Dimitri, Marianne, and Dorothea - like, say, Lorenz - you get a lot of weird stuff because of supports. I just think Dimitri's stands out because he's a main character with a really prominent, important turning point for his growth.

[abarbaricyalp]

Sambucky, sharing clothes? Bucky stealing Sam's airforce shirts?

Friend, Bucky in air force shirts is my favorite image

TW: Vomiting and Illness in section V

This is a 5+1 and I'm only posting section I here because I don't want to clog up anyone's dash. You can read the full fic on AO3 here

The Truths Beneath Our Ribs

I.

Coming back to the VA after the Potomac--triskelions?-- was weird. Part of him was expecting his boss to bar him from the premises and part of him was expecting his groups to shy away from him and his minor newfound celebrity. But, after two sessions, none of that had happened. He was still just a guy cleaning up a room on his own.

Until he wasn’t. He’d heard the door open and had called over his shoulder, “What’s up?” and finished tossing paper cups into the trash before turning around. Someone he couldn’t immediately recognize in a hoodie was grabbing armfuls of metal chairs and racking them up on the rods on the wall.

Sam leaned back against the refreshments table. “You need someone to talk to?” he suggested. “Can’t just take the free labor, y’know,” he joked.

The figure ran gloved hands over the edges of the suspended chairs and then slowly reached up to slip the hood off. Really, the hair should’ve given it away, but Sam’s brain wasn’t even close to that train of thought, so he didn’t recognize the Winter Soldier until he turned around.

If the table was any sturdier, Sam might’ve flipped over it. As it was, he stumbled back into it as he scrambled to right himself. By design, there was nothing that could be used as a weapon in the room--except maybe the chairs, of which there was a super soldier between Sam and them. Sam had forfeit his pocket knife at the door and he wasn’t sure there’d be anyone to hear him call out during this lunch hour.

The Winter Soldier--Barnes--looked pained and he took a step back. “I’m not… I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, voice rasping and damaged. Sam couldn’t help but wonder if it was from disuse or the shouting match he’d gotten into with Steve.

Or breathing in Potomac River water rescuing Steve.

Because it had to have been Barnes that dived in after him, right? Pulled him onto the bank and left him to cough and sputter his way back to life? There’d been no one else there.

It’d been almost two weeks.

Barnes looked clean enough, all things considered. Hair washed, new clothes--even if they didn’t fit quite right--a beard coming in along his jaw.

“Why Air Force?” Sam asked, nodding at the hoodie Barnes was wearing. It was as much of a truce that Sam was willing to offer.

Clearly it took the other man by surprise and he took another step back, looking down at the jacket like it was the first time he was seeing it. Which, maybe brain torture did that to short term memory. “Oh. Um,” he began and smoothed a thumb over the hem of the shirt.

Which was about the same time Sam noticed a grease stain at the shoulder and a hole in the bottom of the front pocket and the way the screen printing had peeled off on the bottom corner of the C.

“Is that my hoodie?” he asked, indignant, suddenly uncaring that it was the Winter Soldier in front of him. “Were you in my house? Are those my jeans?”

Barnes smoothed his hands over his thighs. “Your jeans wouldn’t fit me,” he said, which almost sounded like a personality. “I took them out of… Steve Rogers’ bag. You should put a lock on your sliding door.”

Sam could strangle him.

“What the hell were you doing in my house?” he asked.

Barnes looked down again, scuffed a boot against the tile, tugged at the hoodie. “I was looking for you,” he finally admitted. “I’ve...learned a lot. And I know there’s still so much ahead of me. I’m trying to...get my head on right. I--”

“You should be talking to Steve. I don’t have any answers for you.”

Barnes’ face screwed to one side, not quite a snarl, not quite a frown, something indecisive and confused, like the man in front of him. “I don’t want answers. I want to...figure it out on my own. I want them to be my thoughts.”

Sam wondered how long it had been since Barnes had been allowed that.

“I just needed to...see you. Well, not you. But if you’re okay, I know that the… that Steve Rogers is okay. I know you were helping him at the hospital and afterwards. If you left him alone, let him leave the house, he must have recovered.”

“You should go talk to him,” Sam said again. And wasn’t that a change? Sam had thought he’d never want the Winter Soldier near Steve again. Clearly Steve’s head wasn’t screwed on right around the guy. But the man standing in front of him was not the Winter Soldier. Not in any way that mattered. Not so far anyway. This seemed much more like the man Steve was so sure existed under the mask and eye makeup. And, dammit, Sam wanted to help him.

“No. Not yet,” Barnes said. “I’m not going to tell you not to tell him because I know what I say doesn’t matter to you. I mean, hell, you argue about what avocados to buy in a crate full of identicals. You’ve got opinions that you stick to.” And there was that personality again, which Sam was already getting irritated with. “But can you give me enough time to put your hoodie back and get a ticket out of here?”

“Where are you gonna go, Barnes? You think the Winter Soldier is only wanted in America?”

Barnes’ eyes lit at his name but Sam wasn’t sure the man even realized it. “I know I’m not, but I’m good at lying low. I can make it work. Somewhere quiet.”

“Steve isn’t gonna stop looking for you,” Sam said.

“He will,” Barnes answered. “Something else will attack the world and he’ll have no choice. He’s still gotta play Captain America.”

Sam thought back to history lessons about abandoned USO tours and the sight of the shield falling from the Triskelion as he heard Steve say ‘I’m not gonna fight you’ over the comms. He was pretty certain the one thing that always ensured Steve didn’t play Captain America was the man standing in front of him.

“I’m not leading him astray for you,” he said finally. “But I won’t tell him I saw you unless he asks. Not at first.”

Barnes looked up at him, all wide eyed and surprised, and the name Bucky suddenly fit a lot better. “Thank you,” he said, took a step forward, thought better of it, and then stepped towards the door. “I’ll be gone by nightfall.”

“I don’t know what Steve’s doing,” Sam warned. “He could be back at the house by the time you get there.”

“Maybe I’ll just leave your hoodie in the bushes outside,” Barnes threatened. Sam glared at him. Barnes stared right back. “I know to check for people inside before I barge in.”

“I don’t know what goes on in that cyborg brain of yours,” Sam scoffed.

“More than goes on in yours,” Barnes answered. Sam was about to kick up the biggest fuss when he realized the corner of Barnes’ mouth had turned up just enough to dimple his cheek.

“Get out of here before I change my mind,” Sam said, waving a hand to the door, which was about the first time he realized he wasn’t shaking or even flushed. The fear of the Winter Soldier had dissipated almost as instantly as it had washed over him.

Barnes paused in the door like he was about to say something but a woman from one of Sam’s other groups walked in right then. She gave Barnes an appreciative once over as they passed.

“He’s cute,” she said pointedly.

“Ugh, as if,” Sam said. “What’s up?” And because he was a damn professional, he didn’t let his eyes slip back to the door to see if Barnes was sticking around.

[ziracona]

Pretty sure your sudden spike in Fate content is gonna be like the third time I check something out bc you started posting it (I know next to nothing about Fate. In fact, I think I now know less than before you started). I'm rly not sure what the best starting point to get into it is, though. Any recommendation? (also I got Moriarty on your quiz and now I want to know why he's so beloved)

Oh sick! Awesome! I hope you enjoy it! 

Uhm, so, Fate notoriously swaps out like their whole creative team from work to work, so some of it is really good, and some is really bad, and some in the middle, because it’s made by very different people. The things I am most into are UBW, and Fate Go. Fate Go is a little gatcha phone game, that suffers from the fate of the whole fate franchise but as a single unit. They swap out writers from arc and event to arc and event, so sometimes you’re living and thriving, and sometimes you’re like *thousand yard glazed, pained stare* ‘why the fuck did I download this game?’ Very mixed bag. I enjoy it because I just kinda blow through any arc I don’t like and skim, and then go hella into the good ones, but it’s very much an individual matter of taste one. It’s very fun to collect spirits and get to know them though, and some of the arcs are fantastic. Also, they have made/are making some of the Fate Go arcs into shows, and I expect the ones that are of good game arcs are good? But I haven’t actually checked any out myself yet--I really need to watch E Pluribus Unum, because it was an easy top 3 arc for me in the game.

I’m big into Fate, but I actually have approximate knowledge of many things? And have not consumed as much media as you’d think. I tend to hear people really like Fate Zero, and very mixed reviews of Apocrypha, but I would wholeheartedly recommend the Fandom Classic(tm) and my personal fave as where to start, which is Unlimited Blade Works.

Sorry this is so long. Okay, so. Originally, Fate Stay/Night was a visual novel with three paths/routes: Fate, Unlimited Blade Works, and Heaven’s Feel. All of these are shows now. Unlimited Blade Works was made twice. Do not watch the early one; it’s bad. Watch the 2014 TV series--it’s on Netflix right now. Don’t watch the English dub--the VAs are...not great. 110% recommend watching it in Japanese/original dub, with subtitles. (This one)

My usual pitch is that if you’re a normal person, you’ll probably go “This was a little confusing, but I really got into it: 8.3/10″, and if you’re like me and you never really gave up on wanting to become a superhero and save the world some day, you’ll go: “It was fantastic, 18/10, but it also ripped out my soul and left me wounded but somehow in an okay way.” Either way very worth watching. Since it’s not the first route, there are some things they don’t explain about the world because they kind of assume the viewer will know, but that’s pretty minimal--it’s def coherent enough that the more confusing bits are more of a “Uh, okay. I think.” than a “W-What the fuck is going on?”

It’s really good. Two seasons, the most beautiful fighting in almost anything I’ve ever seen, phenomenal soundtrack, and one of the best show opens (Season 2′s) of any show I ever saw. All around a just big blanket rec from me. It’s a long-time fan favorite for a reason. It’s one of my fave shows ever :’-] It was. Very personal to me.

Uhhhh what else--okay so, on Netflix if you watch it there, and a lot of streaming sites, they list “Episode 0″ or “Prologue” as the first episode? This was originally bonus content, not the first episode. It’s basically the first episode from not the MC’s point of view, but a different major character. It’s got some really great character moments and insight into Rin and Archer, and it’s fun, but since it was originally bonus, the pacing is super weird? So I would recommend you start with actual episode 1/Winter Days, A Fateful Night instead? Unless you just want to. Like it won’t mess up the show, but it might give you a weird idea of what the pacing is. So you can watch it first if you want, or later whenever you’re curious about those two, just like, if you start on it, don’t get overwhelmed by the stuff they’re not explaining, or the weird pacing. It’s supposed to be bonus content haha.

Very happy you’re interested! I really love UBW so I hope you enjoy it! If there’s anything else you want to ask feel totally free! I just don’t want to ramble for eight years about my special interest and fall into a black hole unprompted haha. : D Very happy you’ve been intrigued by my weird spike of fate content WAIT YOU ASKED ABOUT CRIME GRANDPA HOW COULD I FORGET.

Woof this is gonna be a long ask answer. Uhhhh, so Moriarty is from Fate Grand Order/Fate Go, the phone game. The game has three major arc sets so far: Grand Order, Epic of Remnant, and Cosmos in the Lostbelts. He’s from Epic of Remnant, and he’s universally beloved because he’s amazing. The MC in Fate Go is like 16, but he or she (you get to pick) is constantly having to risk their life and be hurt and traumatized and watch people die to save the world because there’s no one else to do it, and usually people are...not super nice to them. Moriarty shows up in the first of the second set of arcs and is like ‘Haha that’s a wholeass human child tho. Guys. Guys, a-are you sure about this?’ and he’s really there to pull of a massive evil culmination-of-my-life’s-entire-work-and-value scheme, but this kid is nice to him, and has nobody who looks out for them, and Evil Has Standards, so (Arc End Spoilers for that one ahead) he ends up giving up basically at the last minute. He had a plan that was totally working and could have won, but can’t really pull the trigger, because winning would mean this kid who has been nice to him and is already a massive pile of trauma and pressure and mental illness would die, and he cares more about them than his life’s goal. In Go usually boss fights are progressively harder, but his is super easy because he throws it, and chooses to lose, and basically throws away his life’s work for this one kid because nobody else is taking care of them, and lets himself get killed. This is a pattern with him. Other high points include later being 5 seconds into a scheme when Frankenstein (the girl one, who in fgo is like 14) stops him to call him Papa and asks for help, so he adopts her on the spot and just is her dad forever after that. He’s very goofy and I love him; he’s evil, but I’d trust him with my life, because he’s more good than he is evil, even though he’s both. Basically he’s just a very interesting and well written villain, but he’s also like, the /best/ dad in the game at the same time, and his dialogue is amazing. Evil Has Standards team dad poster man. He’s like the only adult in Fate Go who actually is responsible, which is fuckin wild. I’ll try to find some good screenshots of his dialogue. Anyway he’s incredible and I’m so happy you got him; Crime Papa is life.

Here have some Moriarty junk: (Shinjuku arc you have 3 partners, and the other two are adults but harass the MC constantly, and this was the dynamic. Bless Moriarty) 

And here’s some him roasting Sherlock memes and being good dad to the MC

[marshmallowprotection]

I'm kind of in a crisis rn because I'm seeing a lot of people saying that no, Saeran doesn't have DID and what he does in fact have IN CANON is borderline personality disorder. And honestly, their reasonings and evidence for thinking that do make sense.

Some people say that Cheritz tried to make him have DID but ended up with something that's more like BPD because of not doing enough proper research. Though diagnosing fictional characters is always difficult because creators don't do enough research and just give a character a bunch of symptoms and call it a mental illness.

But even though these people think that in the game he has BPD, they often agree that when it comes to fan content, headcanoning him with DID is "better" and makes more interesting and maybe even more realistic content, even if his canon symptoms match BPD more.

So the thing now is, do you think it's wrong for me to write/draw (like the alters interacting) him with DID? And what do you think in the first place, do you also think he has BPD "canonically", but choose to write him with DID anyway because it can make interesting stories? Or do you think he might have DID and if yes, I'd really like to hear your reasoning for it!!

Hey, I don’t know where you read that but Su-Jin said during one of the Free Talks that he “felt like” Saeran has BPD. That’s not a canon confirmation. That’s the VA’s opinion on the character which isn’t a concrete canon answer, that’s just what he feels like. It’s a valid opinion! 

I personally have always read into it as him having DID, some folks say it’s also plausible that he has OSDD. Either way, no matter what you believe, as long as you’re not wiriting him or the others with disrepect or demonizing any of them for their mental health, then there’s not a problem with your headcanon. 

There’s no such thing as a better HC. Whatever you believe is what you believe and like I said, as long as you’re being respectful what you’re making and what you’re creating, then it’s okay. It’s a very broad spectrum. So, don’t feel bad for what you feel like you see.

There’s a lot of mixed opinions on the subject because of how certain things were handled but frankly, I’m on the side that says he has DID. The dissociation, the lapse in memory and time lost, the confusion that exists between both Suit Saeran and Ray, how they sometimes share memories and sometimes they just don’t, how they both have a role in the system to apply, and so on and so forth. It is a survival mechanism. They needed to exist, both Ray and Suit Saeran, cause of the weight of trauma that this boy has gone through—

There’s quite a bit about how those two came around, but that’s more jumping into HC on what his system may have locked like before he was yanked into Mint Eye and the situation pulled Ray out. Because, Ray will do anything to make sure they live. Saeran was too... overwhelmed and scared by the literal torture. Suit Saeran is there because he needs to be strong to protect them, and to him, that means anger is a weapon and a shield. 

There’s common themes in their role in the system that tie into certain aspects. 

They are identified as separate people, they are noted to exist together and on their own. The credits in Saeran’s AE credit Ray, Saeran, and Unknown as their own people, and that’s just further knock to that. They’re not the same person, they never were. I could go on and on and on about what makes me feel like they have DID, but honestly, it’s just my personal feelings on the matter and how I write them. 

[xofaddiction]

                            𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖜 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙 𝖍𝖎𝖘                              𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉.                                𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖎𝖒𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋                                          𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖑𝖆𝖜 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍.                                         𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑                                              𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙:       ��                                    "𝖎𝖋 𝖎 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖎 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚,                                          𝖎𝖋 𝖎 𝖉𝖎𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖓."                                           𝖘𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖗.

full name:  cyrus rousseau nicknames: cy, lieutenant, ruoss, etc. age:  36 date of birth:  jun. 11 zodiac: gemini gender:  male pronouns: he/him sexuality:  bisexual

physical

hair color: dark brown eye color: hazel height: 6′1″ weight: 180 lbs

personality

morality:  lawful evil positive traits: charming, inquisitive, intelligent, attentive, strong-willed negative traits: restless, easily bored, moody, fickle, short-tempered, job: manager of rousseau’s  skills: adaptable, strong, combat trained, artillery trained.

family

parents: valentina and louis rousseau. siblings: blake and audrey rousseau. niece: aria rousseau.

backstory and details - ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲ     ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ :                                       war, murder, violence

                                       ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴    

first born to louis rousseau and his young, model wife valentina, cyrus was another strapping heir to a line indebted to the o’sheas, albeit far behind others. a strong boy with a sturdy will and an even stronger mind, cyrus was a beloved child, doted on by his mother for his looks and encouraged by his father to be the best he could be in every aspect of his life as the second man in the rousseau family.

an o’shea general, their father wasn’t shy about bringing his children along when it was time to set the wrong things right. cyrus could recall on many occasions where his father returned to their car, knuckles bloody, stoic and firm with a word of advice and warning on what to look for in weaker men as he grew older.

always taught that nothing could hurt him unless he gave it license to, cyrus was rambunctious and foolhardy, always flooded with a charm and wit. paired with his keen instinct for sparring and ways of outsmarting those his senior, he had a knack for mischief from the start.

fear is a fickle thing in the eyes of a walsh general’s son; ever changing, always political and fluctuating in immediacy and relevancy. still, there was one fear that remained constant; losing those he loved.

more often than not it was a distant, almost irrelevant fear; one that had no place among conscious thought. at least until he gained two younger siblings, well into his life. after they came, he felt a need to step up and be there for them in a different way than parents ever could. he wanted to be the trusted confidant, the one they came to for help before they went to their parents; the reliable brother that loved them fiercely and with everything he had in him. cyrus cared for them beyond all others; no one matters to him half as much as they do.

moving through years in elementary and middle school, cyrus was popular, charming, well known and well liked, but could tip attitude at the drop of the hat. the moment he was provoked, his wrath came out and found the object of his rage. that indignation, the anger within him, and the willingness to hit first and worry later landed him in and out of detention and even one instance of juvenile arrest.

his mother, more often than not, let the discipline thereafter be dealt with by his father. she loved him, he knew, she just wasn’t the most tolerant woman of the inner workings of a child’s mind, especially one as privileged as her son was.

it seemed worthwhile to louis to enroll young cyrus into boxing classes; he needed discipline and anger management, maybe even to get his ass knocked to the ground every now and again to keep him humble. not only did his fortunes improve, but so did his ability to work past his issues with rage.

a stand out feature of his youth was taking note of his mother’s descent from being a mother with him, to a friend with his brother, and all but an acquaintance with his younger sister. he hated how passive she became, how lacking she was in her attitudes toward her children.

once in training, his studies soared, both academically and in boxing. high school couldn’t have been easier. he was popular as ever, a shining example of what one should be; respectful, protective, intelligent, and above all; engaging. everyone seemed to want him as a friend or a fuck, and cyrus saw nothing wrong with it.

on occasion, there were times he’d take it too far in the boxing ring, move too fiercely and endanger others training around him. cyrus found it far too easy to fight dirty. He liked the snap of bone beneath his knuckles, or the squelch of sweat as a body hit the octagon beneath him.  chastised for his behavior and willingness to act out of line, cyrus knew the behavior had to cease. collecting outlets for his anger, he took the advice of his coach and started to write.

he wasn’t good at it, or particularly knowledgeable in the rules of prose, but writing was his therapy. it was the only sympathy he afforded himself to have, and soon the bookshelves in his bedrooms were heavily lined with journals filled cover to cover with simple-minded musings, thoughts, and reports of the days where he could barely tell sunrise from bedtime. 

after high school graduation, cyrus decided he’d go the way of the navy. he wanted to make his parents and siblings proud; a noble son that learned the noble art of war. leaving them all behind would hurt, but it would be worth it in the long run. who better to protect his family than a man with all the skills of a trained, combat killing machine?

cyrus signed up when he was 18 and shipped off to basic not long after. nothing shaped his fears for the future quite like the fall of the world trade center in 2001. watching live from a tv in the cafeteria in his senior year of high school; he could recall the tension in the air; everyone in that room knew the wars they spent so much time learning about were now outside their very windows.

he was too tired, he had lived through and seen so much, and despite it all he looked forward to seeing his sister. when he was on his first tour overseas, he took a spare moment to reflect on his family and how much he really missed them. finally, he had time to call home and was soon after met with the news that their mother left. he hadn’t felt a true rage like that in all the months he’d been at war; his efforts were usually better spent. 

after the start of the iraq war, cyrus was sent into active combat and shipped overseas to afghanistan. he was a part of two tours, the latter of which was cut short by the detonation of an ied. his left leg was shattered and though they were able to salvage the limb, it wasn’t without extensive surgery and the implantation of a steel rod. cyrus received a purple heart for his action in the service and was honorably discharged and left to return home as a decorated veteran.

by the time he returned to chicago, he had seen too much on his tours, fought and killed and his rage was tripled tenfold. the brothers and sisters he cherished in the service had been lost, killed, or moved on. cyrus felt as if part of him was left out there, far from where he was in chicago.

when he had gone off to war, he worried for his siblings. upon his return, they worried for him; many years his juniors, they couldn’t have been more than twelve and ten respectively. the first fourth of july home was a noted one in the rousseau family. at the first thundering echo of a firework detonating in the sky, cyrus ran and tackled his siblings to the ground and covered their heads. It was a snap instinct, one that came with the echo of bombs overhead.

soon after, he was encouraged to see a therapist through the local va. diagnosed with ptsd as many veterans are, the therapist had an almost sickeningly positive outlook on cyrus’s prognosis. it seemed he was one of the few she believed in to pull himself out of the binds of a mental illness.

after a few sessions, his therapist encouraged him to get a service animal. after signing up and getting his certifications for a service animal taken care of, he adopted a rottweiler puppy. he named him LOOMIS.

however, there is no one can fake a fantasy like the son of a model. outwardly, cyrus was still charming, still personable, and most of all: still lethal. writing did precious little to staunch his emotions, but fighting did. though his training was limited compared to what it had been when he was a kid, he rejoined the local boxing gym and threw himself into the ring. the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the echoes that stirred his memories of war, the numbing catharsis that came after the bell rang all felt like coming home. it seemed the more violent the outburst, the more he felt at home.

there was nothing out of the realm of possibility for cyrus and his tastes; sleeping around, drinking, partying, fighting, living the reckless life of a daredevil whenever given the chance. joining the o’sheas after his father was a move that made sense. every risky behavior was lidocaine on a burn, a cool soothing menthol that eased the scald of emotions he’d rather not feel. binge after binge, everything started to blur together- no obligation, no feeling, nothing but the bed of a woman who would have him.

when he carried out what was asked of him as an initiation, he did so quickly, cleanly, and concisely. after all he’d seen on the plane of war, the carnage came as second nature. it made sense to do it for the sake of the family he claimed.

like all fears, his soon became realized. their father disappeared. though cyrus searched, he quickly lost hope they would ever find their father alive. he had seen enough in the service to know that if someone was gone for long enough, the’d never come back. with this effectuation of his father’s fate in mind, it became all too apparent to cyrus that everything changed.

cyrus couldn’t afford to be a mess in front of his siblings or in front of the walsh’s. he was the theoretical head of the rousseau’s. he would be their protector, and do everything in his power to ensure their safety and happiness. it felt as though everything fell to him; he could not be anything less than the man his father.

[yonaih]

en route I - [ doc x lion ]

posted on ao3 as aIIegro (capital i’s in username)

word count: ~2.7k

a/n: here we go! this is the fic from that teaser i posted a week (?) ago. i said i’d write a few chapters before posting but. i want. instant validation. 

Things between Gustave and Olivier had always been tense since Operation Chimera, to say the least. It infuriated Gustave to no end every time he thought about the other haughty, arrogant French operator. Sure, they got their work done once both could temporarily get over their unrepressed hostility towards each other (albeit grudgingly), but even the moments of mutual teamwork didn’t suture the festering sore spot between the medic and Lion. Even the most antisocial operators in Rainbow knew the aspects that the two hated about each other. In some ways, it was rather shocking. Olivier was already known to be stubborn and had a knack for annoying everyone in a room, but his ability to dig a strong, seemingly out of place reaction from Gustave was extraordinary. Doc, a man who basically had “putting up with others’ problems” in his job description, was thought to be universally calm and collected, but Lion’s presence was clearly an exception to that notion.

Twitch found herself almost caught in the crosshairs when she brought Olivier to the infirmary after a recruit training session got out of control and left him with a bloodied calf. The trek down the hall was gruelling. Helping support the larger man, Emmanuelle sighed a little as she fumbled with the door handle, trying to push it with her foot.

“If you couldn’t get the door, knocking is an option,” Gustave called, helping Twitch inside, blatantly ignoring Olivier’s groans of protest.

“My bad, Gus,” she quipped, dragging the bristling Lion towards a cot and haphazardly dumping him there. “Next time, I’ll get a nitro.”

“Very funny. Not a claymore?”

Twitch shook off her vest, tucked it into the crook of her arm, and gave the Frenchman a pointed glare, stuck out her tongue, and motioned to Lion. Suddenly stone cold, Gustave asked what had happened.

“Well you see, recruits got a hold of Shuhrat’s cluster charges and didn’t fully understand what they did. Need I say more, mon ami?”

“I suppose not, but what exactly happened to him?” Doc’s voice soured at the mention of Olivier, whose glare was shooting daggers in return. A moment of tense eye contact passed before Emmanuelle responded.

“No one else got hurt. Some property damage of course, but Olivier is the only one who got hit by anything. I think it’s just, er, stuff that flew into his leg? I am not sure.”

Silence.

“Thank you, Emmanuelle, you may go.”

“Wow, I’m Emmanuelle now, huh?” She playfully retorted before getting up to leave, shifting her vest in her arms. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Em…” Gustave warned as she left with her hands raised in surrender. Once again, there was a tense silence, the only noise coming from various machines scattered throughout the room.

“Are you going to help me or not, dipshit?” Lion snarled before twisting around to inspect his bloodied calf. Nursing his tender leg, blood dripping down his boots, Olivier sat in the most defensive way he could.

“Va te faire foutre,” Gustave spat, reaching for tools to remove the shrapnel in the other Frenchman’s leg and kept an iron grip on the tense limb. Wrenching it free from Olivier’s preening, the medic began to inspect it.

“Oh? Va mourir, Kateb,” was the response as Olivier grudgingly started to comply, refusing to wince when bits of drywall and shattered cement were pulled from his blood covered leg.

“I’d watch your mouth, Flament.” Even though his mood was definitely ruined by the sorry excuse for an operator, Gustave tried his best to disinfect the wound nicely and keep his stitches tidy. Surprisingly, Lion was quiet the entire time. The process took place in almost complete silence. Another few minutes of bandaging a little too tightly passed, then Doc let him go.

“I doubt you’re going to reclean and bandage your wound properly. Come back tomorrow afternoon,” he said gruffly, removing his bloodied gloves and threw them away, purposefully ignoring Lion’s gaze. After some inaudible mumbling from the taller, sandy haired man, the door slammed shut and Gustave finally turned around. Cursing the entire way, he stomped back to his desk and shuffled his mounds of paperwork, blood still boiling and teeth still clenched.

That was simply how it was between the two. Gilles, the poor man, couldn’t take a side. Twitch and Rook were wholly sick of the tension, but they had a much harder time trying to be more forgiving of Lion when he was the one who did anything that rubbed them the wrong way. Rook, as positive as he believed himself to be, couldn’t find common ground with the prickly fellow Frenchman. Of course, it was mostly due to his strong, unwavering loyalty for the medic he thought of as a brother. Julien admired Gustave greatly, considering how much time he spent working with him and how much good he had seen Doc do, whether he was on duty or not. Julien saw the way Gustave and Olivier fought, tooth and nail, and couldn’t help side with the person he thought of as selfless and compassionate. The GIGN’s beloved medic was a trustworthy member of Rainbow and a constant in the dangerous lives of everyone who worked with Six’s team. Overworked and always serving overtime, Gustave’s workaholic habits only added to Julien’s concerns but also made Doc an exemplary example of an operator to him. Julien couldn’t help but appreciate the humanitarian efforts of Gustave. The doctor was an idol of his, flaws and all. Lion? To Rook, he was something like a friend, but Olivier’s thorny exterior didn’t do much to help their limited friendship. He had to admit, though, that Olivier was quite a lot of fun to be around whenever a sparring session was needed. He was a worthy opponent and respectable fighter. His persistence and indefatigable nature was something Julien aspired to emulate. However, Lion was the kind of person he would go out and drink with every once in a while but never truly get to know. It was all very surface-level, Rook thought.

Twitch, no matter how much she enjoyed a good gossip, hated the arguments, if one could call Doc and Lion’s fights “arguments.” They were horrible, chock full of smothering insults and shouting laced with enmity and poison. They were bitter and they were hateful. They made her feel defensive and conflicted. Did she have to choose a side? She was incredibly loyal to Doc, considering their close friendship and the amount of times he came to the rescue for her and everyone else in the GIGN. He was a great secret keeper and amazing listener, even if he was only pretending to do so sometimes. Their trust in each other was mutual, and she liked Gustave’s logic-based, straightforward advice. Even though both respected each other immensely, she did have to hear snide comments about Olivier whenever he was brought up in conversation. Despite this, she couldn’t help but feel like Lion deserved a second chance. After all, who had spent the most time with her in the workshop by far, staying late to work with her on her drones? Who had been the quickest to volunteer to help her to the infirmary when she fell severely ill in the middle of a mission? Who gave her the expensive bottle of wine for her birthday when it was only the GIGN operators who bothered to remember? Olivier Flament. Despite her hope for a kinder Olivier and for peace between him and Gustave, he kept brushing her away and constantly took out his anger on her, even if it was really meant for Doc. It was hard to put up with. “Sorry,” she’d tell him wearily before leaving the room. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

For Rook, it really came down to a deep bias. For Twitch, it was her growing tired of Lion’s sour attitude. Simple.

It wasn’t quite like that for Gilles. Montagne found himself as the middleman of this inter-GIGN war. A unit he thought of as family. Even though he was close to both Gustave and Olivier, Gilles couldn’t figure out the root of their problem. As far as he remembered, the two were quite close before. What changed?

“Gus,” he called from the doorway after being brushed off by Lion, who he had caught stomping out of the medic’s office.

“Gilles,” Gustave responded coldly, still facing away from the door, tidying up his cabinet of supplies next to his desk, tossing away some empty boxes.

“What was Olivier doing here?”

“Injury.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay, mon ami?”

“Yes.”

“So...no?”

“He’s just being himself and it...displeases me.”

“Understatement of the year,” Montangne mused, walking over and leaning on the counter, observing Doc. “You know he’s not that bad, right? You must’ve known, considering you’re familiar with him from some time before.”

“Merde, that was a misjudgement on my part. I don’t want anything to do with that prick.”

“You both work together frequently, and you make dinners in the GIGN dorm quite uncomfortable. Don’t you want to make amends and spare everyone else?”

“Gilles—“

“No, really.”

“Let it go.”

“Gustave,” he warned, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m being serious, this is an issue whether you know it or not. It can jeopardize future operations, it’s clear you can’t work together in training simulations—“

“Look,” Doc snarled, slamming a cabinet closed and whirling around to face Gilles. “I have my reasons. We worked together fine in New Mexico. I’m sick of being the one trying to repair whatever relationship we had. I tried, he didn’t reciprocate. I’m done.” Coldly, he brushed past the other man and went back to sifting through paperwork.

“Please. I understand, but there has to be something you both can do.” Gilles was practically begging him at this point, briskly striding towards Gustave’s desk and turning his chair to face him. “Anything. I’ll talk to him, you can figure it out from there.”

After a moment’s pause, Gustave threw down a folder and leaned back, groaning while straightening his crisp white coat. “Talk to him and I’ll try again.”

A pause.

“It means a lot, Gus.” Gilles patted his back and chatted a bit about his day before swiftly exiting, leaving Gustave to think briefly about Olivier before returning his focus to his work.

Unbeknownst to him, Olivier had a similar talk with Gilles. It began as hostile as Gilles’ conversation with Gustave had, but Olivier was the one to pour out the story. The Ebola crisis, the collateral damage, Doc’s vicious retaliation, their previous friendship, everything. All of this information came after a week and a half of partly pressure and partly gained trust. Olivier, while quick to retaliate, was slow to trust. His facade of permanent arrogance and pugnaciousness crumbled in the face of those he believed to have his best interest at heart. Gilles began to get why both were so upset with each other, and it fueled his drive to bring them back together. Satisfied with both men’s responses, Gilles talked to both again, saying that the other agreed to try to make it up to the other.

He thought it was a little selfish of him to try and intervene, but what else could be done? Both Olivier and Gustave were headstrong and opinionated. Eerily enough, Gilles thought they were similar in many ways. Perhaps it was this exact fact that Montagne wanted them to understand. Still, it seemed that their differences were not what drove them apart. Rather, their similarities stood out enough to clash, while unawareness raised a heightened sense of conflict and blinded both to the hypocrisy of their own ideals. Gilles couldn’t have his GIGN team torn apart by the past, no matter how bitter and bloody. He adamantly held blind faith in the power of unity within the group, and it was well known that nothing could stop him from enforcing that mindset. Miscommunication came between Doc and Lion, and Montagne hoped that meeting on neutral ground would catalyze the rebuilding of burned bridges.

Olivier had mixed opinions. On one hand, he didn’t want to let down his guard and risk his pride and beg for forgiveness. On the other, he realized that unless one of them left, there was no escape from working together. He took the issue to church, consulting his pastor and some monks in hope that they could come up with a solid solution to the dilemma that had lasted him a very long time. Returning from his Sunday mass with a strong sense of resolve, he settled on trying to be the bigger person with the advice of his friends at the church. While he did indeed find this difficult, he felt like the brothers of the church were right. No use fighting fire with fire; take the high ground. Cautiously, his battle to repair his bond with Gustave began. It was difficult to adequately explain, but Olivier felt the need to fix things. Something out there compelled him to do so. Whether it was God or an itch to clear a guilt-heavy conscience, that “something” stubbornly wrenched him from his haze of defensive anger towards Gustave and cleared his head for a brief moment, enough to definitively commit him to his revelation.

A week after their skirmish, Lion traversed the base in search of the coffee machine, hoping a peace offering of a fresh cup of espresso would test the waters. After asking a few of the SAS operators, only to be met with brusque answers, he turned to Emmanuel, who he had found lounging in the workshop, wearing a GIGN hoodie and lazily testing her drone. Thoroughly anxious, he felt like a fool for being nervous about anything relating to his quest to make amends with Doc.

“Em.” Rapping the wooden table to get her attention, he leaned against an empty chair next to Jäger, who was too busy to notice.

“Olivier,” she greeted, stretching. “Need something?”

“Er, oui,” he hesitated. “Where’s the coffee machine?”

She thought for a moment, brows wrinkled in concentration. “I know there’s one back at our dorms in the living room, but the one in the base is always moving around. Why? Don’t you drink coffee?”

“Merci. Just wondering. I don’t get coffee from the base.” He quickly exited, giving a curt nod in the direction of some recruits working in a corner who were staring. He continued his trek, finally satisfied when he found a quaint coffee maker in a secluded corner of the communal living and dining room. After a few unsuccessful tries to get it to work properly, he wondered if this was truly worth it.

“A fucking waste,” he grumbled after ten minutes of fumbling around the machine. The coffee looked acceptable, but Lion was beginning to remember the significance of his anger-filled falling out with Doc. Gustave didn’t fucking understand. I bet the bastard never understood death, the damned medic, Olivier thought, gripping the coffee cup tightly as he made his way to the infirmary, purposely walking slower than normal. All about saving lives and shit. The asshole loves preaching about human life but he doesn’t understand death like I do, because I...

No, that’s not right. Olivier felt deflated, the strange bout of petty angst abruptly leaving him.

Maybe neither of us understand what happened in Africa. Determined once more, Lion pressed on, desperate for at least some closure with the past and answers as to why the intertwined parts of him and Gustave were driven away in the midst of the collateral damage and conflict. A mix of almost instinctual anger and resentment fused with a repressed sense of fear became a strange conglomerate that merged with hesitation and dread, all of which came bubbling up as Olivier approached Gustave’s office door. With the inner turmoil of a prisoner on death row, he knocked three times.

“Come in,” Gustave’s professional voice came from inside. Seemingly in slow motion, Lion watched his hand reach for the handle.

This is it, Flament.

[juminsmysticmc]

Reset

Anonymous said: hi, may I request something if it’s not too much trouble? it’s about saeyoung and the reset theory. but basically saeyoung and mc got in an argument and mc went to bed upset with him. saeyoung has a nightmare that once he’s happy with mc in the future, like with their own kids and a nice house and stuff, mc will reset and saeyoung will find that they’re back to day 1 and she falls for the others without remembering him. then he wakes up all sad and scared and he and mc make up. thank u so much!

Hi babe! I really liked to write the story although I’m not a huge fan of the reset theory but I had a pretty good idea so I hope you like it too! Please tell me your opinion! 

,,I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE IT!’’ he yelled at you.  ,,Can’t we just talk?’’ you asked him, still calm, full with patience for your fiancé.  ,,NO I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU!’’ he yelled and threw the first thing which came across on the floor.  Unfortunately the object was a vase your little brother gave you as a present to your engagement party.  It was a very special present for you and so the situation escalated.  ,,I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! I MAY JUST DISSOLVE OUR ENGAGEMENT!’’ you yelled with tears in your eyes.  Saeyoung stayed silent about this matter.  He hated the though of you regretting choosing to marry him.  But he just couldn’t make himself apologize to you.  ,,I’ve told you so many times that I don’t want any children and now you tell me that you’re pregnant!’’ he stated once again.  ,,AHHHHH I CAN’T BEAR IT ANYMORE!’’ you yelled at him.  ,,YOU’RE ILL! YOU’RE SICK AND YOU KEEP MAKING ME ILL TOO!’’ you yelled.  You grabbed your hair and pulled them with your hands.  This made him realize that you were actually really stressed.  But knowing about your pregancy was just too much. Saeyoung just couldn’t accept that even he deserved happiness, a loving family, a wife, a life without worries. 

,,You know what? Just forget it.’’ you sighted, taking the cake you did for him and throwing it into the bin.  The baby pink and blue colors mixed in the bin, making the sentence ,,Congratulations, DADDY’’ unreadable.  Saeyung could hear you sob, his heart was in pain. Just the imagination of you being sad made his heart crumble.  ,,Wait, I will help you.’’ he said and reached out for the plates on the table.  ,,Just go to sleep. I will come too but just go. I beg you. Don’t touch anything because I will hit you with it otherwise.’’ you warned him and glared at him.  Saeyoung quickly took back his hands.   Your red eyes and trembling voice made him realize how hurt you were.  Without a word he went in your shared bedroom and went to bed. 

This night Saeyoung had a dream. In reality he had, just like people say, four short dreams. People sometimes can’t remember the different dreams or even associate them but usually they have four dreams.  But Saeyoung this night had a long nightmare which seemed never ending in his eyes…..

,,Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Daddy! Happy birthday to you!’’ four voices woke up a red haired, sleepy man.  It was none other than Saeyoung who woke up due to his family’s song.  Saeyoung’s eyes flickered a few times until he was finally fully awake.  He smiled as he saw their two little sunshines, as well as his brother and you, his beautiful pregnant wife.  His twins were holding a cake, and you were carrying a few presents.  Even his brother had a drawing in his hands.  ,,But, how can that be…?’’ he asked himself. Yesterday he clearly argued with you about the fact that you were pregnant. How could this situation…? ,,Daddy doesn’t look happy, mommy!’’ the little girl suddendly exclaimed, disturbing his thoughts.  ,,We should have stayed in Uncle Saeran’s room….’’ the boy complained and looked at his uncle who’s birthday was also today.  Saeyoung’s eyes fell on your smiling face and then on Saeran’s blushed face.  Now he got it, the drawings Saeran was holding weren’t for him but for himself, a present from the twins.  ,,Idiot, you should be grateful…’’ Saeran hissed and stroked his niece.  ,,Wait! No! I’m really really happy!’’ Saeyoung exclaimed and wondered about his own words a few seconds later.  ,,Come to daddy!’’ he added.  His children happily did so and so the boy placed the cake on the night stand and hugged his daddy.  ,,Come on children, let’s prepare the table for uncle and daddy while they wash their faces.’’ you said made your children follow you. 

This gave Saeyoung the time to think about what was happening.  ,,Am I dreaming?’’ he whispered and looked at his phone.  ,,I just went to sleep and now four years already passed?’’ he asked himself.  He didn’t like the situation at all but he also had the feeling that his body was moving on his own.  While going to the living room Saeyoung actually wondered how the children were named but of course asking them would be pretty odd.  Saeyoung and Saeran entered the room together just to be surprised by a beautiful decorated table and a beautiful atmosphere. The background music was a lovely ,,Happy Birthday song’’ and the paper chain which was saying ,,Happy Birthday’’ in beautiful colors was a real eye catcher. Saeyoung really coudn’t remember the last time he saw that his living room was this bright.  A lot of pictures were decorating the walls.  Pictures of you and Saeyoung on your wedding, pictures of you being pregnant or you and him holding babies.  The most beautiful picture in his eyes however was the one behind the sofa.  You were holding the girl in your arms while Saeyoung was holding the boy. Both of you sat on the same sofa which stood there and in the background his dear friends were standing behind you.  Saeyoung cold remember having a similar picture of you and the RFA.  ,,Daddy I’m hungry!’’ he suddendly heard. The whole family except you was sitting around the table looking at him.  ,,I’m coming, dear, I’m coming…’’ he calmed her.  His heart felt pretty warm when he suddenly saw her smile.  She looked just like you, even through she had the same red hair as he and his twin brother.  Saeyoung approached the girl and kissed her head and ruffed the boys hair.  ,,Daddy are you okay?’’ he asked him sadly, making Saeyoung wonder if he never kissed his children.  ,,Yes, I am, why?’’  ,,You’re so cold to us today. Normally you always hug us and play with us…’’ the girl responded.  ,,Now now, your dad is just sleepy.’’ Saeran said.  ,,Was mommy giving you a restless night again?’’ the boy asked him and made him blush.  What were they talking about?!  ,,No, it’s not mommy but your sibling who makes mommy wake daddy up!’’ you tried to defend yourself.  ,,I can’t help myself if I have carvings….’’ you mumbled and placed down the Nutella.  Saeyoung smiled at you, so you were having carvings, huh?  The family happily ate together, the children were talking about god and the world while you were happily stroking your belly.  Saeyoung couldn’t really explain his emotions. Was this happiness….? Why couldn’t he simply stop smiling…?  The day went on, the RFA visited and celebrated the twins birthday.  Yoosung had brown hair and Jumin smiled a bit more. 

,,Did you like your birthday…?’’ you asked him after the two of you went to sleep in the evening.  Saeyoung responded with a yes and you told him that you were feeling as if he was odd.  ,,You must be imagening things, Mc…’’ he said and put his hands on her belly. He could feel the baby’s heart beat.  It was an amazing, reassuring feeling.  Saeyoung thought that he could get used to this kind of living and with the thought to wake up the next day as a happy father and husband he fell asleep…..

,,I’m sorry…..I’m sorry…..’’ Saeyoung heard in the middle of the night which made him open his eyes.  And there he saw you, surrounded by a red light in tears.  ,,M….c…..?’’ he asked you, still sleepy.  ,,I’m sorry…..’’ you repeated.  ,,What? What’s wrong…? Please tell me!’’ he begged, now screaming at you.   ,,I’m so thankful that I had the chance to enjoy so much time with you, thank you! But now it’s time for me to go, I have to….please don’t be sad….’’ you laughed while tears were still finding their way out.  ,,Wait Mc! I don’t get it!’’ Saeyoung managed to scream.  He quickly jumped out of the bed just to grab your hand, a disappearing hand.  Unfortunately he failed and suddendly everything was dark again.  ,,MC!!!’’ he yelled.  In the dark he tried to turn off the light when suddenly someone opened the door.  He prayed that this person was you and that he once again just had a bad nightmare but he was just so awfully wrong… ,,WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SCREAMING FOR?!’’ a long haired man yelled.  ,,Va-Vanderwood…?’’ Saeran mumbled looking at the man.  ,,Holy shit, just sleep you ass!’’ he hissed and slammed the door, leaving him in the dark again.  Saeyoung finally turned on the light and opened the door.  The living room was dark and cold, no pictures, no love.  His heart began to beat quickly as he reached for his children’s room just to see that the room looked just like a few years ago.  ,,SAERAN?!’’ he suddendly yelled and barged into his brother’s room just to find Vanderwood in there.  ,,WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING?!’’ he yelled.  Saeyoung was on the verge of a breakdown when suddenly his phone began to ring.  The RFA was writing….

,,Failed my midterms fml T_T *sending a crying smiley* 

,,Yoosung….? Aren’t you already a vet…?’’ he thought but suddenly send a message saying :   ,,Cuz u played LOLOL all night lol.’’ 

,,If you want to work for our company, you should take care of your GPA.’’  ,,I’m still on the list?! +_+’’  *sending a smiley*  ,,Yes’’

Saeyoung couldn’t believe his eyes, what was he reading? The chat seemed like the one he had years ago when you first entered the chat…. Suddenly Saeyoung stopped breathing, it didn’t just seem like that but it was indeed like that!  A few messages later he noticed that you and Jihyun entered the chat. The leader begged everyone to trust you asked him later on to make a background check on you. 

But Saeyoung already did know everything about you…  Tears left his eyes, for five days you acted as if you never knew anyone of your dear friends and they simply did the same.  Saeyoung just didn’t want to believe it but then, when you stated that you loved Yoosung, he slowly began to think that he was getting a grip of the situation.  Was this somehow a reset of your life?  Were they all playing a prank on him? Or was history repeating itself?  But even if history would repeat itself, shouldn’t you fall in love with him…?  Saeyoung saw the same situation three times, every time after eleven days the RFA seemed to forget you and you fell in love with someone else.  The first one was Yoosung, the second one Zen and afterwrds Jaehee.  Like always he got to see the same chats for five day.  You laughing over Yoosung, gossiping with Jaehee over Zen’s Musicials or admiring Elizabeth the third.  And after five days he got into a fully unknown situation, like Jumin kidnapping one of his cars.  Saeyoung couldn’t understand the world anymore.  At some point, at the sixth day after you entered the RFA for the third time he decided to ask you. 

The both of you chatted a long time.  He asked you if you actually knew what you were doing but you were just deigning the situation. Maybe this was something he shouldn’t have done because suddenly he could hear your sobbing voice.  Once again you seemed really hurt, just as hurt as the time when Saeyoung argued with you, before going to bed.  ,,I’m so sorry, I don’t want to delete this app but it’s too much….I’m not living the reality anymore!’’ you sobbed.  Saeyoung couldn’t understand anything anymore.  But then he could see you. Even through glass was between you, he could see your crying face.  Tears were falling on the glass which was separating the both of you.  And then he saw a message.

,,Do you really want to delete this app? If you delete this app all your dates within the game will be deleted as well.’’ the message said.  And before he could say anything your finger pressed the answer ,,Yes, delete’’ and you disappeared. 

,,MC!’’ Saeyoung yelled and jumped up.  ,,WHAT?!’’ you hissed back, turning the light on and looking at him with a sleepy face.   He shrieked when he suddenly saw your messy face, your eyes were red and your cheeks were wet.  It seemed as if you fell asleep crying.  A glance on the clock showed him that it was 5 AM.  ,,What happened?’’ he asked you.  ,,Holy shit, that’s what I’m asking you. What do you want?!’’ you groaned putting your hands in your face.  Saeyoung looked down at your body, you didn’t seem pregnant and you remembered him.  So, was this still a dream or was he in reality again?  ,,If you’re so traumatized about my pregnancy…..’’ you mumbled with a trembling voice.  ,,I will just go to Jaehee.’’ you ended your speech and got up.  So, he was back in reality, right?  Saeyoung observed you.  He remembered the good time he had with the twins and how beautiful it was to feel a beating heart.  And now? All he was seeing was a tired you going out because he was an idiot.  ,,I’m sorry…’’ you whsipered again with tears.  All Saeyoung could think of was the situation when you suddenly were surrounded by the red light.   His body moved on his own and he reached out for your hand, hugging you and pressing your body against his.  He breathed in your scent, his daughter smelled the same…  Out of the blue he missed his children really much…..  Maybe this nightdream was a sign for him?   ,,Don’t go, please rest, sleep next to me and never leave me or fall in love with someone else….I want to become the father of our children and live happily with you so pease don’t go….’’ he begged. 

,,Why did you change your mind…?’’ you smiled when you laid in bed next to Saeyoung. He was currently stroking your back with his hand while the other one rested on your still flat tummy.  ,,I will tell you another time….for now let’s just rest….’’

[lambourngb]

So I moved my Sunday update to tonight in honor of @jumbled-nonsense​ ‘s birthday. Last Year’s Wishes is at 88, 076 words, give or take. 16 scenes to write, 13 days until the end of the month. My guess a little less than 29,000 words to go. Here’s a late addition to the story that I wrote the other day, Alex visiting Mimi. The rest of the story lives here. From the outside,  Sunset Mesa Assisted Living and Memory Care of Roswell looked similar to a resort clubhouse. It was a sprawling two story facility that spread out into sweeping wings with bright red roof tiles and Spanish arches. It was only the glaring lack of a golf course that kept it from being mistaken as a leisure destination. 

Since Maria had transferred the care of Mimi there, Alex had been making a point to visit at least twice a month. His first visit had coincided with being on base, and while the uniform had garnered admiring glances from the staff, Mimi had spent the afternoon addressing him as “Jesse”. His skin crawling, he  had made a note to carry spare clothes for any subsequent visit.

He had spent his childhood and teenage years borrowing mother figures from his friends, ever since he was 8 and his own mother had left. First Michelle Valenti, licking the cinnamon sugar off his fingertips when she made offered her hojarascas to him and then when Kyle had turned from friend to foe in high school, he had embraced Maria’s mother with her warm hugs and bold insistence on being himself, no matter who that ended up being. Mimi holding him tight, whispering in his ear that this was temporary, all while he felt so isolated and alone that maybe falling asleep and never waking was the better option, meant the world to him. It was not an exaggeration that he had considered harming himself at the ages of 14 and 15. It would have been entirely too easy with firearms readily available in his father’s house, never far from reach. 

For that alone, Alex would do whatever he could for Mimi. 

He scrawled his name in the visitor log, noting the frequency of Maria’s name above his. A pang of regret held him close as he thought about how complicated that friendship had become. It had once been the rare source of consistency in his transient life. Alex looked up at the charge nurse with a smile.. “How is Mimi today, Delores?”

“About the same, although thankfully she stopped leaving glasses of water everywhere.” Delores met his confused smile with a shrug, “Someone showed her Signs.”

“I thought alien related films were banned from movie night?”

“We had a new hire. They didn’t know, so for a while it was water, water everywhere with Ms Deluca. We’re back to Will Smith now, which I can deal with because that man is fine.” Delores took the guest book and gestured to the day room. “She’ll be glad to see you.”

Alex forced a smile and walked over to the brightly lit and cheerfully painted day room. As nice of Sunset Mesa was, and it was very nice compared to his experience with VA hospitals, it was still a place where families hauled themselves there out of obligation and their elderly relatives drifted like gray ghosts in the hallways.

Mimi Deluca was the outlier, at least thirty years younger than the youngest resident. She was never combatant, and seemed to help the staff when she could with the other patients. At a glance a newcomer would mistake her as a volunteer, except for the fact she wore slippers instead of the orthopedic shoes popular with the nurses. 

As soon as he drew near to her, she stood up from the soft overstuffed loveseat in the corner with a beaming smile, “Alex! Come here hot stuff and give me a hug.”

Alex mirrored her smile and wrapped his arms around her, absently noting she felt thinner in his embrace. “Mama Deluca!”

“My, married life is treating you well.” She patted his stomach teasingly. Her hands were bare of jewelry but still elegantly straight fingered and absent of age spots. “That husband of yours is feeding you well.”

A sharp pain radiated inside, as he kept his smile intact. Mimi, instead of mistaking him for Jesse, had started commenting on being married to a handsome man and it coincided heartbreakingly with his first visit after Michael had moved in. It was easier and harder to just go with it. “Are you calling me fat?”

Mimi beamed, and pulled him down to the loveseat. “Never, honey.”

The rest of the day room was largely quiet, with a group of residents staring at the flat screen television showing old game shows in the background. Mimi took his hand, and held it firmly. Her hair was resplendent as usual, cascading down her shoulders. 

Alex remembered from his original research for Maria that Sunset Mesa had sported a salon with someone on staff who knew the proper care and treatment of black hair, and every visit he had made had so far born that as true. “You look beautiful as always, Mimi. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine honey, can’t complain. But you, you are such a mix of happiness and stress. You know you will worry less once all the secrets are out.” Mimi lifted her finger to gently press on his forehead, forcing him to smooth his expression at the teasing touch. 

“Secrets?”

“The pieces want to be together, Alex, and that goes for the truth.”

He shivered at the repetition, but it wasn’t unusual. Mimi had often picked up repeated sentences from old conversations. Hearing her repeat Michael’s steady words from his bunker was still disconcerting. “You know I can’t talk about my work.”

“Hmmm. Now you sound like your father, but I wasn’t talking about that.” She smiled again and then put her arm around Alex, encouraging him to tuck into her side like he used to do as a teenager. “Tell me about your husband.”

“Michael’s fine. We went to Tinnie’s the other night. You would have loved our waiter.”

“He was hot?”

“So hot. Looked like he stepped out of a J Crew catalog.” 

Mimi laughed, delighted. “You’re making that up. I don’t believe you even noticed what that waiter looked like, too busy staring star struck at your hubby.”

“I plead the fifth.” Alex smiled, holding her hand in his with an affectionate squeeze. “He’s been busy at the garage, and I’ve started back at the base again until my commission is finished.”

“Work, work, work, Alex. It’s good you did dinner out together, you should keep making these efforts with each other. I’m telling you, things have a way of working out, without your intervention. Just stick all your troubles in the vessel. It knows what to do.”

Alex tensed in her hold, tipping his head up to meet her gaze. As he suspected, she wasn’t focused on him at all. “Vessel?”

“The ships, Alex. They weren’t just for moving from point A to point B. And what is distance but a state of mind?” Mimi threaded their fingers together, admiring the skin tones with a hazy joy. “These hands, the intent is what matters, for ill or for will. For better or worse.”

He closed his eyes briefly and summoned an even tone to keep her calm. Sometimes the talk of aliens, real or not, could send her into an agitated spiral.  “I’ve tried to keep my intentions pure.”

Mimi laughed again, “don’t con a psychic love. I was young once. Sex is still one of the best uses of our earthly forms.”

The conversation, like usual with Mimi, had slipped completely out of his control. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I am not discussing that with you, Mama Deluca.”

Abruptly, her head shot up to stare toward the door of the day room. “Oh. Oh my sweet Maria. She’s breaking her own heart again. Unrequited love is such a sharp blade to kiss.”

Alex twisted to look over to the doorway half expecting to see Maria standing there. The hallway was empty, just Delores behind the check in desk. He frowned a little concern at the look of sorrow on Mimi’s face. “It might not be? Unrequited that is.”

“You can change your hair, you can change your name, but you can’t change your heart, Alex.” She sighed again, “Aliens might be able to, they have that type of power, you know. The vessel will hold you tight and make you someone else. It’s a change that is so complete you’re remade.” She gently traced circles on the back of his hand. “But this town has had enough of that type of whitewashing. When you think about it, it doesn’t matter what is buried or planted, some flowers will never bloom in Roswell.”

Alex nodded thoughtfully, and noticed the flash of dark hair and bright clothing just outside the doorway at the front desk. Just as Mimi predicted, Maria was here, chatting warmly with Delores as she signed the book. “I should go, looks like Maria is here too. You’re a popular woman today, not that it isn’t surprising.” He kissed her hand gently, and shifted to his feet, feeling the stretch on his right hip. “I love you, Mimi.”

“I love you too, Alex. You should bring that husband next time. I promise not to steal him from you.” Mimi winked devilishly at him, “not that anyone could. He’s been yours forever.”

He shook his head, pressing the sharp knot of want down deep inside. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Alex turned, hoping to escape from the day room exit before Maria caught sight of him.