#i have been relearning R but not fast enough

[thedisablednaturalist]

Anyone good at data analysis pls give me tips on how to explain the process for an interview bc literally I black out for 6 hours and when I come to the analysis is done and I don't remember how I did anything. This is not something interviewers want to hear.

[demonicbaby666]

Staying The Week

Part 2 to Staying Quiet | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: JJ x fem!Reader

Genre: Feelings with a smidge of angst and a sprinkle of smut

Words: 3.2k+

Warnings: Fingering (r receiving), denying feelings, cheating (on Will though so it's yummy sexy), swearing and a dreaded cliffhanger…

Summary: Months have passed since you and JJ first started your passionate affair and the two of you had found yourselves navigating quite well through all and any sticky situations thrown your way. But when you take her up on the offer of enjoying her ‘company’ for a whole week, things take a turn in a direction you aren’t quite happy about. 

A/n: Look, I am well aware the vibes are vastly different to part 1 but my brain seems incapable of not incorporating feelings into anything. Also I had to cut out like two whole sections because otherwise this part would be like 8k and I didn’t have the effort for that, so the pace may seem a little fast but it’s done that way so if/when I do part 3 it’ll come to a swift close. If you’re here for smut and no feelings, I’m so sorry, this ain’t that… Anywayssss, hope you enjoy! <3

Ashamed. That’s how you should have felt when things started with JJ, what with her fucking you in the hallway with her husband upstairs and her kid - the kid you look after - sound asleep. That should have been reason enough to end things. But you didn’t. The clear and inappropriate power dynamic between the two of you, being that in technical terms she was your employer, seemed to be having an effect on you that wasn’t devoid of desire, in fact, it was dripping with the stuff. 

It was exciting, invigorating, and addictive.

You both had taken pretty well to the routine of sneaking around, sharing stolen kisses and orgasms whenever it seemed possible, and occasionally when it most certainly did not. As a result, and much to your dismay, lying had become easy, now having to use it as a crutch more than a handful of times. 

There was the time the couple had invited you to stay for dinner. Will had asked whether you were okay, you seemed off. It was to be expected, his wife’s fingers were torturing your clit under the table after all. He, thankfully, didn’t know that though. Throughout the shared meal, you told the fickle tale of a day filled with stressors and agro, rapid breaths and whimpers disguised as responses to the encounters that riled you up. JJ tactically covered up her under-table delegations through false acts of comfort. 

Later that evening, when JJ dropped you home, you divulged that not all of it was a lie. That your day, truthfully, hadn’t been ideal and she humbly took it upon herself to help you forget the days' hardships, fucking you senseless till your mind was rendered useless and only focussed on relearning how to breathe. 

Then there was the time you’d stayed the night in the spare room, JJ had insisted, ‘It’s 2 am, way too late to travel back’. She could have driven you home, she should have driven you home, but there was no fun in that. The impromptu stay indeed led to an abundance of fun. Explaining to Henry why you could barely stand without your legs shaking the next morning, however, was less fun. ‘Your mum fucked the hell out of me kid.’ you decided, was not an appropriate answer. So, yet again, you found yourself having to conjure a fictitious reinvention of the truth. 

No matter how many times you were put in precarious situations - which was often - you didn’t, wouldn’t, stop. Tasting the forbidden fruit time after time, for a young demure soul, was discovering a new world. A world of lust, sin, and shame. Comfortably, you had nested there, enjoying the fervency and rush of endless passionate encounters. 

In the familiar setting of your apartment, you lay beneath JJ, talented fingers pumping in and out of you. Here, you didn’t need to stay quiet. Moans and cries of pleasure had free roam, and as JJ continued to accelerate her pace and your moans grew louder, you thanked the concrete walls for concealing your dirty secret. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, grinding your hips to meet the steady rhythm set. 

JJ lowered her head, lips meeting and sucking your pulse point, leaving behind a red blotch you’d have to deal with later. Your hands flew from the bedsheets, one lacing and gripping blonde tresses, the other to cold metal railings above your head. Her palm came to rest on your clit, applying just enough pressure to intensify the waves of pleasure washing over you, but not enough to tip you over the edge. The tension in your abdomen began to grow, tightening in pulses that matched your unsteady breathing. 

“Stay with me this week,” JJ whispered into your neck, slowing down the pace of her fingers, but never stopping.

“What?” you shakily moaned out. 

“Will has to go away for work,” her fingers picked up their previous pace, covertly coaxing you into agreeing, “Stay with me for the week.”

A week. A whole week of recreating scenes that you’d only had the pleasure of enjoying on a weekly basis. It was risky and needed to be thought out. Nevertheless, it appeared to take hold of your mind. As JJ slipped a third finger inside you, driving in and out of you with more vigour, and more purpose, you decided. The offer was too enticing, dressed in the promise and taste of what the nights, and days, could look like. 

“Say yes,” she brought her lips over yours, brushing them together as she curled her fingers deep inside you. A moan tumbled from your mouth into hers, prompting the tips of her fingers to continue caressing your G-spot. 

Fisting harder to JJ’s hair, you let yourself topple headfirst into your release. Eyes closing, legs shaking, head falling back into the mattress, your back arched, pressing your sweat-clad body harder against the toned stomach above. 

“Okay,” you lowered yourself back down and steadied your breathing. When your eyes fluttered open you saw there was a faint glimmer in JJ’s eyes, the corner of her lips twitched, a smile wanting so desperately to take shape. Vigilant, she held back, knowing you weren’t finished, “On one condition.” 

A finger trailed down your cheek, etching an invisible line of warmth, until it reached your mouth where her thumb took over, brushing the length of the soft swollen skin. You let out a breathy sigh of contentment before JJ dragged her thumb down to part your lips. 

“Name it,” she uttered, releasing the captured lip and allowing it to meet once more with its counterpart. 

“I sleep in the spare room.” she cocked an eyebrow, curious and urging you to continue, “What we’re doing, there’s not exactly ample room for feelings.” 

Her face went slack, hastily returning to its former state when she realised you had a point. It was an affair after all. Not one that was born from feelings of undying love, but from lust and passion. A newfound sureness lurked in her eyes and a business-like smile danced on her lips, “Deal.” 

The next few days flew by, bringing with them a relaxed air. At first, Henry was apprehensive, but as time went on, he too, found comfort in the new setup. JJ would go to work, leaving you to take him to kindergarten, spend the day as you please, and pick him back up. By the time you got back and were done helping him with homework, JJ would walk in through the front door. Dinners together consisted of non-stop chatter between the three of you, sharing details of your day. Laughter the perfect side to whatever dish you or JJ had whipped up. 

When the curtains were drawn and the sun had taken its leave, things veered in a familiar direction. Clothes were shed, and littered around JJ’s room, your bodies meeting and merging together night after night. Having been previously agreed, at whatever late hour of the night things had come to a close, you padded across the landing to the spare room and took your well-deserved rest under different sheets to the ones you’d previously been writhing over. 

By Friday, the fifth day of your stay, the house buzzed with solace and serenity. Henry was allowed to stay up a little later than usual as he didn’t have school the next day. So at his behest, you found yourself sitting on the couch with JJ next to you, watching his choice of movie - Toy Story. He was enjoying the comfort of your lap, laying his back against your chest, eyes glued to the exciting scenes unfolding on the TV. 

If anyone was to peer in on the scene they’d assume they were looking in on a family evening. It wasn’t though. You knew that. You weren’t stupid enough to think the dynamic you shared with JJ would ever amount to anything resembling a family unit. But, as her hand snaked around your waist - pulling you in, not trying to initiate anything, instead to break an unspoken rule, to start the beginning of an innocent embrace, that you hated yourself for giving in to - you struggled to push back fantasies of a life that day-in-day out would look exactly like this. Friday evenings spent in the arms of a beautiful woman, meals shared over easy, fluid chatter, and nights filled with passion. 

A soft pair of lips placed a feather-light kiss on your temple, the last fragment to the puzzle, painted on it the picture of domestic bliss shrouded in melancholy. It was a picket fence dream that would never be yours. It wasn’t a revelation. Still, no matter how much you could’ve prepared yourself for the inevitability of feelings being thrown into the mix, the accompanying heartache stung like a bitch. 

Tuning back to reality, you realised the movie had come to an end. Henry was fast asleep in your arms, head drooping to the side as little snores filled the silence in the room. The added weight on your shoulder indicated you were the only one that sleep had yet to claim. Like mother, like son.

With the feel of JJ’s body leaning on you, hand still clasped around your waist, it was fairly easy to get lost in the moment, welcome it with open arms, treasure it, nurture it, knowing it wouldn’t last for much longer and soon you’d be forced to face the harsh reality of your situation. And that’s what you did. Allowed yourself a few minutes to take in the solemn conversation between two sets of calm breathing, the warmth radiating from both as chests rose and fell almost in sync. 

“Hey,” JJ sleepily sat up, looking down at Henry, “I guess neither of us got to see the end of the movie.” she chuckled. 

You offered her a pathetic excuse of a smile, hoping she’d miss the sorrow in your eyes, “I’ll take him up.” 

“I’ll see you up there?” 

“I’m a little tired,” the moment the words left your lips you watched JJ’s face drop. In the dim light of running credits she looked so sad, her eyes droopy from still waking up, cheek imprinted with sleep lines from your shirt. “It’s been a long day, you should get some rest too,” you added, hoping to remedy some of the disappointment the decision had left on her sullen face. 

Turning Henry around in your lap, he sluggishly wrapped his arms around your neck and rested his head on your shoulder, thankfully, still sound asleep. Under different circumstances, it would have been a treasured memory, the simplicity and beauty in trust demonstrated by letting another carry you up to sleep. It was true, over the passing days the bond you’d developed with Henry had grown stronger, and you found more and more he’d let his guard down around you. The only downside was the immense amount of guilt you harboured intensified anytime his innocent eyes bore into you. 

“Is everything okay?” the concern had made JJ more alert, after all, she was not privy to the inner workings of a naive mind, she had not been brought into the fold and given the explanation as to why exactly the evening, that anyone would have thoroughly enjoyed, had driven you to resentment. It didn’t bode well with her. 

“I’m fine,” you snapped. Standing up stopped JJ from being able to see the pained expression on your face, and as the stale words echoed through the room you were grateful for the fact your slight grimace was concealed.

You hadn’t meant to, truly, but walking out of the room, you took with you the once light, carefree air, leaving behind only a heavy, worrisome atmosphere. It trailed behind you as you made your way through the corridor, up the stairs and finally to spread and fill the first floor of the house. 

Opting not to wake Henry up and skip his nighttime routine, you set him down in bed and dashed to the spare room, all too afraid of being thrown into another uncomfortable encounter. 

The room remained one of the few places in the house unscathed. The bed had not felt the passionate affairs of two women, the walls had yet to hear the sweet melodic symphony of moans, rapid breaths, and praises, and the ceiling did not know what it was to look down on two lovers holding each other when they’d subjugated to the primal need for remaining close, but were too fatigued to continue pleasuring one another. 

After quiet minutes spent pondering in the dark, floorboards from the upstairs landing broke through the silence. The beating in your chest quickened as feet padded closer to the door. Your body tensed, waiting for the knock to come, racking your mind and trying to locate the hidden folder labelled ‘one-hundred ways to say I’m tired’. The silence remained untouched. No knock came. Instead, barely detectable over the thudding pulse of your heart, a soft sigh. 

Footsteps subsided, leaving you in the company of flickering street lights, revving of cars in the far-off distance, and the faint pattering of droplets falling against the glass window of the spare room. The bed sheets became enemy number one, clinging to your body in the worst of ways, if only to remind you they were not made from the same mould as JJ’s soft touch. 

It was compromise after compromise, a few more moments, one more day. All it meant was prolonging the pain, creating more memories you’d look back on and mourn over. When had things changed so quickly? 

It could have been the evening she’d smiled so sweetly at you when you’d both tucked Henry into bed, placing soft kisses on his head. The laugh she let out as she picked you up and carried you to her room, you could still hear. 

Or it may have been the early morning you’d walked in on her in the kitchen before work. She was staring out the window, holding her coffee mug between both hands, hair tied up in a bun with strays falling over her face, framing the soft features that worked in unison to construct a vision of natural perfection and beauty. Her eyes were glued outside, admiring the view only so her thoughts could wander undisturbed. When her head turned to meet your gaze, the smile that fell over her lips contrarily led you to believe she didn’t mind this disturbance at all because, well, it was you. The short distance between the countertop she was leaning against and the doorway you’d entered through was quickly closed, and she demonstrated exactly how much she appreciated the break from her thoughts you had so kindly provided. Coffee lay forgotten on the table, left for the cold to claim.

Maybe it was the afternoon she’d come back from work, looked at you with exhaustion and sadness weighing heavy in her eyes, and without even needing to be asked you walked over to her, wrapped your arms around her, and attempted to provide aid in the fight against whatever demons had haunted her from the day’s hardships. That day you vowed you’d do anything to ensure JJ always knew she had a place in the safety of your comforting embraces. 

How deep you had fallen. Feelings had crept up, only revealing themselves when it was already too late to banish them. Traitorous tears stung the back of your eyes, the floodgates opened a vast array of unrelenting emotions. Sadness, shame, confusion, anger. This was your fault. You’d let it get to this point, too greedy to stop for a moment, assess the changes unfolding, and put an end to the beginnings of what was now heartbreak. 

The walls closed in on you. You wanted out. Now. 

Pushing yourself out of bed, you located your bag and began packing your clothes. Whether you were going to leave tonight or in the morning didn’t matter, your brain just needed to cling to the hope you were in fact leaving. 

The tears in your eyes obscured your vision and when you reached out for the belt on the top shelf of the wardrobe it unravelled, falling to the floor, metal clanking against hardwood. 

Shit.

Hearing no response from either Henry or JJ you let out a deep breath, staring down blankly at the fallen accessory, watching as salted droplets fell and stained the leather. The calm lasted for all of ten seconds before JJ’s door opened and your body went stiff. 

“Are you o-” her eyebrows knit together as she opened the door, eyes darting from you to the opened bag on the bed. She walked further into the room, shutting the door behind her, eyes still glued to the object raising questions in her mind, “What are you doing?”

“I can’t stay here, JJ,” the words came out small and meek in the presence of a curious gaze. 

A flicker of fear washed over JJ’s face, assuming the worst, “Has something happened?” she hurriedly asked. 

It was now or never. Though ‘never’ sounded tempting, it meant you’d have to continue lying. Not the kind of lying you’d grown accustomed to, but instead, the kind of lying people use at night to find comfort in self-made deception. ‘What I did wasn’t that bad, the dude deserved a swift punch to the face’ or ‘They don’t dislike me, insulting me was just a critique on my face that I’m very much incapable of changing’ and in your case ‘Things are perfectly okay as they are, this will pass. Continuing to have sex with the woman I’m helplessly falling for will most definitely rid me of these incessant warm feelings I get whenever she so much as brushes her hand against mine.’

Lying to others was one thing but to yourself. That was something else entirely. Was this to be your new normal? It couldn't be. You wouldn’t let it. 

“We can’t continue with this anymore. I’m starting to,” the words were on the tip of your tongue, the finality of the confession grasping to walls on your throat, wanting to remain unspoken. But it was time, you trusted yourself to deliver the truth, the outcome no longer important,  “I’m starting to develop feelings.” 

Milky white scleras grew larger as JJ’s mouth fell open, “I-I don’t know what to say.” 

Had you expected a declaration of love? You weren’t sure. Whatever you consciously or subconsciously wanted to hear hung heavy on your shoulders as you turned back around to zip up the packed duffle bag, “You don’t have to say anything, but I think I should go.” 

Tears hanging in the balance, you made your way to the door, reaching for the handle before JJ’s hand gripped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks, “Wait.” 

Faces met, eyes gazed into one another and tears fell. A vortex of mixed feelings swarmed both your bodies, pushing you closer and closer together, seeking out the familiar in a sea of the unknown. Piercing blue eyes dropped to your lips, lips that had explored and acquainted themselves with every inch of her body, lips she wasn’t ready to part with and them her.  

“Please,” you pleaded, wanting nothing more than to rid yourself of the heartache that accompanied each falling tear, “I-I can’t.” 

“I don’t want you to go.” She whispered, hot breath reaching your lips.  

“I have to,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, biting back a fresh set of tears, “This is too painful.” 

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Tags: @criminallyobsessedcm @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind | Click here to be added to my tag list

[twistnet]

nsfw alphabet [ chibs telford ]

WARNINGS ─ gn!reader, smut [ oral sex, cum, kinks, masturbation ]

DISCLAIMER ─ if you are under the age of 18, do not read [ nsfw content under cut ] 

a = aftercare [ what they’re like after sex ]

is one to light a cigarette the minute the act is done, patiently waiting you come down from your high and maybe, gain some feeling back in your legs again. his hands is coaxing you to even your breathing as he pulls you to rest against his chest

once he’s stamped out his cigarette, he’s pulling on a pair of briefs and walking to the washroom to get you cleaned up. if a bath and a change of sheets is needed, he’ll get that together for you and get the bedroom all squared away until you’re ready to join him once again

b = body part [ their favorite body part of theirs, and also their partner’s ]

his gentleman side would say that his favorite body part on his partner is their mind and tongue. nothing sexual about it, but he loves to hear you speak your mind, take control of the area you are in and take no shit from anyone

now, his more non-gentlemen side would say he’s a sucker for chests [ boobies or not ]. he loves laying his head there and listening to your heartbeat but also loves pressing his face right into your sternum. getting to bit and lick and mark every inch of the skin

on himself, he would say his hands. years of garage work, motorcycles, and other things have roughed them up quite a bit and he gets a small spark of joy when he gets to run his clast finger tips down any part of your exposed skin

c = cum [ anything to do with cum basically…i’m a disgusting person ]

going back to the above, on your chest. getting to paint you with his cum gets him hard all over again, and is not embarrassed to groan at the sight. oh, but you happen to swipe up some of the cum on your finger and pop it in your mouth? you might have just killed him

on the flip side, he does like cumming inside you, but likes to ask before doing so. but if given permission, loves watching it drip out of your hole. and might push some of it back in with a loving smile

d = dirty secret [ pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs ]

playing the game that you don’t know each other at a club party, and him taking you to his dorm for a little fun time. has never said anything, but has thought about it often

e = experience [ how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing? ]

with a previous wife and plenty of croweaters that he’s had his way with in the past, there is no denying this man has gotten around. he might try the first time to use what he’s used on croweaters before, but quickly finds that you might tick a different way and has to relearn basically everything. but don’t worry, he’ll make sure to get plenty of practice in

f = favorite position [ this goes without saying ]

missionary. standard & reverse cowgirl. doggy-style. spooning. 

g = goofy [ are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc ]

while he tends to be serious most of the time, he finds that if he can’t laugh something off like you getting a cramp midway through, or he fumbles while trying to get into a position, then the relationship won’t last

h = hair [ how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc ]

has truly given up on keeping groomed. use to in younger years make everything nice and clean, but has since stopped as he just doesn't want to do it anymore and regrowth is a bitch. now, he does trim so it doesn’t get too long

i = intimacy [ how are they during the moment, romantic aspect… ]

very affectionate in a private setting. pulls you in close and loves to just be able to touch you and have you surround him in anyway possible. whispering sweets words in gaelic, holding your face in his hands. that kind of thing

j = jack off [ masturbation headcanon ]

never really used his hand to get himself off, as there was always a croweater nearby to help him out and be his companion for the night. since he has started a relationship with you, he might do it more to keep himself faithful while on runs. he doesn’t do anything with the croweaters on runs, even though it’s always been something the married men have always done, he’s not one to partake

k = kink [ one or more of their kinks ]

tit-fucking ─ going back to his fascinations with chests, having the ability to run his cock against your sternum turns him on so fucking much. sometimes, he’ll do in unprompted, but sometimes, you pat your chest and he’ll quickly get into position

stockings ─ any color, any detail is fine with him. they look so pretty against your skin and are so soft. will literally buy you one in ever color. they stay on while everything else comes off.

l = location [ favorite places to do the do ]

his/ your home or in his dorm at the clubhouse. both are safe places for him and there is less room for interruptions and he can focus he’s sole attention on you

m = motivation [ what turns them on, gets them going ]

a strong confidence paired with a mouth that has no problem telling someone off or letting people know what you think. you sitting or riding with him on his bike -- also wearing his helmet. kicking ass against some of his brothers -- winning a drinking game, a round of pool, or darts. jeans that seem to hug all of your curves. leather attire of any kind. you speaking gaelic

n = no [ something they wouldn’t do, turn offs ]

sharing you with someone ─ he’s seen some of his brother indulge in something like this and  has always felt funny about it. plus, the man has a major jealous streak when prompted and that just doesn’t mix well

degradation & abuse ─ this was after having seen it during one of the porn shoots and he had to step away, not truly understanding how someone could do that to another human in a vulnerable situation

o = oral [ preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc ]

oral for him is split 50/50. in his eyes, it’s only fair if you suck him off that he return the favor.

receiving ─ he’s coaching you through it, even if you know how to do it. he loves talking to you, lightly pulling your hair away from your face or affectionately caressing your cheek or jaw. he lets you do what you want, and isn’t going to dictate what you can and cannot do. as this is just as much for him as it is for you

giving  ─ okay, so maybe i lied about the 50/50 split. to a degree. once this man gets to return the favor, it’s hard to pull him away after the first orgasm. he will continue to build you up for another one and won’t come up for breath until you’ve cum at least three times

p = pace [ are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc. ]

depends on the mood and can range from a rough fucking or soft lovemaking.

he isn’t fast per say, most of his thrusts are quite calculated in the sense that he knows what spots make you weak at the knees or make your spine tingle. so, while the thrusts are powerful, there is no speed to them as he doesn’t want you to come undone too quickly

soft lovemaking on the other hand is just like the above, but the power behind the thrusts is toned down. it’s still there, but it’s not as rough. he takes his time,  either letting you ride him or spooning you. this pace happens to get you to completion much later, but it is so worth it

q = quickie [ their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc. ]

yes, yes, and yes. quickies are frequented quite heavily in your relationship, as sometimes, that is the only way the two of you can blow of some steam. a quickie will happen before runs or when you sneak off during parties to hurry back like you weren’t gone for 20 minutes

but don’t get it confused, this man would always rather have a nice, quiet session with you over a quickie any day.

r = risk [ are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc. ]

isn’t one to take risks without thinking through or talking about them first. sure, he likes that you are open enough to come and talk to him about what you would like to do in the bedroom, but would like to make sure that everyone is on the same page

s = stamina [ how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last… ]

two rounds max. and that goes for whatever mood and pace the two of you happen to be in. chibs doesn’t want to overexert himself or you, as sometimes just one session is enough to knock you out for the evening. 

now, this isn’t going to impact the amount of orgasms he’s going to pull from you over the course of the night. no one ever asked how long the sessions were going to last, just how many you are able to do

t = toy [ do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves? ]

was never one to use toys on partners, and had never thought for himself.

if you own toys for personal use and would like to incorporate them into the bedroom, he has no problem using them to aid in getting you off. however, he will draw the line at using them for himself, as it’s not really his thing

u = unfair [ how much do they like to tease ]

teasing is his specialty, but this man makes timed and deliberate strikes that will have to melting in his hand within a few hours. but don’t let it fool you, as he can wait for as long as he needs and he definitely isn’t going to be the one to crack 

so, if you want to push through your conversation with your friends and pretend he hasn’t been feeling you up this past hour, you go ahead. you’ll break eventually

v = volume [ how loud they are, what sound they make ]

no very loud would in comes to moans of pleasure, as they are usually quite muffled to some degree -- as he’s either muffling them into your skin as he presses kisses or is doing it more so under his breath

on the flip side, he isn’t quite when speaking to you. the amount of filth and sin that leaves his mouth as he slides into you over and over again is almost too much to handle. especially when it’s paired with his thick accent, that also, seemingly gets deeper the more settles into you

w = wild card [ get a random headcanon for the character of your choice ]

roleplay, specifically one where he can use the premise of him being a biker and you either taking on an authority figure or someone who’s seen in a more innocence light. bringing his kutte into the mix, or his bike is super appealing to him and anything the two of you can do with that is okay in his book

x = x-ray [ let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words ]

six inches. thick and slightly veiny from bottom to tip. curves slightly when erect.

y = yearning [ how high is their sex drive? ]

despite his age, he has a medium to high sex drive. this all depends on what is currently going on and how he’s feeling. 

his sex drive is medium when he’s doing day to day things. being ready as almost a drop of a hat if you are wanting to initiate something with him during some down time or at a club party. it might take just a little convincing, however, you seem to have him wrapped around your finger and he has a hard time resisting you.

his sex drive is high when he’s very frustrated -- i.e. with happenings involving the club, or when he’s been while on a run for some time. however, he is a patient man and isn’t one to pull you away mid conversation with someone just to throw you into the bed and have his way with you. he will let you come to him and from there, will go as many rounds as the two of you will allow

z = zzz [ how quickly they fall asleep afterward ]

as his finishes off his cigarette, and the post-orgasm high has settled, he pulls you in close. letting you rest against his chest as finger tips run along your spine with practiced ease. it’s his way of showing you a small hint of affection without doing too much if that’s not what you are in the mood for

at this moment, he is fully relaxed and slowly starts to draft off. there is really no telling if he falls asleep first, or if you do, but he’ll fall asleep if he wants to. but not without making sure you are well taken care of before doing so

[burnedbyshoto]

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love. 

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense. 

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him. 

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

-

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself. 

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room. 

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well. 

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist. 

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that. 

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face. 

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not). 

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia. 

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

[pedrothirst]

Javier Peña NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

After sex for Javier means lighting up a cigarette and watching you calm down. So aftercare has to wait for five minutes but then he would make sure you have a sip of water and his arm around you. If you’re not too exhausted you’ll take a shower together that may even end up in round two.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's):

He likes to show off his chest with leaving the first few buttons open almost all the time. Not that he thinks of himself as terribly ripped but he knows he has a nice body and that the whole area from his jawline over his neck and collarbones to his pecs is something you like to pay a lot of attention to.

On you, it’s the thighs. He loves grabbing them to pull your hips closer to him when he’s above you. Having them wrapped around him when he pounds into you. Feeling them on his own thighs when you sit on his lap. Hold them to stop you from trembling when he kneels in front of you to eat you out. And he especially loves that they end up in a good squeezable, spankable ass.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I'm a disgusting person):

Speaking of ass, he likes to see his cum on that one rather than your chest or any other part of your body. There’s something special about seeing it running down your butt after he just fucked you from behind. What drives him even more crazy though is when you swallow it. Either after a nice sloppy blowjob or when he’s in the mood to finish inside your mouth. He wants to see it on your tongue and wants you to show him how you swallow. On a softer note, he also likes to come inside of you in an intimate moment.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

The rate at which he has thought about fucking you before you have finally ended up in bed together is something that he feels a little bad about. And the amount of time those thoughts have crossed his mind while he was buried in another woman’s pussy.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?) 

Javier is very experienced obviously, we have all seen that. He knows what he likes and how to drive a woman crazy. But, that only counts for the physical side of sex. When it comes to being intimate and soft with you, he still has some things to relearn. He’s good at fucking but he needs to allow himself to love and be loved by someone again.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual):

Anything that happens from behind, whether it’s proper doggy style or standing or having you lie on your stomach. He’s an ass man so he appreciates it when he has something to grab and slap while he’s fucking you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they more humorous, etc):

He’s serious most of the time, especially when he has to blow off some steam. But the more he lets his guard down, the more he’ll try to make you laugh from time to time by being a little silly himself.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet matches the drapes, etc.):

We been knew 

[Credit goes to @pajamasecrets]

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…):

At first, intimacy is an alien concept for him. He has to trust you for it and just like the Goofy question, he gets more comfortable with it over time, especially within a committed relationship. When he has grown into it, he still likes his sex rough but can enjoy some quiet hours together in the bedroom just as well.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon):

He’d rather find release in your pussy than jack off but due to his job, he can’t always count on that. Since he’s with you, it happens more than before because he can’t hook up with someone anymore when he feels the need. So he masturbates more than he’d like to but ever since you found out that this is a problem that he has when he’s gone for some time, you make sure to at least slip him some photos to get him going at night.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks):

High heels. Whether it’s a classic stiletto or a pair of overknees, he loves to see you in nothing but those on his bed. And he doesn’t mind it if some lingerie goes with it either. 

When it comes to sex, he enjoys to drive you crazy by edging you. Whether he rubs your clit and withdraws his fingers right before you get there or eats you out until your pussy is dripping and throbbing for some release. Sometimes he even ties you up and/or blindfolds your for it to tease you further by leaving you helpless.

L = Location (Favourite place to do the do) 

He likes some risk so he likes to have sex somewhere where you could get caught. But other than that, he also appreciates every single surface in your apartment. The couch might be his favorite because he can bend you over it and take you fast but he can also sit on it while you’re sucking him off or bouncing on his cock at your own pace. Some spontaneous spooning while watching TV has happened there before as well.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When you wear those fitted jeans that make your ass look even rounder and your thighs even thicker, preferably with his favorite lingerie underneath it. He also can’t help himself when you’re being cocky and tease him in public even though you know you’re going to get the payback later. Seeing you bent over to pick something up or to reach for something does the trick too but in that case, he has to pull himself together most of the time because he can’t get a boner just like that at the supermarket.

N = NO (Something they wouldn't do, turn off) 

Anything that he doesn’t know enough about or that’s unsafe. If you want to get whipped or get tied up with rope or something else along those lines, he’s willing to learn about it and experiment. As long as it’s safe, he would try it at least. But he’s not really comfortable with the idea of hurting you any further than with some spanking, even when you tell him that you want it. He would do it for your pleasure but would have a hard time getting turned on by it himself.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc):

Which man doesn’t love getting his dick sucked, right? Javier is no exception so whenever you’re offering, you can be sure that he accepts. Sometimes he asks for it when he knows it’s not the right time or place for some proper sex but he still gets the vibe from you that you’re down if he is. You’ve been working on deepthroating which gets him to where you want him within a few minutes, especially when it’s sloppy and noisy. Fucking your mouth is another favorite technique but he’s still careful with that because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

The other way around, he goes down on you almost every time you have sex. He usually makes you come like that at least once before fucking you. His tongue knows how to get you worked up and sometimes, he would even have a taste afterwards just to tease your oversensitive spots and make you beg to let go.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.):

He likes it fast and rough to blow off some steam after having a long day at work or receiving some frustrating news. But that doesn’t mean that it’s only hard pounding. Sometimes you are super close to each other and he still takes you with hard thrusts to hit all the right spots. The second round is usually softer anyway when it happens. When he reaches his breaking point of how much failures and bad news he can take, he comes home and just wants to love you and get lost in your body and what you’re doing to him.

Q = Quickie (Their opinion on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc):

There’s no time or place when Javier would say no to a good quickie, especially when the narcos keep him busy all day and night. Also, risky quickies in public always have both of you reach intense highs.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc):

He’s open to trying new things that drive you crazy between the sheets most of the time. As mentioned in Location and Quickie, the risk of getting caught turns him on so he’s definitely not shy in that department.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…):

Physically, he’s usually good for round two after a short break but most of the time you extend the foreplay so much that you’re fine after one go. He knows what he’s doing and how to get you where he wants you anyway, so he doesn’t have to go for it all night.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?):

He’s a little conservative there. When he had his first experiences in good old Texas, toys weren’t a thing or at least not one you would talk about. So he’s suspicious when you bring it up and at first, he’s also a little offended that you’d think you need something like that. But once he has found the pleasure in both teasing you with it and being on the receiving end of that, he can’t deny that it spices things up in the best way.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

A lot. To no end. Edging you is his thing but it doesn’t end there. He also likes to tease you in public, that’s mutual, or when you’re on the phone or doing anything important that can’t use his fingers in your pants right now. Another thing that he does is making you beg for his cock. He touches you, kisses you, licks you until you ask him to fuck you already and even then he’d rather take his time with getting into the right position and teasing you with his tip before giving you what you want.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make):

There’s some groaning and grunting going on with him but he prefers to hear the sounds that you make whether it’s your whimpers or how you moan his name or how his skin is slapping against yours.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice):

He’s an ass man as already stated. And after being together for some time and gaining each other’s full trust, he asks you if you ever tried anal. Whatever the answer is, he wants to try it with you if you’re in as well. He’s done it before so he knows what he’s doing and how to prepare you for it but he has to admit that it’s exciting and special with you. Knowing that you’re trusting him with this gives him a boner already so when you try it, he makes sure that the prep is extra long and thorough and that you enjoy it once he’s inside you.

X = X-Ray (Let's see what's going on in those pants, picture or words):

He exudes big dick energy so that’s what’s going on in those pants. He’s not terribly huge but above average and what’s more important than size: he knows what to do with it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

High, without question. Not everyday high because let’s be real, ain’t nobody got time for that. But as often as humanly possible without missing quality time with you. He loves the female body, your body especially, and he likes to see it naked and full of good feelings, sue him.

Z = ZZZ (... how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

Cigarette first and then it depends on how stressful his day was. If he has a lot to worry about, he’ll have trouble sleeping in general. Sex is a good way to exhaust him then but most of the time, you doze off before him still.

[Taglist: @stevieharrrr​ @otherthingsinhead​ @pascalisthepunkest​]

[kaguraspetsims]

[[MORE]]

Hey guys sorry for the absence, work has been...shitty. like, it's making me so depressed and anxious that I'm losing sleep. I'll tell some stories in a second but like for those of you who want a tldr the assistant manager training me has some personal vendetta against me for some reason and is literally making my life hell.

So, just so we are clear: I have worked at this store for 1 and a half months. I dont remember if I've ever said the company I work for but I will say it's a pizza place.

At this store we have the store manager (call him R) and 3 assistant managers (P, A, and me).

A has been at this store for 2 years, P is the one that trains new AMs. A became an AM like...half a month ago. I have no prior experience in this company so I'm trying to learn the basics PLUS manager stuff.

So to try and keep things easy to follow, after my first week or so there P has me sit down with her and she asks me how I am able to learn better. I explain to her that I need positive reinforcement and I need to be told if I'm doing something wrong when I'm doing it wrong so that I dont form bad habits and have to relearn things. I also explained to her that I have short term memory loss, which is the reason I'm so unconfident when trying to portion toppings.

The gist if what she told me was this: I learn fast and I need to stop second guessing myself bc that slows me down and therefore slows the whole process down. And I was like yes I will accept this is true and try to do better. She also said she'd stop answering complicated questions I had, which I understood as anything that could not be answered with a yes or no.

So the weeks are going on and I learn several things about how this place works out.

I am short, shit is taller than me. I'm told to ask for help when I need it.

I quickly learn that when I ask for help, depending on what it is I'm asking for and how her mood is, P will get irritated as fuck with me for asking. Example: we have guides on how to build certain food items. Theres a lot of shit on the menu. The guides are very hard for me to reach. So when I ask for help getting a guide so I can try learning the build, I either get it tossed at me or I get told what to put on it in a disappointed or irritated tone. (Keep in mind I'm not being told the portioning for these toppings unless I ask for those too, to which I get an annoyed "I don't know off the top of my head.")

So I decided that if I have a question about what goes on what builds, I will try to list off all the toppings I remember and be like "that's what's on it right?" I figured this way they know I'm trying to learn them, I'm retaining at least SOMETHING, and if theres an ingredient or two off they can correct those.

Yeah the last time I did that P turned around and totally ignored me. And it turns out I was correct about all the toppings on it.

Now skip to about a week and a half ago, I'm finally learn how to stretch dough. Every time I have tried to stretch this shit has been during rush. At this point I have only worked rush shifts, which are shit for training, but when I've come in earlier I learn how to prep food, and so I literally dont get a lot of one on one time with someone who can actually sit there and train me. And when I DO have the chance to have one on one time, it's usually with P and she usually leaves me to make as much as possible while she goes to the back to chat with people who are waiting to take deliveries.

I end up getting so frustrated that I start taking shit out on myself, basically telling myself that I cant do anything right and that I've peaked and that I'm never going to get better. I tell P this and she tries halfheartedly to get me to breathe and keep going.

Mow skip to this week. I'm told I will close Monday and Tuesday (yesterday and the day before) I'm told I'll be trained how to close.

Monday comes up. I get there at 5:30. A gets thre at 5. We work thru rush and A tells me he will stay with me till P gets there around 10 just in case we get a night rush. Keep in mind this is P's day off and A had offered to help train me since he was already there.

So 10:30 rolls around and P finally shows up. She comes inside only to tell A he should have left at like 8 or 9. You know. Leaving me alone on my first closing night when I still cant make an entire one pizza on my own under 3-5 minutes.

So A leaves. One of the drivers is there bc he has to be (we can call him T). P tells T hes going to do most if not all the cleaning so she can show me how to do inventory and enter shit in the computer. She says when he finishes he can leave ahead of us bc we were (supposedly) going to be there for a few hours.

So for about 2 hours I'm told how to find things on the computer and finish inventory. Most of those two hours is just me entering shit in the computer or her talking on the phone with a friend.

At one point she says to T that shes just teaching me computer shit now, and on Tuesday she'd teach me how to break down and clean the area where all the food is.

At 12:30-12:45 she says shes going to leave and for me to call her when I'm done counting money so that she can tell me the rest of what I have to do. This sends off panic bells in my head. Not only has she NOT FINISHED TEACHING ME SHIT, I'm about to leave a store by myself in the middle of fucking nowhere with no overhead lights. I felt unsafe leaving the gamestop I worked at during the night even tho there were parking lot lights and usually small crowds at the walmart next door, and I never left that building by myself.

So I'm just ask "can T stay so I'm not leaving here by myself and I dont risk my safety?"

The response I got was basically P saying she forgot I was weak and fragile. So she decided to stay and fi nng ish helping me on the computer, which, btw, was another 15 minutes or so of her staying???

Also fun news I get at this point is that P will NOT be closing with me tuesday night. I'm on my fucking own with T! :)

So then I'm helping clean shit bc apparently we're behind (it's like 1 am at this point) and P (who did the entire food area by her damn self) finally leaves around 1:15. T has been really nice and stays with me to help me put the last of shit together before we leave.

I dont get home till 2 monday night.

Skip to tuesday night. I get in at 4:45. A and P are there. Ahas been told by P he MUST leave by 9. She leaves at like 6:30.

I learn a few things after she leaves from multiple people.

A has been here 2 years, and P not only stayed with him till 3 am breaking every little thing down and showing him everything, but he ALSO was given the opportunity to close with her for about 2 or 3 nights before he closed by himself.

I have been there an entire month and a half, got told how to do ALMOST everything ONE time, and the very next night I'm closibg hy myself.

I have trained for (almost) 2 hours how to close at this point. I dont know what the fuck I'm doing. I start getting order after order. The drivers are out doing their jobs so I'm literally in the whole store by myself trying to figure shit the fuck out bc i was basically left to fend for myself. Spoiler alert, I'm not very fucking good at this.

To make a long story short, a bunch of shit went wrong tuesday night. T is trying his best to help me learn things, but he doesnt know how to do everything bc hes not in a manager position. He even says to me at one point "it just seems like you've been set up to fail." Granted I was complaining about the fact that I didn't get fucking training, but he said that shit on his own. He pointed shit out that I had been thinking about.

Again, skip to about 3 am. I have my final call with P. She proceeds to tell me several things:

You should not be there more than an hour after close.

Your inventory variance should not be that high.

Just finish up what you're doing and leave, what's done is done and what's not is not.

Then she asks me "do you see what you need to improve on?"

At that point I nearly snapped. How the FUCK can I know what to improve on when theres no one there to give me fucking feedback?? I dont know what the fuck I'm doing. I literally scrambled all fucking night to ATTEMPT to do shit right which, apparently, it still wasnt good enough. I was given a whole ~2 hours to learn ALMOST everything to close. R doesnt get out when he closes till about 2 hours after the store closes, so why the fuck am I being picked on when I had fucking not even 2 whole hours of training?

I have never EVER told myself to quit without putting in a two weeks notice before. I'm going to talk to R about this shit before I just up and leave at this point. I'm attempting to find another job in the meantime but the toll that these past few weeks has had on my mental health is just fucking astounding. The last time I had that kind of a meltdown after work was a year ago when I worked at the fucking kennel and a dog got hurt and no one answered me.

Oh, btw, that kennel? The one owned privately by a single person, that wasnt a franchise or anything? Yeah, as much as those communication skills sucked, it was leagues better than the communication at this establishment I'm at now. And that's saying a fucking lot.

[talkingismylifewrites]

OMG Caro we want the cut scene !!!

okay so this came from the original chapter four, which was a hot mess. i think i only wrote about 8k of it? before i scrapped it and rewrote everything. this is really the only scene that wasn’t rewritten and put into the real chapter four, minus a few more shenanigans that john and roger get into, and brian and freddie warning john about living with roger. 

part of the reason this got cut was i didn’t like the way that i had written veronica, and i felt as though she would purposefully go out of her way to avoid john, and vice versa. but nevertheless, here it is!

enjoy!

The inevitable didn’t hit until mid-March. 

He and Roger had finally managed to peel themselves off the floor and stumble to their local Tesco, donning sunglasses against the worst of their hangovers. 

“I think we need more cereal,” Roger rasped, running a hand through his incredibly messy hair. “And some cheese?” 

“I bought cheese two days ago,” John shook his head. “Did you eat the whole block?” 

“I don’t...think so? Okay so bread, cereal, tinned ravioli?” 

“I am not eating that shit,” John made a face. “You want it? You buy it.” 

Roger debated it for a moment, but ultimately chucked the can into the basket John was holding. They continued making their way through the aisles, making up their list as they went along. There was a brief moment in the produce aisle wherein John quizzed Roger on the different names of vegetables to hilarious results. 

“Is that not a legume?” Roger cried over John’s boisterous laughter, waving around a zucchini. “It’s a legume!” 

“How did you make it to twenty-five not knowing what a zucchini was?” John laughed as he wiped at the tears in the corner of his eyes. 

“Because who actually eats zucchini? What do you use it for?” Roger snapped. 

“You put it in ratatouille,” Veronica said from behind them. 

Three things happened at once. Roger, still waving around the zucchini, let go of it midair, sending to flying into a pyramid of apples that all went crashing onto the floor. John panicked, spinning around so fast that the basket smacked Roger in the shin, who cursed. And finally, Veronica stumbled back from the pair of them, right into the man who had been standing behind her. 

“Ronnie!” John cried, shoving the sunglasses up on top of his head, squinting in the light. “I, uh, I mean Veronica, hi, you, uh, you alright?” 

“Hello John,” she said, smiling sweetly if not nervously. “I’m doing well. And you?” 

John knew that he had bags under his eyes big enough to carry his groceries home, that his hair was a matted mess that he hadn’t even attempted to comb, and that his shirt smelled sourly of beer from last night. He looked like shit, and everyone knew it. 

Veronica, on the other hand, looked just as lovely as he had remembered. She was wearing a new dress, her hair neatly braided back the way she always had. John desperately wished he had showered, even more so when she moved in close to bus a kiss against his cheek. 

“Roger,” she added, moving in to do the same for him. Roger, however, merely returned her smile with something that probably originally started as a smile but finished as a grimace. 

“Veronica,” he said, terse. 

There was a pregnant pause, before the man behind Veronica cleared his throat. Veronica startled, turning to face him before flushing. 

“Oh, of course, how silly of me. John, Roger, this is Timothy. My—my boyfriend.” She slipped her hand into his, smiling nervously up at John. 

Timothy reached out his free hand for John and Roger to shake. For a split second, John considered smacking it away, taking up his fists and pounding him straight through the floor. He clenched his knuckles, know that the meat of his palms would bleed from the force of his nails digging into them. But reason prevailed, and he found himself shaking his hand, doing his best to stop his glare. 

“John Deacon,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Timothy replied, still shaking his hand. “I’m uh, a big fan. Your last album was really, uh, really something.” 

John let go of his hand, stepping back closer to Roger. “Oh, thanks. Means a lot.” 

“Ronnie here’s always talking about you all, and how you’re gonna make it big one day, and I gotta say, I do agree with her,” Timothy continued. John didn’t know how to respond, he was too busy trying to relearn how to breathe when he heard him call her by her nickname. No one person can have a monopoly on nicknames, especially when it’s not even yours, but it felt too real, too painful to hear from someone else. 

There was a pregnant pause, made all the more awkward by Roger glaring from behind his shoulder, his face set in a hard scowl. Veronica, too sweet for her own good, tried to engage him in conversation. 

“And how are you, Roger?” she asked. “Is your mother doing well?” 

“She’s fine,” Roger said shortly. Veronica nodded, opening her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. 

Timothy, too, tried to shake Roger’s hand, but he merely stared at it as though it had personally offended him. Timothy dropped his hand awkwardly, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. 

“Listen,” John tried. “We should get going. Practice, and recording, all that. Things to do, you know how it is.” 

“Oh, of course, right,” Veronica nodded. She sounded almost upset, and for a moment, John considered taking the words back, telling her that he had more time. The moment passed though, when Roger grabbed at his arm, tugging him and the basket towards the register. 

“C’mon, Deaks, let’s get going. We’ve got that dinner with the producers tonight, very important, can’t miss it.” He tugged John faster towards the register, throwing a terse farewell over his shoulder. “Great to meet you, Theodore!” 

“Roger,” John hissed, trying to tug his hand from Roger’s. “What was that about?” 

“The gall of that woman,” Roger snarled. “Who does she think she is, flaunting her boyfriend in front of you like that?” 

“Roger—”

“And ugh, did you hear him?” Roger pulled a face, mimicking Timothy in a stupid voice. “Ronnie’s always talking about how you’re going to make it big one day. What a fucking asshole. We’ll make it big one day. As if he knows anything! We have a number one single—number one!—and he thinks he can talk to us like that? Ugh, I could have killed him.” 

John allowed himself to be dragged into the line, watching as Roger threw the groceries onto the belt willy-nilly, probably breaking all the eggs in the carton and denting his tin of ravioli. Roger was upset for him. Roger was angry for him. John was flattered, proud, happy. 

“We didn’t get the vodka,” Roger gasped, snapping his fingers. “Shit. Go get it, the big bottle, alright? Hurry, hurry!” 

John did as he was told, pushing back through the line and jogging to the liquor aisle. 

“Vodka, vodka, vodka,” he muttered, hopping from foot to foot as he scoured the aisle. 

“Bottom left shelf.” 

John froze. “R—Veronica.” 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Veronica teased, lifting her shoulder carefully. They stared at each other from across the aisle. John’s fingers itched to reach out and touch her one last time. 

“I, uh, I have to get the vodka back to Roger,” John said stupidly. 

“Might help if you picked it up,” she suggested. John flushed, looking away before bending down to grab a bottle, clutching it tightly with sweating fingers. 

“I need to leave,” he muttered. “It uh, was good. Good to see you. But uh, I have to go.” 

“John, wait,” she grabbed at his sleeve, stopping him in place. “Please, John, can we talk?” 

“I can’t,” he shook his head. “I have to get this to Roger.” 

“I know, but I just—we ended so soon, and I know it wasn’t, uh, the best—”

“I have to go,” he repeated, trying to pull away. 

“John—”

John couldn’t help himself. Stepping back, he shook his head. “You already said everything that needed to be said. There’s nothing left to discuss.” 

He pushed past her, ignoring anything she might have said and practically running back to Roger. In order to stall, Roger had bent over the belt so as to flirt with the cashier, laughing gaily at whatever she’d said. John slammed the bottle down on the belt, his hands shaking. Roger took one look at him and immediately snapped into action. 

Stepping away from the belt, he turned off any and all charm that he had pulled in order to speed things up. The cashier, stunned by the change in behaviour, quickly scanned the bottle. 

“That’ll be eight quid,” she said. Roger threw the money onto the belt before scooping up their groceries in one hand, grabbing at John with the other. 

The moment they were outside, Roger whirled on John, his face pinched. “What did she say to you?” he demanded. “What happened?” 

“I want to go home,” John gasped, struggling to regain his calm. “Let’s just go home.” 

“Of course, babe,” Roger frowned as he hurried them down the street. “Let’s go home.” 

[andythane]

M A R C H   4 T H 

i. 2009. 

He’s pretty sure it’s three in the morning. It’s not entirely clear -- Well, nothing really is right now -- and honestly, he doesn’t care much. Andy had gone on this Vegas trip with Rowan in the name of attending a medical conference with her, and the second it was over, they were on the strip. What comes next is to be expected, the two of them stumbling out of bars, clubs, casinos all night long, throwing back drinks without question. What happens in Vegas, right? He’s not sure where they are when they come across a neon-lit wedding chapel, open twenty-four hours and happy to marry whatever couple comes in. Andy’s too drunk to remember the full details of their conversation, but it went well enough for him and Rowan stumble in hand in hand, asking for the first Elvis they had available. This isn’t exactly spur of the moment — They’ve been engaged over a year by this point, just trying to wait until the time is right and they can plan the perfect ceremony. He’s sure if his Ma knew what was happening, she’d have a heart attack. They’re married in a quick ceremony, with Andy wearing an oversized suit coat and Rowan having a yellowing veil clipped to her hair. 

The next morning comes with an impressive hangover. They somehow made it back to their suite after their stop at the chapel -- Andy’s got a pounding headache and Rowan’s lipstick smeared across his cheek, half naked with his head leaning off the side of the bed. It takes a moment for him to realize he’s not at home in his bed, blinking until his eyes focus and he’s reminded of the night before. He remembers the conference, drinks at the hotel bar after, wandering the strip most of the night… Then the lights of the chapel come to mind, his eyes glancing down to his left hand, realizing their a plastic ring on his finger. For most, there’d be a wave of regret that comes with the new found discovery, panic following just as close — But for him… it makes sense. It’s unorthodox, sure, but the thought of being married to Rowan just feels right. Whether it’s a big ceremony or a shitty drive thru chapel. The panic doesn’t come, no regret or concern. Instead, he moves (slowly, mind the hangover) to lay next to her, pulling her in close to enjoy their first morning as a married couple.

ii. 2015.

They’re going to have a baby. They are going to have a baby. The words keep replaying in Andy’s head, but they still sound so strange and far away he can’t quite wrap his head around it. He and Rowan had been trying for so long, having spent so many years trying and trying and trying again -- Only to be met with disappointment and heartache each time around. Having a family was never a question. The conversation about children has always been on the table, both on the same page about wanting a big family. /We want four,/ they would tell anyone who would listen. It’s been a difficult journey, with the emotional struggle of infertility becoming the forefront of their lives with the stress of Rowan’s residency and the club coming right up behind it. There struggle has gone on for years, many doctors visits ending with Andy holding Rowan close while she cried, stroking her hair as he reminded her that things will work out. 

Years and roughly six positive pregnancy tests later -- Everything begins to come together. Their family of two is going to have a new member in less than nine months now. She’s in her second trimester when their sixth wedding anniversary comes along, the two opting for a quiet night in to celebrate. Though he��s over the moon about what’s to come in the next few months -- Andy’s trying to remain realistic. This hasn’t been an easy road, and he feels a bit like they’re walking on eggshells through this journey. He knows the feeling is mutual, that this is something of a miracle baby, and they’re both terrified they’ll fuck it up. Admittedly, he can be a bit overly cautious -- Rowan’s not made of glass, but he can’t help but act like it sometimes, quick to swoop in, even if she’s doing something as simple as swap a load of laundry. So he opts for a night in, snuggled up on the couch together, Andy dressed in old sweats and Rowan clad in one of his old Primordial MC shirts. Their night is spent with scary movies and popcorn, with his wife curled up between his legs and Andy’s hand resting softly on her bump. His fingertips make small shapes against the fabric of her shirt, silently hoping he’ll feel a kick. Rowan’s fast asleep by now, head resting against his chest as Andy struggles to keep his eyes open too. He’s sure, despite his half-awake self, that nothing can ruin this for them -- Not his father, not Tyson, nothing. 

iii. 2016.

Up until now, he’s spent most of his life surrounded by people in one way or another. Whether it’s his family, other club members, Rowan -- He’s never been by himself long. It’s not something Andy’s ever really thought over, naively assuming that he’d always have some sort of constant in his life. And admittedly, he assumed that constant would always been Rowan. After the last seven years, he had no reason to believe anything else. She is his family, his person -- Every cliche and title in the book. They’ve spent every holiday, every birthday, every day together in some way since he was a teenager. It’s not until he’s laying in his prison cell, staring at the underside of an empty top bunk that he realizes how truly and utterly alone he is right now. 

It’s terrifying, suffocating. He’s been locked up for three months now, and his roommate was released earlier this morning -- So he’s by himself for the night, until a CO shows up at breakfast with some new kid. He’s been by himself before, lived on his own briefly before Rowan moved in -- Andy doesn’t mind being by himself, he never has. He’s always been a glaring introvert, preferring the company of himself, his wife, or their dogs, ideally. He’s never felt lonely from it, never had an issue -- Until he finds himself here, orange jumpsuit and all, struggling to steady his breathing. It doesn’t hit him until the lights have gone out and he’s supposed to be asleep, but the absence of someone else in the room with him is unnerving enough to keep him awake. He’d done as well as one can in prison thus far, kept his head down and nose clean, but once he’s by himself, it hits like a freight train. Everything he’s bottled up, all the things he’s told himself not to feel . Especially tonight.  Regardless of his best efforts, the date and the silence around him make for a terrible combination. The sinking feeling only persisting as the clock moves -- March 4th.

He wonders what Rowan’s doing right now, if she’s left with the same feeling swimming through him. Andy wants to believe she’s sleeping peacefully, with a baby monitor on her night stand and Scout curled up close; He wants to believe that she’s not feeling like him, that she’s not watching the ceiling fan in their room spin and wondering if he’s awake too. Part of Andy doesn’t want to ever know -- Because he’s the one responsible for her spending her nights alone, the reason she’s celebrating their seventh wedding anniversary by herself. At least, until visiting hours began and they can be together, separated by a glass window and a shitty phone, with their nine month old daughter in her arms. He always thought they’re anniversary would be a celebration, that he’d never think of it as a time of regret or longing -- Only now, it won’t leave him. He replays the night he confronted Tyson in his head, the arrest, the trial. He tries not to think of the look on Rowan’s face, the tears silently rolling down her cheeks when he hugged her goodbye. He does’t want to spend their anniversary going over all o his past mistakes, but he doesn’t seem to have any other choice now. The rational part of him tells himself that this will be over eventually, he’s only got to make it through this two more times and then they'll be back together -- Soon, they’ll be able to celebrate like they have before, only now they’ll have Maddie along with them. A family of three, celebrating together without a concern for prison cells or memories keeping them up at night. Only them against the world. He tries to remind himself of that. Somehow he doesn’t believe that day will come. 

iv. 2018. 

Three years pass, and now he’s finally able to lay in his own bed with Rowan tucked into his side and Maddie fast asleep against his chest. He hasn’t been home that long, now pushing three months, but in a short amount of time they’ve found their happy medium. The initial return from prison hadn’t been easy -- He’s been gone for three years, Rowan’s been essentially a single mother (despite his best efforts) for that time, and now they have to relearn this life together, with a three year old in the mix with them. There’s an adjustment period for them, with ups and downs -- Maddie tells him all about the things around town and introduces him to Scout and Noodles, but he and Rowan find themselves butting heads on how to raise their daughter. They figure it out -- They’re /still/ figuring it out, with the aid of a therapist and their family. He’s just grateful he’s there at all, able to begin this part of their lives together finally. There’s a certain guilt that follows him, over the fact that he left Rowan on her own for three years, something he’d never forgive himself for. He can’t change it, but he can do better now, they truly can start their lives together, free of any threat. Tyson, his father -- Both are six feet under, far far away from wreaking any sort of havoc on their happily ever after.

There had been a pretty big storm that night, prompting their daughter to come running into their room before leaping into the bed with him and Rowan. Maddie is a Daddy’s girl, no question -- In the short time he’d been home, the two bonded easily. Whether he’s at her tea party with a tiara on his head, or she’s holding his hand and pulling him around town to show off all of her favorite spots -- They’ve become two peas in a pod. It was their anniversary, and all he wanted was to spend a night together with his girls. So they dress up, taking Maddie along with them, and go out to dinner (Nothing fancy, given that Maddie is only three -- They make do with a Chilis off the highway.). It’s a simple night, but one he’s sure he’ll always remember, the thought of Rowan tucked under his arm and Maddie in her booster seat, explaining everything she learns in daycare to them. Andy finds himself caught up in the simplicity of it -- The fact that the three of them can just be together, even in some shitty restaurant. There’s nothing keeping them apart, no CO making sure his reactions aren’t ‘startling’, nor the underlying reality of him being away. This is his life now, the one he dreamt of and built with his wife, now finally within his grasp. 

There’s a silence that settles over the three of them, once both of his girls fall asleep and Andy’s listening to the steady sound of the rain. It used to frighten him, storms and having to hear them -- Now he finds it oddly soothing, feeling himself relax. His hand cards through her wife’s hair, eyes watching the ceiling fan go in circles. Even though there’s a balance and order restored to his life, he’s wide awake. Only now, it’s not from his own self destruction -- Rowan’s pregnant. It’s a bit of a miracle, but one he’s cautiously optimistic about. They’ve always wanted a big family, and they know what to do now -- They can make this work, go about it in the best way possible, rather than strict on hope and a gut feeling. Considering their reunion, it’s not all that shocking, though. After three years apart, they spent plenty of time relearning the other, welcoming the other back home again. He’s content, rather than plagued by the worst case scenarios he makes up his own head. This is how their life should be, he tells himself. No prison cell or court room, no CO or Visitor’s Room. Just Rowan and Andy, and the family they’ve created. .

v. 2020. 

It’s odd to think they’ve been married for eleven years now. It seems like only yesterday that they were stumbling around Las Vegas before wandering into some Elvis themed chapel. But at the same time -- It all feels miles and miles away. Their wedding, Tyson, his time in prison. They’re settled into this life they’ve created, with their two children and the home they’ve built along the way. The storms they’re forced to weather are far and few between now, without someone threatening them and their home in some way. Most consistently had been his own father, creating a war zone with any room he walked into; Then Tyson putting a new kind of fear within both of them; And his Parole Officer, threatening to send him back to prison for something as simple as a parking ticket. It’s refreshing to be away from it all, able to embrace a life that’s sickeningly domestic and calm. They’re a team and a force, having gone to hell and back together. 

The celebration is a simple one, given that it’s a school night and they have more elaborate plans for later on, thanks to him winning Rowan at the Bachelorette auction. So for tonight, they put on their best and leave the kids with a sitter, heading out to a nice dinner at Calliope before returning home long after bed time. It’s simple enough, they laugh together and reflect on the last eleven years while sharing a bottle of wine, simply enjoying the company and the reason to go out. It feels simple, right to the point -- The obvious answer for them, really. Their wedding anniversary serves as a reminder each year of the choice they made, of how much he loves Rowan. He tells her every cliche in the book, always happy to take an opportunity to be corny with her. She’s the love of his life, and whether they celebrate with a nice night out or spend the night struggling their way through bath time -- He’s just grateful for another year together.

[vicisse]

love ur meta post on the darkling! but i have to ask: what are your thoughts on mal? i get that it’s a loaded question bc so many people hate him, but… i’m curious as to what you think!

thanks, anon! fjeozks tbh, that is a bit of a loaded question, but i don’t mind answering. the truth is, i don’t hate mal. i like him just fine—actually, i like him enough to wish leigh had written him better.

if she had planned for mal/alina all along, i think it would have been better if he, idk, actually treated alina better? i mean, he’s supposed to be alina’s best friend! 

i think it would have been better if he showed more concern for her in s&b and didn’t kiss zoya in s&s. i also think it would have been better if he had his character development sooner (s&s) rather than later (r&r), because we don’t really see the build up of a relationship between him and alina. the build up is important to me—should be important to other readers as well—because it gives us a reason to root for them, root for mal, regardless of whether or not he was a love interest for alina.

ik you didn’t ask for a meta, but while i’m in that analytical zone… here i go:

in s&b, our first impression of mal is someone funny and charismatic—someone alina is very much in love with. it irked me, when i read it the first time, because i couldn’t understand why alina would like someone who treated her poorly. i get that there’s obviously miscommunication at work—alina doesn’t bother opening up to mal about some things, so mal doesn’t get the hint, but… i can’t help but think mal should have been there, especially as someone who is supposedly alina’s best friend.

according to alina (and mind you, she’s an unreliable narrator), mal has been more distant as they went about their training for the first army. he had less time for her and was more focused on tumbling girls. i’d just really like if mal realized this, too—and talked to alina about it sooner.

actually, i just wish we had seen more mal/alina pre-darkling. because TD is a catalyst in the dynamic between mal and alina. once mal sees that alina is seemingly happy in this new place, among new friends—happy without him—of course he gets upset. and alina is upset because it looks like mal doesn’t like this better, more comfortable sense of self she has discovered at the little palace, but in reality… mal feels left behind. while alina was gone, he worked tirelessly to get her back, only to see that she was perfectly fine and hardly seemed to care about him. of course, he’s upset.

it doesn’t excuse him from snapping at her the way he did, but he’s rightfully mad. and a little heartbroken, too.

i don’t like how leigh writes the dynamic between mal/alina to be a “i didn’t realize what i had until it was gone,” kind of thing. because mal, as alina’s best friend, should have already known what a treasure she is. he should have been more aware of his actions and owned up to acting like a complete dick sooner rather than later. it really, really would have won him some brownie points, but again: i understand that leigh intended to write these characters with flaws, no matter how glaring or irritating i see them as.

i think mal is the most realistic character out of the grishaverse. the reason why he’s always so upset and frustrated is because things are moving way too fast—alina recognizes this too late, by the time s&s rolls around, but i have a mad amount of sympathy for mal.

not only does he have to get used to the fact that his best friend is grisha—a sun summoner, no less—but he also has to come to terms with the fact that the once timid, meek girl he grew up with has come out of her shell and quickly embraced her role in, essentially, saving the world. talk about going from 0-100 real quick.

his head is spinning, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet, to focus on not losing alina. not again. but see, that’s what’s important to him. it’s selfish, but after having to re-prioritize and re-examine what he wants, alina is speeding ahead, in a bulldozer, talking about finding amplifiers and taking over the second army and all of a sudden, he finds himself at the heart of a civil war he never intended to be a part of. he just followed alina, because, as he only now realizes, he loves her!

which is why the scene in s&s grates on my nerves because it’s the one thing i can’t wrap my head around. if he loves alina so much, why hurt her like that?? it’s one thing for THE DARKLING to do it—to hurt her i mean; after all, he’s the villain for a reason, so i wouldn’t surprised—but mal? the guy who is supposed to he her best friend? i’m unbelievably upset. and i can’t believe alina still forgave him for it. you wouldn’t do anything drunk you wouldn’t already consider doing sober, so that scene really stung. it’s pretty much the one thing keeping me from ever truly liking mal, even as a character.

i’m not saying that just because mal is “one of the good guys” automatically means he should be an angel when it comes to morality, but i honest to god truly think that leigh could have just milked the miscommunication between them more. like i say before: all characters come with flaws, but that moment was just… Too Much. he knows alina loves him, has put her life on the line for him, but he still chose to hurt her. i’m appalled. absolutely appalled.

good on him for taking a step back from that selfish behavior and working on getting alina to accomplish her goals, on finding happiness even if it means a life without him in r&r, but too little too late! i think it would have been better if him and alina had rekindled their friendship instead of starting up a romance.

now that would have been something worthwhile—and far more realistic than that bullshit ending.

by the time r&r starts, mal and alina are both different people than who they thought they were in the beginning of s&b. it makes sense to be friends first and relearn to love each other in a romantic way later. it just makes sense!

ughhhh this got a little topic. i’m just frustrated with mal—frustrated with all of alina’s love interests, actually, save for nikolai, but. that’s for another time.

tl;dr: mal should have been written better. mal should not have kissed zoya. mal should have rekindled a friendship with alina before a sudden romantic one. mal is a good character with realistic, albeit frustrating flaws, and doesn’t deserve as much hate as he has received.

[movedto-dazaipositive]

one guess where this started. couldn't have done it without @taggianto 💜 you.

CW: rape and resultant pregnancy; severe self-worth issues; mentally ill character with wrong ideas about what constitutes mental illness.

so, I've got a running headcanon that Kent's mom is alcoholic and she has ptsd.

rape & pregnancy TW // she was raped in college and that's how she got pregnant with Kent. she kept him out of choice, but she loves him no matter what

but that doesn't change the fact that she has ptsd and for many years while she was working 3 jobs to keep them alive and Kent on the ice, and she had to get through somehow. so she drank at home

and she wasn't ever really there for Kent. she couldn't be, between drinking and working. does Kent resent her? I don't think so. I don't think he knew it was even an option until he met the Zimmermanns and Jack

and saw the way they behaved with each other. but he loves his mom and he'd do anything for her. it's why he sticks with hockey even when it hurts–his mom worked hard to get him where he is, and he can't let her down now

but she crashes around the time Kent is 16/17. she's no longer got Kent around to survive for, and it really messes her up. and Kent watches Jack and his mom crash and burn, up close and from afar, and it fucks him up

like, bad. he can't stop thinking that it was him, that he's the reason they're the way they are. that he's the only thing they have in common and they're both–the way they are, and it must be him. it must be Kent

jack's OD breaks Kent, pushes him over the edge of a cliff he was already clinging to with his fingertips. he shuts down completely and only surfaces to a) send his mom to rehab with his first NHL paycheck b) and play hockey

he withdraws completely. cuts himself off from human contact at the exact time he needs it the most. he spends his rookie year with the Aces Captain, Patty, his wife and their two kids, barely holding on to his humanity

it's a good thing the team forces Kent out regularly, because otherwise he'd turn into an Actual Hockey Robot. it's not that he isn't friendly with them–he plays beautiful hockey and laughs and chirps with the rest of them, but there's something off about it. he's skittish and awkward, and he gets this look in his eyes sometimes, like he survived something awful but not really.

like he isn't all there. they worry about him. he's too small and too good at hockey and he needs someone to watch out for him

the first year, it's the whole team. all how-many-ever of them, looking out for Kent on and off the ice. the second year, Jeff comes to them

Jeff is...good with Kent.

Jeff's been playing on the NHL for a couple years, got drafted third or fourth to the Seattle Schooners. he's a good teammate, dryly funny, chirps that take a second to sink in. he plays good hockey, not as good as Kent, but good.

but he seems to know, instinctively, what Kent needs at any given moment

Jeff drags Kent into being social and actually, y'know, forming meaningful connections with other people by giving Kent puppy eyes until Kent agrees to hang out with Jeff and teammate of the week

and Kent, horribly unused to being someone people want to spend time with and nearly incapacitated by loneliness after a year of next to no human connection, says yes every time

and Kent is a person? under that weird obsessive hockey robot exterior? he's fun to hang out with. he's even funny. he's a bit a total dork and likes helping people and he always knows a good place to eat

so people on Kent's team start to seek his company even without Swoops around and Kent goes ? but he doesn't like to let people down or say no

Kent is still like, messed up inside. he doesn't sleep well and there are a lot of days when he won't get out of bed of he doesn't have to. but he's still trying

except... he's not trying to be better at Humaning for himself. he's doing it for Jeff and the people who depend upon him to show up and entertain their kids for two hours so they can go on a date

the only thing that's changed is the manifestation of Kent's chronic self-sacrificing and the people who receive it.

and Kent is honestly trying really hard and overcompensating for a year of not being a good Human Person so he swamps himself in helping people and overworks himself

and it's Jeff that picks up the pieces of Kent's dumbassery. it's Jeff that calls people to let them know that Kent has the flu, no they haven't been to the doctor yet, yes he's mostly okay he's puking right now, so no he can't come and take care of your kids Patty find a fucking babysitter you're a millionaire jfc

(Patty is kind of a dick)

Kent: [in between puking] but I promised

Jeff: shut the fuck up

Kent's bedridden for almost a week. he misses two games, both of which the Aces lose

it's during this week that Jeff realises just how fucked up Kent is, because in the middle of puking his guts out and shivering under six blankets he still finds time to blame himself for everything that goes wrong in that week. e v e r y s i n g l e t h i n g. it's not really Kent's fault, being sick pulls down all walls that keep him from airing the constant internal monologue of self blame and loathing, but Jeff calls his cousin Rashmi and has a slight breakdown

well, I say slight. he nearly cries

Jeff needs to talk about how much Kent is hurting and omg I never knew im a terrible friend eeeee

she tells him to a) calm the fuck down b) don't take this so personally, you can't help him if you think you're the one to blame, he's doing that already c) here's a bunch of helpful links on how to deal when you think your friend might be mentally ill

Jeff tries to be subtle about bringing up the 'you might be mentally ill thing'. Kent, however, is not dumb. he catches on to this really fast, and panics hard. his only experience with mentally ill folks is his mom and Jack, and they are not a good place to start–both addicts who've been unintentionally emotionally abusive to Kent. Kent draws the best conclusion he can with this data pool. the conclusion is I am a horrible person who will soon be drug addict and hurt the people around me, whoops time to Shut Down

Kent [shutting down] I am a horrible person that deserves nothing good, ever. Jeff: nO Kent: I can't hear you over the sound of my self loathing Jeff: N O

and Jeff does not know how to deal with a Kent who's gone straight back to rookie year levels of skittish I-am-a-virus-don't-touch-me. the team, on the other hand, knows perfectly well how.

or, at least, they know how they dealt with it. but they're hockey players, with the combined emotional intelligence of a nail clipper, and when they tell Jeff about it he's horrified. so he figures out his own methods–he sticks as close to Kent as possible while not overwhelming him, and he does his best to be Supportive

it is difficult to be supportive when the person you are Supporting does not want to be supported. so he does his research, and hits upon the perfect solution

he goes to the local pet shelter and asks for the most unlikely to be adopted kitten, because he knows that Kent has a soft spot for hopeless things

they give him a three month old Calico, blind and almost certainly headed to a shelter without a no kill rule

Jeff: ......I'll take it

Kent is baffled and enchanted. Jeff really thought it'd be harder to sell this to Kenny, but Kent's holding squirmy, curious little kit, already babytalking to her, asking her if she knows what a pretty princess she is, yes you are, aren't you and Jeff has a second where he thinks Oh, shit

bc this more humanity and interest than Kent has shown in almost a month, and then Kent is turning to Jeff to ask him questions about raising cats that Jeff didn't even know were a concern, but clearly this is making Kent happy, so Jeff gives him a book he'd picked up at the recommendation of the volunteer at the shelter, and drives Kent helplessly to the pet store and watches as Kent buys cat shit off Amazon

Kent doesn't realise she's blind, at first. kit (Jeff named her) has large golden eyes that are permanently dilated. Kent only figures out she's blind when he's sitting on the floor watching her toddle around, and she keeps walking into his outstretched legs. Kent calls Jeff in a panic, asking him if he knows what's with kit's eyes, and Jeff thinks I knew I was forgetting something

and then he explains the situation to Kent, and Kent reacts exactly the way Jeff expected him to–with a sudden fierce dedication to kit, even more so than ten minutes ago when he would have died for her

Kent cat-proofs his house–he pours a lot of time and money into getting everything exactly right so Kit needn't suffer more than necessary. he lavishes Kit with all the love he's capable of–and he's always capable of a lot more love than he thinks–and makes sure that everyone coming to his house knows that one move that frightens Kit is more than enough to get them banned

so Kent pours himself heart and soul into loving kit. he spends every second he isn't on the ice taking care of his beloved baby princess

and it's incredibly healing. he knows he has to get up in the morning and come back after runs (not walk into traffic) and that he has to get done on the ice so he can come back to her

and it's incredibly healing. he knows he has to get up in the morning and come back after runs (not walk into traffic) and that he has to get done on the ice so he can come back to her

there's a period of like, six months, where the only reason Kent does anything at all is because kit needs him to. and he won't let himself think about how Jeff could also maybe take care of her. he won't.

his mom's rehab clinic is expensive but ridiculously intensive and extensive. it's almost 14 months of rehab and therapy and relearning hire to be a person without addiction, as well as working through whatever led you to seek addiction in the first place

Diana Parson comes out of it changed. she feels more like a person than ever before in her life. she feels whole, healed still, but so much better

so she goes back home, and Kent is in Vegas depressed as fuck, and his mom is in New York living for herself, and doing things she loves, and discovering herself outside of therapy

she comes back home at a time when it's incredibly difficult for Kent to do even basic things like have a conversation. so all through the season, he doesn't visit her and he can't even summon up the guilt.

and her therapist tells her it's okay, that he needs time too. and she loves him and she gives him the time she needs, but she also decides that she's stable enough to foster a child

which goes well! Lydia is 7 and slightly untrusting but Diana has patience and love and she's been reading and she's financially stable and she has time (ask things she didn't have with Kent). she has time to ask Lydia how her day went. time to play and talk and do bonding activities with just the two of them

and soon enough she and Lydia love each other so much! and they have rough times but they get through it.

the season ends. and the aces lose. and Kent is probably even worse than before. and someone suggests that since the aces will no longer be in town to make sure that Kent buys groceries/stays a person, hey you should go visit your mom!

so Kent, depressed and hating himself, gets to watch his mom get her big second chance

and he tries do hard not to be bitter but it's killing him. he keeps wondering what his life would be like if he were Lydia. if he had a financially stable supportive mom. and he can't blame his mom so he blames himself

he blames himself for needing more than she could give him. because she did her best and she raised a pro NHL player and he doesn't have any right to expect more

and one night it gets so bad that drives himself to Jeff's place

this would be okay but Jeff actually lives in Canada

he's just. in this place where Jeff is the only person that Kent knows won't hurt him

and he's so, so tired

and Jeff, chilling with his family, suddenly has an armful of distraught sleep-deprived Captain

and he's just like ......sorry I gotta take this

Kent knows where Jeff lives bc he's been there at least once before

and Kent just. breaks down. he cries for hours. and Jeff can't do anything except drag Kent up to his room and cuddle him while he cries and pet his hair. Kent cries himself to sleep, but he wakes up with Jeff wrapped around him and there's like, 14 seconds where he just feels safe and good because Jeff's there and hugging him in bed so something somewhere must have gone right

anyway Kent wakes up and gets dressed with Jeff hovering gently over him, knocking into him once in a while to make sure he's okay

(like when cats wind around your feet because they're excited to see you. except they might trip you up. the issue w Jeff is that he is Big)

he finds his phone in some weird corner of his car and plugs it in. and finds out that he has 200+ missed calls from his mom

because his mom doesn't have the numbers of any teammates she can call and she's been so worried and he feels Horrible for Being This Way

so he calls her. and she picks up on the second ring and she's been having panic attacks and flashbacks for 4 days and she doesn't remember parts of her therapy

so she yells at him. and Kent is still way too fragile to handle this but he also has to do this? and he just. panics

mother-son bonding via hyperventilating to each other on a phone line

but Jeff gets so mad on Kent's behalf, and pulls the phone out of Kent's hand and cuts the call.

but then he feels guilty so he sends her a quick text message to let her know that Kent is safe and he'll call when he feels better

and the next few days are just Jeff hugging Kent and Kent wearing Jeff's clothes everywhere because he didn't bring his own

and when they kiss it's just so natural? Kent stops hiding how much he wants Jeff. it's too much work. and Jeff is close to Kent almost all the time. and they're so stupidly in love that Jeff's older brother walks into them making out against the kitchen counter and moon walks back out

they make out for so long that every member of Jeff's family sees them and walks back out.

[robertvasquez763]

Chargeway Aims to Make Choices at the Charger Easier Than at the Pump

-Larger battery packs and more widely available public charging options are two things that should soon ease range anxiety and make electric vehicles a practical option for many more drivers. What’s often omitted from the conversation, however, is that a different sort of anxiety remains, centered around public charging, which for newbies can be downright confounding. Public chargers aren’t often well labeled for format, let alone power, and it’s not unusual to see someone pull out the charging connector, look back and forth to see what fits, and then simply let an unfamiliar charger run awhile to get a grasp of its speed. It isn’t that way at the gas pump, of course. You know whether or not you need to go high octane, the nozzles almost always look and fit the same, and if not, it’s a sign that something’s wrong (such as, you’re trying to use a diesel nozzle to fill a gasoline car).

–

A new system called Chargeway aims to set a straightforward language for understanding car-charging options. Simply put, the color corresponds to the plug design (J1772, CCS, CHAdeMO, or Supercharger), while the number corresponds to the power and the potential charging rate. The system would clarify charging times for everyone and help those traveling outside their normal territory to pick out the fastest charger from among those available.

–

–

The idea has been brewing for several years—since Chargeway founder Matt Teske and his wife, Anna, took their Chevrolet Volt to a resort about an hour away from their home in Portland, Oregon. Resort staff had assured them that there was an electric-vehicle charger on site, so they went to charge up before dinner. What they found instead was a low-amp, 110-volt household AC plug at the garden shed—a scenario that would have required that the Teskes bring their own battery charger/adapter and essentially leave the Volt plugged in overnight to get its 38 miles of electric range back.

–

While most other aspects of driving an EV were familiar enough, Teske found that charging on longer trips became a source of anxiety—especially after adding a Chevrolet Spark EV to the household.

–

“Public charging was what I felt was the trickiest part, even as an early adopter,” he said. “The only thing I was having to relearn was how was I putting energy into the thing. This one aspect that felt so different is what I wanted to solve.”

–

Setting a Universal Language for Vehicle Charging

–

Teske, a marketing and branding strategist with nearly 20 years of experience in the auto industry, said that he began realizing that there were wide gaps of knowledge and understanding among the engineers designing electric vehicles, the mass market they wanted to reach, and the dealerships tasked with selling EVs. And then came a secret-shopper study conducted last year by the Sierra Club, finding that about half of dealerships didn’t have any information on public charging; 14 percent of the time, the study found, dealerships didn’t even keep enough charge in the vehicles for a test drive.

–

“I’ve worked with dealerships and done dealer training through my career. They like cars they can easily sell, and if they can easily sell something, they’ll do it all day,” Teske said. “There’s a massive disconnect at the dealership about explaining vehicle charging.”

–

Adopting a straightforward system like Chargeway’s could make a difference. For instance, for manufacturers, it would clearly differentiate a boost in charging speed for newer versions of electric vehicles. It could benefit charging companies, improving charger etiquette by discouraging drivers with slower-charging yet backward-compatible vehicles from becoming “charger hogs” at the few fastest chargers. Teske thinks public utilities could especially benefit from his labeling language, since they can’t advertise in a traditional sense. “It gives them a type of customer experience similar to just rolling up and getting 87.”

–

Teske reports positive responses so far from regulators, agencies, carmakers, and industry groups. He’s in the process of forming an initial coalition to bring all interested parties to the table on how to implement it. “There’s a lot of opportunity to create what would be a digital solution in the long term—having this visual identity represented in vehicles and smartphone apps,” he said.

–

–

First U.S. 350-kW Charging Station Will Allow Speedy L.A.-to-Vegas EV Road Trips

–

EVgo Teases Higher-Power Fast Charger on Tesla Turf

–

Tesla Model 3: News, Photos, Specs, Full Info

–

–

As fast charging graduates past 50-kW speeds to faster 100- and 150-kW speeds and even to 350-kW and beyond, the numbers 4, 5, and 6 could be applied to that hardware. Teske’s idea, while not technologically disruptive in any way, is absolutely game changing, as it cuts through the clutter.

–

from remotecar http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/caranddriver/blog/~3/Q2eTGlfxmVY/

via WordPress https://robertvasquez123.wordpress.com/2017/07/25/chargeway-aims-to-make-choices-at-the-charger-easier-than-at-the-pump-2/

[robertvasquez763]

Chargeway Aims to Make Choices at the Charger Easier Than at the Pump

-Larger battery packs and more widely available public charging options are two things that should soon ease range anxiety and make electric vehicles a practical option for many more drivers. What’s often omitted from the conversation, however, is that a different sort of anxiety remains, centered around public charging, which for newbies can be downright confounding. Public chargers aren’t often well labeled for format, let alone power, and it’s not unusual to see someone pull out the charging connector, look back and forth to see what fits, and then simply let an unfamiliar charger run awhile to get a grasp of its speed. It isn’t that way at the gas pump, of course. You know whether or not you need to go high octane, the nozzles almost always look and fit the same, and if not, it’s a sign that something’s wrong (such as, you’re trying to use a diesel nozzle to fill a gasoline car).

–

A new system called Chargeway aims to set a straightforward language for understanding car-charging options. Simply put, the color corresponds to the plug design (J1772, CCS, CHAdeMO, or Supercharger), while the number corresponds to the power and the potential charging rate. The system would clarify charging times for everyone and help those traveling outside their normal territory to pick out the fastest charger from among those available.

–

–

The idea has been brewing for several years—since Chargeway founder Matt Teske and his wife, Anna, took their Chevrolet Volt to a resort about an hour away from their home in Portland, Oregon. Resort staff had assured them that there was an electric-vehicle charger on site, so they went to charge up before dinner. What they found instead was a low-amp, 110-volt household AC plug at the garden shed—a scenario that would have required that the Teskes bring their own battery charger/adapter and essentially leave the Volt plugged in overnight to get its 38 miles of electric range back.

–

While most other aspects of driving an EV were familiar enough, Teske found that charging on longer trips became a source of anxiety—especially after adding a Chevrolet Spark EV to the household.

–

“Public charging was what I felt was the trickiest part, even as an early adopter,” he said. “The only thing I was having to relearn was how was I putting energy into the thing. This one aspect that felt so different is what I wanted to solve.”

–

Setting a Universal Language for Vehicle Charging

–

Teske, a marketing and branding strategist with nearly 20 years of experience in the auto industry, said that he began realizing that there were wide gaps of knowledge and understanding among the engineers designing electric vehicles, the mass market they wanted to reach, and the dealerships tasked with selling EVs. And then came a secret-shopper study conducted last year by the Sierra Club, finding that about half of dealerships didn’t have any information on public charging; 14 percent of the time, the study found, dealerships didn’t even keep enough charge in the vehicles for a test drive.

–

“I’ve worked with dealerships and done dealer training through my career. They like cars they can easily sell, and if they can easily sell something, they’ll do it all day,” Teske said. “There’s a massive disconnect at the dealership about explaining vehicle charging.”

–

Adopting a straightforward system like Chargeway’s could make a difference. For instance, for manufacturers, it would clearly differentiate a boost in charging speed for newer versions of electric vehicles. It could benefit charging companies, improving charger etiquette by discouraging drivers with slower-charging yet backward-compatible vehicles from becoming “charger hogs” at the few fastest chargers. Teske thinks public utilities could especially benefit from his labeling language, since they can’t advertise in a traditional sense. “It gives them a type of customer experience similar to just rolling up and getting 87.”

–

Teske reports positive responses so far from regulators, agencies, carmakers, and industry groups. He’s in the process of forming an initial coalition to bring all interested parties to the table on how to implement it. “There’s a lot of opportunity to create what would be a digital solution in the long term—having this visual identity represented in vehicles and smartphone apps,” he said.

–

–

First U.S. 350-kW Charging Station Will Allow Speedy L.A.-to-Vegas EV Road Trips

–

EVgo Teases Higher-Power Fast Charger on Tesla Turf

–

Tesla Model 3: News, Photos, Specs, Full Info

–

–

As fast charging graduates past 50-kW speeds to faster 100- and 150-kW speeds and even to 350-kW and beyond, the numbers 4, 5, and 6 could be applied to that hardware. Teske’s idea, while not technologically disruptive in any way, is absolutely game changing, as it cuts through the clutter.

–

from remotecar http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/caranddriver/blog/~3/Q2eTGlfxmVY/

via WordPress https://robertvasquez123.wordpress.com/2017/07/25/chargeway-aims-to-make-choices-at-the-charger-easier-than-at-the-pump/