#iodine or lover lover lover or i’m your man

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Leander Mason, Prince of Chicago

Leander Mason is late. Which is not necessarily unusual, but for the fact that he’s late to his own engagement party. Which consequently has made you late to your own engagement party.

You wouldn’t normally mind, you swear. Honestly, this party wasn’t either of your ideas. It came about three months after Leander’s hurried late-night proposal, after which you’d both sworn to keep the news under wraps from your respective families, at least until you’d ironed out the important details of the wedding. The date, the venue, the catering—these were things you wanted to take care of yourselves, refusing to leave the door open for family interference of any kind. Naturally, though, an eagle-eyed uncle of Leander’s spotted your engagement ring in a photo his too-thoughtful nephew had sent alongside some holiday card or other, and then the entire Mason clan knew, which meant you had to tell your parents, and then the combined force of your two unhinged families became too much to bear and you buckled, both of you, allowing them this one concession in exchange for a (theoretically) peaceful wedding-planning process. So really, you wouldn’t normally mind if you missed a few minutes of this whole ridiculous affair, only it happens that Leander Mason is late because he procrastinated picking up his dry cleaning, neglecting to consider that the dry cleaner is closed on Sundays, and cannot possibly think of a better solution than driving all the hell over Chicago in search of a suit jacket that matches the trousers he plans to wear. He called you from a phone booth an hour ago to let you know. If you’d left an hour ago, you might have been a few minutes early. If you leave right this second, you’ll be twenty minutes late.

It’s not that you’re in any rush to fraternize with your estranged family. On the contrary, you’d rather never see them again. But being that they’ve invaded Chicago like cicadas and are unlikely to leave without torturing you for at least an hour or two, you think you’d better just get it over with.

The crash of a gangly frame through your front door sets you alert, and you’re met with Leander, haloed by the glow of the hallway light, panting from exertion. No suit jacket to be seen.

“Hi, darling,” he breathes, crossing the room to kiss you on the forehead, “I’m sorry, I thought I could make it, but then Saks was closed, and I hit every red light on the way here, and—my god, you’re beautiful.”

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face. You do look stunning, if you do say so yourself. “Next time you send yourself on a wild goose chase to avoid our families, take me with you,” you reply.

“Roger,” he says, smiling apologetically before he bolts into your bedroom. When he comes out, his hair is artfully tousled and his dress shirt is pressed within an inch of its life. “Ready?” He asks, taking your face in his hands and examining it as if for signs of regret or apprehension. Both of which you feel in spades, for the record.

“Ready,” you confirm in spite of yourself, unable to keep the nerves from your voice. Leander kisses you hard.

“No matter what happens tonight,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “we’ve got each other’s backs, deal? You are my priority, Professor.”

“Deal,” you nod. And then you’re in the car, and then you’re in a small hotel ballroom with, like, one million rich Midwesterners and twenty or so of your own confused family members, most of whom (yourself included) have never experienced an opulence of this magnitude.

Leander sticks close to you as you enter the party, long fingers stretched across the small of your back. Where you have complete tunnel vision, he’s scanning the crowd like a hunter in search of game. “Come here,” he mutters suddenly, pulling you gently but firmly toward him with a nasty look over his shoulder. You glance behind you to see which of his family members he’s shielding you from, only to lock eyes with your own father. Jesus, here we go.

You turn fully to face your father, ignoring Leander’s insistent tugging and efforts to pull you away. “Dad,” you say, keeping your voice impressively neutral.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Your father beams, moving as if to hug you. You take a reflexive step back, feeling Leander’s hands on your shoulders as you do. He knows the hell your family has put you through; hell, he’s probably angrier about it than you are at this point. Your father’s smile falters for a split second, and you instinctively fear the rage that will follow if he’s made to look foolish in public. “This the man who’s stolen you away from us?”

“This is Leander,” you say, refusing to indulge his comment which, though delivered with the cadence of a joke, is certainly intended to bite. Cool, calm, collected. Measured and calculated, even.

“How do you do,” comes Leander’s voice, deeper than usual, as he leans into your back to extend a steady hand. Your father shakes it evenly, Pan-Am smile firmly back in place. Before he can say anything though, Leander speaks again. “Love, we’ve got a lot of people to greet, yeah? Let’s do a lap, maybe catch up with Dad later?”

“What are you doing?” You hiss as Leander sweeps you away.

“Trust me, Professor,” he murmurs in response, face carefully neutral as he navigates the crowd, “I know men like him. He’s angry, right? He’s miserable, he’s mean?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Then let him be angry with me,” he says. You’ve reached the corner of the ballroom now, his fingers gently circling your wrist as he attempts to maintain a facade of casualty. “Let him think I’m keeping you from your family, or whatever he wants to tell himself. Better me than you.”

You’re formulating a response, trying to decide whether you want to start an argument or fall into his arms and sob, when a bony, manicured hand lands on Leander’s shoulder. He spins to face the woman trying to get his attention, who you recognize after a moment as his aunt Livia.

“You two are just adorable!” she exclaims in a frankly impressive misreading of the situation.

“Thank you,” Leander replies, exasperated once again. You can see the frustration rising in him, as it so often does when dealing with his family, and suddenly you’re a fish out of water. Actually, you’re a fish in the razor-sharp beak of an eagle, and the eagle is soaring over the city at warp speed, and you knew it would be intense, but you couldn’t have predicted how completely overwhelmed you’d be when it really came down to it. His family and yours. Clueless and cruel, two sides of a really, fantastically stupid coin.

Jesus, girl, you think, you raised yourself better than this. So you roll your shoulders back, inhale (cigarette smoke, whiskey, heat) and exhale (pure unadulterated rage), and enter survival mode. If Jerry Cantrell was born to wail on the guitar and Leander Mason was born to be a (beautiful, wonderful) thorn in your side, then you were born to navigate the psychic minefield of family dysfunction.

The next few hours pass–or maybe they don’t–in a haze of “Good to meet you” and “Yes, we’re very happy” and “Sure, I’ll call more.” You can feel Leander’s anxiety spiking, too preoccupied with your own to do anything about it. And then, like magic, you’re back in his car. His forehead is on the steering wheel, his entire body curled forward in an impressive display of defeat.

“Leander,” you say softly, laying a hand flat on his back. His response is a low, guttural groan that you think wouldn’t be entirely out of place in a medieval torture chamber. “Want to run away to Iceland?” you ask, only half-joking. The poor man has been needled within an inch of his life tonight, by his family and yours alike.

He barks out a surprised half-laugh, righting his posture to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is raw. “But we’re not going to, right?”

“I mean, I don’t see why not.”

“Alright, give me your elevator pitch.”

You grin in spite of yourself. “You, me, and a little apartment on a river. No family to speak of.”

“Well, we don’t exactly need to go all the way to Iceland to have that, do we?” He asks, lifting your hand to his lips from where it rests on the center console. You raise an eyebrow. “If it’s a river you want, we’ve got a perfectly good one right here in Chicago.”

“And our families?”

“Fuck ‘em,” he says, eyes steady on yours, “You and me, my love. We’re more family to each other than all the people in that ballroom combined.”

You lean into your seat, letting your head fall back. “Yeah,” you say softly.

Part of you always sort of wondered if you’d eventually regret cutting off your parents the way you did. But wouldn’t it have happened by now? It’s been almost a decade, and you’re just as angry with them as you were at eighteen. The only person in the world who’s managed to make you feel sane about the entire thing is sitting beside you in the driver’s seat, and if that makes you both assholes then fine, you’ll be assholes together. God, fuck ‘em. You’ve got your family. And you’re definitely fucking eloping.

[dogshit-gambler]

 Duality of Man: Konig x Medic!F!Reader 

Summery: You’ve been captured by AQ and the battering ram guides you to safety. 

SFW - Friends to Lovers (kinda) - Canon Typical Violence - Konig Being Unhinged - Also Konig Swearing his Devotion to Reader on This Fine Tuesday - Brief Mention of Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley - Too Lazy To Beta Read, We Die Like Men!!

☁ This isn’t exactly how you’d imagine spending a Friday night, you’d much prefer huddling up at home with a fresh cup of tea; but reality was never that kind. Instead, you were hiding behind a demolished bookshelf. Managing to escape your binds, hiding was the next best thing for a woman in capture. You knew help would arrive but you did not know if they’d survive. AQ was powerful, trafficking humans and weapons, their tyranny was wicked. You heard gunfire, wondering, praying if that was your aid dropping like flies. 

☁ Konig was considered your friend, but he never had the guts to tell you how he really felt. To suffer from such anxiety, fighting was his medicine apart from your company. You wondered why someone like him would be so afraid of others and their cruel judgment when he was a mountain of a man. He was quiet and kind, his voice never loud or aggressive. Especially with you, he was considerate and gentle. You’d tended to his wounds before, easing him into peace with butchered German words he’d taught you with each stitch or dab or iodine. You never knew what he was like on the field, nor did you really want to know. He was described as a battering ram by others, standing at a noble 6′10. He was always the first to be seen but his desire to remain small always remained. 

☁ The door was locked with a bolt chain and had an ammo create flush against it. You peeked around the broken shelf, noticing an AQ fighter by the door, a Russian made rifle in his hands. You stood no chance and were no fighter. Running was the only option. “You! Stay there or I’ll shoot!” He shouted at another hostage. You heard heavy steps sprinting in the hallway behind the door. Guns fired off like popcorn. Behind the locked door was Konig, the person you were hoping to see. Behind him stood Ghost who covered his back, shooting into anyone who dared showed even a sliver of their forehead behind the corner. “Go in, and I’ll cover you.” Ghost’s thick English accent rolled off his tongue in a surprisingly calm way. “Locked,” Konig grunted. “Is there anyone inside?” He called out in a cracked voice. His heart raced in his chest as he prepared to body-slam into the door. He was foolishly strong and a chain did nothing to protect the fighters from his wrath. He slammed the meaty side of his bicep into the door and heart the wood crack. Again, he slammed himself into the door. Your hands shook, sweat blinding your eyes from the blistering heat formed by the chaos. You knew his voice anywhere. His thick German accent was another part of him you admired. Konig growled as he pushed the door open, he felt a distinct heaviness against the bottom of it. 

☁Fearing the worst, you slipped into the backroom and locked the door. The fighter, knowing he was outnumbered still stood his ground. “You idiot! You believe this will stop me?” Konig laughed as he made the final push through the door. In his act of bravery, he slammed into the fighter and knocked him to the ground. You watched from a bullet hole in the wall what Konig had done. He jabbed his combat knife into the side of the man’s neck and ripped it out with ease. Konig was a hulking figure, now covered in blood he was not the kind, gentle man you remembered. His eyes were wide, his muscle now hulking as blood rushed through him. Ghost stood behind him, the pair looking more like a team of demon hounds than your allies. He rose to his feet, blood dripping from his hood. 

☁You banged on the door, tears in your eyes. “It’s me! I’m inside!” Konig snapped his head to your voice. “I’m coming! Stand back!” He rolled his shoulders before battering the door. “All’s clear,” Ghost said into his walkie talkie. “All hostages are found.” “Copy that, LT.” 

☁ Konig barreled through the door and part of you wanted to run from him too. He looked... different. Like another version of himself was fronting. You could only see his eyes, but his pupils were so large they looked more like black pits. “Keine Sorge, ich bin hier, Y\N.” (Don’t worry, I’m here.) He dropped to his knees to meet you. “I’m right here. I’m here to take you somewhere safe.” He enjoyed killing but he’d never tell you. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten you, but he had surely done that now. “I...” His mask was stained in blood and he smelled like it. It was grueling to look at someone you  cared about like that. “I didn’t scare you, did I, schatz?” (darling.) His eyes softened, his pupils back to their normal size again. “Come, let’s get you back to safety. Follow me, bitte.” (Please)

 ☁  For once, it was Konig tending to your wounds. Still, the image of him was seared into your mind. You rested on your side, your shirt pulled up to your ribs. He was quiet and hadn’t spoken to you since your rescue. “Did I scare you, Y\N?” He asked bluntly. He was so different now. He never removed his sniper hood but at least he didn’t wear the smell of death anymore. “I... didn’t mean for you to see that. I never... intended for you to see me like that, schatz.” He looked at you, his eyes relaxed on your skin. You winced in pain as he cleaned the wound on your side. “I’m sorry.” He said, gently patting your skin. You weren’t upset at him for just doing his job, you were just... surprised by that side of him. By seeing him kill ruthlessly and swiftly, without a trace of humanity left in his eyes. Now, he was tender. Now, he was different. “You’d never... be angry at me, right, Konig? Now of course if I did something to deserve your anger, but I mean... You’d never...” 

 ☁  I’d never hurt you. I swear it. I promise. Du hast mein wort.” (you have my word)You trusted him with your life after tonight, as he proved he’d go through great lengths to protect it. His large hands worked tenderly to bandage the wound. “I need you to sit up, please. Move slowly.” His voice was quiet, but still had an air of strength to it. He helped you sit up so he could wrap a bandage around your lower half. He was crouched before you as he wrapped the bandage around your stomach. “Ich weiß, es tut weh...” (I know it hurts.) You placed your hand on the top of his head, your fingers treating his mask like a tender head of hair. You ran them down to his ear and where you thought his jaw would be. He looked in your eyes, the contact making his heart race. He finished the bandage, pulling your shirt down in place. He remained before you, kneeling. Two eye holes were cut in his hood, the tender blue eyes gazing at you. “Thank you, Konig.” He relished in your gentle touch, the urge to lean into your hand was very tempting. “You’re most welcome. It’s the least I could do.” 

[insufferablelust]

THE ARTIST AND HIS MUSE (v)

Hi lovely people! it’s me again with the fifth installment of TAAHM, hopefully y’all enjoy this, as always thank you for your support, and excuse the grammatical errors. As i said before, this story is dark themed, so it can get triggering to some people, please read the warning, and read at your own risk.

WARNINGS : BEWARE DARK FIC. SMUT, Angst to the max, Mental Illness (PTSD, with severe anxiety and depression), Some Fluff, hints/mention of Suicide (doesn’t happen), Psychological abuse (in flashbacks), over sensitivity (both sexual and non sexual), hints of Masochism, Anxiety attack, Soft raw tender moments, aaand thats it.

———————

A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive.To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. —Pearl S. Buck.

———🍃———

Little did they know, that night is going to be the beginning of a roller coaster ride.

———//———

It was already late when she opened her eyes the next day, her soft sigh occupied the quiet room as she scanned for the one person she craved the most, biting her lips at the cold left side of the bed sheet. However, he’s kind enough to leave the only thing she could reminisce about last night in a form of a long letter note he left on her night table, written with purple ink,

“Good Morning Y/N,

I hope you’re feeling well, although knowing how anxious you can get, i know your mind would wander off and we don’t want that. If you can remember what i said, then good but if you can’t, i said that i left because it’s more convenient for the both of us, not because i don’t want to be with you. Believe me, watching you sleep right now really put an image inside my memory that i’ll never forget, you’re so beautiful.

I hope you don’t mind, but i put on Debussy on your vinyl right now. I want you to know that we’ll still talk about it, preferably today, maybe we can go have dinner unless we have a case. There are things i never got the chance to say, and i think its time i finally tell you, later.

As for your past, we’ll also talk about that too. But i want you to not worry— yes i’m disappointed still, but i know why you did what you did. We’ll figure out a way.

Lastly, please take care.

Spencer R.”

By the time she had finished reading, her internal being is overflowing with emotions, dangerous ones that she won’t be able to control and she knows this. Her eyes teared up at the sight of ‘Classical Lover Etiquettes’ cued up on her record player. Her legs were incredibly sore, as much as her thighs and arms. There was just so much that’s happening, so much to feel, and she needed to escape.

Her feet dragged her to the balcony, inhaling the scent of life, breathe in heavily as she hoped— cross her fingers hoping to die that the amount of oxygen would be able to drown her from all the confusion, even more so the horrors that started to flows back in. Spencer opened a large deep wound that she had buried a long time ago, and then he showed her the way to paradise. He confuses her as much as she probably confuses him.

She wanted to apologize for being complicated, wanted to get on her knees again and show him how much she needs a savior right now; someone to love, and cherish to get her mind off of the horrible things in the past. She wants him to know that he can help her, by guiding her like he did the night before, by owning her like he said the night before, by loving her like he promised. She needs to be devoted to him, she would do anything for him.

She knows how damaged she is on the inside, she put up a persona every day so people could believe that she’s alive. But the only time she ever felt alive was with Spencer. The only time she ever wished she’s not complicated is when she’s with Spencer, His name consumed her like the opiates she used to take. He owned her soul already and she’s not letting that go. Even if the world stands in her way. She deserves this, this pure thing for once.

So she cried, hard. Hard enough for her neighbors to hear, to check up on her, but she wasn’t listening, she stayed crouched down in her balcony, her vision was blurry and she can’t think of anything— only Spencer.

“Spencer..” was the only thing she remembered saying before she witnessed darkness and drowsiness penetrate her eyes as well as her other senses— sending her to sleep.

———————————

Y/N didn’t even flinched when her father’s screams once again filled her ears, telling her how she doesn’t belong, she isn’t supposed to be here, isn’t supposed to exists. She could smell the strong scent of alcohol from his mouth, clouding her senses, but she refused to give in and cry, in fact she doesn’t feel a thing. Moreover, she’s just bored, her father never got violent with her, never laid a hand on her, neither does her step mother— well not when he’s around anyways.

By the age of 9, Y/N already knew what kind of man her father was, the kind that doesn’t want to admit reality, he’s a violent genius who works in the dark, with barriers covering all sides of his life. He never hurt Y/N physically, like he always claimed. But 12 years of psychological torture will fuck you up, she thought. She lived in isolation, and darkness where the only things she knew.. were alcohol, math, abuse, impending death, and screams.

She doesn’t have anyone related that’s nice to her, enough to shield her from all the abuse. The only person that could bring her peace is Mr. Bones, one of her father’s men. He always looked out for her, he gave her hope ever since she was old enough to know that being told you were never meant to be alive was not okay.

“I apologize, papa. It won’t happen again, I swear it.”

Her eyes stayed on the ground as she feels the warmth of his palm so close to her cheek, she yelled in her mind— her mind telling her to scream at the old bastard to “Hit me!”

“Hit me!”

“Make it hurt!”

“HIT ME!”

——

Y/N felt a jolt, her eyes searching for signs of where she might be but she can’t seem to open her eyes, the smell— is clean like iodine, the next thing she felt was the rough yet strangely comfortable sheets that grazes against her skin, And then she heard the talk, someone’s talking.. She recognized the voice well, so well like its imprinted deep in her soul, She tried to open her eyes.. yet she keeps on missing.

“S-she— i found her pale.. she was so pale and cold.. “ Spencer! her mind screamed, that’s Spencer.

“Spencer!” She tried to yell, but still nothing,

“Spencer please!” Nothing.

“What did her neighbor said?” Hotch!

“Hotch please i’m awake!”

“She was screaming, and they found her clutching her shirt tightly, she was crying and she.. she said my name over and over again, before blacking out.. thats why they called me first after calling 911” Is that true? she has been taking her meds, hasn’t she?

“Did anyone said that she was about to jump or anything like that?”

“No! No! Spencer i’m not suicidal!”

“N-no i don’t know.. Hotch i was with her last night, i should’ve—“

“Please don’t cry! please i’m sorry i love you i won’t do it again!”

“Hey no, she looked like she was having a panic attack. Has she ever mentioned anything about being depressed? or experiencing anxiety attacks maybe?”

“no... no... don’t tell him Spencer, you promised.”

“Stop the silence, Spencer you promised you won’t tell anyone.”

“N-no.. not that i know off.. she wanted company so i stayed with her, we watched movie.”

“Spencer...” She tried again, believing that it won’t work, he won’t hear her, maybe she’s not even here anymore— just floating away from her body. But when she saw his head turned towards her, she sighed contently, letting go of all the burden for a second just to hear him mutter her name in silence and peace.

“Y/N... you’re awake wait let me—“ before he could exit the door, Hotch pulled him back a little, telling him that “It’s okay, let me get the doctor.” Leaving Spencer and her alone.

Her heart rate accelerated as he sat down on the chair next to her, eyes filled with worry and fear— Y/N couldn’t take it, couldn’t bare to see how broken he looks, because she was selfish and complicated, because she was damaged.

“I-i wasn’t... trying to.. jump” Her voice came out laced with fragility, all raw and quiet. She’s trying to tell Spencer that she’s alright, as long as he’s here she’ll be alright. “Don’t.. please don’t blame yourself, it was an anxiety attack, a bad one.”

“Have you been taking your meds?” There it is, the question she has been hoping she wouldn’t have to answer. She looked down at his trembling hands, reaching to grab it but unable to do so because she realized now that she was restrained to the bed.

“Why am i being restrained?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No Spencer i haven’t! now why am i restrained? i’m not a danger to anyone.” Y/N half yelled with a cracked voice, closing her eyes tightly at the tears that’s threatening to spill out of her eyes.

“Miss Bones, i see that you’re awake now.” Her eyes never leaving the sight of her cuffed wrist, ‘did they honestly thought you were planning on killing yourself?’

“I’m not suicidal, i’m an FBI agent for god’s sake.” The tone of her newfound voice surprised everyone including Spencer.

“Then why were you unconscious on the balcony of your apartment?”

“Because i haven’t been taking my pills! look, i haven’t for years now and i was fine. It was just rush of emotions, and i got overwhelmed okay? doesn’t mean i was going to jump. Believe me thats the last thing i would’ve wanted.” The last bit was a whisper, indicating the raw pain behind it. It was the truth, moments before you passed out you were thinking of Spencer, of how he’s your savior.

“Okay, Agent. We believe you, now why don’t you get some rest, and we’ll have you prescribed for something stronger, meanwhile i’m going to take the cuffs off” The doctor replied gently, except you know he’s not a doctor well he is but he’s a psychiatrist. Great, now everyone think she’s crazy.

——————

After the incident, you rarely talked to anyone on your team not because they don’t want to but because you won’t let them. You’ve caused enough pain, so the last thing you want to see is the pity on their eyes and face, it was nice seeing how they care though— sometimes in the mornings you can hear Garcia and JJ dropping new baskets full of goodies and treats for you to try. Sliding a note underneath your door before leaving.

Hotch insisted you to take a month break, which you would’ve tried to argued but you knew you didn’t stand a single chance. You could’ve lose your job, he could’ve fired you for lying about your psychological problems and endangering yourself but he didn’t, though he wanted you to take the break, and do another psych eval, so you agreed.

The bad thing about not going to work, except the obvious fact that you miss your work family and you missed out on catching men women alike your father and his killer— is not seeing Spencer often enough. It made you anxious just thinking how he’s doing constantly, Prentiss has said in a text that ‘he seems okay, just a little off’ in which you ended the conversation quickly, not wanting to let invasive questions spring up to life.

You’ve tried to contact him multiple times, yet he never answered the calls, there was one time where he had responded your text; it was the one after you told him that you haven’t eaten and taken your meds because thats what you do now, pretending like he actually listens you, that day you heard a knock, before finding out that there was a box of pizza; the tuna, with creamy mushroom kind, your favorite. Spencer is the only one who knew about it, so it was him. You cried that night knowing that he was close... yet you didn’t see him.

After that, nothing. Nothing at all, until it was your 17th day isolated in your apartment trying to get better. A therapist from FBI was supposed to come today, checking up on you, Hotch’s order. So when you heard a knock, you opened the door without looking.

“Y/N...”

“Hi you must be the— Spencer?” You eyes went wide as you recognized the person standing at your door, you swear your knees buckled finally seeing him again after so long. His hair seemed longer, his eyes has bags under them, he doesn’t look fine.

“Spencer, you look—“

“Can i come in?” His voice startled you, it was deep, deeper than you remembered it last.

“Yes, yes please come in..” You watched him enter your house, eyes scanning through every bit of everything, probably profiling your condition. So you let out a chuckle as you close the door, “I’m fine Spencer, unless you didn’t notice, i’m doing therapy 3 times a week plus routine visits from every therapist in town it seemed like. So i’m good” the tone of your voice reflects sarcasm and you know it, but how can you help it when he wont even look at you.

“Thats good..” He mumbled, sitting down on the couch where you two talked the last time about your past, you remembered that night’s event so clearly you could’ve sworn you have an eidetic memory. “You haven’t been sleeping have you?”

“no.” you sat down next to him, deciding that you shouldn’t touch him even if you wanted to.

“Why?”

“Because i worry about you.”

“Spencer, i told you i’m—“

“No! no you can’t say that you’re fine, again. do you know what you did me? after the night we had, you basically suffered an anxiety so bad you collapsed on your balcony, while whispering my name. You don’t get to say that you’re fine, i deserve more Y/N.”

You didn’t flinched even once when you heard his voice raised, if anything you just close your eyes and not let the volume of his voice get inside your head, “Everyone who yells is the same like your father, wake the fuck up” is what your mind been telling you but you refused to listen to it, Spencer is good, he’s a good man. So you controlled your breathing for a second before opening your eyes to see Spencer’s face begging for answers.

“You’re right, you deserve answers and you’ll get your answers but can you please listen to me and don’t interrupt? Spencer, i need the space if you want me to tell you, the space to make you understand.” Your palm move on top of his to see his reaction, you expected him to swat your hands away or at least flinched but strangely he let out a pleasant sigh, like he was relieved, like every weight has been lifted off of him.

“Okay, i’m sorry for—“

You cut him off before he could say what he’s sorry for, you don’t need it— his reactions are normal, too normal that it makes you fall in love with him over and over again. “Shh, don’t. You don’t have to explain, you don’t have to respond, just.. wait here, i’ll tell you everything okay..?”

With a nod you get from him, you stand up to make two chamomile teas, bringing it to where Spencer is sitting on the couch, then after you put on Gymnopédie on your record player, you sit down next to him. To your surprise, he leaned and laid his head on top of your thighs, curling up on the couch— which sent a smile to your face, you haven’t smiled for so long and of course Spencer Reid is the one who put your first smile since.. you don’t even remember when.

————

“It’s one of my favorite, I love the serenity of it.” You whispered, as your fingers ran through his soft hair. Relaxing your back against the couch and enjoying the tune of one of your favorite classical of all time. Spencer smiled at that, you swore the smile could lit your insides like nothing else.

“I’m a beethoven guy, but i guess Satie is alright..” He laughs, his laugh sounded like heaven, his smile and laugh makes you dizzy. This is the Spencer that makes your heart pound ten times faster, and the one that makes you lost for words each time, the one that you’ll love... too fast Y/N, too fast.

“Of course you are, it’s not hard to see..”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Spencer looked up at you, he looked so pure like this, like he was made to justify every wrong things that has been done, like he’s an angel that protects the earth from filth. He’s pure and tender, it takes all of your willpower to not lean down and kiss him.

“Oh yes, explanation.” You laughed awkwardly, eyes refusing to meet his. “Look at me, please” You shake your head at his demand, your eyes still trailing to where the record player is going.

“Look at me, Y/N.” You did, you looked. Under any other circumstances, the authoritative tone would instantly leave you dripping wet ready to submit to him. But this time, you only whimpered and nods.

“Good girl, now tell me” He cupped your cheeks, the gentle gesture sent you to oblivion.

“I don’t know where to start..”

“I heard the beginning is a great start.” His lips tugged into a wide smile, you heart warmed at the sight before you sigh, your fingers still curling and uncurling itself on his hair.

“I opened up to you that night, it’s something strange for me, i told you something that i swore i would never tell anyone, but i told you because.. because you were right, you are right Spencer. And i guess after that we took it to a whole new different level, i want to be able to do all the things with you and cross all boundaries but it’s something new to me, so that morning when i... woke up alone, it was scary, i felt so small and sad in such a big space. I was overwhelmed, by the thought of letting another person in, i don’t wanna take it slow but then again the transition won’t be easy for me.” Spencer opened his mouth as he was about to say something, but you simply leaned in shakily and press a quick peck on his lips as a sign that you’re not done yet, to your surprise he pulled you down one more time and let the kiss linger this time before letting you pull back, whispering a small “go on.”

“I lived in isolation most of my life, the only taste of real life emotions i ever got was the moment right after my graduation. The man who saved me, he teached me social skills, and the basics of.. of having this gift of rawness emotions. But i’ve been so closed off, i realized its just not possible for me to fall in love or feel such a strong emotion towards another, the only strong emotion i’ve ever known before this was.. hatred towards my father and his killer.

I had PTSD when i was 13, consistent with severe anxiety and depression, at one point Mr.Bones insisted that i...i started talking to myself, admitted me to a psychiatrist where i got my.. antipsychotics for um the voices. But i came out well, and he promised me that if i was able to make it, he would change my identity, stripped me out of my old misery, give me a new one, my father was a very very important man where he worked, so does his men including Mr.Bones. Thats why before i was 21, there’s no record of Y/N Bones existed because.. i didn’t, i never existed.”

Y/N ended it with a smile, looking down at Spencer whose eyes brimming with tears. She shook her head, her trembling fingers wiping the traces of tears. “Hey no no, please don’t cry, please it’s hurt to see you cry..” She whimpered.

“Spencer please say something..” Her eyes pleaded with her, as he sat up, before inching closer to her and before she even processed the warmth of his body, his lips pressed themselves against hers in a gentle loving way. His thumb stroking her soft supple cheek, as his lips took its time to explore every inch of hers, imprinting how it feels so he can remember it all the time. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck as he guided her to his lap, pulling back a little.

They stared at each other for such a long time, before Spencer move his hand downward— tugging on her shirt. “Do you want to?” His voice rise your goosebumps to wake, all the adrenaline rushing through your core as you nod eagerly. “Please”

——————

“Tchaikovsky.”

“what?”

“This is tchaikovsky.” Spencer looked up at her, seeing how needy but beautiful she is, her skin glistening under the dim lights, her lashes are wet, her eyes glassy, and her lips bitten raw. He smiled admiring her before continuing his exploration down her labia, stroking it gently— almost like he’s teasing her.

“yes Spencer this is, Oh god!” you stopped mid-sentence as you felt the warmth of his tongue exploring from her slit up to her clit, flicking the sensitive button gently— Holy mother! doesn’t he know how sensitive she is?

“I’m pretty sure Tchaikovsky isn’t god, Princess.” the doctor giggles as his fingers tracing her tummy gently, caressing every mark every curve every indent every scar so so gently to show her how much he appreciates her, appreciate her beauty— all of it.

“Shut up!” She whined and shuddered as she feels him burying his face against her sensitive pussy, tongue swiping side to side at her slit as his nose bumps against her clit sending intense pleasure throughout her body making her jolt and convulse as she tug on his hair.

“Are you sure that’s wise, princess? i’m the one in charge of your orgasm here” Her legs quivered, his tongue push inside her and explore every inch of her inside— moaning at the taste and catching every drop.

“Sorry! so sorry Spencer, just don’t stop!” Oh how sweet is that, her voice cracked at the end, meaning he’s doing a good job. And the boy wonder does seek for praises sometimes.

“Never planning on it, love.” He mumbled against her pussy before inserting two fingers in, and moving them in a brutal pace whilst her tongue and lips sucking on her clit.

“Oh! Spencer, you’re so good at this” Her eyes shut tightly, as her fingers gripping his hair— she’s practically grinding against his face which he moaned at the sight and taste of her, oh so heavenly.

“C’mon Princess, come for me then i will give you what you’ve been waiting for” oh the way she clenched around her fingers so tightly, made him groaned and shut his eyes tight as he works her over the orgasm

“Spencer! oh! thank you!” Every inch of her skin was burning and her brain was mush. So much pleasure, that she could die happily now. Her body shivers still, when he comes up to leave tiny kisses on her face. “Good girl.” Spencer then align himself at her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her pussy.

“Ready, princess?”

“Yes.. yes please?” With a smile on his face, Spencer bent Y/N’s knees before pushing the tip of his cock inside of her slowly, indulging in the velvety warm walls that welcomed his cock. The feeling is like home. Her mouth agape, as her eyes roll at the back of her head, and her fingers intertwined with his.

He stilled inside her for awhile as he let out grunts of how “so warm and tight, pet” she is. He then leaned down to press a gentle loving kiss on her lips before thrusting his cock in and out of her slowly, keeping the pace light as they both relinquish all the frustrations out, and indulging in each other’s warmth. It’s perfect.

“so— full, Spencer..” Her desperate whimpers was the one that egged him to move faster, thrusting his hips so every-time he thrusted in, the sounds were slapping of skins and their moans. But when one particular deep thrust, her cunt involuntary clenched around his cock and she screamed “Thats it! thats it fuck!”

Spencer grinned, before letting go of her hand to grip her waist, pulling her closer to him then continue to fuck her with a torturous brutal pace, hitting the spot over and over again. “I’m not going to last if you keep- fucking clenching that tight cunt Y/N” He warned, eyes glinting with a dangerous look like how he was that night. Feral.

Strings of plea left her mouth as she arched her back, he was so deep— filling her to the brim and making her feel good.

“Please cum inside me!”

“I will baby, i will. But first you gotta cum alright? can you do that? i know you can, c’mon” His breathing labored as he move even faster, her headboard banged against the wall, and her body bounced. With one final deep thrust, they reached their peak, and shuddered at the feeling. Spencer pulls out before grabbing a wet cloth from the beside table and carefully wiped her sensitive areas, causing goosebumps that were dying down to rise again.

“Swan lake” Was the first thing she muttered as her legs still quivering, Spencer looked up at her confusedly as he set throw the cloth to the dirty hamper and laid down beside her once more, cuddling her to his side.

“What?” he asked, his fingers running through her hair.

“Tchaikovsky’s, Swan lake was playing.” They both laughed at her answer, shaking their heads. It wasn’t until Y/N’s eyes flickered to his hazy ones, that they muttered it together,

“I love you—“

“I love you—“

———————

TBC!

As always, TAGLIST is open, blurb requests are also open any genre of course, send them in along with suggestions and/or constructive criticisms! thank you. Just message me or send me an ask :) thank you for supporting. I’M SO SORRY FOR THE REUPLOAD, the TAGS DOESNT WORK TUMBLR IS MEAN TO ME AGAIN❤️

( @blancastans @spencerwaltergubler @slutforthegubes @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @babybloomer @liaabsurd @midnightsubmissives @addie5264 @maybankslut @secretpickleprofessordean )

[1-800-get-sherlocked]

this was supposed to be an incorrect quote but it spiraled out of control

note: im american idk if yall brits have cuties (kidding im sure ur all cuties ok im sorry i couldnt resist) but i really had to alright pls be-ryllium ar-gon with me yes im sorry we are revisiting chem lads dont worry i will provide you translations/i will make it obvious also theres switching povs & im telling you ahead of time: the puns are very, very bad 

also i wrote this at like late 5am un-beta-ed so please forgive me for any mistakes, i have 0.5 braincells left and i used up 0.279 for academic papers

kind of a crackfic btw 

ok without further ado bc i ramble too much, other notes at the end: 

*on Valentine’s Day*

John woke up to the sound of clinking and the faint sound of rustling of papers, the other side of the bed empty and cold. Ah, probably on that experiment again with those oranges he said were also a good pet name for me. What was it again? Right, cuties. A small smile appeared on John’s unshaven face. His hubby was too endearing for his own good sometimes. 

In the kitchen, Sherlock paced back and forth, eyeing his failed experiment with disdain. Which he was totally worrying more about rather than whether his plan would work. Would John like these? Maybe he should have just gone with George’s advice and went to get some takeout Angelo’s like they often did during quarantine, but Sherlock wanted to make this special. He nervously adjusted his shirt collar, looking down to check that he was indeed wearing the purple shirt John loved so much. Apparently it was called the purple shirt of sex or something? The detective honestly had no idea how or why but that wasn’t important, what was important was John. John. He still couldn’t believe the brilliant, patient, and gorgeous army-doctor was....his husband. After the drunk night they had that one day, things got a bit heated and...well, you could say they definitely had a good time and cleared up their feelings for each other, much to Donovan’s chagrin who lost Scotland Yard’s bet by just a week. Mrs. Hudson was the winner, obviously. 

Thank god for Mrs. Hudson’s and Gavin; he didn’t know what he would do without both of them giving him advice, though the DI wasn’t always pleased to be summoned in the middle of a case to help Sherlock out. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Sherlock scanned his surroundings to make sure everything was in place. Ah, he could now hear John about to step into the aisle, right on time. Quickly, Sherlock went back to pretending he was working on his experiment. 

Just a few moments later, John padded into the kitchen, clean shaven, and as expected, looked at Sherlock pointedly. Of course, the detective was used to this and promptly ignored it, waiting for John to say something. 

“Sherlock,” John said, tilting his head to the side a bit, “What is going on here? Why are there little sticky notes all over the place?” 

Sherlock simply shrugged. “Why don’t you go take a look for yourself, John? I’m sure you would be able to find out that way.” 

Sighing, John went back into the living room and perused the various bright colored sticky notes. Sherlock’s scratchy handwriting was on all of them, along with small drawings on some. Stepping closer, John took the first one off the wall above the couch and read the note out loud: 

“Jawn, you’re small and angy, just like the bunch of Copper (Cu) Tellurium (Te) Iodine (I) Einstieinium (Es) we got the other day. Will you be my clemenvalentine?” Belatedly, John noticed a small orange drawn next to it, with a small >:[ face. Sherlock still wasn’t going to let him ever live it down, huh? 

Shaking his head with the faintest hint of a smile crossing John’s expression, he moved on to the next one. 

“John, the first time we met and dined at Angelo’s, I said girlfriends weren’t really my area. What I really wanted to say was that I was Gallium (Ga) Yttrium (Y), John. Obviously, I am married to my work and love of my life now, but would you still be my Valentine again, for the 11th time?” This one was written in rainbow ink, probably one of those pens Rosie got for Sherlock, insisting that he would have some use for them someday. Which he did, evidently.

As John picked up more and more notes strewn around the room, and read more and more puns, some of his favorites being, “Forget Hydrogen–you’re my number one element” and “Why don’t we go back to the bedroom and form a covalent bond ;) Or we could do it on the table, periodically” he didn’t know whether he should have laughed or cried. Maybe both. Some were so bad they were hilarious but the fact that they were that bad just made it more funny and endearing. Oh Sherlock, where would I bee without you? who would I be without you?

Oh god, John realized with horror. Sherlock’s terrible puns were rubbing off him and invading his thoughts. Typical of him, that bloody cute charismatic arse.  

Finally, John reached the last one. 

“John, I know I’m not very good with expressing my affection for you, but I want you to know, especially today, that Iodine (I) Lutetium (Lu) Vanadium (V) Uranium (U). You are my best friend, my lover, my husband, and my lifelong partner. You’ll always be my doctor and blogger at heart.” On the side, a small smiley face was drawn. 

The entire time, John knew Sherlock’s eyes were on him, even though he pretended to be busy with his experiment. The doctor knew those telltale signs: tense shoulders coupled with a nervous biting of his lip. Watching closely, trying to gauge his reaction after reading all of them.  

“Sherlock, were you trying to test my chemistry knowledge again? You know it’s been awhile since I’ve studied all this, right?” 

Of course, Sherlock knew this. Sherlock always knew but was somehow still an oblivious idiot. My oblivious idiot, John thought affectionately. 

“Well yes but I-” a beat. Sherlock took a deep breath. “Well, it’s always you making plans for Valentine’s, and I thought, maybe I should take charge this time, with something other than Angelo’s–don’t worry, I’ve already ordered takeout for dinner, I know you love their food, John, so I still did it. But I wanted to do more for you this time. Mrs. Hudson and Rosie agreed it would help me express myself better, so I tried it out. Um-” Sherlock stopped mid sentence as John walked up to him, and put a finger over those pouty lips. 

“Sherlock, you amazing, adorable, gorgeous man, you’re so cute, you know that? And I did in fact notice your shirt–we will be making use of that later, obviously.” The detective gulped visibly. “But for the record, I want you to know that I know how much you love me, and you know how much I love you, so don’t ever feel bad about having trouble expressing it verbally; I can always tell through the small thoughtful gestures you do for me and the looks you throw my way when you think I can’t see. What you did for me today was very sweet, and it made my day–I will always cherish this memory on this Valentine’s, but I can assure you my love for you will never change no matter what, whether or not you do gestures like this for me. My love is of the same magnitude as yours to mine, and it never stops growing everyday”

Sherlock beamed, that charming crooked grin of his slowly spreading across his face, and John pulled him down for a kiss, both laughing against each other’s lips lightly as their mouths clumsily crashed together. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[monstaxsthetics]

Ch. 1

Genre: Angst / Romance / Action

Warnings: Harsh Language / Violence

Characters: Wonho / Lee Hoseok x OC x Monsta X

Word Count: 4.1K

Synopsis: Nara and Hoseok split ways six years ago. She was not a top trauma nurse who couldn’t be happier with her life and Hoseok was head of her father’s security detail. When her father is kidnapped and her life is put in danger, Hoseok and Nara are reunited. What will come of the reunion and will they find her father before it’s too late?

“These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder. Which, as they kiss, consume”

Ch.2 Ch.3

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Nara had just sat down for what felt like the first time in her 18 hour shift, taking a sip of her much needed coffee and a bite from her apple, she felt the familiar buzz of her pager before she heard a code being called over the hospital P.A. system.

“Code blue, trauma room 1. Code blue, trauma room 1.”

Groaning, she chugged what was left of her coffee.

“So much for an apple a day”, she thought, stealing one last bite.

She ran as fast as she could from the break room, through the corridor, down three flights of stairs, sliding over a gurney, and around a corner just as a nurse and intern group were beginning their hospital tour. 

“And that was nurse, Hwang Nara, the resident LUNATIC.” the nurse giving the tour shouted.

“I think you mean badass!” Nara said, tossing a couple of finger guns and a wink toward the group before continuing on her way.

And she was. A badass that is. She had only been a trauma nurse at Ansan Hospital for a short time now and was already making a name for herself. Sure among them were the occasional ‘lunatic’, ‘unhinged’, ‘reckless’, etc. But more than anything she was gifted, and a great asset to the hospital - when she wasn’t being a liability or a thorn in anyone’s side - and any doctor or nurse in that hospital would tell you the same.

When she arrived at trauma room #1, nurses were scrambled around an unconscious man who was struggling to breathe. No amount of oxygen or air being manually pumped from the ambulatory bag were providing any aid to the suffering man.  

Nara looked around and realized she had made it there before any of the on-call doctors. Pushing her way to the front she pulled her stethoscope from her pocket, pressing the icy cold metal to the patient’s bare chest. It only took a moment for her to realize what was wrong.

“Stop the ambu. It won’t work” she informed the others.

“He has a tension pneumothorax. His right lung has collapsed and air is filling his chest cavity. Where is the cardio team?”

All the surgeons were either in surgery or on other urgent cases. Nara knew that the patient wouldn’t last while waiting for them to arrive.

“Give me a large bore needle, please.”

No one made any movements to assist her.

“Anyone? He needs a thoracostomy!”

“It’s against protocol, Nara” another nurse said. “We should wait for a surgeon to get here.”

“We don’t have time for that. If he dies while we’re waiting, do you want to explain to his family and friends that we could have saved him if it wasn’t for fucking protocol?”

Still no one moved to assist her.

“Fine! I’ll do it myself.”

Nara retrieved a large bore needle, a mask, gloves, and iodine from the room’s supply cabinet.

She carefully disinfected the area just above the patient’s third rib on his right side making sure she had located the intercostal space along the midclavicular line. She then slowly inserted the needle into the disinfected area at a 90 degree angle, keeping her hand steady as to not damage any of the underlying blood vessels.

A pregnant pause overtook the room as everyone held their breath. At some point the nursing students and their tour guide had made their way to the E.R. and were now watching the scene in stunned silence.

A moment later, a rush of air could be heard coming from the patient’s chest followed by the sounds of the bedside machines alerting the staff to his stabalizing vital signs.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, smiling, and congratulating Nara for saving the man’s life - well not everyone.

“Hwang Nara!” she heard her superior call out. “Why am I not surprised it’s you? My office, now!”

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Pulling her keys from her purse, Nara trudged up the stairs to her apartment, her legs heavy and energy drained from the brutal 18 hour shift. A shift that mind you, should have ended on a high but instead ended with her once again being reprimanded by her department head effectively killing the adrenaline rush and pride she felt after saving that patient. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, she started around the corner when a hand clamped down over her mouth and a large arm pulled her back toward the stairwell. Panic spread through her body and her blood ran cold. She tried to scream but it was muffled and the stranger shushed her. There was something familiar about this person. Something nostalgic in the way they smelled and they way their hands felt. She knew this person, she was sure of it. But who did she know that would try and kidnap her? She tried to scream again, when the grip on her mouth got tighter. 

“Shhhhh shh Nara, it’s me, be quiet.”

She did know him. It was Hoseok. This knowledge however didn’t alleviate her stress, instead it filled her with rage. She channeled her anger into enough force to elbow him in the chest, his hand falling from her mouth in surprise, but the other still remained tight around her waist. 

“Yah! Lee Hoseok, are you crazy? What in the hell do you think you—?”

In a flash, he had her spun around, looking into her eyes. “Wow”, she thought. “How was he still this beautiful?”

“Nara listen to me, you have to be quiet. You can yell at me later, I promise.”

“Later? Why would there be a later Hoseo–?” Nara was became more indignant with each word from Hoseok.

Hoseok shoved her up against the nearest wall.

“Nara! For the love of god will you please shut up?”

She was going to attempt to argue once more when she realized how anxious he appeared, his body was rigid and his eyes kept searching up and down the halls. “What was happening?”, she questioned internally. 

At that moment three men in black hats and masks ran out of her apartment. Her eyes widened and she was about to scream at them and ask what in the hell they were doing when Hoseok placed a finger over her mouth and shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to stay quiet.

“I swear I heard keys hyungnim. She should be home by now. Her shift ended an hour ago”, one of the masked men could be heard saying.

They were heading in the direction of the stairwell where she and Hoseok were hiding and she was beginning to grasp the situation. These men were here for her. “But why?”

As they quickly made there way towards the stairs, Hoseok maneuvered his body in front of hers, his back facing the men and leaned in close. To anyone approaching it would seem as if they were just two lovers taking advantage of one another in the stairwell. 

The men approached them curiously but the charade worked and they quickly left the apartment building, the elder scolding the younger that he must have been mistaken about her work schedule.

When the danger seemed to be gone, at least for the immediate future, Nara regained her senses. She shoved against Hoseok’s chest with all of her strength. 

“Hoseok, you have five seconds to tell me what’s going on and who those men were.”

Hoseok grabbed Nara’s arm, dragging her inside of her apartment. He checked all the rooms and when they were secured he locked the door. Nara stood with her arms crossed over her chest, still waiting for an explanation. He ignored her and made his way into her bedroom, an increasingly agitated Nara following behind him. 

“Are you going to answer me? What are you doing here? Who were those men?”

He continued to ignored her, opening her closet, rummaging around until he found a duffle bag. He removed the bag and set it on her bed. 

“I’ll explain later, but right now we have to get out of here. Fill this bag with the things you need quickly and lets go.”

“Wooow! You really have lost your damn mind, huh? What makes you think I’d go anywhere with you? I haven’t seen you in six years and you just show up out of the blue all ‘Nara we have to go’. Hell no! You don’t get to do tha–”

“Your dad is missing, Nara.”

Nara stumbled a bit and gripped the door frame for stability taken aback by Hoseok’s words. 

“What did you just say? Th-that’s not possible, I just talked to him last night.”

“I know. We checked his phone records. You were the last person he spoke to. He wasn’t at the house this morning when I got there to pick him up and he didn’t show up for any of his meetings today.  Hyunwoo and the others are searching for him right now and I’m guessing those men who were just here had something to do with it too so we need to go, NOW!”

Nara couldn’t handle the onslaught of information, finding her nearby desk chair to sit down as her legs threatened to give out. Hoseok kneeled in front of her. 

“Nara-yah….”

Hearing him call her name endearingly made her want to simultaneously hurl and throw her arms around his neck and sob.

“I know this is a lot, but I promise you we will find him, okay?” - He swiped a stray hair from her face, brushing it behind her ear - “But right now, we need to get you out of here before those men come back.”

She knew he was right, as much as she hated to admit it so after a few calming breaths, she silently placed all of her necessities into the duffle and grabbed a picture of her father and followed Hoseok out of the apartment building. He lead her to a sleek midnight blue two door sports car. “The car suits him”, she thought. He opened her door for her and placed her bag in the back seat. She slid down into the cool, smooth leather seats and hugged her coat closer to her body.

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As they sped through the dark streets, Nara stole glances at Hoseok. He hadn’t changed at all. Sure he was older and bigger, much bigger, but his features were the same, somehow more handsome with maturity. His jaw was clenched and the veins in his defined arms pulsed as he shifted gears and gripped the wheel tighter. His stress and anxiety were clear.

This fact didn’t surprise her. Hoseok had always been close with her dad, even beyond their working relationship and Nara suspected that Hoseok was just as affected by her father’s disappearance as she was.

When they passed the exit for her father’s house, she asked where they were going. Hoseok explained that people were watching her father’s home and that it would be too dangerous to return there. He said he was taking her to their hideout on the outskirts of the city.

“Who are they? I know Hyunwoo of course, but you keep saying them.”

“The rest of your dad’s special protection team. They started after you left. There are seven of us now.” 

Nara shook her head in understanding and stared out the window for the rest of the car ride.

About 45 minutes later, they pulled up in front a seemingly abandoned building, lined by trees on one side and a river on the other, cutting them off completely from the city. The breeze had picked up and Nara shivered as she stepped out of the car, grabbing her bag. She followed Hoseok into the dilapidated concrete structure and toward and elevator, she was surprised to see it actually functioned. He pressed the button for the basement and the two of them descended.

The elevator doors opened up directly into a rather spacious and tasteful loft. Not at all what Nara expected to find in this building or when Hoseok referred to it as a ‘hideout’. They walked in and immediately were greeted by six sets of eyes ranging in expressions from curiosity, to boredom, and others she couldn’t quite place.

Hyunwoo was the first to say anything or make a move. He stood from the kitchen island and enveloped her in a tight hug. He pulled back, looking her over and asked if she was okay to which she just nodded. He was exactly the same. He had the same beautifully tan skin she envied, the same warm brown eyes that creased at the sides when he smiled, and a warmth and feel like an older brother would have. His presence alone instantly comforted Nara and she regretted not keeping in touch or visiting Hyunwoo, regardless of her disdain for his best friend. He ruffled her hair in true big brother style and smiled before rejoining the others around the island.

It looked like they were gathered around a tablet and some blue prints, seemingly looking for Nara’s father, Hwang Ji. Hoseok introduced her to the others and them to her in turn.  He went around the table one by one telling her their names and positions on the team.

First up was Lee Minhyuk a cute blonde who was smiling from ear to ear at her and clinging to the chestnut brown haired man to his right who’s eye smile could rival that of Hyunwoo and who had the deepest set of dimples she’d ever seen.

“Minhyukie here is our infiltration specialist. He’s good at breaking into places and taking things that aren’t his which is how he earned the title.”

“Hey to be clear, I am not a thief. I just so happen to be extremely well versed in acquiring things that don’t technically belong to me. But you know what they say, ‘finders keepers’ and all that.”

“You know that doesn’t actually apply when you break into someone’s home and ‘find’ things right?” a boy with perfectly quaffed hair and looks to match said dejectedly.

“Meh potato, tomato” the cute blonde shrugged.

“That’s no—”

“Just let him have this please” the chestnut haired man Minhyuk was clinging to said before turning his attention back to Nara. “I’m Jooheon, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m sorry it had to happen this way. I’m in charge of the tactical unit.”

Minhyuk beamed whenever Jooheon spoke and never tore his eyes from him. Nara made a mental note that there was definitely something there. Hoseok had given up on introducing the others and thought it best they introduce themselves.

A boy with a kind almost motherly gaze looked at her with what Nara could only assume was some type of sympathy. 

“I’m Kihyun, I run intelligence for the group.”

“That’s a fancy way of saying he’s in charge of the cooking.” a slightly shorter boy with jet black hair that looked almost blue said. He had a devilish grin and it made Nara uneasy when he flashed it in her direction.

A quick hand landed at the back of his neck.

“This here is our little resident psychopath, Changkyunie, who should learn to watch what he says before the cook decides to poison him, don’t you think?”

 Kihyun pinched Changkyun’s cheek harshly until the latter yelped in pain.

“What are you in charge of?” Nara asked as he nursed a red cheek.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know” he said with that same unnerving smile. And for the time being, Nara wasn’t entirely sure she did want to know.

Next to him was the boy from earlier who teased Minhyuk. Nara would have sworn he got lost on his way to a runway show with his modelesque looks, if it weren’t for the knife he held in his hand twirling from finger to finger as he stared at her, disinterested.

“Aish this is exhausting…. Fine, I’m Hyungwon, I work with Minhyuk here on infiltration. But stealing isn’t my portion. I’m more of the……well distraction.”

Minhyuk hopped off his stool, finally releasing Jooheon’s arm for the first time since they arrived and rushed to Nara’s side.

“Noona, are you hungry, have you eaten?”

Noona? Nara thought to herself. They weren’t introduced more than five minutes ago and now she was noona? It was quick but not necessarily unwelcome. Minhyuk had a contagious personality and he made her feel at ease. He was comfortable and she felt her shoulders release some tension as he locked arms with her and led her to the fridge.

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖✖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖  

Kihyun ended up whipping up a delicious meal just from some leftovers in the fridge and when they were all full the others retreated back to their earlier conversations and planning on how to find her father while Hoseok showed her to what would be her room for the time being.

It was awkward to say the least. She and Hoseok had not parted on good terms, and even after six years apart, two hours in his presence had brought the emotions she had locked away bubbling to the surface. 

“You should wash up and make yourself comfortable and when you’re up to it, you can come down and we will brief you on what we know so far.”

“Thanks”, was all Nara could manage to mutter, as she tried to keep her emotions at bay. Both over her father disappearing and over seeing Hoseok again.

She spent more time than was necessary in the shower, welcoming the slight sting and pink hue that the hot water brought to her skin, slowly soothing the tension in her muscles. After about 30 minutes, she decided she should leave the shower and face what was waiting for her downstairs. No matter how much she wished to just stand in the spray of the shower she knew she couldn’t remain in denial forever.

She brushed her hair and teeth, pulled on some leggings and a large tattered sweatshirt with her alma mater’s logo on it and headed down the stairs.

They all took turns explaining to her what each of them had gathered on the situation so far. They believed her dad was taken sometime between 8 - 10 p.m. the previous night. The last person he had spoken to was Nara around 7p.m.. He had sent all of them home for the day and only his minimal security unit remained at the house.

Hwang Ji had believed that his home was well enforced enough that he didn’t need them all on watch 24/7 and he was adamant about them all being able to maintain their own lives and rest comfortably in their own home. When Hoseok got to the house in the morning to pick him up and drive him into the city to the corporation, he didn’t answer his text or calls. Hoseok went inside to check on him but he wasn’t in the house and neither were any of the guards from the minimum security team. He thought that it was possible he wanted to get to the office early before his meetings and had the other guards drive him.

Hoseok drove to the office to confirm this, but was told that Hwang Ji never showed up. The guys spent the rest of the day interrogating his known rivals, and combing the streets for him. They checked the house’s CCTV and found that the surveillance and security systems were shut down around 7:30 p.m. and didn’t come back online until after 10:30 p.m.

Hoseok had a feeling that whoever took Hwang Ji may try and harm Nara too which is how he ended up at her apartment building. Nara hadn’t been home in six years, her and her father preferring to meet halfway between their respective homes to catch up. However, the team kept tabs on her and knew her schedules. Protecting her father also meant protecting his family and those dear to him. Since Hyunwoo needed to lead the tactical searches and interrogation for the group and Nara wasn’t familiar with the rest of the group, it was decided that it would be best if Hoseok was the one to go retrieve her as to lessen her alarm. A plan that hadn’t gone as well as planned when the three masked men showed up.

None of their leads or the usual suspects had turned up any promising information and they found themselves starting over from ground zero. Nara found her head spinning with all the new information and trying to keep her nerves under control. Losing her shit now wasn’t going to help find her father any faster.

Later that evening she found that it was only she, Hoseok and Hyunwoo left awake as they sat around the coffee table at 1 a.m. sharing a drink. Nara hadn’t found the strength to fall asleep yet and Hoseok and Hyunwoo stayed up with her out of worry and support.

“So how did you all come together? Where did they all come from?” Nara asked, sipping from her now warming can of beer.

“Heh, where to begin?” Hyunwoo chuckled. “Uhm Hyukie was a runaway. He comes from a pretty wealthy family but his parents have always been sadly disinterested in him or anything he did. He rebelled for a while, trying to get their attention, but eventually he just ended up leaving home.”

“I watched him shoplift from a convenience store one day and charm the panties off the girl behind the register and the security guard alike and so I followed him.” Hoseok said. “I told him what I had seen and he begged me not to turn him in. Of course that wasn’t what I was there for and I explained a bit of who I was. I brought him to meet your dad and the rest is obvious.”

“I found Kihyun” Shownu said. “He bumped into me trying to outrun the cops. He looked so helpless and I didn’t know what he was on the run for, but for some reason I decided to help him evade the police. Turns out the cops were from cyber crimes and they were after him for hacking into the Seoul National Hospital system to clear the debt for his sick mother.”

They went on like this explaining a bit of the other’s backstories and helping Nara to understand the boys she would be associating with for the foreseeable future and who her father had entrusted his life to.

Minhyuk recruited Jooheon from an underground MMA circuit. He fell for him instantly and was shocked when he found out Jooheon shared the sentiment. They’ve been together ever since.

Kihyun recruited Changkyun who brought along his childhood friend and current roommate Hyungwon. It was the only way he would agree to come. Hyungwon was a runaway too and had spent time as a male model and escort for some time before coming to the company. Changkyun was working for another crime organization as an assassin. They were lovingly dubbed the ‘psycho unit’ although they referred to Hyungwon as more sociopathic than psychopathic.

This thought unnerved Nara a bit and she gulped but they assured her that they were deadly to those who crossed them or to their targets but to everyone else they were all bark and no bite.

They spent the rest of the hour in silence, the three of them dozing off while a muted melodrama played on the tv in the background. Nara was finally feeling the exhaustion threatening to take her when,

“A WHOLE NEW WOOOOOORLD. A DAZZLING PLACE I NEVER KNEEEEEW!”

Nara sat straight up on the couch fumbling with her phone and dropping it on the floor.

“BUT WHEN I’M WAY UP HERE, IT’S CRYSTAL CLEAR” 

She looked at Hyunwoo and Hoseok, neither seemed alarmed by the obviously tone deaf dying animal that had broken into their home.

“What in the ever loving fuck is that?”

“Ahhh you mean the sound like someone strangling a cat?”

“Obviously”, Nara nodded at Hyunwoo.

“That would be the incomparable Im Changkyun”, he said with a fancy flourish of his wrist for emphasis before returning his attention back to his phone.

“Wait, what? You’re telling me that the little psycho you just told me about, the one who could kill you in 50 ways in 2 seconds, Changkyun likes Disney movies?”

“OH MY GOD HE’S A REALLY BAD BOY, HE’S A REALLY BAD BOY!”

Hyunwoo nodded, still unphased by the screeching coming from the shower where Changkyun was supposedly “singing”, if you could call it that. 

“Mhm, big fan of Red Velvet too. Even knows the dances.”

“That song is gonna be stuck in my head for a week.” Hoseok added from his spot beside Nara.

Nara picked up her phone and sat back, laughing as Changkyun broke out into a terrible rendition Rainism.

“I’M GONNA BE A BAD BOY, I’M GONNA BE A BAD BOY, I’M GONNA BE A BAD BAD BOY!”

She hoped he didn’t slip in the shower and break something trying to do the choreography. “These boys were going to be the death of me”, she thought.

Head reeling from all the information and Changkyun’s singing, she bid Shownu and Hoseok goodnight and retired to her room where she fell asleep almost as soon as her head met pillow.

Ch. 2

[killitwithtears]

And who by fire, who by water...

... who in this merry, merry month of May... who shall I say is calling?

So we have come to the end of the Merry Month of Cohen, and I’d like to thank everyone who’s contributed fic, art and fanvids, as well as everyone who has read and followed along. It’s been angstiferous 🖤

Here is the final list of contributors and fanworks, and don’t forget to bookmark the Who By Fire collection on AO3 and keep following @killitwithtears​, because submissions will continue to be accepted should anyone get the urge (just tag me so I can reblog your work!)

May 1 - @ladystark428 - Field Commander Cohen/Hallelujah - TNG - And Be Your Sweetest Self

May 2 - @mia-cooper - Winter Lady - VOY - Smoke and Gold

May 3 - @70thousandlightyearsfromhome - Bird on the Wire - VOY - Bird on the Wire

May 4 - @70thousandlightyearsfromhome - Bird on the Wire #2 - VOY - Bird on the Wire (video)

May 5 - @caladeniablue - Joan of Arc - VOY - Pyre

May 7 - @manalyzer13 - Is This What You Wanted - VOY - The Ghost of You and Me

May 8 - @allthetrek - Closing Time - DSC - Closing Time

May 9 - @pixiedane - A Thousand Kisses Deep - ENT - Quiet is the Thought of You

May 10 - @devoverest - Avalanche - VOY - The Shadow of Your Wound

May 11 - @caladeniablue - Anthem - VOY - Fractured

May 12 - @bizships - Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye - VOY - That’s No Way to Say Goodbye

May 13 - BlackVelvet42 - Take This Waltz - VOY - Take This Waltz

May 14 - @curator-on-ao3 - I’m Your Man - VOY - Traveling Light

May 15 - @leisylaura - Everybody Knows - VOY - Everybody Knows (video)

May 16 - @ariella884 - I Tried To Leave You - VOY - I Tried To Leave You

May 17 - @mia-cooper - Light as the Breeze - DS9 - Orbit

May 18 - @littleobsessions90 - Suzanne - VOY - Her Lover

May 19 - @caladeniablue - Heart With No Companion - VOY - He starts with the bedroom

May 20 - @grace-in-the-stars - Everybody Knows - VOY - Empty

May 21 - @curator-on-ao3 - You Want It Darker - VOY - Ten Years at Home

May 22 - @killermanatee - Iodine - DSC - iodine

May 23 - @caladeniablue - The Window - VOY - There plunged the rays of love

May 25 - @arcadia1995 - Tonight Will Be Fine - VOY - Tonight Will Be Fine

May 26 - @rocktherecorder - The Future - VOY - The Future

May 27 - @poetictrekkie - Dance Me To The End Of Love - TNG - Dance Me to the End of Love

May 28 - @gluecookie - The Partisan - DS9 - Through the graves a wind is blowing (art)

May 30 - @bizships - Come Healing - VOY - Come Healing

May 31 - @mia-cooper - Take This Longing - VOY - your body like a searchlight

[eric-raleigh]

nature or sorry 👀

You asked for this a thousand years ago and I’ve FINALLY finished it. I’m so sorry it took so long. 

Behind the cut for the ooh-la-la factor.

Sorry - Our muses having sex after an argumentNature - Our muses having sex outside

“You….IDIOT!” Disbelief warred with outrage as Eric watched his compass sink under the surface of the steadily flowing river, almost certainly now being carried downstream by the swift current. He turned towards Aaron, face full of fury and fists clenched at his sides. “Why the hell–”

“We’re lost, Eric. Staring at that damn thing for half an hour hasn’t gotten us anymore un-lost.” Aaron’s voice was sharp, his frustration pulling his lips into a thin line.

Eric threw up his hands. “Oh, so tossing it in the river seemed like the best way to remedy the situation? What now, Magellan? You want to set fire to the only map we have too?!”

“You don’t need a goddamn compass.  You’re a navigator, Eric; you are a goddamn compass.”

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose to stifle an oncoming headache as well as the snarky remark that sat at the tip of his tongue. “Aaron…babe…” he tried to exude patience, though his was currently stretched wafer thin. “There’s a reason I needed that stupid thing. I can navigate without one, yes… but not when the sky is so cloudy I can’t see the fucking sun.” He thrust his hand up, finger pointing to the overcast sky above them, blotting out the sun so that he couldn’t see its position.

Realization dawned slowly on Aaron’s face and Eric could tell the man was seriously considering jumping into the river in a valiant attempt to retrieve the compass. He would have laughed if he weren’t so annoyed, and simply sighed instead, resting his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Let’s find somewhere to camp until morning. With any luck the clouds will burn off at first light and we’ll find our way back.”

The rushing sound of water mocked the couple as they strode along its bank in tense silence until they found flat enough ground to make camp at the edge of a copse of trees. Eric listened as Aaron broke small branches over his thigh for firewood, filling their canteens with water and adding a few drops of iodine to purify it. They worked in tandem to build the fire, warming a can of SpaghettiOs to share for their supper.

The longer Eric refused to speak, the more he could feel Aaron’s regret over carelessly tossing the compass into the river.  It served him right, even if there was probably some kind of compliment behind the action. A few more minutes and Eric would have been able to pinpoint their location within a few miles…now, they were stuck until the sky was clear.

“Eric, I–”

Eric shoveled a spoonful of saucy O’s into Aaron’s mouth, cutting off his words, and earning an irritated look of reprimand. The ginger arched a challenging eyebrow and Aaron wisely backed down, choosing to chew and swallow before trying again.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he said in a gentle, apologetic tone.

“I know.” Eric finished off the last spoonful and set the can and spoon aside before washing it all down with a gulp from his canteen. “I appreciate your faith in my skills, babe, but…maybe next time don’t throw my shit in the river?”

“I could…make it up to you,” Aaron offered, a playful lilt in his voice that drew Eric’s attention to his mouth. He could see the slight quirk at the corners, noticing the little orange stain of Chef Boyardee’s secret sauce, and chuckled softly, leaning in closer to his partner’s lips.

“You have some SpaghettiO action going on,” he murmured before flicking his tongue across the corner of Aaron’s mouth. Before he could pull away, Aaron’s hand found purchase at the back of his neck, drawing him into a deep, passionate kiss.

Allowing himself to be thoroughly kissed for several dizzying moments, Eric captured Aaron’s lower lip between his teeth, nibbling playfully before he pulled back with a coy smirk “It’s going to take more than that to make up for losing my compass.”

“I thought it might,” Aaron chuckled, casting a glance around them as if to ensure they were alone before reaching into his pack and retrieving the tightly bundled sleeping bag.

Eric watched with growing desire as Aaron unfurled the bedroll and laid it out a few feet away from the fire, unzipping it so it was large enough for both of them to lie together on. Aaron laid on his side, head propped up in hand, and patted the spot next to him with a soft, alluring smile. Eric was half-tempted to snub the offer, just to see what lengths Aaron might go to in order to ‘make it up’ to him but, like a moth to a flame, his body was drawn towards the other man before he’d even made up his mind to move.

Aaron drew him into his arms, cradling Eric and immediately finding that spot on his neck that could bend the ginger to his every whim. Eric crooned softly, fingers working the fastenings of Aaron’s trousers before his hand dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear. “Eric…” the man breathed, pressing himself against the warm palm. He allowed himself to be stroked for several moments before nibbling on Eric’s full lower lip. “I thought I was the one who was making up to you.”

“Get to it, Sparky,” Eric teased with a loving squeeze.

He watched Aaron retreat to his bag, fishing around in one of the inside pockets before producing a small sachet of lube. Annoyance returned to Eric’s expression as he gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh sure. My compass you throw out, but lube you have. Sometimes, babe…”

“In this instance,” Aaron rebutted, moving in close and pressing his lips to Eric’s, “the lube is more useful than the compass.”

Eric’s expression remained stoic for several seconds longer than Aaron anticipated, making the man pull back worriedly. Finally, the ginger spoke. “I’m really annoyed that I don’t have a counter argument for that.”

Aaron laughed, dipping back down to claim Eric’s lips in triumphant. As he tore open the little sachet, Eric kicked one shoe off and shimmied his pants down to his ankles, pulling one leg entirely free. They knew from experience that getting completely naked wasn’t the wisest course of action, and thus only shed what was necessary.

Tongues explored and tasted and teased as Aaron prepped his lover thoroughly. As Aaron laid himself fully on top of his lover, Eric hooked his bare leg around Aaron’s hip, urging him closer. “I love you,” he murmured as Aaron pressed into him.

The reply came in the form of a long, low moan before Aaron buried his face into the side of Eric’s neck, breathing deeply his lover’s scent. “I love you, too,”

The thrusts were slow and gentle as Aaron gave Eric’s body a moment to adjust to him, then gradually built up speed and intensity.  The humidity in the air was making sweat bead along their brows, Eric’s ginger locks growing damp and sticking to his forehead. Aaron locked their fingers together, pinning Eric’s hands next to his head as he pushed against him for leverage. Eric’s eyes slammed shut, a swear falling from his lips as the minor shift in position sent a jolt of pure pleasure straight through him.

“Just like that,” Eric panted in encouragement. When he opened his eyes again, Aaron’s gaze was locked on him, fucking him as deeply with his gaze as he was physically. It connected them on an entirely new plane, heightening their awareness of each other, deepening their pleasure. Though neither was rushing towards the finish line, both could feel it drawing closer with each thrust.

“Er…” Aaron’s voice crackled like the fire, his throat having run dry from exertion. It was like warm caramel mixed with whiskey and Eric could feel it pooling in his loins.

“Aaron…” Eric echoed, his own voice sounding higher and tighter than normal as he neared his peak.

Aaron released one of Eric’s hands, hooking his arm under Eric’s knee to hike his leg a little higher, and grunting from the effort of pounding into the home stretch. Eric was the first to lose his hold, biting down hard on his lip to stifle his cry of ecstasy. As Eric’s muscles contracted around Aaron, the man groaned in bliss, thrusting in deep as he tumbled over the finish line.

Boneless and wrecked, the two clung to each other, drinking in gulps of air as they tried to catch their breath and come down from their high. Eric could feel Aaron’s breath, hot and moist against the sweat on his neck, and ran his fingers through the damp curls at the base of his lover’s neck. If he had any desire to untangle from Aaron, he might have suggested a dip in the river to cool off, but right now, he was very, very content.

[magicrobins]

The Toy Dragon

Valas Telenna & various others [see below]. Dungeons & Dragons [Band of Misfits]. 4,272 words. More under the cut. AO3.

Summary: Valas’ past and present collide.

Other characters: Meiros Vanhorn, Zintra Rastor, Dominic Crawford, Eve Crawford, Evanora Crawford, Elizira Vanhorn, Hai Li, Rihiri Valtari (@jellyfishlovesloki), Zaegar Steelheart (@nutellanewt), Sefhana Brenlynn (@bxtgrl), & Bilbo Swaggins (@theoneandonlyfloozyjesus).

Note: Set in a world created by our wonderful DM (@iodine-kisses).

His ears were ringing. Valas turned on Dominic, annoyed by the young man’s proud grin. His friend’s wavy dark hair had been put up in a bun – the fact that the bard had taken the time to tie his hair up during a fight was irritating in itself. Meiros was already at Valas’ side, searching the drow for injuries to heal.

“Next time you blast a dragon off of me, how about you warn me to cover my ears?!” from the way that Dominic laughed and Meiros winced, Valas guessed he was yelling. It took Meiros a few minutes to get his ears to stop ringing.

In the meantime, Dominic was looking down at the carcass of a dragon and still grinning widely. “I killed that.”

His twin sister, Eve, rolled her eyes. “We helped.”

“But I landed the killing blow!” he countered, causing his sister to roll her eyes again. “I can’t wait to go home and tell my daughter her daddy’s a dragon slayer!”

“Baby dragon.”

All party members looked to Hai, who was the next to get Meiros’ attention, though he often fought from a distance and thus avoided most harm. The sorcerer’s familiar, a raven named Obsidian, sat for once quietly on his shoulder.

Dominic’s grin was starting to fade. “What?”

“You killed a baby dragon,” Hai stated matter-of-factly, nodding toward the carcass.

Dominic didn’t look all that proud anymore. “Well – well you guys helped kill it!”

Eve put on her best sympathetic sister act and clapped Dominic on the shoulder. “But brother, you landed the killing blow.”

“You’re the great dragon slayer!” Elizira chimed in, exchanging a grin with Zintra, who shook her head.

Valas thought Dominic looked like he would cry.

“I didn’t want to kill a baby!”

“It did attack me,” Valas pointed out. He felt Hai sling an arm around his shoulders – the sorcerer’s other arm rested across Meiros’ shoulders. It was an affectionate attempt to keep both men near him, though it also prevented Meiros from walking over and healing the other members of their party.

“Well we couldn’t have that,” Elizira teased and chuckled at the unimpressed look Valas shot her.

Zintra picked up her shield, slinging it onto her back, signaling that it was time for their group to continue farther into the cave. After all, they had a serial murderer to hunt. As she passed Dominic, she patted him on his arm, “Don’t worry. We’ll tell your daughter you slayed an evil adult dragon.”

No, no, no. This couldn’t have been happening. Not again. Not again.

Valas’ hands shook, covered in blood – in her blood, in his blood.

Just a few feet away, her body lay lifeless. She was looking in his direction, arm outstretched as if to beg him to stop, lips parted in a silent plead to spare her brother. Her eyes were wide with shock and tears stained her cheeks, marking her with the heartache, the pain of betrayal. But her eyes were also dim, lifeless. The midsection of the dress the alchemist wore, once a beautiful shade of green, was darkened and soaked with crimson. He could see where the blade had pierced her from behind all the way through to stick out the other end. Perhaps if the blade had been left in, she would have had more time. More time to struggle to live. More time to helplessly watch her brother die.

Just a few feet away, Eve stared lifelessly at him, lips parted as if to ask why he knelt over her brother’s dying body.

Underneath him, Dominic was dying. He was dying fast, the blade having pierced his heart from the front. The blade was still in him. That blade – Valas’ blade.

Valas’ hands shook as he removed the blade. Leaving it in wouldn’t have made a difference. The others were too far away. Meiros was too far away. He wouldn’t get there in time to heal Dominic. None of the others even knew what was happening. None of them knew of the danger. None of them knew about the death and the dying.

He frantically took his cloak off and bunched it together, pressing it against the wound. Dominic whimpered against the pain. Valas felt his heart tear. Tears were in the corners of Dominic’s eyes – some escaped. Valas didn’t even register that he, himself, was crying too. He didn’t register that he was practically sobbing.

Not again.

For a split second, he didn’t see Dominic underneath him. He saw an older man – a drow with short silver hair, not quite white. He saw his hands around the hilt of a dagger. The drow reached up, touching his cheek with bloody fingers. He felt his mother’s presence behind him, looming over him. He saw the disgust on his father’s face beneath him.

“I should have killed you. You should be dead.”

And suddenly it wasn’t his father but Dominic underneath him. Dominic, staring up at him with sad eyes, but still with that caring look of a young father, of a friend, watching someone break. Dominic reached up, his arm shaking with the effort, his fingers and hand bloody from trying to hold his own wound and stop the bleeding he knew in his heart wouldn’t stop.

He weakly cupped his hand against Valas’ tearstained cheek. Valas’ eyes snapped from the wound to him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Dominic managed to get out, his voice quiet, weak. Each word was a struggle, but he looked determined not to die and leave them unsaid. “It’s not… your fault.”

Valas became aware of his own sobbing. “I’m so sorry.”

Dominic tried to shake his head but didn’t have the strength to. “Now you’re fond of me.” He put on his best smile but it wavered. He looked afraid of dying. He looked like a man desperate to live but with no cards left in the deck, no more moves to make.

Valas wanted to tell him he thought of the bard as one of his best friends but the words caught in his throat. He choked out a sob, gently grabbing Dominic’s hand and holding it against his cheek.

“Valas,” Dominic stressed, “Promise me… Promise me you’ll see my daughter.”

Valas started to shake his head.

“See my little Evanora,” he insisted, “She’ll need her – she’ll need her Uncle Val to show her…” He coughed up blood but refused to stop talking. “Show her how to survive… How to survive this cruel world. Tell her – tell her about her Auntie Eve. Tell her about the hero she was, smart and brave…” His words became slower, his eyes dimmer. “Tell her… Tell her that her daddy was a dragon slayer…”

Though he wanted to refuse, Valas slowly nodded. “I’ll tell her about the hero he was too.”

That made Dominic smile. “I always wanted to be a hero…”

With that, Dominic took his last breath.

It had been roughly one year. For roughly a year, he had tried not to think about Dominic or Eve, about any of the others he’d left behind. He’d chosen to run and had never stopped. He had sometimes taken odd jobs – assassinations usually – to earn money so he could feed himself and Spite – the spoiled spider had quite the appetite. But he was used to those jobs requiring only himself. It had been roughly one year since he’d worked in a party.

Now he found himself surrounded by strangers – Rihiri, a tiefling druid; Zaegar, a half-orc monk; Bilbo, a halfling rogue; and Sefhana, a half-elf ranger who he was fairly certain was the most annoying half-elf he’d ever met. Of course he pretended not to remember their names – he didn’t plan on sticking with them for long. They just needed to slay this beast, this… Well he remembered their names, not the beast’s. It was progress.

Still, those memories lingered in his mind. When battle began, his first instinct was to turn to Elizira and give her the mischievous grin that she knew was him asking her to lay down cover fire so he could get close to the enemy as safely as possible.

But Elizira wasn’t there. Instead when he turned he met Sefhana’s gaze. He’d just met her not too long ago, but he assumed it was safe to say they weren’t going to get along.

Where he expected to see Zintra charging into battle, sword drawn, he saw Zaegar, reigning his fists down rather than a blade. Where he expected to see Dominic and Eve concocting some crazy plan that might get everyone killed but hey, at least they’d look good doing it, he saw Rihiri throw Bilbo and the halfling land ungracefully with his face against the ground. Where he expected to see Obsidian swooping down and pecking at enemies, he saw a large bear that had accompanied Rihiri.

And where he expected to see his lovers taking up the rear – Meiros with his crossbow, Hai with his staff and magic – he saw nothing but an empty space. Trees stood where he thought his lovers should have been.

He decided he didn’t like it here with these people early on. It was too familiar yet foreign, working with a group yet a group he had never known before. He’d learned to work in sync with his previous party, with his… friends.

He thought back to that party, to those faces he’d learned to affectionately call his friends – a couple of them more than friends. He thought back to first meeting Zintra, to hunting down that monster. He thought back to being by Zintra’s side as she recruited each of the others. He thought back to the nights they’d spent around a campfire, Dominic creating lyrics to songs on the spot that made no sense but made everyone laugh.

He thought back to Eve, staring lifelessly, silently pleading at him to spare her brother. He thought back to Dominic, to making a promise he couldn’t keep.

He decided that he wouldn’t allow himself to enjoy it here with these people. He wouldn’t allow himself to get close, to stay. He would leave them behind as soon as he collected his money. He didn’t need any more friends. He didn’t need anyone caring about him. He didn’t need the blood of those he cared about on his hands anymore.

He looked around at the group of strangers he didn’t want to get to know. He thought that if he wasn’t in their lives, then certainly their lives would be longer.

Valas stared down at the toy in his hand – a small, wooden dragon. It was clearly a child’s toy, and he had no clue why it was on a corpse unless… He stood up and turned from the corpse, not wanting to find out if it was of a child or an adult. He stared at the little dragon, stirring a memory he’d tried hard to push down.

He saw Dominic using one of his daggers to carve a twig into a crude tiny little spear. He carved it too thin, of course, and it just fell apart the moment he tried to stab a piece of meat with it. Eve playfully rolled her eyes.

“You should leave the woodcarving to the, well, the woodcarvers,” she teased.

He saw himself snatch the dagger back and investigate the blade. “Keep taking my daggers and you’re going to dull the blades.”

Dominic shrugged. “If I want to be a woodcarver, I need to practice.”

Zintra looked up from her meal and cocked an eyebrow. “You want to be a woodcarver?”

Dominic grinned cheekily. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Eve playfully shoved him. “If you were a woodcarver, Evanora would have more toys than she does.”

“She has plenty of toys!” Dominic protested, “Her Auntie Eve spoils her.”

This time it was Eve’s turn to grin. “Well I have to be her favorite relative.”

Dominic barked out laughter at that.

“You should make her a toy dragon,” Elizira chimed in, “After all her daddy’s a dragon slayer.”

Dominic opened his mouth to agree when Eve added, “And it’d be small enough to be a baby dragon.” Dominic shot her a sour look and the party erupted in laughter around the small campfire they had built.

And suddenly Valas was staring at a small, wooden toy. A little dragon in his hands. And he was back in the cave with a different party, a different set of faces. The only familiar thing was Spite, perched on his shoulder, staring at him with her multitude of eyes. For the first time in roughly a year, he slipped the toy into his bag with one thought on his mind.

Evanora would like this.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Valas wanted to say, staring defiantly at the half-orc in front of him. Was it truly the only way to get what they needed? Couldn’t they just kill them all and go about their lives? Did he really need to give this up?

Of course he did. He mentally reminded himself that this was life and life was never kind, at least not for long. Anything kind would surely be taken away from him – kind gestures, kind moments, kind people. It would all become memories soaked in blood. It always had.

He thought he saw Sefhana look like she was going to try to swipe it from him. Which would have been ridiculous in his opinion, trying sleight of hand out on a rogue. But then Zaegar had his attention again – he told himself the monk could easily get his attention just because he was shirtless. He refused to think any farther into that.

The next words out of the drow’s mouth was a price. It was a ridiculous price that anyone in their right mind wouldn’t pay. It was a silly item that wasn’t even worth half that amount. At first he didn’t think he’d heard correctly when Zaegar agreed. But as he saw the coin, he realized he’d somehow walked right into a deal that should have greatly pleased him. He’d never reluctantly taken money before. But as he put on his best cocky grin and traded the small item for the gold, he felt just that – reluctance.

He watched as the wooden toy, the little dragon was given away so they could continue on and finish their quest. He told himself it was for the best. He didn’t ever plan on seeing the Crawfords again. He hadn’t even been there for Dominic and Eve’s funerals, having ran away as they had been traveling to take the bodies home.

He told himself he didn’t deserve to take such a gift to little Evanora, who would be eleven by now. He didn’t deserve to hand her a toy with the same hands that had been soaked in her father and aunt’s blood. He didn’t deserve to see her smiling face again, to be graced with her presence again. He didn’t deserve to have such innocence in his life.

He told himself it was for the best.

He pretended that celebrations bored him, but rather they made him uncomfortable. He didn’t think he deserved to be celebrated, and he guessed the townsfolk might have felt odd, having a drow in the party they were cheering on. Or perhaps it was such a small town that they didn’t care. He found it hard to keep track of every place that despised his race.

He watched the others have fun, mostly sticking to the shadows or eating when he felt hungry. Receiving gifts from the townsfolk wasn’t something he was used to or expected. All he’d wanted was to get paid so he could leave, but free food was free food.

He rummaged through the gifts, not quite caring about them and halfheartedly putting them away in his bag. He froze, though, when he noticed a small, wooden toy. It lifted the little dragon up and inspected it. He wasn’t sure if it was new or the same one. But either way, somehow he now held a toy dragon in his hands. He glanced around, trying to figure out who was responsible for it – it couldn’t have been a coincidence. But to his knowledge, no one was giddily watching him, waiting for him to see the toy. To his knowledge, no one cared.

He glanced to Spite – he guessed that if spiders could shrug, she would have – before carefully placing the toy in his bag.

He wondered who he would owe for this. It wasn’t a coincidence, he was sure of it. And nothing in life came free. Someone knew about the toy, knew what it had meant to him though he hadn’t spoken it. Someone had gone out of their way to get either the same one or a new one and give it to him. He thought someone clearly wanted something from him, but what? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out.

He knew this city. He realized that the instant his stomach dropped and he felt sick. He’d been traveling around with Rihiri, Zaegar, Sefhana, and Bilbo for a little over a year now, and he’d been praying to the goddess that they wouldn’t journey to this city. Perhaps this was Lolth’s way of punishing him for not being devout.

It was a big city, but he doubted luck was on his side. He pretended not to know where shops or inns were. He pretended not to know the city, but he was quieter than usual. This city brought back memories that should have put a smile on his face but instead tore at his heart. This city made him look at his hands and see red.

He stood outside a vendor, one he recognized and resisted the urge to groan. He remembered almost punching this vendor for trying to swindle him out of his money while stating not so kind words about drow. The only thing that had kept him from decking the man had been Hai, gently but firmly grasping his arm and pulling him away. He remembered also hearing the man scream something about his hair being on fire.

His hair had clearly grown back – he looked as irritating as ever. He eyed Valas, but kept most of his attention on Rihiri and Zaegar, though technically Bilbo was the one talking to him. The man’s eyes were nervous glued to the tiefling and half-orc, who looked intimidating from his angle. It probably didn’t make the man feel comforted to see the party was trailed by a bear and a wolf.

Valas, however, hadn’t realized he’d neglected to put his hood up. Every now and then the man glanced at him as if he thought he might have recognized him before his attention snapped back to the druid and monk. Valas was tempted to tell Bilbo to steal whatever he needed while the merchant was preoccupied.

“Uncle Val!” he heard a familiar shriek and felt something – or rather someone – collide with him and refuse to let go. He looked down to find a twelve year old girl with wavy red hair tied up in pigtails. Though he hadn’t seen her in a few years and hadn’t expected her to recognize him, he knew instantly who she was.

Evanora.

She released him from her hug and his eyes darted around, searching the crowd for the face of her mother, Amelia. He didn’t see her which both relieved and concerned him. He didn’t think he could face her – the last time he’d seen her, she’d told him and Zintra to bring her husband back safely. However he also didn’t think Evanora should be out without her mother.

He knelt down in front of the little girl, not quite sure what to say. She looked up at his companions and gave a small wave with a big grin before her attention was back on him. Her grin wavered.

“Do you remember me?” her voice cracked, setting off alarms in his head. She was pure, innocent, a child. She didn’t deserve to be sad.

“Yes – Yes, of course I do!” he said quickly, watching with relief as a smile returned to her face. He swallowed down his emotions and tried to put on a smile of his own, cupping her face in his hands. “Look at how big you’ve grown! Why you’re practically an adult!”

She giggled at that. “Mommy lets me go grocery shopping by myself!”

He doubted that was true. Amelia was a protective mother, even though the city was fairly safe and most in it knew and were fond of the Crawford family. “Does she now? You must be so brave to walk these streets alone!”

She grinned and bounced up and down, her pigtails bouncing with her. “I am! I am!” It was clear she had her father’s energy. When she stopped bouncing, she looked at him as if searching for something. “Where have you been?”

He felt like she’d stabbed him with one of his own daggers. If only, he thought.

“I uh…” he tried to think of something, “I’ve um – I’ve been on a secret mission.”

She gasped. “A secret mission?!”

“Shhh, Evanora,” he gently hushed her, “It’s a secret.”

She made a big O with her mouth and quickly nodded her head.

“I’m actually still on it,” he explained. He didn’t like lying to her, but he thought lying was one of the things he did best.

“Why are you here?” she asked curiously.

He thought of that small toy and swung his backpack off his shoulder. “I’ve got a gift for you.” He reached in and gently took the dragon toy out, handing it to her.

She gasped and took it, grinning from ear to ear.

He smiled, genuinely and affectionately. “Now when you look at this,” he spoke up to get her attention again, “I want you to remember you daddy, okay?”

“My daddy?”

He nodded. “You see, your daddy and Auntie Eve, they were brave, brave heroes. The bravest this world will ever know! And your daddy – Why, he was a dragon slayer!”

Her eyes widened. “He was?”

Valas found himself mirroring her grin. “He was! I was attacked one time by this evil evil dragon, and your daddy saved my life!”

“Can I tell Mommy that story?” she asked eagerly.

He thought that it was only because she was young and distracted by her excitement that she didn’t ask him to come with her. “Of course!”

She threw her arms around him, and he found himself hugging her back and not quite wanting to let go. He didn’t want to leave her in the past again. But he had to let go. If he stayed, she would only get hurt. And she would hate him if she ever found out the truth. He stood up and watched her bounce off to find her mother.

He felt eyes on him and, unsurprisingly, found the others had been watching. He didn’t blame them. In their shoes, he probably would have watched too.

“She’s the daughter of someone I knew,” he explained without needing to be asked.

“A friend?” Rihiri asked. During their nights spent together, he had opened up to her a couple of times, though he’d kept majority of the details to himself.

“I don’t have friends,” he stated firmly, though he was fairly certain the look Sefhana gave him translated to bullshit. “Not… anymore.” He didn’t think he’d ever admitted that he’d once had friends before. At least not to anyone but Rihiri. He thought the silence that followed was awkward and uncomfortable. “You can ask what happened.” His own voice sounded demanding even to him, as if he wanted them to accuse him of what they didn’t know had happened.

Zaegar smiled softly at him – Valas thought he smiled too much, and on that note, flexed too much too, not that he would ever tell the monk to stop. He liked watching him smile and flex. “You’ll tell us when you’re ready.”

Valas pulled his gaze away. He wanted them to accuse him. Murderer. Monster. Traitor. He wanted those words screamed at him, spoken like the truth they were.

“He died,” he stated it, his voice cold yet shaking, the sorrow he’d never allowed himself to grieve threatening to shatter the ice he’d put between himself and his heart. “He died with his sister. They were murdered.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo spoke up before the others could, but it was clear that even Sefhana sympathized.

Valas found he couldn’t stop talking, speaking words he didn’t want to. “When we first met, I… I was on a quest to avenge them. I’ve sworn to kill the man who killed them.” Before any of them could offer to hunt someone down, he added, “It’s something that I must do. And eventually I’ll get the chance to. Until then, it doesn’t matter.”

“If we run into him, tell us and we can help,” Rihiri promised, and Valas looked away.

He didn’t have the heart to tell them they had already met that man.

“Thank you,” he said instead, “But I’ll kill him… When I’m strong enough, he’ll die.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell Rihiri that this was linked to the bandages she’d seen around his arms and wrists. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was linked to the scars and cuts she’d seen on his arms, wrists, waist, and thighs. He didn’t have the heart to tell any of them that he was talking about himself.

[this-ginger-has-no-soul]

Read to me

(A/N): I was just feeling a bit salty when I wrote this so I needed to get my frustrations out so :)

Summary: Bucky loves it when (Y/N) reads to him

Warnings: none?

Tags: @mcuimxgine, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x, @saradi1018, @holland-toms, @superwholockian309, @fly-f0rever, @capbuckthor

    (All excerpts are from Ray Bradbury’s The illustrated man. Any words from his story are italicized.)

    (Y/N) lay curled up on their bed, their eyes scanning over the words in front of them as they drank in every word, an almost high coming over them as they did. The story painted such a vivid picture for them that it was hard not to read the entire book in one sitting, something they had done quite frequently but they had promised themself that they’d savor this book, take in every word and sentence until their head ached but nearly 120 pages in and that promise was flying out the window. (Y/N) was so in depth in the book that they could barely here the door creak open when it did, the soft sound of feet on their shabby carpet. In fact it wasn’t until a certain supersoldier laid beside the reading body that (Y/N) snapped out of their book trance, gasping softly. 

   “Bucky!” (Y/N) exclaimed, “You scared me!” Bucky gave them a sleepy little smile as he closed his eyes, humming to himself. 

   “Sorry doll,” He whispered, nuzzling his face against the pillow beside them. “What’re you still doing up? I thought you’d gone to bed ages ago,” (Y/N) smiles at their lover sweetly as they reach out, gently brushing some of his hair away from his eyes. 

   “I’m actually reading,” 

   “Hm...What book?” 

   “It’s called the illustrated man, it’s really good,” 

   “Really?” Bucky cracks an eye open to look at (Y/N), his eyes glazed over with exhaustion. (Y/N) nods, cracking a smile as they glanced at the words a few paragraphs ahead. 

   “It’s really good,” 

   “What’s it about?” Bucky asks as he shifts a little closer to (Y/N), draping an arm over their leg as he pressed a gentle kiss to their hip. 

   “It’s about a illustrated man, he’s covered in tattoos but every night the tattoos will shift and change. These tattoos essentially predict the future-” 

   “Will you-” Bucky yawns a bit, licking his lips afterwards. “Will you read some to me?” (Y/N) smiles as they nod, one hand reaching down to play with Bucky’s hair while the other kept the book upright. 

   “They moved away. Suddenly the floor plates were laced with bone and white skulls that screamed,” Bucky curls against (Y/N) more, resting their head on their warm thigh as they recite the words to him. 

   “The captain did not dare look down, and over the screaming he said ‘Is this where Perse is?’ turning in at a hatch.” Bucky shifts once again, wrapping more of himself around (Y/N). (Y/N) halts in their reading, looking down at Bucky fondly. He looked so sweet like this, all sorts of sleepy and affectionate, his face pressed against (Y/N)’s thigh to the point that it was squishing his cheeks. (Y/N) smiles a bit as they sigh, running their fingers through Bucky’s rather long hair. 

   “Why’d you stop?” He asks, lifting his head up just enough to look at (Y/N) sleepily. 

   “Sorry...you just look really cute like this,” Bucky smiles sleepily, his eyes closing once again. He hums, resting his head back against (Y/N)’s legs. 

   “Well thank you,” (Y/N) gives him a look over, noting the way half his body was curled against them and the other half was not. With a sly little smirk (Y/N) parts their legs, allowing Bucky’s head to fall off their lap. 

   “(Y/N), what are you-” 

   “I want you between my thighs,” Bucky looks up at (Y/N), smirking just a bit. 

   “Doll, I’d love to but I am way too tired to even-” 

   “Not like that you dork,” (Y/N) smiles, shaking their head lightly. “Like when I sit on your lap, I want you to sit on mine,” Bucky eyes them warily, his sleep deprived eyes looking them over a few times. 

   “So you want me to sit in between your legs?” (Y/N) smiles a bit more, nodding. 

   “You’re already half curled up on me, why not just sit here instead?” Bucky looks between (Y/N)’s legs only for a moment before crawling between them, resting his larger body against their chest. His back presses against (Y/N)’s chest and he curls up against them a bit, pulling their sheets over their legs to keep them warm. “You ready?” (Y/N) asks, scratching at Bucky’s head again. The man nods, yawning a bit as he does. (Y/N) smiles as they wrap their arms around his waist, holding the book out in front of them as they attempt to find where they had left off. Finding their spot,  (Y/N) gives the top of his head a quick peck before continuing on with their story. 

   “The captain walked to a port. He smelled of menthol and iodine and green soap on his polished and manicured hands. His white teeth were dentrificed, and his ears scoured to a pinkness, as were his cheeks,” Bucky shifts a bit, turning his head to rub his nose against (Y/N)’s neck, his body nearly going slack against theirs. He inhales deeply and exhales too, his warm breath hitting (Y/N)’s neck softly.

    (Y/N) could tell he was on his way out, he never did last long when (Y/N) would read to him and they were sure their warmth and arms around him wasn’t helping. With a tender smile (Y/N) continues on, resting their chin atop the brunette’s head.

    “His uniform was the color of new salt, and his boots were black mirrors, shining below him. His crisp crew-cut hair smelled of sharp alcohol. Even his breath was sharp and new and clean.” Suddenly Bucky’s breath evens out, a steady in and out against (Y/N)’s neck, his nose bumped right up against (Y/N)’s pulse point; he’d fallen asleep. 

   (Y/N) gingerly sets their book down, settling it down on their bed as they reach over and flicks off their bedside lamp, only shifting enough to get comfortable against their headboard. With a little huff of air (Y/N) reaches down and grabs their sheets, pulling it up to Bucky’s chin to keep him warm. 

   “Goodnight my sweet angel,” (Y/N) whispers, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s head as they close their eyes, allowing their own exhaustion to take over. Bucky shifts once more in his sleep, this time the movement much more subtle, a simple quirk of his lip was all, a simple, sleepy, and all too adorable smile. 

[ecampbellsoup]

Outlander Moments of Impact: On Your Horse, Soldier

For many lovers, they cannot articulate the specific moment of no return. There is not a singular interaction that sealed the deal of their affection. Rather, it is a culmination of a thousand moments.

Jane Austen puts it perfectly, “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” Pride and Prejudice

However, for others, there is an exact second of explosive collision. A moment of magnetic attraction that irrevocably joins you with another forever.

James Fraser has such a moment with Claire in 1x1 “Sassenach” where he falls into the deep well of her affection and never seeks the surface again.

Let’s break down the scene for some context, shall we?

The highlanders are making the journey through the night back to castle Leoch. They set a gruelling pace to separate themselves as far away from the redcoats as they can.

After silently suffering a bullet wound from an ambush, Jamie’s body finally begins to go into shock.

Feeling his body being to fall, Claire, sharing the seat with him, frantically calls out, “Stop! Help, he’s going over!”

Jamie collapses onto the ground unconscious. Claire quickly jumps off the horse. Kneeling over him, she swiftly searches his person for a wound

Murtagh (PRECIOUS SWEET LAMB) is the only man that stays by Jamie’s side; he helplessly looks to Claire for guidance.

She finds the injury, “Gunshot wound. The idiot could’ve said something.”

Exasperated with Jamie’s quiet carelessness, Claire realizes she needs to tend to him now. Commanding a presence of ownership, she asks the men for something to disinfect the injury with.

(LOL. Claire: look at these men. Do they look like they know what a bar of soap is much less germs or iodine? That would be a no)

However, the men do understand what alcohol is and supply her with some whiskey to clean Jamie’s neck.

As soon as she splashes the liquid on his skin, Jamie surges back to consciousness. 

Immediately brushing off the severe gash in his flesh, Jamie acts as if all is well. But Claire is not amused.

Claire furiously cleans the wound.

While Claire reprimands him for his foolish disregard for his own welfare, Jamie looks like a deer caught in the headlights. He is completely stunned by her. Words cannot even escape his mouth. 

His gaze is fixated on her captivating face.

Seeking something to bandage the wound, Claire asks the men for a piece of cloth. Utterly useless to help her, Claire then rips off a strip of her own dress in order to care for Jamie.

Then, Murtagh and Claire gently sit Jamie up. 

Once again, the only two who are actively seeking to restore Jamie are Claire and Murtagh. The rest merely stand by and watch, offering as little help as possible.

While she is wrapping and securing his dressing, Claire growls, “And if you move so much as a single muscle while I'm tying this bandage, I will bloody throttle you.” The majority might not care about Jamie’s welfare, but Claire does.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he teases, “Oh, threats is it? And after I shared my drink wi’ ye?”

Meanwhile, Dougal, who isn’t even trying to hide his apathy for Jamie’s restoration and says they must leave now. Not standing for that one bit, Claire rises, contradicts Dougal insisting that Jamie needs rest. And then Jamie says one name, “Randall.” Claire’s head snaps back at her name.

Assuming her ignorance to the man, Jamie further explains, “The officer you encountered. He won’t give up so easily.”

Walking back over to him, Claire feigns indifference despite hanging on Jamie’s every word. She does not want to let on too much for her own protection. 

“He commands the redcoats here about. He’ll have sent patrols out in every direction by now. I canna stay here long...” He bears his soul to her. Feeling the shift, Claire looks at him. Suddenly, his youth, vulnerability are obvious, hidden from her no longer.

Innocently asking, yet not knowing the cost to this question, she inquires, “You know Randall? Black Jack Randall that is.”

In a soft whisper, “Aye.” That cost him something. And he offers no further detail. 

Claire, catching the pain in his voice, listens, “I won’t risk you or anyone else being taken prisoner by that man.” Selflessly, he states he would rather be deserted, left with a pistol, than put anyone else in danger. Claire is visibly astonished at his sacrificial words.

Hoping to alleviate the severity of the moment, Claire states, “Might’ve well told me you were shot before you fell off the horse.” Jamie explains, “Didna hurt much at the time.” Like steel, Claire questions, “Does it hurt now?” Choosing honesty again, “Aye.” And his eyes pierce hers. 

Refusing to let him off the hook, Claire retorts, “Good.” Delighted by her sass, Jamie chuckles. 

After a pause, Claire confesses, “That’s about all I can do; the rest is up to you.” She stands up leaving him on the ground. Then, to his surprised, Claire extends her hand to Jamie. She offers her strength to pull him to his feet

A Scotsman and a Sassenach link arms in communion.

When they both are standing before one another, there is a silence that rings in the air.

Overcome with gratitude and adoration, Jamie thanks Claire, “Thank you, Sassenach. Truly.” The first time he calls her sassenach. The beginning. 

Claire looks into Jamie’s eyes and becomes flustered. Then finally she says, “Alright. Well. On your horse solider.” Metaphorically this line is brilliant because it holds literally and proverbial truth for these two humans. How often does Jamie fall and Claire pick him back up?

Look away, unsure of how to proceed, Jamie nods. And walks ahead.

And Claire just stands there briefly unable to move.

This seemingly insignificant interaction is the spark that sets off the undying flame of love in Jamie’s heart for Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

Here is a solider who has been injured in battle. As he suffers from his efforts, who comes to his aid aside from his godfather?

His uncle?

His comrads?

His brethren?

His countrymen?

No.

A sassenach. An Englishwoman. A stranger. 

While the men have rather blasé sentiments towards Jamie’s well being, this woman, who does not even know his real name, is completely undone by his pain.

She rushes to his side to help him.

She takes from her own garment to heal his wound.

She holds nothing back from him: her frustration, her care, the very clothes off her back. She gives them all to HIM.

And as she does this…all we see peering through the darkness are a pair of piercing blue eyes transfixed on a woman: a woman who this man just realized he wants more than anything this world can offer him.

When Jamie thanks Claire and calls her Sassenach, he blesses her with that name. Despite the fact that she is an outsider to others, she is set-apart to him.

She carries the same burning passion.

She bears the same burdens for others.

She holds the same empathetic heart.

She possesses the same stubborn sensibilities.

She is his equal.

But in Claire: Jamie has not only met his equal, he has met his match.

[63824peace]

Saturday, 17th of december 2005

"The novel makes its reader feel the essences of Tokyo, the present moment, and the Earth." -- Hideo Kojima (Game Designer)

My comment has been printed on the promotional wrap-around band for Eiichi Ikegami's novel Shangri La. I wrote about the book in the October 23rd HIDEOBLOG.

I actually wrote that opening statement in my October 23rd entry. HIDEOBLOG has finally appeared in real print for the first time.

Shangri La won a number of awards in 2005. It won first place on Mystery Channel, second place in the book review magazine Han-no-zasshi, and sixteenth place in Kono Mystery.

All of the year's really interesting books get reprinted around this time of the year. We usually see them on display at bookstore entrances. I tend to follow the festivities. I read all the good books that I bought during the year but haven't yet opened. I also take the opportunity to buy any good books that I missed earlier in the year.

I like the idea that we can select books from among those that readers and critics deemed interesting. That's better than simply thumbing through the same old best-sellers. I'd like to see the gaming industry take up a similar practice.

I often see quiz-themed advertisements on the Yamanote line's onboard train monitors these days. Many companies now run ads that feature stylized quizzes. They use themes such as general knowledge, the English language, specialized trivia, speed answering, and so on. It's like an onboard train version of those popular television quiz game shows.

The quiz items must reach their audience quickly because the Yamanote line stops at all stations. The advertisers must adjust their ad content and presentation to fit a specific environment, which in this case is a crowded train.

The quizzes help passengers to ignore the confinement and irritation that they feel onboard a cramped train at rush hour. We can escape a little when we use our brains, and we can't react that way when information has been simply broadcast at us one-way.

These quizzes have a unique characteristic. They broadcast the answers only a few seconds after they broadcast the questions due to the specific location where they find their audience. The advertisers probably considered the circumstances of the passengers. This way, the audience doesn't need to leave before they learn the answer to a question, and people won't spend so long pondering a question that they miss their stops.

The original onboard train quizzes used to appear on posters, and they were called the Nichinoken quiz. The posters didn't provide the answers though. Passengers needed to access Nichinoken's website to learn them. I'm sure that many people accessed the website in the evening after a torturous day of curiosity.

That was only a few years ago. The quizzes back then agitated our brains into motion with suspense. We weren't so impatient back then.

Nowadays it's more popular to ease everyone's excitement by providing the answers immediately. Every quiz gives the answers right away. The downside is that the quizzes don't really give us enough time to think over the questions.

They started airing commercials that star Super Mario characters last week. I tend to pay close attention because of my profession as soon as I see the NES graphics displayed. Super Mario's existence is very dear to me, so I pay special attention.

Mario narrated one of the quizzes. He asked: "What are the two different ways to write the word 'egg' using kanji characters?"

"Hm," I thought. "Two different kanji characters for the word 'egg'... well...."

The answer appeared on the screen right when I had started putting on my thinking cap. The first kanji character for "egg" denotes a technical, biological term; the second kanji character denotes a culinary term. We pronounce both terms "tamago," but we write them differently according to the context. Sometimes we can also pronounce the technical term "ran."

How about that... I read the answer and realized that we unconsciously use these kanji characters for different situations. For instance, we wouldn't use the technical term when writing about an egg boiled in hot spring water. We also wouldn't use that term when writing about a Japanese-style omelet. We use the culinary kanji then. Does this mean that we always use a culinary term to describe food?

If that's so, why do we use the technical term to describe those organic iodine eggs laid by chickens that are fed seaweed? Aren't those eggs food? Likewise, why do we use the technical term to describe other comestible varieties such as fertilized and wind eggs? Both white and colored eggs are food, yet we use the technical term when we distinguish between them. They may be uncooked, but they're still destined for consumption. They're ingredients, after all.

So do we regard eggs as strictly biological objects until we cook them? Can we refer to them with the culinary term after that? Do we describe uncooked eggs using the technical term, and then use the culinary term to describe cooked eggs?

No, that isn't right. We have those liquid eggs that contain just the yolk and the egg white. They're prepared by a machine that removes the shells in a factory. Surely those liquid eggs can only serve as ingredients. Yet we use the technical term there too.

Huh... did they make an exception because they wanted to take advantage of the fact that people can also pronounce the technical term "ran?" Did they want to ensure that it rhymes better? If we pronounced the name for colored eggs "yuushoku tamago" rather than "yuushoku ran," could we use the culinary kanji?

No, no, wait. This still doesn't make sense. We use the culinary term when we describe eggs laid by hens in their first phases of ovulation. Why do we describe those small eggs with the culinary term?

A new thought has struck me. How do we write the figurative phrase "egg-head?"

When we describe the sloshy shape of an egg while it's still inside the shell, do we use the technical or culinary term? If we use the technical term in that instance, then we should also use the technical term when we describe someone as an egg-head.

And what about the phrase "skin like an egg?" We say that a woman has skin like an egg when her skin makes us think about creamy eggs as ingredients. Should we use the culinary term in that situation then?

Suppose we take the expression: "You are such an egg!" The meaning of the expression changes according to whether we use the technical or culinary term. We might use the technical term to mean, "You are a young and inexperienced man! Your head is as sloshy as a freshly laid egg!" On the other hand, we might use the culinary term to mean, "Sweetheart, you look as delicious as an egg!"

I don't get it... please explain it to me Mario! Give me a hand Mr. Miyamoto! (Well... I suppose there's no reason to bother him about this.)

I like eggs as food. They're my favorite ingredient in oden, and I always order seasoned eggs as my special ramen topping. I also happen to order only egg sushi at the sushi bar.

I rarely eat raw eggs though. Most of my peers enjoy a bowl of rice topped with a raw egg, but I don't like it very much. I don't often use it as an ingredient in sukiyaki or natto either.

Wait a minute... do we use the culinary or technical term for raw eggs? Which is the correct kanji character? We use the culinary term to describe a fried egg because it has been cooked... but what about a raw egg? A raw egg is still meant to be eaten, even if it hasn't been cooked. So is it a culinary or a technical thing?

When I was a boy, I first learned how to cook Japanese-style omelets. I then became fond of cooking plain, Western-style omelets. I would add a beaten egg cooked in a pan of boiling water to my ramen, however I wouldn't boil the egg in the same water as the ramen.

Eggs coagulate when heated... their appearance changes after having been cooked. The phenomenon of the chemical reaction really interested me. The real fun in cooking food is cooking eggs.

Suffice to say, I prefer the eggs denoted by the culinary kanji character.

Even an egg-lover such as myself somehow dislikes fried eggs. I don't hate eggs that are fried over-easy... I just don't like the white parts. I especially dislike egg whites that are burned and crispy. I don't mind the white of a boiled egg though.

That's why I love Japanese-style omelets and omelets made from well-beaten eggs. I also love seasoned Japanese-style omelets and beaten eggs cooked in a pan of water. And of course I love thoroughly cooked scrambled eggs.

I have trouble eating breakfast abroad because of this. Neither Europe nor America serves Japanese-style omelets. They only serve either scrambled or fried eggs in hotels and restaurants.

We might say that the specific eggs used in fried eggs aren't food ingredients for me. I'll just use the biological term rather than the culinary term. I won't regard eggs that I don't want to eat as food. I will hereafter refer to those eggs as merely biological objects.

Our children will hatch from their eggs next week. Which kanji character should we use in that situation? We could justify using the technical term since they're offspring borne from the passion of their creators. Yet it's also quite normal to consider a game as an ingredient for entertainment.

Do we call our children biological or culinary eggs?

According to the quiz answer, the culinary kanji for "egg" has derived from the idea of an adorable child who behaves as lively as a bouncing ball. If that's the case, then we can't regard our children as simply biological eggs. We hope that our children will grow and become as lively as bouncing balls once our audience has them in hand. We affectionately want to call our children “culinary eggs.”

On December 22nd, the Subsistence brood of bouncing children will appear. They are no mere biological eggs. They are our adorable children who behave as lively as bouncing balls.

We have planned our schedule for the events honoring the release date of our eggs. The third disc will premier on December 22nd at Roppongi Oribe Hall. I will give the introductory speech as well.

We'll proceed afterwards to Tokyo's Akihabara and Yuurakucho districts. Then we're off to Fukuoka, Hiroshima, Nagoya, and finally back to Tokyo's Shinjuku district. We'll travel from December 22nd until the 25th. According to people who know a lot about performance tours, we have a schedule that's even more rigorous than Yoshimoto's. I'm looking forward to it nevertheless. This time we'll travel places where we've never taken presentation campaigns before.

Our game software will distribute as mass-produced copies. Our audience will receive and then cook the eggs according to their perceptivity and discrimination. How will gamers play with the raw materials? How will they use the eggs? The audience will decide.

A game only becomes a game once it has been played and explored by its audience.

Games are ingredients for entertainment that the gamers will decide how to process. I want them to use MGS3 for fried eggs, Japanese-style omelets, boiled eggs, Western-style omelets, scrambled eggs, or beaten eggs boiled in a pan of water. MGS3 is a cooking ingredient, and the gamers will decide the recipe.

Game software is only an ingredient for the audience's gameplay recipe.

Playing a game is like eating a meal. It involves a whole process from cooking to dining. Therefore, our children culinary eggs. I want them to become delicious, egg-based dishes prepared by the gamers.

[killitwithtears]

And you say you've been humbled in love

Just under a week remains in the merry month of Cohen, and judging by the calibre of contributions so far, you’re going to need a few boxes of tissues to get through it.

what is this all about?

May 1 - @ladystark428 - Field Commander Cohen/Hallelujah - TNG - And Be Your Sweetest Self

May 2 - @mia-cooper - Winter Lady - VOY - Smoke and Gold

May 3 - @70thousandlightyearsfromhome - Bird on the Wire - VOY - Bird on the Wire

May 4 - @70thousandlightyearsfromhome - Bird on the Wire #2 - VOY - Bird on the Wire (video)

May 5 - @caladeniablue - Joan of Arc - VOY - Pyre

May 7 - @manalyzer13 - Is This What You Wanted - VOY - The Ghost of You and Me

May 8 - @allthetrek - Closing Time - DSC - Closing Time

May 9 - @pixiedane - A Thousand Kisses Deep - ENT - Quiet is the Thought of You

May 10 - @devoverest - Avalanche - VOY - The Shadow of Your Wound

May 11 - @caladeniablue - Anthem - VOY - Fractured

May 12 - @bizships - Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye - VOY - That’s No Way to Say Goodbye

May 13 - BlackVelvet42 - Take This Waltz - VOY - Take This Waltz

May 14 - @curator-on-ao3 - I’m Your Man - VOY - Traveling Light

May 15 - @leisylaura - Everybody Knows - VOY - Everybody Knows (video)

May 16 - @ariella884 - I Tried To Leave You - VOY - I Tried To Leave You

May 17 - @mia-cooper - Light as the Breeze - DS9 - Orbit

May 18 - @littleobsessions90 - Suzanne - VOY - Her Lover

May 19 - @caladeniablue - Heart With No Companion - VOY - He starts with the bedroom

May 20 - @grace-in-the-stars - Everybody Knows - VOY - Empty

May 21 - @curator-on-ao3 - You Want It Darker - VOY - Ten Years at Home

May 22 - @killermanatee - Iodine - DSC - iodine

May 23 - @caladeniablue - The Window - VOY - There plunged the rays of love

May 25 - @arcadia1995 - Tonight Will Be Fine - VOY - Tonight Will Be Fine

May 26 - @rocktherecorder - The Future - VOY - The Future

May 27 - @poetictrekkie - Dance Me To The End Of Love - TNG

May 28 - @gluecookie - The Partisan - DS9

May 29 - @bizships - Come Healing - VOY

May 29 - @queen-x-ishtar - A Thousand Kisses Deep - VOY

May 30 - @mia-cooper - Take This Longing - VOY

May 31 - @icecream-junkie - Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye - DSC

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