#see this is why I simply cannot live without telling all y’all my business

[b0rista]

i don't really know how tumblr reqs works but you write for marco right ?? 🤩 can you write some hcs for him 😟😟 ( sorry if I sound rude or dry 😭😭😭 )

— 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐓.

WARNINGS: language.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: NONFOGNO it wasn't rude or dry at all!! lowkey i got super excited reading this because LAWD i've been wanting to write some marco dating hcs 🥺 i love him way too much like this isn't healthy bye

"you don't get it— you had my heart before i was even given the chance to refuse."

without a doubt, marco's shirt was tailored with the utmost boyfriend material. this may anger some of y’all, but out of the men of the 104th, this man has to be one of the best when it comes to relationships. the epitome of perfection, dare i say. beautiful boy. 

there was probably a lot of pining going on before the two of you decided to get together, if we’re being honest. during your three years of cadet training, marco’s crush on you was absolutely and utterly hopeless. at least, that’s what he thought. the guys didn’t do much to help, either. instead of encouraging him, they teased him. after all, who the hell’s dumb enough to fall in love in a place like this? after all, you’re practically training for your own death. and while marco knew that, that didn’t make his feelings toward you any less intrusive. even while watching you swing from tree to tree during ODM training, he still caught himself gawking at your absolite effortless beauty, earning himself quite the scolding from his own conscious. hell, one time, you caught him staring at you during training, and he face planted into a tree. that time, it was commander shadis that gave him the scolding. which,, is always terrifying. 

before and during your guys’ relationship, marco’s love language is an endless amount of consolation. of course, this goes for everyone, but especially you. seeing you hopless is something that he doesn’t ever want to have to say, so with that being said, he does everything in his power to keep your spirits lifted. and if you’re ever down, he’ll know. you can’t hide your feelings from this man, he’s far too intuitive for his own good. and even if you’re fine, he’ll still go above and beyond with his words of affirmation. it’s who he is. 

during your trainee days, you spent a lot of time with him, jean, sasha, and connie. no matter the circumstances, that was your crowd. really, it was just a huddle of idiot teenagers half-assedly working to become soldiers. even so, they were the ones that got you through it. 

^ honestly, if it weren’t for marco’s constant encouragement, you likely would have quit the training to go work on the farmlands. whenever you tell him that, though, he sheepishly shuts you down, contradicting his own denial through the very thing that made you a shoulder.

“you’re giving me too much credit, y’know. i may have chipped in, but it was you that got you to where you are now. it always was, and it always will be.” 

yeah, this freckled bastard is your go-to therapist. half of the time, you don’t even go to him for help; he comes to you. it’s like he has this sense, or something- no matter how far apart the two of you are, he can feel whenever it is you’re unhappy. perhaps his intuition is just that good, or the two of you are simply soulmates, linked together through delicate intertwinement. quietly, marco believes the latter. back to the main topic of discussion, though. one of his main objectives is to solve whatever problems you may have, even if they have absolutely nothing to do with him. no matter the circumstances, it’s his duty to keep that sweet, soothing smile on your face. without it, his world is dull. 

love letters. yeah, that’s right. for his safety within the boy’s barracks, he’s asked that you keep them a secret,, but marco writes you one to two love letters a month. it isn’t a dramatic amount, and they aren’t all that lengthy, but they never fail to get you to swoon. he’s got a way with words, and when it comes to the likes of you, they’re as passionate as ever. really, he could go on and on about you, page after page, and never find himself getting bored. with every fiber of his being, he’s absolutely smitten over you.

of course, though, the letters don’t start making an appearance until after the two of you establish your relationship. which, as always, i’ll leave that up to you! however, it was probably some time during the end of your time as cadet trainees. after three whole years of helplessly pining for you, i can see him gathering enough courage to actually confess to you. with jean’s encouragement, of course (even though it was more like pRessurinG plspls). 

it can get a little overbearing at times, but marco likes to try and help you with everything and anything. you can’t quite reach that top shelf? don’t worry, he’s got you. struggling with your gear? alright, what’s the problem, he’ll fix it. you’re taking an extra moment to count horses, and he’s already rushing to lend a helping hand. at some point, you’ll have to communicate that although it’s sweet that he’s always trying to make things easier for you, he’ll have to give you the chance to actually learn a thing or do. once you do, he’ll take literally everything into consideration, and try his hardest to stop himself whenever there’s a possible learning exercise in your way. 

cheek kisses! an endless amount, at that. out of everywhere on your body, marco favors your cheeks, if he could, he’d pepper them in kisses all day long. unfortunately, though, he can’t, so he’ll stick to sneaking in little pecks in between every other hour of the day. the two of you live for those moments where he cups either side of your face, plants a sweet kiss onto your cheek, and rushed back to finish whatever it was he was meant to be doing. as expected, they always manage to leave you craving more. 

ah, jean. the third wheel you never fucking asked for. he’s such a pest, and marco refuses to get rid of him, literally ever. with that being said, he’s practically an honorary member of your guys’ relationship. the amount of times you and marco have been cozied up together on the sofa only to be very rudely interrupted by jean sLipping in between the two of you is ridiculous. you and your boyfriend have cancelled dates for this man, simply because he doesn’t want to be alone. typically, it’s jean giving marco the puppy dog eyes, and then in suite, marco giving you the puppy dog eyes, which you simply cannot resist. 

honestly, it’s nearly impossible to get this man jealous. you’ve tried, it should not be as difficult as it is. of course, i said nearly impossible. really, marco’s funny when he gets jelly. he isn’t overly edgy, or agGressive with you- he’s more,, chaotically conflicted. one night, you were feeling a bit more committed to the cause, so you mindlessly sat on reiner’s lap during dinner in the mess hall. marco, who was busy rough-housing with jean, choked. 

"iSTHATCOMFORTABLEORSOMETHING-"

reiner: 🧍‍♂️

during the quiet of the night, you enjoy tenderly kissing each and every one of his freckles you can see. starting with the ones dusted along his face, to his shoulders, to his arms, and so on. usually, marco's far too tired to fully react, but he's always softly smiling, silently admiring you while a hand tangles itself within the locks of your hair.

it's been confirmed that marco's a big brother, so that's definitely a thing. even if you've only been together for a short amount of time at this point, marco would want you to meet his family. after all, he's quite literally in love with you. why not start the formalities earlier than necessary? even if you don't make too good of an impression, he's sure that one day, his family will be one that you're apart of. he wouldn't have it any other way.

he's flustered easily. the smallest thing could happen, and he's red in the face, stumbling over his words, all of it. of course, you only find it endearing. rake your fingers through his hair while he's a blushing mess, you'll never get enough of it. beneath your touch, he crumbles.

one night, after a rougher session of training, you took hold of marco's busted and blistered knuckles, which had been dirtied on the field. while he thought nothing of it, you moved them to your lips, planting a sweet kiss along the bridge as a form of comfort. he absolutely melted, and it was the birth of a beautiful pattern. whenever his fists are battered, your kiss mends them right back together.

during chores, you and him tend to hum together in sync. it's a surprisingly pleasing harmony, and it's become a shared habit to make up silly melodies to hum to whenever you run out. and whenever you're in need of comfort, expect to hear him quietly humming one of the songs the two of you made up while softly rubbing your back. vice versa, as well.

one time, you raspberried his bare stomach. he's never felt so violated in his life. another time, he did the same to you, and the fact that you laughed? yeah, it's an often occurrence. raspberries are real in this relationship, bitch.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (2)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Oh man. My dudes. I received so much love and support and excited feedback on the first chapter that I thought my heart was going to explode. Y’all are so wonderful. Keep it up. <3

*****

Luckily, Matty lets them take the Phoenix jet to Houston. Flying commercial would make today even more tortuous than it already promises to be, albeit for a different reason. 

No matter how hard he tries to distract himself, Mac cannot stop staring at the diamond ring on Riley’s finger. The princess cut gem is stunning and ridiculously large, but it suits her cover as a lucrative arms dealer. A white gold wedding band sits below it. Riley left her usual assortment of rings at home, and Mac can’t help but think her long, delicate fingers look bare without them. 

He tears his eyes away from the rings again and again, both on the plane and while driving to the safe house. Riley drives with just her left hand, her right elbow resting on the center console. Mac likes driving, but there’s something relaxing about riding shotgun while Riley drives instead. He’s never been able to put a finger on it, but the sense of ease washes over him all the same. Admiring the way sunlight illuminates her engagement ring is simply a bonus. 

He doesn’t let himself imagine what he might give her, in an alternate future where she reciprocates his feelings and one day wants to marry him. 

Harley obediently lays in the backseat, staring out the windshield. She's been on her best behavior the entire twenty four hours Mac's known her, ever the professional. 

Which puts her completely at odds with Mac and Riley's shenanigans—cracking jokes, dancing on the plane and in the car, doing purposefully bad impersonations of Russ. These are the best parts of going on ops alone with Riley. They can let loose in a way they just couldn’t when anyone else other than Bozer was around. Everyone else is professional all the time; Mac and Riley are only professional when they have to be. 

Riley taps the steering wheel in time to the classic rock song on the radio. “What do you want for dinner?” 

“Dinner? We haven’t even had lunch yet!” 

“True.” Riley chuckles. “Can you tell I’m hungry?” 

Mac gives her a sly look. “Not at all.” 

They settle on Texas barbecue for lunch on their way to the safe house, because that’s what Jack would choose if he was here. If only the old man could see them now, all grown up and getting sent to take down terrorists unsupervised. 

Seated in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, Mac raises his brisket sandwich in a toast to Jack, in whatever afterlife he found himself in. Hopefully it’s the one with an endless supply of good barbecue. 

“Oh man, Jack would’ve loved this,” Riley says through a mouthful of food. She sneaks Harley a piece of brisket. 

Mac smiles. “Yeah, he would’ve.” 

It’s easier, now, to talk about him. At first, Mac hadn’t been sure he could ever get to a point where talking about Jack didn’t make him want to hit something or just curl up and sob. 

But here he is, on the other side. Him and Riley both. 

Their safe house is another twenty minutes away from the restaurant, in a nice neighborhood full of trees and children playing on the sidewalks. It’s so much greener than a California neighborhood could ever dream of being. There’s even a park across the street from their apartment complex. It’s exactly the sort of place a young, affluent couple would want to live. 

Riley parks in their designated space, and the pair ascend the stairs to apartment number 202. Outside of the car, they don’t dare use each other’s real names until they’re sure the apartment is free of bugs. The place was furnished earlier that week by other Phoenix agents, but Mac and Riley do a thorough sweep of every room just in case. 

It’s a nice apartment. Wood flooring, granite countertops, matching cabinets throughout. There are pictures on the walls, but Mac doesn’t bother to stop and check what they are. 

Riley clears the space from back to front, so Mac does the opposite. He clears the kitchen first, frowning at the absence of any sort of food, before moving on to the living room. 

Mac stops dead in his tracks when he enters the bedroom. The singular bedroom. With a singular, queen-sized bed. 

Oh no. This is not happening. 

Mac shakes his head and rubs his eyes, hoping his mind is just playing tricks on him and that there’s actually two beds. Or a whole other room he missed before. 

The one and only bed seems to mock him. 

He walks back out, finding Riley already sitting at the kitchen table, turning on her laptop. “Uhh, Riles? There’s only—”

“One bed,” she finishes, not bothering to look up. “I know.” 

Oh god. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not with his dignity still intact. Mac stammers, “I’ll, uhh, sleep on the couch. You can have it.”

That gets Riley’s attention. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to be here for weeks. You’ll hurt your back sleeping on the couch that long. Just sleep with me.” Riley’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just said. “In the bed,” she quickly adds. 

Mac ducks his head to hide his blush. 

“What are you working on?” he asks in a feeble attempt to distract himself from their sleeping situation. Because it will definitely be a situation if Mac’s not careful. 

“Connecting to the Wi-Fi,” Riley says in a slow, “What else would I be doing?” sort of way. 

“Right.” Mac silently curses himself. Of course that’s what she’s doing. “Anyway, I’m assuming you already know this, since you probably opened the fridge too, but we have no food.” 

“I saw.” She’s multitasking again, manicured fingers flying faster across her keyboard than Mac can keep track of. “Why don’t you unload our bags while I finish this, and then we can go.” 

Unable to help feeling like he’s been dismissed, Mac complies without protest. 

Soon they’re back in the car, headed to the grocery store, and the whole thing feels ridiculously domestic. Mac’s never been a fan of grocery shopping, but Riley makes it almost...fun. For starters, she’s not methodical about it the way Bozer and Desi are. But more than that, getting to spend time with her doing mundane, non-work stuff is a nice reminder that their relationship is more than just the job. They’re friends too. 

Mac wishes there is a way to tell her all that without it sounding weird. 

They come home, unload the groceries, and take Harley for a long walk, and that feels easy too. It feels normal, even though literally nothing about this situation is normal, and Mac already knows he’ll miss this when the op is over. 

But normalcy ends when Riley beckons Mac to sit beside her at the kitchen table, and together they write an advertisement for their arms dealing business. Once they’re satisfied with it, Riley sends it off into the dark web, and there’s nothing to do but wait, like a spider after spinning her web. 

The waiting is the worst part. 

Mac is contemplating taking Harley for a second walk when Riley asks, “Want to help me make dinner?” He takes one look at her hands on her hips and the “you don’t actually have a choice” look on her face and knows he’ll be left to fend for himself if he doesn’t help now. Mac learned that the hard way back when he and Riley lived together. 

“Sure.” 

They work in comfortable silence. Mac chops vegetables and grates cheese for their quesadillas while Riley does the actual cooking part. Even though they are doing separate tasks, Mac is acutely aware of every move Riley makes, no matter how insignificant. Flexing her long, thin fingers around a knife. Itching the back of her calf with her foot. Dancing in place, spatula in hand, while she waits to flip the quesadillas sizzling in the pan. 

Mac smiles softly. Her random little dances are cute. He’s noticed them more and more since realizing he has feelings for her, but if Mac is being honest, he’s always thought the dances are cute. 

Riley hisses as she peeks under the tortilla, checking to see if it’s browned yet. 

“You good?” Mac asks, frowning. 

“Yeah, I touched the pan by accident.” Riley runs her thumb under cold water. 

Her laptop dings while they eat. Wide-eyed, Mac glances at Riley. That was fast. She grimaces before sliding the laptop closer and checking the notification. 

“Is it them?” he asks tentatively. That’s the hard part about this; in order for their business to look more legit, they had to just put an ad out and hope for a response, rather than target the terrorist organization directly. 

Riley exhales. “No, it’s not them. It’s someone else.” 

Swallowing another bite of quesadilla, Mac says, “I don’t know whether I’m relieved or if that’s worse.” 

“Same.” 

There are no more responses that night.

*****

Mac wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in—on his side, facing outward, with as much space between him and Riley as possible. When they crawled into bed the night before, Riley did the same. 

Harley spent the night on the couch. 

She’s a very guarded dog, Mac is slowly realizing. Tolerating, but not trusting. Mac supposes he would be like that too if he was a dog and he got stuck with a bunch of strangers after his human suddenly disappeared one day. 

He makes coffee, feeds Harley breakfast, and takes a shower, all before Riley loses her battle with the snooze button and finally gets out of bed. While she showers, Mac takes Harley for a walk in hopes that the cool, spring air will ease the anxiety that took root the moment Riley released their ad into the void. 

It doesn’t. 

Dark, puffy clouds loom on the horizon, and the few birds Mac hears shriek at each other in warning. It looks like a storm is coming. 

When Mac returns, he’s met with a grim expression, one he understands without Riley uttering a single word. “They answered,” she confirms. 

“What did they say?” Unclipping Harley’s leash, Mac moves to stand behind Riley, resting his hands on the back of her chair. The scent of her shampoo tickles his nose, and he forces himself to ignore it and focus on what Riley’s saying. 

“They want to meet. Today.” 

“Time or place?” 

Riley points at a small box on her screen. “Just an address.” 

“What’s there?” 

“A warehouse,” Riley says. “Owned by the same shell corporation other Phoenix techs already tied to the organization.” 

“Not very clandestine, are they?” 

“No, they’re not.” Riley looks up at him, her head bumping his sternum, and butterflies ricochet inside Mac’s rib cage. There’s something soft in Riley’s expression that makes Mac want to kiss her. “Are you ready for this?” 

Mac sighs. “As ready as I ever am. Are you?” 

“Yeah,” she says, but her confidence falters. Without thinking, Mac squeezes her shoulders in reassurance before walking away to change.

*****

The warehouse is located on the edge of the city, in an industrial area that has certainly seen better days. Even from a distance, Mac can see cobwebs decorating the warehouse windows and rust creeping up the roller doors. Aside from Riley, there’s not another soul in sight. 

As per the directions the organization sent after Riley confirmed the meeting, Mac parks on the south side of the building, near the only functional-looking door. He doesn’t look at Riley as they get out of the car, instead desperately trying not to cringe at the cold, heavy weight of the gun holstered at his side, hidden beneath his jacket. 

High-end arms dealers couldn’t walk around unarmed, unfortunately. 

Although her hands are occupied with holding Harley’s leash, there’s a gun hidden beneath Riley’s suit jacket as well. Mac’s stomach churns. The second Riley emerged from their bedroom earlier wearing that jet black suit, she was a different person. She was wholly Genevieve Turner, and no matter how hard Mac tried, he couldn’t find even a single trace of his best friend beneath the icy exterior. 

Locking their SUV, Mac smooths the lapels of his own black suit and slips into character as well. 

The dark clouds Mac noticed earlier are directly overhead now. Mac has never believed in omens the way Jack did, but he can’t help hearing Jack’s voice in his head, warning him that black clouds are a sign of certain doom. Or something like that. 

There’s no one inside the warehouse, at least as far as Mac can see. “Hello?” he calls, the word echoing slightly in the open space. Aside from a few random wooden crates, the room is empty. 

A door slams, and then an older man comes into view. He’s probably in his late fifties, with graying hair and a beer belly his shirt doesn’t quite cover. The man swaggers like he owns the place, although Mac doubts the leader of a terrorist cell would deign to play tour guide. 

No doubt there’s a quip on the edge of Riley’s tongue about entitled white men, but she doesn’t share it. 

The man extends a hand to Mac in introduction. “Conrad.” His sneer doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Mac frowns, keeping his hands at his sides. “Last name?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

What he’s about to say might screw everything up before it even starts, but Mac says it anyway. In his gut, he knows it’s the right call. “If it doesn’t matter, then we’re done here. My wife and I have no interest in entering a business relationship with someone too inexperienced to understand that trust is integral to any transaction.” Mac spins on his heel and strides toward the door, Riley falling into step beside him. 

“Wait!” the man calls. They pause, turning around slowly. “Deacon. Conrad Deacon.” The man seems to know he’s already lost. Good. “Welcome to the cause.” He gestures for Mac and Riley to follow him. 

Mac stands his ground. In his peripheral, Riley stands utterly still, the perfect mask of cool, collected neutrality. Almost bored, even. It’s scary how easily she becomes her cover. 

“Come on now,” Conrad says, taking a single step forward. “We have much to discuss.” 

That’s enough of the power play, Mac thinks, but just as he’s about to give in and follow Conrad, Riley utters a single, sharp command that rings through the room. “Sit.” 

Harley obeys. 

Riley’s lips curve in a cruel, taunting smile. “Then enlighten us.” Mac suppresses a shiver; he’s seen this side of Riley plenty of times before, watched her hone it over the years, but it’s still unnerving. Admittedly, it’s also kind of hot. 

Conrad ignores her entirely. He croons, “Why don’t we start with your names?” It’s phrased like a question. It sounds like a question, but Mac sees the demand for what it really is. 

Mac gestures to Riley. “This is my wife, Genevieve Turner. And my name is James.” His father’s name tastes like ash on Mac’s tongue. 

“And the dog?” 

“Killer,” Riley sneers. Mac isn’t sure if she’s kidding or not. 

Again, Conrad doesn’t acknowledge her. “James, why don’t I give you the tour and explain what we do here.” 

“We’ll go on the tour, but we are not here to join your cause.” It takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower to maintain his neutral tone. “All we care about is what you’d like us to provide and how much you’ll pay for it.” 

Conrad doesn’t hide his displeasure. “Fine. Follow me.” 

Mac and Riley are led through the open warehouse. The layout is straightforward and nearly impossible to get lost in. But after Conrad shows them a room full of rifles—countless hung on the walls, floor to ceiling, the rest in half-open crates—Mac finds himself counting the number of wooden shipping crates scattered around the building. 

He doesn’t like his final number. 

Arming terrorists doesn’t sit well with Mac, even if it serves a purpose. It makes him sick, knowing he will likely be indirectly responsible for their next attack. 

Especially because those crates are no doubt full of the kind of rifles designed to kill people most effectively. The ones hanging on the wall are military grade, probably cutting-edge. Desi would know exactly what they are and how they work. 

Trusting Riley is paying close attention, Mac only half listens to Conrad babble about the cause. But then the older man says something that stops Mac in his tracks. “Our country is being run into the ground by whiny do-nothings,” Conrad asserts, “who waste our money and spew garbage that some people matter more than others. Well, you know what? Hardworking, everyday Americans matter. But no,” he scoffs, “those damn liberals don’t like it when we remind them of the truth. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off.” 

The ground sways under Mac’s feet. He knows these people believe this, read it in Matty’s extensive briefing notes. But it’s another thing entirely to hear someone say it to his face. 

He can only imagine what Riley must be thinking. 

Clearing his throat, Mac tries to redirect the conversation. “Like I said, we don’t care about your cause. Just tell us what you’re looking for, and we’ll be on our way.” 

Conrad eyes him suspiciously, but complies. “We’re looking for something a little more than what you can get at the store, you know?” 

Mac doesn’t, not exactly. He’ll have to ask Desi later. “I do,” he lies. 

“Good. Here’s what we’re willing to pay for it.” He hands Mac a folded piece of paper, and Mac does a double take when he reads the number. There are a lot of zeroes. “And as a show of good faith, we’d like it delivered tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Riley splutters. Mac feels it then, the broiling rage slipping through a crack in her persona. He needs to get her out of there. Now. Not just to preserve the op, but for Riley’s wellbeing. Some audacity Matty has making Riley play nice with men like this. 

Mac slides his hands into his pockets, using the movement as a cover to brush his knuckles against Riley’s fist. I know. I’m here. I’m sorry. 

For the first time, Conrad addresses Riley directly. “Yes. Tomorrow. Unless that’s something you can’t do?” 

“We can do that,” she replies calmly, and the difference between her reactions is like night and day. As quickly as that crack appeared, it was gone. 

“Excellent.” Conrad takes another step toward Riley, offering to shake hands, but Harley’s low, menacing growl keeps him at bay. Rewarding the dog with a quick scratch on the head, Riley closes the gap and shakes Conrad’s still-outstretched hand. 

“It’s a deal,” she says. Following suit, Mac shakes Conrad’s hand as well and follows Riley out the door, neither of them uttering another word. 

Mac drives. One look at Riley’s trembling fist decides for him. 

By the time the warehouse disappears from the rearview mirror, he can’t take the silence anymore. “Hey,” Mac starts, but Riley cuts him off with a hand. 

“Not until we’re inside.” 

They hit every single red light between the warehouse and the apartment, and Mac anxiously taps the steering wheel. Raindrops land on the windshield. They’re small at first, but soon the drops are large and numerous enough to refract the streetlights, and Mac struggles to see where he’s going. He adjusts the windshield wipers over and over, never landing on the right speed. 

Too slow. Too fast. Too slow. Too fast. 

Mac settles on a setting that’s slightly too fast, and the squeak of rubber on glass nearly matches his heart thudding in his chest. 

Riley stares straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking. Mac wants to reach out, to let a gentle touch say what he verbally can’t, but the road is slick enough to make him keep two hands on the wheel. We’re almost there, he reassures himself. 

By the time he parks, it’s pouring hard enough that the ten second walk from the car to the door soaks them to the bone. Riley’s hands shake as she unlocks the apartment door. 

Once they’re inside and Mac unclips Harley’s leash, Riley turns to him with pained, pleading eyes. His heart breaking all over again, Mac draws her in for a long, tight hug. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. 

Mac just cradles the back of her head and sways gently, wishing he could fix the world for her. 

Neither pulls away, even when Riley suddenly says, “If Conrad was smart, he would’ve had someone bug our car while he paraded us around the warehouse. I don’t think he’s actually smart enough to do that, but we should check first, just in case.” 

Mac curses himself for not thinking of that. “Good call.” He rubs Riley’s back, hoping the gesture is soothing. “I hate the way he treated you,” he snarls. “Like you weren’t even worth acknowledging.” 

“Welcome to being a woman.” 

It was more than that. They both know it. But neither say it.

*****

“You need what?” Matty shrieks over the phone. 

Mac winces. “Sorry.” He’d called Desi first, to ask what kind of guns Conrad meant with his innuendo, and received a verbal lashing for not asking any follow-up questions. But she made her best guess anyway. Now on the phone with Matty, it doesn’t take even a single brain cell to know that her reaction will be much, much worse. 

“He wants us to prove ourselves,” Riley adds. “As a show of good faith.” The words come out dripping in venom, but their boss doesn’t comment. Mac takes a second to study her; Riley changed into leggings and an oversized flannel shirt, and there are still remnants of dark makeup smudges under her eyes. Now, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter with her knees tucked into her chest. It’s weird to see her take up so little space. 

Matty sighs, deeply and loudly in a way conveys her annoyance more than words ever could. “Fine. A few weeks ago, Border Control confiscated a huge shipment of smuggled guns near El Paso, so I’ll see if we can borrow those. But next time, Blondie, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He doesn’t correct Matty in that it was Riley who made the deal. That would only add fuel to the fire. 

“Thank you,” he says, and Matty hangs up. Mac runs a hand through his damp hair. “That went well.” Riley’s lips twitch, but it’s not the amused reaction he hopes for. He’s at a complete loss regarding what to say to her, so Mac gently asks, “What can I do?” 

Riley slides off the counter, and Mac reaches for her automatically, although he doesn’t actually touch her; his hand hovers just beside Riley’s elbow. She doesn’t shrink away, but she makes no move to touch him either. 

“Help me put him and everyone like him in a deep, dark hole where they can’t hurt anybody. And then just…” she trails off, taking a deep breath. “Keep being you.” 

With that, she walks away, leaving Mac alone in the kitchen, racking his brain to figure out what that last part means.

*****

Later that night, Mac tosses and turns, replaying Conrad’s words. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off. They seem off-kilter, like what the man said and what he really meant are misaligned. Mac sighs, rubbing his face. 

Another bolt of lightning illuminates the bedroom, and Mac automatically counts the seconds until he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. The storm is moving closer. 

Beside him, Riley lies on her back with her eyes closed, although her breathing is too light for her to be asleep. Mac wonders if her mind is just as loud and chaotic as his. 

For Riley’s sake, he hopes it’s not.

*****

Sleep never finds Mac. 

The storm rages all through the night, but by the time dawn arrives, the thunder and wind dissipate, leaving just the steady downpour. The clouds are dark enough that Mac can hardly tell the sun even bothered to rise this morning. 

When Riley’s alarm goes off, it’s like the shrill tone is mocking Mac for being awake. Riley groans as she shuts it off. 

“Morning,” he mumbles. His throat hurts. He needs water. “Did you sleep well?”

Another groan. “No.” 

“At least you slept,” Mac mutters.

Riley rolls onto her side, drawing one of the extra pillows into her chest. “Do you always toss and turn that much?”

It was his fault, he realizes, that she didn’t sleep. Mac suddenly feels guilty. “Sorry. And no.” 

He expects Riley to be upset at being kept awake, but she isn’t. With a look that just might be understanding, she softly asks, “What were you thinking about?” 

Mac can’t say that his thoughts whip around his mind like raindrops in last night’s storm. Not without sounding crazy, at least. So instead he says, “I don’t even know. I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Me too,” Riley admits. “It feels off.” Her eyes are heavy, and Mac’s had enough early mornings with Riley to know it’s not just the lack of sleep weighing her down. 

“Go back to sleep. I can handle the delivery.” 

Riley rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you do that by yourself.” 

He doesn’t argue. “Okay.” 

A moment passes between them. It’s been happening more and more lately—holding eye contact a little too long, sharing smirks when no one else is looking, stealing moments where it’s just the two of them and nothing else matters. Each one gives him hope that there’s not a wall between them, but instead, a door. Someone just has to be brave enough to open it. 

Sitting up, Riley quipps, “Just don’t make me regret letting you sleep in the bed with me.” Mac snorts. 

“No promises.”

.

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[onlyhereforangst]

WWR 

Ok y’all if you thought 18x05 was long, you in for a trip. Get ready for lots of caps, lots of not PG-13, and lots of overanalysis. I hope this lives up to the hype since it took me forever and a day (literally almost every minute of the 20 minutes of scenes took practically an hour to breakdown, I have a problem I know). Anyways, let’s get sweaty under the cut because the day ain’t young no more 👇🏼

Their bickering in the car but Nick smiling the whole time is a huge married vibe but also he’s so happy she’s alive and will take any shit she gives him vibe and I’m here for it. Pluuuuus Ellie avoiding nicks question about the phone call 😭 he’s so freaking concerned for her (he’s been through his own version of PTSD), his voice drops all the teasing and he actually opens up a little bit - really wants to make sure she’s ok. He needs to be there for her and ugh poor Ellie, those walls are going back up after that hug- a momentary lapse in her usual self. She’s so far outside of her comfort zone talking about feelings and weaknesses and she immediately deflects. Nick respecting that deflection is also huge growth for him, knows it’s not ok to push through like a person like him would normally do and force her hand. He knows she needs space but also clearly ready to be that ear to listen or shoulder to cry on whenever she needs it.

His joke about notable mustaches only to be the butt of the joke about using the word notable later is hiiiiiilarious. 

Her comment about Zillow 😂 um excuse me ellie you looking for houses and to settle down 👀 but then(!!) Nick pushes her down the stairs first when shots start, getting her out of harm’s way and putting himself in danger like he always does my heart 😩 like he’s still on the stairs by the time she’s in a cell “safe.” And side note damn they are good shots, oof. 

The toilet bowl scene is easily one of my favorites. Nick freaking out over Ellie moving hers and him not being able to had me DYING. Like legit cackling over his worry she’s suddenly way stronger than him 🤣🤣 and then he gets SO pissed they took their car hahaha like so mad he hugs the damn wall in frustration. But then he claims he’ll rip out the bars of the window (you know, to make up for not being able to move his toilet and still prove he’s macho) and Ellie’s comment about superhuman strength & his agreement LOL. His anxiety level of being trapped and more so Ellie being trapped is getting to him already. He is reaching for any possible way to get them (read: her) out of there safely it doesn’t matter that the plan sounds outrageous. Cue him moving back to pissed and breaking the toilet with his damn foot like 🥵 we get you strong Nick but no need to show off. Hot damn. His “I really think we’re stuck in here” after that IDK why but had be laughing again. I’m pretty sure I said “no shit Sherlock” at my TV watching live because thank you Captain Obvious. 

Aaaaaand then when she pauses and finds the bomb bricks but goes so quiet oooooof he’s on high alert. You can practically hear his heart pounding and then he goes and starts panicking slightly when she doesn’t respond with our first use of a first name, “Ellie we have a wall between us, what is it?” But his tone is so frantic and his eyes are darting around putting the whole picture together and my heart aches for him. He’s starting to realize just how helpless he is to save her. The exact thing he likely swore he’d set out to never let happen again (Ellie in danger) after last episode, is happening again. And this time, it’s not like he can go hunt the guys down, he’s quite literally stuck. Helpless with no way out. Aaand here’s where Nick starts to lose his patience. Pissed at himself for not saving her before, not being able to save her now. Pissed at everything. He cannot comprehend how she is in this situation AGAIN and he can do nothing. But oh lord, he doesn’t even realize it’s about to get worse...

Him brooding over this crappy situation in a corner and being the cautious one is so unlike him (but also so telling as to how unnerved he is by her being in danger once again and not wanting to do anything to make it worse) and Ellie calls him on being “so careful, cowboy” and hot damn again she really does like a man in uniform doesn’t she??? 👀🔥 and she not picky on the type of uniform either 😏 but Nick immediately deflects because he’s not *quite* ready to talk feelings so let’s get down to business about counting bullets BUT the second Ellie starts to worry again he goes into hyperdrive protective and caring boyfriend partner. Without hesitation he tells her they’re going to figure it out because goddamnit he HAS to figure this out for her. He can’t fail, again. And he’s so so SO worried about her & her mental health right now and I sincerely love it. I know Ellie doesn’t want to have that conversation but I stan (I can’t believe I’m using that word, I’m not hip enough for that word) an empathetic boyfriend who supports their significant other when facing mental health issues (like PTSD in Ellie’s case) ❤️❤️❤️ Nick breaks my heart, he wants to be there for her- wants to be the one she feels comfortable enough to open up to and he just gets so dejected when she rejects his probing again (but I don’t blame her, it’s *hard* to open up about these difficult topics), his body language slumped over the bars and tone is just so defeated even if he tries to snap back into his usual Torres self (newsflash it ain’t working bruv because she’s not totally wrong in calling you hovery). Yet naturally he gets annoyed because he JUST CARES ELLIE DAMMIT LET HIM CARE. Like you go through this entire list of him trying to protect you from everything that could go wrong because HE CARES. HE WAS TERRIFIED HE LOST YOU ELLIE. HE TRULY THOUGHT HE’D NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN. NEVER TOUCH YOU AGAIN. NEVER TELL YOU HE LOVES YOU. HE CARES. AND HE CANT LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO YOU AGAIN. HE LITERALLY WANTS TO SAVE YOU (his own words because god damn this show plays with my emotions 😭😭) FROM ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING BECAUSE HE COULDN’T SAVE YOU FROM GETTING KIDNAPPED AND HAVING TO FIGHT YOUR WAY OUT OF A PLANE RIGGED TO BLOW. Ok done with yelling for now but man this part gets me. The implications are so important even over trivial stuff. He felt helpless and Nick Torres cannot do helpless, so he tries do to everything else in his power to keep her away from any danger no matter how little it seems. Even hot coffee is too much for his precious babe and while he knows she’s not some delicate, fragile flower- he knows she can hold her own (& has called her a badass as proof), his heart can’t possibly take another explosion on an airstrip. Even if that airstrip is something like a burnt tongue. Ok I die now 😩😩😩

But let’s come back to living because this bullshit Nick “I always tell you what’s going on with me...you ask I tell you” exCUSE ME. Is this the same man who claimed he was being overprotective and that Ellie was like a sister to him?!???!! Yeah, I call bullSHIT that you tell Ellie what’s going on with you. (And Ellie calls BS too, btw buddy). 

But when Ellie finally decides to open a little I love it. I think she finally understood at least just a bit that he just, simply cares about her & her well-being. So she gives him a tiny taste of what she’s going through. And god Nick’s face when he understands the gravity of what she’s having to face mentally. Like I know he knew but I don’t think he knew just how bad. And you can just see that hatred towards his perceived failure turning inward once again as the mood shifts in these cells to somber. Plus Ellies last comment here with them *needing* to find a way out of there- girrrrrrrl poor baby girl 😭 she’s struggling so hard right now and trying so hard to not let it show and not let it get to her but you know she’s terrified. You know she’s desperately triggered. UGH Ellie 💔💔

We cut to Ellie desperately trying to figure out a solution to getting the fuck outta there and once again my heart aches for her triggered self. Nick seems desolate and frustrated, shutting down slowly as it seems less and less likely they’ll get out. Buuuuut then the GUM. Ahahahahahah Ellieeeeeee how do you know about that last piece of gum for “breath emergencies”??? AHHHH this man’s jeans are so damn tight (& yes trust me I would know, I observe) but like also you staring at a spot on said tight jeans that’s only maybe five inches from a different outline 👀👀👀 GIRL I FEEL YOUUUU. GET. IT. Plus she knows exactly what he calls it and I freaking love that. His excuse for why he has to save it is also hilarious 🤣 his breath emergency later hmmm doubt you wanted to save it to MacGyver something Nick sooooo you got another thing in mind?? 😏 and then LMAO it’s mushy because his pants are sweaty I’m rolllllling. Your pants too tight Nick? (this is not humanly possible btw) ALSO is this why later Ellie says she expected Nick to be more sweaty??? If it is and now rewatching I kind of feel like it is, omg what a great callback on her part 🤣🤣

Nick trying to coach her on the proper way of opening the cell door is hilarious because bitch which one of you was able to move their toilet Nick 👀😂 but oh damn now it’s when shit goes downhill fast. 

Nick not being able to see anything and his frantic questioning is amazing compared to Ellies absolute panic realizing she is once again facing down a bomb. I feel like her calming breaths are a coping technique Jack has been helping her with but man kill me now, Nick’s face?? When he realizes what he thought was helplessness earlier has just shot yo exponentially??? Oof with a capital O. This poor man needs a damn drink and yet all he can have is a club soda boy I *feel you* on that (side note #letsgetthisbabyoutmybellyasap). His woman has gone and gotten herself into another bomb encounter for the second time in a week. And he CANT DO A DAMN THING ABOUT IT. Can you imagine the absolute inner (and outer, give it a sec) freak out he’s having?? He wants to save her from hot coffee for Christ’s sake and now he can’t save her from a rigged bomb. Talk about a shitty situation. 

I just love the Torres Teachable Moment little discussion. Like Nick’s smirk gets me. I really don’t think he knew she had a name for it or realized that she caught on to what he was doing (trying to help her grow as an agent without being obvious or “degrading”). And then we move on to comparing arm length and I crack up 😂 “my arms are longer than yours” and “no they’re disproportionately short for your body” HAHAHA like what the hell have you guys been doing to know this?? Do you stand *that* close together with your arms down to know their lengths comparatively and how much do you stare at Nick, Ellie? Daaaaaaamn. From his gum to his arms to his body I see you 👀 I’m not hating tho I would too 😏 I think what I loved most about this whole jail scene (aside the ending obvs) is the quick flipping back and  forth from joking & teasing to dead serious & worried. Like they’re both trying so hard to keep it above board and light- trying desperately not to think of the implications of what’s happening but then (usually Nick) those intrusive thoughts sneak through and he can’t help but redirect them back to serious. It shows their inner warrings with themselves and just how hard this is for both of them. How much they want to appear strong and unflappable but they both know deep down the whole situation is eating away at them. And Nick bringing up her standing on a bomb only moments before he tells her he’s going to shoot the wall- OOF. Ellie’s genuine terror for him injuring himself and her then not being able to do a damn thing about it because she’s standing on a FREAKING BOMB is so painful to watch. Like she’s stuttering she can’t get it out fast enough, she needs to stop him, she can’t fathom him getting hurt while she’s helpless (uh, hello there theme of the episode how have you been). Nick’s facial expressions through this scene are also so telling. He goes from “this isn’t a big deal” to “oh shit she’s panicking” to “holy shit is she going to open up, is she really talking about this” to “fuck it’s my fault she had to go through that and it’s tearing me up inside every second” to “hooooooly fuck is she about to say what I think she’s about to say?? Is she about to confirm what I know deep inside but am too afraid to say aloud?? Is it true??” And ELLIE OH ELLIE. Reliving that *has* to be hard, has to. To finally bring it up after she’s been dodging it all damn day...you know the thought of him getting seriously injured had her more than rattled. And she cracks open those cement walls around her heart so briefly, the glimpse in it provides I think a turning point for Nick. Finally seeing that it’s not just him, she’s in deep too. Even if she can’t say it, can’t say she was fighting to see him again 😩💔 he knows. She says he only has one bullet left and to save it and they’ll figure some other way with tears in her eyes my HEART. But Nick gets it. Nick gets it because he’s been in the exact same situation. His eyes as they process the implication of her words and the fear for his life running through them 🥺 his simple “ok” is so unlike his normal self, you just know he’s once again doing anything and everything he can for. Even if that means standing down and not fighting for his way (the natural instinct for him). He knows what she needs is reassurance he won’t accidentally shoot himself. So he does it 😭 But him pacing (as a man of action suddenly faced with forced inaction) & Ellie begging for an inventory over and over (a woman of logics and data faced with PTSD) is so painful. You can tell they’re both struggling and neither wants to admit it but also they both need to do something - for Nick that becomes finally deciding to shoot a foothold in the wall and for Ellie that meant trying to go over their facts again and again but suddenly she’s once again terrified Nick is going to injure himself. The one man she fought to see again might hurt or even kill himself and she can’t do a damn thing because she’s standing on a bomb for fuck’s sake. Aaaaaaand cue the blow up. Cue Nick voicing his worst fears of Ellie accidentally triggering the bomb. Cue Ellie getting defensive because she’s so damn used to be babied and treated like she can’t take care of herself. Cue the “overprotective hovery man crap” line that had me rolling on the floor (tbt ROFL). Cue Ellie calling herself a girl but Nick calling her a woman like DAMN get me where it hurts Nick- that right there is a man who respects the living hell out of this fiiiiiiine representation of a woman in front of him 🔥. Cue Ellie saying because I’m “me” like um FUCK YES IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE YOU AND HE’S TOO SCARED OF LOSING YOU ELLIE. Cue Nick finally losing his shit and getting reeeeeealllllllll like hallelujah do you hear the church bells?! Even Ellie knows to finally pause and listen. Nick never loses it on her, never. She knows this shift is serious and it’s happening. And omg his confession can I just have a moment of silence for the GROWTH.

Thank you, it needed commemorating. The same Nick who didn’t belong to a team is the Nick that is out here claiming he can’t sit idly by while the love of his life might get blown up again. He’s NOT OKAY WITH THAT AND NEITHER AM I. NOT AFTER THIS GODDAMN SCENE. His head bob accentuating just- how- important this is to him is so in character (thank you Wilmer) and theeeeeeen shoot me the way he has to fucking collect himself from almost crying. The emotion- there just aren’t words. Literally he has to look up to the sky and blink back those tears you know are threatening to fall at the thought of the woman who he still *technically* hasn’t told that he loves her could potentially die, again, for the second time in a week. So guess the hell what? He’s telling her (sort of). He’s telling her he would do anything, anything, put himself in danger’s way if it meant there was even the tiniest chance it would save her. Pardon the callback but- HE WOULD RISK HIS LIFE TO SAVE HERS. DON’T YOU REMEMBER ELLIE. YOU SAID I KNOW. DO YOU KNOW NOW. DO YOU. BECAUSE GOOD LORD CAN YOU MARRY THIS MAN ALREADY BEFORE I DIVORCE MY HUSBAND AND DO IT (jk love you honey 😘). But like damn, she knows it now. That look- she bites her lip and has tears in her own eyes at the realness she can feel even through a cement block wall. It’s a feeling she’s not used to. She isn’t used to being a person someone would literally risk death for. She doesn’t think she deserves it (sip on that like whiskey, mull it over, let it sink in & cry about it). Even if she knows she doesn’t need saving (and so does Nick), she finally realizes it isn’t about that. It isn’t about he feels like she can’t do it. It’s about the overwhelming pull that your life isn’t greater than the one you love. That love, real true love, is knowing you would do anything for that other person (and they the same) because the world would be worse off without them in it. And Nick will never be okay with a world without Ellie. Never. Their joint quiet after his confession is so powerful. There’s no claims of falsehood, there’s no trying to quip back at him, there’s no trying to stop him. It just settles into the room- into their hearts. They’ve crossed a line and it means so, so much. Nick can feel a weight lifted off his shoulders as he loads his gun and gets ready and Ellie can feel a weight settle on hers from the need to reciprocate. And not out of pity, it would be out of truth. But she knows it isn’t the right time. She knows she has to do it, and she will. She held back earlier when she couldn’t say she was fighting for Nick, but his outburst and confession gave her the courage in this scene. She finally has confirmation she means to him like he means to her. And she has to know, she has to know if he means it or if it was heat of the moment so when the dust settles she inquires, “what’s going on over there?” A pulse check. A way of asking without asking—did you mean that? And the shock of confirmation of her face as Nick, dead as a doornail serious says, “close calls make you live harder”….holy hell. That’s the moment it snaps for her, everything snaps into place—the agony he’s gone through not only this week, but the past couple years of close calls. He’s done beating around the bush, he’s living harder, he’s going all in, he’s getting what he wants. He refuses to let anything like a damn jail cell rigged to blow stand in his way. And she knows, she knows just how important she is to him. He might not have said those three words, but that phrase- that phrase was a direct window into Nick Torres’ soul. And by god I love it. 

But Nick pulling a prank on Ellie like that is also so Nick- the little shit. The genuine concern in her voice when she yells his name 😭 like dude, her worst fear, something causing ongoing trauma in her head right now is the ONE THING you decide to tease her with??? I should expect nothing less but damn that’s low 😂 her checking on his status update with Gibbs though feels like such a role reversal from earlier and it cracks me up, side note. 

When they’re getting ready to stand down the returning brother and Nick gets in position next to the wall but can’t even look ahead- he’s just staring at Ellie, oof. In that moment he’s brutally and painfully aware she can’t hide for cover. Not only can she not hide, he can’t cover her because he’s (locked in a cell but also) out of bullets. He’s once again near helpless and the woman he loves (and has now finally kind of told) is a sitting duck. Someone get this poor man a damn club soda, I repeat. 

And the little talk between the two parties- I love that Ellie takes point. Love that Nick lets her. Like damn that’s a supportive partner right there and I 👏🏼 AM 👏🏼 HERE 👏🏼 FOR 👏🏼 IT. He knows she can handle this shit and he will willingly let her. But nooooooowwwww weee gettinggggg to the goooooood paaaaaaart. 

Ok first, “good to see you” - this man has missed her face. Straight up dying to see her in the flesh. Just listening to her voice and not seeing the emotions written on her face is not enough. Seeing her alive, smiling at him, he needed it. But of course, let’s keep it light, act natural Nicholas. 

“I thought you’d be sweatier” - excUUUUSE ME ELLIE. Not only did you just call out his reference to his sweaty jeans earlier, you also WANT TO SEE HIM SWEATY DON’T YOU. THAT SMIRK SAYS YES DON’T LIE. And honestly, I don’t blame you shhhhh.

“The day is young” - can I get another excUUUUSE ME NICK. Words- they don’t- function. Because that knowing smile of hers- SHE’S OKAY WITH IT. GET YOUR MIND OUT THE GUTTER YOU TWO THERE’S A HOMICIDAL MAN UPSTAIRS. YOU’VE GOT TIME TO GET SWEATY TOGETHER TONIGHT YOU HEAR ME. THAT DAY IS YOUNG AND SO ARE YOU SO GET THOSE BRICKS AND THEN YOU CAN GET TO BANGING LATER. I just fucking can’t with their smirks. I can’t. This isn’t the normal banter, this is the fuck me banter and I’m okay with it. Because right after the I-wanna-get-in-your-sweaty-jeans banter we have Ellie putting her HAND ON HIS GD HIP AS HE PASSES ONLY TO MOVE UP TO BOTH SHOULDERS. AND THEEEEEEEN HOLY HELL SOMEONE LIGHT A MATCH BECAUSE THIS BITCH ABOUT TO EXPLODE FROM SEXUAL TENSION. Is it possible to rewatch this scene a thousand times in slo-mo and still not have watched it enough? Because that is me. That will always be me. How are they so in tandem, so in sync as they look up mere inches from each other- directly into the other’s eyes knowing exactly how serious this situation is and yet pausing to freaking gaze longingly (read: have eye sex) at each other. And I’m sorry Nick looks down at her lips like three times??? For a good while too?? Sir nothing you said required you to look there. nothing. And also there’s no way his hands aren’t on her I thiiiiiiink they’re on her upper arms (based on the last shot as he’s walking to get the bricks) but like hold her tight Nick please. Also while Ellie doesn’t look at his lips (in this scene) holy shit those are some come-hither eyes if I’ve ever seen them. “I’m sure” ABOUT YOU. SHE’S SURE ABOUT YOU NICK. SHE’S SURE SHE’S READY TO GET SWEATY WITH YOU NICK. Like literally, this girl had been leaning up against the cement wall for a looooong time before he has to pass her and now, NOW that Nick has to pass her- SHE STANDS UP TALL. TO GIVE HIM NO SPACE. WHILE SHE’S STANDING ON A BOMB. BITCH YOU WANTED IT. That was a damn power move Ellie and I am not mad about it. She so easily could have leaned back, given him a ton of space to get around, but nooooooo she stands right there, middle of the tight opening and says yes Nick come get 1mm from my face, touch me here, touch me there, touch me everywhere don’t care 👀 while you pass. I’m sure I’m okay with it because you’ve just eye fucked me and it’s exactly what I wanted. And I mean come oooooooon just the underlying emotion behind both of their words. Nick isn’t just asking if she won’t move her foot- it’s his way of asking if she’s ok and she looks SO much better, more relaxed now that he’s with her. The tense, anxiety-ridden Ellie that was asking for inventory or snapping about him being overprotective, is now at ease despite still standing on said bomb- all because Nick is right there with her and if that doesn’t make you 🥺😭 I don’t know what will. Like she can’t even take her eyes off of him even after rude brother interrupts this gold moment of theirs until Nick has already completely turned his head towards the dude. She’s just so relieved to see him standing there, so close to her, feeling his warmth underneath her hands again. 

Side note to prove my earlier point, when Nick casually reaches through to throw the bags of bricks through the door Ellie is leaning on the wall and THERE’S SO MUCH ROOM. HE COULD HAVE EASILY PASSED. 

Nick looks like he literally wants to murder the guy, enraged that he’s the one who put Ellie in this situation again. We would’ve seen swan!Nick if it wasn’t for Ellie choosing this moment to finally share her feelings. Because remember- she’d decided she was going to reciprocate but knew it wouldn’t come off the right way before. Now’s the time. Now when the immediate threat to their lives is gone (excluding bomb of course). Now when they’re alone, they’re together, and she can look him in the eye so he knows she’s serious. He can read the truth in her eyes rather than doubt her words said across a jail cell wall. 

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you” - well damn that got your attention didn’t it Nick??? So used to putting Ellie first, putting yourself second its weird to hear it come from someone else isn’t it? That someone is worried for your safety? That someone needs you living and breathing just as much as you need them doing the same? His eyes immediately change from Imma kill this man to did I just hear this woman right. 

“I’m not okay with you getting blown up either” - first off, the parallelism is what makes this absolute *chef’s kiss* because Nick has literally zero chance of being blown up if he runs after this dude. Shot? Yes. But blown up? No. Ellie has chosen these words precisely to call back to what Nick said earlier. To make sure he’s aware she understood the weight of his earlier confession and is making the same one. They are on equal footing- their feelings are not only reciprocated but just as strong as the other. She could’ve said anything else but choosing his exact words was so poignant in the moment. It’s like the difference between saying “I love you” & “I love you too” compared to “I love you” & “I really care about you.” And the way she says it with such confidence, she isn’t playing around, she didn’t even *have* to bring up their previous conversation, she’s got determination etched across her face with a ghost of a smile on her lips. She means this, and it’s dying to bust out of her. And so the shock to Nick’s system is quite frankly understandable. This is Ellie - someone who hours ago didn’t even want to tell him who she was trying to make a phone call to. Ellie who has walls the size of Mt. Everest erected around her heart. Ellie who could have brushed off his earlier comments said from the safety of a cement wall between them. But no. This Ellie is all-in, she’s ready to own up to her side. She’s ready to lay it on the line just like him. Equal footing. If Nick is ready to jump, then so is she. And he’s just so taken aback- glancing at her lips, blinking through the shock as he processes. Processes the weight of her words on their relationship. He knows he could laugh it off, make a joke about his superhuman strength not allowing him to get blown up, or he could man up and take them both forward. Ellie doesn’t even flinch under his stare, if anything she becomes more confident, more resolute in her words and her stance. Her eyes searching his for what his reaction will be and for a brief moment I swear there’s a tiny bit of worry, a tiny bit of unease that he wasn’t ready for her to repeat his words back to him. 

“Well, what are we gonna do about that?” Oh YOU HEARD. That smirrrrrrrrk Nicholas stop iiiiiit, Eleanor’s standing on a bomb you don’t need to light her on fire!! Because this is a challenge, a goddamn challenge. Staring straight into her soul saying, “oh you want me and I want you? How about we blow this popsicle stand and go get fucking sweaty ok? Because that’s what I want to do about that 👀🔥🔥🔥” and not only is the smirk sexy as hell but it’s also got this glint of elation. Like he could not be happier she said those words back to him. That he finally took Ziva’s advice, wasn’t a wuss and WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT IT PAID OFF. But his words also tell of a little nervousness. And not necessarily in a bad way, more as in a leaving it to her way. Putting her in the driver’s seat of this relationship knowing it’s where she’ll feel most comfortable. Given all she’s been through, like all of it not just the past week, he knows that she needs to be in control of how fast they move. And once again his chivalry and thoughtfulness of her is just- I cry. He doesn’t just assault her with what they should do next, he leaves it for her to decide. For her to weigh in on how far and how fast she wants to take them. And by the little shy smile Ellie gives him- she knows what he means. She knows her words have hit their mark and that he respects her enough to let her lead the way. And now she has to make her decision, a decision we DON’T GET TO SEE BUT I’M NOT BITTER IT’S FINE. But a decision nonetheless. 

I honestly go two ways on this- the most obvious of hell yes they kissed right then and there and started *something* and then the bitter realistic one of they were probably interrupted by Gibbs (who was literally outside like right then based on timing) but also may have just continued to stare into each other’s eyes- still slightly taken aback by everything they just shared and what it means for them. Still unsure of how they “work” as people who *love* each other, not just partners. Having that reality sink in as they continue to face off and wait for a rescuer. That reality sinking in could lead to obviously very good things (that we better see on our screen or I will fucking riot) or a slight nervous closing-off. Like not quite closed off closed off, but a tiny retreat when the gravity of the day falls down on both of them. I don’t think either will believe they only said what they did because of the situation/moment they were in, but it’s still a lot to deal with after all is said and done. I sincerely hope they unpack this in the coming episodes and give us some direction of what happened after that jail cell scene. 

I love the Torres told McGee about what happened today and I’m so curious about how much detail he told him lol but I also love that McGee has now received genuinely good advice from Torres twice now (the one about the reunion and now this). Just goes to show you the brotherly bond they have ❤️ but also that the advice was the same advice he literally lived out that day. Close calls make you live harder, almost as an affirmation to himself (Nick about what happened), but as something he knew McGee needed to hear too- they all do. 

And then this bullpen scene - one, how far of a time jump is this and whyyyyyyy won’t they telllll meeeeee. They hate me. Two, Ellie coming over so close just to hand off a file that he doesn’t even look at 👀 three, THEIR SMIRKS. WHAT DO THEY MEAN. Because Nick is holding back the world’s biggest smile as Ellie gets close to him and Ellie is just all nonchalantly checking him out with a brief eye-sex scene. Like damn this fine man doesn’t want me to blow up and I don’t want him to blow up either 🔥 Now does this mean they absolutely got together and did the nasty after they got out of that cell? Of course not. We can only dream, and write fics. This ending scene is very reminiscent of what NCIS loves to do with their power of open-ended persuasion at the end of an ep, see On Fire for example. The ending music and comments combined with the shot of Gibbs leaving in the elevator is literally there to try and persuade you that he killed Xavier. In this ep, the ending music and voiceover combined with their looks at each other is there to try and persuade you they totally got it oooooon. Not to say they didn’t, but I don’t trust NCIS one damn bit. 

All in all, cannot *wait* to see where they take ellick the rest of the season. Emily hyped this ep and man, she did NOT disappoint. Let’s see that shift that is going to ripple for the rest of the season now like Wilmer promised 🤞🏼

Oh and my only side note because this was insanely insanely long and if you’re still reading I’m proud of you for hanging in there with me & my screams into the void, send me an ask screaming back it’s ok I’ll love you for it—waaaas the whole team poking fun at Torres for using the word notable was downright hilarious. That and Gibbs trying to do everything himself, I can’t. Comedic gold. I love. I would go from dying of laughter to intense emotions so fast in this ep I got whiplash and for that, I am thankful to Gina. She always delivers 🔥

[astrovian]

the official ranking of RA photoshoot outfits (pt. 1)

as @dykethorin​ said when I first proposed doing this particular ranking,  “Some real Decisions™️ were made” with these shoots y’all

all photoshoot outfits (for part one) under the cut

the official ranking of Daniel Miller outfits here

the official ranking of Adam Price outfits here

the official ranking of Claude Becker outfits here

guys, I’m crying with laughter

hey quick question: what the fuck was this photoshoot??? (and also I need current RA in these poses)

it’s real nice to see a fun, loosey-goosey RA (before he established himself in the broody-character archetype) but there are so many questionable fashion choices here

when I started this list I had two options:

1)     allow some leeway to the older photoshoots because, let’s be real, the early 2000s were an atrocious time for fashion that a lot of us would most rather forget we participated in

2)     judge them by today’s standards, which is harsh but some of these outfits deserve it

naturally, I chose option #2

It’s so hard to even pick where to start. the too-loose pants? the ill-fitting suit jacket? The untucked dress shirt that is for some god-forsaken reason undone in two separate directions??

I have chosen one thing that sums the outfit up as a whole: what monster decided to put the shirt collar over the suit jacket????

the jazz hands scream “hey I’m a FUN guy” but the suit screams “I’m the yo-pro asshole at the office who is so unreliable you’re pretty sure some nepotism must surely have had an influence during the hiring process”

I originally said ‘I guess we should be glad there’s no surfer necklace’ but then I had the horrifying realisation that it’s a 50/50 shot as to whether that would improve this outfit or make it worse. and you know when there’s even slimmest chance a surfer necklace could improve an outfit somehow that it’s time to take a good hard look at yourself

1/10 just because this photoshoot made me genuinely laugh out loud

wait I’m sorry, what-

how on god’s green earth is this the same photoshoot (?) as guys, I’m crying with laughter????

the great thing about these lists is that you are getting my genuine reactions as I progress down the images. I had no idea this was the same photoshoot (?) until approximately 10 seconds after writing guys, I’m crying with laughter

this perfectly encapsulates the duality of man – one moment it’s all goofy jazz hands and the next it’s a hunk-of-the-week moment

this man and guys, I’m crying with laughter are the equivalent of looking at pictures of yourself in high school vs. in your 20s/30s/at your prime. the whiplash is insane

and why is he in front of barred windows?? it appears they were afraid of what would happen if this hunk escaped into the general population

I still can’t believe they kept the collar over the suit jacket though

I’m so conflicted guys, the urge to numerically rank this terrible outfit is strong but uh… as per usual shirtless ones aren’t fair/10

revenge of the killer surfer necklace

do you ever look back at a specific moment in time and are so thankful that someone took one tiny action? one small thing they did in the heat of the moment that probably seemed innocuous at the time but had far-reaching consequences? for example, it might something as simple as deciding to take a umbrella on a bright sunny day only for it to be extremely useful on the way home when the weather turns

this is how I feel about the person who decided RA could leave that top button closed for this shoot

if you squint, you can see the surfer necklace under that top button. and thank god you have to squint

this is such an early 2000s look though. that shirt by itself is fine and would actually look killer with a properly fitted suit nowadays. it’s the shirt dress and loose denim look with makes no sense to me

2/10 for a pretty uninspiring early 2000s outfit

revenge of the uh… 

from the same shoot as revenge of the killer surfer necklace this loses .1 of a mark for adding a jacket, while pretty innocuous, to an already busy outfit

1.9/10

were we really that afraid of legs?

why were we, as a society, so obsessed with loose, ill-fitting pants? why were we so desperate to conceal legs from the general population? what secrets were we trying to hide? I understand the comfort factor on the hand, but on the other did anyone actually have eyes

the sneakers/suit combo I can definitely live with. but those pants (that I’m convinced must be pyjama pants in another life) turns it all into a sloppy, blurry mess

2.7/10

is it a bird? is it a plane? no, it’s… a floating RA?

what is it about photoshoots in the early 2000s where they just make no damn sense. it’s my opinion that the theme/concept of a shoot should not overshadow the subject, and that’s the correct opinion (as well as being the exact opposite as to what’s happening here)

maybe there was a hint or reason as to why floating wizard RA exists in the article that this shoot presumably came with, but I don’t get it. clearly I’m far too literal of a person and need to embrace my inner artist

looks pretty, still weird

moving on the entire point of this post, the outfit, I uh,… oh god

I’m pretty sure this the same (and similar, if not) outfit RA wore in the North & South behind-the-scenes, and how we as a society went from John Thornton’s stiff collar and top hat to this is amazing

maybe we were so obsessed with period dramas back then because it was a nice alternative to indulge our eyes in when we had to face the harsh, cold reality of modern fashion at the time

anyway – trust me, while I am all for a man in a necklace, let’s pray surfer necklaces never come back 2.9/10

I genuinely was looking up “pinstriped jacket jokes” because I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head but then I realised I don’t need a joke here because pinstriped jackets are a joke all by themselves

I feel like there may be a situation where pinstriped suit jackets might grow on me, but this is not that situation

also I don’t really know where I stand on the belt, but I certainly think I’m leaning towards the ‘why’ part of the scale. if you’re gonna make a belt that prominent in a photoshoot, at least make it a fun belt

3/10

I’m noticing a trend in these photoshoots and it’s these horrific backgrounds

I will admit that the non-patterned suit jacket is going with the jeans a lot better here. but now that my attention isn’t focused on that, all I can see are the dress shoes. WHY DID YOU PUT DRESS SHOES WITH STRAIGHT-LEGGED JEANS???

please someone I am begging you, can we as a society get to tapered jeans already

3.3/10

did RA genuinely ever get put into any clothes that actually fitted him properly at this point in time?

look, I know I’ve been picking on the bootcut jeans & loose attire that plagued us in the early 2000s (or 2006, to be specific to this photoshoot). what can I say, it’s the low-hanging fruit. or loose-hanging, as the case may be

I do appreciate that rich brown leather jacket and that smile. but that’s where it stops. someone take dress shirts and dress shoes away from bootcut denim PLEASE

3.5/10

this is the bad-boy from your hometown in every rom-com ever

as with well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of below, the lower rating is simply because from what we can see, it’s just a plain shirt. however, that dipped v-neck? mm-mmm

look at that smirk. this man knows what he’s doing to us, dammit.

why do you persist in hurting us this way 4/10 

well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of

god bless the person who said we need this shirt wet and clinging and only half-soaked

I’m so sad that I have to give this such a low ranking because uh… we’ve established I have a weakness for those biceps

this does also get bonus points for the creativity of “only this portion of your shirt needs to be wet for your close-up” but at the end of the day it is a solitary grey t-shirt even if it is floating in an attractive sea of muscles

4.5/10

the photographer really said ‘who gives a crap about the clothes’, huh?

an interesting shirt! but as much as I love RA’s face, we should be able to see more of the shirt (and the outfit) because uh… it’s hard to make a judgement call on a photoshoot outfit without that

also, it’s just so hard to concentrate on some of these with RA staring into my soul like that

*sigh* 4.6/10

hello sir, are you as kinky as your shirt?

this is one of the few occasions on which I will give the bootleg baggy jeans a pass. interesting choice to go shoeless for all outfits in this shoot – but the way the shirt is all crumpled is annoying me an incessant amount. I am begging you, someone pass this stylist an ironing board PLEASE

4.7/10 for a crinkle-cut RA

all that’s missing is the beer cans

I’m not sure of the short sleeves here. I think with the shirt open as well my brain doesn’t know where to look

HOWEVER, this is an RA from the early 2000s that I can get behind – largely because he’s not drowning in his denim

the nice, plain belt which matches with the shirt? excellent

interesting choice to go with the bare feet – this entire look (and the quality of that concrete floor) screams ‘we’re chilling at a summer party in your parent’s basement in the early 2000s’ if not for one thing – that couch is way too nice looking. am I being too pedantic about this? no. If you’re gonna go for the whole basement party look, you need a couch that’s falling apart and has at least one questionable stain on it

that being said, I would hang out in this man’s basement

it’s a shirtless one so once again, I cannot give a numerical answer/10

I’m not sure if this man is dangerous or is just an idiot

they may have been wanting RA to embrace his inner Daniel Miller here but that is NOT a jacket that should have its collar popped or if it is, it definitely should not be popped that much. just turn the intensity of that pop down by… at least 35%

this look is telling me to embrace my inner lacy, ruffled collar that men in England used to wear around the 1500 - 1600s. I hate it and refute it with every part of my soul

this is what happens when you embrace your inner Daniel a little bit too much 5.6/10

the return of the leg monster

not much to say about this except once again we are terrified to put RA’s legs into well-fitted pants. what secrets are hiding underneath those voluminous billows? will we ever know?

5.8/10

the one that crushed my hopes and dreams and then spat on my corpse

so I admit it, I got really excited because I thought that this was a leopard print shirt and I was like “this is something I did NOT know that I needed until right now”, even if I would argue that it could have been nice in a little bit of a brighter colour. no matter, I thought it was a nice subtle addition to this plain suit and was just very excited at the prospect of RA rocking leopard print even though I almost always hate leopard print in single every form it comes in

and then. upon zooming. a disappointing paisley. sorry, paisley lovers. I hate it

I would also argue here that the pocket square would have been nice in a plain, bright colour rather than another patterned item thrown into the mix. come on stylists, stop letting me down with your pocket squares

also if there is a point where a suit can be too shiny, I think we’ve found it. I could wax floors with that fabric and I’d rather be thinking about RA’s talent & good looks rather than imagining him being used as a human mop

the hand porn is uh… strong with this one 6/10

the hand porn one

the ring is a nice subtle touch but I can’t decide where I stand on this tie. for me, the checks are just a *wee* tad too small. so small that it I’m scared it will turn into one of those optical illusions with a number in it if I stare at it the tie for too long

the pocket square could also have not tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the suit jacket. give me some colour, baby!

Richard really needs to put his hand down so I can actually concentrate on the clothes 6.5/10

 I’m just dotty for this one (I’m so sorry y’all)

so suave. so shiny. I wanna stroke that fabric so bad, it looks so soft

the dots bring a nice yet understated touch to a monotone outfit and GOOD LORD those thighs

they just had to pose him like this to torture us, I’m convinced. also they call him a “commanding gentleman” in the subtitle which is really just unnecessary to verbalise when he’s sitting like this

Someone put me in a rom-com with this man 7.2/10

the modern magician (at least he ain’t floating this time)

I know that the hat should be the focus of this shoot but I can’t get over those shoes

tangentially related, I have never understood why they make men’s dress shoes so excessively long and pointed. these certainly aren’t a good example of this but uh… I don’t understand why men’s dress shoes are clown shoes

I think part of what’s throwing me off is the sockless look. normally I can handle (and even love) it with some shoes but there’s something about the hem of those jeans and those shoes that turn them into slippers when worn sockless

I love the two-tone scarf but what really excites me is the plaid shirt that we can barely see. I’m eternally sad that they had RA hid it in this pose. and also, come one. you could’ve at least gotten a chair with an actual back to it. that can’t be good for his back at all

the one bonus of this outfit is the hat because when do we ever get RA in hats?? and hats that aren’t baseball caps?? a nice, rare touch. but also one which hides most of that face so…

can we talk about the fact that my gut tells me those jean cuffs have been deliberately turned up at the front and all I want in life is to reach into this image and flip them down 7.5/10

*pterodactyl noises*

holy macaroni. that demin shirt. and this shirt’s even a nice lighter denim colour??? and the v-neck?? SIR

I know he’s worn some faux-denim shirts in the last few years (see: Uncle Vanya rehearsal pics) but as outerwear? knocked it out of the park in this one

also I know this is a shirt not a jacket, but this shirt made me think about how I never realised how much I needed RA in jean jackets until today

It could be argued that a nice crew neck cut would work slightly better than the v-neck but that’s really a personal choice

a lovely respite for my weary eyes 7.7/10

a truly, truly blessed image. the sort of image that would bring you endless good luck

I know I’ve given a lot of pants crap on this list but these. these are the ones. these are doing the lord’s work for sure. and god bless the person who decided to shoot from this particular side angle.

and then the shirt?? I’m honestly afraid it may rip if he moves. I could leave or take the tie though. it’s not adding a whole lot to this outfit and I would much rather that shirt be uh… open at the top for a glimpse of uh… well. you know.

this RA outfit laughs in the face of all those early 2000s RA outfits 8.1/10

me running to open my phone every time an RA-related notification pops up

my only sadness is that this shoot was in black & white. we need more action-shot RA shoots!

also the subtle plaid?? *chef’s kiss*

well, I said ‘my only sadness’ but is it also me or are both ends of that tie strangely square? that is throwing me off from an otherwise spectacular photoshoot outfit, I won’t lie

8.5/10 for a man of action

this is what we all like to think we look on the way to work. hate to break it to ya - we don’t

god, that wind-ruffled hair. the rustic look provided by both the suit material & the photo editing. that stare over the top of that coffee mug. the casual ‘I just picked up the paper on my way out this morning’

words fail me

would it be weird if I said I would pay money to be able to run my hands through anyone’s hair that looks as soft and wind-swept as that 8.9/10

the comfiest RA

I love. love. love this outfit, especially the sweater. the pant colour goes extremely well with this one and I’m so glad they didn’t just stick him in jeans. the is the softest, comfiest RA and I love it. this is an RA who you can simultaneously share a beer and takeaway with at home, cuddling up on the sofa while you watch a film, as well as an RA who will take you out to eat fancy pasta at an upscale restaurant.

the choice of sitting on a stool is also great. my only real gripe here is the watch (and even that’s a minor one, really). the watch isn’t THAT bad, but it’s chunky face reminds me slightly of the watches boys in my class would wear in middle school. the watch could be a *wee wee tad* slicker, but really, I’m nitpicking here (and this is the only time I will admit to it)

the more I look at it, the more this becomes one of my fav RA pics. the slight smile. the relaxed pose. the hint of hand porn

weirdly, for some reason this picture gives me the exact same comfy and ‘just chilling out’ feeling as when I hear the song “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer 9.5/10

[shadow-assassin-blix]

A Picture is a Poem Without Words

CHAPTER 11

A/N: Alright. Um. Let’s see. This is build up to a certain event that happens in season 2. The next chapter going to be angsty. Let’s see warnings: in the beginning there is allusions to smut, but then later on there is more detailed smut, blowjob, fingering, sex in general. 

Everything taglist: @mikeisthricedeceased​

Pacho taglist: @yungkvte​

The party lasted several more hours, the partygoers in a state of drunken oblivion that allowed Pacho and Blix to slip away quietly. The two of them drove off to his home and made their way upstairs to his room.

The two of them stripped slowly, crawling onto the bed once they were both naked.

Pacho hovered over her, brushing her hair from her face staring at her with a smirk.

“What?” She asked him, her hand running over his chest softly.

“I just… can’t believe you threatened to cartel members… over me. What did I do to deserve you?” He questioned kissing her firmly.

She kissed him back, her hand cupping his face.

She pulled away briefly to state, “Just lucky I guess.”

She returned her lips to his and they kissed for several minutes. Pacho slowly working his way down her neck and chest. He pressed several kisses to her skin, nipping here and there. Her moans were breathy as he worked.

“Luck? Hm. Not usually a believer in luck,” He muttered against her skin.

She laughed softly at him, “Hm. Don’t know what else to tell you then.”

“Fate. We were destined to find one another,” He countered looking up at her.

“Not a believer in fate or destiny. Then again… never had a reason to believe in those things,” Blix whispered.

“Maybe I’ll make a believer out of you,” Pacho said with a grin. “But first… I’m going to make sure you see stars.”

Her giggles soon turned to moans as he did just that.

The next morning, when they woke up their limbs tangled up around each other, Blix looked at him fondly. She had missed him more than she would ever say. They both quietly stretched and took a shower together. When they got dressed, and made their way downstairs, they discovered quite the crowd sitting in the living room.

Pacho’s arm was draped around her shoulders as they stepped off the stairs.

“What are y’all doing here?” Blix asked the group of men before them.

“We are here to talk business and have lunch. The two of you are late. Then again… I am sure the both of you needed to catch up,” Gilberto answered, his voice teasing.

“Mmhmm. Imma need y’all to not act like schoolgirls just cause we had sex. Most of you are married. You in particular have 3 wives. Maybe focus on your sex lives, or…. As I hear… lack thereof,” She tossed back with a smirk.

“Knife to the heart. No mercy this one,” Gilberto said putting a hand on his heart in mock pain.

Pacho took a seat on the lone chair, pulling Blix into his lap as he does so. She adjusted herself as she sat and listened to them talk about their next phases. As they talked, Navegante walked in, holding the home phone.

“It’s for you,” He said handing it to her.

She stared at him confused, wondering who the hell would call her at Pacho’s house.

“Hello?” She answered taking it from him.

“Hello Miss Lage, this is Judy Moncada. Was wondering if I could steal a few minutes of your time?” Came a feminine voice.

“Go on,” Blix urged curiously.

“I was hoping to have a meeting with the Cali, wanting to form an alliance with them. I was told that you were the one to go to make this meet happen?” Judy explained.

“Hm. Wonder who told you that? Listen, Mrs. Moncada, I’m going to need more info than just wanting an alliance. The brothers are busy, and Pacho will only meet if it is worthwhile. Cocaine is all about the sales, no? Then sale this proposition to me,” Blix prompted ignoring the looks she was receiving from everyone around her.

“Escobar has killed my husband and brother. I want him dead just as much as they do. I am willing to do whatever it takes to get that done. How’s that?” Judy replied firmly.

Blix reached over to grab the calendar and looked it over.

“How does Wednesday, at 11am sound? You get one chance Mrs. Moncada, you better come with a damn good offer,” Blix offered. “Oh. And Mrs. Moncada… I am sorry for your loss.”

“Wednesday at 11 is fine,” Judy answered. “And…. Thank you. You are one of the few people to say such.”

They hung up, and Blix wrote the meeting into the calendar before setting it back on the table.

“Judy Moncada wishes to meet with you and is willing to do whatever it takes to get revenge on Escobar,” Blix informed them, handing the phone back to Navegante.

Diego popped up suddenly with her cell before anyone could say anything.

“Your phone has been going off,” Diego tells her.

She takes it from him and answered it as it began to ring again. She hears an automated voice tell her this was a collect call from a prison in Mexico.

She followed the prompts, standing up and walking away.

She moved outside as the phone picked up.

“Miss Lage. I hear you made quite the arrest. Wanted to give my congratulations,” Came Felix Gallardo’s voice.

“Mr. Gallardo. What a pleasant surprise? Thank you, I suppose. But… I get the feeling that you have more to talk about than my work,” She was suspicious.

“Hmm. No. No hidden motives, other than wanting to see if you’d take my call. Surprised I don’t hear Pacho huffing in the background,” He teased somewhat darkly.

“Mr. Gallardo, I thank you again for the congrats, but unless there is something of actual importance you wish to say to me, I’m hanging up,” She warned her thumb hovering over the end call button.

“Do let Amado and them know… their victory will be brief. Just because I’m in jail doesn’t mean I don’t have any power. Do tell them that, to watch their backs,” He said darkly.

“As for you Miss Lage, that dress you wore? Looked beautiful on you, shame that it had to get dirty chasing down König. Oh. Before I forget… a package should be arriving for you. I do hope you like it,” Felix told her hanging up.

She stared at her phone, walking back into the living room as Diego handed her a package. There was no return address on it. She quietly opened it to find a painting of a pomegranate in a somewhat gothic style.

She stared at it noticing a quote in Latin. It said, “If I cannot move Heaven, I shall raise Hell,” and was written above the fruit, near what appeared to be a gateway painted behind it.

She pulled out the note that was at the bottom of the box.

“The descent into Hell is easy, little shark. Don’t trip, for the monsters will descend upon you. You are becoming quite the Queen of Darkness; I am sad I will not get to witness your descent. – Felix”

She stared at the note, noticing her hand was shaking as she held it. It slipped from her fingers, and she stared blankly at the floor.

Pacho stepped over to her, looking concerned. He picked up the note, and took the artwork with firm hands, looking at them briefly. He tossed them onto the coffee table and stood in front of Blix, lifting her chin up.

“He was the one who called?” he waited for her nod, “Do not accept his calls anymore, okay?”

She simply nodded again, clearing her throat.

“What does this mean? Why is Gallardo sending you this?” Amado questioned looking at the items.

“That day… in the hotel, the art auction? I quoted Horace. He was a Roman poet. Satirist. He became friends with Virgil, another famous poet. The quotes… those are his. The Pomegranate is a symbol of Persephone, a goddess of spring who became the Queen of the Underworld when she married Hades,” She explained motioning to each piece of the message.

“It’s a warning. That even someone as pure Persephone could fall,” Pacho surmised.

Blix nodded at his guess.

“He wanted me tell you to watch your backs. That he still has power despite being in jail,” She informed Amado sitting back down.

Amado scoffed muttering under his breath. Blix stood up again and walked down to her library. She needed some space and a moment to breathe.

She took a seat at her window nook and sighed softly. She was left alone for a good hour, when Pacho stepped into check on her.

“Lunch is ready, would you like to eat in here, or would you be okay with eating with us? Amado and the others have already left. It’s just Gilberto, Miguel, and Chepe,” He quietly informed her.

She looked at him, slowly making her way to him.

“Would love it… if we could just have one day free of drama. Just one,” She pleaded as she wrapped her arms around him.

“I know. I’m sorry, my love,” Pacho whispered to her, returning her embrace.

The two of them walked out, toward the dining room, joining the others for lunch.

The rest of the day went by in a blur and soon enough it was the next day.

She woke up, simply throwing a robe on not wanting to get dressed yet. She wandered downstairs, vaguely aware that it was oddly quiet.

She made her way into the kitchen where Pacho was cooking.

“Well. This is quite the sight,” She commented as she stared at him.

He smirked up at her, motioning for her to sit, as he focused on the meal.

“Where is everyone? It’s oddly quiet,” She looked around noticing she couldn’t even see guards patrolling.

He simply presented breakfast to her, pancakes and bacon, simply telling her to eat.

She does as requested staring at him with suspicion. Once she had finished, he took the plate away, washing it off, and putting it in the dish-machine.

“Today, it is just going to be me and you. The guards are still here, just further away. I thought you and I could go for a drive around town. Spend time together,” Pacho finally spoke.

Blix smiled at that, nodding her head. She got up from her seat and went upstairs to get dressed. She got dressed in some jeans and a cute halter top, throwing on some flats. She wandered back downstairs once she was ready, meeting Pacho in the garage. He held open the door to his green Porsche, bowing dramatically.

Blix laughed at his bow, thanking him in an overly posh voice as she stepped in.

The two of them drove into town, just enjoying each other’s company. They stopped occasionally to go shop or explore an area. It was nice to just relax and talk about random things. He drove her to his old neighborhood, showed her where he and Alvaro grew up.

“Remind me one day, to take you to New York and meet my family there. I am sure you would enjoy it,” Blix said as she held his hand.

“Hm. May have to take you up on that. So, what would you like to do now?” He asked her as they continued driving around.

She bit her lip as a thought came to mind.

“… How long do we have the house to ourselves?” She asked with a flirty smile.

“All day,” He replied simply with a smirk.

She leaned over resting her chin on his shoulder, kissing him randomly. Her hand slid over onto his thigh, squeezing it briefly. He sucked in a breath as her hand moved over to the growing bulge in his pants, rubbing it firmly.

“Darling…” He breathed, his hands clenching on the steering wheel.

“Yes, dear? Something the matter?” She said coyly as her hand continued their ministrations.

He pulled her hand away, holding it tightly in his, “You’re going to make me crash.”

Blix gave him a Cheshire-like grin and simply held his hand.

They drove home and made their way upstairs to his room. She made him sit down and straddled his hips. The both of them had long kicked off their shoes. She undid his pants, and he helped her by shoving them and his boxers off. She slid to her knees, positioning herself in between his legs.

She ran her hands her up and down his length, enjoying the soft breathy moans that were escaping him. She leaned forward, running her tongue over the tip, before slowly taking him into her mouth. She took as much as she could tolerate into her mouth, her hands taking care of the rest.

She bobbed her head up and down, moving slowly and purposefully at first, before picking up speed which caused several groans and grunts to escape Pacho lips. Sounds that she absolutely loved to hear.

Pacho at some point stopped her, gently motioning for her to pull away. He kissed her deeply, leaning down to her as he unbuttoned his shirt. She slipped out of her jeans, breaking the kiss for a second to also toss her shirt off, as he dragged her back onto the bed.

Her bra flew off at some point, and Pacho ripped her underwear off without care. Blix was lying on her back, as Pacho moved down to between her legs, and return the favor. His fingers dipped in and out, teasingly. He began to firmly thrust them inside her, while his thumb brushed over her clit firmly.

His mouth moved to replace his thumb, his tongue lavishing it sweetly. She could feel the pleasure building up swiftly and just before she could come, he pulled away. She whined at that, glaring down at him. He kissed his way back up to her lips, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lined himself up and slid in.

She moaned at the fullness she felt as he seated himself deeply. She rocked her hips, wanting him to move.

“Impatient, are we? Perhaps I should teach you some better manners? Only good girls get what they want,” Pacho teased, still not moving.

“Pacho. Move, please,” She pleaded softly with an exaggerated pout.

He chuckled at that, “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

He began thrusting, long and powerful movements that led to short fast paced ones. It didn’t quite matter the speed at that point, the both of them were so turned on, that neither of them were going to last very long.

They reached their peaks in no time flat and collapsed in each other’s arms. Pacho began to pull out, when Blix stopped him.

She quietly told him to just stay, and he does so, resting his weight against her body softly.

He gently brushed her hair out of her face, pressing kisses randomly to her cheeks.

“How are you feeling my love?” He gently asked kissing her chin.

“Quite well. Today was very nice, thank you,” She tells him sweetly.

“Hm. It’s not over just yet, I have a lovely dinner planned for us this evening. The chefs are working on it as we speak. I plan to woo you,” Pacho said with a smile. “In fact, I think we should go take a bath.”

Pacho pulled away from her slowly, pulling her along with him, to his large jacuzzi-like bathtub. He turned the water on and threw some bath salts and threw in some bubble bath mix. When the water was a decent level, the both of them stepped in; Blix settled with her back against his chest, resting between his legs.

They turned the water off eventually, just relaxing. Pacho peppered her neck in kisses and bites as they sat.

“So… what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” She eventually asked, turning her head to look at him.

“Mh. Not much, I have to go check on some locations. Make sure security is running properly. Would you like to join me?” He offered her.

“If you are comfortable with it, sure. Apparently, I am the go between,” Blix said with a snicker.

Pacho chuckled as well, kissing her cheek.

“Wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t comfortable with it. Diego will be with us,” Pacho informed her.

Blix nodded, yawning as she was hit with a wave of exhaustion.

“Hm. Should get out soon, dinner may be ready by now. Don’t want you falling asleep at the table,” Pacho teased.

The two of them stepped out, rinsing off before they threw on some underwear and robes. They didn’t feel the need to get too dressed up, since it was going to just be the two of them. They ate and quietly talked about nothing.

Once they had finished, they stepped out on to the covered patio, sitting outside to listen to the soft sounds of the rain.

“Did you ever figure out how your father was able to get pass security?” She asked wanting to know.

“Paid off one of the security guards to create a distraction somewhere on the grounds. That guard has since… been disposed of. No more troubles on that end,” Pacho assured her, holding her hand in his.

She nodded her head, leaning against him.

She tiredly tells him, “Haven’t gotten to tell you but uh… I got promoted.”

He turned and looked at her with surprise, a proud smile growing on his face.

“Well. Actually, I was offered any office in the world… but… I decided to stay here. So, I was promoted to be the new lead supervisor here in Colombia,” She explained further.

“Any office in the world? And you chose to stay here? Why’s that?” He questioned curiously.

“Hmm. Don’t know… Could be there’s this really hot guy I’m seeing?” She said teasingly.

“Oh? Really? Do I know this guy?” He asked joining her little joke.

“Think so. Brown hair and eyes, a face so pretty I want to punch it every now and again because of it, a lovely smile that he doesn’t show very often. He tends to be a bit overprotective, but I still love him. Sound familiar?” She listed with a smile.

“Mmhmm. Indeed. Sounds like a pretty good reason to stay,” Pacho replied kissing her cheek.

“That and I quite like Cali. Didn’t think I would when I came here but it’s grown on me,” Blix revealed thinking back to when she first came here.

Pacho raised an eyebrow curiously, motioning for her to elaborate.

“I was previously located in Greece and I loved it there. Thought about actually taking a permanent position there but there was greater need here in Colombia. So, I followed orders as a dutiful agent would. I hated everything. The heat, the humidity, the bugs. Working with men who thought I was a damsel in distress 24/7. It was awful,” She recalled scrunching her nose a bit.

“What wound up changing your mind?” Pacho inquired staring at her incredulously.

“Honestly? Horacio. Granted, he too was a bit reserved about me coming onboard here. He eventually realized that I could hold my own and became a bit like an older brother to me,” She explained softly. “I had a really bad habit in working so much that I would forget to eat, and he noticed that. Would check in on me and if I couldn’t recall when I ate last, he made me stop working immediately and go get food.”

Pacho nodded in understanding, “So, he was the first one to sort of welcome you to the country and made it more bearable?”

Blix nodded in response, “Yeah. He would invite me over to his home and have dinner with his family. He treated me like family and made my first year here more tolerable.”

“Which is why you got so upset when I suggested you two were together when we had that first lunch together that day. I see my mistake,” He said with a nod as he thought back to the second time they met.

She chuckled at that with a firm nod.

As the rain began to pick up, they made their way back inside and upstairs, back to bed. Blix felt a dull pain in her shoulder that was slowly building. She moved her arm back and forth, trying to work out the stiffness that was forming. Pacho motioned for her to lay down on the bed, on her stomach.

She shrugged off the robe, doing as requested, tucking her arms under the pillow. She felt him sidle up next to her on the bed, and felt his hands slowly run over her back. His hands began to massage her back, working out the knots he found. She groaned every time he worked on a spot that was particularly tight.

The impromptu massage was so relaxing that she wound up falling asleep. Pacho finished, smiling at the soft snores he could hear coming from her. He made a few phone calls to make sure everything was good to go for tomorrow’s meeting before lying back down next to Blix.

He laid on his side, admiring her, his fingertips running over the many scars he could see. He fell asleep, smiling briefly when he felt her move closer to him, seeking his warmth.

The next morning, the clouds had cleared away, showing a bright sunny day. She woke up to the sun on her face, and Pacho still asleep behind her. She sat up with ease, sighing quietly as she realized the massage had made sure she didn’t wake up tense.

She grabbed one of his shirts, throwing it on haphazardly as she got up and made her way to her bedroom to change. She threw on some dark wash jeans and a tank top. She stepped into some cowboy boots knowing they were going to meet at the ranch, and she had planned to ride Phobos while they spoke.

Despite having not talked to Pacho for a month, she still made trips out to the ranch to see Phobos. She always felt better after spending some time with him, whether it was going for rides or simply grooming him.

She walked downstairs, hearing movement and found Diego with a few of the guards talking quietly.

“Hello Diego. What’s happening?” Blix asked him, wondering why everyone was acting strangely.

“Escobar escaped prison last night and is apparently on a bit of rampage,” Diego informed her.

“Shit,” Blix said as she walked over to her bag with her phone.

She had a few missed calls, and as she answered them, she was given more details. DEA found out that Escobar had created a palace and had proof of it, but the ambassador wouldn’t do anything with it. So, they went to a local news station and gave them the info which led to public outrage. Which then led to an investigation at the prison that went awry, and Escobar escaped.

“Javi… You have the worst luck,” Blix said to him when he recounted everything to her on the phone.

“Yeah. I know. But the President is embarrassed and wants this fixed. There’s been talk that he may be bringing Carrillo back,” He said with a sigh.

“Good. He didn’t deserve to be shipped off to Spain anyway. It would be nice to see him again,” She said mostly to herself.

“Heh. I’ll keep ya update if they decide to bring him back,” He promised before hanging up.

She had wandered into the kitchen when she was making the calls, taking a few bites of an arepas filled with eggs. She munched on it as she returned the living room, smiling when she saw Pacho up and dressed for the day.

As she stood next to him, he stole a bite from her arepas causing her to gasp dramatically.

“How rude? Is mine,” She pouted as he tried to take another bite. “Diegoooo! Make him stoopp!”

Diego laughed at her plea, shaking his head.

She begrudgingly shared her food with him as they made their way to the cars. The trip to the ranch didn’t take long, and as Pacho got security set up for when the brothers arrived, Blix and Diego went over to the stalls.

Diego saddled up a horse as a stable hand brought Phobos out to her, ready to go. She gave him a couple of pets, cooing to him, before mounting him. Once Diego was ready to go, the two of them took a stroll around the property.

“So, what’s been happening since you decided to disappear on us?” Diego asked curiously.

Blix told him about her promotion and her decision to stay here. Diego raised an eyebrow at that.

“Hm. Staying here eh? You going to stick around with us then? Or you going to continue pretending you are a good girl?” He asked in a joking manner.

She snorted at that, “Yeah. My role has basically become a desk job. My second, Theo, he is taking over the active missions. I have no true need for my place now. Would it bother you if I wound up taking a more permanent residence here?”

“No, actually I wouldn’t mind it at all. Pacho tends to act more rationally when you are around. When I say we all tried for well over an hour to get him to have his hand properly looked at the party, I mean it. He wouldn’t listen to any of us,” Diego remarked.

“What exactly happened that led up to that point? He has yet to tell me,” Blix wanted to know.

Diego slowed his horse down to a stop, pausing as he took a deep breath.

“The older Salvador? The one whose hands you pinned down with a knife? Made several… comments about his sexuality…about me… and you… Usually he is able to ignore them but when the comments turned to you, he was not okay. He gripped his glass so hard that he shattered it trying to not cause a fight,” Diego told her with a wince.

“Hm. Note to self, maim him next time I see that worthless piece of shit,” Blix noted with a scowl.

Diego snickered at that, “So violent. I love it though. We should probably start heading back. I doubt their meeting will last too much longer.”

Blix nodded, they had been riding for about an hour at that point and it didn’t take them very long to return to the ranch. The two of them dismounted their horses and handed them off to a stable hand who was planning to give them a thorough grooming.

They rejoined Pacho, who was standing with the brothers and an older woman who she presumed was Judy Moncada.

“Hello, Mrs. Moncada. It is a pleasure to meet you,” She greeted her, holding her hand out to shake.

“Miss Lage, a pleasure to meet you as well. Thank you for this very beneficial introduction. I hope to see you at our next meeting. Word has it you can be quite ruthless,” Judy noted looking at her with a bit of scrutiny.

“Hm. Yes. But only when it comes to protecting what’s mine. Not sure I’d be much help in your one-woman war against Escobar,” Blix admitted looping her arms arounds both Pacho’s and Diego’s, proudly.

Judy nodded, “An honest woman. I like that. I simply hope Escobar doesn’t take anything from you like he has done me.”

Judy walked away at that, getting in her car driving off. Blix didn’t want to admit it…but that last statement left her with a feeling of dread. She knew it was just Judy speaking from her pain, but it came off as a warning in Blix’s mind. She mentally shook it off for now, trying to dismiss the anxious thoughts that swirled in her mind.

Pacho, Diego and Blix returned home where Blix received word that Carrillo was returning to Colombia, and that he’d be back by tomorrow afternoon.

While initially, she was thrilled at that, Judy’s words still circled in the back of her mind. Something was telling her… that something terrible was going to happen. She just wasn’t sure what.

Diego and Pacho both could tell something was bothering her and tried their best to distract her. It worked for a time but even later on as she laid in bed, the feeling of dread still loomed, and sleep was hard to come by. She hoped it was just her mind playing tricks on her, but only time would tell whether her worry was warranted or not.

[bijvoorbeeldja]

Sobbe fake dating AU

y’all ready? SHE’S FINISHED

I desperately hope this fulfills all your fake-dating-trope-loving dreams!

.......

They couldn’t dance.

And they were having girl problems.

It was for these reasons that Sander and Robbe were left behind at the counter of the bar, while their friends danced under the pulsing music and flashing lights of the club. The two didn’t have much in common besides their mutual social circles, but after a few drinks and the companion solitude, they started talking.

“She can be so controlling,” Sander said, exasperated as he took another sip of his beer. “I swear, I’ve tried breaking up with her like, six times. She just doesn’t get it. I tell her we’re done and then she shows up at my door the next night, twisting my words and convincing me that I need her. But I don’t. I don’t want to be with her.”

Robbe listened, nodding. Britt and Sander had been on-again, off-again for months, and Robbe had never quite understood how they’d gotten together in the first place. Sander was so artsy, so cool, so exciting. To him, Britt seemed just how Sander was describing her — uptight, controlling, and condescending. But, it wasn’t his business, Robbe thought.

After all, he had girl problems of his own. He’d met Noor at a party, and ever since, she’d been attached to his hip. It drove Robbe crazy. She was constantly texting him, constantly demanding they spend time together, insisting they be a couple. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He’d dated a few girls here and there, but more and more, it wasn’t what he wanted. He just...didn’t want girls. But Noor was cool and he wasn’t sure he was ready to come out to the world yet. So he put up with it. 

As he detailed his problem to Sander, he’d just laughed.

“We’re a sad bunch, aren’t we?” 

Robbe smirked. “Yeah, I guess we are. Too bad we couldn’t help each other out.”

“Yeah,” Sander laughed. “Maybe if we made out with each other in front of them, they would get the hint.”

“Sander!” Robbe scoffed. “That’s not funny.”

Sander smiled, taking another sip of his drink. He swirled it around in his cup, biting his lip.

“Well….” he started slowly. “What if it wasn’t a joke?”

Robbe just looked at him. “What are you talking about? We are not going to make out in front of them.” He shook his head.

“Okay, you’re right, no making out,” Sander said, smiling. “But what if...we just acted like a couple for a little while. To get them off our backs?”

Robbe choked on his drink. “You cannot be serious, Sander. No one would actually believe we were a couple.”

Sander furrowed his brows. “And why not? I can be convincing.” He turned his body towards Robbe, reaching up to grab his waist.

Robbe squirmed away, laughing. “Stop it, Sander! You’re being ridiculous.”

“What?” Sander asked, lifting his hands to feign innocence. “I think it could totally work.”

Robbe just shook his head, taking another drink. Then, Robbe’s phone buzzed. 

Noor: Hey, handsome

Noor: want to come to my place later?

Noor: I’ll let you decide what we do

Robbe groaned. Maybe...maybe Sander’s idea wasn’t that ridiculous. His phone buzzed again.

This time, Noor had sent a photo. A topless one.

Robbe grimaced before deleting it. 

“Okay, fine,” he said, turning to Sander. “I’m in. Let’s do this. Let’s fake date.”

……….

Maybe this was a bad idea, after all, Robbe thought.

He was sitting on Sander’s bed, wringing his hands anxiously as he watched Sander light a cigarette out the open window. Taking a drag, he turned back to Robbe.

“So, let’s talk through a game plan here,” he said, flicking some ash behind him. 

“A game plan?” Robbe asked, trying to ignore the worry building in the pit of his stomach. 

“Yeah, a game plan,” Sander said, nodding. “Like, we need to decide our ‘story,’ how we met, how we got together, get our details straight so we don’t make anyone suspicious. We have to actually look like a real couple if this is going to work.”

“If it’s going to work?” Robbe asked, starting to panic now.

“Would you stop?” Sander said, laughing at Robbe’s anxious, jiggling legs. “We can pull this off. Then, we’ll have both girls out of our hair. It’s going to be great.” Well, at least he seemed confident.

“Right,” Robbe said, skepticism still laced in his voice. “If you say so.”

“C’mon,” Sander said, coming to sit next to Robbe on the bed. Offering him the cigarette, he smiled. “Don’t you think I’d make a good boyfriend?”

Robbe took a drag then passed it back, feeling weirdly flushed all of the sudden.

Boyfriend. Robbe was going to have a boyfriend. Okay, a fake one. But still. Maybe this wasn’t the right way to go about ridding himself of an unwanted relationship. It was better than leading Noor on though, he thought.

“Okay,” Sander said, carrying on with surety, brushing right through Robbe’s hesitance. “I will start asking your friends about you, casually, but clearly showing interest.”

“Okay,” Robbe said, nodding.

“Then, we’ll get flirty at some parties together, let the girls see us, start getting the hints,” Sander continued.

“And then?” Robbe asked.

“And then,” Sander answered, looking off in thought. “If they’re still persistent, we’ll have to take it up a notch.”

“Up a notch?” Robbe asked, suddenly feeling very in over his head. 

Sander nodded casually. “Yeah, we’ll have to start going out together in public more, getting heavy on the PDA, you know.”

Robbe gulped. PDA? Simply telling Noor he was gay and facing her wrath seemed like a less intimidating option than “heavy PDA” with Sander Driesen. But he was here. Clearly they were doing this.

“Oh!” and Sander said suddenly, jumping up from the bed and heading to his closet. “You better take some of my clothes.” Sorting through some t-shirts, he tossed several to Robbe. “If things get desperate, and knowing Britt, I’m sure they will, you’ll have to start wearing these.”

………

Robbe was freaking out. 

His breathing was shallow, and his palms were so sweaty that he couldn’t hold his beer without it slipping through his fingers every few seconds. Placing it down on a nearby table, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. 

He was at a party at Jana’s, waiting for Sander to show up. He was standing in a circle with Aaron, Jens, Moyo, Luca, and Amber, who were talking about some English test they’d all had earlier that week. Robbe couldn’t join in the conversation, too consumed with worry.

“Oh, dude!” Jens said suddenly, punching Robbe on the shoulder, making him jump. “Whoa, sorry. You okay?”

Robbe nodded, waiting for Jens to continue.

“Dude, I forgot I was going to tell you,” Jens continued, his voice getting animated now. “Sander texted me.”

Robbe tried not to let his voice crack. “Okay..?”

Jens raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, he texted me….about you.”

“About me?” Robbe asked, trying desperately to feign nonchalance.

“Yeah, dude,” Jens said, taking a sip from his cup now, clearly excited about this development. “He was asking about you and Noor. Asking how serious you were, if you guys were official. I don’t know, man. It sounded like…”

“Sounded like what?” Moyo asked, curious now.

“Like, I don’t know...like he’s into you.”

“Into Robbe? Like into-into him?” Aaron asked, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? I thought he was with Britt?”

“No, I think they’re over,” Amber interjected, shaking her head. “She’s still in love with him obviously, but from what she’s said, he’s broken up with her.”

“Damn,” Moyo said laughing now. “It looks like he’s done with chicks and wants to give Robbe a try.” 

Robbe rolled his eyes. “Shut up, man” he shot back. “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” Jens said, cocking his head to the front door. “He just got here.”

Robbe snapped his attention to the door, where sure enough, Sander had walked in and was shrugging off his leather jacket. As if he could feel the group’s eyes on him, he looked up, meeting Robbe’s eyes with a deep stare and a small, sly smile.

“Damn!” Moyo said excitedly as they all looked away quickly. “Did you see that?! Maybe he is into Robbe after all.” 

Robbe gulped, taking a sip of his beer to try to calm himself. 

“Stop staring you guys, geez.”

It didn’t take long for Sander to make his way over to the group, who were all now forcing their own side conversations, trying not to act suspicious.

“Hey, guys,” Sander said, his voice deep as he looked around at everyone. 

They looked up at him, smiling and nodding. “Hey, Sander, how’s it going?” they all muttered.

He nodded slightly, then turned to Robbe. 

“Hey, Robbe.” 

Robbe looked up, already blushing. He could see everyone’s eyes, wide and heavy on him as they tried to bite back knowing smiles. 

“Oh, hey, Sander,” Robbe answered, his voice dangerously close to a squeak.

“Want to dance, IJzermans?” Sander said, motioning to the dance floor, where couples and groups were gathering to sway to a slower-tempo tune.

Aaron nearly choked hearing this, causing Amber to pat him violently on the back and steer him away from the group.

“Uhm, yeah. Sure. I guess,” Robbe answered, putting down his bottle and following Sander further into the living room. He could hear the others start whispering excitedly behind him. Oh, boy. Here we go, Robbe thought. The pair was now center stage, whether they were ready or not.

When they found an open space, Sander turned to face Robbe, smiling. Robbe was shifting nervously, biting his lip.

“You could at least act like you’re a little interested in me, Robbe,” he said, smirking. “No one is going to buy this if you’re treating me like your brother.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sander,” Robbe said, whispering back loudly. “I’m not exactly an expert in fake dating.”

“Okay, sorry,” Sander said, trying not to laugh. “But seriously, you gotta lean in. Start flirting back, okay?” His eyes narrowed teasingly. “You do know how to flirt, right? Or was Noor just a fluke?”

“Hey!” Robbe punched him in the arm. “I know how to flirt, okay? I’m just still trying to wrap my head around all of...this.” He motioned vaguely to the space between them.

Sander softened then, seeing Robbe’s nervousness. “Hey,” he said softly, grabbing his arm. “Just follow my lead, okay. You can do this. It will work.” He smiled again. “Then, we’ll be free.” He was smirking now. 

“Now,” he said again, clearing his throat. “We’re going to give these people something to talk about.” 

At this, he slid his hand from Robbe’s arm to his waist, pulling him in closer. Really close. He started swaying them slowly together, matching the melodic tempo of the music. Robbe could feel the eyes boring into them and he tried to mask his reddening cheeks. 

“Everyone is staring,” Robbe whispered through clenched teeth, feeling himself starting to sweat.

“Good,” Sander hummed. Could he feel how clammy his hands were? Robbe wondered. Was it Sander’s scent — a mix of musk and cool breeze — \ that was making Robbe’s head go fuzzy, the slightly warm touch of Sander’s firm grip, or the jumble of thoughts swirling in his brain? Whatever it was, it was making him feel dizzy.  

Almost without thinking, he grounded himself against Sander, leaning his head gently against his chest. It was firm, strong, just what he needed to make it through these next few minutes. He could feel his heartbeat, a little bit fast, too, just like his. For now, he couldn’t think about what his friends were saying or thinking, or what his next steps needed to be. For now, he just lost himself in the movement, in the moment.

…….

After several dances spent chest to chest, Robbe let Sander lead him out of the party hand in hand. He knew his friends were going ballistic, and he waited for their barrage of messages. Finally outside Jana’s house, he felt like he could breathe again. He inhaled deeply, letting cool air fill his lungs. 

“Good work, IJzermans,” Sander said when they were down the street, letting the noise of the party fade behind them. 

Robbe smiled sheepishly. “You, too, Driesen. Maybe you do make a good fake boyfriend after all.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything, yet!” Sander said, laughing. This made Robbe’s stomach flip in a way he couldn’t understand.

As they walked, they let the silence hang between them, leveling their breathing and clearing their heads. As they got closer to Robbe’s apartment, he finally spoke.

“So, what now?” he asked sheepishly, turning to Sander.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Sander said, “but I’m starving. You up for something greasy?”

Robbe had been talking about them, their manufactured arrangement, but before he could ask again, Sander was pulling him into a nearby restaurant.

…….

They’d had a late night, him and Sander. They’d spent hours at the restaurant, eating fries until their stomachs hurt and the owner was kicking them out to close up. They’d been laughing about their friend’s reactions at the party, then going over details of their “relationship”— what to do differently, how to move forward. Robbe hadn’t interacted with Sander a lot before that night at the club, and now he found himself reacting in awe as he learned more about him during their time together.

He’d watched as Sander’s eyes squinted when he laughed, how he loved talking about Bowie and art. He’d watched as he got more serious talking about mental illness and his family struggles. Robbe had listened intently, more and more captivated by this boy who he had previously known little to nothing about. When they were shuffled out by the restaurant’s manager, Robbe felt bummed. He could have talked to Sander all night. 

“So,” Sander said as they reached Robbe’s flat. “How about I pick you up at school tomorrow? Does 3 work?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Robbe, nodding. “What should I say to my friends about us? I mean, what should I tell them happened after we left the party?”

“That we had sex,” said Sander, shrugging. 

“Sander!” Robbe balked, his face burning now. “My friends would never actually believe I hooked up with you after one party. No way.”

Sander laughed. “I’m kidding, Robbe. I know you’re a prude.”

Robbe rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Sander! What should I tell them?”

Sander bit his lip, thinking. “Tell them we went for drinks...and almost kissed. But then I had to go suddenly. That’ll leave them with a cliffhanger, a bit of mystery.” His lips lifted in a smile.   

“Okay,” Robbe said, turning to enter his apartment building. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yep, see you tomorrow….baby.”

Robbe whipped around to look at Sander with an embarrassed scoff, but Sander just winked before turning and walking back down the street.

………...

Robbe had been right. His friends had bombarded him with messages late into the night and during the next school day, but he’d held them off until after the last bell, when they cornered him at his locker.

“Okay, spill. Now.” Jens had appeared next to him suddenly, speaking rapidly and with intense energy.

“About what?” Robbe baited them innocently.

“No. No way, Robbe.” Jens shook his head. “You’re not going to be coy about this now. What the hell happened with Sander last night?! Did you guys hook up?”

“No!” Robbe said firmly. “We did not hook up. We just left the party to talk. In a quiet place.”

“Talk?” Moyo said, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, right. Driesen was practically undressing you with his eyes the minute he walked into the party. What really happened?”

Robbe hesitated, feeling a slight blush rise to his cheeks. “Really, it wasn’t a big deal,” he said. “We talked and went for more drinks. Then…”

“What?!” Aaron asked in frustration. “What happened?!”

Robbe smiled, letting himself look lovestruck. It wasn’t hard. 

“Well, I think Sander was about to kiss me. But then he had to go suddenly. He got a phone call from his mom.”

“Damn,” Jens said, shaking his head. “That is insane. You and Sander Driesen. Who would’ve thought?”

“Do you think Britt is going to go mental?” Moyo asked, laughing. “You totally swiped her man!”

“No way, man,” Aaron said firmly. “He broke up with her. He’s fair game now. Well, I guess not anymore, huh, Robbe?” He elbowed Robbe playfully.

“What about Noor, though?” Jens interjected, his brow furrowing. “She’s really into you, man. If she finds out you’re with Sander….that could be bad. Especially since she and Britt are close.”

Robbe swallowed nervously, suddenly remembering the reality of the situation. What had he gotten himself into?

But before he could answer, he heard a voice behind him.

“Hey, cutie.” It was Sander, heading towards him. He was wearing his leather jacket, of course, and a beanie, tufts of blonde hair peeking out underneath it. He looked good.

The boys smiled at Robbe, wearing playful grins. “Sander, hey,” Jens said.

“Hey, guys,” he said, greeting the group with a big grin. “Mind if I steal Robbe? I thought I could walk him home.”

“Yeah, man, totally,” Aaron said, grinning. “Just...behave yourselves, you two.”

Robbe groaned, instantly embarrassed. 

“C’mon, Sander.” He grabbed Sander’s arm and turned to leave, ignoring his friends’ wicked grins and lifted eyebrows.

“Don’t forget to use protection!” Moyo yelled behind them, making more intense heat rise rapidly to Robbe’s cheeks. God. He pulled Sander more firmly, walking him more quickly out of the school doors.  Sander just laughed, reaching down to weave his fingers through Robbe’s. 

Halfway across the schoolyard, he saw them. Britt and Noor, talking intently, faces serious. Oh no. He must have unintentionally been slowing to a stop because suddenly Sander was gripping his hands tighter, pulling him forward. 

“C’mon,” he said. “This is it. We have to do this.”

Nearing them, Robbe dropped his hand from Sander’s as the girls looked up. Noor’s eyes widened and Britt just glared, folding her arms across her chest. 

“What are you doing here, Sander?” Britt asked as the boys reached them, her voice dripping with disdain. 

“Hey Britt, Noor,” Sander said, nodding at them. “I’m walking Robbe home.”

“Hmmm,” Britt said, raising her eyebrows. “Right, okay.”

“Robbe, I’ve been trying to reach you,” Noor said, turning to him, voice deflated. “You haven’t answered any of my calls. I...miss you.”

“I’m sorry, Noor,” Robbe said, trying to slow his racing heart. “I’ve been busy. I—” before he could finish, Noor was grabbing his arm and dragging him to the side, trying to get him alone.

“What is going on, Robbe?” she said, speaking quietly but with force, once they’d found a distance from Sander and Britt. “I feel like you’re pushing me away.”

Robbe’s stomach tightened. He glanced back at Sander, who was talking to Britt detachedly, brushing over her obvious attempts to flirt. He didn’t know what to do.

“Noor, I’m sorry,” Robbe managed to answer. “I can’t do this anymore with you. I’m sorry.”

“What, why?” Noor asked, her face twisting in confusion, then anger. “We can make this work, Robbe. Tell me what I need to do!”

“I’m so sorry, Noor,” Robbe said, unable to meet her gaze. “You are a wonderful person, and will be a great girlfriend to someone. But…” he hesitated. “It can’t be me.”

Turning away from her, he walked back to Sander. “Should we go?”

Sander looked pained. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Placing a hand gently on the small of his back, Robbe led Sander away, leaving the girls behind.

…….

“Okay, clearly, we have to put this thing into overdrive.” 

Emotions were running high as Sander paced the length of his room, huffing and puffing and making Robbe anxious. But he let Sander talk, continuing his rant.

“What a pyscho!” he said angrily. As this rate, Robbe would not have been surprised to see him wear a hole in the floor, considering how intense his steps were getting. 

“She thinks she can just reel me back in every time. She thinks she knows me! She thinks I won’t survive without her! She doesn’t even see me.”

“Sander, hey,” Robbe said, finally standing to still Sander’s motion. “Come sit down. You need to breathe.”

Sander let Robbe guide him to the bed, before sitting down and placing his head in his palms. 

“She doesn’t own you, Sander,” Robbe said gently. “This will pass. You have to be strong, but it will. You can move on from this. From her.”

Sander looked up at him, his breath slowing now. “You’re right,” he admitted. “She doesn’t own me. I just need her to see that.”

“So what do you want to do?” Robbe asked softly. He could feel the brush of Sander’s thigh, so close to his. Close enough to touch.

“I want her to see us, in love,” Sander said, his voice serious. “I want her to see that I’ve moved on, that I’ve found something really great.” His face softened, filling with gentleness now. “Maybe she’ll realize she can find that, too.”

It was at times like this, when Robbe felt dizzy. They’d established their rules, the details of their fake relationship. But some moments, the words Sander spoke or the way he touched Robbe, the lines blurred. What was fake? What was real? Robbe scolded himself for even going there, but he did. Only for a moment. 

Then, Robbe’s phone buzzed.

Noor: I’m not willing to lose you, Robbe. Whatever it is that’s holding you back from us, we can work through it. I want you.

He’d talked to her. Calmly. He’d apologized. And still, she was insistent. Clearly, his and Sander’s charade hadn’t been effective enough.

“You’re right,” he said suddenly, turning to Sander. “We need to do more. We need to really show them we’re together.”

……..

They’d decided on another party, sure to be filled with kids from both of their schools, a perfect location for making a statement. A big one. 

They’d shown up at the party together, earning winks and raised eyebrows from their friends. No sign of the girls yet, but the two stayed close, building up intimacy for the right moment. Sander had reached up, tucking a curl behind Robbe’s ear. He’d leaned in close, whispering into Robbe’s ear, in a way that felt so seductive that it left a trail of goosebumps down Robbe’s spine. Robbe had tried to match Sander’s efforts, twirling him in a dance, resting a hand on his chest, and tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to bring him closer.

As they danced to a slow song, Sander stiffened suddenly, alerting Robbe to the presence of the girls. 

“Relax,” he whispered against Sander’s chest, where he was resting his head. “Focus on me. It’s going to be okay.”

Noor: where are u? I just got to the party. Can we talk? <3 She’d texted Robbe. He ignored this.

He glanced over, watching Noor and Britt approach Jens and Moyo, who looked nervously over at Robbe.

“Okay, Sander,” Robbe said carefully. “I’m going to need you to do something now, okay?”

For all the bravado he’d had about this whole arrangement, Sander looked slightly anxious.

“What?” he asked quietly, hold tightly to Robbe. 

Robbe took a breath. “I’m going to need you to kiss me now.”

Sander pulled back, looking at Robbe with wide eyes. “You want me to—”

Robbe glanced over again, watching Noor and Britt making their way towards them.

“Sander!” Robbe urged. “Kiss me! Now.”

A beat and then Sander was leaning down to him, pressing his lips firmly against Robbe’s. And even though he’d directed Sander to do it, Robbe hadn’t been prepared for what would happen. 

Their lips slid clumsily for a minute before finding a rhythm. A perfect rhythm. Their mouths melded, their breathing harmonized. It was like...they’d done it a hundred times. Robbe watched through half-lidded eyes as Sander pulled back for the slightest of seconds, his gaze offering a startled whoa before diving back into kiss him with renewed intensity. His hands held Robbe’s face, his thumb caressing his cheeks and across his ear, before tangling into his hair. It felt like forever...and no time at all before they were being yanked apart, voices shrill in their ears.

“What the hell, Robbe?” Noor was yelling. “What is going on? So you’re gay, then?! That’s the issue?!” Robbe blinked, unable to speak. “What is wrong with you?” Noor yelled.

Robbe’s mind was muddled, still feverishly consumed with the kiss, with Sander’s lips, with all of him.

“Uhm I—” he started, but Noor was stomping off. Britt glared at Sander, shaking her head angrily before running to catch up to Noor.

Everyone was staring at them now, trying to muffle gasps and whispered gossip. What had he done? Robbe thought, rapidly returning to reality with a deep pit forming in his stomach. Looking over at Sander, he tried to understand his gaze -- one that was equal parts passion and bewilderment. So he was gone, too.

……..

He’d been waiting for a half hour, and Noor still hadn’t shown up. After the party, he’d called her, asking to talk. Please, let me explain, Robbe had pleaded. He had to make this right. She’d reluctantly agreed, telling him to meet her at the park. So he waited.

Finally, after nearly an hour, Noor appeared, eyes dark with fatigue. Or exhaustive sobbing, Robbe wasn’t sure. Either way, it was his fault, and he felt terrible.

“Noor,” he started quickly. “I am so so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Truly. I think you are amazing. I messed it up with you, and I’m sorry.”

Noor looked down at the ground, the anger she’d masked her face with now evaporating. 

“Seriously, I screwed up,” Robbe continued. “In the beginning, I thought it could work with us. But...I just...can’t make it work with girls. It’s something I’m still trying to figure out, but you’re right. I am gay, and I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. You didn’t deserve it.”

Noor was silent for a moment, trying to speak through her visible ache. 

“You’re right, Robbe,” she said. “I didn’t deserve this.” 

Robbe nodded, his head sinking.

“But,” Noor said, continuing, “it wasn’t my place to out you in front of everyone like that last night. I was mad and I’m sorry. After thinking about it a lot...I realized how hard it must have been for you to confront your feelings….your identity...during the time we were together. It was probably confusing and scary, and you were probably surprised to find your right thing when it came along. If I had been you, I would have clinged to it, too. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I know you want me to be happy, you always have. It might take me some time, but I want you to be happy, too. Even if that means being happy with Sander.”

Robbe didn’t know what to say. Words escaped him. All thoughts escaped him. He just nodded and hugged Noor, offering another sincere apology. Then, they’d parted. But before Noor had disappeared into the distance, she’d turned back once. 

“Tell Sander not to worry about Britt, okay?” She’d said. “I know that in her heart of hearts, she knew it was over. She knew there was someone else for Sander. It’s just hard for her to accept right now, but she will. I’ll be there for her.”

……..

After talking to Noor, Robbe had shown up at Sander’s, wanting to make sure he was okay. Was he mad that Robbe had forced the kiss? Had it been too much?

He knew, for some reason he couldn’t confront, he’d wanted to talk to Sander, to see him, to feel if he’d been as affected by their intimacy as he had. When Sander opened the door, Robbe spoke first.

“Want to take a walk?”

……

The air was a little cool, and Robbe wished he’d brought along another jacket. Seeing him shiver, Sander had smiled and shrugged out of his jacket, handing it over to Robbe. 

“You need some meat on your bones, IJzermans.”

Robbe took it, the leather immediately swallowing his frame. The corners of Sander’s lips twitched, trying to contain a smile. 

“You’re adorable.”

Robbe felt flutterings in his stomach, but he didn’t know what to say. Hey, he said, speaking to Sander in his mind, we had an epic kiss last night. Is it driving you insane like it is for me?

“So, mission accomplished,” Robbe said finally, breaking the silence with an effort at lighthearted banter. “We managed to fake date our way out of two suffocating relationships.”

“Right, mission accomplished,” Sander said, somewhat somberly. “I think that kiss...I think it did the trick.”

The kiss. The kiss that was going to be filling Robbe’s dreams….probably forever. The touch that made his skin feel like it was on fire. The boy who was consuming his every thought, his every need, his every want. He was going insane.

“It’s going to be weird,” Robbe said carefully, hesitantly. “Not...spending time as much time with you anymore.” Sure, he and Sander had been openly affectionate, kissing...deeply, even, but still, it had all been part of their act, and he didn’t want his words to come off wrong to Sander, or freak him out with some overly affectionate expression of emotion.

“You do make a good fake boyfriend after all, Driesen.”

Suddenly exasperated, Sander shook his head, letting out a deep, frustrated exhale.

“Would you stop it, Robbe?” Sander said, stopping and turning to look at him. Meeting Robbe’s gaze with a deep stare, he continued with a voice slowly rising. “Don’t pretend like this hasn’t been real the whole damn time.”

Robbe’s stomach flipped. “What?” he stuttered.

Sander immediately closed the distance between them, getting so close to Robbe that he could feel his breath.

“You heard me,” he said, whispering now, tickling Robbe’s cheeks with his words. “We’ve been acting like this fake couple for weeks, but we both know that this is the most real thing either of us has ever had. Hell, I knew it from the first time we were together at that party, and flirting with you came as easily to me as breathing. We’re supposed to be together, Robbe. For real.”

Robbe felt like he couldn’t breathe. His knees were suddenly weak, but warmth was spreading into every cavity of his body, making him feel like he might explode. Or float away. Was he actually hearing this? 

His mind was swirling intensely with thoughts, revisiting in vision all the moments from their weeks together. Late night fries. Slow dancing. Laughing. Kissing. Had that been real after all? The touches, the words, the feelings? Before he could level his breathing and form a coherent thought, Sander leaned in closer, resting his forehead against Robbe’s.

“Please say it, Robbe,” he said gently. “Please tell me that you’re in love with me, too.”

He was. He knew he was. As easy as breathing, he knew.

“I do,” he said, barely a whisper. Sander pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. “I do love you, Sander.” His cheeks were full as he grinned and Sander was grinning back at him. He felt like he was walking on air.

“But if you break my heart” Robbe interjected suddenly. “I am definitely going to start a fake relationship with Britt to get back at you.” Sander was laughing now. “Don’t think I won’t!” he teased again. “I’m pretty good at it now.”

Still laughing, Sander smiled into Robbe’s lips, barely touching them.

“My boyfriend,” he whispered.

[tintinwrites]

the fallen soul | Poe Dameron x Reader | Part One

A/N: Is this incredibly sinful? I hope y’all like it anyway YA SINNNERS. I did research for this fic and I hope the confession is legit? I suppose it doesn’t matter too much simply bc Poe is half-BSing his way through it bc he don’t care!!

Rating: T but this WILL turn to M.

Warning: Religion. Confession. Men are trash except for Father Poe Dameron himself. Sexual themes.

Word count: 2,171, apparently!!

Summary: You’re a young, aristocratic woman in the early 19th century, destined for a life of empty marriage to an adulterous, uncaring man and multiple children that you won’t even get to raise. Your inappropriate thoughts of wanting more than is expected of you from imperfect people leads you to confession where you unknowingly meet the young, new priest, Father Dameron.

GIF credit: I thought I had this in my likes but I didn’t but it’s not mine and if anyone knows whose it is let me know!!

Tags: Open if anyone’s interested!

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

You looked around the ballroom with disinterest, watching primped up men kissing the hands of primped up ladies as if they actually paid them any respect, and you wondered which one was going to glide over to you with sugar in his mouth and greed in his eyes.

All you were to them was a dowry and a body to birth multiple children until you bore him a son.

Not even a bed warmer to them, since they would take mistresses in the day on a mattress you would sleep on in the night.

It was a pity; some of them were quite handsome and perhaps there was this foolish spark inside of you that wished to be the mistress of a man who showered you with jewels, but your parents would never allow it.

No, you were destined to be a wife and a mother, bored out of your mind as your husband had other women and your children were raised by other women.

Sometimes you would get into your own head a bit, falling into a silly fantasy of being in the arms of a man who was passionate about you, whose handsome face would gaze down at you, then disappear between your—

Then you would swiftly reprimand yourself for not only going against the purpose that was correct for you, but for thinking of things you had no business even having an inkling of an idea about.

Perhaps no suitor had intrigued you because your thoughts were too sinful, because you were too busy thinking about wrong things to appreciate what was meant for you.

Your parents would pester you with his father is the owner of the local dressmaker’s shop or he’s acquired a large plot of land with the intention of a large family and you would hum as if you were listening, but you never were.

Was it a sin to want passion? Adventure? Something that stirred the barest hint of desire in your otherwise bored disposition?

You supposed it was, otherwise no one would hide it.

Suitors would not act demure when they had taken many women before their wedding night, and those women would not act pure to new men when they had been bedded by the one to their right, and fathers would not lie about how they made their money, and mothers would not put arsenic in their vicious husbands’ tea.

You knew the fabrication that was needed to make the upper class seem better than the lower, yet you still felt guilty for your own thoughts of wanting more.

They all took what they wanted and hid it beneath expensive clothing and charming words.

Why couldn’t you do the same? Why did you merely do as you were told and continually berate yourself for letting your thoughts stray to something you enjoyed more?

Perhaps you were smarter than them and knew it was wrong to do these things even if you kept them hidden away.

When a fair-skinned man with light hair and beautiful yet untrustworthy eyes bowed to you and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and all you could think of was how he had been with a woman you knew dearly, you felt dirty.

Like you knew, and felt, and thought, and wanted too much.

It seemed like there were too many people in the large room now, like they could hear your thoughts screaming in your head louder than their own.

You stuttered a few words about retiring for the night or you hoped you did as you turned and ran from the room.

The darkened hallway offered you solace, the music slightly muffled and no people watching you like they wanted to devour your very soul until there was nothing left of yourself.

Shouldn’t you want to be married? You would be with a man who would provide for you, to keep a roof over your head instead of your father, and your thoughts kept bouncing back and forth between disgust at your desires and comfort in them.

Perhaps you needed to tell someone about it.

Certainly not any of those men or women or your family, but someone who would tell you what to do without judgement; it was likely you only needed to get these thoughts out of your head to realize how ridiculous you were being and then you would be in your right mind.

You would not lie to society like you were pure when you were not. You would be the very model of a modern wife in honesty, not only in appearance.

And you would smile as your...husband fucked anyone but you when it wasn’t time to conceive a child.

You needed to say all of this out loud and you prayed to God it would fix your damaged mind.

God.

That was it.

Dashing to the grand entrance of your father’s manor with your dark blue skirt gripped in your fingertips though the hem did not entirely reach the floor, you grabbed your cloak and fastened it around your neck securely.

Some servants might have questioned you, worried of your parents’ reactions if it was discovered you had left home in the middle of a ball where you were supposed to meet a suitable husband, but you ignored them and stumbled determinedly out into the night.

You weren’t supposed to walk alone at night — no women actually were. You were scarcely allowed to walk in the day unless you had a reputable chaperone.

But you did not fear getting in too much trouble or meeting a stranger that was less than acceptable, since it was late and most everyone was inside your home.

Maybe you were a touch fearful as you walked from your father’s land and down the road, and you realized the farther you walked how close the church was to the poorer part of town.

They were people too, you reminded yourself quickly. They had children like your people, dreams like your people.

Drugs and alcohol like your people, prostitutes like your people.

No different from you and yet scarier simply because their houses were smaller, their clothes not made of fine silk?

You clutched your cloak tighter more from the chill of a spring evening’s wind than your baseless fear, seeing the church slightly up ahead and hoping they had lit some sort of fire despite the warm day it had been.

The door was made of oak that was almost too heavy for arms that did little more than embroider, but you managed to pull one open and slip inside.

It was warmer inside; you stopped for a moment to let the warmth smooth the goosebumps that had risen on your skin, then you carefully lowered your cloak and looked around the room.

You were not used to coming here alone or seeing this place empty, but the bare pews seemed to put you a bit at ease as you walked further inside.

But the confessional to your right made you nervous again, wondering if you really should be confessing these things, imagining that if there even was a priest inside at this time, he might tell your parents who expected you to be pure despite their own sins.

These thoughts had been plaguing you, however, and you wanted them to stop.

You wanted to be satisfied with the life that you were meant to live, and you were sure that pouring your thoughts into the air would lift them from your mind.

Perhaps if you had known the priest a bit better, it might have been easier as you stepped into the booth, but you only came here on holidays and heard gossip that the aging man had begun training someone to take his position.

You did the sign of the Cross over yourself with some uncertainty, having to admit that you were a bit rusty since religion was something that was more talked about than practiced. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was...I...I suppose my first confession tonight is that I don’t quite remember my last.”

Was that a soft chuckle you heard from the opposite booth?

No, you reasoned, priests did not laugh.

“I have come today because I...my thoughts are simply…you see, I cannot get out of my head and...and it’s such a…” You dropped your head in your hands, unsure of how to properly get your thoughts out with how used you had grown to keeping them in.

“Relax, child. Tell me what is on your heart.” The voice was young and smooth, and sounded like he was reading from a book with how flat it was, but you were too intrigued by its other qualities as you lifted your head.

“Yes. Of course. I am descended from noble blood and my destiny is to marry a man of similar status and bear his children. Yet...I...don’t necessarily wish to. I keep finding my thoughts wandering to...to more. Sometimes I do not even know what more entails, simply that it’s something I desire. Often I do think...of having sexual intercourse. Of...of running barefoot through a field and swimming in a lake without a stitch on.” You loved it all so much that you giggled beyond your shame, falling silent as you weren’t sure what else there was to confess.

“And?” He cleared his throat.

“I believe that’s everything.” You furrowed your brow, not sure you could say much more other than your forbidden desires.

“You’ve forgotten something, child.” Now you were sure he was laughing.

You thought for a moment then your eyes widened in a display that could have almost seemed comical. “This is all I can remember! I am sorry for these and all my sins!”

It was said so quickly that your words were hardly intelligible, but the priest hummed in acknowledgement and amusement.

“What do you think my penance for this should be, Father?”

“Have you acted on any of these thoughts?”

You quickly shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. “Of course not!”

“Then you haven’t, really, committed any sin.”

“Father, please, I truly feel that I should be punished for having these thoughts.”

“Very well. Uh...let me see...when you kneel by your bed to pray tonight, I want you to do five Hail Marys.”

“Yes, Father.”

It wasn’t the harshest punishment you’d heard of, but it was going to encourage you to actually pray before bed that night and perhaps that would help with your thoughts.

You were curious about this priest, with his charming voice and the monotone way he went about conducting this confession.

Not that you had met many priests who were all that lively, this man seemed like he was hardly even paying attention to his duties.

However, you were correct in your belief that talking about your thoughts would make them go away, and you closed your eyes in preparation for your prayer asking the Lord for forgiveness.

Your prayer discussing your regret for your sinful thoughts and a promise to do your best not to sin anymore was followed by the priest praying to absolve you of these sins — still sounding like he was reading it in a book right then and there — and you smiled softly, doing the sign of the Cross again. “Amen.”

The priest stuttered a few times and then seemed to formulate what he wanted to say, “You have a good soul to beg for penance over something so trivial. Now thank God for this good confession, and, hm...peace be with you.”

“Thank you, my Lord. And thank you, Father.” Perhaps he listened to many confessions that day and had grown tired of saying the same thing, and you were happy for the help from him either way.

“Go now and...sin no more?” He seemed to chuckle at himself.

You stood and stepped out of the booth, finding yourself charmed by the empty church now as you walked to the door.

Father Dameron waited a moment to keep your privacy hidden before he stepped out of his booth, seeing a glimpse of a dark blue skirt slipping out the heavy, wooden doors and into the night.

Were you all by yourself this late at night or had someone been waiting for you to finish and walk you home?

He hated that he had to worry about you simply because you were a woman, but he knew the sins men confessed in the little time he’d been the head of this church.

Men would confess to taking prostitutes despite having wives at home, then come back the next week to beat their breasts all over again as if they actually cared.

Such a pretty voice with barely a sin to confess was a breath of fresh air for once, and he hoped you didn’t punish yourself too much for thoughts that any normal, interesting human being — including himself — had.

[cherry3point14]

Cookies & Milk

Pairing: Dean x British!Reader Warnings: Established D/s, mind you don’t fall down the crack Word Count: 2,172. Summary: Dean buys you some cookies. You call them biscuits. Arguments ensue, lines are drawn and restraints are required. A/N: Have any of y’all met @winchesters-meaty-feast? She’s my pal and partner in crime. We have extensive conversations about many a subject but one day the most important topic arose. Biscuits. I’m a dunker, she is not. It almost tore us apart but luckily we’re stronger than that. Anyway, I drabbled this Dom/sub biscuit thing in our chat and the following CRACK is what snowballed from that. (This is meant to be dumb ok. Don’t come for me over this weirdness.) 

Ao3 if you prefer.

You should close your laptop.

In the late afternoon—underground where the time of day doesn’t matter—even then the light it’s emitting is too blue. Sure, you could turn down the brightness but it’s too little too late. Your eyes are already starting to ache from the strain.

You're not even doing anything important. You started scrolling a few hours ago; a news story that might have been something, but turned out to be nothing. Less than nothing, it was mundane. Dull as dishwater, as your mum might say. You would have closed your laptop then if it hadn’t been for that link at the bottom of the page. To another article, this time about an unexpected cold snap. This leads you to look up weather trends in Kansas, which becomes reading the articles on weather.com. Who even knew weather.com had articles? Still, they do and they’re very informative. The problem is that their data all points to it being cold as balls soon (your term, not theirs). So, now you’re shopping, with a pair of snow boots and two winter coats in your basket. And you’re debating a new scarf to put you over the free shipping threshold.

It is really time to shut your laptop before you go ahead and checkout. Dean hates having to pick up your parcels in town. Always complains that you have a problem. Pretty hypocritical considering the number of breweries he keeps in business. Besides he doesn’t even have a reason to complain, Marta loves seeing him, she lights up like a Christmas tree for him. You walk into the post office and you get a ton of side-eye, plus a ten-minute wait, but Dean? Well, he’s always at the front of her line.

You’re so engrossed in shopping that you don’t immediately look up at the sound of the bunker door. It’ll be Dean, you know that much. He’ll have a couple of brown bags from his supply run and you don't want to insult him by insinuating that he needs help.

It’s for the greater good anyway, the longer you sit here the more chance there is of you buying him snow boots too. Maybe he'll let you buy him a hat too.

Once he’s finished stomping his way down the stairs he sets the paper bags down next to you. It just so happens that's the exact moment you finally look up at him. A grateful smile on your face and over the top fluttering eyelashes—to remind him how loveable you are.

He shakes his head at how obvious you are. “I didn’t buy them for just you.” His unnecessary emphasis is all the permission you need.

“Is that smoke?” You sniff the air, one arm sliding inside the nearest bag, “must be the fire in your pants.”

He tries. Bless his heart. He tries to hold out. You can see him chewing the inside of his mouth as your arm moves about inside the bag to liberally finger his goods. The haul from the supermarket anyway. But he cannot resist your lame jokes and it ends the same as always. He cracks. A twitch of his lip, shaking his head and then an eye roll even Sam would be proud of.

“Other bag, Sherlock.”

“Ah-ha!” You grin when you switch to the other bag. Instead of fresh fruits and vegetables, you’re treated to food of the more processed variety. Plastic bags filled with crisps, a pie carton and, oh he really does love you, biscuits.

You slink back down to your screen, tearing the package open with your teeth as you do. Revitalised by the imminent influx of sugar. Dean sighs but doesn’t say another word. He picks up the rest of the groceries and carries them away. Presumably to the kitchen by the distant sounds of him putting everything away.

It’s another five minutes when he returns with a glass of milk that he puts down next to you. With a determined thump of glass on wood, as if the sound is an entire explanation.

“Thanks, but you know I don’t…”

“Take the damn milk.”

Normally you’d be irritated for being cut off mid-sentence, but it’s his exasperated tone that catches your attention. You even deign to look at him again, ignoring the popup that’s offering an extra 15% off if you enter your email. “You ok?”

He scratches at the scruff on his jaw while he tries to internally talk himself down from the ledge. “Nothing, nothing. Drink the milk, please.”

You look from him to the glass and frown at the white liquid. There’s nothing wrong with it per se. It looks like a perfectly good glass of milk, the kind you might see on a ‘got milk’ ad from the nineties. It’s not that you hate milk, you just prefer your biscuits to have a little bite. Dean should know that by now but if he’s forgotten then you are more than happy to remind him. “You eat your biscuits how you want, let me eat mine how I want.”

In your attempt to be rational you have failed to notice the desperation in his, 'please'. And now you’ve managed to tick him off.

“Cookies,” he grinds out.

“What?”

“They’re cookies. Dammit, you’ve lived here long enough to call a cookie a cookie.”

The outburst is not Dean’s fault. He’s not exactly hoarding MAGA caps and asking you to go back to England. No, this outrage is the product of a very specific joke that you might have taken too far.

Ordinarily, you switched back and forth between American and British all the time. As easy as breathing. You’d lived in the good ol’ US of A for long enough that your brain simply picked out the first word it could reach. A lot of the time it ended up being American without much intention, people understood better. 

And then a few weeks back you’d been on the way to a hunt, sprawled in the back seat. Despite the fact that you were still strategizing with Sam you were comfortable. You could have fallen asleep right there if Sam hadn't kept talking. The word had slipped out on a whim. You called Baby’s trunk a boot.

Dean—being an absolute drama queen—had slammed on the brakes and eloquently asked what the fuck you called his Baby. Apparently, it was the first time you’d said that particular British word.

If you hadn’t found his reaction utterly hilarious that would have been the end of it. Except you did find it funny. The way his face soured, that little crease in the middle of his brow, he was so offended by four little letters. It was beautiful.

Now it’s been a few weeks of very purposeful language choices. Asking to borrow his mobile to make a call, or to wear his hoodie. And you’ll admit the ‘pip pip cheerio’ as he left the bunker earlier had been excessive. That isn’t even a real thing people say.

You’ve been torturing the poor guy with British slang. And because this isn’t the first time you’ve taken a joke too far, you’d usually hold your hands up and apologise. You’re good at apologising. He likes when you have to apologise because you always make it worth his while.

The problem is, biscuit had been an honest-to-god slip of the tongue. It had been the most natural word for your brain to conjure and so his anger seems a tad unjustified. Utterly out of proportion.

“It’s a biscuit.” You repeat as you take a bite, noticing the way his left eye seems to twitch at the crunch.

“It’s a cookie. It says right there on the packet. It’s a fucking sandwich cookie.” He points at the ripped plastic on the table for emphasis.

You sigh with the kind of effort that forces all the air from your lungs. “This country can’t spell half the time, why should I trust the packet?”

“Because you’re eating from it.”

He’s got you on a technicality. And he knows it. He knows it by the telling pause before you speak and the flash of panic in your eyes.

“So?”

It’s not an argument that’s going to win world-class debates but you couldn’t go ahead and let him have the last word.

Dean's problem now is he thinks he’s got you on the ropes, so he goes and gets cocky. He puffs out his chest a little and bites back a smirk.

“So? So… cookies and milk is as American as apple pie-”

“Invented by the Dutch.”

“-whatever. It’s a thing. Which means you gotta sit down, shut up and drink your fucking milk.”

You always love it when he does that. Argues his way to a conclusion whether he’s right or not. It’s kind of ridiculously hot.

Or at least that’s how you justify putting your half-eaten biscuit down. Slowly rising from your chair and crawling onto his lap. You lean in, slow enough to tease him, letting your breath settle over his skin as you whisper in his ear. “I know a way we could settle this.”

“What’re you doing?” He manages between teeth that are grinding against each other. The muscles in his arms are tense where he’s pulling at the rope that holds him.

Any other night and you might calm him down at this point. Remind your good boy that he shouldn’t hurt himself. Or depending on the game you’d remind him who he belongs to, who he’s foolishly directing his anger towards. But there’s no soothing touches or harsh reminders bestowed upon Dean tonight. This game is different. This is a battle for dominance, unlike one you’ve played before.

For the first time, he wants to win as much as you do.

There’s no mutual satisfaction in the room because you’re both out for blood. Where blood equals being right about snack goods. And unfortunately for Dean, he didn’t figure it out before he let you tighten the ropes around his wrists.

“I thought that was obvious, baby. I wanted something sweet.”

His eyes flick between the glass of milk he’d seen you carry in and the cookies plated up beside it. Well, you’d call them biscuits but that’s not what this argument is about.

“Don’t you dare.” There’s a threat in his voice.

For a moment it surprises you and you’re quick to counter him, “I’ll do what I like.” Your tone is reminder enough for him to remember his place.

He retreats a little, gives an inch so that you can take a mile. A breath rattles through his chest doing little to calm his tightly wound body. At the very least, he switches anger for desperation. Dean knows you love it when he pleads, “please Princess. Please, I’m begging you. Dunk it.”

Your entire body glows a little when he calls you by your name. The change in his attitude only urges you onwards though, with a smirk turning up the corners of your mouth.

Your hand finds a treat, fingers picking it up with deliberate, delicate movements. His eyes are wide as he watches you hover the biscuit over the glass as if maybe you’ll appease him. The whimper he lets out when you bypass the drink is almost fulfilling enough that you’re no longer hungry. Almost.

The room takes on an eerie silence as you part your lips and take a bite. A loud, crunchy bite. Crumbs fall onto the table beneath you—probably in slow motion— and chewing only seems to increase the volume.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters as you swallow, “you’re crazy.”

You hadn’t planned on it but you walk across the room then, half a biscuit in your hand and a satisfied smile on your face. He’s slumped in his chair a little. He’s defeated since he knows he won’t defeat the knots keeping him in place.

“Come on, try it for me.”

“Go to hell.”

It's your turn to roll your eyes, “don’t be so dramatic, you’ve been to hell. This can’t be that bad.”

As you reason with him, you slide into his lap again, which will be torture enough because he can’t touch you. Except you also hold the biscuit to his lips.

“Please. For me. Be my good boy.” You coo as if you're not toying with him.

His thighs twitch beneath you at the use of his nickname and, because he’s always your good boy, he opens his mouth.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

ANGST KAZUMAJI ANON AND WOOF. FUCK. GOTTA LISTEN TO THOSE SONGS AFTER WORK. EXCITED. Your idea though OW. I haven't seen Y6 yet (I watch playthroughs don't have the console and my computer laughs at me trying to run the games) the streamer thats playing it finally got to Y6 and I am Refusing To Watch It. My heart can't take even starting the VOD.

You’re welcome for the music cc: 

A LOT of people haven’t seen 6 yet, so I did my best to get through that without spoilers ^^; Hope I haven’t ruined anything for you. And I feel that, my laptop and I have constant arguments and I’m not a good gamer anyway ^^; I should try Kiwami 1 someday though... I have it, I'm just Nervous about Being Bad ^^; 

Nice, following one streamer, well done c: I just hopped around to different playthroughs on youtube ^^; My wife and I binged all 7 games in I think 2 months, max. ^^; She crazy tho and a bad influence on me xp She likes to just sit and binge things and I am, understandably, weak for my wife <3 

6 isn’t so bad, I promise. You can do it c: It’s very pretty, you get to stare at Kiryu’s juicy ass the entire game, there’s lots of cute minigames of Kiryu with a baby, uh... *running out of nice things to say about 6* ...did I mention it’s very pretty? Fuck... Listen, I have... Feelings about game 6, but I don’t want to ruin it for anyone ^^; Everyone’s allowed to experience things in their own time and form their own opinions and I don’t want to deprive anyone of that. Please watch it and when you see it, feel free to come tell me about it c: 

And as a reward for all that, another angsty idea: 

The Nishikiyama Opera! 

So I composed the entire thing on a car ride with my wife last week and it’s WILD. Y’all ever see opera? If you’ve never seen an opera you SHOULD, they’re fucking Great. Operas are all about being The Most, comedy or tragedy, they’re all horny as shit and everyone is extra as fuck. If you living for the drama, you HAVE to get your ass to an opera. I’m lucky enough to live somewhere with a relatively robust opera community. And anyway, my point is, The Nishikiyama story? RIPE for an opera adaptation! 

First, you gotta know some of the opera tropes. There are two categories of opera, comedies which are kinda rare and tragedies which is... constantly. And operas are pretty good at telling you almost immediately which one they will be. There’s also a lot of meta about the voice parts themselves: 

Soprano - heroine, ingenue, beautiful. Will win if this is a comedy, will die if this is a tragedy. 

Alto - mothers & witches. Not the heroine. Will probably die regardless of comedy or tragedy. Unless she’s the villain, then she lives in a tragedy. 

Tenor - hero. Given the sexiest parts to sing. Sometimes unbearable. Everything is about Him. 

Baritone/Bass - fathers & villains. Gorgeous voice, never utilized properly. 

Knowing the vocal parts and what they classically represent is key to knowing who will win and who will die in the opera. For example, in Carmen, Carmen is actually an alto, not a soprano, and Don Jose is a tenor. This immediately tells you that shit’s fucked. Tenors are supposed to fall in love with sopranos, never altos. So this story can only end in tragedy because he’s interested in the wrong kind of voice part. There’s even a counterpoint of a soprano who is madly in love with him, and the baritone toreador for Carmen. They’re given their proper voice partners, but Don Jose still pursues Carmen which is a ginormous mistake by operatic tropes. 

So, opera education over, picture this: 

ACT I  Kiryu (soprano) is the loveliest yakuza in all the land! He’s just delightful. The Chorus sings his praises and he demonstrates his impeccable fighting ability. (Forgot to mention, any opera worth its salt has a Chorus and I will die on this hill.) The Audience is assured of his might and grace. 

Kiryu, obviously, does not want for admirers, but has not chosen to court anyone formally. 

Here enters Kiryu’s brother, Nishiki (bass). The Chorus explains that Nishiki is second to his brother in strength, but is formidable in his own right. Nishiki explains to the audience how he longs for Kiryu, how he covets him, his strength, his beauty. How after a lifetime together, affection has turned to love. Nishiki must have him. 

Kiryu hears none of this. Nishiki approaches to make his case when Majima (tenor) sweeps onto the scene. Majima is brazen and glib. The Chorus tells us to beware his charming smile, he is as dangerous as he is flirtatious. Majima has heard of Kiryu’s reputation and calls him into the street to defend his title. Kiryu responds and they do battle. 

In the midst of the battle, Majima finds himself won over by Kiryu’s skill and grace, his kindness and strength. Majima is bursting with love and there and then makes a proposal to Kiryu, offering his whole heart. 

Kiryu is stunned. Majima is not a weak fighter, he is not a braggadocio, despite appearances. He was a real challenge and Kiryu was not expecting the fight to take this turn. He is so surprised he cannot make an answer and politely, but quickly, leaves. 

Nishiki has been watching the entire time and finds his heart gripped by jealousy. He plots to claim Kiryu for himself and hates Majima bitterly, despite the fact that Kiryu has given no answer. Nishiki believes he knows his brother too well not to know that Kiryu returns his affections even if he won’t say. Nishiki leaves, concocting a plan. 

We find Kiryu at his balcony, lamenting his situation. Majima may have been exciting, but Kiryu’s no fool. He has no proof that Majima’s feelings will not waver in time. Majima steals into the garden beneath Kiryu’s balcony and professes his love once more. 

Kiryu is startled and makes to flee, but Majima sings so sweetly, entreats so gently, that Kiryu is compelled to stay. Majima doesn’t even ask again, just sings of his feelings. Kiryu, in his heart, is wooed by this. He may have been ready to answer when Nishiki interrupts. Majima quickly hides in the foliage. 

Nishiki counters with his own confession, his own proposal. Kiryu is shocked and saddened. He begins to sadly tell his brother that he cannot accept. Nishiki flies into a rage, demanding if there is someone else, someone else Kiryu prefers. Kiryu hesitates, but answers honestly that he has always seen Nishiki as a brother, regardless of any other feelings. He cannot accept Nishiki on the grounds of their previous relationship. 

Nishiki was expecting this. He reveals a vial of poison and threatens to drink it unless Kiryu will marry him. Majima gasps. Kiryu pleads with Nishiki not to be rash, but Nishiki only demands his answer, the vial nearly at his lips. 

Kiryu swallows back tears and collapses to his knees. Sorrowfully, he agrees, unable to bear the responsibility of his brother’s death, and the act finishes to the sound of clamoring wedding bells. 

ACT II The lights come up on Kiryu and Nishiki in their home. Nishiki is pacing the floor and making increasingly outlandish suggestions for things to do. Kiryu says yes to all of them, gently and politely. Nishiki’s frustration and annoyance increases with every yes. Eventually he snaps at Kiryu, demanding why he won’t fight him, demanding why he will give no more reaction than a placid yes. Kiryu shrugs helplessly and tries to soothe his brother, but Nishiki won’t be soothed. 

They have been married less than a year and it has been like this the entire time, getting worse by the day. Nishiki can see the pain he’s causing his brother, but can’t stop himself. He loves him too greedily to stop. He departs, hoping to take his mind off things. 

Kiryu is left alone in the house and sings a longer, sadder version of his lament from the balcony. Distantly, we hear strains of Majima’s love song, now broken and echoing. 

The scene changes and we see Kiryu sat down in a busy cafe. At first we assume he’s alone, but people move and we can see he is sitting across from Majima. They do not touch. Their careful, polite space around each other is conspicuous. 

Kiryu is tired, he looks wan, almost sick. Majima sings heartbrokenly, telling Kiryu he needs to take care of himself. He is desperate to take Kiryu away from all this, and asks several times, but Kiryu always sighs and shakes his head no. Majima knows Kiryu will not break his word once given, he is too good and honorable for that. But he cannot help singing for him all the same. He cannot touch, he will not permit himself to touch, but he can sing. 

Kiryu eventually cannot take the heartache anymore and departs sorrowfully. Majima looks after him, just as sad. Nishiki is revealed to have been spying on them the entire time. He confronts Majima, furious and accusatory. He insists that he and Kiryu have been having an affair. Majima simply looks at him and shrugs. Nishiki screams for Majima to admit it, to admit that Kiryu loves him, has always loved him, this whole time. Majima only says that Nishiki knows Kiryu best. He will not confirm or deny anything Nishiki says. Shaken and stymied, Nishiki flees. 

We return to Kiryu’s balcony, where he sits, silent and pale. Nishiki storms in and begins to berate Kiryu with his accusations. He is half-mad now, not seeming to hear Kiryu’s denials. Kiryu professes over and over that only Nishiki is his husband, that he loves only Nishiki. Nishiki cannot accept this as true. Nishiki screams that Kiryu ought to ask him for a divorce. Kiryu cannot claim to want a divorce. He gave his word. Nishiki reveals that he had been watching them in the cafe, that he knows all, the secret contents of Kiryu’s heart. Kiryu manages some resistance at last and asks Nishiki for proof. What proof of his indiscretions? What proof of adultery? What has Kiryu done that has angered his husband-brother so? 

Nishiki has none. Kiryu has not done anything wrong, not in word, not in act. Whatever thoughts he might accuse Kiryu of having are ephemeral and will never be real. Still... Nishiki saw how they looked together and his heart was sore. He knows he has stolen Kiryu from what was rightfully his. Moved to regret, Nishiki withdraws the vial of poison again. 

Kiryu gasps and tries to prevent his brother. 

Nishiki swallows the poison quickly, insisting this will set things right, this will free his brother. He says he did it for love. He falls. 

Kiryu collapses next to him, sobbing. 

The final scene is Nishiki’s funeral. Kiryu kneels next to his brother’s grave, all in black. He sings of his regrets, of his sorrow. Majima stands close by, but still not touching. He does not look at the grave, only at Kiryu. His broken love song is the last thing we hear. 

The End. 

...this opera was a tragedy ^^; 

[matsumi101]

Who is this Kid?

Crossdressing Fem!Reader Hamilton Insert

Secret

Description:

General Washington has been relentlessly receiving letters one after another that has been requesting two same things over and over again. It’s high time he confronts the writer directly about it, and maybe clear something that he’s been hearing around while he’s at it.

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Warnings: swearing, drinking

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Notes:

> Masterlist

> Read from the beginning.

> “F/N” means fake name and “Y/N” means your real first name

> I don’t think I warned y’all before but I wasn’t really planning on writing chronologically. I’m not sorry lmao

> Surprise Wednesday update! I’ve been reading the rb tags and the replies you guys keep leaving in my story and honestly it makes my heart go 💞 aaa ily guys sm and im glad you’re enjoying the story 🥺🥺🥺

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Taglist (if u wanna be added do tell!)

@thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth  @cutie1365 @girlmadeofivory @i-honestly-dont-know-anymore  @takemyhand-bitch @hamiltrashqueer​

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“Hey, Juggernaut.”

You adjusted your coat before pulling your tent open. “Yo,” you greeted quietly to the soldier waiting in front of your tent. “General Washington calls for you,” he informed you. You nodded and ducked out of your tent, not wanting to wait another second to know what your superior wanted to talk about. You walked at a brisk pace, never stopping until you were now in front of the tent that was noticeably larger than the rest.

You swallowed thickly, millions of possibilities running in your head to as why you were called. A big part of you hoped that it was with regards to your plans, though there was a smaller bit of you that feared that it might be of something else. Not wanting to keep yourself on edge any further, you pushed the tent open and let yourself in.

"Your excellency, sir. You asked to see me?"

You readily saluted at the presence of not only George Washington but the aide-de-camps and officers that were with him as well. They circled a table, where a map and a few mock pieces were laid out for them to view and move around. While John and Lafayette's eyes twinkled with recognition, the others simply stared at your arrival. "Private F/N L/N?" George assumed. He motioned you to be at ease, which you silently obeyed.

"Yes, sir," you confirmed with a steady voice.

George quickly dismissed the rest of the people out of the tent, the only ones remaining were you, him, and Alexander who was busy writing something at his desk at the corner. “I’ve been reading your letters,” George began, moving to get something from his main desk. You immediately tensed as he pulled out a small stack of envelopes underneath. You kept your lips sealed, waiting for the General’s input on your requests.

“You’ve been asking to have the same thing approved for years now,” he began, “and recently, you’re asking for a rather unique position in your unit, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

From the corner of your eyes you could see Alexander perk up slightly at the conversation. He subtly glanced up from his work, his eyes falling on George as the general picked up an open letter that had been lying on his desk. “Let’s talk about the first one,” George announced. “I’ve noticed there was a slight change with your offer.” You licked the bottom of your lips out of nervousness, fiddling with your hands behind you.

“Unfortunately, even I can’t agree to it.”

“If I may sir, why not?”

George looked up from the letter to you. “Women cannot be paid to study, son,” he explained plainly. You tilted your head the slightest, confusion from his statement evident. “Sir, I do not seek for women to be paid to be taught basic medicinal procedures,” you murmured, and that was enough for George to mirror your expression.

“That doesn’t seem to be the message I’m getting from your letter, L/N.”

You opened your mouth to counter, but when a vague memory hit you like a punch in the gut, you couldn’t help but to smack your forehead in realization. “Shit, I am so sorry,” you apologized, the annoyance woven in your voice directed to yourself more than anything. George furrowed his brows at your sudden drop of formality, noticing how you were cursing under your breath as you returned to position.

“I must’ve sent you my draft letter instead of the actual one. The pay that I mentioned in the letter refers to the pay of the nurses, not the education that I wish to be provided to them.”

Your face turned to more of an embarrassed one. “I... might’ve written this late at night so my thoughts merged while I was writing,” you confessed, looking down at the ground. “I apologize for causing a misunderstanding. Writing... has never really been my best suit.” You could feel the back of your neck heat up with embarrassment, and the blood was slowly creeping its way to your cheeks the more you dwelled on your mistake. George huffed, and you could’ve sworn there was laughter that came along with it.

“We have our own weaknesses, son,” he said. “Rewrite your statement, then I’ll have it sent to the Congress for approval. Hamilton.”

“Yes, sir?”

The called man straightened from his seat almost instantaneously. “If you’re not too busy, you can help Private L/N draft his proposal to the Congress tonight?” he requested. You looked at Alexander almost the same time he looked at you. “I take it you approve of his plans, sir?” he asked George, though it came off more of a statement than a question.

“Yes. If our nurses are given the same pay as our male doctors, or at the very least raise it, then there wouldn’t be any need for our officers to resort to... violent methods of recruiting them.”

Your jaw visibly clenched at the last few words, and George wasn’t dense to not notice it. “If we treat our camp followers properly, as we should’ve been since square one, then they wouldn’t be working out of spite or fear,” you pointed out through gritted teeth, “and by teaching them the required medical procedures to treating our wounded, then there would be more hands on our medical team without really hiring more hands.” Alexander nearly beamed at your words and hurriedly wrote something down on a spare piece of paper.

“That’s an excellent point F/N, I’ll make sure to include that in your proposal,” he announced eagerly.

You stared at Alexander with surprise while George chuckled in amusement. “Now, since we’ve cleared all misunderstandings for your first request, I take it we’re good to move on to the next one?” his voice wasn’t as light as when he brought up your first request. “Ready as I’ll ever be, sir,” you replied. George nodded, pulling a different letter.

“Private L/N, I’m sure you already know the contents of your own letters, so I will say right now that I just can’t approve you to a... what is this term you used?”

“Field medic, sir.”

“Right.”

“Field medic?”

Alexander wasn’t really supposed to be a part of the next conversation, but he couldn’t help but inquire about the strange new term he just heard. “Basically a doctor soldier tasked specifically to treat wounded men while on field and pull them out of there,” George explained, and you nodded. Alexander’s face contorted, and you sighed internally as it was the response you already expected to get from someone hearing your concept for the first time.

“I... I don’t get it,” Alexander murmured. “We can bring our men to the backlines just fine during combat, I don’t see the point of having a person to specialize in that.”

You were just about ready to explain, but then George put up his hand to stop you. “I can hand you Private L/N’s letters of proposal for later, son,” George reasoned. Alexander’s face fell, and the man buried his face back to his work. “With all due respect sir, I feel like I am fully capable of putting this concept into action. My endurance is beyond average to run around the field and carry our wounded, all I need left is some proper first-aid training.”

“And we need your endurance in the frontlines!” George retorted. “Juggernaut, you’re our best foot soldier, I cannot afford to send you to the medics.”

You nearly physically recoiled at the use of your nickname. You wore the title “Juggernaut” with pride ever since, and George knew. Your tendency to almost never use your gunpowder and instead resort to close combat was what earned you the nickname, and your commanders made sure to utilize you best for that. Simply put, your fearlessness to be up close with the redcoats was something praised by your fellow soldiers and feared by the enemy.

“Sir,” your voice dropped low. “Many men die bleeding out in the field when they could’ve lived if only someone had been there to pull them out, but the second they’re crippled they are not our standing soldiers’ priority. Moreover, many more die in the tents simply for having infected wounds that could’ve been survivable had someone treated it long before. These men have hopes of coming home to see the end of this war and what follows as much as any of us, even while they lay in their own pool of blood as the rest of the fight ensues around them. Sir, they have lives they want to go back to, too, just like us.”

When you were done talking, the air within the tent was heavy. Was it out of realization or just the sheer weight of your words, no one was quite sure, but the tension was so thick no blade could cut through it. “I can see you are as adamant in saving lives as you are taking them,” George mused, finally breaking the suffocating silence that wrapped around the three of you. He glanced down at your letter, hesitancy clear as day. Between the two of you, it was the sixth one you sent for your proposed role. For every letter of declination he gave you, you rebutted with a new letter no more than two to three days later countering his reasonings. For someone who isn’t the best at writing, you do write a lot, he thought.

“Let my hands be stained saving the blood of my allies than spilling the blood of my enemies,” you responded, quoting your own letter.

George huffed, setting down the letter. “I will... think this through for the meantime,” he announced. You resisted your mouth that nearly quirked upwards at his words; consideration was a good enough sign for you. “Thank you sir,” you breathed. George eyed you carefully, thinking if there was anything else needed to be said to you. “I suppose that will be all for now,” he decided tentatively. He dismissed you, and just after you thanked him for his time and turned around was then he remembered.

“Hold on, Private. I feel like there’s one more thing needed to be discussed.”

You looked over your shoulder, almost fearfully, as you moved away from the tent’s exit. George leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a nearly blank stare. “I feel like we should address the secret circulating around you,” he pointed out. Your jaw dropped to the floor, a chill striking you from the feet up. A hand flew over your arm as goosebumps riddled your limbs, and you feared the worst.

“What secret, sir?” you asked, your voice nearly returning to normal with panic.

“Juggernaut, I don’t think we need to beat around the bush over this. Other soldiers have seen it, too, and you need to come clean with it.”

Other soldiers? The thought was everything but comforting. You always thought you had been discreet with your identity, but apparently you weren’t based on the General’s accusations. However, you kept your mind straight enough to keep droning on. Maybe it was just a mistake, maybe it was just a false rumor that was meant to drag you in the dirt. Yeah, maybe that’s it. You desperately wished that was it.

“It must be a mistake, sir. Whatever this secret may be must be just a measly rumor to throw me off,” you tried to reason out.

“Would it be considered a rumor if we have a witness?”

Your stomach dropped. So there are people who saw? That was definitely not right. You were always sure to have your corset on, only taking it off inside the tent, and whenever you bathe you made sure you were either alone or the last one out and never surfacing from the water. George glanced over to Alexander expectantly, and for the first time the secretary seemed to not want to partake in the conversation.

“Hamilton here has your verbatim.”

You could feel your palms turn sweatier as the seconds passed. You steadied your breathing, trying to calm yourself and stay reasonable. Alexander stared at George incredulously, as if he was the one who’d been ratted out by their superior. He looked over to you, and despite your seemingly calm stature there was nervousness in your eyes that spoke otherwise. Not wanting to lie, Alexander nodded almost apologetically to confirm. You felt your shoulders sag. Had you been too lax when you discussed about pretending with other disguised women? Or had you been too loud when you were rambling to yourself in your own tent? You feared what was next to follow, but if there was someone who bore evidence of your secret, then it was better for you to speak the truth.

“I apologize for deceiving you, sir,” you conceded, dropping your head. “I am more than willing to accept the punishment for my actions.”

“Funny, I figured you’d know enough the consequences of having more liquor than the daily rations you’re given.”

“Wh... what...?”

You tried to wrap your head around the new information. Liquor... daily rations... was that what General George Washington accusing you of this whole time? “Or is the excess whiskey your secret to your fearlessness after all?” George mused teasingly, and you shot up straight when it finally registered to you. “No sir, that would be my low sense of self-preservation,” you answered hurriedly, jokingly. Thankfully for you, George chuckled at your banter.

“Well, don’t think of dying too early, young man,” George advised lightheartedly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

The tight feeling that was mentally suffocating you the whole time released your entire being. “Though, if it’s any assurance, my stash of vodka hasn’t really been consumed,” you informed. “If anything, I think the only time I made use of it was when I disinfected someone’s wound.” George sat up straight, a curious look flashing in his eyes.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’d you heal?”

You paused, wondering if you should really say. “It was Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens.” You glanced up, noticing the inquisitive look both George and Alexander held. “If it’s any compensation for my troubles, I can offer some of my personal beverage. Surely, you’d like a shot,” you then offered, swiftly dodging the questions that might’ve followed your prior statement.

“And how will I know this is not a ploy to try on my good side, son?”

“Was I on your bad side this whole time, sir?”

“With the direction your letters were going, you might be at the tipping point of being so with the Congress.”

You laughed uneasily. “Rest assured sir, my offer is all in good faith.” George uncovered the mug that rested on the edge of his table, and you took that as the sign to approach. You pulled out your flask, which had been refilled from the much larger bottle that you were hiding in your tent (you wondered if someone that visited your tent before saw the bottle which led to the accusations), and poured a hefty amount into the mug, much to George’s pleasure. You waved to Alexander with the flask. “Do you want some too, Hamilton?” you asked him. Alexander stared at your flask, then to George, and then to his papers.

“Come on, son. It’s not everyday we have a little extra liquor,” George insisted, a welcoming smile on his face.

Alexander didn’t hesitate to come over to the table the second he got George’s approval. He brought his own cup, and you readily poured him almost the same amount as George. “Thanks, I needed this,” he sighed gratefully, the strong scent already wafting through his nose. The three of you shared a toast, and you took a nice, long swig from your flask. A satisfied growl emitted from each of you, the burning sensation running down your throat.

“Well sir, I should head out now,” you said quietly.

George nodded, and finally dismissed you. “Call the others back on your way out,” he ordered, and you gave a verbal confirmation before pushing one of the tent flaps open. You peered outside and saw that Lafayette and John were talking nearby. You headed to them, waving a hand to catch their attention.

“F/N! The General didn’t chew you out too much, I hope?” John teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I got out alive,” you joked. “The General requests you guys and the other officials to return, by the way.” John chuckled, patting your shoulder as he passed by. Lafayette ruffled your hair before he and John headed out to look for the other officials that dispersed in the camp. You sighed and walked back to your tent, the clashing sensation of relief and anxiousness washing over you.

Your secret was safe... for now.

[meganharperr-blog]

COVID-19 Day 3

Why did I start on day 3 you might ask? Well day 1 was reserved for crying, self pity, deep bouts of depression, restless anxiety, and a shit ton of edibles. Day 2 was consumed by coming up with a plan. So let’s back track to what I can remember about those days and the questions I have been asked:

1.  What made you get tested? Did you have symptoms? I very honestly get routine tests. If I am exposed to larger groups of people than my norm, I get tested. If I have a bunch of makeup gigs, I get tested. I get tested for my clients and customers. It is my moral obligation and civil duty to make sure I am 100% healthy to perform justifiably in all the fields I conduct business…which is a vast amount of service based income. I am a makeup artist, and Esthetician, and a Bartender. I either have my hands physically on someone or I am serving masses of people at a given time. Now doing all of this I have become insanely hyper aware of sanitation. In my studio I have Clorox wipes at arms reach, I sanitize with Barbicide and I am Barbicide certified, all sheets and blankets get washed after every client, and if you have had your makeup done by me before you know I wont use the same brush twice and it must be sanitized in-between clients. This has all been second nature to me for years. So when I had a bunch of photoshoots and clients on the books I knew it was time to get tested for peace of mind. Only a week and 1/2 after my last COVID test. The only thing I can even consider a symptom would be the night before I had a headache. I took Advil and it went away no problem. I was also on my cycle and having cramps…or could they have been “body pains”? Shit idk. All I know is I made a joke about having COVID on my way to my rapid testing…

2. Have you heard that the rapid tests are not as accurate? When I got my results back in 15 min and it was my first ever positive I was shocked. I did not trust it right away and pretty much everyone in my circle said get a second opinion. So I got 2 more. One was another rapid test. The other would get back to me in 3 days. I mentally claimed it was a false positive. 

My brain: “shiiiit. There aint no way. No way in hell girl. You careful as shit. You got all these blessings coming your way. Business is booming. Opportunities are rising. Aint no slowing down for 2 weeks right now.” 

I of course made my partner come with me and get a rapid test as well as the test that would take 3 days to get back to us. While waiting for the results I wanted to get vitamins and snacks and what ever else I may need if this does become my reality. We get to Publix and my heart sinks into my asshole and I’m like…. SHOULD I EVEN GO IN THERE?! The anxiety started building right then and there. I thought to myself “Just keep your mask on, Social distance, you know wtf goin on just be safe” … as we get into the store I wasn’t feeling it. I saw older people around me and I just didn’t feel right and in that moment my phone started to ring. I bursted into tears and couldn’t even stay in the store. I just knew it. It was legit.. 

The lady on the phone was so nice. She asked if it was what I expected to hear and I honestly said “no”. Because I just knew I didn’t have it. I knew how careful I had been.I am not a perfect person by any means but I see y'all reckless ass Mfer’s out there and we are not the sameeeee man shit nawwww this couldn't happen to me. But it did. 

3. How did you get it? OMFG IDK! I have exhausted my brain with this question. How could this happen to me? Shit did I drop my mask at some point? Did I get too close to someone outside at ( insert bar name here ) when I went to have a drink on Saturday night? But it was outside? 

Googles : “Can you catch COVID outside? “

    “Can you catch COVID with a mask on?”

    “Can you catch COVID from  it being on your clothing?”

    “Can you catch COVID from a toilet seat?”

I mean you name it I Googled it. And the unfortunate answer was yes to all of the above. I got tested on the 4th. So I know I got it sometime after that. I of course contacted everyone I came in contact with….which was horrible! I felt freaking terrible!!! I swear it was worse than narrowing down an STD culprit. It’s like shit… you get an STD…you hit up your top 5, or top 10…look idk your life like that…and have everyone get tested. Let’s be real though you got it narrowed down and think you probably know who did you dirty….Get the results back and boom its over with. Take the meds move on with your life no-one has to know. COVID on the other hand can fucking KILL YEW, PEOPLE YOU CARE ABOUT, GRANDMAS THAT THEY CARE ABOUT, CHILDREN WITH PRE-EXISTING ISSUES, IT CAN KILL PEOPLE. So you gotta back track back track. Make sure all bases are covered especially when you work multiple outlets which is mad important these days. THE MORAL of all this is… idk. Idk how I got it. I am mad careful. I be judging you on social media for being out and reckless without a mask on. I get tested frequently. I have hand sanitizer in every bag I own, in my car, and all over my home. I AM A NEAT FREAK and a GERMY! I am careful. To say the least..but not perfect I am sure after working 10 hours in a mask I have let it fall for a few min! I am sure on my bike I have dropped it out of pure exhaustion. I know I have tried hard, but I am still human and this is all new.  So y’all non-maskers out there think you on to something…in reality you could have it too and not even know. Psh. Anyways. Next question…

4. Does your partner have it too? No. Somehow no. This is where we had to start coming up with a plan. We work together so this puts us both out of work. LUCKILY we have been saving incase of a shut down and we also have back up savings for a home we *hope* to purchase next year so that plan was solid…. But how to keep him healthy? Just because I do not have symptoms does not mean his body will react the same way. I need to make sure he does not get infected as well. We are going to continue to get him tested for the next several days to monitor that. He is quarantining and I am in what is called “isolation”for a minimum of 14 days. We try our best to stay in different rooms. We have a tiny apartment with one bathroom, so I am just constantly sanitizing right now. Everything I touch or may have touched gets a Clorox wipe. We both wear masks 24/7 in the house. Even if he goes outside to walk the dog, I am keeping a mask on. I have learned so much in the past 48 hours about contracting the virus that I do not even want to risk a drop of my saliva in this house. I am doing disposable masks every day. I luckily have plenty of masks and gloves from working on clients. If I cook I wash my hands, sanitize, then put on gloves. We eat in separate rooms or at the edge of the room so it feels like we are eating together. We are really trying our best and that is some shit they do not prepare you for. Your partner has to be careful around you. They cannot touch you or even come near you and sometimes have to remind you of that. Try to do chores in separate rooms. Try to not get your feelings hurt because its not that they don’t want to be around you, but it is dangerous and they cannot be. So my poor lil feelings keep getting hurt, but I’m a tough gal it’ll be alright I just want to make sure he stays healthy. 

5. Can you breathe? So this brings us to day 3. We have a plan. It has been working. I have my little cleaning things I am doing in one room, he has his in another…and I am pretty much in Go Mode. Before all of this I had a Cleaning Babe coming to help me with things so I had a list for her. I just embodied her and did the list myself plus some major decluttering. I have a ton of clothes to donate (that I am letting sit bagged up for 14 days just to be cautious before donating…some shit I read idk…might get anxious and throw it all away…tbd) so while I am going to town cleaning out my abyss I start to get really short of breath and kinda lethargic. I laid down on the bed to catch my breath for several minutes then took a little break from cleaning. This is the first time I have felt any type of crazy. I still have a lot of anxiety about the days to come. Will it get worse? Will I start to feel like actual hell on earth? Will I be able to keep my partner safe? Shit idk but I am trying really hard. They simply do not tell you about the anxiety that you will have. It is normal. You are going to be generally overwhelmed if you are a good person. Just stay good. and Stay aware.... and Stay tuned. I may not write every single day. But I will keep you updated. If you have any helpful stuff for me to read, please send it my way! If you have any questions feel free to ask. If you have been in this situation with a live in positive and negative… what’s your advice? My DM’s and PM’s are open. 

[digimonadventuretimelines]

[10-  Emergencial Reunion!!]

“You said it was an emergency so you have to be straight and tell us what’s going on.”

Iori didn’t want to sound rude, but considering everyone at this point is full of work to do, like Joe having many appointments with hurt or sick digimon as example.

“It’s about him” Ken said with a serious tone.

Everyone stopped talking or complaining, creating a heavy and uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. It wasn’t like they had given up on Daisuke, and yes that they had no clues to solve that issue. Taichi had gotten no time to search for him, and had given a lot of excuses to the media to keep everything under control. If not… How would’ve Taichi explain that without revealing that Daisuke is one of the DigiChosen?

“What did you get?” Miyako broke the silence, yet her voice was cold. They were talking about her husband after all.

“We never learned what happened to him” Ken began, “Two years ago, we got a message on our digivices about a mysterious S.O.S. signal. Daisuke and I went to check it out, but we had been ambushed by a digimon.”

“That we know, Ichijouji” Takeru vaguely commented.

“The jogress was an option for us but, we got separated in combat. When we found each other, Daisuke shoved me into the gate to save me from being captured.” 

“Then, what have you discovered about the case?” Taichi acted as the good and old leader once again “You said on the phone that it is connected to the Roar of Freedom, am I wrong?”

“It’s an assumption” Ken explained “This group had been spotted on the same area Daisuke got caught, and they know who we are. Because after someone executed the Strikedramon brothers… We found that they left a message addressed to us.”

“Are they threatening us…?” Yamato clenched his fist, but Takeru calmed him down.

“We didn’t give up on finding Daisuke, and this may be the very first clue we got since two years ago.”

“... What you want us to do?” Koushiro asked him, and that was everyone’s question as well. 

Ken hated to feel pressured by glares, somehow it brings him bad memories from his childhood. However, he was on Daisuke’s position in the group -- While Taichi is the first and Yamato the second… Daisuke is somehow the third. And Ken does not like to be the lead despite being the head of the Special Digimon Cases Unit.

“Nothing for now” he answered a few moments later, trying to formulate words in his mind.

“You want to go there and investigate, am I wrong?” Taichi said, then looked at the others.

“If Ken goes, I’m going” Miyako raised from her seat “Daisuke is not only our friend, it’s my husband. And I have to protect my family.”

“I’d like to go too but… I’m busy” Iori mused.

“I have a lot to do too” Hikari, Mimi and Sora replied, some frowns were visible.

“The hospital needs me, I’m sorry” Joe was honest as ever, deep down he wanted to do more for the group but he was the most busiest of the them right now.

“I could go, but” Takeru spoke “I have a book release to attend. After that, I can lend you a hand Ken.”

“The next mission is settled to the next week” Yamato was pouty “I will help giving support here. Could go investigating those cases in the meanwhile” then he glanced at Taichi.

“Sorry, I can’t go” and he answered “I had been a target, while I can still fight… Handling with the role as a Chosen Child and as the digimon’s Ambassador wouldn’t be good. I trust you two though. If you need help, I will do my best to send backup.”

“Taichi, our identities are a secret!” Yamato argued “You can’t simply ruin all of our efforts to keep our families safe!”

“I won’t, I prefer to call Ken’s unit to give him and Miyako support.”

Daichi was sleeping when someone had entered in his room. Luckily, Ulforce and Natsu were still spending the night at the old Daisuke’s office room so no one suspected about them.

A very quiet voice was what made Daichi wake up, seeing a blurred human holding a pink ball.

Wait.

“Daichi, please wake up and help” Kiyoko was the one he saw now that his vision went back to normal “This lil’ guy is needing some help!”

“Lil… W-wait, that’s a digimon!?”

“No, it’s a plush. Duh, of course he is!”

“What happened?!” he got up from the bed “Where did he come from!? Where did you find him!?”

“Uhh, long story short… He was running away from some baddie and de-evolved back to this form. Is it a… Poromon right?”

“Hm yes” he examined the borb-like baby “I think it is.”

“Why don’t you use that shining thing on your desk?”

“Shiny thing--” he looked back and realized he didn’t hide the D-TimeRune before going to sleep!! “Aa- Um, that thing!? It’s a phone! A normal phone!! Old phone I meant…!”

She smirked, “I know you’re hiding something from me dear brother. Because after getting your message, I phoned Mitsuki and he said you weren’t at his home. I also phoned your other friends and they said the same!”

He gasped.

“You can’t hide it from me, Daichi. I’m sly as a fox, faster like a cheetah and your sister.”

“A… Uh… Please, don’t tell anyone about this” Daichi sighed “I’ve got a digivice and a digimon partner.”

“YOU WHAT!?”

“Y-you’re going to wake mom up!!” he whispered to her “Please don’t tell mom or anyone else.”

“Fine fine!” Kiyoko muttered and pouted “Now please help me with this digimon, he seems hurt!”

Daichi grabbed the digivice and told Kiyoko to follow him to the room no one ever had opened since Daisuke’s disappearance. When they stood in front of the door, Daichi muttered:

“This is also a secret, don’t let anyone else know,” and he opened the door. They walked in and he closed the door, turned the lights on and made the sleepy digi-duo wake up.

“Aww, they’re cute!!” she was looking at them and almost squishing the hurt Poromon “What are they? Digimon too? That’s a Chibimon and… I never had heard of a pink bun!”

“Daichi isn’t your identity supposed to be a secret?” Natsu squinted her eyes but her expression changed to concern “Uh-oh, you have an injured digimon here! Let me heal it…!” and she switched forms in front of them, took the Poromon from Kiyoko’s hands and put it on the couch by Ulforce’s side. she send an energy from her hands to the bird-like digimon, healing him slowly.

“A secret?” Kiyoko glanced at Daichi “I thought you wouldn’t hide something from me…!”

“Natsu said to me to not tell anyone else, there’s some things you cannot know--”

“And there’s more!? And you can’t trust me!?”

“I think y’all should tell her” Ulforce interrupted the heated discussion. Both Daichi and Natsu looked at him “Sorry guys, the girl needs to know now that she’s aware of us here.”

“Fine, Daichi tell her I’m busy to give details. But you must keep quiet about it, Kiyoko.”

“I… I will, don’t worry!” the girl nodded “Not even mom and dad must know right…?”

“Especially them, or else they will lock me in the depths of the Digital World.”

“Ok…?” Kiyoko wasn’t able to understand that, but she promised to not tell anyone about whatever it was Daichi’s secret.

“... Mom and dad are legendary heroes” Daichi began “Remember of those stories about the Digital World’s warriors? They were real… And our dad is a brainwashed enemy right now.”

She stared at him for a while. Then she snorted and laughed but not too much loud.

“Seriously? Have you been talking with Junya lately? Our parents are heroes!? How funny!”

“Kiyoko I’m deadly serious here! They are, I just saw--”

“Wait, How can a digimon researcher and a worldwide famous chef be secret heroes? It makes no sense, big bro. You’re talking like Junya about the conspiracy theory of ambassador Yagami hiding the truth from everyone about the legends.”

“... He is right. But not for something evil, actually it’s about our safety.”

“Daichi, I don’t know what happened to you to jump from ‘our dad is dead’ to ‘our dad is alive, and our parents are part of the legendary Chosen Children’ but I know dad is on a business trip and our parents aren’t heroes.”

“He’s telling the truth” Natsu turned back and stared at Kiyoko “Daisuke, Miyako and Taichi are DigiChosen. Most of their friends are.”

“I… It’s strange knowing that our babysitter is a digimon but...”

“Kiyoko, my sweetie… I’ve been with your parents from a long time ago that I’m basically an honored digimon partner. Believe me, I tell no lies.”

“Why would dad be an enemy? He’s a good person!! Makes no sense!”

“He had been captured, but Daichi knows how to fix it… You have to stay here and not tell anyone about it--”

“Urk…” the Poromon woke up, his vision being pretty blurred but slowly coming back. His noise called the kids, Natsu and Ulforce’s attention though “I need to find the… C-Chosen Children.”

“Don’t talk, you’re badly injured!” Kiyoko said, worried with the poor bird “You’re safe, please rest.”

“Why is he looking for them?” Ulforce tilted his head.

“What happened to him, Kiyoko?” Daichi asked calmly.

“I don’t know, I was coming back from school and…”

  … It fell from the skies devolved in front of me.

“Hey little one, are you okay?!” I approached from, super duper concerned with him. I took from the ground and examined him for a few seconds. Then he talked to me:

“... Human kid-- W-watch out…!!” He said and then he shove me to the ground. A light hit this poor Poromon and he fell again on the floor.

“Ugh, h-hey why did you-- Huh!?” I looked behind me and saw a shadow. It was trying to catch the Poromon so I grabbed the bird orb from the floor and ran away.

  Daichi, Ulforce and Natsu looked at Kiyoko, then to each other. To Daichi, that sounded like the plot of one of the old games he and his father had played together.

“So, someone’s looking for him” the boy mused “And, probably is going after you now.”

“Yeah, I think so…”

“Do you think it chased her at home?” Ulforce looked around “I mean-- Not like I care of someone trying to invade your home...”

“The house is safe” Daichi said “There’s alarms and mx. Hawkmon lives here. He’s mom’s partner after all.”

“Uh… About that…” The three looked at Kiyoko “... Mom and mx. Hawk are not here, they went to an important meeting.”

“So we’re all alone!?” Ulforce babbled in panic, then he started to verify every corner of the room “Are we safe!?”

“Are you scared…?” Natsu smirked “Aren’t you the grand hero Ulforce?”

“Me!? Scared!?” the tiny-mon took the bait “I gonna show ya how great I am! Daichi kid, evolve me and I will protect everyone for the night!”

“Uh, no need to--” suddenly a noise was heard from outside. Kiyoko grabbed the Poromon and hid behind Natsu, while Daichi took the D-TimeRune to see if it was a digimon signal.

“Wha-what was that!?” the girl asked “It sounded like someone crashing the restaurant’s entrance door…!”

“Stay here” Daichi whispered, “Ulforce come with me.”

“F-fine…??” he nodded, then jumped to the boy’s arms. The duo left the room, leaving Natsu and Kiyoko to protect the injured Poromon.

“... Mom’s going to not like if they damage the restaurant” Kiyoko mused “Natsu, can you see if there’s someone inside?”

“I don’t feel anything from here, and Poromon is injured we can’t--”

Kiyoko left the room and Natsu sighed. No matter how much she worked to keep the siblings safe for the sake of their lives… Those two always find a way to get into trouble. Quite like their parents.

When the girls arrived at the restaurant floor, they saw Ulforce on child level already and chasing a shadow, with Daichi going after the blue digimon.

“It’s… It’s that one who was chasing me!!” Kiyoko shouted, Daichi glanced at her but turned back to the battle “P-please don’t damage the restaurant, dad wouldn’t like it…!!”

“I won’t!” He assured her “Ulforce, Kiyoko, Natsu, try to lure it to the outside!”

“Wait will you put YOUR SISTER in danger!?” Natsu babbled.

“She’s fine, she’s with us!”

“Yes, but do you forgot she’s a not a tamer!?”

“Oh screw that!” Kiyoko yelled “With or without a digimon, I’ve raised to fight! I’m made of fire!” then she ran towards the mysterious silhouette, with the Poromon in her hands “Hey, dummy dumbo thing! Come catch me, leave this place alone and come after me!” She left the restaurant by the main entrance, forcing the shadow to chase her.

“Good job, Kiyoko!” Daichi nodded, then looked at Ulforce and Natsu “Let’s go, we need to prevent that thing from hurting Kiyoko and the Poromon.”

“Ok” they nodded and with this the three left after the shadow.

[strigital]

“Alive”

A Miraak/Dovahkiin drabble

just a lil’ something that suddenly came to my mind on this fine sunny evening... hope y’all enjoy :)

a teeny-tiny warning tho: there’s mentions of bodily trauma, so keep that in mind if you can’t handle anything that describes wounds and such. better safe than sorry, eh?

He is awoken by a cough. A sudden need for his body to take in a large gulp of air, to get all of the Apocryphal dust out if his lungs which yearned to expand after an eternity spent shriveled and dormant. Then comes the pain. Sharp and deep, somewhere behind his fast-beating heart. His hand flies to his chest, attempting to grasp at the hurting area as instincts tell him to, only for him to come upon tight linen bandages pressing down onto his ribcage, hardened due to all the blood that dried on them. Ah, now it all comes to him. Familiar pain like the one inflicted upon him by Vahlok the Jailer; his ribs are broken to pieces, stabbing at his lungs and heart, penetrating the chest muscles, poking at the bruised skin somewhere beneath all those layers of bandages that keep him from breathing deep and, by doing so, worsening his injuries. He opens his eyes and stares at the low stone ceiling, dusty and covered in moss and spider webs, glowing with a faint bronze tint, probably due to a fire lit somewhere nearby. His eyes start to burn mere moments later, as if someone just threw sand into them. And whilst he lay there, with tears slowly dripping from under the tightly shut eyelids and his chest raising and falling with abrupt and shallow breaths, he’s thinking. 

His head is hollow and all he can think of is devouring darkness, cold yet comfortable, enveloping yet welcoming. Something swallowed him, something big, so big it might as well be endless. What was before that? Blinding flash of acid-green light and pain, horrible, unspeakable pain that punched him in the ribs, broke through his spine, tore out everything in its path, leaving him a wrecked shell.

 He died.

 He was victorious at the Summit of Apocrypha, his hand on his Sil Briinah throat, his cold blade pressed against that fallen Dovah’s spine, his words slow and steady slipping from his lips, just quiet enough for him to pretend not to hear them, those words which he so suddenly, so furiously didn’t want to say:

“Dovahkiin, zii los dii du!”

And that would be it. The long awaited apotheosis. An epilogue to that absurd story, which was the fall from grace of the dragon priest Miraak. He saw blue sparkles through the slits of Konahrik’s mask and he thought to himself… Dragons do not cry. They weep, yes, even mourn. But they do not cry. The body underneath him tried to squirm, but even then he failed to understand. By the time he noticed an oily black shadow fall upon him, it was too late. And then there was pain. Shattering his ribs, tearing out his heart, breaking through his spine. Then – blackness never-ending.

 He feels a shiver, as if the entirety of this place in which he is shaken by something huge. Dust falls from the ceiling, landing on the man’s sweat-covered face. Another painful cough, another jolt of pain deep within his wrecked chest. The rumble subsides, and so Miraak attempts to get up. He’s hurting all over and he wants to scream his pain away, but he doesn’t. He gets up slowly, within good five or even ten minutes, with grunts and moans, silenced by his tightly shut jaw. He sits there on the edge of a stone bed with countless furs tossed over it, staring at his bruised feet and the floor beneath them, not quite ready yet to try and stand up. He takes a look around. A familiar to his eye rounded form of the room tells him that he is in a Nordic burrow. It looks old, millennia old, but still clean, cozy and warm. Dried herbs hanging by the walls, old weapons and armor tucked in the corners here and there, small piles of knickknacks all over the place - it all made this ominous place feel like somebody’s home. There’s small fire pit in the center of the room, near it – a pot with something medicinal boiling in it. Someone’s boots, dirty and worn, covered in mud and dried blood, stand near a wall, next to them – a long bow with dragons head carved into its handle; the weapon looks well-loved and taken care of, unlike the boots… His own robes are just right there, laying on a table, clean and patched up – the sewing needle is still nearby, stuck into a ball of dark-green yarn. His mask is also here, gleaming in the light of the fire, polished with love and care, not a single scratch or patch of dirt on it. Miraak’s slits stare back at the man who wore its name, empty and cold, looking so unnervingly creepy so far away from his face, giving him an impression that he’s looking at his own decapitated head. The man’s eyes quickly wander away from the cursed mask, until he sees another one. The very familiar mask with curved tusks and a fresh scratch across its forehead where a sword recently struck… And then a flash before his eyes: his voice strong in a victorious roar as the curved sword with black tendrils enveloping its blade descents down onto his nemesis, the scratching of metal against metal and a burst of sparks, and then his enemy falls to the ground, stunned and defeated. And then it all finally falls into place for Miraak and now all he can think about is why?

 Why?

 Why?!

 Why…

 His body suddenly gains strength as rage and desperation all in equal measure fill him to the brim. He jumps to his feet without as much as grunting at the pain and limps his way towards the darkness behind the doorway where the light from the fire place cannot reach. Like in a feverish dream he stumbles his way through a seemingly endless hallway, lead only by the subtle draft against his cheek and faint echoes of running water and wind. An eternity later he feels grass beneath his feet and squints when the sunlight pouring through a broken gate to this burrow reaches his eyes. He stops once he reaches the edge of a dark cocoon in which he slumbered for what seemed like ages. He stands there for an endless moment, letting the wind caress his broken, aching body with a warm touch. He looks at lush green pines swaying in the wind and finds it unspeakably pretty how sunlight plays in the branches. He listens to birds and cannot recognize a single song. And then he sees a small and bubbly stream of translucent water running down and around this burrow. It runs and runs down the forested hill upon which he is standing and falls quietly into a bigger stream. Suddenly he’s overcome with irresistible thirst and so he moves again. His body screams in agony, but he resists the urge to fall and lay there on soft grass, gasping for fresh air and wishing his painful misery to be gone forever. When he finally reaches the edge of the water, he’s so unreasonably joyous and delighted, that he cannot even recognize himself anymore. All the little fish scatter in fear as the man falls onto his knees and splashes water onto his aching, suffering body. The burning pain washes away with sweat and dried blood and he feels alive. So unspeakably alive he throws his head up to face the bright blue sky above the towering pines and with his hands thrown wide open he laughs. He laughs like a child and cannot get enough of the feeling of water dripping from his hair and down his gravely wounded, but very much living body. And when he stops to breathe in he sees her. On the other side of the river hips deep in the water, with her skin covered in countless droplets of water that sparkle in the sun like tiny stars and her eyes like two flawless sapphires giving him an amused smile. He doesn’t know who or what she is and he thinks he must be truly dead for all of this feels like the Realm of Azura herself, but then he sees it: the long, curved cut, haphazardly sewn together with a horse’s hair, stretching from her ear, down her neck and across her collarbone, disappearing right in the middle of her breasts tightly bound together with a thick linen cloth. That was the wound he inflicted upon Konahrik, when his enemy’s armor gave in under the pressure of countless attacks with both his sword and his Thu’um. Suddenly, his paradise shatters to a million pieces and vanishes like fog in the morning. Suddenly, he realizes something that makes him frown his brow and stare at her with a mute question in his eyes.

“Slept well, I reckon?” she simply says.

And her voice is nothing like her deafening Thu’um that resembles a wolf’s bark. Here and now he hears forest birds in her voice and that makes him wonder how cruel must Akatosh be to curse such a creature with the soul of the Dov.

“Why?” is all he says, his voice hoarse and raspy for his throat needs to adjust to making sounds again.

They stare at each other without words for the longest moment in their lives. But then she drops her eyes, smiles so nonchalantly as if they weren’t two most deadly enemies in all of Nirn and picks up soaked clothes from the water, which she was busy rinsing before a man drunk on pure bliss stumbled into the river and distracted her from her laundry.

“If you’re finally feeling well, I suggest you get dressed and ready. We’re late.”

“Late to where?” he frowns.

“How about I tell you along the way?” she dodges the question again.

Then suddenly he hears echoes of roars and beating of two massive wings. He’s already steadying his breath and getting ready to let out a Shout, when she speaks again.

“Are you hungry, by the way?” her voice is so careless it makes Miraak furious in an instant.

He’s about to ask her how she can be so deaf with ears so big and not hear a damned dragon approaching, when a massive black shadow flies over his head. The branches of pine trees crack as they break and a heavy carcass of a dead elk drops behind Miraak. He stares in confusion at the dead animal and giant claw marks on its hide. He hears her yell “Kogaan, Fahdon!” at the sky and shortly after there’s a delighted roar echoing back at her. Before he knows it, the heavy beast lands on top of the burrow, perches himself like some sort of an oversized bird and begins to groom his wing, not caring in the slightest for the presence of Miraak. Yes, the very same dragon just without his armor: small and sleek, with forward-curving horns and a thick feathery mane on his neck. Konahrik made sure that during their battle at the Summit Miraak had no way of hurting this beast, going so far as to deliberately taunt Miraak just to keep his attention away from the dragon. Konahrik knew of Miraak’s power to tear a dragon’s soul from its body in an instant. The fool was ready to die just to keep that pesky flying lizard alive and well.

As if able to somehow hear Miraak’s thoughts, the dragon ceases what he was doing and looks at the former dragon priest. He tilts his head to the side, staring at the man with intense curiosity and without a single sign of hostility. The beast doesn’t seem to perceive Miraak as a threat, nor is he looking at him as a prey.

“So uh…” woman’s voice comes from behind, tearing both of them from an entranced staring contest.

The dragon goes back to grooming himself. Miraak turns and finds the woman mere steps away from him. Now, without her bulky Nordic plate she looks small and thin like a linden tree, standing in the shadow of the man who’s almost two heads taller than her and twice as wide in the shoulders. It’s hard to believe that such a creature was able to slaughter all of his former dragon priest brethren as well as a couple dozen of Alduin’s servants. Yet, despite feeling like he could snap her neck with a single squeeze of a hand, Miraak feels in a presence of an equal. Had that feeling since the moment he laid his eyes on her back when she first fell from the green sky of Apocrypha and into his domain. Now though, he is in her domain. And it would seem the tables have turned. He wonders what would come next.

“So you’re gonna eat or what? I personally hate traveling on an empty stomach” she says, so casually it hurts Miraak’s head.

She then grabs the bulky elk by its antlers and drags the carcass of an animal twice her size with such ease it makes the man raise his brows in sincere amazement. It seems his nemesis has no intention in killing him or answering his questions, at least not tonight. He would ask her a hundred times again in the future, but for now his body needs strength to heal and that strength comes with food. And so he follows her back into the burrow, where she’ll clean up his old, smelly bandages, feed him a warm bowl of elk stew and present him with his newly patched up clothes, all the while talking and babbling and chirping about things he won’t understand. Somehow, he feels that she’s hiding something from him, some sort of terrible truth that makes her fuss over him in an attempt to prematurely apologize for whatever she’s got in store for him in the future. Future that was more foggy than ever before, but a future nonetheless. But for now he’s just happy to be alive and as far away from Herma Mora’s sticky tendrils as possible. As for Konahrik… She may regret it all later.

[dex-ter-ous]

The Handheld Secret [Evil Drye AU fanfic #2]

Y’all who created the AU gave me such positive feedback on my last fic, which made me so happy that i decided to do more! in fact, now that i’m familiar with more characters and plots in the AU, i’m planning on making a small series of these fics. i hope you’ll continue to enjoy them!

For those of you who don’t know, this AU was created by @undertale-cat, and involves the contribution of his friends. Each friend has one (or two?) characters in the AU. (i’m not really part of that group idon’tthink, i just write fics for y’all XD)

But anyway -- this fic involves Lieutenant Cat by @undertale-cat, King Drye by @dryeguy, and YOU the reader! once you’re done enjoying this fic, i encourage you to go check out those blogs! they do lots of cool stuff that i’m sure you’ll like!

One last note: this fic is set in a time soon after the situation in this audio by DryeGuy, which i suggest you listen to before reading this. the first part of the fic is set in an earlier time (right after the first part of fic #1), but as you’ll see later on, it’s “the reader” having a flash back)

HOkay, here it is! enjoy!

The moment King Drye and I exit the dungeon cell, I notice several guards lined up along the dim hallway. One of them looks different from the rest, both because of his nobleman attire and the way he immediately begins walking alongside the King and I. As soon as he notices me, his hand darts for the sword he carries in a hip scabbard.

“That won’t be necessary, Cat.” the King quickly stops him, making the the guard reluctantly release his weapon. “Our... unexpected guest will be staying with us for a little while longer.”

Chills run up my spine as Cat quickly scans me with critical, disapproving eyes. The short man takes wide strides to keep up with his master, rapidly beginning to gesture with his hands. I, on the other hand, limp unsteadily behind them. I really wish the King wouldn’t expect me to walk right now; I still feel like a horse used me as a doormat.

Even though King Drye obviously tries to ignore him, Cat walks ahead of Drye and turns around to face him, moving his hands with agitated quickness. Is that sign language? I can’t understand it, but the movements appear too intricate to be simply emotive.

“Enough. I have made my final decision.” Drye says firmly, putting a hand up and making Cat rest his own. “Don’t think I didn’t consider that before I let them live… besides, just look at them.”

The King stops and grins at me over his shoulder, then says with a chuckle, “i don’t think they’ll be causing us any trouble.”

Wow. that’s got to be the nicest way I've ever been told that I look pitifully harmless.

Cat isn’t convinced, however, judging by the glare he gives me. I can see it in his eyes that he still wants to protest, but he knows better than to try his master’s patience.

“The poor fellow can hardly walk… Cat, help them.” King Drye commands, then faces forward and continues down the hall. I make one last attempt to walk competently, but Cat doesn’t care to wait and see if I succeed. I give an uncomfortable grunt of pain as he jams himself up under one of my arms. He proceeds to usher me instead of help me walk, forcing me to keep up with the King. he’s having none of my slow, crippled business.

“Uhm… sire?” I murmur, as soon as Cat pulls me up to the King’s side. I’m not sure how to say this, or even if I should. “If I may ask, who is…”

“This is Lieutenant Cat, my personal bodyguard and advisor.” Drye replies. “Well, I never gave him the latter job, but he seems to think I did. You’ll have to excuse him for not introducing himself. He cannot speak.”

That explains the sign language, I think to myself. I dare to glace at Cat out of the corner of my eye, and notice his ever-so-peeved expression. To be fair, if I were lugging a crippled criminal around, probably getting blood and dirt on my fancy clothes in the process, I think i’d be irritable too. It already seems like Cat and I aren’t exactly going to get along, but I suppose that’s nothing to worry about, as long as I stay on the king’s good side.

A loud THUMP echos through the library as my book falls out of my hands. I’ve just been daydreaming again, thinking back to my first day of living here in the palace. Cat turns to look at me as I pick my book up and sheepishly place it back on the shelf. Satisfied with that, Cat looks away and continues his search for a book of his own.

I remember thinking that Cat would always resent me, but our acquaintanceship has gotten better than I thought it would. At least he no longer stares at me any time that i’m not sitting still. He used to be so distrustful of me that I literally couldn’t sneeze without him analyzing my movement. I suppose that’s just part of his job; he’s unquestionably loyal to King Drye, and would like nothing more than to save his master’s life by sacrificing his own. That being said, it’s no wonder he used to keep such a sharp eye on me, the stranger at Drye’s heels. Now a days, he still checks on me every so often, but he’s no longer under the impression that i’m itching to slit the King’s throat.

It doesn’t really bother me that Cat doesn’t trust me; in all honesty, I don’t trust him either. And I don’t mean that as in I don’t tell him my true thoughts about being here, because I don’t reveal that to anyone as is. I mean that he does things that lead me to think that he’s hiding something from me… something that I need to know.

Cat has always communicated with King Drye through sign language, and Drye’s response is almost always vocal. Cat isn’t deaf, after all, so there’s no reason not to speak to him. However, i’ve noticed that on occasion, Drye will reply to Cat using signs as well. His hands aren’t quite as fast as Cat’s, but he appears to have a firm enough grasp on the language. I’ve counted since it first happened, and since then, he’s done it three more times. The reason for it could be that Drye doesn’t want any staff in the vicinity to eavesdrop on him and Cat’s conversation. But no matter how many times I tell myself that, for the sake of putting my mind at ease, I can’t get myself to believe it. My relentless anxiety insists that whatever the King and Cat sign to each other involves me in some way; a way that they don’t want me to be aware of. What might that be?

Well… honestly, I can’t accept that King Drye welcomed me into his home out of nothing more than fondness and generosity. Don’t get me wrong, I do think kindly of myself, but I doubt there’s anything about me that’s special enough to capture the King’s attention. The fact that he even let me live that day, even though I had so little to offer him, is a marvel all on its own. What’s even more bizarre is the fact that he believed me, when my words were simple enough for any desperate prisoner to say. If the King were really that gullible, the resistance would have overthrown him long before now. When I consider all of this at once, it just doesn’t make enough sense. There must be a hidden motive in Drye’s mind, which I believe he shares with Cat when they speak in hands.

What they don’t seem to know is that I am no longer deaf to them. I taught myself how to read sign language.

About three weeks ago, King Drye took me to the library for what I think was the fifth time. Our visits there are very frequent, since i’ve been blowing through my novels so quickly. While no one was watching me, I took advantage of the opportunity and retrieved a textbook for sign language. It was a rather slim book, so I managed to hide it beneath my shirt until we made it back home. I didn’t want anyone to know what I was doing, especially not Cat or Drye. Every day, I kept it hidden in my room until I could study in the late hours of the night. I was desperate to learn the language as soon as possible, lest I miss my next chance to translate their conversation. This made me stay up terribly late and gave me an obviously exhausted countenance during the day. The King noticed this, and told me he would only take me to the library again if I learned to get to bed earlier. That’s actually why i’m here today. I finished learning sign language and then followed the King’s instructions, just in time to come and see the new shipment of books.

“Lieutenant Cat?” I call softly off to my side, catching the bodyguard’s attention. “Do you happen to recognize any of these novels?”

Cat makes his way to me and looks over the new selection of books, while I wait patiently for him to pick one of them for me. Our similar taste in literature makes him helpful for telling me which books I ought to read. He’s done this a few times in the past, which I appreciate.

He finally takes a book off the shelf and hands it to me, tapping it and nodding as I take it in my own hands.

“The scarlet letter? I suppose I already know what this will be about…” I murmur, cracking the book open and glancing at a few pages. “Did you enjoy reading this?”

Cat replies with a small nod. I hold the book to my chest and give him a warm smile.

“Then i’m sure I will as well. Thank you, Lieutenant.” I say in a kind tone. Much to my surprise, he reflects my smile back at me. That’s such a rare sight, but a pleasant one nonetheless.

Never being one to forget his duty, Cat leaves me almost as quickly as he came, off to check on the King again. He finds his master busily inspecting the latest additions of maps, which he has spread out over a long library counter. I wave shyly to him when he looks up, meeting eyes with Cat and I.

“Are you two enjoying yourselves?” Drye asks us with a light grin.

I nod politely and watch as Cat signs, “yes, thank you” to the King. I easily understood that gesture, but then again, it’s one of the most simple in all of the language. I can only hope that i’ll remember the more complex signs if and when they are needed.

Before the sun sets behind the west forest, the King, Cat, and I arrive back home for supper. I’m delighted to have a few new books to keep me company, including the one that Cat picked out for me. I think i’ll be reading that one first, since the thought of Cat’s smile has given it a sort of allure.

It’s evenings like this that I feel more accepting of my predicament. The weather is warm and calm, the castle is looking as lovely as ever, and both the King and Cat are in good spirits. Those small but prominent details give me a sense of peace and contentment. As long as I just ignore my many troubling thoughts, I can spend the rest of this day enjoying myself.

As soon as King Drye steps into the Foyer, one of his staff approaches him with a small package in his hands. Drye’s voice takes on a delighted tone as he accepts the item and excuses the staff.

“Wait, before we go any further…” he says, turning around and looking at me, “i have something for you.”

“F-for me…?” I stutter, taken aback. Cat looks rather surprised as well. My cheeks turn red as Drye hands me a small jewelry box, fastened shut with a satin ribbon. I nervously untie it and open the box, gasping when I see what’s inside.

A familiar piece of fine jewelry lays under the lid. It’s a broach, but not just any broach. it’s almost identical to the amber heart on Drye’s chest, except for the color; deep crimson red. Its lustrous charm leaves me at a brief loss for words.

“Oh, sire, it… it’s beautiful!” I gush, looking up at him with a genuine smile of awe and gratefulness. Drye chuckles with delight as he carefully takes it out of the box and pins it to the left breast of my suit.

“You see, I was just so proud of you for your show of obedience last week, though I know it was hard for you. So, I thought… perhaps you deserve a reward for such good behavior. I ordered this to be made special for you, in the color I noticed you’re most fond of.” Drye explains.

Last week… no, I don’t want to remember that dreadful occurrence. I force the thought out of my mind and focus on the King’s thoughtful present.

“I make it a point to wear my heart every single day. It’s become part of me.” he says, stepping back and admiring the sight of his gift adorning me. “Would you do the same?”

“If it would please you, my King.” I reply, bowing my head to him.

Drye smiles and lifts my chin in his hand, gazing into my eyes with a look of adulation. I try not to shiver as my cheeks burn warm with blush. Even in this dazed and bashful state, I notice Cat tensing beside me.

“Excellent… now, come along. Our dinner awaits.” Drye finally says, releasing me and turning away.

Cat and I take our places at the King’s sides as we make our way toward the dining room. Curious about his reaction to all of this, I glance to the side at Cat. His expression is nakedly grim. Perhaps he’s envious of the King and I?

Before I can analyze Cat’s expression any further, I see him raise his hands in preparation to speak. Though I try not to make it obvious, I watch his hands very closely.

“Why would you do that?” his hands say, moving harshly as if to physically emote a firm tone. “What if someone saw what you just did? Your guest is merely a commoner. Forgive me sire, but… I must inform you that allowing yourself to have feelings for the likes of them is most inappropriate for a King.”

I can’t say I disagree with that… i’m equally surprised that Drye would show me affection, especially in such an open way. But more importantly, i’m understanding Cat’s signals very well. This could be the moment i’ve been waiting for.

As soon as I see the King’s head turning toward me, I avert my eyes back to my broach and feign disinterest. His gaze lingers on me for a moment before he looks back to Cat, raising his own hands now.

Yes, this is it. I keep my eyes glued to his hands as he signs his reply.

“Do not mistake my strategic flattery for infatuation. This is all meant to prepare them for the important role they’re going to play.”

… what?

My heart sinks into my boots as the realization hits me.

He’s not showing me affection or generosity… he’s just blandishing me! But for what?! What role could he possibly need me to fill?!

I can’t even stop to question that as my spark of shock quickly fans into a furious fire. I have to clench my fists firmly at my sides, just to avoid the overwhelming temptation to rip the broach off my chest and smash it on the floor. My blood boils as I come to grips with the fact that every kind gesture the King has given me has all been part of a clever ruse. The only thing I feel besides anger is shame, for i’ve been falling for his tricks. I let his flattery persuade me to accept betraying my alliance and being here at his side. But I never should have stopped resenting him! The King made me execute a man only a week ago, and i’ve already forgiven him for it! This is wrong!

But no more… now that I know it was all a lie, I won’t be won over again. I have to remember where I am, and stay determined to make it out alive. There’s so much I can tell the leaders of the resistance, just as soon as I escape.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply as I promise myself that I won’t let the bliss of my new life distract me ever again. For now, I have to feign respect and obedience, but I won’t let him take control of my mind.

Whatever “role” he has for me, I swear I won’t play it!

to be continued...

[blackwoolncrown]

curious to hear your thoughts bc i think they're sharp, as a person still figuring out fandom. what do you think of the moral okayness of thorki (the ship)? they're brothers, but gods.... godly incest? at what point does "ship what you want" stop applying?

It’s not so much about where it stops applying. Understand that I actually never have said what people should or shouldn’t read- only that what a person chooses to focus on in general (and therefore including what you write, watch, or read) is indicative of something and in many cases of certain taboo* or violent material my heavy suggestion is that that something is ultimately meaningful.

It’s not ‘just’ fiction.

So like, me personally? I often don’t actually care what someone is into (with some logical exceptions), I care whether or not they’re aware of why, because often people would rather not inspect the why so they can keep enjoying problematic media (and also my actual Big Thing is I don’t approve of situations where someone engages in activity they are not fully aware of, because to me if you aren’t aware of the consequences or origins of your actions, you haven’t fully consented to what you’re doing and that makes me sad. Example: Do you smoke cigarettes? Fine! It’s your body; as long as you aren’t exposing non-smokers to second hand smoke, no one should have shit to say. But if you start smoking bc you believe that cigarettes aren’t actually bad for you and there’s no downsides, you haven’t fully consented and now I wish you either a) inspected your motives and actions or b) stopped).

Overall I suspect that many of the most vociferous defenders of ‘fiction is just fiction!’ are people whose interests often veer into what we often call taboo (I think that word is so ineffective) who don’t want to ask themselves why. My other general rule is that people are most doggedly defensive about what they get off to. There’s also the issue of people having already brought to question their fictive interests and instead of wanting to find out the answer, deciding There’s Nothing To See Here, Fiction Is Just Fiction! Or, on the cusp of identifying a maladaptive interest and feeling as if that’s an action of self-judgment, they identify with their fictive interest because to them judging it means judging themselves.

Ideally neither is necessary. You can just understand that you got into something at a previous time but you’ve grown past it, learned from it, and can walk away from it without shame. After all, it’s ideally just your business. All I’m saying is that you know what the fuck your business is, pardon my french, because people who don’t know themselves are….well, it’s an issue.So to answer your question, here’s another question: If Thor and Loki were not brothers, would you care as much? Imagine a situation in which Thor and Loki are not related, but still share a lusty rivalry. Is something missing? What is it? What about them being gods absolves, in your mind, the impact of their siblinghood?Often, something like sibling incest (which to me is, honestly, not my bag but obviously way less awful than parent/child due to a whole slew of issues with imbalance there) is exciting to people simply because either a) the incest is the barrier to love and in general barriers to love make ‘good’ stories because two people overcoming the bounds of a romantic limitation is a more moving story than two people who can love freely (bc we love suffering and strife! it seasons things, I guess lol) and the incest is just an easy yet huge barrier b) because we have a hard time working through something without sexualizing it and who could write or would want to read about two brothers’ having a heartfelt love/hate brotherhood? Very few people, apparently, because that’s not a valued interaction. Thus, add some fucking into the story and Thor and Loki can work out their antagonistic feelings without getting to the bottom of them because we imagine sex is an equalizer and a balm (it’s not, but I understand the idea has a huge place in erotic fiction and absolutely use it myself when I write for fun).That speaks, to me, of an issue (and I’m going to be specific here) with not really having the language or familiarity with the social concept of brotherly love to make a story about it and its struggles interesting. We don’t have the language and thus cannot conceive of brother/brother reconciliation without sex. And this again speaks of a larger issue our society has with sex and the huge void of emotionality between strangers and lovers (friendships, loyalty. non-sexual bonding? What’s that?). We cannot conceive of a way to intensify, for the sake of adult (in age, not nature) entertainment, something like siblinghood without using sex.

It’s just cheap writing.

On the other hand, the very real ramifications of this easy-route conflict writing is that it sexualizes and normalizes sibling incest (or other things in the case of other stories) and I think it’s incredibly callous to want to ignore the voices of SA victims in this regard. People like to retort that ‘well YOU might not be able to tell fiction from reality, but I can’ but here’s the thing: Your subconscious mind can’t. If your brain wholly knew that the fiction you were reading was Not-Reality the information would be irrelevant and would fail to produce an emotional response. The reason we are excited, aroused, sad, scared, angry, tense, etc during movies and books is because while we are focused on them our mind is interpreting the happenings as actual happenings. To the extent (!) that media ‘pulls you in’, your  subconscious believes it, validates it, and signals responses accordingly. That’s why it’s entertaining.

I say this because something many fans of certain content don’t want to face is that the consumption and support of, and proximity to certain types of violent or taboo content starts to lessen your reaction to them. I’m not speaking as an outsider, here, and so I caution you and anyone else to second-guess the awareness of anyone who says ‘there’s no way that’s true!’. What you repeatedly experience becomes normal for you. This doesn’t apply as heavily with Thorki or similar ships bc of the conceptual complexity (it’s pretty far-removed) but there are certainly fetishes/ships  where repeated exposure lessens your reaction to that concept in general. As if that doesn’t seem to be problem enough, since this is an issue of entertainment, this also means that a person seeks more of the content. After all, what fic fan reads just one story about their scandalous OTP? You need more, or more extreme versions. And I’m not talking out of my ass here- people for some reason love incest- it’s one of the top-searched terms on any adult media site for general consumption. On sites that it’s not, that’s only because the term itself is blacklisted and users use some other coded term. In the absence of pearl-clutching, we must recognize that smutty fiction and tube sites’ activities are largely the same. b/b m/s and f/d incest continue to draw attention and I honestly don’t know why. 

And this is why I pay no mind to people who say that fiction has no effect on reality. Even if it didn’t, it arises from our reality. The real minds of real writers in the real world. And I’ve seen the results. I work with sex and fetishes- it’s my job. I know what people as a whole are into and I’m begging y’all: UNPACK THIS BAGGAGE. Soooo many fetishes are just maladaptive coping mechanisms, so talk of ‘fiction being just fiction’ are literally bullshit. Fetish, and the relative psychology of it, is my job, to the point that it’s also what I have to navigate to try and ensure my safety (by avoiding volatile fetishists) and income (my first job, for instance, was a porn artist, and by now I’m an adult content producer and prodomme). And again, many fetishes are the back end of intense or subconsciously formative moments in our lives. The attraction is not ‘the thing’, it is a thread us leading back to that moment, to learn from our experiences, to resolve past issues with the wiser perspective of our older selves.Again, there’s not much going on in terms of Thor/Loki here but on a wider scale there is. Often in fandom, for instance, it’s not really about the ship so much as the fetish. It’s disguised in the language of fandom, but people who have a bunch of incest ships are incest fetishists, full stop. There’s no difference in motive between them and the ~gross pervert guys~ reblogging porn gifs and adding incest prose to them. If geeks could more often find porn gifs that looked like their taboo OTP rest assured they’d do the same damn thing, most of them. Ficlovers like to act like their position is somehow more morally acceptable because there are no ‘real’ people involved like in porn, but whether or not a physical body is used to represent the characters/roles is a pedantic and nebulous distinction at best. Your interest is still your interest. And people are going to hate this, but it sounds so much like pedophiles on 4chan  who say that their ‘fetish’ is okay because the characters aren’t real. Furries into cubs (not the gay dude kind but the baby animal kind) feel justified the same way because the figures are fantasy creatures. But they’re still expressly coded as the infantile versions of adult characters, and again, the motive is the same. I’m not saying ALL of these things are one to one, I’m saying it’s a similar logic: “This is a fantasy and as such it says nothing about me. It would only matter if I physically did it.” Which is dishonest and illogical bc one’s fantasies  and interests arise out of their own minds. Porn consumption is a night map of the human social psyche. It’s not ‘nothing’.

Sure, most of those people would probably never touch a child, but that’s because the real world provides consequences the fantasy world doesn’t- not because they’re not interested. I know bc I’ve seen them say that themselves, many times. I was a 4chan teen. What was normal there would make a well-adjusted person puke. But I was maladaptive, impressionable and young at the time and it became normal for me. So many forms of incest, rape, pedophilia, bestiality etc became normal in the ‘shock makes things acceptable’ speed-posting culture of neverending offensiveness there. And that’s not just a 4chan thing. It’s a group anonymity thing. Any imageboard vet can tell you that. When you’re in the anonymous group, what the group does is what you do, and you go along with it, continuously being desensitized until you suddenly go WTF or…keep going. And having seen these arguments before, I’m wary of those who go to battle on the idea of all erotic fiction being totally beyond judgement, because often what is going on is that people whose interests should be judged, at the very least by themselves, argue against that so that there are other people who feel the same way who don’t realize they’ve been manipulated to cloak the offenders in their community.

But I digress.

Since my feelings on Killmonger fans* started this, I’ll offer an example of my own: I think AoU Ultron is hot. But I don’t actually want to fuck him. I wouldn’t be interested in any ‘reader x Ultron’ narratives. Why? Because despite my love for and identification with  many villains (usually bc of their victim’s rage and queer coding which always leaves them far cooler and better dressed than the hero) and my love for robots, I can’t ignore that Ultron is a heartless, people-hating, death-machine. He has no interest in love, doesn’t care about anyone, and if he bothered to fuck a person (I fucking doubt it) he’d gladly fuck them apart. And since I love myself, I don’t find that appealing. If I found the idea of being fucked to death by a robot arousing, that says something about how I feel about my existence. I know bc I am strangely fascinated by the idea of armageddon (another reason Ultron appealed to me). Spoilers: it’s just easier to feel like you want the whole world to end when you’re so certain there’s no other solution and you yourself are afraid of the emotional responsibility of weathering the world and social interactions. When you love yourself and other people, the idea of seeing the world burn stops being so entrancing. So sure it’s an enthralling literary concept. Is it something I dedicate my blog to or obsess over?

No.

Other things I’ve examined- my love for robots. Do I find myself attracted to robots because they are humanoids you can objectify free of moral conflict? No, and that sucks for me bc that’s why most people like them and that affects the kind of adult media made about them (can you tell im bitter), it’s because I find humanoid robots to be something I can identify with, I see them as symbolically human, and relating to them is, to me, acknowledging that a human is also a construct with both programming and a will of its own it uses to explore and often fight that programming. My attraction to the concept of an automaton stems from my early realization that my own body is but a fantastic collection of parts, electric signals, programmed genetic data, pulleys and fuel. Amazing! Now that I know that, have I stopped consuming robot fetish media? Well yes but only because I can’t find any I like…but in general, no. I’m not ashamed of my attraction, I’ve unpacked it, faced it, and go on about  my life. It actually did lessen the obsession, though.

So, to stay on point, sibling incest as a concept is IMO not ‘wrong’ to write/read about objectively but it is questionable to perpetuate, romanticize, fawn over, collect, celebrate, etc.  Most problematic to me is the issue of how these ships are identified. Generally any time there are 2 handsome brothers in a piece of media, some not-small-enough contingency of the fandom assumes they’re fucking, and sees all forms of affection or antagonism between them as evidence of their lust.

What does this say about your ability to recognize sibling love? What does it say about the social value (or lack thereof) of the same? When ‘all feelings lead to sex’ is the overarching theme of our entire society, I can’t really say I am uncritical of concepts like hatesex and incest being so intensely attractive to people over, say, romantic love between two people who are not related by blood. A bit of a tangent but similarly while I get the chemistry appeal, the fact that ‘hatesex’ as a concept (two people who often express aggression, hatred, intolerance etc of each other being interpreted as actually masking feelings of attraction) is so popular is ripe for questioning. How far removed is it from “He picks on you  because he likes you” and other maladaptive forms of “loving someone means hurting them…a lot” which are real actual problems people suffer for right now?

Plus, it begins to suggest as I said before that all forms of affection/relationship end in sex. Even if sex never happens, sex must logically be the apex of love if two characters who have any kind of affection, even if that affection is also seen in the presence of aggression (!) or a moral barrier (family bond), are easily assumed to be sexually compatible to the extent that fandom perpetuates.

So back to your point, this is again not really an issue (as far as where I’m coming from) with what’s right and wrong. It’s an issue of people needing to take responsibility for themselves and being curious about their own issues and interests. I’m not advocating for censorship- I’m advocating for people to enlighten themselves about themselves in which case a lot of ‘taboo’ media would be produced in a lessened capacity.

I find it interesting that when I ask “Why are you into ____?” people don’t answer that question, or seem unwilling to, since their first reaction is to flip out and cry censorship. No one seems to notice that that’s not what I’m actually saying lol.

I don’t care what people do, if it’s not hurting someone. I care that people know why they do what they do. I am critical of things and of myself. I think people should just dare to be critical. It’s a great tool for self-healing that doesn’t involve perpetuating damage.*I dislike the term taboo because it and the moral judgment it applies is a nebulous term that is used far too broadly. Incestuous pedophiles soften their interest by calling it ‘taboo’, but interracial relationships are also classed as ‘taboo’, thereby suggesting that the term is as loose as ‘whatever many people think is wrong’, which is clearly far too transient and easily-influenced. Often, I find, it’s used as ‘something that is morally objectionable for reasons we’re not going to explore, we’re just going to lump all this shit together indiscriminately as taboo’.

*Again, I don’t care about people who mainly think MBJ is hot as Killmonger, that’s totally logical. I question people whose fantasies specifically extend to Killmonger THE CHARACTER being seen as sexually attractive **because** of/specifically on the grounds of his general character (i.e. radicalized, violent, murderous, apathetic) and what kind of person would fantasize about being subject to a man like that.

[eminentfocus]

Bravery Despite The Wilderness

“Stop walking through the world looking for confirmation that you don’t belong.  You will always find it because you’ve made that your mission.  Stop scouring people’s faces for evidence that you are not enough.  You will always find it because you have made that your goal.  True belonging and self-worth are not goods; we don’t negotiate their value with the world.  The truth about who we are live in our hearts.  Our call to courage is to protect our wild heart against constant evaluation, especially our own.  No one belongs here more than you do.” - BRENE BROWN. BRAVING THE WILDERNESS.

Full transparency: I am tired y’all!  Not just sick of the “new normal” tired.  Not I had a busy week and need a quiet weekend, tired.  Not the kids have been rambunctious all week, we need a vacation, tired.  I am tired, tired.  I am tired of physically battling chronic illness.  I am tired of mentally rationalizing that any of this “new normal” is normal.  I am tired of emotionally shutting down because it’s “all just too much right now” while new blows continue landing.  I am battle worn and it clearly shows.  My hair hasn’t been washed or combed in almost two weeks.  I have masses of hair on areas of my body where there should not be any.  I change from running leggings back into lounging sweats and live there.  I haven’t scheduled an appointment with my doctor in almost a year.  I haven’t seen friends in months now.  I. Am. Tired. and it shows by my lack of self-care.

Everyone wanted to make a big deal when Brittany Spears chopped off her hair.  They said she was crazy, off the rails, unstable.  What if?  What if she had forgotten to take care of herself so long that she had no choice but to cut it off?  What if her shaving her head was the first step she took toward loving herself in months?  What if what you thought was the downward spiral for her, was actually the start of a healing journey, by caring for her hair for the first time in a long time?  I may have gotten to the point of the big chop myself. We all forgo ourselves when we feel bad, scientifically proven.  So how does one exactly go about walking bravely through the wilderness when they look and feel like a homeless crackhead?  Where we always start: exactly where we are.

Merriam-webster.com defines “bravery” as: “the quality or state of having or showing mental or moral strength to face danger, fear, or difficulty : the quality or state of being brave : COURAGE.”  Brittany was courageous.  She looked in the mirror and realized where she was.  She knew exactly what she had to do to fix it, and she just did the fucking work.  She knew she would become a mockery before she cut it.  Honestly, I don’t think she wanted to, but knew she had to.  That’s why I personally think she sat window side in the salon.  She was inviting the world in to watch her transform, knowing y’all would mock her.  She moved forward despite the fear.  She is brave.  She walked in her wilderness.  Her truth.  Be like Brittany.  Go chop your hair- Er… I mean go do self-care!

Wait, wait!  No.  Not bubble baths, candles and cheat meals.  Yeah, okay.  I mean those are good too, but they are not really the self-care I’m talking about.  That’s marketing mumbo jumbo to get you to purchase the hope of “feeling better” so they can make some money.  The self-care I’m talking about involves YOU, not THINGS for you.  Down the rabbit hole we go!

Caring for our feelings.  Western society teaches that you become stronger when you push your emotions down and bury them.  You show maturity or valor for not having a biologically programmed response to a trauma.  They paint an image that as you pick up all this emotional baggage you become stronger, wiser and smarter.  The actual truth without the sprinkles: You are turning yourself into a trash dump for toxicity.  Pushing down feelings does not do anything but create a pressure cooker.  Be brave enough to hit the release valve.  Sit with your feelings and find the value/moral that is being triggered.  Remember yesterday’s message about emotions- feelings are just signposts to keep us on the path toward our values.  Seeds fall to the ground in nature all the time.  They do not grow from the fall, but from the nurturing of water and light.  Your feelings too need airing out to stop weighing you down and inspire growth.  Bring them to light and water them by setting healthy boundaries when your values are being tested.

Caring for our boundaries.  Everyone pushes our buttons from time-to-time.  We sometimes offend people when we don’t mean to.  Sometimes people have the best intentions but lack an adequate understanding to actually help.  People are people.  We are all broken.  That’s why I talk so much about the importance of giving and receiving grace.  But what about the people or situations that aren’t just annoying or confusing?  What about the people who no matter the time of day, they leave you drained?  The ones who consistently go on doing the things that directly trigger your values, after you’ve told them it hurts.  The ones who exhibit behaviors by choice.  Do you know who they are?  No?  Start a journal of your emotional triggers, you’ll find them quickly!  Once you do know, create a cushion, do not go on a blocking rampage.  I mean it!  Just create a space for you to be in control of how their bullshit comes through the fan of life at you.  That’s what it is, a bullshit storm that they know will draw you back into their castle so they don’t have to be alone in misery.  Don’t fall for it.  If it’s not helpful to you, it’s just distracting bullshit.  Dig a moat and stay on your side.  You do not have to answer that facetime call.  You do not have to respond to that text message.  You. Can. Say. No.  Especially when you really mean it.  You have to control the fan here, not the shit flying through it at your face.          

Opening to vulnerability.  I know we all HATE, hate, hate this emotion.  We loathe it.  We conjure up images of death, disappointment, fear, loss of control.  We hide it and bury it until an “acceptable” breaking point, usually a tragedy.  I personally struggle with vulnerability.  The second you see me fall off the social radar, I’m struggling.  I shut down and close out.  I suffer alone as to not spread around my negativity.  Sound familiar?  What really is this monster of an emotion that we all want to keep a light on at night around?  Mark Manson so eloquently describes it as: “Vulnerability is consciously choosing to NOT hide your emotions or desires from others.  That’s it. You just freely express your thoughts, feelings, desires, and opinions regardless of what others might think of you.”  Vulnerability is simply authenticity.  Do you still hate it?    

Times of fear and uncertainty.  I’ll say it just because we are all already so sick of it: RONA.  It has been 299 days that our family has been social distancing, working, schooling, eating, exercising, growing and bickering, through a global pandemic.  299 days of news and media propaganda spewing.  299 days of losing the very things that we thought were safe.  299 days we have been watching the economy dump wondering if our financial situation would turn.  That is uncertainty.  That is palpable fear- a signpost that our values are disrupted.  So what do we do?  We feel, decide and adapt; just as we were created to do.  

Every positive has a negative.  Our brains automatically work on a negative feedback loop.  Western social norms go against the way we are organically wired.  Most of what we think we know is wrong and it has been scientifically proven.  We learned all of this together since the beginning of the new year.  We have grown.  Now that we know better, we have to choose to do better.  That’s the work.  We cannot go on doing the same things and expecting a different result, that’s insanity.  Take the first step into your wilderness.  Instead of seeing the losses of 2020, see the opportunities that it made room for.  Take one step forward from exactly where you are today.  Take another tomorrow.  Every day take one step.  Prioritize your time to include yourself.  Be brave. Hit that do not disturb button. Tell a friend that you are struggling and honestly answer their questions of concern to sit with your feelings. Schedule that walk with a friend you’ve put off for too long. It takes bravery to prioritize yourself but you and your values are worth it.  Do the fucking work and ignore the superego!

That’s self care. Not bath bombs.