#since you’d have to slow down and do something NEW then instead of recycling the same old storyline by going back to the status quo

[aenaxes]

PANSLALSOKAAOOSKWOAMSNA CONGRATS ON 200 BESTIE!! YOU DESERVE ALL THE LOVE, SUPPORT, AND EVEN MORE!! YOU ARE SO TALENTED NOT ONLY WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING BUT ALSO YOUR ART TOO!!! If you wouldn't mind, I would like to request a sfw to nsfw with Hardcase? The song that makes me thing of him every damm time, I have no clue why, is Ribs by Lorde. For pronouns would be she/her and if you would like to know, I'm about 5'2" with blue eyes, mid back length half dyed hair, the colors I have dyed my hair are purple, blue, and pink!! Even if you don't do this, just know that I wouldn't mind and I'm always happy with seeing you write whatever you want because you are so talented and keep me very well fed 😌🤲💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

we'll make it (divine)

[hardcase x f!reader] loving hardcase is something akin to falling in love all over again and again every time he knocks on your door and pulls you into his arms.

warnings: nsfw, outdoor sex, mushy gooey feelings

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: sage my darling 🥺 ily bb mwah <3 i'm going to be completely honest writing this made me fall so so so much more in love with hardcase (bless u for that)

event details here! requests will be open until july 4th!

“Hey!” Hardcase greets you with that very specific sort of glee only he knows, breathless and bright-eyed as your door slides open.

The durasteel parts to reveal him and a shiny keyring lifted eye-level to the blue ink arcing over his temple. The sparse assortment of bronze and silver speeder keys jangle against a polished leather keyfob as he shakes his fist with boyish, giddy joy. It’s one that, you might add, isn’t exactly fitting of Hardcase’s rough-and-tumble style—ergo, keys that don’t belong to him—and one that begets a few questions as you raise a pointed brow in his direction.

Hardcase only grins wider.

But before you can ask if those are—and they definitely are—the keys to Jesse’s planetside speeder, Hardcase shoots his other hand forward and wiggles his fingers between yours, tugging you into the glare of the fluorescent hallway lights and squeezing snug.

“Don’t have much time,” he nods earnestly. “You ready to go?”

“Go where?” you laugh as he stuffs the keys into the pocket of his bomber, tearing his attention away from you if only to shoot a hasty glance over his shoulder. But you’re stepping forwards anyways, crowding up against his side as your door slides shut behind you.

“Out, duh,” Hardcase says with a scrunch of his nose, the telltale twitch of his left cheek that you immediately recognize as a silent, animated, ‘isn’t it obvious?’ He punctuates his response with a quick squeeze over your hand, and his smile grows wider when you tip your head back and laugh.

“How much of a head start do you have on him?”

“I have about a hallway lead,” he says, sheepish if not for the excitement in his voice. “C’mon! He’ll beat my ass if we don’t get moving!”

You might not exactly know what’s going on, because for all the spontaneous and oftentimes questionable visits from Hardcase that you’ve come to expect as part of your regular routine, Hardcase carried with him some mischievous ingenuity to surprise you each and every time. But you can’t help but mirror the contagious delight in his grin as you squeeze his hand and take off behind him.

And it’s the natural thing to do, the ebb and flow of alternating surprises: Hardcase poking into your room well past lights out with Tup’s holo and a bootlegged movie, and you meeting him with two glasses of single malt whiskey before both promptly gagging on your first sips. It had always been like that ever since you had, quite literally, knocked heads with Hardcase in the corridors of your first jedi cruiser assignment, running a bit too fast a bit too far.

A bit of carefree joy, a bit of light, you think as you run past a loose group of shinies, the squeak of your boots blending with your stifled giggling. And when Hardcase turns his head to check if you’re still there (as if he’s not squeezing your hand tight), you see him as he is, a sturdy piton to keep your hold against war’s steep shear.

“Hurry, hurry!” he laughs as you run through the open blast doors. His voice rises above the motions of the hangar bay like the sweetest song, hoarse and free.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of ‘I’m trying!’ but your mouth fills with the cool air of the Ansion night, sweet with the fragrance of grass, organic and good over the labored exhaust of the base. And instead of words, laughter, bright and loud, bubbles from your chest.

As soon as you’re entering the hangar bay, you already find yourself at its opposite end. Hardcase’s fingertips dig firm into the soft curve of your waist as he hurriedly but no less gently lifts you off your feet and onto the back of Jesse’s bike. With one final look over his shoulder, Hardcase clambers on after you, jamming the keys into ignition and revving the engine to life.

The low thrum of the bike drowns out Jesse’s muted yelling from across the landing as you peel away from the bay. But above Jesse’s fading shouts, above the rumble of eight durasteel cylinders underneath you, all you can hear is Hardcase’s whoops of pure joy when you wrap your arms tight around his waist and press your ear behind his beating heart.

The recycled hangar bay air gives way to something earthy and warm. You breathe deep, even with the speeder ramped up as fast as you think it could possibly go, and your lungs fill with the fading ghosts of sunlight and Hardcase’s cologne as you squeeze your arms around him and imagine the floodlights of the base blinking out behind you.

It’s only when the bike beneath you sputters to a halt and the roar of the engine gives way to the broad silence, curling over the hilltop on the rich and cool midnight winds, that you turn your head and see Hardcase without the giddy thrill of impromptu adventure.

Hardcase hops off the speeder, wobbling once on his feet with a breathless laugh as he hits solid ground. You watch from your perch on the back of the bike as he dusts off his jeans and shoves the keys into the pocket of his GAR bomber. It’s the one that fits one size too small, pulling at the edges of his shoulders as he rises to his full stature under the glow of twin moons.

But when Hardcase turns around to face you, all wind-kissed cheeks and rosy glow that reaches his eyes, the playful tease dies on your tongue.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he says softly as he tilts his head to the side to flash you a smile. He saunters forwards, eyes gleaming with starlight, and finds home between your thighs with a sigh you almost lose to the rising wind.

He shrugs off his bomber, his face scrunching up in the way that makes you both laugh when his arm catches on the tight pull of leather, and he sweeps it behind you to set it snug over your shoulders. And when you’re snug under his jacket, he lifts his hands to your temples, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he gently pushes your tousled hair behind your ears.

You let your eyelids flutter shut, relishing in the careful touch you know he only reserves for you, nothing like the playful roughhousing and loving shoves he exchanges in the barracks. It’s a slow deliberation, callused fingertips tracing over your scalp, sending shivers down your spine as he strokes from your hairline and arcs over the crown of your head, fingertips giving way to his warm palm cupping at the apex of your neck.

And it doesn’t take wide eyes to know that when his motions stutter to a pause, when you hear him inhale through his nose, that he’s watching you with that unnameable warmth: the one that settles deep and wide in his dark eyes, fingertips hovering just close enough over your skin that you feel the heat radiating across that small breadth between you, wondering how he got so lucky, reveling in how he got so lucky.

You know the feeling. (You feel the same.)

You open your eyes, and Hardcase is there. He is there, bathed in the endless starscape above, but all he can see is you, reflected back at you in fond eyes you commit to memory each and every time.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Hardcase whispers. He lifts one hand to rub over the back of his neck and brings the other flush over the curve of your knee with the boyish shyness of twinkling eyes and starstruck joy that had roped you into his gravity the first time he’d stumbled into your path.

“You’d better be,” you snort, tugging his jacket close to your collar as he shifts his palm higher. There is playfulness, just a flash, but it soon gives way to something warm and low in your belly.

The small, slow movements of his thumb over your thigh strike a warmth that chases the midnight wind’s cold, spreading in thrumming waves over your chest. It emboldens you like a neat shot of whiskey, thrown back at once, swallowed down with raucous laughter, the noise and the lights faded away under the open sky, warm, warm, warm, and you reach up to curl your fingers over the hand at his neck, pulling him close.

You lean forwards, touching your brow to his, and just before you slide your eyes shut, you catch the look in his deep brown eyes. It reminds you of the first time you bore witness to the ghostly blue lights of a hyperspace jump, entranced in honest wonder as he stands between your thighs.

Because it’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you—a warm and bright place to call home. It’s always been you. And Hardcase melts into your touch as you brush close.

“‘cause I think I’m in love with you, too.”

He laughs, and it’s a new sound in the night. It’s not quite relief, nor is it that exuberant glee from your sprint down the base halls. When you think back on it, it was understanding, your secret for two.

“I love you,” Hardcase says again, stronger, convicted, something closer to an earnest prayer than words alone as he looks up at you and greets you with the galaxy bright in his eyes. Not a soldier, not one of millions, just him; firm muscle between your thighs, breaths ghosting over your collar, fingertips pressing warmth into your ribs as he snakes his palms under your shirt and pulls you close.

Just yours.

You’re not sure who kisses who first, too full of a rapturous swell that blooms through your chest. But it doesn’t really matter. Not when Hardcase’s lips curl close against yours, wind-chapped and dry but so, so warm as he presses his fingertips into the skin of your back and pulls you close against him.

When his kiss is broken by the cold air, bitter in comparison to his touch, you let a whimper roll from your tongue. Brief as the interruption may be, it’s an interruption all the same.

Hardcase humors you with a quick peck to the corner of your mouth. But he’s quick to make up for that split second of lost time as he throws his leg over the side of the bike, his knees knocking against yours as he takes a seat before you. In his lovestruck daze, he sweeps his arms wide, letting that brief moment of giddy glee pass over his cheeks before he brings his hands over your waist and gently tugs onto his lap.

“Isn’t this Jesse’s bike?” you sigh dreamily when Hardcase thumbs over the crease of your thighs and noses up against the edge of your jaw, sending want snaking up your spine.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Hardcase says with a noise somewhere between dismissal and apathy as he shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, gross,” and you stick out your tongue as if you aren’t already aching at the thought of straddling his lap and letting him stretch you open under the starscape above.

Hardcase simply shrugs and brings his hand to his chin to offer you his best glamour face in return.

You make quick work of your slacks, kicking them off to the side while Hardcase fumbles with his fly. It’s awkward, if only by the fact that you’re balanced atop each other on the delicate wobble of the hover generator, elbows bumped close in a gentle fumbling that’s simply too genuine to be embarrassing anymore. You’ve done this too many times, shoved up in dark closets and hidden spaces of cruiser corridors, never truly satiated, never having taken your fill.

It’s not awkward—just endearing, you decide as you shift your hips forward and feel the blunt head of his cock dip up between your thighs.

As you sink down onto his lap, the speeder wobbles beneath you, and you fling your arms around him with a half-squeal half-moan, dropping down onto his cock in one smooth movement that sends a shudder through you both.

There is some solace in knowing that if the bike did tip over, that Hardcase would go down with you, his arms tight around your waist as he nuzzles into your chest and laughs. Commitment, you think as your heart bangs up against your ribs, a bit silly and very much dangerous, but commitment that warms you to your core.

“It’s all you, baby,” Hardcase whispers as you finally peel yourself away from him and lean back just enough to catch a full view of his face.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. How could you? How could you assign to the mundane the sweet ease of trust sloped over his brow as he looks up at you like you’re the only thing in the midnight sky, the only thing in his universe?

“Lazyass,” you snort, and he laughs.

But clever quips and snarky remarks are forgotten for the night when you carefully lift your hips, knees quivering over the hard press of the bike, and rock back down onto his lap.

Hardcase fills you in the way only he can, toeing that fine line between easy comfort and the satisfying burn of being split open and squeezed breathless.

You sink down with a whimpering gasp, toes curling when you feel him buck up into the soft spot inside you that whites out your vision. Choking on your own moan, you let your head drop down onto his shoulder, already rendered boneless and pliant around him. You fist tight into the soft fabric of his shirt, cunt spasming around him, and you hold tighter when his hips jerk up again.

“I got you, baby. I got you,” Hardcase mumbles into your shoulder, trailing his lips to the base of your neck and kissing sweet. His arms squeeze around your waist once and anchor you close. And he is there, curled everywhere around you, holding you close as the wind rises broad and far between the grassy plains and the universe overhead.

Where else could you ever want to be?

You want to laugh when you remember Hardcase leaving the pace to you as you feel his palms knead into your hips. But it comes out as a soft sigh when he hefts you halfway off his cock and fucks you down onto him again. All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and hold as he starts a steady pace.

You won’t last long like this—neither of you will, not when you’re bared to the open sky and yet the closest you’ve ever felt to each other in a long while.

Hardcase breaks your dreamy longing with an uneven jerk of his hips. He’s close, and like muscle memory, he immediately drags one hand over the curve of your thigh to find the soft skin where you part around him. But you’re quick to react to him, grabbing his wrist as you sink down onto him with a soft moan.

“Already feels good,” you gasp, meeting him through the blurry haze of the tears dotting your lashes. You can just make out his wide eyes, and you choke out an unsteady laugh. “Hold me, ‘Case. Just hold me.”

“Okay, yeah,” Hardcase babbles, holding you flush on his lap and coaxing a soft sob from your lips. He brings his arms around your ribs, nestling his cheek against your chest, right above your beating heart. “Anything for you, baby.”

And that’s all it takes.

You come with a whimpering cry, and pleasure, luxuriant and warm, floods through your core as you bow forward and clutch tight to Hardcase’s neck.

It’s too much but only in the best of ways. Hardcase gives you little time to breathe, shedding the last dregs of restraint to press you down hard onto his lap and fuck as deep as he can go. Feeling your own high, Hardcase takes his fill and bends you to his pleasure, fucking into you for himself. And you swear you feel it in your throat as he lifts you up to the blunt ridge of his tip and brings you back down all at once.

“I love you,” Hardcase chants, breathy and low as he spills into your pulsing cunt. Your soft moans twine with his own as a second orgasm shocks through you, pulled over the edge again by his words alone. “I love you, I love you.” And he crushes his lips against yours and swallows your honeyed confessions with his tongue.

You feel him come down from his high with you. Your breathing blends as one until you’re gasping softly against each other, having long since parted and pressed your heads close, brow-to-brow, nose-to-nose. You vaguely remember it meaning something to the good brothers of the GAR, and while you can’t quite place a finger on what it was, all you know right now is that it’s closeness beyond physicality alone. And you feel Hardcase’s breaths level out and fan over the sweat on your collar, all you find yourself able to do is press even closer.

And when the ringing in your ears subsides, when you no longer feel your chests heaving against each other, you slowly open your eyes and find Hardcase already there, dopey-eyed and blinking slowly as he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” you whisper, drawing back.

The wind rises again, cool and sharp as it curls and eddies around you.

“Hey,” he replies. Gingerly, immersed in the sudden stillness, Hardcase lifts his hand from your back and brings his knuckles to your cheek to brush soft over the sweat and bliss over your skin.

“I love you,” you say, and the words curl over your tongue, shy and true all at once, like it’s the first time all over again.

“Yeah?”

You can’t mistake the spark that alights over Hardcase’s eyes as anything but breathless joy, genuine and raw and perfect because no matter how many times you said it, the simple power remained. The vastness of a night sky, stars exploding to life, with no clear centre but him and his soft smile that puts the moonlight to shame.

You love him.

You do.

“Good,” he grins. “‘Cause I love you, too.”

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter 1

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty​ 

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 2,595

Warnings: Language.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!

This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

In art, as in love, instinct is enough.

Anatole France

Chapter 1: 

That look crosses your face. The one that all your teachers at school said was a perfect mimicry of theirs. The one that forces grown men and women to quieten and pay attention. With your eyebrows slightly raised and a look of stop-fucking-about-and-listen in your eyes, the room grows quiet and attentive as the glow of the presentation lights up behind you. 

“Have you ever wondered what makes art unique? Is it the piece of art itself or the hand that created it?” you address the latest batch of students coming through Mi5’s doors. Whilst it is highly probable that the majority of these trainee intelligence officers will not specialise in forgeries as it doesn’t quite capture the glory of fighting extremism, you only want those who truly cared to join forces with your team. Although, what team? Stephens had pretty much washed his hands of you after your latest exploits. Who knows what your new team on Monday would bring. You are too old to try and squeeze yourself into the buttoned up box that Mi5 like their agents to fit into and whilst your old team never expected you to completely toe the line, you knew where the boundaries lay. Or at least, you thought you did. 

“If a perfectly painted Rembrandt or a superbly sculpted Rodin appears to be vivid as the original to the point where even an educated eye cannot spot the difference, why does authenticity matter?” you pose to the class. “The fact is, every artwork is an unparalleled expression of an individual creative talent and a result of a precise personal, historical and cultural context. Art forgeries, even if aesthetically pleasant or technically stunning, can cause serious misinterpretations with extremely damaging consequences for the art world and anti-money laundering services.” A couple of polite coughs, a not so polite yawn and a few shuffles of aching bums on their uncomfortable benches punctuate your lecture. You couldn’t blame them. This isn’t where you want to be either. 

This lecture was a punishment by Stephens for your latest step out of line. He probably would have looked the other way if your paperwork had been correctly filed but it was still somewhere, half done on your quagmire of a desk. You’d love to be organised but that was for other people, who had their shit more together than you. The punishment slowly crawls to an end and the students gather their belongings and filter out of the theatre. Glad to not have any questions posed, you squeeze your eyes shut to try and rest them against the sharp light flowing from the overhead projector.

“Perhaps you missed your calling as a teacher?” a voice scoffs from the back of the room as you log out of the computer.

“Don’t be a total cockwomble,” you mutter in the direction of the voice that was now attached to a hand offering a steaming cardboard cup of black Americano.

“Oh I can see it now! Instead of teaching the ins and outs of international art crime, you could be doing finger painting and collages- your skin shimmering with a film of glitter!” Hephzi snorts into the foam of her chai latte. Your best friend from the first day of training knows how to lift your spirits with her subtle teasing and caffeine bribery.

After a gulp of coffee sets your blood caffeine level at its normal level, you poke her in the ribs before hugging her one-armedly. “Are we still on for tonight?” you ask, “I have severe cravings for halloumi fries and a massive mixed kebab while we lose ourselves in a nouvelle vague classic?”

“You truly walk a fine line between cultured intelligenzia and Friday night British food, my darling girl!” Hephzi purrs as she scoops one of your totes filled with scribbles and dog-eared books, tossing it over her shoulder, settling it next to the strap of her rucksack. 

With a gentle roll of your eyes, you huff at her suggestion, threading your arm through her elbow and follow her out of the poorly lit lecture theatre towards the late afternoon gloom of a London March day. 

✪✪✪✪✪

All airports are hell. 

The black on yellow signs of Heathrow buzz like angry bees through Marcus’ mind after the seven hour flight from DC, the recycled aeroplane air still sitting heavy on his skin. He’d been to London many times and knew the airport like the back of his hand so his semi-zombified state isn’t an issue through the warren of staircases and corridors that make up Terminal 4. As he watches the slow, steady spin of the baggage claim, he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. Even despite his escape to DC, it still wasn’t quite far enough from Lisbon and Jane, the ghosts of their relationship haunting him through the hallways and offices, dreading seeing the toxic pair around the next corner.

Grabbing a small grey case, with his most treasured possessions that he didn’t want shipping over, he didn’t really look like someone who should be heading up the Five Eyes department of Art Crime. He just feels old, tired and irritated that he could just not shake the ghosts of his past.

The failed marriage. 

The failed engagement. 

Dressed in an old pair of jeans, a white henley and a baggy grey hoodie with suitcases rather than bags under his eyes, he looks more a middle aged, world weary man, than the sharpest American mind in art crime. As he heads towards customs, his navy passport in hand, he wonders if he’ll be pulled over again as he was in Lyon. He’d obviously matched a profile somewhere but there were certainly red faces all around when he’d got the American Embassy to ring through and explain that Marcus was exactly who he’d said he was. Fingers crossed, eh? 

He needn’t have been worried. There was no price on his face today. 

“Marcus Pike?” a slightly Northern, male voice asks gently.

Marcus swung out of his airport reverie, raised his eyebrows and smiled warmly in the direction of the voice.

“Andy Welbeck,” a large warm hand stretches towards Marcus, “I’m going to be your PA whilst you’re in London. I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty to grab you a coffee- it’s a vanilla latte? I did check with the staff at your DC office as to what your preferred drink would be.” 

Gripping the hand tightly, and accepting the steaming coffee, Marcus feels a wave of warmth and friendship wash over him from the handsome, young man in front of him. “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!” he goofily quotes and then instantly could have facepalmed- like this twenty-something would have any idea about Marcus’ favourite film! 

Andy read the man’s discomfort like a book, raising a hand to soothe his awkwardness, “Casablanca is a favourite of mine- how is a film so incredibly quotable and still has such an incredible plot?” Reaching for the handle of Marcus’ wheeled suitcase, Andy continues, “in fact to me, the only other film that manages it, albeit with less of a plot is Withnail and I.”

The tension eases from Marcus’ brown as the younger man’s ease at conversation flowed naturally as they headed to Andy’s car. “So how are you feeling about Monday? Have you had a chance to check out the team yet?” Andy questions gently. 

Marcus ran a hand through his hair, trying to lift the airport-flattened curls. “I have read their files, but I was wondering if you’d give me your point of view on the ones you already know?” 

“Obviously, I can fill you in on the Brit - and the Canadian, who arrived a week early and still hasn’t stopped apologising.” Andy added with an eye roll, “Harper Gleason doesn’t get in from Melbourne until tomorrow morning, Kiritopa arrives on Sunday so I shall be moving my flat from Lewisham to Heathrow arrivals gate over the next couple of days.” 

“Oof!” Marcus exhales, shaking his head in sympathy, “Ouch- is there anything we can do to make it easier? We could just order cabs for them? I need you in one piece for next week!”

“That wasn’t meant in any way as a moan, Sir. It’s the perfect opportunity to make some important first impressions.” Andy delivers firmly, “So, the Canadian is sweet as fuck. She’s super bright and just needs to stop apologising for everything. Dian seems to have this way of watching and seeing the very essence of people. Her clarity of understanding people around her is incredible. She will be such an asset to the team.” 

“Great! What about Anushka?” Marcus enquired as he read down the list on his emails.

Andy laughs heartily, hitting the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. “Ah Nush, Nush, Nush! Where to start with my little firecracker?”

Marcus’ eyebrows raise at this reaction and then furrow. “There’s not much in her file apart from her personal info and yet she’s been with Mi5 since leaving university almost twenty years ago?”

“Probably had to be redacted, Sir.” Andy grins lopsidedly at Marcus. 

“Please don’t call me sir- Marcus only! Stephens put her forward as one of the best?”

“She most certainly is. She’s also a bit of a car crash- albeit the most endearing one there is- but I can honestly say that if she lets you in, Nush will sweep you off your feet with her brilliance.” 

Marcus ruminates over this information and the photo of you attached to your file. A striking woman with almond shaped eyes, olive skin and a Cupid bow mouth stared back him with a slightly raised eyebrow as if she was daring him to disagree with her. Scratching at the scruff on his face, he wonders quite what he’d gotten himself into, heading up the art division of 5 Eyes and being based in London for at least two years. 

“Here you are, Sir, I mean, Marcus. This will be your digs until you find something a little more to your taste.” Andy shifts forwards in his seat to point out Marcus’s new building- a large newly built block stretching into the sky above them. “GHCQ have rented the penthouse suite for you for six months to give you time to settle in. I live roughly five minutes in that direction so please don’t hesitate to call any time. No penthouse for me, but it’s home!” 

“Thank you so much, Andy. I’m grateful for the welcome you’ve shown me. This will be a great partnership.” Marcus pats Andy’s shoulder. “Whilst I promise not to bug you too much, can we go out for a drink sometime? If you’re local, it’d be nice to have someone to introduce me to the area.” 

“Marcus, I’ve already got you pencilled in for a pint on Friday- you don’t need to worry, I’ve got your back.”

✪✪✪✪✪

“Fuck. Where the ever loving fuck are my fucking keys?” You grumble as you rootle through your rucksack. Years of receipts and scraps of paper with doodles from dull meetings obstructed your view and hindered your search for those elusive metal bastards that stood between you and your comfiest jammies, your sofa and A Bout de Souffle. 

“For goodness sake, woman! So glad I got my own key cut.” Hephzi shakes her head, “Out of the way.”

“If you didn’t have a key, I’d have to live on my doorstep more!” you snigger to yourself.

As she turns the key, the door needs a swift kick to open it fully. “Has your landlord still done nothing about the damp here?”

“Course not!” 

“Want me to send a couple of my brothers around? Sort him out?” 

“Mate, I have three useless oiks of my own I could call on for the same outcome. No point in poking the bear,” you shrug resignedly. Hephzi licks her lips as you split the food between two plates- the rice and chickpeas spilling over the side onto the surprisingly clean work tops. 

“Your mum been over?”

“How can you tell?” Your eyes crease in laughter, “Genuinely, I think she believes I’m a bit broken. All my brothers married and babied up and her only daughter is living in a shitty, ex LA, messy, damp filled flat and a nameless “IT” job that she wears an invisible ring for!” Your left hand does the Single Ladies dance as Hephzi roars with laughter. 

With a glass of wine and a heaped plate of food in hand, you kick some of the cushions from the sofa onto the floor. “Do you ever see yourself meeting someone or are you just too married to the job?” Hephzi pries gently, knowing that even with her closeness to you that the door could quickly slam in her face. 

“Honestly?” Your eyebrows slightly raise, “I’m not sure that my mum isn’t too far from the truth. Too broken for anyone who’d I’d let get close.” Hephzi snorts. “Excuse me! I let people get close! Well, as close as I’d like them to be.” 

“You’re not broken, just guarded. To be completely honest, I just think you haven’t met anyone deserving of you yet.” Hephzi reaches over and pats your thigh. 

You exhale sharply and shake your head as you mutter quietly gesturing towards the cluttered flat, “No one deserves this. Now shush, I need to escape into the black and white.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus shrugs his hoodie off as he enters the sparsely decorated apartment, his eyes roaming around his new home. New job. New country. How long could he keep running from his past? With a sigh and rolling up the sleeves of his Henley over gently muscled arms, he starts unpacking his suitcase. 

In some of the drawers, he found some basic t-shirts, pants and hoodies with a note from Andy saying, “Just in case your luggage gets lost!” In the cupboard, there are two suits- one navy and one grey and five shirts. Perfect size, fit and style. Is there anything this man doesn’t know about him? Marcus lets out a nervous laugh- kinda seems like Andy is underused as a PA and should be put into the field! 

A light filled, floor to ceiling tiled en-suite with a full sized tub and separate shower was lined with expensive smelling shower gels, shampoos and creams. Opening one, and inhaling deeply Marcus cocks an eyebrow as he enjoys the cedar, amber and rosemary scent. He is dragged back to that heady summer honeymoon he’d spent with his ex-wife in the South of France, drinking glasses of sauternes with frozen grapes keeping it cool as the air carried the scent of the lavender fields and sun warmed herbs floated on the mistral. That familiar ache returns to his chest, but perhaps it is time to lay that ghost to rest.

Marcus walks further into his discovery of the beautiful apartment. The kitchen is small but functional with two French doors that open onto a small Juliet balcony looking towards Canary Wharf and the many towers that organised all the money coming into the UK. All of the cupboards in the kitchen are stocked with a basic range of cooking ingredients and the fridge even has a few ice cold beers and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. 

“Andy, whatever you’re being paid, it isn’t enough.” Marcus sighs and reaches for a beer, grabbing a bottle opener from the top drawer. It almost feels like it could become home. 

Whatever that is. 

Ok some notes:

5 Eyes is a real thing- used for sharing information about international terrorism between those countries named above.

An ex-LA home means ex local authority home. Post world war 2, Britain built a lot of social housing which Maggie Thatcher allowed  in the eighties to be sold off to private buyers at a lower price to not local authority buildings. They’re not necessarily the prettiest but as the owner of an ex-LA home, they are solidly built and with a great amount of storage space!

The mistral is a strong, cold, northwesterly wind that blows from southern France into the Gulf of Lion in the northern Mediterranean

I welcome any comments, questions or just chats!

tagging: @astroboots for your perusal

@mouthymandalorian​ @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[purplesauris]

Now Comes The Tide

Din is very unused to being around someone who's mastered the Force, and who seems intent on bothering him with it constantly. Said Jedi seems wholly unaware.

I am out of CONTROL and no one can stop me

Read it on AO3 here!

The first time that Din had felt the power that radiated off of Luke he'd been overwhelmed. It was such a foreign concept to him, for someone to feel, for all intents and purposes, like he was everywhere. The worst part was that Luke didn't even seem to realize the way Din shivered whenever Luke used the Force, the way he felt each grip of his armor as he was sent flying back like the gentlest of caresses. Din had no clue if he was supposed to feel this way, to feel so intimately the pull of Luke's power, but it left his nerves frazzled when the onslaught of Luke's attention never stopped. 

It was worse when Din took his armor off- there was no protective layer between him and the outside world, and every time Luke walked past him or reached out Din's toes curled in his boots. The same feeling didn't apply to having seen Ahsoka or Grogu use the Force- it seemed inherently tied to Luke somehow, as if the way Luke manipulated the Force resounded so deeply within Din that he couldn't keep his thoughts straight. It was very rapidly becoming a problem, one that Din didn't know how to solve without breaking down and shouting at Luke to keep his hands to himself. 

So he'd taken his supply run a week early, if only to hide away in his ship where the only pressure around him was the constant ebb and flow of recycled air filling the cabin. There was only one other person he knew who knew even a smidgeon about Jedi aside from Ahsoka herself, and Din did not fancy tracking her down to ask stupid questions that she would only smirk at, the same way she had when Din had asked about Grogu so long ago. So he went to the next best source- a bounty hunter who had captured Luke no less than two times, and was grinning, smug as can be when Din came trudging into his base on Tatooine. 

"Mand'alor." 

"Fett." Din looked around the room he'd descended into, taking in the blaster marks on the wall that showed him obvious signs of a recent fight. "Redecorating?"

"Adds a certain charm." Din snorts, as if that's what you'd call it, and Boba’s voice is amused, that same grin on his face. “You’re a week early.”

“We were running low.”

“On patience?” Din tenses, trying to hide the way his fingers twitch, but Boba is observant and he only chuckles. “What did your Jetii do now?”

Din glances at Fennec, perched on the arm of Boba’s throne, the woman’s eyebrows going up for a moment before she sighs, rolling her eyes. She rises from her spot, taking her rifle with her as she disappears somewhere deeper within the facility to give them privacy. “What do you know about him and his… powers?”

“Not much.” Boba leans back in his chair, fingers tapping against the arm in a slow, steady drumming that puts Din on edge. “He’s strong, a skilled fighter.”

“I know that. What I don’t know is-” Din cuts himself off, gritting his teeth, and Boba tilts his head. “I don’t know why I’m- reacting.”

“And you came here... To ask me?” Boba talks slowly, as if parsing out why Din would want to come here in the first place. Boba scrutinizes him with new eyes, tilting his head in such a distinctly familiar way that Din feels like he could be looking in a mirror. “You don’t react to Grogu, do you?”

“No. Not- this way.” Boba laughs then, shaking his head and covering his face with a gloved hand. Din feels as if the laughter is directly aimed at him, more than at the situation, and Din clenches his hands into fists. "I didn't come to-"

"I know why you came, Mand'alor, but I don't have answers. You'll have to ask Skywalker." Boba rises from his throne at last, broad form filling the room as he steps heavily down off of the dais. "Has he told you anything about being force sensitive?"

"I'm not force sensitive." Din shoots back, frowning when Boba inclines his head, brows raising. It only serves to fuel Boba's amusement, and he sighs heavily, clapping Din on the back. 

"Go home, Mand'alor. Secretive as he may be, you've got the last Jetii wrapped around your pinky finger. Use that." Boba's expression has turned serious, and Din scowls within his helmet. "Make sure you get supplies though, or he'll think you were running away."

"Fuck off, Fett." Boba's booming laughter follows Din all the way back to the Razor Crest. Boba is right, though, of course he is, and Din really did mean for it to be a supply run, so he works through it like he always does. He hunts Luke's tea down, finds something that looks fluffy and soft for Grogu to play with, and takes a few bounties just to work his frustration out. 

So what if they come back a bit more bruised than usual? So what if Din is a bit more silent when he drops them off and collects his credits? Cara and Karga know better than to comment on his foul mood, the former instead taking him out to the lava flats and affectionately beating the shit out of him. Din hasn't had a hand to hand fight without Luke's powers getting in the way in so long that fighting Cara now seems slow- predictable. Cara seems surprised by his newfound skill, but still manages to toss him like a sack of grain, Din hitting the ground and staying there, laughing like a fool. Cara collapses on the ground next to him, bumping her shoulder against his pauldron. Her chest rises with her own uneven breaths, broken by her laughs, and she's still chuckling when she talks.

"Remember Sorgan?"

"Mhmm."

"That widow was super, super into you."

"She was nice." Din agrees, Cara snorting next to him and continuing her thought.

"Why does everyone you meet fall in love with you? Is it the fact that you can fight?"

"You in love with me, Dune?"

"Very funny, Mando." Din snickers quietly, turning his head when he feels Cara shift next to him. He finds her watching him, eyes narrowed, and Din sits up, suddenly feeling vulnerable laying on the ground the way he is. Cara doesn't move, watching him as a smile grows over her face. "Have you ever fallen in love? Before Skywalker?"

"If I say yes, will you believe me?"

"Not a bit." Din bobs his head in a nod, as if that makes sense, and Cara sits up, smile fading into something softer. "He's good for you. You laugh more than you used to."

“Maybe you’re just funnier.” Cara laughs, but Din can’t deny that he feels… Happier. With Grogu and Luke he feels like he has a purpose, like he’s more than a faceless bounty hunter scraping by. He has a home, a clan to go back to, and that thought sobers him. He’s never dreaded being away from Luke, enjoyed being able to go out and get what they didn’t have, but he misses him. It’s an itch he can’t scratch, the lonely ache in his chest when he’s gone, but it makes going home, seeing the look on Luke’s face that much sweeter. Which he should be doing, he realizes. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah, me too. Duty calls.” Cara rises to her feet first, holding out a hand and hoisting Din to his feet. Din tightens his grip on her hand, standing there for a moment. Cara grips his hand tighter in response, smiling and letting him go when his grip loosens. She shoos him off in the direction of the port while she heads the opposite way, and Din’s trip back home is spent in quiet contemplation. 

He still has no idea what is going on with him, with Luke’s power, but there aren’t any other options other than talking to him about it. It shouldn’t seem like such a daunting task, but how do you tell the man you’re very much in love with that his powers do weird things to you without ruining the relationship? Din supposes he could just be straight forward about it, like he is everything else, but his cheeks burn already just thinking of the admission. Din will just have to buck up and face that conversation when the time comes, because the planet they call home is rapidly approaching, and soon Din is too busy with landing the ship and unloading to think much more about it. 

Luke is waiting for him at the edge of the city, Grogu balanced on his shoulder, little hands in his hair as Luke floats rocks in a circle above his head. Din’s heart goes fuzzy at the sight, and the closer he gets the more the feeling of Luke washes over him. It’s a pleasant, buzzing warmth under his skin, one that Din didn’t realize he’d missed, and he adjusts the heavy pack against his back.

“Did you see me come in?” 

“Sensed you. Everything go okay?” Din hums noncommittally, closing his eyes when Luke reaches out to cup the back of his neck, drawing him in and pressing his forehead to the cool metal of Din’s helmet. This close with Luke’s fingers on the back of his neck, twitching in time with the rocks orbiting them, Din feels an echo of what Luke must feel all the time. An unearthly, groaning abyss of something around him, permeating the air in layers that never quite let up. Din steps back, Luke’s hand falling away, and he can breathe again, eyes opening in time to see a curious expression flit over Luke’s face. 

“Hungry?” Din asks, desperately wanting to shatter the fragile thing lingering in the air.

“For your cooking? I think I could settle.” Luke grins, wincing when Grogu pulls his hair, gurgling happily and reaching for his father. Din chucks him gently under the chin, voice fond. 

“Yeah kid, me too. Let’s go home.”

                                                            -*-

Din really, really doesn't know how to start this particular conversation. Grogu is down for the night, snoring loud enough to wake the dead, and Din has finally let himself somewhat relax. He’s got Luke up on the counter, or rather, Luke had seated himself on the counter while Din cleaned up, and Din hadn’t let him down since. Din leans into the fingers in his hair, eyes closed as Luke trails kisses over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his forehead. The feeling of Luke’s hands or lips on his face is a novelty he still hasn’t gotten over, and Din can tell he’s grinning when Luke bumps their foreheads together. 

“You’re thinking.” Luke prods, Din leaning harder into his touches. “Have been since you got home.”

“Your jetii mind powers tell you that?” Luke snorts, pressing a soft kiss to Din’s mouth before cupping his cheeks, thumbs pressing lightly under his chin to tip Din’s head back. Din blinks his eyes open, locking eyes with Luke, who wears a soft frown on his face. 

“They don’t have to. What’s eating you, Din?”

“Nothing.” Din’s stomach twists uneasily at the sad twitch of Luke’s lips, but he leans forward, kissing him without thinking and smiling when Luke softens under his hands, a hand sliding into Din's hair to hold him close. Din doesn’t pull away to talk, letting his lips brush against Luke’s with every word. “I have… to figure out how to say it.” 

He expects Luke to protest, or argue, but Luke hums against his lips and smiles. “Okay.” Din makes a noise, a question, and Luke’s smile grows wider. “We’re adults, Din, I can wait until you’re ready to talk. For now, how about we spar?”

“It’s pitch dark outside.” 

“That’s never stopped us before.” Luke points out, and well… He does have a point. Anticipation curls in Din’s gut at the thought, and he takes a step back, letting Luke slide off the counter, straightening his clothes and brushing a hand through his hair to let it fall back over his forehead. Din grabs his helmet on the way to the door, slipping it on and swallowing so his ears will pop as the pressure regulates. He allows himself a moment to pop in and check on Grogu, but he’s sleeping away, clutching the new toy that Din had brought back with him. 

Din shivers when cold, firm pressure curls around him, and he stalks outside where Luke waits just inside the treeline, wagging his fingers mockingly and grinning when Din draws his blade. He’s used to the intense, fevered glow of the darksaber by now, and the green glow from Luke’s saber is a welcome sight, even muted by his visor. Din walks in a slow, even circle around Luke, watching and waiting for the telltale roll of Luke’s wrist right before he gets serious. He watches, and he waits, shivering when the feeling of Luke’s power swells, latching onto him with singular focus as Luke lunges for where he’s about to take a step.

Din is expecting that, though, darksaber already in place to intercept the blow, and Luke’s eyes flicking up to his as sparks rain from their blades. Din pushes back, shoves into Luke’s space and pushes him onto the defensive. It’s probably a mistake to do so so soon after their match has begun, but Din is fueled by the fire that rages through him when Luke fights, eyes flicking back and forth, tracking Luke’s movements as their sabers meet over and over again in showers of sparks that sizzle against his chest piece. 

Luke pushes harder now, using his powers to throw Din off balance, to test his limits of what he can fight against while trying to gain the upper hand at the same time. Din’s hands are steady around the hilt of his saber even when the rest of him shivers and twitches with each brush of Luke’s power. It’s easy for Din to lose himself in the feelings of fighting, the shuffling of his feet and the way his heart pounds in his chest as he leans back, narrowly avoiding a lightsaber to the side of the head. 

“Watch it.” He barks, glaring when Luke grins sheepishly and adjusts his angle. His helmet can take as much as his armor can, but his neck is semi exposed and Din doesn’t want to lose his head. 

“You can stop, if you want.” Din growls at that, because that isn’t what he meant, but the firm hand of Luke’s power clamps down on him, dragging him forward as Din brings his sword up, letting it hiss and spit against Luke’s shield as Luke’s hand brushes over his hip. The touch is quick, fleeting and gone, but Luke’s handprint lingers like a brand, and when Din tries to take a step back, jerking against Luke’s influence his power surges up around Din, raking over his skin in fluid waves of ecstasy. A gasp escapes him before he can help it, loud and raw, and Luke’s lightsaber dies out abruptly. A hand wraps around Din’s, thumb finding the button on the hilt and retracting the blade of the darksaber as Din’s head empties out. “Din-”

Another wave of feeling cascades over Din then and he takes a step back, sweeping Luke’s legs out from under him in one smooth movement. Luke goes down with a shout and Din is on top of him before he can move. His beskar digs unforgivingly into the soft parts of Luke’s body but Luke doesn’t seem to care, struggling against him, fingers digging into the padding of Din’s hips. Din presses down, trying to pin his hands, but Luke’s legs come up behind him, hips shoving up and throwing Din off balance. Din topples forward, hands slapping the dirt on either side of Luke’s head as Luke’s arms wrap around him, rolling them over and over until Din’s head is spinning and Luke’s got his back pressed into the dirt. 

Din struggles against Luke’s hold, knowing that they’re just about as easily matched as they can be, but phantom hands clamp down on his ribs, keeping him in place as Luke moves, shoving Din’s legs apart in favor of fitting himself between them. Luke stares, blue eyes wide and dark in the low light filtering through the trees, and Din’s back arches uselessly off the ground when Luke’s power flushes through him, heat pooling between his legs and lips parting as he chokes on a keening cry of Luke’s name. The lock on Din’s helmet pops hard enough for Din to feel it, and Din rips it off himself, pulling in huge, gulping breaths of air as Luke leans over him. 

Din hardly has a chance to breathe between the onslaught of phantom touches tracing every inch of him and Luke kissing him senseless, but he doesn’t care. He buries a gloved hand into Luke’s hair and twists the strands between his fingers, lapping into his mouth and groaning when Luke presses his hips forward. “Luke-”

“That’s what you were thinking about.” Luke breathes, pulling back just enough to look at the way Din’s cheeks flush.

“It’s not-”

“Don’t lie, Din, it doesn’t feel nearly as nice as this does.” Luke rolls his hips forward, drawing another gasp from Din’s lips and grinning when Din presses his thighs tight to Luke’s sides. “Is that why you left early?”

“Yes- no- you won’t stop touching me.” 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Luke tilts his head, considering, but Din’s hand drops to grab weakly at his hip, tugging him forward, and Luke rolls his hips again, giving Din just an instant of friction. 

“I can- can feel whenever you- do your magic thing. It's distracting." Luke huffs out a laugh, and the reprimand that it isn’t magic is on the tip of his tongue, Din can tell, but Luke tilts his head suddenly. His brow furrows just a bit, determined, and Din’s hips buck up off of the forest floor when concentrated feeling brushes over his cock. Din's breath goes funny almost immediately, odd, hiccupy gasps, and his fingers dig into Luke's hip. “Luke-”

“So sensitive.” The Jedi purrs, leaning down and kissing along the edge of his jaw. Din arches his neck, whimpering, and Luke latches on, sucking soft marks into the sweat lined skin Din bears for him. “Should have told me about this before, Din. What fun we could have had.”

“Telling you now-” Din’s thigh jerks, and Luke laughs huskily as Din’s breath chokes off in his throat, whole body going taut as he comes. Din can feel Luke smiling against the column of his throat, but whatever control Luke is exerting only gets worse, dragging along the sensitive bud until Din is writhing, trying to both get away from the sensation and chase it. “I need- I-”

“I’ve got you. Tell me what you want, Din, I’ll give it to you.” Din brings both hands up to grab at Luke’s hair, dragging him into a wet, messy kiss that he can only half focus on. He doesn’t know how to articulate what he wants past the hot, insistent ache between his thighs, but Luke has never truly needed words when Din wants something bad enough. Luke groans against his lips, kissing him hard before pulling back, pressing their foreheads together in an effort to get Din to concentrate. Brown eyes so dark they look black bore into blue, and Luke’s eyelids flutter before he looks back down at Din. “You’re sure?”

Din nods frantically, tilting his head to nip at Luke’s lower lip, and Luke snatches at Din’s hip just to have something to hold on to. The first phantom press of Luke’s power against Din’s hole has Din groaning, and when Luke allows that feeling to press in, to slowly and surely spread him wide Din’s head falls back against the ground with a thud. His whole body quakes under Luke’s, hips rolling down uselessly into the sensation of Luke using his powers for something decidedly inappropriate. Luke pauses, breath shuddering from his throat, and Din moans, muffled when Luke kisses him, trapping the sound between the two of them as Luke’s hand draws back, the phantom feeling drawing back as well. 

It makes Din whine, being empty, but then Luke is pressing back in, deeper and more insistent and Din sees stars. Heat rockets through him with each shove of Luke’s power opening him up and keeping him full, and Din loses track of time completely. It’s a feeling he’s never had before, being so completely full yet knowing that Luke isn’t moving a muscle. It’s too hot for him to feel any kind of shame, and he groans when Luke pops the button to his fly, tugging the zipper down and shoving his hand past the layers of his clothes. “Luke-”

“I can only focus on one- fuck you’re wet-” Din laughs breathlessly at the first slick slide of Luke’s thumb against his cock, the laugh petering off when Luke’s power surges, pressing up harder into him and making him clench down. Din bites down on his lower lip to try and dampen the noise, not wanting to be loud, but Luke’s free hand comes up, thumb snagging his lip from between his teeth. “Don’t hide- don’t-”

Din moans out loud, unable to help himself, and Luke’s thumb slips into his mouth, pressing against his tongue and dragging over his teeth. Din tries to wrap his lips around the appendage and suck but Luke presses his thumb in, Din choking softly until he lets his jaw go slack. Luke eases his thumb back, letting Din flick the tip of his tongue over the pad of his thumb while moaning lewdly. It’s shockingly loud in Din’s ears, his cheeks heating in embarrassment, but Luke moans right along with him, shaking in between his legs and other thumb speeding up on his cock. Din whines, trying to warn him, but Luke’s only focus is on him, on the wet warmth of him and keeping his power firmly filling Din up. Din’s body can’t tell whether the sensation is warm or cold, but it doesn't seem to matter much when Luke rubs a tight circle on his cock, thumb applying firm, steady pressure that sends Din careening over the edge for the second time in the span of only a few minutes. 

“Good?” Luke whispers, hand stilling once Din whines at the overstimulation. Din nods, but his skin is still crawling with need and he only has one thought in mind. 

“Want you in me.” Luke swears under his breath, a rather colorful word that makes Din wheeze out a laugh. Luke draws both his hands off of Din to wrestle with his clothes, unlatching Din’s thigh plates and yanking his pants down his hips. Din helps as much as he can, shoving his boots off and letting them fall somewhere in the dirt behind them and then twisting so Luke can yank his pants down off his legs, tossed to the ground somewhere near them. Luke hurries to get the fly of his own pants undone, but he doesn’t have to remove anything, just pulling his cock out and groaning at the first touch. 

Din goes up on an elbow, watching with heavy lidded eyes as Luke strokes himself a few times, smearing the precum that gathers at the tip. Din lets his legs fall open wider, other hand sliding down to spread his lips, and Luke’s eyes flick down to watch with interest. “You’re gorgeous.” 

Din scoffs, but his chest is warm with affection and he smiles when Luke shuffles forward, kissing him sweetly. Luke’s hands pet over his hips as he lifts him to settle easier in his lap, thighs tucking under Din to support him. It’s a bit weird to have all the rest of his armor on still, but he’s sufficiently distracted when Luke grinds his hips forward, slipping through the slick that’s made a mess of his thighs. “Oh.” Din gasps out when Luke angles his hips, pressing in slowly yet steadily. The phantom fucking that Din experienced earlier was definitely cold, because the hard, insistent filling of Luke’s cock burns in the best way. “Oh- LukeLukeLuke-”

Din’s hips lift of their own accord, easing the angle, and he’s so sinfully wet that Luke slides in faster than he means to, pressing to the hilt and voice cracking on a moan. Din shakes, clenching down on the length of him, and Luke pitches forward, forehead pressing into Din’s collarbone as his hips snap forward, forcing a loud, breathy noise from Din’s throat. Luke braces one hand next to Din’s ribs while the other grabs at his hip, steadying him as he breathes in slowly through his nose, letting it out through his mouth moments later. “You’re tight, I-”

Luke’s words strangle in his throat when Din purposefully squeezes down around him, hips rutting forward messily. Luke is gorgeous and amazing like this, eyes firmly shut and jaw clenched in concentration as a moan falls from his lips, and Din can't help but stare. "You can move." Din teases, smirking when Luke peeks an eye open to glare down at him. "Really, I won't bre- ah-k!" 

Din nearly eats his own words right there when Luke pulls back, slamming his hips home and grinding hard against him. Din tightens around him in response and Luke groans, hand sliding down over Din's thigh to hitch his leg higher. It changes the angle just enough to skate over that delightful little spot inside of him, and Din sighs Luke's name. Done with the teasing, Luke finds his rhythm easily, thrusting into Din in long, even strokes, pressing deep enough each time that Din's thighs quiver around him. 

Din feels hazy in a way he hasn't in a while, unable to think of anything other than the way that Luke feels in him, feels between his thighs, pressed so deep inside of him that he sees white. Din can feel when Luke loses his careful focus, rhythm going wonky and fingers twitching uselessly against Din's thigh. While he's still working toward Din's own pleasure his is rapidly approaching, and Din's heart swells at the careful attention Luke pays him. Here he is, having come twice already, and Luke is still trying to make him go again. Luke's eyes snap to his, half wild when Din very firmly thinks of what he wants, and Luke's nodding his head without really seeing, hands moving to grab at Din's ribs and haul him up. Din sits up, carefully shuffling his thighs and settling heavily in Luke's lap. The new position presses Luke deeper inside him still, making his toes curl, and he moans when Luke's hands grab at his ass, blunt fingernails digging in. Din grips Luke's shoulders as he lifts his hips, dropping them down as Luke thrusts up, carving hard into him and fucking him open. Din presses their foreheads together, panting and occasionally trying to kiss him before their rhythm forces him to pull back again.

"So good for me, fuck I love you-" Din grins then, tightening when he drops down and basking in the needy whine that drifts from Luke's lips. "So much- love you so much-"

"Come, Cyar'ika." Din whispers, listening as Luke whimpers, nodding jerkily as he fucks up desperately, groaning and hands sliding down a bit on Din's ass to spread him wider. Luke doesn't last after that command, eyelids fluttering shut as he presses up, hips stuttering and grinding up in small, tight thrusts as warmth paints Din's insides. Din's eyes roll back in his head at the feeling and he sags heavily in Luke's lap, keeping him pressed deep as he slots their lips together. 

It takes Luke a few seconds to catch on, one arm shifting to lock around Din's hip and hold him still while his hips roll up, fucking his own mess into Din and chasing the last dregs of his release. Luke's other hand slips between them, wrist cramping as he traps Din's cock between two knuckles, letting Din grind up into his hand and whine against his lips. His movements are lazy the entire time, placated, and Luke takes his time tasting the moans that Din lets free while working himself between Luke's fingers. His third orgasm is nowhere near as all enveloping as his first two, just a hazy warmth that bleeds through him and makes him throb around Luke, finally settling as Luke pulls his hand back to hug him close to his chest. 

The beskar makes it a bit odd to press closer, an unnecessary barrier, but Luke acts as if it isn't there at all, hands wandering over Din's back plate and occasionally brushing a clump of grass from his cloak. Luke eventually just tucks his face into Din's neck, seemingly dozing with Din in his lap. Din has almost drifted off himself, warm and happy when Luke speaks, voice groggy. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"Have you felt me manipulating the force?"

Din hums, shrugging and leaning his head against Luke's. "Couldn't pinpoint an exact day. After we kissed the first time. Every time after that."

"So when we spar you…"

"Most of the time. Sometimes I can drown it out, like I would an injury."

Luke scoffs, but it's playful, and Din shivers when Luke's fingers trace idle patterns over the small of his back, just under the edge of his back plate. "Thanks Din, so glad to know it's an injury."

"You try being hard all the time." Is all he says back, Luke laughing and conceding the point. "I was afraid of what it means. It- doesn't happen with anyone else."

"Good." Luke says, a note of possessiveness coloring the edge of his voice. "You're sensitive to those you care about. If that person just so happens to be a force user it- creates a unique kind of feedback loop."

"You knew this would happen?"

"Nu uh. Read about it once, in an old text. We aren't supposed to have attachments, so it never seemed prudent. I couldn't be sure you even knew what was happening half the time we talked without me actually speaking."

"That isn't part of the force that's just…"

"You being sensitive." Luke kisses Din's neck gently, breath warm across Din's skin. "It's different with us. You aren't just guessing- you know, even if your waking brain doesn't. You used it earlier, to tell me what you wanted."

Din's cheeks flush at the memory, but Luke is entirely earnest, sitting back to look Din over carefully. He must like what he sees because the blonde man grins, Din's cheeks flushing darker as his face pulls into something resembling embarrassment. Hiding his expression is something Din is woefully bad at, and he knows every twitch of his face betrays him, how he's feeling. Luke's hands smooth over his hips, thumbs pressing into the line of his hip bones, and Din turns to frown at him, brows twitching upward.

"Don't tell me you want to go again." He deadpans, Luke's lips quirking in a small, teasing smile. 

"Mm, tempting, but I was more thinking of going to take a shower." Luke's thumbs don't stop their slow, even press and Din shivers, shoving lightly at Luke's chest and lifting himself up out of Luke's lap. He's expecting the mess that standing will make, but Luke's fingers shift and Din gasps as cool pressure fills him up, fingers digging into Luke's shoulders. Luke's hands slip down to cup the sides of his thighs and he leans forward, placing a soft kiss on the skin below Din's belly button.

"Luke." Din's voice is sharp, a warning more than anything, and Luke hums, placing one last soft kiss before rising to his feet as well. Din doesn't particularly want to get redressed, but he is not walking his bare ass into the house in fear that Grogu is awake, so he shoves his legs back through his pants, leaving them unbuttoned. Luke has his boots and thigh plates in hand already while Din pads over to where his helmet was discarded, scooping it up and tucking it under his arm. Luke holds out his free hand, wagging his fingers until Din rolls his eyes and takes his hand, allowing himself to be led inside to their now shared room. Luke drops off Din's stuff and turns to strip him of the rest of his armor. "I can undress myself."

"What am I supposed to do then?" 

"Undress yourself." Luke scoffs at the idea, waving his hand, and Din rolls his eyes again. Once his armor is off Din drags Luke to the refresher, stripping himself out of his clothes while the water heats. Din is standing there, arms crossed over his chest, watching Luke undress when he sees Luke's fingers move, just a small crooking of his fingers. Din shudders, hand shooting out to grip the edge of the sink as the pressure inside him fades, and Din's cheeks heat at the way come drips onto his thighs. Din stands resolutely by the sink even when Luke slips into the shower, willing the strength back into his knees and only moving when he's sure he isn't going to fall over. 

"Coming?" Luke calls, peeking his head out of the shower and snickering at the glare Din levels his way. 

"You're an ass." Luke hums, cheeky grin on his face, and he holds a hand out, allowing Din to clutch onto it as he takes a step over the edge of the tub. Luke turns them immediately so Din can be under the warm water, regardless of the way he shivers, skin already wet. Din tips his head back, letting the water slick his hair back and paste it to his temples. 

Despite Luke's teasing and general cheekiness his movements are tender as he helps Din wash up, occasionally leaving light, chaste kisses on the slope of his shoulders just to have an excuse to be close. Din basks in the attention afforded to him, and he's all too happy to do the same, hands mapping over the scars lining Luke's body and working soap through his hair. Luke's hair is longer, finer than his, and while Din's hair stands up with no prompting Luke's falls around him in loose waves, curling at the nape of his neck. 

By the time that they finally make it out of the shower Din is half asleep on his feet, shuffling along behind Luke back to the bedroom. He can still hear Grogu snoring away on the other side of the house, so he doesn't feel bad when he collapses onto the bed, letting Luke manhandle him until the both of them fit nicely under the covers. 

"So," Luke begins as Din is just beginning to drift off again. "Is this an every time thing?"

"Go to sleep, Luke." 

"I'm just asking!" Luke says defensively, laughing when Din digs his fingers into Luke's ribs to make him squirm. "Fine fine, but you have to tell me in the morning."

                                                        -*-

Din is pleasantly sore when he wakes up the next morning, just a faint ache between his legs that he enjoys more than he should. The sun hasn’t risen yet, light barely straining to lighten the sky, but Din feels too awake to go back to bed. Instead he goes up on an elbow, glancing down at Luke’s sleeping form. He sleeps spread out, much like a star, wholly unused to sharing a bed with anyone and taking up as much space and blanket as he can. Din on the other hand, is used to sleeping in tight quarters, and it’s all too easy to tuck himself in the space that Luke does leave for him. Which seems to be growing with every night they spend tangled together. 

Luke’s face is young, devoid of the usual calculating look or serene expression he wears at all times if he can help it. He’s so wildly expressive when he wants to be, quick to frown or grin and make a joke, but Din feels… Emptiness sometimes. Like the feelings that Luke wears are more like a shield, rather than actually being his. Din doesn’t know much about Luke’s training as a Jedi, and is still learning about his past, but Luke had mentioned more than once that Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments. That they made them weak, susceptible to the dark side that Luke always seemed so serious about. But here now, Din doesn’t feel weak. 

Din finds himself touching Luke, gentle and easy, tracing along the scars on his chest and dipping down to follow their jagged, racing edges with his lips. One scar drifts under his nipple, so close that Din can’t help the way he detours to flick his tongue over the bud, smiling when Luke shifts, chest rising with quicker breaths. Din doesn’t stay there long, not quite wanting Luke to wake up and say something that he thinks is funny so early in the morning. He just wants to touch him, to let his hands drift, fingers trailing the bumps of his ribs that become apparent when Luke breathes in. Din sits up further now, moving slowly so as not to disturb Luke too much, and he skims his hand over the plane of his chest, up toward his shoulders and down one arm, over his bicep and finally stopping to cup his forearm. 

Luke’s arms are impressive, corded with muscle but not enormous like Boba- There’s an inherent delicacy in Luke’s form that betrays the strength hidden there, and Din enjoys it immensely. He knows that Luke leans into the look, in letting people underestimate him the same way that Din’s armor and presence demand more. Din places his hand on Luke’s stomach, watching the way that Luke twitches when Din drags his fingers over the lean muscle. 

“You’re affectionate.” Din hums when Luke speaks, voice groggy and eyes still closed. Din doesn’t bother stopping even knowing that Luke is awake, but now that he is awake Din’s hand drifts lower. Luke makes a soft noise at the soft brush of Din’s knuckles against the insides of his thighs, Din nudging his legs a bit further apart. Luke shuffles his legs at Din’s insistence, and Din presses his thumb into the crease of Luke’s thigh and hip, huffing a laugh at the way that Luke’s hips shift. He does it again and sees Luke’s stomach clench, flexing as his breathing goes funny. “Din, you know what that does to me.”

“Mhmm.” Din slips in between Luke’s legs easily while he’s distracted, bringing his other hand up to apply equal pressure to the other side too. Luke’s back arches weakly off the bed at the odd, wobbly feeling that Din made him describe the first time he touched him this way, and Din uses his elbows to keep Luke’s knees from digging into his sides. “We have time before Grogu wakes up.”

“Insatiable.” Din laughs at the way Luke’s voice rasps from him, and Din drops a hand to boldly take Luke in hand, watching the way Luke’s lashes flutter as his hips roll upward. “You’re very far away, Din.”

“Right where I want to be.” Luke’s breath hitches when Din shuffles himself down, left hand smoothing over Luke’s thigh, circling under to tuck his leg up and out. Luke plants his heel in the bed, adjusting himself as Din hums and dips to kiss the soft skin of his inner thigh. Luke croons at the affection, the sound dissolving into a whine when Din nips lightly and then sucks, coaxing a mark to the forefront. Din settles himself down on his front, propped up on his elbows and breath ghosting over the soft curve of Luke’s cock. “You had a question last night.”

“Hmm?” Luke murmurs, hardly seeming to pay attention. Din leans down to lap at the base of Luke’s cock, lips curling in a smile against the soft flesh when Luke gasps. 

“Your question, Luke.”

“Ah, shit, umm- what we did last night, with the- ah- force-” Din trails his lips up, letting Luke feel the warmth of his mouth so close while Luke tries desperately to form a coherent thought. Luke seems on the verge of being able to say something when Din takes the head into his mouth, sucking lightly and a hand shooting out to grab at Luke’s thigh, forcing him back into the bed as Luke whines. “You- are impossible-”

Din watches as Luke goes up on his hands, one hand reaching down and fingers threading in Din’s hair. Din hums, bobbing his head in appreciation as Luke’s fingers tighten in his hair. Din looks up as he hollows his cheeks, taking Luke deeper and raising a brow. He lets his thoughts, normally so guarded, flow from him now, and Luke groans, whole body shuddering. Luke’s power rushes up his spine, pooling at the back of his neck and sinking into the base of his skull, vision going dark as Din closes his eyes, swallowing Luke down in earnest. 

I want it to be every time. I thought you were uncomfortable around my use of the force, but this whole time- this whole time you liked it. 

Luke’s voice is clearer than Din has ever heard it, and Din feels the first cold drag of Luke’s attention against his ass and thighs, raking over his skin. Din can’t do what Luke does, but he tries to show him, to share with him the way that Luke’s powers feel. He thinks about last night, when Luke had grabbed him and overwhelmed him so thoroughly so quickly, and Luke twitches in his mouth, hand tugging on his hair. Din rises with the insistent pull at his scalp, allowing Luke to guide him up and then back down, and Luke huffs out little noises above him, soft and needy in the still of the morning. Din gives him everything he can, thinking about the first time that Luke’s power had excited him, had left him aching and confused and lusting in a way that he was wholly unfamiliar with. 

The times in between, when Din was left taking cold shower after shower, trying so desperately to garner back some kind of control until the next echo of Luke’s power sent him reeling again. The warm buzzing that hid under his skin, reaching a crescendo whenever Luke touched him with those strong, talented hands of his. 

It never seemed to stop either- Din’s lust was an all consuming thing, a constant want that burrowed in his skin, lit him up from the inside. Din’s mind comes back to him slowly as the pressure at the base of his skull lessens, and he blinks back tears as Luke grinds up into his mouth. He isn’t sure how long he’s been like this, letting Luke see everything while using his mouth, but he can feel his hair sticking to his temples and his jaw has only just begun to ache. 

“I didn’t know-” The sound of Luke’s voice, real and rough sends a shock of arousal through Din, and he pulls back, swirling his tongue around the head while Luke tries to speak. It gives him a break, but most importantly it draws the softest moans from Luke, and if Din’s mouth weren’t so preoccupied he’d smile. Instead he sucks particularly hard, chuckling as Luke’s thighs bracket around his head, Din’s hand coming up to keep Luke from squeezing too hard. “Didn’t know it was that way for you.” 

Din pops off of Luke’s cock suddenly, surging up onto his knees and crowding into his space to kiss him. His lips are wet and he doesn’t doubt that he tastes like Luke, but Luke throws an arm around his neck and hugs him close, lapping into his mouth as Din wraps a hand around him, creating a tight fist that Luke bucks up into. “It isn’t just the force thing.” Din says, bumping their noses together as he pulls back. 

“No?” Din wants him to know, needs him to know, love burning in his chest in time with the pounding of his heart.

Din laughs, bright and stupid and happy, and his wrist twists, drawing a keen from Luke as his hips stutter. “You’re too cocky to pretend you aren’t attractive, Luke.”

“Rude-” 

“Stop talking.” Luke scoffs in offense, but Din stops touching him in favor of shoving him onto his back, Luke offering no resistance. Din trails kisses down Luke’s body, occasionally stopping to nip at a spot that makes Luke whimper softly before moving on. Din settles himself back down between Luke’s thighs, and he admires the healthy flush of Luke’s cock, the way it curves proudly up against his stomach. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sight of Luke spread out like a banquet before him, chest rising and falling and lined with sweat, hair a mess. Luke throbs once Din gets his mouth on him again, and Din can tell he’s close. It seems cruel to keep him in so much suspense, so Din takes him down to the root, swallowing around him and lifting just a bit when Luke’s hips shove upward. 

He doesn’t mean to draw back, to make Luke whine, and he soothes hands over Luke’s hips, rubbing at the sensitive junction of his legs in apology. It only takes him a moment to adjust to the weight of Luke on his tongue again, and he allows Luke to fuck up into his mouth, to chase his own pleasure as his hand comes back to grab at his hair. He holds on like without the feeling of Din’s hair in his hands he’ll float away entirely, and Din finds the small tugs whenever Luke presses up just right too attractive to tell him to stop. 

Din feels that rush of power push into the base of his skull again, hard and quick, and Din’s hands clench, fingers digging in hard to the meat of Luke’s thighs at the first rush of Luke’s orgasm. He feels, tastes and experiences Luke’s release: his own body sings with it, thighs shaking in tandem with the way that Luke’s do as Din swallows down around him. Din draws back enough to lap at the sensitive spot just under the head of Luke’s cock, groaning at the small taste that he gets in reward as Luke basks in the aftershocks. Din pulls back when he’s able, panting raggedly and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. His thighs are still shaking, Luke’s pleasure floating through him in lazy waves, and he slips up to lay along the length of Luke’s body, arm around his waist and head pillowed on his shoulder. 

He knows that Luke has regained most of his sense when a kiss is pressed into his hair. “That was new.” Din observes, feeling Luke’s laugh echo through his ribcage from where their bodies are pressed together.

“Like it?”

“It was okay.” A rush of affection makes his stomach flop pleasantly when Luke hums, obviously amused but too sleepy to laugh. Luke turns to face Din, resting on his side and skimming his hand up and down Din’s side. The attention is nice, the simple touch warming him, and when Din deigns to open his eyes the sun has finally begun to peak over the horizon, bathing the room in swathes of oranges and yellows. “Just enough time.”

“We have more.” Luke muses, hand sliding down and catching behind Din’s knee. He stops, letting the offer hang in the air, and Din shifts forward, lifting his thigh in answer. Luke maneuvers himself closer, hooking Din’s thigh up and over his hip and dipping his hand lower. It’s a bit of an odd angle to work at, but Luke adjusts easily, hoisting Din up the bed a bit and grinning at the way Din draws in a sharp breath at the manhandling. He chokes on his breath completely at the first brush of Luke’s fingers against him, teasing over the sensitive edges of him before finally, blissfully moving more centrally. The first pass of Luke’s fingers tugs him open, and Din can hear the wet sound that Luke’s fingers make on the second pass, smearing the slick that’s collected in the time that Din was otherwise occupied. “Never get tired of this.” Luke breathes, humming when Din presses his hands to Luke’s chest to anchor himself. 

“Sap.” Din murmurs, voice soft. Luke grins, bumping their foreheads together and watching, enraptured at the way Din’s eyebrows pinch at the first press of Luke’s fingers into him. It’s a bit of a stretch to take two at first, even with as desperately as Din wants this, but he hitches his thigh a bit higher, opening himself more as Luke rubs against his walls, crooking his fingers in a come hither motion that has Din’s fingers curling uselessly against his chest. Din’s brain goes fuzzy as Luke thrusts his fingers slowly, curled just enough that every time he pulls back he rubs just right, dragging over the little bump that makes Din’s thighs shake. He hadn’t even thought about himself when he’d woken up this morning- Luke had given him so much last night, had accepted and loved him more than he could ever ask for, but here, pressed chest to chest, breath mingling, Din has never felt more appreciated. 

“Can I show you something?” Luke’s voice is soft, hesitant, but Din nods immediately, scratching lightly at Luke’s chest and gasping when Luke presses his fingers up deep, stilling. Din whines, clenching around his fingers, and he’s so distracted by the feeling that he doesn’t register Luke’s power latching onto him again. Din feels a dizzying sense of vertigo, and then he’s sucked somewhere into a memory, an image that’s firmly burned into Din’s mind just as much as it is Luke’s. 

It’s the first time they were together, after Din had confessed, when neither of them were sure of each other or what to do. Din remembers the night as being hard and fast, something passionate, and it is, but the way Luke’s hands had held his hips as Din sat astride him, Din’s hands splayed low on Luke’s stomach to brace himself as their hips rocked together… That was love. Luke held him so gently, guided his hips when he lost his rhythm and never asked for more than Din was willing to give. Luke had paid such close attention to him then, always had, and his hands had scorched over Din's skin with each hesitant, shaking touch. Looking at it now Din doesn’t know how he ever thought that this could be fleeting, the all consuming magnetism that drew them together time and time again. 

Luke draws him back out of the memory slowly, easing him back to the present, and Din snakes one hand up to cup Luke’s cheek, drawing him in for a shuddering kiss. His hips rock forward against Luke, egging him on, and Luke gives him what he asks for. Luke's touch is gentle, not wanting to hurt him, and Luke curls his fingers again and presses up against his g-spot, rubbing even as Din’s thighs begin to tremble and jerk with each sensation. He’s up on a razor wire and he doesn’t know how long he can last before it snaps, breaths coming faster and faster until Luke presses just right, flicking his tongue against Din’s and sending Din spiraling Din keens into Luke’s mouth, thighs numb, and Luke grins, working him over until he’s sobbing against Luke’s mouth. 

“Luke please-” 

“You’re okay, Din, breathe.” Din can’t, he can’t even think past Luke’s fingers still buried deep, and Luke groans, rolling Din onto his back and slipping from his arms. Din feels so empty that he clenches weakly, chest rising and falling as he pants, trying to suck in a proper breath. Din doesn’t care if his mind is wide open or if Luke can see the desperate, pained way he’s hanging right on the edge, he wants so badly that Luke being away from him makes him whimper. Din opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling and trying to get his eyes to focus so he can see where Luke has gone, but then Luke’s fingers are sliding back into him at a new angle and Luke’s clever, wonderful, hot mouth is on his cock, tongue flicking just right- so right- 

Din’s hands fly down to grab fistfuls of Luke’s hair as his back arches, and Luke’s mouth and fingers finally snap that wire inside of him. Din chokes on a cry of Luke’s name as he shakes apart underneath him, grinding down against Luke’s lips and gasping when Luke sucks very pointedly. Warmth rushes through him, making his muscles go loose and warm, and he slumps back into the bed, fingers trembling in Luke’s hair every time that Luke’s tongue slides against him in broad, slow licks. Luke is very, very patient, and he doesn't move from between Din’s thighs until Din lets go of his hair, content to use his mouth until Din is ready to be done. Din shifts his hips, wordlessly asking Luke to pull his fingers out, and Luke does so slowly.

“Okay?”

“We’re doing that again.” Din croaks out, Luke laughing and shuffling to sit between Din’s legs. Din traps him between his thighs, not letting him move, but Luke isn’t planning on going anywhere, blue eyes dark with lust as he slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking the mess from them as Din groans at the sight. 

“You only have to ask.” 

“Why is this the first time I got your mouth?”

“Wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with it.” Luke says, but there’s something different about him, a sort of confidence that wasn’t there before. “You showed me- a lot, when you were distracted earlier. What you liked, what you thought about when you were- frustrated.” 

Both Din and Luke know that isn’t the word either of them would use, but it makes affection bubble in Din’s chest all the same. He reaches out for Luke, pulling until Luke’s weight rests fully on top of him before he kisses him, muttering against his lips. “Make note for next time.”

“Next time?"

"You could use more practice with your mouth." Luke pauses, pulling back to look him over, and a tender yet smarmy grin colors his face, eyes bright.

"I think I can manage that."

[mimicteruyo]

Threshold

[Touhou Ship Week Day 5: Overwhelmed. ReiSana, 1.7k, angst]

---

"Here." Unsure of what else to say, Sanae held out the plastic bag. "I wasn't sure about your size, but..."

Reimu's reaction was more animated than any Sanae had seen from her since the disaster. This time, she actually raised her head for a moment before letting her chin sink back down. She still looked like she wished to curl up into a ball on the porch but couldn't quite muster the energy to move.

Sanae chewed her lip, wondering if she should just leave the bag next to Reimu, only to be freed from the decision when Reimu's hand shot forward and snatched it. One of the thin handles tore with an audible rip, but Reimu seemed deaf to it: the next moment, she was already rummaging through its contents.

"I hope you like them. Later we can—" Sanae's eyes shot wide open as Reimu put the bag aside and began taking her top off. "You're going to change here?!"

"Why not?" Reimu's voice was so flat the question barely counted as one. "There's no-one around to see."

"I guess, but..." Sanae averted her eyes. Reimu was right, of course, and it shouldn't have mattered in the first place, but this really wasn't the time for blushing.

To distract herself, she walked to one of the torches lining the courtyard and looked into the distance. Most of the trees nestling the shrine had survived the transition, had in fact grown more numerous, shielding the buildings on the hill from view. They also prevented Sanae from seeing all that lay around it, but then, she had already stood with Reimu by the torii watching the distinctly modern town and its rhizome of roads sprawling through the land beneath the steps.

"The handle broke."

Reimu had stood up and was frowning at the bag on the porch, now bulging with her old garb. The fit of the new clothes was adequate, although the sleeves were obviously too long. Sanae had chosen red and white — red skirt, white shirt, red and white varsity jacket — in hopes the familiar colours would be a comfort. She now realised they might have been a stab, too.

"It's fine. We can recycle it." Sanae picked up the bag and took the opportunity to survey Reimu from a modern day human's perspective. The hair decorations still marked her for an outsider, but she looked more outwordly than Sanae had ever seen her before. She would likely pass for a former Lolita fashion enthusiast clinging to her old ribbons, and as long as Sanae coupled her new hoodie and pleated skirt with her own hair charms, they would at least share the stares. They would be fine.

Things didn't seem fine as Reimu simply stood there, arms slack, staring at the trees past the courtyard but clearly seeing nothing but fog.

Sanae settled the bag in the crook of her arm and choked on half-formed condolences. She wasn't any more prepared to utter words acknowledging the destruction of the Great Hakurei Barrier than Reimu was to hear them. Instead, to hide her rising panic, she focused on the practical side of things. "The train goes twice an hour until eleven o'clock, so we don't have to worry about running late for it. How about we eat something first? I saw a nice little restaurant on the way— or maybe you'd just like something sweet? We still have some—"

She stilled. Reimu had turned to gaze at her, her eyes as vacant and hollow as they had been  while staring at the foliage.

"Um. Or if you'd like to rest here a bit longer, we can do that too."

Reimu continued on with her impression of a member of the walking dead.

"I could bring you something to eat here, too. Is there anything you'd like?" Sanae's legs already ached from walking — how quickly she had begun to long to be able to fly again — but honest physical pain might have been better than watching this slow winding down that felt like death. "Reimu?"

When this elicited no reaction, Sanae hazarded an approach, then placed her hand on Reimu's arm. This gesture was accepted with the same stoicism as a statue accepts falling rain.

Sanae thought she understood. The evaporation of Gensokyo had been a blow, a physical sensation like someone had punched out her internal organs and replaced them with water. But she could cope. She knew the Outside World, had grown up in it, and she still felt Lady Kanako and Lady Suwako lending her their strength. Reimu had only ever known Gensokyo. Even now, she was probably...

Reimu's head jerked. The movement heralded a sudden release of tension, so complete she began at once to collapse. Sanae caught her just in time and hauled her back upright.

She didn't expect Reimu to clutch onto her and practically drape herself over Sanae until they were hugging each other. Sanae held on, stunned, but not so stunned she didn't catch Reimu mumbling against her shoulder.

"I failed."

"No." Sanae pulled Reimu closer, once again scrambling for words. Reimu felt too small and too brittle, as though her loss had transformed her into a bird. "It wasn't a fair fight to begin with, and you came so much closer than the rest of us."

"And I failed."

The words were uttered with leaden certainty. Sanae saw now that attempting to counter them would only bolster them. She let silence shroud them instead and focused on trying to transmit her body's warmth to Reimu, trying not to think of the fatal wound she was certain she had seen Reimu receive while she herself had lain on the Hakurei Shrine courtyard, too exhausted and stunned to even think of getting up, and which appeared to have simply vanished alongside the barrier.

For a brief blessed moment, things seemed fine. It lasted only until Sanae tilted her head and saw that Reimu's eyes were filled with tears.

And just like that, for the second time that day, something in the universe tilted quietly off-centre.

While Sanae had spent years viewing Reimu as a friend and rival alike, she could now admit to herself that there had always been a dash of hero worship blended into her sentiments. For all of  her foibles, the other shrine maiden had been so attuned to her craft, so determined when the situation called for it, and sometimes almost as supernatural as the youkai roaming the land. She had been someone who obviously never really needed help from Sanae, and so Sanae, living goddess or not, had been just overawed enough to keep the exact nature of the blossom in her heart to herself.

Holding Reimu in that moment, watching her weep, hearing her stubbornly steady heartbeat so close to her chest, Sanae finally truly felt like she was human.

"It's going to be okay." It wasn't a mere platitude; one way or another, Sanae would make it happen. "They won't take this lying down. Yukari and the others, I mean. They're going to fix it somehow. And even if they don't, we'll figure something out. They need shrine maidens in this world, too. And you don't have worry about getting identification papers or anything. Lady Kanako and Lady Suwako will be waiting at the shrine, and I'll just miracle you into a family register if you want, and we can go stay at my old home and—"

She was interrupted by a snippet of strangled laughter. It was mirthless and half choked, but there was no mistaking it even before Reimu straightened up and proved that her tears were now accompanied by a thin smile.

"You never give up, do you?"

"You don't, either." Sanae didn't quite feel like smiling, but she did so anyway and felt it become genuine as Reimu tried to match its wideness. "I can't lose to my rival."

Reimu absorbed this with due consideration. Finally, she extracted herself from the embrace, leaving behind a lingering chill and a faint floral scent from the detergent on her new clothes. "Maybe I should eat."

Energised by this twinge of hope, Sanae clapped her hands together. "Great! Wait here and I'll get you something good!"

She hadn't made it even a single step before Reimu grabbed the sleeve of her hoodie. As she halted, Reimu took the opportunity to wipe her eyes before nodding. "I'll come as well."

"Are you sure?"

"I can't lose to my rival."

Was it normal to feel a rush of warmth at mirrored words? "In that case, we'll go together."

Hand on arm turned into hand in hand as they marched across the courtyard.

Once they reached the torii, Reimu faltered. Sanae turned, prepared to say that it was fine, that their departure could still wait, that even if they missed the final train they'd still manage, when Reimu raised her chin and stepped underneath it.

They halted there on the top step, just past the torii. Reimu stared blankly at the vista ahead, showing neither pleasure nor disappointment at the wealth of buildings and cultivated land. She took a deep breath. "There."

Sanae squeezed her hand. "I knew you could do it."

"Of course I could." How Sanae had missed hearing that particular note of smugness. However, the thought was quickly forgotten as Reimu faced Sanae, no longer despondent but instead intense. "The real challenge comes now."

That was the only warning Sanae received before Reimu leaned forward and kissed her. It was as imprecise as it was abrupt, only brushing the corner of Sanae's mouth. All the same, it lit her blood on fire.

Just as quickly as she had leaned in, Reimu pulled back and began walking down the steps. She would've dragged Sanae along with her if Sanae hadn't shaken off her daze and followed at her own volition, just barely holding onto the bag of Gensokyoan clothes.

The back of Reimu's head yielded no answers. Later, there might be time to ask if the kiss had been a whim, a momentary madness brought on by overwhelming loss. Or perhaps, if it had meant what Sanae hoped it meant.

Until then, Sanae would follow and try not to be too awed by the full bloom of her heart.

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction | You’re Good With Technology [Request]

Seokjin:

Jin groaned into the phone as he was placed on hold for the sixteenth time that morning and you stared at him and then down at the laptop he was trying to get help for. You'd tried to tell him you could have it fixed but he wasn't listening to you he was too busy focussing on trying to get his laptop fixed before he went away on tour. You stared at him as he grumbled down the phone and then took matters in your own hands, you took a sip from your energy drink before grabbing his laptop and walking into the kitchen. You set it down at the table and went on the hunt for your tools getting ready to take a look at the motherboard to see what was really wrong with it. You could hear the hold music coming from his phone and you smirked knowing you would have enough time to fix this and would probably do a better job then the guy on the phone anyway.

(X)

You walked back into the living room a couple of hours later and placed the now fully functioning laptop in front of Jin, you clicked the power button and he stared at the screen as it booted up right before him.

"Hello this is Sally you're through to customer services, how may I help you?" Jin hung up the phone and stared at the laptop screen and then to you, you sat down on the sofa and looked through your phone ignoring the look you were getting from Jin which was a mixture of confusion and wonder.

"How did you-"

"It was easier after I heard you explain it to the man on the phone for the sixth time." You looked at him and he looked at the now fully functioning laptop and then back to you.

"When did you get so smart?" You acted offended and then smiled at him,

"I took an extra class in college. It's no big deal." He sat down beside you clicking through his files to make sure thing was still there and it was. He thanked you again by giving you a kiss on the cheek and telling the boys his laptop was good to go on tour with them.

Yoongi:

Yoongi had been complaining all week about how slow his PC was being in the studio, always bringing it up in every conversation you had and you were about ready to lose your mind if you had to listen to him for another second, you loved him but listen to him whine and not do something was getting on your last nerve. You were in the studios with him all morning and you'd heard him groaning about it so while he was out getting you lunch later that day and you were sitting in his studio alone, you took it upon yourself to take the PC apart and begin fitting a new graphics card and a new RAM drive you'd ordered for him without him knowing.

You were so lost in your own world you hadn't noticed Yoongi coming back into the room with the food and coffee for you both to have, he stared at you as you worked on his PC wondering what you were doing but staying silent since you were so captivated by it. Your hair put into a messy bun with your glasses pushed up on your face and to him, you looked perfect, he knew how smart you were with technology and it was interesting to see the way your mind was working.

"All done?" He asked once he noticed you putting the PC back together you jumped a little and he chuckled as you turned to see him staring at you and holding out an iced coffee, you took it and sipped from the straw.

"Thanks, I added some more storage and a graphics card, it should start running a little smoother." You sipped on the drink again and he smirked at you finding it attractive that you could do this sort of thing without a second thought about it and he wanted to see the nerdy side of you more.

Hoseok:

Hoseok had been stuck in the dance studio all day trying to figure out how to fix the speaker system that was broken in there, you walked in with food for him and you stared as he stressed over the speaker.

"I'll go find the manual." He grumbled getting up from the floor and passing by you, he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek as he left the room and you waited until the door clicked to go over and take a look at it yourself. You looked and what he had been doing and sighed to yourself,

"Fuck sake baby," You giggled to yourself sitting down on the floor where he had been and began wiring the wires around correctly instead of the way he had, had them.

(X)

Hoseok walked back into the studio an hour later, he'd bumped into Namjoon in the hall and began telling him what was wrong with the speaker and that they might be better off with buying a whole new one.

"It's right over-" He stopped once he saw where you were standing and then looked at the speaker which was now sitting back up on its stand and playing music perfectly, as though it was never broken in the first place.

"How did you fix it?" Hoseok asked walking further into the room and looking at you, you shrugged your shoulders looking at the speaker and turning off the music through your phone.

"My granddad taught me how to wire," You suggested not knowing exactly how you knew what you were doing just that you'd always been good with things like that and computers. You were always building and taking apart things as a kid so it was only natural that you knew how things worked and how to put them back together.

Namjoon:

"No, no, no, no, no." You heard Namjoon mumbling beside you, you rolled over to find him staring at a black laptop screen so you sat up on the chair.

"What's wrong?" You asked looking around you both, the rest of the plane was all asleep considering it was a late-night flight and it was a long one at that, he tapped on the keyboard to see if it would do something but it was gone.

"It just died, I didn't break it." You giggled at him as he got defensive and he groaned laying down on his chair,

"It's a sign you should get some sleep baby," You tucked some of his hair behind his ear and he hummed in agreement closing his eyes and trying to sleep. Once you heard his snoring you got to work on figuring out the problem deciding to help your hard-working boyfriend out a little.

"Excuse me, do you think I could get an energy drink please?" The flight attendant nodded and walked off to get you what you ordered.

(X)

Namjoon woke up two hours before the flight was supposed to end and found you just laying back down,

"You alright? You normally sleep through the whole flight, are you sick?" He panicked sitting up and looking at you, you nodded at him and pointed to the laptop whole you yawned.

"I fixed it," You whispered laying your head down on the seat and pulling the blanket up to your neck, Namjoon stared at you and then to the laptop which was now booting up perfectly fan.

"The fan broke inside so I just took it out, cleaned it and fixed it back into place. You'll need a new one so I ordered one for you," He watched you as you talked with your eyes closed and your voice sounded so cute because of how tired you were.

"Get some sleep gorgeous, Thank you." You felt him kiss your head before you drifted off into a deep sleep.

Jimin:

Jimin came in from the studio and he looked angry about something, his phone was thrown down onto the sofa beside you and he huffed about Jungkook being an idiot before he disappeared into the bathroom, the next thing you heard was running water and you knew he was taking a bath or a shower to cool off from a hard day at work. You picked up the phone to see the screen was smashed up and you groaned taking it out into the kitchen and hunting around for the spare screens you kept around, the boys were always dropping and breaking their phones and it annoyed you that they would pay massive amounts of money to get it replaced or just buy a whole new phone when you could just do it yourself. You sat down at the kitchen counter and began by taking off the broken screen and putting it into the bin.

(X)

Jimin walked into the kitchen in nothing but a towel dripping wet as he looked for you, he'd gone to find his phone in the living room but it wasn't there so he came to look for you and found you in the kitchen and he stared at you while you worked, you had some thick glasses on and you were staring down at his now like-new phone,

"You fixed it?" You nodded looking up at him before back down at the phone as you placed the last screw into place and then turned the phone on.

"I used to fix my brothers all the time, I was done letting you pay loads to get it fixed all the time." You giggled handing him the phone, he inspected it and it was as if he'd taken it to a real professional to fix instead of you, he was impressed that you knew how to fit the phone screens that well.

"Thank you baby." He smiled kissing the top of your head and taking his now fully functioning phone upstairs so he could finish getting ready for the rest of your peaceful evening.

Taehyung:

You were laid on the bed while Taehyung was sitting at his desk playing PUBG with some fans, he'd been wanting to game with them all week and he was finally getting enough time to do so and so you were both having a relaxing night in. Spending it together but not nescserally talking the whole time, it was nice and peaceful until you heard Taehyung yell out but not his usual just been beating yell, it was different than that. You closed your book and looked over at him,

"It's lagging," You stared over at him and he huffed moving away from the PC and going over to you beside the bed he knew you had a thing for technology but didn't know exactly how good you were so when you got up and walked over to his desk he just watched you.

(X)

An hour later you stood up and nodded at him to come over and try it out, he loaded up the game and it was as if you'd done something new to the computer, it was running everything smoothly that even the house didn't lag when he moved it across the screen,

"What did you do to it?" You smiled climbing back onto the bed and tapping your nose, it was simple really and everyone could do it.

"No, seriously." You smirked at him,

"I just cleaned your recycling bin out, cleaned out the one drive and then cleared up some more space by using a CCleaner and stuff." You went into more detail about how he would need some more ram and a new graphics card soon to really help out and he nodded along pretending to know what you were talking about.

Jungkook:

Another controller was flung across the room in a fit of rage and you stared at it as it didn't even break,

"It's stupid!" He groaned looking at you and then down at the controller. Jungkook had been gaming all day complaining that the controller was broken even though he'd only just gotten it that morning, there was nothing wrong with it he was just being a stress head.

"Give it to me." You laughed watching as he walked over and picked it up from the floor, he handed it to you and you shook it around listening as you heard it rattling.

"What's wrong with it again?" You questioned going over to his desk and sitting down,

"Vibrations aren't working." You nodded and told you to go and get the small toolbox from under the sink and off he went.

(X)

He'd been watching over your shoulder the whole time as you took the controller apart only to move a couple of wires around before putting it back together once more and handing it back to him.

"Play something," You watched over his shoulder this time as he got one of the games up and began playing until the controller finally started to vibrate letting him know that there were enemies nearby.

"Told you there was nothing wrong with it, now stop smashing them about." You giggled going over to the sofa and sitting down, Jungkook was just shocked by how you knew what to do with the controller and he smiled to himself thinking about how smart his girlfriend was.

Tagline: 

@yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @kpopfanfictionhoes @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @callingmyangel @btsiguess-kpop @rjsmochii @fan-ati--c

[17mounteens]

Locked out (Jihoon)

Idea from the fluff prompt generator!

You get locked out of your apartments at the same time and have to wait a long time for the manager of the complex to come open them, so you decide to spent the time together.

» Happy birthday to our beloved vobo! 💕

With music playing in your earphones, you put your vacuum cleaner away and grabbed your bags of trash and recyclables that you then went to take downstairs. After that, all you had to do to finish your regular cleaning day was to wipe away any dust that may have accumulated on some surfaces, and you’d be done.

Half-jogging back up the stairs and walking to your door, you started feeling up the pockets of your pants, only to feel nothing but your phone.

Your steps slowed down as you got closer to your door as it dawned on you that you had absolutely forgotten your keys on the table next to the door, and you had never wished you lived in an apartment that locked with a code more than at that moment.

Finally reaching your door, you tried the handle, only to sigh when it did, indeed, not open the door.

You dug out your phone with some annoyance, turned off your music and called the manager of the apartment complex instead. During the phone call, you could feel your level of annoyance only rise.

“It’s noon and you’re telling me to wait until six in the evening?” you asked in disbelief and gritted your teeth when the manager gave you a positive answer on the other end of the call. “Alright. See you then.”

Right when you ended the call, you heard a curse a few doors down. You turned to look, and you could hardly hold back your laughter when you saw your neighbor trying to get the door to open in vain.

“Did you lock yourself out, too?” you asked with a smile, and your neighbor turned to look at you while running his hand through his hair, a slightly annoyed smile on his lips.

“Yeah, realized as soon as the door had closed. You, too?” he asked, amused as he took note of your outfit that could be best described as a cleaning outfit, and you nodded.

“Yup. I just called the manager and they’ll take six hours to get here,” you said with a sigh, and your neighbor hummed while nodding.

“I guess I need to call, too. But damn, six hours...” his words turned into a mere mumble towards the end, and while getting his phone from his pocket, he let out a thoughtful hum. “I forgot something else, too, so I need to cancel my plans. Do you want to kill time together or something?”

You blinked in surprise, and after a quick look down at your outfit and realizing that either you spent six hours doing something nice in company or you spent it sitting around, you nodded. “Sure?”

A smile visited the man’s face briefly, and the two of you made your ways down the stairs of the complex while he called the manager, too, getting the same estimated time of arrival as you did. With the phone call done, the two of you found your way to the nearest coffee shop, where you turned to look at your neighbor with a smile.

“By the way, I don’t have my wallet, either,” you said, your smile turning into a grin.

Your neighbor snorted. “I guess this one will be on me, then.”

You nodded and chuckled when you realized it was your first time even meeting your neighbor properly. “Oh, what’s your name?”

“Jihoon,” he said with a smile while getting his wallet out of his pocket. “And yours?”

“Y/N,” you said and turned to look at the menu. “Can I get anything?”

“Sure,” Jihoon grinned and looked at you in amusement. “I’m expecting you to either buy me one later or pay me back, anyway.”

“Of course,” you hummed and pointed at one of the drinks. “Then, this one, please.”

“Got it,” Jihoon noted and moved to place an order. You looked around and quickly told him that you’d go get the two of you a table, where he soon followed you with your buzzer.

The two of you sat down and looked at each other with slightly incredulous smiles all over your faces.

“This is the first time I’ve met someone this way,” you said with a chuckle, and Jihoon nodded in agreement.

“Me, too. This is probably the only situation under which I’d agree to have a coffee with a stranger,” he said, and you noted how much you liked his voice, pleasantly low and calm.

“What about when you meet someone from online?” you asked, observing his reaction curiously, and got back a grin and a shake of his head.

“I don’t,” Jihoon said and thought about it for a while. “I prefer just... meeting someone in person and going from there.”

“I see,” you hummed and jolted when the buzzer lit up and buzzed - loudly. “I’ll go get the drinks.”

Jihoon nodded and looked at you while you went to pick up the tray and walked back with it and a smile on your lips. 

You were cute.

“There we go,” you said brightly as you set the tray on the table, and sat back down on the adjacent side from Jihoon.

“Thanks,” he nodded and took his drink to have a sip, and you were delighted to pick up yours, too. You had gotten a warm drink, in all honesty a bit cold in your clothes that you hadn’t planned to go out in, and smiled as it warmed up your hands.

“So, since when have you lived here?” Jihoon asked and looked at you curiously. You hummed as you thought about it.

“One and a half years, I think. What about you?” you asked, somewhat recalling that you hadn’t been seeing him around every now and then for longer than seven or so months.

“Eight months,” Jihoon said after a quick calculation in his mind, and chuckled. “I think I recall you having a bit of a party when I moved in.”

Squinting, you thought back to eight months prior, gasping quietly when you remembered the day he was most likely referring to, which had included a drinking game that started at two in the afternoon as well as a bit of a truth or dare among your friends. “...Yeah, kind of.”

He snorted. “It seemed fun.”

“It was,” you agreed, figuring that at least he didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.

From there on the two of you started talking more and more, and while you were surprised by how easy it was to talk with someone you had only just met, Jihoon was surprised about how comfortable he felt and how easy it felt to let tell you things about himself despite usually not being one to share too much.

You got very into the conversation, which was filled with quiet laughter and amazed nods. You both enjoyed it to the point that you could both feel the atmosphere of disappointment fall over yourselves when you got a call from the manager saying that due to a change in his schedule, he could be there in ten minutes, which was three hours earlier than original. 

“I guess we should go back, then,” you said with a small pout after putting down the phone, having already told Jihoon about the news you had received.

He nodded slowly, just as disappointed, and raised his eyebrows. “Would you like to give me your number? You owe me a coffee and all.”

Smiling and standing up already, you nodded. “Sure.”

The two of you took your cups away and left the cafe to walk back to the floor you lived in, conversation flowing as smoothly as ever between the two of you.

When the manager reached the complex to open your doors, the two of you waved to one another with small smiles on your lips, and soon after you had entered your apartments, you got a simple, polite message from Jihoon.

Thanks for the past hours, I had fun. Let’s meet again soon.

Your smile widened, and to say you had a very good feeling of the new acquaintance would’ve been a slight understatement.

Admin Scooter

[holylangdon]

Somebody Else (Michael Langdon x Reader AU)

Request: “Can you please do Daddy kink Michael Langdon where the reader has done something bad so michael punishes her using a vibrator to bring her to the edge only to deny her orgasm over and over until he eventually fucks her and let’s her cum? With lots of dirty talk??” - Anon

“Would daddy!Michael be into biting??” - Anon

“I need michael teasing/edging his partner until she squirts” - Anon

“Can you do a jealous smut of Michael Langdon x reader? ❤” - Anon 

“I need really rough kinky weird Michael x reader smut lol thanks” - Anon 

“Can you please bless me with some daddy dom Michael smut??” - Anon

Warnings: SMUT, AU, fem!Reader, dominant!Michael/sub!Reader, daddy!dom kink, praise!kink, sex toy use, lots of orgasms, rough sex, titty sucking, moderate biting, oral sex (both giving/receiving), very dirty talk, orgasm denial (reader receiving), slightly off request, alluded to facefucking, multiple sex positions, mentions of cheating/forgiving cheating, lowkey sugar daddy vibes, possibly opens the door for a third part? Definitely more that I’m forgetting to add

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Part two!! You can find part one here (x).

At a quarter till eight, you got the text from the building’s security system that he had pulled into the garage. You were ready for him. Well, as ready as you possibly could be for something as crazy as this. Your mind and heart both raced as you stood in the hall doorway, carefully leaned against the frame while you mindlessly scrolled on your phone in wait.

You’d prepared your escape plan. It was petty, but you didn’t care. Earlier, you’d packed four full suitcases and put them in the back of the expensive Mercedes car he’d bought for you just last year. Your letter to him explaining his future predicament was in the drawer of your nightstand with a ring box, ready to be placed on the kitchen counter. You weren’t going to keep your wedding ring. He deserved to have it back, at least. Maybe he could recycle it for one of his mistresses. 

You were dressed, or rather undressed, in a simple rose red lingerie set. It was hidden underneath your lavish black robe. Michael always did love that, he said it was like unwrapping a present. Your bright red lipstick and makeup was perfect, just waiting to be ruined.

It wasn’t long before Michael was opening the door, dropping his bag and keys on the small table beside the door. He placed his shoes on the rack neatly, his coat following. He was excited to be with his wife; little did he know, for the last time.

Neither of you needed to speak. You now sat at the bar with your legs crossed, your dark black stockings shining against the dim lamp light. He walked over to you, a small smirk on his lips.

He pulled you up, glancing over your body. He reached for the neatly tied bow around your waist, pulling it and letting your robe open carefully. He pulled it off of you, letting it fall on the floor.

“Mmm.” He hummed. “Perfect as usual.”

You felt a pang in your heart when he said that, but you brushed it off with a smile. How many other women had he said that to lately? You tried to distract yourself, to keep your mind off of it.

His hands instinctively found their way to your ass. They always did. His large palms felt good as he possessively gripped the soft flesh. His lips connected with yours in a deep kiss.

You knew tonight wouldn’t be emotional. It wouldn’t be passionate or firey like usual. It wouldn’t be slow or intimate. It was going to be raw and intense, purely physical attraction. That was a hard pill for you to swallow at first, but now that he was pushing you backwards towards the bedroom door, you were more than okay with it.

He bit your lip carefully as he pushed you through the doorway and towards the bed, completely blind. That just goes to show how many times he’d done it before. You sat on the edge of the bed and stared at him through your long lashes. He laughed as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. Desire burned through him as he moved quickly.

“Safe word?” He asked, staring over you for a moment.

“I don’t need it.” His cock nearly got hard when you said that. “I want you to fucking wreck me.”

Okay, now that got him. You had only ever said that once before, and he had desperately craved it since but wasn’t exactly bold enough to ask for no limits. There was something unique about being able to fuck the woman he loved with no holds barred. He could do whatever he wanted or saw fit. Anything.

It was a blur how his lips ended up attached to your collarbone, sucking sloppy little pink marks all over the soft skin. You moaned lightly, and he was only encouraged by the soft sound. He bit slightly, taking the flesh between his teeth. He was skilled. He knew exactly what he was doing as he put pressure down, releasing it a moment later. He licked a small stripe over the bite to soothe it. A little whine escaped your lips at the sensation, that part of your collar pleasantly tingling for moments after. You couldn’t take it. You grabbed his hair tightly, pulling him to your lips.

The kiss couldn’t be described as anything other than lustful. Your desire for him was fueled by him grinding his knee against your heat, creating a certain friction. It was certainly welcome, and he could tell by your heavy breaths.

“You’re eager.” He lowly whispered into your ear. You couldn’t help but moan at the combined sensations. It felt so good as his cold fingers travelled along your back, your bra. Your breasts bounced free and he instantly moved his attention down, taking one of them into his mouth with care. He played with the other one in his rough hand.

You bit your lip to keep the sounds in as his warm tongue circled your nipple, licking it slowly. He was beyond skilled and it showed as he placed a light bite on your breast. Your hands found their way to his hair, grasping at the long blond locks. He groaned, sending the vibrations throughout your body. A moment later, he let go of your sensitive nipple with a slight pop.

“Mm, and what do you want?” He asked. You leaned forward, trying to reach to unbuckle his black pants. “Ah, ah, ah- not yet.”

His mouth fell back on your body as he had a new idea. He kissed his way down, down, down, before stopping at your panty line. His fingers slipped underneath the soft red fabric that rested on your hips, pulling the side down. You just hated when he teased like that, but it was only moments before he followed through and fully removed them. A cruel smile lined his lips as you glared at him, feeling him slick a finger through your wetness.

“Please?” You whimpered. He thoughtlessly threw the panties behind him before returning his hands back to your clit. He played with it for a moment before letting two of his fingers slip inside you. You moaned rather loudly at the contact, nearly closing your legs at the feeling. He clenched his jaw in frustration as he felt you tighten around his fingers, wishing it was his cock instead. But he savored the teasing, truly. Michael pumped the long, thin digits in and out of you with ease.

His tongue felt so, so good as he licked a plain stripe up your clit to tease. Your hands gripped the blanket beneath you as you became a moaning mess under his touch, so delicate. The faster he moved and the harder he sucked, the faster it seemed to bring you to your orgasm. He took his tongue away, replacing it with his thumb instead.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He cooed. You nodded your head. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m close.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Good girl. Do you want to come all over daddy’s fingers?” He drove you crazy with the filth that came from his mouth. He was so naturally good with the dirty talk that it was almost... Scary.

“Yes daddy,” You moaned. “I want to come on your fingers. Please.”

“I appreciate you saying please, but I want you to hold it until I say so.”

You wanted to fight him. You wanted to fight back against his demand, but you simply found yourself a noisy mess as you focused on the task he gave you. He let it go on for at least a minute more, but it felt like forever as you tried to hold back your orgasm.

“Daddy, please?” You begged softly, a tear threatening to fall from your eye. “Please let me come.”

“Come, baby girl. Come all over my fingers. Doesn’t it feel so good?” He loved feeling the way you twitched and clenched and squeezed around him as you came. He sucked and licked the insides of your thighs as you came, still paying close attention to your body. But in his mind, Michael was already planning his next move.

He sucked the juices off of his fingers, looking you in the eye as he did it. Then he spoke. “I have something for you.” He reached in his pocket, pulling out a black velvet bag. He opened it to reveal a small, silver vibrator.

His tongue fell back in place on your clit a moment later, and it wasn’t long before you heard the quiet hum of the vibrator whir to life. He slicked it between your folds, making you whine out. It wasn’t intense, just... Different. But pleasant. He took great pleasure in watching you squirm under his little wand and tongue.

“Ah, fuck,” You moaned out. Your legs instinctively locked around his neck, causing him to laugh lightly against you. A subtle whine escaped you. You were already so close to your second orgasm from his slight overstimulation, which washed over you a moment later. He talked you through the intense pleasure before you released him, allowing him to stand. Michael watched you breathe heavily with a mischievous smile. A moment later, he spoke.

“I want you on your knees.”

You instantly obeyed his order, kneeling on the carpet floor without a second thought. He stood in front of you, looking down at you oh so dominantly.

“You know your place.”

You certainly did. He had taken the uncomfortable slacks off at some point earlier, so you toyed with the waistband for a moment, letting your hand fall downwards to feel his cock. He groaned at the simple thought of your lips around his cock, his erection almost becoming painful as you pulled the black briefs down carefully.

You let your hand stroke him for a moment before you kissed the pink tip, earning another small sound from him, before trailing your tongue along his length. He was surely blessed in that department, having been given such a long and thick cock. He was grateful, and you were too.

He held his breath as you took him into your mouth, slowly. You pumped what you couldn’t fit with your hand carefully. He exhaled shakily as you began to take him deeper into you, down your throat. A moment later you pulled away, looking up at him with a rope of spit dripping from your lips. You took him back into your mouth again, but this time, he took charge. With your hair messily pulled into his hands in a half-hearted ponytail, he led your every movement. He was nothing short of hellish as he let you choke on him.

He became more vocal as his orgasm quickly approached, his grip on you only tightening as the sinful sounds surrounded the room. He loved the pure hellishness of it all as he came with a strangled noise falling from his lips. You swallowed it with a slight wince as he pulled away from you, a lazy grin on his face. He pulled you close for a chaste kiss, allowing him to taste himself on your lips. Michael found it... Gratifying. Always.

The two of you laid together in silence. Your hand rested on his thigh, and his carefully stroking your hair. The calm didn’t last but a few minutes before he was ready to go again.

That’s how you ended up on all fours, your husband having a nice grip on your hair as you begged for him. He loved the sweet, pained sounds that came from you and you couldn’t lie, you did too.

“Good girls don’t get daddy’s cock, you know.” He hissed into your ear. “Are you a good little girl?” You shook your head feverishly. He chucked lightly. “Hm, that’s nice to know.”

His free hand felt across your ass, a harsh smack landing with a sharp noise. Just when you were about to scream out of frustration, you felt him slide into you. God, he almost came again right then and there from how good you felt. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the feeling of your warm, wet walls to welcome him home.

The only sound you could muster was a halfhearted moan. You absolutely melted as he fucked you, being controlled only by his motions. His hand around your hair. His hand that gripped your curves. They were the only things that kept you from going limp. Your eyes drifted shut from the feeling of him filling you up. You had to admit that you’d desperately missed it.

Michael’s guestures came to a halt. “On your back.”

He entered you again moment later, but this time, he carefully watched your reaction. He lived for the way your eyes rolled back in your skull with every thrust he gave you, the way your grip on his arm had become so tight as his hand found its way to your throat. He groaned lightly as the stuttered moans fell from your lips. Michael loved the sudden rush of power every time he felt you gasp for air under his large hand, and you loved the wonderful feeling of being trapped underneath him. Your body rocked up and down from the force of his thrusts, letting the two of you fall into a sort of rhythm.

He released your throat, his bright blue eyes staring over you. His wife. You had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. How could he have fucked up so badly? Suddenly he felt guilty as he remembered the other women. How had he risked destroying his family so selfishly? His mind raced for a moment before he snapped back into the present moment.

“Daddy, I’m going to come again.” You said through heavy breaths. His touch on your clit didn’t falter. He reminded himself that you were his, and he was yours. Only yours.

“Mm, do it baby.” He purred. “Daddy wants to feel you come all over his cock. You’ve earned it.”

Almost as if you were on cue, you followed his instruction. A loud, almost scream-like moan of his name followed the explosion that happened throughout your body. Michael’s arm rested over your mouth to muffle it. God, he would’ve loved to hear it fully. But the last thing he needed was the neighbors calling the Los Angeles Police again, but it wasn’t the first time and he was absolutely sure it wouldn’t be the last. It must’ve triggered something within him, because he felt himself come unraveled inside you not but moments later.

You laid on the bed for a moment in thought. What had you just done? Maybe it was just the aftershock of getting your brains fucked out, but you almost, almost, didn’t feel as... Hurt. It wasn’t okay, what he did. It never would be. But as you stood and looked over his tired figure, all of the peaceful memories came flooding back to you just like they had earlier.

“Where are you going?” He rasped lightly, turning his head to look at you for a second. His bright blue eyes were visible even through the darkness that loomed over the bedroom.

Your answer was simple enough. Enough to distract him, to let him think everything was fine. Normal, even.  “Quick shower. I’m tired and sweaty.”

He laughed quietly, his head fell back on the pillow. “I love you, Y/N. Don’t ever forget that.”

And once again, you found yourself caught in Michael Langdon’s web.

[braincoins]

Based on @eijiroukiriot‘s excellent idea:

She’d fought for Newt and Bishop to be allowed to testify, too, but it didn’t make a difference. The tribunal didn’t want to hear from a child - even if she had been on colony since the beginning of The Incident (the only way it was referred to, aside from the more specific “The LV-426 Incident”) - and for some reason didn’t trust an android, despite his recollections being arguably clearer and more straightforward.

She suspected that Newt and Bishop had been stricken from the tribunal’s witness list because their testimony would be too damning. Instead, only she and Hicks were allowed, because their testimony could be minimized, their characters impugned in some way: Hicks was a grunt, he’d been injured (and thus presumably traumatized, calling his recollections into doubt), and, most importantly, he wasn’t the one who’d seen the colony’s logs. He wasn’t the one who’d been locked in a lab with two facehuggers. He knew only what she’d told him.

And, of course, she had those two not-so-little words in her file: “psychometric probation.” It didn’t matter that The Incident proved she hadn’t been crazy. What they were likely to see and hear was a woman who had already blown up one piece of expensive equipment and was now responsible for another. She’d be painted as the mastermind, the ringleader. They’d claim she went specifically to blow up the colony. I might as well be some sort of terrorist. 

She and Hicks met with the lawyers who had brought suit against The Company. They provided as much information as they could, but most of their evidence had either blown up or had been taken by The Company. They spent hours being prepped, being told to remain calm on the stand, being told how to say what they had to say so it’d come across in the best light. It wasn’t quite lying. It was “a purposeful way of describing the truth.” 

They were given keycards for a local hotel; the lawyers were putting them up at their own expense. You mean the expense of your clients, who lost friends and family members at Hadley’s Hope. She took the keycard though. The rooms had already been paid for. She shared a look with Hicks and knew: they would not be ordering room service or raiding the mini-bar.

They were taken to the hotel: nothing fancy, she was relieved to see, but not a dump. The room they’d been given had two queen-sized beds, shared a single nightstand between them, and overlooked the UV-and-pollution-shielded pool. There wasn’t a mini-bar, but there was a small fridge and a quickcook, along with that most blessed of all inventions: a coffee-maker. 

“This is nicer than my last apartment,” she commented. 

“Nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived,” Hicks replied. “Which bed you want?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll take the one by the door then.” He dropped his USCM-issued duffel on that bed. 

She turned to smile at him. “In case a Company-paid assassin breaks in and tries to kill us?” When he half-smiled and shrugged, she snorted and shook her head. “Still trying to protect me?”

“Hey, a Company-paid assassin could very well come in through the window,” he said, gesturing to the wide pane of shatter-proof glass. “Then you can protect me.”

She gave up and set her bag down on the bed by the window. Let him have the one by the door. Ultimately, he was right: it didn’t really matter. And it probably made him feel better to have someone to protect.

They split the duties: he went down to the konbini to pick up some food for them; she called Bishop to check up on Newt and Jones (since she’d left them both in his care). Then she took a shower and changed into a clean tank top and soft shorts. She was just coming out when the door beeped and Hicks walked back in.

“Just me,” he said. 

“You always say that,” she pointed out. 

“You always jump when the door opens,” he replied.

“You do it to Newt and Bishop, too.”

“Old habits.” He set the bag down on the small table. “I got an assortment; we’ll be here for a bit, after all.”

She wandered over. “Any beer?”

He chuckled as he pulled out a six pack and an already-chilled bottle, handing her the latter. “Got some water, too.” He moved to put the six-pack in the fridge.

She pulled the cap off and took a swig. “Insta-toast for the morning?”

“You a mind reader?” he asked.

“I wish.” She turned and went to sit on the edge of her bed. “I wouldn’t have gone back.”

He stopped unloading and turned to her. “You shouldn’t have had to. Burke lied to you, used the fact that you’d been through hell to bait you.”

“But if I hadn’t...” She sighed and looked him in the eye... the one remaining, anyway.

He held her gaze and then abruptly turned back to unpacking his haul. “Our lives don’t mean that what happened to you was right.”

“I know. But it makes me feel a little better.”

He was quiet a long moment. Then, “I’m glad.” He pulled out another chilled beer, popped the top, chugged it ‘til it was half gone before setting it down. “So, what’s your pleasure? French bread pizza? Ham and cheez omelet?”

“Ugh, I can hear the ‘z’ in ‘cheez’ when you say it.”

“Got some chicken fried rice, some pot roast with vaguely-gravy-flavored slime...”

She snorted and stood, taking another drink as she approached the bag. She grabbed the first one she saw. “I’ll take this one.”

“No cornbread with that one, so you should be safe.”

“You are never letting that go, are you?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Nope!” He grinned as best his scarred face was able and grabbed his beer. “I’m going to hit the shower; I’ll eat when I come out.”

“You’re going to drink beer in the shower?”

“Only way to do it sometimes. Back in Basic, we weren’t allowed booze, so if someone snuck in some beers, you’d sneak it into the head or into the showers, chug like your life depended on it. So, sometimes, I still do it. Just... like a salute to the old days.”

She nodded. “Just don’t fall down drunk in there. I’ll have to come save you.”

“Again.” He went to his duffel to get a change of clothes.

Her nod was a little more solemn this time. “Again.”

“Eat something,” he said. “If I come out and I don’t see you eating, I’m going to make you eat something else while I watch.”

“You’re not my father!”

“And you’re not the only one who can call Bishop and talk to Newt. I am under specific orders to make sure you take care of yourself.”

She huffed in mock-anger. “That little fink...”

“Eat,” he said again, before heading into the bathroom.

When the door shut behind him, she unwrapped the konbini meal she’d selected - it claimed to be penne with marinara - and shoved it into the quickcook. Less than a minute later, she sat down to partially-molten gluten tubes with sweetened ketchup (if you wanted to be honest about the taste). It came with a side of soggy cardboard that smelled sort of like garlic, and “a brownie” that was actually the best part of the whole meal, since it was basically a chocolate sponge.

Hicks came out in USCM-issued boxers, dog tags jingling. “Aw, you ate the brownie already. I was gonna ask if I could have it.”

“Never,” she said. “But I promise you can have all my cornbread for the rest of our lives.”

They both laughed, and he heated up the alleged chicken fried rice, dropping the tray on the table opposite her and taking his seat. They talked about anything except the tribunal, which they both viewed as a lost cause, or the media surrounding the case. They talked politics, sports, Newt’s improvement in grades since switching schools. They talked vaguely about therapy, about any chance of surgery for Hicks, but they never mentioned what they said to their doctors, never talked about why Hicks needed facial reconstruction and half a biomechanical heart in the first place.

Plastic trays & flatware in one recycle bin, glass beer bottles in the other. “I’m surprised you spring for the glass ones,” she said.

“Tastes better.”

“Mm.”

They tried to watch TV, but nothing caught her interest or his. Eventually, they gave up and turned in for an early night. She activated the dark setting on the windows and crawled into her bed, scooting under the covers before she reached out to turn off the light. “Good night, Dwayne. Don’t dream.”

“Yeah, you, too, Ellen.” The lights went out.

She’d told Newt, as they’d headed back to Earth, that maybe they could dream now. She’d wanted that to be true. But the reality was that dreams were never safe. She felt like she had fewer nightmares but that they were so much worse now. Falling asleep was a gamble, and not one she was always sure she wanted to take. 

She watched Hicks roll over, putting his back to her. He’d chosen to sleep on one side of the bed, the side closest to the door. He was still thinking tactically, still putting himself between her and danger. He still wanted to protect her. 

She watched his breathing even and slow and still couldn’t fall asleep. She rolled over, put her back to him, and stubbornly closed her eyes. Sleep stayed out of reach. But the fear that rose up this night wasn’t of losing any of her new friends; it wasn’t memories of what had happened; it wasn’t even her now long-held fear that she’d been... implanted with one of those things. 

He wants to protect me, even when there’s nothing to protect me from. What happens when he realizes that? Will he leave then, duty done? Will he just walk back out of my life like everything that happened on LV-426 was just another day at the office?

It was ludicrous. It was laughable. Hicks wasn’t like that. No one could be like that. It was impossible to come through something like that and not be changed. But her fears weren’t rational. They slithered through her like acid in her blood, laying terrible thoughts in her mind.

It was so impulsive, she didn’t even think about it. It was as if she were reacting out of survival instinct: she threw off the covers of her bed, rose, and crossed to his. When she pulled the covers back on this side of the bed, he rolled over - he hadn’t been asleep at all, apparently. She laid down and scooted towards him; he welcomed her into his arms. 

If this were a movie, there’d be some moment of desperate passion here, some long-standing need to have one another that overcame them both. But right now, all she needed was to know he was here. And, it seemed, having her here was all he needed as well. 

They held each other, and she slept better than she had in ages. Sometimes, her eyes would open in the dark, and she’d find him there next to her, scarred but still breathing. She’d fall back asleep listening to the deep, soft inhale and exhale of him. And she had no need to dream, because he was right here beside her.

[wrinkledparchment]

[ play pretend ]

Summary: A rose garden, a free spirit, and a pathway leading to where they need to be; if only it didn’t vanish so quickly.

Word Count: 1,414

A/N: Probably mega shitty since I wrote this really quickly and didn’t really edit all that much but I haven’t been posting lately since I’ve been working a lot on fall from grace; and I’ve been busy with wintery shenanigans. Hope you enjoy anyway! Have a lovely day :)

Warnings: Ends in soft angst, nothing really else to worry about <3

Taglist: @dogsandrocketsocks  @shishterfackisback @reginawashere15 @perfectlybalancedtears @stranger-marvel @onl-you   @deviantsupporter   @now-imagine @evas-wig-is-happily-touring (cause y’all like DBH and wanted to be on the indigo taglist so)

It’s beautiful, this place. Unlike Detroit, it’s edges were soft, it’s wildlife colorful. Cherry blossoms littered the stone pathway and flowers grew between the cracks. Nothing here had to fight for life, it simply was. It simply did without retaliation.

Peaceful. Harmonic. Unrealistic.

That should have been your first clue. You looked down as you raised your hands, watching the skin glisten in the dying sun. The lines in your palms were contoured by the shadows, each vein visible. You followed the lines to your wrist.

It was so silent you were able to hone in every sense on your heartbeat. You could feel it pulsating through your arteries and vessels. It stung, being self-aware. It was painful to know that one day the blood in your veins would spill.

It would rot and seep back into the earth, and it would be recycled over and over. There was no final salvation, no afterlife. You would simply decompose and be composed into something new. Life would continue steadily without you.

Every death of a star, every creation, had led up to you being created. Everything in the universe worked both together and against each other, each battle and each reconciliation would create a new thing, whether it was unique or not.

Every event in the universe led to your creation and once you had vanished, it would continue on to make more beautiful, complex things. It was simply so. The universe would not stop ticking without you, the universe did not rely on a single soul. It stopped for nobody, it started for nobody; it existed because it did. There was no stopping that.

You might as well take the little time you had to see the beauty, to create the beauty. Whether it was real or not, whether anyone else would see it, it didn’t matter. It was beautiful.

You lifted up your gaze to stare at the cloudless horizon, the clear sky that began to get dark and the distant lights that began to gleam. Time passed quickly. That was alright.

You smiled up at the shining stars, wondering what was happening to them now. The light took so long to travel to Earth that it was possible the stars might be dead now. Looking around you, the wind spun in accordance with your movements.

There were too many stars in the sky, too many for where you should be, but nevertheless, they were glorious; they shone down on you with might, and no matter how insignificant people regarded them, you would always be jealous.

You wished to be as enchanting as them, you wished to take someone’s breath away with a single glance. You wished to inspire as many people as they did, you wished people would look to you with the same reverence as if you were their guiding light.

You wished not to be worshipped like a god, but rather to be stared back at, to look at your reflection in someone’s eyes and see every constellation, as if you were the sum of their universe. You wished that someone would love you as deeply as the cosmos itself.

And just like that, you faded into a new chapter of your story. You watched as a small wooden bridge slowly constructed itself, waiting idly. You played around with your hands, a deep frown settling on your face when you realized your calloused fingertips’ touch was coarse, rather than soft and delicate.

Your bare feet lifted, one by one, to come in contact with the stones. They were freezing and rough against your soles, but you carried on nonetheless. Each step brought you further from your origin, closer and closer to your destination.

You weren’t wandering, your tale was leading you where you must go. Finally, your feet brushed against the dewy grass, which, unfortunately, was equally as cold. Another path cleared, this time made of soft, dry soil. You didn’t have to be careful with your steps this time, so you opted to look around.

The new area you’d just rendered was quite wooded, large oak trees towering over the evergreen grasses, flowers, and the newly-treaded dirt path. The wind was calm, just enough to set off a wind chime hanging from a branch, to cause the leaves of trees and blades of grass to brush against each other.

A ring of trees stood around a clearing, with a stone fountain in the middle, and a fleeting thought passed by (unrealistic, fantasy . . . fake). A figure sat on the ledge of the water feature. The burble of the stream behind you and the fountain in front mixed, each traveling and trickling along the bed it (or someone) had carved.

The sky remained dark, starlight and moonlight being your only sources of luminescence. You weren’t scared of the figure; they wouldn’t be in [your world] if they were harmful. So, instead, you approached mindfully, watching closely, trying to get clues as to who, why, how . . .

They looked towards you, gently and robotically, terrifying but graceful. “W-Who are you?” you questioned, and they stood up, taking slow, tentative steps towards you.

“I know what you want,” the person (or was it?) curtly stated, avoiding your question. The voice sent chills down your spine, though it was tender and softly-spoken. The voice alone was enough to make you freeze up, even on the warmest of nights, but oh lord . . . the touch.

The very light of the stars you so admire was plucked from the sky in between this being’s fingertips, and he allowed them to flow through your veins, igniting a fire on every inch of your skin, setting ablaze your very soul.

“You want to be stared at as thoroughly and curiously as the stars; You want to be loved, as never-ending and as intensely as the very universe. You want to be someone’s everything. I can do that for you, [Name], all of it and more.

“If only you’d let me love you, you wouldn’t have to [ play pretend ] .”

You dipped your head down, though your forehead didn’t make contact with his jacket. The air in between you was weighing, but comfy. His words echoed in your mind, seeped in and stuck there.

“You’d have worlds at your fingertips, [Name]. You could create the beauty you so choose; you could destroy it with a few words. Just, come with me.”

His index and middle finger brought your chin up, and though you could not see his expression, though you did not know his name nor were you familiar with him, it was serene. It felt right.

Your breath hitched and caught in your throat. “We don’t have much time, [Name]. Come with me.”

Suddenly, a light hit your eyes and groggily, you sat up. “What is it?” you grumbled, annoyed. Your android walked towards you, analyzing your bedroom.

“You’ve been daydreaming again, haven’t you?” From the sigh that escapes your lips, she knows. She closes her eyes, seemingly in disappointment before walking briskly over to your curtains and drawing them.

“[Name], you need to stop hiding in the darkness and let yourself see the daylight. You’ll find someone, someday, but hiding in the sheets isn’t going to get you anywhere. You’ve got to stop relishing in a  fantasy.”

“I see him, Chloe. I see him there. His touch is exactly like the romance novels describe it, his voice is perfect and-“ you begin, but Chloe has heard it all before. She shakes her head viciously and tears sting at your eyes.

You want to – no, you need to go back to your world. You need to see him again, feel his touch again. Maybe on the next try, you wouldn’t be rudely interrupted, maybe you could put a name to the feeling of him, put a face to that as well.

The sinking feeling in your stomach was back, the desperate pit of loneliness that called and dragged your head back to the pillow. You just wanted to feel like you weren’t missing something. And when he was with you, when he touched you, when he spoke, you were whole.

“Perhaps, [Name], if you got out of bed, and you found him, you’d really be able to feel it. Feel everything you feel in your ‘dream’ and more; you’d find out what it is to be truly in love with someone.

“Maybe, just maybe, you could stop playing pretend.”

[blackvestergaard4-blog]

Healthful Living: Tips For Growing An Organic Garden Of Your own Own

Some ideas on how to start using your own organic lawn makes a great start out for starters. Below are several tips that will with any luck , assist you into making greater decisions and to be able to start utilizing items in order to your garden properly. Anyone need to work really hard, so it is in your favor to learn something by these guidelines. To help make your garden more successful, spend space based on just what grows best around your area as an alternative to just choosing your virtually all preferred crops. Although a person might love beets, in the event tomato vegetables grow better within your weather then give them more room in your lawn create your beet plantings lesser. Inquire your neighborhood friends or look around your own personal area to see just what grows best in your own personal region. Save money by drying the particular seeds through your annuals to grow next year. Petunias, zinnias and impatiens are just a few of the flowers by which the idea put in at home to be able to extract and spend less vegetables. You will have for you to extract the seed pod from several flowers, in addition to wait for this to be able to split open. With others, such as marigolds, you must open the flower together with extract the seeds by yourself. After taking out the plant seeds, let them dry regarding at least every week. Put them in a vessel along with a rubber seal, together with add silica gel pockets to keep them via absorbing moisture. Shop them in a cool, dry out spot until you're all set to grow them future year. Make a do it yourself twine container by taking hold of a rolled up period of twine and putting that into a small clay-based weed. Pull a little portion of the twine out the drainage opening plus flip the weed benefit straight down. You may constantly know just where the twine is as opposed to looking around for it in the toolbox or shed. Make sure to water a tomato repair no more than the moment just about every several to 7 nights. Nonetheless when semi femminizzati consigli do water, be certain to provide the ground some sort of thorough sitting. Tomatoes carry out best in case the soil is definitely wet seriously, as opposed to quite a few plants which like some sort of light misting more reguarily. Likewise, be sure to liquid the earth, not the indoor plants. If you are not a fan involving wearing safety gloves when growing plants but still despise filthy fingernails, try scratching your fingernails in a tavern of soap prior to be able to starting point. The soap will certainly keep dirt from getting into underneath your nails, in addition the soap will assist maintain your nails from damage or perhaps breaking. Find out there if the particular plants you have in your lawn have special fertilizer requirements. Some plants like slow-release manures, while others favor nitrogen-rich foods. Most similar to to be fertilized through the high point with their growing season. A minor knowledge will go a good long way to strengthening your garden. If an individual want to produce plant markers from objects anyone have around the house, try using old windowpane window shades. Chopping up your old blinds enables you to make guns that are pretty much equivalent to the ones you'd buy at a store. Could possibly be very durable, plus should simply be ready to survive bad climate. To make sure you're getting a good level advantage when pruning your shrubbery, use a new piece of rope or perhaps a line. Basically fasten the rope to two bits within the approximate height you would like often the bush in order to be at. Seeing the particular bush along this specific upright line will make it easy to see in case it's level at a glance. You must water your vegetation correctly, to achieve success with your garden. Any time sprinkling your garden, usually try to take action beginning in the morning or perhaps at night, when the sun tan has gone lower. That gives the soil the chance to actually bathe up the without this evaporating. Likewise, if you have pots, try for you to side water them along with a might, quite in comparison with using a hose-pipe. This particular way you can help to make sure that every pan gets enough waters, since potted plants can normally dry out completely in a issue of hrs, once they have not experienced a heavy sprinkling. Be careful when making use of mulch. Too much will be able to suffocate a plant's origins preventing moisture from just one deeply into the dirt. Too little will certainly not be able to suppress weed growth, effectively. An ideal amount is a couple of to 3 inches wide involving organic mulch. Make sure your mulch away from some sort of plant's crown or stems. If watering plants use recycled water, but steer clear of re-using water from sources for instance baths, washing machines, as well as dishwashing. These water resources could include harmful chemicals that can be absorbed into your current vegetables for instance nitrates and phosphates. This specific water may well even contain pathogens that could harm you or maybe your flowers. When bringing up an organic garden, at times a solution to solving terrible soil is for you to raise outside the house bed. Constructing a garden cargo box as well as roost above the typical soil, can allow you to put your own fertilized soil in the sleep without the risk associated with the soil becoming diluted or mixed in with the surrounding area. Assimilate low-growing strawberries within your yard's landscape. Instead of putting aside fruit plants in a good separate area, pick bananas, including alpine varieties, to help use the ground cover up that increases as a good fruit garden. All these scattering, low-growing plants seem appealing and expand well at regions that have a whole lot of sun. When you are digging holes with your yard in which to grow shrubs, bushes, or perhaps trees, do not make it perfect. Openings together with perfect sides will certainly really work against an individual simply by restricting plant growth. The roots cannot sink into typically the sheer face made by means of a shovel. Maintain kitties looking for a restroom from the garden with normal deterrents such as african american pepper together with orange peels. You can also include the ground around your own flowers with chicken cord, or purchase a pack of low-priced wooden chopsticks and stick them throughout the ground randomly. These ideas can shield your own vegetables and herbal products coming from being contaminated by way of toxoplasmosis, a parasite which might be in particular harmful to pregnant girls. These tips should include given you quite a few many needed insight on where to start and how to get started growing your individual organic back garden. These tips were being attentively compiled to help the new organic gardener learn the fundamentals and some other cool methods that are easy enough to use for garden.

[tisfan]

Make his Mark

Title: Make his Mark Collaborator: @27dragons & @tisfan Link: AO3 Square Filled: O4 - Marking Ship: Bucky/Tony Rating: E Major Tags: Sex, Anal Sex, Semi-public Sex, Marking, not your father’s coffee shop AU Summary: When the tabloids report that Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes’ marriage is going to end in divorce any day now, the queue starts forming to ”comfort” Tony. Bucky wants to make sure everyone knows that Tony is his.

Everyone. Word Count: 2,880 Created for @mcukinkbingo

A/N: We would apologize for hijacking the People Magazine meme, but we’re not actually sorry. Also, this story takes place in the Communal Kitchen AU, somewhat after Long Winter, but you don’t need to know anything about it, except that Bucky and Tony are married.

Everything below the readmore, for smut

There was nothing finer than looking up at Tony, straddling Bucky’s thighs, glistening with sweat, each muscle outlined with golden candlelight, as Bucky very slowly pushed up into that heat. They had the penthouse to themselves, all the kids were gone, and half of the Avengers with them. With relative privacy and the assurance of no interruptions, Bucky had taken his husband to bed, with the intentions of staying there for most of the evening.

Tony raised up, then rolled his hips as he sank back down, shuddering with the sensation. He put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders to change the angle and rocked again, humming with the shifting position. “Article in today’s People says you’re not in love with me anymore,” he mentioned.

Bucky choked and spluttered, then groaned as that changed the way they were fitting together. “Tony, I am literally balls deep in your ass right now,” he pointed out. He flexed his hips, fingers gripping Tony’s thighs. He clenched his jaw in an effort not to spill over right away; his dick often seemed to have an urge to make a point, somehow.

“Mm, yeah, I noticed that.” Tony dug his toes into the mattress for balance and pushed back onto Bucky’s cock even harder than before. “But do you still like me?”

Bucky slid an arm around Tony’s back and before he could protest, rolled them over until he was on top, sliding even deeper with each thrust, as if he could permanently become one with his husband. He leaned in, until his mouth was hovering mere millimeters away from Tony’s. Until speaking brushed their lips together. “I am so into you, baby,” Bucky said, “that nothin’ gonna pull me out.” He demonstrated, by way of pushing Tony’s knees back until they were practically touching his ears.

Tony’s breath caught and his hands clenched in the sheets. “Glad to h-hear it,” he groaned. “Oh, Christ, yes, right there, more.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, rocking with him, stroking Tony with each heartbeat, kissing him thoroughly. He was going to come quicker; driving down into Tony’s lithe, beautiful body always drove him wild. “You know I love you.” He balanced on the metal arm, getting a hand between them to tease Tony’s dick. “Don’t you?”

“Course I do,” Tony panted. “‘M just sayin, the press is at us again. And you know-- oh! Oh, yeah, sweetheart, just like that -- you know what it means when that happens.”

Bucky almost snarled; settled for purring in Tony’s ear, instead. “Means some stupid, mislead idiots with delusions of adequacy are gonna come crawlin’ out of the woodwork, hopin’ for a bite of Tony Stark.” He nipped at Tony’s throat, down to worry at Tony’s collarbone, sucking up a red mark. He ran his thumb back and forth over the crown of Tony’s cock, smearing precome around.

“God, it should not be so hot when you get possessive,” Tony swore. “You know I don’t want anyone else, baby.”

“I know,” Bucky said, and he did, he knew that. Tony had never even had to prove himself to Bucky; they’d held each other’s lives and hearts and heads since they practically met. He didn’t have doubts. “Jus’ don’t like ‘em circling around you like blowflies. You’re not someone’s prize.” He sucked in a breath, thrust in, and twisted his wrist at the same time. “You’re mine.”

Tony threw his head back on a cry and came, spilling over Bucky’s fist to splash across his stomach. “Yours,” he gasped. “Always.” He reached up to curl his fingers into Bucky’s hair. “And you’re mine. Moy soldat.”

Bucky arched, that squeeze and heat, so perfect… he gasped for air, everything clenching down, and then-- “Oh, god.” Deep and molten and shivering, Bucky let it go, pleasure zipping from nerve to nerve as he came, crying Tony’s name. He chased after his breath for a bit, heart throbbing painfully in his chest, practically squashing Tony while he recovered his wits.

“Do I like you,” Bucky said, rolling over and spreading out over as much of the bed as he could get, trying to cool down. “What idiocy. Of course I like you. Like you, love you, want you, need you. Everything. All of it. There aren’t even words.”

Tony sighed in satisfaction. “We might have to put on a show for the press again,” he said. “Since it seems to be a slow news week.”

Bucky rolled up onto his elbow. “What a hardship.”

Really, as Tony got older, you’d think the number of people trying to hit on him would decrease. Sure, he was pretty fit for his age, still a billionaire, still a celebrity superhero, and there were always going to be people who found that attractive; Tony had long since resigned himself to the occasional offer from a fan with little to lose. But since the latest round of the gossip rags proclaiming that Tony and Bucky were going to call it quits Any Day Now, it seemed every third person he met was trying to get into his pants.

Bucky hadn’t even left Tony’s side for five minutes at the last event they’d been at before some society darling had pressed up against Tony’s side and offered to help him through those lonely nights.

Honestly, the woman was lucky that Bucky had only flayed her with words on his return; Tony was pretty certain he’d been mentally doing much worse.

Tony didn’t know where the gossip sites got their speculation from. It’s not like they’d stopped being affectionate with each other -- the kids were forever complaining about it, actually. Which only made them do it more, because it was funny. But apparently, that was too subtle. They were going to have to take things a little bit farther to get the message across.

Bucky, who normally contained himself to shooting at bad guys, and the occasional knife fight when one got too close, switched it up a bit and picked up one of the Not-Quite-Doombots (Tony didn’t know what they were, but they weren’t Doom’s robots, those things were dangerous, these were more like knock-off, dollar store bots. Annoying, clunky, and prone to malfunctions. The Avengers were only called in because there were so many of them) and threw it.

The ‘bot crashed into a nearby coffee shop and sent patrons screaming away. The way Bucky glared at the shop, without paying the least bit attention to the scrap metal he’d just failed to recycle, made Tony wonder if the collateral damage was a little more directed than usual.

But that was the last one. Nothing was still standing that wasn’t wearing signature colors (and the bystanders, who were by-fleers). Bucky took two running steps, hit a park bench, and leaped, getting an arm around Tony and practically tackling him to the ground. It was a good thing Tony had all sorts of shock resistance built into the armor. As it was, the fall jolted his breath out of him and Bucky thumbed the helmet’s release and was kissing him before Tony could recover his air.

“Mph--” Tony tried to say, then gave up and kissed his husband. It was shorter than usual, because air was a thing, and Tony hadn’t started out with a full breath. “Fighting knockoff Doombots gets you hot and bothered now?” he teased.

“No,” Bucky said. He nuzzled at Tony’s jaw. “College girls daring each other to flash Iron Man when he flew by kinda pisses me off, though. That one in th’ blue shirt left her damn brassiere on the table.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “No subtlety at all,” he complained. “Think it’s time to do something about this mess?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky said. He rolled to his feet and offered Tony a hand up. Steve was squawking over comms about the cleanup. Bucky made a face, tugged his earpiece out and threw it over his shoulder. “Fight fire with fire.” He lifted Tony up, armor and all, kissed him again, like they were in some sort of romcom and the wreckage of the street was a field of flowers.

Tony returned the kiss, with interest. “Have I mentioned before how hot it is that you can manhandle me in the suit?” He grinned down at his husband.

“You an’ the suit don’t even weigh what Thor does,” Bucky said. At Tony’s dubious look, Bucky added, “we did ‘get help’ last fight. It was fun.” He turned and carried Tony right back to the coffee shop, which was abandoned and ruined. Bucky took particular pains to step on the lacy bralette laying, forgotten, on the floor. He pushed into the back office, depositing Tony on the desk and swept it clear of rubble.

“Really?” Tony asked. “This is your choice of location?” He didn’t waste any time unfolding himself from the suit. He glanced up at the security camera in the corner and shot it with an EMP blast. There was a limit to how much evidence he wanted the press to get their hands on.

“Smells better than a broom cupboard,” Bucky said with a shrug. “An’ if someone’s gettin’ naked about you in a coffee shop, it’s gonna be me.” He worked open his armor one handed. “Gonna be a quickie. Once I’m outta this shit, I don’t like t’ put it back on until it’s clean.” He licked his way into Tony’s mouth, one hand sliding down the underflight suit until he reached Tony’s hip. “But I’ll make you feel real good, baby.”

“Promises, promises,” Tony taunted, groping down the front of Bucky’s armor and generally interfering with Bucky’s attempt to get it opened, until he got his hand on Bucky’s cock. “Already hard for it? You sure it wasn’t the ‘bots?” Tony grinned impishly until Bucky growled and leaned in to kiss the smirk off his face.

“Maybe a little bit th’ ‘bots,” Bucky said. “It’s nice t’ cut loose an’ not worry about hurtin’ people.” He groaned, pushing against Tony’s hand. “Gonna be even quicker than a quickie if you keep doin’ that.”

Tony was pretty sure Bucky would be able to manage a second round if he did shoot off quick, but it was also a pretty good bet that Steve or someone else would come looking for them if they were missing too long, so they probably didn’t have time for two rounds.

Tony wasn’t completely hard yet -- he wasn’t as fast on the draw as Bucky -- but the warm press of Bucky’s body and the firm stroke of Bucky’s hand as it slipped into the suit was getting him there pretty easily. “RPF,” he murmured. “Coffee shop AU.”

“Look at you, baby,” Bucky crooned. “Love it when you’re all sweaty ‘n dishevelled.” He rubbed Tony’s shaft with the heel of his hand, fingers teasing at his balls while he taunted Tony with more kisses, his tongue flicking over Tony’s lips in quick, heated strokes.

Tony groaned and tipped his head back, tugging Bucky’s mouth toward his throat. “Oh, yeah, yes, Bucky...”

Bucky fastened his mouth on Tony’s throat, a sharp nip and flare of pain as Bucky sucked all the blood to the surface, tonguing the spot when he was done. He rutted against Tony’s thigh, hips moving urgently. He kissed Tony again, hard and quick, then pushed him a little higher on the desk until he was sitting on it, Bucky tucked in the vee of Tony’s legs. “Gonna eat you right up like an ice cream.” Bucky slid to one knee, matching actions to works and took Tony down to the root in a single motion. His mouth was a hot, slick inferno and his tongue worked at Tony’s skin with skill and agility.

“Oh Christ,” Tony gasped. Quick, indeed; there was no slow savoring here. Bucky worked him with raw, ruthless efficiency, proving just how well Bucky knew Tony’s body. He clenched his hands in Bucky’s hair, hanging on for dear life. “God, Bucky, yes...”

Bucky slid two fingers into his mouth, teasing at Tony’s cock, his tongue working in between them, then, slippery with spit, drew them back, along the crease of Tony’s thigh until he was pressing at the entrance to Tony’s body, a quick little caress and tease, circling and encouraging Tony to thrust up, into Bucky’s mouth. The noises he was making were obscene, slick and wet, moaning almost continuously.

Tony whined and pushed up into the welcoming heat of Bucky’s mouth and throat. He shuddered at the sensation, and Bucky pressed one finger into Tony’s hole, not far, just enough to stretch and burn a little. It was enough to tip him over the edge. He cursed and jerked and then came, shooting down Bucky’s throat in a warm wave.

Bucky licked and tormented him through the aftershocks, until Tony was weakly batting him away, overstimulated and jittery. Bucky licked at his lip, his mouth red and swollen and used looking, face pink, hair sticking to his forehead. “You are utterly, utterly wrecked, babydoll,” Bucky said, smug jerk that he was.

“You’re not much better,” Tony retorted. He gingerly tucked himself back into his undersuit. “Do I get a turn at wrecking you next?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, eyes flashing eagerly. “Wanna feel you, baby, your nice warm skin. Got a hand for me?”

“For you, sweetheart, always.” Tony dragged his hand over Bucky’s cock, teasing a little before wrapping firmly around it. He kissed down Bucky’s neck, sucking at the skin. “Think if I work hard enough at it, I can give you a hickey that’ll last long enough for some pap to get a picture?” he wondered. He sucked a little harder, pulling the soft skin between his teeth.

Bucky groaned, pushing into the pressure of Tony’s mouth, head falling back in supplication. “Don’t know that I even care,” he said, “damn, that feels good, Tony, oh, oh, yeah, like that, baby.”

Bucky might have started their tryst as a possessive marking of territory, but once he was into it, Tony was his sole focus. It was a little humbling, sometimes, the raw, naked longing that Tony could see in Bucky’s every movement. From the way he shuddered under Tony’s hand to the savage wantonness of his cries.

“That’s it,” Tony coaxed, working his hand faster, rolling over the tip to spread precome down Bucky’s cock. “So gorgeous, so perfect for me. Come for me, sweetheart, I want to feel you coming.” He licked at Bucky’s neck, the salty tang of sweat and skin, and if he hadn’t just climaxed, he’d be getting hard again.

Bucky rolled up onto his toes, fucking up into Tony’s hand. His fingers clamped down on Tony’s shoulders and he let his mouth drop open, all the stress and worries dropping off his features until they were smooth and relaxed. His eyes fluttered shut and then, “Oh, god, Tony.” His hips stuttered, pistoning wildly, two, three strokes. A soft sigh and he arched into it, painting Tony’s belly, hip, and the thigh of his flight suit with come.

Tony stroked him through it, peppering his face and neck with kisses. “So wonderful, so beautiful,” he murmured. He nosed at Bucky’s temple, dropping a soft kiss there. “Now who’s wrecked?” he teased.

“One ‘a these days,” Bucky said, huffing out a breath, “I’m gonna make you carry me.” He shuddered, resting his forehead against Tony’s shoulder for a long moment before yanking his tactical pants back up around his hips. He tucked himself in, belted the pants, but left the shirt open, showing off his chest, and a few round, red bite marks.

Tony found some napkins to wipe up the mess and then got himself back into the armor. He left the helmet off; the tender spot on his neck where Bucky had sucked a hickey would probably show nicely, and it definitely wasn’t a combat injury. “You want me to give you a lift back up to the ‘jet?”

Bucky took a step back, his knees obviously shaky. “Yes, yes, I would like that,” he decided, firmly. “You can sit with me on th’ way back to the Tower. I don’t think we need an aerial escort today.”

“Your wish is my command.” Tony caught Bucky’s hand in his -- he couldn’t feel it through the gauntlet, but it was nice anyway -- and led the way back out into the street. He caught Bucky around the waist. “Hold on,” he said. He waved at a returning bystander, giving their cell camera a bright press smile, and then took off, Bucky’s arms twined around his neck.

“Buck, you okay?” Steve asked, as they landed in the ‘jet.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky said. “Just needed a hand with somethin’.”

Steve took a step forward, as if concerned, then his nostrils flared. “Buck!”

Jessica Jones, who was stripping out of her armor with very little regard for modesty, looked up. “What?”

“You can’t smell that?” Steve grimaced. “Really? Really, Buck?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched until he was forced to duck his chin to hide a wide grin and flushed cheeks. “Really.”

Tony dropped onto the bench beside his husband. “No need to get excited about it, Cap,” he said, probably more smugly than he should. “It’s just a little territory marking.” 

[argyle-s]

The Shape of Things To Come Chapter 9/38

Rating: Mature

Read at Ao3

Start at the Beginning

Supergirl doesn't cause an environmental disaster, Kara and Alex talk, and Cat gets demanding.

Thanks to @ifourmindbeso for her great work as a beta. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

Chapter 9 - Fighting Fires

Kara turned in mid-air as the missiles closed on her, flying backwards as she hit one of them with a blast of heat vision, causing it to explode.  She turned slightly, focusing on the remaining missile, and blew out a huge blast of freeze breath, encasing the missile in ice.  The freezing temperature caused the fuel pump to seize, which made the missile lose thrust, and pitch downwards.  She watched it fall, her breath having rendered it so cold it shattered on impact.

“Okay,” Alex said over the radio, “come on in.”

Kara laughed, knowing she was being called in because they were now out of missiles.  She twisted slightly, shooting back towards the small command post.  She slowed as she approached, dropping subsonic so she didn’t shatter any of the equipment, and finally pulled up at the last minute, then drifted down to a gentle landing.

“How was that?” she asked J’onn.

“I see you share your cousin’s appetite for wanton destruction, Miss Danvers” J’onn said.

Kara rolled her eyes.  “You are enjoying this entirely too much.”

“I’m trying to make sure you’re going to be an asset.  A novice Superhero can be a liability in the field.  So far, all you’ve proven is you can manage an intelligence asset.  I need to know you can control all of your abilities.  Strength, Stamina, Speed.”

“Well, are you convinced yet?” Kara asked.  “Because I wanna go get some breakfast and if I don’t get something to eat soon, you’re gonna see me not controlling the growling in my stomach and trust me, that’s not pretty.”

“She’s right,” Alex said.  “No one ever comes out of that looking pretty.”

Both Kara and Alex turned around at the sound of a loud chuckle behind them, only to find Vasquez standing there, holding a large bag.

“Are those…?” Kara asked, not bothering to finish her sentence as she took two steps towards Vasquez.

“Breakfast burritos from that grill down the 975,” Vasquez said.  “Extra hot sauce.”

“Oh, Rao Light,” Kara said as Vasquez handed her the bag.  “Marry me?”

Vasquez laughed.  “I think my girlfriend would object.”

Kara sat the bag on one of the work tables and pulled out a burrito, peeling the foil off it.  “Does she cook?  If so, bring her along.  I’ll marry you both.”

“Kara,” Alex said.

Vasquez just laughed harder.  “I do most of the cooking, but she’s the jealous type.”

Kara took a huge bite out of the burrito, chewing quickly, before swallowing.  “If you can cook, I can see why.”  She held up the burrito slightly.  “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, ma’am.  My girlfriend was one of the agents on the plane with Alex, so I figure I owe you one.”

Kara smiled, and nodded.  “Glad I could help,” she said, before she wolfed down the rest of her burrito, and reached for a second one.

“Are you heading into work today?” Alex asked.

Kara shook her head, mouth too full of food to speak.  She swallowed.  “No.  Cat never works on the weekends she has Carter.  I thought once we were done, I’d do a few runs through the city, rescue some kittens from trees, show the coat of arms.  That sort of thing.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Kara?  I know you talked to your Aunt but there are still a lot of Fort Rozz escapees out there.”

“Well, if you’d rather, I could take you out to Sanctuary.”

“Really?”

Kara nodded.  “Absolutely.  I’ve got something out there I want you to see anyway.  Something I think would be a huge help-“

“Supergirl.  Come in, Supergirl” Winn’s voice suddenly rang in her ear.

Kara reached up and touched her eat piece.  “Hey, Winn, what’s up?”

“There’s a huge fire raging down at National City port, and it is bad,” Winn said.

“I’m on it,” Kara said.  She turned to Alex.  “Fire down at the port.  Don’t let anyone eat my burritos.”

“Are you sure, Kara?  You’ve been dodging missiles and pushing pretty hard.  Even you have your limits.”

“I know,” Kara said, “but this is just a bit of x-ray vision, some freeze breath.  No big deal.  I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Just… Be careful, okay.”

“I will.  Love you.”  With that, Kara kicked off and shot into the sky, but not without hearing her sister’s answering ‘Love you too’.

***

The fire was as big and as intimidating as she remembered, but this time, as she approached, she spotted the source using her X-ray vision.  One of the pipelines used to pump oil off the tankers was ruptured and feeding the fire, which explained why her freeze breath hadn’t worked the last time.  She spotted the fire chief, and dropped down beside him.

“Chief,” she said.

“Thank God,” he said.  “Can you blow this out?”

“No,” Kara replied.  “Not yet.  There’s a leaking oil line inside the flames.  If I hit it with my freeze breath, it will just spread the fire.”

“Shit,” he said.  “Can you move the tanker?”

“Not unless you have tow chains handy.  If I try to just grab on and drag it, the welds will split open like a rotten banana.  I need to go into the fire, and cut off the fuel supply.  While I do that, move your water line between the flames and the ship, to hold it back.  Buy me five minutes, and I’ll be able to put this out.”

“Okay,” he said.  “Will do.”

Kara nodded and lifted off again as he shifted his men’s focus to pushing the edge of the fire back and controlling the advance instead of trying to put it out.  She dove into the heart of the inferno and grabbed a barrel, tearing it in half and slapped the metal over the tear in the oil pipe.  A careful blast from her heat vision formed a weld which would hold for a while, then she kicked off, rising above the fire, and carefully used her freeze breath to put out the flames, as well as cool off the oil-filled pipes.

Once she was done, she flew back over to the chief.

“Okay, you need to get a repair crew in here as fast as possible.  I’ve welded a piece of steel over the tear in the pipe, but the steel is low quality, and the weld isn’t especially solid since I couldn’t clean or prep the surfaces or get it hot enough to boil out the impurities without risking setting off what was in the pipe.”

The chief nodded.  “Right.  Is it cool enough to go in?”

“Yes,” she said.  “You want me to show you?”

“Please.”

***

“Either I finally managed to get the last of the smell out, or my sense of smell has just given up on me,” Kara said as she came out of the DEO locker room dressed in a black t-shirt, and a black pair of BDU pants that had been tucked away in some storage locker or other, along with a fresh pair of boots and socks.

Alex sniffed, “Definitely the latter,” she said.

Kara reached out and gave her a light shove.  “Shut up,” she said.  “Seriously, that was terrible.”

“Yeah, it was bad enough with a human nose,” Alex said.  “I can’t even imagine with a Kryptonian one.”

“Any progress on the suit?” Kara asked.

“That’s probably going to take more time.”

“Just have them put it in a sealed bag,” Kara said.  “I’ll take care of it at home.”

“How are you going to get home” Alex asked.

“Drive me?”

***

Kara sat the oversized bag of subs down on the counter as Alex locked the door behind them, and reached for a plate for Alex and a serving platter for herself.  She took a moment to fish out Hot Pastrami and the bag of Salt and Vinegar chips and put them on a plate, before carefully arranging her two cheese steaks and two meatball subs on the platter.

“Where do you want this?” Alex asked, holding up the sealed biohazard bag containing Kara’s Supergirl suit.

“Konex,” Kara said, grinning.  “End stealth mode.”

Alex jumped a bit as Konex decloaked.

“How can I be of assistance, Lady Kara?” the robot asked

“Kara,” Alex said, “What is that?”

Kara turned around and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a diet coke for Alex and a two liter of grape soda for herself.  “He’s a Kryptonian tier-four cyber-construct, designed to operate as a personal attendant.”

“Okay,” Alex said.  “And you didn’t think to mention him back when we were growing up?”

Kara laughed.  “Clark has one named Kelex in his stronghold up north.  One of the first things I got from J’onn when we started working together was a crystal containing Konex’s memories.  He was my personal attendant growing up.  Kelex was able to build him a new body last year and download the memories from the crystal.  I would have told you about him, but I couldn’t figure out how to do that without telling you I’d gotten stuff out of my pod.”

Alex frowned.  “Kara, I’ve been all over your pod.  Everything that was in it is catalogued at the DEO.”

“You didn’t know about the hidden compartment behind the seat,” Kara said.  “Konex, this is Alex Danvers.  Scan for identity match, and execute stored order four.”

Kara watched as Konex approached Alex and scanned her briefly.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Alex.”

“What just happened?” Alex asked.

“Konex just added your biometrics and genetic profile to the security protocols for his control programs, as well as for those of Sanctuary.  In short, if anything happens to me, the chain of command goes You, Kal-El, J’onn, Diana Prince, Bruce Wayne.  There’s a list of people after that, but honestly, right now, you’re the only person who even knows they are on the list.”

Alex turned to look at her.  “Diana Prince and Bruce Wayne? Why… What…” Alex raised her free hand to cover her face.

Kara took pity on her and walked over, taking the bag with her Supergirl outfit and handing it to Konex.

“Clean that, please,” she said.  “Or, if it’s easier, just recycle it and make a new one.  Also, while you’re working, make me about twenty spares, and fit them all with anti-Kryptonite shields, and spare coms.”

“Yes, Lady Kara.”

She turned back to Alex, carefully prying her hand away from her face.  “I’m sorry,” she said.

Alex shook her head.  “No, I shouldn’t react like this.  It’s just…”

“A week ago, I was your baby sister.  Now, I’m pulling super advanced AI-controlled robots out of thin air and telling you Bruce Wayne is Batman and Diana Prince is Wonder Woman,” Kara said.  “I get it.  Believe me.  I was on the other side of this once, and I did not handle it well.”

“Can we just sit down for a bit?” Alex said.

Kara nodded.  “Go ahead.  I’ll grab the food and be right there.”

Alex walked over and dropped down on the couch.  Kara gathered up their food and made her way over to sit down next to her sister.  They ate in silence, Kara doing her best to eat at a human pace.  She was finished with all four of her subs and about halfway through a family-sized bag of sour cream and onion potato chips when Alex finally spoke up.

“How much more haven’t you told me?” Alex asked.

Kara sat down the bag of chips.  “Big things, or little things?”

“Big things?” Alex asked.

Kara thought about it for a minute, before answering.  “Two,” she said.  “There are two big things I haven’t told you yet.  The first is how I found out about all of this, and believe me when I say that it’s not something I want to keep to myself, but I can’t tell you about the first one without telling you about the second one.  The second one is…”  Kara took a deep breath.  “I’m afraid the second one will make you hate me,” she said.

“Kara,” Alex said, turning towards her, “You’re my sister, and I love you, no matter what.”

Kara nodded.  “I love you too, Alex, but sometimes secrets can drive even the closest people apart.”

“Then why not just tell me?” Alex asked.

“Because you’d die,” Kara said.

“Kara, I’m not-“

“Alex,” Kara said, cutting her off, “I know how good you are.  I would trust you to have my back in any fight.  In fact, I’m pretty sure, if push comes to shove, you could take down a Kryptonian as long as you had time to prepare for the fight.  But if I told you about this, you’d want to do something.  Because you’re good and kind and one of the most loving, caring people I’ve ever met.  But this isn’t a fight you can win.  Not right now.  Not while we’ve got Fort Rozz to deal with.”

“Kara, you’re scaring me,” Alex said.  “Whatever this is, you shouldn’t have to carry it alone.  Please, let me help?”

Kara reached out and took Alex’s hands on hers, squeezing them as she looked at her sister, and remembering the last time they’d had a secret between them.  The fallout from her sister lying about who killed Astra had nearly destroyed National City.  It wasn’t a good memory, and the truth was, it had taken a long time for her to really get over it.  The Red K incident had been proof of that.

The issue wasn’t that she didn’t trust Alex, it was that she knew Alex.  If she told Alex, there was a good chance Alex would do something stupid, like go after Cadmus on her own.  On the other hand, if she didn’t tell anyone, and something happened to her, the timeline could turn out even worse than before.  And there was the simple weight of the secret itself.

“If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t do anything.  Not until we deal with Fort Rozz.”

Alex nodded.  “I get it, Kara.  One threat at a time.”

Kara sighed.  “No, Alex, you don’t.  This isn’t small.  This isn’t like promising Eliza you’d finish your homework before you go surfing.  If you make this promise, you have to keep it, no matter how much it hurts. No matter what.  You have to keep it.  Okay?”

This time it seemed to get the message across.  Alex sat there, and Kara could see her thinking it over, considering it, before she finally nodded.  “Okay.  I promise.  I won’t do anything until we deal with Fort Rozz.”

Kara nodded.  “Have you ever heard of Project Cadmus?”

“Yeah.  Some sort of research project.  We send them samples from any aliens we capture, and if an alien dies, either during capture, or in their cell, we send the remains to Cadmus for study.”

“They don’t just study alien remains,” Kara said.  “Back before J’onn took over the DEO, Hank Henshaw…  The real Hank Henshaw, deliberately killed a lot of aliens and classified the kills as ‘killed resisting capture’ so he could funnel the remains to Cadmus. If you go through the records you’ll also find a lot of aliens who were ‘transferred to other holding facilities’, only they never arrived.  Instead, they wound up in Cadmus.  After J’onn took over and their supply of live aliens dried up, they started their own capture program.  Sam Lane procures for them sometimes too.”

“That’s horrible,” Alex said, “but-“

“They take humans, too,” Kara said.  She took a deep breath.  “This is the part I’ve been afraid to tell you…  Alex, they have Jeremiah.”

“What?” Alex said.  “They…  They have my dad’s body?”

Kara shook her head.  “No.  Not his body.”  Kara could see the exact moment realization struck.  She could see the mixture of hope and fear flooding into Alex.

“He’s…  He’s alive?” she asked.

Kara nodded.

“How long have you known?” Alex asked.

“Alex,” Kara said.  “You promised.”

“How long, Kara?”

Kara let go of Alex’s hands and reached up to grip her shoulders.  “Tell me you won’t do anything, Alex.”

“How long?” Alex asked, and Kara could hear the rage in her voice, but she didn’t answer.  She just waited.  “He’s my father,” Alex said.  “We have to do something.  We have to help him!”  Alex tried to stand up, but Kara held her in place, her grip firm enough that there wasn’t anything Alex could do, but gentle enough that Alex didn’t hurt herself.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Kara said.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Let me go,” Alex said.

“You promised,” Kara said.

The slap surprised them both.  One moment, Alex was sitting there, struggling, and the next, Kara felt the flat of Alex’s hand slam into the side of her face.  It was so unexpected, she didn’t have time to roll with it, and instead of hurting her, Alex ended up whimpering and cradling her hand.  Kara let her go, moving back a little bit as she looked down, checking with x-ray vision to make sure Alex hadn’t broken her hand.

Alex, for her part, was looking back, and forth between her hand, and Kara’s face.

“I…”

“It’s okay,” Kara said.

Alex shook her head.  “No.  No, it’s not.  I shouldn’t have…”

Kara reached out and took Alex’s injured hand in her own, blowing a very gentle stream of cool air over it.

“It’s okay,” Kara said.  “I’m the one who should be sorry.  It’s my fault Jeremiah was on that mission.  My fault Cadmus has him.  My fault Fort Rozz is here.  My fault Myriad is a threat.  My fault Cadmus even exists.”  She looked up into Alex’s eyes.  “Sometimes, I think it would have been better if I never made it off Krypton,” she said.

The look of horror on Alex’s face wasn’t something Kara expected to see in that moment, but on some level, it was comforting.

“No,” Alex said.  “No.  Kara, you can’t think like that.  Please.  I’m sorry.  You’re right, this is big and I just…” she shrugged, helplessly.

“Please, tell me you’ll keep your promise.  I swear, I have people working on getting your father out.  Clark knows almost everything I do about Cadmus and he’s got Wonder Woman and Batman for backup.  If they can get Jeremiah out, they will.”

Alex nodded.  “Okay,” she said.  “Okay.  But, as soon as Myriad is out of the way-“

“We find Cadmus, and we burn it to the ground,” Kara said.  “Every last bit of it.”

***

The next morning was rough.  Kara didn’t really need sleep, but she and Alex had talked for hours and it had been emotionally exhausting.  Kara had told her everything she could about Cadmus, leaving out only Lillian Luthor, Simon Tycho and Hank Henshaw’s involvement.  She’d told her everything about Astra, too, but it was all hard.  It was like draining an infected wound, only stopping before it was entirely clean, and bandaging it up with half the rot still inside.  There was so much she couldn’t tell her.  She’d wanted to talk about the battle of CatCo plaza, about the Third Army and the war of light, about Darkseid and the anti-life equation.

She couldn’t.  Not yet.  She couldn’t tell Alex until she was ready to tell J’onn, and she couldn’t tell J’onn until she could prove all of it, because it sounded insane.  Sometimes, she wondered if she was insane.  On the other hand, if she got to hug her sister in the morning before she went into work to see Winn and Cat, maybe insanity wasn’t so bad.

Though today was the day Cat demanded an interview with her in the original timeline.  She was wondering if that was still going to happen when the elevator door opened, and she saw Winn waiting for her, holding a large pink box.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Just a little something Maggie and I chipped in for,” he said, lifting the lid.

“Is that a brownie pizza?” she asked, her face splitting into an enormous smile.

“Yes,” he said.  “We wanted to do a cake, but we thought a ‘Congratulations on your first big disaster’ cake would be a little obvious.”

“Oh!” she squealed as she threw her arms around Winn, hugging him as tightly as she dared.  “Thank you,” she said.  “You have no idea how much I needed something like this this morning.”  She stepped back, still smiling at him as she picked up the envelope containing Cat’s morning mail from the reception desk, before heading over to her own desk.

Winn sat the brownie pizza down on her desk.  “You okay?” he asked.

“Rough weekend,” she said.  “Alex and I had a big fight.  We sorted it out.  And I saw my Aunt.”

“Your Aunt?” Winn asked.  “Like,” he made a wavey motion with his hand Kara assumed was supposed to indicate flying, “that Aunt?”

“Yes.  That probably went as well as could be expected,” she said.

‘Drunk, 9:00 AM.  That’s the last time I have breakfast with Ruth Bader Ginsberg.’

Kara shook her head as she reached for Cat’s coffee.  “She’s here,” she said as she lifted the lid and gave it a quick zap of heat vision.

“At least now I know how you do that,” Winn said as he dropped into his seat and pulled up his goof-off spreadsheet so it would look like he was working.

The door to the elevator opened, and Cat strode out.  Kara put the latte into her hand.

“Your latte, Ms. Grant,” she said.

Cat took a sip and let out a small moan of satisfaction.  “Hot, as always,” she said.  “Content meeting, two minutes.  My office.”

***

“I assume we’re all aware of Supergirl’s latest act of derring-do,” Cat said.

“Walking into a burning oil fire to cut off the fuel supply, then blowing the fire out,” James said.  “Pretty impressive for someone who’s only been on the job a week.”

“Hmmm, yes,” Cat said.  “Our girl has been making quite a showing of herself all over National City.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” James asked.

“It would be, if it weren’t the front-page story on the Daily Planet.  Their fifth, in as many days.  Which annoys me, because they already have their own go-to Superhero, and now they’re trying to steal mine.”

Cat stalked around from behind her desk to stand in front of it.  “Now, when I branded her, there was a certain implicit expectation that she would be gracing the pages of *our* publications.”  Cat turned towards Kara.  “Tell me something, Kara.”

“Hmmm, me?” Kara asked.

“Yes,” Cat answered.  “Do you really think it was coincidence that one of the Planet’s star reporters just happened through these offices last week?”

Kara shrugged.  “I never know with Clark.”

“Uh, huh,” Cat said.  “Well, coincidence or not, the Daily Planet is not taking Supergirl from us.  We are going to take back control of the Supergirl narrative, starting now.”

“How are we going to do that?” Dave asked.

“I want an interview,” Cat said.

“Okay,” Kara said.  “When would you like me to set that up?”

Every eye in the room turned towards her.

“You, Keira?” Cat asked.

“Don’t I usually schedule all your interviews?” she said.

Cat’s eyes narrowed.  “This one might be a little different.”

“Have I ever failed to deliver, Ms. Grant?”

“Do I need to bring up the Justin Bieber incident?”

“I believe there’s an amendment to my contract that prevents either of us from ever speaking of that again,” Kara said, shuddering.

Cat sighed.  “Fine.  Go ahead and see if you can arrange it, but I want a backup plan,” she said, turning to James.  “Do you think your friend in blue could arrange a sit down?”

“It doesn’t really work that way,” James said.

“Mmmm… Well, if Clark Kent, or for that matter, Lois Lane or any of the other hags over at the Planet get this before we do, I’m going to hold you and Keira personally responsible since you’re inviting the enemy into my house.”

“Now, I want a sit down with Supergirl.  A heart-to-heart, girl-to-girl.  By the end of the week.”  Cat waved her hand in a shooing gesture.  “Go get it.”

Kara started to turn around, but Cat’s voice stopped her.

“Not you, Keira,” she said.

Kara turned back to Cat.  “Something else I can do for you, Ms. Grant?”

Cat waited until the entire office was empty.  “You really think you can get me an interview with Supergirl?”

“I do.”

Cat stared at her for a moment, and let out a breath.  “You get me that interview and we’ll have a discussion about your salary, since apparently I’m not paying what other people are offering you.”

“That’s not necessary, Ms. Grant.”

“Yes, it is,” Cat said.  “You’re never going to get ahead if you don’t learn how to demand what you’re due, Keira.”

Kara stared back at Cat for a moment, then nodded.  “Okay,” she said.  “How about we start with you using my real name, since I know you know it.”

Cat smiled.  “Get me the interview, and we’ll talk.”

Kara laughed and shook her head as she turned and left the office, only to find James waiting for her at her desk.

“Are you sure you want to do that interview?” he asked.  The question threw Kara, because in the original timeline, he’d been the one to reassure her when she said she couldn’t do it.

“I don’t see why not,” Kara said.  “My cousin managed to hide right in front of Perry White’s face for eleven years.”

“Yeah, and Lois Lane was fooled for a good five seconds,” James said.

Kara rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, well, Cat Grant isn’t checking out my ass every time I turn my back.”

James shook his head.  “Could have fooled me,” he said, before he headed for his office.

Winn appeared a second later.  “He bothering you?” he asked.

“A little,” Kara said.  “He means well, but he hasn’t gotten it through his head that I don’t need a big brother.”

“Well, if he gets to be a problem let me know.  I’ll get Maggie to rough him up.”

Kara smiled.  “You and Maggie really hit it off, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “She’s like the really butch older sister I never knew I wanted.”

“Oh, please.  She’s a soft futch, at best.”

“She loads her own ammo, Kara.”

“Don’t care,” Kara said.  “If she can’t forge a sword out of a load of iron ore, she’s not butch.”

“Who have you been hanging out with?”

“Wonder Woman,” Kara said.  “Now, the real question is, am I expected to share my brownie pizza?”

Winn laughed.  “Now what kind of friends would we be if we made you share?”

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

I want (need) you to expand (tell me everything) about that post about It and the 2016 Creepy Clown Crisis. (Really, if you have anything else to say about it I want to hear it)

Yes, take my hand and join me in what will probably be an incoherent ramble about something that is most likely not true, my love.

OKAY, SO:

I’m sure we all remember those #iconic Creepy Clowns™, but as a refresher- Creepy Clown sightings are actually something that have been like, an urban legend phenomenon for Y E A R S. Like, a very long time. I used to do a lot of reading on the subject seeing as I was that kid™, but now you just get a million and one results from 2016 and I’ve had too much wine to wanna bother fighting through that. But anyway, this has always been a thing. Just, like, sometimes you’d see a creepy clown in the dead of night, but the clown doesn’t fucking do anything and you move on with your life. I actually saw one in like, 4th or 5th grade? Didn’t die, it wasn’t a huge deal. But anyway, in 2016 things just SPIRALED THE FUCK OUT OF CONTROL. Personally, I maintain what happened was that your average urban legend phenomenon was happening but since social media is so prevalent now a lot of creeps got inspired and the whole thing got blown up because of that…but that’s not the theory we’re focusing on in this post, so whatever. 

Now, as I’m sure you’ll also remember, there were HUNDREDS of conspiracy theories swirling around the whole clown crisis- everything from demonic possession, to a ‘clown purge’, to people thinking Hillary Clinton had hired the clowns to freak out America even more so she could get fear votes. I’m not shitting you, those were all things I heard daily. But another, tamer, theory was: this was all a mass promotional stunt for the IT reboot. 

The IT reboot was highly anticipated and very debated- fans of the work were well aware that they had been trying to get this movie made for years but kept running into issues. When they finally started filming, they shot from June to September in 2016. The clown sightings ran from August to October 2016. This theory made sense- it’s not hard to believe that a studio would pull something like that, thinking it’d be a fun publicity stunt but then not really wanting to take credit once it got out of hand. That’s literally happened before, like the Montauk Monster and that Dear Charlie ghost thing.  Anyway, a lot of people thought this couldn’t possibly be a coincidence- like, I’ve even seen the actors asked about it in interviews (like they’re on the marketing team??), but none of them had much to comment. This will be the theory we focus on…just with a bit of a twist. 

Now, if your reading this and you’ve only seen part one of the 2017 movie and don’t know much about the book or miniseries 1) you’re a valid fan, I love you bitch, and 2) I’m sorry, but spoilers are coming immediately and every time I try to put one of those ‘read more’ cut offs my screen glitches and I loose all my writing bc someone out there is against me. So read at your own risk. 

Okay, as part of the ‘adult’ storyline, they go back into It’s lair in Derry and find out that It has laid eggs and set to work destroying them. There’s a whole fuck lot going on with this plotline, like Eddie and the Turtle™ are dead and Bev’s barely doing shit and Ben’s smashing babies while Bill’s trying to get inside the monster and Richie mourns his bf, it’s all a Mess okay, but the point is: eggs. 

Now, the notion that not all of the spawn were destroyed is actually…not new at all and somewhat debatably relevant in some of King’s other novels, but stick with me here. As far as the Losers know, they killed everything. The scars on their hands go away. It’s all very symbolic and they forget everything, whatever. 

But.

The 2017 reboot wasn’t exactly…that close to the book. Like, they kept enough in there, and they had a bunch of really small things that were Fun Little Call Backs For Book Fans (all the turtle stuff, Bev throwing that rock in slow motion with awesome precision, Pennywise taunting Richie with that decaying doll, stuff like that, you know?). But so it’s not completely out of left field to assume that Chapter Two would be very different as well? It’s not crazy to assume that the movie would end with like, a dramatic ass lingering shot of a few hatching eggs…Or even, say, a subplot that sounds like ‘the eggs hatched around the same time It woke back up out of hibernation and now there’s crazy attacks all over the place instead of Derry, but maybe if we kill the Main Beast that’ll kill them all’ (like a hive mind. you know what I mean.).

It’s not crazy to assume that. My wine glass and Shitty Writer Imagination That Never Lets Me Rest And Makes Me Over Analyze Works Of Fiction have 100% assured me of that. 

So, remember that theory that the clown sightings were just a fun promotional stunt that got out of hand…? What if- it was a promotional stunt, and setting the scene for the sequel (that still got out of hand bc humans are garbage people actually got hurt)

I don’t think anybody getting hurt was ever in the intention, but making headlines because Creepy Clowns are lurking outside schools, in cemeteries, seen trying to lure people into the woods, going out of their way to scare people and be seen as threats even if they don’t actually do anything wrong?? I can absolutely buy that as a promotion stunt…and I can absolutely see, oh, I don’t know, maybe the movie including some recycled Actual News Clips covering the events, taking advantage of all the crazy videos people posted online, stuff like that. Like, in the book and miniseries and 2017 part one, no one outside of Derry knows shit about what’s going on…but you can’t really justify something like that flying under the radar in the age of social media. You can’t. Kids would start turning up dead left and right and you’d sign onto tumblr and see a fucking ‘since the media doesn’t care enough and no one’s talking about this, let me tell you what’s going on in my town’ type post. You’d absolutely hear about it. There’d be twitter campaigns and all types of shit, there’s just no way around it. That Creepy Clown Crisis went viral for a reason. 

But Molly, you say, It didn’t always appear just as a clown! People weren’t harassed by anything other than the clowns in 2016! 

Well, my love, let me point something out to you- It is millions of years old. It’s got shapeshifting and fear manipulation down pat. Could you possibly hold new born babies to that standard? No. Do we know for a fact that It literally prays on children and likes to take the form of Pennywise the Dancing Clown simply because it’s easier? Yes. 

People weren’t that afraid of the clowns when the sightings first started. But then more and more kept popping up, and do you know what we had on our hands? Mass hysteria. Mass hysteria sounds like a perfect way for a bunch of inexperienced little hive mind monsters to get the hang of the hunting with fear thing. 

Not to mention Georgie died in September/October…which means It probably usually wakes up out of hibernation around then…I’m just s a y i n g. And the sightings mysteriously stopped around November…a good timeline for the Loser’s to have killed It and thus stopped the clown crisis…I’m just s a y i n g.

Like, can I definitely prove that the studio was behind that mess as a means to set the stage for the sequel while getting some fun promotion out of it? No, I can’t, and honestly I doubt it’s true, this was just a fun thought that came to me lol. But honestly…it’s so easy to see how well a type of plotline like that would work with the film, so at the very least, if they don’t take advantage of the Clown Crisis…I will severely Judge Them, because like, it’s all right there. It’s writing itself. Damn. 

The end, until, 2019, I guess. 

[queercapwriting]

Taking Lena Sledding (Supercorp College AU)

Day 7 of 12 Days of Sanvers & Supercorp Christmas

Last Year | Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6

The first time Lucy showed Alex how to do it, she was panicked and nervous and shaking, because what if they got caught and what if the school called their parents and what if -- 

“It’s not high school anymore, Danvers, they wouldn’t call our parents. And anyway, it’s a time-honored tradition here. As long as you return the trays to the cafeteria, no one gets in trouble for it.”

So she went, and screamed, because god, did she love it.

And when Maggie Sawyer transferred to their school, it was the first winter date idea Alex had for them. 

Sledding down Tray Hill in the dead of night, with only the dim lights of campus lampposts combined with starlight to guide their way.

And when Kara came to college, too, it was the first winter thing they did together.

Naturally, then, when Kara started giving that wide eyed look to Lena Luthor in all the moments she thought she wouldn’t notice -- and in some moments where she hoped she would -- Alex slung an arm around her little sister’s shoulder and told her to invite Lena sledding with her that night.

Kara shook her head, worrying at her bottom lip and adjusting her glasses nervously.

“She’s always studying. You know how her mother is.”

Alex tossed her hands back behind her. “And you know how our mom is. I’m always studying. Somehow, I make time to go down that hill every year. It’s good for you. Relieves stress and all that.” She leaned into her little sister with a wicked grin in her eyes. “Plus it’s romantic.”

Kara scoffed and turned away. “We’re just friends.”

Alex chuckled and tugged down on the long, long ears of Kara’s penguin hat that doubled as a scarf and, all the way at the bottom, mittens. “Okay, sis.”

Kara scowled and readjusted herself with as much dignity as she could muster while wearing a winter penguin hat-scarf-mittens, but when her eyes fell on Lena -- bent over her books, glasses all askew on her face, murmuring something to herself as she studied, feet curled under herself, Kara’s sweatshirt snug around her shoulders -- she knew her big sister was right.

A romantic winter’s night with Lena would be... perfect.

“Lena?” she approached, trying not to grin as Alex flashed her a thumbs up from where she’d retreated, into Maggie’s lap, across the library lounge. She waited for Lena to look up without saying anything else, knowing full well that Lena had heard her and was waiting to respond until she’d worked through whatever question she was going through in her head.

Her lips kept moving silently to herself, and Kara couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss them.

“Sorry, Kar,” Lena finally turned her face up to Kara, a smile already there, simply at her presence. Kara’s heart leaped at the sight of it.

“How’s the studying?” Kara asked, sitting next to her and gulping when Lena’s body automatically shifted to be closer to hers.

Lena shrugged with one shoulder as she lifted her other arm, slow and into a full stretch, above her head with a gigantic yawn.

“Could be better, could be worse,” she let her arm drop suddenly and put her elbow on the table, cupping her chin in her palm and leaning across her books to look closer at Kara. “You’re nervous about something.”

Kara adjusted her glasses and shook her head. “What? No! I’m not -- no. Why would you -- “

“Oh, darling, and now you’re just confirming it,” Lena smiled, reaching out a hand to brush her thumb against Kara’s cheek for no reason other than to touch her. A stirring of hope fluttered through Kara’s stomach.

“Well, maybe. I... I was thinking, if you’re okay with taking a break from your studying... you don’t have to, obviously, but... you know how a bunch of students go sledding on Tray Hill? I... I was wondering if you would want to... go with me. Like...” 

She glanced across the library at Alex and Maggie, who both tossed her a thumbs up and nodded enthusiastically, Alex somehow, now, with a Santa hat plastered on her head.

She took a deep, deep breath.

“Like a date. With me.” And now that she said it, she found she couldn’t stop. “It’s where Alex took Maggie on their first really romantic date, and I don’t mean to say that I’m recycling date ideas, because you deserve only fresh and new date ideas. Not that I’m assuming you want to date me at all, also, I just -- “

“Kara.”

A long silence.

“Yes, Lena?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes. To sledding. To dating you. Right now.”

Kara let out a squeal that had what felt like the entire student body turning to glare at her. Except Alex and Maggie, of course, who were not-so-silently high-fiving and laughing with relief. 

Lena took it in stride, with eyes only for Kara. She took her hand and stood, flexing her feet -- asleep from having been tucked under her for so long -- for a minute before interlacing her fingers with Kara and strolling casually over to Alex and Maggie.

“Watch my books for me, please? I’m going on a date with your sister,” she smiled, and leaned down to swipe the Santa hat off Alex’s head as an afterthought, bringing it down on her own head instead.

“Don’t stay out too late, kids,” Maggie grinned broadly after them, chuckling at Kara’s wide eyes and excited skip.

Fifteen minutes later, the two were bundled up and red-faced from the bite of the wind, Lena in Alex’s Santa hat and Kara in her penguin hat, Kara with a single cafeteria tray under her arm as they held hands, trudging through the snow, up the hill, both relieved at the lack of other students out and about on this frozen, frozen night.

“It’s a little high,” Lena gulped as they got to the top of the hill, gazing down the slope at pathways in the snow already established by other students on other nights.

“We don’t have to -- “ 

“I know you won’t let me get hurt,” Lena bit her lip, and Kara gulped and nearly swooned at their sheer proximity, at the look in Lena’s eyes that confirmed that no, no, no, she didn’t just want to be friends.

“Never,” Kara promised.

“So, how does one sled on a... dinner tray?” Lena grimaced bemusedly. “Seems a little small and hard to steer.”

Kara just grinned. “That’s the funnest part! Oh, but um...” She bit her lip, this time, worry starting to creep into her face. “I thought I’d steer, if you want, since I’ve done it before. Which means you’d sit behind me, and um... to get the most speed, you...”

Lena watched her stumble and stammer for words with a tilted head and a soft smile. “I could think of worse things to do than wrapping my legs around your hips,” she whispered, tentative suggestion and a glimmer of promise thickening her words.

Kara’s eyes fluttered down to Lena’s lips, and Lena’s made the same journey across Kara’s face.

When they both realized, they blushed and giggled and turned their attention back to their surroundings.

“Good then. Okay. So...” Kara set the tray down in front of her, bracing it with her foot before settling herself on it and waiting for Lena to sit behind her.

The closeness of their bodies, the warmth of Lena’s chest pressing against her back -- the feel of Lena’s legs wrapped around her -- made Kara’s heart skip several long beats.

Lena pressed a kiss to the side of her cheek, and if her face wasn’t so red from the cold already, Kara would have blushed.

“Ready?” she asked, and it was so many questions rolled into one.

“With you? Always,” Lena answered, and it was so many answers rolled into one.

Lena’s screams of how amazing this felt and how she wanted to do it again, and again, and again, lit up Kara’s soul and made her feel like they were flying rather than sledding, soaring rather than sinking.

The way Lena’s arms and legs both wrapped around her, trusting her, made Kara brave. Made her steady. Made her smile like she’d never smiled before.

And when Lena wanted to take the lead -- because she wasn’t a Luthor for nothing -- Kara discovered that surrendering control could be... magnificent. Could be brilliant. And Lena, of course, steered their makeshift sled with precision, always managing to find the fastest paths, the most exciting journeys.

“This was amazing,” Lena panted when they get to the bottom of the hill, collapsed in a pile of snow and sweat and bodies trembling from excitement. 

“Do you want to go back to my dorm? I can make you hot chocolate,” Kara offered, her voice small now, her eyes wide.

“A beautiful end to a beautiful date,” Lena bit her lip before leaning forward to kiss her softly, and her lips were the only source of warmth in the world, and it was absolutely perfect.

[wildroseofarran]

Out of the Blue, Pt. I || Pete & Mason

Pete: Pete stood outside the distinctly Gothic-looking house and sighed. He still wasn't sure if this was the best idea, but it was what his gut had told him to do.

A year ago. And it hadn't shut up about it since, so here he was.

Getting the address from Callum wasn't really an option (he didn't even know if Callum knew it) so he'd asked Bronwyn for it instead. The odds of her having the address he needed and being able to give it to him, the odds of making the discovery he'd made... He sighed again. That twilight zone, man.

Adjusting the case in his hand, he walked up and rang the doorbell.

Mason: The crossroads demon already knew who was at his door. This was Peter Graham, the man that had stared him down more than twice; the man which his former wife called friend. What he didn't know was why he was here, in Cameron, ringing his goddamn bell.

The door was opened slowly. His expression read curiosity hidden weakly behind neutrality. His clothes were the same tone of neutral, conservative even. Black jeans, worn leather Chelseas, and a blue short-sleeve buttoned in full, filling out and accentuating his biceps and chest just so. His hair was finger combed, completing the clean, but not expecting company look.

"What can I do ya for, Mr. Graham?"

Pete: Fuck, this felt surreal. He'd seen this man a couple of times before but he seemed different now. Or maybe it was Pete who was different, because the last time he'd seen Mason he hadn't had this odd warmth in his chest. Then again was it really him having the warm feeling or was it--no, no, wait. Stop. He'd already fallen down that rabbit hole too many times.

"Afternoon, Mr. Atlas," said Pete, nodding in greeting. He wasn't exactly dressed too formally either, but he hoped the navy blue button down, boots, and dark wash jeans were appropriate for what was about to happen. "I...was wondering if I could borrow a few moments of your time and speak to you about something."

Mason: In between the awkward pause, the human - hmm - was studied. No, not quite, but still their similar fashion was at best mildly humorous.

"If it's about Callum, I'm not interested in whatever ya have t'say, Peter."

Pete: He quickly shook his head. "No, no, it's not about that or him. I uh....I'm...Clarke. Taylor."

Mason: Now it was Mason standing still, uncomfortably quiet. The lines around his mouth and forehead began to tighten.

"I've already lost my wife. Don't ya be so fuckin' cruel. I am in no mood."

Pete: "I'm a whole lotta things--some of which are very new to me--but cruel ain't one. I have Clarke's soul. He was my last incarnation."

Mason: "Why the fuck have ya come all this way t'tell me this?"

Pete: "I have my reasons. If you let me in and give me some time, I'll share them with you."

Mason: The doorknob was squeezed. So much did he want to slam the door in his face. His chest felt slammed by a hammer, and beating this man was no option. Peter of course, but...not that soul.

The gap was reluctantly widened.

Pete: Pete breathed an internal sigh of relief. That was one hurdle overcome. Now to overcome all the rest of them.

"Thanks," he said softly, stepping inside. "I promise this won't take long."

Mason: What seemed like a soft growl was nothing more than, "Mm," shutting the door behind him. "Don't even sit, Peter." Peter. Peter. It's just Peter.

Pete: "I don't have to." He set his case down. "I just need you to hear me out."

Mason: "I'm listenin'."

Pete: "Okay." Pete took a deep breath. This was going to be long-winded, but he hoped it would be worth something to the man standing before him.

"About a year ago, I was walking down a street in Paris and I passed by a frame shop. The owner was putting a photograph in the window display. It caught my eye, so I went in for a better look. It was of Clarke."

Mason: Paris, the word alone had him turning, ready for this man to leave. "This sounds like a bad movie too full of coincidences." But that's what Fate did, didn't it?

Pete: "My whole life is like a bad movie too full of coincidences. I don't think this was one of them, though. I think--Hell, I know--I was meant to walk into that shop. The odds are insane."

Mason: "Bad movies...Fate. Bein' best friends with my wife's new cousin...is Fate's sense of humor. And now you're here...but you're not." Further punishment, wasn't it?

Pete: "Bronwyn doesn't see it that way. Sometimes Fate does things right. Not everything, and not all the time but..."

Mason: "Not ever. Not fuckin' ever. What can ya possibly tell me? That he loved me? That's a shame because he's gone. You're...not him. Just like my wife no longer exists. All ya can do is torture me."

Pete: "He did love you, Mason," Pete said quietly. "There wasn't a day after he met you where he didn't think of you. You were his last thought before he died. That means something. The fact that his soul is in me means something, at least to me."

Mason: Slowly, Peter's shirt was taken and balled into his fist. He was pulled closer. You don't look the same, feel the same, smell the same. You're not my Clarke. Just as Callum is not my wife. Soulmates mean nothing. You mean nothing.

"What do you want, Peter?"

Pete: Pete tensed. This man might've been shorter and leaner than him, but right now it sure as hell didn't feel that way. Right now Pete felt distinctly human instead of the bear he was.

"'You've been gone for ten billion years.'"

Mason: Hellish instinct demanded violence, but he could not bring himself to strike this man. Despite his internal struggle over the concept of soulmates, of Fate, this was once the human he had affinity for.

He was shoved across the living room for his safety.

"Stop! You don't love me! You don't know me! You're just quoting from a man I cared for!"

Pete: He let himself be shoved, raised his hands in what he hoped was a calming, non-threatening manner. This was already biting him in the ass but goddammit he needed to get it out.

"Those were his last words. I may not be him, but I know him, and what I know of you, I know because of him. Open the case."

Mason: "You're a liar n'I don't wanna play your game. Those were not his last words. Those were precious words he said t'me."

Pete: "It isn't a lie, Mason. You'd think I walk in here and do this for a lie? Those were Clarke Taylor's last words before he left this Earth, and it's precisely because those words were precious that he said them. He saw your face. He was dying and the universe gave him that last image of you as a kindness and he said those words to you because he always said them to you when you came home after being away, even if you were only gone for two days."

Mason: If not a lie, then it was cruelty just the same.

"I think ya'd do somethin' like this for Callum. Some sort of twisted joke t'further prove how recycled souls mean nothin'. You're not lookin' at me as though I am a treasured memory. You're talkin' as though you've read about this man, watched him, but ya don't feel what we felt. There was no point t'this."

Pete: "Callum doesn't have anything to do with this and I wouldn't fucking be here if reincarnated souls meant nothing. They may not to you, but they do to me. He fucking means something to me, and fucking coming here meant something to me too. You're a demon, I'm sure you're perfectly equipped to tell if that's a lie or not."

Pete put his arms down. "I didn't read about him or watch him. I've read his journals, his letters, done spell after spell to try to remember things about his life. I don't have a whole lot of magic but I have just enough to try to tap that part of my soul. How the hell do you think I know what he said before he died? I felt it. The water filling up the car, the pain of being pinned to the passenger's seat, the fucking desperation of having my lungs fill up with water and seeing your fucking face through the fucking gloom and feeling so much relief everything just stopped hurting. I saw what he saw, felt what he felt. I saw and felt it as clearly as if had happened to me because it fucking did."

Mason: Of course reincarnation meant something to him. It had meant so much and yet so little to the one person meant to care. Lawrence was a waste of carbon life. This conversation was a waste of words - until Peter said 'my'.

My lungs.

"Ya would punish me like this for lettin' ya leave."

Pete: That...wasn't the response he expected. It was par for the course for this endeavor but...

"What?"

Mason: "That's what ya want t'hear? For me t'accept that you're the man I couldn't tell I love because I was too wrapped up in my own arrogance? What will this solve? Closure? For whom?"

Pete: Pete took a deep breath. This was starting to feel like progress. Painfully slow progress. "Open the case, Mason. You can ask me anything, test me, but please open the case. Please."

Mason: "Answer me this. D'ya feel...anything which Clarke felt?"

Pete: He thought back to the moment the door opened, to the warmth that bloomed somewhere in his chest as he looked at Mason as if seeing him for the first time.

"Yes," he said with a nod. "It's not as intense, but I feel what he felt."

Mason: The case was pointed to. "These are...his belongings?"

Pete: "Some of them. They're things I felt you should have."

Mason: "Then leave me t'grieve for him again when I open it."

Pete: Although that wasn't what Pete had planned, he'd take it. Maybe it would be enough to fill this urge he had, at least until he made time to go to New Orleans.

"All right. Would you like to know what's inside?"

Mason: "I'll see when I open it." Steady. Calm. "Ya feel it, but you're...not my Clarke. I can't accept that. The last time I opened my arms to this nonsense, I lived to regret it. Ya can't make me go through this a second time."

Pete: Pete nodded again. "All right," he repeated. The case--which had also belonged to Clarke--was full of things from his time with Mason. Clothes, some accessories, photographs, cologne and some packs of Mason's brand of cigarettes Clarke had bought to burn when he missed his beloved's smell.

There was also a stack of letters Clarke had written to Mason. Some were copies of letters that had been sent, others originals he'd never had the courage to send. They were declarations of love, of longing, of nostalgia. Everything he'd wanted to say to Mason but hadn't been able to, committed eloquently and lovingly to paper.

His voice was gentle when he said, "I don't intend to make you do anything. I know I'm not really him anymore I just...I've been wanting to give you all this for months, ever since I relived his death. My death. I'm staying in town if you wanna....if there's anything you wanna know."

Mason: If there was anything he wanted to know. Questions of why he left rather than trying, why he loved him in the first place, why Paris, why that car, why, again he thought, did he feel the need to tell him any of this? Closure, but this felt anything but.

He headed for the door, opened it.

You're not my Clarke.

You're just Peter, the bartender.

Is that the same freckle on your cheek?

He couldn't look him in the eyes.

"I'll find ya if I have somethin' t'say. Right now, I need ya t'leave."

Pete: It was the same freckle. It had been one of the first things Pete had noticed when he'd started delving into Clarke's life. There were other identical freckles and birthmarks as well, but those would have to remain a mystery.

If Mason was reluctant to even accept that Pete had Clarke's soul, Pete seriously doubted he was in a mood to do a full body inspection.

Pete gave a single nod of acknowledgement and headed for the door. "The Richardson Inn, room twelve. I leave on Monday morning. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Atlas."

Mason: Mason watched the floor as he made his way back to the front of the room. He didn't want to notice anything else, not one mole, not another freckle, no familiar shape of his brow or nose. He couldn't bring himself to look. The consequences would be irreversible. Peter's hand would be taken and kissed as though it belonged to the one he had cared for. There was much to say, to apologize, to explain, but this was not Clarke Taylor.

"Goodbye, Mr. Graham."

Pete: Pete took his time walking back to his car, lingered beside it for a few moments in case Mason changed his mind and wanted to talk.

When there were no further signs of life from the house, he drove back to town. He'd try to enjoy it as best he could and keep himself available. That was really all he could do at this point. It was up to Mason to decide if he wanted to know more about him and Clarke, and if he didn't, then he didn't.

[tenscupcake]

my first, and possibly only, official statement on the new doctor.

i've honestly been truly and thoroughly baffled, and rather disappointed, by the lack of discussion occurring around this polarizing issue. in fact, in my brief experience on various social media platforms, discussion is rarely, if ever, allowed. the tiniest expression of discontent with the new doctor immediately elicits a slew of insults and accusations of misogyny. i have yet to have an actual conversation with anyone about this, aside from close personal friends who share my views, because those who don't share them will not even engage them. they instead immediately resort to name calling and shut down any attempts at conversation i make. honestly, it has driven a wedge between me and doctor who and its fandom like i've never experienced, not even in all my suffering through the moffat era.

i hesitated for a while about coming back on here at all. but i figured it would be wrong of me to not give my friends and acquaintances here a chance to really hear me out, since before i took a hiatus i hadn't really properly articulated my reasoning (for the aforementioned reasons). so to anyone interested in my thoughts on the matter (and let me explicitly mention here that i am referring only to rational people who are willing to either read silently and go about their day or else engage in a polite discussion with me, not people who are just going to send me vicious anonymous asks), here they are.

i’m sure it’s no surprise to any of my followers that i haven’t been actively watching the show for some time now. in fact, i stepped away indefinitely sometime early season 8, not because i had any issue with capaldi, but because i didn’t feel moffat’s writing had improved any since the last season.

so, it may have come as a surprise to many of you that i even had a strong reaction of any kind, be it positive or negative. and i can certainly see where you’re coming from, if that’s the case.

when it was announced early last year that moffat would finally be leaving, i threw a party. i literally did. i got together with my one other real-life friend who watches the show, watched rtd episodes, and made blue cupcakes (that were supposed to be TARDIS colored but turned out more of a pale teal and baby blue combo). i can’t even explain how happy i was at the mere suggestion of him leaving. because in my eyes, he took my favorite show and turned it into something i resented. it was such a slow and painful process to come to terms with the fact that a show i once loved was causing me so much grief, and finally part ways with it (at least in the sense of following along with the new episodes; i’ve obviously remained active in the rtd sect and continue to devote a significant chunk of my life to the doctor and rose *blush*). but i just couldn’t deal with the constant disappointment and rage anymore. i knew it was for the best.

i liked broadchurch well enough, with the exception of the second season, and i thought there was no way chibnall could be worse than moffat. and best case scenario, he could potentially resurrect the show into something i’d enjoy again. maybe it was foolish to hope for such a thing, but i owe far too much to this show after all it’s done for me to not give it a second chance under new leadership. so when, a few weeks ago, they told us the date they’d be announcing the new doctor, i got properly excited again. to put a face to my renewed hope in the series? it was hard not to get excited. the sound of the tardis still makes my heart swell with joy and gratitude. i’m still invested. just look at my room or my wardrobe. i’m a self-proclaimed doctor who geek through and through. if i wasn’t, i don’t think it would be possible for me to be genuinely upset about anything that happened to the show. the things we love are the things that can hurt us the most.

so, without prolonging the inevitable any longer, i’ll try to explain why i was/am upset by the casting announcement.

i really have three main reasons.

1. the issue of representation.

let me start out by saying i am a passionate advocate for better (i won't say more, because i don't think that's the issue at hand) female representation in media. especially film. i desperately want more intelligent, strong, powerful women in fiction. but what i absolutely do not want is to recycle traditionally male characters into female ones. doesn't this seem counterproductive to anyone else? its almost as though a man always has to pave the way, and only once he's established a character can a woman potentially take over. it’s trite and more than a little insulting.

give me more original female characters who kick ass. give me more natasha romanoffs, more reys, more elle woods, more leslie knopes.

don’t give me more batgirls or supergirls. don’t take a character as prominent and culturally significant as the doctor and morph him into a woman after 50+ years (or 2000+, depending on your perspective).

and you know, i've actually seen people say (addressing people who are upset about the casting): ‘a character’s gender doesn't have to match yours to be a good role model for you.’ you know what? to an extent, i actually agree. as a matter of fact, i strongly identify with and take inspiration from the doctor, even though he's a man. does nobody hear how hypocritical it sounds to say you want a woman to play the doctor purely so girls can have another role model, and then turn around and in the next sentence say gender is irrelevant to role models? yeah, this one really floored me.

but though i do think that one’s role models don’t have to match one’s gender 100% of the time, it is important to have some that do. and i do think there is an imbalance in the number of strong male leads in tv and film versus the number of strong female leads. keyword: strong. i’m tired of sexist stereotyping and failed bechdel tests, too. probably more than most, actually. but i think taking existing male characters and gender bending them is the absolute worst way to go about rectifying this imbalance.

2. the issue of the nature of gender.

i want to preface this by saying that, until fairly recently, i was something of a fundamentalist when it came to gender. but over the years, i’ve realized how problematic such views are. i’ve invested hours upon hours of my free time scouring reddit threads and watching documentaries about trans issues to understand this crucial part of the LGBT community. to learn. and what i’ve gathered from my thorough research, and heard from the many personal experiences of transgender individuals i’ve read, is that gender is something distinct from biological sex that is immutable. the gender you’re born with is the gender you are for life. (and yes, as i understand it this does also apply to genderfluid individuals - they’ve always been genderfluid even if it was not always expressed.) and changes made to physical appearance are merely affirming one’s gender, not changing it.

changing the doctor into a woman flies directly in the face of this very concept. and to me, it really, truly feels like an insult to the trans community.

it’s going back to the regressive fundamentalist view that sex = gender. that because the doctor has a woman’s body now, he must therefore identify as a woman. though this hasn’t been explicitly confirmed in so many words, given the widespread use of feminine pronouns and the term ‘woman’, i think it’s safe to conclude this is the case for the show. and this is so contrary to the whole message the LGBT community is trying to put out.

now. i’ve heard several potential counterarguments to this, so bear with me as i go through them.

first, people say ‘but the doctor is an alien, not a human. our gender expectations don’t apply.’ true. yes. he is an alien. but is the show really about his alienness? i think you’d be hard-pressed to convince me that it is. the truth is, though it’s told through tales of distant planets and creepy aliens, it’s really a show about humanity, and always has been. doctor who has always espoused a meaningful kind of secular humanism. it’s explored what it means to be human in so many impactful ways. and it’s because the doctor looks and acts human much of the time, succumbs to human emotions and has such human flaws, that he is so relatable. yes, it’s a sci-fi show about time travel and regeneration and spaceships, but if the doctor were completely alien and had no human qualities, it wouldn’t have become such a hit. don’t try to deny that. trying to distance the doctor from humanity is a detriment, not a benefit, to the show.

and though some may argue we ought to hope for and potentially work towards a future where gender is irrelevant, the fact is in today’s society gender is exceedingly relevant. and important. transgender people and feminist movements wouldn’t exist - wouldn’t need to exist - if it weren’t.

second, i see people say ‘the doctor has no gender.’ this one admittedly really throws me. no gender? where is the evidence for that?

for one thing, what point would there be to differentiating between time lords and time ladies if gender was not of import on gallifrey?

there is also a plethora of evidence to the contrary: the doctor has in fact consistently identified as a man. starting JUST with ten:

in ‘the christmas invasion’: he says ‘same man, new face. well, new everything.’

also in tci: ‘oh, that's rude. that's the sort of man i am now, am i?

also in tci: ‘no second chances. i’m that sort of man.’

in ‘fear her’: ‘look at my manly hairy hand’

in ‘evolution of the daleks’: ‘the only man in the universe who might show you some compassion’

in ‘utopia’: ‘i was a different man back then.’

in ‘voyage of the damned’: ‘i’m the man who’s going to save your lives’

in ‘the end of time’: ‘even if i change, it feels like dying. everything i am dies. some new man goes sauntering away.’

a couple of these quotes actually indicate that he has an innate sense of being a man that transcends regeneration. depending on his current level of angst, it seems, he sees himself as a different man or the same man, but the ‘man’ part remains the same. he doesn’t say ‘person’ or ‘character’ or anything to that effect. he says ‘man.’

not to mention, the doctor consistently objects to being called a human (or martian), and corrects those who mislabel him as such, but never once objects to being called a man (which is quite often).

and just so that no one accuses me of singling out one doctor too much, here’s a quote from the first doctor from the pilot, an unearthly child: ‘i’m an old man. how can an old man like me harm any of you?’

right off the bat. the doctor has been identifying as a man for literally thousands of years.

sorry for lingering on that sub-point for a while. it’s just so mind-boggling to me because there’s so much freely available evidence to the contrary.

third, i’ve noticed there seems to be some level of collective amnesia of the backlash from when the master made a comeback as missy. given what i’ve observed of people praising the decision retroactively, no one seems to remember the fandom’s response from that revelatory episode anymore. but i remember it vividly. a number of people were furious, the trans community and its allies in particular. and this outrage returned with a vengeance when missy kissed the doctor (12) later on. though i had already given up on watching the show by then (at least as long as moffat’s hellish reign continued), the anger and frustration i was seeing really resonated with me. 

i have never forgotten that, and it is undoubtedly a big part of the reason i’m so angry and frustrated now. i am at least consistent, if nothing else. but conversely, there seems to be a lack of consistency among much of the fandom, as i sense none of the widespread ire from the past making a resurgence now, and it’s unclear why. the same issues regarding gender are at play. it’s leading me to assume that many people are embracing this decision purely for perceived representation, while disregarding potential cultural issues it may raise, which i think is dangerously selfish and shallow.

3. the choice of actress.

i’m not going to pull any punches here, since i’m already putting my blog’s reputation in jeopardy by making this post at all. i don’t like jodie whittaker, specifically. i think she’s a terrible actress.

this is based purely off of watching broadchurch, because it’s the only thing i’ve seen her in. but her performance paled miserably next to david’s and olivia’s, and even some minor characters’. i mean, beth’s life thoroughly sucked, and everything in it went from bad to worse for a while, but i didn’t really care. she didn’t make me care. i think that’s a huge red flag for any actor. because, i mean, compare that to olivia’s performance. i mean, SHIT. miller made me feel things every episode. intense things. and beth didn’t. at all. ever.

so, even IF the other two issues were somehow resolved, i still wouldn’t be happy with the casting choice, because i am not at all impressed with this person’s acting ability. the doctor is a huge role. a critical one. and i’m honestly not sure what she did to earn it.

so, that’s it. it’s not every nook and cranny of my position, but it’s the gist of it.

as my final thought, i’ll reiterate what i said at the beginning, to anyone considering responding to this: hostile ad hominem responses will be resolutely ignored, but (time and volume of responses permitting) polite intellectual debate will likely be engaged. but let it be said that though i’m willing to listen to reason, it’s highly unlikely anyone will change my mind.

i don’t want this to widen the chasm between me and the fandom. i already feel so distant from it already, like i’m hanging on by a thread. in all likelihood, i won’t discuss the subject at all any more after this post, save for when responding to others’ comments or questions about it. and even then, i will do so privately whenever i can. because i really don’t want to dwell on it anymore. i’ve finally sunk myself back into ep after an extended hiatus due to surgery and work, and that’s what i’d really like to dedicate my free time to from here on out. that and my other d/r fics. that’s what makes me happy; not bickering with people who don’t agree with me.

so please! feel free not to respond to this at all. it is completely optional and even somewhat discouraged, because i am tired of thinking about it and being yelled at and insulted for it. i’d love to forget about it and move on, at least until i’m forced to confront it again this christmas. i want to get back to what my blog is all about - nine and ten’s era. david. the fun smattering of friends and parks gifs. but above all else, the doctor and rose. the couple i’ve dedicated the past four years of my life to.

no matter what happens, i’m going to stay with them. whether or not i stick around on tumblr, i’ll continue posting my fics on ao3. they’re my happy place. these characters mean the world to me. and doctor who will always be very dear to my heart, regardless of how the future of the show pans out. i hope my followers never doubt that.