#slowly getting back to unpacking the religious shit

[gxlden-angels]

Were you personally victimized by the JOY model in church? Did your youth pastor shame you for having basic needs? Do you compulsively feel the need to give the food from your plate, the clothes off your back, and the air from your lungs just to justify your existence? Well do I have the model for you!

Introducing: The "Y, Tho" Model

This model stands for:

Y - Yourself: You should put yourself first

T - The Bit: Always commit to the bit

H - Homies: Gotta kiss the homies goodnight

O - Others: You can worry about others when you have your shit together

Remember this model when you can't remember your priorities in life! Now get out there and change the world!

[linktoo]

Watching Alien 9 - how it's perceived and what it wanted to say

Warnings for themes of abuse and implied sexual assault. 

Two things before I start: I watched the subbed version of this, and also there are only 4 episodes if you want to check it out yourself, it’s very short.  

I started watching Alien 9 basically knowing nothing about it. It's an older anime, released back in 2001 so there isn't much internet discussion about it for each episode. But I remember watching it slowly realizing there’s a lot to unpack here. The art direction is beautiful and the dialogue is actually really strong. I went out of my way to look for analysis I could find on the internet because there was a lot that I couldn’t really put into words… but I very quickly came across an ongoing issue.

I guess this is probably a common problem with a lot of media that came out before the internet became the juggernaut that it has become today. The discussion you tend to find doesn’t seem to be very cleaned up or very nuanced - a lot of it is also probably lost to time with discussion forums and personal websites shutting down. But all I saw were really outdated remarks, like “oh kasumi’s the lolicon" and "this is pedo bait”, etc. It was gross and frustrating. So I wanted to talk about it in-depth.  

The anime is initially presented to be a cute slice-of-life anime. Set in a regular school with a sci-fi twist, it gives off a cheery sweet vibe, but even from the very beginning, there was always such an off vibe to it all. With the music fluctuating between cute and off-kilter and discordant. Every shot feels vaguely oppressive, trying to hide something that should be immediately within your line of sight if you were there yourself. You immediately get a sense that something is wrong. 

Not to mention so many silent shots of this looming, grotesque-looking alien pod that looms over the school with weapons. 

Someone commented that the OST for this anime like “a child with anxiety” which is such a great way to describe it! It’s filled with lots of very juvenile, bouncy tunes (like lots of recorders and kazoos and xylophones and horns), even with motifs that sound similar to nursery rhymes like “Mary Had a Little Lamb” but in a minor key. It gives a very jaunty feeling while distinctly feeling off. I think it also has a very soldierly, elementary school vibe to it - like the sound of a bell and young students chanting together in unison like a military cadence. There are instances of kids singing as a choir, giving a religious, holy aspect to certain tracks. It also mixes in synthy, crazy bonker wet sounding and snappy sound samples for the alien feel of it all. It’s erratic. And it’s so cohesive!! I really don’t know much about music composition, but it’s so distinctive to fit the narrative and themes of the show and I love it. Check it out if you’re interested, it’s so funky: [x]

The show focuses on three 12-year-old girls, being tasked with capturing and subduing aliens  with guns, roller skates, and symbiotic aliens that are attached to their heads and feed on their body fluids. Yeah. That’s a bit overwhelming. 

And Yuri Otani, the main character, gets so much shit for hating it. She was forced into it, in a very isolating method of basically the entire classroom ganging up to all vote for her to join (no one wanted to join themselves). The other two, Kumi and Kasumi, are very competent in their own way, which makes Yuri’s inability to capture these very understandably disturbing, pulsating creatures look foolish in comparison.

She cries. Yuri cries a lot. She’s already had a very overwhelming fear with anything that pertains to aliens and left to her own devices she collapses, faints, shudders, wails, and shuts down throughout the entire show. 

And understandably so, it’s creepy and gross and absolutely horrid! It doesn’t get any better!! But everyone around her acts like fighting these aliens are completely normal. Her peers are passive about her distress. Her one kind classmate friend tells her it’s not that bad because of the emergency perks. The adults around her tell her to just stick it out. The other two peers in the alien fighter club frankly have their own concerns and it’s more than just a bit of a liability that Yuri can barely defend herself at all. 

Yuri in turn struggles with depression every moment she isn’t fighting aliens. She can't get out of bed in the morning. She zones out, at home and at work. It’s very resonant with me, because that kind of depression is debilitating and takes over so much of your life - you’re seen as lazy when really, you quite literally can’t function unless someone firmly and continuously forces you to do something. It’s upsetting to watch. 

There are invasive, sexual overtones to this story. A lot of people have likened it to an allegory of puberty where your body is rapidly changing and just in general everything feels very confusing and upsetting. Being taken advantage of because you aren’t experienced. The danger that these adults put these children in and tell them just to figure it out or basically die trying, is very reminiscent of a lot of real societal pressure for kids to grow up with very little emotional support. To “toughen” them up, because one day they have to face this big scary world alone. It’s uncomfortable and it gets worse as the story progresses. 

I don’t want to get into it too much, but there is an allegorical gang rape scene that occurs to Yuri in episode 2. The Hunt club advisor already recognized that she was struggling with alien capturing and was instructed to feed the aliens alone, without the help of the other two members to keep her safe. There, three boys who willingly attached aliens to their head and have had this odd fixation on Yuri for several days, find her all alone. It’s violent. Their drills are overtly phallic themed. I can’t get over the haunting statement of her friend calling her “miss popular” just a few hours beforehand. Their attention was NEVER wanted and that framing is so unsettling to me, like the way people say women who were sexually assaulted were “asking for it”. It’s one of the most disturbing parts of the whole show.

It’s repulsive what they do to her. And her pain is destructive not to herself, but everyone around her. 

And how she immediately collapses when she sees the one person that has always been the closest thing to emotional support throughout the entire show. 

There are very human moments in the show, when there are people that show signs of affection that they didn’t have to do, but did it because they cared about her and it makes all the difference.

Yuri’s one friend Miyu always waits to walk home with her. The alien capturing duties are very isolating from the rest of the school, and forces Yuri to stay very late after everybody leaves. But Miyu waits long hours, and at the end of the day, excitedly meets up with her. She invites Yuri to go shopping with her. It’s very obvious she looks forward to the time they spend together.

(E.g. Miyu reading the shopping manual, passing a note to Yuri in class, the way she runs up to meet Yuri when she’s free. It’s so sweet.)

You can even see the beams almost being prison bars that Yuri is momentarily free from. She’s the reason why Yuri gets enough courage and resolve to try her best again with alien fighting and bonding with the others of her own accord. It shows a lot about Yuri’s desire to do well with the insane tasks and responsibilities her adults give her, even when no one else notices. 

The other two members of the alien capturing club are Kumi and Kasumi.

And though they help Yuri out, it’s definitely a little of a drag for them. Kumi in particular has this deep rooted anger when Yuri begs for help. Her own situation at home reminds her that she is constantly relied on; to be the good sport, to be the mature one in every situation and make all the decisions for everyone. 

“I don’t feel like being nice. Not anymore.

[...]

You know something? I was the class leader from grade one onward. Being class leader sucks. All you do is look after other people and you even have to be responsible for what they do. I always got stuck doing all the crappy jobs. That's why I have this position now. So nobody can say to me ‘YOU be the leader.’ Back off and take care of your own problems.” - Kumi

You can even see her wardrobe tends to be clothes that make her more mature than she actually is, especially her black turtleneck. But she’s just a kid, too.

And to her, Yuri is another pathetic whiny colleague asking for her help. Again. And she’s tired.

Kasumi's own narrative definitely is its own disturbing, isolated situation. She’s seen to be the least upset out of the three of them in the whole series, always with a level head and a smile on her face. She’s a prodigy, and seemingly enjoys what she does. She loves everything - sports, playing music, scoring high on tests. But you can see how it feels rather empty, how she’s put herself in this situation to constantly affirm to all the adults in her life that she is well adjusted and super talented. I get the feeling she was not given the love and attention really needed as a child, and did everything she could to get some form of acknowledgement. Notably, her big brother who is noticeably absent the entire time. For… disturbingly what was implicated to be because of incest and grooming. She never quite recovers from the yellowknife alien taking advantage of her unhealthy dependency on him, as they weren’t able to save her before it symbiotically fused with her.

It's not until the traumatic incident Yuri goes through that it’s revealed that the three of them are emotionally bound and feel Yuri’s distress as if it's their own. It’s startling, like they realize that they all experienced that same terror individually, but Yuri’s is much more paralyzing. And understanding that distress, they become particularly protective about her. They only have each other that can ever fully understand what they’re going through at the moment. A classmate couldn’t ever really see that, and Kumi and Kasumi become the people in Yuri’s life that truly empathize with the situation.

and with all of them, Yuri SHINES.

Every time there is a kindness that someone extends to her, her eyes light up. She goes quiet and says, “I think I can stick this out, I think I can keep fighting for a little while longer” and god honestly it makes me feel so weepy. Being shown even one ounce of love, one little action that says “I want you to be here with me,” it gives so much weight to her as a person, someone that keeps her being like. I don’t know! Just a little kid!! Doing random kid stuff!!! It’s genuinely healing and the things they do to coax her out of her shell just a little bit brings levity of the show and moments that she can feel safe again.

You also really get to see as she’s encouraged to get over her fears on a much lower level of danger (swimming in an ocean, running through a “haunted” shrine) with her friends. Even when she’s heavily reminded of her traumatic experiences, she can always run away, back to her friends' arms. 

Notice I didn’t point out her advisor leading the alien capturing duties, because she obviously has no real care towards these kids. It’s honestly a little insidious, because every adult Yuri comes in contact with is female, and have this like, motherly/teacher tone that can SOUND nice and polite, but it’s cold. It’s distant. The three go through harrowing experiences and all the advisor can focus on is her job, and what it means for her. Just that it’s just a nuisance to her. 

“This is strange. I didn’t ask for this. I wonder if it got here by attaching itself to a spaceship. I haven’t even finished checking everyone’s summer homework. This is the last thing I needed!”

Obviously, that doesn’t even begin to talk about how she and the other adults are not transparent at all and have hidden intentions for the girls.

And I want to get into that as a narrative with the discussion online, because holy FUCK. 

It’s time to talk about the obvious Neon Genesis Evangelion (NGE) inspiration that touches the show, from the stark compositions and beautiful animation and notably, how the main character is struggling with depression and the overwhelming responsibility that’s piled onto him. It’s honestly such an interesting comparison to me especially since the two main characters are in starkly different (yet overwhelming) situations. While Shinji is a 16-year-old boy, Yuri is a 12-year-old girl and their societal expectations based on each identity sets them apart. 

Everyone really loves to compare Shinji and Yuri, even going so far as to say “Alien 9 is basically just NGE.” God. That’s a bit reductive of a comparison. You can see the way they talk about both of them, how useless and crybaby and whiny they both are perceived to be by this audience. 

They call Yuri “bitchy”, they call her “useless crybaby”, they call her stupid and moronic, but most importantly, they say she has 0 character development throughout the entire show. I want to take a second to process that, because trauma does NOT equal character development. 

And finally, I want to talk about one of the most casually unsettling parts of the show for me, personally:

Yuri’s teacher notices that she’s distracted and detached. She can’t focus on school. And her assumption?

That she’s thinking about summer vacation. And then, in the very next scene, Yuri asks to quit the alien capturing duties because she can’t take it anymore - and the teacher says THIS.

The hypocrisy and apathy in these two scenes. The way adults pretend they care but also assume every sign of distress means you're just lazy. It’s heartwrenching. Which one is it? Stop relaxing, or don’t be so uptight? It’s maddening to me. To change the narrative to suit your own assumptions about this child because really, Yuri doesn’t have a choice in the matter. And she continues to collapse under the weight of these responsibilities, and continue to be locked into something that she is completely incapable of handling. 

Yuri is so overwhelmed all she can do is shut down and cry and everyone just tells her to get over it like one day she'll snap and do her job no problem like she's not going through the most harrowing shit no one should ever go through ever in their lives. And she ends up screwing up more and more because they keep withdrawing all support to "toughen her up". They NEVER take her seriously, they never let her breathe because she's just a little crybaby girl who doesn't know what's best for her and it just keeps getting worse.

And that’s what is so haunting to me, to see such a common response from the audience watching this same show, to sound exactly like these adults. To take away from the show that Yuri is useless and bratty and should have snapped and fought back at one point, like a main protagonist in a hero’s journey converting their trauma into a badass version of themselves or something. I don’t know, there’s something to be said about how these tone deaf reviews were written and discussed by cis men, while one of the few blog posts I actually liked about Alien 9 was posted in 2021 by two women. There’s a bit of a whiplash to how people received this show on the internet based on who was watching and when.

Anyway, there’s still way more to unpack in terms of the other characters in the show, but I’ll leave it here. Alien 9 in all of its flaws and open-ended questions deserves to be engaged head on. It has its flaws and due to cancellation and budget cuts, was forced to leave on a cliffhanger on its fourth and final episode. A lot was left open. 

But it had a very particular set tone from the beginning, and there was a lot of deliberate intention behind their creative decisions. I’m tired of seeing people say “it’s sooo weird” and “they didn’t know what they were doing” for discussion. It’s definitely a show I keep thinking about on and off again.

[kethabali]

Hello, I’m Ameera a 23 years old Muslim lesbian who is trying to come out, I’ve been in the closet with my girlfriend for way too long, because of how dangerous and hard it is to come out as a lesbian to a religious Muslim family, but me and my girlfriend have decided to do whatever it takes and risk it all to come out, do you mind supporting and encouraging us?, we have the plan to go away which is why I have my donation campaign pinned on my profile, if I raise at least that goal I can start the process with my savings, I can’t come out until I’d gotten my apartment and I’m away from family, so please support by donating if you can and help reblog though I know we all have what we dealing with, so I’m not imposing we just need all the support and encouragement we can get, check my pinned post for more information on how you can support, if you are a Muslim queer and you are out, please help with tips on how to make it less complicated, any word of advice is also really needed, we really wanna come out but we need y’all 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ pride please come through for us, I believe pride is for all

hi,

i wish i had some amazing life changing advice for you but the truth is that it's painful to be outcasted from your family and the trauma that comes with it doesn't leave your body for a long time. once i was safe i started to unpack everything and its a long process but really worth it when u start feeling grounded and less anxious

i'm not muslim but my family is so i was raised with islam and they did a lot of stuff to try to deter me from living my truth including literally kidnapping me while we were in bangladesh right before my flight back. the entire family would talk shit behind my back and only "respect" me to my face to keep up the niceties

it's family and that makes it hard to let go and accept that they may never come around, at least not in this life time but surrounding yourself with friends and support - your chosen family is so important. we have to help each other because who else will yknow

community is so important for queer people so i encourage you to seek out other queer people any way you can in real life and online. i don't know what country you live in but i've found even in the most homophobic conservative countries the queer groups are there even if very underground and disguised as other things. i hope you can get in contact with some queer organizations and hopefully they can help you gather funds and help with your move. also message me privately with ur city and if its my city or one i'm familiar with maybe i can find you some resources

for me queer organizations literally saved my life. when i ran away i stayed in an apartment run by a queer youth shelter and they weren't perfect, they had a lot of faults but it gave me sanctuary away from my abusive parents and a chance to explore myself and be a normal kid for a while (i was 17). queer organizations also helped me get many things; clothes, hygiene products, chest binders, hrt, support applying to aid programs, doctor appointments when my insurance was a mess bc i was a literal child and had no idea how to navigate healthcare. it was just a really good thing for me to have as i transitioned into adulthood on my own.

so i say find all the mutual aid and organizations available in your area connect with at least one queer person in real life and its likely they will know others and slowly you can build your network of resources. take care of yourself best u can, try to eat well and drink enough water, get outside at least once a day, journaling and listening to music helps me a lot with processing emotions, confide in ur girlfriend or friends, do ART i really recommend this one it can be very therapeutic and healing. any type of art- drawing, painting, knitting, photography, dancing, singing etc it's good to express yourself in some way when everything else feels so restricted. try to have something for yourself to keep holding onto hope when things get really bad like maybe a pin, some type of token to remind you of your truth and that things won't be this way forever. remember that the entire queer community would back you up in a heartbeat and so many people will love you that you haven't even met yet!

[a-weird-writer]

What are your honest thoughts on the thing I found on Asura and Taishakuten?

(A TLDR is at the end, this very quickly turned into a rant, hope you don't mind. I said some things.)

Ashura - Japanese Wiki Corpus (japanese-wiki-corpus.org)

Lots of shit to unpack there I'll say that first XD.

Reading articles like this is one of my favorite pastimes but damn, know what I mean? Shouldn't be surprised at the numerous symbolism and religious references, how long it really stretches back; Buddhism has loads to unravel, and the lore is miles long thanks to the historical "changes" throughout the centuries. Makes sense, things change and slowly get lost to time, bound for some grey areas.

Taishakuten seems to act douche supreme both in game and canon mythology. Surprised to find out he was a high-class god of war himself, I can already tell its complicated, like how a majority of myths like to be.

I respect how the original stories reflect in game, intentional or not, they did good research. Gotta gets some things correct.

Despite this, its overall logic is pretty ridiculous. And I am not talking about magic.

The betrayal for one thing, is weird. From how it was set up, the deities were on decent terms, until the whole, Taishakuten stealing Asura's daughter incident. From what I understand he just took her out of the blue? What is the reason exactly? Because Asura wanted her to marry Taishakuten? Asura already wanted her to marry him, it looks like he already knew that too. So, what was the purpose of the sudden kidnapping? It was absolutely useless, the idol master of your people, a literal leader of heaven just outright taking you like that. Away from your loving family and household. I am doubtful Sachi much appreciated it. And what about her feelings as well? No say at all. It doesn't mention anywhere she didn't want to marry Taishakuten, and I'm confident it was hammered in her head how glamorous of a god he is. I don't know how it works in Hindu or India, my knowledge on their cultures and structure is very vague (I know their gender roles are different from America's), but really?

Seems to mention it as a law thing in their realm.

It barely makes any sense. Because Asura did permit him? Did he have second thoughts at the last minute? Read everything I said above.

On another hand what is up with myths and abducting people? Stealing and shitting on brides like what the fuck? Crazy mythos. I don't blame Asura for his anger, Taishakuten asked for war on that one.

But man, I quickly cringed when I was nearing toward the end.

The part about ants confused me the most. So what? Asura, seriously, this man stole your child and raised a whole ass army against you for next to no justifiable reason when you understandably tried to return her home, but now you're magically showing him "sympathy" when he "mercifully" stopped to avoid stomping on ants?

Stomping on ants? On ants?!

Asura, I love you; I really do, your characterization is one of the most interesting and expressive plots in the series. And myths are far from realistic, that is why they called them myths. But they all run on some sort of common ground and humane moral telling, making them a joy to read and relatable enough. Kidnapping is evil, your child was taken, ok that's bad. We all agree you know that's some evil stuff, even for a "demon". And now, you're going after the King who wronged you, perfectly logical and fair. Well-deserved on Taishakuten's part in all this.

But while your daughter was being kidnapped (A victim of "indecent conduct" in other versions of the story mind you), you stopped in the middle of a damn war after her...because you considered ant life more valuable...literally just fucking ants.

You were more afraid of crushing ants, mere bugs who literally got no beef with you, then rescuing and saving your daughter. Your own flesh and blood.

Wow, I never thought I'd drop all interest in a character from only a single sentence.

Maybe it is best for Sachi to stay far as fuck away from every single one of you. Ya'll got issues. Issues she doesn't need to deal with.

TLDR; Asura did nothing wrong, all he wants is his family back together and Taishakuten needs a wakeup call to rot in hell. But everything is ok now because an ant colony saved the world. Somehow.

[happyreid187]

Privilege - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.1 K

A/N: Sad Spencer post nightmare comfort. Discovering and sharing feelings about each other. Mild angst then fluff. I wrote this after my season 8 rewatch but it’s not explicitly situated in any particular season. 

Warnings: Brief mentions of Spence’s various trauma; case issues, mom issues, drug use, generalized dark and twistiness. Insecurity. Swearing. Single sentence implying reader grew up religious. References to sex but not actual smut. 

____

With both of us working insane hours, we agreed early on to be casual, and then completely and entirely ignored that agreement in every way except verbiage. Avoiding labels and verbal expressions of affection, I pretended that it wasn’t emotional self destruction to spend every waking hour with this man who was notably not my boyfriend. With the amount of affection between us, it was easy to pretend it was something more. When we weren’t working, I essentially lived in his bed.

____

I was deep asleep when I heard him whimpering, waking to find him tossing and turning, breathing quickly. It took me a second to get my bearings, but when I did, I woke him as gently as I could

“Spencer! Spence.” His eyes shot open, and he immediately jumped, looked to me with his eyes welling up, and started shaking.

“Hey,” my voice was desperate as I wrapped my arms around him, “Baby, what’s the matter?” The pet name was generally reserved for other activities in this bed, but it felt appropriate now. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to calm him. “Was it about a case?”

“It was about...” he started. “No, I don’t want to freak you out!” He sort of tossed and turned again, now in my lap. “This isn’t your job, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He sounded angry; with himself, and the situation. I tried to ignore the feeling that’s he might be angry with me.

“Why would it freak me out? Your job is depressing as shit, Spence. This is kind of predictable. Talking through it with you? None of this is work for me. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you can.” I said, waiting for him to decide how to proceed.

He fiddled with his hands in that nervous way of his. “It was about you. First, you were breaking? Like glass on a windshield? Cracking but not falling apart. And everything around us was breaking; the phones and then the walls and then your face,” his voice broke then, “and then my own chest.”

Where the tears were only threatening to overflow before, he was really crying now, in a way I’d never seen him do before. In a way grown men rarely do in our terrible society if they can avoid it. In a way that made it hard for either of us to breathe. “But then it sort of mixed with work, and there was an unsub and he had you, and I couldn’t get to you. I tried, but I couldn’t get to you, and then...” he paused there, and I inferred the rest by his pained silence.

“You don’t have to keep going, I get it. And I’m not freaked out. I’m right here, Spencer. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you too. You are okay. You’re okay.” he didn’t say anything for a minute, and I rethought my words. “I’m not trying to belittle or silence you. I know you don’t feel okay. But you’re here with me, and no one’s broken, and you’re breathing, and I’m breathing, and you’re okay.”

“I’m not worried about me...” he grumbled, like it was obvious. Like I was wasting our time, worrying about him.

“Well I’m fine. I’m good. I’m happy to be here for you.”

He looked up at me doubtfully. “How can you be happy to be woken up at 4:02 am?”

Too sleepy to veil my feelings entirely, with words like adoration and devotion drifting through my head, I settled on saying, “It’s a privilege to have the chance to be here for you, and support you, and help you feel better. I have you, and you have me; okay? I’m here.”

“I’ve got you...” he softly echoed my words from earlier.

“You’ve got me.” I answered easily. It was a simple, honest fact to share.

There was a shift in him then. He pushed himself up with one arm, leaning back and staring at me, looking exasperated and vaguely frantic, like he just realized something was wrong. He looked almost angry as he asked “What the fuck are we doing?

I didn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m having nightmares about losing you, you’re like, taking over my subconscious, and renting all this space in my head, and then I wake up to find you here, in my bed, drying my tears and calling it a privilege! Like do you have to be so... I don’t know. Warm?” Well, that was a new one. I had never known that to be a bad thing, particularly with him. He flocked to my sentimentality like a moth to a flame.

He wasn’t done though. “I never intended to care about someone this much. It’s confusing for me. I know you have your catholic guilt, but you don’t have to martyr yourself for me. Dealing with my shit is emphatically not a blessing.” He took a deep breath and braced himself. He half smiled, half sobbed, and to be frank, he was freaking me the fuck out. “Unless you..” he trailed off. IQ of 187; an epic communicator, this one. I gave him a look that begged him to continue, holding my tongue as if he would break, like the dream, if I spoke. He sighed heavily, trying to catch his breath. I reached over hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to be touched, terrified of making it worse. Slowly, I wiped away the tears on both cheeks, willing him to look at me. He didn’t, choosing his lap instead.

I waited for him to continue. “I don’t have a lot of experience with fuck buddies,” he spit the last two words like they repulsed him, like they didn’t fit right on his tongue. Foreign words with uncertain and unsettling definitions. “...but I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this.”

“Feel like what?” Despite the tears and the heavy air that threatened to suffocate me, I felt a new feeling. Like I would maybe feel better soon. I silently begged him to speak faster, hoping he could somehow telepathically pick up on my anxiety as I hung on every word.

“A privilege. That’s just...” he paused again, shaking his head. I could feel my anxiety coursing through my veins in a bizarrely literal sense. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, and I waited in suspense as he chose every word carefully. He then looked with me with the warmth I’d come to know, to expect, and to crave. “I know you’re a really tender person but why would you do this if we're just sleeping together?”

IQ of 187, this one.

After his lengthy monologue with its intensely painful pauses I cut straight to the point. “Are we?”

The sadness vanished from his face, leaving nothing in its place but wheels turning. No more damned pauses; I have to be brave now. “I’m not.”

“What?” I couldn’t figure out what to make of his expression. It wasn’t relief. Concern, maybe? Or disbelief? “Just sleeping with you that is. Does that make you upset?”

“No, no, y/n/n, it doesn’t make me upset.” his eyes meeting my face. I could feel that he was about to ramble, finally, and I was intensely grateful. “It depends on what you really want. It’s hard for me to believe that you actually want this.” he points at himself, like that explained his insecure thinking. Honestly, how dare he speak about my person in such a way, but now wasn’t the time to critique his criticism.

“You want to be woken up by nightmares after cases? To sleep alone while I’m gone? and when I’m around deal with my neurosis and awkwardness and rambling? and family drama? and drug cravings?” He dropped his eyes and his voice, “You could do so much better.”

We didn’t have time to even begin to unpack all of that. Not in the middle of the night, on the edge of everything we both want. I could write a novel explaining how he is in fact the very best I can imagine, but that would take time to convince him of. Time like years. Time like marriage.

Again trying to move this conversation to the conclusion I ached for just a bit faster, I answered directly, “Yes. I want that. I want you.” Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I searched his face for some sort of happiness or disgust but received a blank stare and a look of bewilderment.

“I just want you. I’ve wanted you this whole time. I thought you would figure it out.” I laughed, and he smiled, a real smile that touched his hazel eyes that somehow sparkled in the dimly lit room, finally. “With fuck buddies, I don’t typically snuggle and go on museum dates or stop seeing other people or stick around for months.”

“You want me?” he smiled, but doubt loomed, and his smile fell as his long fingers traced my jaw.

“You say that now, but I think you’re going to find that I am a difficult person to love.” He said, as if I didn’t already know him. As if I didn’t already see him in all of his brilliance and darkness, all of his complexity and baggage. As if knowing him hadn’t been a precursor to loving him.

“Spencer, everyone thinks that about themselves.” I replied, greeted with still more disbelief. I continued in spite of him. “Besides,” I shrugged with a small smile, like my conclusion was entirely self evident, “It’s too late now.”

“What, you think that about yourself? First of all, you are unbelievably easy to love. The easiest in the whole world, probably. I know that that sounds hyperbolic, but I really mean it - I sincerely think that you are the single most lovable woman on the planet.” he rambled, talking with his hands and earning a tearful chuckle from me. “In my world at least. You are in fact, despite my best efforts, impossible not to...” he paused to physically shove the thought away, moving forward with a grimace.

“Second of all, what do you mean too late? I have a feeling I might know what you’re going to say. Please say it, y/n,” he whispered like that would make it less scary. “Or do you want me to say it? I don’t want to spook you but... it’s too late for what?”

“Too late to stop myself from loving you.”

 Finally, finally a look of understanding graced his face. A look like he believed me. He smiled that stunning, whole face smile of his that was reserved for special occasions.

 “Can you say the whole thing?”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you, too.”

He was only half sitting up anyways, so when I kissed him he fell to the bed, and protested immediately. “No! I’m so gross and snotty, stop.” I settled on peppering kisses on his neck and damp cheeks instead.

I laid my head on his chest, murmuring, “You can go back to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll still be loving you, and I won’t be broken because of it, and I certainly won’t be gone.”

“Okay,” he responded, voice still broken, but no matter. He’ll heal. He’ll believe me more with time. Eyes heavy and stinging, my adrenaline eventually waned, and I was about to fall back asleep, when his voice pulled me back.

“Just to be completely clear, this is no longer a fuck buddy situation. Like, I'm your boyfriend. Right?”

“Was it ever really a fuck buddy situation?” I laughed “But if it was, it’s over. You are mine, Spencer Reid. If that wasn’t obvious.”

I could hear his smile in his voice “Sorry, it’s so late, and my brain isn’t really working and I just wanted to make absolutely sure.”

He paused for a few minutes.

“I’ll check back again in the morning.”

“I’ll still be here.”

~~~

In my half asleep state, his soft words barely registered. “Good morning, sweet girl. I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

“I love you too.” I mumbled, smiling without opening my eyes. There’s his confirmation. He’s always been one for collecting good data, I suppose.

“Please keep doing that.”

[dadsbongos]

Greetings! I got this idea for danganronpa AU where Nagito is like ghost "living" (or haunting idk-) his old house and the reader moves into that house and they slowly became closer and yk<3

hi i love this concept :)

Request for: Nagito Komaeda Warnings: nagito’s backstory, slight religious overtones, we breach minor ghost-fucker territory (but no actual ghost-fucking), no-killing game au also ~~~

The house itself was rather nice. Nothing too luxurious for who the previous owner was aside from the obnoxiously fancy chandelier hanging in the den.

The realtor was hesitant to explain that the reason it was selling so comically cheap was, in fact, due to the belief of a ghost. Not just any, however. It was the previous owner’s ghost.

People who even stepped into the house could feel his chilling touch. Hear quiet, shaky whispers in the night. The fireplace would crackle and burst to life at strange times with nobody near it. Visitors and almost-buyers alike would thrust their warnings to stay away upon anybody who so much as looked at the home.

But that didn’t matter much - a house was a house and it’s not like the ghost was malicious from description. Just… annoying. Perhaps a little eerie, but again, not harmful. Everybody escaped without physical injury. So, why not buy it?

Maybe the ghost just needed a friend? Death was probably a lonely time.

Bought on Tuesday. Moved in Wednesday. Finished unpacking… still pending.

It’s not like (Y/n) had anybody to impress anyways. She’d made the move for a fresh start; new faces, new stories.

The bumps began on Friday.

Sometimes they were taps. Sometimes crashes followed by the gentle rapping against the walls, as if to apologize for the loud noise.

She’d stayed through the month, undeterred by any of the ghosts’ activities.

Then the happenings seemed a little more… intimate.

A photo slowly sliding out from beneath the fridge, at first.

Three people in frame. From left to right, there was a figure with shoulder-length pink hair and a smile to make the heavens jealous - then white hair to rival a cloud-marshmallow love child, skin sickly pale and body wastingly thin - finally, brown hair with an ahoge sticking out like an antenna and posture that almost made him taller than the one in the middle. Well, not really, but attempting counted, right? 

“Which one’s you?” she asked the air, whether she was too tired, or simply didn’t care enough, to be embarrassed was irrelevant. 

A single droplet of water, from a leak she didn’t know existed until this very moment, fell from the ceiling before splotching over the face of the one in the middle.

“White hair, heavy eye bags?”

There was no response, but she took it as a yes anyway. What a pretty, pretty face. In a tragic way.

Because he did look rather ill. Frail build and purple hues under his eyes. Pretty but suffering - it made her feel bad. Of course, she already knew he was dead, but even so - suffering should always inspire empathy rather than romance.

And again, he was dead, so the likelihood of a romance between them anyway was slim to none. None. Unless she suddenly dropped dead, there would be no sweet kisses in the morning or gentle hugs from behind as one of them makes dinner. Maybe when she died, he’d be available for a ghostly date while the house gets put back on the market.

(Y/n) chuckled at the sudden thought of lightning cracking into her home, despite the sunny weather, and striking her dead where she stood. Ridiculous, but God liked ridiculous things.

The sudden thought hit her - what if that old photo was old old? Maybe he was eighty when he died and she just subconsciously signed herself up for a date with an elderly ghost?

Shaking her head, (Y/n) scolded herself for the thought. She’d already be dead by then, it wouldn’t matter what age he was...

Then, it was the scribbling on spare papers. Always specifically spares. Double copies she had put in recycling. Scraps. Even on the backs of paper-esque trash. It was an oddly considerate move for a ghost, though to be fair, she’d never met a ghost before and couldn’t tell if it was out-of-place or not for them.

The words always appeared when she was out of the room. Leaving to grab something and coming back to find the out-dated schedule for work out of recycling and on her desk with crayon sprawled over it. 

Hi 

Eloquently said, in her opinion.

“Hi?” she looked around the room, “Can you not talk? I thought people said they heard whispers…”

A bang in the other room drew her out. When there was nothing out of place, she returned to her desk only to be met with more words.

I’m Nagito Komaeda :)

“Dodging the question, huh?”

The process repeated. Bang. Nothing out of the ordinary. Return. New words.

Sorry :(

“Don’t apologize,” (Y/n) shrugged off before moving to her computer, “I’m just gonna look you up.”

A series of bangs - now that she truly listened, it sounded like a fist pounding to the drywall - resonated through the home. She did not get up nor did she pause her actions of Googling the man known as Nagito Komaeda. 

Until a piece of paper flew in from the open door.

Bad idea

“Probably, yeah,” she huffed, moving back to her computer.

Nagito Komaeda, born April 28th, first popped up as the sole survivor in an old plane hijacking report. Both parents, all plane staff, and the hijackers left dead after the plane crash caused by a meteor strike. Then he came up as a survivor of an old serial kidnapper/killer. Then as a boy who’d inherited the entirety of his parents’ fortune and won a large sum from a lottery ticket he’d found in the trash bag he was stuffed in by his kidnapper. Then as a Hope’s Peak graduate under the title Ultimate Lucky Student.

Finally, as a 25-year-old man who’d miraculously survived ten years post-diagnosis with frontotemporal dementia and advanced lymphoma before his death.

“Holy shit,” she nearly choked on her own shock, “You weren’t boring, that’s for sure.”

Another paper, this time written in marker as if he could sense that she didn’t wish to get up. Another strangely considerate move.

Thanks 

You’re not creeped out?

“I mean, it’s more sad than creepy,” her eyes scanned over a single line in the article once again.

“Nagito Komaeda, after all his fortunes and misfortunes alike, died at age 25, after ten years of illness, surrounded by friends who took the place of family. Out of respect, no interviews were conducted, but anybody, anyone at all even from a quick glance, could tell - Nagito Komaeda will surely be missed.” 

Her eyes watered slightly as she clicked out of the Togami Publications, laughing at the pure awkwardness of her situation, “Oh my God, that’s really fucking sad. I’m sorry your life sucked.”

Another paper.

It’s fine

I was just wasting space anyway :)

“No, you were- “ she gestured to her computer screen before covering her eyes in shame of her tears, “You meant so much to your friends.”

She expected memorial posts, maybe not as many as there were, but she saw them coming. What she didn’t see coming, however, was that each and every one would be dearly heartfelt - not a single one was disingenuous or vague in the slightest. She also didn’t see herself crying by the end of her little search.

But there she was.

Something light floated into her lap. A tissue.

“Oh my fucking God,” (Y/n) choked up again, picking up the tissue with a small smile, “Stop, you’re a ghost, you’re supposed to be scary and making me leave, not helping me dry my tears…”

Another paper atop the slowly growing pile.

Was that a ghostphobic remark?

“Oh, I’m keeping that one,” she stood, sniffling as she wiped away her tears, and picked up the last paper, nodding to herself as she muttered, “Yep. This one’s going on the wall.”

~~

Nagito stopped whispering because people ran when he did. His voice was always hideous, he didn’t to be reminded. Besides, (Y/n) seemed to prefer the paper method - she hung up her favorites along the walls of her office and if a visitor teased her about it she would ignore them. It was admirable, how their grins and giggles rolled off her back like water droplets over a duck.

He wished he could be like that.

Could have been.

He still had trouble with that.

Has.

Nagito looks up from his spot at the kitchen table where (Y/n) was cooking for herself. She seemed so at-peace in this house, and he’s glad for that. He never liked living alone and everyone else seemed to hate having him there. Not that he blamed them much.

Even so, he much prefers (Y/n) over any past guest as his living counterpart of the house.

She even leaves chairs open for him at the table; he smiles widely at the thought, patting his thighs and kicking out his legs in his seat- just like now!

She’d pulled out the chair upon entering the kitchen before calling out for him that she’d be cooking. She even knew he liked watching her cook!

It was selfish of him to crave so much attention, but in the end, Nagito was already dead so… did it really matter when he indulged in his wants more than he should?

Divine punishment isn’t real and he likes being around her, so why should he bother hiding himself away in the attic?

(Y/n) moved around the house with little to no liveliness, it made him chuckle. Her shoulders drooped and footsteps heavy, it was fun. To feel like he wasn’t alone.

He hoped she felt the same. That he was a friend… or, undead companion?

He hoped she would stay and not move out.

He hoped they could be real friends one day… if it’s not too much to ask, that once she dies, she’ll meet him. The real him. 

That would be heaven.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

The Cookout

Note: Inspired by art from @nix-akimbo seen here.

Summery: Your friend’s mom invites you over to neighborhood cook out.

Warning: Sex in a shed. Rough sex, cream pie, choking, spanking

Bucky x Reader

As soon as Sam's mom opened the door she lit up like a Christmas tree. You were in town and thought you should swing by, before heading back out of town.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever!" Mrs.Wilson squealed.

"Sorry I'm just so busy at work that I don't have time to come out to these parts often."

Mrs. Wilson released you and shouted out to her son.  Moving to the side she walked you through the house where you found your childhood best bud unpacking groceries.

"Well, aren't you the domestic" you kid the goofball.

"Aye!" Sam shouted, arms out stretched, putting down the item in his hand to rush over and hug you. "What are you doing here?"

"Just swinging by. I am heading back to the city tonight."

"Oh no! Stay the night. The neighbors are putting together a big  BBQ party tomorrow. I'm making ribs" she nudged you with a wink. Your stomach nearly growled from that alone. Mrs.Wilson's cooking was legendary.

Living in the city you rarely cooked for yourself. Sustaining heavily on a diet of takeout or frozen confections.

"Hmmm" you pondered playfully "What do I need to bring?"

"Nothing but your appetite" Sam chimed in.

"Well OK then, let me see if I can get my room, back and I will come round ar.."

"Girl don't make me spank you! Sam's house is big enough for you too. Sam! Go get her things out the car!" You laughed as she barked orders at her boy.

Back in the day you could not have imagine this super religious woman would ever allow you to sleep under the same roof as her boy, but times seemed to have really changed. But you slightly figured ulterior motives were at play.

The next day you arose to the sound of Marvin Gaye and smokey charcoal from the large barbecue grill outside.

After brushing your teeth, washing your face and slapping on some yoga pants and loose tee you make your way down to the kitchen.

Thankfully a pot was already percolating and of course Mrs. Wilson had set a side a plate of bacon, eggs and toast with a note addressed to you.

Walking over to the cabinet you waved to Sam and his mother, the pair arguing over something on the grill outside. The familiar sight of their banter bringing a smile to your face.

Searching the cabinets you sing to yourself as the Isley Brothers started to play.

"And who are you?" A strange voice startled you from behind.

"Oh shit!" You screeched, dropping the procaine cup in fright.

"Sorry Doll didn't mean to scare you."

His open Hawaiian shirt exposed his tattooed arms and chest. Your eyes scanned his body, your teeth dragging across your bottom lip as he stood before you.

"See something you like Doll?"

"I-i um" you stutter out.

"James!" Mrs.Wilson shouted as she came through the patio door.

"Good morning beautiful!" He smiled turning his attention away from you to her.

She embraced and hugged the stranger. Sam's mother stepped back and introduced you to him. Stretching out a hand he asked that you call him 'Bucky'.

"Nice to meet you."

"She is an old friend of Sam's, just in town for a bit." She explained to him.

"James lives next door and served with Sam, helping to protect my baby." Mrs. Wilson pinched his cheeks adorably making you giggle.

"Hey man!" Sam called from behind you. "Come around to steel our secret recipe huh?"

Bucky held his hands up in surrender, the two men chatted while Mrs. Wilson stayed back with you. You watched the exchange while picking up the pieces of the shattered cup from the floor.

Mrs. Wilson sent you on a quick errand to pick up a few bottles of Hennessy and Crown Royal. As you drove back to the neighborhood the party was already starting to kick off.

Parking in front, you unloaded the car and brought in the bottles. Fumbling with the door as you try and open it a hard body brushed up against you making you gasp.

"You scare easily don't you Doll?"

The smooth sound of Bucky's voice appeared from behind you. You scoffed at his remark. Taking one of the bags from your grasp, he opened the door and pushed past you.

Following behind you both march to the kitchen and through the back door. Placing the booze on a picnic table that was beginning to be stuffed with food and drink.

You looked around for the familiar faces of Sam or his mother, but weren't around. Presumable making their rounds to the other houses.

"You look like a lost puppy Doll." Bucky said as he poured a drink into one of the plastic cups.

"Not really a party person" You shrugged, Bucky passed you a cup and you reluctantly took it. The generous pourer didn't dink mix the hard liquor with soda so the burn was strong.

"Moved on from scaring and now trying to kill me huh?" You popped open a coke to dilute the awful drink.

"Sam never mentioned you were such a light weight." Bucky teased.

“Sam doesn’t mention a lot of things its seems.”

He was handsome and you were sure he knew it. He hovered around you, talking to neighbors that passed by. While you took out your phone a sipped your drink.

"If you are done baby sitting your drink do you think you can help me with something?" Bucky asked.

"What?"

"I need help getting the extra tables out of the shed. Can't find Sam so I figured you would do."

You ignored the way he looked you up and down. "Fine lets go."

Walking behind him to the shed, he opened the door and allowed you to walk in first. The small cramped space held a rusted muscle car that Sam had told you he was going to fix up. The old clunker surrounded by rusty tools and folded tables. Bucky squeezed past you, accidentally knocking you forward onto the hood of the car.

"Hey watch it Bucko." You scolded him as you try and push up.

"Sorry Doll" he paused finally noticing your awkward position. Pulling back from the tables he moved to squeeze behind you again.

When he pressed his cock on your ass you felt instant heat.

"Do you mind? Kinda hard for me to move with you like this." You looked over your shoulder at him.

"I can see why Sam has kept quiet about you now" rubbing his groan on you, standing up straight he didn't allow for any space.

"I think the tables are over there." changing the subject, you point and try to move, but he placed hands on either side of you not allowing you to move.

"Big city girl so up tight" he spoke into the shell of your ear.  Bucky's cock felt hard as he pressed on the fat of your ass.

"You know I think they might be looking for us" you try and move again, but Bucky bumped you a harder with his hips.

"Nah they're fine" Bucky hummed as he hooked his thumbs in the waist band of your yoga pants. Your hands move to the top of his and you hesitate to pry him off. The buzz of the booze started to course through your veins. Pulling your pants down past your ass you couldn't find the strength to stop him.

Bucky pushed your shoulder forward and you found yourself on the hood of the car again. A part of you wanted to bring an end to this while the other half blamed it on the alcohol.

"Fuck Doll your already making me pre come." Bucky tapped the head of his cock on your as and growled. You could feel yourself grow wet, thinking about him putting his cock inside you.

With one hand gripping your hip, he guided his tip to your folds. Playing with your wetness, teasing you with gentle pressure at your entrance. "We should probably s-stop" you started to stutter. Thinking of how you didn't want Sam or his mom to find you like this.

Bucky only tsk'd as he pressed in to part your slick lips with his dick. The slow stretching made you moan lowly. A hard smack came across your ass making you hiss in pain.

"Don't be shy on my account Doll" he pushed his weight into your ass, leaning into your ear."I want to hear you scream."

"Mmm" you grit your teeth as you try and adjust to his size.

"So tight Doll, you fit me so good."

Standing up straight, Bucky pulled your hips back with it. Rocking his hips slowly into you, smacking your ass with each odd stroke. Your hands cup the side of the car for support as  you threw it back on him. Bucky groaned watching you bounce on his cock, praising your efforts to take him deeper before taking control again.

The music of the party bled through the walls giving you the courage to moan louder as be fucked you. You didn't care that your knees hit hard against the tires of the beat up car. Or that each stroke had you gasping as he hit the inner wall of your mound. Now the idea of being caught made this event all the more exciting.

"Fuck Bucky!" You shouted as your hands move to scrub against the hood of the car.

"That's it Doll, tell me who you belong to." His cocky tone bringing out your bratty side. Looking over your shoulder, Bucky's body glistened in the dimly lit room.  

When he locked eyes with you, you shake your head no. His cocky smirk returned with the build between your legs.

He gave a hard thrust and it took every thing just to choke it down. Pushing and holding himself deep inside of you, the fullness almost too much to bare. Your feet dance in place as Bucky's hand snaked up your spine, wrapping around smoothing over your breast until he rested on your neck. His grip tightened on your throat, forcing your back into an uncomfortable angle. Your hands barely able to touch the hood of the car.

"Fuck shit!" You choked out.

"That's not my name Doll" he growled as he made his grip tighter around your neck. His hips slammed into yours with a punishing pace.

"Ahh shit fuck" you moan out as you feel your mound start to throb.

"Still not my name. Say it!" He commanded.

You couldn't take it, you felt so full. Your pussy stuffed with his dick, your eyes start to roll as he grunted your name.

"Bucky! Bucky! Shit!" You mewled out as your cunt worked his dick while you cum.

His victorious chuckles mixed with a primal moan. His pace steady as a warmness filled you, leaking out past him and down your thigh. Bucky's cock twitched as he emptied himself inside of you.

"Shit! Did you cum in me!" you exclaim as he slowly pulled out. His seed dripping slowly down your leg, turning to face him, he only gave a shrug and a smile. Pulling up your pants you fume at his irresponsibility and your own stupidity.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Fifty Nine

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

June 18th, 1995 Remy sat as still as he could in the church pew while the pastor continued to talk. Usually he just droned on and on for forty five minutes or so, but today he was riled up. He was yelling about fire and brimstone and God coming down to smite all the gays from the face of the earth.

There had been some serious niggling doubts in Remy’s mind concerning religion before, but this just sealed the deal for him. He was very much not going to believe in any god or gods who hated him just because he was gay.

Toby glanced at Remy and scribbled a note in the corner of the church bulletin. You okay?

Remy nodded, and wrote back, I’m okay. Just decidedly agnostic.

Toby bit back a snicker even as he winced in sympathy. Remy just shrugged and leaned back into the pew. Religion just wasn’t worth it.

  March 31st, 2002

Remy woke up that morning slowly, for once consciousness not dumping a bucket of cold water on his head in order to get him awake, albeit groggy. He stretched, feeling the bedsheets...he paused. He felt the bedsheets in a lot more places than he normally did. He was naked.

Suddenly that bucket of cold water came crashing down and he bolted upright in bed with a gasp. “Holy shit,” he breathed, looking around wildly for his clothes. He found his briefs on the floor and pulled them on, cheeks flaring red like a forest fire. He kept cursing under his breath, hands shaking hard as he pulled up his briefs from the day before. He knew what had happened. He remembered what had happened, every dirty little detail. He had slept with Emile last night, in more than just the literal sense.

“Rem?” Emile asked softly from behind him. Remy turned to find Emile blinking owlishly at him from behind his glasses. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Remy said, cheeks red as he realized that Emile was also waking up naked, and turning redder at the reaction that gathered from him.

“Aw, shit,” Emile said, pushing himself up and grabbing his clothes. “I was worried that we were going too fast, that we did it too soon. I thought...I worried that you’d wake up and instantly be a nervous wreck.”

Remy shoved shaking hands into the crooks of his arms, crossing them tight. “Emile...”

“Did I push you too far? Did I make you feel like you had to sleep with me?” Emile asked, as he got dressed. “God, Rem, I didn’t mean to do that—”

“—You didn’t,” Remy said. “I...I wanted that. It was...it was good. And...and I remember everything, you never did anything I didn’t ask you to do. You asked beforehand if you wanted to try something. You...respected me. You didn’t...you didn’t do what you’re worried about.”

“Okay,” Emile said, eyeing Remy. “But you’re still a nervous wreck from here.”

“Well...it’s not every day that you spend an entire evening and a good portion of the night just...yeah,” Remy said. “Especially since it was my first time doing... anything with a partner. I’m...God, can we skip this conversation? I don’t regret it, it was good—great, really. You were amazing and loving and there’s no one else I would have rather done it with, I’m just realizing that I did do it and while I’m not freaking out about losing my virginity, I am freaking out that what happened really happened and wasn’t just a wild dream that my mind had been showing with increasing frequency.”

Emile blinked. “There’s...a lot to unpack there. First and foremost, you’ve had dreams about this?”

“You haven’t?” Remy asked incredulously.

“I mean, I have, but that’s normal. You’re acting like there’s some big scandal or something. What am I missing?” Emile asked.

“That my family is very, very conservative and I just participated in gay sex out of wedlock for the first time,” Remy deadpanned. “I’m a little in shock.”

Emile stared at Remy for one, two, three seconds. Then he said, “A valid response.”

Remy shifted on his feet and went looking for his shirt and pants. Emile moved around their bed and stood there patiently, waiting for Remy to get dressed. Remy was still shaking, too much to be passed off as pre-coffee jitters. When he turned, Emile was just standing there, looking him over. “Religious guilt?” Emile asked.

“I’m not religious,” Remy said.

“You grew up in a religious family,” Emile pointed out. “My first time with a guy? I had a panic attack afterwards. Everything the church said about having sex before marriage, nevermind sex with another guy, made me convinced I was going to Hell. And at this point I was already scrutinizing what the church was saying and making my own opinions based on what I knew. You can feel the effects of...what’s the word...indoctrination! You can feel the effects of indoctrination no matter if you’re still in the church or not.”

Remy was still red with embarrassment, and the only reason he didn’t grow redder was because it simply wasn’t possible. He knew that what he had done with Emile was fine. In certain circles, especially the ones they both ran in, it was even encouraged. And yet...he still felt off. Embarrassed. Dirty.

“Honey?” Emile asked softly, walking over and tilting Remy’s chin up. “What you did wasn’t a bad thing. You’re not sinning, you’re not defiled. You’re certainly not dirty in any other sense than sweaty.” That got Remy laughing. “Listen. We can either take a shower together or separately, get ready for the day, and talk about it however much you want, if that sounds good to you?”

Remy nodded, flushing red. “You can take the shower first. I only have an afternoon shift today.”

Emile nodded and kissed Remy’s cheek, before he left the room. Remy sat down on the bed heavily. Much as he hated it, he still felt a little guilty. He knew that this wasn’t wrong. He knew that. But he still felt wrong.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. “It’s gonna be okay,” he mumbled. “You’re not in trouble. No one will hate you for this. Emile isn’t the type to make a notch on his belt and leave as soon as he sleeps with someone. You’ve wanted this for a while, and you got it. It’s okay.”

This was one of those things that Kim had suggested he do when his anxiety got the better of him, and at first he had scoffed at it. But now, it was helping him rationalize. “It’s okay...” Remy breathed. In one fluid motion, he stood and moved to the kitchen. Everything was okay, but he needed his coffee if he wanted any hope of no jitters the rest of the day. He got to making breakfast, and when the bathroom door opened and Emile walked out looking almost-immaculate, Remy laughed. “You realize you look like a nerd when you dress in those sweater vests?”

“I’ll wear what I want to wear when I want to wear it, thank you very much, Mister I’ll-Wear-A-Leather-Jacket-In-The-Summer-For-The-Aesthetic.”

Remy blinked. “That’s an eleven word nickname. That’s entirely too long.”

Emile cracked a grin. “I might use it again if you’re not careful and make a jab at my clothing choices.”

“Look, I’m just stating facts,” Remy said, leaving the coffee pot to brew as he went back to their room, grabbed his clothes, and went to shower.

He turned on the water and let himself relax in the spray. He wasn’t tense, exactly, but he had been on edge and it felt nice to just go limp under hot water for a couple minutes. He could let his mind blank and not worry about anything except making sure he didn’t breathe in any water. It was nice to not have to think.

Of course, he couldn’t stay in the shower forever, so he cleaned up and got dressed with a somewhat tired sigh. He walked out of the bathroom to find Emile sipping some of Remy’s coffee. “Hey! That’s mine!” Remy exclaimed with an indignant laugh.

“This is good, Rem. Is this just the pre-ground stuff we buy?” Emile asked.

“Kinda. I add a few extra things when we have them to spice up the blend a little, and make it a little less pure bitter,” Remy said with a shrug. “Why?”

“When I say this is good, I mean it’s really good, Rem,” Emile said. “If this is what you can do with the canned grounds, what can you do with fresh ingredients at a coffee shop?”

“The world may never know,” Remy sighed. “Because the managers don’t want me to experiment with their supplies in case it flops and we waste good coffee.”

Emile tutted. “That’s a shame. You could really make some quality blends, I’m sure of it. Some stuff that they’ve never thought of before.”

Remy flushed. “You think so?” he asked. He wasn’t sure why, but he really wanted Emile’s approval on this.

“I know so,” Emile said with a grin, passing Remy a mug filled with coffee. “Come on, you said it’s yours, taste the fruits of your labor.”

Remy sipped it and hummed. “Yeah, adding more vanilla extract was a good call. I was worried it would be over powering, but that works really well. And I used...” Remy went to the notebook he kept in the kitchen, flipping it open. “I know it was two more teaspoons than last time...okay, yeah, about three tablespoons this time. I could probably stretch that further but this works fine for me.”

He scribbled that down and Emile was watching him. “What?” he asked.

“That’s what you use that notebook for?” Emile asked. “Writing down recipes?”

“Writing down experiments I try in my cooking, yeah,” Remy said. “Because I would easily forget exactly how much I used and lose the recipe, and that would destroy me. I don’t write down the full thing, just the important bits, but...”

“That’s still interesting,” Emile said, looking over Remy’s shoulder. “You’re essentially making your own cookbook.”

“Yeah, a little, I guess,” Remy said.

Emile grinned that scheming grin he had been showing a lot more recently. “What?” Remy asked, crossing his arms.

“It’s nothing,” Emile said, waving his hand in a dismissing motion.

“It’s not,” Remy insisted. “Come on, tell me!”

Emile sighed. “I’m just thinking about what it would be like if you...I don’t know...did your own thing. Went off to culinary school, or even just opened a shop around here, because I don’t know how much culinary school could honestly teach you.”

“You’re not scheming to send me away, are you?” Remy halfway teased.

“No, of course not,” Emile said, kissing Remy’s cheek. “I’d never want to send you away. I just can’t help but wonder what it would be like if you were to actually be a master chef, instead of us just joking around.”

Remy sipped at his coffee and hummed. “I imagine there would be a lot more stress on my end and I might make you cook more dinners at home because I wouldn’t want to come home just to do more of my job.”

“Fair enough,” Emile laughed. “Anything you want to do today before your afternoon shift?”

“Meh,” Remy said. “I think we’ve got ourselves the recipe for a lazy Sunday morning in. And that’s the way I like it.”

“Well, after the night we had, I’m not surprised you’d just want to lay low,” Emile said with a wink.

Remy’s cheeks flared bright red. “Emile Zachary Thomas, I will murder you.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” Emile asked. “I wouldn’t ever be able to do what we did last night again.”

“But you also wouldn’t joke about it and make me flustered, so I count that as a win,” Remy said with a shrug.

“What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?” Emile asked. “You love teasing me around my parents, or our friends, or anywhere when someone else can hear. Why is it different when I do it?”

Remy shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because when I do it around other people, it's pretty clear that I’m joking. If you do that when it’s just the two of us, it’s not for show, as much. You might be teasing me, but there’s a part of you that always means it, too. That’s...intimidating.”

“Really?” Emile asked. “You’re intimidated by people actually following through with less than safe for work actions?”

Remy shrugged. “Not usually. Most of the people who make those jokes around me, even if they tried to make a move, it wouldn’t be scary. But with you...it’s different.”

“Why? Am I scary?” Emile asked, worried.

Remy shook his head and was quick to reassure, “No, it’s not because you’re scary. It’s because...you matter.”

Emile stood there, effectively stunned. “...Oh,” he said.

Remy was red as a tomato. “...Yeah...”

When Emile could respond again, his smile was a little watery. “I love you too, Rem.”

[eugenesmorphine]

A Mighty Pretty Sniper // Merriel "Snafu" Shelton imagine

@alienoresimagines

I walked through the camp, my rifle tightly in my hands. Repeating in my mind a rule that was dug into our heads in basic training. "Never leave your weapon unattended!" And god help the poor soul who ever did that. Being the only woman among hundreds of men, I knew not to get in trouble with something petty like that. Being a female was hard enough in this Pacific area against the Japanese. But, I worked hard to be here. And I'm not going to ruin my chances here for being a Woman and or breaking a stupid rule. They will toss me out faster than you can blink your eyes.

I walked through our camp, many Marines young and old walked around as well or were in their huts or doing whatever else. I had my C-bag on me, I was new so I was ordered to find myself a bunk. I followed a few other men, by which I think one of them was named Eugene Sledge. He had mentioned that he was from some place in Alabama. He was nice, just very shy and religious. Quite shocking that he volunteered to go into a war like this. He just doesn't fit the type. About two other men were walking to find a hut with me, I didn't get to know them really. I don't think I know their names. Just the fact that they are nineteen like me. 

I wasn't like the other men. Well, besides the fact that I was a female, I wasn't just an infantryman that carried normal rifles or big guns. I was a sniper. I had more knowledge of my rifle than most of the men in the Pacific Theatre. I was needed here. I'm not religious, I'm not open to these men and I don't trust any of them. I keep to myself unlike the others that have little "squads" of their own. Not many people believe in me to be here. That a woman had zero purpose in a war besides being a hospital nurse or a cook. I knew different though. I knew I could do just as good as the Male Marines, some I can outdo. I wasn't afraid of anything in this moment of time. I trusted myself and skills. These Male Marines had no affect on me. Whether they flirted with me, try to get physical, throw themselves at my feet, or are rude to me just for my Gender. I reject, push away, step over them, and ignore them. I worked just as hard to get here, maybe even harder. And a couple snotty and sweaty Marines won't change my mind.

We entered the hut and I slipped my helmet off my head. Placing my bag on an empty cot with no one and no one else's gear around the cot. Two men sat there and stared at me. A tan man, who was quite handsome, sat with a wide smirk plastered onto his face. I glanced at him, slightly confused at what he was smirking at. Though, I just kept a straight face as I tucked a few stray strands of hair back behind my right ear.

"Well what is a woman like you doing here in a war?" A New Orleans's accent poured out of the smirking man's mouth. I sighed and kept quiet as I unpacked my stuff and set my rifle onto my cot. Placing it to the side enough for the Marine to see. "You think you're better than everyone else so you can't answer my question? Huh? I see you are a marksman. Oh I'm sorry markswoman. Say, how in the hell did the Marines let a woman in?" God I didn't think this guy would quit. I turned around to face him, the smirk still laying across his face happily. Like he was proud of what he said. 

"Well Marine, I worked hard to get here. Just like you did. So if you could kindly shut your trap and I can carry on performing my duties in this war," I replied, my tone had attitude and anger laced between each word. I turned around, focusing back on my task at hand of organizing my C-bag. Though, before spinning around, I caught the look of slight surprise on the Marines face. His face settling back into now somewhat of an angry smirk. Like he thought I should've never spoken to him in the way I had.

"Well, Marine, I don't want you next to me on the battlefield. I don't trust a woman that belongs back in the states, working in a damn kitchen doing any sorts of fighting that judges if I make it back home to New Orleans or not," he went off. I clenched my teeth and sighed out angrily. He wasn't worth the argument. I knew my place and I knew my worth and skills in this goddamn war. I don't need a stupid Marine telling me to do shit with myself. So I grabbed my rifle and put it over my shoulder, walking out without saying anything to figure out my orders.

A few days had passed and my hut mate, the one that doesn't seem to like me much, hasn't changed. I found out his name is Merriel Shelton and he was in fact from New Orleans. Each and everyday he put me down, boasting about how I didn't belong here with the other Marines and how I don't know how to properly use a gun like the one I was issued. I just kept to myself, ignoring him and trying to ignore the anger I was feeling to the irritating Marine. I just pushed through each morning and day. Through the days I had to scrub oil  out of drums, trainings, cleaning and cooking. Everything not fun. But it's apart of being a Marine. And I'm okay with getting my hands dirty.

A few other days passed. And now we are all crawling up a beach, dodging enemy fire and artillery. I kept crawling, looking over to see Merriel, he looked back at me, a snarl forming on his face. Maybe he actually felt the things he said. Which kind of hurt for some odd reason. Though, while pushing the thoughts into the back of my brain. 

I continued crawling and got to jungle line. I pulled up my rifle and aimed the sights down. Focusing my sights on a Japanese Machine Gunner. Placing my finger on the trigger and holding my breath, squeezing it. The shot rang off and I watched as the Jap fell and dropped dead. I repeated these actions, killing the small squads of Japs. We carried on, farther into the jungles. I kept higher grounds just in case. Keeping a lookout for any threats to kill my fellow Marines.

We came across a clearing. Everyone started setting up there guns after we did short patrols, checking to see if any enemies were around. I climbed up a tree and covered my face in some black face paint. I set up my gun and I watched some other Marines walked in an open field. I looked down at my sights and looked at the Marines. A couple I didn't know and then there was Merriel. He was unarmed. Which was very stupid of him. What is he doing without a gun? I shook my head to myself and kept looking down my sights. Merriel was close to the tree line, from which the bushes and trees are so dense, you can barely see through it. Though I noticed some rustling between the trees and bushes. And that's when I heard it.

A Jap came sprinting out of the bushes, blood covering his uniform and face, his bayonet out in front of him. He had been screaming and he was charging at Merriel. The scene turned into slow motion. I watched as Merriel turned around and his eyes slowly filled with terror. I watched as others turned around in shock and went to shoot at the Japanese soldier sprinting at their fellow Marine. With no sweat I quickly looked down my scope and focused my breathing in a way that I could aim my weapon at the Jap's head. I squeezed the trigger and I watched as the bullet fired right between the enemies eyes. The Jap dropped just inches in front of Merriel. I watched as the Marine stared at the dead enemy at his feet. I watched as his chest rose and fell quickly, he was shocked and scared at that moment. I put my rifle's sights down and aimed it down. He looked back up at me and I gave him a slight nod and he gave me one back, looking back at the body in front of him. 

As soon as we checked the area once more for enemies and made sure that there were none in the area, I slipped down from my position in the tree and walked to where I set up my cot for the night. I sat down and cleaned my gun, then placing it to the side of me. I wanted to clean off the black face paint that I had smeared over my face to blend in better with the trees. But for the life of me I couldn't find my clean rag and water that I used. 

As I frustratedly searched for the rag and water, I heard someone clear their throat behind me. I stood up and turned to meet the person who stood behind me. It was Merriel. I rolled my eyes at his presence and crossed my arms. He had my rag and a canteen of water in either hand. I glanced at his hands and back at his face. I cocked an eyebrow up at him. His facial expressions were softer, which was strange for a man of his nature. I was a bit confused none the least.

"I, I know I haven't been to kind to a woman like you. I see that you have saved my life now and I shoulda been nicer to you. So I'm Just trying to say," he seemed to have trouble with his words. Stuttering slightly, his face was turning a slight shade of pink on his tan skin, underneath the dirt and sweat. He avoided eye contact. I knew he wasn't the type to ever apologize, but I didn't realize he would be this awkward and or nervous while doing it.

"You're trying to say sorry? To me?" I asked, a little shock in my voice. He sighed and he nodded, now looking up and staring in my eyes. I could feel my face heat up slightly. Now I was somewhat grateful for the black face paint smudge across my facial features. I smiled slightly at him, a smirk of my own spreading across my face. He looked away seeing my smirk, then extending my hands with the objects I need towards me. I smiled softly and took them gratefully. I sat down and pulled out a mirror. 

I watched as Merriel stood awkwardly. "Would you like to sit down? Maybe talk a bit?" I asked, looking up at him as I began to wipe the black paint off my face. He looked at me, swallowing slightly and sitting next to me.

For the next couple hours, Merriel and I talked, just me and him. He didn't even know my name which I thought was funny. He was strange, but I was oddly intrigued by him. His hard and extremely scary exterior was pretty much down as of right now. It was strange and different, hearing him be softer in his voice and nice to me. I was secretly shocked.

"I think you're mighty pretty Y/N," he said softly. It had no been hours of Merriel and I talking. It had gotten extremely dark out, must've been past midnight. I smiled at him. "Thanks Merriel, you aren't too bad yourself," I said softly as I looked at him. A toothy smile spread across his face. He had checked his watch and you could see the shock on his face. "Shit! It's already two in the goddamn morning! I got to go back to my cot Y/N, but I'll talk to you tomorrow," he said rushing, but his voice was sweet. I smiled and nodded, laying back on my cot, pulling my blanket over me.

I was happy tonight. My enemy is my friend. And as of right now, he might be more. I went to bed smiling that night. And little did I know, Merriel did as well.

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

Fire Meet Gasoline

It was about two weeks after the Mandalorian, an ex-shock trooper, and a rag-tag group of villagers worked together to bring down a Klatooinian raider gang and one hell of a nasty AT-ST that Dyn found himself sitting on a porch watching the sun set. He still couldn’t believe they’d pulled it off; a bunch of inexperienced Omegas and Betas with sharpened sticks? A small part of him had thought they were all doomed for sure. But Omera had surprised the hell out of him with her blaster handling skills and he knew they’d at least have a chance. 

As Dyn watched, the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, splashing the clearing and surrounding trees in a purple-hued gloaming. He welcomed the oncoming night, hoping it would bring a little relief from the day’s unseasonably balmy temperatures. Enfolded by a stillness he’d had never known, it struck him how this was the longest he’d spent in one place since he’d been a child, well before his differentiation into an Omega and his first heat. He’d always moved from place to place, job to job, with hardly a break in between. This was The Way. But this interlude here in Omera’s village, as unexpected and long as it had been, seemed destined to be. 

A dawning realization hit him then, along with a sudden unwelcome warmth low in his belly, and he lurched upright in his chair. 

“Shit.”

When was the last time he’d taken his heat suppressant? He hadn’t planned on this job taking more than a week so he’d left most of his essentials on the Crest back in town and those essentials included his twice monthly pills. He had been so preoccupied with trying to keep the villagers (and the kid and Winta and Omera) alive he hadn’t even spent a fucking thought on his suppressants. He cursed himself for being so careless. 

With his ship more than a day’s journey away, there was no way he’d make it back before the overwhelming clutch of the first heat he’d had in years raked him over the coals. Dyn licked his lips, hidden under the cover of his helm, and fisted his suddenly trembling hands on his knees. He looked from side to side, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He had to get out of here. 

Just then Omera walked around the corner of the hut beside his, lit in a beautiful wash of campfire and moonlight. She was heading straight toward him, a question already forming on her lips. 

“Would you like to join us toni-”

Dyn stood abruptly, his wooden chair flying back against the hut with the force of the movement, and quickly retreated into the abode, slamming the thin door behind him. He despised being so rude, but he was quickly becoming desperate to be alone. And without an Alpha anywhere in sight to help him through this oncoming heat he came close to panic. He wrapped his arms around his middle and paced about the small living space, his breath coming out through the voice modulator in harsh pants. wondering how in the hell he was going to get through this. If there was a small mercy in any of this it was that the kid was with the other children at a sleepover tonight. 

Being an Omega was something Dyn had slowly come to terms with in his adult life, but he never considered it a defining characteristic. He had always seen himself as strong, willful, even with that tractable title of Omega. Never one to beg or plead, he only ever relied on himself, stubbornly denying the submissive nature of the dynamic. He was so much more than the weak and vulnerable nature that society dictated of an Omega, and he’d worked harder than most to shirk those labels. The Mandalorians willingly accepted any type into their clan and had accepted Dyn just the same, but he felt like he had had to fight and claw his way to the position he was in now; it had not been an easy road but this was The Way. 

He had tried and mostly succeeded in hiding his dynamic, taking his suppressants religiously and probably too often, if he was being honest. He just wanted to do everything in his power to avoid being reduced to the needy, wanting, shameless mess he became when he was in heat. But now he had no choice. 

Heavy arousal hit him low in his stomach and he sank to his knees with a moan. His cock, suddenly and painfully erect, strained against his cargos and he pressed the heel of his hand to it, but felt no relief. Heat seared across his skin, making his clothes feel far too confining. His body ached for the thick knot of an Alpha and he had no way to quench the scorching wildfire growing more out of control with every passing second. 

Omera’s voice filtered in through the door and Dyn had to bite back a strangled groan. “Is everything all right?” she asked softly. 

“Please,” he rasped. He meant to finish with leave me alone but the words wouldn’t come. He knew in this village of Omegas and Betas, with Cara grouped in the latter, there would be no one to help him through this. Tears welled in his eyes as another wave of heat swept through him, tightening his guts, making it hard to think clearly, and he crawled across the room to the bed. 

Omera was so quiet at the door Dyn thought she had left. But then she spoke again. “I can help,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Goddamnit.” He didn’t need her help, he needed to be left alone. But that wasn’t quite right though, was it? He didn’t need to be alone. He needed an Alpha who could bend him over and fuck this cursed heat out of him until he couldn’t see straight. The sudden mental image of a strong, capable Alpha taking control, opening him up, filling him beyond capacity caused a sudden rush of moisture to slick down his inner thigh. 

Shaking, Dyn somehow managed to pull himself up onto the bed. He slumped down onto his side, trying to coordinate his fingers enough pull off his gloves and undo the vambraces on his forearms, but they wouldn’t comply.

Omera was suddenly back with a polite but firm knock on the door before walking into the hut. He rolled away from her, not wanting her to see him like this. Perspiration slicked his skin beneath his clothes and helmet, stifling and far too constricting, and he curled in on himself helplessly.

“Omera, please go,” he rasped.

He heard her step up beside the bed with her hands full of something. “You’re in heat,” she said matter-of-factly and Dyn barked out a humorless laugh. How did she guess? 

She ignored his sarcasm and continued on. “You don’t think a whole village of Omegas without an Alpha in sight would not be prepared to help one another through it when the time comes?”

Dyn stilled except for his labored breathing and he slowly turned his head to look back at her. She wore a patient and understanding smile and held a large muslin sack in her hands. A corked water jug rested on top. His mouth thirsted for a drink. 

Omera set the items on the floor and helped him up to a sitting position. Kneeling down, she settled a hand on his knee and looked up at him. The touch, as light as it was, sent a shock-wave through him that went straight to his cock. Arousal was clouding his brain, making it hard to think. Dyn swallowed against a dry throat.

She patted his leg then began unpacking the bag after setting the water jug beside him on the bed. His fingers found the glass neck and he grasped it in one hand almost hard enough to crack it. His other hand was pressed firmly to the bulge at his crotch, trying to relieve the ever building pressure to no avail as he watched Omera pull items from the sack. 

 First came a blanket and a few washcloths then a rather large, complex-looking dildo, and finally a vial with a screw top lid. Dyn looked at the array of items in a guarded wonder; it seemed this village was prepared after all. 

Sitting back on her haunches, Omera opened the vial and all at once the cloying scent of Alpha pheromones assaulted Dyn’s senses. He dipped his head down in instinctive submission and doubled forward with a weak cry, almost toppling off the bed. His breath came in rapid, ragged puffs and more moisture soaked his pants. The scent was undeniably heady and perfect and held the promise of being well bred and sated.

Omera turned back toward him, concern drawing her brows together. “Why haven’t you undressed yet? We need to get these clothes off of you. You will burn up.“ 

Dyn shook his head. "I - I can’t.” Not even in midst of this scorching heat would he dishonor the Mandalorian creed by taking off his helmet in front of her. 

Omera sighed but nodded her understanding. She quickly stood and looked about the small room - for what he did not know. The Alpha pheromones were damn near driving him out of his mind. He squeezed his thighs together and shifted his ass down into the bed but nothing helped, and nothing would - except an Alpha’s knot. 

Omera quickly came back to him with a long, narrow strip of red cloth draped over her palms. “If I can’t see your face, you would be able to remove the gear, yes? I know you won’t be able to breathe with that thing on when we get in the thick of it and you’ll need to drink plenty of water to stay hydrated.”

“All valid points,” he conceded, coming to the very end of his control. “Put it on.”

He watched her tie the cloth over her eyes and knot it at the back of her head. The sight of her like that made his heart pump double time. There was no denying Omera was gorgeous, but the fact that she was willing to do this for him, to him, turned him on all the more. 

She held out a hand and Dyn took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet on shaky legs. Closing the space between them, she reached up blindly until her hands were on either side of his helmet, her head tilting up and her lips parting. She began lifting, and in a replay of that moment just a few days earlier, Dyn instinctively grasped her wrists. She paused, seemingly awaiting his consent. When his hands fell to his sides in surrender, she slowly lifted it up and off. 

That strong Alpha scent was even more intoxicating without the barrier of the helm and Dyn’s knees buckled. Omera helped to steady him then they both worked quickly to undo his armor and shed his boots and clothes. He stood before her laid utterly bare - the first time he’d been in such a state in many, many years - even though she couldn’t see him. The cool night air kissed his sweat slick skin and he began to shiver even as the warmth of his heat still simmered just under the surface. 

Omera’s hands suddenly found his body and she trailed hungry touches over every angle and curve, seeing him with her senses, not her eyes. Her fingers caught lightly over old scars, his nipples, his chest hair. Dyn bit his bottom lip to stop a gasp from tumbling from his mouth. 

She tilted her head to the side and Dyn could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her neck. “The pheromones,” she whispered. “They’re starting to affect me too." 

Alpha heat-response pheromones were notorious for pulling in immediate bystanders whether they were in heat or not, though the effect wasn’t near as strong as it was for an Omega on their cycle. 

Her fingers continued their journey down his stomach to his cock, rubbing up the achingly hard shaft then down to fondle his balls. "Omera.” He shuddered under her touch. A warning? A plea for mercy? Both all at once? Dyn did not know. 

Without waiting another second, he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her clothed body against his own nakedness. Dipping his head down, he bumped their foreheads together in a gentle Mandalorian Keldabe kiss, then captured her mouth with a tentative press of his lips. Which, after an unexpected but wholy welcome sweep of her tongue, Omera turned into a searing crush of need-driven desire.

When they were both properly breathless, Dyn pulled back with a palm cupping her jaw. He drug the pad of his thumb across her kiss-bruised bottom lip and she drew just the tip in for a quick taste of his skin. He was so hard it was painful. 

“I- I need,” he choked out the words, swallowed, tried again, “you. I need you to break me of this heat." 

Omera released his thumb and nodded. "I will.”

He undressed her then with a few fumbling flicks of his wrists and led her to the edge of the bed. He could not wait another moment. As he watched, Omera stooped down, her hands blindly feeling for the muslin sack she’d brought with her. She found the dildo and pheromone vial and straightened again. A shiver of anticipation flushed through Dyn that was quickly burned up by another heavy wave of heat. A thick trail of moisture tracked down his inner thigh and he grabbed up the corked jug beside him for a couple greedy chugs of water. 

“On all fours, Mando.” Omera’s voice wasn’t quite the commanding tone of an Alpha, but it was just assertive enough to bring out the submissive nature he usually tried hiding, but in this moment he could no longer deny. He immediately complied, resting his head down on his forearms and presenting his ass for the taking. 

“It’s Dyn,” he murmured into the sheets beneath him. 

“Dyn,” she said reverently, like the offering of his name was a sacred gift. 

He felt the bed dip as she crawled onto the mattress behind him and his cock throbbed. Scorching arousal tightened his stomach almost unbearably and he spread his legs a little wider, urging her to please just end his suffering already. 

Omera’s hand was suddenly on his hip, her skin blessedly cool against his, and he moaned. The vial of Alpha scent was opened again and this time she splashed a couple of drops onto the dildo. She rubbed the phallus up and down his crack, damn near driving him out of his mind. 

“I haven’t done this blindfolded before,” she admitted. She teased his hole with just the tip. 

“But you have done this before, right?” he panted. He trusted her more than anyone, but he had to know he wasn’t in inexperienced hands.      

“Oh, yes.” Without another moment’s hesitation she began pushing the tool inside. 

Dyn’s immediately twisted his fingers into the bedding. “Kriff,” he swore, stars exploding behind his tightly closed eyes. It was the perfect amount of pressure and girth, stretching him open with an exquisite burn. The heat inside him swelled to overwhelming crescendo and he pushed his hips back eagerly, taking the full length at once.  

Omera squeezed his hip. “You take it so well, Dyn,” she praised as she maneuvered herself flush behind him. 

The plaudit stroked his Omega’s heart exactly how he needed it and he let out a low whine of pleasure. His thighs began trembling as his body screamed for Omera to keep going. “Please, don’t stop.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With one hand grasped at the base of the dildo, she leaned forward over his back and latched on to his shoulder for leverage. Then she began moving. Swift, strong thrusts pounded his ass, pushing the cock in as deep as it would go with every snap of her hips, filling him in a way he’d never experienced before. He tried keeping up, pushing back on every shove forward, but the Alpha pheromones mixing with the scent of his arousal and hers, and the way her breasts grazed his skin, and the way she stretched him open, made it fucking impossible to even think straight. All he could do was moan weakly against the onslaught. 

Her hand moved from his shoulder to his hair, tangling her fingers into the thick, dark strands. She tugged and he brought his head up rapidly, willing her to use him however she saw fit, his body howling for her knot. Changing the angle of her thrusts minutely while continuing her brutal onslaught, Omera’s cock hit Dyn directly on that swollen bundle of nerves deep inside him. He cried out, tears welling in his eyes from the staggering amount of pleasure crashing against him, battering him like a ship lost in the stormy waters on Kamino. Precome leaked from his achingly hard erection down onto the bed. 

“You sound like you’re nearly there, Dyn.” She released his hair and he sunk his head back down to the bed. He tried and failed to control his breathing. Grasping his hip again, she pushed in harder, faster. “Are you ready for this knot?”

“Yes, oh, please, please, yes.” The words fell from his lips in a hoarse, shameless tumble. 

Omera pushed in one last time with a groan, nailing his prostate full force, and he came with a broken shout, spurting gleaming ropes of his spend all over the sheets. Just as he climaxed, the cock emptied some sort of synthetic release that was just as hot and perfect as the real thing deep inside him then began expanding in his ass, trapping the thick liquid, knotting him, thankfully breaking his heat for the time being. He knew he would only have a short time to rest before it was back, scorching him from the inside out, but for now it was abating. 

His body shook with the force of the aftershocks of one of the hardest orgasms he’d ever had and Omera gently helped to lay him down on his side. She spooned behind him, skin to skin, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his side, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. The cock remained embedded inside him, still working to keep the second round of heat at bay momentarily. 

“Thank you for,” he began, grasping her hand and pulling it around to his chest. 

“Shh,” she quieted him. She absently traced circles through his chest hair, sending mini tremors through to his core at the intimacy of it. “No need to thank me.”

“And yet I do. I could not get through this without you.” 

“Then we are even,” she countered, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “You saved me and now I have saved you.”

He chuckled and brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. Finding this planet seemed like some sort of cosmic kismet. Finding Omera here was his destiny. His heart swelled and he blinked back a curious sting of tears at the back of his eyes. He’d never felt such a strong pull before.  

Arousal bloomed slow and warm in his belly and he pushed his ass back against her. She gasped behind him and he smiled. “Again already, Dyn?” 

“Appears so.” He tugged her hand down to his hardening cock so she could feel for herself. 

Grasping his length, Omera nibbled playfully at his shoulder. “So it does.” 

[heuristicallyinclined]

Nobody Knows

Chapter 2: Ah, here we go again

Part 2/? (Word count: 1,841 | Rated T | Past MSPA Reader x Mallek Adalov,  MSPA Reader x Mallek Adalov, Past MSPA Reader x Polypa Goezee, Background DaveKat)

AO3 Links: Part One  | Part Two  (This) | Part Three

Chapter Summary: MSPA Reader wakes up in an unfamiliar, terrifying place with unfamiliar, terrifying people. But what else is new?

Notes: Thanks for all of the support from the first chapter! I was really blown away by all of it. Enjoy some set-up before the inevitable angst.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

The first thing you notice when you come to is the chittering of machinery. Earth tech hums when it runs, maybe you hear a fan or two. Alternian tech chitters. Sometimes it even makes a soft screeching sound. You prefer not to think too hard about it. The next thing you notice is the headache you have. Your forehead is throbbing and when you open your eyes the room is moving. Damn, you have had your fair share of concussions, but this is new. In your infinite intelligence, you finally realize that this is because you are getting carried like a sack of potatoes over the shoulder of a stranger. Well, fuck.

Slowly and carefully, you crane your head back to get a glimpse of whoever is holding you. You see large horns extending horizontally and curving towards their face. Their uniform having some intricate repeating bronze pattern. Realizing this is an adult, you become very conscious of your breathing. Just extremely slow and even. Oh God. You have never seen this troll before in your life. You continue to glance around and notice you are on some sort of vessel. A door opens and your captor joins another bronze troll. A new stranger, maybe a friend? You stop yourself from introducing yourself so you can hear what they say. Now is not the time to be horny for platonic connections.

“So ! nearly tr!pped over th!s sh!t on my back from do!ng !nventory !n the cargo bay. Do you have any !dea what the fuck th!s !s?” Your captor asks with an excited lit, swinging you off of his shoulder and holding you by the back of the hood. You remain still, motionless, having perfected the art of playing dead to fool drones into not culling you. Not your most dignified skill, but definitely one of your more useful ones. Something thuds as it is set down to your right.

“()h gr()ss, d()n’t t()uch it with y()ur fr()nds.” Your captor chuckles while their colleague sighs in exasperated disgust. Ah yes, you didn’t miss this. Alternia has made you super self-conscious about your body in the weirdest ways just about as much as it has made you fear for your life. But one of those things is temporary. You know you’re cute, friendly, are incredibly resourceful and optimistic. You have nice legs! The clown pope said so! But you can still hear the sneer in her voice, “It pr()bably just wandered ()n b()ard during the last rest()ck and the change in gravity culled it ()r s()mething, I d()n’t kn()w.” She sounds a little pissed now, “Etiv()r just st()p playing with it and dr()p it in with the rest ()f the trash s() y()u can help me get the rest ()f the requisiti()ns delivered.”

Etivor shakes you a bit in front of her. She doesn’t react. “F!ne Yleeda,” he draws her name out and huffs, clearly disappointed, “!’ll be back.” You get thrown back over his shoulder and you can hear a light growl come from him. She apparently does too, and mockingly chitters at him, dropping another box onto her pile. “Wait, what if that thing i-,” she starts, but Etivor isn’t having it and picked up to pace and is already gone. Bold move.

He slows down after a while and walks and as he does you pass by a window. You look for telltale moon colors, but you seem to be in the middle of nowhere with nothing particularly familiar in sight. On a spaceship. Full of adults. Neat. Well, mortal peril is always a solid way of getting out of your head.

He continues onward and you hear other trolls pass by you, all of them caught up in their own work or conversations, none of the spare you two too much of a glace. A door slides open and he sets you on the ground. You hear him step away from you and fiddle with the settings on what you think is the trash, and you'd rather not get immolated today, no thank you. It begins to clunkily whir to life before settling on a scratchy, chittery sound. Luckily, you notice you didn’t hear the door close. You get up slowly, quietly, and slink over to the door, the machine helping to obscure any sounds you were making. You don’t need to be stealthy for too long, just enough to get the door and you can just abs- and he is looking right at you.

You try to match the familiar look of wide-eyed "what in the actual fuck is that" that trolls have often graced you with when meeting you for the first time. His pupil skits widen slightly and his mouth is set in a hard, straight line. You both remain frozen and are locked in a staring contest. You stay like that together for a good ten seconds and you become intimately aware of how long ten seconds in total silence is. He blinks and as he starts to reach for you, you do the only thing you think to do. Blurt out some dumb shit and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.

Were you also getting a pitch vibe off of that or was that just me, because I know you need to be professional, working here and all but I feel like if I wasn’t there you two would definitely have gotten into an argument? Are you two like a thing or have something going on there or…? You wiggle your hands noncommittally.

If you weren't terrified, you would be laughing at the look he is giving you. He immediately pulls his hand back and holds it to himself, aghast. His mouth opens and shuts as he struggles to figure out what to say before settling into a concerned frown. He steps back in confusion with an expression betraying he was clearly not prepared for you to be alive, or sentient, or fluent in Alternian, or immediately asking him about his love life. He is very clearly trying to unpack a lot and you are just trying to put some space between you and someone who easily has two feet on you and a lot of muscle, hopefully gained from things other than hauling aliens into fiery dumpsters.

“Uh. What. ! mean maybe? But ! don't, wa!t th-“

Because I feel like you were definitely trying to piss her off a little bit, like not enough to ruin her night or anything and fuck up her work, but like she'll be thinking about it, so I think that's smart, kinda leaving the ball in her court as you left.

He gives you the smallest, tightest smile as he uncomfortably, slightly nods, locked in place. He looks like he is trying to smile after biting a lemon. This man is deeply fucking uncomfortable which you can deal with much better rather than hostile. You need to keep this shit up. Fuck, WWGD?

What would Gorgor do? You think back to his tricks and techniques that you learned from being his partner. How to maintain control over a situation without dominating it completely or else a highblood could easily feel like you were overstepping and at best, get defensive and shut you down and choose another teal. You don't want to think about the worst case scenario. But you are not Tagora Gorjek and have not been playing four dimensional mental chess with people since hatching. Also death is more of a temporary roadblock at this point, so really, there is no sweep like the sweep you’re fucking in since you couldn’t escape it even if you wanted to.

You already overstepped by making this about quads so you just need to keep talking confidently long enough to fluster him into answering so that you can try to run off. An alien coming back from the dead out of concern for his personal life is probably doing it well enough.

Do you two have like a history from before this or did it start when you got your assignments here?

You are trying to convey an authority you don't fucking have. But as someone once taught you, image is everything and to fake it until you make it. You don't need to have your shit together, god no, but if religiously following a nineteen step east Alternian skin care regimen or parroting back bullshit you've heard like you're a goddamn relationship wizard makes people think you do, then bitch you better roll with it.

"We started working together l!ke a few wipes ago, but k!nda just started talk!ng," he says slowly and unsure, staring at you. You hum knowingly at him and he squints at you, perturbed. You place a hand on your chin and shift your stance to that of one in thoughtful consideration, the fact that you are closer to door thanks to it is not relevant. You look like you do this all the time, which you do. He glances around the room and pales.

God, he must be panicking worse than you are. He is answering. This is probably ideal. Okay plan time, so he and the other lady, Yleeda, are the only ones who saw you here. Wherever here is, and she thinks you’re dead so really you just need to have him be incredibly cool and then run into literally no other person on board the ship while exploring it, figure out where you are, and how you got here. Easy if you don’t think about it.

You were trying to get to Mallek and he is neither of these people so maybe he is on board somewhere on whatever place they restocked at. Maybe he does get to work with tech and he got to hole up somewhere with access to energy drinks that would kill anyone gold and below. This could mean you will never find him. Okay, you need to deal with one thing at a time.

Oh, so when you got started working on this ship? Is Yleeda doing anything to irk you back?

You ask this while stepping to look cool and relaxed against a wall, like all normal, cool guys do. Guys who are calm and not worried at all about incineration. Guys just trying to get a feel for where others are at so that they can give appropriate advice in appropriate situations that they are in. Those guys. You are them.

Your back finally makes contact with a wall. Or at least you thought it was a wall based off of how solid it was. You look up when you feel something grab your shoulder. The sound of the machinery that you thought would mask your footsteps definitely masked Yleeda’s entering the room. She stares down at you and then back up at Etivor, her gloved hand holding you firm.

Oh.

So that plan didn't work.

Notes: How quickly can one person get attached to fantrolls made up on the spot to act as plot devices? One author finds out.

[sonderlivra]

Tequila Christmas - An SnK AU gift for Levihan Secret Santa!

This is a gift for @raisedinthunder ! So sorry for the late update Hope you have a very Merry Christmas!!

Warning: Some swearing here and there.

They lived together in a small apartment that suited them just right. True, it was cramped, and old, and had serious dry mold and crumbling wallpaper when they first saw it. True, they had first moved in together due to necessity more than anything else. But they had come a long way since then. The dry mold and dusty wallpaper disappeared within the first month. Their awkwardness at sharing living space disappeared within the first two months. And before they knew it, “the apartment​” became “home” and they went from “coworkers” to “friends” to something much more.

Winters were particularly difficult because of the dodgy heating, and so on this particular night, they were huddled together on the couch under the massive, warm rug they tended to share as a daily ritual.

“How was work?” She asked him first, dumping in marshmallows into her hot chocolate.

“Jesus, do you want to put yourself in a sugar coma?”

She smirked. “When this much sugar is on hand, fuck yes.”

“Tch. Tolerance is a virtue, Hange.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be patience?” She took a sip, then hissed loudly when the scalding liquid met her mouth.

“Well, clearly you have neither, Shitty-glasses. Just let it cool down, already.”

She sighed theatrically. “How long have you known me, Levi?”

“Far too long.”

“Then this shouldn’t surprise you.” Holding her gaze locked onto his, she dumped more marshmallows into her mug and took a large swig of the concoction.

He rolled his eyes. “I give up. You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in looove,” she cooed and hooked her arm around him.

He leaned away, wrinkling his nose. “I stand corrected. You’re hopelessly drunk.”

“Well, in my defense,” Hange declared, “I blame today.”

Levi frowned, and took a sip of his tea. “Why, what’s today?”

“Shut. Up. You filthy fuckin’ liar.” Hange wagged an accusing finger at him. “You know perfectly well what day it is today.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh.” He looked supremely unhappy. “It’s Christmas.”

“Christmas Eve,” she corrected him. “The team wanted to go out for drinks-”

“You mean Moblit wanted to go out for drinks,” he deadpanned.

“And so, being the beautifully brilliant boss that I am,” Hange continued blithely, “I went with the team. It’s traditional.”

She reached for the bag of marshmallows and Levi swept it out of her reach. Ignoring her outraged hiss, he muttered, “Bullshit. We’re not even religious, Hange.”

“Wow, fuck you too,” Hange snapped. “Your atheist mathematical ass may not get the joy and the gaiety of the season but I do.”

“Yes, nothing says ‘joy to the world’ like getting piss-drunk on tequila shots.”

“You know what, screw this. I’m going to bed.”

And that was when Levi realised how insensitive he’d been. Moments like these were infrequent, but, with Levi’s natural crankiness, inevitable. “Fine, sit down. Look, be as joyous and festive as you like.” He grabbed her wrist. “Hange. Hange.”

“What.” She snapped, struggling to extricate herself from the rug and pull her hand from his grasp at the same time, and failing miserably at both.

“I’m sorry.” His quiet voice seemed to calm her and she stared at him for a long moment.

She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the faded chirp of their second-hand cuckoo clock. Outside, the bells in the University campus began to toll.

“Midnight,” Hange whispered. Then she yanked her hand away so suddenly Levi was forced to let go of her. Before another word was uttered, she stumbled away into their bedroom.

“Hange-? Hey, look, I said I’m sorry-” Levi had stood up to follow her when he stopped abruptly. She had flitted back into the room and was holding a large, haphazardly-wrapped package.

Her voice was even, her face expressionless. “I know you don’t care for this festival so…” She stepped closer and handed him the large box. “Happy Birthday.”

He looked from the gift to her, and back at the gift again for a long moment. Then, he turned on his heel and marched into the bedroom.

Hange slumped visibly, her cheeks reddening, angry and embarrassed. “Right. Of course, I shouldn’t have expected any better-”

And then he was back, holding a-

“What the fuck?” Hange gasped.

“You’re right. I don’t care for the festival.” Levi spoke as quietly as always, as though it was just normal for him to be standing there, holding a large box wrapped neatly in candy-cane patterned gift wrap. “But I know you do.” He offered her the box. “Merry Christmas, Four-eyes.”

They stared at each other for a long moment in silence. This was new territory for both of them. Somehow, over the years, they had never had a Christmas together, the universe managing to keep them apart through some way or the other (work, a sick relative, a sudden revolution… you know, regular stuff). Now both of them were left equally surprised and unsure.

Hange being Hange, took the first step forward. Mutely, she reached out for the gift in his hands while simultaneously offering him hers. They moved slowly, awkwardly, as they accepted their gifts. This was very, very new for both of them.

“Well.” Hange said. “Shall we?”

Levi simply nodded, his pale cheeks flushed pink.

They sank onto the couch. For a split second they simply sat, staring at the boxes on their laps. Then Hange attacked hers, and Levi began to unwrap his, an ill-concealed smile on his face.

Unsurprisingly, Hange managed to unwrap her gift first. Levi paused his unwrapping and watched her. “Go on,” he muttered, fidgeting slightly. He was clearly still not at ease.

She ripped away the tape sealing the box and finally opened it. And sat and stared at its contents, stunned.

“Levi…” She whispered hoarsely.

He flicked imaginary dust away from his sweater. “Don’t you like it?”

“Like it?” Hange laughed shakily. “It’s a spectrometer. A spectrophotometer. A microspectrophotometer.”

“That’s what you wanted right?” He asked her, not quite able to hide his concern. “For your weaponry artifacts?”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple times, clearly at a loss for words. Levi continued to stare at her anxiously.

“Open your gift,” she said finally.

“Hange-”

“Just open it, Levi.”

He’d fucked up. Fuck, he’d fucked up. He didn’t even know how or why, but he knew he had. If Hange’s immediate reaction wasn’t effervescent joy, then he’d definitely done something wrong. He had a sudden urge to pack his bags and leave, rather than unpack the gift he certainly did not think he deserved​.

But she was waiting, so he complied, carefully unsticking the various tabs of tape that held the wrapping paper in place. When he opened the expensive-looking box that looked like it came from a fancy couturier’s, he sat back, stunned in his turn.

“What -what is this.”

Hange burst into speech. “It’s the scabbard. Your scabbard. The one to go with your heirloom sword, you know, the one so sharp a thousand years later that it can still split a hair in half. The sword whose scabbard was lost in time, the one you’re going to give to your cousin when she’s ready. I mean, look, it’s got the Ackerman coat of arms. Now you can give her the full set.”

Levi turned to her, his expression still shocked.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Hange continued, letting out a shaky laugh. “It’s expensive. But I happened to find it and I couldn’t let it go, not when I found your heirloom, Levi. So I -heh, I kind of…” She had a strange smile on her face, “I sold it. My collection, my artifacts, I sold them all, got a really good price for them, and I got you this. So, um, yeah. I know you got me the spectrometer for them, but it’s okay, I love it and and can totally use it for other things. It’s fine.”

Levi stared at her for a long moment. Finally, he croaked, “Hange.”

“It wasn’t a loss, don’t worry, I got a good price for them, honestly, I should've​ done it sooner, the money could’ve come in use-”

“Hange.” He interrupted her loudly. She stopped her nervous babbling. “Hange, that spectrometer, fuck… I sold my sword.”

“You what?”

“I found a private collector and I sold the sword. There’s nowhere I’d use it anyway. And you’ve been raving about the spectrometer for ages, so-”

He stopped abruptly. They both stared at each other again, equally shocked -again. Then, in sync, they smiled at each other.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re a colossal idiot.”

“You sold your thousand-year-old sword!”

“You sold the artifacts you’ve been collecting since you were eight fucking years old!”

They stopped, and their grins widened. Thrusting away their now-useless gifts, they slumped into each other’s arms, familiar and comfortable once more.

“We’re both idiots,” Hange declared, burrowing into his embrace, as usual. “Of the Colossal variety.”

“Agreed,” Levi murmured, his hands stroking her stringy hair, as usual. “It’s like you said, Shitty-glasses​. We’re hopelessly in love.”

She smirked, leaning into his hand in her hair. “Look at you being romantic and all. Who'd’ve thought your granite-face exterior has such a gooey-”

“You can’t be poetic for shit, so shut up, will you.”

“All gooey and mushy and sparkly- mmph!”

He cut her off with a warm, deep kiss that banished every last vestige of awkwardness. How could they be awkward or uncertain, when being together always felt right, like being home?

When he pulled away, she murmured, “Now what do we do about the stuff?” They peered over the other’s shoulder at the gifts.

“Well,” he whispered against her cheek. “We could sell them, too.”

Hange gasped excitedly. “Then we’ll have money to spend!”

“Yup. And I know exactly where to spend it.”

She looked at him quizzically.

He grinned. “On a Christmas tradition, of course. Getting piss-drunk on tequila shots.”

“There’s the grump I fell in love with!”

And so, for every Christmas after that in the Zoë-Ackerman household, there was always, always tequila.

Notes: My first Levihan fic ever, hope they’re not too OOC!

Gift of the Magi is my fave X-mas story and I was so pumped to use its theme for these guys because, come on, it’s perfect for them!

Also, I really, really wanted to include this but I couldn’t find a way to do so - Hange is a Forensic Archaeologist, which is such a cool and disturbing but mostly cool career field, so it was perfect for Hange! She and Levi teach at a University, and Levi’s subject is… math. He does intense MMA, she’s a crazy acrobat, they bond over capoeira. Nothing less for this badass pairing.

Hope you liked it and Happy Holidays to you!

[alleyesonthehindenburg]

The Two-Person Pride Parade

(or, in honour of Pride Month, the West Wing fic I’m too lazy to properly write)

Okay this got wayyyyy longer than I meant it to be, but here it is, my not-quite-a-fic fic. I may write more if I feel like it? Warnings for allusions to period-typical homophobia (late 1990s-early 2000s)

From the minute Toby brings CJ onto the campaign, she and Josh are dancing around each other.

There’s just something sitting at the back of her mind. It’s not until she overhears Josh talking to his assistant Donna that she recognises it – it’s the same thing that drew her to Joanna Leed in ninth grade, the best friend who became the girlfriend; it’s the same thing that led her to a group of nerds at UC Berkeley, the nerds who became the first community she ever knew. She figures it out because Josh is talking about a date, and he never uses a single pronoun. She figures it out because she’s been doing it since she was sixteen.

At some point, gay rights come up in Governor Bartlet’s debate prep, and there’s a split second where she catches Josh’s eye. They exchange a look, and it’s all they need. CJ knows that, for however long this lasts, he’s the only person who can know, and the only person who needs to know.

They don’t actually speak about it until Governor Bartlet has become President-Elect Bartlet. It’s ten to midnight, the first of what CJ assumes will be many, many late nights in the West Wing. They’ve been unpacking their offices all day, and CJ has invited the four younger members of the senior staff - herself, Josh, Toby and Sam - for a beer on her brand new couch. Toby’s wrapping something up with Leo, and Sam’s been sent to get the booze, which leaves CJ and Josh alone.

“So, we’re in the White House,” Josh says. It’s still early days; that sense of awe hasn’t worn itself out yet. CJ’s not sure it ever will.

“We’re in the White House,” she agrees. “Holy shit. We’re in the White House.”

That sends them into a fit of slightly hysterical laughter, and CJ thinks vaguely that she should try to get more than four hours of sleep tonight.

Eventually Josh sobers, and CJ can tell by the pensive look on his face just what he’s thinking about. “So, if the press catches wind of, you know, me…”

“Just don’t let them,” she says firmly, like it’s that simple.

“Uh-huh.” He nods, and looks down at his hands. “We’ve really given up any chance at a private life here, haven’t we?”

“We all have.”

“Yeah, but.”

She sighs, and leans back against the couch, closing her eyes. Lets herself think about it for the first time. No community clubs or bars, that’s for sure. No public dates, or at least not ones that look like dates. No plus ones at galas or weddings or speeches. “Yeah, Josh. We’ve really given it up.”

He’s quiet for long enough that she opens her eyes to check if he’s fallen asleep. After a minute he turns to face her head on, and says, “CJ, I’m bisexual, and you’re probably the only person I’ll tell that to for the duration of this administration.”

She sits up, because now that he’s said it, she realises this might be the last time she can speak the word for a long time. “Josh, I’m a lesbian.”

They shake hands, because it feels like the right thing to do, and Josh smiles. “I think we’ve just started a two-person pride parade.”

CJ laughs, and Sam arrives with the beer.

They knew working at the White House was never going to be easy, but neither of them expected how it would feel like such a kick in the teeth sometimes. After Lowell Lydell is beaten to death, CJ finds Josh at her doorstep with a six pack of beer. They have to run out for more before the night is up, but it helps, and it becomes something of a tradition.

They’re at the hospital, waiting for news on Josh, when CJ meets Cristina Feltsman.

Cristina is a nurse who usually works the daytime shift; she volunteered to come in when she heard the president was shot. CJ spends a whole forty-five minutes talking to her, and she doesn’t even realise it until Toby comes looking for her. Six days later, CJ’s visiting Josh when the on-duty nurse comes in to check his vitals. They talk, Cristina scribbles out her number on the unused napkin from Josh’s lunch. Josh spends the rest of CJ’s visit grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her.

Dating is a goddamn ordeal. First CJ has to work up the nerve to actually call, then she has to flirt (Josh is in the room for one of those calls and she kicks him out because he’s howling with laughter), then she sets up the date - dinner at her place, followed by a movie in a suitably darkened theatre. The first date goes well. So does the second, and at the end of the third, CJ decides it’s time to have The Talk.

The Talk is really, really not fun. Explaining that she can’t be out, and she probably can’t even be seen hanging around someone who’s out, just in case. She can’t go to gay clubs, or gay bars, or gay anything. The job has to come first, the president has to come first, and I know this sounds shitty but do you still want to date me?

And somehow, miraculously, Cristina says yes.

Josh doesn’t consider himself very observant. He goes to the synagogue on the high holidays, and he goes to appease his mother whenever she’s visiting, but for the most part he’s not very religious.

But when your entire world is collapsing around you because it turns out the president may have committed a massive fraud against the American public and has drawn you into what’s basically a coverup, well. Josh stops by Toby’s office on Friday night, and the next morning he finds himself sitting in a synagogue.

It’s only after the service that the man who was sitting to his left introduces himself. Anthony Cohen, it turns out, is an adjunct professor of political science at Georgetown University, and he asks if there are any updates on the president’s secret plan to fight inflation.

For the first time since that whole gaffe happened, Josh finds the question funny instead of annoying.

Still, he’s mindful of Toby nearby, so he keeps it professional. Too professional, actually, because for a second it looks like Anthony’s going to end the conversation, and Josh panics and asks him to get a coffee some time. “To talk about, you know, political science,” he clarifies.

Political science turns into economics turns into the neighbourhoods they grew up in turns into anything and everything. Josh kind of gets now why CJ never shuts up about Cristina.

They’re in the Oval Office when it falls apart.

Everyone is in the Oval Office, in fact – Leo, Toby, Sam, even the President. They’re discussing the results of the Republican primaries and Josh is on a roll, he’s on fire, nothing can bring him down –

Except CJ walking in with a look on her face, and he says, not too worried, “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Cristina,” she says, slowly. “There’s been a shooting at Georgetown.”

The smile freezes on Josh’s face. Distantly he hears Leo getting on the phone behind him, demanding information, but Josh can’t take his eyes off CJ. “So,” and his voice cracks, and he has to clear his throat before he can try again, “so, did – is, is Anthony…?”

“Maybe we should step into my office,” she says, and great, now Sam and Toby are giving them weird looks.

Josh shakes his head, the distance between the Oval Office and CJ’s suddenly insurmountable. “CJ.”

“Anthony’s in critical condition. They’re doing everything they can.”

“Okay,” he says. His brain is stalled but he’s moving on autopilot, heading for the door before CJ puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “What are you doing? I have to go.”

“Josh,” and he can see tears in her eyes, why is she crying, “they won’t let you in to see him.”

Oh.

His knees finally give out at that and he can’t breathe. Distantly he sees CJ’s face in front of his, feels someone’s hands - Sam’s? - bracing his shoulders, but his vision is getting blurry with tears and all he can think is Anthony’s parents don’t know.

They won’t let Josh in, because they don’t know, and even if they did it wouldn’t matter because they have no fucking rights to each other -

The next few minutes are bit fuzzy in Josh’s memory, but eventually he finds himself on the couch with his head between his knees and Leo’s steady voice telling him to breathe, Josh, breathe.

Because he just had a meltdown in the Oval Office.

Again.

“Oh my god,” he says. The worry for Anthony is still a tight, horrible knot at the pit of his stomach, but for now he focuses on the fact that he might have just outed himself to the President of the United States. “Oh my god.”

“Relax, Josh,” comes CJ’s voice, and he spares a second to think thank fuck for lesbians before he sits up.

Leo and Sam are on the couch across from him, twin looks of concern on their faces, and CJ’s sat next to him, rubbing circles on his back. “Uh. Where’s the President? And Toby?”

It’s Leo who answers. “The President’s taking calls in my office right now. Toby’s gone to abuse government power and find out how Anthony’s doing.”

“Toby guessed it was the Anthony from his synagogue,” CJ says, preempting the question. In other words: I haven’t told them.

They sit in silence for a solid ten minutes, Josh focusing on his breathing, CJ’s hand firm on his shoulder. Eventually the door flies open and the president marches in, Toby a step behind him. Everyone’s on their feet, Josh included, and Jed’s barely at his desk before Josh says, “Mr. President I am so sorry, I should have -”

“Josh.”

“Yes, Mr. President?” His voice feels scratchy.

“That wasn’t concern for a friend just there.”

For a second Josh thinks he’s about to start hyperventilating again, but he works past it. “No, Mr. President.”

Jed nods, and looks over to CJ. “Who is Cristina?”

There’s not even the tiniest hesitation in CJ’s voice as she answers. “My girlfriend, Mr. President.”

“And Anthony?”

And, well, if CJ’s going to make the jump Josh isn’t about to let her fall alone. “My boyfriend, Mr. President.”

The silence at that stretches out long enough to be uncomfortable, until Leo clears his throat. “Is Zoey alright?”

“She’s fine. A bit shaken up, but they’re bringing her here.” Jed still hasn’t looked away from Josh and CJ, but the contemplation in his gaze seems to be directed inwards. “I have to ask, have I ever done anything to suggest that being gay would negatively affect your careers in this White House?”

“Of course not,” Josh breathes, as CJ gives a vehement no. “It’s not about that.”

“The public isn’t ready for this,” CJ says. “Every single LGBT issue we’ve ever handled would be called into question.”

“No one would think we could be objective.”

“You could fire a nuke at London and the press corps would be more interested in the fact that I’m a lesbian.”

“It wouldn’t be too good for Anthony or Cristina’s careers either.”

“No, probably not,” the president says, but they have to have said something right, because he sits down.

“You still could have told us,” Sam says sullenly, but Josh is already turning to Toby.

Toby nods, expression indecipherable. “He’s in surgery now, but they think he’s going to make it.”

Josh has to close his eyes against the overwhelming relief for a moment. “Okay. That’s good.” Now that the initial panic has subsided, everything just feels surreal. Anthony got shot, and Josh just told the president that he’s queer. It’s like a goddamn soap opera.

“Leo,” Jed says.

“Yep?”

“Don’t you think it would look good for the president and some of his senior staffers to visit the victims of a shooting?”

Leo grins, and it’s infectious, like a weight’s lifted from everyone’s shoulders. “Yes, Mr. President, I think that would be pretty good.”

[itsjulesharper]

So here we are. The finale of Season 2. I hope you’re sitting down because there is A LOT to unpack in this ep. So let us get right to it without further ado.

We begin with Montespan in her rooms, in tears, topless and furiously scrubbing herself from a basin. It is clear she is frantic and upset, and on one hand I really really feel for her because we all know what it’s like to get in over your head and let emotions overrule common sense in love (we do….DON’T WE??) So it is pretty much over Red Rover for her. On the other hand… good God, woman. Did you seriously think you would stay in favour for ever? That Louis would love you above all others? Did creepy father Etienne not give you that weird ‘fuck no!’ gut feeling at all??

So then we flash to Agathe who is in her home and doing some kind of meditation/praying thing (her rooms are actually quite decent and I wonder at what level she’s at on the ladder of respectability). Cut to a scene of guards on horses riding and Marchal-to-the-rescue as they gallop through the fields. Obvs on their way to arrest the witch – yay! He shoves open the door and she remains seated, eyes closed, as if she hasn’t even heard them enter. The guards surround her chair and Marchal watches her closely, then turns the tarot card on the table. The Labyrinth we saw before. She opens her eyes, says, “I’ve been expecting you.” Marchal is unimpressed, asks if she can predict her own future, then orders the guards to search the room and that’s their cue to basically trash the place. They find a trunk, the box with the poisons, and a disc-thingy with a pentagram on it, which Marchal smashes. Then a notebook is discovered – her little black book of clients. As Marshal scans it, he sees Sophie’s name, swallows and looks a bit… worried? Taken aback? Disappointed? Thoughtful? Hard to tell. But it does affect him. Agathe smirks: “found a friend of yours?” Unimpressed Marchal is unimpressed and he orders a guard to bind her.

I am SO Liselotte right now.

Now we are outside in the gardens of Versailles, with Thomas doing a reading of his prose to an audience and UGH I am really hating his smug little weasel face, knowing what he’s done with Philippe and knowing he didn’t do it because of any affection or need. *burns him in effigy*.

We see Philippe with Liselotte by his side, looking mighty unimpressed (sames, Madame. Sames). Louis looks back at Maintenon. Thomas finishes his blah-blah, they all clap and Marchal approaches.  Louis praises Thomas and Thomas-the-weasel smiles his shitty little smug smile UGH *smashes his face*.

Look at him. That is one backpfeifengesicht if ever I saw one.

 Louis is well pleased: “your love of detail and fidelity to the truth can only be applauded, Thomas.” Does Philippe agree with this awesomeness? “Makes French breasts burst with pride, brother.” And OMG that truly FILTHY look Liselotte gives Philippe. I just can’t even 😂  Louis finishes with, “one day soon, I shall reward you in full.” which sounds quite ominous and creepy and I wonder if on some level, Thomas kind of knows that his cover is blown. But still, he smiles and is all “thank you, Sire,” and then Louis looks to Marchal and we are back to secret spy business. The Queen glances at Maintenon and I am wondering if she knows about the garden snogging. Surely someone has told her by now? Louis, Marchal and Bontemps make a huddle under a really nice garden canopy and see CHAIRS WITH ARMS that should not be there but hold that thought because they’re now talking about Agathe. Potions have been found, plus satanic materials. Louis is all, “bring her to me,” and Marchal is “to the palace?”

Hell, yeah. Louis is all about never showing fear to the devil and I could spend pages making screen caps of Marchal’s expressions, so full of thought yet revealing nothing. Marchal hands over the client book and Louis looks taken aback. Agathe is the source of the poisons. “How many were involved?” Louis wants to know, but there are too many to count, which we see as Louis flicks through page after page of names and details….aaaaaand his gaze falls upon a familiar name. The Duc de Luxembourg. THEN….. there it is.

Marquise de Montespan. And Louis cannot quite believe it.  He looks up from the book, across the gathered nobles, and watches Montespan in a subdued gown, standing on the edges as if already an outcast, looking from the outside in at all the favoured ones. You can see him thinking, going back through his memories to all the times she could have possibly snuck him something, got him to take drugs… all the opportunities she had. I think he’s a bit shook.

CUE INTRO MUSIC FOR THE LAST TIME THIS SEASON.

The guards bring Agathe into a private room with Marchal, Louis and Bontemps, and she offers a deep and mocking bow, to which Bontemps is offended. “You would be advised to show respect.” Yeah, nup. Agathe is all smirky and smug and hey, here’s another one whose face is in need of a slap. “You stand accused of witchcraft and sorcery,” Louis says tightly. Unsurprisingly. she pleads guilty on both counts. She is not a person to snivel and beg. She seems to me someone who would proudly claim all the deeds she is charged with. She claps back with, “to what do you stand accused? Tyranny? Arrogance? Vanity?” Louis ain’t biting, instead asking about Montespan. “Her hands are clean,” Agathe says. “She came to me for a love potion.” She laughs. “Don’t try and tell me it didn’t work?” Louis slowly circles her. “I would have expected more humility in your predicament.” Ah, but she already knows her fate. She laughs again: “They tell me Good Friday is an apt time for a sacrifice.” Louis is quite a bit offended that she is ridiculing her maker. But Agathe doesn’t care; she does not seek forgiveness: “I am not the sinner here. You and your Lord have no dominion in my world.” Which is quite a good comeback for people who want to push their religious beliefs upon those who do not follow that faith, but in 17th century France it is not really a smart idea to shun the church so publicly. Especially to Louis. “We are equals, you and I,” she goes on, almost pityingly. “You cannot choose to be born a king. Anymore than I choose to be a pauper.” That simply ENRAGES Louis and he yells back: “I am chosen by GOD!” Agathe raises her voice too: “Your Lord giveth and he will taketh away. History will record your fleeting moment in blood! A tide is coming that will SWEEP YOU AWAY!” (OMG this is so powerful, it gave me chills!) Louis studies her a moment then steps back, says calmly, “All of Versailles will see you burn for this.” Agathe gets a little ranty, says “I will not be vanquished while my agents are at large.” (oooh, Louis’ expression, knowing she has more people working for her…) She gets louder, saying how she has sewn the seeds of sedition and is going to turn everything into… I dunno what because Bontemps suddenly loses his shit, steps forward and does what we all want to do and slaps her across the face. As she’s dragged from the room, she yells, “A TIDE!” and then she’s gone and Louis looks at Marchal and says, “find who they are.” Then we cut to Agathe being led through the palace, through the salons, and everyone turns to watch this display, some with “OH SHIT” expressions, and she smirks at Gaston and Montespan as she gets hustled out. Gaston mumbles, “show a brave face. So there can be no suspicion.” But Montespan ain’t having that. Or him. She wants nothing more to do with him. It’s over and nothing can be proven. (RLY?) In time it will all be forgotten, apparently. (RLY????) Gaston disagrees. He moves off as everyone else is stuck in gossipy whispers.

Ah, and it is evening and we are with Cassel who is coughing up blood in his bed. Man, he looks really bad. I guess that’s what slowly being poisoned will do to you. Sophie steps to the bed, asking what he will have her do. “Water, please,” he rasps, looking all haggard and on his last legs. She serves him, helps him drink and it is clear she is quite upset about it. Poor thing. She looks torn, and I am really liking the depth of humanity she shows. She could have been written as cold and determined: considering what Cassel did to her, I would not have been surprised. But instead her character remains true to her heart and she is feeling remorse and conflict with her actions.

We are back in Louis’ bedchamber with Bontemps, Marchal and the little black book of Agathes’. Bontemps is frustrated – he says Hercules rid himself of the hydra by chopping off all its’ heads. Louis throws down the book in frustration and stomps out, and we next see Montespan asleep in her bed. Louis suddenly enters and she slowly sits up, cautious. His Majesty has come to the wrong room, perhaps? Louis says nup, it was def. you I came to see. And of course, Montespan is weirded out and wondering what he is up to. He leans in on the bed, staring at her. “It has been a long time.” Montespan replies: “Not since you have been with another woman.” Yeah, nup. She’s wrong – Louis has been occupied. “With Madame Scarron?” AHHHH, now SOMEONE notices! But apparently that is careless talk, and “She is Madame de Maintenon now.” OF COURSE SHE IS. Of course, everyone will think you are shagging her, now she has a fancy title and chateau and stuffs. Then Louis holds out his hand to Montespan, even smiles and wiggles his fingers as she hesitates. “What have you been up to?” He asks casually and OMG the look on her face….. She slowly rises from the bed. “Keeping a low profile. Waiting. Hoping.” Louis replies: “The waiting is over,” and the brief smile on Montespan’s face gives me a sad. “I hope so,” she says, then circles him slowly. “I knew it,” she finally adds, with an almost smug smile. (UGH. Not sad anymore) “I know you better than anyone. I knew it was a lie when you said you did not love me.” He steps behind her, gently brushes her shoulders. Apparently everyone lies sometimes. Oh, but she has never lied about her feelings for him. But in other things? asks Louis. She turns to face him and declares, “I have nothing to hide.” Louis replies with “There is sin in thought as well as deed,” and he is so giving her a chance to confess right here, but she is gonna brazen it out. She has nothing to confess, except that she loves him. As Louis removes her nightshift she says she will do anything to have him back. Louis replies, “For that, you must tell me the truth.” Fully nekkid, Montespan slides back onto the bed, obvs thinking she can win him over with nekkid boobage and her magic vajayjay, saying, “come to me, my king. I will show you I have no secrets.” He gives her a brief look up and down, then crawls onto the bed over her, kissing up from her belly, then strokes back her hair, murmurs, “finally. The scales fall from my eyes.” She moves in to kiss him, and they do, then he holds her back and the grip on her face looks pretty uncomfortable. She gasps as he gets out, “and you have betrayed me for the last time.” (Louis getting his Darth Vader on, lulz). Then he pushes her face back, then shoves her legs aside in contempt and walks out as she curls up naked on the bed and cries. OKAY, she is not very cluey, is she? How can she not think at least something was off when he chooses to see her and starts talking about secrets after she JUST SAW Agathe arrested the same day? Maybe a, “hmmm…. he has rejected me, told me he didn’t love me, then Agathe the witch gets arrested and now he’s asking me about what secrets I am holding onto?” SUSPICIOUS, MUCH?

Next day, and Louis meets the duc de Luxembourg, all smiles and hellos. Eh-up, there’s gonna be some major shit going down now. And what a lovely scene this is, with Louis’ intelligence and gift for words really coming out here when he says he needs the Duc’s help with ‘a dilemma’.

Louis: I am in two minds how to deal with my enemies. Do I educate them or punish them? Luxembourg: Depends what they’ve done, Sire. Louis: (casually) Well, if I came upon information incriminating someone I trusted…. how should I deal with that betrayal? Luxembourg: (clearly unaware) There is only one way to deal with a traitor, Sire. Louis: (gently laughs) Even if it was someone like you?

*CLANG* The penny drops for Luxembourg. He knows. They stare at each other and Louis’ smile slowly falls away. Luxembourg’s expression goes from disbelief to distress and he starts to cry as he hangs his head. Louis says calmly. “If you tell me the truth, you can leave through that door.” (such a beautiful door it is, too. Look. I would want to take it with me, not gonna lie.) “If you do not, you will leave through that door.” His other option is, of course, still a beautiful door, but flanked with the king’s guards, so obvs not the smart choice.

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Glorious door to freedom

Glorious door to jail

I’ll take door number one, thanks, Eddie.

So now we hear Luxembourg’s reasons: “My wife’s father was obstructing our investments. She wished him dead.” The in-laws. Dammit. Those bastards. He heard about Agathe supplying poison and invited dear ol’ Dad around for supper. Louis says he is deeply saddened Luxembourg didn’t come to him… “I am a reasonable man. I always help those loyal to the crown.” Luxembourg snaps back with, “I fear you would not listen unless it was part of your plan!” Look at the shock on Louis’ face…. LOOK AT IT!

 “Because I frighten you?” Louis gets out. “Is that it? Because I am a tyrant?” Clearly, Agathe’s words have resonated. “You killed a nobleman in my palace.” Shit. Luxembourg cries, “I beg forgiveness, Sire! I will devote my life to your service without question.” Yeah….. Louis smiles at him, says he appreciates his honesty… “my friend.” Luxembourg thanks him, kisses Louis’ ring and steps to the unguarded door. Uh-uh. Not so fast. The doors open, the guards enter and yesssss….. Marchal enters too. Luxembourg is all WTAF??? but Louis says calmly, “do you really think I could let this go unpunished? After all I have given you?  FRANCE. REWARDS. HER LOYAL SERVANTS. AND SHE PUNISHES THOSE WHO BETRAY HER!” You go, Louis, getting all aggro and yelly and I Am The GODDAMN KING.  Luxembourg is removed and Louis says tightly to Marchal, “Strike now. Without mercy.” And the Marquise de Montespan? “Not yet.”

Now we have a fab montage of short scenes, with Marchal and guards (shout out to the lovely Cédric Vallet, who is Marchal’s Chief Musketeer), entering the rooms of nobles, dragging them from their beds and rounding them up from the salons. Women, men… all in chaos. We see a dude hurrying down a corridor, then locking himself in a salon, but the guards are inside and he gets grabbed and dragged away .. and can we stop for a moment to acknowledge Marchal casually sipping wine amidst all this arresting? LULZ. Montespan sees this, and Gaston slithers over, hisses, “They’re arresting half the court!” And she is all, “calm yourself. We two remain in the clear.” But for how much longer? He wants to make a tactical withdrawal but Montespan disagrees. She wants to “push ahead.” ……with what? Oh, I’m glad you asked. “There is one person who deserves punishment above all.” Gaston is freaked by another noble being dragged out, but Montespan, however, is so very cool.

New scene and urgent ominous music plays as we see a shot of the village and then Gaston in Agathe’s house, retrieving a bundle from a hidden hole in the roof. Then he’s back in his rooms at Versailles, brushes off Odile (?? Why is she grabbing him?) then opens the bundle, revealing bottles of poison. “What are going to do with them?” Odile asks. Gaston gets out: “Go get me something to drink.” She goes, but does not look happy.

We are now out in the gardens, on a pleasant stroll with Thomas (UGH) and Philippe. While the gardens are lovely, Thomas wants to know where they are going… somewhere private, away from prying eyes? Nah, Philippe is in more of a romantic mood, indicating a stone bench set against a row of hedges (which still looks fairly public, being in clear sight of strolling courtiers) and a valet with wine and noms. “What is life worth if you can’t bask in beauty? And talk about poetry? The words of love?” Thomas laments the fact that his words these days are military, all about the king’s ambitions. Ahhh, so here Philippe is planting the seed, because he still has to tell Thomas all that stuff Louis wanted him to, but without arousing Thomas’ suspicions. Philippe subtly flatters, saying Thomas is a poet, that he sees the reality behind the façade. He all-casual-like leans against Thomas as he launches into it: “take Versailles, for example. It is truly a triumph of style over substance. It has my brother written all over. Same goes for the war. He has you writing all that propaganda when the truth is, things are obviously in chaos.”

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He charms and flirts and touches Thomas’ hair, making Thomas laugh. It’s a very good effort. “Why would you withdraw all of your troops from Holland, when we all know that is where the real war is won or lost?” Yeah, Thomas’ expression indicates he’s noticed that little clue being dropped. But I’m not sure he knows he has been played. Then Thomas places his glass down, turns to kiss Philippe, and as Philippe shifts to get into it, says “the king expects me back in court.” Philippe looks at him, smiles: “We could just have sex if you’d rather.” Huh. Thomas smiles back. “Maybe later.” (and GTFO WITH THAT SHIT. He’s just not that into you, Philippe. He is soooo not down with the man love AT ALL. UGH. Because the only legitimate excuse for denying a prince is going above his head, claiming the king needs him) Thomas leaves and Philippe’s expression is all uggggh, dammit. Failed again. I don’t think he’s annoyed with the cockblocking, tbh. More like, “I need to keep him here, to convince him of this fake war story.” We see Thomas stomp off with such a shitty look on his face and I think that maybe he has swallowed that little story of Philippes’.

Maybe….. Maybe not. Because we are back with Cassel on his deathbed… He rasps, “Is that you, my dear…”  To which Thomas answers, “you must be losing your sight.” WTF Cassel has HIS EYES CLOSED. Cassel replies: “I can still detect a bad smell.” AHHH. Thomas is furious. “It was you, wasn’t it? You betrayed me to the king.” Cassel gets out: “Now why would you think that?” The Duc may be one step away from kicking the bucket, but is still sassy as hell.

So, Philippe’s jig is up. Totally. The spy was spied on and now he’s aware of the spy spying on him. But the second spy is still spying, thinking the original spy is still in spy-mode. Thomas says he knows because of a sudden enthusiasm for his company by a certain Monsieur and a “strong urge to divulge secrets of State.” I KNEW Philippe was coming on too strong! Thomas is quite angry, wants to know if Cassel betrayed him to the king, and I detect a certain outrage, and I am all a bit WTF, as if Cassel had any kind of loyalty to Thomas. Cassel starts to laugh and Thomas grabs him by the throat. “I warned you! Didn’t I?” And srsly, why would Cassel give one shit about Thomas blackmailing him when Cassel knows he is dying? I would totally do the same in Cassel’s shoes – snitching on the asshole who’s not only blackmailing him, but also shagging his wife. Although I’m not sure if he did it for the first reason more than the second. Whatever the reason, Thomas is going down and Cassel is pleased. Then we see Sophie approaching the rooms, and Thomas still chokes Cassel, then Sophie bursts in and shoves Thomas off him. She is teary… “I’m sorry,” she whispers to Cassel (oh, my heart!) and Cassel whispers, “Sophie…” touches her face and is gone. Meanwhile, Thomas is being a broody little shit behind them, giving her a look when she glances back at him.

Whew. And we are only 22 minutes into the ep!

We are now in Louis’ rooms with Philippe giving them all a debrief.  And Philippe is all uuuugh: “I said you were making a mess of it by withdrawing the troops from Holland so you could focus on tackling the east. Then he left.” He was due to speak with Louis an hour ago. Bontemps asks if Thomas has seen through it. Philippe adds, “we were drinking. It was in the heat of passion.” …..Ummmm. It wasn’t really. Not much passion there, just a brief kiss from Thomas. Louis gives him a look, Philippe looks back at him. Philippe: That’s exactly what we agreed, wasn’t it? Louis: You took him for a fool. An error of judgement. And not for the last time. Philippe: That’s not fair! I’m the one selling his arse for France! Louis: Find him! Maybe it’s not too late to retrieve the situation. Philippe gives a mocking bow then leaves as Louis adds, “he must not leave the palace.”

Back in Sophie’s rooms, where she is demanding to know why Thomas would hurt a dying man. He grabs her hand: “There’s no time to explain. I must leave tonight and I want you to come with me.” Sophie is all confused and breathless and worried. “Why should I trust you?” Thomas replies: “If they catch me, they will kill me.” Okay, using Cassel’s death as an excuse. Which is a bit silly, considering everyone knew Cassel was dying and no one else knows Thomas strangled him. Sophie could just not say anything and Thomas would be in the clear. Yyeah, Sophie ain’t down with that shit: “Why? What have you done? What kind of outlaw are you?” YAY! uhhh…… No…. here we go. Thomas plays the blackmail card: “one who knows all about you. That you are a Protestant and that your mother conspired against the king for William of Orange.” The penny drops for Sophie now. GOOD GIRL. but UGH he plays that “yes, I am a spy too but then I fell in love with you, now are you coming with me or not?!” card and I am yelling at my screen going “NOOO SOPHIE DO NOT BE SO STUPID UGGGGH.” She is confused and he kisses her, tells her he’ll be at the stables at midnight, then swiftly leaves. And Sophie is looking distraught and I want her to go to Marchal for help because we all know HE WILL FIX IT.

Tbh, I thought I’d be more happy with Cassel’s death. He was a nasty piece of shit, sure. But he also had complexity and depth and he did something ultimately for the good of the king. And Louis, to his credit, did not throw him in jail when Cassel confessed to conspiracy. Pip Torrens was brilliant on the screen and I will miss his evilness.

Philippe returns to his rooms, tosses his coat on the bed and we see the Chevalier (FINALLY) in a chair, an empty glass and two more with wine on the table. “Where the fuck have you been?” He says softly yet angrily and I have to pause for a second. Did Philippe not tell him to GTFO in ep 9 after that attempted suicide stunt? “Here we go again,” murmurs Philippe and I am totally with him on that one. *sigh*

The Chevalier: You were with him, weren’t you? Philippe: (pours water into the empty wine glass) I’m not going to have this conversation with you. The Chevalier: Then I’m going ’round to your little sweetheart right now and I’m going to rip his throat out. Philippe: You’re not going to do anything of the kind because you’re a notorious coward and he’s not my sweetheart. The Chevalier: (gives him a look then gets to his feet) I’m a coward, am I? Do you really want to see how brave I can be? Philippe: Look, it’s not what you think! The Chevalier: (limp-stomps to the bed and grabs his coat) I think he’s a snivelling little bastard. And I’ll kill him.

Philippe gives him a look and I actually think that he believes the Chevalier will actually follow through. As the Chevalier heads to the doors, Philippe blurts out, “It’s a charade. Louis is using me to feed information to the Dutch. That’s why I’m flirting with him.” The Chevalier turns, snorts. “I’ve heard some lame excuses in my time..” then walks out. And I am WTAF he WANTED the truth and when he gets it, he doesn’t believe it???? SRSLY? What is so far-fetched with that scenario, given what happened in S1????

Right. We are in the gardens now, with Louis and Maintenon strolling, then taking a seat along a path. Louis comes here for sanctuary, apparently. Then he tells her he has a record of who is behind the poisonings. Hundreds of them. His friends. (and right now I am so reminded of the differences between how Louis is portrayed in the series, compared with Benoît Magimel’s version in the 2000 movie, Le Roi Danse. There is a magnificent scene between him and Lully, his court composer, where Lully says, “I thought we were friends, and Louis replies coolly, “I have no friends.” If you can find the English subtitled version, I urge you to watch. You can buy the French DVD from Amazon)

Anyway, back to Louis and Maintenon, and Louis says some of those friends are “close…. very close. One in particular.” Maintenon, with her calm voice of reason, replies, “then the betrayal is greater. An untreated wound can fester in the soul just as in the body.” Yes, Louis knows what he must do, and wonders why he hesitates, why he doubts himself. And Maintenon is all “Look into my eyes. I believe in you. You must trust yourself.” And Louis says, “you are perfect,” and they have a good ol’ snog. And OMG it JUST occurred to me that they killed off Jacques to make way for Maintenon! All his cryptic metaphors and calm advice, coming from a place of unselfishness, and borne of a desire to just help Louis rather than gain something in return. This is EXACTLY what Maintenon is doing. Even their tone of voice is similar. But now with Maintenon, you get the romantic element thrown in, plus the jealousy from Montespan (and likely the queen when she finds out they’re shagging). UUGGGGHHHH *MIND BLOWN* Anyways, Maintenon stops all the kissing and whispers about it being wrong, and lulz Louis plays the ‘how can it be when God has sent you to me?’ card and when she reminds him he is married, he is all “it is a marriage without love.” Ouch, queen. “And me?” Maintenon replies. “What would I be? Love without marriage?” UGH WOMAN. You overstep yourself just a bit to presume you know the king’s affections. She goes on: “Whatever exists between us is purer, stronger than the desires of the flesh.” Then totally gets up and leaves (WITHOUT HIS PERMISSION) and Louis is left sitting there quite a bit pissed off.

Right. I am so looking forward to Season 3 where they will hopefully show Louis with a stack more mistresses. Pleasepleaseplease….

Back in Montespan’s rooms now and she is looking determined about something. So Louis is under the impression that all she has done is ask Agathe for some love potions…? I think so. We see guards burst into another room, smash things up and find the pouch of poisons Gaston had retrieved previously. So, his rooms then. People stop by the door to gawp (car crash, 17th century version) and Gaston is there too, watching them as the Chief Musketeer claims, “one is missing,” and quite rightly decides it’s a smart idea to move along. He turns… ah-HA. Marchal stands behind him and it really looks like Gaston is about to wet himself. Still, he brazens it out with a cool “can I help you?” To which Marchal says just as coolly, “yes, I believe you can. Whether or not you are willing is another matter.” And the maid Odile is pulled forward by a guard. Gaston loses it… snarls out, “you TREACHEROUS BITCH!” and lunges forward, but Marchal.. OMG bless you, you wonderful man. Marchal grabs Gaston by the face and hurls him back into the guards. The poison pouch is shown, Gaston knows the jig is up, Marchal gives him a look then turns away. And Gaston is dragged, slo-mo-style, through the corridors for all to see, getting in Montespan’s face to give her a panicky stare-down, to which she does not bat an eyelash. His downfall is complete. Montespan quickly hurries off.

Marchal strides into his office/dungeon, Gaston behind, and they pass a bunch of locked-up nobles. Marchal shoves Gaston up against a cell, and a rough looking Agathe steps from the shadows, all messy and bloody about the face. Gaston gasps, “I have failed you. Forgive me.” But Agathe says nothing and he’s dragged away to a rat-cell. “You are defeated, witch,” Marchal says calmly. “where is your dark master now?” As he starts to walk away, Agathe replies: “In my head. just like he is in yours. We both know this is not over yet.” He gives her a cool, calculating look then walks away. And I am reminded of that scene in The Incredibles where Syndrome goes on about how stupid villains are when they go into a monologue about their plans and how the good guys won’t defeat them etc etc. AGATHE. WTF are you doing??? Has no one ever told you to, uhh…. like, NOT TELL THE GOOD GUYS THAT YOU’RE STILL DOING EVIL STUFFS?

We’re back in Sophie’s rooms, where she is cleaning up Cassel’s face, and Marchal is standing there and says what we are all thinking: “You have a very soft heart.” Sophie replies: “everybody deserves dignity in death.” Marchal wastes no time in telling her that he knows what she did, that her name was on a list. Oh, and LORDY how much do I LOOOOVE this man when he adds, “It has now been erased. You conscience should be clear.” Sophie abruptly stands, says tightly. “And what of your conscience? Is that clean?” Marchal: “I leave the past behind me. I hope you will do the same.” To which Sophie does a massive nose curl and strides to the dresser to retrieve a bag. WTF is she so angry with him??? Marchal issues a word of warning: “Your lover may not be the man you think he is.” well, DUH. We know this. Why can he not just forbid her to go? Even lock her up for her own good? Or maybe… tell her?? But no. She simply says to him, “everybody has their secrets,” then walks out the door.

Right, so we see Thomas enter his dark rooms, then rummage through a trunk. He jumps when Philippe casually asks from the bed, “where do you think you’re going?” and is all ‘what are you doing here?’ Philippe:  “I like surprises,” and rises from the bed. “And I don’t like people walking out on me.” Thomas gets a bit grovelly: “I’m very sorry, I had urgent matters to attend to,” and Philippe is sorry too – for coming on a bit too strong (WAT. Thomas has already given him a blow job – I think the ‘coming on too strong’ is moot at this point) . And Philippe doesn’t at all sound sincere, especially when he says they could maybe try again. NOOO. THOMAS KNOWS. Okay, so there’s quite a bit of snogging then Philippe pushes Thomas back onto the bed, then more snogging. UGH. Then…. Philippe reaches for a dagger in his breeches, Thomas notices and is all, “That’s not very nice of you.”

And it is ON.

Thomas hurls Philippe from the bed and the knife slices through a window covering. Philippe slashes forward but Thomas leaps back every time. Thomas grabs a pot/vase and deflects a blow, before Philippe knocks it from his hand. Philippe lunges and they then wrestle for the knife, falling over a table and slamming into the floor. Philippe thrusts again, Thomas grabs his arm, Philippe punches Thomas in the face but it’s obviously not hard enough because Thomas punches back and Philippe goes down. As he lays there, dazed and prone, Thomas crawls onto him and just starts wailing into Philippe (OMG *CRIES*) punching him until his nose is all bloody. NOOOOOOOO. Why are there no guards rushing in for backup? Then Thomas picks up the dagger and FFS DOES this IDIOT not know how bad it would be to kill the king’s brother???

THEN OMG……. THE CHEVALIER TO THE RESCUE!!!!!!

I am pretty sure I screamed at this point. The fight scenes as so very well choreographed.

The Chevalier glances at prone Philippe in panic and horror, then leaps forward, yelling for the guards as Thomas runs to the window and leaps out into the night.

Now we have two simultaneous scenes – Thomas hurrying to the stables, and the guards rushing in and the Chevalier all trembly over Philippe, seeing all the blood and not seeing him move. The guards are NOT MOVING THEIR ASSES QUICK ENOUGH, no, they just look casually out the damn window, meanwhile Thomas watches Sophie standing with two horses and a stable dude, all out there on the grass and in the open. Thomas strides out, smiles as Sophie gives a little relieved gasp…. and then the Chevalier just seems to appear from the shadows behind him, with such a fucking badass look on his face. He slowly raises his musket and takes cool, calm aim.

And shoots Thomas.

ABOUT FUCKING TIME. YESSSSS! THIS IS WHAT THE CHEVALIER IS ALL ABOUT AND I AM TOTALLY ON BOARD THIS TRAIN!! WOOOOHOOOOO!!!!

Sophie screams, Thomas collapses, the horses rear, and the smoke wisps around the Chevalier like some awesome metaphor for dark vigilante justice and badassery. YES.

Sophie rushes over to Thomas, holds his  head in her lap as he bleeds and goes through the motions of dying, then she kisses him and hurries over to mount her horse while the guards come a-running, Marchal in the lead. Marchal yells out, “STOP!” but Sophie wheels her horse around and gallops through the gates. The guards take aim but Marchal commands them all to hold their fire. “She is innocent,” he says, as the Chevalier stands there all casual-like with his musket pointed in the air. I love them both right now..

Whew. Well, we are back in the palace, in Louis’ rooms, and Philippe dabs at his bleeding nose while the Chevalier attempts to explain to Louis why he shot Thomas: “Believe me, Sire, I had no intention of causing trouble. I saw your brother in pain… My anger was too strong for me.” And I am just going NOOOOOO why does he have to ruin his Badass Shooting with a grovelling apology? This is what he should be doing after that little shit beat the crap out of THE BLOODY PRINCE OF FRANCE! He deserved to die and no one is going to judge the Chevalier for killing him. Hell, he would be celebrated for coming to Philippe’s defence. And yet, here we are, listening to him stutter and desperately justify his actions to Louis. And then Louis commands him to silence and says, “I have brought you here to express my gratitude. You have shown honour and valour in ridding the palace of a dangerous spy.” Stunned Chevalier is stunned. Louis continues: “And as a reward you will receive an annual stipend so you are no longer in debt, nor so reliant on my brother, and you will be given rooms in the east wing.” As the Chevalier can’t quite believe it, Louis issues a condition, that he start to “behave like a nobleman. Your predilection for alcohol and powders will cease if you wish to remain associated with my court.”  Of course, the Chevalier is gushingly grateful, to which Louis repeats, “Will you shut up?” Okay, let me get this right. The Chevalier had thought that by killing Thomas (whom he did not believe was a spy even though Philippe told him so: we see his surprise when Louis confirms it) would mean punishment from Louis? Punishment for killing a man who was about to kill the Prince of France? FUCKSAKE. The Chevalier is a high-ranking noble (not that we see it here: his importance to the court seems to have either been ignored or glossed over in the telling) so he damn-well knows it would be his duty to kill weasel Thomas. And he would also know that Louis would be grateful for it and very likely reward him. So the Chevalier’s surprise when Louis not only thanks him but gives him monies is so very frustrating, because it’s not the way it would’ve happened.

So now Louis then goes over to Philippe. Louis: Brother. You are alive. Philippe: (quietly) No thanks to you. Louis: You were in the service of France. Philippe: It would’ve been good propaganda, wouldn’t it? Had I died. Your brother sacrifices himself. For you. Louis: Please, try to be reasonable- Philippe: What would you have written on my tombstone? (small snort) Gave his arse for France? (Slowly heads to the doors) Louis: Brother, please. (Philippe slowly turns) If you had died tonight I would have lost my closest friend. Philippe: (looking sad and forlorn) Why should I believe you? Louis: Because after all we have been through… After all the hurt I have caused you, you love me as I love you. (walks towards sad puppy face Philippe). If you walk out now, you walk out on that love.

And then, with Philippe all still bashed and bloody and SAD PUPPY EYES, Philippe is the one to lean in first and they embrace and the music swells and yes, I CRY because this is the one thing Philippe wanted from Louis and now he finally has it OMGGGG…. And then….. Louis says, “Tomorrow you will go to war. If that is what you wish.” Philippe cannot quite believe it, and he immediately glances over to the Chevalier who is watching their exchange, and I can see his face is sad but also kinda “yes, this is what you really want, I know.” Then Philippe says to Louis, “no sudden last-minute change of mind?” And Louis gives a small smile and replies: “I want you to go to Holland and destroy William of Orange. For me. For France. For you.” Philippe smiles, turns and walks out, and the Chevalier quickly follows, giving Louis a bow.

Wow. Okay. Nearly 20mins to go and I am EMOTIONALLY DRAINED. We are now moving through the dungeons, the camera shaky and rapid, with a creepy whisper in the air, and we get to Agathe’s cell where she paces and chants creepy-Satan things in (possibly) Latin. The guard outside looks worried and crosses himself, and we cut to Montespan in her room at a table, toying with a vial of poison. Agathe still whisper-chants, Montespan appears to be thinking.

Then we are back outside, daytime, seeing shots of the gardens before we watch Montespan enter the chapel in a subdued dress and vail. She is in confession with Bossuet and he does not look impressed. “I have done things. Evil things. I accuse myself of sins of the flesh. Of pride. And of wrath. And of other things I dare not mention.” Is she truly sorry, Bossuet asks? She is. Oh, then that’s okay because the Lord will forgive her if she says the act of contrition. And she does, and it is a VERY GOOD recital, with the correct inflection of emotion and tears. Bossuet looks forward to seeing her at communion, and is pleasantly surprised when Montespan asks permission to stay and pray. So she goes through the motions, kneeling and signing the cross, and Bossuet watches her and is well pleased and happy because he thinks she is all penitent and has found God. UGH. Yeah, the look she gives his retreating back tells us quite clearly she is still the same old Montespan and up to something.

Louis is going through his morning lever, looking not very happy, and then he and the queen walk into the chapel as holy music swells, then Philippe and a not-very-impressed Liselotte enter (the Chevalier immediately behind them) and Philippe says to Liselotte, “You did well to stay. Versailles is fun once you get used to it.” Liselotte replies: “Versailles will be fun when it gets used to me.” Everyone walks in, courtiers bow, and all take their place as the hymn continues. The Chevalier steps to Philippe’s side, but Philippe says and does nothing. Louis eyes Maintenon, who looks a bit heart-eyes and breathy. The queen is looking a bit.. stoic? Tight lipped? Maybe she has found out about the snogging? Then Louis and the queen kneel and the sermon begins. Meanwhile, Montespan walks in after everyone is focused on Bossuet: “It is only through the light can the long shadow of death be banished.” he says. Quite a subtext here, all about hope and resurrection and peace, and Montespan is struggling to hold it together.

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We are in Marchal’s dungeon now, and he is punching the crap out of Gaston, wanting to know who Agathe’s other agents are. Gaston is all panicky when Marchal prepares to break his pinky finger, quickly getting out, “I can save the king’s life! But not if you touch another hair on my head.” As Marchal slowly steps back, Gaston adds, “and in return you will give me full amnesty and safe passage to Bordeaux.” Marchal says that only the king can grant such a wish, and Gaston half-laughs and says something that sounds like, “the faster he’ll run or no wishes at all.” Then adds, “the ghosts of his victims are here for revenge.” Marchal is not impressed: “you will be freed only if the king survives.” Gaston swallows. “Can I trust you?” (LULWAT). And in answer, Marchal shoves him against the wooden post he’s chained to, grabs his shirt front and says, “if he dies, you die.” Then the church bells begin to chime, the hymns swell and we see Bossuet walking with the wine and wafers… Montespan starts to cry…. everyone lines up to receive the blessing as Bossuet reads from the bible in Latin…. then we are back with Gaston and Marchal and Gaston says, “Hmmm. Easter Sunday. A sermon. Prayers-” Marchal begins to think as Gaston adds, “Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.” And Marchal strides out. Cut back to the chapel, to the singing choir as Bossuet picks up a wafer and places it in Louis’ mouth… and Montespan is desperately trying to hold it together, tears now falling, her face torn with emotion. And damn, GO, MARCHAL!!!!! RUN LIKE THE WIND!!!! He races through the gates, across the courtyard, then pelts up the stairs, screaming, “DOORS!”

Back in the chapel, and the queen receives the wafer, then the wine is uncovered and poured, and Montespan is losing it now, in real distress. And the hymn still plays over the top of these scenes, giving them all a creepy, fatalistic ambiance. The wine is poured in slo-mo, and then the camera pans to the crowd – we see Louvois, Bontemps – and the wine just keeps going. Bossuet stops, Louis makes the sign on the cross… and we are running with Marchal, the camera all shaky, heading hell-for-leather straight to the chapel doors, and the guards quickly open them and then we see the choir still singing, all pure and ethereal as Louis takes the wine glass and brings it to his lips… Montespan wipes her tear-stained face, openly distraught, and Louis tilts the cup up and OMG THE TENSION IS KILLING MEEEEEEEE and JUST as he is about to take a sip, Marchal charges in and screams, “NOOOOOO!!!!!” and Louis stops, Marchal races up to him and takes the cup, murmurs breathlessly, “it is poison, Sire.  De Foix  confessed.” As everyone whispers, Louis and Bontemps look shocked, then Bontemps takes the wine jug and Louis says, “who else? He could not have done this alone.” And Marchal and Louis share a look, Marchal looking confused then thoughtful and they both slowly turn to look at the assembled crowd. Louis knows. He scans the faces… then he sees her, tears in her eyes and gasping. He knows. His expression is almost disbelieving for a second, then his face hardens as it sinks in. Montespan gasps, hand over her mouth, turns and walks out.

Next scene – we enter a private room of Louis’ and see Montespan in front of Louis, Maintenon standing near a window, a fire burning in the hearth. “Someone tried to poison me while I worshipped God,” Louis begins tightly. Montespan says she is innocent, but Louis does not believe it. “Innocent?” He holds out Agathe’s black book. “Yet you procured poison.” Ah, now she changes her story to “It was a mistake. I did not go through with it.” And what about the heretic priest? A satanic mass? The blood of a child spilled? Montespan is teary. “No, I could never do such a thing!” Yeah, Louis ain’t having none of that. “You went to see him! ADMIT IT!”

Her reply? “Everything I did, I did for you.” Oh, okaaaay, then. That makes it perfectly OKAY and TOTALLY NOT HER FAULT.  Louis slowly circles her, his anger and disgust clear…. then slowly, almost as if against his better judgement, he reaches out and gently touches her bare neck, his fingers stroking. “I gave you my heart,” he whispers, almost disbelieving. “My soul. My love.” Then he looks across the room to where Maintenon stands at the open window, light streaming through, and the metaphor of Godly light is so very obvious. Louis’ gaze returns to the back of Montespan’s head, his expression firm. “That love has died.” Montespan is nothing but uber-determined as she whispers back, “it cannot die.” Louis slowly removes his hand from her as she gets out in a teary, breathy whisper. “I made you who you are. I made you complete and I cannot live without you. You cannot live without me.” Louis looks at her directly, replies almost gently: “That was true once. But not now.” She weeps as he adds, “without you, I am myself.” Montespan finally gets it now: “I will leave. If that is what you want. You will never hear from me again.” Louis glances to the still-silent Maintenon, then back to Montespan.

Ohhh, the look on his face. LOOK AT IT. Then he drops it: “No. You will remain here at Versailles. An anonymous noble without the king’s favour. That will be your punishment. Bear the guilt and shame forever. You will leave behind the life you once led. You will attend prayers and mass. You will neither drink, nor gamble. You will be known for your piety and your humility.” And oh, Montespan is in distress weepy tears mode (but still looking gorgeous, dammit) as she struggles out, “you condemn me to death!” But Louis is not swayed one bit. “The Marquise de Montespan,” he says, “who had the world and the king of France at her feet, no longer exists.” Montespan struggles to breathe as she cries, knows it is now truly over for her. Condemned to be a nobody, a nothing. Everything that she loathed and desperately tried not to be. Everything she spent her last waking moment trying to avoid. And finally, as she stands there in tears, Maintenon hurries over and embraces her, gives Louis a look, then leads the fallen-from-grace Montespan from the room.  Maintenon then returns to a stoic Louis, puts a hand to his cheek, then whispers cryptically, “even the darkest night gives way to dawn.”

*Historical note: It was never suggested that Montespan ever tried to poison Louis, rather just put things in his wine and food to ‘increase his passion and love’ for her when she suspected her favour was falling. An ex-lover of Louis was, however, accused of wanting to poison him, a Claude de vin des Œillets, who was angry that Louis did not officially recognise her daughter as his.  You can read all about her here.

Well. Nearly over now. We are in Philippe’s rooms and he is standing before a mirror, dressing in a golden sash and OMG I am expecting some more emotional shit to go down. Liselotte says, “but if you are killed, what of our son?” Philippe replies: “you will find someone else to take the role of the father.” They both glance across to the Chevalier who is standing by the window… WAT. AHAHAHAHAAAAAA NOPE. SO WRONG.  

Anyways, Philippe takes Liselotte’s hand, says, “we will write to each other. Every day. I want a full report on your health and well being.” She nods with a smile. “And remember,” he says lightly, “this is Versailles. You should be happy.” They laugh softly, he kisses her cheek and then he takes a bolstering breath and walks to the Chevalier. “How do I look?” The Chevalier can barely glance at him, he’s so upset. “Passable.” Philippe is sad; “I thought you’d be pleased for me.” The Chevalier replies: “And I thought you’d be grateful to me.” Philippe’s eyes fill with tears as the Chevalier continues, moving to him: “Didn’t I save your life? So why risk it now? On a stupid battlefield?” UGH. Poor Philippe, you can see the emotion on his face and we know the Chevalier’s words are because he is hurting that he may lose Philippe again. Philippe looks at him, says calmly, “I will always love you. But there are things I must do before I can love you again.”

WAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!! *SOBS UNCONTROLLABLY*

The Chevalier’s gaze drops to the floor…. Philippe leans in and their foreheads touch, their eyes both gently close as the moment fills with emotion. “-as I wish,” Philippe finally whispers. “And you deserve.” They kiss, sweetly, tenderly and I am an absolute mess because this is what they need, an honest moment sharing what is in their hearts, a kiss that shows what they mean to each other. The Chevalier is shaking, they both smile through the tears, then the Chevalier finally whispers, “go.”

Philippe turns, looks at Liselotte, picks up his sword then strides to the doors, goes through them with his generals, the servants bowing. He glances back as he walks, and Liselotte and the Chevalier are framed in the doorway, Liselotte slowly taking the Chevalier’s hand in a show of solidarity and support… he turns back, gives a sigh, and then – as we all know this has been his dream all along – smiles to himself because he is FINALLY off to war.

No time to wipe those tears, people. We are here for the witch burning. We are in a courtyard and it has drawn a crowd. Burnings and hangings and other sorts of punishment were entertainment in those days: Tyburn Hill in London was like a regular day out for all, with refreshments being sold and nobles watching the hangings from the comfort of their carriages. Not only that, it was supposed to serve as a deterrent. Here we see the townsfolk gathered, and a royal box is set up to get full advantage of the spectacle. Agathe is led out, looking dirty and beaten, in chains and barefoot. The crowd yell at her, she remains silent with her head high. She is strapped to the pole. Then the camera cuts to the dungeons, to Gaston in chains as Marchal enters. Gaston smirks. He thinks he’s won his freedom…. nup. Marchal says, “take him to the pyre,” and his smug face falls.  Back with Agathe as she is tied up, and a parade of people in dirty fancy clothing walk past her…. the nobles she supplied poison to? I think so. They are herded before the pyre, and Gaston is shoved forward. Witnesses to the burning. Punishment. Louis steps up to the royal observation platform with the queen, the rest of the royal court spread out, and there are chants of “long live the king.” He looks to the man holding the huge burning torch and the pyre is lit. Agathe is expressionless… until the smoke drifts up and her feet feel the heat.

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We see reaction shots from the crowd – Montespan, a guard holding Luxembourg’s head so he is forced to watch. Peasants crossing themselves and glancing away. And the flames rise higher around Agathe. Louis reveals no emotion as he watches, stepping aside as the Dauphin walks up behind to watch (FINALLY we get to see him again! It’s been, like, eight whole eps in between). Agathe yells,”The Sun King! It is for his greed that you toil! For his vanity! You suffer! Rise up and fight! I URGE YOU! FIND YOUR POWER!” And the camera pans to the peasants but we cannot see any discontent, no nodding or whispering or agreeing with her. She’s two Louis too early. Still she screeches as the flames get higher, “Your days are numbered. Louis, King of France. You and your spawn!” Louis puts a hand on the Dauphin’s shoulder as Agathe keeps ranting, frothing at the mouth, spouting about how their flesh will be eaten by the worms of tyranny. It is a great monologue and, knowing what we do about French royal history, very prophetic. We see Maintenon looking a little distressed, Liselotte the same, the queen showing nothing and Louis with a ‘yeah, burn, you witch.’

And so she does, wailing like a banshee as the flames finally reach her. Marchal watches expressionless, Montespan glances away. Marchal’s guard struggles with Gaston, forcing his head up to watch Agathe burn. The camera pans over the royal platform, to all the expressions of horror while Agathe screams. Louis is still and silent, his gaze direct. And then, just the tiniest twitch of his lips in a smile.

THE END!!!! *Collapses* 

So…. that is it until next year, when Season 3 hits our screens. No word yet as to a Season 4…. but did we all enjoy this series? What did you love? What did you hate? What/who do you want to see more of?

For me, the biggest drawcards by far are Fabien Marchal and his dark and broody brilliance as he prowls across my screen. The dialogue, which is always fabulous. The romantic moments between Philippe and the Chevalier. Sophie’s quietly growing strength and determination. Liselotte’s everything. The clothes, the jewellery. And the stunning visuals of Versailles, Vaux-le-Vicomte and the interiors.  Stay tuned for another article on the smexy bits, plus what we can expect (and what I would love to see!) in Season 3.  And merci beaucoup for reading along and your comments. You guys rock xxx ❤

Versailles season 2, episode 10 – deaths, downfalls and departures So here we are. The finale of Season 2. I hope you're sitting down because there is A LOT to unpack in this ep.

[avecorviidae]

Fic: Aubade - Chapter Seven

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100 Rating: M Relationship(s): Kageyama Ritsu/Suzuki Shou Word Count: 4004

Ao3 Link

As with most things, they clearly haven’t thought this through.

Still, even when they’re folded up and empty, cardboard boxes are clunky and difficult to carry on buses and Ritsu is dreading carrying them back when they’re full, so when they leave the apartment at some point in the early afternoon to pack up Ritsu’s dorm room, they only bother taking the two boxes Shou had found tucked between a shelf and a wall in one of the hallway closets. Somehow, they mutually assume that this will be fine.

And the thing is, while they’re actually packing, it is fine. Ritsu had never really bothered to unpack most of his clothes in the past year, half out of pure laziness and half out of a reluctance to properly make himself at home in the dingy yellowish dorms, so they’d all still been sitting in a duffel bag in his closet that they’d stopped to grab last night. Probably the biggest bulk of space in the boxes ends up being taken up by his rented textbooks, which are the most expensive items he possesses and are as such stored safely under his mattress. He likes to think that at the very least, he’s sleeping on top of a small fortune that he can pawn off on the black market for drug money when his life inevitably spirals out of control.

For someone who doesn’t really have that much stuff, Ritsu learns that he apparently has a lot of stuff, as Matsuo keeps drifting in and out of the room with new things that Ritsu half-remembers buying in his frantic fit of oh-god-why-are-these-people-content-to-live-in-filth that had embodied his first week in the dorms, before he’d brought everyone’s standard of living up drastically with things like dish soap and bleach spray.

More than half of the stuff that Matsuo brings in Ritsu tells him to keep, because his former roommates are dysfunctional wrecks of human beings who don’t really understand that every house should probably have its own mop bucket, and Ritsu will be buying one of his own, thanks anyways, dude, but he and Shou end up being quite proud of how economically they pack the stuff that they do take. They close up the boxes with the roll of packing tape they’d dug out of one of Ritsu’s desk drawers, feeling perfectly satisfied with themselves, and Ritsu wonders why on earth freshmen tend to show up with an entire moving truck’s worth of boxes shoved into the backs of their parents’ cars.

And then Shou tries to pick up one of the boxes.

Again, they clearly didn’t think this through.

They, much like their two boxes that they have chocked full of Ritsu’s shit, are absolutely fucking dense.

Ritsu watches with a vague sense of horror as Shou manages to wedge his fingers under the box and slowly but surely stagger to his feet, veering precariously from side to side like a thin tree in a strong breeze. There is a part of him, small but there nonetheless, that really wants to give Shou a gentle push to see if it’ll tip him over.

The rational human being part finally kicks in and he grabs the other side of the box, and although their combined strengths are still somehow meager in comparison to the Heaviest Box Ever Packed, it’s enough to steadily lower it onto the floor, and they manage to set it down with minimal trouble and only a couple of fingers crushed underneath it.

For a few moments, they both just stand on either side of the thing, Shou’s hands on his hips and Ritsu’s crossed over his chest.

“Well,” Shou says tonelessly.

“Well,” Ritsu echoes, equally so.

“We’re dumb, huh,” Shou says, eyes wide and distant in surprise as if he’s just now realized this. Ritsu nods.

-

“Ritsu,” Shou hisses half an hour later, “we’re really dumb.”

Ritsu is back on the floor, cross-legged with his chin in his hands, trying to work through a plan, so he barely spares this comment a second thought.

“Yeah,” he replies absently, considering the logistics of taking one of those rolling box-carrying things that come in moving trucks on a bus. Of course, even if they did get it on the bus by some miracle of physics, they’d still have to return it eventually, which would be a real bore, and jeez, all of this sort of thing had been way easier when they’d had Reigen to drive them around in his janky used car.

He blinks back into focus to find himself staring straight at Shou’s knees. He follows them upwards to find Shou looking down at him with an expression like he’s had a religious sort of revelation. With an oddly apt sense of comedic timing, one of the boxes floats into view behind him, surrounded by an orange-pink haze.

“Ah,” Ritsu says serenely. “We’re fucking dumb.”

-

Shou taps him on the shoulder about halfway through the bus ride home, snapping Ritsu violently out of his thoughts. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s got on a concerned frown and his eyes are questioning, so Ritsu’s guessing some of his thoughts must’ve seeped into his expression.

Shit. He hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out. Maybe moving vehicles just make me weird, he thinks, somewhat absently.

“I’m just…” he sighs, then trails off, waving his hands vaguely at the boxes on the seats across from them. Thankfully, the bus is mostly devoid of people, so they’d only received a few mildly horrified stares when they’d floated onto the bus behind the two of them.

“It’s weird,” he says finally. “That my entire life fits into two boxes and a duffel bag. That’s it, that’s everything. It just doesn’t sit right with me, that I can pick up everything that’s been mine the last year and just go.” It makes even less sense out loud than it did in his head and he feels kind of stupid for trying to articulate it, but it’s as close as he thinks he’s going to get and, well, if anyone’s going to understand what he’s trying to say, it’s Shou.

Shou squints over at the boxes for a few moments, before turning and nudging one with the toe of his shoe. “Well,” he says, tone considering, “not unless you’re gonna try and fit me in one of those boxes.” He blinks, then adds, “Or your brother. Or Pops. Or the microwave in the apartment, actually, because if we ever move out I’m stealing it.”

Ritsu sighs, but there’s no heat in it. They’re already pressed pretty close in the bus seats, touching more or less from thighs to shoulders, but he finds himself leaning a little closer anyways, feeling weirdly light in the chest when Shou’s head drops onto his shoulder and stays there for the rest of the ride.

-

Being in the apartment is weird. It feels like looking at a puzzle that’s missing every third piece, or an optical illusion where it all seems to work out logically until suddenly there’s a crucial gap and then it all falls apart. Objectively, they have most of the pieces required to make this apartment a lived-in place, but there’s something missing from everything, just one little crucial piece that should tie it together. They’ve got a stovetop and a fridge and drawers and cabinets in the kitchen, and a thousand little knick-knacks from the dorm, but they’ve got no pots or pans or spoons or spatulas, nothing that’d actually make it usable. They’ve got closets and clothes, but no hangers, so they’re both still living out of their suitcases. They need shelves for books, bags for the trash, plates and cutlery for the food.

It’s kind of driving Ritsu fucking insane.

-

It goes down kind of like this:

On day two, after they’ve recovered Ritsu’s stuff from the dorm, they stock up on basic necessities at a tiny, on-the-go sort of grocery store that they find just down the street. Paper plates, plastic cutlery and cups for now, until they can go on a big shopping trip. Milk, eggs, snack foods, that sort of thing. They realize as soon as they get home that they’ve forgotten bread, but Shou’s trying to figure out how the fuck getting new internet works and Ritsu’s preoccupied with a mysterious stain on the bathroom wall, so neither of them can really be bothered to go back and get it.

On day three, Ritsu finds Shou attempting to construct a sandwich by precariously stacking up Decidedly Not Sandwich Ingredients. He notices Ritsu leaning in the doorway and freezes, one hand still halfway between the bag of doritos and the abomination on the countertop, looking for all the world like a raccoon that just got caught pilfering a trash can. Ritsu leaves the room, takes three deep breaths, then takes Shou’s wallet and goes to buy bread.

On day four, he wakes up at around five in the morning to the sound of unfamiliar traffic outside of his window, which is getting really fucking annoying. He gently advises his mind to get the fuck over it already because they live here now, you’re gonna have to get used to that, and then decides he’ll just get some water or something and then try to go back to sleep.

In the kitchen, Shou is committing a war crime.

More specifically, he’s got a box of cereal Ritsu doesn’t remember buying in one hand and a gallon of milk in the other, and appears to be trying to pour cereal into his mouth, hold it there, then tilt his head back far enough to pour milk in afterwards.

Shou spots Ritsu mid-milk pour and spends a good few minutes almost choking to death, though somewhat impressively, manages not to spill the milk at all. As soon as he’s breathing again, Ritsu points one finger directly at Shou’s nose and says, “You. Me. IKEA. Today.”

He goes back to bed.

-

They realize that this could get somewhat complicated without a car.

See, when Ritsu’s parents had ever bought anything big from IKEA, the type that came folded up in big boxes in the terrifying warehouse before the checkout, it’d ended up in the trunk of the car, or strapped precariously to the top of the car, or crushing him and Mob in the back of the car. Point being, the car had been a constant. He and Shou are decidedly carless, and their internet isn’t set up yet, so they can’t just order stuff online. Ritsu morally objects to managing an entire furniture order on a tiny phone screen, no matter how good Shou’s data plan is.

They employ their usual solution to problems.

-

TO: DAD Dad we need help being functioning adults

FROM: DAD Who’s in hospital?

TO: DAD ………….No one??? I think????? we need to get big things from IKEA

FROM: DAD ...I see. You know they deliver, right? Like, you go to the store, tell them what you want, and then they take it in a big ol’ truck to your place. It’s on their website and everything. I swear you used to be the one with common sense.

TO: DAD I gave it to one of my professors in exchange for an A on a paper Also no internet yet

FROM: DAD Fair. Good luck, kid. Try not to kill each other when it turns out you don’t actually know how to use a screwdriver.

-

IKEA appears over the horizon like a great blue leviathan, immediately compelling the two of them into awed silence as they stare at it through the bus window.

While Ritsu’s content to look out of the window for a while, he’s inevitably drawn back to Shou, whose gaze seems to be transfixed on IKEA with just a tad too much genuine trepidation. It’s almost as if…

There’s no fucking way.

“Shou,” he begins hesitantly, “have you ever actually… been inside of an IKEA?”

Shou whips around to glare at him, a furious pink flush rising on his cheeks. You’d think someone who acts as cool as him wouldn’t be so easy to tease, he thinks with a grin, and yet.

“Shut up,” Shou hisses, trying to elbow Ritsu in the ribs, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile he’s trying to suppress. “Do you not remember who my dad was? He wouldn’t buy furniture from anywhere within like, a five mile radius of a place like this, he was afraid he might accidentally touch a commoner or something.”

Ritsu ignores this entirely, instead leaning close to Shou and plastering on a Teru-worthy smirk. “Well,” he says, pitching his voice embarrassingly low and doing a godawful impression of a seductive lilt, “I’m honoured to be your first, Mister Suzuki.”

It’s the kind of dumb shit Shou pulls on him all the time, so it’s incredibly gratifying when Shou immediately starts spluttering, possibly choking on his own spit, then doubling over and wheezing “I hate you,” in between hacked laughs. When Shou finally looks up, his face is bright red and there are tear tracks on his face, his grin twitching like it’s threatening to break out into another giggling fit. “Fuck you,” he says, whacking Ritsu halfheartedly in the chest, “take me out to dinner first. Buy me IKEA meatballs, asshole.”

-

As soon as they walk inside and go up the escalator into the showroom, Shou’s enraptured. Ritsu can’t blame him. Reigen had once said that IKEA contained the organized, smooth Swedish aesthetic that all Hot Messes secretly aspire to, and honestly? Ritsu is feeling it already.

Shou perches on the edge of some sleek black pleather sofa, squinting around with an indeterminable expression. After some time, he declares, “We live here now.” “They will probably try to kick us out when the store closes, you realize,” Ritsu tries to reason.

“Try,” Shou echoes, nodding agreeably.

-

When you’re a kid, you’re more likely to accept weird stuff that happens to you. Ritsu doesn’t just say this because he grew up with a brother possessed of terrifyingly powerful psychic abilities; he’s pretty sure it’s universally true. The unnatural qualities of the world seem a whole lot less noticeable when you're a little kid and the boundaries of your natural world aren’t clearly defined.

Case in point: Ritsu is just now coming to realize that IKEA is a sentient building with labyrinthine qualities.

They spend their first little while in the showroom sitting on every soft surface and staring at lamps that look like bizarre enemies from some futuristic sci-fi video game. Ritsu tries to ignore the niggling feeling that the building looked too small from the outside to have this many turns in it. Instead, he picks up one of the massive blue crinkly bags and hands it to Shou, who holds it up and says, “Hideous. Absolutely awful. I love it.” “Wow, thanks Hanazawa.”

In one of the rooms clearly designed for pre-teens, they find a bunk bed decked out in fairy lights and Shou plops down on it immediately to take selfies in the lighting. Ritsu takes the opportunity to text Teru to have a very serious conversation about comfort versus style, the subject of the argument being an armchair in a truly unsettling shade of green that sits in the corner of Mob and Teru’s living room which also, apparently, can be found in an IKEA showroom.

“It was really soft, though,” Shou points out, chin resting on Ritsu’s shoulder so he can read off of his phone. “That’s not the point,” he replies, betrayed in the deepest sense.

At one point Shou physically clambers into a bed, kicking off his shoes and crawling under the covers. He pulls the quilt up over his nose when Ritsu tries to drag him out, but he can still see the grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’re gonna get us kicked out,” he says tiredly. At almost the same exact time, he looks across the showroom and sees a woman in an IKEA shirt stretched out on one of the couches, pillow over her face and fast asleep.

Ritsu toes off his shoes and climbs in next to Shou.

The bathrooms are Ritsu’s personal favourite, usually dark and aggressively sleek, the perfect style for his residual emo soul. He’s been taking pictures of the tags of stuff they’re actually going to buy, so he doesn’t quite notice where Shou’s wandered off to until he turns around from a bathroom sink and spots him in a shower stall, calling him over with a wave of his hand. Ritsu steps inside, ducking his head under the bar for the shower curtain and noting with some interest the glossy black tiles that cover the walls.

He almost startles when Shou reaches over and pulls the shower curtain closed with a flourish, leaving them enclosed in the shower stall, somehow still mysteriously lit by no lamp that Ritsu can see. He shoots Shou a questioning look, only to snort when Shou leans back against the shower wall, a hand over his heart and eyelashes fluttering.

“Why, Mister Kageyama,” he says, all false coquettishness, “Cornering a young girl like me alone in a place like this? How scandalous.” Payback for the bus, he thinks as it suddenly clicks into place. He considers giving Shou the reaction he wants, a laugh and a shove on the shoulder and possibly a comment about exactly how classy making out in an IKEA shower stall is, but the reaction he’d gotten earlier was too good to resist playing along with the joke.

He shamelessly uses his height advantage when he steps into Shou’s space, one leg between Shou’s and a hand propped casually on the wall beside his head. He leans down so that their noses are almost touching, and says low, “Well with you standing here all gorgeous like this, how could I resist?”

It’s pathetic joke flirting, some cheesy disaster line out of every old black and white movie he’s ever watched with his mother, so he doesn’t quite expect it when Shou seems to freeze, eyes wide and locked onto Ritsu’s. It’s only for a few seconds, a barely noticeable pause before Shou’s howling with laughter as he pushes past him out of the shower, but Ritsu gets caught on it, on the hitch he thought he’d heard in Shou’s breath, on the way he feels oddly wired, like his skin is buzzing from the proximity, and what the fuck had just happened?

Still, he shrugs it off as probably nothing and steps out into the bathroom after Shou. He seems to have shaken the… whatever it was off pretty quickly as well, because he turns to Ritsu with a grin and says, “Can we go back and look at those weird round chairs again?” To which Ritsu shrugs and nods, and leads them out of the bathroom–

And into a completely unfamiliar part of the showroom.

Ritsu looks behind him and squints. See, as far as he’d been able to see, that bathroom had only had one entrance and exit, that being the one he had just come out of. And logically following, the one he had originally come through to get there in the first place. So how in the everloving hell had they just walked out into new and strange territory? “Oh, this place is so fucking with us,” Shou whispers next to him, like he’s afraid that IKEA will hear him and get angry. Ritsu, irrationally sharing that fear, just nods.

-

A couple of hours in, they have a shopping cart carrying two blue IKEA bags filled with Household Necessities, probably more spoons than are strictly necessary in a cutlery set, and a toilet roll holder inexplicably called GRUNDTAL, because the Swedish are conspiring against him.

They are also both starving to death, and Ritsu hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the supposed restaurant since they arrived. Eventually they drift over to one of the huge “YOU ARE HERE” maps, which Ritsu swears changes in basic layout each time he looks at one, and heave a collective sigh when it tells them that the café is pretty much on the other side of the building. Ritsu looks from the room around him to the map a few times, trying to orient himself, but finds that it’s all for nought because Shou has already chosen a random direction and started walking.

Now, Ritsu has learned to expect that every time they turn a corner, they will encounter a room they’ve never been in before. It’s happened on literally every single turn they’ve taken since they arrived in the showroom.

He’s not exactly prepared to follow Shou around a corner and find himself face to face with the supposedly-miles-away café. He and Shou exchange a look, and Shou silently mouths “it knows” with wide eyes. Ritsu is inclined to agree, and so chooses not to ask any more questions. He’s just happy to have food.

Partially for the sake of the joke and partially for propriety, Ritsu does end up buying Shou’s meatballs, which he devours with vigor. Ritsu has a weird sandwich… thing, which isn’t bad, but tastes distinctly and weirdly European. Over a piece of some chocolate dessert cake, Shou says, “So what now? Do we have everything?”

Ritsu does a halfhearted rummage through the bags at their feet, and scrolls through the pictures of tags on his phone. Floor lamps, shelves, dressers, cutlery, plates, chairs, he mentally counts off, though he’s been doing it all day in his head. He’s pretty sure they’ve got everything and more, including all of the extra whatsits that Shou had thrown in the bags along the way. “Yep. The website says that we should flag down an employee and ask them to draw up an order, or something, that we can take down to the checkouts. That way we’ll be buying the big furniture and the delivery costs, and I think we can arrange the delivery dates and times down there.”

He frowns at the thought of going over and asking one of the employees. It’s not that he can’t, or that he won’t, but for whatever reason he feels like he’s going to make an idiot of himself by asking. Which is silly, because he’d gotten through their apartment hunt with the landlords no problem, but then he’d rehearsed for that and there was protocol and social etiquette, and he’s not sure what the procedure is for this, or if it’s even actually a thing or just something that they don’t even offer anymore and they just haven’t taken it off their website, or–

“Okay, cool,” Shou says around a mouthful of cake, inadvertently interrupting his train of thought. “Gimme your phone?”

Ritsu hands it over without thinking, and blinks when Shou is gone, halfway across the room before he can process the movement and chatting animatedly with someone in an IKEA shirt. He watches for about ten minutes as Shou scrolls through pictures on his phone, waiting for the IKEA guy to copy it onto some tablet he’s holding. The two of them walk out of view for a few minutes, and Ritsu can’t quite help the small smile on his face when Shou starts walking back towards their table, a small packet of paper held triumphantly above his head.

He allowed himself a small sigh of relief. That’s the worst of it done with, then.

-

That was in no way the worst of it. The path downstairs to the checkouts was a disaster zone full of shiny things for Shou to touch and buy, and Ritsu ends up following closely behind Shou’s heels, putting the infinite number of colourful ice cube trays and bright orange photo frames carefully back into their rightful spots.

Somehow, when they get home and start unpacking their bags, Ritsu still finds no less than three sets of one hundred tiny candles. Asshole pyromaniac.