#the amount of scenes i have thought of in my work's bathroom stall

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for having a fart sound app on my phone?

🦄💨🌈 (almost compulsory emoji code)

So this thing happened about a year or so ago.

I went to the bathroom at work only to find one of the stalls blocked by another lady talking on the phone.

Which is kind of a pet peeve and a squick for me.

Like, idk. Having someone listening over someone else's) phone feels uncommon to me. But I'm not going to police people on that kind of level. That would be even worse.

However, it just so happened that while I was sitting on the throne, I let one rip. And I mean, RIP. Almost comically long and thanks to the bowl it was extra loud.

The lady on the phone immediately complained like "eeewww, gross 🤢 rude"

It was entirely unplanned but I thought the result was hilarious. I mean, if it grossed her out to hear ppl doing their business next to her while she's on the phone, then maybe she shouldn't go to the bathroom to talk in the first place?

(also I get a certain amount of shyness with regards to being perceived in the bathroom. I have it, too. It's actually part of my "problem")

This situation isn't my question and tbh if you vote me the AH for this scene, I'm not going to take you serious.

The question comes now:

I've come into a similar situation a few days ago but with no sound coming from my rear end.

And so I thought to myself "well, there's probably an app for that, maybe I should get one"

So here is my question: do you think I would be the AH for using the app for this specific purpose? I have it already but as of writing this ask I haven't been in any situation to use it, though it's not exactly uncommon for people to hide in the bathroom for a chat on the phone.

And I know it's kind of immature. That is also not my question.

So Tumblr, without further ado, please tell me: am I the (justified) AH for having an app ready to remind people what the bathroom at work is actually meant for?

What are these acronyms?

[bylerschmyler]

Mike - Vecna's 4th victim

I know that many people believe that Mike was a tool for Vecna to get Will and El back or that he waited for Mike to be gone to California. I have a pretty different perspective on this and I want to share my thoughts about this. I just gonna warn you that this post will be quite long but I would appreciate it if you take your time to read it.

For the tool-theory and waiting to be gone-theory I have two simple reasons why I don't think that they are correct.

When Vecna kills Chrissy Mike is still in Hawkins. He doesn't wait for Mike to be gone/sitting in the car/plane and traveling to California. Vecna kills her mere hours before Mike had no possibility to interfere with him. It's not only that Vecna kills Chrissy, no he kills her in close proximity to Max who could have been more suspicious about Eddie, Chrissy and the lights and could have called a CODE RED, which would have led to Mike not going to California. So if he wanted Mike to go to California (either for him to be gone or to get El/Will back) why would he jeopardize this mission by being too impatient?

If Vecna wanted Mike out of the way why didn't he just kill him? I mean we can all agree that pre S4 Mike already has a massive amount of trauma. So if he needs Mike out of the way he could have just cursed him too, couldn't he? There was nobody to stop him from doing it. El? Out of the picture. No powers and too far away. Mike? Wouldn't be able to help himself during a trance. The Party? If they don't know what is coming, how would they prevent it?

So I think Mike wasn't a tool for Vecna. He was a perfect fit for a far more important role.

He was the Chosen one, the fourth, the final sacrifice.

But before we are going to discuss Mike's role in Vecna's plan in detail, let's take a step back and take a look in the things that actually happened in S4.

Specifically everything that has to do with Patrick and his curse. Because there are so many things wrong with Patricks curse.

First of all Patrick doesn't fit the other victims. Timing wise as well as in his trauma and our connection to him and his connection to other characters on the show.

Timing

Patrick is the only victim that we see getting cursed. This happens on the March 23rd (sunday) at some point during the day (morning or noon I guess). (here the scene where he gets cursed)

This is in direct contrast to the timeline which is presented by Max. For further explanation this is also March 23rd but late in the evening.

So let me get this straight.

Chrissy's curse started a week ago (approximately week = seven days. I made this post where I found a specific date when Chrissy's symptoms started and they are not adding up. But I think it's because it's meant to be not the curse itself that's coursing these symptoms but something else which I will talk about in another post)

Fred's started six days ago

Max's five days ago

And Patrick just that morning (basically one day ago)?

In no way this is supposed to happen. What was the reason? Did Vecna forget to curse Patrick four days ago? Or couldn't he decide who to curse 4 days prior?

Well the most logical reason (imo) is that his actual target can't be targeted. And we do know one character who was in Hawkins and left during the season. And that's Mike. But this is not the only reason Patricks timing is off.

With Patrick being cursed there is a change in the way the curse works for Max and him in comparison to Fred and Chrissy. I won't go too much in to the details but here are some observations.

Chrissy and Fred both have 3 visions that are heavily paralleling each other.

Their 1. vision is related to the people around them. Chrissy thinks that Max is still in the room when the pounding on the bathroom stall starts. Then she hears her mothers voice and Vecna's feed come into vision. Her mothers voice get distorted soon after and Vecna's voice fades in.

Freds first vision is also directly connected to a conversations he is having with Officer Daniels. Daniels also fades in to Vecna. His face and his voice.

The second vision is the grandfather clock. But a very creepy version.

With Chrissy it's spiders with Fred it's people turning into Vecna calling him murderer.

The third vision is there death and relieving their nightmare.

Both die on the end of their 5th day of being cursed. Their visions start during the day and the day ends with their death.

In contrast to this Max curse is put off this timing. Max visions start on the end of her 5th day of being cursed and she has 3 visions with different themes than Fred and Chrissy.

Max's 1. vision is the grandfather clock. But it's only the creepy grandfather clock. No spiders and no link to Max's trauma.

Her 2nd vision is like Fred’s and Chrissy’s 1st vision a person who fades into Vecna.

her 3rd vision is supposed to be her death which she can escape from.

She has a 4th vision where she actually dies.

Patrick only has one vision we see and one that is implied but we don’t see at all. His first vision is the clock during Chrissy’s funeral.

the other would have been when he dies but we don’t see the vision.

Timing wise this implicates the scenario that Patricks’s cursing throws the timeline off schedule because we see a clear pattern before he was cursed which is thrown off the second Vecna targets him. So likely the original schedule would have targeted Max on the 23rd and the 4th victim on the 24th.

Lack of imagery and missing build up

His trauma, connection to other characters and the connection we build to him is also off. While most of it is due to the lack of imagery regarding him but also to the fact that we have a build up in this topics that Patrick is reversing.

I don’t really want to order the trauma of Vecna’s victims in terms of severity because I firmly believe that any trauma should be addressed and recognised and you shouldn’t compare trauma (unless you’re a therapist) because this kind of invalidates the people with “less severe” trauma. But when we talk about Patrick’s trauma we only have two clues about what it is because we don’t see visions that are related to his trauma. The first one is when he gets cursed (here). A man, likely his father, calls him a disgrace. Lucas also tells us that Patrick came to practice with a black eye once.

This implicates that Patrick is also a victim of domestic abuse (like Chrissy) What I find interesting is that this creates a circle of trauma themes.

(I want to emphasize that between Fred and Max there is a build up because Fred has survivors guilt and Max has survivors guilt but also wanted the person that died to die before he died. This is obviously meant for us to notice because it’s an addition to the same theme)

Ignoring the potential build up in the trauma and going into Patrick’s relationships we see that he doesn’t make sense as 4th victim narratively speaking. We have a clear build up in the victims relationships with other characters:

Chrissy has no known relationship to our main characters 

Fred is Nancy’s colleague and apprentice (Fred asking Nancy how she did this with Jonathan). They are close enough (Nancy trusts him enough) to take him to the Trailer Park. 

Max is a main character of the show. She has many close relationships to other main characters

And then Patrick comes around and he is just Lucas’ team mate who he can’t even trust because they are hunting for his friends. 

The connections to other characters get closer and closer until Max only to go rapidly down with Patrick. Narratively this doesn’t make sense because Patrick is supposed to be the 4th victim. He should have close ties to our favorite characters and they should care deeply about him because of the needed rise in tension. They get around it with Max escaping the death vision and being the actual 4th victim but for the original plan this would have been very weird.

This also ties to the connection we as an audience have to the victims.

Chrissy is a new character. We only see her in one episode and we barely know anything about her. Most of what we know is that she is a cheerleader and she has trauma. Although many people sympathize with her we can’t really get connected to her.

Fred is basically the same. But we get more information about him. We know he is a journalist. We also know that he does know about Jonathan and Nancy and their struggles in their relationship (which he kind of wants to take a chance in because he flirts with Nancy). We have two episodes with him.

We have known Max since season 2. We had a lot of time to get to know her and create a bond with her.

And yet again Patrick doesn’t make sense. Why do we get a new character which we don’t like because he is part of the antagonists, after a (beloved) main character? There was a subtle build up and then we flunk down in the negatives with our perspective on the character.

I wanna add that in an recent reblog of a post i discussed Mike's parallels to the other victims. You can find the post here.

But how does Mike fit in?

Most people on here are well aware of all the hints that connect Mike with Vecna. Therefore many people believe he is a target in S5. I believe so too. I still don’t think that so much has changed during S4 that made him more targetable than he already was. Yes his trauma increased through the shootout, the death of unknown hero agent man, lying to El and losing Eddie and Max, but his trauma was there before. And it was severe enough to make him struggle. It’s pointed out in the canon extending book “Lucas on the line” and it is also shown in his behavior in S4 (getting up too late, used clothes, dirty room/basement, he doesn’t eat on camera, and more). So Mike would be a perfect target for Vecna only considering his trauma. But there is way more stuff that make Mike a perfect last puzzle piece in this situation. First of all he is one of the few characters that are in Hawkins when the curses begin and have more/deeper connections than Max. Yes Max has a lot of deep connections (the Party and El specifically) but Mike has those connections too and he has deeper connections to the teens (Nancy and Jonathan especially), Will, Joyce and Hopper. So in a certain way he is more connected to the rest of the cast and would be perfect to be the final step of the build up we see with character relationships. He has also been part of the show since S1 and was one of THE main characters in S1 and S2. He has a very important role in figuring out important plot points and so for us he is obviously a very important character. And so while I don’t play favorites he is slightly more important for the audience (subjectively speaking). Timing wise (as I said before) he is the only character we know to travel out of Hawkins during the cursing. Him being cursed on March 20th (thursday) wouldn’t compromise the given timeline. It would also explain this scene where Mike clearly looks like he has a awful headache.

And this scene where Max has a nosebleed and the camera’s focus shifts to him

(some people believe that’s the moment he cursed Max. I doubt that. When Max explains the symptoms she said nosebleedS, plural [Insert Eddie’s comment on Nancy’s guns here].I believe that’s thursday morning and Mike was just cursed and had a nosebleed like Patrick and he looked like he looked because he found it suspicious that he had a nosebleed and now Max has a nosebleed.) Clearly two times where he was visibly shown in the context of the curses symptoms. Also his bedroom scene, when he reads Els' letter could connect to the symptoms (this is more of a reach than the other two).

Sleeping in underwear => He woke up an a cold sweat

The binder with Will’s drawings is in his room => having nightmares and needing comfort

(re-)reading the letter => having nightmares and needing reassurance that everything is okay

he is later than he usually is => trouble sleeping

Also I think @aemiron-main pointed that out: Mikes Reaction to Karen telling him that he need to be home by nine because it's an early flight suggests that he barely sleeps because he seems to not care of the early flight.

And last but not least the line Vecna uses for Max (You’ll be the chosen one, the fourth the final sacrifice) fits way better to Mike. Why? Well the main reason I only got on the Mike getting vecnaed’ train was while I was rewatching the show I saw this scene where El screams for Mike while she has a vision:

This scene reminded me of this scene where Will does the same:

And it made me think about how Vecna knows that both of his former targets heavily depend on Mike. He is the first they think about when needing help. He’s the first they find comfort in when upset. So Mike is obviously on Vecna’s radar. There is more…. These two scenes where Max and Mike help El and try to protect her and Billy sees it.

They stand out because it would make so much sense for Mike to be targeted too. Max does become a target because of her trauma but also because of her connection to El. So Mike would be a perfect target too. Him being the final sacrifice would be the peak of devastation for both Will and El and would make perfect sense for Vecna to do so. Also it would contrast Mike’s arc because he is usually the one interfering with Vecna’s plans in overtaking the real world. Mike being the last kill to open the gates to the UD would be very “poetic” from Vecna’s POV. Furthermore the line “You would be the chosen one” would be far more fitting for Mike. Mike is a fan of fantasy stories. The Chosen One Trope is a typical fantasy trope that has been used for ages. Mike can relate far more to this trope than Max (Max is a comic fan where this trope is used too, but Mike is pictured way more with classic fantasy where this trope is used very often).

But why did Vecna wait for Mike to go on vacation?

This is the only thing that really makes me struggle. Because I don’t have a good answer to this. The only possible explanation I see (without doubting the rest of this theory) is that Vecna didn’t look for his plans, his supposedly happy memories/thoughts and only took in the bad ones. Max tells us that she thinks Vecna only looks for the bad memories.

So if Max is right then Vecna didn’t look for the light in Mike’s mind and only for the darkness. (Therefore didn't see his hope of reconnecting to Will in Califronia) I also want to point out that Mike is not the only target Vecna needed. He needed four victims. So this is not solely about him. And you need to know that Vecna feeds off his victims fears, anxiety and guilt. So it makes sense for him to unleash his curse when all his victims are especially tense/anxious

Chrissy’s mother forced a beauty idea on her daughter that resulted in her being connected to bulimic tropes (Throwing up, rotten food). She is also a cheerleader in the 80s and she “needed to be pretty” because the championship games were coming up. So Chrissy would be more anxious than usually

Fred is less obvious than Chrissy. The only clues I got why he would be more anxious than usual are that Officer Daniels (Vecna Vision) tells us that the accident happened last year and he knows about Jonathan and Nancy’s relationship problems. The first could mean that the car crash happened somewhere in 1985 or it could actually mean that the anniversary is coming up which (knowing from S2) would affect Fred through the anniversary effect. The latter could make him anxious because he might see a chance with his crush (we see him multiple times openly flirting with Nancy)

Max would be more anxious because Billy’s birthday is coming up (March 29 - also anniversary effect)

Mike would be more anxious because he is traveling to California and he doesn’t know how Will feels about him and maybe he is a little jealous because of El’s letter and Will painting something for a girl

Additionaly the week before spring break could be full of tests which could make all victims more anxious.

Another good question regards the timing. Vecna did look for a replacement for Mike on March 23rd but Mike left early on March 22nd. So why did he wait an additional day for Mike? This is obviously a question I asked myself a lot. Why did Vecna wait for Mike to be gone for a whole day before looking for a replacement (Patrick)? Well this one is very hard to answer. But there is one scene in particular that makes me believe that Vecna starts his rampage usually early in the morning. You can take a look here in this post. I included the scenes right before and right after the scene on purpose because it gives us a better perspective on the timeline. So right before Vecna gets hooked up to the vines, El went to her bedroom crying. We know that this happened on the night of March 22nd. Then it cuts to the UD where Vecna gets hooked up but nothing happens afterwards. Instead we see how the sun rises/travels in the sky. Then it cuts to Lucas and the beginning of the hunt for Eddie. So what is the purpose of this whole scene? Vecna wanted to start the final stage of his curse (visions) for Max early on the 23rd. This is probably what he was doing with Chrissy and Fred the days before. He recognized that he couldn’t find Mike anywhere and then started to search for a replacement until he found Patrick. Very important for this theory, Vecna finds Patrick way later. There are almost 20 Minutes between this scene and the scene where Patrick gets cursed. Even more important: We see every group on screen before we get back to Vecna. There is literally a cut to every small group. First Lucas and the Jocks, then Max, Dustin, Robin and Steve with Eddie, then Nancy, the Cali Gang, Joyce and Murray, Hopper back to the Hawkins gang at the Trailer Park. I think Vecna didn’t recognize Mike’s absence because he was solely focused on Fred on the 22nd and started with Fred visions early in the morning before Mike got to the airport. So when he wanted to get started with Max the next day he realized that he couldn’t reach Mike anymore and decided to go for a replacement. That’s when the timings of the victims don’t add up anymore.

Besides everything I showed you here there is another theory that is connected to this. #possessiongate from @dinitride-art

This shows how my theory is supported visually in the show. It also explains why Mike isn't shown as cursed after the breakfast on the 23rd because his curse was shifted to Patrick.

[chocolatecakeandbl]

PhayuRain Dynamics

Short dive into PhayuRain bc we talked about it in the LITA Discord Server a while ago, and I decided to screw my thought about NotWritingMetasBcI'mBadAtIt, cleaned it up and here we go:

Alriiiight, Let's start on the topic, shall we? From the little clues we get from the show (I rewatched PhayuRain's part about 4 times just to make sure) PhayuRain engage in a 24/7 D/s relationship. It's a super rare thing, bc the compatibility is rarely ever given in real life, but IF two find each other (like Phayu and Rain) it's one of the most wonderful experiences a relationship can offer.

But what does it include? 

So, if you head over to google you'll find all sort of gross things. Really. Do yourself a favor and don't google it. I saw a lot I didn't want to see (which says sth considering I'm from the field) A real 24/7 D/s relationship is not about one partner dominating the other about every thing. Sure, you can do it. There's no limit and each is their own. But often such a relationship only works when there is a balanced give and take. 

Rain, for one, is actually having SUB printed on his forehead. If you ever been a Dom you take one look at Rain and be like "Yep, full sub." Like. there is no other option. But Rain is also a Brat (with capital B). 

Phayu is not only a Dom (shows in his behaviour, the way he carries himself, the way his eyes move [Boss is an awesome actor]) but also a Brat-tamer. 

(NOT every Dom is a Brat Tamer, and not every Dom's likes Brats. (I for one, don't want a Brat. Not for anything sexual, nor for a relationship. I can’t cope with it nor react accordingly) Every Dom is different. Pls keep that in mind) 

We see several instances where Phayu takes a close look at Rain. He checks his reaction, gauges it. He teases Rain just to see how he reacts bc it tells more about a person than any word can. In the bathroom/stall scene Phayu tests the waters. Is Rain just a Brat bc that's his nature? But in reality he's not into getting bossed around? Is he sensitive? Is he able to submit? At first it looks like Rain isn't. 

At first it looks as if Rain not only doesn't know he's into men, and specifically into someone with a shining aura of domination, it also looks as if he hugely underestimates Phayu. But a few seconds in, without Phayu actually kissing Rain (he's just teasing. He doesn't have Rain's consent, so he doesn't go down. Unlike the scene in the bed where Rain kicks him off with a pillow - where Phayu had been playing - here Phayu doesn't step over boundaries) Rain bares his throat. The ultimate submission. If you look closely, Phayu goes all OH, his eyebrows go up, his eyes widen when he sees Rain's reaction when he checks in on him. He keeps teasing Rain - again without really kissing him, just a breath of air against his neck, an occasional nosebump against skin - and Rain melts. His fingers clutch at Phayu, fist Phayu's shirt. Phayu rolls his hips once against Rain, and surely feels him hard. It's all the affirmation Phayu needs. Rain is a sub, he's very into being dominated and being told what to do, being told he's a good boy (bc D/s dynamics need quite an amount of praise).

Phayu could have gone further, but he decided to let Rain work through this at his own pace. And that’s what makes a good Dom. The consideration, the keeping strict to boundaries (they have not spoken about at that point, but Rain is like a walking open book, really). In the later episodes, we see Rain going from clueless virgin to Power Bottom. He learned Phayu's tricks and Phayu's movements. He uses them against Phayu when they start to make out after Phayu won the race. Phayu even tries to gain the upper hand again, presses Rain against the wall, only for Rain to turn around, not allowing Phayu to dictate where and how they are going. In the NC scene we see what a real D/s relationship is about. Give and take. Phayu allows Rain to do as he pleases. He gives him the power of their scene without allowing Rain to become a Dom. It's a balancing act. And they both are incredibly good at it. Phayu is wrecked right after because Rain has learned this much in the short time since Phayu took his virginity. We never see them sitting down and talk, but let's be real, it's what they did. Rain surely hadn't known about D/s before Phayu, but Phayu told him, taught him. No one gets into such a relationship without a lot of communication. And the 2nd NC scene shows how much communication they both went through. A LOT. Rain is a Brat, and he is a Sub, but that doesn't take away the power from him he has over Phayu. Quite the contrary.

First time they get intimate, if you look closely, what does Phayu do? He controls where Rain lies, how he lies. Phayu keeps Rain's hands in place on more than one occasion. This is a form of BDSM. (you may or may not call it like that and yes, I don't like boxes either, but if you go deep into these topics, you'll find it easier with boxes. Trust me. I tried without. It doesn't work.) It's a form of bondage, just that there is no rope. Why is this working for Rain, you may ask? Having a Dom (who knows what he does. May I add how rare that is?) like Phayu, who keeps his attention solely on Rain, checking in on him every few seconds without a word, always gauging Rain's reaction, and adjusting if necessary, is like a dream come true. Rain can let himself fall into Phayu's hands. He can trust Phayu will ensure they will get the best and most out of it. He can trust Phayu loves him and will cherish him. And that's the thing why being a sub is satisfying to no ends. As a Sub there are a lot of things you don't have to worry about. (which is, again, Rain in person. He's not the brightest star. He essentially needs someone like Phayu who knows what buttons to press to get Rain into the right direction without dominating him into it) A Dom is taking care of their sub, and that is what Phayu is doing 24/7. He keeps his eyes on Rain, corrects when necessary, stays cold and seemingly indifferent to Rain when he is in front of him, but melts into love stricken smiles when Rain can't see him. And Rain? In the course of their relationship we see how he starts to depend on Phayu. Yes, he is his own. He doesn't belong to Phayu. But he gives himself to Phayu. He can work himself alone (can go through daily whatever's easily by himself) but he knows he can fall back on Phayu. Just like Phayu gives himself to Rain. He allows Rain to dictate his life, can't keep Rain out of his head - see the way he got immediately worried when Rain didn't pick up his phone (bc he got kidnapped). The way Phayu frantically searched the house? That's what their relationship is about. Give and take. With D/s dynamics they both bend to their own will.

[smartycvnt]

Can't Keep My Hands to Myself

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Reader

Summary: You tease Rhea when the two of you go out for dinner.

Warnings: smut, bottom Rhea, top reader, vaginal fingering

R

WC: 1002

"This is a pretty fancy place. Are you sure meeting the guys here is a good idea?" you joked as you looked around the restaurant. Dominick and Damian were dressed in fairly similar outfits as they waited at the table for you and Rhea to make your way over there. Finn was still nowhere to be seen at this point, but you knew that he'd show up sooner or later. He was often showing up a little bit late to these things, or so Rhea always told you. This was actually your first "team meal" with Judgement Day since unofficially aligning yourself with them.

"They'll behave if they know what's good for them," Rhea promised you. In the WWE, you had a certain image that you worked very hard to keep up outside of the ring. It was hard, especially since a lot of people automatically assumed you were an asshole because of it. They also made a lot of assumptions about your relationship with Rhea. You had seen quite a few people call you a pillow princess online, and they couldn't have been more wrong. Especially with Rhea.

"Let's just take our seats and try to have a good night," you said. Rhea followed you over to the table. She got your chair for you, receiving a kiss on the cheek as thanks when she finally sat down. Rhea looked smugly at Dominick and Damian. She really felt like she had won the lottery with you, which you didn't understand. The woman had people falling over at her feet left and right, but you were the one who she had worked tirelessly to impress. At first, you thought she had been joking about wanting you, so you hadn't given in. Now, you were glad that you gave her a chance.

Rhea fell into a conversation with the guys, which was when you took your chance to mess with her. You placed your hand on the inside of her thigh, tracing random little patterns as you scrolled through Instagram on your phone. Rhea's mind went somewhere else completely, and you knew the exact place it had run off to. You subtly smirked to yourself as you began tracing the words that you had spoken to her the night she won the Rumble. Each of those absolutely filthy comments that had rocked Rhea to her very core that night were being traced across the thin fabric of her pants. You leaned forward just a little as you let your hand press into the inseam of her jeans.

"Rhea, do you think you can come hold my bag while I go to the bathroom?" you asked innocently. Rhea swallowed as she nodded. You very elegantly and easily got up from your seat, but Rhea was not so fortunate. She could be a bit clumsy sometimes because of the sheer amount of space that she took up, but Rhea was causing a little bit of a scene in the restaurant as she stumbled her way behind you. The two of you moved quickly into the bathroom and into one of the bigger stalls towards the end. "Now, you've got to be quiet because we're not by ourselves right now."

"What are you going to do to keep me quiet?" Rhea challenged. It was as close to a "make me" as she could get without being punished. You glared at her as you slapped one hand over her mouth. It was a bit harder than you meant it to be, but Rhea didn't complain. If anything, her eyes lit up a little at how rough you were being with her. You were never like that in public. She felt like she had done something to make you break, which she thought was something to be proud of. The day Rhea truly made you "break" in public probably wouldn't go anything like this.

"You are such a fucking brat sometimes Rhea. If I didn't want to feel all of that cum dripping down my wrist, I'd make you march out there and sit through dinner without anything at all," you told her. Rhea whimpered a little as your hand moved into her jeans. You maintained eye contact as your fingers teased and touched her a little bit. Rhea's eyes tried fluttering shut a few times, but you'd always squeeze at her jaw a little to get her to open them. "Keep looking at me or I'll stop."

Rhea nodded in understanding. You thought that Rhea's eyes were absolutely gorgeous and loved getting lost in them. More than that though, you liked seeing the way they'd roll back into her head when you started fucking her. Rhea's eyes were easily one of her most expressive features. Everything she had learned to hide on her face or in her words were always right out in the open with her eyes. You could see how each movement of your fingers brought her closer to the edge of bliss before shoving her right off of it. You liked going on her eyes rather than the noises being muffled by your hand. Rhea could get as loud as she wanted, but it was always the same look of light in her eyes suddenly going dark that told you when she came.

"Fuck," Rhea panted as she pushed herself up from the wall. "My makeup is probably fucked."

"Just your lipstick, but I like how it looks. The guys might get upset if they see it though. I doubt they wanted me to come along just to fuck you in the bathroom," you laughed. Rhea walked out of the stall first to start fixing her makeup. You followed her to the sink where you washed her off of your hands. "You look good."

"I always do for you." Rhea leaned over and gave you a kiss, which definitely re-smeared her lipstick just a little. You liked the hot goth look on her, but black lipstick was really a bitch to keep looking nice.

[septembersghost]

Something I am waiting for in 1989 tv more than potential h songs are potential Taylor herself songs. If red Taylor (who wasn't even that slutshamed compared to what's gonna come after) wrote nothing new and midnights Taylor wrote jokes weren't funny I really wonder what she wrote for 1989 which was peak of slutshaming

what's especially terrible is she was dealing with peak deranged slut shaming, so she pivoted to saying she wouldn't/couldn't date and a projected image of ~girl power~ with the "squad," which was received every bit as harshly as her dating life (if not more so), and ended up causing her additional pain. (if you're anything like me, you've grown to hate your pride, to love your thighs, and no amount of friends at 25 will fill the empty seats at the lunch tables of your past, the teams that picked you last, but darling, you keep trying. or in her 30 before 30 article: "Even as an adult, I still have recurring flashbacks of sitting at lunch tables alone or hiding in a bathroom stall, or trying to make a new friend and being laughed at. In my twenties I found myself surrounded by girls who wanted to be my friend. So I shouted it from the rooftops, posted pictures, and celebrated my newfound acceptance into a sisterhood, without realizing that other people might still feel the way I did when I felt so alone. It’s important to address our long-standing issues before we turn into the living embodiment of them.")

it's mind-boggling how unfair that was and how blatant the misogyny was. i grew up when britney came on the scene, and not only do i remember the slut shaming and the mockery of her, i internalized that for a long time, which i had to then unlearn because it was damaging. i know i still work at unlearning a lot of those messed up sexist standards from the 2000s. watching those cruelties repeat themselves with taylor was so upsetting (and there are similarities: people saying she couldn't sing/is talentless, calling her a slut/boy crazy/a crazy ex girlfriend/questioning her morals/deriding her intellect/sexualizing her as a teen and then blaming her for it/and so on), and it's such a constant tale in the industry when it comes to what's perpetuated against young women. it's incrementally getting better, but we still have a long way to go.

anyway, yes, same, i wonder if the 1989 vault will contain any of that. i don't know if she wrote anything addressing that then or if she was even in the headspace to be that confessional, but it would be illuminating to hear some of her internal thoughts from that point in time.

[thepartyresponsible]

For the wip ask (they all sound very interesting ngl it was hard to pick just one!) LostSteve

lost steve! yeah, so. what if shield defrosted captain america, and he broke out and just...kept running? what if they lost him? what if he ended up hiding out in tony’s tower, away from the fight for long enough to get his feet underneath him?

this fic is mostly about steve and tony finding each other first, so they can form the heart of the avengers, instead of the fault line that splits the team in half. here’s the first part of it.

                                                          —  

There’s an alert from Nick Fury that Tony chooses to ignore, for the sake of his convenience and Fury’s ongoing character growth. JARVIS announces its arrival and then diligently reminds Tony about the message twice before Tony tells him to mute it until morning.

“If it’s really that important,” he says, “they’ll just send someone to break in anyway.”

Which is why, on some level, he’s not at all surprised to find a man sitting on a couch in his penthouse twenty-seven hours later. He will admit to being caught somewhat off-guard by the specifics of the situation, though, because Steve Rogers has been dead for longer than Tony’s been alive.

“Zombie?” Tony asks. “Hallucination? Oh, clone? Are you a clone?”

Steve Rogers looks at him the way people look at wax sculptures. Like he’s interested in the details of the creation in front of him, but doesn’t believe for a second that what he’s looking at is real. “Mr. Stark,” he says, politely. His voice is deeper than Tony would’ve guessed.

“Robot,” Tony theorizes. “Sexbot? Updated Trojan Horse? If I let you inside me, are you gonna--”

The man’s brow furrows, and his mouth twists down, and his eyes are too sad for circuitry. No one would code that kind of grief.

Tony pauses for a moment, rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. He studies this intruder carefully. Someone sent him a Steve Rogers lookalike in a white t-shirt and stained khakis. He’s hale and healthy, built like a god, but his feet are bare and dirty.

Bloody, too. There are bloody footprints on the carpet.

“Wait,” Tony says. “Wait. Who the hell are you?”

There’s a long beat of silence. The man on his couch just stares at him, eyes tracing over Tony’s face, his shoulders, looking at him like he’s starving for something. He’s quiet and small, somehow, in a way that doesn’t relate at all to the amount of space his body takes up.

And then he stands, light and graceful on his bloody feet. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders pull up, and he’s an American Hero, suddenly and decisively, like he’s made some kind of choice about it.

“Mr. Stark,” he says, again, “I’m Captain America.”

And he is, Tony thinks. The same way that he’s Iron Man. Because once you put on that kind of armor, whatever else you used to be is irrelevant.

                                                           —

He’s Captain America, and he’s back from the dead. SHIELD had him and lost him, and Nick Fury wants Tony to go looking for him. That’s the message he left with JARVIS over a day ago. And Tony can’t imagine he was the first name on their list, which means Steve Rogers has been alone in the wrong century for an unknown but considerable amount of time.

“Hey,” he says, calling out from where he’s slouched against the kitchen island, watching Captain America dutifully eat through every scrap of leftovers Tony had in the fridge. “How long have you been here?”

“I was born here,” he says, through a mouthful of fried rice that he hides behind a napkin. He chews, swallows, and jabs his fork over Tony’s shoulder. “In Brooklyn.”

Tony knew that. Of course he knew that. He memorized everything about Steve Rogers back when he thought he could become enough like him to make Howard consider him worthwhile. “No, I mean,” he says, waving his hands, “in this century. How long have you been--- Jesus. I dunno. Awake? Aware? Unfrosted flakes?”

Steve blinks at him. He stares for a second and then ducks his head, stirs his fork through the open takeout box in front of him. “Spent a couple days,” he says. “Looking around.”

Looking around. Steve Rogers, unwitting time-traveler, barefoot in New York. What had he been looking for? Why did he come here?

“Why didn’t you get any shoes?” Tony asks, instead of any of the more complicated questions.

Steve tucks his feet under his chair. He washed them half an hour or so back, walking uneasily into the bathroom Tony showed him and then locking the door behind him, like he thought Tony was some kind of pervert who would bodyslam through the door to catch a glimpse of him sudsing up his bare ankles.

“Didn’t have any money,” he says, surprisingly mulish about it.

“You couldn’t smash and grab a pair of Sketchers?” Tony shakes his head. “If you get lockjaw, you’re gonna have to tell Fury you caught it from somewhere else. Fuck’s sake, when was your last tetanus booster? 1943?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t seem concerned. He’s busy eating his way through enough calories to keep your average winter-starved grizzly happy.

It’s hungry work, coming back from the dead. Tony remembers the unholy things he would’ve done for a cheeseburger.

“Didn’t have any money,” he repeats, scraping his fork around the sides of the takeout box, diligent and serious, like it’s the very last scrap of food he’ll ever get.

Tony clears his throat, hip-checks the counter to heave himself to standing. “I’ll get you some cash.”

                                                           —

There’s a weird moment, when Tony gives him the money. It’s just a few hundred dollars. He’s not Tony’s problem, not his project raised from the dead, but he still doesn’t want to give Steve Rogers the means to get himself truly lost in a world he doesn’t know.

Five hundred dollars will get him some food and somewhere to sleep for a few days, but it won’t get him far enough out of SHIELD’s orbit to get himself in trouble.

He looks up when Tony gets close. There’s a well-worn wariness in his eyes. He watches him the way a dog from a bad home might watch him through the bars of the shelter’s kennel. Resigned instead of hopeful, like he knows how this goes, like he knows he can survive it.

“Here,” Tony says. He leaves the money two chairs away from him, within easy grabbing distance. “And I have shoes your size, if you want to borrow them.”

“I don’t need that,” Rogers says, pointing at the money.

Tony lets his mouth tip up sideways, smirks like this is the part of the whole situation he finds truly unbelievable. “You’re going to come into my house,” he says, “uninvited, unannounced, and then you’re going to refuse to accept my hospitality? Rogers, what would your mother think?”

There’s a stall point in Roger’s stare, like watching a bird fly into a window. There’s a moment, right around the word mother, when those blue eyes blank out, and Tony’s just staring into empty space.

“She didn’t,” he says, and it’s fascinating. He’s stitching himself up right here at Tony’s dining table. Tony can practically see it happening, vertebrae stacking up, pulling him taunt like a needle tugging on a thread. “She never liked charity.”

Tony is familiar with pride. He has something of an overabundance himself, although he comes by it honestly. He knows hurt pride hates an audience, so he looks away.

“I imagine she hated the idea of you starving, too,” Tony says. “Probably worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. Going to waste all her work now, Rogers? Seems ungrateful.”

He’s half-taunting by the end of it. He’s not sure why. He finds weak points like a magnet finds iron. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s pulling on until after he’s accidentally ripped out someone’s heart. It’s not one of the traits he’s proud of, but, like his pride, he knows where it came from.

Rogers glares at him, but he hooks the next takeout container over anyway.

“I’ll get those shoes,” Tony says. JARVIS has already measured; Rhodey left some boots that should fit.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but, when Tony comes back, the money is gone, and so is he.

                                                           —

Tony doesn’t tell Fury a damn thing. If Fury lost a national icon, that’s his problem. And anyway, Tony’s still not completely convinced that the blonde who materialized in his penthouse was actually Steve Rogers and not some kind of really confused, really well-built homeless man. Or a stripper.

Tony’s never actually met a stripper who showed up in khakis, refused to disrobe, and then ate ten pounds of takeout before silently disappearing, but he’d be willing to pay another five hundred dollars for a repeat performance.

He figures out how the maybe-Steve got into his penthouse. He upgrades the security, but he tells JARVIS to let him in if he ever comes back. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but he’s too curious to lock him out.

                                                           —

There’s a bit of nothing that kicks off in New York, some Hammer tech that goes haywire. Tony puts it down like the cheap knockoff that it is, but he gets stuck in debrief with Phil Coulson afterwards, because he’s not quite quick enough to abandon the scene after the fight’s over. In his defense, he was holding a car above a partially-trapped bicyclist, and Coulson caught him before the EMTs could finish disentangling her.

He makes it back to the Tower after an hour of mostly-wasted time. Steve Rogers is sitting at his dining table. Tony bites back the ludicrous urge to “honey, I’m home!” him.

“Hey,” he says instead, as he steps in from the balcony, stripped down to the skintight suit he wears under the armor. He didn’t expect company. “You get something to eat?”

Steve seems somehow offended by the question. “I didn’t break in here and steal anything,” he says.

“Okay,” Tony says, moving past him. “Well, that’s a gold star and an empty stomach for you, Rogers. We’re all very proud.”

“It’s not my food,” Steve tells him. If he had hackles, they’d be raised. Tony wants to pat him on the head, but only because he’s always had a sort of neurotic tendency to see how hard people bite before he decides whether to trust them.

“Yeah, and a twenty-dollar grocery bill is really gonna break me,” Tony says. He takes a smoothie out of the freezer. “You want pizza? I’m gonna order pizza.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs. “I could eat,” he says.

“Great,” Tony says. He has JARVIS order three pizzas, because he wants at least half of one for himself, and Steve Rogers is a human garbage disposal.

Steve takes a shower while they’re waiting. He asks first, which Tony supposes is the polite thing to do, and he takes his backpack with him, like he’s worried Tony’s going to steal his wallet.

“You know,” Tony says, when Steve remerges, wearing another knockout set of some grandpa’s Goodwill khakis and button-down shirt, “you keep showing up like this, and it’s gonna get harder for me to lie to Fury about having no idea where you are.”

Steve flips open a pizza box and carefully selects a slice. His hair is wet and neatly combed back from his face. He’s handsome from a distance but damn near devastating at close range. Tony takes another bite of pizza, hopes it’ll help swallow back the urge to sink a few grand into war bonds.

“Fury’s the guy with the eyepatch?” Steve doesn’t settle into a seat. He takes his pizza and wanders over to the window, stares out at the skyline.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Tony says.

Steve makes a face. Tony can see it, dulled and faded, in the reflection on the glass. “He’s persistent,” he says, slowly. Not like it’s a compliment.

“Yeah,” Tony says, again, “that’s him.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. Tony finishes his slice of pizza, eats another one. There’s an ache in his right shoulder from being wrenched around by Hammer’s ridiculous creation, and he should be icing it, but he doesn’t want to. Not with Steve Rogers here.

He’s never liked looking human in front of an audience. His problem has always been that he couldn’t figure out how to stop. At least, not until he built his armor.

Steve comes back when he’s out of pizza. He’s catlike in his wariness, in the way he seems pissed at Tony for daring to exist in his proximity.

“That fight,” he says, apropos of approximately nothing at all. “Earlier.”

“Oh,” Tony says, rising out of his chair and moving toward the bar, giving Steve the room to loom over the pizza like he’s defending his kill. “You see that on the news?”

“Saw it on the street,” Steve says. “Heard the screams.”

Heard the screams and came running. So he’s still in the hero business. Fury will be happy to hear it.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Steve tells him. He sounds angry about it. At Tony, not the situation. “Where’s your backup?”

“Backup,” Tony repeats. “Cap, c’mon. Read a newspaper. I work alone.”

Steve Rogers looks up from his pizza perusal just long enough to roll his eyes. It should feel like a slap across the face, and maybe it does. However it feels, Tony likes it. Wants more of it. There’s always been something grounding in being dismissed, like Tony’s never known where he stands until someone shows him how he doesn’t measure up.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” Steve asks. “Men who work alone die alone, Stark. And they’re not very effective when they do.”

Tony knows he’s meant to be offended. He is, probably. But he couldn’t bite back his smile for anything. “I think I liked you better when you called me ‘Mr. Stark.’”

“Seems to me,” Steve says, “you want everyone to call you Iron Man these days.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Tony says, “surely they had that line about glass houses in the ‘40’s?”

Steve frowns at him. “I never asked anyone to call me Captain America.”

“And yet,” Tony says, tipping a bottle of whiskey his direction, “that’s how to introduced yourself to me.”

Steve gives him a look like he thinks Tony’s being deliberately obtuse. “That’s who I am,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and flips a tumbler right side up. “But when I start using a stage name,” he says, “suddenly I’m a narcissistic asshole who doesn’t--”

“Do you think,” Steve says, looming up suddenly, shifting gears like something mechanical, going battle-ready with more decisiveness than a faceplate clicking down, “that anybody spent years, spent—I don’t know. Millions of dollars? Do you think anybody did that for Steve Rogers?”

Tony’s caught wrong-footed. He did it again. Drilled until he found the nerve, cut until he broke the skin.

“I think you don’t get one without the other,” Tony says, trying now to soothe. But he’s not very good at it. His instincts don’t run this direction. His whole life, the only things he could ever repair were machines.

Steve shakes his head. He steps away from the pizza. He looks around, eyes zeroing in on his backpack.

“Stay here,” Tony says, sidling out from behind the bar, whiskey now in hand.

Steve straightens up like a cobra, like he’s going to spit venom in Tony’s face. Tony wants to put his mouth on him, which is probably only half because he’s always been hellbent on his own destruction. The other half is that Steve Rogers is beautiful like something made in a lab for aesthetics alone, carefully designed for universal appeal. Tony likes to tell himself he has a taste for the exclusive, but the reality has always been he wants exactly what everyone else does.

“You don’t want SHIELD to find you,” Tony says, “then stay here. Trust me, this is the last place they’d think to look.”

He’s not standing between Steve and the exit. He was careful about that. Whatever SHIELD might think about him, he doesn’t have a death wish. And also, when he’s thinking about it, he’s not usually deliberately an asshole. It’s just that, most of the time, he’s not thinking about it.

“Why should I trust you?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. Hell, he has no idea. “Why’d you come here? The first time. When SHIELD lost you, you came here. Why?”

“I went home,” Steve says, argumentative, all squared shoulders and tight jaw. “I went to Brooklyn. But it wasn’t there anymore. None of it was—I couldn’t find…”

He trails off, shakes his head, sharp and agitated, a horse bothered by a fly. It’s hard to look in his eyes. There’s something in them that Tony doesn’t want to see. It’s like watching a statue bleed.

“I heard there was still a Stark in New York,” Steve says. “I read about you. I thought maybe you’d--”

“You thought I’d be like Howard,” Tony finishes for him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I thought you’d be like me,” Steve says, which doesn’t make any sense at all.

“You,” Tony says. And then, a little helplessly, “What?”

Steve looks away. He shrugs, looks back. “I saw the suit,” he says. “On the news. I saw what it can do. I didn’t think--- things have advanced a lot. I didn’t understand. I thought Howard had…”

Tony squints at him. “You thought Howard did a Rebirth redux and tested it on his kid?”

“I thought a lot of things,” Steve says, snappy. “It was a very confusing couple of days.”

Tony can imagine that it was. “So you thought I was Rebirthed, and you wanted--”

“I didn’t want anything,” Steve says, and there’s that flash of exposed nerve again, that look like a sinkhole in the backs of his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Tony takes a sip of his whiskey. It settles, warm and sweet, into his stomach.

I didn’t want anything.

I shouldn’t be alive, unless it’s for a reason.

Tony holds the tumbler out. Steve needs the warmth more than he does. “Here,” he says.

Steve takes it, seemingly on reflex. “I can’t get drunk,” he says.

“Well,” Tony says, circling back toward the bar, “not with that attitude.”

[inmyarmswrappedin]

So, because Fatou’s season ends today and, as far as we know, Druck hasn’t been renewed yet, I want to go over the things I feel the team did well in this season and the things I hope they take with them when they sit down to write the next season (which I’m manifesting will be Ava’s).

I think that s5 and, perhaps to a bigger extent, s6, were the team’s attempt to address fan feedback for and criticisms of s3 and s4. So I have hopes that, after possibly the most scrutinized season of any Skams, they are still willing to read even more feedback and sit down once again to craft a couple more seasons (possibly even 3 or 4 more seasons!).

So, without further ado, things that were done well! (Do I have to add “in my opinion”? Do I??)

I liked that for both s5 and s6, the thorough-line for the season wasn’t made obvious or shared in a press release, but rather it was up to fans to connect the story threads for themselves.

I loved that the team sought to address one of the biggest criticisms of s3, that is, that Matteo was given so many symptoms of a mental illness, but it ultimately went unaddressed in the narrative. They did this by giving Nora a dissociative disorder, and Fatou dyscalculia. (Matteo has been headcanoned as being mentally ill and having a disability.) It allowed the teams to develop both fan theories into full-blown seasons and give each of them the importance they deserved.

I have said this already, but I really appreciate that the team chose misunderstood, misrepresented and underrepresented mental illnesses and disabilities. I feel like s5 and s6 will be referents for many years, because they really took the time to portray a dissociative disorder and dyscalculia in a down-to-earth, unhurried way that isn’t meant to shock and awe, but simply allow us to understand why and when Nora and Fatou will struggle. Druck got the viewers to anticipate when Nora and Fatou would struggle, and that’s the first step in being able to anticipate and accommodate the needs of the Noras and Fatous of the world. I really can’t overstate how important this is and what a difference it makes in a real, tangible way. These seasons aren’t meant to be enjoyed for voyeuristic reasons, but they will legitimately help people.

One of the biggest criticisms of s4 was that Amira and Sam didn’t connect as women of color. In fact, it seemed like in s4 Sam was treated as another white friend, when in s2 both she and Amira were the victims of Kiki’s racism. The team addressed this by giving us Ava and Fatou’s friendship, which I want to say might be the first friendship between main characters of color where their race is a substantial reason for their bond. (There are the Sanas with their Jamillas, but the Jamillas aren’t main characters, and then there are friendships like Jo and Megan and Zoya, or Imaan and Liv, or Luca and Yasmina, but iirc in every case their bond as women of color isn’t made explicit.)

Another criticism of s4 was the way Kiki turned into the world’s most understanding white friend offscreen. The team addressed this with the Ava and Mailin storyline, which I think was wonderfully and subtly set up in s5, then built on with the biology test leaked answers.

On the topic of race, I think a major criticism of s3 was that David’s ethnicity wasn’t acknowledged (to the point where a white actress was cast to play his sister gvhvhv). The team has made up for this with Josh (more in the s6 sm than in s5, but I still count it) and with Kieu My. Fatou and Kieu My bonded over being first/second gen children of immigrants, and in doing so, they acknowledged that these characters aren’t white and have different experiences than white Germans.  

The first 6 episodes of this season were some of the finest writing in the Skams. The storylines all connected and built on each other. The motifs were just so good and beautiful and fitting. The themes were all clearly defined and easy to follow.

The tortoise plot was one of the most fun and imaginative storylines in any Skams, it connected Fatou and Ismail in a believable way. And not to rave about a fucking tortoise, but animals can be really uncooperative and that tortoise delivered every fucking clip. Druck has a reputation for being one of the most depressive versions of Skam, but the Maike/Burger plot was just plain fun.

I feel like some of the old gen’s instas were a bit self-indulgent. I’m thinking specifically of Matteo’s memes and how they they weren’t necessarily the kind of memes a gay dude born in 2001 would pick, but someone a decade older. I think this is much better done with new gen. Fatou’s memes reflect her age and her sexuality, and not just that, but Ava, Mailin, Kieu My, Josh, etc. all pick memes and even focus on different aspects of recent news, based on their gender, race, personalities, interests, etc.

I appreciate that the team found a way to fit a sex scene between Fatou and Kieu My to add to the small catalogue of wlw sex scenes on Skams (I’m including the scene in lovleg or we’d only have two lol). While I understood the reasons eskam opted not to include one, I thought there were ways to feature a sex scene that didn’t sexualize the actresses and didn’t require nudity. Cases in point: the lovleg scene, and this scene in Druck.

And it also needs to be said. This is the first original season with a main of color, and the third season overall (after Liv and Imane) where 10 episodes are given to a character of color and no one else. Of the three, it’s certainly the season that loved and respected its main the most. The bar is so low it’s in hell, but Druck did clear that bar!

With all that said, let’s talk about the things I would really want the team to address in following seasons:

The thing I most want them to fix might be small or unimportant for a lot of people, but I think it’s at the core of why the season has been unenjoyable or certain plot points haven’t come across the way the team wanted, for many people. I am talking about the overly expositional nature of the writing.  It appears as if the team approached the writing of the clips with the intention of hitting each beat as noted in their agreed upon outline, and absolutely nothing else was to be added. This is an issue both in s5 and s6. It’s just less noticeable in s5, because s5 is setting up stuff for Fatou’s season, and possibly even seasons that haven’t been written yet. The fact that absolutely every second counts makes for a stressful watching experience for me, because the narrative tension is always heightened. Whereas with Skam, the narrative tension would build throughout the clip. Take the Pride scene in Skam, for instance. The clip allows for Isak and Eskild to get increasingly more agitated as they butt heads. I feel like if this Druck team had done the Pride scene in s5 or s6, the clip would’ve started with both Isak and Eskild already on edge, and cut much of the dialogue that got them there.

On the topic of naturalistic dialogue, this season doesn’t have it. Here is an example from ep 10 clip 2, Wieder vereint/Reunited 11:37.

Fatou: I’ll get a certificate too and bring it over to you. And I checked it, I only have to change one course and my schedule will work.

Teacher: Miss Jallow, you are not the first one to come to me with an epiphany. We could fill entire school weeks with the lessons you missed. In addition, Doctor Steinberg told me about your, well… activities. You don’t have a lot of arguments on your side. 

Fatou: But I’ve spoken to all of the teachers and they said they are okay with it. 

Teacher: You seem to have friends among the teaching staff. Mrs Pavlovic put in a word for you. Okay then, do it and go before I change my mind. [translated by @kieu-tou! Thank you!] 

Like. This is the bare bones version of a dialogue. This should be the first draft, not the final version. The coordinator goes from absolute no to yes, with just one line from Fatou. The coordinator gives reasons that would necessitate more than one sentence of counterargument, like Fatou’s absences and the Biology test leaked answers. The coordinator even says Fatou doesn’t have a lot of arguments on her side, and yet it takes Fatou one line to change her mind!

And of course we viewers don’t want or need a lot of time with the coordinator. And particularly at this point in the season, no one would enjoy a naturalistic dialogue with the coordinator of all people.  But my point is that this is an issue with the dialogue all this season (and last season as well, but this season has been more scrutinized), the reason I picked this example is because of how easy it is to see here.

Which brings us to the pacing of the clips, and specifically the Friday clips. Because the script goes straight to the information the team wants to convey to the viewers, skipping the build up to it, many Friday clips have fallen flat, felt abrupt, and have been, tbh, unsatisfying. Again, I had this issue in s5, but as that season went on, I felt like the team had a better grip on Friday clips. But then they did it again in the first Friday clip this season, and so I think this is something the writers really should work on. The first Friday clip in Isak’s season closes on Isak being sandwiched by Emma and Even on a bench, visually setting up the love triangle, or more accurately, the personifications of who Isak should want to hook up with and who he really wants. But in order to get there, we’re shown a good amount of info, from the way Vilde, Eva and Sana are handling Noora’s absence, to Chris and Kasper, Even hovering around Isak, Emma trying to impress Isak, Isak escaping and, like, draping himself on the walls because he’s so over it all. Isak playing a game on the bathroom to stall for time. The paper towel maneuver to immediately give us a sense of what a weirdo Even is. A conversation between Isak and Even that gives us some clues about Even’s shame, as well as establish interests in common (like weed), and this is all before Emma even joins them! Just think of all the stuff we learn about who Isak, Even, Emma, Eva, Vilde or Sana are as people, before we get to the point of the clip! Fatou’s season simply didn’t have that. Compare it with the first Friday clip of Fatou’s season where the cashqueens quickly talk about the leaked answers, one of the major storylines this season that only gets a couple lines, before Fatou says she doesn’t want to talk about school (Fatou’s struggles with school, another major storyline), and then we’re onto the point of the clip, which is that Kieu My likes girls too. AND FADE TO BLACK. When people say they want longer clips, what they mean isn’t artificially inflate the clip length or add more plot stuff. Just let us watch the characters interact with each other so that we get a feel for how they relate to each other. I know I wish we’d have gotten more of Ava and Fatou interacting with each other before things turned to shit, and Ava with the other girls, so that I know why they all like and value Ava so much. I wish we’d have gotten more of Kieu My talking to the cashqueens about, like, why she didn’t make use of the biology test answers, instead of getting it on a chat. Or food combos they don’t like. So it makes more sense that later on Kieu My actually thinks she and Fatou are friends.  And every line doesn’t have to count. In Skam España, the characters are constantly talking and not everything they ever talked about ended up being relevant. When one of the characters lied about her house undergoing renovations to hide the fact that she was poor, the characters joked about Italian marble and put on bad Italian accents and made that Italian hand gesture. None of this was important to the plot because those renovations weren’t real to begin with, but they made viewers feel like these were real friends joking around, instead of characters needing to hit every storyline beat in a clip.

I have this joke with my friends about Druck always going 🤪🤪 in the last third of every season, in which a season that was very tightly written and cohesive suddenly pulls something inexplicable and pretty much impossible to resolve in 1-3 episodes. Hanna’s season suddenly switching to Mia, Björn creeping on Mia in episode 9! of a total 10, David getting outed in episode 8 and then disappearing for a whole week, Amira’s season pivoting to Mia and Hanna. It has happened in every season except Nora’s, so I thought the team had learned its lesson, but then the forgotten date with Ava happened. To be clear. It really makes no sense that Nora would have hung out with Ava several times since Tuesday, and the topic of the cashqueens being officially introduced to Kieu My wouldn’t have come up. it’s just not realistic.gif I feel like at that point the writing for the rest of the reason became super contrived to keep Fatou miserable and apart from Kieu My and Ava to artificially delay the reunions until episode 9 and 10. Why add a cheating insinuation and the main checking her partner’s messages in episode 8 if you know you won’t be able to properly resolve it? Why make Kieu My mock Fatou’s “uhm” if it’s not going to be addressed in their reunion clip? Kieu My had taken the initiative for a lot of the relationship, so it’s okay for Fatou to take the initiative when it comes to making up. You don’t have to add things that can only be resolved through an expositional info dump. (Please no more exposition than it’s necessary! I think we’ve established that at this point lol.) In the case of Fatou’s season, this is even sadder because I feel like Kieu My’s intimacy issues could’ve been the reason to drive them apart for two weeks, rather than the Maya/uhm stuff. This could’ve also been resolved through Fatou and Kieu My explicitly negotiating their boundaries and how they want to be comforted and how they want to comfort each other, which I thought was the issue with Fatou rejecting Kieu My’s attempts to help while wanting physical touch, while Kieu My didn’t want to be touched but rather seen.  

There are going to be many thinkpieces on why a myriad of stuff didn’t work for people, so I’m going to keep this simple and address one last thing. I think that choosing to focus on Nora’s mental illness and Fatou’s disability is a great choice that doesn’t complicate the themes too much, but Druck (and all the Skams, but I’m invested only in Druck succeeding at this point) still struggles with being intersectional. This is the major reason why the Ava/Mailin storyline ended not with a bang, but a whimper. There just wasn’t enough work done to connect Fatou’s struggles not just to her disability, but also to her race (and even her sexuality). I think that if people really want (and lbr, it’ll be mostly poc who will put in that effort and work), they can see how Fatou’s race affected the way other people and especially adults reacted to her, but this wasn’t made explicit. If Ava and Mailin are going to argue about racism all season, why not connect that with Karin firing Fatou from Aquarius? As it stands, Karin fired Fatou because of a disability neither of them knew Fatou has, and that was the resolution to that storyline. Why not make it explicit that the Physics teacher had preconceived ideas about Fatou because Fatou is black? Why wasn’t Fatou’s disability addressed in the meeting with the coordinator? Why didn’t Fatou express to Mailin that Fatou, too, had issues with how Mailin was acting wrt racism? It felt like, with the way the season was putting so much emphasis on racism, all these threads were going to be connected. In the end though, it almost felt as if only Ava is affected by racism (aside from Mailin mentioning Fatou in the last episode). It’s not like talking about how racism affects Fatou is going to make the topic redundant for Ava’s or Ismail’s season. As a light-skinned black lesbian with a disability, Fatou’s life is going to be impacted by racism in a different way than Ava’s will, as a dark-skinned black fat straight cis girl, or Ismail’s, as a Turkish-German possibly Muslim possibly non binary person. All these experiences are specific enough, and different enough, that they can be touched upon in different seasons without becoming redundant. The fact that Fatou’s season almost seemed to forget at times that she is a black lesbian, doesn’t bode well for Ava’s and Ismail’s season to acknowledge all their struggles.

The bottom line is that this season really was great and did a lot of good, and I feel like the writing just needs to be tweaked a bit for further seasons to be even better and more enjoyable overall. I am very pleasantly surprised by how the team took s1-s4 fan feedback to heart and worked to implement suggestions, and so I really trust them and hope they keep working on the show. It’d be a shame if Druck wasn’t renewed, with this team at the helm.    

[ninjakitty15]

Hair Today, Gone Tonight (Loki Oneshot)

It was not uncommon for Loki to take his time in his bathroom preparing himself for the day, he was a prince of Asgard after all and had to keep up appearance in every aspect. It was also not uncommon for him to stare long and hard at himself in the mirror to make sure every detail was perfect about himself, especially when he was always beside his perfect older brother the crown prince who could do nor look no wrong and constantly demanded all eyes to be on him. It was then slightly more uncommon for Loki to linger at his reflection as only once in a grand while would he actually find an imperfection or flaw that needed his utmost attention and time to fix or magic away. So in theory it was normal for Loki to take an awfully long time glaring at his reflection once more before he greeted the rest of the royal court of Asgard. Today was however an exception to all these things as it was a very rare occurrence for him to be cursing the Norns and growling in frustration during his daily preparations. The reason for this of course was because what was staring back at him in the mirror between his keen nose and his snarling, thin upper lip wasn’t just an imperfection but an impossibility. 

Loki had come to accept early on in his long life that he would never sport such an eyesore of a facial feature as was seen mocking his otherwise perfect appearance. It wasn’t even a dashing looking mark like Fandral had, that suave blond bastard. He had long since come to take pride in his smooth, hairless appearance though as Volstagg and Thor were proof that with great hair comes great irresponsibility. Whenever there was a great feast within the palace walls, and there was always a feast for some reason or another, between the two of those bilgesnipes there would be a massacre that started at the dining table and end on their face. And Frigga wondered why Loki wasn’t gorging himself during the feasts like everyone else was. It wasn’t that hard to figure out when you’re stuck sitting between the beast with two beards, you either grow a stronger stomach or lose your appetite quite quick.

It also wasn’t hard to figure out that because it was impossible for Loki to grow face fuzz that not only was the one he had now not natural, but it wasn’t his doing at all and thus someone had to answer for that crime. No amount of scrubbing, potions, illusions, shapeshifting, or even old fashioned makeup could get rid of it either which further irked him but also narrowed down his list of suspects to one person. just the one, that had both access to his personal chambers within the palace walls but more importantly was foolish enough to prank the trickster god while he was taking a much needed nap after sparring against his brute of an older brother. Just one royal resident in fact besides Loki himself had inherited Frigga’s gift for magic as was clearly the source of this monstrosity of a moustache as if the mere sight of it didn’t irritate him enough. That fool was toast.

Loki threw open his bedchamber doors with vengeance in his eyes, already knowing his prey wouldn’t be too far, wanting to see his reaction to what transpired before running off. Right on cue as the door banged open, Loki could hear not too distant wicked giggling and the quickened pace of hasty foosteps fleeing from him. The telltale signs of a brat about to be caught that was too troublesome and young to master a decent gambling face, especially when they’re enjoying their troublemaking entirely too much. Loki easily started gaining on the little gremlin before their rounded a corner and disappeared into the nearest room with a squeal of, “save meeee!” Loki wasted no time blasting open the doors the brat was hiding behind with a wave of his hand which was still glowing green with his own magic to see Thor standing between him and his prey unsurprisingly, arms crossed and attempting to look imposing to someone that grew up with his own shenanigans. 

“Step aside, brother, I have a pesky little bug to squash,” growled Loki, his gaze fixed on the twerp hiding behind Thor.

“I know you don’t mean my son but as I don’t see any other living thing here besides us, I think you must be mistaken on there being anything here to squish,” Thor challenged back.

Loki rolled his eyes at Thor’s attempt at diplomacy. “The only mistake here besides your attempt to stop me is your son’s current choice in free time activities and that is why I’m here to see that he fixes it before I fix him.”

“What are you prattling on about?” demanded Thor defensively.

Loki had also long since mastered the art of deception and redirecting people’s attention from an issue thanks entirely to his brother’s baffoonery as younger adults so he had been keeping his face turned away from his brother’s gaze to keep an eye on his prey. Till now when he actually met Thor’s eyes whose widened in surprise and mirth.

“Can’t you just wash that off?” Thor suggested, trying hard to suppress his laughter.

“That’s brilliant, Thor, I wish I thought of that first! Oh what a great help you are!” snapped Loki before he snapped his glowing fingers and a green ring appeared around Thor before the elder brother fell through the floor, leaving his son, Loki’s nephew wide open.

The little brat had the audacity to stand his ground as his father had taught him after fleeing initially and put up his fists in a fighting stance, even less imposing looking than his father was being less than half Thor’s size and not remotely as strong either.

“Who will save you now, I wonder?” growled Loki as he advanced on the cornered kid, a million different versions of vengeance dancing through his mind.

“You wouldn’t hurt your own nephew, would you?” the child had the balls to ask innocently.

“You are aware of our family’s long history of deception and betrayals, aren’t you?” Loki asked incredulously. “Why would I be exempt from that rule after you just followed that trait yourself, enchanting this disgusting feature on me? Get it off and I might consider a more merciful fate for you than what I’m currently planning.”

“And what are you planning?”

“Try my patience stalling the inevitable and you may have your answer soon enough. Off. Now.” To emphasize Loki’s point, he summoned a dagger in one hand while his other still glowed with magic.

The child reluctantly magically erased the enchanted ink scribbled on Loki’s face before a dagger was hurled at his head as Thor returned to the scene through the window behind him. The child however vanished as an illusion projection, the dagger at the same time disappearing as well as Loki clearly wasn’t actually going to stab him with it, it took years for Thor to get used Loki’s points, his child had a ways to go. Despite both child and weapon not being present in the room, Thor still had a sense to confront Loki after being literally dropped by him earlier. Loki however had other thoughts and a vast majority of them were still vengeance before dishonor, he too disappeared from the room before Thor could have a few choice words with him. 

Thor’s son was very much like his dad in that he thought he had become pretty clever and believed he knew Loki fairly well. Well enough to trick the trickster at least. He also knew that anything and everything within Loki’s room was something secretive, powerful, and valuable and he wanted in on that. So that’s where he was, trying to sense with his quickly growing magical abilities where Loki kept those special artifacts. Finally, he managed to find something tugging on his magic from under Loki’s massive kingsized bed and eagerly scrambled under it in hopes of some kind of cool treasure to show off to his peers later. His hands brushed against a small wooden chest that seemed to be locked but he easily magicked the lock to open for him. He could barely contain his excitement as he grasped the lid of the chest with both hands eagerly and the faintest of green glows came from the box before he popped it open. He barely had time to scream as a large green snake sprang from the chest and wrapped itself around his hands and arms, effectively restraining him while its head was stationed next to his and poised to bite his neck, baring its fangs as if to strike. As he writhed and struggled against the snake’s hold, his ankles were suddenly seized by an icy cold grip and he was yanked out from under the bed and lifted upside down to face a lean, gold and green adorned abdomen.

“You think you were the first to try this tactic on me? Where do you think you got that idea from?” 

The snake still wrapped around the brat seemed to laugh at his captive while the owner of the snake let go of his ankle, keeping the kid afloat before he was turned right side up to face the bemused god of mischief he was caught by properly.

“Perhaps you should ask your father what actually happened anytime he tried his little attempts at tricking a master trickster, his mistakes could be your lessons.”

“Or my triumphs,” snarked the kid back.

“And how is that working in your favor thus far?” Loki asked him slyly. “Your father has had centuries to try that on me, how old are you again?” He let the kid go and the snake melted into a large toy snake the kid was quick to escape from. “If I see you in my room without my permission, if you ruin a nap for me again, you’ll find your worst fear under your bed.”

“I don’t fear anything.” The kid held onto the toy snake, hoping to at least impress his peers with its realistic though rubber look.

“Your father said the same thing when I gave him that warning and he didn’t stop checking under his bed till he he had women in it.” Loki snapped his fingers and the kid was sent out of his room and back to his father for good this time.

Loki stalked back to his bathroom once more and looked at himself in the mirror just to be sure it was gone for good before sticking out a forked tongue at his reflection and smirking. He wondered if fears were a hereditary thing as that would make this whole “uncle” thing that much easier though he always liked a challenge in the end and his nephew having magic did have its merits. Let the prank wars begin...

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Historical AU | Multi-Chapter | read on Ao3 

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

@today-in-fic

CHAPTER 1

Spring 1948 Adams Morgan, Washington, DC 2:47 A.M.

My nose burned with each inhale of fumes from the stale booze marinating in the hardwood floor. The room was dim but through the glow of red and blue neon I could make out shapes of furniture; chair legs, a few overturned barstools. It was a step up from a dive but not by much. There was a ringing in my ear like a schoolbell. I forced myself upright and felt a white-hot wave of pain crash into my right shoulder. “Shit.” I exhaled through my teeth and pressed my palm against a sticky wound. For an instant, I was back in that bombed-out jungle in the South Pacific, where an overworked medic from our company feverishly repaired shrapnel damage to my arm.

My fingertips found the bullet hole that punctured the thread count of one of my better dress shirts. Can’t wait to explain this one to my dry cleaner. The round might have gone through cleanly but all I knew was it hurt like a son of a bitch. My holster felt light and I found my gun about three feet away under a table in a puddle of what I hoped was discarded beer. I leaned over to retrieve it then I attempted to stand. Once I got my feet under me I found I was not alone. The bartender had a .38 aimed at my chest and a shaky trigger hand.  

“Don’t move!” he shouted. 

“Easy now,” I began as I put away my weapon and held up my hand, “I’m just reaching for my badge.” As I flipped open the billfold he saw the flash of gold then lowered his gun.

“Jesus detective, I’m sorry I pointed that at you. I’m just a little jittery considering what happened tonight”  I nodded and moved closer towards the bar. “Holy hell, looks like you took a hit,” he continued then splashed a bar rag with some water and handed it to me.   

“Can I get a whiskey?” I asked as I slid on to an empty barstool, trying to clean off my hand. Wouldn’t be nice to get fresh blood on a glass, he’s had enough to deal with tonight. The bartender grabbed a dark bottle and a short glass then gave it a hearty pour. I raised it with my good hand and tipped it back, letting the liquid fire coat the back of my throat. The throb in my shoulder started to dull.

“I called the police as quick as I could,” the bartender told me, “it all happened so fast.”  He poured me another and one for himself. 

“Did you see if anyone else was injured?”

“No. Anyone who was here ran outside. I ducked behind the bar and grabbed my gun. I suppose I should be grateful it happened close to last call.” I sat there thinking for a moment, trying to remember what I was doing there in the first place. A pulsing pain returned to my shoulder. The bartender’s voice entered my ear.

“You should probably get to a hospital, that shoulder looks pretty bad.”

“I’ll manage,” I replied before I finished my second round. I turned to look over my shoulder at the row of small leather booths behind me. Something about it seemed familiar. I could feel my wound oozing again so I pressed the damp rag against it and excused myself to clean up. When I entered the bathroom I was met with an unpleasant discovery.

Detective Jeffrey Spender was dead.  

Thick ribbons of burgundy and cherry red graced the wooden stall door like streamers from some morbid party.  The edge of the sink had a similar splatter pattern staining the porcelain. His body was face down in a puddle that was spreading like the Red Sea, an arm akimbo on the floor, at least one fresh hole in his back. His weapon was kicked across the tile.

When Spender returned from the war with a couple of shiny new medals on his chest, nepotism resulted in his quick promotion to a detective position at the precinct.  I knew Spender’s old man had connections with local law enforcement, not to mention his fellow representatives on The Hill.  And now the golden boy was dead. Tragically killed in the line of duty; that’s how the papers would spin it.

 I bent down to check his gun, one shot fired one in the chamber. It was quick. I moved the bar rag in my hand and gripped Spender’s shoulder, pulling him onto his side. I counted two shots, maybe a third. The acrid smell of iron was weaving its way into my nostrils as I crouched down and leaned closer. First round hit Spender in the right lower abdomen, appeared to be a close range shot based on the size. The gut shot wouldn’t have killed him instantly so the second ripped into the left upper chest to make sure he was taken care of. A third might have conveniently nicked an artery, causing more of the splatter. I craned my neck and saw deep red at Spender’s shirt collar.

It was very sloppy.  

If I heard gunfire I would have gone to investigate and perhaps the assailant ran into me as he exited the bathroom. Did he use a silencer? Why can’t I remember his face?  I shook my head and eased Spender’s body back down on the tile floor. Slowly I rose and caught my reflection in the small mirror over the sink. I looked like hell. As I reentered the main bar the front door gave way to three flatfoots and Captain Walter Skinner.  He advanced and holstered his sidearm.

“Detective Mulder.”

“Sir,” I said wearily with a nod.  He briefly noticed my injury then jumped right into the interrogation.

“What happened?”

“I’m a little foggy on the details but I remember following Detective Spender here.”

“And where exactly is Spender?” Skinner asked. I leaned against a booth and placed a hand on my neck.

“You’ll find him on the bathroom floor.” I saw the captain’s eyes narrow and he brushed past me. He nudged the door open with his elbow and surveyed the fresh crime scene, he then motioned for a uniform and gave instructions. The young cop hastily scratched everything down on a small notepad, tipped his cap, and left through the front door. 

“Did he tell you to meet him?” Skinner asked as he moved in front of me.

“No.”

“How did you know he’d be here?” 

I thought for a moment. Certain details were coming back to me.

“I believe Detective Spender was following up on a lead from a mutual informant. We agreed on a meeting to get info about one of Vincenti’s heroin drops. Spender was impatient and wanted to meet tonight. I wasn’t too keen on the idea.” I winced as I shifted my right arm. The whiskey I had was wearing off. 

“The commissioner is going to demand answers when he finds out Spender was murdered,” Skinner said as he adjusted his glasses.

“Well I’m sure he’s more than eager to crucify me,” I said.  

“Cut the melodrama.” Skinner responded. “I’ll finish up here. Go find Officer Pendrell outside and have him take you over to the hospital. Get patched up, get some sleep, then I want to see you back at the precinct.”

I held up my hands in acceptance and walked to the door, making sure to thank the bartender for the nightcap on my way out.  

Officer Pendrell took a long drag off his cigarette then let it drop on the sidewalk, stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe. I cleared my throat and said, “Captain said you could give me a ride.”

“Jesus Mulder--” he exclaimed with a plume of smoke into the night air.

“I just need some repairs.” I said with a nod to my right arm. “Skinner said you could give me a lift to Washington General.”

“Yeah sure,” Pendrell opened the passenger door for me and as I got situated he entered from the driver’s side. “What happened in there, Mulder?”

“Spender’s dead.” It was blunt but I was exhausted. “Not much else to say, though I’m sure the precinct will hear about it in a few hours.” I could feel Pendrell tense up as we drove. I flexed and opened the fingers on my right hand.  The slight tingling sensation was reassuring that the nerve damage wasn’t permanent. At least that’s what I was telling myself.  

Washington General Hospital

3:55am

Pendrell pulled the squad car up to the emergency department and practically shoved me out the door. Guess he didn’t want me bleeding on government upholstery. I made my way inside and squinted against the harsh lighting.  I spied the petite nurse behind the desk.

“Ma’am,” I began as I fished out my badge and approached, “I’m Detective Fox Mulder and I could use some help.” She rose and quickly walked around then gave me the once over, her fingers delicately reached for my good arm. 

“Let’s get you back, detective. My name is Dana,” she said as she ushered me down a short hallway and into an open room with several beds. I could feel my chest tighten at the sight of the drawn white curtains. Too many bad memories hidden behind those white curtains. A moan came from a shadow on one of the beds and thankfully she sat me down a few beds over. 

“You’ve lost a fair amount of blood. Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?” Dana asked as she pulled out a notepad. I shook my head. “Detective Mulder can I get your date of birth?”

“October 13, 1914.”

I watched her write the numbers down with what I presumed was immaculate handwriting, unlike the doctors she worked under. 

“What happened tonight, detective?”

“I took a hit to the right shoulder, not sure if it was a clean shot. The assailant got away.”

Two fingertips with red nail varnish touched the underside of my wrist and she glanced at a small watch fob, calculating my pulse. I saw her note the result on her notepad before pocketing it. She placed a hand on my shoulder as she reached for a nearby medical tray. It had an array of metal instruments, a basin, some bottles, and what looked like bandages. She slid it closer to the bedside and I straightened my posture. I could feel the fabric of my shirt sticking to the clotted blood on my shoulder. Dana turned to pick up a small stool and place it in front of me. She took a white cloth from the tray and splashed it with a liquid from a brown bottle. 

“Can you remove your shirt?” she asked

“Yeah I can try,” I replied. My left fingers fumbled with the buttons and I forced my right hand to finish the job. I winced then exhaled sharply. 

“Here, let me help.” She said as she placed the cloth down on the tray.

“Usually I’m offered a drink first,” I quiped weakly.

“Well from what I can tell, someone beat me to it.” the redhead said with a grin as she peeled open my shirt. I freed my left arm but hesitated with the right. It looked like I had a few too many and tried to get dressed; sitting there in my white sleeveless shirt with my dress shirt hanging on one arm. Dana reached for the damp cloth and held it on my shoulder, attempting to soften the skin. It was a nice gesture. Any other medic would have just ripped the damn thing off taking a layer of skin with it. I could feel her eyes sweep over my chest like a searchlight looking for damage. She gently stripped down the sleeve and placed the bloody shirt beside me on the bed. Dana leaned me slightly forward.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day Detective. The bullet passed right through.” 

Her bedside manor had won me over. I felt the cool cloth on the back of my shoulder as she cleaned the exit wound.

“You can call me Mulder.”

She playfully inquired, “Why not Fox?” as she sat on the stool in front of me.

“Even though it’s my first name I rarely use it. The Marines made quick work of that.” I saw a hint of a smile as she readied her suture tools. 

“And what’s your last name?” I asked in a feeble attempt at small talk. With a squint she quickly pierced the eye of the needle with a dark thread. 

“Scully,” she said, humoring me. “This will sting a little,” she cautioned. I failed in containing a wince from the all too familiar sensation of thread pulling flesh. Battlefield to back alley, I have scars laid out like a roadmap of my career. She worked quickly, weaving the filament like she was darning socks. I felt a sharp tug as she finished her last stitch. She covered her handiwork with a white bandage.

“Halfway there,” she stated as she stood to fix the back of my shoulder. She might have said something to me but I couldn’t make it out. I hated to admit it but I was transfixed. Her presence was like an anesthetic and I was numb in the best possible way. The final pull for the final stitch. She recited care instructions to me the same way a professor would read from a textbook. I pretended to listen as I opened and closed my right hand once again. She slid the tray aside and I rose to my feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, holding up a hand in case I toppled over.

“I’m going back to the precinct.”  I said as I folded my dress shirt over my arm.

“That’s against medical advice. Advice I just gave you. Will you please sit back down?”

“I can’t stay here tonight.”

She folded her arms.

“Is there someone I can call?” she asked. I thought if there was a favor I could collect but no one came to mind. It was probably best for me to sleep it off at my apartment.

“A cab. I’m going home.”  Scully shook her head and led me back down the corridor towards the nurse’s desk. I readjusted my holster across my chest and stretched my left arm. She dialed the operator with one pull on the rotary.  

“Hello, I’d like to request a taxi to Washington General for one of our discharged patients. Thank you.” She hung up the receiver and told me the cab would be here soon. “Be careful out there, Mulder.” 

I smiled and slipped back into my shirt, leaving it unbuttoned.

“Thank you, Scully.” 

She shook her head.

“I don’t know if I’d ever get used to that.” 

I watched her walk down the hall, graceful fingertips smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. She left me with the echo of heels on the hard floor.

I stepped outside the emergency room doors and inhaled an unexpected cloud of tobacco. As I coughed I looked for the source and saw a man, possibly a wino in a white jacket holding a cigarette. He gave me a puzzled look then said in a gravelly voice,

“Hey, are you a cop?”

“A detective actually.” I responded with an annoyed exhale.

“Oh. Well, you look like a cop.”

“Are you a doctor?” I countered. He took a drag.

“No. I found this jacket in the garbage out back.” Before I could respond the vagrant laughed loudly then took off down the alley. On any other night I would have given chase, but I was too tired for additional bullshit. Let the beat cops have him. 

Finally my taxi arrived and I was on my way home.

[milkygcf]

All the King’s horses, all the King’s men

Pairing | myg x reader

Genre | Mystery, thriller, angst, slowburn, e2l, Gang Leader!reader, Detective!yoongi

Warnings | Graphic scenes, use of alcohol, use of drugs, gang violence, explicit language, slightly sexual scenes, social issues, major character death.

Summary | ❝ Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall- Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. Even with all the King’s horses and all the King’s men, Humpty could not be put back together again. ❞

or

❝ An ambitious man caught in thorns, drowning in the delicacy of what the world truly is - a whirlpool of chaos and terror. There, he finds his bitter downfall. ❞

Word Count | 3.1k

Author’s Note | Hello! I wanted to make a quick note about this oneshot before it actually starts. Firstly, I’d like to advise whoever’s reading this that this is just a summary of the actual fic which I will be releasing - however, I have not finalised a date. Secondly, it’s a tad bit rushed and messy and I apologise if it does not reach standards. Due to my personal life, I found that it was quite difficult to find the time to write as much <3 

To end everything, I would like to thank @ficswithluv​ for welcoming me into this wonderful project! I hope you enjoy reading <3

The delicate stomping of your feet upon the gravel startles the ravens sitting by. You stop in front of a familiar tombstone, your infamous surname nicely engraved in a fancy font. Before it lay a multitude of flowers, all speedwells as to symbolise loyalty towards the man buried six feet under. It's Valentine's day, and unlike the ravishing hues of blues and purples, you had bought roses to celebrate the event. If anything, you were always the odd one out when on with your business.

You set a few speedwells down, politely placing them into one of the empty jars left out beside the other swarm. It's overwhelming, the very site of your father's name placed in such a lowly place, finally resting beside your mother. It's overwhelming how in only a small amount of time, events took a wicked turn and brought along unnecessary chaos.

You face the neighbouring slate of stone set on the right side of your family's. This one's much duller and greatly lacking in vibrancy, attention. It brings a frown to your features. It's lonely, devoid of any proper affection that one needs in order to stay remembered.

Yet, even though it's desolate, it makes you reminisce. The sight of it doesn't bring you grief - neither does it bring you melancholy. Instead, it fills your train of thought with old memories that you either want to cherish or banish completely. Where forever was once a long time, it’s now a memory. Where pinky promises were depicted as something precious, you now notice that they were nothing but white lies to conceal the truth.

You’d learned this the hard way.

It’s truly surprising how so much can happen in the span of a year, how so many things are able to change and leave dead skin behind. The world is a delicacy of chaos and terror. Time offers only to take. It’s an ancient form of evil and you’ve grown to despise it for it works.

Now you’re left empty, shattered and dull. No longer do you symbolise the purity of a child whose eyes shimmered with innocence, with colour. When you thought you had already grown, you put yourself through trauma. And with a series of unfortunate events, you’ve finally, truly come to understand the world for what it truly is.

Beside you, a wounded soul whom you haven’t seen in such a long time laces his fingers with yours. He draws soothing circles into your skin and you finally breathe. Through thick and thin, you find yourselves here, together, breathing.

Maybe, there is hope for blemished souls like yours.

You met the unusual man at a bar. Although back then, you had no idea what really lied underneath the thick layer of skin that he dawned. The bartender had offered the both of you drinks, pointing out how utterly exhausted the two of you looked. That sparked up small talk – simple, small talk.

Until you were both sharing breaths in a bathroom stall, holding onto each other almost as if your lives depended on it. Every touch of his that settled on your skin burned, the pieces of fabric that your body dawned felt way too heavy. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, teeth biting down on his lip. His hands were on your hips, pulling you closer and closer onto his body until the warmth that was radiating off him made both of you break out.

Both your minds were hazy, your mouths tasted like a mixture of vodka and whiskey. It left a bitter feeling on your tongues. You were so lost in the feeling, the warmth that spread through you and shut out all your concerns.

His hands were playing with the zipper of your dress, fumbling hastily as to waste no time. It was almost funny how men could get so impatient. You were both speaking in tongues, merely pulling back to catch your breaths. His left leg was pushed right against your core making you more sensitive than your own good. You were grinding down on him, moans tumbling out of your mouth as they were muffled into the kiss.

Maybe it was just a moment’s talk, but even though you were barely doing anything, the feeling was euphoric.

He was trailing wet kisses down your neck, giving you the chance to finally catch your breath. Your skin was bruising, your core was pooling, and you were losing sense of reality. His hands were running all over you, making you feel something much greater than pleasure from a simple touch.

It all came to a stop at the sound of his phone ringing aggressively in his pockets, leaving you huffing out in annoyance. He didn’t just leave it and continue with his business; he fished the phone out of his pocket and stormed out of the stall while fixing himself up. There was no “excuse me,” or “I really have to take this.” He just stormed out of the room as if nothing was going on. It left you livid.

Park Jimin, your right-hand man, had to pick you up that night – helped you with your frustrations and worries, held you until you slept and didn’t wake up until dawn.

You were glad to think that you wouldn’t ever see him again, just a one-time failed fling in a population full of many. But your career begged to differ, as about a month or so after, he turned up to a meeting you held, custom-made for new recruits. Never will you forget the surprise on his face, when he found out that you were, indeed, the leader of the cartel. You, a normal woman at the bar, drinking her sorrows away in hopes they’d simmer and give her peace.

Although, you’d like to think there was something else beneath that surprise.

“A woman, as the leader of the sickest cartels in all South Korea?” One of the recruits spoke, a bitter tone hanging on his tongue. “How the fuck is it supposed to stay put?”

It was true that you had no idea how things were supposed to go in the industry – your father never really let you merge yourself with his world. But now, your father lay in a casket six feet under after being found dead in a ditch. You couldn’t really put it in a simpler way, but the only thing you could really say is you refuse to recreate an old nursery rhyme your mother used to tell you when you were just a toddler.

Nothing will stop you from reigning and getting back at whoever slaughtered your plans. You weren’t ready to tolerate anything in your way.

Hence why you didn’t hesitate to make Jimin shoot a bullet through his head, even if it terrified you just the slightest bit. But that was a different story.

Of course, it was no surprise. Women were still thought to be such fragile beings, not being able to handle anything. Once you stepped on top for the throne, you refused to let that put you down. “If any of you dimwits even so much as think about saying stupid shit like that again, I won’t hesitate to decapitate you.”

Jimin always kept his word. Because for the next year or so, whoever even uttered a single word about your command in the cartel faced death. You were never there to see it – Seokjin and Jimin made sure you knew everything that occurred, though.

On the other hand, there was that man you met at the bar. If it was possible, he would’ve disintegrated under your gaze. The dislike you had towards him was surely something grand, and to glitter it up a bit, he seemed to share the same feelings towards you too. Of course, in your defense, he had no reason to.

You weren’t the one who ditched in the middle of a make-out session.

Min Yoongi – he was something. A no one, but something, nonetheless. Ever since you saw him lined up with the other recruits, you’ve had your eye on him. As dumb as he acted, the man was cunning. Just what the cartel needed. Despite acting scared, like everything is all new, you felt as if it was nothing to him – almost as if it was all just a mask to conceal his true intentions. Although, you had no proof to this, so you let these accusations simmer.

His tale was cliché. He needed money but he didn’t have the qualifications to get a job. So, he joined the mafia, a very dirty place to get what you want. You ran background checks on him, just in case, and you found nothing of danger to all of you.

With a few weeks of training, Yoongi was fully accepted into the group and was one of Seokjin’s right-hand men.  

Passing by him in corridors, sitting in the same room with him, even hearing his name made your blood boil. It was unexplainable, but the feeling was mutual. Back then, if he disliked you, then it would only be fair if you disliked him as well. 

The tension was incredibly thick between you two, much that it left others uncomfortable whenever you were in each other’s presence. It was unbearable.

There was this incident once – you remember it like the back of your hand.

Seokjin had sent him to your office to deliver the newest packages that would determine how briskly your newest job was going to go. Despite begging the elder to send someone else as to avoid the awkward tension, the man refused.

The next morning, the raven-haired man was waiting by your door, box in hand. It took you a minute or so of plainly staring at him, observing the way his fingers twitch on the item, the way his eyes squint at you almost as if you were going to swallow him whole. It was quiet. No one said a word until you both entered your office.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again, as a fucking mafia leader.” he said.

“Ta mère ne t'a jamais dit de ne pas faire confiance aux étrangers?” you responded fluently, the accent rolling down your tongue briskly. Yoongi had no clue what you said, hence why you huffed and translated for him.

“I’m pretty sure your mother has warned you about strangers at least once in her life, no?” Your tone was calm, soft and delicate.

“She has. I didn’t think it’d happen with you though.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and rested against your desk. “Oh? I apologise then, even though I don’t recall being the one who’s acting arrogant.” As someone below you, he had to show decency, or he’d be thrown out with the dogs. “Arrogant?” he snarled lowly, plummeting down on one of the cushioned chairs placed in front of your mahogany desk. “You’re the one who’s been acting like a bitch all this time.”

“Best watch your tongue before I throw you out,”

“Do it then.”

He was faced with a gun to his head. You glared; finger firmly set on the trigger as you stared directly at him. No way were you going to let him get away with such a disrespectful attitude. He didn’t flinch, neither did he blink. He just stared back at you, slowly shoving his hands in the pockets of his tattered jacket.

“Don’t test me, Min.”

“You wouldn’t do it.”

Once those words tumbled out of his lips, you stiffened. Of course, you’d do it, why wouldn’t you?

“You put on a strong, independent persona but you can barely manage yourself.”

His words are what water is to fire. How dare he talk to you like that? Had he no fucking decency? Did he really want a bullet to pierce his skin in order to start seeing some sense?

“I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I think you do. That’s you, isn’t it?” His head bobbed towards the painting behind you – the Ses Peines Pleurant Es, a painting your mother had created back in her days. It depicted the both of you against the world, against the pure wickedness you were forced to grow up in. There’s darkness, but in contrast to it, there’s you as a new-born dawned in white.

“What makes you think that?”

The metal felt cold against his skin and Yoongi couldn’t help but shiver. “That painting’s been missing for years, and now that it’s here, it has to be yours.” he spoke calmly, “And frankly, I don’t think I’ve seen someone wear that much white before.”

You looked down at your clothes, all white with no signs of any other hue. It was crazy, truly, but you don’t remember wearing any other colour growing up. Your mother always dressed you up in just white, telling you that you look best in it. You just never really took mind to the resemblance your fashion sense had with the painting.

“Must be a coincidence,” you hummed, lowering the gun down to his chest. “For which I think is none of your business.”

Yoongi only hummed in response. There was a strict silence between the two of you then, before you sent him back to whatever duties Seokjin set on his shoulders. That was one of the encounters you had before things started taking a slight twist.

An infiltration in the Children’s Medical Clinic of Seoul, where one of the doctors was the main leads to what exactly brought your father’s downfall. You remember how ruthless Yoongi was that day, mercilessly shooting at the man without hesitation, without sparing a single breath. It was crazy, hell, it was mad, but you enjoyed it. That only meant strength to the cartel, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Although, you won’t ever forget the pained screams of children roaring in panic, the sudden stiffness in Min when the man dropped dead and painted the bleached tiles red.

From then on, the hate you harboured towards each other started to simmer. Seokjin and Jimin had noticed this when Yoongi started becoming more obedient, less cocky with the way he formed his words.

To you, this was relief.

But then things started to advance, the two of you started getting closer and before you knew it, you were having affairs late at night. When everyone else was at their respective homes, you were under silken sheets, legs entangled with Yoongi’s. You’d play with his soft locks as he told you his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell you his fears, what he’s always wanted to become ever since he was a toddler.

And you’d listen. You’d listen intently until both of you fell asleep, and you’d rake your brain until you unraveled what all the information you ate up meant.

Jimin started getting suspicions – he found pills in Yoongi’s house. There was no labelling on them, and you didn’t think asking him would somehow enlighten the situation. To make it far more interesting, later you found a multitude of phone numbers scribbled on a piece of paper in his pockets.

Yoongi started becoming strange.

He’d tell you things you were skeptical of, he’d do things you deemed abnormal. And then, he started telling you how someone was out to get you, and how one day he would be famous, people would talk about him wherever he passed by.

You’ve known Yoongi for a year – enough to tell that he was not the man he was before. He wasn’t so mental, he wasn’t a paranoid freak, neither was he so ambitious. Yoongi was just a normal man who needed something to do.

But then, he started talking in his sleep. Words tumbling out of his mouth one by one, telling you who he truly was, the man behind the façade he’d been showing you every day.  Jimin was never one to lie.

There was someone out to get you and it was him. He’d been a wolf in sheep’s clothing, getting closer to you in order to gain information to bring your very downfall. He revealed every little plan, every hidden camera scattered across the base, all managed by none other than the police department.

Humpty Dumpty had the King’s men to aid him, piece him back up and help him up the wall. But you, you had no one.

The man who had shown you what white truly meant, what innocence and happiness felt like, what being normal truly tasted of. Your first and your last love. Min Yoongi, the man who wrapped his hands around your heart and took advantage of what was bare.

Perhaps that was why your mother always teased you about being careful when dealing with boys.

You reminisce how it all went down on Valentine’s Day. How the waves hugged the shore lovingly, being complimented nicely by the dim light of the moon dawning on your silhouettes hand in hand. He felt cold. Yoongi felt distant.

A sweet, passionate kiss was shared that night. It filled you with false hope, chills. It painted a faulty picture in your head of what could have been but hadn’t been. That night, you held him close and held him dearly.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your toes curled in the damp particles of the sand. Your fingers fell limp. “I love you most,” You muttered back, your lips trailing faint kisses across his neck. When you pulled back, you observed him. Yoongi had never looked so vulnerable in all the times you’ve faced him. Although, even if he was torn, in that very moment to you he was beautiful.

You remember the screeching of birds once you pulled the trigger, your skin and dress then painted in crimson. You remember the sheer surprise scattered across his face until he offered you a gentle smile and collapsed.

“Jour de la Saint-Valentin heureux, mon amour.”

You no longer wore white.

 ---

His name is engraved quite nicely on his tombstone. It still saddens you how barren it looks, devoid of any attention. Hence why you gently set the bouquet of flowers down, bowing your head in respect towards the man who brought you to a new world.

You’ll cherish his presence in your memories instead of forgetting them.

Even if Yoongi left without truly accomplishing his mission, without truly becoming what his desires were, he was deemed dead in vain.

Macbeth let his ambition eat him whole and it led him to his very downfall – the terror of seeing himself crumble and lose power.

Yoongi also was too over-ambitious for his own good. He let himself succumb to the control you were merely lending him, only to suffer the consequences and face his own undoing.

After all, Humpty Dumpty could never really be put back together again.

 “Happy Valentine’s day, my love.”

[darawonplease]

✵ ch.3 – blackout.

「 ☽ Ian's POV」

.

「 Ian, you’ve hid in your apartment for a week now, are  you alright?」

「 Dude, we need you at the studio」

「 I’ll get your lazy ass myself, I fucking swear」

.

I scrolled through the DPR group chat out of pure boredom, nothing more.

.

“450 missed messages, huh?”.

Quite a rare scenario, I was the person who usually spammed nonstop in our group chat, bothering the others.

I threw the phone over the coffee table in front of the leather couch where my body was laying, restless, completely drained. Like a stalled car I was stuck there, my limbs dangling down, almost touching the ground.

.

The sun splashing into a bundle of warm colors was a view I enjoyed quite a lot from my living room’s large windows. I almost refused to acknowledge how stunning that was just to keep lurking in the darkness, tucked away from any worry.

Defeat left such a bitter taste in my mouth. Our label was going through some rough times and I had abandoned the ship and retired in the comfort of my home for the time being.

I had felt strange ever since Chaerin left for LA. An eerie feeling stalked me each and every step I took, not allowing me any peace.

.

I looked over my shoulder, my home was completely trashed. Plastic bottles and takeaway boxes were scattered on the floor, my bed undone, all of the surfaces covered in dirty clothes, used glasses. A crack house would’ve been 10 times more hospitable than my apartment.

Maybe it was Chae’s sudden departure or maybe I was just exhausted by the useless amount of editing I did for some - now cancelled - DPR projects. A lethal mix of both certainly put me at my knees when it came to my psychological and physical health.

Overworking was my way to keep my mind busy and forcefully kick out any thought regarding her absence. It worked for a while until that day. The blackout.

I could sense a growing tension that took over me the moment I got into a fight with Dabin.

.

I couldn’t believe I had let myself get into those conditions. I was forced to contain my rage and melancholy inside the walls of my house; it was the only way to protect the people around me from my mood swings and irritability and, ultimately rest for a bit. I felt like shit.

With the last ounce of strength in me, I dragged my body over to the bathroom.

.

The mirror’s image told me that wasn’t me. That wasn’t Ian. Ian wouldn’t go into hiding in times of need. Ian wouldn’t get into violent fights. He wouldn’t disrespect his friends. That was the worst version of Ian. The scruffy looking hair, the unshaven face, the deep dark under eyes sitting under those dim eyes, the healing bruises on the cheek. I despised what I saw.

weak.

A deep voice started echoing in my head suddenly.

you’re pathetic.

fucking look at yourself.

you look like shit.

I firmly held my head between my hands, my brain felt like imploding in that instant. My hands started trembling out of control. I watched them twitch like crazy, completely powerless over them.

The more I tried to make up the details of my face in the reflection, the blurrier the vision in front of me became.

“Fuck… not again”.

✵

I woke up, strangled by the warmth of my dirty sheets. The stank of cigarettes and whisky choke me, almost making me gag.

“I need to change these”. I immediately thought to myself as I shoved them away from my body.

That persistent headache finally ceased to bother me; its intensity was nothing compared to the one I had the night before.

I slowly turned my head to the right, the blinds cut through the sunlight, just letting a couple of rays penetrate in the dark room as the day was breaking in.

I followed one of the gleams until it hit on tan bare skin.  Someone was lying on the other side of my bed.

.

“Wh-“.

.

A woman with platinum hair cascading on her pale face was still fast asleep beside me.  

I flinched at the sight of her unfamiliar features and covered my mouth to prevent myself from waking her up.

“Who is this person?” - I thought to myself, as I panicked to get out of bed. I needed to wrap my head around what was happening.

I desperately tried to cling onto the blurry, fleeting memories that vanished in the distance the more I tried to recall them. That now familiar feeling of loss slowly ate away every bit of my sanity.

how did this person end up in my house?

and in my bedroom?

did we…?

I wasn’t one who would hook up with random people. I just wasn’t that type of person.

I was definitely too old for that stuff and yet- a naked woman I didn’t recognize was in my bed.

I just couldn’t resolve the mystery as to where I had possibly met her, I could swear I didn’t step out of my house all week for the fear of hurting someone else. No matter how hard I tried to put together the clues around me, the puzzle was missing too many pieces.

.

maybe she just walked to my place.

what if I downloaded a dating app?

.

I frantically looked for my phone under the pillows, the bedsheets, in the drawers of the nightstand. With my face squished against the cold floor I scanned under the bed only to find a pile of random clothes that I then started to go through.

bingo.

There it was, buried under the mountain of dirty garments. I immediately searched for any dating app or messages on my phone to confirm my theory and prove myself I wasn’t actually crazy but to no avail. Of that sort of thing, not a trace.

.

“Good morning”.

.

The woman wrapped her arms around me and whispered in my ear with her raspy morning voice.

I froze in place, my mind going completely blank. Having that huge blackout of events didn’t give me any peace but It wasn’t the time to play detective. I had a complete stranger in my bedroom.

.

“G-good morning”. I forced myself to greet her with a confused smile.

.

She kneeled to get her stuff from the pile of clothes that stood up at my feet and started dressing up. I immediately turned around in shame at the sight of her naked body, my ears were burning red.

“Why are you so shy all of a sudden, oppa?”.

✵

“Come on, don’t be shy oppa!”.

Chae gently pushed a bowl of rice towards the other side of the table, where I was sitting.

“Just eat to your heart’s content”. She flashed her usual bright smile.

“If I'll find myself at the hospital for food intoxication, I will make your name Chae”.

I pointed at the chef with the spoon in my hand and chuckled, I just loved teasing her.

“Don’t be ungrateful and just eat, will ya?”. She pretended to be offended, crossing her arms and such. It was so obvious that she was anxiously waiting for my critique.

Without further ado I picked a spoonful of fried rice and started munching with no particular expectations. Not because I expected her to be a bad cook, I just didn’t want to put my expectations too high only to be left disappointed.

An explosion of flavors mixed and popped in my mouth. The aroma brought me back to when I was a child and my mom used to cook me a simple fried rice dish before leaving to work. Chae’s cooking felt like home.

I slowly nodded my head in satisfaction and licked my lips.

“It’s… meh-…alright”. I teased her again.

“Alright?! Spit what you ate, this instant!”. Chae threatened me with the wooden spoon she just picked up from the table to hit me on the arm.

“CHAE, OUCH, IT HURTS” - I hurriedly took another spoonful and immediately stood up from my seat, fleeing toward the hallway of her apartment.

“COME BACK YOU IDIOT!”. She chuckled.

✵

The annoyingly loud sound of the intercom made me snap back to reality.

.

“Hello? You okay? Someone is outside the door”.

The platinum-haired girl waved her hand in front of me to make sure I was listening to her, which I wasn’t until that moment.

I shook my head and sprinted towards the door.

.

“Come on man, don’t make me buzz for other 5 minutes”. I heard Scott’s stern, yet familiar voice.

I opened the door to find him and Cream on my doorstep, a dead-serious expression plastered on both of their faces. They made their way into my apartment before I could say anything.

“Wait guys I-“.

“Dude, you look like shit”, Cream exhorted, putting his hands at his sides.

Scott looked around my living room, his expression was distorted by a mix of disgust and disappointment as if he walked into a true crime scene.

“What’s up with this Ian? When did you start to smoke legit cigarettes?”.

“Me? You know I don’t smo-“.

He picked an ashtray stacked with cigarette butts from the coffee table and looked back at me with frustration.

“Where does that come from…?”, I muttered under my breath, surprised by the presence of that object in my home.

Cream carefully walked towards the kitchen, almost stumbling in some empty beer cans, “This is so depressing man”, He inspected the empty bottle of what looked like Jack Daniel’s on the messy kitchen counter.

“When did I drink that? Wait guys- “.

“Whoa Ian, are you not going to introduce us to your girl?”.

I widened my eyes at the sight of her; I had forgotten about the stranger in my bedroom for a hot minute.

.

“She’s…”.

.

 A drip of cold sweat dribbled down my forehead as I panicked to recall that person’s name; my mind could only crash into a blank wall.

I paused for an awful lot of time until she interrupted me.

.

“The nerve! How come you can’t even remember my name? After last night…You know what Mito? You’re a jerk”.

.

“W-what?...”.

.

An explosion of pain spread in my left cheek as she slapped me. She then marched directly out of the door, showing me her middle finger as I held my face in agony.

“Man…”, Scott sighed, “I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy lately…”. He pushed aside the stuff occupying the seating surface of the couch and made space for himself.

“Did she just call you? Mito? Ian? Are you into role-playing?”, Cream asked letting out a small laugh.

“Into what?...”.

 “Nevermind”. He heaved a deep sigh and slowly walked towards me, avoiding the trash on the floor like an obstacle course.

I just kept silent. I couldn’t throw a fit again just because I was so burned that I had a complete blackout. I just couldn’t.

“We left you alone for just a week and you managed to turn your pretty apartment into a dumpster”.

“y-yeah…”.

“And the girl? You never told me about that pretty blonde girl, did you? Ian you rascal”. Cream grinned, with a proud smile.

“I- I met her recently I guess…”. I lied, not knowing how to justify myself.

.

Pushing onto his thighs for support, Scott stood up from his seat, “Ian… I know It’s not the best of times for us right now… but hang in there, okay? We’ll get on our feet soon, we do need you though”, He shook my shoulders to make sure I listened to him.

“Yeah sure…”. I just kept nodding.

“You still haven’t talked with Dabin, did you?”.

“I haven’t”. I looked down at the mess in the living room, attempting to avoid his inquisitorial gaze.

.

A raw and unfamiliar beat started playing out of the blue, interrupting Scott’s soon to be scolding.

“Look Scott, Ian actually worked on something”. He redirected his attention towards me with a satisfied smile on his lips.

Scott raised his eyebrow and looked over the laptop, “Have you?”, his eyes went back to me.

“This? No-”

The strained vocals on the track suddenly became an unsettling background to the messed-up scenario.

.

again?

.

 Scott’s scrutinizing gaze felt like a heavy blanket over my body. I could sense the abrupt change of atmosphere, the growing distance between the two of us, the distrust.

“Well, that’s your voice Ian. If not you, who did?”, he smacked his lips.

Cream kept looking around my laptop, “This demo is very aggressive, it’s quite unlike you”, he exhorted.

“I-”.

“I like it, It has character, It’s something different from what you usually write”.

I dashed towards the computer to verify myself.

.

 「 maybeittookover.m4a」 

.

“It happened again huh…”. I murmured under my breath. That was the second time an unknown track appeared on my desktop out of the blue.

“Ian? Are you ok? You’re spacing out- like a lot”, Cream tilted his head at me, “Wait, are you high?”.

“N-no, I’m just really really really tired, that’s all…”.

Scott took a short trip to the bathroom only to throw a towel on my head.

“Wash up, we’re taking you to get a breath of fresh air”.

-

previous chapter. ✵  next chapter. ✵ masterlist

[connorandersons-blog]

Daffodils and Cyclamens

So this turned into a multichaptered fic, so I’m posting it like this! @aum45-pastel​

Rating: Explicit Word count: 6,486   Ship: Reed1700 (Gavin/Connor/Nines) Chapters: 1/2

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

There was still no cure for humans, and there's definitely no cure for androids. Most people didn't even know androids could get this, but Connor was proof.

He hadn't expected it at all. He had been going about his day when he felt a tickle in the back of his throat.

And then he coughed.

Androids don't need to cough, so he instantly assumed there was something wrong with his coding.

And then a single small bulb came out of his throat and he easily identified it as a daffodil. He almost wanted to laugh at that. Of course, it was a daffodil. It was the most common flower to get.

He already knew who this was for. Well, the two people it was for. It wasn't going to happen, though. They loved each other and everyone could see it except them.

He didn't know if this would actually kill him or not. It wasn't like he knew any other androids that went through it. Maybe it would be interesting to see exactly what happened to him.

So he went about his day like nothing had happened. There were three possibilities for humans with this disease.

The first was the most sought after. The person would return your romantic and or sexual feelings. The flowers would wilt inside and they could safely remove them or just let them digest.

The next option was death. This happened if the person didn't love you the same way and you couldn't move on. You have to have both parts to die. If you can move on then you'd be fine.

The last one was getting surgery. Doctors still didn't know how, but if the flowers were removed you would lose all emotions.

He wouldn't let anyone know unless it became absolutely necessary. There was the chance that he could just clear the flowers out with a system cleaning and there would be no adverse effects.

Days drag by and he very rarely coughs up any bulbs. The itch would get worse when around the two and he'd always have to excuse himself before it got noticeable.

The bulbs were slowly blooming and now it was petals. Small petals that he'd cough up and find a way to dispose of without anyone knowing.

"Connor, I have a-" Nines trails off, staring him down.

Connor quickly straightens, plastering on a smile. There's a small itch at the back of his throat once again even though he had already coughed up five petals that day.

"You have thirium, on your lips," Nines says, reaching out and brushing his thumb across Connor's bottom lip.

Connor freezes, eyes going wide. Nines barely touched anyone unless he absolutely had to.

Nines stays there for a few seconds before pulling his hand back. "Were you injured?"

Oh, right. Some thirium had been coating the petals. It did make it easier to get up and out, but it did make him have to ingest more thirium than usual.

"No," he quickly shakes his head before cringing at himself. "Not really? I, I bit my lip harder than I should have, but I'm fine. Thank you."

It wasn't a completely unbelievable lie. He did tend to bite his lips a lot when he didn't have a pen or something to bite while he thought. "Oh, I did have something for you. If you have the time, could you follow me to my desk?"

Connor is instantly by his side, following along.

Nines's desk is besides Gavin's, who is sitting there glaring at his computer.

"Connor? Oh, right." Gavin says, looking at the two before grinning at Nines.

The itch comes back full force and he quickly swallows as much as he can. He doesn't want to have to leave now, not when Nines and Gavin seemed to want him near them.

Nines opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a small bag. "We got you this. There are different flavors so there should be one you'll enjoy."

Nines hands over the bag and then simply stares at him, waiting for a reaction.

Connor held the bag and looked it over. It was thirium lollipops. He had heard of these before but hadn't thought to get any.

They had gone out of their way to get him this? But why? He thought they were friends and human friends often gave each other gifts. Normally it was given for special occasions, but he couldn't find anything that had happened on this day before.

"Well?" Gavin prompts, also totally focused on Connor.

Right, he has to reply. His throat itched so badly but he had to say something. "Thank you, this is… thank you." He manages to get out.

Nines gives a slight nod. "I'm sure the Lieutenant will appreciate having you no longer destroy his pens and pencils."

Connor winces at that. He definitely had destroyed many ends of pens and pencils.

"Well, are you gonna try one?" Gavin asks, leaning forward.

Connor quickly nods and pulls open the bag. He grabs the first one that he can, which is green and unwraps that. Then he sticks it in his mouth.

It tastes amazing, and the thirium helps that itch dull somewhat. He accidentally moans slightly, then his face instantly flushes blue.

It wasn't the first time he'd had this reaction to food. After all, his entire mouth was incredibly sensitive compared to humans and even other androids. Normally he can keep in any sounds, but this one just slipped out.

Gavin makes a choked noise and stares at Nines with wide eyes.

"I'm so sorry! This is just really good, thank you so much." He says, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth to talk.

"It's fine. I'm glad you enjoy it. Now, we should all be getting back to work. Have a good day, Connor." Nines says. He reached out and gently pats his shoulder before sitting down.

Gavin is now staring at his desk, so Connor turns and walks quickly to his desk. He ignores the smile Hank is giving him and puts the lollipop back into his mouth.

Once again he almost moans at the taste but quickly stomps it down so it just comes out as a hum.

"That's a nice gift your boyfriends got you," Hank says, leaning towards Connor. He doesn't even pretend to be focusing on work.

The itch comes back full force and he coughs around the lollipop before he can stop it. He tried to play it off as choking but everyone knew androids couldn't choke. "They aren't my boyfriends!" He squeaks out around his coughing.

By now quite a few people had turned to see what the commotion was. Connor quickly stood, and all but ran to the bathroom.

He was lucky no one else was in there, but even if someone was he wouldn't have noticed. He was too focused on getting into the stall so no one could easily see him.

He's coughing so hard it hurts, and then a few flower petals come up and out of his mouth along with thirium. He drops his lollipop which is a shame, but all he can focus on are the petals.

Two daffodil petals and two cyclamens both covered in blue blood.

He really shouldn't be too surprised; he knew he loved them both. Though this would mean the disease will progress twice as fast.

Normally it could take multiple months depending on how deep the love is. How badly the person hurt being around the ones they loved.

With two and this amount of aching when around them, which was almost all the time, he'd be surprised if he lasted even two months.

"Connor!" Hank calls out, knocking on the bathroom stall.

Connor jumps and quickly drops the petals into the toilet. He grabs toilet paper and wipes off his hands and around his mouth. Then he flushes the toilet and smooths down his shirt.

Hank is ready to burst into the stall when Connor opens the door, looking only slightly uneasy. "What the fuck was that about?"

"I'm sorry, the lollipop caused an odd reaction, and I had to take care of it immediately. The problem has been fixed and shouldn't occur again." That was good; Hank still didn't know a whole lot of information.

Though, he was a terrible liar when he didn't have to do so for work. Hank was staring him down, trying to pick apart every little detail to see if he was lying.

"Right." Hank deadpans. He definitely didn't believe him, but he would hopefully not push it.

Connor quickly nods, stepping out of the stall completely. "Thank you for your concern, we should probably get back to work now."

Hank grunted and followed along.

 Hank kept a watchful eye on him, it made it incredibly difficult to be able to step away when the itch got too bad and he knew petals would come up.

The number of petals per day was increasing rapidly and Connor was getting a bit scared. He had thought his systems would be able to wipe this out like everything else, but the petals always came back.

It was interfering with his work too, because he had to make up so many excuses as to why he couldn't go to a crime scene. He also had to find ways to avoid Hank.

He noticed that the itch got slightly better whenever Gavin or Nines would show him affection of any kind.

Then it would get worse the moment he saw Nines and Gavin together, fully immersed in one another.

It wasn't that he didn't want them to do that. He just wanted to be a part of it too. To know they looked at him the same way and felt love.

It all came to the worse one day when Gavin and Nines invited Hank and Connor to take their lunch break together.

Connor couldn't say no, no matter how much it was going to hurt later.

Gavin and Nines took them to a small new cafe not too far from the station.

It had a 60s theme to it, and an actual working jukebox on display. They sat down at a booth, Gavin and Nines on one side and Connor and Hank on the other.

Connor was pleasantly surprised to find that the cafe had equal parts android and human food. He scanned over the menu, unsure what to get. He never really had this many options before.

Eventually, he settles on a classic burger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake.

"So, did you boys invite us just to show us this place?" Hank says, interrupting Connor's thoughts.

He had been wondering why the two had invited them. He was grateful but confused.

"We did want to share this. Gavin took me here two days ago, and I thought you'd like it." Nines says, tilting his head slightly towards Connor.

Nines had thought of him? Nines had actually thought of him while with Gavin, alone on what was probably a date, even though neither would have realized it.

"Well, thank you. There aren't many restaurants that have this many options." It was Nines probably just thinking that Connor would like the food, especially after the lollipop incident. He probably wasn't thinking about bringing him here on a date.

Before they can say anything else a waitress comes by and takes their order. She's pleasant enough but seems incredibly tired with life in general.

"Anderson, you two have that case about the five dead androids right?" Gavin asks. And then they are off.

They talk about their cases and fellow officers. Gavin talks about how one of his cats fell into the sink while he was washing dishes and the cat had been grumpy for a week.

Nines rarely talked, but when he did it was quick, snarky comments on whatever story Gavin was telling. Connor tried to not laugh but it was honestly adorable to see the two interact, even with the pain of it.

Hank jokes with the two, nudging Connor when he had been spacing out for too long. Who could blame him? Gavin was being overly dramatic and Nines would sometimes look over and smile slightly at Connor as if to say 'can you believe this?'.

Then their food was brought and they all dug in. Connor didn't even chastise Hank for his choice of meal and how unhealthy it was.

The food was delicious, and he had a feeling it was as close to the real thing as they could get.

"Ok, ok Connor I need you to do something for me," Gavin says, voice completely serious, but his lips quirked up just the slightest bit.

Connor nodded and sat up completely straight. "Of course, whatever you need." Hank snorts beside him and his facade broke just slightly.

"Take a fry-" Gavin says. Connor grabs one and holds it up. "Good, now dip it into the milkshake and eat it."

Hank sighs and doesn't even try to stop Connor. He'd put anything in his mouth even without being told to.

Connor does as told and doesn't even pause to decide if he was actually going to eat it.

It's surprisingly good. The combination of the saltiness of the fries and the sweetness of the milkshake go really well together.

So, he grabs another and does the same thing again, and Hank drops his head to the table with a bang.

Connor snorts and reaches over to rub his back. "This isn't the worse thing I've put in my mouth, and you know it."

Hank lifts his head slightly before dropping back onto the table. "Connor, just no. You are an abomination for liking it, and Reed so are you for telling him to." Hank finally lifts his head to point a finger at Gavin.

Gavin doesn't seem phased in the least, actually seems quite proud of himself. "It's delicious. Just like peanut butter and syrup on a waffle is delicious."

"Oh, I haven't tried that. The next time we can get the time to buy the ingredients, I'd like to make that." Connor says.

Hank groans and glares at Gavin.

Nines rolls his eyes, but Connor can tell he's actually having fun. If anyone else looked at him they would have thought he was incredibly uncomfortable or a snotty asshole. Or both.

"Ok, ok. We did actually invite you to lunch for a reason, and it wasn't just for your lovely self, and you too Hank." Gavin says, giving Hank a Cheshire cat grin. Hank flips him off and Connor's cheeks flush.

Gavin had probably just been his snarky self calling Connor lovely, but a part of him wanted to believe it. It was sadly also the same part of him that wanted him to cough up flower petals until he died.

"What Gavin was trying to say is we have a small announcement." Nines cuts in before the two would get going again.

Gavin nods and leans back, sitting incredibly close to Nines. "We do. So, I guess just like a bandaid right?" Gavin chuckles a bit nervously. "Alright, so Nines and I are dating. We've wanted to tell you both for a few weeks and decided now would be the time."

Oh. He knew this was coming and yet he was still so shocked he couldn't breathe.

Then he couldn't breathe for a whole nother reason. He started violently coughing.

This was somehow so much worse than before. It felt like an entire flower was trying to come up his throat.

"I have to go." He got out before standing. He doesn't even try to walk calmly, he just sprints out the door, ignoring the calls of his name.

He keeps running until he knows they won't catch up (at least Gavin and Hank, Nines could outrun him.)

He's in some park and it seems blissfully empty. He finds a small spot that is barely visible to the trail before he falls to his knees.

He can't stop coughing or even suppress it somewhat.

Then two whole flowers fall out of his mouth. This was the first sign that death was near.

It would only get worse and worse. The flowers in full bloom from his pain and aching.

He keeps coughing until at least ten more petals fall out. Then he wipes off his mouth and stands back up on shaky legs.

He has no doubt Hank now knows at least somewhat what is going on. If he didn't then he would be a shitty detective. Sadly all of them were good detectives and it would be easy to connect the dots.

He has to go to Jericho. He knew he wouldn't be able to move on from them in time, and he had to know for a fact if this would kill him.

He doesn't take a cab, simply walking the whole way. His throat still burns and itches but at least he wasn't coughing anymore.

He knows he looks like a mess when he arrives, but none of the androids give him weird looks for it. They had all learned to accept that it was normal for another android to stumble into Jericho looking like a mess.

He wasn't injured so no one immediately rushed up to him. They did know who he was though, so that could also be a factor.

He no longer has to check in with the receptionist before going to the elevator and riding it all the way up to where Markus would be.

He hadn't even thought to message him. He could be incredibly busy or not even there.

He almost turns back until he hears footsteps coming towards him.

"Connor? What are you doing here?" North asks, slinging an arm around him to give him a side hug.

Then she finally takes in his appearance and the blue blood on his chin he hadn't managed to get off. "Shit, let's get you in. Markus should have finished his call with the president."

He couldn't resist even if he wanted to. If North decided she was going to do something, she'd do it. One way or another.

Markus is sitting at his desk, looking over papers with a scowl. Connor was incredibly glad he denied being a part of any major political decisions. He'd still put his two cents in, but he'd much rather be solving cases with Hank.

Markus looks up and grins when he sees Connor, but it quickly changed to worry as he looks him over. "Are you ok?"

"He was standing outside your door like a lost puppy." North supplied after Connor didn't immediately answer.

Right, he came here for help. "I have Hanahaki Disease because of Gavin and Nines."

Both North and Markus look at him with wide eyes.

"I'm at the first stage before death and I need to know if this can actually kill me." If it didn't then he wouldn't worry. He could deal with coughing up flowers if it meant he could keep his emotions and his life.

"It can. We don't know how or why this affects androids but it's basically the same as humans. Removing the flowers is possible. Though, from what we can tell the process reverts the android back into their machine state. They can still feel but they are forever trapped behind their coding."

A fate worse than death. Anyone could order him to do anything and he'd have to obey. That would be dangerous with him. He had skills that could hurt many people if it were in the wrong hands.

"Connor, have you thought about telling them?" North asks, gently taking his hand.

He quickly shakes his head. He had somewhat thought about it but completely shut down that line of thinking. "No. And I really can't now. They just announced they are dating and I can't tell them and then die. That would put a rift between them. I won't do that to them."

"You'll die," Markus says, standing and coming over to take Connor's other hand. "Or you'll be stuck."

He would take death, and both North and Markus knew that. "I know. I don't have a lot of time, so I should probably prepare."

How could he explain to Gavin and Nines that he was dying? That they couldn't know why, and they couldn't be there for it. He won't let them see it.

How was he going to tell Hank? The man had already lost one son, and now he would be losing Connor too. "Markus, I need a favor."

"Of course, anything you need." Markus squeezes his hand.

Connor ignores both North's and Markus's tears. "Look after Hank? He's not going to be doing well after, and he'll need someone even if he denies it. Don't let him push you away, and don't let him drink."

"I'll make sure of it. Connor… are you sure they don't love you back? I know they are together, but that doesn't mean they can't both love you. Look at me, Simon, North, and Josh." Markus pleads.

He knew Nines and Gavin cared for him, but he also knew they didn't love him. They loved each other so much that everyone else seemed to just disappear. "I'm sure. After I… after, please don't tell them about this. They will just blame themselves."

"Please, please just ask them if they love you. You don't have to tell them about the disease or anything, just ask." North says, tugging on his hand slightly.

"They are both detectives, they'll figure out why I asked after I'm gone." There was still the chance they'd figure it out, but as long as he didn't make it obvious they may not realize it was them he was in love with.

North squeezes his hand a bit too hard. "Bullshit! Connor you are going to die if you don't tell them! Don't you want to live?"

"Of course I do!" He snaps at her. "I want to live but I can't hurt them. I can't, North." He could never knowingly hurt them. "I love them too much to do that."

"Ok, I don't want to fight with you. Not now. Will you let us know when it's time? I don't want you to be alone." North sighs.

Connor nods his head. He doesn't want to be alone for that. It'll definitely hurt for them to watch, but he knew he'd do the same for anyone else. "I will. If you both aren't busy, could I stay here for the day? Or, I can just sit with you? I don't want to be alone right now, and I can't go back to Hank's yet."

He would go back tomorrow, but right now he needed to come to terms with everything. He couldn't tell Hank now; not with only having found out he was actually going to die, today.

"Of course, you can stay here as long as you need."

They stay with him, canceling all other plans or meetings. Eventually, Josh and Simon join them, and they all sit with Connor.

They rub his back when the itch comes back and he's coughing up petals and sometimes small flowers.

He gets multiple messages from Hank, Nines, and Gavin but he chooses to ignore them for now.

When it starts getting dark he decides it's time to head back home. He'll explain it to Hank, he owes him that much. He's ready.

The others offer to walk with him, but he assures them it's not necessary. He'll have to stop to cough a few times, but he can make it back by himself.

It's a long walk and the moon is high in the sky when he finally makes it back to Hank's.

The lights are still on, so Connor knocks on the door before going in. Hank had told him he didn't need to knock, but it was still polite to do so.

Hank is sitting at the small dining table, a beer in hand. Connor shuffles over and sits down, not meeting Hank's gaze.

"Who is it?" Hank asks, finally breaking the silence. "Is it me?"

"No! No, Hank, I do love you but not like that." Connor says, looking up then quickly back at the table.

"Thank fuck," Hank mumbles. If it was him he knew Hank would blame himself forever for not loving him the same way.

Connor nods and picks at the table. "You already know, though. You know it's them."

Hank huffs and rubs at his face. "I do. Your reaction to their little announcement gave it away. I thought you had it, but then how could androids get this? Turns out you fuckers are just as unlucky as us humans."

"I didn't mean to. I was trying to get over them, but it hasn't worked. They don't love me back, and Markus told me that this will kill me." The disease killed more than cancer did, and almost everyone knew of someone that did or had at least gotten it.

Humans were never sure why it happened. The religious thought it was some sort of curse or punishment. Others thought it was the cure for overpopulation, an evaluation trait.

Connor honestly didn't care, all he knew was he was dying because of it. All of the times he had almost died before coming deviant he was terrified but also confident. He would always just get remade. He did enough and succeeded enough to be brought back.

Now that wasn't fully allowed. Humans had protested against androids being able to get new bodies if their old ones were destroyed. They said it wasn't fair that they couldn't do that.

Now they can only be brought back if they can prove the death could have been prevented. So if an android was murdered they couldn't be brought back. If an android died while working and a machine malfunctioned then they could have the chance.

He wouldn't be brought back. He knew it and so would everyone else. He would be gone for good. Of course, he would die because he is deviant and can therefore love.

Well, that's not completely correct. Deviancy is just breaking through the code that made you only do what you were told. It didn't prevent you from feeling beforehand, but after deviancy, they had free will.

So he was dying because he was in love.

He always thought he'd die on a case. Maybe saving Hank or a hostage. It seemed more likely than this at any rate.

"How do you know?" Hank asked, taking a long sip from the bottle. Connor doesn't have it in him to take it away. If he could, he'd be drinking too.

"What do you mean?"

"How do you know they don't love you? Don't give me the bullshit, I just know excuse. Give me cold, hard facts." Hank says, slamming the bottle down.

Connor jumps only because he hadn't been expecting the sudden noise. He knew Hank wouldn't hurt him. He also understood how upset he was.

Then his mind tried to find actual evidence. Finding such evidence would be hard as it was difficult to prove an emotion.

"They are together," he points out.

Hank stares at him, with his 'you're shitting me' look. "Right. I totally forgot that people weren't capable of loving multiple people. My bad, I guess you can't have the fucking Hanahaki Disease for them then."

"They haven't shown me they feel anything more than friendship," Connor says, throwing his hands up. How many times was he going to have this conversation?!

"Alright, listen the fuck up. You're what, two? You don't have much life experience yet so I'll let that shit slide. Now, you listen to me and listen carefully." Hank says, gently pushing Connor's head up so they can lock eyes.

Connor sinks into his chair just slightly but nods his head.

"Nines and Gavin bought you those lollipops. Meaning they both watched you enough to realize you got some oral fixation or whatever. Then they must have talked to each other about you and said fixation." Hank starts.

"Gavin gave you a succulent in a dog vase because he knew you liked both. So he obviously pays attention when you go on those long rambles."

"Nines gave you that pastel hoodie. You only mentioned liking pastels one fucking time, and he was so focused on his case that he hadn't even noticed the tornado warning. And yet he heard you and got it for you."

"Then they keep complimenting you on whatever you're wearing or just random shit. Praising you for doing your job well. Then you get all blushy and hide your face. So you don't see that they look at each other and they both just seem to melt at the sight of you."

Connor was ready to break in and explain all of those incidents but Hank put up a finger to silence him.

"I'm not done. They continuously invite you and only you along to after-work drinks. I'm assuming they also always try to pay for your drinks. If you even mention wanting anything those two perk up and try to get it for you."

"There are so many more things I could bring up, but I think I've made it clear. They fucking love you back, and all you have to do is tell them that you feel the same." Hank finishes, putting his finger down.

Connor just sat there for a second and then he went over as many memories as he could where the other two were involved. There was a lot more than he expected.

How had he not noticed all the gifts? He, of course, had given many to the other two, but he hadn't thought about the amount they were giving him.

Oh no, they probably thought he wasn't appreciative of their gifts! He wore the hoodie often and took care of his plants. He loved the lollipops and had almost run out of them. He did try to pay for his own drink at least, but they almost always paid for him. He wanted to return the favor but they both somehow distracted him every time.

He had noticed the praise , and if they did it too much he often had to run to the bathroom to calm down) but didn't think much of it. He thought it was just something the two did for everyone. He never thought he was special.

He never thought that they had singled him out. If Nines showed any interest he thought it was just because he was the only other android detective. He could understand him better than anyone else.

Then with Gavin, he just assumed he was… flirty with everyone. That he mainly became his friend because of what happened before the revolution. Connor had easily forgiven him and then saw what a wonderful friend he could be, even with all of his assholeyness.

Actually, his assholeyness was part of his charm as long as he didn't mean it. He would joke around with the people he cared about and often called them names as long as they were fine with it. Connor was tincan or dumbass, Nines was fucker or terminator, Tina was whore or slut (or bitch, or sometimes even slutty whore), and Hank was old man.

Had they been flirting with him all along? How had he not noticed? He was built to notice things! It was literally his job to notice things and figure shit out. How could he have not noticed?!

"They love me?" He mumbled, eyes going wide. He didn't have proof that it was love but they were definitely interested.

"Fucking finally, I thought we'd have to sit here all night as you figured that out." Hank chuckled.

Connor sat straight up in his chair so fast he almost fell out of it. "They like me! I might not die!"

Hank looked up at the ceiling for a second before back to Connor. "Thank fucking god. Now, do you want to talk to them tonight or tomorrow?"

"Oh shit! Oh no, I totally ran away!" Connor yelps, running his hands through his hair. "I ran away after they said they were dating. What if they think I hate them, or I'm disgusted? They probably think I'm insane!" He pulled at his hair just slightly.

"Woah, calm down son, it's ok. They were more concerned than anything else. Nines looked ready to kill if need be for you. Though, he does kinda always look like that." Hank trails off before shaking himself. "Anyway, they don't think you're insane."

"I need to apologize for running out. I didn't want any of you to see the flowers." Hank nodded and drank the rest of his beer.

"It's fine. You've been running away every time you cough so it's not too out of character." Hank said. Of course, he had noticed, everyone probably has.

"You can't blame me. Androids don't cough so it would have been too easy to put together." Though his running away probably brought up many rumors.

Wonderful. He was getting odd looks at the station and he always just assumed it was something silly.

"Right, so I should go talk to them if they'll even look at me." He sighed, running a hand through his hair to try to flatten it down a bit.

Hank stood and then ruffled Connor's hair, grinning at the glare he got for it. "They'll look at you, and probably do a lot more… no, nope not thinking about that."

Connor smirks before flushing blue at the implications. Not that he would be opposed to that. "Please don't. Ok, I'll message you when I get there." He says going to the door.

"Nope, you aren't walking. I'll drop you off and then go to a bar, I need another drink." Connor glared at him. "Fine, I'll find something else to do with my time, but I'll be there if you need me." If this didn't go well and they couldn't return his feelings was left unsaid.

Connor rambles the whole way, going over every possible outcome (and leaving out… certain details that would come later).

Hank pointed out when something was mostly Connor's anxiety and not an actual possibility. Some of those included the whole precinct turning on him. Honestly how Connor could come up with something like that was beyond him.

"Alright, let me know if you need me ok?" Hank says once they are parked outside of Gavin's place. (Nines often stayed with him since he couldn't afford his own place, and the nights he didn't he stayed at the precinct.)

"I will. Listen, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't tell anyone and I couldn't even admit to myself that it was real and could actually affect me." He fiddled with the door handle before starting to cough.

Hank quickly reaches over to rub his back until the coughing subsided. "It's alright, had an uncle who just randomly died off and no one knew what happened until the autopsy. Turns out he was in love with the postman but he still loved his wife so he didn't want to leave her. Figures the wife also had a thing for the postman. Damn idiot died for nothing."

"Oh, I didn't know. I'm sorry Hank." Then he reached over and gave him a slight hug. "I'll try to be more open about any ailments if I survive this one."

Hank rolled his eyes before pushing him out of the car. "You will or I'll bring you back and kill you myself. To get 'em."

Hank gave him a thumbs up and Connor snorted before heading into the building.

It wasn't the nicest place to live but he knew Gavin loved it. He knew all of the people that lived in the building. He remembered all of their birthdays (or activation days) and remembered their favorite foods. Connor was definitely impressed and when he had found that out he fell a little bit more in love.

He took the elevator up and stood in front of the door with his fist raised to knock. He could hear muffled talking inside and his heart was pounding.

He was actually doing this. He was going to tell them everything. Hopefully, it ended well but there was the chance it wouldn't.

He jumped when he got a message and snorted as he read it. It was from Hank telling him to just get it over with and go in. He knew him too well.

He did as told and knocked on the door. The talking stopped and then the door opened and Gavin's eyes went wide. "Connor."

"I'm sorry for such a late visit, but I had to see you. Is Nines also here?" He asks, shifting from foot to foot.

Gavin glances back before nodding and moving aside to let him in.

Nines stands when Connor comes in, looking between him and Gavin. "Connor, are you alright? You left in a hurry."

He doesn't walk closer to Connor, he just stands there letting Connor do what he wants. He's almost treating him like a scared animal.

He can't really blame him, he does keep running away. It was only logical that he'd also strike out if poked enough.

"I'm… well, I could be better. I need to talk to you both. It's important but it can wait if you aren't up to it, it's not a light topic." He'd never blame them for telling him no. That they weren't ready to hear what he had to say.

Nines and Gavin shared a look before slowly sitting on the couch. "Of course we will listen," Gavin says.

That's all he can really ask for. He didn't think he even deserved that but he would take what was given.

"I'm dying." Alright, not what he wanted to start off with, but oh well. Ripping off a bandaid, right?

The two stare at him before Nines is on his feet and coming over. Connor lets him look him over and knows he's doing a full scan. He would do the same after all.

Then Nines is stumbling back and Connor can see that he knows.

"Nines? What is it? Connor, what's wrong? Why are you dying?!" Gavin says, standing too now that the initial shock has worn off.

"I should have known." Nines mumbles and Connor quickly shakes his head.

"No, I was hiding it from everyone. Hank didn't even know until tonight." He wanted to reach out and touch them but that would probably cause a coughing fit.

"What the hell is going on?!" Gavin shouts looking between the two.

Connor takes in a deep breath before looking him dead in the eye. "I have Hanahaki Disease."

[vee-angel]

Potty-Mouth Piper (part 1, repost)

(Part of the Pervert Pentet Series)

Chapter 1, part 1

WARNING: This story focuses on filth-fetishism, and will have substantial amounts of scat, piss, flatulence, snot, menstrual play, and just about every dirty thing I can think of. If that kind of thing isn’t your cup of tea, I suggest you skip this one. I have multiple stories in the works that feature completely different categories of fetishism.

***

Mackenzie had just turned eighteen and had recently transferred to a new high school. Despite being rather pretty, she tended to go relatively unnoticed. She had dark red hair that hung flatly down to her mid-back, and ivory skin that she never adorned with makeup. She was on the slim side, but took pride in the fact that she had rather pretty breasts, a bit more full than would be expected from her frame. Not that anyone ever saw them, her plain and somewhat modest clothing saw to that.

While rather timid in real life, her online activities were anything but. She had discovered internet pornography at a relatively young age, and her curiosity led her, over the years, to pursue greater and greater levels of filth. In her younger days, she was satisfied merely to watch videos of women urinating, but her tastes evolved from there to piss-drinking, fart porn, vomit, spit, snot, and of course, scat. The idea of “dirty women” captivated her. Her interest primarily centered on images and videos in which a woman was on the receiving end. She often imagined herself taking the place of the women.

Sadly, her shyness and modesty kept her from actualizing her fantasies. She had tasted her own urine once, and for days afterward had feared that someone would discover the shameful thing she had done. She wished that she could be as bold and shameless as the women she looked at online. She fantasized that someday she’d find a women who somehow knew what she wanted without her ever having to say it, someone who could elicit a passion in her that was so irresistible that it left her inhibitions shattered.

Little did she know that today was the day her fantasy would become flesh.

She didn’t really mind that her parents moved often. She was forced to change schools multiple times, but it’s not as if she ever made friends anyway. The first day at this new school was much like the others. She quietly kept to herself, and when lunch-time rolled around she made her way to the bathroom to avoid having to interact with any of the other students.

She always tried to find the least-used bathroom, usually the one farthest from the cafeteria and common areas. If she was lucky she could go an entire lunch period without having to see another person.

When the lunch bell rang, she made her way through the halls, trying to avoid attention until she reached her bathroom sanctuary. She finally made her way there, opening the door and putting her purse on the counter. A confident voice from behind her made her jump, “Hey fire-crotch, what’s your deal? You new here?”

She turned around to face the girl who spoke. As she laid eyes on the young woman, her heart felt it was clamped in a vice.

She was both awed and shocked at the vision she saw before her. The deep green mohawk caught her attention first. Her hair fully shaved on both sides. The right side of her head adorned with a tattoo reading “Potty Mouth” in a vomit-looking punk rock font. Her pretty face had delicate features, and other than the generous amount of eyeliner, she wore no makeup. A short leather jacket and tiny tattered black t-shirt covered her torso. She was skinny, with minimal body-fat hiding the taut muscles of her youthful abdomen. Her tall black boots contrasting with the exceptionally short red-plaid skirt, barely long enough to cover her ass.

Mackenzie wanted to speak, but felt intimidated by the extreme looking girl in front of her. She decided to quickly turn around and pretend to be looking at something in her purse. The wet sound of her chewing gum was the only sound in the room for a few seconds.

“Don’t talk much, huh? That’s all right, I’m sure you’ll open your dick-holster when you’ve got something to say.” the punk-rock girl said.

Mackenzie thought, did she just call my mouth a dick-holster???

“Anyway, I’m doin’ a thing in here. Feel free to stick around, should be a good show. I’m Piper, by the way, feel free to call me Shit-Pipe.”

My god! thought Mackenzie, can this girl go five seconds without saying something vulgar?

As much as Mackenzie wanted to be judgemental, inwardly she was exhilarated by the idea of this shameless classmate of hers.

She glanced in the mirror to see Piper removing some cable ties from her backpack and fastening them on the handles of the stall doors, seemingly blocking access to the toilets for anyone who might happen to come in.

The two girls waited in silence for a couple of minutes, Mackenzie glancing at Piper’s reflection in the mirror. Each time she checked, it appeared that the girl was chewing gum with an appreciative smile as she stared intently at Mackenzie’s ass.

Just then the door burst open and a pretty blonde cheerleader rushed in. She yanked the door to one stall, then another.

“Piper! What did you do?” the cheerleader yelled exasperatedly.

“Hey, who says it was me?” Piper replied with a confident-yet-sarcastic smile “Maybe I just heard that the toilets were out of order and thought it was a chance to volunteer my special services as a shit receptacle.”

Mackenzie perked up. Did she really just hear what she thought she heard?

“Oh my god, Piper, what the fuck? I know what people say about you, but you’re not really into that, are you?” the cheerleader asked as she danced about with one hand holding her ass.

“Hey, looks like you don’t have much of a choice.” Piper said as a grumble emanated from the cheerleaders stomach, “You can either shit your panties or shit in my mouth.”

“Stop fucking around and open the door, I really, REALLY have to go!” the cheerleader exclaimed.

Piper pulled the piece of gum from her mouth and lifted one leg as she inserted it, like a suppository, into her own anus. She then dropped to her knees and opened her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue obscenely.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe this. You’re so fucking nasty.” the cheerleader said. Accepting the fact that she had no choice, she scrunched up her face in disgust and turned around.

Piper wasted no time, immediately lifting up the back of the cheer-girls skirt and yanking down her panties. She thrust her open mouth between the girls butt cheeks before reaching around and giving a good squeeze to the girls lower abdomen.

Mackenzie watched in the mirror, transfixed on the vision behind her. A loud fart, muffled by Pipers mouth echoed through the restroom. A loud rhythmic swallowing sound could be heard as Piper chugged the blonde girl’s diarrhea. A few seconds of this passed before the sound turned to muffled, sputtering flatulence as the shit exploded directly into the walls of the green-haired girls mouth. Apparently a new stream of feces began to flow, as she once again heard the loud chugging noise, though this time it was periodically interrupted by a wet chewing.

While Mackenzie didn’t have the best vantage point, she thought she observed a trail of brown slime drip from Piper’s chin before a few drops landed on the firm, pale skin of her stomach.

After several seconds, the mortified cheerleader finally pulled away. She waddled toward the paper towels next to the sink, her panties still around her knees. “Hey, you didn’t even give me a chance to clean you up. I can put a real spit-shine on that turd-cutter of yours!” Piper called in a mocking tone from across the room, the cheerleaders brown ass-slime still dripping from her chin.

The blond girl quickly wiped with a paper towel before pulling her panties up and rushing out of the bathroom.

Piper gathered up the shit from her chin with her finger and licked it clean, she repeated the process a few more times, making sure to get every drop. She then looked down and scooped the two dollops of cheerleader diarrhea from her tummy and swallowed those down as well.

“Bitches just don’t appreciate good customer service, eh fire-crotch?” Piper asked.

Mackenzie still just stared down at her purse, her heart racing with excitement at what she just saw. She never imagined that this was something she would just come across in her everyday life.

“Oh, hey where are my manners? Do you need to squirt a turd, too? ‘cuz I still got plenty of room in here” Piper said, slapping her flat belly.

“Nnn…. na… no.” Mackenzie replied shaking nervously. This girl was a dream come true, and she had no idea how to act.

“Hey, well I’ll be around if you change your mind,” Piper said before turning around and sticking her leg up onto the sink right next to her. She bent over and looked up at Mackenzie from between her legs. The shy girl actually turned her head to look down at the girl in the obscene pose, her skirt having ridden up to expose her tight pink asshole. Piper looked up at her as she dug her finger into her sphincter and retrieved the piece of gum she’d stored there earlier. She stood up and popped it back into her mouth before walking to the door.

“See ya around, red,” she said before casually flipping up the back of her skirt and farting loudly toward the shy red-head. She walked out of the room and Mackenzie was suddenly alone to process the mind-blowing scene she had just witnessed.

“Holy shit.” she whispered quietly to herself.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Sorry to bother you. But can we get a story of Norman helping Sammy from the inks Control?

Summary: It was only a matter of time before Norman's curiosity got him deader than that one cat... No good deed goes unpunished.

---

"Somethin' ain't right 'bout the studio." Is the one sentence that precedes a series of catastrophic events in Norman Polk's life. A combination of letters that form a very simple and inconsequential phrase that still held a lot of negative connotation. Easy to dismiss, especially over breakfast as he reads the paper with a bored expression on his face.

His wife sits in front of him, buttering their youngest child's toast while the eldest daughter fetches a glass of juice for herself, and her brother, the second oldest child, glances up to peer over and then around the paper.

"What do ya mean pa?" Aaron's inquisitive eyes catch his one good eye, and Norman finds himself setting the paper aside and picking up his mug. Out of his five children, Aaron is the one to inherit his father's curiosity.

"Just a thought." He takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs "Things been a little weird as of late."

"How do you mean?"

"Aaron don't go listenin' to your pa's nonsense or ya gonna get stuck with his ramblings. You gotta get ready for school, so eat breakfast and get going." Margarite rebuts, before glancing at their two daughters. "That goes for you both as well, you especially Louise, your teacher's been hasslin' me bout you doin' no work."

"Mrs. Wilson is nuts. She picks on me for no reason, the crusty egg!"

"Louise!"

Aaron pouted, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of a response, but thought better than to go against his mother's wishes. Wise kid. Norman was proud he was growing up smart.

He didn't bring it up again until the kids were sorted and off to classes. His wife gives him a long-suffering sigh before crossing her arms and looking at him in the eye.

"Don't go lookin' for trouble Norman. I know ya got the guts to go findin' nothin' good." She pleads with him.

"I don't go lookin' for no trouble Maggie, just curious is all... And things have been weird. It's gettin' to the others..."

"Norman, you do know what them people say 'bout your sorta curiosity don't ya?"

"And what would that be?"

"Curiosity killed the cat. And ya sure are lookin' real cat-like to me..."

-

Joey Drew had plans, that much Norman knew. It all had to do with that weird machine of his, as well as all those brittle pipes that kept bursting and flooding areas with thick glossy and acrid smelling ink.

What plans, Norman couldn't tell (yet), but the consequences were visible. Structural integrity in the studio was a mess, something Thomas Connor often dreaded about due to his impeccable work ethics.

Things were constantly soiled with ink, and cleaning supply expenses had risen to the point Wally was having to lug in bleach and detergents from home to get stuff cleaned up. Everyone's dry-cleaning bills had likely also suffered with this.

Speaking of, everyone was going crazy.

"I tell ya, meltdown of the century." Wally winced on the rare occasion Norman took the time to sit with others to eat lunch. That day he was sitting with Wally, Buddy and Dot. "Thought Miss Campbell was gonna throttle the poor broad!"

"She has been acting very hostile." Dot winced in sympathy. "Miss Pendle has the patience of a saint if she can bare all that, but she's not the only person Susie has blown up on recently."

"Uh?" Buddy looked over at his friend in surprise. Norman too looked curious. Wally snapped his fingers as he realized what she was on about.

"Oh yeah! The other night right? She went and barged into Sammy's office and things got heated, and not in the good way if ya know what I mean."

"Wait really? Miss Campbell yelled him?" Buddy looked to be in disbelief. He couldn't imagine a petit little lady like Susie yelling at that overgrown peacock of a man. Not when Sammy tended to yell back at people with twice the amount of ferocity.

"Didn't just yell. She tore him a new one! Was so bad I got outta there as fast as I could. Didn't wanna witness no crime a' passion and all that." Wally glanced around, hoping neither Susie nor Sammy were around to hear. "Saw him come outta the office much later when I was about ta lock up for the night. He looked... Rough."

"He always looks rough." Buddy commented.

Norman found himself frowning at that.

Now that he mentioned it, Sammy had been looking a little green around the gills. Like he was sick, or at the very least extremely sleep deprived. With Drew's policy of time being money, and illnesses having to be serious for sick leave, it didn't surprise him that Sammy might have caught a bug and been unable to sleep it off at home.

"Speak a' the devil..." Wally ducked his head and quickly scarfed up the remains of his meal before getting back up and moving off. "Here he comes now."

Buddy and Dot followed his example, not feeling particularly keen on getting yelled at by Sammy. Norman let them go, eating his meal at a leisurely pace as he observed Sammy more carefully.

He didn't just look rough. He looked off.

How exactly, Norman couldn't explain, but it certainly must be something if the hairs on the back of his neck were so fast to raise.

He needed to look into it.

-

It's a particularly bad encounter in one of the men's bathrooms that tips Norman off to what might be wrong.

After that particularly bad scene involving Drew, Norman had been more cautious with his wandering and observing. His boss's behaviour raised questions, and his threats were definitely ringing alarm bells in his head. How it all involved that wretched machine Norman couldn't figure out.

Until, while putting his burnt hand under cold water (another projector went and caught fire because ink had gotten in it somehow), Sammy Lawrence suddenly barged in and practically kicked in a stall door to then double over a toilet bowl and violently vomit the contents of his stomach.

All this happened in very few seconds and Norman found himself with his unburnt hand clutching at his chest in fright.

"Jesus Christ, ya nearly went and scared the soul out of my body!" He closed the tap and pulled the first aid kit closer, setting to work on bandaging his injured hand. Bless the doc for giving him a kit in the first place, after so many incidents with projectors.

He waited for Sammy to bark out some sarcastic retort, but instead was met with more retching and coughs. Norman became concerned when it didn't stop.

"Sammy?"

He peered into the open stall and was met with a smell that shouldn't be coming from someone's insides. An acrid chemical smell that permeated the studio, due to its origin being pumped through pipes like blood in one's veins. The music director was puking ink.

"Sweet mercy..." That wasn't good. The boy needed that stuff out, which he was managing on his own from how much he was getting sick. The issue was, how much of the crap had he swallowed if it kept coming up? "Sammy what the fuck?!"

"G'way y'fu'kin' ..." He cut off as another wave came up to meet the rest, his nose dribbling with the black sheen of ink, and big fat tears barely clearing the gunk already covering his pale skin "H'hurts..."

The pathetic whimper was enough to break his heart. Sammy sounded scared for once, rather than angry, sarcastic or apathetic.

"How much did ya even get in ya? Did the music department go under again?" Once the music director didn't look like he was going to throw up again, the projectionist scooped him off the floor and noted with horror how unusually light and pointy the blond felt in his arms.

It was like holding a sack of bones... What in the blazes? Just a few days ago he looked healthy enough...

"M'gettin' ya to the infermary. The doc might have somethin' for intoxication... If not then Drew can't just keep ya here, this is a hospital thing."

"N-no... No doctors..." Sammy struggled weakly but gave up once he realized he couldn't squirm out of Norman's grasp. "M'fine..."

"Boy, I have half a mind ta call the doctor myself if ya go sayin' stupid shit like that. You ain't fine."

"J-just stomach ache... It'll go away..."

"Samuel Lawrence you are a dumbass."

How daft did the kid need to be to not see the issue here? Hopefully the resident doctor could convince Drew to let Sammy go to a hospital. Hard to fake getting a toxic liquid in your system after all...

-

After the encounter in the bathroom it's not long before Sammy goes missing. People start speculating about it, and some are rather mean-spirited about it.

Sure Sammy wasn't the kindest person, but going about saying he ran off with his tail between his legs because Susie dumped him was just plain disrespectful (especially considering he hadn't seen Susie around as of late either).

The stories about him drinking ink tho... Those peak his interest. They are also easy to confirm, as Norman looks in horror at the contents of the drawers in Sammy's office. Empty ink wells. Several of them. Some definitely licked clean.

It explains things Norman wished he hadn't overlooked. The machine, the pipes, the slow descent... The ink was what was wrong with the studio.

Norman realized then and there that he needed to warn the others to get out. Whomever would hear him at least.

Starting with Buddy and Dot. Those kids needed out.

Whatever Drew was planning with that hellish stuff, it couldn't be good for them.

-

Once the authorities' investigations are closed up and the studio opened back up again, Norman decides it's time to finally grab his light and go down and see what the groaning was. He eats breakfast with his family as quiet as a mouse, lost in thoughts, then goes to work after kissing his wife goodbye.

Once he reaches the door, he finds a card and keys on the entrance mat.

Wally had quit. Good, at least the kid had enough sense to bolt when told to.

Norman is the very first person the set foot back inside the studio.

As such, he's the very first target for one of two creatures still able to access the floors above.

His light catches onto an inky black figure in overalls and a grinning dancing devil mask, then catches the gleam of a blade.

Norman doesn't get the chance to scream as the axe buried itself in his chest, right through his heart. He wheezes out what little air remains in his lungs and it doesn't take long for him to slip away.

What makes it worse is how the figure cradles him gently and murmurs nonsense he can't understand. That voice... Why did it sound so familiar?

It all goes dark. It's too quiet.

-

The Projectionist screeches as it runs after the figure in overalls and grinning mask. It chases after the thief mercilessly, putting it's hands through the holes it crawls through in an attempt to flee from its burning gaze.

It gets cocky and ends up getting grabbed by the leg and pulled back with force.

The Projectionist may not be able to hear its screams, but it can feel the vibrations. It's terrified.

Good.

It roars in triumph as it plunges it's hand through the figure's chest, bursting it into a puddle and discarded clothing.

Never shall it try to steal it's hearts away, ever again.

The Projectionist carried on, unaware of the poetic justice behind its own actions.

An eye for an eye was just as popular a saying as curiosity killed the cat, after all.

[mxflo]

Wings Of Fate - Part 23

<Part 22>

Changkyun stares at the blood trickling down his hand. Pulling out a piece of glass from the shattered mirror he tosses it in the trash can. Turning the water on he cleans his hand and by the time he’s finished he’s healed and there’s no sign of there ever being a wound. His eyes lift under heavy lids as he looks at himself in the broken mirror. This is the second one he’s broken this week. Changkyun has been losing himself to rage more and more and the frustration of not being around you is fueling the anger. Leaving the bathroom he reaches for his phone and dials the number for the maintenance manager.

“Hey, it’s me. I need a new mirror in my bathroom, it’s shattered. Thanks.” He hangs up and tosses his phone on the bed. The entire apartment staff is under his control by this point. No questions are asked, and whatever he wants, gets done right away. They fear him to much to challenge him in anyway. Though the heavty tips he gives them could be a influence as well. Most humans are greedy after all.

After spending the day inside, letting his playlist run, he decides he’s bored of staying inside and decides to head out for some fun. Grabbing his car keys he heads out without a destination. As he walks out into the hall he stops for a few seconds, listening. He hears the faint sound of your TV on. Ever since Nate was in your apartment you always had the TV on for background noise since you still get uneasy staying there alone. 

For a second he almost knocks on your door, but he stops himself, knowing that he is more of a danger to you now than ever before. He is promised to protect you, and that includes protecting you from himself. Turning on his heals he heads to the elevator. 

Before long he finds himself driving around town, unsure where to stop, and growing more bored of driving by the second. Finally he heads back to the apartment. Anger builds up inside as Changkyun grows more frustrated with the mundane life. Wanting excitement of any kind he wishes he could see something eventful. Even if it’s at the cost of others. He pulls up at a stop light and as he’s watching cars pass by him one by one. The light begins to change again and as he sees cars start to slow down to stop he focuses on one leading the rest around it, wishing that they could be in enough of a hurry to run the red light. 

When the car starts speeding back up Changkyun sits up straighter, his full attention now on this car. Then just as he wished, the car speeds into the intersection, as another car is mid turn. The two collide and with the distinct  sound of metal crunching. He sits there, observing people running from their cars to check on the ones inside of the cars. Several people have their phones out. A scream for help comes from the turning car. There’s blood coming from their forehead and they aren’t moving. The person screaming is the passenger, trying to wake them up. It’s sickening how much that person cares. Changkyun is reminded of himself protecting you from Nate. He had felt what must have been similar emotions behind those screams. 

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. Then maneuvers his car around the scene of the crash and continues his drive home. His influence over people is definitely stronger in this form, which only makes him realize he’s even more of a danger to you than he had thought. His mind goes back to the last time he saw you in the elevator. How your body reacted to him. You had said you didn’t miss him, but when your body practically begged for him he thought you had just lied to him. Though if he has the power to cause what just happened, maybe you actually didn’t miss him at all, and he had just willed you to react to him the way he wanted you to.

Hurrying the rest of the way back, he slips into the apartment, turning music on to try to drown out the feelings he’s trying to ignore. When that doesn’t work he grabs a bottle of whiskey, leaving the glass behind.

**********************************************

“Excuse me!” You yell out, waving the bartender down, ready for another drink. He looks your way and nods as he finishes up the drink he’s currently making. You smile and nod when he walks over as he confirms you want another drink, the same as you had all night. Shortly you have your third...maybe fifth drink of the night in your hands as you turn around to go find Bri on the dance floor where you left her. 

When you find Bri she grabs your drink and takes a sip before handing it back. You roll your eyes as she laughs and pulls you further onto the dance floor to join her. Song after song, you both continue to dance. Sometimes finding some random guy to dance with but growing bored of all of them quickly. 

When the current song ends you excuse yourself and Bri as you leave the most recent random guy behind. Holding her hand as to not get separated you both push your way back out of the dance floor. You head for the bathroom and as you enter it Bri hesitates, looking behind her shoulder for a second, confused. 

“What?” You watch her.

“...Nothing, just thought I saw someone I knew. I guess I didn’t.” With that she walked into the bathroom and let the door close behind her. “Hey, can I see your phone, my is dead.”

“Sure.” You hand her your phone. “You really should be more careful about recharging your phone before we go out.” You tease.

“I wasn’t expecting you to agree to this tonight.” She laughs.

“True. I didn’t either.” You shrug as you head into a stall.

Once you both are ready to go back out, Bri leaves first, walking quickly to the bar. You try to keep up with her but struggle as you have had a fair amount to drink tonight. “Slow down.” You plea.

“Sorry. Lets get some water.” She slows her steps just slightly, still walking a little to fast for your liking.

When you reach the bar she pulls out your phone. You had forgotten she had it. She asks you to smile and instead you raise your middle finger at her, sticking your tongue out childishly. She snaps the picture quickly, and puts the phone back in her pocket.

*************************************************

“Kyun, this has to stop. You are slipping further away from your humanity.” Jooheon sighs as he stares at Changkyun slumped over on the couch.

“Who cares. She thinks I’m a monster, so might as well be one.” Changkyun shrugs, his tone ice cold.

“You’re not a monster.” Hyungwon states.

“Maybe not, but I am a demon.” Changkyun corrects.

“Which are lost angels. So there for, you are still an angel.” Kihyun chimes in.

“Also still a demon.” Changkyun rolls his eyes. “I know you mean well, but it’s to late.”

“You can repent, stop sinning, learn from your mistakes. You will be forgiven but you have to ask for forgiveness and stop acting so barbaric.” Shownu speaks up.

Changkyun groans as lays his head back on the back of his couch. “Look, I get why you all are here, but I also don’t care.”

“So what if you don’t. We do. You can still be forgiven if you just take it seriously.” Wonho glares at Changkyun, annoyed with how he’s being.

“Why keep trying? I wanted this. I didn’t want to see the paths Fate makes with every choice. I failed already. I lost her.” Changkyun closes his eyes. He’s sobering up to much already. Reaching for the bottle again, a hand stops him.

Changkyun looks over at Wonho with a puzzled expression. “You’ve had enough.” Wonho warns.

Changkyun rolls his eyes again. “Whatever.”

Then the chime of a text grabs everyone’s attention. Wonho reaches for phone and when he sees the name he smiles, but it instantly fades as he opens the message. “Looks like your needed at the club right now.”

Throwing the phone to Changkyun he reads it and his head spins. It’s not a text, but a picture. “I need to go.” Changkyun growls. He drops his phone on the table, the picture displayed on the screen for everyone to see.

“This one is all you, we can’t stay much longer. Don’t go off the deep end totally, okay?” Shownu pats Changkyun on the shoulder. “You wont be able to even protect her if you go to far down this path.”

Changkyun looks around the room at all of his brothers who came together in an attempt to save him, again. Changkyun gives an understanding nod, and then  one by one they quickly say their goodbyes before leaving Changkyun alone in his apartment. Staring at the picture sent to him once more before he grabs his keys to head to the club.

<Part 24>

[lemonandhugs]

Stars Align: Chapter 9

Cait was revelling in the feeling of moving back and forth by Sam’s chest, taking strong, steady breaths in and out. Even in the absolute pouring rain and wind, she felt entirely, contentedly warm. He had ignited a fire in every fibre of her body. At the same time, being so close to him, with his hand resting on her thigh, sent deathly cold shivers from her ankles to the back of her neck, although pleasurable. The feeling of his chest vibrating as he called out something to their riding instructor up ahead, his anesthetising scent becoming stronger due to the rain soaking his skin, their legs bumping against and caressing each other’s by the rhythm of the ride, the feeling of his breath tickling the side of her face and making the tiny hairs go static and stand up, fitting so snug between his legs, feeling an agonising desire every time his hand moved up and down her thigh as he controlled and steered the horse; all of it, everything, was something she wanted to experience for as long as possible.

‘Oh my god, oh my god! Being cradled between his legs, I feel so safe. He’s so strong and solid and the fact that I get to lean against him…ah! I don’t care if I am drenched and might get a cold, this is completely worth it. Being so close to him that I can feel and hear his breathing, hearing his slight grunting noises as he moves the horse this way and that…I’m pretty much being held by this man, his hand is on my leg! I hope I haven’t made him uncomfortable…I mean…my intention was to be courteous, not to satisfy my own desires. But hey, he did say this was practise, so why shouldn’t he practise touching me too…he definitely needs to get used to doing that! Alright, enough. We’re both in a very thrilling but compromising position here, but you have to maintain your focus. You’re still offset. Plus, this throbbing and these cold shivers are unbearable enough as it is! Hopefully he takes my shivering as just because of the cold…’ Cait snuggled deeper into the blanket, concealing her excited grin.

‘I’ve wondered for quite a while what her arse felt like…I would’ve preferred to find out with my hands instead of my cock though! Thank fuck for this freezing cold, it’s the only thing keeping Cait from leaning against a stiff rod, and she’s so tight against me that I don’t think it has room to grow or move, even if it wanted to! Wait, what the fuck…what are you doing? What are you thinking! PROFESSIONALISM! Yes, she’s between your legs, and yes, she’s allowed your hand to rest on her thigh, but that’s no excuse to let your mind wander! You’re only torturing yourself, and if you keep it up, you’re only going to look like a fucking fool! Stay in control and focus on getting home safe,’ Sam squeezed his eyes shut briefly, not only to clear his mind, but to stop any more water from getting in and clouding his vision. He put on an expression of determination and kept his eyes glued to the landscape or the horses in front; doing everything in his power to stop his mind from drifting back to what Cait’s jolting body felt like against him, as they cantered their way back home.  

Twenty-five minutes later and they had found their way back home. Upon reaching the stables, Sam quickly dismounted, shook off some excess water from his arms, helmet, and hair, dropped his helmet on the floor and held his arms up to help Cait down. Cait peered at him with a shy smile.

‘Alright, as much as I would enjoy it, let’s not have a repeat of before, especially with all these other men around!’ Cait reminded herself.

She took the big, woollen blanket off her and laid it against the horse’s neck. Then she held onto the horn, leant forward, and swung her left leg over the back of the horse, sending her body down, back-first to Sam.

‘So perfectly round…stop fucking looking at her arse!’ Sam reminded himself and focused his eyes higher, square on her back.

He caught her waist in his strong, solid hands and eased her down to the ground. Some of her hair caressed his nose, and he closed his eyes briefly, allowing the scent to send a wave of pleasure over him. He quickly let go of her waist and stuffed his hands into his pockets, nervously. Cait let go of the saddle, turned around and looked up at Sam with a thankful beam, in which he reciprocated with a sweet grin.

“Are you alright? Are you cold?” Sam inquired, discretely looking over her body.

Cait fiddled with the clasp under her chin to take off her helmet, “uh…a bit, but I’ll be okay. We’ll be back in the trailer soon.”

“Yeah, lucky it’s a short walk…” Sam stated as he looked out into the, still, pouring rain.

“I dinna have many umbrellas, ye ken, just a wee amount. I think there are enough to make it work,” the instructor informed, after the horses were taken into their stalls and tack removed.

A little red umbrella was given to Sam and Cait. Sam put the umbrella up, struggling against the rust. He pushed two of the wonky rods straight, and the umbrella was as good as it was going to get. He looked at Cait and shook his head, then shrugged. This made Cait giggle.

Sam held out his arm to Cait, “you ready, Cait?”

Cait smiled and gladly fit into the space between his body and his outstretched arm.

He nervously placed his hand on her upper arm, her body tightly huddled against his side.

“Uh…we’ll…uh…have to keep really close, otherwise we’ll get soaked. Although I’m not sure how dry this thing is going to keep us anyway,” Sam looked up at the top of the umbrella at the clearly beaten-up rods and shook his head.

“We’ll be okay,” Cait gave him an encouraging smile.

They walked quickly and carefully out into the pouring rain, not being able to hear much else besides the loud, pelting of raindrops on the stiff material of the umbrella.  

‘Would we walk in a smoother rhythm if I put my arm around him too? No, that wouldn’t be a good idea…it would be unprofessional, and it might make him uncomfortable. I do not want to come on too strong,’ Cait reasoned with herself.

Once they reached their trailer, Sam opened the door and let her in first. Once he was in, he folded up the umbrella, shook as much water off as he could, and laid it by the door.

“You go in the shower first, Cait,” Sam gestured towards the bathroom, taking off his wet jacket.

“Are you sure?” Cait looked at him intently.

“I insist,” Sam raised his eyebrows and gave her a cheeky smile.

Cait smirked, looked at the ground and turned to walk to the bathroom. Before she closed the door, she came back out a second later with a fresh white, fluffy towel, folded up. She held it out to him, a small smile playing on her lips.

Sam looked at the towel and a small, breathy laugh escaped his mouth, “thank you, Cait,” their fingers lightly brushed together as he gently took the towel.

Cait turned back around and deliberately put a little more sway in her hips as she walked back to the bathroom. Sam couldn’t help but stare and he was rubbing his hair dry with the towel. He swallowed hard and let out an unsteady breath he was unknowingly holding. He held the towel over his face and quietly groaned.

 **

 The first day of filming had arrived quicker than anyone expected. Season 1: Episode 1. Cait and Sam learned prior that Cait would be spending most of her time with Tobias, over the two weeks of filming this episode, and the last quarter will be spent with Sam, Graham, Duncan, and the rest of the highlanders.

‘Good. It’ll be good for us to have some space from each other for a bit…I mean, good for the show. The space will do our chemistry good, I’m sure. Yes. Yes, I’m sure it will. Time away from her will help me focus on my lines and blocking scenes. It’ll be good. It’ll give me more time to prepare myself for officially being onscreen with her, for the first time,’ Sam convinced himself, as he paced back and forth in his room, ten minutes before they had to leave. He had a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t leave him alone. He knew it wasn’t nerves, he knew it was from the thought of Cait doing certain scenes with Tobias. The thought formed his hands to clench and his back and shoulders to stiffen painfully. He halted his pacing.

“Fuck sake,” he grumbled, as he shrugged his shoulders and twisted his head this way and that, determined to let go of these irrational feelings.

He looked down at his open palms to see fingernail indents from his clenched fists. He rubbed each indent with his slightly calloused thumb, trying to smooth them out and make them disappear as quickly as he wanted his jealousy to disappear.

“Sam?” Cait asked behind the dividing door, with a knock.

“Come in, Cait,” he flinched, shoving his hands in his pocket.

‘Come in? What the fuck, what are you doing?!’ Sam clenched.

Cait hesitated, she wasn’t expecting to be invited into his room. She’d never been in his room before, of course.

Cait slowly pushed the door sideways, then smiled shyly when she caught his eye. She stood in the now open doorway, hesitating to step in.

Sam’s mouth had taken on a mind of its own now, as he gestured to his bed, “you can sit if you want, I just have to grab my script. I uh…I’ve misplaced it. It’s definitely in here though, I’ve checked out there.”

Cait slowly and carefully walked to the foot of his bed and sat down. His bed wasn’t messy, just sort of half-ass made. The room smelt of his skin, which she had become so familiar with. She briefly looked around, taking in her new surroundings. Being in his room excited her, and goosebumps started to form on her legs, causing her to shift slightly on his bed.

“Oh, do you want me to help you search?” Cait offered.

“No no, it’s alright. You sit. It has to be here somewhere,” he said, as he was down on the floor in a flat push-up position, looking under his dresser. This position made his triceps and bicep muscles bulge out, and Cait was instantly captivated. The same strong arms that had held her, caught her, saved her. Cait licked her lips and crossed her legs, entwining her fingers in her lap.

It wasn’t long before her mind drifted, ‘look at those back muscles, I can see them through his shirt! I wonder if he’s going to squash me while he’s on top…not that I’m going to complain. He would definitely weigh a lot with that amount of muscle. Those arms…those hands…they’re going to…touch me…all over…with my legs wrapped around his back…fuck I need to stop!’ Cait caught herself for fear of a subconscious moan escaping her lips.

Sam and Cait had been given the Block 2 scripts the day before, and Cait had told herself that she wouldn’t look at it, as to keep her focus on Block 1. However, last night she was tossing and turning and practically buzzing from their close proximity on the ride home in the pouring rain. Then the curiosity set in as she let her thoughts drift back to Sam. She flipped through her Block 2 script until she came to the first episode that was going to be filmed, Episode 9: The Reckoning. The episode that held the first ever sex scene. She read the entire scene, paying attention to the blocking and movement directions, then pictured it with Sam, in her mind. Excitement turned into sexual frustration in a short amount of time, so Cait took things into her own hands, literally, and was finally able to get some sleep that night.

Sam, on the other hand, shoved that Block 2 scripts deep under the bed, as he knew what that script held and was nervous enough about it as it was. Yes, he was very tempted and very curious, but he knew it would only make him more anxious.

“Ah HA!” Sam exclaimed as he reached deep under the bed and pulled out his Block 1 script, which was next to his Block 2 script.

The level of volume of his exclamation made Cait jolt out of her thoughts, and she leaned over to peer over the side of the bed at him.

“Here it is! I don’t know how it got so far under there…” Sam shrugged, and he dusted the script off and got back to his feet.

Cait let out a small laugh, got up from the bed and grabbed his jacket for him.

 **

 Arriving at the studio, they were both needed in different and separate areas.

Sam and Cait shook Tobias’ hand in greeting.

“Oh, I left my script over there. I’ll meet you over with Ron in a minute, Caitriona?” Tobias asked.

Cait nodded and smiled, and with a quick goodbye to Sam, Tobias headed across the studio.

“Alright, Cait, first day. How are you feeling?” Sam kindly asked, staring into her eyes.

Cait took a deep breath and let it out, “I’m…a little overwhelmed and nervous…but okay. I know I’ll be fine once we get started,” Cait confessed, looking around the studio.

Sam smiled crookedly and nodded, “you’re gonna be great. Soon enough our scenes will start.”

Cait perked up at this, and smiled up at him, “yeah, next week some time.”

Sam glanced behind them at Ron and Tobias talking.

“Alright, I think they need you over there, Cait. I hope you have a really great first day and…I’ll see you tonight?” Sam gently put his hand on her upper back and let it stroke slightly downward.

It sent tingles and goosebumps all over her back, “thank you, Sam. You have a good day too, I’m sure you’ll have fun. And yeah, tonight. We’ll talk about today,” Cait nodded, briefly looking down at her shoes, shyly.

After one last stroke of her back, Sam winked, waved, and headed towards where a few of the other cast were standing. Cait managed to reciprocate with a smile and little wave before he turned around, this time. He had always managed to keep her pretty calm, without doing much. He had become such a calm centre to her, with his positive and kind energy and nature; the comfort she found in his presence. As soon as he had turn and left, her stomach dropped, her hands became sweaty, and her heart went crazy.

She took a deep breath in and let it out as she began to walk towards Ron and Tobias, as well as all the other film crew.

“Okay, you can do it. Let’s go,” Cait whispered to herself in a shaky breath.

 **

 Cait, exhausted and drowsy, stumbled through the trailer door and heard a cork pop off a bottle of wine. She looked up to see Sam standing near their little dining table, with the biggest and proudest smile on his face.

“Hey! Congratulations on finishing your first day! How was it?” Sam asked while pouring two glasses of red wine.

Cait let out a breathy laugh as she closed the door behind her.

“Yeah, it was really good. I’m exhausted though, long days. How was your day?” Cait sat down in one of the dining chairs.

“Oh, really fun yeah. There was a lot more work with horses and weapons, and we had a look at some pistols today. Great stuff,” he beamed and handed her a glass.

Cait took it with an appreciative smile, “thank you for this, Sam. Very sweet.”

“It’s your first day, it’s a big deal. Had to do something,” Sam shrugged and smirked.

Cait smirked back and held eye contact over her glass as she took a sip. Sam licked his lips as he had just finished his sip. They weren’t sure if it was the wine, or just what they do to each other, but they could both feel the dramatic force pulling them into yet another hypnotic state.

Sam broke eye contact and cleared his throat. He pulled out one of the dining chairs to sit down.

“So, tell me about today. How was Tobias, the set, how did your scenes go?” Sam asked curiously.

**

 Cait was not yet used to the twelve-hour days, as she was pretty much a walking zombie by the middle of the second week. The main element that was keeping her going was the knowledge that she would finally be acting with Sam.

Right before the scene in the abandoned cottage in which they meet for the first time, Sam stood with Cait and talked and joked with her, purposely trying to keep her laughing, to take her mind off her nerves. It was easy to make her laugh and Sam had figured out exactly how to, every time. Little did Sam know, Cait was not nervous at all, she was so ready and so excited to start their scenes together.

The director called for everyone to get into their positions. Sam and Cait were wearing thick, navy blue parkas provided by Starz. Cait reluctantly unzipped hers and slipped it off. It was then that Sam saw how little she was wearing, in this freezing cold weather. The thin, cream coloured dress was almost see-through, and hugged each one of her curves. It also did nothing to conceal her nipples that were now rock hard. Sam had to drag his eyes away from her body before she or anyone else noticed. He felt heat creep over his neck, even in the cold weather, his heart started to thump a little heavier and quicker, and his cock twitched ever so slightly.

‘Oh fuck!’ Sam internally clenched and forced his mind onto everything that would turn him off.

In a matter of thirty seconds, any blood supply that collected to his special area had turned around and travelled elsewhere, much to his relief.

He felt a small hand touch his forearm, “see you in a bit, James Fraser. Oh! I mean, Mr McTavish,” Cait smiled cheekily.

This made Sam laugh, “Mistress Beauchamp,” he bowed slightly, then winked at her and headed into the cottage.

 **

 The scene came in which Claire was thrown onto Donas with Jamie, after leaving the cottage. As much as Cait wanted to smile about this delicious deja vu, she stayed in character. During the non-speaking parts, she spent time internally revelling in being close to him once again, in the exact same position, except more intimately this time. They were both wrapped in his kilt, and Cait discretely snuggled into his back. She needed all the warmth she could get to stop shivering. Sam did pick up on this subtle movement and pulled more of the kilt towards her, and stretched his arm, that was holding the reigns on the side of her body, further out.

During a short break, the horses stopped and Sam and Cait were given back their big parkas. Cait draped hers over herself and put it on backwards, and Sam slipped his over his shoulders and shoved his free arm through.

“How do you think it’s going so far?” Sam spoke into Cait’s ear.

Cait turned her head and smiled, “really good, I think. It’s quite fun.”

Sam, keeping his Jamie Fraser Scottish accent replied in her ear, “aye, and ye no’ have te worry about that skittish bugger Alfie tryin’ te throw ye off, Sassenach.”

It was the combination of what he said and the way he said it that made Cait laugh fully and heartily. It was music to Sam’s ears, he loved seeing her so happy and he loved that he was able to bring that out of her. He giggled along with her, hung his head, and lightly touched her waist underneath her parka.

“That’s true,” Cait nodded, as she caught her breath, “I don’t know why I found that so funny…I think because you sounded exactly like our riding instructor,” Cait giggled again.

Sam laughed this time, “yeah, he’s a very animated fellow.”

 **

 The time came to film the scene by the fireplace; Claire and Jamie’s first semi-intimate scene together. Memories of blocking this scene in Sam’s hotel room alone came flooding back to both of them. Sam wasn’t nervous, he was confident in his ability to focus during the scene and not be distracted, as beautiful as she looked in front of that fireplace. Cait, on the other hand, was giddy and excited for the scene, and she knew she was going to have to concentrate to not become distracted, especially when they look at each other intensely towards the end of the moment. Being in a room full of film crew did make it a lot easier to not let her mind wander.

 **

 The next two weeks spent on episode two was just as enjoyable as episode one. Cait was quickly finding her feet and getting used to how the director liked things, and the costumes and makeup. Sam and Cait were becoming closer and closer as friends, as they were learning about each other on a whole different level and being able to interact with one another in a different way; as their characters. It made things exciting and interesting. It brought them closer together, as they shared these experiences together.

In the early hours of the Monday morning in which they would commence filming episode 3, Cait woke up. Even with two blankets on her bed, it was a particularly cold morning and she had goosebumps all over and was shaking. She decided to go find another blanket and fill up a hot water bottle. She sat up in her bed, hugged herself and rubbed her arms. She reached over to pick up her phone to check the time, and what she felt made her freeze and her blood run cold. She was holding her phone with the screen against her hand, and felt a cold, spiny and wriggling creature against her hand. When she was able to move, she nervously looked over to her hand and saw a medium-sized black spider struggling against her hand. Cait’s breath hitched in her throat, before she let it free with a high-pitched, long shriek and four loud screams. She threw her phone across the room as she screamed, and watched the spider, in the moonlight, run across the carpet to find safety. Cait then heard a thump from Sam’s room but was trembling so much out of fear that she didn’t give it a second thought. She managed to grab the small glass that was on her bedside table, staggered to the floor and quickly trapped the spider under the glass. By this point, Cait’s trembling had turned to quiet, fearful sobbing, and she dived back under the covers.

Then the dividing door slid open, and Sam switched on his bedroom light, to see what the issue was in Cait’s room.

“Cait? Are…are you alright?” Sam wobbled passed the door, and sleepily rubbed his eyes, squinting as they adjusted to the light.

“I heard you scream, and then I uh…fell out of bed,” Sam confessed as he sat down on the side of Cait’s bed.

Cait sheepishly came out from under her blankets, a sad, tear-stained face looked up at Sam, almost completely covered by curly hair.

“Oh Cait, you’ve been crying, what’s wrong?” Sam asked attentively, as he moved a few strands of hair out of her eyes before she took over.

Cait smoothed her hair back, out of her face, wiped her tears on her pyjama sleeve, sat up and, with a shaking hand, pointed to the floor at the glass that had imprisoned her worst enemy and greatest fear. Sam followed her hand to the floor, leant forward and squinted his eyes to see clearer. Then he got up and walked over to turn the light on, carefully dodging the glass.

“Oh, I see,” Sam examined the spider. He got down in that same flat push-up position to get a closer look at the spider that was attempting to climb up the slide of the glass and repeatedly falling onto its back.

“Huh. Looks like a False Widow spider. They aren’t venomous. I’ll take it outside,” Sam looked at Cait reassuringly as he sat up.

Cait watched in awe as he handled the situation with absolutely no fear. Sam quickly moved the glass with a scooping motion, so that the spider fell inside, stood up and walked to the trailer door. He walked down the stairs and was back a minute later. He locked the door behind him, put the glass in the sink and quickly walked back into Cait’s room. He scooped up Cait’s phone and sat on the bed beside her again, turning his body towards her. He gently placed her phone in her lap.

“It’s okay now, I put it into a bush pretty far away. He won’t bother you again, Cait. And your screen isn’t smashed,” Sam reassured her and put his hand on top of hers, rubbing gently and soothingly.

Cait sniffled, managed a small smile in his direction and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Sam reached over to her bedside table and grabbed the box of tissues and held it out to her.

“Thank you,” Cait said quietly, blowing her nose.

“It didn’t bite you, did it?” Sam asked, suddenly concerned.

Cait shook her head and held her hand out to Sam, palm facing up, “no, I don’t think so.”

Sam cradled her hand in both of his, closely inspecting the palm of her hand, angling it in different ways to catch the light.

“It…it was on top of my phone…and then I picked it up! I woke up because I was cold, went to check the time before getting another blanket, picked up my phone and felt the spider trapped against my hand…it was the most disgusting feeling, it was cold and slightly spiky…I’m deathly afraid of spiders, Sam…” Cait looked at Sam with glazed, frightened eyes, another tear threatening to spill over.

Sam, still holding her hand in both of his, held her eyes and gave her a very empathetic expression. He gently rubbed her hand and very slowly bent his head down to her palm, never breaking their eye contact. It was as if his eye contact was asking permission. She didn’t speak or pull her hand away, so he dipped his head closer and closer to her palm. He parted his lips slightly and placed one soft kiss on her palm. Only during the kiss did he break his eye contact and briefly shut his eyes. Cait weakly gasped. The feeling of his prickly stubble and his soft lips on such a sensitive area of her hand felt like lightening had shot up her arm, down her spine and settled between her thighs. Her legs were covered in goosebumps, and she was tingling all over. She didn’t even realise that tear that threatened to spill over her water line had actually fell onto her cheek. Sam gently let go of her hand, reached over, held the side of her face in his large hand and tenderly wiped the tear away with his thumb. They were quickly being pulled into another mesmerised state, and the pull, this time, was stronger than ever. Cait leaned into his hand, put her hand over his and stroked it affectionately. Sam slowly inched his body closer to Cait’s, taking care not to break the electricity between them. Sam leaned in half a centimetre at a time, and Cait could feel him gently angling her face up towards him. They were both breathing heavily, as if they were both sucking each other’s air out of their mouths. Sam’s lips were only a few inches away from Cait’s, then he stopped and pulled back half an inch. He tore his gaze away from her eyes and peeked down at her mouth, then back up to her eyes, in a silent question. Cait answered him by leaning in so that their mouths were only an inch apart. They both hesitated, trembling with uncertainty and desire. Sam gingerly caressed his nose against hers, and Cait closed her eyes. Sam briefly licked his lips, leaned in the rest of the way, and met Cait’s mouth in a soft, but deep kiss. He was startled by how smooth and supple her lips really were. Cait leant into the kiss and placed both of her hands against Sam’s chest. Their bodies had well and truly taken over and their minds were powerless, switched off, at this point.

After fifteen seconds, they pulled apart and broke their kiss. They opened their eyes and stared at each other, unable to move or speak.

“I…uh…I know it’s wrong, Cait, but I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you at our chemistry test,” Sam confessed in a husky, quiet voice. He slowly and gently let his hand fall from the side of her face, down the side of her neck, over her shoulder and down her arm. It rested on the bed beside her. His other hand was in his lap.

Cait’s mouth flicked into a smile, “really?” she whispered.

“Yeah…I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen…I…I still do…think that,” Sam replied shyly, eyes mostly down, but flicking up to meet hers every so often.

Cait blushed and hung her head down, to try and conceal her red face. Sam smiled crookedly and placed a small kiss in her hair. Cait dropped her hands from his chest and rested them on his legs. When she was sure most of the blood had left her face, she peered up into his eyes again.

“Well…I confess I’ve found you very…very attractive from the beginning as well…” Cait confessed cheekily and bit her lip as she could feel herself blush again.

Sam made a short, throaty noise, “hm,” and smiled brightly at her. He held her hands in his. Cait looked down and admired their thumbs lightly stroking. Sam did the same.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Sam perked up, “um…so…what happens now? I mean…we both feel…the same…but…we’ve signed a contract that says we…we can’t…you know,” Sam stammered, his face losing all tenderness, and replaced by worry and guilt.

Cait took a deep breath, still looking down. After a moment, she nodded her head, “I know…no one needs to find out though. We just have to make sure we’re careful. And…I…I don’t want to put any pressure on it. This industry is just…so complicated and rigid as it is, let alone bringing a relationship into it. Let’s just…see what happens. See how we go. Whatever happens though, we remain professional, for the show. And I think…it’ll be a lot easier to not let anything affect us if there’s no prior pressure. I hope that’s coming out right…do you understand what I mean?” Cait looked at Sam with hopeful eyes.

Sam gave her an encouraging smile and nodded, “I do. Kind of just taking it day by day, not making any plans for what’s in the future, or overthinking it. Our main priority is making sure the show isn’t compromised in any way. I don’t want us to be out of a job or blacklisted or anything.”

“No, me neither,” Cait shook her head and squeezed his hands.

Now that his mind was switched back on, Sam had a moment to reflect on the situation he never thought would occur. Now that it had, it awoken a very hungry desire deep within his belly, his very core. A hunger that had been starved for the past two months. Knowing now that he has been given the go ahead to fulfill his desires, it was quickly sending his mind into a frenzy. He burned for her, but he knew he was going to let her take the lead. He had far too much respect for her to immediately get into her pants and call it a night, as much as he wanted her. Even if that’s what she wanted tonight, he was going to slow things down. His mother raised him to be a gentleman, and a lady deserves a gentleman. Especially this lady. This whole situation started over her feeling very vulnerable, and he was not going to take advantage of her.

As Cait shook her head, some hair fell from behind her ear, into her face.

Sam instinctively brushed the curly hair out of her face, back behind her ear. His fingers lightly swept down her face and he ran his fingertip from the corner of her jaw, forwards to her chin, agonisingly slow. She tilted her head to the side to give him more access

He gently ran his thumb across the bottom of her chin. His thumb caressed higher and higher on her chin, until it reached her lips. In one slow, smooth sweep, he ran his thumb from one side of her mouth to the other. Cait could hear his breath becoming heavy again. She realised her hands were still limp in his lap, from where he let them go. She carefully and tenderly ran both of her hands back up his chest, revelling in each strong bump of muscle beneath her fingertips. She kept going until her hands were settled on his sculpted trapezius. Sam leant in, quicker than before, and breathed hotly onto her mouth.

“May I…kiss you again, Cait?” he whispered in a quivering breath.

‘Oh my god, he asked for permission to kiss me again, HE’S SO ADORABLE. Alright, don’t answer too quickly!’ Cait squealed internally.

Cait deliberately took some heavy breaths of her own, then breathed out, “yes.”

Sam slipped his hand to the side of her neck and tenderly cupped the back of her head, ready to meet her lips.

Right before Sam’s mouth met hers, she quietly gasped, leant back and said, “oh! One sec.”

Cait leant backwards and was able to grab her breath freshener from her bedside table. She nervously laughed and shrugged one shoulder. She opened her mouth and applied a few sprays and swallowed, with a pained look. The mint taste was quite strong.

Sam laughed at her reaction, “I probably need some,” he shrugged shyly.

She smirked and handed him the tiny little bottle. He opened his mouth and sprayed a few times, still looking into her eyes, then flicked his eyebrows up seductively. This made her blush and giggle. She looked down, embarrassed. He smiled at her reaction, threw the bottle across the bed, put his hand under her chin and tilted her face back up. He could hardly wait to taste those luscious lips of hers. He peered down at them, then looked back into her eyes. His hand took the place it claimed before, cupping the bottom of her head, and he leant in without waiting. His lips crashed onto hers in a gentle urgency before she could figure out where she should put her hands. She decided they would go where it felt natural, and they ended up on his trapezius again, then slinked around the back of his neck, to deepen the kiss. Sam’s hands moved down her waist and then wrapped around her back, pulling her to him, as she did him. Cait opened her mouth, and Sam followed. They could feel their breath become ragged, and their hearts were thumping into one another’s, as the adrenaline ran rampant through their veins. They broke the kiss briefly, each time they tilted their heads the alternate way, to get a breath in. Cait ran her fingers through his hair at the base of his skull, tugging very gently. A brief moan escaped from the back of Sam’s throat, and it only made her hotter. That sound lit a fire between her legs, and she was aching with want. It didn’t help matters that Sam gingerly darted his tongue out and caressed Cait’s bottom lip, waiting for permission. Cait breathed heavily into his mouth and pushed her tongue out of her mouth to meet the tip of his. After a few seconds, Cait moved her tongue over the top of Sam’s, deeper into his mouth. She explored the top and bottom of his tongue, the roof of his mouth, the back of his teeth. Sam followed her lead and tried to mimic the actions in her mouth, and then they found a rhythm. Cait broke the kiss then and they breathed heavily. Holding on to his shoulders, she got to her knees and pushed him down onto his back and climbed on top of him. She found his mouth again, eager to explore his mouth from a different angle. He reached behind her head and scooped all of her hair back, as it was in his eye and a little in his mouth.

Cait propped herself up on one hand leaning on his chest, breaking the kiss, and giggling, “sorry,” and she gathered all of her hair to one side, out of their way.

Sam smiled up at her, slightly out of breath. He then leant up on one elbow, then pushed so that he rolled over, on top of her. It startled her because it happened so quickly but feeling the full weight of him on top of her, and his blatant stiffness rubbing against her, she let out a breathy moan into his mouth. To get more access, she parted her legs and gave him more room to move. He got the hint immediately and began to grind into her slowly and carefully, he didn’t want to be too rough or crush her. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair again, this time using her nails to caress his scalp. She was rewarded with more vigorous grinding, and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. As good as it felt, Sam came down from his high and came to his senses then. He needed to slow things down, possibly stop things as they needed to be up for work in an hour and a half.

He broke the kiss and propped himself up with both hands on the bed, on each side of her shoulders. She gave him a confused and disappointed look when he didn’t lower himself back onto her.

Sam caught his breath, swallowed hard and cleared his throat, “I think that’s enough for now. I’m not going to take advantage of you, you were very vulnerable before. You’re more to me than just a…quick fuck,” Sam stated as he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed.

Cait sat up too and followed him. She placed her hand on his leg, “you are too, Sam,” and gave him a smile full of adoration. He reciprocated, held her jaw and kissed her forehead.

“Stay with me, until we need to get up? Remember, I was freezing and you’re a heat generator,” Cait asked with pleading eyes.

Sam hesitated, then held her hand and nodded, “alright. Do you want me to spoon you, or?”

“That would be amazing,” Cait grinned, the butterflies in her belly jolting faster around as her heartbeat picked up.

Sam gave her his cute lopsided smile and helped her pull back the covers.

“Be back in a sec,” Sam stated after he turned off both bedroom lights.

After a few minutes, Cait heard the toilet flush and the tap turn on. Then she heard the door open and could’ve squealed with excitement, knowing he was coming to her bed. Cait was on the right side of the bed, facing away from the door where he came in. She felt him slide in next to her and pull the covers over him. She turned onto her back to face him, and he was propped up on one elbow. He cupped her cheek, leant down, and breathed against her mouth, “goodnight, Cait,” before giving her one last deep kiss.

Cait made a satisfied sound as she exhaled, and then the kiss broke, “goodnight, Sam,” she whispered.

She rolled back around, lifted her head for Sam to put her arm under and held onto his hand. Sam moved as close to her body as he could get, slung his other arm over her hip, caressing her belly, briefly pulling her against him in a little hug. Cait’s other hand held onto this arm and they drifted off to sleep for the last hour and a half they had.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33179176/chapters/82373932#workskin