#they were circling back to the same original suggestions in the most recent responses

[army-of-bee-assassins]

it's also sooo so cool getting all these shitty tumblr live updates while my app has been broken for well over a month at this point. media autoplay is turned off for me and can't be turned back on and i've been going back and forth with support since it started and literally nothing they have suggested has done anything. and now they've just stopped responding for the past almost two weeks.

[0613magazine]

032423 Rolling Stone

Jimin Is Ready to Show the World Who He’s Become

The multi-talented star and BTS member talks about his solo debut album Face — and shares how much his bandmates supported his creative process

Before Jimin was sure he could release a solo debut album, his fellow BTS members believed in him first. 

It was last spring, and the group was in Las Vegas, carrying out the last shows on their “Permission to Dance on Stage” stadium tour. In between nights, he opened up to his brother-like band members over drinks and told them about the self-doubt he’d been experiencing during the pandemic. That’s when he received the encouragement he needed from the group, who will celebrate their 10-year anniversary this summer, and felt prepared enough to embark on his own project.

“I was thinking things like, ‘Why am I living like this? What am I doing right now?’” he tells Rolling Stone through an interpreter, speaking on an early spring morning from the HYBE office in Seoul. His bandmates assured him that everyone goes through these growing pains. They suggested that expressing himself through music could offer a way forward.

Now, the 27-year-old artist from Busan, South Korea is preparing his vision as a solo pop star with Face, a captivating six-track album. Across the project, which is full of various sonic moods that veer from spiky and hard-hitting to velvety and sleek, Jimin portrays the conflicting feelings he’s had about himself and his journey as an artist. Though he wasn’t originally a singer when he joined Big Hit Entertainment at age 16, he’s developed one of K-pop’s most unique voices: It’s sweet, with delicately sharp edges, and he contorts his vowels as if they were soft curls of smoke. Through these subtle inflections, he conveys bitter isolation on the melancholic R&B song “Alone,” but then quickly switches to explosive anger on “Set Me Free Pt. 2.” On that boisterous, horn-laden hip-hop track, he proclaims that he’s entering a new era where he “won’t hide anymore even if it hurts,” singing as if he’s gritting his teeth. 

The project is a bold evolution from Jimin’s work in BTS, where he’s shown his penchant for making emotional R&B through tracks like 2016’s “Lie” and the sultry Latin-pop-inflected “Filter.” In 2018, he showed he could take on an acoustic singer-songwriter approach with his debut solo single “Promise” — which recently got an official release after living only on SoundCloud for years. For the upcoming Face singles, he’s also been teasing meticulously prepared performances, which have become a signature for the skilled dancer whose fluid yet powerful style is informed by his background in modern dance and martial arts. (To see the full scope of his talent, fans can watch his viral contemporary dance to “I Need U” at the 2019 MMA awards, where he flips and spins effortlessly as if he were wind personified, or his scene-stealing performance in 2020’s “Black Swan.”) He’s come a long way since he was a teenager impersonating the sensual performance style of his role model, Big Bang’s Taeyang; this January, he experienced a full circle moment when he was featured on the K-pop veteran’s long-awaited solo track “Vibe.”

Jimin explores a mesmerizing mix of emotions on the album’s lead single “Like Crazy,” which will come in both English and Korean versions. He found inspiration in the 2011 Drake Doremus-directed drama of the same name. Struck by the film’s depiction of a passionate romance between a British woman and American man whose relationship can never stabilize because of visa issues and their respective careers, he tried to convey these ambiguous feelings through the song’s choreography. He’s a perfectionist to his core: When I tell him that I’m looking forward to these performances, his response is simply, “I’ll work hard.” 

This album is called Face. What does the title mean to you?  In this album, I look back at myself. I heard that the word “face” has many different meanings. Of course, it has the meaning of the noun, face, but it also means, “to face, to [confront],” as a verb. So in order to stand at this new starting point and begin a new journey, I thought it would be necessary to look back at myself and face myself entirely. 

When you looked back at yourself, did you discover something new?  I wouldn’t say that I felt something new. But when I look back at myself during the pandemic and the emotions that I felt then, I actually didn’t really realize the feelings I had back then. [I thought] I was fine. I was happy. I was just enjoying things. But looking back, I realized that those weren’t the only feelings [I had]. After realizing that, I just thought that I should overcome [these feelings]. I think I kind of learned how to become a grown-up. I realize that I felt various emotions during the pandemic.

When you look at the lyrics on this album, there are themes of loneliness, wrestling with yourself, and of finding freedom. What kind of thoughts and feelings did you have while writing these lyrics? I’m actually not good at beating around the bush, or indirectly saying things, and that’s the same with my lyrics. I just wrote the emotions as they were, exactly how I felt two years ago, and the emotions that I felt in every situation [at that time]. So if you just listen to the music, you’ll understand the lyrics right away. 

How did you want to express yourself musically or production-wise on this project?  Since for every song, the emotions are all different, I wanted to express those feelings the way they are through the [production]. In the first part [of the album], there’s anger. The main track [“Like Crazy”], it feels happy, but there’s also loneliness behind it. Also, the choreography for the main track and the pre-release single, “Set Me Free Pt. 2” are totally different. 

“Interlude: Set Me Free” is a song by SUGA, from his 2020 mixtape D-2 as Agust D. How is this song and your song “Set Me Free Pt. 2” connected?  I think it would be hard to say that they’re actually connected. But when I was working on this song, I just thought that the phrase “set me free” would be the perfect title for it. Then I realized that there’s a song with the same name on Suga’s mixtape already. When I listened to that song, I realized it’s also a song about the struggles of becoming more mature, becoming a grown-up. So I thought it would make sense for my song to become the “part two” to that song. If we do have a chance or opportunity, I think it would be nice for him to do a feature on my song. [Laughs]

The first song, “Face-Off,” starts out with a melody that sounds like carnival music. What is that supposed to represent? It doesn’t actually have a specific meaning or significance. But when I worked on this song, the producers and I started fooling around with different pianos and instruments. When you listen to it, you realize this song is very intense, rebellious, and has a lot of anger. But starting it like that [with the carnival sound] would be a stark contrast to the rest of those vibes. So they said, ‘You know, if you start the song like this, it would be kind of paradoxical or ironic, and it could be pretty fun.” 

With “Interlude: Dive,” there are sounds of water and then sounds of you talking on stage. What kind of story is that track telling?  Originally, the first track was “Face-Off,” which is really intense and rebellious, and the next track was the main track, “Like Crazy,” which has a feeling of dreamy intoxication. I thought it would be nice to have something in-between that would bridge those two tracks, so that’s how we came up with “Dive.” If you listen to the track, you might hear sounds of someone panting for air, or me running somewhere. I wanted to give this feeling that I was lost and wandering. So I tried a lot of different things [for that song]. I actually recorded myself running around using my phone, and it was a fun process. 

For “Like Crazy,” you were inspired by the film Like Crazy. What did you like in particular about this movie, and how did it influence the song? I was actually on YouTube, and I came across this video of a mashup between this song “In Return” by Breakbot and clips of this movie. I was like, “Oh what is this?” and that led me to watching the movie. I thought it would be very romantic and sweet, but it turned out that it’s actually a very realistic and stark depiction of a breakup. So when we were talking about the main track, this movie suddenly came to my mind, and I thought it would fit well with the kind of song [we wanted to make]. So I watched the film again, and I included different points of inspiration [into the song]. There are some interesting excerpts of dialogue at the beginning and at the end [of the track] that express exactly what I wanted to say.

Can you share what the “Like Crazy” choreography and performance is going to be like? I tried to express the feelings of that movie… You know, the somewhat complex, somewhat lonely, somewhat happy emotions. I tried to express all these ambiguous and subtle emotions in a slightly sexy way, but I’m not sure how it’ll end up being received by people. [Laughs]

I know that you have a background in modern dance, as well as different martial arts like taekwondo and kendo. How do you think these different movement forms influence your dance style now? Honestly, when I started to learn choreography, I thought my background in modern dance and different kinds of movement would be a hindrance to me. But when I was establishing my own way of expressing choreography after debuting, I think those things actually became hugely helpful. What I thought would be bad habits ended up having a positive impact. I could see dances with a different perspective than other people, and I could mix in my modern dance style or incorporate powerful acrobatics into the choreography. So I think those foundational forms actually built who I am now. 

When you were preparing this album, how did the other members help you? Or how were you influenced by them during the process? Actually, my members were the people who made it possible for me to start preparing this album. This all began at the [Permission to Dance on Stage] concerts in Las Vegas last year, and at the time, I was struggling with the emotions that ended up in [“Like Crazy”]… While we were talking over drinks, I told them, “I don’t know if I’m doing well. I don’t even know what I’m doing.” But the members said that it’s perfectly fine to feel that way, that it’s okay to feel lost sometimes. They suggested, “Why don’t you express these emotions through music?” 

So the moment I returned to Korea from the United States, I met up with the producers and started working on music right away. I’m so thankful to my members for inspiring me to start working on this album. I don’t know how people are going to react to the music, but I actually was able to completely resolve and move on from all those feelings of being lost. I’m perfectly okay now, so I’m so very thankful to them. 

What was it about the Las Vegas concerts that brought up all these emotions for you? As you know, we couldn’t meet our fans in person during the pandemic. At that time, I didn’t feel like I had enough space or time to be able to reflect on myself. So I [lived] not really knowing what I was doing, or why I was working so hard up to that point and for what. Each day, I had all these different thoughts and emotions. But during the Las Vegas concerts, I had the chance to talk with my members about how they were also surviving during this time. Before, I thought that I was the only one who was feeling and acting weird, and that all my members were still working really hard and still looked really cool, that they were shining on their own. I thought I was the odd one out, so talking to them really helped me get back on my feet. 

On a different subject, what was it like working with Taeyang on “Vibe?” It was such a happy memory for me. As you know, he has been my role model since I was little. So the fact that I could meet him, listen to him sing right next to me, be able to closely observe him working on music, dance with him, film the music video, and perform together… All of it made me so happy.

When Taeyang appeared on SUGA’s interview series, Suchwita, he said that you’re someone who works really hard. Hearing this, how do you view yourself? I contacted him a lot during the entire process of recording and practicing “Vibe.” I actually took a lot of time recording my parts on my own, since it’s not a very easy song. I think everytime I made a new recording, I sent it over to him, like, “This is today’s version of the recording, could you listen to it please?” Then the next day, I would send a new recording and say, “I fixed these details, what do you think of today’s version?” After he saw me doing that, I think that maybe that’s why he said that and saw me in a positive way.

Can you describe the way that you practice while preparing to release a new album? There’s something I always say to the producers I work with: “Practice is the answer.” If I have some time after I finish work in the evenings, I practice singing with the producers. I practice dancing. I keep trying to spend as much time practicing as I can. It’s just an infinite cycle of practicing. 

Source: Rolling Stone

[goingmorry]

Hello! Can you write monster trio reaction to someone flirting with their crush? Please ☀💛

[One Piece Headcanons] Monster Trio -> when someone flirts with their crush

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji Tags: female reader, jealous boys Author's Note: Thank you for the request! I love me some jealous boys. There's something about it that just hits right with me. 💖

MONKEY D. LUFFY

One clueless boi.

Figures out that he has a crush on you when he explains how he feels about you to Usopp.

Doesn't quite know how to express his feelings for you in a way that you'll understand.

Interrupts the other person from flirting with you.

"Hey, I found you!"

Barging in from god knows where, Luffy interrupts the man's playful antics by sandwiching himself in the tight space between you and the stranger.

Caught off-guard, the flirtatious man begins to shove the pirate captain away from his face, resulting in Luffy's muscular torso squeezing against your much softer one. The feel of his solid body against yours is enough to cause you to blush, prompting you to create some distance by pushing him away to the side.

"Listen, pal—" the man begins, about to give the straw hat pirate a piece of his mind for violating your personal space, but not before getting rudely interrupted again.

"Who's this guy?"

"An acquaintance," you pipe up instantly in response to your captain's inquiry, omitting the piece of information where this stranger spent the last twenty minutes hitting on you.

Apologizing for your captain's childish behavior, you give him a brief rundown of who precisely the straw hat-wearing pirate is.

"I'll call him porcupine from now on," Luffy says, pleased with the nickname given to the man sitting across from you, "Since he has spiky brown hair that reminds me of a porcupine!"

"I appreciate you taking the time to ask me out," you address the stranger, grabbing hold of Luffy's stretchy arm in the process, "But I don't think this is gonna work."

Pleased with the way events were unfolding, Luffy flashes you a toothy grin to which you cock an eyebrow in response.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I-I don't know what you mean," he says, puckering his lips to the side. A telltale sign of an obvious lie.

You can't help but feel ridiculous for having a crush on the most insufferable pirate captain in all of existence, hoping that he, too, feels the same way as you do.

RORONOA ZORO

Only recently comes to terms with his feelings for you.

Hasn't figured out how he'll confess.

After all, romantic love is uncharted territory for him.

Won't really do anything unless he feels that you're in danger.

Pretends to be preoccupied with something else; ends up eavesdropping on your conversation with the flirtatious individual.

Inwardly though, he's more bothered than he lets on.

"Hey, I was wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee with me? I'd love to show you around town," the man says to you earnestly.

The sound of steel clashing against metal echoes loudly enough to startle people, their heads swiveling toward the origin of the noise.

In the corner of the room, the one-eyed swordsman sits upright, body tense in concentration while meticulously polishing Wado Ichimonji, one of his three signature blades.

Zoro ignores the curious looks thrown his way, focused instead on your interaction with the man in front of you.

The stranger's proposal was genuine enough. Objectively, he was undoubtedly an attractive man. Friendly and polite too from your conversations with him throughout the night.

He just... wasn't your type.

You were more interested in rougher-looking men. Someone who was strong but would never abuse their strength to harm the weak. Someone who was stoic but also had a heart of gold. Someone like—

Zoro glances in your direction, seeing the hesitation on your face in accepting the man's offer.

"Sorry, I don't think I can make it. I promised to do something with a friend," you explain, settling with a half-assed excuse for fear of confrontation.

It wasn't exactly a lie, not really. You did have plans to retrieve some supplies with a certain green-haired swordsman, though they weren't until much later in the day. But this man didn't need to know that.

Zoro wouldn't mind if you used him as an excuse.

The Pirate Hunter's shoulders relax considerably at your statement, switching his attention from you back to his current task.

Face expressing his disappointment at your rejection, the man's posture visibly deflates. "Maybe the next day then?" he adds as an afterthought.

Biting your lip guiltily, you shake your head, stray hair falling across your forehead. "Sorry, I can't. Our crew is leaving tomorrow night."

"Damn," the man says, scratching the back of his head in awkwardness before adopting a fake smile — one you choose to let slide. "I'm gonna miss you. After all, it's not every day that I get to meet such a fine young lady with the guts to traverse the terrors of the Grand Line. You take care of yourself, all right?"

"You flatter me," you giggle, cheeks tinged pink at the man's sincere compliment, "And likewise."

At the sound of your unrestrained laughter, Zoro pauses, deeply craving for the moment that he, too, becomes the recipient of your happiness.

SANJI

The person who flirts with you, his precious lady, better prepare for some ass-whooping.

Technically, Sanji can't call you his — not yet — though he has been thinking of the perfect way to confess to you.

Still, even though you're not officially together, he'll never not be feral when you're involved.

Deliberating for a few seconds before gesturing toward you, the stranger places his order with the barkeep and says, "And anything the pretty lady desires."

Pointer finger circling the rim of your shot glass in consideration, you smile at the stranger in gratitude. "In that case, I'll take another round then."

Exchanging a round of pleasantries and small talk, you and the stranger become reasonably familiar with one another.

Familiar enough to know that this man would rather whisk you away to a more private setting than converse with you under the public's watchful eye.

"I know of a better way we can spend the night together," he murmurs suggestively, low enough for you to hear despite the idle chatter in the background.

"Do you now?"

You weren't returning his flirtatious words, but you weren't exactly declining them either until you spot a tuft of blond hair in the corner of your vision, striding toward you with purpose.

When Sanji arrives, he's gushing praise and amorous advances, all for you. Ignored and uncomfortable with watching another man proclaim his underlying love and devotion to you, your newfound drinking buddy clears his throat to get your attention, earning a scornful glare from the cook.

"Who's this shitty and rude bastard?"

Unsurprising to you, Sanji doesn't even try to act civil. Your drinking buddy, however, is astonished by the cook's open hostility, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Sanji doesn't buy the man's innocent charade, one eye squinting in distrust as he presses on, "I asked you a question."

Leaving out his invitation to you for more lewd nightly activities, your drinking buddy settles for a half-truth, "Just a guy she met at the bar."

Amused with the blond's jealous streak, you decide to cut in before things escalate beyond your control, "Any particular reason you're here, Sanji?"

At the sweet lull of your voice calling his name, the cook resumes his lovestruck behavior with a hint of seriousness when he whispers the sobering news to you, "Marines were recently spotted in town. We're leaving, my dear."

Seizing the opportunity, Sanji offers his hand, palm up, for you to take, and the significance of his action is not lost to you.

You recall his strict policy for only using his hands for cooking — how, as a child, Sanji found solace from abuse by preparing meals for his sickly mother, sparking his lifelong interest in the culinary arts.

Touched, you place your hand in his, a picture-perfect rendition of a prince charming whisking away his lovely bride-to-be. You tell him exactly that, and he graces you with an amused chuckle and a soft smile.

If only people knew the real reason you and him were fleeing the scene.

"Let me be your Mr. Prince then."

Your delicate hand dwarfs in comparison to his larger one, but that doesn't stop you from interlocking your fingers together like two intimate lovers.

Neither one of you says anything else, coming to the same silent conclusion that your growing feelings for each other would have to be addressed sometime soon.

[autumnslance]

would you be willing to make a masterpost of all your sharlayan research and headcanons? please please please and THANK YOU if you do

I can certainly try! A lot of my info is from what little we have so far, and my own fics are where a lot of my headcanons go to live, with little snippets about various characters here and there in my scattered lore posts, as well as stuff I’ve collected from other players.

Other Resources In Louisoix’s Wake - The twins’ official Calamity short story on the Lodestone. One Name, One Promise - Thancred’s backstory, from Limsa to Sharlayan training to his early assignment in Ul’dah and then early Shadowbringers. Mirke’s Menagerie - A compilation of lore info from in game, lorebooks, panels, interviews, short stories, etc. There are about 4 or 5 Sharlayan-specific posts @mirkemenagerie has made.

Encyclopaedia Eorzea - If you can get your hands on copies (physical officially; digitally is Unofficial so far as I know), I recommend it! They’re both good reads, though EE 1 is the one with a blurb on Sharlayan as a nation.

Posts by Other People - that I have collected Leveva Comment About Archon Loaf - Keeping in mind Sharlayan’s bad cuisine has been canonical for years per lorebook 1. They care more about ease of eating while studying, also seeing culinary arts as an academic field, not a practical daily exercise. Lorebook 1 Astrologian Lore - screencaps from the lorebook. Phaedra’s Teen Scion Sharlayan Antics fic - I am happy to take responsibility for inspiring @phaedra-mero to write this delightful scene.

My Own Posts Red Mage Research - Includes books from Gubal Library. Scion Ages - Pointing out the ages of the Scions, particularly the Archons.

My Fics - Sometimes there’s more HC musings in the Notes and Comments. I try to stay close to canon, at least as it is when the fic was written. Rogue’s Prelude - Multichapter, teen Thancred meets Louisoix, Yda, and Papalymo. Written a year prior to Thancred’s official ShB story above. Aetherology & Skulking Boots-Beginnings - Y’shtola agrees to tutor Thancred in how to speak properly as teenagers in the colony. Chin Up - Yda gives Thancred advice as youths in the colony. Dreams of Home-Lucubration - Yda, Lyse, and Thancred in the colony. Younger Sister - Thancred’s relationships with the Hext sisters over time. In Violet’s Wake-Louisoix’s Children - A Master Matoya PoV from StB patches. There’s a brief chapter with her and Y’mhitra in Dreams of Home, too. Excerpts from other posts - things that ended up as commentary on other threads, with some editing since.

From a thread that started off as about Thancred’s Gear from ARR to HW:

Sharlayan is a nation on an island NW of Eorzea proper; the Sharlayan everyone we know hails from was a colony that became a city-state a few hundred years back and part of the Eorzean Alliance, in the Dravanian Hinterlands, where Idyllshire is now. After the fall of Ala Mhigo and then the Battle of Silvertear Skies, the Forum (their ruling body) decided to abandon the city and return to the motherland, a process that took 5 years before they all just teleported out in a day. Except Matoya, and those archons that worked for Louisoix and that he asked to stay and go to the remaining 3 Alliance cities. This would have been 15 years before ARR/Heavensward.

The Students of Baldesion are also Sharlayan; the Isle of Val, their headquarters, being under that nation’s banner. Sons of St Coinach are another offshoot; Rammbroes (Crystal Tower raid story) was originally part of Louisoix’s Circle of Knowing (who eventually became the Scions), and Y’shtola’s sister Y’mhitra is one of the Sons and part of the Summoner storyline.

Thancred got involved as a youth–by trying to pick Louisoix’s pocket, and impressing the old man with his skills, and so Louisoix brought Thancred back with him to give the kid an opportunity for study. Yda and Lyse escaped Ala Mhigo, and with help from Papalymo, who was part of an effort to help refugees seeking shelter in Sharlayan, they ended up there, and Yda is the one who actually became an archon.

Most of the other senior Scions, so far as I know, are native to Sharlayan, either the motherland or the colony. The Leveilleur twins were born in the Hinterlands Sharlayan, but raised in the motherland, as they were less than a year old when the exodus happened. The university they and Krile attended is the Studium. Becoming an Archon seems to be a separate process not everyone goes through, and is a demonstration of mastery in chosen field(s) of study. That’s the significance of the tattoos some of the Scions have on their necks or faces.

Sharlayan is basically a nation particularly focused on academia; the trouble is, for the last couple decades, it’s been controlled by a faction of isolationists who would rather hoard knowledge and sit in the proverbial ivory tower looking down on non-Sharlayans, claiming others would abuse their knowledge, and that they should simply observe history and not try to affect it. Louisoix, Matoya, and the organizations they associate with (the Circle of Knowing/Scions; Sons of St Coinach, the Students of Baldesion, etc), think that viewpoint is stupid and go against it. A big part of the Astrologian storyline is dealing with Sharlayans who dislike Leveva’s family sharing Sharlayan astrology with outsiders, for example.

What sort of relationship Sharlayan and Ishgard had before the exodus isn’t really detailed much; both were pretty insular and focused on their own issues (like many of Eorzea’s city-states outside of crises), and the Dravanian threat at the time might have kept them pretty separated by land. Sharlayan was responsible for Eorzea’s aetherytes and keeping the aethernets working, though, and it’s suggested they still handle that post-Calamity to some degree. We pay fees for teleports because reconstruction and upkeep is pricey for all of the city-states.

Next post:

The Isle of Val was the headquarters of the Students of Baldesion, Krile’s family and order, and was a Sharlayan institution. It’s destruction/missing status happened during the ARR patches, and Krile was saved by Hydaelyn as she has the Echo (as an aside: you can hear Minfilia talking to Krile via linkpearl in the background on the Enterprise after rescuing the Scions from Castrum Centri before Ultima, and she constantly refers to and worries about Krile after the Isle of Val goes missing, but then plot happened to Minfilia so we never see them together as friends). The Ascians seemed to have a hand in the Isle’s disappearance…but there’s story about the fate of the Isle of Val and the Students of Baldesion in Stormblood’s Eureka plotline.

As for the Archon Marks, if they do confer social benefits, aside from being an easily seen status symbol for some highly skilled & educated folks, it hasn’t been mentioned yet in concrete terms, though we know the rank has benefits (like access to forbidden lore). Mostly they are a way to tell at a glance who has obtained the rank. It’s like if people with doctorates had a tattoo of their degree symbol on them so you knew just by looking.

As of Shadowbringers 5.4, we know that to become an Archon a thesis is required, and it’s a great deal more work than a Studium graduate’s final thesis. It strikes me that Studium (which some of the Scion Archons also attended) is like undergrad or Masters studies, while Archon is a Doctorate level.

I personally headcanon that the arcane marks confer some minor, slowed visible aging and other vague magical benefits befitting their rank in Sharlayan society. Really, that’s a way for the devs to avoid new models and add to the confusion in 1.0′s intros and the running joke about Y’shtola’s age, BUT let’s come up with an in-world thing, too. There has to be some explanation for Thancred’s perpetual baby face when he’s not RPing a Mountain Hobo ;) Also we really don’t know for sure how old Matoya is. Just old.

Lorebook 2 Notes:

Mikoto Jinba (Return to Ivalice, Save the Queen storylines) worked on aetheric siphon research with Moenbryda, and at 29 is the youngest Raen with the rank of Archon in recent history. It was Jessie’s connections that brought her to Cid’s attention and got her involved in the Return to Ivalice story.

Ejika Tsunjika (Eureka storyline) went to school at the same time as Krile and Leveilleur twins, endorsed by Galuf Baldesion, who Ejika later chose to work under. He’s resentful of Krile and the twins as Ejika himself is of humble origins and had to struggle to get to where he is, yet hides his Archon brands with high collars as he refuses to believe himself unique or exceptional.

[gumnut-logic]

The world was blurry as he let his head slide on one hand and stared out through the kitchen window. Gordon was in the pool, swimming his morning laps. The sun had yet to rise and Virgil had broken several laws of physics rising himself. This time of day should not exist. But then it didn’t, because it wasn’t day yet because there was no sun!

But no, supersonic big brother wanted to do some special training today. Training that for some reason had been scheduled at sunrise.

It was possibly important, likely scheduled just to get his ass out of bed at this godawful hour. Occasionally there were some issues with having your brother in command. Brotherly love only went so far, brotherly snark had more mileage, and Scott did have that twist of his lips when he announced the schedule.

Four pairs of eyes had immediately turned to him and his return glare had been insufficient to deflect the amusement that followed.

But it was okay. It was fine. He had his own skill drills up his sleeve. Two am would be convenient for him next time, definitely. After all, they all had to keep their skill sets up, didn’t they?

In the meantime, it was black coffee and repeated attempts to focus on Mateo. Mateo was distinctly blurry, and dark and...

“Hey, Virg!” Alan whacked him on the back.

His face nearly ended up in his coffee. “Alan? What the hell?”

“And good morning to you, too, big bro. Ready for this morning’s run?”

He stared at his bright and peppy, yes, peppy, youngest brother. Augh. “Go away.”

“Aww, did the big bear have to get out of bed a little early?”

“Alan...”

“C’mon, Virg, it’s gonna be fun. A race around the island, wind in your hair, blood pumping...it’s gonna be awesome.”

Virgil stared at him, his brain slowly picking up that something wasn’t quite right. “Alan, why aren’t you comatose?”

“What do you mean, big bro?”

A slow blink. “You hate mornings almost as much as I do. Who are you and what have you done with my little brother?” His eyelids drooped all of their own volition.

“It’s called prepared, bro. I’m in it to win it.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Are you on something? Because if you are, Scott’s going to kill you, and once I’m awake, I’ll resuscitate you so I can kill you again.”

“That’s violence, bro. It’s cool, I promise.”

An arched eyebrow that almost hurt. “What did you do, Alan?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing you aren’t already doing.”

“You drank coffee.”

“Noooooooo.”

“What did you do?”

“A little caffeine is all.”

The arched eyebrow flipped into a frown. “How much?”

“Enough.”

Virgil’s back straightened. “Alan.”

“I’m fine, bro, I promise. I know what I’m doing. I’m not stupid.” A blond frown. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t do the same with your coffee after coffee after coffee technique.”

Virgil’s lips thinned, but to be honest, the kid was right, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But... “You’re not yet an adult, Alan.”

“Yet, I take the responsibilities of an adult, Virgil.”

“Your body isn’t fully mature!”

“Well, thanks for that, Doctor Virgil!”

“You have to look after yourself!”

“Hard to do anything else when I have four brothers mother-henning me all the time!”

“We worry about you!”

“Well, don’t! I can look after myself.”

“Alan!”

“Virgil!”

“Hey! What the hell is going on here?!”

Virgil found himself looming over his little brother, one brain cell after another slowly catching up with what the hell was going on. Bright blue eyes were staring up at him defiantly, his little brother’s shoulders tight and fists clenched at his sides.

Virgil forced his own fists to uncurl. There was a reason why he preferred not to see this time of day. Disturbed sleep disturbed his calm, his control, and things like this happened.

Scott loomed over the both of them and Virgil took a step back, slumping back onto his seat and hulking over his coffee almost in a pout. “Better ask Alan, he’s the one being stupid.”

“Speak for yourself, Virgil.”

“Both of you, shut it.” Scott could glare with the best of them, but Virgil had exhausted what little energy he had and ignored him. “Alan, dosed himself with caffeine.”

“Virgil!”

He could feel the laserbeams shooting out of Scott’s eyes switching targets and landing on Alan. There was no satisfaction, just blergh. Here we go.

And sure enough, Scott started in on his little brother. There was, of course, shouting. Virgil idly wondered how come Scott got to yell and he didn’t. But then Virgil didn’t really like yelling anyway.

Coffee. Its warmth drifted down his throat and spread into his bones. Oh god, he needed it. Maybe a second one after this? But then the word ‘caffeine’ came up amongst the explosions beside him and he reconsidered. No need to become a target himself.

He let his foggy mind drift a little. It was all his fault really. He could have gone to bed early, but he had made the mistake of getting into a discussion online with an engineering idiot. The topic had become heated, chemical formulas launched like bombs and laced with reactive equations enough to take out half the engineering community. In the end, he’d thrown a hissy fit and sat up to three am writing up his argument. He’d chucked it onto his blog with a great deal of satisfaction and was looking forward to rubbing it in the man’s face.

Just as soon as he could boot his brain.

Coffee, give me strength.

Gordon wandered in at some point, a damp towel around his neck. Being Gordon, he prodded the conflagration in progress and got burnt. The argument became three sided.

Virgil considered snoozing on the counter.

Then he hit on the idea that he could possibly sneak back to bed. He stood up slowly.

Brains bounded into the room, tablet in hand. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Brilliant, so b-brilliant!”

The argument came to a sudden halt, four pairs of eyes turning towards the engineer.

The engineer didn’t notice, eyes glued to his tablet. Max bounded in behind him, whirring excitedly. It was the robot who prevented the distracted Brains from walking into the kitchen counter.

“Oh, thank you, M-Max.” His eyes didn’t leave the tablet. “Did you see the p-polymer ratio? Amazing! Such elegance. You know, I am quite d-disap-pointed that I didn’t think of this myself. The applications are going to b-be in-numerable.”

The distraction was enough to break the fuel lines of the argument and Scott settled for a final threat, Alan a final glare and Gordon, a snort of derision. The moment to escape was lost and Virgil slumped where he sat.

Damn.

“Virgil, you going to eat before we run?”

Alan was right, Scott mother-henned.

“Maybe.” Ugh, c’mon coffee kick in. He needed operational braincells.

Scott was peering closely at him. “Earth to Virgil.”

“Shut up, Scott. You got me up at the ass end of the day, I’m here. Don’t expect much more.”

His brother grinned, and Virgil had the odd urge to thump him. Just because this was his element, didn’t mean he had to be a smart ass about it. “Your next physical is going to be hell.”

The grin faltered. Aah, that’s better. Hmm, perhaps his brain was slowly booting. Go, coffee.

“Virgil! You h-have to see these equations. They are brilliant!”

What? Brains’ tablet shifted the remains of his coffee to one side and Virgil found himself staring at a series of numbers that made little sense at this time of the morning. “Brains, looks great. Can I review them later? I’m not all here yet.”

The engineer didn’t appear to hear him. “Look at the polymer decay to reaction ratio! This is a self-healing polymer!”

Huh? He frowned and forced himself to focus. The appropriate neurons clicked into place in his brain and suddenly what he was seeing made sense.

Shit.

He grabbed the tablet, eyeing the equations and spinning calculations in his head. Brains was right. This was perfect. The polymer would be able to self-heal with the application of a mild electrical current. Give it a pattern to follow and it would populate and keep it populated, even after disturbance.

“Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.” There was that word again. Brilliant.

But it still took a second for it all to click into place.

V. T. Green was his blog. V. T. Green was his pseudonym online, used for obvious reasons to keep his identity hidden. The blog had been for amusement originally. A place to stash his favourite music and art, but at some point, he had found himself venturing into engineering circles and getting into discussion with the online community. It made for interesting discourse and he was able to keep up to date with some of the latest innovations. Not that he could share his own much and IR was well ahead of the majority of the world thanks to one Hiram Hackenbacker, but on occasion he would fiddle with ideas and make suggestions. It was also a great place to postulate out-there concepts.

The equations on Brains’ tablet were Virgil’s.

“Where did you get these?”

Brains was full of far too much energy for this time of the morning. “Green p-posted them during the night and they have h-hit the world by s-storm.”

“What?”

Brains frowned at him. “Haven’t you heard of V. T. Green, Virgil? He is o-one of the leading engineers on this p-planet. I have been f-following his b-blog for over a year n-now. You r-really m-must check it out.”

“Um, must have missed that one.”

“H-how could you m-miss such an important s-site? I know you k-keep up to date. The man is at the centre of a massive discussion about polymer cohesion and decay. Last night, Coloncous in Spain had the nerve to challenge him in the most ridiculous manner. I was so close to cutting him off myself, he was embarrassing us all, but Green replied with this. As expected, it is a brilliant explanation and Coloncous had no choice but to concede and crawl back into the hole he should never have come out of in the first place. He was a fool to think he could go up against Green. But this solution has so many possibilities. Do you realise this could be integrated into Two’s cahelium hull and she would be able to heal damage midflight? Four would be able seal herself in an underwater emergency. So brilliant.”

Virgil stared at the engineer. He didn’t think he had ever heard Brains say so many words in a row. And his stutter had disappeared two sentences in.

“What did you say about sealing Four, Brains?” Gordon’s ears had obviously pricked up at the mention of his ‘bird.

Brains’ attention was immediately drawn to the aquanaut, his verbal diarrhoea spilling all over Gordon and freeing Virgil.

Taking the opportunity, he pulled out his phone and brought up the website.

Shit!

He had notifications enough to clog his inbox. Due to the early hour, his phone was still on silent and he hadn’t heard any of them. A quick glance identified several prominent names and universities.

Shit. His eyes widened.

He glanced up at his family who were now eagerly discussing safety seals for Thunderbird Four. Even Scott’s eyes were wide and enthusiastic.

Shit.

Um.

Yeah.

He needed more coffee.

-o-o-o-

V.T. Green (one of my absolute favourites :D)

[reiraland]

Eric - Happy (belated) birthday

Finally I finished the fanfic for Eric’s birthday! It took me way more time than I had expected, but better later than never, right? hehe. I planned to write a fic between 500-700 words, but ended up writing 2600+ words. my love for Eric is unquenchable  

I’m thristy for more Eric’s content. I wish Beemoov added him in the future events or release a spinoff.  Beemoov, just take my money 

I would have liked to write also an Eric’s POV, but recently my work schedule is hectic. I might try, but it’ll take a while. 

I apologize in advance for any typo or grammar mistake.

Happy Birthday, Eric! (04.26) Shaken off from my slumber by the emanating vibrations from my smartwatch, I lazily opened my eyes. The world was still dark outside. After turning off the alarm, my heart filled up with joy as soon as I laid my eyes on my beloved. By his rhythmic breath, I could tell Eric was still sound asleep. Reaching out my hand, I caressed his disheveled black hair and gently ran my fingers along his jaw as my heart beat firmly with ecstasy.

“God, he’s so attractive…” I murmured to myself. 

Nothing could bring me more bliss than staying a few more minutes in our heavenly nest, but today I had an important task. For the past two weeks, I had been mulling over the ideal way to celebrate his birthday. Although I wished we could go on a trip together, he was currently busy with a new case, plus my schedule was tight too; having several auctions planned for the next three months consumed most of my time. In the end, I made a reservation at a trendy, popular restaurant, and since neither of us could take the day off from work and I wouldn’t see him until the closing time of the café, for starters, I decided to surprise him with a special breakfast. 

“Come on. No time to waste!” 

After slipping out of the bed stealthily, I hurriedly took a shower and got dressed as quick as a flash. When my phone buzzed twice, I went outside, racing down the stairs all the way out to the street where Hyun was waiting for me with a small box in his hands.  

“Thank you very much for delivering it so early in the morning and especially for putting up with me for the last week! I am aware I have been fussy about the flavour… verging on nitpicking.” I said apologetically. 

“Please, don’t mention it. What are friends for? Also, you’re one of my favourite customers, I can’t let you down,” he responded with a smile, “and don’t concern yourself about the flavour anymore, I’m positive Eric will be delighted. I’ll be looking forward to your feedback.” He added cordially before waving goodbye. 

Back at the apartment, I heard the shower water running, and immediately got anxious. I had less time than originally planned. 

“I hope I can wrap everything up just on time,” I sighed nervously. 

I conscientiously got down to work with the breakfast preparations. While brewing a new type of coffee I had specifically ordered from one of Cosy Bear Café’s suppliers, I set the table and sliced the cake into equal pieces. I clasped both of my hands together happily after getting everything ready. The fragrance of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air reassured me since it reminded me so much of Eric’s embrace.  

The sound of footsteps brought me back to reality. Eric was leaning against the door frame, gazing groggily at me with his golden eyes. As he covered his mouth with one hand to hide a yawn, he put his wet hair back with the other one. The mere sight of him took my breath away.

“Morning…” His voice was still low and rough.

“Good morning! Just in time! Breakfast is ready! Summoned by the coffee’s scent, right?” I asked jokingly.

Eric’s eyes twinkled with amusement. He walked over to me, leaning down on my face until his lips found mine. A pleasant feeling unfurled in my stomach as I kissed him back with adoration. 

“What can I say? A great day starts with a cup of coffee...” he trailed off suddenly, “but you know what?” He enquired conspiratorially, giving me a playful smirk.

“What?” I whispered back mischievously. 

 “A day without you is always incomplete, nothing could fill the void of your absence”. 

“Not even the finest coffee?” I attempted to wear a blank expression, but my tone gave me away. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up before shaking his head in denial, staring deeply into my eyes as he replied with more amorous words. My heart began to pound like a drum and I was certain my cheeks were blushing furiously as if to mirror his flushed face.

“Definitely, you are turning into more and more a romantic every day… a hopeless romantic like myself … I’m absolutely in love with you.” I stated softly, swallowing down the emotion that comes with my words, suppressing tears of happiness that threatened to fall down from the corner of my eye. 

A few seconds later, Eric held me in his strong arms and rested his forehead against mine, letting out a contented sigh when I hugged him back. Lost in each other's eyes, time seemed to have slowed down. The closeness between us felt so natural, like it was meant to be. However, reluctantly, I pulled myself away from his warmth, he raised an eyebrow in response.

“If we don’t hurry up, coffee will get cold and we won’t be able to have breakfast without rushing” I explained. “Today’s menu is a bit particular. Sir, I hope you find it to your liking. By the way, Happy Birthday!” I spoke teasingly. 

Eric’s eyes showed a hint of surprise for a brief moment, then he grinned from ear to ear, while squeezing my fingers gently. I summarized quickly about the coffee and the cake, he listened to me attentively as always. I watched him restlessly, as he brought the mug to his lips and tasted the pastry. Relief washed all over me after he nodded approvingly, flashing an encouraging smile. That peaceful moment was engraved in our memory, it might have been just an ordinary breakfast for others, but for us, it meant a great deal. When we finished eating, we cleared the table and as I was about to wash the dishes, he stopped me with a hand up.

“You prepared breakfast, it’s only fair I’ll do the dishes.” He said warmly, not letting me a chance to protest. 

At first, I just observed him while he was focused on the task at hand, but then, I tiptoed closer and circled my arms around him from behind, burying my head in his back. Inhaling deeply, his scent infused my soul with tranquility and comfort. 

As soon I noticed Eric was done with the chore, I took a step away from him. At the same, Eric turned around, and without a warning, lifted me up, slowly spinning me around until we reached the living room. He tenderly laid me down onto the couch as we locked eyes. He looked extremely amused, just like a child plotting mischief. The next thing I knew is he relentlessly tickled my ribs as I burst into giggles. The sound of our laughter echoed through the room.

I wanted that moment to last forever, but duty called. As his silver watch catched my eye, I furrowed my brows. 

“Eric, we need to start moving now… I don’t feel like leaving, but look at time…”, I pouted.  

“Time really flies when we are together, right? You know… we can stay a bit longer, if you will.”

“But If we don’t leave now, we’ll be stuck in a traffic jam and neither of us will be on time for work”.

“If we turn the siren on, a traffic jam won’t be an obstacle.” He pointed at, letting out  a small, low chuckle. I couldn’t refrain myself from tittering at his statement. 

“The siren is only for special occasions. If we used it regularly, you might get caught by one of your fellow police officers. And then what?” I dismissed his suggestion with a playful tone. 

“You promised to visit me in prison, wouldn’t you honor your vow?” He replied in the same way. 

“Needless to say, I would. However, I’d rather have you with me every day. I think you’ll agree with me.”

“I can’t argue with your reasoning.”

He made as if to rise up from the couch, but promptly sank himself back, showering my cheeks, my forehead, my lips and neck with light kisses. I giggled merrily.

“Just one more minute, please.” He pleaded in between kisses. 

I silently agreed, enjoying every second of the sweetness of his love. 

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

For the rest of the day I was in high spirits, despite being a busy one. I had a meeting with a supplier and had lunch with Yael to address some remaining minor issues regarding our upcoming exhibition. I also passed by Leight’s shop to pick up my outfit for that night. I had purchased it last week, but Leigh had insisted on adding a few details on the sleeves. 

Eric arrived at the café past the closing time. After greeting me with a kiss and complimented my dress, he started to carry the tables and chairs from the terrace to inside the café, while we had our usual conversations.

“How was your day? Complicated?” 

“Kind of, but now that business is successful, I refuse to complain about having a pile of work. When I remember last year … I was about to be forced to shut down the Cosy Bear.” I shuddered in cold sweat. 

Eric put a hand on my shoulder and affectionately kissed my temple as I closed my eyes, indulging myself with his display of tenderness. 

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

As soon as we stepped into the restaurant, the waiter greeted us politely and led us to our table. 

“This place is highly recommended, not only for its tasteful dishes and its amazing presentations, but also because of reasonably priced food. I must add, I find the decor magnificent.” I said, offering him a smile and he did the same in return.

“I was just flipping through a magazine when I spotted a review about this place. They’re usually overbooked, but Yael happens to know the manager, so I was able to get a reservation for tonight.” I commented joyfully. 

“This is my best birthday since I was a child. I’m grateful to you for putting so much thought and effort, I know you did.” He remarked knowingly.

“You seriously need to stop playing the mentalist card.” I sighed in defeat. “I did research trendy restaurants, it took me a while to find a few of my liking. Yael’s help did come in handy for getting a reserve here, though.”

“You are adorable. I love you.” He murmured tenderly. 

Soon enough, our meal was brought to the table. Before I knew it, Eric had already emptied his plate. He looked away sheepishly, it was so cute that I found myself smiling widely. 

“It was thoughtless of me...” he attempted to sputter an excuse.

“The way you gobbled up all that food, one would think you haven’t  eaten for days.” I remarked pretending to sound casual, then I winked at him. He let out a throaty laugh in response. 

“Today it was hectic at work. Showing the new recruits the ropes was more strenuous than usual. Moreover, the investigation about you-know-what case is no longer stuck. I wish I could give you more details... Well, the fact is we made quite considerable progress. And in the end, I barely had time for lunch.” 

“You mean you skipped lunch, don’t you?” I pointed out with concern.

“It’s not like I was on an empty stomach... I had a snack-” he stammered.

“Eric…” I cut him off in a flat tone. 

His face shadowed while he looked sideways, scratching the back of his head. 

“Eric, I need you to take care of yourself properly. Just going to the gym regularly won’t keep you healthy. Skipping meals is a bad idea, a terrible one, in fact. Don’t underestimate its negative effects. Eric, I want to stay with you until we're grey and old. So, please, promise me you will be more careful in the future.”

“Umm… sure… right… I mean, I’ll try to avoid skipping meals… umm…” He responded to me, almost stuttering. 

His face turned as red as a beetroot. It took me a moment to realize why.

“It did sound like a proposal, didn’t it?” I thought bashfully, finger tapping on the table. 

Eric reached his hand over the table to touch mine while he spoke to me, while looking into my eyes.

“I don't see myself living without you either. I swear to you I won’t lose sight of the most important.”  He swallowed, and continued, “I’ve been doing some thinking. How about going on a trip the following weekend after the last auction is planned for the last week of June? How does that sound? I bumped into Yael a few days ago and had a little chat about an opening in your schedule. I thought it’d be a good idea to set the trip for that date as you’d be less packed with work. You’ll definitely need a break, it will do you good.” 

“But what about your work? What if--?”

“I had a conversation with the chief to let him know in advance that weekend I would be out of the radar.  He was quite understandable. Well, you haven’t given me an answer yet.”

“Haven’t you already guessed it? I thought body language was your thing.” I tried to sound teasing, but I just ended up giggling.

The grip of his hand slightly tightened on mine, before he leaned over to kiss the back of my hand. I got up from my seat and ran to hug him without letting go of his hand. That drew the attention of other customers, but even if I felt sheepish, I focused on Eric. 

“I'll take that as a "yes", then”. He hummed jovially, “we just need to decide where we want to go.”

For a moment I was a little taken aback because I had just assumed he had already decided on his own, but Eric wasn’t that kind of partner. He always treasured my opinions. His thoughtfulness was like those peaceful waves on the ocean, as soothing as calming. 

“Planning the trip together will be twice the fun.” He affirmed.

I agreed with a nod, my smile didn’t leave my face for the rest of the evening.  

After having a great dinner, we headed back to our apartment.

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

[The following scene is kind of steamy. Just warning!]

The moment we reached the bedroom, we practically collapsed onto the bed. Entirely eager for one another, impatiently getting rid of our clothes as if they were on fire. We lost ourselves in waves of ecstasy, forgetting the entire world. His hands slid down my body, claiming every part of me with his touch, making their way to my most sensitive spots. I didn’t even bother trying to suppress my moans. I didn’t remain passive either, I devoured him with reverent hunger. As growls of desire escaped his lips, I felt proudly satisfied.

Breathless from the intensity poured out between our lips, still unwilling to release the other one, not even for a second.

When both of us came together, flames of heated fervor clenched inside me. Caught up in the rhythm of his body against mine, relishing that sensation while I realized every one of his movements matched mine, we were in complete sync.

“I can’t get enough of you.” His voice, ragged with lust. 

I couldn’t even manage a reply, I just dug my nails into his back, pulling him closer, feverishly urging him to continue. 

Finally, glistened with sweat and gasping for air, we collapsed into each other's arms, both exhausted but elated. Snuggled together, in no time we surrendered to the realm of dreams. 

My last thoughts before dozing off were dedicated to the wonderful man next to me. Eric had shown me such deep, earnest love that swept over me, marking a before and after in my life. What could possibly be better than that?

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

The category of loneliness that you sloppily conveyed over text was perhaps better described as emptiness. How else could it be characterized? It was as though someone had neatly carved a circle into your chest, removing the one organ responsible for regulating your circulatory system. Further, in your current state, consuming alcohol, albeit not that much, proved to be foolish decision. One that you would surely regret in the morning. Not that you were concerned about a hangover, rather it was the aftermath of your bluntness that would serve quite a blow. Certain thoughts and emotions were meant to be tucked away from the surface, never to materialize in the form of words or actions.

And yet, you stupidly alerted one of your best friends about your current mental state. Months of concealing the truth unraveled simply because of one text.

Iwaizumi appeared at the kitchen entrance at the same moment you retrieved a water bottle from the fridge. The creases in his forehead indicated his concern for you was gradually spiking.

“What are you doing alone? Where’s Osamu?” His eyes scanned the kitchen, irritation igniting in his irises. Where was the damn twin? Was this what you meant about being lonely? Was it solely because you were alone at the moment? He highly doubted it. 

“He is tending to the ill.” Lifting your wine stained lips to reveal a toothy grin, you found refuge against the kitchen island. Allowing your stomach to fold against its rim, you curled forward then tilted your head. “You missed quite the show. Strawberry shortcake and ramen head drank too much. I would not suggest going into the main bathroom for the next little while.” The smile remained unnaturally sewn into your features, divulging its artificial nature.

“Where’s Sakusa then?” Mentally he noted that Bokuto was outside conversating with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. That left only one guest unaccounted for.

Mulling over the inquiry, a single finger tapped against your chin as you puckered your lips in thought. “I’m pretty sure he sprinted out the door the second he heard Tsum Tsum vomit.” Satisfied with your own answer, a little nod was given.

“Makes sense. Well, come on. Let’s get you some air, and make sure you bring that water bottle.” Iwaizumi doubted your motor skills, particularly because your body seemed to be following the chaos ensuing inside of your mind. Recalling past experiences, it was shared knowledge that liquor, even if consumed reasonably, would prompt an unpleasant reaction if your mental state was even the slightest bit damaged. Akari, when approached by Iwaizumi, explained that you had developed an unhealthy coping mechanism. Expressing your emotions through violence was no longer viable, you were adults after all. And so, you  mastered the art of suppression. Unfortunately, suppression only worked when you were sober. 

The spikey haired male extended a hand in your direction, knowing that you would never refuse the opportunity. Within seconds your features twinkled in a glow, as you cheerfully accepted the offering. It was reassuring to know someone still loved you, even if your fiancé didn’t.

“Lead the way, daddy-o!”

***

A welcoming breeze brushed against your skin once you entered the balcony, causing a melody to dance past your lips. The sensation was akin to being tickled by a feather. It was 13 degrees Celsius, a little lower than the average temperature for this time of year. Not that you completely minded. It was comforting knowing for once, there was something colder than the ice wrapped snugly around your heart. That being said, you were not about to pass on the opportunity that presented itself. 

“Hajimeee, it’s cold. Give me your jacket.” To begin your theatrical performance, you crossed your arms over your chest, pretending to tremble as your fingertips trailed against your bare skin, seeking heat through the development of friction. Soon, a childish whine followed, accompanied by the innocent batting of your eyelashes.  

Iwaizumi swallowed the exasperated noises your demand had generated, mentally praying for patience. His eyes then flickered to his own body helplessly. “I’m not wearing a jacket, y/n.”

To confirm the truth of his statement, you shifted your attention to his torso lazily. Shit. He was right.  “Fair point… Then give me your arm. Severed or not, I can work with both.” After dipping an eyelid into a wink, you proceeded a single step closer to him, partially afraid he may reject your proposal.

But the last thing Hajime Iwaizumi would ever do is reject you when you needed him most.

“If you wanted a hug, you could have asked.” Obliging with your commands, his arms secured around your waist, leading your body to find support against his, gently. Lightly he petted the back of your head, aiming to provide some form of solace. The gesture unconsciously brought liquid to glaze over your eyes.

“Fine. I want a hug.” Burying your face into the cotton fabric, the scent attached to his clothes washed tranquility over you. Maybe you were pathetic right now. Maybe you were overreacting. But it didn’t matter. Your friends would never view you as pathetic. Oikawa had conveyed that when you accidentally broke down to him during one of your weekly face-time chats. He knew everything, but due to the fact he was in Brazil, there was only so much comfort he could provide. Iwaizumi was here. He could hold you, and possibly smack some sense into you, if needed.

“What’s going on with you?” His voice forcefully dragged you out of your thoughts, reminding you that there was someone right in front of you, willing to bear the weight of the world with you. 

“I thought I’d be happier at this point of my life… I don’t want to sound ungrateful, ya know. I’m just so… blegh.” Squirming in his embrace to loosen his grip, you poked out your tongue to create the noise which earned you a confused blink from the male.

“I’m not sure what blegh means. You wanna try that again?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow questioningly, his eyes searching yours for clarity.  

“I’m tired. Last night wasn’t the first time ‘Samu bailed on me. Recently it’s been happening more and more often… I just… miss him, and I don’t know. I’m being selfish, right? I should just let it go. It’s fine. Whatever. I’m fine! I’m a boss ass bitch that doesn’t need anyone. Who cares if I miss out on opportunities just to work around his schedule? Who cares if I spend most of my nights alone? I’m fine. It’ll be fine.” Hysterical laughter escorted yours words, burning your throat far more than the alcohol you had secretly consumed earlier.  

“I don’t think that’s the right way to go about it. You can’t be the only one making sacrifices.” Pain originally stung his chest, but it was quickly replaced with rage towards the black haired twin. 

“If I stop trying, no one will.” In order to distract yourself from the seriousness of the conversation, you toyed with the bottle of water within your grasp, ripping at the label. Iwaizumi understood that you were distraught, the thought of ending a relationship of eight years would devastate anyone. Every inch of him wished he could steal your pain and claim it as his own. However, there was nothing he could offer other than his support and love. But he still desired to say something, anything – to shelter you from the clouds hovering over you. Yet the second he opened his mouth, the sound of the balcony door creaking open alerted the two of you to another’s presence.

“Hey. Am I interrupting something?”

Let’s do it again, shall we - lonely 

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: pain? pain. 

Taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa @iloveanime691 @bringmelily @newfriendjen @hikarichannn @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun @astronomyturtle @shegrewupwithoutafather @hyskoa1998 @deephumandragonperson @pretty-setter-bois @raenebalgaire @sugawarabby @justanotherfangirl2 @keijisworld @90s-belladonna @momoinot @sempiternal-amour @cherryblosom111 @yqshirov @haikyuufairy @volleybloop @bloody-bella @sadkaashistan @shakiraisawesome

[stillness-in-green]

Part 2 of the response to this ask:

Part 1 was about where I think Geten’s story is going, and if I think it’s likely that Dabi will kill him; it dealt mainly with how those characters are set up in canon. Part 2 is far more about the fandom, and the assumptions people make that lead them to theories like the one above--specifically, the assumption that the League was always planning on bailing on the PLF. Hit the jump below with me and I'll go over why I think the common arguments for that are misguided at best, and willfully misreading the text at worst.

WARNING: Contains some generalizations about parts of the fandom that I have mostly taken steps to avoid seeing on my dash, so some of my characterizations may be out of date. I’ve tried to desalinate this post as much as possible, but as an unapologetic fan of the MLA and of Spinner (who I do not bring up incidentally), this is a topic I feel particularly strongly about. Apologies, but I Have Seen Things.

DISCLAIMER: I like Geten better than Dabi. I don't think he's better developed; I don't think he's a better character--I just like him better. This is largely down to the fact that I find the MLA fascinating from a worldbuilding perspective and its members compelling personally, whereas I’m less interested in Dabi personally than I am the Todoroki Drama on the whole, and have been tired of Fanon Dabi for approximately 83 years. I’ll also be the first to admit that my take on Dabi is pretty mercenary--hardly the irredeemable psychopath the Hero Stans on Twitter see, but nothing close to Secretly Soft Big Brother Touya, either. If that’s not your bag, you may want to skip this one.

So, here's a bullet point list of the reasons I have personally seen on why the League was always planning to turn on the MLA:

Dabi and Toga mention "getting started early," and Shigaraki mentions a plan, suggesting that the League had a plan in place independent of the one they arranged as the PLF.

Shigaraki says he won't forgive the Liberation Army for messing with peoples' feelings, so he would never really mean it when he forges an alliance with them.

The MLA is quirk supremacist, like Endeavor, so Dabi would never work with them.

Dabi is just using Skeptic against Skeptic's will; it’s not a willing partnership.

Mr. Compress rejects the PLF moniker for Shigaraki, ergo Mr. Compress didn’t genuinely associate Shigaraki and the League with the PLF.

Toga hated Curious, so she wouldn't want to work with the MLA either.

Twice would never forgive them for what they did to Giran.

[Error: argument about Spinner's opinion on the PLF not found.]

So, let's go over those, shall we? Note that a lot of what I'm going to lay out below isn't conclusive. What I want to establish is simply that the canonical evidence isn't conclusive, certainly not as much so as the people who support this view espouse.

|| Dabi and Toga mention "getting started early," and Shigaraki mentions a plan, suggesting that the League had a plan in place independent of the one they arranged as the PLF.

In responses to my recent Overhaul post, I defended Viz’s official translation as an accurate rendering of the dialogue in question. In general, I feel like Caleb Cook is pretty reliable in his translations, if sometimes kind of stiff or dry in localization. However, there are times he makes assumptions about lines--as indeed a translator for a currently-running series will sometimes have to--and sometimes, those assumptions don’t pan out. This is one of those times.

Dabi's line, "Shall we get started early?" is based on an assumption Cook made about a line that doesn't have an actual subject. In the original dialogue--Hayame ni hajimaru ka--there is no “we,” not even in the form of some implicit collective in Dabi’s grammatical inflection, nor is there a question of "should." All Dabi’s doing is musing that the start (again, there’s no subject, and so no indication of the start of what, or the start as initiated by who) is happening early.

Toga's line communicates much the same, save that she does specify that the schedule/plan/arrangement is happening earlier than expected--which is totally true, since her line is in response to Dabi observing that Machia moving must mean Shigaraki's awake, and Shigaraki was supposed to be down for another month.

Shigaraki's line, like Dabi's, lacks a subject to describe what exactly is supposed to start as soon as Shigaraki wakes. He's saying something that would, in a more stilted way, be, "I wake up and then it's the start, right?"

None of these lines suggest that the characters are necessarily talking about any plan other than the one the PLF laid out. Yes, it looks somewhat damning that Shigaraki's first action (after getting himself a cape, anyway) is to have Machia bring him the League, but heck, maybe that was always the plan. Just because Shigaraki wants to rejoin his comrades doesn't mean the rest of the PLF didn't already have machinations that they were supposed to set into motion the moment Machia left. After all, the plan as Hawks understood it did involve simultaneous attacks on major cities--maybe the League was going to be spearheading one of those attacks. Further, Shigaraki knew something was wrong from the moment he regained consciousness, and we don’t know how that knowledge affected the call he made. Hell, maybe the original plan was for the League to be brought to meet him somewhere in a chartered limo; we don’t know.

It's telling that this idea that the League had a Secret Plan to screw over the MLA rarely seems to account for Mr. Compress and Spinner being confused over the suddenness of events. The response to questions about this seems to be that the "villain trio" knew about it, so the ignorance of the rest of the League can just be handwaved--the important members knew, and that's enough. This is ungenerous towards both Twice and Mr. Compress, but I have got particularly little time for Spinner, the narrator of MVA and guy who decided to devote his all to Shigaraki, being disrespected in this fashion. More on that later.

|| Shigaraki says he won't forgive the Liberation Army for messing with peoples' feelings, so he would never really mean it when he forges an alliance with them.

Shigaraki does say he won't forgive the MLA, but consider what he did to the MLA and its leader. He destroyed most of their stronghold, killed scores of them, is directly responsible for Re-Destro losing his legs, and saw that vaunted descendant of Destro about six inches shy of full forehead-on-the-ground dogeza. The League Shigaraki commands killed a great many more of them, including one of their inner circle. He commandeered the Liberation Army, its resources, and its grand cause. I think it’s safe to say he’s more than responded in kind!

I'm not saying Shigaraki feels for the MLA the same way he does about the League, far from it, but I do think he's practical enough after two hundred chapters of character development not to throw them away out of spite. In Chapter 246, he tells Ujiko explicitly, "When someone offers me something, I take it," and, "I'm done taking the heroes lightly. I'll use everything I've got to obliterate the dregs All Might left behind." From a purely practical standpoint, if he intends to throw everything he has at the heroes, he has no reason to throw the MLA under the bus, and 116,000 reasons to keep them around. I'm altogether sure that, so long as they stood to be useful to his plans, he would have kept them around.

|| The MLA is quirk supremacist, like Endeavor, so Dabi would never work with them. + || Dabi is just using Skeptic against Skeptic's will; it’s not a willing partnership.

I hadn’t seen the second point in the wild, but I suppose it must be how the “The League will betray the MLA” theorists are getting around Dabi and Skeptic’s clear collaboration and how that collaboration totally scuttles the first point, huh? Hilarious.

Anyway, setting aside the fact that Dabi showed up to the one planning session we were shown when even Geten didn’t, there’s evidence in the canon that Dabi was working with Skeptic since even before the raid. Consider that Dabi’s video was filmed at the villa (the wall paneling and the style of the couch both match) and ask yourself where the camera he used came from. Once the filming was complete, where was the video stored such that Skeptic could access it from his laptop? If Dabi’d had it on an SD card and Skeptic was seeing it for the first time, why didn’t Spinner, Compress and Toga watch it alongside him? Surely Skeptic would need to watch it through at least once to know when to splice in the footage of Jin’s death for maximum dramatic impact? On that note, by far the most telling piece of evidence is this: if Dabi wasn't already working with Skeptic, then why was he wearing one of Skeptic's body cameras during his confrontation with Hawks?

Further, Skeptic's protest when he’s pulled onto Machia isn't that he doesn’t want to be with the League; it’s that he doesn’t want to leave Re-Destro behind. Once he's resigned that it's going to happen, though, he's cocky about his talents and complimentary of Dabi's big reveal, even if he is exasperated about the League's antics. It's ambiguous, I admit, but given that Dabi's wearing his cameras, he had to have known Dabi had a reason for them--and given that he is both abrasive and mouthy, I can’t imagine he wouldn’t have demanded to know what that reason was.

Hell, Dabi even thanks Skeptic for his editing work, which is more direct positive approval than he's ever shown anyone in the League (give or take the high-five with Twice, which, genuine or not, he would have known he was doing on camera). That much-vaunted panel of Spinner telling Toga to come back to the League? Dabi's grinning, which in isolation you could read as a certain rueful affection, but with the full context of the chapter, it becomes apparent that Dabi is grinning at Skeptic's laptop, seconds after telling Skeptic to "hurry up." Skeptic is, at that moment, probably gearing up the video to project nationwide, and Dabi’s more focused on that than he is Toga’s crisis, even when Compress directly appeals to him for aid. He tells Compress he doesn’t care, the same way he told Hawks he doesn't give a damn about the League.

Let me be clear here: I'm inclined to take Dabi at his word. I think Dabi hangs around the League because, for all that he says one man's conviction can shake the world, he also knows his own limits, and the League offers safety in numbers and an avenue to pursue his revenge. Maybe he finds them acceptable enough company, maybe he even does like them a bit despite himself, but I think any affection he might have for them is entirely incidental to his views on their usefulness. In the same way, while he's willing to bail on the MLA when the heroes attack, I don't think it was his plan to do so, especially not given his apparent immediate regard for Skeptic, as seen in the deleted scene here. Sure, he dislikes Geten, but ultimately, Geten is a stupid kid too tied up in his care for Re-Destro--who's now worshipping the ground Shigaraki walks on--to really be getting in Dabi's way.

Maybe if the MLA really were as quirk supremacist as Geten makes them out to be, Dabi would be actively looking for a way to see ‘em burn, but as I’ve said countless times before, Geten is not a reliable narrator vis a vis the MLA's doctrine. Now, obviously I don't expect Dabi to give them an unearned benefit of the doubt,(1) not after what he heard Geten say, but if Dabi has been working with Skeptic, it doesn't take a genius to realize that while Anthropomorph is a perfectly good quirk, it is categorically not what primarily defines Skeptic’s "worth" in the MLA societal microcosm.

Nothing that Skeptic does reflects the way Geten talks about "elevating one's ability" or "sheer strength" in the way that HeroAca fandom tends to understand as referring to flashy and offensive quirks. And yet, Skeptic is a ranked advisor warranting an introductory panel with RD's inner circle and Geten is not. Perhaps, just perhaps, this might have led Dabi to reevaluating his initial assessment just slightly?

|| Mr. Compress rejects the PLF moniker for Shigaraki, ergo Mr. Compress didn’t genuinely associate Shigaraki and the League with the PLF.

So, this one's pretty wild, because, in the same chapter that had people crowing about Mr. Compress's dialogue, Mr. Compress's actions show the exact opposite of the conclusion this theory would demand. Specifically, if it was always the League's plan to ditch the MLA, Mr. Compress would have darted right past Skeptic, ignoring the man's cries for help. He doesn't--he picks Skeptic up on the way past and (at least in the volume corrections) deposits him safe with Dabi in Spinner's scarf. Of course, Skeptic still stands to be useful, but if one acknowledges that Skeptic's usefulness is reason enough not to abandon him, then what exactly is the argument for leaving 116,000 perfectly useful warm bodies behind?

But let's set aside Compress rescuing Skeptic and focus on the actual point, because that point in itself is still flawed. Mr. Compress's thoughts on the PLF in the specific talk bubble in question are somewhat ambiguous. It's another case of the Viz translation making a couple of assumptions that are just that--assumptions.

Compress's words in the Japanese are as follows:

Chōjō Kaihō Sensen.… Viran rengo no Shigaraki Tomura ga…

Viz then renders the line like so:

The Paranormal Liberation Front's… No, the League of Villain's Shigaraki…

Note that in the Japanese, the possessive no is only included once, to indicate Shigaraki's association with the League. Further, the original doesn't indicate any negation in Compress's thoughts. Yes, he could be rejecting the PLF association for Shigaraki, but he could as easily be narrowing his scope to Shigaraki as the figure he represents to the League, rather than the figure he represents to the PLF--not rejecting wholesale, but rather becoming more specific. Compress might also be thinking first of the PLF as a general organization, then narrowing down to Shigaraki specifically.

Rather than reading this line as an indication that Compress regards the PLF as temporary, I was heartened by the fact that Compress thought about the PLF at all! If the League really had been planning to discard them this entire time, then there's no reason for Compress to have ever taken the Front seriously enough to have thought about them in that moment of crisis. You can carry this back further, too. In Chapter 258, when Twice is asking Hawks for help, he says that Spinner and Compress have been in meetings for days. Coupled with Compress's first thought about the entity that will carry out Harima's desired reformation being the Liberation Front (or possibly "the Liberation Front's Shigaraki"), this indicates to me that Compress was taking it seriously, not just gorging himself on sushi on the MLA's dime.

Indeed, back in Ujiko's lab, when it was just Shigaraki talking about his backstory and his dreams of destruction, Compress looks the opposite of impressed; we know from his narration in 294 that he liked the League because they didn't place any importance on one another’s pasts. Yet, at some point, his view shifted to believing that fulfilling his ancestor's ambition, his bloodline’s duty, really might be back on the table. We as readers don't quite know when that shift happened, but given, again, his initial mental invocation of the PLF, I think we can assume that it's tied to that alliance, those resources. And sure, when the moment of crisis happens and he's really defining who and what Shigaraki is to him, and where his values and priorities lie, it's with the League and Shigaraki as the leader of the League. But that doesn't mean he never had his hopes for the PLF at all, or was partaking in plans to ditch them.

Also too, this is a man who was lamenting the loss of their partnership with Overhaul, a man who personally maimed him, on top of killing a comrade. You're telling me the guy who shrugged off his animosity towards Overhaul would willingly allow the League to plot sabotage against even wealthier collaborators against whom he has even less reason to hold a grudge? Come on, guys.

|| Toga hated Curious, so she wouldn't want to work with the MLA either.

This one's easy: Toga pretty explicitly hated Curious, but she's even more explicit that she likes the MLA because she thinks the world they want to create is wonderful. She says this verbatim at the end of 225, after Curious has spent the entire chapter hounding her with explosions and intrusive questions. What turns her animosity on Curious is not some reveal that the MLA's world would be terrible after all, but Curious calling Toga's "normal" miserable and tragic. Essentially, she doesn't object to the world the MLA wants to bring about; she objects to being turned into a martyr for that world, especially when that martyrdom requires that the things that make Toga happy be characterized as horrific misfortunes.

Toga doesn't like Curious; she kills Curious. And then she comes into a position of leadership, and we don't know a lot about how that position takes her, but she seems delighted to be walking out onto the stage to be announced as such, and she makes active contributions to the discussion of the PLF's plans in Chapter 245. We are, again, given no indication that her lethal response to Curious means that she's planning to ditch the MLA on the whole.

Incidentally, Curious asserts what she does about Toga only in the context of the world as it stands. The world's rejection of Toga's normal, and the extremes that rejection drove Toga to, are what Curious considers tragic and miserable, not Toga's fascination with blood in and of itself. She clearly believes that, in the world the MLA envisions, Toga's life would not be so miserable because she would never have been oppressed to the degree that she snapped. And frankly, Curious isn't wrong. The only reason she is a villain in that scene is that she's willing to murder Toga to project that tragedy to the world. If she'd been willing to sit down and have a civil interview with Toga to print it in a relevant magazine, she would have been fine.

|| Twice would never forgive them for what they did to Giran.

You know, this is a totally fair point. It is, however, somewhat complicated by the fact that Giran himself never left the PLF. Now, there’s almost certainly something to be said about Giran’s whole information broker shtick being terminally compromised by his capture, his maiming, his client list being hacked, etc. He had a bunch of identifying items strewn all over the country that were covered in the national news, items that people who associated with him closely certainly would have recognized. Maybe he’s laying low for a while?

I don’t know why Giran was still around by the time of the raid. I can theorize about his pragmatism or what have you, but the canon really doesn’t give us anything to go on. Still, if he really hated the MLA all that much, as he would be totally justified in doing, it’s pretty bizarre that Horikoshi showed him twice in PLF crowd scenes post-Deika looking nothing worse than kind of confused and uneasy. Heck, you’d think he would at least have merited a better seat in the crowd for the big merger announcement.

Giran aside, the fact that Twice never does hit it off with anyone in his regiment is, I think, telling. If there’s anyone in the League that intentionally kept himself at a distance from the MLA because of hard feelings, it’s likely Twice. After all, if he had befriended anyone, he presumably wouldn’t have needed to go to Hawks for tutoring almost an entire month after Deika. That said, the fact that Twice does go running to Hawks for tutoring shows that he’s at least doing his best to act in accordance with what he thinks Shigaraki and the rest want. That doesn’t preclude the League having a secret plan that he’s either in on and playing along with, or hasn’t been told about because he might not be able to stop himself from vocalizing about it. Still, while absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, obviously absence of evidence is not evidence of presence. So, lacking any sign that the rest of the League is planning treachery, I’m not inclined to assume Twice’s lack of forgiveness is indicative of anything other than his own feelings.

|| [Error: argument about Spinner's opinion on the PLF not found.]

:: INCOMING SALT WARNING :: INCOMING SALT WARNING ::

This is the one that really gets to me. I have never seen an argument that the League is planning to betray the PLF that convincingly explains the fact that Spinner, to all available evidence, threw himself wholeheartedly into trying to make the PLF succeed. To be more precise, I have seen one explanation, and that explanation is that the plan to ditch the MLA was a secret that only Shigaraki, Dabi and sometimes Toga knew about, and to reiterate, that is bullshit.

In my experience, this is an explanation proposed by people who care about Spinner only insofar as he can be a Soft Gaymer Boyfriend or score them rhetorical points, but have little to no interest in his ongoing--and, indeed, increasing--importance to the League generally and Shigaraki’s arc specifically. The dude who talked about how Twice’s home was the League, who got through to Toga while still respecting her choice when no one else could, the guy who recognized the hollowness within Shigaraki but also bonded with him over video games, the man who Mr. Compress said was Shigaraki’s most devoted follower(2)--this man did not do all of that for people in this fandom to say, “Oh, well, the others probably just kept it a secret from him because they thought he’d be bad at lying.”

Really? “Bad at lying?” And that’s an adequate justification, is it, for Shigaraki letting Spinner toil for months under false pretenses? For lying to the man who adores him the most? Of course it isn’t, but the people who theorize this don’t really care about Spinner’s adoration for Shigaraki, or the fact that Shigaraki rewarding Spinner’s feelings by allowing him to dedicate himself unstintingly to something Shigaraki was planning to discard from the beginning would be a blatant abuse of Spinner’s trust.

I have never seen anyone try to argue that Spinner was in on a plan to betray the MLA all along. That’s because it’s patently obvious that Spinner--forthright, direct Spinner, who named the merged organization with Re-Destro, spends all his time in meetings, has a direct exchange with Re-Destro about the state of their plans, and is probably the reason RD started wearing polka dots--went all-in on the PLF. But for the people who propose the “the League was always going to bail” theory, Spinner and his labors are an afterthought.

Spinner is not an afterthought. Where Mr. Compress has been captured, Toga could hypothetically be peeled away from the League via Uraraka, and Dabi almost certainly will be peeled away via the Todoroki plot, Spinner’s driving motivation at this point is Shigaraki himself. He connected to Shigaraki’s nihilism, his hatred, but also his humanity--the humanity in Shigaraki Tomura, not in Shimura Tenko. His empathy didn’t spring from contrived psychic glimpses of crying 5-year-olds, but from long months of observation, doubt, and gradually deepening wonder. He’s the only person currently with Shigaraki that I can see caring enough about Shigaraki’s welfare that he might sacrifice his own goals and desires to help Deku save him.

Spinner is not an afterthought, and I refuse to build or entertain theories that treat him that way. So as to his opinions on the MLA? Despite having his own reasons to be leery of them based on how shabbily Trumpet treated him, he was obviously trying to make the Paranormal Liberation Front succeed, which means he must have believed that Shigaraki wanted it to succeed. Therefore, unless you’re prepared to assert that Shigaraki (and everyone else who was in on it!) was cruel enough to lie to Spinner about something he was devoting so much time and energy to, the inescapable conclusion is that Shigaraki also wanted the Front to succeed.

(Note: After letting a friend pre-read this, I have been informed that there is, in fact, one explanation offered for Spinner knowing the League was going to abandon the PLF but working his ass off on the venture anyway, and that explanation is, “Something something wants to prove himself because low self-esteem.” This is so ridiculous I can’t even bring myself to edit this post accordingly. Low self-esteem! Because nothing would alleviate Spinner's low self-esteem like toiling for months over something that holds no worth to the people he actually cares about, right? Right?? Bah. Humbug!)

And but so, to wrap all that up: I fundamentally disagree that the League viewed the Paranormal Liberation Front as a temporary arrangement, at least to the extent that they were actively planning to betray their newfound--new won--allies. The fact that I don't think the League intended to discard the MLA out of hand does, thus, influence my opinion that, whatever Geten's fate will be, I'm pretty sure it's not going to be, "He gets murdered in a way that resembles nothing so much as a sick revenge fantasy dozens of chapters after the last point when such a death would have been remotely tonally appropriate."

Thanks for the ask, anon! Sorry about-- *waves at all of this*

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

(1) Not that Mr. “Burns Random Delinquents Alive For Not Measuring Up To His Standards For Villainy” has any moral standing to criticize others for how they determine the value of peoples’ lives, mind.

(2) Other translations for the verb in Mr. Compress’s Japanese line of, “You are the one who ____s Shigaraki the most,” include yearn for, long for, pine for, miss, love dearly, adore, idolize, and revere. “Most devoted follower” is accurate enough, but considerably less homo than some of the things we could have gotten there.

[tloujm]

Part XII: Jackson Manor

Author’s Notes: Here’s my attempt at horror that I promised! Its roughly a week until Halloween, so just in time I guess! MY GOD, DOES TIME FLY. It was just the beginning of October a minute ago, wasn’t it? It’s a long one, just under 9k words, so grab a snack. It features some continuity on the main plot, but really its a stand alone chapter. Because there are multiple other characters mentioned, there is less focus on you and Joel as a couple, but there’s definitely some fluff and angst (grumpy Joel) hidden in there. I know I’m no James Wan or Stephen King, but bear with me. I only did it as a seasonal thing. The next chapter will go back to focusing on you and Joel’s relationship. 

Genre: Cheesy Horror

Summary: Maria puts together a specially curated group for the next patrol outing that includes you and Joel. The group of five are sent on a mysterious treasure hunt of sorts. The “treasure” is inside of a creepy, abandoned house that plays tricks on the group, fueling into the already existing tensions. 

Ship: Joel x Reader

Joel watched on with tired eyes as you sat with the newcomer at the daycare. You got up early so you could talk to her. So far, the girl remained silent, but her body language was responsive. Joel just stood there, unsure of when a good time to interrupt and steal you away would be. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait too long as you finally caught his gaze. After a moment, you excused yourself and walked over to him standing in the doorway. 

“Maria has us scheduled to patrol today.” He said.

“Us? Together? Well, that’s a treat. You usually do the tougher routes. Am I going on one of those with you, or are you doing an easy one with me?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not quite sure. Maria didn’t say much after she told me to come fetch you.”

“Maybe they think I’m ready for something more challenging.”

“I think so, but what’s strange is that she’s got us goin’ out with a couple other people who I don’t think are.” Joel said, scratching his beard.

“Who’s all going?” You asked.

“Tim, Rhonda and uh, Jesse.” He replied. He was less than enthused with the last name that exited his mouth. While he was civil with Jesse, he still couldn’t help but feel like he had a thing for you, whether you acknowledged it or not.

“Jesse’s a veteran, but Tim?” You made a face. “And Rhonda?” You made a slightly more exaggerated face. “Did Maria say why she chose all of us to go together?”

“Didn’t get the chance to ask. We’re meant to meet her at the stables. That’s where she’s debriefing us.”

*****

“Thank you all for meeting me for this patrol on such short notice. I know this is everyone’s day off.” Maria began. You and the others were seated on bales of hay as she paced in front of the stable doors. “I hand picked each of you to work together and complete the task at hand. I drew up copies of a special map that came into my possession a little while ago.” She handed them out. “Outside the city of Jackson, there is a little village...smaller than that really, that is not located on any published map. I want you guys to check it out and report back on it. Note everything. More specifically, I want this team to sweep through a large house over that way. You’ll know it when you see it. According to the original map, ‘the exterior is dark, almost black, three stories high and overshadowed by a massive pine tree’. I was tipped off that the house was used as a supply cache for the Jackson Frontier Faction, a recently extinct group of survivors. Bring back anything you can. Leave what you can’t and we’ll come back for it. Update the map if need be during your journey. Any questions?”

“How long do you think this mission will take?” Jesse asked.

“I don’t want you to spend too much time out there, but I estimate no more than three days. That’s including the time to get there and back on the horses. If you are not back by then, I will send a search and rescue team.” Maria responded confidently.

“No offense, but why did you pick us? We’ve never worked together as a group before.” Joel spoke up.

“True, I do not have the advantage of seeing your group dynamic, but there is method behind my way of thinking. Each of you have a specific skill set that I believe would simultaneously compliment each other as well as make the group superior to our previous patrols. Joel, you are an excellent shot and an exceptional tracker. Jesse, as well as your combat skills, you have a great sense of direction, even in the most foreign of environments, and you think outside the box. (Y/N), I know you have trained under both Joel and Tommy and I have seen your melee combat in person. I trust that you are ready for a more difficult route such as this. I also appreciate your level headedness. Keeping calm during dangerous situations can be the difference between life and death. Now as for Tim and Rhonda. I know the two of you have never been on patrol before, so I especially thank you for agreeing to this. I wish I could have introduced you to this job with a more novice route. Tim is our medic in training and has been Dr. Carson’s right hand and apprentice for over a year now. He will be there to aid in any medical relief.” She turns her attention to Tim. “If you ever need any assistance, (Y/N) is trained in first aid.” He looks at you for a long moment. You return the gaze, realizing that you’d never formally met him before. “Rhonda, you are great at your job taking inventory at the pantry. Now, you are the group’s official scribe and your job is to take inventory of the things collected. I’ve also seen how good you draw. I would like you to note the environment and work with Jesse in drawing up a new map. Also, I want you to record things of interest through writing and drawing.” Maria gives her a journal. “I would have had you all wait until the first sign of spring, but we are in desperate need of certain supplies. To be honest, this is an experiment, having all of you in a group together, but I still have high expectations. Please, do not disappoint me. We are all counting on you. Have a safe trip.” Maria left to tend to some business at the main gate.

“I think we should go over this map she gave us so we can all be on the same page.” Jesse suggested.

Joel grunted in agreement. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” You began to push the bales to form a circle. The others followed suit and Jesse placed his map in the middle. Before you could take a seat, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi, I’m Tim.” He began to laugh nervously. “I’m sure you know that because of Maria, but I wanted to introduce myself. I didn’t want my asking you to apply pressure on somebody’s wound be the first time I talk to you.”

“Nice to meet you, Tim. (Y/N).” You shook his hand.

“I’ve heard a lot about you actually.” He responded.

“Oh?” You questioned genuinely.

“Yeah. Everyone knows about that bloater you and Joel ran into. And I was there helping Dr. Carson handle the bodies when the two of you found Sid and Adam. I just want to let you know, I think you’re very brave.”

A grin slowly grew on your face. “Thank you. I’m sure you are too, having to deal with blood and whatever gory things you see in the infirmary.”

He brushed past the compliment. “No more gory than what you guys see on patrol when you run into clickers and bloaters. The way the Cordycep fungus disfigures the body is something from a nightmare.” You nodded in agreement. Joel watched on from his seat as the two of you conversated. Eventually, he cleared his throat, causing you to turn and see that everyone else was seated and ready to go over the map. Tim’s cheeks turned red as he gave you a small smile before sitting.

“Nice of you to join us.” Joel whispered after you sat next to him. You nudged him in the shoulder and focused on Jesse’s words. 

After agreeing on a specific route in accordance to the weather conditions, the group picked up their respective horses and headed to the main gate. Maria and Bill from weaponry passed out a plethora of guns and knives. Joel and Jesse led the way out into the open with a couple clicks of their tongues. Everybody's horses galloped behind. It was cold and the snow was fairly high, but light enough to dredge through. 

Tim gently kicked his horse in the rear to gallop faster and catch up with you. “So how do you think Maria found out about this place?”

“I don’t know. Must have been one of the merchants who passed through a few weeks ago. If this place was discovered by someone inside Jackson, all of the patrol groups would have known by now. For Maria to be the only one who knew and had a map?”

“Do you think it actually exists?” He asked.

“The house?”

“The whole village.” He confirmed. “Maybe a merchant made up the location with the hopes of convincing someone of a known cache supply, like a treasure map, and had the intentions of charging a high price for it.”

“Maria is smart. She wouldn’t have let anyone get over on her, especially a merchant.” You defended her. 

“I’m sure you’re right. What do you think is going to be in there?” Tim asked casually. 

You shrugged. “Food. Hopefully not molded or eaten through by rats. Medical supplies. Seeds for the spring. Could be anything.”

“So long as it’s worth it.”

“She wouldn’t have sent us if it wasn’t.” Things fell silent between the two of you. You thought about riding off to the front next to Joel, but figured it was rude to just leave him.

“You and Joel,” He began before clearing his throat. “You guys patrol a lot together?”

“We used to. Not so much anymore. Matter of fact, this is the first time we’ve been assigned to the same group in about a year.”

“Why is that?” Tim questioned.

“It was this whole thing.” You explained it away, not wanting to get into detail. He kept looking at you as if he was waiting for you to expand on the response. “We just got busy doing different things. I help out at the daycare too, you know.”

“Yeah? I know Wendy. She brings the kids by the infirmary from time to time for check ups. I traded for a pack of stickers a while back. I give them out to help put a smile on the kids’ faces when they come in. You know, a lot of them get nervous around doctors. My stickers don’t stand a chance against Joel's wooden toys though.”

“You know about those?”

“Of course. They come in holding the little horses or race cars kind of like a blankie. So...speaking of Joel, you two are together, right?”

“Yes, we are.”

He nodded. “He’s more than lucky, I’d say.” He waited until you turned and held his gaze before bidding you a goodbye. He slowed down his horse to ride alongside Rhonda. After a moment, you rode up next to Joel. You offered him a small smile, to which he returned the same.

“What did he want?” Joel nodded his head back in Tim’s direction.

“He was talking about Maria and this mission. He seems skeptical about the whole thing.”

“I don’t blame him, but I trust Maria. What else did he say?” Joel inquired.

“We were just getting to know each other. Small talk really.” You responded. You seldom saw Joel jealous, but you didn’t want him to get into a funky mood when there was a mysterious task at hand to focus on.

“The winds picking up, you feel that?” Jesse chimed. The two of you nodded.

“Yeah. I hope we find this place soon.” You shouted over the howling winds.

“According to the map, there's still a ways to go. Let’s just hope the weather doesn’t get any worse than this.”

Unfortunately for the group, not only did the winds pick up, but it got cloudier, blocking the sun’s warmth. It was hard to tell whether it was snowing or if the wind was just blowing around what had already fallen. Either way, the visibility got progressively lower by the second. At one point, you had become separated from Joel. The only people you could see were Tim and Rhonda. Joel was alone; nothing but white around him. He shouted your name over and over, but the frigid air entering his lungs began to hurt. His horse started to slow down as it became harder for her to gallop through it. Joel had been separated from the group for so long that he thought he was going crazy when he heard crunching in the snow from behind. He heard his name, but it wasn’t from your voice. Jesse came up from behind him. Despite the cold air whipping his face, he seemed happy to see Joel.

“Where are we?” Joel shouted.

“I don’t know, but we have to find somewhere soon. These horses won’t make it.” Jesse replied.

“Did you see (Y/N)?” Joel asked.

“I don’t know where anybody is.” Jesse pulled his hood back over his head. “The storm’s getting worse. Should we turn back?”

“No!” He shouted over the winds. “We came as a group, we leave as a group.”

“What if they already turned back? They’re probably assuming that we’re going to too.” Jesse pleaded.

“I’m not leaving without (Y/N).” Joel retorted. “We just need to find cover to wait out the storm and go on from there.” Jesse quietly followed his lead. There seemed to be no shelter in sight. If there were, they were masked by the white wall of snow directly in front of them. Joel was contemplating pulling out his map and risking it against the wind to estimate how far they rode from their last known point. Just as he began to pull it out,  a big dark building came into view.

“That must be it!” Jesse exclaimed.

“This way!” Joel noticed a large opening on the side of the house. As he galloped closer, he realized it was the opened door of an attached shed. The men ducked their heads as the horses walked them inside.

“Joel!” You exclaimed, voice laced in relief. He immediately looked your way and his heart skipped a beat. He was so worried. You approached his horse and waited for him to dismount before you attacked him with a tight hug. “You’re so cold.” All you wanted to do was strip him down and warm him up.

“Well, it is cold outside.” He responded sarcastically. You lightly slapped him on the arm before moving onto Jesse. You gave him a quick hug and helped tie down both of the horses.

“We’re glad you’re back.” Rhonda announced as she entered the shed. Tim followed close behind her.

“Good. The gang’s all here.” Jesse said.

“We wouldn’t have been if we hadn’t convinced (Y/N) to stay.” Tim began. “She insisted on going back out for you guys when we saw that you weren’t here. We told her that it was too dangerous, but she insisted. Practically had to hold her back.” He chuckled.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” Joel said flatly to Tim.

Breaking up the tension, Jesse spoke up. “Did you guys clear the house?”

“Only the first floor. There’s two more floors, not including the basement.” Rhonda responded.

“Alright, Jesse, Rhonda and Tim. Y’all sweep the top floors for Clickers. Me and (Y/N) will board up them windows over there.” Joel points to the wind entering through the broken glass. Jesse nodded and pulled out his gun. The others did the same.

“Y’all know how to use those things?” Jesse questioned them. Joel didn’t see or hear their answer as he was focused on you.

“Are you okay?” You asked him.

“I’m fine, darlin’. What about you?” He asked with a soft tone.

“I’m good now.” You smiled. He tilted your chin up with his still gloved hand and kissed you. He let his forehead rest on yours for a moment before straightening back up.

“Alright, let’s find some wood or somethin’.” Joel’s body was weary, but he didn’t want to rest until the house was secured. You couldn’t find any tools to board the windows up with, so the two of you settled on barricading them with large furniture. It wasn’t until you were done, did you realize how big the house was. 

“This isn’t just some house, it’s like a manor.” You commented. “Almost reminds me of that hotel.” The last part you said almost in a whisper.

“This ain’t gonna be like the hotel.” Joel tried to comfort you.

“How do you know?” You furrowed your brows.

“Well, how about this, I’ll make you breakfast in bed the morning after we get back if there are zero bloaters in this house...I’m sorry, manor.”

“Well aren’t you naughty, implying that I’ll stay the night when we get back.” You teased, changing the mood of the conversation.

“I’m implying that you’ll consider moving back in.” He gazed at you, all playfulness left behind.

“If you still agree to make me that breakfast in bed, I will.” You replied coyly.

“It’s settled then.” Joel smirked. 

The two lovebirds had just begun to feel each other up when the rest of the group came back downstairs. They would have been caught if it weren’t for Jesse’s heavy footsteps. He gave the all clear but claimed he saw something of interest upstairs and wanted Joel’s opinion. Rhonda, wanting to take note of whatever it was, tagged along with them as they went up to the third floor. With just you and Tim left alone, the two of you agreed to scavenge the second floor.

“Oh wow, look at this!” You walked up to a bookcase in one of the bedrooms. It was tightly stocked with classical literature with matching book spines. 

“Lord of the Flies, The Secret Garden, For Whom The Bell Tolls, Tinker Taylor Soldier Spy…”  Tim followed your voice into the room and read some of the titles from over your shoulder. “Quite the eclectic collection.”

“Oh look! One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” You pointed out.

“Ah, Nurse Ratched. She creeped me out. Almost didn’t finish it because of her.”

“You read it?” You asked.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He chuckled. “I’m a well read man. It's funny, I’ve read more after the outbreak than before.”

Turning back to the bookshelf, you crouched down and ran your finger across the spines. “Look how dusty these are. They look like they haven’t been touched in years. That Jackson Frontier Faction, or whatever Maria said they were called, probably never even touched these.” You continued to read the titles before eventually picking up a book that peaked your interest. “Charlotte Bronte.” You breathed out her name as you flipped the cold, leather book in your hands. “Jane Eyre is one of my favorites. I never wanted to like all that mushy, gushy romantic stuff, but in the end, it appealed to me. You know, sometimes I think of Joel as kind of like my Mr. Rochester because he can be so grumpy at times. Don’t tell him I said that, though.” You chuckled as you turned to face Tim, but he was no longer there. 

The large bedroom was empty and you began to notice just how eerily still the air was. You calling out to him was the only sound. You waited for an answer to no prevail. Turning back to the bookshelf, you placed Jane Eyre back in its slot. With a light, barely there click, the door behind you closed. Slowly, you turned to face it. A sense of dread washed down your body as you got up and walked to the door. Your eyes cautiously bounced around as you did, looking for anything abnormal. It was wide open when the two of you walked into the room. Your hand reached out for the door knob and, barely touching it, the round thing of metal fell onto the floor and rolled around your feet. 

“Hey.” You exclaimed as you banged on the door. “Tim, the doorknob broke off. Let me out.” Your brain allowed you to think that it was all just a prank masterminded by Tim. “You got me, but it’s not funny anymore.” You began to bang louder. You heard the echoes of your fist against the wooden door, but again, he did not respond. “Tim?” You banged harder. “Help!”

“(Y/N), step away from the door.” You heard Joel’s voice on the other side. He gave you a few seconds before kicking the door in. It only took him one try before the door swung in and you were revealed to him. He pulled you into a tight hug. “You alright?” He kissed the top of your head. “How did you get locked in?”

“I’m ok---” 

As soon as he heard that you were fine, he began to bombard you with questions. “You sure? Weren’t you with Tim? Where is he?”

“Yeah, Tim was there for a moment. Look, it was probably just a draft that closed the door on me.” You wanted to believe that. 

“That still don’t change that he should’ve been with you.” Joel sternly said. Jesse watched and waited in the hallway until Joel took your hand and led you out the room. “Tim!” He called out as he sped down the stairs.

“Hey, we’ve been waiting on you guys.” Tim casually stated.

“Well, guess who’s been waitin’ on you.” Joel retorted. He glanced at you before glaring back at him.

“Wait, I don’t get it.” Tim said, confused.

“(Y/N) was locked in a room upstairs. A room both of you were meant to be in.” Joel’s voice became more aggressive.

“I don’t know how she got locked in. I didn’t do it, I swear, if that’s what you’re saying. I left it open when I walked out.” He shifted his gaze to you. “I thought you were right behind me, (Y/N). I heard Rhonda call out from downstairs and---”

“Yeah that’s true,” Rhonda began as she leaned back on an end table. “I went downstairs to look for my pencil sharpener because my tip broke and I called you guys down to keep me company. I don’t know if it’s just me, but this place kinda creeps me out. I didn’t want to be down here by myself and I know Joel and Jesse were busy upstairs so...”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I swear I thought you heard her too and were following me.”

“She was up there for God knows how long. You didn’t notice when you got downstairs that she wasn’t behind you? Did you even tell her that you were leaving the room?” Joel questioned him.

“Well, I mean no,” Tim began to stammer. “But that was because I thought she heard her too! I didn’t notice that she wasn’t behind me until about a minute after I got downstairs. She was having a good time looking at those books in the room, I figured maybe she ignored Rhonda and kept looking or maybe went upstairs with you guys. Look, she’s an adult! I assumed she made the decision herself not to come down. It’s not like she’s some lost child that I have to look out for!”

“She may not be a child, but we look out for each other beyond them gates. You may not be used to how patrollin’ works, but they put us in groups for a reason. Anythin’ can happen out here!” Joel explained.

“Ok, let's take a breather.” Jesse spoke up to relieve the tension. “(Y/N) is fine and that’s all that matters.” Jesse was not immune from Joel’s heated glares either. 

“You didn’t hear me calling for you?” You asked Tim in a low tone.

“No.” He simply said in an apologetic tone. You didn’t know what else to say. It was probably really all just a harmless mistake. You concluded that you didn’t hear Rhonda over your own voice when you were rambling on about Jane Eyre.

“Let’s just make sure we communicate better next time, huh?” Jesse suggested, focusing in on Tim.

A sudden, blood curdling shriek cut through the air. It belonged to Rhonda. She flailed about the living room, shaking tiny black dots off of her hand. It was hard to see as she moved quickly, but the black dots were crawling up her arm. Jesse stepped in and began swatting her with a blanket off of the couch. Her feet hopped up and down from the floor like a choreographed dance. Even after Jesse asked her to stand still to inspect her, she kept moving. Joel stepped in to gently hold her still. She whined in protest, claiming that they were still crawling on her. Tim took the time to thoroughly look over her body for anything that moved. He even raked his fingers through her hair. Jesse walked over to the end table that she was leaning against and investigated.

“There’s a sac of spider eggs directly behind one of the table’s legs. You probably broke them when you leaned against it, releasing all those baby spiders.” Jesse explained calmly.

“They could have crawled anywhere! Why did they have to go for my hand?” Rhonda asked rhetorically.

Still Jesse answered. “Maybe they were crawling toward the scent of their mother.”

“Are you saying they thought I was their mother?”

“I’m saying that the mother must still be around here close by.”

“God! I hate spiders!” Rhonda exclaimed. “I told you this house gives me the creeps. I can’t be the only one who thinks this.”

“Spiders are everywhere, Rhonda. I didn’t see any bites, so you should be alright.” Tim chimed in. 

“What were you guys checking out on the third floor?” You asked Jesse and Joel as a way to change the subject. 

“It ended up bein’ nothing.” Joel said curtly. He saw your dissatisfaction with his answer and sighed. “It turned out to be a couple of dead rats. They were frozen.”

“We haven’t gone down to the basement yet. I think we should make sure it’s clear before we start really scavenging.” Jesse made notice of the oversight. “It’s really cold in here. Can’t we make a fire first?” Tim spoke up.

“I’ll stay and make one here.” Jesse volunteered. “Tim, since you want one so bad, you can stay back and help me with it.” He turned to Joel. “Y’all can go ahead. Let us know if you run into trouble.” Joel nodded and led you and Rhonda down the basement stairs. The temperature dropped almost immediately after making it to the sub level. 

The three of you pulled your respective weapons out and cautiously walked across the cold cement floor. The large basement was divided by metal shelving units. There was no space left on any of them. It seemed like whoever owned the house before the outbreak was a hoarder. The snow blocked out any light from peering through the narrow windows. The only thing guiding the three of you were your flashlights. 

“What’s that?” Rhonda spoke up. It fell silent, but everyone heard it. It was a drawn out creaking followed by a deep rumble that sounded as if it moved across the whole basement.”

“It’s just the house settling.” Joel simply said.

“That’s what they all say. Feeling a draft when there’s no wind. Hearing doors slam in the next room. Oh, but it’s just the house settling.” Rhonda responded.

“Well, did you hear a door slam or feel a draft?” Joel inquired, almost wishing he hadn’t.

“No, but now that you mention it, it’s colder down here than upstairs. This is probably one big cold spot.”

“It’s always colder in basements.” You tried to reason.

The creaking sound occurred again. “Look,” Joel flashed his light up toward the ceiling and moved it along the direction of the pipes. “Whatever water is left in the pipes from when they were last used is freezing which means it’s expanding. As the ice grows, it’s pushing against the walls of the metal pipes.”

Rhonda looked up at the frost covering the illuminated pipes. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Come look at this.” You beckoned them over. You had found a table covered in a sheet and after whispering some encouraging words to yourself, you pulled it off.

“What is it?” Joel asked.

“It’s an orrery.” You breathed out. Despite your amazement, he was no closer to knowing what it was. As a matter of fact he was more confused. Rhonda took out her notebook and began to draw it.

“Its a mechanical model of the solar system.” You explained. To Joel, it just looked like different sized spheres positioned in a circle.

“They don’t look like planets to me.” He said.

“This isn’t the most extravagant one I’ve ever seen, but it’s something.” You walked around the table, studying the spheres. “See, right here, this one is the sun,” You pointed. “Which makes this one Earth.”

“Really makes you feel small, don’t it.” Joel chimed. 

“I know we won’t be able to take this now, but this would be great for school. The kids would love this. Teach them about how space works.” You said.

Joel studied it a little bit longer before moving on to see what were on the shelves. As soon as Rhonda was done drawing, she did the same. You threw the sheet back over the model before continuing on as well. Most of the items were either junk or rotted with mold. On one of the lower shelves, you found a small hand mirror. The base was ornate in design, but the glass itself was dull and cracked. You held it up to your face, angling it in your hands. Something moved in the corner near the crack. You didn’t pay the occurrence much mind until it happened again. You saw something in your peripheral vision that couldn’t be explained away by the house settling. Turning around, you inspected the area of interest in the dark. Everything was still. Whatever it was that moved, maybe it knew that you were watching it, so it stopped. You stood still, hoping to blend into the darkness as well. Maybe you could catch it moving before your very eyes if you just waited long enough. Your heart thumped in your chest as you began to fiddle with the switch on your flashlight. Quickly, you illuminated the space in front of you only to reveal nothing but boxes stacked up against the wall and another item covered in a sheet. Carefully, you approached the cloaked object and ripped the fabric off. You jumped out of your skin at the sight before you. 

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you turned around. “You scared the shit outta me!” You told Joel. He was standing behind you when you pulled the sheet off of a standing mirror. Your light reflecting off the glass masked some of his features and for a moment, you didn’t know exactly who was standing behind you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, darlin’.” He said. This time it was your turn to glare at him. You knew it wasn’t his fault, but your heart was still beating out your chest. “I just came up to check on you. I saw you wandering around in the dark.”

“I’m fine. I just...I thought I----” You stammered through your explanation before being cut off by a loud thump. It went eerily silent. “Rhonda?” 

“Rhonda.” Joel called out as well. There was no response. The two of you searched up and down the makeshift aisles that the shelving units created. You called out for her again. 

“She has to still be down here.” You mentioned.

“Think she pulled a Tim?” Joel suggested.

“No, she wouldn’t do that. God, how is this basement so huge?” He led you to a tunnel-like portion of the room. “Rhonda!” Your light shone on her unmoving form on the ground. You and Joel kneeled beside her. Upon closer inspection, you found blood slowly dripping out from the back of her head. The back of her hair was matted in a mixture of gravelly dirt and the dark red liquid. Joel got back up and flashed his light around the narrow space to see what could have happened.

“Looks like she hit her head on this.” Joel commented. You followed the direction of his light and saw a stack of cement blocks against the wall. The top block had fresh blood painted on the side of it.

“Go get Tim. He needs to help her!” You were scared for her. The blood wasn’t coming out at an excessive rate, but there was still a lot more than you wanted to see on the ground underneath her head. 

Joel began to leave in a hurry, but stopped in his tracks. “Be careful, (Y/N). This is what she must have slipped on.” He said as he shone his light on a patch of black ice on the ground. He moved the light higher and inspected the pipes directly above his head. A frozen over droplet formed around a tiny crack in the cylindrical piece of metal. 

You were scared as you sat alone with her in the basement. Her lips were turning blue and you couldn’t tell if it was because she was dying or because it was really cold down there. You wanted to believe the latter. Either way, she needed to be moved. After what felt like five long minutes, Tim came rushing into the narrow section where you waited. You screamed for him to be careful around the ice. He hopped over the patch and knelt down by Rhonda’s side to assess her head injury. He managed to wake her back up, though she was slipping in and out of consciousness. Tim gently picked her up and walked her upstairs to where the fire was going. Jesse laid a blanket down on the floor in preparation for her. 

There, in the middle of the living room floor, Tim treated Rhonda. He diagnosed her as having obtained a severe concussion. He elevated her bandaged head and gave her a pain killer to swallow. He practically swaddled her in the extra blankets to discourage sudden movement. 

“I’m going to help her eat so her medicine can digest properly. After that, I’m going to ask her a set of basic questions just to see where her brain and motor functions are. Nothing major; her brain definitely needs some time to heal. Despite falling unconscious, the blunt force trauma doesn’t seem to have caused any swelling or permanent brain damage, but like I said, I still have to evaluate her and see where she’s at.” Tim explained. The four of you were huddled together on the other side of the living room to make sure she was out of ear shot.

“If you’re gonna look after her, I reckon the rest of us should finish scavenging. The faster we do this, the faster we can get back home where she can better rest.” Joel stated.

“Given the storm ends soon.” Jesse spoke up.

While the three went up the stairs, Tim went over to his backpack to review his medical supplies. As he rummaged, a drawn out creak sounded from the kitchen. He glanced in the direction of the room despite not being able to see inside. A few moments of silence was followed by a loud bang. Tim glanced back toward the kitchen again. This time, he moved closer to the fire, giving him a better view into the room. His heartbeat quickened as he peaked around the corner. From his angle, nothing suspicious could be seen. He exchanged a worried glance with Rhonda before looking at the staircase. He wanted to see if anybody upstairs had heard. If not coming down to investigate, he figured they would at least shout out to them and ask if they were ok, but there was nothing. 

“I’m going to go see what that was.” Tim said to Rhonda.

“Please don’t.” She replied weakly.

“It’ll be fine, I promise.” 

“No, no, no.” She profusely shook her head. Tim read her face, he knew that she was sincerely frightened, but if there was an impending danger, he needed to know where it was. I would only be gone for a moment, he told her in his head. He pulled his gaze from her and turned the corner. The kitchen appeared completely normal. He was confused. The sound was so close; it had to have come from the kitchen. As a precaution, Tim went into the laundry room located right off the kitchen. 

“(Y/N)? Come here. Wait with me.” Rhonda spoke up, barely above a whisper. She didn’t hear you come down the stairs, but you were in the living room nonetheless. It was good timing as she was too scared to be by herself. “Please?” You hadn’t so much as looked in Rhonda’s direction. You just walked from one end of the room and down the hallway, disappearing from her view. “(Y/N)?”

Rhonda waited for you to come back down the hall. This time you’d be facing her and surely she’d be able to get your attention. Despite calling out again, you never did. Left to her own devices, Rhonda began to think about what you wore when the group left Jackson. She couldn’t completely remember, but the more she thought on it, the more she realized what you wore just a moment ago was different from what you wore earlier today. She never did get a good look at that woman’s face, but she thought it was you by the color of your hair and the height. She wanted it to be you. A wave of shivers ran down her spine as the realization sat in. 

You, Jesse and Joel split up the rooms upstairs to cover more ground, but decided to stay on the same floor to avoid a repeat of what happened earlier. As soon as you were done searching your room, you moved on to the next only to find Jesse. He called you over from the doorway but shushed you as you walked in. You noticed that it was a grand bedroom, similar to the one you were locked in on the second floor. You walked past the four post bed and stood next to him. His ear was to the wall.

“Tell me if it’s coming from here.” Jesse whispered. You heard a faint scratching sound, but it could have been from anything inside the old house. Standing next to him, you mirrored his position and let your ear rest against the cold wall. The scratching sound became more clear as it mingled with a slow, yet distinct clicking sound. The two of you stared at each other. You silently expressed to him that you did in fact hear what he was hearing. You read the question in his eyes, unsure of how to answer: what was behind these walls? This was the last room in the hallway, so there wasn’t much space for anything else. You began to walk backwards with your ear sliding against the wall to follow the sound. Jesse followed your footsteps. When you stopped, there was no more than a half foot distance between you two.

“It’s right here. Right on the other side.” You whispered. Jessed nodded. Subconsciously, you held your breath and stayed like that for a few moments. Suddenly, you jumped at a new sound echoing through the room. It was Joel clearing his throat as he glared between you and Jesse from the doorway.

“What’s this?” Joel asked in a less than impressed tone. His arms were crossed as he walked in further. You hadn’t realized how the proximity in which you stood to Jesse looked from another view point. You knew Joel wasn’t the happiest camper around Jesse, but you also knew that you hadn’t done anything wrong. Quietly, you placed a finger to your lips and pleaded for his silence with your eyes. As he walked closer, you could tell by the curiosity in his face that he heard it too. He made a move to stand in between the two of you, prompting the other man to walk away from the wall. “It’s probably termites or rats. This house is old and falling apart. There’s no tellin’ how many little openings there are.”

“With all due respect, I don’t think it’s rats this time.” Jesse disagreed. “I think we should investigate.”

“What good would that do? There’s nothing beyond these walls! You’ve seen it; there's nothing but the outside. If it ain’t rats, then what is it? We ain’t here to play ghost hunter, alright? We’re meant to be lookin’ for them supplies.” Joel argued. His attention was geared at Jesse, but when there was no rebuttal, he turned to look at you only to find a hint of disappointment in your face.

“Who knows how long we’re gonna be stuck in this house. We may as well while we’re here.” You said. Much to Joel’s dislike, you sided with Jesse. With an exasperated sigh, he agreed under the condition that it wouldn’t take long.

The three of you walked around the room, looking for clues such as holes in the walls for rodents to scurry through. It didn’t take long for you to find a draft coming from behind the armoire. It was as if the large piece of furniture was blocking an opening. The two men moved it out the way to find that it was blocking a crawl space. With the opening exposed, the scratching and clicking became clearer. The three of you were hesitant, knowing that whatever it was making that sound, it was through that small, dark space. You glanced between the two men before volunteering to go in first. You were the smallest, you argued, and could best fit through. Crouching down, you saw that the large hole in the wall was like a tunnel to something deeper in the house but that it also passed the interior of the wall. You let out a deep breath and began to crawl with a knife in your right hand.

With your body only 3/4ths of the way in, you came face to face with the origin of those sounds. You removed your flashlight from your waist and shined it on the clicker. It was so disfigured that you concluded that it had turned many years ago. Remaining completely still, you watched as it slowly clawed at the wall. The scene before you was so abnormal. Never had you seen a clicker move so slow. You eyed the way it was positioned between the walls. It could have found its way out easily if it wanted to. Living for years after the outbreak, you observed how the fungal parasite used its host cleverly to spread its disease. It had probably been there for so long, blocked by the armoire, that its blood lust fell dormant. You continued to watch as its mouth slowly opened to release a few clicking sounds before closing again. You were afraid that as soon as any sudden movements were made, a switch would flip in whatever was left of the  clicker’s brain and it would begin attacking you. While silently weighing your choices, Joel and Jesse noticed that you hadn’t moved for minutes and asked if you were ok at the same time. He gave the younger man a glare before refocusing on your well being. Your eyes immediately went back to the clicker to see if it was disturbed by the sudden sound. Normally, all it took was the tiniest sound of a human voice to activate their savage nature. You watched and waited, but nothing different happened. You let out a deep breath and told the guys you were ok. Despite the thing being closer than you would have liked, it was an easy kill. You told them what had happened before carrying on through the crawl space. The tunnel spilled out into a secret room. It was as big as a walk-in pantry closet or a janitor room. Before you stood up, you shouted behind you for them to follow. It was a tight squeeze, but they did it.

The group had already scavenged valuable odds and ends throughout the house, but this was the jackpot. The walls were lined with nonperishable foods and cases of bottled water stacked up as tall as Joel. Jesse broke the lock on a heavy duty trunk to find it full of weapons and ammunition. There was another trunk with other survival tools like batteries, matches and medical supplies raided from a hospital. The three of you donned huge smiles at the amount of supplies that was discovered. With Rhonda injured, you pulled out your own notebook and marked everything that was inside the room while the other two filled their bags up to the brim to take what they could.

Downstairs in the laundry room, Tim found nothing out of the ordinary. It made no sense to him. Was it all a prank; something the rest of the group was doing to initiate him into the patrol job? Or was it all in his head? He knew it wasn’t that; he wasn’t crazy. Just as he turned to walk back into the kitchen, he heard the loud bang again. It came from the same place he investigated just moments ago.

“Rhonda, did you hear…” He shouted out as he walked into the kitchen. He stopped mid sentence when he saw the disarray before him. All the drawers were pulled out and all the cabinet doors were opened. His body froze in fear. The only thing that moved were his eyes as he watched a mouse scurry between the cupboards. For no good reason at all, he was overcome with a feeling to not look behind him as if there was something there waiting to reveal itself in the laundry room.

“Tim!” Joel shouted from the living room. He was still scared, but hearing his voice snapped him out of that debilitating fear. Quickly, he made his way out the kitchen. Without warning Joel pushed him against the living room wall and held his arm against Tim’s throat to keep him in place. “Where the hell were you?” Joel asked aggressively. “We come down here to find Rhonda crying and bleeding through her bandages.” Tim’s eyes, bulged out, danced across the room before landing on the wounded woman. You were holding her in your arms.

“C’mon. Ease up. He gets it.” Jesse gently rested his hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“No, I don’t think he does.” He replied over his shoulder before looking back at Tim. “When you said you were gonna look after her, I figured you meant it. I thought we’d been over this, Tim.” He glared daggers into the medic’s eyes, but he was only met back with fear. Assuming that he was the cause, Joel finally let go. Tim scurried to another corner of the living room to gather himself. 

“I saw her...it...whatever that thing was!” Rhonda spoke up raspily. “I called out to her, thinking it was you. I thought you’d left me, but then she came back. Not once did she look at me, but she paced the living room and each time she walked back, she got closer to me. I told her to stay away, but she didn’t listen; she kept coming closer. I tried to crawl away, but I got dizzy and my vision got blurry.” She began to weep again. “So I closed my eyes and counted to ten, like my Nana taught me when I was little. Then I heard you guys come down the stairs. When I opened my eyes, all I saw was you. The real you. She was gone. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rhonda.” Tim hoarsely apologized. “I...I was gone because there was this sound. A huge bang. You guys didn’t hear that?” Joel only offered a blank glare while you and Jesse shook your heads. “It had come from the kitchen. It was only right there, so I figured it was close enough for me to see what it was. Just in and out.”

“Well, it wasn’t in and out was it?” Joel questioned.

“That’s the thing. When I went into the kitchen, I couldn’t find anything out of place; nothing to have made such a noise.”

“I told you not to go in there.” Rhonda said in a low tone.

“I saw that there was another room right off of the kitchen. I decided to investigate that while I was in there. I meant to be quick.” Tim explained, meeting no one’s eyes in particular. “I...I...I swear to you, my back was to the kitchen, and when I turned back around, the whole thing was a mess.” You continued to hold Rhonda as she shivered while Jesse and Joel rounded the corner into the kitchen. Things were a mess, yes, but in the way a house this dilapidated would be.

“I don’t get it.” Jesse whispered to Joel.

“I know you couldn’t have expected this place to be immaculate.” Joel said to Tim. The medic followed them into the kitchen and looked around with his mouth agape.

“It wasn’t like this. The...the cabinet doors were open! All of them! And the drawers. All pulled out! I mean what could have done that all at once in the matter of seconds?”

“Your mind maybe.” Jesse answered. 

Tim shook his head. “I saw it with my own eyes.” He whispered. 

“Whatever it was, it’s gone now.” Joel concluded.

“Yeah, I vote we call it a night and settle around the fire. Tomorrow morning, we will collect as much as we can upstairs and prepare to leave.” Jesse suggested.

“Right, we meant to tell you guys, we found the cache!” You began excitedly. “You should have seen it. It wasn’t as extravagant as when the kids found the pirate ship in The Goonies, but it was just as special. Everything in there is everything we need.”

Rhonda’s weeping quieted down into whimpers as she was comforted by the idea that they would get to leave soon. Tim acknowledged your words with only a nod. His mind was still on the house and all the tricks it's played since the group arrived. Was the woman that Rhonda spoke about all in her head. He was quick to think so on account of her head injury. For her it was easy to explain away, but what about himself? He wasn’t a doctor of psychology, but he was familiar with the idea. He felt fine and had no idea how he could have made something up that played with more than one of his senses. 

Tim volunteered to take the first shift of keeping watch, determined to catch whatever was messing with him. His plan was to wake the others up as soon as something happened so they could see what he had saw. The exhaustion he felt, however, played against him and he dozed off. When he came to, the living room was shrouded in darkness. The makeshift pit in the middle of the living room floor was nothing but ash. His mind raced as his thoughts went back to that elusive woman Rhonda was haunted by. He was so engulfed with fear that he couldn’t tell if what he was hearing was the whistling wind seeping through the cracks of the barricaded windows or the whispers of a woman. He looked at all the sleeping forms and wanted so badly to wake someone up to keep watch with him, but selflessly chose against it. Sitting there, his eyes flickered to every corner of the room, waiting for something to happen. He waited for so long that he forgot to wake Jesse up for his shift to keep watch. It wasn’t until the little rays of sunshine poked through did Tim realize how long he’d stayed awake for. There was something about the light that comforted him. He mustered enough courage to get up and stretch his legs before waking up the rest of the group. 

Joel peaked behind one of the barricades and saw that the blizzard had finally passed. Despite that, there was a significant amount of snow left on the ground. The group wasted no time in doing as they agreed last night. The bad feeling that each of them got coupled with Rhonda’s injury, quickened their pace. After packing what they could carry, the group grabbed their horses and made a slow trek through the snow back to Jackson, leaving the dark manor in their wake. 

[proper-goodnight]

Detroit: New Beginnings

Summary: It has been one year since the androids claimed their rights to freedom after the revolution, and one year since Connor has decided to stay on the force at the DPD. The duo are currently working on a case involving androids going missing while Connor grapples with what he almost did to Markus at the peace rally and fearing Amanda’s inevitable return.

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Violence, Strong Language

A New Start: Partners (01)

Detroit Police Dept.

August 30, 2039

12:30 P.M.

Tuesday

Chris abandoned his wife’s pastries on the counter in the break room.

Over the years, it had become an unspoken rule to not berate him for the fact that Hank could count the people that were brave enough to try his wife’s newest lifestyle kick for that week on one hand. 

For all of the employees on the force, that wasn’t a lot. He didn’t need any special probability and statistics program to figure that out. 

But, it wasn’t like Hank hadn’t tried. He had, but only once--and couldn’t keep a straight face or control his gag reflex enough to even think about trying it again. Their outward appearance had been what threw him for a loop initially; being made of enough random herbs and healthy shit couldn’t sway the uncanny resemblance between it and actual shit and no amount of Chris promising such couldn’t and would never convince him otherwise.

While Hank may have never cared about what he put in his body, he was still not ignorant enough to test whether or not his tolerance extended to something beyond alcohol or cigarettes. Some days, Connor’s habit of sticking evidence in his mouth suddenly didn’t sound so fucking revolting. 

God, if the kid heard him say that…

In that same area of the precinct, a loud continuous whirring of a coffee machine grinded endlessly. DPD staff shuffled around it eagerly awaiting its cycle to complete, and Gavin had ingested just enough caffeine to erupt into his usual cacophony of loud remarks and comments about fuck-all that morning. 

Of course the prick couldn’t grant them reprieve for even a few minutes. 

Hank supposed if he didn’t then the fucker was either late or… late. It wasn’t like he ever called off.

No, they couldn’t be that lucky.

“No fucking way!” And to complete the morning, here Hank was with a deafening insistence in his tone that left little room to argue over Connor’s suggestion for the umpteenth time that morning. “I have had enough birthdays! I am getting too damn old for this shit!”

In response, Connor looked contemplative, but even more so, unsatisfied with his decision.

Typical Tuesday.

Sitting hunched over his desk, Hank sifted through piles of papers for his tablet. It furthered his incessant personal reminding that he should probably take a few minutes and clear his desk of all of his personal clutter--all of the memorabilia piling up over the years was beginning to make finding anything nigh to impossible, another indication made clear when he bumped a couple of pens to the floor with his elbow. 

Cursing, he dismissed it to the abyss below his desk, staring at the screen with faux concentration. The contrast between their work stations was proving more apparent as the days went on, Connor’s completely clean of surface clutter and retaining a fresh sheen despite having claimed it a little over a year ago.

Besides the mess, the spinning yellow circle glaring at him just outside of his peripherals held his focus, having more recently recognized it as a sign of the android’s thinking--thought processing. Whatever. 

Connor’s brows were furrowed, eyes fixed on him as if deciding in some sort of situational software that he had of some other option that would help move their conversation into a more positive direction, something that would somehow change it in his favor. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and Hank wasn’t going to take any bait. 

The android’s lips parted to speak, but Hank was already turning away, grumbling incoherently under his breath. 

And nothing that he would reiterate unless Fowler was going to lecture him about playing nice with his co-workers. Again.

Perched on the only unoccupied corner of his desk, arms crossed over a broad chest, Connor worked a tick in his jaw. If androids had actually possessed the need to breathe--and their biocomponents that simulated breathing were actually functional for that sole purpose--the asshole may have just sighed. For the briefest of an instance, he caught his partner’s stoic expression, tight-lipped and silently asking for some sort of agreement between the pair.

It wasn’t offered.

“I have been researching human cultural practices and I thought that maybe--”

“Drop it. You want to celebrate, then do it for yourself why don’t ya? Celebrate your one year since deviating. That’s in a couple of months.”

Connor almost looked thoughtful, features folding over in confusion as he worked through some sort of response. Hank’s celebration into an even older age was many in the long list of arguments that the two seemed to have, but it was also one of the only topics that Connor seemed ever insistent to talk about that didn’t revolve around a case.

That made it unavoidable.

Goddammit. 

“I don’t think that qualifies as the same thing, Lieutenant.”

“Take my word for it. Let’s just go over the case.” To further his point, he swept his hand over the case files that had piled up on his desk the last couple of weeks. One large unorganized mess of manila folders and reports. “If Jeffrey dumps any more shit about it on my desk, I’m going to resign it.” It was a harmless jab in an effort to get Connor motivated, anything involving the words case or leads never failed to catch his attention.

Connor straightening from his rare hunched posture proved that fact rang true. 

Even after finally closing the deviancy case. 

The conversation, begrudgingly, wasn’t done though. It would be brought up again eventually. Unless the kid forgot or got distracted with something else.

Who the fuck was he kidding?

Connor never forgot. He didn’t possess the ability to forget. Maybe his stubborn nature could be argued with but in the last year or so being his partner, it was something that Hank faced with raw aggression and chose to avoid. 

“Could’ve originated from the peace rally.” Hank went on, rubbing at his chin with faux concentration at the various folders opened up in front of him. He didn’t think any of them were relevant to their current case anyway. “The dates between that and the first android incident are pretty damn close together. Then again, maybe it’s just a weird coincidence.” The words unfolded into a low mutter under his breath, slumping back against his chair. 

He spinned to the side to assess the clutter, a quick sweeping gaze over the mess and he retrieved the file that they needed and extended it to the android. 

Connor’s eyes had followed every movement, and Hank assumed he was judging his lack of organization. 

At least he kept his mouth shut if he was.

“Two guys were sent to the hospital last night.” Hank went on.

“According to the reports from Officer Miller, they were walking home from a Red Ice Anonymous meeting.” Connor confirmed.

Of course he’d kept up to date.

“They were jumped. He went to ask them some questions, bust aside from a brief statement, we ain’t getting much out of ‘em right now.” While he spoke, Connor flicked through it with practiced precision while simultaneously picking it apart. For what he already didn’t know, and Hank didn’t figure that was a lot. 

And while it would be denied for the rest of Hank’s life, he would never admit that he was even somewhat jealous of Connor. If humans possessed the ability to see anyone’s information by a quick scan or retaining an entire casework of information in a few seconds, the meeting and getting-to-know-you shit of social relationships would be made easier by miles. Then again, he didn’t need any superior programming to know that his time would be better spent at home with Sumo. 

“According to their file, Mr. Greene and Mr. Nicholson did in fact have a Red Ice history in the past.” 

“That bit checks out with what Chris managed to get from ‘em at least. Not the worst druggies I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with.” A smirk pulled at one edge of his lips. If they were the worst of the worst, his job would have been a lot easier and most cases would be an opened and closed one. 

“Possession and usage that earned them a few months jail time.” Connor confirmed, turning a suddenly quizzical gaze in his direction, dipping his chin. His brows pinched. “Wasn’t Detective Reed assigned all cases involving Red Ice?” The mention of their most eccentric detective was enough to pull a look of discomfort from the android. 

Maybe it was the ill memory of the beating that he’d been forced to give him in the evidence room last year. Either way, Hank swore that Connor had some kind of satisfaction from it. He didn’t think so. 

The bloody nose that he had given Perkins however? Fucking classic! 

“He is, but there was Thirium found at the scene. No fingerprints on the weapon that was likely used in the attack. We’re looking at another Carlos Ortiz case except we can push an android through a fair trial now.” 

Connor closed the case folder in his lap, his fingers plucking gingerly at the corner. That spinning yellow circle glared accusingly. “If the claims of their whereabouts are in fact correct, then I think that our best course of action is to question them ourselves. Maybe they can recall more when the shock period has passed. Distinct characteristics, how many androids there were in total, even.”

“Not to bust your balls kid, but we can’t scan a serial number like you can. Not to mention all of you androids have the same face. There’s no record of them ever owning an android, but…” Hank threw up his hands in surrender. “Maybe there’s a past history we don't know about. We’ll follow another lead over the next few days,” he decided. “See if they can’t give us anything else by the end of the week.”

With that, Hank breathed out a long-winded sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as though fighting off a headache. Connor was a headache enough, the case being the migraine. He waved his free hand over his desk. “Take your pick. God knows we’ve got plenty.” A pained laugh slipped past his lips, almost incredulous. Borderline sympathetic. 

For them.

Propping his elbow on the chair’s armrest, he leaned his head against a curled fist. His partner’s gaze was distant, even as Hank tried to meet it with a vague curiosity of his own. 

He waited.

“What are you thinking, Connor?” No response was offered, that same accusatory yellow glaring at Hank just out of the corner of his eye. 

Connor’s features folded, looking to an empty space at his right. Upon further inspection, Hank noted that nothing was there, looking between the two confirming the assumption that he was in some far off place elsewhere. An abrupt snap of his fingers in front of Connor’s nose brought him back. He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head. “Nothing. Nothing relative to our case.”

“Any other time you’re pulling leads out of your ass.” The remark was followed by an exaggerated sigh. His eyes rolled to the side. “This is the first time that you don’t wanna input your opinion? Finally hit a damn wall with enough dead leads, didn’t ya?”

A slight tug pulled at one edge of Connor’s mouth, working a tick underneath a rigid jawline. “Hilarious, Lieutenant.” He mumbled.

“It was a pretty damn good joke in my opinion." With a dismissive hand gesture--a quick slice of his hand through the air--he reached across his desk to retrieve one stack of case files. It didn't account for the other large piles but hell, it was a start. 

“That is a personal opinion.”

“What the fuck ever.” Running a shaky hand through his hair--something else that Connor blamed on Hank's poor diet--his gaze never left him, flicking over his rigid form with a blatant curiosity. "We should go talk to Markus. There’s a good chance that he would know somethin'?" 

And then Connor moved from his perch. Carefully--stiffly was a better way of putting it--around the edge of the desk. Long precise fingers fumbled for the coin in his pocket. It rolled across his knuckles, coming to a complete stop as it was flicked into the opposite palm. Hesitation made the movement rigid, not as fluent as it normally would be. A tick worked itself underneath a rigid jawline. Connor didn't look at him, and instead passed by to his own desk. 

"You haven't seen him since the peace rally," Hank prodded. "I think it's about time we paid him a visit, don't you?" 

"I don't know," He answered in what was almost a whisper, voice low. Unsure. "I've assessed the database's files and all of the reports involving our missing androids. I have only come to the conclusion that older models, or new deviants are being reported disappearing from Jericho. That and it's still limited to Detroit and only a few surrounding cities.” He shrugged. “So far." 

Connor shook his head in defeat. "My most recent solution was to send a scan parts to Cyberlife, but-"

"All of the missing reports we’ve managed to solve end with the android self destructing and destroying their systems," Hank finished for him. "That and its considered murder with your rights. Can't just go pulling apart an android and not expect to get your ass busted." 

"I do not know if an exception can be made for some kind of malfunction. I could probe its memory, but there is no evidence as to how that would affect my own systems." 

"Keeping you at a distance makes the shit harder." Hank agreed, and other than nodding in response, Connor offered no comment. "Until we can figure out if it can be spread, there isn’t much that you can do." 

"Why don't you take your chances and see what the hell happens?" An all too familiar and unapologetically arrogant voice drew closer to their desks. Gavin came to a full stop at their desks, arms folded over his chest with a smirk that never ceased to infuriate him. Both of them, he assumed.

He grimaced. 

Fucking asshole.

"Fuck off, Reed. Don't you have your own case?" Hank grumbled, an edge to his tone that Gavin brushed off a condescending smirk.

"Unlike you and the plastic prick, I've actually made headway." Gavin boasted, his interest in Hank diverted to Connor who watched passively. Most of the time he acted as if Gavin was gum under his shoe that he could scrape on the sidewalk and be done with. Like he couldn't be bothered even when he had a gun in his face and death threats on his name. Hank had been guilty of that look once.

Gavin was full of shit, but Hank wouldn't put anything past him. Even now.

"Hey plastic," Gavin halted in front of the android, squaring up his shoulders. The situation would have been alarming if the difference in height wasn't so obvious. Reed had to look up to address him and Connor responded by raising his eyebrows, tilting his head to the right. 

"Hello, Detective Reed."

"I thought that after the walking toasters were suddenly recognized as people you would leave. A detective android prototype hunting androids is still doing the exact same damn thing." He sneered. 

"I assessed that it would be appropriate to remain in the android crimes department to further offer my assistance to the DPD." His hands folded in front of him, meeting Gavin's eyes with that usual infuriatingly neutral expression. The little twitch in Connor's facial features gave him away however, signaling his annoyance at the detective's harsh jobs.

Gavin didn't see it, but Hank knew him well enough that it was impossible to miss. 

"Yet you're still wearing your Cyberlife threads. I'd almost think that you liked hunting 'em down. Does it give you a sick thrill, prick?" 

"Reed!" Hank interjected, rising stiffly from his desk chair. "That's enough."

"I believe that wearing my uniform shows more professionalism than a leather jacket and a relentlessly hostile attitude, Detective." Connor's brows raised and relaxed sequentially, a slight and subtle twitch pulling at one corner of his mouth. 

"The hell did you just say to me, tin can?" Gavin leaned forward, hand clenching at his side into a fist that he pulled back and took aim on the android. 

"I said that's enough!" Hank barked, shoving himself in between them. 

Gavin was shoved back a few steps.

Connor didn't budge. 

"Back off! Can't you ignore him for five fucking minutes?" 

"Fuck," An enraged gaze flicked between Hank and Connor. Gavin snarled in frustration, one hand slipping seamlessly into the pockets of his jacket, the other pointing an accusing finger in the android's direction like it hadn't been the detective that had approached them with the intention of starting shit. 

Hank scoffed. 

"I'll never so much as tolerate the plastic asshole. The day there are two of him is the day I put in my resignation." One last threatening glare was thrown their way, the threat released into a spat. Before either could comment, Gavin was storming off, cursing incoherently under his breath. 

Surprisingly it had gone better than most of the other times. Hank would have admitted that. 

Evidently, every altercation passed by Connor without a second thought. Hell, maybe not even a first. The evidence room incident remained the only time that the android actually retaliated on him. That being that he needed to in order to accomplish his mission. 

Still, he caught Connor's expression as Gavin was leaving. He watched him through distrusting slits, LED flashing yellow for a split second before correcting itself. His jaw was tense, something dark stirring within him, something troubled that Hank didn't quite recognize. It was only when Hank actually decided to speak that Connor finally looked at him, eyes softening into something more calm, relaxed. Normal. 

"Let's go ask Markus some questions. Any idea where he might be?" In a gesture of reassurance that didn't quite reach him, Hank placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Markus has been overseeing the conversion and stock of dormant androids at the remaining Cyberlife stores. We can pull up those that have yet to be listed as maintenance and distribution centers and start there." And as if nothing had changed, as if the threat from the DPD's most eccentric detective had already been forgotten--at least it would have been if he wasn't squirming underneath a clenched jaw--the task of talking to Markus seemed to unnerve him more. Talking to the deviant leader was a task that Connor was less inclined to do over listening to Reed berating him every chance he got. 

The observation was a question for later, and truthfully Hank didn't anticipate an answer. 

Connor stepped back to allow him through first, Hank's hand slipping from his shoulder to dangle uselessly at his side instead. Expression falling flat, he waved him through. "After you, Lieutenant."

[hermionemonica]

Hiding it from her: Chapter 3

AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Despite going to bed way late in the night, Kagami woke up on her usual time. She was tempted to skip the gym for the day, but she knew the physical exercise would help her clear her mind before the evening. And she needed to go to the fencing academy as well, she had not shown up the previous day without any notice.  

The evening arrived faster than she would have liked it to. As the hour neared with every passing second, her anxiety reached greater heights. Even now she could not help but question herself if she was ready to face the man who she had loved with all her life, who had lied to her with a smile on his face, who had betrayed her very trust. Was she prepared to hear the answers from him?  

Since last night she had been preparing in her head what to say. How to start the conversation so that there was no way to wriggle out of it. She needed to put an end to this, to settle this once and for all. If for nothing else, at least for her own mind's peace.  

Kagami reached Adrien's apartment at 6:50 pm. As soon as she rang the bell, the door swung open and Adrien greeted her with a smile. Kagami hesitated before entering. She could not help but remember the last time she had come to this place. She breathed some determination into herself. There was a task at hand.  

“Come in here,” Adrien pulled her into a room that appeared to be Marinette's working space.  

“Are you sure I should be here?”  

“I would not have called you in otherwise!”  

Kagami looked around herself. The room was an organised mess. Absolutely Marinette. She walked over to the board set up on the wall, on which were pinned several unfinished sketches, quite possibly the ones she was working on currently. She noticed the little doodles and random words etched on the margins of the papers. Kagami smiled to herself, thinking of the eccentricities of the girl. But the smile disappeared in a moment, when she remembered what she had done to her. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest.  

“Here you go.” Adrien’s voice brought Kagami down to her immediate surroundings.  

She turned around to see him holding a dress in his arms. One of the most magnificent dresses she had ever set her eyes on.  

It was a mid-thigh length dress with a maroon satin base. The dress flared out at the waist, and a black mesh fell over the entire bottom part. Details were embroidered in gold over the mesh. The same gold circled the waist like an ornate belt. It had a halter neckline, and the collar was accentuated with a golden border.  

“Wow,” she breathed, “this is beautiful.”  

“I know, right?” Adrien exclaimed with glee. “Now put it on, I'm gonna go outside.”  

“Me?” Kagami was surprised.  

“Duh, yeah! This was made for you!” Adrien rolled his eyes, shoving the dress into her hands. “Be quick now, we have other work to do as well.” Saying so, he ran out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him.  

How hard would it be for Adrien to be a little less vague? He was making it really difficult for her to feel sorry for him.  

This was made for you, he had said. Did he mean that literally or figuratively? Recent events must have addled her brain, she was looking too much into everything.  

Kagami turned the dress around in her arms. It was a breath-taking piece of work. She admiringly ran her hand over the embroidery, feeling every stitch underneath her fingers.  

It was then that she saw it.  

Just under the belt, on the back of the dress was a very familiar pattern sewn in with the same gold. She had seen it enough times to recognise it instantly.  

Marinette's signature.  

That only added to her confusion. Marinette had made a dress for her, without her knowledge? And that was the one she was going to wear today, of all days?  

She nervously moved near the door. Leaning against it, she called out “Adrien?”  

On receiving no reply, she opened the door. Adrien was sitting in the drawing-room, and while she had a clear view of him, he could not see her because his back was turned to her. It appeared that he was talking to someone on the phone.  

“Umm... Adrien?” She said a bit louder to get his attention. It worked.  

Adrien turned around in his seat. His face immediately fell. “Yeah, I will talk to you later,” he spoke into the phone before ending the call.  

“Is there a problem?” he spoke in a concerned voice, walking towards her. “Does it not fit you?”  

“No, that's not it,” Kagami hesitated. “Adrien, are you sure I should wear this?”  

A confused look came on his face, and then he burst out laughing. “Kagami,” he said, “will you stop worrying now? Just do as I say, okay? Trust me.”  

Kagami was getting concerned, but about something else. Adrien still had the nerve to laugh? Was he losing his mind?  

Adrien pushed her back into the room. “Now please hurry up, alright? And um, maybe do something with your hair to go with the dress, okay?”  

It was all very strange but Kagami was left with no choice but to concede. Maybe this was Adrien's attempt at making her feel better about herself, of boosting her self-confidence. She stripped off the jeans and t-shirt and put on the dress. Standing in front of the mirror, she could not help but marvel at how good the dress looked on her. There was no doubt it was made for her; it was fitted to her measurements, complimenting her shape, skin tone and her eyes. Even though she and Marinette may not be on the best of terms right now, she had to praise her work.  

There were some hairbands and bobby pins and other accessories on the table, but Kagami was really not in a mood. So, she put her hair in a short braid that hung over her left shoulder.  

Kagami opened the door very silently. But she could not see Adrien anywhere. Panic began to bubble in the pit of her stomach, and she called out for him, “Adrien!”  

“Just a minute!” his voice came from the room to her left. Kagami breathed a sigh of relief. She took a seat on the couch as she waited for her friend.  

After a few moments, her ears caught the sound of a door opening behind her. She turned around just as Adrien was emerging from his room.  

Kagami saw that he was dressed up as well. He was wearing a light green formal shirt and tailored black trousers that made his legs look even longer than they originally were. He was also wearing a salmon pink tie. His hair was brushed back, and it made his cheekbones look very chiselled.  

“Oh my God, Kagami, you look... phenomenal.” Adrien's eyes were widened and his mouth was open.  

“Thank you,” she acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. “You look good too.”  

“Thanks,” Adrien flashed her a grin. “Let's go then?”  

Kagami nodded.  

Adrien produced a pair of sandals for her that perfectly went with her dress. At this point, there were so many questions in her mind that she had lost the ability to even think for herself. So she just did whatever Adrien asked her to. It didn't look like she had a choice anyway.  

When she sat in the car, she finally relaxed. She knew what was going to happen now. No more surprises, right?  

Or so she thought.  

Adrien pulled up at the side of the Liberty. “Here?” Kagami asked, because she was expecting to go to Luka's apartment. Liberty had been empty since Anarka went on tour with Jagged more than three months ago.  

“Yeah,” Adrien said, typing away on his phone. “Do me a favour Gami, just go on. I'll catch up with you in a bit.”  

“I could wait for you?” Kagami suggested.  

“Uh, I think not,” came Adrien's response, which sounded a little weird. “Seriously Kagami, you know your way around. Go on now.”  

Unsure, Kagami got out of the car. Adrien was right, she did know her way around this place pretty well, having spent a lot of her late teenage years there. Luka used to help her sneak out behind her mother’s back, and most of the time they would just chill on the houseboat. Luka would play his songs on his guitar for her. She had had her first kiss with-  

No. Snap out of it, Kagami. This was not the time to think about all that stuff.  

Kagami stepped up on the deck. Strangely, most of the lights were out. She began to doubt if Adrien had brought them to the right place after all.  

Unconsciously, her steps had brought her to Luka's old room. Well, technically Luka and Juleka's old room. The room was dark, and presuming it to be empty, Kagami began to retrace her steps out of the room.  

Just then she stopped. Someone began to play a guitar inside the room. A nostalgic, romantic tune. She spun around on her heels just in time to see the room be lit up in fairy lights.  

And sitting on the bed, with a guitar slung over his shoulder, was Luka Couffaine.  

Kagami was stunned into silence. What exactly it was that rendered her speechless was uncertain. It could be seeing Luka appear out of the darkness, or the pretty way the lights lit up the deck, or how ethereally handsome Luka was looking in that purple shirt (and that maroon tie that was exactly the same shade as the dress she was wearing). But at that moment, she lost all ability to think, speak, or move by herself. So she stood there, staring at the man in front of her, forgetting what she had even come here for in the first place.  

“Hey,” Luka said nervously. Receiving no reply, he went on. “I am so sorry, my melody, for keeping you out of everything. I am really bad at hiding things, as you know. And since this isn't something I could have told you, I had to hide it from you. But turns out, I messed up big time, huh?” He let out a little laugh. Kagami was still frozen with the same expression on her face, so Luka decided to take the risk of walking a few steps towards her. “I really did not mean to make you feel left out of it. It's just, you know, I couldn't tell you. I know I did a bad job at it and you have every right to be pissed at me, but please talk to me, babe.”  

“Wha- what's going on?” she finally managed.  

Luka smiled, in that handsomely Luka way of his that made her melt into a puddle every time. It was only with a lot of conscious effort that she managed to hold her composure, although her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Thank goodness for the dim lights.  

“Kagami, I love you,” as he spoke he kept walking towards her, “I love you so much. My life has been infinitely better since you became a part of it. There is nothing I feel luckier about than you loving me. You make me feel whole. The last twenty-four hours have been such a torture for me. And I never ever want to spend another moment separated from you, as long as I live.”  

Saying so, he took a box out of his pocket and got down on one knee in front of her. He opened the box and held it up in front of her. It was a ring. “Kagami Tsurugi, my Dragon Queen, will you marry me?”  

Kagami's eyes widened. “Wait,” she said, “what is happening?”  

“I-uh, I am proposing to you?”  

“And can you please smile a bit Kagami? You're ruining the shot.”  

Kagami's head turned to the side to see who spoke.  

“Marinette?”  

“Yes, that's me. Now don't bother us,” she said as Adrien appeared behind her, “keep going.”  

Kagami looked back and forth between them. “This is so not what I was expecting.” She clapped her hand to her forehead.  

Luka stood up, concerned. “My melody, are you okay?”  

“This is what was going on these last few days?” Kagami whispered, almost on the verge of tears.  

“I guess I'm allowed to tell you now,” Luka rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, this is what I had been planning behind your back.”  

“And you,” she turned to look at Adrien and Marinette in the doorway, “You two were a part of this?”  

“Well yeah,” Adrien sounded just as nervous.  

“Please don’t murder us Kagami,” Marinette said.  

Kagami turned to look at Luka. “I am so sorry,” she muttered, before embracing him with all her strength. “I am so sorry for ever doubting you.”  

“My love,” Luka wrapped his free arm around her.  

After a while, she let go of him. “And I owe you an apology too, Marinette,” she turned to her, “Please forgive me.”  

“I have no idea what is happening, but I forgive you. Although I have no idea what I'm forgiving you for. Please don't tell me later that you made me forgive you for eating my chocolate croissants, because you know I would never forgive you if you did that,” she ended with a fake glare, making everyone burst into laughter.  

“By the way,” Luka said, with a smirk, “I didn't quite catch your reply back then?”  

It took Kagami a while before she got what he was talking about. And then her face broke into a radiant smile. She grabbed Luka's face and pulled him down to her level to rest her forehead against his. “Yes!” her voice was both emotional and excited, “Yes, yeah yes! Of course I will marry you, my snake prince!”  

“And now I got a perfect photo!” Marinette cheered on.  

Luka put the ring onto Kagami's finger. It was a gold ring; the top of the ring was in the shape of a dragon's head with a ruby set in the place of its eye. Kagami gasped, making Luka smile. He then lifted her chin slightly to kiss her. Kagami wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled against his lips.  

They broke off after a minute. “By the way, Marinette,” Kagami turned around in Luka's arms with a stern look on her face, “I am going to have a word with your boyfriend for confusing my brain all evening.”  

Adrien laughed nervously, but Marinette blushed red. “Actually,” she spoke in a little voice, “My fiance."

“What!” Luka and Kagami exclaimed at the same time.  

Marinette held up her hand to show them the sapphire ring that sat on her finger.  

“When did this happen?” It was Luka who asked.  

“This morning,” Marinette replied, “Right after I woke up.”  

“Way to go, Adrien!”  

“What?” Adrien raised an eyebrow, “You guys really thought I was going to let Luka beat me at this?”  

Marinette playfully smacked him in his chest.  

Kagami noticed that the shade of Adrien’s tie matched the colour of the dress Marinette was wearing, just like her and Luka. Oh. So this was the entire fuss about the dress.  

“Let's take a group selfie?” she suggested.  

“Hell yeah!”

[trashassassin]

Two Halves of a Whole | 1: Torture (V x Reader)

Wow, at last, I’ve finished a thing! And they said it couldn’t be done, they being me of course. Truth be told, this has been sitting in my google docs, finished and unedited, for way too long. And then I got all ready to post it when I remembered that I hadn’t come up with a name for the series yet and I had to sit on that for a while. It’s a whole mess, as per the usual.

These stories were originally going to be used for Kinktober, but then I accidentally a whole series instead. I originally had this idea planned for a megafic, but this format works out way better for it, imo. It’s going to have a bit of a coherent storyline, but it will be told out of order, so you definitely don’t need to read all of them if you don’t want to. The last one will be the most important in regards to the plot if you actually care about that as opposed to just the “plot” hehe. Anyway, I’m rambling now, so let’s get on with it!

In celebration of the recent announcement of DMC 5 Special Edition, I have begun crafting a series all about Vergil and his twink-y human half finally getting all the love and affection they deserve in life! Here, we are kicking things off right by torturing poor V with sex toys.

Word Count: 1987

Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content, BDSM/Bondage, Strong Language

You weren't sure you would ever grow used to the amount of power you felt in situations such as this. Physically, V was quite a bit larger than you and was more than capable of overpowering you in spite of his slight frame.

And yet, in this instance, he would have allowed you to do anything to him and the thought of it was intoxicating.

You positioned yourself so that you were straddling him, your legs falling to either side of his abdomen, then reached over and gently tugged on the restraints that held his wrists. 

"It's not too tight, is it?" you asked. 

"No," he replied. "It's fine." 

He was already breathless and you hadn't even touched him yet, a fact that filled you with a sense of pride.

You were both still fairly new to this, so you were always careful to check in every once in a while and make sure you hadn't accidentally crossed any boundaries. With the power he had offered you came a great deal of trust and you weren't about to break that. 

You smiled at him, a gesture that he returned, then reached down toward the nearby nightstand to pick up today's tool of choice: a small, black vibrating wand.

It was one that you had used on yourself a number of times, so you were already familiar with its settings and which ones you preferred. 

Learning V's own unique preferences would be easy. This was evident enough from the few times you'd already been together. He was incredibly expressive, his desires laid plain, whether he wanted them to be or not. It was this, among other things, that made him so ideal for the role you'd put him in.

"Have you ever used anything like this before?" you asked, caressing the wand suggestively with your fingertips as you did. 

"You know I haven't," he replied, the smallest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"I was just curious. We'll start off on the slower setting then, cause it can be a little intense if you're not used to it."

"I think I can handle it." 

You leaned over him once again and whispered in his ear, "then prove it. Don't cum until I say you can."

You sat back upright and the brief flash of uncertainty that passed his face did not escape your notice.

"Hold out your hand," you said. 

He did as you asked and you switched on the wand, then lowered it to his palm, which he eyed curiously as it buzzed from the vibrations.

"We'll start off slow," you continued. 

You were going to give him a bit of a chance; this was supposed to be fun for you too, after all. 

You repositioned yourself so that you would have a better vantage point, coming to sit just at the edge of the bed, then slowly lowered the wand until it pressed against the tip of his cock. 

His entire body tense and he gasped.

You pulled the wand away and said, "I told you." 

He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. 

"Try to focus on your breathing. It'll help you last longer." 

You pressed the wand back to his skin and he flinched a bit, but this time, managed to regain his composure for the most part. 

Using your free hand to keep his cock steady, you maneuvered the wand up and over the head, then down the shaft where you brought it to rest just above your clasped fingers. 

"You're so hard already," you purred. "This is gonna be easy." 

You dragged the wand back up at a slow and even pace, and his breath stuttered a bit.

"Does it feel good?" you asked. 

"Yes," he replied. 

His voice was low and husky, as it always was when he was very aroused, and you found yourself getting a bit distracted by it. This was shaping up to be more of a challenge for you than you’d anticipated.

You brought the wand down again, then followed its upward motion with your hand, using it to stroke up and down his shaft as you used to wand to circle the head. 

His back arched and the wand slipped, nearly causing you to drop it. 

"Keep still," you scolded. 

"No promises," he said. 

His voice came out strained, as though he were holding his breath. That wasn't exactly what you had meant when you told him to focus on his breathing, but it amused you how hard he was trying. 

"There are a few more settings I can try," you said. "Let me know which one you like best." 

You clicked the button on the wand's handle, causing it to switch from the basic vibration setting to one that spun in one direction, paused, then continued in the other direction. You began to run it up and down the underside of his cock and studied his reaction carefully.

He squirmed a bit, but that was all you managed to get. 

Perhaps the pauses between the turns were too long. You pressed one of the other buttons and the rotations sped up just a little bit.

His eyes squeezed shut and he clenched his hands, causing the ribbon that held them to visibly tighten. 

"How's this one?" you asked. 

His lips parted into a smile and he sighed. 

"Good," he said.

You held the wand in place for a moment, allowing him to grow used to the sensation, then switched to the next setting. 

This one elicited the response you had been hoping for. His hips rose from the bed, forcing you to readjust and a throaty moan escaped his lips in spite of his continued efforts to keep his breath held. 

Once he'd returned to his original position, you fell back into your previous rhythm of sliding the wand up and down the length of his cock, your hand following in its wake.

His arms tensed, pulling his restraints taut, and his breath came in uneven pants. 

You began to move a little faster, trying your best to keep your pace steady in spite of the unpredictable jerking of his hips. 

"Wait!" he gasped. "Slow down." 

You contemplated for a moment whether or not you were going to comply with his request, and eventually decided that you were, if only to draw out the experience a bit longer.

You turned the intensity down back to where it had started, then gave a few more lazy strokes before pulling the wand and your hand away. 

His cock pulsed a few times in the absence of your touch, forcing a drop of precum to the tip. You were so tempted to reach out and tease him again, but decided against it for the time being. 

"You're so close already," you said with an exaggerated frown.

You kept your face lowered so that he would be able to feel the warmth of your breath as you spoke. 

"It's not my fault," he said. "You're really good at this." 

The breathy tone of his voice coupled with sight of his cock only inches from your face, which pulsed again in desperation for your touch, sent your head spinning.

You suddenly became aware of your own labored breathing and, given the proximity you had so carefully calculated, he was aware of it too. 

"I wanna fuck you," he said, followed by a rough sigh. "So bad." 

You cocked your head to one side and feigned nonchalance, even though you wanted this just as badly. 

"Maybe if you pass my test," you said. 

You held up your free hand and, with deliberation, wrapped it just beneath the head of his cock, using your thumb to swirl the precum around the tip as you had imagined doing moments before. This provoked even more, and it began to run down over your fingers. 

"This is torture," he groaned, and you couldn't help but smile.

"I know," you said.

You were beginning to feel the same way, but you weren’t about to let him know that.

You ran your hand, which was now quite sticky, up and down the length of his shaft before withdrawing it and using it to hold the wand steady as you switched it back on.

"Ready?" you asked, and he nodded.

You picked up exactly where you left off and he reacted within seconds, his eyes fluttering closed as his head tipped back against the pillow beneath it.

You had to struggle quite a bit to keep your hand in place as he had taken to thrusting into it this time around.

“I told you to stay still,” you said. “You’re only making this harder for yourself.”

“Sorry,” he said.

He slowly lowered himself back onto the bed and did his best to stay there, but you could tell how much he was struggling. His hands were clenched again and his arms were drawn up tight, pulling at the restraints so hard that you were certain there would be a mark on his wrists when you removed them later.

Just as he’d begun to relax again, you turned the intensity up by one, the new setting leaving almost no gap at all between the pulsing vibrations.

He moaned and started to thrust into your hand again but managed to catch himself before you’d even opened your mouth to scold him. 

He flushed, both from arousal and from embarrassment, you guessed. You got the impression that he was ashamed of how vocal he got in the throes of passion, a quirk of his that you found quite endearing.

With his hands restrained, his only option was to bite down on his bottom lip, first one side, then the other, but it was no use. Every time you managed to hit a particularly sensitive spot, he cried out again, in spite of his best efforts.

You turned the intensity up one more time and mentally began counting down from thirty before you would allow him his release.

“Almost there,” you encouraged, but you weren’t sure he was still paying attention to what you were saying.

He began shifting from side to side as though he were trying to escape your grasp, but you weren’t about to allow him to do that.

“Slow down,” he gasped, but you’d already made up your mind.

You weren’t going to give him the relief he was looking for this time.

“Just a little bit longer.”

Only a moment after you’d said this, his face contorted in pleasure and the first spurt of cum hit your hand, the rest coating a good majority of his abdomen.

“Stop!” he cried out, and you switched off the wand as his cock continued to pulse wildly between your fingers.

When it finally came to a stop and his breathing began to return to normal, he opened his eyes and looked up at you with a sly smile.

“Well?” he asked.

“Not quite,” you replied. 

You’d only managed to make it to twenty-six.

“That was hardly fair,” he said. “Were you even keeping track?”

“I was.”

This was only a partial truth. It was hardly your fault that you’d gotten a bit distracted along the way.

“You did your best,” you said as you stood to undo his restraints. “Let me know when you’re ready to try again.”

His eyes widened.

“With that thing?” he asked, pointing to the wand, which now sat inert where you had once been sitting. “I’m not sure I can handle that again today.”

“I warned you.” You chuckled. “Maybe I’ll try something different.”

Perhaps next time, you would try with your mouth or your hand instead. So many possibilities ran through your mind as you stared down at him and he stared back at you, a contented look on his face.

For now, at least.

As soon as he was ready, you planned to start your unique brand of torture all over again.

[johnnusz]

An article from the Children’s health defense

A MUST READ

Could Spike Protein in Moderna, Pfizer Vaccines Cause Blood Clots, Brain Inflammation and Heart Attacks?

Dr. J. Patrick Whelan, a pediatric rheumatologist, warned the FDA in December that mRNA vaccines could cause microvascular injury to the brain, heart, liver and kidneys in ways not assessed in safety trials.

By: Lyn Redwood, RN, MSN

Can mRNA vaccines causing blood clots and inflammation?

On Dec. 8, 2020, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) Vaccines and Related Biological Products Advisory Committee (VRBPAC) received a public submission from J. Patrick Whelan, M.D., Ph.D. The submission was in response to the agency’s request for comments regarding vaccines against SARS-CoV-2 in advance of the Dec. 10 meeting when the committee would review the Pfizer/BioNTech (BNT162b2) SARS-CoV-2 vaccine for emergency use authorization (EUA).

In his public submission, Whelan sought to alert the FDA about the potential for vaccines designed to create immunity to the SARS-CoV-2 spike protein to instead cause injuries.

Specifically, Whelan was concerned that the new mRNA vaccine technology utilized by Pfizer and Moderna has “the potential to cause microvascular injury (inflammation and small blood clots called microthrombi) to the brain, heart, liver and kidneys in ways that were not assessed in the safety trials.”

While Whelan did not dispute the vaccines’ potential to quickly arrest the spread of the virus (assuming that the vaccines prove to actually prevent transmission — also not assessed in the clinical trials), he cautioned that “it would be vastly worse if hundreds of millions of people were to suffer long-lasting or even permanent damage to their brain or heart microvasculature as a result of failing to appreciate in the short-term an unintended effect of full-length spike protein-based vaccines on other organs.”

Unfortunately, Whelan’s concerns were not acknowledged, and the agency instead relied on the limited clinical trial data. The VRBPAC endorsed the use of the Pfizer vaccine on Dec. 10. The following day, the FDA issued the first COVID-19 vaccine emergency use authorization allowing the Pfizer-BioNTech COVID-19 vaccine to be widely distributed in individuals 16 and older without calling for the additional studies that Whelan felt were critical to assure safety of the vaccine, especially in children.

Why was Whelan worried about the mRNA vaccines causing blood clots and inflammation?

One of the peculiar and often deadly findings with regard to SARS-CoV-2 infection is widespread damage occurring in numerous organs beyond the lungs. Clinicians around the world have seen evidence that suggests the virus may cause heart inflammation, acute kidney disease, neurological malfunction, blood clots, intestinal damage and liver problems. Unexpectedly, however, clinicians observe a very limited or non-existent presence of the virus in organs other than the lungs.

Here is what we currently know about the impact of the virus outside the lungs.

Cardiovascular complications from COVID-19

Though COVID-19 was originally thought to be a respiratory infection, it’s since become clear the infection threatens the heart, too.

Dr. Aeshita Dwivedi, a cardiologist at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City has stated: “As the COVID-19 pandemic has evolved, research has progressively demonstrated this virus’s impact on multiple organs of the body including the heart.”

It has been reported that nearly a quarter of people hospitalized with COVID-19 experience myocardial injury and many develop arrhythmias or thromboembolic disease.

In a prospective study that followed 100 patients who recovered from COVID-19, the investigators found involvement of the heart on MRI scans in 78% of patients, and ongoing myocardial inflammation in 60%. These findings were independent of the severity of the infection, overall course of the illness and time from the original diagnosis.

In October 2020, researchers took a more detailed look at the heart after death from COVID-19 and found “cardiac damage was common, but more from clotting than inflammation” and that “microthrombi (small blot clots) were frequent.”

“We did not expect this,” said study co-author Dr. Renu Virmani, of CVPath Institute in Gaithersburg, Maryland. “It seems to be unlikely that the direct viral invasion of the heart is playing a major role in making myocardial necrosis and microthrombi.”

Dr. Hyung Chun, a Yale cardiologist, suggests that the endothelial cells lining the blood vessels potentially release inflammatory cytokines that further exacerbate the body’s inflammatory response and lead to the formation of blood clots. Chun has stated: “The ‘inflamed’ endothelium likely contributes not only to worsening outcome in COVID-19, but also is considered to be an important factor contributing to risk of heart attacks and strokes.”

A subsequent study published last month confirmed the findings of microthrombi resulting in myocyte necrosis, indicative of a recent myocardial infarction (heart attack), in 40 individuals who died from COVID-19 infection — the studies also identified microthrombi as a major cause of cardiac injury.

Neurological complications of COVID

Individuals with COVID-19 experience a vast number of neurological symptoms, such as headaches, ataxia, impaired consciousness, hallucinations, stroke and cerebral hemorrhage.

But autopsy studies have yet to find clear evidence of destructive viral invasion into patients’ brains, pushing researchers to consider alternative explanations of how SARS-CoV-2 causes neurological symptoms.

In a study of 18 COVID-19 patients with neurological symptoms who died in hospitals last April, Mukerji and colleagues found very low levels of viral RNA — the source of which is a mystery — in only five of the patient brains. Because the low RNA concentration “seems out of proportion to the profound deficits that people are experiencing,” Mukerji said, “I’d be extremely surprised [if] the majority of cases where people are having neurological symptoms are due to direct viral invasion.”

In a more recent analysis published Feb. 4, 2021, in the New England Journal of Medicine, researchers from the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke documented microvascular injury but no evidence of virus in the brains of patients who died from COVID-19. They reported, “In a convenience sample of patients who had died from COVID-19, multifocal microvascular injury was observed in the brain and olfactory bulbs by means of magnetic resonance microscopy, histopathological evaluation and immunohistochemical analysis of corresponding sections, without evidence of viral infection.”

If not viral infection, what else could be causing injury to distant organs associated with COVID-19?

The most likely culprit that has been identified is the COVID-19 spike protein released from the outer shell of the virus into circulation. Research cited below has documented that the viral spike protein is able to initiate a cascade of events that triggers damage to distant organs in COVID-19 patients.

Worryingly, several studies have found that the spike proteins alone have the capacity to cause widespread injury throughout the body, without any evidence of virus.

What makes this finding so disturbing is that the COVID-19 mRNA vaccines manufactured by Moderna and Pfizer and currently being administered throughout the U.S. program our cells to manufacture this same coronavirus spike protein as a way to trigger our bodies to produce antibodies to the virus.

According to Whelan’s letter to the FDA, the “Pfizer/BioNTech vaccine is composed of an mRNA that produces a membrane-anchored full-length spike protein.”

A landmark study in Nature Neuroscience, published a few days after Whelan’s letter, found that the commercially obtained COVID-19 spike protein (S1) injected into mice readily crossed the blood-brain barrier, was found in all 11 brain regions examined and entered the parenchymal brain space (the functional tissue in the brain).

The researchers acknowledged that such widespread entry into the brain could explain the diverse neurological effects of S1 such as encephalitis, respiratory difficulties and anosmia (the loss of smell). The injected spike protein was also found in the lung, spleen, kidney and liver of the mice.

A second study published in December, 2020, in Neurobiology of Disease reported that the SARS-CoV-2 spike proteins showed a direct negative impact on endothelial cells and provide “plausible explanations” for the neurological consequences observed in patients with COVID-19.

The researchers demonstrated that the angiotensin-converting enzyme 2 (ACE2), a known binding target for the SARS-CoV-2 spike protein, is “ubiquitously expressed throughout various vessel calibers in the frontal cortex.”

In another investigation, researchers studying brain tissues from 13 fatal COVID-19 cases found pseudovirions (spike, envelope and membrane proteins without viral RNA) present in the endothelia of microvessels of all 13 brains. They concluded that ACE2+ endothelial damage is a central part of SARS-CoV-2 pathology and may be induced by the spike protein alone. Injection of the full-length S1 spike subunit in the tail vein of mice, as part of the same study, led to neurologic signs (increased thirst, stressed behavior).

An observed complication of SARS-CoV-2 infection in children is similar to the atypical Kawasaki disease shock syndrome characterized by multisystemic hyperinflammation, edema and vasculitis (MIS-C) that Whelan treats.

Research has found SARS-CoV-2 spike protein alone to be a potent inductor of endothelial dysfunction, suggesting that “manifestations of COVID-19 shock syndrome in children can be at least partially attributed to its action.”

Let’s now circle back to the concerns voiced by Whelan in his letter to the FDA:

“I am concerned about the possibility that the new vaccines aimed at creating immunity against the SARS-CoV-2 spike protein have the potential to cause microvascular injury to the brain, heart, liver and kidneys in a way that does not currently appear to be assessed in safety trials of these potential drugs.”

Whelan was referring to the fact that mRNA vaccines work by incorporating the genetic blueprint for the key spike protein on the virus surface into a formula that — when injected into humans — instructs our own cells to make the spike protein.

In theory, the body then will make antibodies against the spike protein to protect against SARS-CoV-2 infection.

The problem with this scenario, as we saw above, is that the spike protein alone — which the mRNA vaccines instruct the body to make — has been implicated as a key cause of injury and death in COVID-19 infections.

Based on the research conducted to date, it is very likely that some recipients of the spike protein mRNA vaccines will experience the same symptoms and injuries associated with the virus.

Again according to Whelan, “the potential to cause microvascular injury (inflammation and small blood clots called microthrombi) to the brain, heart, liver and kidney … were not assessed in the safety trials.”

Whelan also stated in his letter that “particular caution will be required with regard to the potential widespread vaccination of children before there are any real data on the safety or effectiveness of these vaccines…”

Sadly highlighting Whelan’s concerns, a 17-year-old was recently hospitalized in the ICU in Israel complaining of severe pains in his chest a few days after receiving the second dose of the coronavirus vaccine.

Since the widespread introduction of these vaccines on Dec. 14, 2020, Children’s Health Defense has been following the reports filed with the Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS), the media and emails from individuals and family members who have experienced adverse vaccine reactions.

As of Jan. 29, 11,249 adverse events had been reported to OpenVAERS related to the two mRNA COVID-19 vaccines. The reports included 501 deaths, 1066 hospitalizations, 2443 urgent care visits, 1447 office visits and 147 cases of anaphylaxis.

What is concerning is that these reports are just the tip of the iceberg. A 2010 Harvard-executed study commissioned by the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) revealed that reported vaccine injuries to VAERS represent an estimated 1% of actual injuries.

Even vaccine manufacturers have calculated at least a “ fifty-fold underreporting of adverse events.”

On Dec. 18, 2020, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., Children’s Health Defense chairman and chief legal counsel, wrote to Dr. David Kessler, then-co-chair of Biden transition’s coronavirus task force and now the chief scientific officer of President Biden’s COVID-19 response, requesting that Kessler consider the long-overdue need for a comprehensive, high-integrity system to monitor adverse outcomes following vaccination.

This request has urgent significance in light of the FDA’s decision to authorize emergency use of the two mRNA vaccines following abbreviated pre-approval clinical trials. Since COVID-19 vaccine companies are immune from liability for injuries caused by their products, our public health regulators have an amplified responsibility to monitor adverse events. To date, we have not received a response from Kessler.

Children’s Health Defense shares the same concerns as Whelan and numerous other clinicians and scientists who have spoken out about lack of adequate safety and efficacy testing prior to widespread distribution of the vaccines, especially in children.

Ignoring these valid and scientifically supported warnings may result in hundreds of millions of people suffering potentially deadly injuries or permanent damage following vaccination. It will also further erode the dwindling confidence that our country has in our federal regulatory agencies to protect the health of all Americans.

We encourage everyone to be informed consumers when making decisions about their health, especially when it comes to vaccinations. We ask that if you, a family member or friend have suffered any kind of adverse side effect, from any vaccine, do all three of the following:

For U.S. residents, first file your report with the Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS), the official site of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS).

Go to VaxxTracker.com to file a report. This is an outside independent source versus government agency that tracks vaccine injuries globally.

Using this page on the CHD website, share your vaccine injury story, pictures or videos. CHD will be publishing these events anonymously on The Defender website

[dodgergilmore]

YAS give me more jess/rory analysis PLEASE ❤

I ended up expanding on my season 3 thoughts in another post, so I’ll just ramble on about something different if we’re all good with that!

Let’s discuss how “You could do more.” is, in some ways, the thesis of the whole Rory and Jess dynamic.

When Rory is not amused by his magic trick during one of their very first interactions (what a sentence lmao), it shows that she isn’t going to put up with the facade he puts on in Stars Hollow. She doesn’t shy away from speaking her mind and pushes him to take responsibility for his actions:

“All [Luke] does is stick up for you, and all you do is make his life harder. I guess that's what you have to do when you're trying to be Holden Caulfield, but I think it stinks. (...) Funny, I never pegged you as clueless, my mistake.”

Again, Rory points out the act Jess puts on but this also shows how she isn’t going to just passively allow him to act in such ways because she doesn’t see him as the nuisance/lost cause that much of the town sees him as. Instead, she holds him to a higher standard because she knows he isn’t clueless.

After a well-intentioned suggestion on Rory’s part, we see her at odds with the expectations placed on her by the town as she becomes “the poster girl for censorship” and she can openly discuss this with Jess as someone who would understand where she’s coming from, because he is one person who is not charmed by Stars Hollow’s small town antics. Her future isn’t bound to this place, so when Jess questions what Rory and Dean talk about, saying that ‘he doesn’t seem like her kind of guy’ it adds another layer to that conversation; let’s be real, Jess is not coming from a place of entirely pure intentions but after season 1, Dean is basically the town’s golden boy (despite previously being the new kid in town) and thus is the embodiment of one of the two worlds Rory is caught between throughout the series: Stars Hollow. But right from the Pilot, we know that Rory is set to “do more” than Stars Hollow. That whole sidestory in 2x12 and its relation to Rory could be an analysis of its own, which I don’t think I am equipped to offer at this time...

By 2x13, Rory is pushing against and growing frustrated with Lorelai’s view of Jess. Rory recognises that Jess should not need a tutor, after trying to explain his margin-writing to Lorelai in the previous episode, and it’s clear that Rory believes in Jess in a way that he himself does not at this point. He meets her words of encouragement and “you could do more” with cynicism but Rory remains unconvinced. Schooling should not be a measure of success – and by season 6 it ends up being beside the point anyway – but it is interesting that Jess’ reasoning for not going to college has nothing to do with himself and everything to do with what others have to say about him.

And why aren’t you going to college? (...)

Ask my mother, she could give you a couple reasons. Oh, and I’m sure Principal Mertin can chime in with a few good ones. In fact, ask your mother. She doesn’t know me all that well but I’m sure she could improvise a few things.

Do not give me that whole ‘I’m so misunderstood, Kurt Cobainy’ thing. You are way stronger than that and I don’t even wanna hear it.

That whole conversation in the car really is The Goods. The paths they have planned for themselves could not be more different but still, they offer each other the same unwavering support and encouragement.

I wont go into detail because I think I’ve already addressed this in my previous posts today but “you could do more” comes into play even during their relationship in that Jess, as we know, does not generate the most positive views from the people of Stars Hollow, perhaps believing that Rory could do more, so to speak, than him. If nothing else, the town definitely thinks so.

Jess shows support for Rory’s Harvard-and then-Yale dreams, which is one of many reasons his reappearance in 6x08 works so well. He assumes she graduated early before considering she wasn’t in school; when Rory keeps commenting on how her circumstances are “all temporary” Jess is visibly... I don’t know that I’d say concerned at this point but he is definitely taken aback.

I know it's good. Jess, you've got such a great brain. I knew that if you could just sit down and stop shaking it around, you could do something like this. I knew it. I knew it.

I know you did. (...) So, I just basically wanted to show you that. Uh, tell you... tell you that I couldn't have done it without you.

Obviously Jess is confirming her “you could do more” sentiments when he explicitly credits the role she played in helping him find success for himself. In doing so, this reassures Rory that she was right about something after feeling the defeat of Mitchum’s words for however many months by this point, and also reminds her of the ambitions she once had for herself.

Neither of them do or say these sort things for “I want to be with you” reasons but for “I want good things for you” reasons. It doesn’t come from a romantic place – they sincerely want the other to succeed, even if that means being apart. Even after everything that happened, Rory is saying “I hope you're good. I want you to be good.” in that 3x22 phone call, and then this in 6x08:

You know that section toward the front, the staff recommendations? I'm gonna grab a copy of your book and put it in that section, and then I'm going to write my own little recommendation on a card and attach it so people see it and buy it.

Please, that’s just cute :(

Of course it ends up ending in absolute MESS but she goes all the way to Philadelphia to see his open house. Imagine if she hadn’t checked the mail that day lmao

I just got the flier, and I don't know. I just wanted to see your place, but then this...

In AYITL, Jess hears Rory out as she divulges the state her life is in then reassures her that she’s in a rut that she is fully capable of getting out of. “Where is this coming from? What inspired you?” indeed. The implications, y’know??

Now I’m going to circle back to what I said about Dean representing Stars Hollow for a moment here. Logan very overtly represents the world of wealth and like I said, Rory is between these two worlds. Rory is a balance of the world of her grandparents and her mother; what’s interesting about Jess is that he doesn’t belong to either world, really. He can exist in the world of Stars Hollow because of his familial connections and history there and that brings us some little moments that are not at all deep, but I absolutely love anyway:

Can't wait to hear how you bagged the job.

It was the usual thing; I submitted my resume, plus samples of my work, I was thoroughly vetted, there were several lengthy interviews, plus complex negotiations over salary, benefits, parking–

You asked Taylor.

Pretty much.

And then when he asks Rory over the phone to fill him in on the ‘showbiz spat’ in 3x14. Stars Hollow has an important role in Rory’s life, and Jess is able to understand that world in a way that Logan simply can’t – if I recall, he is actually quite endeared by the town when he makes his first official visit there in season 7.

Season 5 makes Dean’s place in Rory’s life very clear, first with “What am I doing here, Rory? I don't belong here. Not anymore.” in 5x08 and then in 5x18, when Dean is used as a direct parallel to Luke:

They want more than this. Don’t you see that? And all you are is this. (...) This town, it’s all you are, and it’s not enough. She’s going to get bored, and you can’t take her anywhere. You’re here forever.

It’s... kind of an odd comparison to make in that Lorelai is quite happy with her Stars Hollow life and hasn’t indicated that she wants “more” than this. For Rory, though, it does reiterate that she wants more than Stars Hollow can offer her. I’ve discussed this before but the world of wealth and Logan, while initially intriguing to Rory, loses its shine during season 6 and she ultimately rejects it in that she doesn’t want to be bound by it. It offers temporary thrills and escapism, but she ends up having to enter the real world.

In Summer, Rory talks about looking at places in Queens so that might be the best, most recent indicator of where Rory wants to be in terms of geography. Just like Rory, Jess isn’t bound to any particular world – bouncing around from place-to-place in the original series, not unlike Rory in the revival – and together... they can do more. And that is that on soulmate-ism!

All in all, they hold each other to high standards not because they idealise one another or put each other on pedestals but because they genuinely believe in each other’s capabilities. They actively push each other to do more and important to note is that they hear each other in these moments; maybe not always immediately but they get there eventually because by the end, it’s clear they have a certain respect and fondness for each other. I like that they don’t passively roll along with whatever the other chooses to do, which may be the very reason some people don’t like them. As much as their dynamic evolves with time, there are just some things that remain a constant...

[darlingrutherford]

Back in October, I received an ask about Lana and Alistair sharing Cullen, which prompted me to think about what circumstances would have to happen in order for that to work in my DA canon. I started thinking about it deeply, which has turned into a lot of posts and, in November, I started working on the story version of how that would play out (or, rather, what would spark that first spicy encounter between Lana and Cullen, which could make way for more spicy encounters). I hit a rather big writer’s block on it (like most of my writing, thanks CFS) and was stuck writing a line here or there every week or so, but all this talk recently with @jellysharkbat​ about Cullanistair sparked something in my brain and I finally FINISHED IT. 

This ended up being way longer than I had originally planned lmao. So, I’m uploading to Ao3 as well if you’d rather read on there since they format a bit better than Tumblr. Enjoy!!

Healing | Cross-posted on Ao3 | Alistair Theirin/Lana Surana/Cullen Rutherford | DA:I | Explicit - trauma, PTSD, referenced non-con, sex | 18+ only, please!

     “You look exhausted.” 

The words flowed from her tongue easily enough. The past few months that she and Alistair had been at Skyhold putting together the pieces for the cure had found her and Cullen becoming even more comfortable around one another than back when she was a mage at Kinloch. As such, Lana hadn’t been expecting the almost put off glance from Cullen as his eyebrow quirked at her accusation, and her eyes widened as she quickly followed up her comment, silently wishing she could suck the words back in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - It’s just, you seemed like you were almost falling asleep there for a moment.”

Cullen sighed as his expression relaxed in understanding. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes returning to the chess board in front of them before his hand quickly dragged against his face in an attempt to wake up.

“My apologies,” he said. He leaned forward, moving one of his templars on the board to take her pawn. “I have not been sleeping well these past few nights.” 

“Is it the withdrawals still?” Lana asked. She kept her voice down when she asked the question, knowing full well that Cullen still had yet to make it known to many that his withdrawals were apt to keep him up at night. The corner of Cullen’s mouth quirked in a short lived smile as Lana pondered her move. 

“Those have not been as frequent as they once were, thankfully.” He paused as he contemplated his next words, the silence between them filled by the sound of crows as they flew above to Leliana’s tower. When he finally spoke, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wake up more often, because of the memories.”

Lana nodded in silent understanding. She knew well what Cullen was referring to: of Kinloch, of the torture he had endured for days before she, Alistair, and their friends had rescued him and the few left alive by Uldred and the other blood mages who had taken over the Circle Tower. He had uncomfortably explained it to her weeks after she and Alistair had arrived at Skyhold together months ago, something he couldn’t have avoided when the initial sight of Lana had brought all those memories screaming back to him in his waking hours. Cullen had forced himself to make time for her, to help his mind realize the difference between her and the memory of the demon who used her image to torture him so many long years ago, but also for her. Lana’s guilt when he had eagerly left the room the first time had been clear as day, and Cullen knew she had no need to harbor it. Lana had saved his life, had protected the others he had so quickly wanted to condemn in his hysteria. She was not the same as the nightmares he so frequently experienced in his sleep. So they had spent time together ever since, talking through the past and making way towards the supportive friendship that had quickly grown between the two of them. 

“I still have nightmares from my childhood. Vivid ones, of the night my mother died.” Lana leaned forward, moving one of her rooks before sitting back. Her hand came up to tug at the end of her long braid, fingers pulling at the loose copper strands. “I used to have them every night, back when I was first taken to the templars. I went days without sleeping once, hoping that if I went long enough they’d never return.”

“I remember you being caught once after curfew, sitting in the hall,” Cullen said. A faint smile grew on his face as he looked at Lana when a laugh escaped her at the memory. “Knight-Commander Gregoir threatened to cut off your library access because of it, since you spent so many hours there, but First Enchanter Irving talked him out of it.”

“The only time I ever got caught,” she laughed. “The apprentices who slept near me would chastise me until I’d leave to calm down after one of them. I was too loud, apparently. They weren’t nightly by then, but they did occur every week at the least. They were still awful when I first left Kinloch for the Wardens. I’m grateful they’re not as frequent now. A couple times a month, perhaps.”

“What helped?” He wasn’t looking at the board at this point. His eyes were focused on Lana, watching her as she stared off at a nearby shrub as if it held all the answers in the world. 

“Time,” she finally said after a brief pause. “Time, and a lot of help. I blamed myself for my mother’s death. If I hadn’t come into my magic, she may still be… Well, but I know now that it wasn’t my fault. It took a long time for me to realize that, and I couldn’t have done it alone. That, and…”

Cullen waited for a response that didn’t come. Lana had closed her mouth, her cheeks turning pink. Cullen tilted his head, curiosity on his face.

“And… What?” He casually asked. 

“Well… I…. Had a trigger, for the memories when awake… Kind of like how they came back for you suddenly when you first saw me arrive. The nightmares were mostly in my sleep, but also, whenever I used magic… It was like I could hear her again in my head, screaming. The nightmares got worse the more darkspawn we came across, the more I had to fight. I hated my magic and what it represented.”

“I assume you no longer loathe it, if your dreams have calmed so much?” Cullen asked. Lana nodded her head quietly. She chewed on her lower lip as she returned her gaze to the board in front of them. Taking his cue, Cullen moved his templar once more. Truth be told, he was more focused on their conversation at that point than the game between them. “How did you accomplish that?”

“We… Alistair figured, if I used my magic and something good came out of it, that my reaction may change. I always used magic out of self defense, to kill darkspawn and such. He suggested that using magic for another person who would have a good reaction to it, that I would think of that instead of my mother by association. He’s a smart man. It definitely worked, the more we tried it.”

“That is fortunate that you had a way to disassociate from those memories,” Cullen said. “Healing magic can be very helpful, especially for those who fight darkspawn so often, I would assume.”

“It, well… Wasn’t all that we did.”

“I can’t imagine there are many other kinds of magic that wouldn’t be harmful to the recipient?” Cullen raised his gaze to look at Lana, noticing the pink that had spread to her ears as she cleared her throat.

“Alistair is… very receptive to it, if, um… You know, it’s controlled….”

“I see.” Cullen’s face had gone red the moment he realized what she meant. The two of them averted their gazes from the other, both intensely staring at the chess board as if their game had suddenly become just that more serious. They went through a few exchanged moves in silence, waiting for the awkwardness to tide over - as if it ever could - before Lana spoke again.

“Do you think this has helped you at all? Us, spending time like this together.”

“I haven’t had any feelings of those memories when I am around you in quite a while, so I would say, yes, it has helped considerably,” Cullen said. Lana seemed to visibly relax at his words as a warm smile grew on her face. 

“Is there anything else I could do to help redirect those memories?”

Cullen watched her as she moved her templar, taking his. The redness was returning to his face rapidly, well aware that she had no idea of the gritty details of the torture that involved her likeness. As Lana looked up and saw the almost shocked expression mixed with color on his face, her eyes widened again.

“Maker, I’m sorry, Cullen, I didn’t mean to make you think about it,” she said quickly in a mumble. “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? N - No, I… It’s, um…”

“I just, I know you said that a demon took the form of me. I don’t know what was said, what was done… Sometimes playing out a memory and changing the outcome, we’ve found it really helps me - Andraste silence me, I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?” 

Cullen swallowed, forcing his eyes back to the board as he tried to formulate what to say. Maker, what could he say in a situation like this? Cullen’s boyish crush on the young, red-headed circle mage was a memory long since passed. Of course she was still beautiful - more so now, if it was even possible - but he had moved on... Hadn’t he? Besides, she was with Warden Alistair, and quite happily by the looks of it. But still, for her to be suggesting without knowing what she was suggesting…

“It’s… It’s not that simple, unfortunately,” he stammered out.

“Are you afraid of what might happen? That I’ll hurt you?”

“What? No, I’m - I’m not afraid of you, it’s… Maker’s breath, I was tempted, tortured by your likeness, Lana. Touches, and - and, visions of so… so much more… You have no idea what you… what you’re offering, or how I will… how I would... ”

Their chess game was all but forgotten at this point. Cullen’s breathing had become heavy, his grip on the armrests of his chair tight. He had turned his gaze sharply to the side, staring at the stone wall beside them as he tried to hold back the emotions that threatened to break through his usually strong resolve. Lana sat there quietly across from him, sadness filling her as she watched Cullen all but break in front of her, like a teacup slowly hitting the hard ground. Minutes went by and, once Cullen had allowed a few heavy breaths to sigh from him and the color had calmed in his cheeks, Lana finally spoke.

“What if we tried?” She asked. Cullen looked at her incredulously, and she smiled softly. “Nothing has to happen. A completely safe environment. We wouldn’t do anything more than you felt comfortable doing. You would be in control this time. No demons.”

“What about Alistair?” Cullen asked quietly, the question surprising himself. Maker, but was he actually considering this? Lana’s laughter surprised him even further.

“Alistair won’t mind. He’ll probably encourage it, once I explain. He should be there, too. So you have someone else reassuring you who doesn’t embody the face of your memories.”

“I… I’m not sure if… You actually think it would help?” Maker help him, he was considering it.

“It helped me a lot.” Lana nodded. “It wouldn't hurt to try, right?”

“I don’t… think you realize just how… How far some of it went.” Cullen’s throat had gone dry, his voice a bit raspy.

“Alistair enjoys sharing me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lana said. She placed her closed hand gently against her lips, laughing lightly at the look that spread on Cullen’s face. “Believe me, he enjoys it. He often joins in. Although, obviously, he doesn’t have to. This would be about you, Cullen. About helping you. If reliving all that without the bad helps you sleep better at night, I’d be happy to do it. Just think about it. No pressure.”

      No pressure. The words had left her so simply, so unironically, as if this wouldn’t be one of the more difficult things for Cullen to consider. It would sound perfect on paper, he was sure: taking a moment of trauma and reliving it with the ability to strike out what had gone wrong. Of course, he couldn’t strike it all out. There would always be the memories he couldn’t rewrite: of his friends, murdered in front of him after hours of torture; of the mages who trapped him and cut him before sending a demon to play with his mind. But she was there, in Skyhold - the mage he had secretly pined for all those years ago. The very person whose visage had been used to torment him again, and again, as they played her in his mind the way he had always wanted her back then: touching him, kissing him, just as he had imagined it might be, only for her to transform into the demon once more before they tortured him some more. If he had a chance to rewrite even just one part of it… After this long of trying to run from it all, he owed it to himself to try. After all the guilt she had felt since the moment she had rescued him only for him to look at her as if she had been the one to do it, he owed it to her.

“I’d say you won’t even know I’m here, but… I think we all know that would be a lie,” Alistair chuckled. 

The three of them sat in a small room, the one Alistair and Lana had been staying in since they had arrived three months ago. Lana had suggested Cullen pick the location once he had agreed to their meeting, wanting him to feel safe wherever they were - one more way for him to be in control of the setting. Of course Cullen had his own room, but the hole in the roof and the possibility of interruptions was much too high. At least Lana would be comfortable in her own room, he had told himself. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Lana sighed with a smile. She wasn’t wearing her usual blue armor that day. She sat at the edge of the bed, a tunic much too large for her hanging to her knees and breeches covering her legs. Alistair had gone without much of his armor as well, lounging in a comfy chair near the window and looking quite relaxed about the whole situation. Cullen felt a mess inside and, after the way he had blunderingly discarded his armor as he realized he was much too overdressed between the other two, he was quite sure his anxiousness was apparent as he sat in a chair near the small desk at the wall. 

“I’m teasing, of course,” Alistair said with a smile. “But, not really, at the same time. I’m here for moral support. I know things like this aren’t always easy. It wasn’t difficult for me to redirect Lana when her memories became triggered early on, but, then, I wasn’t the focus of that memory. It’ll seem awkward in the beginning, I’m sure, seeing me in the corner, watching you canoodle with my wife -”

“Alistair…”

“What? You can’t expect me not to.” Alistair grinned at Lana as she rolled her eyes at him. “What I was trying to say is: I’m not going to deck you off of her at any point, unless you’re hurting her, of course. We’re all adults. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself. Anyway, it’ll get less awkward, and we have all the time in the world. So, chop chop, get at it, have fun you two.”

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen groaned as he buried his face in his hands. 

“Ignore him,” Lana said lightly. Cullen looked up as he felt her hands on his, pulling gently as she uncovered his face. She wasn’t much taller than him in that moment, even with him sitting and slouching the way he was. It had been one of the first things he had ever noticed about her, how easy she would have been to hold in his arms. “Focus on me. Now, tell me… How did the demon tempt you with me?”

“I….” Cullen trailed off. He tried his best to keep his eyes on her, but he steadily found it more and more difficult as the memories threatened to return to him.

“I know it’s hard to talk about,” Lana said after a moment of silence. “Maybe start with the first thing?”

“You… I mean, it… When the deception began, the vision… I thought I had awoken in the tower by myself. I had almost thought they left, and then… I saw you. I mean… Not you, but…”

“Take your time, Cullen, it's all right.”

“I don’t want you to… To feel like you have to do this.”

“I wouldn’t have offered this to just anyone, Cullen. You and I have a connection that is unfortunate in one large aspect, and that’s Uldred. Let’s remove him from the equation.”

Cullen took a deep breath and nodded before continuing. 

“You crouched next to me on the floor. I tried to warn you of what had happened, but you told me all was well. That we were alone. It had all been some awful dream. You touched my face…”

Cullen froze as Lana touched his cheek. First her fingertips, gentle and slightly cool to the touch. Then they slid to hold him, the calluses on her hand from years of wielding her staff rubbing softly as they went. Lana rested her hand there, giving Cullen a small and encouraging smile.

“How are you doing?” She asked softly. Cullen's eyes flicked towards Alistair, almost expecting him to become uncomfortable with the situation at any moment, only to find the man lounging sideways in his chair with his long legs hanging over the side. 

“F - Fine. I'm, ah, fine.” Cullen waited until Lana gave him a small nod, his cue to continue. He cleared his throat, giving himself courage to continue as he focused his gaze on her. “I tried to tell you again that we should go, but you… You were persistent. You told me that you - you knew, about my thoughts… My… My desires…”

“Did you desire me?” Lana asked sweetly. Color rushed to Cullen's face as she brought her legs to either side of his lap, settling softly onto him. Her other hand met the opposite side of his face to mirror the one that already cupped his cheek, and slowly her hands slid back to curl gently in his hair. 

“I - I did, at the time.” The words were raspy as they left his throat. His eyes widened slightly as he felt his cock twitch once against his breeches, against her. A lilting laugh left her throat as she smiled.

“At the time?” She teased. 

“He'd have had to be mad not to be,” Alistair commented casually from the corner. Cullen nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. Maker, he had already forgotten that Alistair was there. Lana's hand dropped to Cullen's chin, gently redirecting his gaze towards her.

“What happened next, Cullen?”

“You… It...”

“Did it kiss you?”

“I… Yes,” he choked. Cullen's heart pounded in his chest as time slowed down for him. Slowly, steadily, Lana began leaning towards him, her eyes gradually closing as her lips neared his. And then, they met, and he froze. 

“Cullen? Cullen?”

Cullen blinked, finding Lana still on his lap but staring at him at an arm's length. There was a hint of concern in her eyes, and as his gaze slowly moved towards Alistair he saw the same caring, concerned look on the man's face. As Cullen began moving again Lana visibly relaxed as her warm smile returned to her face.

“What happened just now? Where did you go?” 

“It was… Almost just as I recalled,” he breathed. Maker, but this was more difficult than he had thought it would be. His hands were shaking, and he gripped the arms of the chair to steady them. He couldn't even recall her ending the kiss, seemingly having lost that time in his mind. 

“What was different, though?” Alistair piped in.

“What?” Cullen turned his head to look at Alistair. The man was still sitting with his legs over the side of the chair, however now he was propped up more proper. 

“Before, when it happened. Did it feel like her kiss did? Could you feel the callus on her lower lip from her chewing it too much? Were the kisses before rough and forcing, or soft and sweet?”

“Ah, m - more rough, I… Looking back on it, perhaps it was trying too hard to convince me.”

“So focus on her, then. Kiss her again, but this time count all the differences. Starting with that lovely callus of hers.”

Cullen mentally prepared himself as Lana gently ran her fingers through his hair. Her touch was kind, soothing, not at all what he had felt back in Kinloch. She trailed her fingers over his cheek, tracing his features like a lover memorizing their partner's face. He watched her eyes, her gentle smile as she followed her fingers, and his body relaxed under her touch. Her fingers trailed over the scar above his lip, following it to his lips themselves. That was when her eyes met his, and for a split second a memory of those same blue eyes flashed in his mind, only younger than the ones in front of him now, smiling up at him as they stood talking about the Harrowing she had just completed with ease, and his heart skipped a beat.

“This is real this time, this isn’t a dream,” she whispered. “You're a templar no longer, and we are not in Kinloch. Kiss me.”

Cullen's lips were pulled to hers as if by some invisible force. His hands rested at the small of her back, gripping lightly as they kissed. He followed Alistair's instruction, focusing on every little difference. He found the callus Alistair had mentioned, right at the middle of her lower lip, born from years of nervous habits, something completely missing from his memory. Her kisses were soft, gentle, as kind as her fingers that snaked through his hair once more to caress him - a stark contrast to the gripping, needing pulls from his nightmares. She smelled of lavender and vetiver, of ink and the pages of very old books. She let him take the lead, kissing back only when he kissed her, leaving him in full control. At one point a whimper left her throat, high pitched and shaking, and Cullen suddenly realized that his hands had moved to grip her bottom.

“A - Andraste preserve me, I am so - so sorry,” he sputtered while removing his hands from her. He sighed as Lana kissed him once more, and this time he found his lips trailing after hers when she pulled back.

“I meant what I said before,” she said with a small smirk. “Whatever helps you heal this memory…”

“It… It never got quite that far,” Cullen said as he cleared his throat. “Or, at least…”

“What happened?” Lana asked. Her hands were busying themselves in his hair, brushing back strands just above his ear to help relax him.

“It… It got close. It was as if it was on a loop… Always… Getting to that point, with you - it - on - on top, and then, just before, everything became real again. And they'd… Start over.”

“That's terrible,” Lana said with a frown. “The way I see it, we have two options.”

“Which are...?”

“We can play this out exactly as you remember, only follow through. We break the loop. Or, if this is too much, we can stop.”

“And… What are… your feelings on that?” Cullen asked as he eyed Alistair. The man cracked a grin from afar.

“Judging by the look on her face, and the conversation we had last night about it, she's very excited about comparing templars, if you catch my drift.”

“You really don't mind watching another man… With your wife?”

“He likes it,” Lana said with a smirk. A groan left Cullen's throat of its own accord as she shifted herself against his straining erection that begged to be freed from his breeches. “He enjoys watching me being pleased. And I enjoy him enjoying it.”

“Well, if… If no one objects, we could always try to… See how far we can get.”

“That's the spirit,” Alistair said encouragingly. “I only have one rule - well, two rules: One - what's your watchword, my dear?”

“Wicker.” Cullen watched Lana's cheeks flush ever so slightly as the world left her tongue, then his eyes flickered back to focus on Alistair as he continued. 

“That's right: Wicker. You hear that word, Commander, and you stop. You can use the same if you'd like. Rule number two: no coming in my wife. Yes, I realize we're wardens and wardens don't get pregnant often, but just humor me. Agree to those simple things and I'll let you in on a little secret - If you rub her ears too firmly a few times she'll come, so, avoid that. Unless you want her to come. In which case, it is a nice little trick.”

“Oh, Maker,” Lana sighed with a smile. Cullen chuckled nervously at Alistair’s suggestion. Maker, was he really going to go through with this? Would he even make it to that moment with her? Did she really want this?

As Lana leaned forward and took Cullen’s lips with hers he realized, yes, she did want this. Lana may have been rather obviously allowing Cullen to pick their pace, but she gave herself away in the way her hips gingerly rocked every now and then to rub against his straining erection, as if she couldn’t help herself. Cullen’s hands slowly snuck back to her waist. A strangled hum vibrated in his throat as he felt her breath shake against his lips, as if such a simple touch from him had evoked such a strong response. Memories flashed behind Cullen's closed eyes, little glimpses of watching her from afar so many years ago, always from afar. There were no rules now to stand between them, no blatant imbalances of power to keep his conscience from allowing him this. 

Maker, he didn't think he could stop kissing her even if he wanted to. Each kiss from her melded into his subconscious, each further and further from the frightful memories he had associated her lips with before. He felt as if he were truly breathing for the first time in her presence, a clear headed feeling he hadn't felt since his last draught of lyrium, and he needed more. 

“May I?”

Cullen's lips slowed to a halt as she spoke against them. He pulled back just far enough to glance down at her fingers that played with the lacing of his shirt. With a nod, Cullen watched as Lana slowly unlaced his shirt until it was nice and loose. Then she took his hand, directing his fingers towards the lace on the large shirt she wore. Cullen flushed crimson, realizing that doing so would reveal quite a bit more on her than it did on him. He swallowed as she molded his fingers to grip the lace, then he slowly pulled.

As her skin was revealed, inch by inch, Cullen felt himself seizing up. His eyes were glued to her, staring at her skin just below her clavicle as the fabric pulled away as slowly as his fingers allowed it to. He felt his mind going dark, everything around him swirling, Lana's posture slackened as she caught on to the change in Cullen's appearance when, suddenly, he saw the tip of an old scar. It poked out from under the lacing as it loosened, just on the right at the edge of the top of her breast. 

Cullen's breath released heavily, and he let go of the lace. The rest of it fell, the fabric sliding from her shoulders with it. Cullen's eyes stared at the scar, unable to take his eyes off of it as she sat on his lap with the shirt pooled at her hips. He swallowed hard, raising his hand to draw his fingers over the scar. Its edges were rough, not the work of steel - no, a claw, perhaps? From the corner of his eye, Cullen caught a glimpse of another: one just above her hip, mostly obscured by the fabric of the shirt. He clasped his hands to her waist, causing her to squeak in surprise as he lifted her off his lap and set her to stand in front of him. 

“Everything okay…?” Alistair's question went unanswered as Cullen gently slipped the shirt from Lana's hips until it pooled at her feet. Cullen remained seated in front of her, his face barely an arm's length from her as he hunched over to look at the scar. This one ran from her hip to mere inches diagonal to her navel. It was sharp, piercing, the work of something sharp and rounded - definitely steel, unlike the other. It was covered by a burn, almost hand-shaped in appearance, as if someone had placed their burning palm to her flesh to cauterize the first wound. 

Lana's skin was reddening under his gaze and touch, standing before him in her breast band and breeches. Her head tilted as she watched him stare at her scars, trying to figure out what the significance was as he gently took her hand and traced the scar on her arm - the one that gave her the most nightmares of them all. She bit her lip as he focused on that one, setting aside whatever feelings she had of it for the moment. Then his eyes shot up to her shoulder and he spun her with his hands. Her eyes widened as she stumbled to keep her balance from the sudden movement, making contact with Alistair's gaze as his brows lifted. Cullen was running his fingers over the burn on her right shoulder, and Lana and Alistair's heads tilted almost in unison as they heard what sounded like Cullen laughing. 

“Cullen?” His name was drawn out on Lana's tongue. Alistair sat up in his chair, craning his neck in order to see the Commander's face. His eyes were slightly watering, a look of almost disbelief on his face as he quietly laughed. If it hadn't been for the smile on his face, Alistair would have been more concerned. The two of them waited, giving Cullen a moment, before he finally spoke.

“You have scars.” The words left Cullen, and Lana felt the relief they carried with them. She relaxed instantly, smiling as she laughed as well. 

“It didn't have scars, did it?” She asked, and Alistair instantly slumped back in understanding.

“None at all.”

Lana's body was peppered with them: big scars, little ones, each telling their own story, and Cullen had never known. The demon had drawn on his knowledge of her, filling in the blanks as he would have imagined: it had been unmarked; flawless light olive skin that had matched her face, save for the nail sized nick just near her left eye. Each scar was proof that she was different, that she was her, the one who saved him from that terror all those years ago, not the cause. Each scar was proof, and of them she had many.

Cullen stood as Lana turned and took his hand, pulling him from the chair. She walked him towards the bed, her legs barely hitting the edge before he pulled her towards him and bent low to meet her lips. 

“Walk me through it.” Lana's words bounced off Cullen's lips between kisses. 

“Through…?”

“What happened next?”

Cullen slowly parted from her kiss, the reality of everything coming back to him. His cheeks flushed as he straightened, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he glanced at the bed. He silently kicked himself in his mind as he felt his nervousness setting in once more. 

“Well, I was… We were on the ground… You - I mean - It, r - removed my clothes, and its… Clothes...” 

“Do you want to change that?”

“H - How so?”

“It removed everything… How about you do it this time? Let it be your choice.”

Cullen slowly nodded his head as he considered it. His eyes wandered down to her breasts, barely covered by the cotton that bound it back. He averted his gaze as he felt his face burn, quickly deciding to remove his shirt first. He grabbed the hem, pulling it over his head and taking his time setting it to the side. Cullen could feel the burning traveling down his shoulders and across his chest as his hands found the laces of his trousers. Chancing a glance at Lana, he felt his stomach do a bit of a leap as he watched her teeth bite lightly on her lower lip - right on that callus - all the while her eyes were glued to his hands as they pulled at the strings. Maker, she wasn't trying to hide how much she wanted him, and it made him more careless as he let the trousers drop to the floor at his feet. 

As he tried to step out of the legs of his trousers, Cullen felt himself turn beet red as he realized one fatal mistake - his boots. He dropped down to crouch, sputtering apologies in his smalls as he tore at the laces of his boots and tried to kick them off as if doing so would curse their very existence. 

“Alistair didn't even get his boots off our first time, if that makes you feel any better,” Lana said with a light and understanding laugh. 

“Traitor, you're not supposed to tell people that,” Alistair scoffed, though the grin on his face gave his levity away. 

“Not just me, then?” Cullen mumbled. He tried to take a breath to shake the embarrassment. The feeling faded away soon enough as he saw Lana's feet stepping closer to him. 

“My turn, I believe?” She asked sweetly. Cullen slowly trailed his eyes over her form from where he was crouched, starting at her feet and moving up her cloth covered legs to the skin of her belly, all the way to her ocean blue eyes that sparkled down at him. Maker, he could crouch there all day, he decided. Boots shifted to the side and trousers with them, Cullen shifted to his knees as his eyes zeroed in on the laces of her breeches. He unconsciously licked his lower lip for a moment as he reached out to grasp the string. His heart was pounding, hand shaking ever so slightly as he pulled at the knot until it loosened, then placed a hand on either side of her hips, ensuring his index fingers were touching her skin to feel her as he pulled the breeches down. 

Lana stepped out of the breeches one foot at a time as Cullen pulled them for her. Standing, he looked around the room as if there would be instructions written on the wall. When he met Lana's eyes again she merely smiled in a manner that seemed almost mischievous.

“I believe I'm still clothed, Cullen.”

Maker, but she was. Two strips of fabric kept her from being known to him. Two simple, measly strips of fabric, one which seemed a miracle it was holding her breasts back at all. 

“Which… Um… Which one should I…?”

“I vote the breasts,” Alistair piped in suddenly from his chair. Lana shot a look at him that clearly told him to stop meddling, to which he threw his hands up in defense and added, “Just a suggestion. I apparently don't get a vote, sooo…”

“Whichever you prefer,” Lana cut in, turning her attention back to Cullen. Whichever he preferred… Maker, was there a preference to be had? In that moment, everything so very different from his traumatic past, it felt not unlike being presented with two gifts on Satinalia: two gifts which went hand-in-hand, each which would be opened eventually. Just… Which order?

Cullen let Alistair decide for him. It was simpler that way, though he wasn't sure he wouldn't have done the same in different circumstances. The grey breast band wrapped around her chest seemed to have a difficult task. It got the job done, if that job was only to hold her breasts in place long enough to get her armor on which would surely help with the rest. The world had seen plenty of advances in armor and weaponry, but, it seemed, these had scarcely seen an upgrade since the Exalted Age. 

Standing and stepping close enough to reach around her back, Cullen peered over Lana's head to eye the knot. He fiddled with it a bit, gritting his teeth at one point when it seemed the knot had possibly gotten tighter, when suddenly he felt it pop free. He gingerly took a step back as it fell to the ground, his eyes shamelessly glued to her breasts. Cullen could tell Lana was blushing, but, Maker help him, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He barely even registered the happy hum of approval from Alistair over in his corner, until Lana spoke.

“Would you like me to take care of this?” Her eyes were on his, watching his eyes follow her hand as she hooked her fingers in the corner of her smalls. Cullen managed a nod, and took a step back as she slipped them down.

A breath escaped Cullen as she stood before him. When first he had gazed upon the demon’s form - her form, twisted by what it had read in his mind - it had given off a feeling. Cullen couldn't explain it more than that. It hadn't felt right. It had felt conniving, eerie, like a dark, thorny path in the woods on an otherwise sunny day, riddled with tempting berries that carried an uncertain fate to whomsoever was foolish enough to pluck one and eat it. As Lana stood before him now, she seemed to glow in his mind. There was nothing eerie about her - her scars reminded him of that. And, Maker, she was perfect. 

“Almost.” Cullen stopped in his tracks as Lana piped in after he had taken one step towards her. He furrowed his brows in confusion, only to catch her drift as her eyes trailed downwards on his body with a sly smile. “Not quite fair… Is it?”

“I suppose not,” he chuckled as he flushed once more. Cullen slid his smalls down, pink spreading across his body as his cock stood at full attention in the cool room. 

“So…” Lana smiled, glancing eagerly at his length before looking back up at Cullen while she walked back towards the bed. She sat at the edge before sliding into the middle and patting the mattress as she continued to steal glances of him. “You were on the ground? I thought a bed may be more comfortable. I can move to the floor if you'd like.”

“No - No, you're right. A bed is… Better.” Cullen nodded as he followed her over. He slid onto the bed, suddenly aware of how strange the whole situation must have been. Here he was lying naked on a bed, with a naked woman, and her fully clothed husband sitting in the corner - and yet, there was a part of it that excited him, enough to keep him wanting to see how this would all play out. 

“What happened next?”

Cullen took a deep breath as he prepared to answer her question.

“It… Sat on my legs, and began to… Situate. And that… That's when it all ended. And became… Then it turned, and…” Cullen sighed shakily, closing his eyes as Lana ran her fingers softly through his golden hair. 

“We can take our time,” she said softly at his side. “We don't have to do this all tonight, Cullen. You're doing wonderful. If this is too much -”

“No.” Cullen said it firmly, shaking his head adamantly. He turned his head to the side to look at her, focusing on the scar on her chest, the top of the burn on her right shoulder, a cluster of freckles below her collarbone he had never seen before, all the differences. “I don't want to associate it with you anymore. I - I wasn’t certain before, but now... I want to do this.”

“Good.” Lana smiled, running her fingers through his shallow chest hair. “Because, I have to admit… Ever since you took your smalls off, I've been curious what you'll feel like…”

“Maker's breath.” Cullen nervously laughed, unable to say much else. He had never felt less suave in his entire life, he was sure of it. He blinked, watching as Lana straightened her body and slowly slid her leg over his side. Seeing her above him then, her hands on his chest, fiery copper hair in the candlelight, his mind began swirling. Lana watched as the color drained from his face, his hands gripped onto the blanket beneath him as if it were his only lifeline. 

“Cullen?” She spoke his name softly. Placing her hands on either side of his face she could feel him beginning to sweat. His eyes seemed to stare right through her, as if he were lost in a deep memory. “Cullen?”

Alistair got up from his chair when Cullen didn't move. Cullen's breath was heavy, his muscles tense as Alistair crouched down next to the bed and put his hand on Cullen's shoulder.

“Come on, Rutherford,” Alistair said firmly, giving him a good shake. Alistair's voice seemed to snap him out of it, his voice and way of addressing him not too different from how he had addressed him when they were both Templar trainees. Cullen swallowed as he met Alistair's eyes, then he turned and looked back at Lana.

“Do it.”

“What?” Lana was shocked at Cullen's request. It left him more like a command than a plea, determination coursing over his tongue. Alistair had backed off again to his chair, trying his best to let the two of them work through it now that Cullen seemed to be back.

“I want it to end. Please.” 

“Then end it,” Lana said. “You said this was where it changed… So change it. Take control. What do you want to do?”

It had never happened before. In his nightmares, reliving that hell he had been through, it played over just the same as he had experienced: everything but, her soft legs wrapped around his torso, melting away into purple and horror before he could even experience her. He knew exactly what he wanted to do to change it. 

Cullen grasped Lana by the waist, holding her in place as he rolled them until he was on top of her while she squeaked shortly in surprise. Lana hummed as his lips crashed to hers, whimpers bubbling in her throat as his fingers delved between them to test how wet she was. Maker, she was soaking, clearly having been ready for this since the moment she sat on his lap what seemed like ages ago to him. 

In normal circumstances, Cullen would have liked to have taken his time. These were anything but normal circumstances. Desperate to break the cycle, to have something new to add to the loop, Cullen slid up slightly, groaning low in unison with Lana's loudening whimpers as he rubbed his cock against her heat, coating it in her quim. He sat back just enough to glance between them, taking his hard cock in hand as he guided it to her entrance. 

Cullen's breath was loud, relieved as he felt her heat surround him. It was as if glass had been his prison and it had shattered all around him the moment her mouth hung open with a moan that echoed throughout the room. The sound made him shiver, and he watched Lana as her brow furrowed near her shut eyes, hands gripping the blanket as she fought the urge to roll her hips until he was ready. She was waiting for him to be ready. Cullen pulled back with his hips before gently thrusting back into her. His eyes rolled slightly at the feel of her, quickly opening again to watch as her chest arched slightly with each thrust. Maker, she was already making so much noise, and he was barely doing anything. The thought made Cullen feel warm, stroking his ego as he moved one hand from her hip to balance on the mattress near her face. 

Lana arched towards him, her mouth hanging open as her lips curled into a smile. Maker, Cullen felt different than Alistair. Alistair was gifted when it came to his size - she knew that from the few she had been able to compare by then. Cullen still filled her well, though, very well, in a way that didn't stretch too much for comfort. Oh, Maker, and that slight curve Cullen had to him - that was new, that was very nice. 

Her arms reached up, wrapping around to Cullen's back as he pressed his chest closer to her. Lana took advantage of Cullen's shoulder being level with her lips, pulling him closer to moan loudly against his skin as his thrusts became more purposeful. His hand slipped down to her thigh, pulling until her legs were wrapped around his hips. Cullen slid his hand over every inch of her he could reach, memorizing the feel of her, embedding the memory of her and this moment deep in his mind: he felt the difference between the soft skin of her breast to the scar his thumb ran over; the curve over the peak of her nipple, the way she shuddered and gasped as he grasped over it; the dip over her navel, down to the rough and smooth of the burn that lay over the bump of the long, deep scar just near her hip; and the sweet, sweet way his fingers could dig into the flesh of her bottom, the way her moans became louder and louder as he pulled her towards him while he became totally and incandescently lost in her. 

Time slowed down for Cullen, and at the last possible moment he suddenly remembered one of Alistair's rules. His abdomen was tightening, his body practically lifting as he felt his end near so soon after only just beginning. Grasping her legs Cullen peeled her from his body, pulling out of her and grasping his cock with his hand as he sat up on his knees. He groaned loudly, covering the tip with his palm as he pulsed and spurted into his hand. Cullen gasped, suddenly finding the room less than full of air to him. He gave himself a few hearty, slow strokes, ensuring that he had been emptied of every last drop before falling back to sit on the bed. 

The sound of Lana's happy humming made the corners of Cullen's mouth twitch into a lazy grin. He lifted his head to look her over, finding her still in the position he had left her: on her back, practically spread eagled with a wide grin on her face and flushed skin all over. As her eyes fluttered open and she met his gaze, Cullen felt his insides flip for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 

“How did we do?” She asked breathlessly, and Cullen couldn't help but chuckle. 

“I would say… We did a perfect job.” 

“Think you'll have better thoughts in your mind when you see me now?”

“I - Yes, I... I think I have quite the image to think of now.” Cullen flinched slightly as a cloth hit his shoulder. He looked down, picking up the light blue handkerchief Alistair had tossed at him before looking at the warden questioningly.

“I promise, it's clean.” Alistair winked as he lifted himself off the chair. Cullen nodded in sudden understanding, flushing as he used the handkerchief to clean his hand off. He looked up as Alistair approached the bed, watching as the man looked over his wife with a sparkling interest and a smirk that even made Cullen blush. “I hope you haven't been tired out just yet… My turn, yes?”

[theculturedmarxist]

It’s been a full month since Election Day, and Donald Trump still refuses to concede to Joe Biden. Instead, he continues to insist that he won, making baseless accusations of widespread election fraud and enlisting the aid of a comical crew of sycophants to press legal challenges to the vote totals in swing states—all of which have been laughed out of court. Trump’s ongoing efforts to overturn millions of votes have prompted a public debate over whether to describe his actions as a “coup” or something similar. This is just the most recent phase of a wider debate dating back to the beginning of Trump’s presidency over whether Trump represents a “fascist” or “authoritarian” rupture with the Republican Party pre-2016.

One of the leading critics of that interpretation has been Corey Robin, a professor of political science at the CUNY Graduate Center and the author of an influential and controversial 2011 book on the history of conservative thought, The Reactionary Mind. This week, I spoke to Robin about the Trump presidency as it enters its final months. In contrast to the popular conception of Trump as an incipient fascist dictator and a break with American liberal institutions and norms, for Robin, Trump threatens liberalism only to the extent that movement conservatism in general has over many decades, and is otherwise a weak leader whose power is largely constrained by broader political conditions. Whether or not one fully agrees with every point, Robin offers a provocative alternative to some of the more unhinged reactions to the Trump era from the self-proclaimed Resistance.

This interview has been lightly edited. It originally appeared in yesterday’s email newsletter, to which you can subscribe here.

David Klion: It’s pretty clear at this point that we are not going through an actual coup and that Biden is going to be inaugurated as president on January 20th, whether Trump wants to admit it or not. At the same time, nothing quite like what’s happening now has ever happened before in the United States. How would you describe what Trump and his dead-enders are doing, and how concerned should we be in terms of the stability of US political institutions?

Corey Robin: You can’t understand what’s happening now without a historical perspective on conservatism and the right. The right was born in response to the French Revolution, as a reaction against the democratic emancipation of the commoner. Across more than two centuries and many continents, the right has never lost that reactionary ethos.

But what the right learned, slowly, over time, was that to mobilize against a democratic and democratizing left, it could not simply assert a traditional, static, and familiar defense of hierarchy; instead, it had to mobilize a dynamic movement of the masses, a populist politics of the right to counter the masses of the left. That populism was never democratic, but it knew how to draw from the tropes of democracy to push back against democracy. It learned how to use the languages of racism, nationalism, imperialism, and sexism to give a broad circle of the masses a taste of privilege over their subordinates. The fruition of that long learning process—of using populist vernaculars against democracy—was the American right that emerged in response to the 1960s and the New Deal.

For all the talk of Trump’s populism and racism and nationalism, the fact is that he was far less successful at using those vernaculars to mobilize the masses than his predecessors on the right—Nixon, Reagan, and George W. Bush. Nixon and Reagan were re-elected with large popular majorities. Trump, like Bush, lost the popular majority the first time around, and unlike Bush, lost it a second time around.

What Trump and the Republican Party have grown increasingly dependent upon are not populism or mass politics of any sort, but rather the Electoral College, the Senate, and the courts. Historically speaking, this is a great—and terrible—reversion for the right, a return to the time when it depended not on its popular touch but on its control over anti-democratic state institutions. It makes today’s right a lot weaker than the right of the Reagan era, and makes it seem much more like the Tories of early 19th-century Britain.

This is why you now see Trump doing what he’s trying to do with the vote. The Republicans can’t win presidential campaigns the way they once did: Since 1992, they have won the popular vote exactly once. Their only hope now is a combination of the Electoral College and the courts.

Far from being concerned about US institutions being insufficiently stable or resilient enough to contain Trump or a similar figure, I’m far more concerned about the stifling stability and resilience of institutions like the Electoral College, the courts, and the Senate, and their ability to prop up Trump and the GOP.

DK: You’ve maintained from the beginning that Trump is actually a historically weak president, in spite of his authoritarian bluster. Can you elaborate on why you thought so back in 2017, how those predictions have been borne out since, and what makes Trump weaker than other recent presidents?

CR: I thought Trump was weak for two reasons, neither having anything to do with his skill or character, but with larger political forces and structures.

The first is that conservatism is an inherently reactionary politics that depends on the real threat of an active, emancipatory left: not the specter of a threat, not the discourse on Twitter, but an actual social movement that has taken state power and is engaged in a project of dispossession of elites. When the left is defeated or disappears, the right’s power ebbs. That is what has happened in the US. The left is, historically speaking, relatively weak, so it’s difficult for the right to get the juice it needs.

Trump’s presidency reflected that: Compared to the Republican presidencies of Nixon, Reagan, and George W. Bush, Trump’s was significantly less transformational, and its legacy is far less assured. Next to “law and order” and “the silent majority” (which Nixon made part of our political grammar), next to “the era of big government is over” (which Reagan bequeathed to Clinton as the ruling doctrine of the age), next to Bush’s war on terror and the Department of Homeland Security and the Patriot Act, none of Trump’s attempts to permanently transform the political climate—not of the Republican Party but of the whole political culture—seems even remotely comparable. With the exception of the tax cuts, Trump was hardly able to get much legislation through Congress; many of his executive orders will be undone by Biden; the only custodian of his legacy, ironically, will be the courts, which many had seen as the antidote to Trumpism and caretaker of the rule of law.

The second reason I thought Trump would be weak is that all presidents are elected to oppose or defend a larger political regime. A regime, in US political history, is the combination of ideology, interests, and policies that govern over an extended period of time. In American history, we had the Jeffersonian Democratic-Republican regime, Jackson’s Democratic regime, Lincoln’s Republican regime, FDR’s New Deal regime, and now Reagan’s free market regime. Whatever the party of a specific president elected may be, he will be forced to operate under the larger regime’s assumptions and expectations of good governance. Bill Clinton was a Democrat, but he had to govern like a Republican; Eisenhower was a Republican, but he had to govern like a Democrat.

There are some presidents who are affiliated with a dominant regime, but the regime is vulnerable. Herbert Hoover and Jimmy Carter were those kinds of presidents, and they are considered to be among the weakest. From the moment Trump was elected, I thought he belonged in that Hoover/Carter category. The Reagan regime is increasingly unable to provide the answers and policies to govern the country, much in the same way that the New Deal seemed unable to offer answers during the 1970s. The fact of that weakness made Trump quite weak. Again, the fact that he was so unable to push through legislation, that his budgets were more liberal, in some ways, than Barack Obama’s, and that the Republicans, when they controlled all the elected branches of government, were not able to implement big parts of their program—all that suggests how weak the Republican regime is.

In the coming years, once the emotional context of Trump’s presidency fades away, I think more and more people will see just how weak he really was.

DK: The historian Timothy Snyder, among other prominent public intellectuals, has argued that Trump’s approach to the presidency resembles that of 20th-century dictators like Hitler or Mussolini. The obvious counter is that Trump is going to submit to the election result, but are people like Snyder completely off-base? Trump may be lazy and incompetent, and US institutions may be stronger than some predicted, but is it fair to characterize Trump and his hardcore supporters as far-right, illiberal, even fascist, and at the very least a test of how much strain the Constitution can endure?

CR: There is no question, in my mind, that Trump and his supporters are far-right and illiberal. I’ve said so from the beginning. One of my differences with Snyder and people who subscribe to the view that Trump is a fascist or authoritarian is that their desire to call Trump that often arises from a failure to understand conservatism more generally, which has always been a far-right and illiberal and anti-liberal form of politics. Many of the attributes people decry in Trump and his followers were primary features of the conservatism I was describing in The Reactionary Mind (and got a lot of flak from liberals for so describing). To my mind, the comparisons between Trump and Hitler or Mussolini come from people who only began thinking about American conservatism and the Republican Party when Trump came along.

I would also reject some of the premises of your question. The issue is not that Trump is lazy or incompetent, though he is. As I said in my previous answer, the real reason for Trump’s ineffectiveness has virtually nothing to do with Trump and everything to do with the larger forces on the right that I discussed. Virtually any Republican president elected in 2016 (and I’m not sure anyone but Trump could have been elected) would have been as constrained in their effectiveness as Trump has been.

Conversely, I also think it’s wrong to say that the reason Trump didn’t prevail is that the institutions were stronger than people feared. This is part of an argument that is often falsely posed by liberals and the left: If you assert that Trump is weak and will fail, as I have said from the beginning, people assume that means that the institutions will constrain him. That’s nonsense: American institutions have often been the friend of the most authoritarian projects, as I argued in my first book, Fear: The History of a Political Idea. And in fact, to the extent that Trump’s politics had any juice at all, it was precisely because the institutions support that politics. Where would Trump be without the Electoral College or the Senate confirming his judges and justices—and where would Trumpism be under a Biden administration without the Senate and the courts?

It’s ironic to me that people would choose this moment, and Trump’s presidency, to assign the label “fascist” to the right, for what fascism is about, above all else, is a politics of strength and will. That’s why fascists traditionally loathe the constitutional order: because they think it constrains the assertion of political will. The irony of Trumpist/GOP politics is that it is completely dependent upon the constitutional order. In that regard, it’s almost the complete opposite of fascism.

DK: Okay, we’ve made it through the Trump era, almost, probably. But are we really out of the woods? How strong a president do you expect Biden to be, and is the US at any risk of drifting toward illiberalism in the foreseeable future?

CR: We’re definitely not out of the woods, but not for the reason I think you mean. What we’ve learned over the last decade—and what Trump’s bombast allowed many liberals and the left to avoid—is how much our political institutions constrain action. Assuming the Democrats don’t win the Senate seats in Georgia, we are going to reach the end of 2022 having endured 12 years of political immobility. That is, from Obama’s time in office after the midterms of 2010 to Biden’s time after the midterms of 2022, we’ll have had virtually no legislation dealing with any of the challenges of the day and a lot of executive orders that temporarily change things and then get undone by the next president. It seems so strange to me that people spoke so much of authoritarianism under Trump when what we’ve been seeing for years now, including the Trump years, is political impotence, the absence of political will. And without the left getting its act together, I don’t see that changing any time soon. That is something to be very worried about.

David Klion is the newsletter editor for Jewish Currents.