#this is what walter white did before teaching

[distantsonata]

[hotchnisslvr]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[cherrycola27]

Father, Forgive Me

Warnings: Religious AU! Preacher Jake. Cult activities and dark religious themes. Blood, gore, violence, language. Minors DNI. 18+

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Prologue: For I have Sinned

There are a few defining characteristics that one must have to be considered a good leader.

Kind eyes, a bright smile, quick wit, a firm handshake, a charming personality, and a silver tongue that could sell ice to a polar bear. Most people only needed a few of these to be convincing enough for someone to blindly follow them.

But, if someone possessed all of these qualities and topped it off with a southern drawl and movie star face and the wrong intentions, well—they could be downright— deadly.

That's exactly what happened to the good people of Ginger Ridge, North Carolina. A devilishly handsome young reverend rolled into their town. Reverend Smith. He was young, mysterious, —different.

He fixed up the old white church at the top of Ridge Hill. He came to town and invited the people to hear his sermons. At first, he seemed amazing. Charming, caring, sweet. Everyone loved him. No— they adored him—especially the younger folks who seemed lost in their faith.

Soon, he started hosting "special" prayer groups for the lost teens and young adults of Ginger Ridge. Many of the older folks stopped attending after this. They felt like Father Smith wasn't preaching the word to them anymore. They felt like he had changed. His teachings became— darker. They townspeople tried to keep They young folks away from him, but it was no use.

The lost youth continued to flock to him like moths to flame. Blindly holding on to every word he said. In their mind, Father Jonas Smith was the mouthpiece of God, and they would do anything to please them. Maybe that's why after his disappearance, there were over dozen blonde haired, green eyed babes born to some unwed mothers in Ginger Ridge.

................

The full moon hung high in the sky that night in the sleepy mountain town of Ginger Ridge. It was peaceful as a warm summer wind blew in through the open windows of the townspeople's homes. That peace would soon be disturbed by the sound screams and cries for mercy as Reverend Smith's "lost youth" carried out his sinister plan.

When the local law enforcement from the next town over was tipped off, they immediately contacted the FBI. Agents came into the small mountain community and couldn't believe their eyes. Blood and bodies of men and women filled the streets and homes. The youth and children were nowhere to be found. Upon further investigation, they were found in the white church at the top of Ridge Hill.

All of them were clothed and singing a sermon in white robes that had been stained and splattered with the crimson red blood of their family and friends.

When they were taken in for questioning, each one said the same thing. "Reverend Smith preached the good word to us. He is truly a prophet of God. Our souls will be welcomed in the Great Hereafter now that the sacrifice has been given." What was even more disturbing than that were the roughly fifteen or so girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four who all claimed that they had been extra blessed because they had been selected by God himself to carry the child of Reverend Smith and raise the next generations of prophets.

The FBI attempted to locate Reverend Jonas Smith after that night, only to find that he never existed.

After months of searching for him, the trail went cold, and the case was given to you, Agent Y/N Walters. After a few weeks of digging you did stumble upon a similar case from Massachusetts, except the man believed to be behind it was someone named Father Jackson Simmons and a case from Texas but the person of interests name in that one was James Simon.

You read each file and realized that Jonas, Jackson, and James all had to be the same man. You just had to figure out who he really was and stop him before the events of Ginger Ridge were repeated.

..........

The windows were down on his beat up late eighties model pickup truck as Jake Seresin drove down the highway. He fiddled with the radio station landing on a Beach Boys song as he drove past the "Welcome to California" sign.

The sun was just setting as he pulled into the small seaside motel in the town of Del Angelo. He adjusted his tie and grabbed his duffle bag before exiting his vehicle.

"Good evening." The older woman at the desk greeted him.

"Evening Ma'am." Jake said as he walked up to the counter. He dropped his bag by his feet and set his worn Bible and keys on the counter.

"How can I help you?" She asked him.

"I called yesterday. I have a reservation for the next few weeks under the name Saunders." He said before giving her a wide smile.

"Ah, yes, I remember. Jason Sauders. I have the reservation right here. A room on the third floor, end of the hall, just as you requested." She smiled at him before handing him the key. Jake handed her a large stack of bills and gave her a wink.

"My name is Ethel if you need anything, and if I'm not around, you can ask my husband David or my daughter Mary-Ann." She told him.

"Thank you, Miss Ethel. You know there actually is something you might be able to help me with." He said.

"What's that?" Ethel asked him.

"When I was driving in town, I noticed an old boarded up church. Any idea who I could talk to about fixing it up?" Jake asked her.

"You'd probably need to talk to Mayor Andrews about that. Is there any reason you want to fix up that old place?" She asked him.

"Well, Ethel, my full name is Reverend Jason Sauders, and I was hoping to fix up that church so I could bring the word of God to the people of Del Angelo." Jake told her.

"A preacher? My word, we haven't had one of those here in years. Lord knows we need one. You might be just what we need around here, Reverend Sauders." Ethel beamed.

"I hope so. I know that after I'm finished, Del Angelo will never be the same." Jake smirked at her before grabbing his things and heading to his room. He chuckled to himself, knowing that the first part of his plan had already been put in motion.

Tagging some who might be interested: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @blueoorchid @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @potato-girl99981 @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @roostette

Hope yall enjoyed my unmedicated ADHD filled dumpster fire

[zestyaahbutler]

Howdy! Since you're friends with Athena and your askbox is open to requests, I just wanna drop in a proposal for a fun writing idea to take and run with if you want to! Think of it more as a proposal than a request lol. (You draw real good, too.)

Consider writing a bit of slice of life where a fatherly Walter teaches his not quite teenaged boss Integra a bit about gardening. Shows her a bit of gardening in the hopes she adopts a new hobby and won't grow up in a completely dark and dreary place as the new Hellsing heir. Those roses could always be an estate favorite.

Those That Grow in Their Place

The successor of the Hellsing family treaded behind her butler while the dreamy morning sky was still waking up around them. Her usual confident pace was replaced with a much slower one. It could be the rubber boots that she was instructed to put on, it wasn’t something she would opt to wear on her own accord. Walter hadn’t even opted for a change in his usual attire. She could only wonder why exactly she was accompanying him to the garden at such an early hour. Integra’s hands occasionally went up to push up her glasses and rub her eyes. 

“Have you still not been sleeping well? You can always take a nap after we’re done,” he commented on her state instantly. For the past few months after what happened, she hadn’t been in the best state of mind to rest. Yet, resting was all she was recommended to do when she opened up. Any words of comfort he tossed her way brushed up against an already forming callous that served to wall Integra off.

“I’m not a child, I can manage getting up a little earlier than usual.” She hadn’t even stopped to look at him. It was scathing how prone she was to reject any sort of coddling now. Months prior, she would have begged her butler for five more minutes in bed or even admit she would take the nap.

The fear she must have experienced that day he was absent had to have been unimaginable. Running away from her uncle, someone who was advised to protect her and act as a guide. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, nor was his place of blame in the matter. But it never meant he felt no sympathy or guilt for what he organized.

What mattered was that she was fine. In one piece. If anything, with enough delusion and effort, he believed that same little girl he saw before could come back. 

“I thought you might enjoy helping me with the garden to start off the weekend, you’ve had quite the busy week so I thought it would help clear your head.” His tone was smooth as if what he was just thinking had never occurred. She didn’t say much to this, only reflecting on what occurred in one of numerous weeks of work. The two-day meeting she attended with the roundtable. As nerve-wracking as it was to attend as the leader of Hellsing with added expectations, she was still regarded as a child. Even Pennwood would look to Walter to confirm her statements on events regarding the supernatural.

“You seemed like you had a busier week than I did,” she almost pouted. Somehow what he had said soured her mood even more. The listless shuffling of her boots filled in more than she needed to express.

“I am assisting a busy young lady,” he attempted to soothe her. “It’s only natural to become busier as you become more capable, Miss Integra” Her brows softened. A tinge of hope of having diffused her mood glimmered as they came upon the gate of the garden. A large part of land boxed by white fencing. Vines from climbing hop plants lined parts of the front foreshadowed the already cultivated greenery inside. She had seen the garden before, but spring was still in its infancy so it was the first time since the late months of fall that she would see the area. Walter unlocked the gate, opened it, and motioned for her to walk through. Once inside, he shut the gate behind them and led her to the shed.

“Today you can choose your breakfast if it adds any incentive to help.”

She whipped her head at him as if he had something most unusual. 

“I get to choose?” Walter nodded to this with a small smirk. By this point, she had already caught onto his game. But she was not against humoring her caretaker. “…If that’s what it takes.”

“Then it’s settled.” He went into the shed and switched on the light. Integra squinted as she got used to the brightness of the fluorescents that lit up the entire inside. Walter grabbed an apron hanging near the door, tying it on himself while Integra stood and admired the various instruments organized. Almost none she knew the technical name for. She knew of a shovel, a hoe, or a rake, at the very least. An apron for her was hoisted over her head suddenly. She glanced up at her butler as her head was looped into the top. He pulled the braid he had done for her out of the loop before kneeling to tie it for her. Her gaze wandered down to the apron’s front which was adorned in flashy embroidery. Various flowers, insects, and even birds were sewn on alongside patterned stitchery. 

“Is the apron too tight?” 

She shook her head at this. 

“It’s just fine, thank you.” 

As soon as Integra turned around a small breath escaped Walter. She was a little tall for her age so the apron was nearly a perfect fit by now.

“The gloves should be in the front pocket, make sure you put them on.” 

Integra reached inside and pulled out a pair of floral patterned gloves. Once she put them on she noticed they were a little too big. The blonde tugged at the cuffs.

They weren’t unusable. 

The rustling of mulch caught her attention. Walter had already gotten a bag of mulch and a shovel. Walter led her out of the shed and to wherever he was taking her within the garden. Integra followed close behind, admiring the already blooming greenery. Some were native to England while others were more exotic. She quickened her pace to walk alongside him. 

“What are we doing?” Integra inquired, unable to contain her growing curiosity. He stopped near the large row of roses housing themselves in bushes.

“We’ll be mulching and pruning the roses for now” Walter dropped the bag down and cut open the bag with a simple swipe of his wire. The shovel he had brought along was dug into the bag and dumped onto the base of one of the roses before he dragged it out to the width of the bush. He did another in the same fashion he did with the first tone before tilting the handle of the shovel over to Integra. 

She gently took it from him, looked at the bag, and with a much more determined expression she stuck the shovel into the bag and brought some mulch onto the pale and dumped it onto the next base of the rose bush. A little more clumsy compared to him but nothing she couldn’t learn from. She dragged the pieces of bark out the same way and ended it by padding it a little. 

“Great, just do the same with the next one… maybe no padding” he instructed. “The mulch will break down on its own, for now, it is serving as a barrier to keep the weeds out and the moisture in when we water it.” 

Integra made an ‘oh’ motion with her lips and repeated what she had done before but more correct. Then again with the other bushes. Most were dressed in brilliant blooms of crimson while others had tint variations of apricot, peach, and lilac. Once she was done with the mulch Walter took the shovel from her and set it nearby. 

“Excellent, we’ll work on pruning next,” he said before handing her a pair of pruning shears to her while he kept another for himself. With a gloved hand, he pointed out one of many of the flowers, “This bloom is on the older side, if we don’t deadhead then it will produce a rose hip instead of more flowers that we can take and display here or in the estate.” He dragged a finger down the stem before taking it down to one of the many sets of leaves. “You find five leaves from the bloom pointing out from the center, this one is closer to the top while others may be different.” The clippers were put up to the plant, maybe a quarter inch up from the leaves and at an angle. Then snip. Integra blinked a few times at the explanation. As mild as an activity as it sounded, it felt much more complicated. “This will encourage more flowers to bloom in its place”

Integra got on her own knees and looked at the bushes closely. It felt wrong to cut off a flower. The rising anxiety of ruining the plant plagued her as she hesitantly took the clippers to it. 

“Is everything alright?” 

She paused and took the clippers back. 

“I’m just worried I may cut off the wrong ones.” 

“The one you had was just fine” he reassured softly. “These roses are Polythanas, they are much more hardy and forgiving so don’t worry.” Walter continued to tend to the bush he was on while carrying on the conversation. “Your mother had a remarkable knack for gardening but even she made mistakes from time to time.” Integra raised a brow at this. 

“Really?” 

“She is human” Walter sighed at her second guessing. “Before you were born she wanted to net off some of the fruit trees so the birds wouldn’t nest in them.” Integra started to tend to her own bush, cutting off any growth that was damaged or too old to stay. “Sadly the holes of the net were small and the bird got tangled inside.” 

“Was she able to get it out?” Integra questioned and moved on to the next rose bush for trimming. 

“Yes, but not without sacrifice.” His expression change to that of melancholy as he reminisced on the event. “Your mother was a terribly stubborn woman, I told her I could cut the bird out but she insisted on doing it herself." Seeing Integra becoming more comfortable with tending to the garden helped sweeten the mood only slightly. “The bird’s neck had broke so there was no way for it to fly away.” 

“Didn’t you say you would have been able to get it out safely?”

A slight pause occurred. Birds could be heard chirping as the sun had risen higher in the sky. 

“No, I really didn’t want her to deal with the poor thing, she was already going through enough stress.” 

“Earlier you told me that it’s fine to make mistakes”

“It is,” he seemed much quieter now. 

“Why did you try stopping her from seeing what happened?” 

“That’s…” A much heavier sigh came from him. Integra took a meek glance at him.

“Sorry.” 

“No, it’s a great observation.” Walter was able to put on a smile regardless of how much the comment pulled at his heart. Almost a decade had passed and those feelings never wavered. “Point is, the garden is a place for you to experiment: try and succeed, or try and fail.” Walter put the garden shears in the front pocket of the apron he adorned. “It’s a good hobby that may help you become a strong leader for the organization; you shouldn’t ever be afraid to fail, Miss Integra.” A giggle spawned from the young heir as she got up herself and dusted off her the front of her apron. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she replied before even more laughter escaped her. “You sound like an old man.” 

A bold declaration. He raised a brow at her while having a much more sarcastic smile.

“Since I’m such an old man, I’ll have you fetch the garden hose,” Walter ordered. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time so I need you to hurry.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” Integra gasped after grinning so hard that her cheeks had become a little sore. She jogged off to grab what he had asked for. Walter couldn’t help but feel his mood was lifted seeing her act much more playful. Perhaps he was right in this being what she needed when growing up in such a dreary time in her life. 

A blast of cold water smacked into his back, making him stiffen. 

So much for wearing the apron protecting his clothes. 

“Ah-“ a voice squeaked from behind him.

He turned around to see Integra with a dumbfounded look holding the hose with the attached spraying nozzle.

“I was just trying to see if it works.”

A tinge of irritation shot at her excuse but he was able to blanket it under his many years of hardened professionalism. 

“While aiming it at me?”

“To be fair, you are in front of the roses, Walter” Integra looked away with a catty smile. He backed away from the roses. 

“Very well, hopefully, you can aim much more effectively with me out of the way.” 

Integra sprayed over the rose bushes while Walter stood soaked nearby. A hand ran through his dampened hair. As long as she was happy, he was fine with putting up with such petty pranks. 

“Did my father ever help in the garden?” Integra inquired with her voice a little louder to compensate for the spraying hose. 

“He was rather busy,” Walter relayed. But it was far too short and maybe would leave her feeling cheated. “As I said earlier, there isn’t anything wrong with taking a nap, she often fell asleep after gardening,” he explained his earlier point further. “your mother slept on the bench over by the fruit trees next to your father.” Once Integra finished her watering, he could see her eyes had truly lit up at the simple story he had given. Instead of the usual loneliness that ruminated in her pale cerulean eyes, they twinkled with contentment. 

“Do we need to do anything else for the roses?”

“Nope, you handled them perfectly.” He commended, giving Integra a thumbs up. “We’ll move on to harvesting the elephant garlic next.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His lids fluttered languorously at another drop of rain hitting his forehead. Even after drifting off twice already, the rain still chose to wake him up. He at least wanted a little longer here a hand went into his pocket gingerly so as to not wake the resting madam. Her head rested practically on his chest now. 

If the rain was bothering him, how much longer till she woke up on her own? It wasn’t in good faith to leave her but neither was it to get her up from her nap. 

So what if he had his own enjoyment in the matter? 

A rumble of thunder brewed over him, contradicting the desire to stay like this.

He ran a hand cautiously through her everlong locks. It was softer than anything he was used to feeling.  

More droplets started to patter down on him. One caught itself on Amulya’s cheek and seemed to caress it as it ran down. 

Her perfume didn’t fade even after handling the soil either. 

The rain started to fall at a light steady pace. The final sign to resist any decadence to keep their relationship purely ascetic. 

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

Like, literally all of them? Go fuck yourself?

"Less representation than Gravity Falls..."

So...

I guess all of the crippled queer kids are just going to have to be okay with Tyrone (strangely appropriative and fetishistic name for the disfigured clone of your 13 y/o white boy character) happily exclaiming something like how he's apparently "Better Off Dead!" when he gets a soda poured on him and destroyed, huh? Oh Wait! I forgot.. That was Paper-Jam Dipper!

Nope. I think crippled queer kids would much rather appreciate Toby and Minty being there just fine. After all, I think that it must be the first time we've ever seen any visible wheelchair users in a Queer Coded Disney Show since Kim Possible. Let alone this queer coded and let alone twice. And they're two separate characters existing at the same time and their presence doesn't even revolve around teaching anyone anything! They're just ALLOWED to EXIST!

Didn't see anything like this in Grabbity Balls though, did see a stereotypical man-ish little girl with a big, deep man-ish voice be implied to have "something wrong with her" by an adult authority figure character who's voiced by the same straight, white, openly anti-black Canadian man that you all have been heralding as the ultimate alley for your fictional LGBTQ+ Cartoon Characters' rights, for some reason.

At least the Star Crew tried to give us this:

Which in my opinion was a bit more forwarded and impactful than some dude bro frat boy "love guru" type character just wearing a bunch of symbols and ornaments around his neck, even if they both didn't get through the censors ... You all know this is way more explicit than that.

Speaking of in your face and explicit Queer Coding:

Golly gee... I wonder why such cute and beefy but shy Little Leather Monster Complete with his own Harness and what appears to be a Gimp Mask just had to be regulated to the back?! So funny how Daron Nefcy literally said Disabled Rights, Trans Rights, and Leather/Kinkster Rights while Alex Hirsch only said Eugenics, "Trans Rights" (if you can pass to him, if he can pronounce your name, and you don't say "bae" ) and of course, let's not forget Cops at Pride, despite how little they could apparently both get away with... :)

... But of course, the last and most important Queer Reading to me in Star vs. :

The whole idea of being forced to be with someone you don't love to the point where you have to take a Secret Lover and elope with them and preserve your own sanity because you're a"Bad Girl" who likes a lot of dirty, kinky things to the point where your own voice actress is herself an open kinkster who likes dirty kinky things and that shows through her fun performance, as well as the canonical writings of this kinky character.

And we're not even getting into all of the WAM and Food Fetish stuff in Star vs. The Forces of Evil but it's there, and it's 'glorious'

And after the show is over ,like the actual Queen of Darkness you are, you gotta go sue your old washed up has-been rock star ex boyfriend for misusing the forces of what he says is kink to abuse you ... Because kink is great actually and he's just evil.

Anyway, Esmé Bianco is amazing.

Don't even get me started on Meteora and the blatant disrespect. Especially after Jessica Walter's passing.

I'm writing this post because I'm just ... So fucking sick of people shitting all over the wonderful representation that Star vs. was able to even achieve in favor of praising Alex Hirsch, every time... When in reality, Star vs. The Forces of Evil has overall better representation and overt, and, as some have even said, both in out the show, literally abject Queerness in it than Hirsch will ever have in whichever eye y'all tried to put the eye-patch on your sexy twink Bill Ciphers only to have Hirsch shit on all that and immediately "fix it" by redesigning it as some disfigured ablest caricature before literally switching over to yet another anti-black one.

Dana broke up with Hirsch for a reason: He's a jerk!

If you think that Daron didn't do a "queer enough" narrative with Star vs. despite it being so by it's nature since day one, despite that being already being promised by it's very nature in it's influence being Sailor Moon and Scott Pilgrim, and if you read the Book of Spells even and still say shit like: "I don't see how Star vs. is QUEER????"

Then like, I'm sorry you can't look a little deeper to find that queerness already everywhere in the narrative all around you and if you actually think that Alex Hirsch ever did Representation TM better than Daron Nefcy, all I can say is that I'm sorry you're like a misogynist with shit taste in men and I'm so glad Dana Terrace is free from her shitty boyfriends shadow now at least.

Saying something even more petty about this because I'm gay: A giant, "Size Shifting", People Eating, Purple Pussy Monster who spends his time in mostly just booty shorts, his Chocolate Fountain Jumping Wife who orgasms when she eats candy and left her arranged marriage so that could have more orgasms, and their Giantess, Purple Pussy Monster of a daughter who sucks the souls out of people and spent most of her life as the Milfier than her own Mom, Terrifying Headmistress of a reform school, where she sucked the life of her own students in a Bathory-uqse fashion, before blowing up her cyborg simp, with his own heart, then probably being able to use the severed arm of her Lizard Cyborg Ex Boyfriend as a make-shift dildo to get a final wank in before ultimately experiencing a growth spurt, losing her mind, and killing everyone ... Will always be more Queer in their very nature, than a floating stale dorito in a top hat and two "gay" cops that are designed to be classicist, racist stereotypes for the sake of the unspoken running "joke" that they could even get along, ever were...

And again... If you're an adult and 'Star Vs.' still isn't enough for you... Then maybe you should STOP looking to cartoons and Disney for your ideal representation and make your own...

I'm done.

[twiststreet]

I put on some Chris O’Dowd show over on Apple to chop up some minutes. O’Dowd’s playing a high school teacher who lives in the suburbs-- in other words, he’s playing someone who’s miserable and unfulfilled.  Anytime Hollywood wants to tell a story about someone miserable and unfulfilled, they immediately say, “oh you mean, like a high school teacher??  On a scale of 1 to High School Teacher, how unfulfilled are we talking about here?” That is the horrible soul-crushing job Walter White has before he discovers the joy of cooking meth.  Or the job Matthew Broderick has in Election.  Or the job all the space-alien teachers in The Faculty have before they’re tragically murdered by an ungrateful meth-wielding Elijah Wood.  It’s pretty rare you see a high school teacher in a TV show or movie who’s like “damn I did it!!!  I made it all the way here!  Angela Bassett did the thing (except in this scenario, I am the spiritual equivalent of Angela Bassett)”.  Not unless it’s about a white lady teaching inner-city black kids about how Shakespeare was the first rapper, or whatever.  Or that movie The Substitute where the substitute teacher just wrecked dudes, fist-style-- that one was pretty good-- that guy seemed pretty satisfied by his profession, or if he wasn’t, he at least found a healthy way to cope.  Or Rock Hudson’s character in Pretty Maids All in a Row, but he was sleeping with his students, that movie was from the 1970′s, that was just what life was like before the SAT’s, maybe that’s the difference...

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Money- Walter White

Pairing: Walter White x Reader

Characters: Walter White

Warnings: N/A

Request: N/A

Word Count: 435

Author: Aaron

“Tell me please y/n, has there ever been a time in your life where your family or maybe even friends if you were lucky enough to have any thought to speak to somebody about you being actually, genuinely mentally deficient?” Walter looked over the desk at you with a certain disappointment and frustration in his eyes. “Because I distinctly remember teaching you things very similar to this and it was just a brain meltingly painful then. Look…” He walked around to the side of the desk that you were leant on and pointed his sharpened pencil at the scribblings on the pages. “If you actually paid attention for just one second, something might actually go in that thick skull of yours.”

“Why do you even want my help if you’re just going to berate me.” You pushed yourself from the desk and stroppily marched towards the door. “Just do it yourself if you’re so smart.” You had just crossed through the door as you heard a desperate plea.

“Y/n, just wait, please. I’m sorry, come back.” Walter walked around with intent, checking that nobody had been listening in on the conversation before closing the door. “You are smart y/n, not… school smart and definitely not chemistry smart, but I really don’t think I can do this without you. I don’t know anything about moving this stuff around and I normally order my classroom supplies from a catalogue, I don’t think the school would appreciate sending me invoices for all of my supplies to make crystal meth.”

“So what? You want to use me as a mule? Do trips to Home Depot for you? I don’t think so Mr. White.”

“Even for what would be a more than generous cut of the profits?” He must have noticed your eyes slowly light up with optimism. “What y/n? Did you really think I would have you do all this hard work for nothing? I was originally thinking a nice thirty-seventy split and if we manage to make the level of product that I am expecting then, well, I think thirty percent should set you up quite nicely for the future.” He smiled gently. “I presume that won’t be a fund for college but to be honest I don’t really care what you do with the money as long as we can earn it. So, tell me y/n, are you in? Please do bear in mind that if you say no now, I will have no choice but to kill you so you cant rat me out.”

Your heart began to race, and your palms sweat.

“Relax, I’m joking.”

[cbs-scorpion-coffee-shop]

Am i the only one who 1000000000% believes Florence actually had zero feelings for Walter and that someone forced her to say what she said? Like the while scenario screams shady. Just think about it!

Paige asks Florence calmly whether she went to the lecture with Walter. now look at her reaction.

She isn't just stressed. She is visibly terrified. Even though she had zero reasons to be this terrified.

Again look at her, just terrified. Even though she did nothing wrong. I could call a million things she could have said at the top of her head that would have gotten her out of trouble. Something like: "Yes, as a matter of fact i have. The guys didn't tell you?" Or "I thought we already went through this at the ball game?" Or "Yes, Walter was nice enough to give me his extra ticket" or "Yes, he said something at the ballgame to the others about you teaching him all about white lies and how he heard you mocking the lecture" All of which would result in the situation being explained more openly and the blame not falling on her, or scorpion not imploding.

Instead all she says is a nervous yes with no elaboration.

Now Paige is scolding Walter and saying they had a cranial affair. And look at her face.

She is again visibly terrified. Her cheeks are red and she looks like she's about to cry. Almost as if she's afraid for her life. And she doesnt talk. She doesn't defend herself or say it was all benign like she said at the ballgame. She is just silent. Almost as if she's not allowed to defend herself.

And then Walter denies physical contact which she denies too. Because if she lied and said he touched her, Walter would know something isn't right. Now he asks her about her feelings.

And her reply just seals the deal to me. At this point Florence has adamantly denied having any feelings for Walter at the ballgame. And all the others heard her. Even IF she had feelings for Walter she would have 100000000% denied them like she did before. Instead she says she has feelings, contradicting herself and messing up her and Walter's life. All while again, being visibly terrified.

She hasn't done anything wrong at all. And she was NOT seeking a relationship with Walter in anyway. So why say this unless she was forced to say it? It would make sense. I always found it weird how Collins just let them be. If he had been running the show behind the curtains, maybe kidnap someone related to Florence or threaten her life and then use her to implode Scorpion. That's 100% like him. And the mole thing seems weak to me. If she was a mole then she would be more active in trying to be in Scorpion's life. So basically this is my headcannon and no one will convince me otherwise.

[fuzzysparrow]

In the US TV series 'Breaking Bad', what subject did the main character teach?

'Breaking Bad' tells the story of Walter White, a high school chemistry teacher who, after an unexpected diagnosis, turns to cooking meth to pay his medical bills. The show began in January 2008 and was broadcast across Canada and the United States until September 2013, during which time it won 10 Emmy Awards.

The show was created by Vince Gilligan, who previously worked as a writer for 'The X-Files'. Gilligan wanted to create a series in which the protagonist became the antagonist. Gilligan cast Bryan Cranston for the role of Walter White based on having worked with him before. Gilligan said the character had to be simultaneously loathsome and sympathetic, and that Bryan alone was the only actor who could pull off that trick.

Before entering the drug trade, Walter worked as a chemistry teacher at J. P. Wynne High School. He adopted the clandestine pseudonym and business moniker "Heisenberg", referencing the theoretical physicist Werner Karl Heisenberg. Further back in Walter's past, before the show begins, he worked at a chemical lab in Los Alamos but agreed to move to Albuquerque to work for Sandia Laboratories after marrying his wife, Skyler. For reasons unknown, he lost his job and became a chemistry teacher instead.

[poisonedapples]

Patton’s Home for Traumatized Kids - Chapter Three

New School and Friendships

Chapter Summary: Roman has his first day in a new district while some bonds are strengthened.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Story Masterlist

Warnings: Past abuse mentions, mentions of hidden cameras, anxiety, some bullying, crying, and food mentions

Chapter Word Count: 5,860

Taglist: @shade-romeo, @grayson-22, @pixelated-pineapple, @acrobaticcatfeline, @astrozei, @edupunkn00b, @princey-7258

“Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?” Roman’s dad turned to face him. Roman felt his whole body start to shake.

“You know how you said that…I could ask for anything from you? Since, uh- since you didn’t know what present to get me last time?”

His dad smiled in a way so normal it was disturbing. “Got an idea?”

“Yeah, uh…I want a canopy bed.”

His dad’s face dropped, and Roman could feel the anxiety and regret bloom through his chest. “You know why I can’t do that, Roman.”

“Please? I know it’s probably a bit much to replace my whole bed frame, but I could make my own canopy for cheaper! I’ve already looked at a bunch of ways online how, I just need you to buy the materials-”

“It’s a no.” Roman’s dad looked angry, and Roman would’ve done anything to run the other direction at that moment. To burst out the door and never come back. “Nice try, Roman, but I’m not stupid. Come back when you have a better idea.”

Roman blinked to fight back the tears. “…I’m sorry.”

“Go back to your room.”

Roman ran up the stairs as fast as he could, wishing more than anything that there was a lock on his door. Instead, Roman took his desk chair and propped it against the knob for some kind of security, curling into the corner of his room as he shook and tugged at his hair.

He tried to block out the knowledge of the security camera on his shelf, hidden well but not well enough, pointed right at his bed.

***

Several fast knocks came onto Roman’s bedroom door, waking him up with a jerk. He groggily pushed open the curtain in front of his head to grab his phone and look at the time. Six o’clock on the dot, it read. Ugh.

The knocking on the door didn’t stop, and Roman whined. “What?” He called out.

“Get dressed, we need to leave the house by 6:30.” He heard Logan call back.

“Fine, fine.” Roman pushed the curtains out of the way and practically rolled out of bed, grabbing the clothes he’d organized for himself the night before. He put on a pair of jeans with a white and red t-shirt, nothing fancy but fancy enough for a first day surrounded by strangers. He grabbed his backpack and put his phone and some earbuds in his pocket before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

“Morning, kiddo!” Patton chirped as he made breakfast, “Didja sleep well?”

“Yes, I did.” That was a lie. He had some strange dream where his dad was also there, and he only managed to calm down and fall back asleep an hour ago. He still couldn’t stop thinking about it, even if the dream was hazy now.

“Good to hear! Be ready by 6:30 so I can drive all of you to the school. Then once you get there, you can ask about your schedule at the office.” Patton laid down a plate of bagels with cream cheese and strawberries in front of Roman, so Roman began to eat.

Once he finished his breakfast, Roman rushed back upstairs to style his hair and brush his teeth before they had to leave. As he brushed his teeth, he stared at the shower to the left of him and sighed. He touched his hair, feeling the grease slick onto his fingers.

He really needed to shower. He hadn’t showered since he got here, and with how thick his hair was it was really starting to gross him out. He hated feeling greasy and grimy, but Roman hadn’t checked the bathroom for cameras yet and he refused to shower until he did. Though, he knew that was also just an excuse. Roman also felt too tired to take care of himself.

Just brush your teeth, he thought, they told you that if you can’t shower, at least brush your teeth. Greasy hair can be fixed, cavities are expensive.

He spit out the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed out his mouth. He grabbed some face wash and decided to use it as quickly as he could to hold back the gross feeling he felt. It would help him feel a little cleaner, at least. A little more presentable for the first day.

A loud bang came onto the door. “Roman, hurry up!” Virgil called out, “Some of us need to piss!”

“Just a second!” Roman vigorously splashed water on his face and quickly dried it with a towel, rushing out of the bathroom so that Virgil could run in. He sighed again, walking downstairs to wait on the couch until it was time to go.

“Alrighty, everyone got everything?” Patton eventually asked, making Roman crack open the eyes he didn’t even realize he closed. Patton smiled and clapped his hands together when his response was tired hums of agreement. “Perfect! To the car!”

All three kids bunched themselves together in the back of Patton’s car, Roman and Virgil at the window seats while poor Logan was squished in the middle. Roman squeezed his legs together so he could fit his backpack between Logan and himself, acting as a barrier so Logan couldn’t touch him. It was uncomfortable, but it was what Roman had to do.

“So, Roman, are you excited?” Patton asked, making Roman open his eyes again to look at Patton through the rearview mirror. Roman leaned his head against the window.

“More nervous. I’ve never been to a new school before.”

“Well, hopefully you can make lots of friends here! The school is pretty big, so there are certainly lots of options!” Patton laughed at himself and Roman closed his eyes again.

We’ll see about that.

Eventually, after a failed attempt of getting in some extra minutes of sleep before school, Roman felt the car come to a stop. He opened his eyes and looked out the window to see the front of the large school building, kids with smiling faces talking to each other as they walked inside while others looked tired yet excited. Roman wasn’t feeling it.

“Alright, kiddos, have fun!” Patton exclaimed, “Remember to check in with the office for your schedule, Roman!”

All the kids started to pile out of the car, grabbing their bags off the floor to rush inside. Once they were all out, Patton’s car drove away to head for work.

Roman looked at the building as Logan and Virgil walked inside. It seemed huge compared to his old school, where the county was much more rural than here. They still had twenty minutes until school started and kids were already swarming in from multiple entrances, both from the main entrance and other doors connected around the building. Roman walked inside and held his arms close to himself, desperate not to be shoved around by the other students. 

The office was fairly easy to find, considering there was a giant sign over the door in bold, white letters reading Office. Roman opened the door and stepped inside to get in line, feeling a little bit better that he wasn’t the only student having first day issues. The line shrank very quickly until it was Roman’s turn to ask questions, being faced with an old lady who could either be very sweet or the rudest person in the building. Roman could never tell.

“Uh, I’m a new kid at this school, and my guardian told me to come here to get my schedule?” Roman asked.

“Name.” Okay, well, rude it was, then.

“Roman Goldsberry.”

The desk worker didn’t respond, only typed something on her computer and didn’t make eye contact. “Next door to your left of that entrance is the counselor’s office. Your counselor is Mrs. Walters and she’ll call for you shortly.”

“Okay, thank you.” Roman had never scurried out of an office so quickly in his life. So much for a great first impression.

In the other office, Roman sat on a waiting chair and awkwardly glanced at all the college items they had hung up on the walls, waiting until his name would be called. The school day hasn’t even started yet, what’s taking them so long?

Roman drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and waited. There was a lot of college stuff in this room. Granted, high school’s whole thing was trying to take you to college, his old school was the exact same. And he should really start thinking about that stuff since he’s a sophomore now. He only had two more years left after this, but it’s not like he could go anyway. He wasn’t even supposed to graduate high school, let alone college.

Besides, his dream was stupid anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“Roman Goldsberry?” A voice called out, taking Roman out of his thoughts. Roman stood up to follow the counselor into her office.

“I’m Mrs. Walters, and it’s nice to meet you Roman!” She said cheerily as she sat at her desk with Roman sitting right in front of her. “Your schedule was a bit last minute to pull together, but I tried my hardest based on your last school’s transcript and your test scores from last standardized testing. All I need is to schedule some extra electives for you. You have advanced English 12, advanced geometry, advanced biology, and world history. You can also choose Spanish 3 here if you wish to continue that. You also still need your gym credit, so you can take regular PE or strength training. I also have a list of other electives here if you want to look at that.”

“Yeah, I can look.” The counselor handed Roman a paper of all the electives organized by their subject. Well, Roman definitely wanted to continue Spanish, so that choice was easy. Strength training sounded like a fun way to do gym class with less dodgeballs to the face, but it was only a semester long, so he’d need to pick another semester class for the second half of the year. And he could join another painting or drawing class as his last elective, but he’d already taken those at his old school…

Roman gazed at the arts section of the packet, trying to find something he might like. His eyes lit up as he noticed the names of two classes: set design, which was a semester long and sounded magical, and something called sculpture. “What does the sculpture class teach?” Roman asked.

“It’s an art class that teaches you how to sculpt with different things. Like clay, wood, things like that. It’s a very hands-on class if you’re interested.”

Roman smiled. “I want that one then.”

The counselor typed something into her computer. “Have you chosen your other classes?”

“Yes, Spanish 3, set design, and strength training.”

“I’ll put you in strength training for this semester, but next semester you can join the set design class. I’ll email your elective teachers to inform them you’ll be joining their classes, but for now…” The counselor printed off a piece of paper and handed it to Roman. “This is your new schedule. Your first class is English with Ms. Fritz, and her class should be up on the third floor at room 316. Do you think you can make it there?”

“I can, thank you.”

The counselor smiled. “Have a nice first day.”

Roman walked off to head toward his first class, going up two flights of stairs and wandering across half the floor before he finally found his classroom. Thankfully, the halls were full of students desperately trying to locate their classrooms, so Roman didn’t feel as weird. He eventually stumbled upon the correct room number after checking multiple hallways and trying to follow their scattered number system. He looked at the door with a paper rabbit and a book with a phrase reading hop into a good book, and could guess immediately what type of teacher this would be.

Roman pushed open the half-cracked door and stepped inside.

The dozen kids who were already sitting stared at him when he walked in, but quickly resumed their conversations shortly after. Roman glanced at an empty seat off in the middle row near the other end of the class and moved to sit down in it. He looked around at the other kids off in their own worlds, with no one to get excited to see him and strike up a conversation. He was sitting alone in a class where it seemed like no one else was.

Roman got bored quickly with no one to talk to, drumming his fingers on the table and starting to daydream instead.

The long lost princess with the power to see into the future is forced to hide in protected wilderness, Roman thought, picking up from an old story idea he’s had for a while. Can’t have a teen novel without an orphan, so she lives with a guardian healer instead. Then, she needs a trusty companion to not only start her adventures, but to assist her alongside them. Perhaps he could be a peasant boy born with more magic power than the normal peasant has? It sure would be interesting. Or maybe, he’s not a trustworthy companion at all! What if he’s using the princess to promote his own selfish ideals? But as the story goes on, they actually become close friends and he has an intense internal conflict as he turns into the antagonist! Then maybe-

“Alright class, I think it’s been late enough for us to start!” Roman tried not to be aggravated at the teacher for interrupting him. The teacher stood at the front of the class with a wide smile. “I’m Ms. Fritz, but of course I’m sure a lot of you already know that since you had me last year. I teach all grade levels for advanced English, so if you keep down this path you might stick with me until graduation! Now normally, teachers will start their first day with class expectations, maybe a rubric or a supplies list, but I have a better idea! How about we travel across the class and try to get to know each other better? I can pass around a ball, and if you catch the ball, you have to share three fun facts about you!”

A sense of dread filled into Roman after hearing that. He usually didn’t mind games like this since it was a mindless way to pass the time, but he didn’t have any friends to pass him the ball anymore. Was he just going to sit there until the end? Sounded awkward, no thank you.

“I think,” Ms. Fritz said with her hand gripping her chin in thought, “I’m going to start with the new kid.”

Roman perked his head up as all the other kids turned to him. Well, that was unexpected.

Ms. Fritz tossed Roman the ball, and thankfully he caught it without making a fool of himself. The teacher smiled at him encouragingly as he stood up, looking around at all the kids waiting for him to talk. What should I even say?

“Can you say your name first?” Ms. Fritz asked.

“Well…I’m Roman. Uh, I like to paint, I’m half french, and…” Roman tried to think. What else was interesting about him? Something that shared a lot about him as a person?

Quickly, it dawned on him. One idea that I could possibly share, he thought. Well, it’s a bit invasive, but they’re all looking at me. So whatever.

He took a deep breath in. “…I’m a foster kid.”

When Roman admitted that, all the kids seemed to be more interested in him, leaning closer as their eyes widened. It was the first time Roman ever said it aloud, and it was so strange to hear coming from his mouth. He was a foster kid. That was an important part of his identity now.

He didn’t know how he felt about it.

“You’re half french?” Ms. Fritz pulled Roman out of his thoughts with that question. “Do you know any french?”

“I’m fluent.”

“That’s so cool! Can you say something in French for us?”

Roman seemed to think about it. “Quelque chose.”

Ms. Fritz blinked. “Well, I hope it was appropriate to say in a classroom. When did you move here, Roman?”

“Like…four days ago. Very recently.”

“You only got added to my roster last night, so I believe you! How about you pass the ball to another kid now?”

Roman looked around the room awkwardly before making eye contact with a random girl and tossing her the ball. He sat back down and only paid half his attention to what the other kids were saying. Well, at least he didn’t have to wait awkwardly anymore.

The rest of the class went like that. It seemed like a lot of these kids were students that Ms. Fritz had in the past, as well as being students that were also close friends with each other. They talked a lot and made lots of jokes with the teacher, and they seemed really close, which Roman understood since he was the same with his old group of advanced kids. The extra conversation dragged the game out longer than it probably should have been, but Roman didn’t mind. He didn’t want to actually work or anything anyway.

Eventually, the game ended, and the last kid tossed the ball to Ms. Fritz. “Alright,” she said, “That game dragged out longer than I thought it would, but that’s fine! The bells are shorter the first few days anyway. We only have a couple minutes left, so talk amongst yourself if you want, I don’t care. The assembly should be after your fourth bell for the sophomores, so don’t let your teachers forget!”

All the students turned around to talk to the kids around them. Roman simply watched their conversations with no one to talk to himself, realizing how all the new kids at his old school must have felt. It was like looking in from the outside, where no one else could see you. Roman was just…there.

“Hey,” the kid in front of him turned around to face Roman. Roman almost jumped at the sudden attention. “What’s your name again?”

“Oh, Roman. Roman Goldsberry.” Roman turned to sit properly in his seat and leaned in closer. This was a good start! He seems nice, maybe I can make a friend!

“Roman Goldsberry!” He mocked, turning to his other friends to laugh. “That’s such a pretentious name. And very American sounding, by the way. I thought you were French?”

Roman’s shoulders sagged. Nevermind. Eight in the morning on my first day, and apparently I’ve made an enemy before a friend. “I’m half french, not fully french.”

The kid turned to his friends and made a face at them before they all laughed. Roman felt his blood boil.

“So your dad is the American?” The kid asked.

“Yes.” Roman hoped his sharp tone would help them realize not to mess with him.

“Are you close with your dad?”

Roman froze, and the group of kids turned to each other to make faces at each other again. He really didn’t see what was so funny. Who asks a complete stranger a question like that out of the blue?

Before Roman could snap and tell the kid to mind his own damn business, another kid from the other side of the room scoffed. “Mitchell.”

“What? I’m just asking!”

The other kid opened their mouth to retaliate, but a loud and obnoxious bell went off before they could. Kids started to get up to rush to their next class, and Roman joined them. The sooner he got away from Mitchell (who had no right to bully Roman for his name when he was called Mitchell), the better.

Roman rushed out into the hall and hyper focused on the schedule in his hands. World history, room 203. The next floor down.

Roman was so occupied in trying to find a flight of stairs, he didn’t notice the kid trying to catch up to him.

***

The rest of Roman’s day wasn’t half as eventful as his first bell. History class had a chill teacher, which was nice, then next was his strength training class. His teacher was a little confused when he showed up but was happy to have Roman on board. He seemed very strict with his class rules though, and Roman hated that considering one of his rules was they had to change into gym clothes. Which meant Roman had to wear gym shorts.

…Well, guess he’d have to get used to wearing multiple pairs of boxers again.

Besides that, he also got lost on his way to sculpture, so he showed up ten minutes late telling this random teacher he was her student now. At least she didn’t seem bothered. After that, they all went to the sophomore assembly where they were told the school rules and updates, which Roman’s pretty sure he was the only kid who actually listened. Then, after the assembly, Roman went to the cafeteria to eat a lunch that Patton packed him. He hadn’t actually brought a packed lunch to school in years, so the sentiment was…strange.

Not that Roman would complain about an edible lunch, though.

Roman looked around the cafeteria for a place to sit. The place was starting to become crowded as more students got out of line for buying lunch, so Roman needed to find a spot fast. It’d be easier if he made a friend to sit with, but after the morning Mitchell incident, Roman hadn’t cared to try again in his other classes.

That’s when Roman spotted him. A kid with thick glasses eating a fruit cup as he worked on some papers next to him, completely ignoring the world to finish some homework. Roman wasn’t exactly close with his foster brothers, but hey, maybe Logan could prove himself a little useful. He had to be lonely too, right?

Roman took his chance and sat across from Logan. Logan didn’t look up from his papers. “Hey there, nerd!”

Logan glanced an eye toward Roman. He focused back on his work. “Hello.”

“How’s your first day of high school going?”

It took Logan a solid minute before he responded. “It’s going alright. I got unlucky with a teacher of mine, who already gave us a homework packet for the week, so I’m trying to get a head start on it.”

“Really? What teacher?”

“Mr. Owens, he’s the more strict teacher of the two that teach medical technology.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Medical technology? That’s a class here?”

“Yes. I had to do a lot of things last year to get into it, however. It’s part of the intensive medical learning path. However, the extra work is necessary.”

“…Right. What other classes are you in?”

“Advanced biology, advanced geometry, advanced English, medical tech as I just mentioned, German 2, health, and painting.”

Roman tilted his head to the side. “Wait, I thought most of those were sophomore classes?”

“And I took freshman classes my eighth grade year. Your point?”

Roman blinked. “…Fair enough.”

Roman brought out his own sandwich and ate it in awkward silence. Logan seemed so focused on his paper that he wasn’t saying a word, and trying to spark conversation with him when he was like this was next to impossible. He felt like he was intruding by sitting next to Logan, the air feeling thick for a reason Roman couldn’t quite place. Once he finished his sandwich, Roman had enough.

“I think…” Roman said, “I’m going to sit…somewhere else.”

Logan didn’t react. “Alright.”

Roman stood up and awkwardly shuffled to an empty spot at a table on the other side of the cafeteria, placing down his lunch box and trying again. Well, he thought as he opened up a cheese stick wrapper, better get used to being alone, then.

“Hey, excuse me?”

Roman looked up at the voice while he was mid-bite. It was the same kid who scolded Mitchell back in his English class, tired circles under their eyes and a gray sweater on despite it being August. Though, Roman had been freezing in most of his classes today, so maybe this person had the right idea.

“Oh- I’m sorry, were you sitting here?” Roman asked.

“No, you’re fine, I just…” The kid looked side to side anxiously. “…Mind if I sit with you?”

“…Oh! No, I don’t mind at all.”

The kid smiled and set their lunchtray across from Roman. “Thanks. I’m Elliott by the way, they/them pronouns.”

Roman’s brain took a minute to process what they meant. “Uh, hello! I’m Roman…he/him?”

Elliott seemed to get happier when he said that. “Nice to meet you. How’s your first day been so far? Besides for you-know-who this morning.”

Roman laughed. “Well, aside from that uncalled for mess, it’s been quite normal. I got lost a few times, but that’s not new for me. My teachers seem quite alright so far.”

“That’s good to hear. We have a lot of good teachers, I think, unless they teach calculus, then they have some serious issues. But so long as you don’t act like an idiot it’s easy to get past those teachers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind! Hopefully I stay on this hot streak, though.” Roman took out a water bottle from his lunch and started to drink it. “But it’s the students I’m more worried about. They all seem so off on their own. Or just outright rude like that guy this morning.”

Elliott groaned, leaning his head on his hand and slouching. “I’m really sorry about him. He can be a huge jerk for no reason. I think he’s just itching for a fight.”

“You seem to know him quite well. Old friend or something?” Roman asked.

Elliott groaned again. “…He’s my ex.”

“…No offense to your type or anything, but…ew.”

“Oh no, yeah, dating him was definitely an ew,” Elliot sighed. “We broke up like, four times in the span of a year and a half. It was a mess. Eventually, over the summer I broke up with him for good. I think he’s still upset about that and taking it out on the first easy target he finds. That, and he’s a jerk.”

“Well, he’ll soon learn I’m not one to be described as an easy target.” Roman gave a cocky smile and posed.

The bell sounded off again, and all the students stood up from their tables and started to swarm the trash cans and cafeteria exits. Roman and Elliott gave each other a look as they also stood up.

“So…what class do you have next?” Elliott asked nervously.

“Let’s see…” Roman pulled out the schedule from his pocket and looked at it. “Advanced biology with Mr. Weber.”

Elliott’s eyes lit up. “Me too! Uh…wanna walk together then? I can show you where it is.”

Roman smiled. “Of course!”

The two kids headed down the stairs, talking more and laughing long after they sat down in the class and the bell rang. Roman continued to whisper to Elliott during class until the teacher gave them both a warning glance, shutting their mouths but smiling at each other.

Even as Roman tried to pay attention, he felt a weight lift from his chest.

He’d obtained a friend after all!

***

The entire bus drive home, Roman spent it texting Elliott’s number that they’d given him right after biology ended. He talked about his last two classes and listened to Elliott ramble about his bad luck with classmates this year, grinning to himself with his eyes glued to his screen until his stop came. Virgil banged his fist on Roman’s seat to get his attention, making him jump and stand up to get off with Virgil and Logan.

During the walk home, no one said anything. Roman was off in his own world and Virgil just looked tired, with Logan staring intently at his own shoes as he walked. Virgil unlocked the door for them all to come inside, and they all branched off into their different directions. Virgil got a snack from the kitchen while Roman and Logan ran up to their rooms.

Roman spent a lot of his time in his room now that he’d gotten the curtains around his bed. Lying there was a lot softer than hiding on the bathroom floor with his legs propped up, and Roman was still confused as to how he managed to get away with installing this. He’d have to make sure Patton never entered his room again in case he planned to rip the curtains off their hooks.

He’d have to make a plan to effectively keep him out.

But for now, Roman actually needed to talk to Patton as soon as possible. He needed to ask for gym clothes, since that was the only thing Roman still needed to get for class, and he wanted to get it over with so Roman wouldn’t need to keep worrying about it. He was almost certain Patton had come home half an hour ago, but Roman just ignored him and stayed in his room. But he had to take advantage of the fact that he was remembering to ask for the clothes, so there was no time like the present to go find him.

Roman hopped out of bed and exited his room, making his way downstairs to the living room. He figured Patton would be either watching TV or doing something in the kitchen, but when Roman looked around, he didn’t see him anywhere. Virgil was sprawled across the couch on his phone, but no one else was around. Roman put his hands on his hips.

“Where’s Patton?” He asked Virgil.

Virgil didn’t look up. “Upstairs. In his room I think.”

Roman groaned and stomped back upstairs. He hated going into an adult’s room, so he instead opened the door and poked his head in so he wouldn’t have to step inside. But before he could get a word out to Patton, Roman stopped himself.

Patton was sitting on his bed with the lights dimmed, his back resting in the headboard, but what shocked Roman was that Logan was there also. He had his face hidden in Patton’s neck as Patton rubbed his back and played with his hair, holding him tight to his chest while Logan sniffled. Roman had never seen Logan emote before, so watching him cry was…disturbing. Roman wanted to run over and rip Logan from Patton to protect him.

Patton looked at Roman in the doorway and smiled. “You gotta remember to knock before entering, kiddo. What do you need?”

Roman forgot the main reason he came here. “Is Logan okay?”

Patton looked down at Logan and whispered something in his ear. Whatever Patton said, Logan agreed with a quiet nod of his head. Patton rubbed at Logan’s neck in a way that made Roman’s skin crawl as Patton began to speak. “He’ll be okay, kiddo. He’s just a little overwhelmed from school today. Do you need anything?”

Roman took a step inside Patton’s bedroom. It made his whole body shift into fight or flight, but he couldn’t leave Logan alone with him in good conscience. “I just wanted to say I need to buy gym clothes by next Wednesday. I’m in a strength training class this semester.”

Patton smiled. “That’s fine, we can go shopping this weekend.”

Roman looked down at the floor. “Well…I was more thinking, like…I go into the store while you wait in the car.”

Patton raised an eyebrow at him. “I need to buy the clothes, kiddo.”

“You can just give me the money. I’ll stay within the budget and give you any left over, so…please?”

Patton’s face dropped a little, but he didn’t get angry, so Roman considered that a win. “Sure, kiddo. We’ll do that Sunday.”

Even after the conversation seemed to end, Roman still stood near the door, shifting on his feet awkwardly. Patton shifted his eyes between Logan and Roman as if he was analyzing both of their mental states, but Roman’s throat felt stuck as he tried to bring out the words he wanted to say. He was so scared, but he couldn’t force himself to ask the question he knew he needed to ask now. Yet his feet refused to make a run for it out the door despite his fear.

“Do you need something else, kiddo?” Patton lightly prompted. Roman attempted to swallow the rock he felt in his throat.

“Can I…Can I stay with you and Logan?” He hated it, but he had to do it. He didn’t know what Patton would try when Logan was vulnerable.

Patton looked down at Logan, and Logan nodded. Patton turned to smile again. “You can if you want, Logan doesn’t mind.”

Roman carefully walked to the other side of the bed, sitting as far as possible from Patton but keeping his eyes glued to Logan. He knew he wasn’t helping much, not saying a word and not even being close, but it was something Roman had to do. Just because him and Logan weren’t close didn’t mean he’d leave him in danger. Even if Roman felt stuck in his head and couldn’t find the power to move his arms.

Roman sat there for a while, watching Logan’s chest rise as Patton rubbed his back. It felt like ages before Logan’s chest slowed and he fell asleep on top of Patton, somehow not caring at all about being asleep in Patton’s presence. Roman’s heart ached for him. He was too trusting and innocent for his own good.

“I gotta do some chores,” Patton whispered, “So I’m gonna tuck him in and let him nap. Do you still wanna stay with him?”

Roman nodded, not being able to get the words out himself. He felt stuck as Patton lifted Logan up gently, petting his hair to soothe him when he stirred. Roman helped by tugging the covers back from his end of the bed so that Patton could tuck him in and let go of him sooner, his hand on the back of Logan’s leg making Roman anxious. Patton tucked Logan under the covers and watched his reaction. After a few seconds, Patton grabbed a squishy stuffed frog from his bedside table, handing it to Logan who curled around it in his sleep. It’d be cute if Roman wasn’t so worried.

“Tell me if anything happens, okay kiddo?” Patton said right as he was halfway out the bedroom door. Roman nodded, only finally relaxing after Patton left and slowly closed the door. 

Roman immediately ran over to lock it. He didn’t have his security bar, but this would be good enough. Hopefully Patton wouldn’t test anything when he knew Roman would be by Logan’s side.

Despite all of Roman’s worries, Logan slept peacefully on the bed. He didn’t shift or seem distressed at all, just snuggling closer to Patton’s stuffed frog and resting. Logan was calm.

Roman sat on the floor to block the door and watched to make sure no one took that away from him.

[sweetberrysmooch]

HC: Call This The ‘Can This Man Cook’ Section

(….. I don’t think these men can cook 😔)

First post pog :D I wrote a majority of these super late at night, so please forgive and let me know of any mistakes you find <3 Also, it’s a little long lol

Characters: Dream, George, SapNap, Badboyhalo, Wilbur, Technoblade, Philza, Quackity, Fundy, Schlatt.

Warnings: None, except for a kinda risqué comment in Philza’s. Oh and I guess there’s mentions of eating meat in case someone wants the warning :3

Song Recommendation: I Love You So- The Walters

Hella fluffy! Hope you enjoy <3

From best to worst:

#1: BadBoyHalo-

Bad is the best at cooking on the server. He is the creme of the crop, absolute top one percent, king shit at cooking.

He can cook, bake, and temper chocolate perfectly, what more could you want?

His favorite to-go recipes are cheesy garlic bread and a special spicy chicken and rice recipe which he typically makes when the boys are over at his house for the night. When he’s with you he goes for something a little smoother, some mulled sweet berry cider with a smoked cod fillet, eaten under the light of candles while you quietly chat about life and your fellow friends. It’s always one of Bad’s most anticipated hangouts, and he’s very careful about planning when it comes to those days.

While he appreciates being complimented on his food or his skills, deep down he wants to have someone to cook and share his knowledge with so the cooking process becomes much richer. He’s cooked for so long and learned so much, but it means nothing if he can’t share it with another person. The moment you come to him and ask him for help on any kind of recipe, he’ll drop almost everything to help you.

Side note; he absolutely carried lunch and dinner for his fellow DTeam members. While Sapnap would mostly take over breakfast, Bad would be hounded by begging puppy looks from these adult men who couldn’t cook and kind of just sigh and get the ‘kiss the cook’ apron ready. It’s not like he hates it or anything, but the endearing factor kinda slips off after a few years of adult men groveling.

(Bad’s hands rest over yours, dwarfing them entirely as he helps you cut the pasta sheet straightly. “There you go!” He encourages, squeezing your hand gently and stepping away, moving back to dice the vegetables on the cutting board next to you. A comfortable silence falls, and with it comes something in Bad’s heart softening. The worries and exhaustion in his mind ease, and he slips into a contented routine of finely chopping and slicing. It’s been a while since he’s felt so calm. There’s nothing that can ruin this- 

The front door slams open. Footsteps walk in and approach the kitchen and you both hear it, 

“Baaaaaaaaad.” Bad cringes, taking a step back.

“Baaaaaaaaaaad, we’re hungry.” Sapnap. 

“Yeah Bad, feeeeeeeed uuuuuuus.” George. 

And then, from around the door frame, a white mask peeks in. Nobody says a word, but you can feel Bad deflate next to you like let go balloon. 

“It’s alright, big guy.” You laugh, grabbing his forearm and leaning up against him. His sad puppy eyes make you smile a little, and you try to reassure him. “We can hang out alone another time. Let’s keep working on the pasta.” He sighs, but still returns your smile. “Yeah, another time.”)

#2: Philza 

Sigh…. he can cook. Not quite as good as Bad can, but better than Quackity. A solid second place. It stems mainly from being so knowledgeable that he just knows and has tried so many different foods, but since he doesn't actually do much cooking, I'm making him a flaky second place.

Doesn’t mind cooking, but doesn’t love doing it either. He’s always focused on so many different things that he’ll forgo eating to keep working on what he’s doing. He mostly cooks for Techno and Ranboo or the few guests (you) they seem to receive. Makes great stew, and even better roasted chicken, is absolutely immaculate when it comes to cooking bird.

He didn’t teach Wilbur or Techno shit! I wish I could say it’s because he wanted to but just couldn’t, but he was literally like “hmm. Im a little busy now, maybe next year” every year!! But, this being said, if you ask him to make something with you or teach you how to cook a particular dish, he will agree to help you. Old age has really mellowed him out, and after certain events, he realizes he needs to stay a bit closer to those he cares about from now on.

He likes sweets well enough, and will always thank you for any gifts you make for him. Along with growing older, he’s had time to lose his pickiness he had in his youth. If he does end up cooking with you, he’ll prefer doing the harder recipes over easy ones. He will lose it laughing if it turns out bad, so don’t worry about any disappointment (his children make up enough of that ^^).

(“Now,” Phil starts, washing his hands quickly as you wait for him next to the cutting board. “Pufferfish needs to be prepared perfectly, or we will die when we eat it. But I don’t need to explain to you how a pufferfish works, now do I?” 

When you shake your head no, he comes up behind you, tarnished wings bound and hair pulled up in a pony tail. 

“The meat of a pufferfish is very delectable, and much better with a glass of wine.” He grins cheekily, “ If this works out well, which I’m sure it will, dinner will be delicious.” 

It falls quiet for a second, and as your hesitantly looking over the fish that may be your last, you gasp when you feel him press up against you back and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Maybe there’ll be other delicious things to eat as well,” He murmurs into you ear, before leaning back and busting out laughing. Your face feels stupidly hot. Dilfza quest activated.)

#3: Quackity-

Quackity:

Quackity can cook. I know!! I’d say he’s like the third best cooker on the list. And he’s not half bad at baking either.

He likes making up stupid bad recipes and trying them out with you, even if at the end of it the one of you up chucks your damned creations the hour after. Despite his reigning need for chaos though, he knows how to make a decent amount of recipes and strives for praise when he’s actually putting forward effort. He’ll arrange little dinner dates (“A handsome man and his very pretty friend, good food made by yours truly, and La Chona, what do you say, baby?”) and will sit there with a 🥺 look on his face until you tell him if you liked it or not.

He tries to act like he’s unaffected by your words, but even a small, “That was really good.” will make him turn red and giggle like a schoolgirl. He tries to play it off, but it’s easy to tell he loves the complements. Will also never tell you anything you make is bad. You are a deity descended upon  minecraft Earth and he is but your prettiest disciple who will uphold your honor and treat you like you should be treated!!!! But he’ll then promptly choose to help you with and guide you into cooking/baking better ^^; He loves you!

As for baking, he really likes making cakes because of how simple they can be. It helps calm him down when he can just slip into bake mode and follow a recipe and make something nice at the end of it. Speaking of, he also has a sweet tooth, but not quite as bad as Techno does. Any sweets or food you make for him is always eaten, and always held in high regard. Will try to entice you into feeding him 👀👀 so watch out.

(He’s doing it again. You try to avoid looking directly at the dopey lovesick smile Quackity has on his face at the moment, but as you lift the fork up, you get a better idea. 

You look at him (to which he seems to melt a little under your gaze), look at the fork, and then back to him, raising the piece of cake up to his lips. His expression turns flabbergasted and his blush deepens. 

He doesn’t seem to believe you for a second, until you nudge the cake close and flash him a smile. Then it’s like a switch has been flicked; he giggles, blushing, and eats the cake right off the fork. He’s gone back to smiling that silly smile again, this time even brighter, but it’s okay. You try to ignore the way your heart speeds up in your chest when he begs you for another piece.)

#4: Schlatt-

Another cooker~! He specializes with formal dinners more than anything else, and adores a good steak.

During his presidency, he didn’t cook very often. Quackity and you had to keep him fed through most of it, and the memory of watching you cook in his kitchen while he looked over work papers at his dining table leaves a mark on him, sealing a new crave for domesticity that he hadn’t ever wanted before.

Sometimes he would cook though. You, Quackity, and Tubbo would all gather around and eat together every once in a blue moon, when Schlatt was sober and calm. It feels tense at the table but also not in a way? Schlatt always seems to be chillest during dinner, a mix of the alcohol wearing off and the emphatic family feel that comes with Tubbo, Quackity, and you surrounding him.

He loves cake! It’s one of the few desserts he’ll eat, but you have to watch him closely or he’ll gorge himself of the treat. Indulge him and invite him to make a cake with you, and it will be one of the most interesting bakes of your life. How Schlatt got three eggs to stick to the ceiling is beyond you, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s completely fucking sober and hamming up his own cluelessness. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for him hiding all the other eggs around your kitchen as well. How did he get one on the top of your door without it falling when you opened it? That’s between him and god.

Overall, a good 4th place on the list.

(“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Schlatt says, deadpanned, looking you right in the fucking eyes with an undisturbed egg sitting perfectly straight on his head. 

“Where are the eggs, Schlatt.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Schlatt.” 

“Yes.” 

The container you kept them in is completely empty on your kitchen counter, once full of eggs but now reduced to a desolate husk of its former glory. Speaking of former glories, your president turns around, arms crossed and stands there silently. 

You look around. Theres one in the door handle of in the pantry, another wedged between two slices of bread in your bread box, and- oh god. On the fucking ceiling. Three, stuck to the ceiling, unmovable. After a full minute of dead silence you manage a “What the fuck have you done?”, and Schlatt turns to look. 

“Oh hey. There they are.” Your mind turns into a rock, shatters, and crumbles into dust.)

#5: Dream-

Honestly if you’re looking for edible food that tastes range from ok to good Dream is your man. 5th place.

He knows a lot of ‘depression era’ type recipes just because he’s pretty homeless and his man hunts don’t allow him much time to hone his skills. Stuff like bread or mushroom stew comes easy to him after so many times of having to do it on the run. Bread is the only baking he won’t screw up.

Can cook meat well enough too, but doesn’t really do anything special to it (besides his sauces).

To elaborate: Over the unknown span of his life, he’s acquired these recipes for forgotten and questionable sauces that he’ll store in little jars and leave at your house for you to use. They’re odd, and the ingredients aren’t ever what you think might be edible, but they’re surprisingly tasty none the less. He likes to show you a new one every month or so to keep things fresh.

Pretty general about sweets, but has a severe love for chocolate, especially dark chocolate. Has never had one, but dreams about chocolate cake. It’s high on his bucket list and written another four times over.

One of his favorite things to do with you is bake, mainly because of how ruinous it always turns out. No matter your skill, Dream’s vibes decimates any luck the two of you will have while baking. It’s scientifically proven. You left the cupcakes in for a minute-JUST a minute over what they should’ve been and they came out rock solid. Dream tried to eat one anyway. Best part was watching him try to bite through the shell.)

(He thinks he’s over selling it, half-gnawing on the brown cupcake (it was supposed to be vanilla, he thought) and making stupid growls when his teeth barely break through the surface, but the feeling he gets when you start laughing hysterically next to him wipes away any negative thought he had and fills him with utter joy. 

It's very late into the night, and you’re both a little loopy, but all the while you still lean against him as you giggle, the spot tingling where your hand rests on his arm. 

His heart thumps crazily, before sinking. Oh god. He’s in love with you.)

#6: Technoblade-

Knows a lot, but very little. He can cook the meat perfectly fine, but there’s a difference between being cooked and tasting good. He doesn’t know how to season them. Salt is the bare minimum you get.

6th place ^^; sorry king.

He’s good with potatoes though. I like to think that the countless hours spent potato farming had to account for something. He likes having cheese and butter on them every once in a while, but for the most part just eats them salted like an animal. It’s practically a show to watch him eat a cooked potato in three bites without anything but salt on it.

Big man loves food though, even if he doesn’t eat like it. Steak and cooked fish are high on his list of foods, but only if it’s cooked by Philza. And eventually you fall into his “I trust to eat this from you” category as well, but he has a special place in his heart for Phil’s cooking. Rabbit stew is at the very top.

He also eats a lot, being 6’10 and 200 something pounds of muscle, gotta consume quite a bit to keep him moving.

As for the sweeter variety of food, he’s got a massive sweet tooth. The moment you make him an apple pie or honey candy or anything of the like, he’s immediately enamored with you. Sweet things are hard to come by on the smp, especially with how far out he lives, but it’s a secret weakness of his that is very easily exploitable.

(You’ll be the death of him, he thinks, watching you closely as you trudge your way through the freshly fallen snow towards his house. Your normal pack is lighter than it usually looks, and he worries that you may slip and hurt yourself on the ice before you make it to the door. But still, you keep walking until you're standing at his doorstep, fist raised to knock when he opens it for you. 

You look surprised for a second, and then a grin splits your face and his heart races. 

“I can’t stay for long,” you say, having spent at least 30 minutes to get there. “But I wanted to drop this off for you before you went out to hunt again.” 

Out of the bag, you pull another smaller leather bag and hand it to him gently. It rests heavy in his palm, and for a moment he’s sure it’s ender pearls that you’ve brought him. But still he opens it, and he’s immediately taken aback by the smooth golden candies you brought him. 

“They’re honey candies.” At this point you’re practically grinning. “I thought you might like some while I was making them last night.” 

He doesn’t have to see his own face to feel the deep blush setting in on his cheeks and ears. You…. you’re so…… sweet. You are very…. sweet, he admits to himself, and he is very not attached to you. Not at all.)

#7: Fundy and Sapnap tie.

Fundy- 

Has his old man's cluelessness but is a fast learner. He doesn’t have much time to expand his food repertoire so it’s pretty much the basic stuff that he’s eaten during the war or before that when he was younger.

He really likes cooking though, and will invite you to come cook with him for dinner or lunch if he wants to hang out. When they were together, Dream had given him an old dusty cookbook that had several recipes he hadn’t ever heard of before, so that’s where most of what he tries to make comes from. His favorite to date was a special mutton dish that he asked you to try with him on his last birthday. It was just the two of you, but he had never had so much fun before.

Doesn’t like eating fish however, there’s just some bad vibe he gets when he thinks about cooking one or catching one. (Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Despera-)

Loves sweet berries as treats, seeing as that’s the only sweet thing he grew up with. Not too big on other sweet flavors. Likes honey in his tea though.

7th place cooker, will get higher as he learns more dishes.

(He raises his wine high with a laugh, clinking your glass with it as you both giggle drunkenly. 

The lamb you had cooked together turned out amazing, juicy and tender and flavored with crimson fungus juice. The recipe was from an old cookbook he had, he faintly remembers telling you, hiding the fact that it was Dream’s cookbook that he was given after a particularly nasty argument. 

He doesn’t want to think about him, especially not while he’s with you. Especially not when it’s his birthday. 

So instead he ponders the trip through the nether he took with you to harvest some of the fungi, how the juice was tangy and slightly bitter, but how it had done wonders when basted onto the meat while frying. 

You had looked so happy when you two plated the dish, so proud of him, all in a way that Dream never was. 

Even now, as you tiredly smile at him from across the table, cheeks pink and eyes focused solely on the moment you were sharing, he feels at peace for once. This is what contentment felt like. Oh, how he loves you so.)

Sapnap-

Shame the shit cooker. Ok ok, he’s not as bad as some of the others on this list, but that’s just because he can make a half decent breakfast. It’s not much competition.

Bad has desperately tried to teach this boy some cooking besides eggs and toast, but the only things that seem to have stuck are mashed potatoes and grilled pork chops. Neither of which he even likes enough to make often.

He prefers fish to meat, and would eat any kind of cod you offered to him. Likes smoked salmon a lot, it’s something Bad made for him a lot when he was younger. He tries to recreate the dish, but comes up short and feels disheartened when it isn’t like Bad’s. He’d appreciate any time you took with him to learn how to make the dish, and it wholly sticks to his mind afterwards. He never forgets the experience, and treasures it very closely.

Likes not-sweet sweets. Not bitter per say, but just not very sweet. He likes chewy taffy in particular, but the old lady kind that lasts 60 years but gets hard in 6 minutes after being exposed to open air. Gotta be polite about it too, or he’ll end up embarrassed and pout for an hour.

(He’s eaten 6 of those fucking taffies since you sat down on the couch, completely straight-faced as the two of you of you listen to Dream and George talking. 

At this point you’re completely checked out of their conversation, solely focused on the taffy Sapnap keeps eating. Where does he even get those? How many does he have?? You’ve been friends with him long enough to have seen him pop a taffy every other second of the day. He seems to have a stash on him at all times tucked away, filled with paper-wrapped pastel covered sweets. 

“Want one?” Sapnap asks, holding out a light blue taffy with a little star drawn in yellow dye on the wrapper. 

“What?” Startled, you lean back a bit and realize you had been staring him down as he ate, and flush with how rude that probably seemed. 

“Want a taffy? I don’t mind sharing with you, cutie.” He winks and offers the taffy again. “....” You gaze at the taffy curiously. You’ve never seen him offer another person one of his precious taffies before. Hmm. “...Yes, thanks.” 

You take it delicately, unwrapping the wrapper and taking a bite of it experimentally. It’s very lightly sweet, soft and chewy and surprisingly pleasant. 

Sapnap watches you from the corner of his eye, softly smiling when he sees you eat the rest of it. Glad to see someone else has good tastes around here.)

#8. George-

Meager man makes a meager meal. I said what I said!!! This flatbread boy knows diddly squat, and the only things he can cook successfully are bread and mushroom soup. Which he will make. And that’s all he’ll make. Any food that isn’t that is cooked by either Bad or Dream, and he’s still picky about it.

He’ll make you the soup and bread ladies and gents. I’m not saying they’ll taste great together, but he will definitely make them for you. Anything else he’s pretty critical about, and he doesn’t care much for treats or dessert. He does occasionally like dark chocolate though, which he and Dream will beg Bad to make for them. Soon he begs you to make it for him, and then you have to go ask Bad how he makes it so George won’t complain about how it tastes different from Bads. It’s a weird situation. You make a lot of chocolate. Dream and George linger at your house for weeks on end until you get fed up and shoo them away with a broom.

To his credit, even though he can’t cook much, he’s really proud of his mushroom stew. Any time you let him cook, his go-to is his mushroom stew. He likes to feed you and know that you’re not hungry somewhere, and to top it off he gets to show you his prized dish; not Bad’s or Dream’s stew, but his. He’s cute or whateva…

(George places the bowl down in front you, stepping back and turning to grab his own, before sitting down next to you. He immediately begins to eat, and you give him a half glance as you bring the soup up to smell it. 

It… doesn’t smell that bad, actually. Not burnt, at least. You spoon some of the soup into your mouth. 

Despite all you’ve seen of George’s cooking, this is pretty well made. It’s nice and warm, and the flavors are rich and the mushrooms soft. You choose to ignore the small smile of his face next to you, and keep eating your soup quietly together.)

#9: Wilbur

Wilbur can’t cook for shit. Literally nothing. This man knows apples grow from trees and that animals are made of meat and that’s it.

You think Wilbur made any of his food when he was president or exiled or ever? Not a chance. He ate anything given to him, Tubbo and Tommy absolutely brought this man all the food they could find so he wouldn’t get eat straight trash or starve throughout the presidency. Techno slid him bare cooked potatoes in Pogtopia and he thought “oh this slaps….. this is the pinnacle of food”

Which I know, not really sexy. But! This means that the moment you feed him something a step up from a bare cooked potato he is in food heaven. He especially loves saucier kinds of foods with lots of flavor and spice to them, it’s just so fucking good. Food becomes his kryptonite after you feed this silly man.

With sweets, however, he isn’t that much of a fan. He does like those small lemon creme crackers, and you and da boys are the only ppl he’ll share them with.

(You hear him before you see him. The familiar clambering at your window draws your attention away from the pork you were dicing, and one look over your shoulder shows a disheveled but grinning Wilbur. 

“I hope I’m not too late for dinner.” He jokes, brushing off his pants before approaching you to press a kiss to your temple. Soon after that you hear another set of clambering, and two pairs of stomps reveals one Tommy and one Tubbo respectively. 

“What’s for dinner tonight, mate?” 

“Hope you don’t mind if we join in!” 

You sigh, turning back to hide your smile before they can see it.)

// Hope you enjoyed! I might write a pt2 of this later with some other ppl in it lol we’ll see :3

[migila]

Dumb rant about a good show that left a bad taste in my mouth in the end

You guys know Scorpion? That drama about a team of geniuses that was founded by the guy with 197 IQ? No? Then ignore this, maybe. Yes? Be ware of spoilers for season 4, then.

So, the show has it’s ups and downs, but in general, it’s a good one. I am, however, massively disappointed with how season 4 ended. It starts with the swamp episode, where Paige teaches Walt about “white” lies and encourages him to use them. In the end of the episode, Walt hears Paige tell Ralph that she really wouldn’t want to go to a lecture she had promised to go with Walt. Walt, who had just learned about white lies, makes a logical conclusion of what Paige might do in his position, and tells Paige a white lie that the lecture is cancelled. Of course, Walt himself still wants to go, and to not waste the other ticket, he asks around if anyone wants to come with him. But when everyone says no, he calls neighbor’s Florence. Flo is very interested in the subject of the lecture, so it’s a logical thing to do. Everything should be fine with this... but no.

Last episode of the season, Paige knows something’s been bothering Walt and asks him about it. Walt tells her about the lie, but before he can add that he went with Flo instead, Paige interrupts him by saying how proud she is that he used a white lie for her like that. All good? No.

Paige finds out Flo was there, and she’s not happy. I get that, but there are two things that make the way she treated Walter unfair: 1. Walter never actually said that he went alone, and he would’ve told Paige had she not interrupted him. And more importantly, number 2: It was her who taught Walter about white lies and told him to use them, yet then she gets all bitchy and whiny when they’re used in a way that she doesn’t like. She’s the one telling people to use them, so she’s the last person who has a right to be angry when someone she taught gets caught telling her one. 

And then, about Florence. She’s mad at Florence too, and for what? Florence caught feelings for Walter yes, but she didn’t do anything. She didn’t do anything, she was completely innocent, yet Paige bitches at her too. And Sylvester, he throws a tantrum when it turns out his crush got a thing on Walter instead. Well screw you, you loser, it’s not Walter’s fault if he’s more appealing to Flo than you are!

I’m also disappointed in the way Happy and Toby were included; they knew about the whole lecture thing yet kept it to themselves, so they should logically be considered to be part of team Walter. And yet, they take Paige’s side and bitch at Walter too. Paige should’ve been mad at them, at least more so than to Flo who, I repeat, did nothing. She didn’t know the lecture was such a big deal to those people, she didn’t deserve such treatment.

So, to put it short, fuck Paige Dineen. That character has officially lost all the respect I ever had for her. If there’s ever a season 5, bitch better apologize to both Walter and Florence, especially the later.

[cherubcow]

“Invincible”, Season 1 (2021) Review

Somehow both very cool and very fucking stupid :D

About Created and written primarily by Robert Kirkman (principle writer for The Walking Dead comic and TV show), this Young Adult cartoon basically synthesizes a number of comic book characters (e.g., Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Hellboy, Wonder Woman, Gambit) and tries to balance their heroism with cynical twists and dark realities. It's an exercise like Brightburn (2019) in that it mirrors existing comic writing all too closely in order to make violent twists. The cool stuff arrives pretty much immediately. You can tell right away that the physics have some level of realism, and it quickly gets serious because of this. The easy comparison would be to The Boys (also by Amazon, also about violent heroes, and also very well-produced). So, if you like The Boys (2019–), you'll probably like Invincible only a little less.

(( Some spoilers but nothing too specific ))

Wrong Focus But, the stupid stuff comes from the same error that the Kick-Ass movie (2010) made: it focuses on the wrong person(s). In Kick-Ass, the error was focusing on.. well.. "Kick-Ass", an irredeemable loser and waste of screen time. Invincible makes the same mistake, focusing on.. well.. "Invincible", a (so far) irredeemable loser and waste of screen time. So, despite its virtues, this show cannot escape that it made the decision to go for the Young Adult viewing demographic. It reminds me of Alita: Battle Angel (2019) in that way too: some very cool adult concepts ruined by the dramatic devices of unrepentant teenage stupidity and irrelevance. I didn't even like that stuff when I was a teenager, though Jordan Catalano gets a pass.

Main Cast and Characters The supporting characters were also very stupid. The most annoying was definitely Amber Bennett (voiced by the otherwise cool Zazie Beetz from Deadpool 2 (2018) and Joker (2019)), 

who is supposed to be attractive somehow to Mark Grayson ("Invincible", voiced by Steven Yeun, who played Glenn on The Walking Dead) 

despite the fact that she constantly judges him, fails to understand him, often fails to give him any kind of benefit of the doubt, and continues to scowl at him and be hurtful towards him even when she has information that should change her outlook towards him. And because she is part of the love triangle shared between herself, Invincible/Mark, and "Atom Eve"/Samantha (voiced by the awesome Gillian Jacobs from Community (2009–2014)), 

audiences simply have to bear with it that Amber's annoying character will be present and wasting time until Mark can realize that Amber is in fact toxic and that Eve actually understands him and can improve him in more positive directions. That love triangle should have been a 20-minute distraction, but I'm guessing that it will eat up a season or two more, especially if the writers become cowardly and fail to change things for fear of messing up a perceived "winning" formula. In my ideal story line, they would skip ahead 10 years, drop the teen drama, the love triangle, and the stupid jokes and have Invincible and Eve paired in defense of Earth, with the main tension being from their worry that the other would be horribly gored in front of them during lethal fights against cosmic enemies ;)

Aside, I am aware of Amber’s motivation for being a bad person, I just think her justification is not based in understanding, empathy, and a regard for the gravity of Invincible’s situation. In a strict political sense, Invincible should not commit a lie of omission by keeping her in the dark about his identity — even if for the “noble lie” reason of protecting her — but in a real sense, he is a fucking teenager who just developed his super powers. For her to pretend that he should reveal his entire identity to her — a potentially transformative and even dangerous decision — after a few months of teenage romance paints an absurd portrait of her mind. It does, however, align her with Omni-Man, because where Omni-Man forces Invincible to become an adult in the fighting sense (pushing with full force early on), Amber forces Invincible to become an emotional adult by getting him to understand that toxic people such as herself need to be given boundaries — and he needs to learn to clearly delineate and communicate his real desires. By knowing that he does not want Amber, people who regiment his free time, or people who do not suit him, for instance, he can realize why Eve was an obvious decision: Eve understands, can make time when they have time, and will let him find his decisions. Part of a coming-of-age story tends to be realizing what one actually wants, and Invincible’s hesitation in telling Amber his identity shows that he does not truly want her. This separates Invincible from, say, Spider-Man, who avoided telling Mary Jane his identity not because he did not want her but because he wanted at all costs to protect her.

The next most annoying character has to be Debbie Grayson (voiced by TV-cancer Sandra Oh and who luckily was not animated to look like the real Sandra Oh and who should have been voiced instead by Bobby Lee due to Lee's successful MadTV parody of Sandra Oh). 

Debbie basically fills the role of Skyler in Breaking Bad, except that Debbie's character tends to be slightly more understanding before her inevitable and toxic Skyler-resentment and undermining behavior. Despite having an 8-episode arc of change, Debbie's character flips too quickly and lacks the empathy and Omni-Man motive-justifying that would make her interesting (the comic's development may vary). For instance, if she refused to believe that Omni-Man meant his own words, that would make her empathetic and perhaps virtuous even if misled, but instead she dropped their "20 years" of understanding after viewing Omni-Man in action, which makes her appear shallow, easily manipulated, and unsympathetic. That was a definite "Young Adult" genre move because it shows immaturity by the writers to break apart a bond of 20 years so quickly. Mediocre teens might accept such a fissure because their lives have not yet seen or may not comprehend that level of time, but adults know that even long-standing and problematic relationships (which, beyond the lie, Omni-Man's and Debbie's was not shown to be) take a lot of time to break — even with lies exposed.

Omni-Man The biggest show strength for me was of course Omni-Man, who in a success of casting was voiced by J.K. Simmons in a kind of reprisal of Simmons' role as Fletcher from Whiplash (2014). 

The Fletcher/Omni-Man parallel shows through their being incredibly harsh but extremely disciplined and principled, forcing people to become beyond even their own ideal selves (this via Omni-Man's tough-love teaching of Invincible — comically, Omni-Man was actually psychologically easier on Invincible than Fletcher was on Whiplash's Andrew character). Despite the show's attempts to villainize Omni-Man, he, like Fletcher and also like Breaking Bad's Walter White, becomes progressively more awesome, eventually representing a Spartan will, an unconquerable drive, and a realistic and martial understanding of a hero's role.

To the show's credit, while it wrote Omni-Man to be outright genocidal and from a culture of eugenicists (again, Spartan), they could not help but admire him and his "violence" and "naked force" (for a Starship Troopers reference), giving him a path to redemption. That redemption comes in part because — despite the show's attempt to be often realistic and violent — its decision to be directed at young adults via dumb jokes, petty relationship drama, the characters’ reckless lack of anonymity and security in their neighborhood (loudly taking off and landing right at the doorstep), and light indy music also made the portrayed violence far less literal. With a less literal violence, the real statement becomes not that Omni-Man really did kill so many people (though he certainly did kill those people within the show's plot) but that he was symbolically capable of terrible violence but could be reformed for good. That's the shortcoming with putting violence under demographic limitations. If it's a PG-13 Godzilla knocking down cities, the deaths in the many fallen skyscrapers don't matter so much (the audience will even forgive Godzilla for mass death if it happens mostly in removed spectacle), whereas if it's Cormac McCarthy envisioning a very realistic fiction, every death rides the edge of true trauma.

By showing light between the real and the symbolic, it is much easier to identify and agree with Omni-Man. For instance, when Robot (voiced by Zachary Quinto of Heroes and the newer Star Trek movies) 

shows too much empathy for the revealed weakness of "Monster Girl" (voiced by Grey Griffin), the audience may have thought, "Pathetic," even before Omni-Man himself said it. And this because Omni-Man knows that true and powerful enemies (including himself) will not hesitate to use ultra-violence against these avenues of weakness. "Invincible" can make his Spider-Man quips while in lethal battles, but he does so while riding the edge of death — something that Omni-Man has to teach Invincible by riding him to the brink of his own.

Other Cast/Characters and Amazon's Hidden Budget It was impressive how many big-name actors were thrown into this — a true hemorrhage of producer funding. Amazon has so far hidden the budget numbers, perhaps because they don't want people to know that the show (like many of its shows) represents a kind of loss-leader to jump-start its entertainment brand.

Aside from those already mentioned, the show borrows a number of actors from The Walking Dead (WD), including.. • Chad L. Coleman ("Martian Man"; "Tyreese" on WD),

• Khary Payton ("Black Samson"; "Ezekiel" on WD),

• Ross Marquand (several characters; "Aaron" on WD)

• Lauren Cohan ("War Woman"; "Maggie" on WD)

• Michael Cudlitz ("Red Rush"; "Abraham" on WD)

• Lennie James ("Darkwing"; "Morgan" on WD)

• Sonequa Martin-Green ("Green Ghost"; "Sasha" on WD) 

There were also connections to Rick and Morty and Community, not just with Gillian Jacobs but also with... • Justin Roiland ("Doug Cheston"), who voices both Rick and Morty in Rick and Morty,

• Jason Mantzoukas ("Rex"),

• Walton Goggins ("Cecil"),

• Chris Diamantopoulos (several characters),

• Clancy Brown ("Damien Darkblood"),

• Kevin Michael Richardson ("Mauler Twins"), and

• Ryan Ridley (writing)

That's a lot of overlap. They even had Michael Dorn from Star Trek: TNG (1987–1994) (there he played Worf) and Reginald VelJohnson from Family Matters (1989–1998) and Die Hard (1988), and even Mark Hamill. Pretty much everyone in the voice cast was significant and known. Maybe Amazon got a discount for COVID since the actors could all do voice-work from home? ;)

Overall Bad that it was for the Young Adult target demo but good for the infrequent adult themes and ultra-violence. Very high production value and a good watch for those who like dark superhero stories. I have heard that the comic gets progressively darker, which fits for Robert Kirkman, so it will likely be worth keeping up with this show.

[wolf-and-bard]

@winter-fir: Sofia, my darling, this was written as a birthday present and with you in mind. Thank you for being such a delightful, funny, mad scientist genius friend, I love you. I wanted to give you some Arnaghad/Erland fluff and it didn’t turn out fluffy at all, it’s a rambly mess and I’m sorry. It did turn into a continuation and a prompt fill, I hope you don’t mind. 😂 I also hope you ate a lot of cake today ❤

Steal My Heart Again

Prompt: Isolation

Relationships: Arnaghad/Erland of Larvik

Rating: E

Content Warnings: apocalypse-appropriate sentiments (aka hopelessness), explicit sexual content, swear words, minor character death (past)

Summary: This is a sequel to Drown With Me If You Can. Erland and Arnaghad have made it to the safety of Kaer Seren’s cellars and have to face life during the apocalypse. They cope in different ways. In which: Erland wallows some more and Arnaghad wants cuddles. 

Word Count: ~3k

AO3 Link I @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

In the latter years of the 1130s, a conflict between the Northern Realms of Redania, Kaedwen, and Kovir and Poviss sprouted up in which Kovir and Poviss petitioned to gain sovereignty.

Erland pauses to ponder his next words and in that pause, becomes aware of something stirring.

Witchers usually sniff and listen before something breeches their line of sight, but with his beloved bear, it’s even more intense. Erland can hear the giant’s footsteps pound in tune with his own heart as soon as Arnaghad rises from his meditative perch at least four rooms down the hallway. Erland can smell the endorphins that chase each other through Arnaghad’s bloodstream as soon as he calls out for Erland, still far away. They have a different scent for every person and witcher picking up on them.

For Erland, Arnaghad’s contentedness smells like toasted white bread and strawberry jam. Conversely, Arnaghad is reminded of the concoction of oils and herbs he treats his old bearskin with so that it retains its texture whenever Erland smiles. Everything about Arnaghad is intense, as is the emotional knot Erland carries tucked between his lungs, the one that is made up of strings of the past and present that have become inevitably entangled. There is no easy emotion here and so Erland shoves them all aside in favour of putting down his next lines.

It came to pass that, under the supervision of the Hierarch of Novigrad, then Walter Beda, the rulers of the three countries met to negotiate the agreement. King Radovid III of Redania and King Benda of Kaedwen sailed on the Redanian flagship Alata to Lan Exeter where Gedovius Troyden, then Earl and later King of Kovir, met them, accompanied by his wife Gemma. Thus, the First Treaty of Lan Exeter was forged, and Kovir and Poviss gained the right to call themselves a kingdom.

Erland blows on the ink and the smell intensifies so much that his mouth waters. He glances to the side to see the bear appear in the hallway.

“There you are,” Arnaghad rumbles when he arrives at Erland’s small chamber which used to be a storage for barrels in need of repair. He shoulders through the narrow doorway without knocks or ceremony, and his bare feet slap against the stone, warmed by an underground pool of water which is suffused by heat from the earth’s core. With the White Frost raging outside the keep of Kaer Seren - in whose basement they currently reside in - even that heat will fade and freeze, but it has not been touched yet. They have not been touched yet, they made it to the safety of this hidden hearth and it nearly cost them their lives. “What are you doing, birdie?”

“Writing,” Erland says absent-mindedly and growls when Arnaghad’s hulking form blots out the light of half the torches as he approaches the makeshift desk. It’s a splintered plank of wood propped up on two empty barrels, a third one – overturned – functioning as the chair. The rest of the room is bare save for the rusted grates in which the torches reside and a wicker basket full of half-rotten corks. The griffins used to collect them to fashion floormats for the baths with. The griffins that now lay buried under rubble, only a story or two above Erland’s and Arnaghad’s heads. He tries not to think about that as he writes, writes, writes.

“Why, thank you dearest beloved, I had not figured that out for myself.”

Erland shrugs and bends further over his page. He is halfway through his account and he has to keep going while the words still come easily and his hand hasn’t cramped up. It tends to do that a lot these days, whether from writing, shovelling endless masses of snow or from stroking Arnaghad’s oversized cock. The first one is a need to preserve what might otherwise get lost, the second a necessity so their one exit from Kaer Seren doesn’t get blocked completely. The third activity is all pleasure and indulgence and re-learning the body of a man he thought lost to him for so long.

Arnaghad, the obnoxious idiot, steps closer and squints over Erland’s shoulder which truly sucks up the rest of the flickering illumination. His burly hand comes to rest on Erland’s head – now freshly shaven into his preferred undercut again with his hair woven into complex patterns Arnaghad yet remembers from his home – and his chin presses against Erland’s temple.

“’Kovir’s Independence and the First Treaty of Lan Exeter’,” Arnaghad reads out loud from the top of the page. “The fuck does this have to do with you? Are you trying to write a world history?”

“You forget where we are,” Erland murmurs and finishes his sentence, placing a small asterisk with a number ten atop the last word for yet another footnote.

“I haven’t.” Arnaghad plucks the feather from Erland’s hand and rises a little, takes the bent fingers into his own and strokes along them to straighten them out, one by one. Erland sighs and sags against the bear, letting fatigue wash over him, wash away his ambition for the day. “You forget where you are. Who you are and who you are with.”

“I might have,” he admits sheepishly and closes his eyes, listens to the faint gurgle of Arnaghad’s stomach. It’s a simple, well-crafted lie. Erland never forgets and how could he?

“I understood the journal,” Arnaghad says. “Well, I wasn’t willing to give my life for it as you were, but I understood why you wrote it. The ice might melt, the beasts might return and for that, whoever is to inhabit this world may need the information you captured. But this is unfathomable.”

“Of course, it would be to you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” Erland says and melts as Arnaghad’s hands let go of his to gently massage his shoulders. It’s only when the static pain slowly ebbs away that Erland realizes just how long he’s been sitting hunched over his notes. Each word an investment with so little parchment leftover.

“Then what? Why are you doing this?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Erland sighs and ducks out of his lover’s grip to get up and pop his joints. Avoiding Arnaghad’s gaze, Erland extinguishes the torches with a flurry of precise Aards and makes to leave the room.

The bear wouldn’t understand in a million years why Erland writes the chronicle, would probably call it a waste of energy and resources. There is utility in writing a bestiary, there is only sentiment in writing a history. And perhaps a flicker of hope that whatever civilization rises from the rubble of the Ice Age will not repeat their forebearer’s mistakes. Except no. Erland may be an idealist at heart, but not enough that this hope has a chance of threading through the fabric of his motivation.

His motivation is woven in entirely selfish materials. It’s distraction, it’s occupation, it’s indulging in self-pity and nostalgia, melancholy and pride. It’s to keep himself from spiralling into depression and forgetfulness, to keep his brain from deterioration. Between fucking and eating and sleeping, Erland needs mental stimulation more than exercise.

Arnaghad, on the other hand, spends his hours in meditation and weapon-less drills, doing push-ups by the hundreds, handstands by the hours, pull-ups by the thousands. His massive body, in spite of the lethargy and sluggishness his form might suggest, needs constant movement. To prevent muscle atrophy and to keep himself alert and strong for whatever they have to face.

For now, what they have to face is endless isolation. Just the two of them, a slowly but steadily dwindling supply of dried meats and herbs, pickled vegetables and fruit, and barrels upon barrels of ale. Most of them brewed with the recipe Keldar perfected over decades of teaching young griffins to hold their alcohol alongside their swords.

Keldar.

Erland tries not to think of the old griffin master, especially tries not to think about how they found his body, a frozen statue before the crumpled gates of Kaer Seren, half-buried in snow by the time that Arnaghad and Erland fought their way to the keep. He’d survived the avalanche, had stayed at the school, and Erland had abandoned him. Him too.

Dear old Keldar, dutiful to his last moments. It was what every griffin would have done, every one except for Erland it seemed.

“Birdie,” Arnaghad says, tapping the side of Erland’s skull where his griffin tattoo decorates his shaved skin. They walk side by side, down the endless winding corridors of Kaer Seren’s basement system towards the centre where the heat is the most intense. It’s also where they set up their meagre bedroll, a heap of old linens with Erland’s quilt and Arnaghad’s bearskin on top. “You’re getting lost in your thoughts again.”

“What were you saying?” Erland asks and pushes open the door to their bedroom. Slap, slap, go Arnaghad’s feet as he enters while Erland’s follows after him. He wears both their socks, still more prone to the cold even down here.

“Nothing,” Arnaghad says. He stops in the middle of their room – all grey brick cast in flame from the torches Erland managed to keep perpetually burning. It’s a trick he perfected back when the signs where first developed where he can attach the power of a sign to an object. So, he tethered an Igni to each of the torches, and he did not tell Arnaghad that this constantly pulls on his own energy. The bear would worry and call that too a waste of resources. But Erland would rather be tired by firelight than wide-awake in perpetual darkness, calculating in his head the days that remain to them. “Come here, you look fatigued.”

Erland catches Arnaghad’s steady gaze, darkened by his heavy brow and chiselled face, a small smile tugging on his oh so stoic lips. His hair is neatly bound at the base of his skull, two ceremonial mini-braids framing his cheeks to either side. He wears naught but a simple set of beige linen clothes these days, linens that tug and pull at his bulging muscles. He’s more than a brick wall, he’s as unmoving as the very ground they stand on. Arnaghad cannot be taken apart with brute force, it takes more subtler means of attack to undo him. Erland knows them all intimately and perhaps that is exactly why Arnaghad opens his arms to him then. Erland sighs. He has the rest of Radovid III’s reign to chronicle and his stomach is still on fast-mode. The only reason he came here in the first place was… to… Erland sneezes and the torches flicker. He knows when he’s defeated.

“I am tired,” he admits and crosses the distance between them. If ever there is such a space, unbridgeable at times, invisible at others, it is because Erland put it there. Not intentionally and not always happily, but if things went Arnaghad’s way, they would be close always. The man that envelops Erland in a tight hug has a constant hunger for touch and affection, and Erland has trouble having that piece slide into the greater mosaic he has constructed of his lover over the past centuries.

‘You’re getting old and sappy,’ Erland said to him once, three orgasms into the night and Arnaghad still insisted on holding him close. ‘Sappy and cuddly. I do not recognize you.’

‘Nor I myself,’ Arnaghad replied. If they were other people they might have attributed it to love, how it had overcome everything, how, here at the end of all things, it was them against the apocalypse. How they needed to hold onto each other for there was nothing else to hold onto. But Erland is an idealist, not a romantic, and Arnaghad a pragmatist, not an intellectual, and so that was where the conversation died then.

“You should rest more,” Arnaghad says.

“What a waste of time,” Erland replies and rises to the tips of his toes, uses Arnaghad’s bull neck for purchase to pull himself up. They’re barely eye to eye, but that doesn’t matter when he can finally tilt his head and kiss the tiny frown from Arnaghad’s face. It’s a matter of last resort as well as personal pleasure. Erland is in no mood to argue about his newfound hobby and he does want. Wants so much, so deeply it aches to the core of his bones. They’re still working through their differences – and that, he suspects, will take longer than any written history might – but with each day, Erland can allow himself a little more. He can allow himself to slot their lips together and push his tongue deeply into Arnaghad’s mouth, can allow himself to melt into his bear’s arms and let his rumbling groan rattle his skeleton. Erland smiles at the zealous manner in which Arnaghad’s whole body responds to the kiss. His hands, splayed across Erland’s shoulder blades, tighten, his cock stirs when Erland licks and sucks and adds a moan of his own, his shoulders rise. He’s so passionate, has so much to give, something that Erland has trouble keeping up with.

If half of this witcher had been the one leading the bear school, where could it have climbed to? What could it have accomplished if the abysses between its members hadn’t been quite so gaping? Erland tries not to wonder, tries not to rewrite the course of time in endless thought spirals, but it’s so hard. It’s another reason why he has to focus on the actual past. Because if he doesn’t remind himself that it is set in stone, if he doesn’t capture it with his own words, he starts to trail down the paths of forgotten ‘what ifs’, of unforgettable ‘what ifs’, of the ‘what ifs’ that are neither forgotten nor unforgettable, that are too daring to even consider. Erland loses himself in thought and it is then perhaps a blessing that he can lose himself in Arnaghad’s embrace instead.

“Do you think we could have dinner tonight?” Arnaghad asks after they part, even though he knows the answer. It’s worrying, a true sign that not even Arnaghad has an endless reservoir of energy. His hunger is much more vicious than Erland’s and it’s getting harder and harder for him to wait the intervals they settled on in order to stretch the food as long as they can. Usually, he doesn’t ask. Usually, his voice doesn’t sound so small. Fuck. It’s heart-breaking.

“Not yet, big bear, I’m sorry,” Erland sighs and noses along Arnaghad’s jaw, then sinks back down to his feet and presses his face into the crook of his neck. Wraps his arms around Arnaghad’s middle. Is proud when he doesn’t do the mental math right then and there. No, he won’t torment himself and he won’t succumb to the slight growl Arnaghad gives. Whether it’s from his throat or his stomach doesn’t really matter. The sound pierces Erland’s armour, but it doesn’t shatter. He’s still strong. Can still be strong. “Do you want me to distract you?”

“Ah, birdie, didn’t we just talk about how you’re tired?”

“I’d make a joke about being hungry myself,” Erland mutters, then licks over Arnaghad’s pulse point insistently. “But last I checked, your sense of humour is still as barren as the Korath desert.”

Arnaghad chuckles and the motion slightly shakes Erland where he rests against the bear’s chest. He lets his hand slide down to gingerly palm across Arnaghad’s half-hard cock and it rises to the touch, firms up. He closes his eyes and sucks on his own bottom lip. So easy to please.

“Says the man who thinks fun is a torture device,” Arnaghad retorts on a sigh and as such, it lacks an edge. Erland deftly plucks at the fastenings of the linen trousers and slips his hand into them. Arnaghad’s flesh is hot and solid, too big to wrap his fingers around.

“Alas,” Erland murmurs against the skin of Arnaghad’s neck, cranes his own to nibble on the bear’s jawbone, tracing it with his tongue. “My hand is tried from writing all morning.”

“All day more like,” Arnaghad grumbles.

“Even worse. It’s of no use now.” And with that, he gently guides Arnaghad to the corner where their makeshift bed is, bids him to sit down and takes his own place in Arnaghad’s lap with his belly pressed to the warm floor. Propped up on his elbows, Erland peers up at Arnaghad. From this low, the man seems taller than a mountain, his eyes far away, half-lidded and hazy and Erland smiles. He is tired, yes, so very tired, and that means he is sloppy. Sloppy as he descends over the head of Arnaghad’s massive cock which tastes salty and musky and he laps it all up he goes with lazy drags of his tongue. His lips are loose and his hands looser as they fondle Arnaghad’s cock at the base, toy with his balls.

Before long, spit leaks out of the corners of his mouth and runs down Arnaghad’s length and the low moans of the bear thunder through the hall, echo off the walls, loud enough to raise the dead, Erland thinks sometimes. He wishes he could revive his brothers and sons by cock-sucking alone, but the world has never been that simple. And it won’t ever be now. But if he can give Arnaghad pleasure and himself something to get distracted by then that should be enough.

Erland gets drunk on Arnaghad’s cock, chokes on it as he ruts into the floor without shame. They come within seconds of each other and Erland drinks up what he can, lets the rest spill over Arnaghad’s lap, then cleans that with his tongue too. After, he falls asleep there, curled into a ball in Arnaghad’s lap and it is enough. For now.

[purplesurveys]

1446

1. Do you enjoy being surrounded by neighbors, or would you be more comfortable someplace secluded? I feel like being somewhere secluded would affect me negatively. I like the vibe where I currently live, where I have neighbors but none of us feel the pressure to talk with one another and keep up ties and such.

2. Is there any sibling rivalry between you and your siblings, if you have any? I don’t think it counts as a ‘rivalry’ as it denotes some sort of active competition, but I’m not on speaking terms with my brother due to something he did a few years back.

3. Do you usually root for the good guys or the bad guys? It depends on the character. I usually do find the bad guys irritating which is a testament to their execution, but sometimes there are just villains who are so good at being bad I can’t help but root for them - like Walter White and Gus Fring from Breaking Bad, and to some extent even The Governor from The Walking Dead.

4. Are you allowed to have pets at your house? Yeah, my parents own the place so we have three dogs.

5. Have you ever lived in a trailer park? No.

6. Is there anyone that you know through the internet that you would feel comfortable meeting in person? My circle of internet friends has drastically shrunk over the years and out of the few ones I remain to have, I’d really only be comfortable meeting Aliyah. 

7. Have you ever had a dream involving characters from a game/movie/television show? I rarely remember my dreams but I’m sure that has already occurred before.

8. Do you ever have dreams about people you have never even seen before? Sure. I once had a dream where I had a daughter, even though I’ve never seen whoever that baby girl was before. There was another dream of mine (it was more of a nightmare, though) where I had to witness a loved one getting shot, and I wasn’t familiar with who the perpetrator was.

9. What’s the last thing you wrote down? I had to think of a mock-up for a social media card we were planning to pitch to a client and it was just harder to describe the asset to my associate in words, so I ended up doodling the envisioned material and writing some details on it for her better understanding.

10. Do you remember any phone numbers from years ago that now belong to someone you don’t know? I don’t think so.

11. How often does your household get numbers for the wrong people? Not very often; maybe once every few months. It probably helps that not a lot of people use landline anymore.

12. Have you ever found something strange in your mailbox? We don’t have a mailbox, but generally we’ve never received anything weird.

13. Is there anything specific you need to do within the next week? Just some work-related deadlines I have to accomplish.

14. What was the last movie you got from Netflix [if you use it]? I’m not sure what you mean by ‘got,’ but the last movie I saw was called A Hard Day, but it was the Filipino version coming from the original South Korean film. I watched it with my parents this morning.

15. Are you annoyed by the increase in prices for Netflix? My dad pays the monthly subscription for our family so it doesn’t affect me.

16. Who was the last relative that came to visit you? My grandma and one of my cousins came over for my brother’s birthday.

17. Does your bedding all match? Yep.

18. Are you having company over the weekend? Nopes. I only have friends come over whenever there’s an online concert we wanna watch together, and there’s none of that happening this weekend.

19. Do people come to you a lot with their problems? Not a lot, but my friends will sometimes come to me if they want to rant or need advice on something, yes.

20. Have you/would you ever consider teaching as a career? I don’t think I ever wanted to be a teacher, even as a kid.

21. Are you most comfortable with having short hair or long hair? Ultimately, shorter.

22. Do you usually cut your hair short in the summer? Nah, my schedule when it comes to having my hair trimmed is always random.

23. Are you interested in fantasy movies/shows? No, it’s one of my least favorite genres.

24. Have you ever gone whale-watching? I think we’ve tried it before? but it wasn’t too successful. I was able to see some dolphins, though.

25. What is something that you have a large amount of? K-pop freebies (mostly replicards, stickers, and thank you notes) from all the shops I’ve purchased from over the last few months.

[lizwontcry]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Breaking Bad Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jesse Pinkman/Walter White Characters: Jesse Pinkman, Walter White Additional Tags: I hope y'all like kissing Summary:

A small, quiet conversation that turns into more. AU take on the scene from 5x6, Buyout.

Jesse lets go of Walt’s hand and Walt questions why he immediately feels so intensely disappointed, but Jesse doesn’t alter his gaze off Walt’s face. Instead, he gently removes Walt’s glasses and puts them on the coffee table. Walt is so moved by this seemingly innocuous gesture that it renders him speechless. And apparently Jesse has decided they don’t need words, anyway.

____

He's losing him. Walt is losing Jesse and it's making him feel the worst kind of helpless. Ever since he took down Gus, their partnership--hell, their relationship--has been thriving, and now he feels like he has to think quick to get them back on track. Ha, back on track--ironic since they almost got away with robbing the train of its methylamine, and then...

He can't lose Jesse. Not now.

Walt reaches out and puts his hand on Jesse's shoulder. It's a little damp from sweating under their cumbersome, restrictive protective gear. The occupational hazards of cooking meth, Walt supposes. They were just taking a lunch break in another random stranger’s house when Jesse stumbled upon a news story about the kid in the desert.

Jesse is, understandably, still unhinged about Drew Sharp. Walt gives a half-hearted speech about “running the business their way” and soul-searching after they’ve made all their money, but he knows he's not getting through to Jesse. It's so frustrating to feel like Jesse is slipping further and further away from him when Jesse is the only person who remains faithful and loyal. The only person he can truly trust.

"Listen, why don't I finish this up? Why don't you... why don't you go on home, hmm?" Walt says. Maybe if Jesse had more time to himself, some peace and quiet, he'll calm down. Walt’s starting to see that’s not likely, however. He may not ever be the same. Walt is almost certain he at least used to possess as much empathy as Jesse has, but he can’t actually remember a time when he did. It’s sort of disconcerting.

“You sure?” Jesse asks.

“Absolutely,” Walt says. “Yeah. I’ll take care of this.” He claps Jesse one more time on the shoulder and gets up to go back into the tent. But Jesse grabs his hand and causes Walt to abruptly turn around. Walt is a little shocked by this gesture--Jesse rarely touches him; in fact it seems like he goes out of his way not to most of the time.

“Mr. White… I can’t go home--what's the point? I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I want to find Todd and I want to--ugh, I want to strangle that piece of shit!”

“I know. I know you do, and I've told you over and over again--we will deal with Todd."

"Oh, yeah? How is that? How are we going to deal with this nazi asshole who just shot a kid right in front of us? We have to talk to Drew Sharp’s parents, Mr. White. We have to do something."

"Saul is going to handle all of that, don't worry. That's why we pay him, Jesse. To deal with things like this. And Todd is not going to go unpunished. I promise you."

Jesse does not look convinced. Walt gets it--Jesse has a certain affinity for children; he can relate to their innocent young souls, or something. Walt is not made of stone--he mourns the senseless death of the kid, too, but he's become numb. It's just easier to be numb than to think about all the carnage that has fallen around him. Because of him, some might say. Walt disagrees, but that's another subject entirely.

Perhaps giving in to Walt's attempt at compassion, Jesse sinks into the couch next to him. Walt pats Jesse on the shoulder again; Jesse looks up at him, a somber expression on his face. His eyes are wet with silent tears.

"I just... don't know how we're going to move on from this," Jesse says softly.

"I know, but I will handle it. Come on, don't you trust me?" Walt asks.

Jesse shakes his head. "I don't know, Mr. White. I want to. But it just keeps happening, yo. Everywhere we go, someone dies. I can’t… I can’t do it. I can't keep doing this.”

Walt’s heart sinks a little. Again, he wishes he had the gift of comfort, but he’s never been very good at that. So instead he sits down with Jesse and awkwardly puts his arm around him. To his surprise, Jesse sighs and puts his head on his shoulder. Again, Jesse rarely shows any signs of physical affection towards him, but Walt isn't going to deny him of it. Jesse seems to need it now more than ever. The weight of Jesse’s head on his chest, his steady breathing, the warmth of his body… Walt feels like his heart is beating a little faster now. He tries not to think about that too much.

"Jesse... listen to me," Walt says in a low, controlled voice. “We've been through a lot together this past year, haven't we? And with everything that happens, I've managed to keep us moving forward."

"Yeah... I guess," Jesse says, sniffing a little.

"We got out of the Tuco situation, remember? My plan worked."

"Yeah, but you kinda got us into that one, too," Jesse points out. "I know you went all Rambo or whatever on him when I was in the hospital, but still... you got us mixed up with him in the first place."

Walt nods; he'd concede Jesse the point. "Okay, well, how about killing those dealers before they could kill you first?"

"Yeah, but I pretty much repaid you for that one, yo," Jesse says. He squeezed Walt's hand for emphasis. "Don't you think?"

Walt nods, and sort of feels bad for making Jesse think about Gale yet again.

"Yes, you did. Of course you did, Jesse. And I can never thank you enough for that.”

Walt is quiet for a moment. He doesn't want to lose this momentum they've been building up together, so he continues. "The point is... you can trust me. Saul will deal with the boy's parents and Mike will figure out what to do with Todd. We can overcome this. And I want you by my side when we do--I can't do this without you."

Jesse chuckles. "That's bullshit. You can get any asshole off the street and teach him what you've taught me. No big deal."

"That's not true. And even if it were, I wouldn't want to. It's you and me, Jesse. It's always been you and me."

Jesse looks at him again, his glistening blue eyes shining in the harsh light of the living room. Walt knows firsthand how much Jesse can get away with, with those eyes of his. How charming he can be when he really wants to. Walt admires the ease of Jesse's good looks.

“One more thing… one more reason to trust me--I got you into rehab, Jesse. I found you in that disgusting hellhole you were in and I picked you up and I brought you out of there. But first I held you in my arms, remember? I held you while you cried. And I made sure you would be okay. Doesn't that mean anything?" He's not trying to lay it on so thick, but Walt is getting a little emotional just thinking about it. The way Jesse clung to him that day, never wanting to let go. Walt's shirt was drenched in Jesse's anguished tears by the time he finally got him out of that godforsaken house.

"Yeah... I remember," Jesse says. He finds Walt's hand again and lightly intertwines their fingers together. Walt wonders where this is coming from, but he doesn’t want it to stop. In fact, just like everything else in his life lately, he needs more.

"I don't know what would have happened if you didn't take me out of there, yo. Honestly, I don’t even know how I ended up there in the first place. It’s all a blur."

“Well, that’s all over now. You’re safe, and I will always do my best to make sure you stay that way. That’s all I want, Jesse. That’s all I want you to know.”

“I get it,” Jesse says, but there’s no hint of the usual annoyance in his voice. Instead his voice is calm and unwavering.

Jesse lets go of Walt’s hand and Walt questions why he immediately feels so intensely disappointed, but Jesse doesn’t alter his gaze off Walt’s face. Instead, he gently removes Walt’s glasses and puts them on the coffee table. Walt is so moved by this seemingly innocuous gesture that it renders him speechless. And apparently Jesse has decided they don’t need words, anyway.

As Jesse leans in, Walt grabs his neck--maybe a little more forcefully than necessary, but god, in the moment in between Jesse looking at him and then meeting his lips, Walt decides he needs this. He needs Jesse, and more than that, he wants Jesse.

Jesse groans a little as Walt crashes into his lips. It’s as though if Walt doesn’t immediately claim Jesse as his own, this will all come to an abrupt end. And Walt can’t have that.

After a moment of desperate kissing, Jesse roughly pushes Walt back. “Jesus, Mr. White, you kiss like a fuckin’ bull in a china shop. Slow down, yo. I’m not… I’m not going anywhere.” He sounds so vulnerable (albeit somewhat annoyed), and Walt is finding himself captivated by this kid he’s taught so much. It makes him feel... defenseless. Exposed. He’s so used to feeling the exact opposite towards Jesse that this is really throwing him off his game. But Walt kind of enjoys the sense of being out of control for once. Especially with Jesse.

“Show me,” Walt says softly, almost in a whisper. “Teach me.”

Walt can’t prove it but he swears Jesse’s eyes get even bluer as he leans in again and places a gentle kiss on Walt’s lips. He moves even closer to him, nearly in his lap, and the tenderness of Jesse’s delicate kisses makes Walt weak in his already bad knees. If he wasn’t sitting down, he’d probably be falling to the ground right about now. And although they both probably smell like the chemicals they're using to cook, Walt can't help but appreciate Jesse’s natural scent as the kissing intensifies. Somehow the smell of tobacco on Jesse’s breath and the taste of saltiness from the chips he ate for lunch is only turning Walt on more.

“Come here,” Walt murmurs. “Come closer.” As always, Jesse obeys. He faces Walt on his lap, straddling him, his knees buried in the couch. He wraps his arms around Walt’s neck as he kisses him even more fiercely, while still keeping it soft and steady. Walt takes Jesse's lead, melting into the kisses, not being aggressive or rough; just enjoying how Jesse can't seem to get enough of him.

Walt moans as Jesse’s tongue finds his own. He moves his hand under Jesse’s thin black t-shirt and strokes his back as their lips continue to meet, over and over again, almost uncompromisingly. His back is so warm, and Walt can’t help but sink his fingertips into Jesse’s lean muscles, slightly scraping his skin with his nails. Jesse gasps and stops kissing Walt for just a moment, and Walt gets another look into those moody ocean eyes.

“Mr. White…” Jesse whispers, and Walt gets it. They should stop doing this. They never should have started in the first place. Why are they even doing it? To distract themselves? There's a million other ways to accomplish that, none that involve sticking their tongues in each other's mouths. This way does seem to be the most effective for the time being, though.

“I know, Jesse. It’s okay. I want this, too."

This seems to be what Jesse needs to hear, because his lips make their way back to Walt’s. Walt bites Jesse’s lip just slightly. Jesse groans a little.

"Sorry... you just taste so good," Walt says into Jesse's ear. He licks Jesse's earlobe and enjoys how Jesse trembles under the tender touch of Walt's tongue.

When Walt returns to his waiting lips, Jesse makes this humming noise that goes straight to Walt’s groin. He moves his hands down to Jesse’s hips; his pants seem to fit him better these days but Walt is still able to run his fingertips over the tender curves of his hip bones. Jesse gasps into Walt’s mouth. Walt’s heart is positively racing now and all he wants to do is lay Jesse down and explore every inch of his slight, diminutive body.

Walt loses track of time as they keep coming together. All he knows now is Jesse's lips, his tongue searching his mouth, his fingertips brushing Walt's neck, his shoulders, his collarbone.

Jesse finally pulls away, which is probably a smart idea because Walt’s about to consume him whole if they don’t stop soon.

They both try to calm down and steady their ragged breaths before either of them figure out something to say. Or if they even need to say anything at all.

Jesse manages to speak first. “I think I’ll go ahead and take off, man. Um… Look. I’ll be at home. For the night. If like… you want to stop by or whatever.” Jesse is so cute when he can’t even meet Walt’s eyes.

“Good,” Walt says, nodding. “I might just take you up on that.” Might? Walt has never looked forward to anything so much in his entire 51 years. He can just imagine pulling up to Jesse’s house, finding his way to his bedroom, slowly undressing him… but he’s getting ahead of himself. Maybe steady heads will prevail by then; maybe either or both of them will have come to their senses. But from the way Jesse’s gazing at him now--and the heat coming from Jesse’s jeans that grew stiff while he was on top of Walt--he knows that’s probably not a possibility. He hopes it’s not a possibility.

“Yo, that’s cool. See you later. Oh, and thanks for finishing up here,” Jesse says. Walt just nods, and watches as Jesse gets his things, takes one last look at Walt, and hesitantly leaves the house, closing the door behind him.

Walt can’t help but whistle as he finishes the cook.