#this sat unfinished as flats in my files for MONTHS

[noodles-mcdoodles]

Rendered a good boy >;3c

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai: 1.09

Nairi double checked the address Linden had texted her and looked back up at the set of buildings. They were squat and stuck together, looking kind of like a demountable set up someone had made permanent as best they could. The foundation was brickwork that looked more recent than the dirty siding, and about halfway up the wall it was all old windows, half of which were propped open.

The number she was looking for was around the side and about halfway down, and Nairi could smell cleaning supplies and cooking food, and hear discordant music as she walked up the ramp towards the door she was looking for. It was propped open a couple of inches by a worn paint can filled with concrete, a little angry face painted on it in red. She knocked on the window panel in the door. “Linden?”

The door swung all the way open, and Linden poked her head out, smiling at her. “There you are! Found it okay?”

She was completely bare faced for the first time since Nairi had met her, and while the denim cut offs were a familiar part of her wardrobe rotation, the oversize grey t-shirt was new, shapeless and paint spattered. There was also paint all along her forearms, some of which had managed to get onto her legs as well.

“Yeah,” said Nairi, holding up the paper bag. “And I brought lunch, as requested.”

“Oh, I’ll have to keep you around,” said Linden, grinning as she stepped back and opened the door properly to let Nairi in. She took the bag as Nairi stepped past her, digging in to retrieve her enchilada with a pleased noise.

“Having a… productive Tuesday?” asked Nairi as Linden let the door fall back into the paint can with a muffled clang.

Even with all of the windows propped open and the extractor fan wheezing loudly, the room still stunk of turpentine, paint, and something else chemical and sweet that she couldn’t quite identify. There was an unfinished counter running along one side of the room, cluttered with tubs of paint and half-filled bottles of oil, dirty jars and mugs, with an industrial sink at the end with an old microwaved plugged in next to it. One of its hinges was held on with electrical tape. The shelves under the counter had a lot of plastic tubs filling the space, labelled in masking tape and marker.

Linden crossed the room to a section where the floor was covered by an old bedsheet, sitting down on a wheeled office chair with the back broken off in front of an easel holding a canvas that was mostly pale green. She nodded as she picked up a tall ceramic mug with a lid, and she drank deeply from it, gesturing at a ratty couch under the windows on the wall. The mug had a strip of masking tape wrapped around it, ‘NO TURPS >:|’ scrawled on it in thick marker.

“Yeah, I got my wash layer down for the base of this bad boy,” said Linden, setting the mug back down and jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the canvas. “I spent a good chunk of last week fucking around with thumbnails, but your housewarming gift is officially on the way as of now.”

Nairi, sat on the couch. A strut creaked under her, threatening to crack. “You don’t have to—”

Linden waved her off. “I told you, your walls are too bare, and this is literally my area of expertise. How was your morning anyway?”

Nairi shrugged. “Okay, I guess? I really only got out of bed when you texted me.”

“Nice for some,” said Linden, grinning at her. “Layabout! How do you and Aggy get anything scheduled? She’s up by six and in bed by ten sharp.”

Nairi shrugged, unwrapping her own lunch and shifting uncomfortably on the terrible couch. “I guess we’ll find out; I’m having dinner at her apartment tonight.”

“Co-sy,” said Linden sarcastically, setting her enchilada on the folding table next to her ‘not turpentine’ and a clear jar filled with what was presumably turpentine. She picked up a flat paintbrush and dabbed it at her palette, rolling her chair forward and making a couple of light, decisive strokes on the green. “You two are enjoying yourselves, then?”

“I think so,” said Nairi, not entirely certain if she’d messed something up or was missing something. “Have you got plans for the night then? Or are you working?”

“Both,” said Linden promptly. “Got a hot date with a cool hook up, and then a much hotter date with the rest of next month’s rent check. Can I ask you a favour?”

“Sure,” said Nairi, chewing slowly. “For your cool hook up or next month’s rent?”

Linden turned her head and bounced her eyebrows at Nairi. “Next month’s rent check. Si’s kind of a dickhead, but he’s only dangerous if you don’t like T.S. Eliot or are allergic to, like, papercuts, or lignin, or something. I need a safety check in for when I finish my job. I have a couple of people I’d usually ask, but the one I normally go to during the week has a daughter in hospital for her appendix, and Flo takes melatonin to keep her schedule, like, regulated during semester so asking her to wait up on a school night is a no-go.”

“I should be able to do that,” said Nairi, nodding, partially because her only other option was asking what the hell ‘lignin’ was. “What do you need for it?”

“It’s just waiting for me to call when I’m finished with my job, or calling to check in, just to make sure I haven’t been murdered or whatever,” said Linden, leaning back a little to scan the lines she’d marked out on the canvas. “I’m booked for eleven, so I should be done before one. I’ll like, send you the address and the number for my work phone and stuff.”

Nairi nodded again. “Okay, sounds easy. So, if I can’t reach you by one, what do I need to do?”

“I’d tell you to call Nick, but he’d only call the cops so you can probably just cut him out of the equation and go straight to them. I’d like, rather not with them, like at all, ever,” she emphasised this with a slashing motion of her paintbrush, “but if it comes to that, then tell them like, I’m on a first date with a guy my dad thinks is creepy and I promised to check in or something, I don’t know.”

If she had the address, then… well. “Why would Nicholas call the cops if he knows you’d hate it?”

Linden rolled her eyes extravagantly and set her brush down, going for her enchilada again. “Because he believes in the power of the system, doesn’t approve of my job, is convinced that one day cops will magically stop being shitty to me, and also he apparently still thinks I’m sixteen.”

“Right,” said Nairi, slowly balling up the foil and paper of her lunch. “He uh, cares a lot about you, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s an old friend of my dad’s,” said Linden, nodding and swallowing. “Looked out for me when I was a teenager, you know? He’s still convinced that every time he turns around I’m gonna run off and nearly get myself killed again, it’s a real pain in the ass.”

“Again?”

A rueful smile flickered across Linden’s face. “Yeah, I ran away from home when I was about fifteen. Jim’s the one who found me and got me off the streets at first, but Edie and Nick were the ones who really made sure I got on my feet.”

“Right,” said Nairi, and she hesitated. “Jim’s a friend of theirs?”

“Was, yeah,” said Linden, glancing down at her lap to brush off an invisible crumb. “He died when I was about nineteen. Lung cancer, you know. It happens.”

“Damn,” said Nairi, not sure what to say in the face of that. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too, sometimes,” said Linden, her smile a little lopsided as she looked up. “It was a long time ago, though—water under the bridge and all that.”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, glancing at her hands briefly. “So what, Nicholas is worried that you’ll end up in a gutter?”

“Street corner, more like,” said Linden, dryness creeping back into her tone as she popped the last piece of her enchilada into her mouth, shaking her head. “He was pretty pissed off when I got out of college and went straight back to hooking.”

Nairi snorted. “Yeah, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d ‘approve’ of that.”

“Real stick up his ass, yeah,” said Linden, nodding again. “Edithwas the fun one when I was a teenager, so you can imagine what a downer life was back then.”

“A little, yeah,” said Nairi, her mouth twitching. “I didn’t know anyone like that as a teenager, maybe it would’ve helped me out some.”

“Oh, I know that feeling,” said Linden with a laugh, giving Nairi a carefully measured side-eye. “He’s very useful to have around sometimes—my taxes get filed on time every year and all that.”

Nairi laughed. “Nothing shows you care like robust budgeting, huh?”

Linden cackled with laughter, a loud, startled noise. “Yes! Exactly—god, you should have seen him when I got my first apartment. He came with me to sign the lease and he interrogated my landlord, did his own goddamn tour, took his own photos of the place when I moved in and hunted the guy down to sign that he’d seen them, made copies of my bond payment, and thenhe was on me every single month to make sure I had a receipt for my rent.”

“Ferocious,” said Nairi, grinning at her.

“And wildly disappointed in me the first time I got evicted,” said Linden, grinning back at her.

Nairi laughed without expecting it, the lines around her eyes creasing. “You’re a menace, then?”

Linden was smiling with bright eyes; head tilted a little. “Damn right I am. Nick’s been putting up with my shit for ten years, I really thought he’d’ve clued in by now.”

“Maybe he thinks you can be better than shit?” suggested Nairi.

Linden’s smile softened a little as she picked up the paintbrush again. “No, he’s a little better at managing his expectations than that. I mean, he sticks up for me with dad, but it’s not like I get away scot free when I fuck up!”

“Your dad’s not a fan of the hooking I take it?”

Linden made a wheezing sort of noise as she went for her paint again. “Oh god, no, my dad doesn’t know about the hooking, he’s an attorney, he’d kill me. That’s part of why Nick fucking hates it, he doesn’t like lying for anything, least of all my sorry ass.”

Nairi nodded again. “Okay, so, your dad’s just kind of a dick, huh?”

Linden paused and turned her head to look at Nairi, giving her an annoyed look. “No, he’s fine. We don’t get along that well, is all. And that whole thing where I was a missing teenager for four years and then came back queer and punk didn’t exactly help things either. We’re fine, I’m going up for dinner with him in a couple of weeks, actually.”

“Right, sorry,” said Nairi, holding up a hand. “I never met my parents, I don’t know what’s like, normal or whatever.”

“It’s fine,” said Linden, shrugging at her. “People get the wrong impression sometimes, is all.”

Somehow Nairi wasn’t shocked by this. “Will I hit another pothole if I ask about your mom?” she said instead.

Linden laughed. “I never knew her. I asked about her a bunch when I was a kid, but my dad was kind of really evasive and I stopped asking—I sort of got the impression she died when I was extra small or something. Edie reckons that whoever she was they were never really, like ‘together’, ‘cause apparently I was a surprise baby for everyone who knew him.”

“Oh, I don’t think kids work well as surprises,” said Nairi with a wince.

“Definitely not,” said Linden, grinning widely. “He did okay, though.”

Nairi shifted uncomfortably on the couch again. “You turned out okay, so he must have.”

Linden snorted.

Nairi’s phone chirped in her back pocket and she tugged it out to check the message. The couch creaked ominously as she shifted again, and she paused, glancing down at it. “Just out of curiosity, how much did you pay for this couch?”

“I didn’t, I nicked it from a guy who was throwing it out,” said Linden, taking a drink of not turps as Nairi’s phone chirped again. “Who’s texting?”

Nairi glanced down at her screen, tapping open the messaging inbox. “Agatha. She’s just checking that we’re still on for tonight.”

“You’re not gonna disappoint her, are you?” teased Linden.

Nairi looked up at her, not sure what to make of the way her tone had dipped. “No?”

Linden hummed, her mouth twitching. “Well, don’t party too hard then,” she said in the same tone again, and she turned her attention back to her canvas.

[jenwaltersesq]

It was well after hours, and Ideahive, Inc. was closed for the night, but the building owner Sharon had given Jen a spare set of keys months ago so that she could do exactly this— come in on nights and weekends to work. Jen was pretty sure she was Sharon’s favorite tenant.

With a sigh, she flipped through the deposition in front of her, checking it against a profile Patsy and Scott had created, and took occasional sips from a glass of wine by her pen mug. It was easy to get wrapped up in studying, analyzing, planning, and she had all the peace and quiet she needed and more. Of course, that was when someone knocked on the door to her office.

Jen frowned. No one should be in here, and the janitorial crew wouldn’t come for a few hours. Sharon, maybe? When the visitor knocked again, she got up and answered. 

Behind the door stood a balding middle-aged man in glasses and a blue tie. “Ms. Walters, right?” Even as Jen opened her mouth to respond, he jumped right ahead, rattling off his story and walking right into the office. “I’m so sorry to barge in like this, but you’re the only person I can turn to— it’s an emergency, I need help, my—“

He stopped abruptly at the sound of Jen slamming the door behind him. She stared him down, pushing a loose curl out of her face with a directed huff. “Next time you try to pull that trick, make sure the doors to the building aren’t locked, and at least pretend to be polite long enough to make me like you.” A menacing grin spread across her face. “Now, are you going to show me your face, or do I get to hold you upside down and shake you?”

Her guest yelped and jumped back as she took a playful swipe at him. “Okay, okay, okay.” With a puff of smoke, that poor excuse for a disguise was replaced with an all too familiar, all too reddish figure.

“Mephisto,” Jen noted, unimpressed. “About time we had a proper little meeting, I guess. To what do I owe the pleasure? Tough custody battle?”

“She-Hulk,” the demon replied. “In my defense, this was not the meeting I planned. I had expected to find a woman like you out on the town on a night like this, but imagine my surprise to find you here playing the professional. And, ah, nothing of the sort, I’m afraid. But I am here with a rather— different proposition for you.” His smile gave her the impression that this was going nowhere good, even more than his mere presence.

With a roll of her eyes, Jen crossed back over to her desk and plopped down in her chair, knocking a stack of papers together. “I gotta say, you sound like just about every insurance salesman Angie kicks out of here. Have a seat.” She gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk. “But if you’re wasting my time, you’d better be ready to poof out of here fast, cause I’m still in a shakin’ mood.”

Clearing his throat, Mephisto sat down and unbuttoned his unfortunate little blazer. Jen continued to look through courtroom notes, but cast a glance over her glasses to indicate that she was listening. “It’s come to my attention that you have some experience with the various paths mortals find themselves on after death.”

Jen lifted a pen from her mug to make some revisions. “If this is some sort of mortality business, I’m gonna have to refer you to my cousin or his kid. They’re managing that scene, I stay strictly on this side of the Door.”

“Of course you do, and as fascinating as your family’s relationship with death is, I’m not here to talk about that. In fact, I’m more interested in your other experience. The first time.”

What did he know about that? Jen’s pulse began to speed up, but she settled herself quickly. Not a shadow of her reaction was visible on her face; she still focused on her work. “Go on.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’re a very singular woman. You died, blew right past judgement altogether, and then simply checked out of death itself as if it were a substandard hotel. I’m impressed.” There was a pause as he waited for her response, and got none. “I’m such a big fan, in fact, that I’m here to help you wrap up that pesky bit of unfinished business in the hereafter. It seems so unfair, doesn’t it, that you should have victory over death, but you couldn’t bring her with you?”

Jen couldn’t stop herself from reacting then. She set her papers aside neatly, and brought her full attention to watch the fire dance in his eyes. “Tell me what you’re offering.”

He grinned, relishing in having secured the upper hand at last, and leaned forward. “I’m offering your mother. Her life, returned.” Encouraged by her shifting expression, he continued. “You had to grow up so quickly, didn’t you, brave little Jennifer? So many years, so much joy and innocence lost in one night. And everyone has always blamed you, as much as they claim they don’t. Even you blame yourself. But I’m here to help you make it right.”

“You’re offering to bring my mother, Elaine Walters, back to life?” Jen clarified, her words careful and professional but her tone and expression betraying that she was shaken to her core. “Physically healthy and safe, in the form she was in before her death, here and now, with free will, full memory of who she is and who I am, and a psychological profile equivalent to what it was in 1989?”

“You really are a lawyer, aren’t you?” Mephisto observed playfully. “How delightful. Yes, all of that. It’s as simple as a trip to the Mall—“ he winked— “and any tampering, really, is extra work I couldn’t be bothered to do.”

“What’s the catch?” This was the challenge; to keep her wits about her, not throw herself blindly at the possibility of seeing her mom again. In the back of her mind, she noted it was a good thing this had been brought to her, not Bruce or Amadeus or really any other member of her family. “I know how much you like to make a deal.”

“Well, of course all good things come at a price. In this case, the price is simply some radiation. All of yours, to be specific.” He laughed. “You would lose all the powers and attributes associated with the She-Hulk. And that includes all versions of the She-Hulk, by the way; no more big grey monster under your bed. From where I’m standing, I’d be doing you two favors.” 

“From where you stand,” Jen echoed, leaning back and crossing her arms as her mind spun. “I… I don’t know.” Being the She-Hulk was everything to Jen; it was her lifestyle and her liberation, but what kind of person was she if she wouldn’t give it up for her mother? Wouldn’t everyone around her be safer without the threat of her grey alter ego? 

With a wave of Mephisto’s hand, an image of Elaine appeared, standing beside him, in the same T-shirt and jeans Jen remembered from the last day they were together. “Just remember, every minute you waste is a minute your mother will never get back. What’s so hard, really? How can you maintain this high-octane, fun-loving supermodel/hero shtick at the expense of your loved one?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her mom; even though she knew it was an illusion, she felt Elaine’s eyes on her, and her focus was now on eye contact with whatever shade this was of her mom. “Why are you doing this,” she asked Mephisto slowly.

He grinned, well, devilishly. “Like I said, I’m impressed by you. I could never forgive myself if I didn’t take the opportunity to help a woman like you, my dear. But you know how these things work— nothing’s free. Hasn’t everyone who ever loved you liked you better as a human, anyways? Surely your mother would feel the same.”

She was quiet for a few minutes after that, blinking back her tears as she watched her mom and running her hand up and down her own forearm. It was her chance to fix what she’d done. But she still knew better than to cry in a negotiation. Her jaw tightened as she turned her attention back to him. “The contract,” she managed. There’s always a contract. “Can I see it?” 

The image of Elaine disappeared. Mephisto’s smile widened in victory. If she closed her eyes, she could swear it was curling over at the ends cartoonishly. “Of course.” A suitably gothic parchment scroll unrolled itself on her desk, and she blinked a couple times to focus on the text, a tight Latin script. “Just sign here, Ms. Walters.”

She pulled the contract closer and lifted it up, scanning the words. It cleared her head, even as she had to translate. This was her job. Deep breath. 

After a moment, she slid it back towards him, unsigned, her fingers pressing against the center of the page. “Actually,” she said, “I’ll need this in triplicate, on an official legal letterhead.” 

His grin faltered, bemused, but with a snap of his fingers it was done. 

She gathered up the pages, knocking them together briskly and slipping them into a file. “Perfect. Now, if you’ll just call my office between 10am and 6pm, Monday through Friday, Angie will book you an appointment later this week, and then we’ll look at my suggested revisions and discuss steps forward.” Mephisto straightened up, confused and indignant, but she pressed a flat palm into the air between them to cut him off. “Your time’s up. Get the fuck out of my office while you can still bring all your limbs with you.”

Even as mixed up as Jen was, the sight of Mephisto disappearing in another puff of smoke put a satisfied smile on her face that could keep her from spiraling for another hour, at least. She leaned back and took another sip of wine; like he said, she really was a lawyer.

[tenroseforeverandever]

Optimal Distance

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Tentoo x Rose

Tags: lemons; lemons on video chat; mutual self-applied lemons; basically loads of lemons!; and the usual fluff, hurt/comfort, humour stuff

Summary: Rose has been feeling sad, lonely, and a little bit envious, left to endure the dreary London winter, while the Doctor has been posted on assignment in Rio, setting up a new Torchwood branch. But a comment the Doctor makes about a strangely bare desk in his otherwise cluttered study inspires Rose to find a way to bring them closer together, even though they are half a world apart.

Notes: This fic is one of many that had been lingering, stagnating in my collection of unfinished fics, just waiting for inspiration to strike.

Many thanks as always to my wonderful betas, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci. You are absolutely brilliant, and I have no idea what I would do without you. And thanks to @aintfraidanoghosts who is always a voice of inspiration and encouragement (especially if she hears lemons on the menu!) I love you all!

I made quite a few tweaks and edits since they saw it, so as always, any mistakes are mine.I hope you like it!

Also read on AO3 and Teaspoon

OPTIMAL DISTANCE

“Done! You should be getting it any second now!” Rose crowed into her mobile with a rather disproportionate sense of triumph. All she had accomplished was to send the Doctor an email, albeit one with a very important file attached; a file she’d had to navigate his shambolic cataloguing system to find, and that only after she’d excavated his laptop from beneath heaps of books, papers, and crumpled sticky notes on the floor beside his desk.

“Got it!” he cheered. “You are brilliant, you are! A real lifesaver, Rose Tyler! See? My lucky pants, near or far. It’s a good thing you couldn’t come with me, after all. Where would I be now, eh? Without you holding down the fort?”

“Yeah, right,” Rose muttered with a sulky huff, her victorious mood evaporating as she plopped down in the desk chair. She fought against the prickle of tears. She refused to cry about it anymore. It was her own fault she was restricted to paper-pushing for another six weeks. To be specific, she was tasked with reviewing and classifying field reports, a chore that only served to rub in the fact that she wasn’t out in the field, herself, defending the Earth from both alien and earth-born threats. Instead she had to read about it second-hand.

She knew she deserved every bit of punishment she’d received, from her brutal dressing-down from Pete and her subsequent demotion, to her month-long stint inventorying the Small Parts Department (literally the “nuts and bolts” of Torchwood, and ten times as dull as it sounded.) She had been careless and impulsive on a mission, showing off for the sake of a dare, and had nearly gotten herself killed.

The worst part had been the look on the Doctor’s face as he’d rushed into the Torchwood infirmary, not knowing what her condition was, thinking he might have lost her. The guilt she’d felt over worrying him would have been enough (a kazillion times over) to curb any future reckless, thoughtless acts. After everything they had been through, with only a single, human lifetime each, pledged to be spent together, she had nearly thrown it all away in one rash moment.

As it was, she had been lucky to have come away with only deep laser burns to her left shoulder.

She and the Doctor had clung to each other all that night, desperately making love until they were too exhausted to move.

That had been weeks ago now, and Rose was chafing at her restrictions, especially since Pete seemed to be intentionally sending the Doctor to conferences in the most wonderful, exotic locations around the world, places Rose was dying to explore with him. But Pete resolutely refused to allow her to join him.

On this current trip, the Doctor was helping establish a new Torchwood base in Rio de Janeiro, addressing the fledgling team on the importance of employing diplomacy and mediation in First Contact situations. Rio, for God’s sake! And here she was, stuck in the middle of the damp, chilly London winter. She huffed again over the phone.

“Would it help if I said I wasn’t having fun?” the Doctor asked over the upbeat sounds of Samba and boisterous voices in the background. She could just picture the scantily clad, feather-adorned (female) dancers.

“Yes…” Rose picked at the worn piping on the leather arm of the desk chair.

“Oh…”

“Sure doesn’t sound like anyone’s ready to listen to your First Contact presentation. Don’t know what the rush was…”

“Weeell, lunch is almost over, and we’ll be heading right back in. Then, I’ll be cracking the whip! But, blimey, the Brazilians know how to party!  As you can probably hear, they’d arranged for some entertainment over lunch: live band, dancers, the lot! Didn’t want to seem churlish.”

She’d been right about the dancers, then… “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m just feelin’ sorry for myself. I should be gettin’ to bed, yeah. Loads of field reports to review, tomorrow. You have fun.”

“Right… weeell…” Rose could picture him scrubbing the back of his head with his right hand. “Thanks again. And for the record, I do wish you were here, love. It’s just not the same without you.”

“It’s a bit lonely here too.” She looked around his study, filled with reminders of his presence: it was cluttered with books and papers; an assortment of swivel-chairs, beanbags, and exercise balls; and seemingly arbitrary writing surfaces at various heights and orientations. The traditional desk, where she was currently sat, was essentially an afterthought, a horizontal surface suitable for a computer or a place to deposit bits and bobs, books, and papers. Except it was completely clear of clutter and serving no purpose. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, but she couldn’t imagine the Doctor ever using a desk like that.

“We should redecorate your study when you get home, Doctor,” she mused.

“What? Why?”

“Well, for one, this desk is taking up a lot of valuable space. We really should get rid of it. It’s nice. I bet we could sell–”

“No!” he cut her off. “I love that desk!” There was an overtone of panic in his voice.

“But you don’t use it for… well… for anything.”

“I’d rather hoped to use it someday… erm…” His voice trailed off, but quickly returned with his classic exuberance. “It’s nice and sturdy, Rose, and just the right height.”

“What the hell for? The right height for what?” Honestly, she was afraid to ask, but it was just lovely to talk to him and listen to him prattle on about nonsensical things. She missed this when he was abroad.

“Weeeell…” he stage-whispered into the phone, enthusiastic, but clearly not wanting anyone else to hear, “the height is exactly the optimal distance to take advantage of the length of your legs…”

“Wha? My legs…?”

“Blimey, Rose! This is not a good time. I’m not able to control this stupid body the way I… erm… weeell…” His tone became clipped, irritable. “I need to be focussed for this presentation.”

“Oh, never mind.” Though Rose’s curiosity had been piqued by his cryptic comments and the urgency in his voice, she knew he was on a tight schedule. “You better go give that presentation. Go on, then. Love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you, too.”

It was only once she was in her bed, half asleep, with her thoughts restless and drifting, that she realized exactly what the Doctor wanted that desk for… She was suddenly wide awake, the whispers of a plan forming in her mind.

 --ooOoo--

Rose had spent the better part of the night ordering the things she needed to set her plan in motion. The online shop guaranteed next-day delivery and she hoped everything would be there when she arrived home from work. If she managed to slip away for the afternoon (without Pete finding out) as she’d planned, she would be able to message the Doctor just before his lunch… perfect!

She was relieved to have been able to escape the confines of her office with no one noticing, except Donna, the administrative assistant who, being every bit as brilliant as her Prime Universe counterpart, noticed everything. But she had just winked at Rose and signalled with a swipe of her thumb and pointer finger that her lips were sealed.

Rose’s excitement grew when she arrived home to find several large packages waiting for her in the hallway by the door of her flat, kindly left there by the landlady. Rose beamed, her heart pounding as she bustled into the flat, hurrying to get everything set in motion before she chickened out. She had never done anything quite as bold as this before – at least in terms of trying to seduce someone – and she rather hoped the Doctor would be… receptive. Considering he had seemingly procured the desk for a very specific (erotic) purpose, she figured he would be.

An hour later, she was turning up the heating against the chill of the wintery air. Her new outfit was not exactly intended to keep her warm. To be honest, she didn’t think she’d ever worn anything so barely-there (and glittery) before. She flushed, looking at herself in the mirror. It was a bit generous calling it an outfit at all. It was really just strategically placed jewelry.

It was a Samba ensemble, made of thin strips of pink, yellow, and clear crystals. The bra was a halter design, with clusters of gems dripping in simple floral patterns from her throat to just above her breasts. A single, large sparkling clear crystal shone between her breasts, supporting a band of smaller clear crystals that curved below them. Her nipples were (only just) covered with bright pink and yellow crystal flowers. She turned around to look at herself from the back. Her bum was essentially bare, the lower part of her outfit, a thong, impossibly skimpier than the bra and crafted of more of the glittery crystals. Matching wrist and shin cuffs adorned her limbs. Not for the first time that afternoon, she thanked the stars for her Torchwood training and active lifestyle for keeping her fit and trim.

After applying her most alluring make-up, she was ready for the final piece of the puzzle. With shaking hands, she positioned the headdress over her hair. It was heavy, heavier than she’d expected, encrusted with crystals over her forehead and in a band around her head. A pink and yellow fountain of ridiculous, great, feathery plumes erupted from the top.

Rose laughed at her image in the mirror. Ridiculous didn’t begin to cover it: it was completely daft. But the Doctor would love it… or so she hoped.

She made her way to his study where she had set up cameras to take photos of herself using a remote control. Her first pose had her facing the camera, one stilettoed foot hitched up on the desk, and her opposite hand touching her sex through the thin fabric of her bejewelled knickers. She made a point of allowing her tongue to poke out at the corner of her smile. That always drove the Doctor mental.

For her next pose she leaned over the desk, her bare bum inviting the Doctor to take her from behind, as she looked suggestively over her shoulder at the camera. She elected to forgo the third pose she had planned. She’d had to stop her headdress from toppling off several times during the second pose and was feeling rather hot and bothered… and not in a sexy way.

Regardless of the headdress mishaps, she was able to select an image she liked from both sets of photos and upload them to her mobile.

So, you like Samba, do ya? she texted the Doctor, along with the two photos. Meet me for lunch… video chat. I’ll show you my moves.  

If she’d worked out the timing right, he should be receiving the messages about ten minutes before he usually stopped for lunch. She intended to make sure there would only ever be one Samba dancer in his future. Her.

She giggled nervously. She really hoped he would take the bait.

She didn’t have to wait long. Her phone vibrated on the desk. She laughed at the Doctor’s message: Blimey! Don’t move! I’ll be there in five minutes. Meeting adjourned!

He’d taken the bait all right – hook, line, and sinker!

Now for the really challenging part: video phone sex. She’d never done anything like that before. She hoped she could pull it off.

 Rose scrambled to set up her mobile on the apparatus she’d purchased, just for this purpose, at the same time as she’d bought her Samba costume. She took a few quick test shots of herself, perched on the edge of the desk with her leg hitched up the way it had been for the first of the photos she had sent the Doctor a few minutes earlier. It took a few rushed and panicked adjustments, but she eventually got the angles just right to ensure the Doctor would get an eyeful!

She was just situating herself on the desk with her leg up again when her phone pinged with the Doctor’s incoming call on video chat. Her tummy was in knots with equal parts anticipation and mortification. Her fingers shaking, she depressed the button on the remote control she’d programmed to her phone and accepted his call.

The Doctor’s eager, bewildered face filled the entire screen, his eyebrows rising into his hairline at the image before him. “Fuuuuuuck…”

He was swearing, a sure sign she’d gotten his attention in the best possible way. There was only one time he ever swore (well, mostly) and that was during sex. Rose smirked as he reflexively licked his lips, boosting her confidence even more. Her voice still trembled, though. “Like what you see, Doctor?”

His hand ruffled his hair. (Rose was jealous of that hand.) “Weeell, I mean… yes! Of course, I do! Blimey! What’s not to love?” Two hands ran through his hair this time.

“B-better… better than the Samba dancers from lunchtime yesterday?” Rose pressed her lips together, and dropped her leg from it’s provocative pose, and she slid off the desk, suddenly uncertain again and feeling vulnerable, both craving and dreading his response.

The dazed shock on his face softened, full of sincerity and love. “The only person I’ll ever want to dance with, Rose Tyler, is you.”

“I feel so… stupid… doing this.”

“NO! No, no, no, no! This is perfect. Brilliant!”

“I don’t know what I’m doin’…”

For several anxious moments, they watched each other in silence. Then, suddenly, the Doctor spoke, his voice husky and low: “Oh, Rose, I wish I could touch you. I wish I could lean you over that desk, take you from behind, and fuck you senseless.”

Rose released a tense breath. He seemed to be taking the lead, putting that unstoppable gob of his to good use.

“But first, first I’d love to have you like this, facing me. I’d spread your legs and–”

“Like this?” Now that she was relaxing, Rose found herself quite eager to play her part. Holding her headdress in place, she hopped up on the edge of the desk again, leaning back on her hands, her legs splayed.

“Yes, just like that! Beautiful! You’re fucking gorgeous!”

Rose bit her lip, her breath hitching as a flood of warmth pooled low in her abdomen. Blimey, she loved when he talked dirty.

“I’d kneel down before you, goddess that you are, and pull aside those skimpy knickers and bury my face between your thighs.”

“Like this?” she repeated, drawing the soaking strip of fabric to one side, exposing her dripping core to the Doctor.

“Oh, you’re so wet, Rose. I just want to taste you.”

“Guuuuuuuhhh… yeah! Love your mouth on me.”  

“Oh, yes! I’d dip my tongue inside you, savour the taste of you (you taste so good, Rose!), and lick you all the way up to your clit. Fuck, you’re perfect,” he blurted as Rose used her finger to simulate the actions he described.

She sighed at the sensation, closing her eyes, wishing it was his tongue lapping along her aching slit, twirling around her clit.

“Oh Rose, my Rose… I’d stroke that lovely clit of yours with my tongue, up and around, up and around…”

Rose groaned out her pleasure, her fingers dancing over her damp sex. “God, Doctor, I love it when you fuck me with your tongue. Please,” she begged, looking him in the eyes, “I want to see you. I want to touch you too. I want my hands on your gorgeous, thick cock.”

“Fuuuuck, Rose! Wait! Just give me a moment.” His face disappeared from the phone. “Keep going!” his voice called from the background. “I’m still here, licking you, sucking you.” There was a loud clattering noise, and the image on the screen spun around. And then Doctor appeared again, from further away wearing only an oxford. His cock, long and hard, bobbed up against the fabric, leaving a wet stain on the front of the shirt. “There. I’ve propped my mobile up. Can you see me, love?”

“Yeah. ‘S good. So good!”

“Are you still touching yourself?”

“Yeah.” Rose’s eyes rolled back as she pressed down on her clit.

“So I see,” he moaned. “Oh, love…”

“I want you inside me, Doctor. I want to feel you fill me.”

Rose watched with a hooded gaze as he wrapped his hand around his cock. “Oh, I want that too. I want to feel you so hot and tight around me. Nothing feels better than that.” His hand stroked down, then up, with a twist at the top. “You’re so soft and wet…” down again, “and so fucking…” up and twist, “tight!”

At the same time, Rose plunged two fingers inside herself, finding that oh-so sensitive sweet spot, as she continued to work her clit with her thumb. She moved her fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his stroking hand, the jewels around her breasts chafing her nipples with delicious friction as she moved. She added a third finger, stretching herself wide. “Oh, you’re so thick and hard… I love how you fill me. You feel so good!”

“Fuck, Rose… so do you. You look so fucking sexy.” His hand began to stroke faster. Rose watched, mesmerized, as the dark, throbbing tip of his cock disappeared and reappeared from the circle of his fist. “Are you getting close?” His voice was tight, strained.

Rose continued to work herself, thighs trembling, slick, wet sounds accompanying her lusty groans. “So close…” she whimpered, feeling the familiar heat burning in her core, the pressure building. Her head lolled back… and suddenly she yelped as her headdress tumbled to the floor behind the desk. “Oh no! No!” Her hand stopped moving as despair welled up inside her.

“Rose! Don’t stop. Keep going.”

She wailed, “It’s no use.”

“You’re so beautiful, my precious girl. Oh, let me touch you more. Let me feel how warm and wet you are… I want to fuck you forever and never stop.”

Rose watched him on the small screen of her phone looking so wonderfully earnest, his cock in his hand, still hard, glistening with pre-come. He was bloody hot, and he was hers. The shock of losing her headdress was forgotten in a fresh rush of desire, and another flood of arousal, warm and slick, coated her fingers. “Touch me, Doctor,” she breathed, her thumb renewing its caresses over her clit.

“Oh, yes love… I want to run my fingers over your body; run my hands up your thighs and deep inside you. I love the sounds you make when I stroke you…”

“Please,” she whimpered, arching into the pressure of her thumb on her responsive skin.

“Let me fill you again…”

“Yes!” She watched, in awe, as his hand slowly resumed its motions – up, down, twist – over his long, hard member, and her fingers began their pumping motions again, curling and rubbing against her sweet spot rebuilding her sense of urgency with every stroke.

They were soon lost in their passion, both keening and groaning in a haze of lust and need. The fire within Rose burned hot again, deep in her sex, as she rolled her body over her fingers. The Doctor’s hand increased its speed once more. He was getting close, she could tell, he looked so wonderful and dishevelled, and his cock pulsed with every stroke of his hand. “Doctor!” she cried out. “I’m… I’m… gonna…”

“Hnnnngghhh…” he groaned. “Come for me. Let me see you come!”

Rose’s body vibrated with the need for release, her hand frantically pumping, her thumb pressing down, circling her clit, the heat and pressure building within her… and then, the Doctor shouted. Mesmerized, she watched as his seed spurted in ribbons from him, coating the front of his shirt, drizzling over his hand. The look of ecstasy on his face was enough to bring her over too. Her sex throbbed, grasping around her pumping fingers as she arched off the desk, the burning pressure in her core suddenly exploding outward, engulfing her.

 --ooOoo--

“Well, I need to get out of this ridiculous get-up,” Rose chuckled, pushing herself up to a sitting position. She had made her way back to the bedroom and lain down on the bed, while the Doctor lay on the bed in his hotel room. They had stayed that way for many wonderful minutes, gazing into each other’s eyes and talking quietly as they came down from the high of their orgasms.

The Doctor pouted. “And I suppose I need to get back to my meeting. They’ll all have finished their lunches.”

“Oh my God! You didn’t get to eat! Sorry. I guess I should have timed this better…”

“What? NO! This was perfect! A brilliant surprise. I feel perfectly satisfied.” He winked and flashed her an impudent grin. “I just can’t wait to take you over that desk in person, and peel that ‘ridiculous get-up’ off you, myself!”

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be there?” Rose bit her lip, clutching her mobile and regarding the Doctor’s image with imploring eyes. Training new teams of Torchwood personnel and operatives could be a time-consuming business and was an open-ended job. She and the Doctor could potentially be separated for several more weeks or…

“Just a few more days.”

“Really? You’re not jus’ sayin’ that?”

“Rose, (mostly) Time Lord here! If there’s one thing I know about, it’s time. Have you ever known me to misjudge…?”

Rose gave him a pointed look.

“Nah, don’t answer that. But honestly, love, we’ve only just started getting this lot familiarized with all the tech, today, but they seem to be a quick study, and a few of their key people will be returning to London with us for a tour and more in-depth, hands-on experience. Then Pete’s going to be relocating some of our more capable people to Rio for a few months to get things up and running properly. So, at most, another week.”

“A week?”

“At most… I promise. Now, as much as I would prefer to spend the day here with you, I have to act the responsible adult (complete rubbish, that!) and get back to my meeting. I’ll see you later, love.”

“Not if I see you first.” She blew him a kiss and offered him a little wave of her fingers before disconnecting their call.

 --ooOoo--

Five days later, she stood, poised sexily (she hoped) in the doorway of the Doctor’s study, wearing the Samba outfit, minus the ridiculous headdress (it would just get in the way), and watching as the Doctor pushed his way through the door of their flat. Her heart thrummed at the sight of him.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out cheekily, making her laugh out loud.

“Right here… erm… Sugarbear,” she droned, her voice as sultry as she could make it through her giggles.

“Sugarbear? Really, Rose,” the Doctor closed the door behind him, “of all the names you could…” As he turned and took a step into the flat, his gaze locked onto her, eyes darkening as they roved over her bejewelled body. “Blimey… now this, this is a proper welcome home!” He dropped his bags and coat, leaving them behind, forgotten, as he strode toward her across the room, loosening his belt along the way.

Rose shuddered at the sight. Bloody hell, he was fucking gorgeous. And he was here. Home. With her. Her Doctor.

“You. Inside. Now,” he commanded, his hands settling over the bare skin of her waist, guiding her backwards into his study with firm pressure. Rose’s core ached in anticipation, a yearning heat coursing through her. His lips crashed against hers as they staggered further into the room, the kiss equal parts demanding and desperate, and Rose was sure she had never felt so desired, so loved.

When her bum hit the desk, she gasped, and suddenly, all the emotion she had been suppressing over the last few months surged to the surface: guilt and remorse, loneliness and jealousy, all whirling together in a maelstrom of unfettered passion, love, and vulnerability brought on by the Doctor’s assertive touch. The tears she had been holding back gushed over her cheeks.

“Rose? Love?” The Doctor broke the kiss, looking down at her with concerned eyes. “What’s wrong? Is this not all right? Was I too… weeell, enthusiastic?”

“No, oh my God, no,” she wept. “It’s… it’s perfect… Better than. I jus’… I jus’… I missed you… I didn’t realize jus’ how much…”.

In one swift movement, he swept his hands behind her legs and lifted her to perch on the edge of the desk. Then, spreading her thighs, he stepped between them and tipped her chin up for another marvelous snog, still passionate, but this time it was a sweet and tender, unhurried sort of passion. Rose melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him against her body and breathing in the comfort of his scent. They eventually drew away from the kiss with gentle pecks and nibbles.

They pressed their foreheads together, and panting softly, Rose spoke into the space between them, “Sorry, I’ve gone and ruined all this,” she gestured to the desk.

“Nah, don’t be silly.” He dabbed the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Besides, I have a bit of news too. Might as well get it over with.” He sighed dramatically and pulled slightly away from her to fish in his jacket pocket. He pulled out an official-looking Torchwood envelope that he tossed down on the desk beside her.

“W’at’s this?”

“My new marching orders, I’m afraid. I leave in two days.”

“Two days,” she sobbed. “But you jus’ got home and–”.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she dragged a hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “God, I sound so needy and selfish… but I just missed you.”

“And I suppose, the fact that I was in Rio,” he smirked at her, his left eyebrow arched, “had nothing to do with it?”

“Oh, that just made me miss you even more, but I admit, I was a bit… envious.” She chuckled, leaning back to look him in the eye. “But you know that stuff doesn’t really matter, yeah, all the travelling? Never did. Just that we’re together. That’s what’s important.”

“Oh, I know,” he reassured her with a kiss on the forehead. “And you know I feel the same... don’t you?”

She nodded, placing her palm over his single, human heart. “Yeah, ‘course I do.” 

“And that’s why, Rose Tyler,” his deadpan expression transformed into a brilliant smile, “I’m happy to announce that your assignment is in that envelope too. This time, you’re coming with me.” He beamed at her, waggling his eyebrows and looking very pleased with himself.

She gawped. “But… wait. What?”

“That is, if you think you can be ready to go on such short notice.”

“You wanker!” She swatted his shoulder. “Of course, I’ll be ready!”

He giggled. “But, really, I mean… if it’s too much trouble, I could always just go back to Rio on my own, I suppose.”

There was a long silence as Rose processed what he had said. When she finally found her voice, the words tumbled from her mouth: “Shut up! No way! Rio? RIO?”

“Yu-p!” He grinned. “We’re the experts Pete’s going to send over for a couple of months to make sure everything’s up and running properly. He said he only wants to send the best, and weeeell… I mean look at us. The choice is obvious.”

“I don’t believe it. There must be a catch.”

“No-pe!” He popped his “p” again. “He wants to make sure the Brazilians get everything exactly right. And the best part is, we’ll be there for Carnival. It’s just a few weeks off.”

“What? Carnival? Really?”

“Yes-siree, Rose Tyler! You can even wear this outfit again, in an official capacity this time, of course, complete with headdress. And ooooh, we’ll bring the baby TARDIS along, too. She’ll love a change of scenery!”

“I still don’t believe Pete would just… Nah, you must ‘ave said somethin’ to ‘im, yeah? Not that I’m complainin’. It’s just he’s been so… lecture-y lately.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been a right misery. And now this sudden change of heart…?”

“Weeell, I admit,” he pulled on his right ear, “I was all ready to go in today, guns-a-blazing, to try to convince him that enough was enough, but believe it or not, he had already made up his mind. He gave me the news during my debriefing this afternoon. By the way, you’re to meet with him tomorrow–”

“Urrrghh, that’ll be fun…”

“–to go over… erm some… stipulations, but essentially, it’s all set. Said he thought your diplomatic skills would be hugely beneficial over there. Personally,” he flashed her a cheeky grin, “I think he was just getting sick of your constant moaning.”

“Oi, Mister!” She feigned offence. “Is that so? Watch out! I’ll give you constant moaning!” She grabbed his tie and dragged him toward her for another impassioned kiss, then reached between them to fondle him through the fabric of his trousers. As she sucked and nibbled along his jawline, tracing her fingers up and down his growing length, a strangled sound tore from his throat.

She smirked. “Now, there’s the moaning…”

“Stop!” He grabbed her hand, his eyes blazing into hers, and she quivered in response, the hot rush of renewed arousal pooling between her legs. “No more teasing. Brilliant as the video-chat sex was, I’ve had enough of foreplay and imagining over the last few days to last me a lifetime. I am going to take you right here, right now, against this desk, and fuck you so hard you see stars.” He scrabbled at his trousers and boxers, pushing them down over his slim hips. Looking utterly debauched, with his suit jacket, oxford, and tie dishevelled but still in place, he took his thick, throbbing member in hand and gave it a few hard pumps. “You ready?”

“Am I ready? Fuck! I’ve been ready for days. Could hardly think of anything else.” She licked her lips as she took in the sight of his impressive length. “My fingers are no substitute for that.”

With an impatient growl, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the desk. Then he spun her around and pressed in behind her, rutting against her bum. “This all right?”

“God, yes!” she sputtered, the ache of desire burgeoning inside her as he encouraged her to lean forward over the desk, applying a steady pressure to her back, until her breasts pressed against the surface, making the jewels of her outfit rasp over her taught nipples.

With a nudge from his foot, he prompted her to spread her legs, opening her to him. “Oh, yes,” he groaned, “the optimal distance, indeed!” Rose shuddered as his slender finger stroked over the sodden strip of fabric covering her sex and she arched into the contact with wanton abandon.

No further invitation required, he yanked the fabric aside and plunged into her welcoming depths.

She saw not only the stars he’d promised: entire constellations burst before her eyes.

[joon-bugs]

Erupt

“So you’re done talking. I point you out on your bullshit and you decide you don’t want to talk anymore!” You yell down the hallway after him. This is ridiculous. All of it was bullshit. When you two first started dating your arguments consisted of what flavor Doritos to buy or if you were going to watch Dragon Ball Z or Naruto. After spending so much time apart it was hard to relate to each other’s ways. He’d grown so much as a person and as an idol and you stayed your college student self, going with the flow but now you felt like you were in a constant battle to see who was more mature than the other.”

word count: 3333 

pairing: Namjoon/ fem reader

genre: angst and smut

warnings: profanity, dom!fem reader, face sitting, fem riding, sex (lol), alcohol

“Namjoon get the fuck out of my face.”       

The bass of the speakers consumed your anger, making you that much closer to erupting.

“I just don’t understand why you’re mad at me.”

“Will you ever Namjoon? If you want to talk we aren’t doing it in here.” You turned around taking another drag of your four loko, but before you could walk away he yanked your wrist turning you to face him.

“We’re talking now come on.”

“Kim fucking Namjoon I didn't come here to kiss and makeup. If you want to make an appointment with me later you’re more than welcome. Now if you can get in that's a different conversation but you know where to find me Joonie.” You whisper-yelled at him, gently smacking his cheek and leaving the potent trail of sour green apple in your place as you walked away.

You finished off your drink, letting the negativity soak away and the music come back to your senses and take over your body. You grabbed the neck of some random suitor, grinding into his pelvis. You could feel his eyes burning holes into your body as you danced but who gives a damn because drunk you sure didn’t. Three dancing partners later the lights in the apartment were turned on and sweaty bodies filed out the apartment. You pulled out your phone and pulled a successful drunken attempt to dial your little brother's number.

“Jeong-in can you pleaseeeeeee come get me?”

“What happened to Namjoon?”

“Ugh fuck that dude can you come get me please?” Before he could answer your phone was snatched out your hand.

“It’s cool Jeongin I got her. A sober and pissed off Namjoon hung up your phone and led you outside the humid apartment.

“Namjoon WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT. Leave. Me. Alone.”

“Calm down.”

“You’re taking me to my house.”

“Not like this, I’m not. Your parents don’t care if you’re 23 they’ll still be pissed if you come home like this.”

“Like what exactly?”

“Y/N you look and smell like a hot ass mess.”

“And you wonder why I’m mad at you all the time.”

“Come on the Lyft is here.” It wasn’t long before you were stuffed into the back seat of a musty Hyundai Sonata. The long ride opted you to fall asleep.

You woke up in a familiar bed in your routine pajamas: a t-shirt and boxers. Of course, you’d end up at Namjoon’s after telling yourself you were done with his bullshit. To hide in his bed or to face the bitch. That was the question. You threw the duvet off of your body in anger and placed your bare feet on the cold hardwood. You stretched and shook out your disheveled hair and walked out to the kitchen where  Namjoon sat at the counter, working on his laptop while sipping on his coffee. His honey blonde hair fell flat on his forehead nearly dangling in front of his eyes.

“You ready to act like the adults we are?” He asked, most likely noticing your footsteps coming down the hallway. His annoying attitude caused you to throw a silent fit behind him. All you wanted was to have a free weekend but now the cheapness of the four loko god’s got the best of you once again. You answered him with the sound of the suction releasing from the fridge and grabbed the unfinished gallon apple juice you left there and chugged it, relieving you of the cottonmouth you woke up with.

“Oh so you want to treat me like an adult now?” you finally responded after wiping your mouth clean of apple juice.

“If you act like a kid I’m going to treat you as such.” Namjoon was still irritatingly deep into his laptop.

“See that’s where you’re wrong, I’m not childish you’re just a control freak trying to hang on to any last bit you can.” You rummaged through his cabinets on the hunt for good hangover snacks. He must have moved them since last week what an ass. You thought sourly.

“I haven’t been grocery shopping since Monday so I ordered our breakfast.”

“Ugh, my savior what would I do without you?” Every bit of sarcasm was laced in your response as you fake fainted against his broad back.

The constant arguing had just happened last month when he came back home for a break. Your free-spirited personality wasn’t as much of a turn on for him anymore and something changed as he felt like he needed to be more controlling. At first, you understood the fact that he didn’t have control of much in his life being that he’s a kpop idol, but as soon as it became a constant routine for him to father you around (and not in a good way), the more you grew irritated. Age wasn’t even an excuse for him you were a normal twenty-three-year-old adult with somewhat of a nine to five job and grad school to take care of. So what if you still thrived within the college night-life, you were a grown woman.

“You’re so fucking irritating.” Namjoon murmured under his breath.

“Then why’d you bring me here? Jeong-in could’ve driven me to my apartment and I would’ve been fine.”

“Because we need to talk Y/N, ignoring me for a week doesn’t solve anything.”

“I know it doesn’t but I needed space and  last time I checked I’m a grown ass woman and I don’t need a helicopter parent.”

“A helicopter parent? So you think me making sure you don’t make stupid mistakes because I love you is me being a helicopter parent.”

“Namjoon it’s not just that it’s you telling me to take off “all that makeup”, I’m a business marketing major I work in the makeup industry everyone looks like this at work. Or when you wake me up an hour before my alarm because you don’t want me to be late to work which I never am. Or is it when you try and to take my drinks from me the one night I let loose because you think I’ve had too much when I know my limits. I’ve known my fucking limits since I was 17 Namjoon. OR WAIT is it when you-” Your rant got cut off by a buzz at the door.

“Food’s here.” Namjoon calmly said before getting up from his almost monumented position. After a quick exchange with the delivery guy, he placed a giant brown bag and drink holder on the kitchen counter and started sorting things out.

“Sweet and creamy iced coffee and two cinnamon bagels with extra cream cheese… your favorite.” He gently slid your breakfast across the granite countertop. A ping of guilt drifted across your body.

“Thanks, Joon.” You two ate in silence kept company by the sounds of knives against bagels and spoons against bowls.

“You know I act like this because I care about you right?”

“I know Joon, but I don’t need a manager”

“Oh and I do?”

“Namjoon you’re a fucking kpop idol of course you do. There’s a difference between your fame and my normal lifestyle.”

“I just don’t understand how I’m controlling.”

“There’s a fine line between being a caring boyfriend and a controlling boyfriend and you’ve been wearing the fuck out of it.  Joon I’m an adult I can take care of myself. Half of these responsibilities you think you have in our relationship you took on yourself because you’re so used to being a leader that you don’t even rest when you get home. There’s two of us in this relationship you don’t need to do everything.”

“So in order for you to get this off of your chest, you had to get drunk at a house party and dance on four random guys?”

“Jesus, Namjoon you are impossible. Dancing doesn’t mean anything if you were paying attention which I know you were, I didn’t even let them touch me. It was just dancing. I’m sorry it wasn’t the most mature way to react.”

“Whatever.”  He quickly collected the trash off of the counter and walked away to his bedroom.

“So you’re done talking. I point you out on your bullshit and you decide you don’t want to talk anymore!” You yell down the hallway after him. This is ridiculous. All of it was bullshit. When you two first started dating your arguments consisted of what flavor Doritos to buy or if you were going to watch Dragon Ball Z or Naruto. After spending so much time apart it was hard to relate to each other’s ways. He’d grown so much as a person and as an idol and you stayed your college student self, going with the flow but now you felt like you were in a constant battle to see who was more mature than the other.

“Namjoon we aren’t done talking.” You pushed open the bedroom door to find him at the edge of the bed with his face in the palms of his hands.

“Namjoon come on. I know we both have stuff to work on. We need to talk about it.” The bed sank under as you sat next to him.

“I’m tired of fighting.”

“I am too. I hate fighting with you.”

“Than stop being so petty.”

“You stop being so damn controlling and we got a deal.”

“See Y/N its shit like that. The way you respond is childish.”

You could feel the anger in you start to rise, it wasn’t long before you erupted into a profanity-filled rant. He knew more than anyone else how to piss you off. He was like a constantly nagging mom that you could never make happy anymore.

“What part of we both have things to work on did you not get?” You threw your anguish filled body on the bed.

“So guys aren’t the only thing you throw yourself on. I’ll take note.”

With those words that left his mouth the last straw was placed on the camel's back. The yell that was about to burst out of your body was a new level of pissed off he had never seen. After being together for two years. Two years of teaching each other how to not only love yourselves but each other. Two years of learning how he likes certain things, things not even the craziest of fans would know. Two years of what must have been the honeymoon stage were about to break into a madhouse. The boy you loved had your blood boiling deep within. And finally, you snapped.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, I’M THE CHILDISH ONE BUT YOU WANT TO BRING UP OLD SHIT I APOLOGIZED FOR. HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING TO ME THIS WHOLE TIME OR DID YOU TUNE ME OUT BECAUSE IT’S NOT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR?!” You reached back and grabbed the dense decorative pillow from behind you and threw it at the back of his head.

“HUH NAMJOON? HAVE YOU?!”

As soon as the pillow made contact with his skin, he had you pinned underneath him. You could feel the temperature of his wrath radiating off of him, his face centimeters from yours. The sweet scent of his coffee breath flowed into your nostrils.

“Throw something one more time and see what happens.” He nearly growled at you. Your contracted pupils met his, neither of you had ever been this angry with each other before.

“Get off of me.” Your once angry and emotion-filled voice was calm and still.

“You know what?” Namjoon said as he flipped himself off of your body

“Leave.”

“LEAVE? If you want me to leave, tell me you don’t want me anymore and I’ll go.”

Silence filled the room as his body was angled away from you, he was staring blankly at the wall before him. You sat up and waited for his response still in his shirt and boxers. You could hear the occupants of the apartment above you rummaged around. The silence turned into a countdown and it went off once again.

“Great answer Namjoon, I’ll leave!” You grabbed your dress and heels off the nightstand and stormed through the bedroom door.

“I didn’t even say anything!” He said chasing after you. “Well, you didn't answer either. Communicate.” You turned around to face him and argued back, poking him in the chest with every syllable. “Y/N…. stop.” You continued antagonizing him. “You want me to stop because you want two years to go in the trash right? You want me to leave right?” “STOP.” He finally gave in and raised his voice, shocking you when he firmly grasped your upper arms.

“Just fucking stop. Stop jumping to conclusions.” “You were thinking it.” His hands slid up to your face and he brought his forehead to yours.

It felt like the sound of birds chirping after a storm. Emotions didn't subside and evidence of the storm was still there. A new blanket of calm fell in the room.

“No, I wasn’t... I’m sorry I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to change. I don’t want to throw us in the trash. I’ll stop.” His lips grazed yours and as he pulled you into a passionate kiss you could feel him towering over you, power still in his stance. You broke away from the kiss.

“You don’t get to be in charge anymore.” You pulled his hands off your face and pushed him against the door returning your lips to his.

“Pick me up.” You managed to get out in between breaths. He groaned into the kiss picking you up. Now it was you that towered over him. Using his neck as support you ground your body onto his abs before giving him more directions. Trying to get any sense of affection he could, he placed sloppy kisses on your neck, causing you to throw your head back as your body was taken over by lust.

“I didn’t- say- you could do that.” You grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck pulling him away and bringing yourself back.

“Walk to the couch.”

Namjoon walked over to the couch with you still in his arms. He stopped in front of the furniture, waiting for his instructions. You slowly moved your mouth along his collarbone up to his ear, trailing your hot breath along the way.

“You’re so good, baby… now sit.” Your bodies fell against the black suede couch. You pulled the giant shirt off of your body and went back to kissing any of his exposed skin you could. Large hands began to dance across the waistband of your borrowed boxers. Coming to a harsh stop your dark eyes met Namjoon’s as you yanked his hands off your body.

“Shirt off. Now.” You watched in awe as his long torso was exposed. You slid off of his lap and began kissing along his waistband, his legs opening in response. Teasing him you moved up his chest, leaving the area that needed your attention the most. You could feel his hard-on against your exposed breast as you left hickeys on his chest. Noticing that, you stood up and bent over so your face was back in front of his.

“Odd of you to assume that you would get some before I got mine. Oh, my sweet boy.” You clutched his jaw in your hand bringing him nose to nose.

“Namjoon baby? Lay down.”

He shifted his body on the couch barely fitting but it was good enough. You began to strip yourself of the boxers, realizing that you didn’t even have your own underwear on.

“Look at Joon doing my work for me.” You taunted, before randomly tossing the boxers somewhere in the living room. The cool air hit your core making you notice how aroused you actually were.

“Mmm Namjoon baby I need you to show me how fast your mouth can actually move. Can you do that for me?”

Not even giving you a chance to say the last word he answered in an instant.

“Of course baby.”

“Good.” You crawled on top of his face planting each knee on the sides of his head lowering yourself onto his mouth. The relief of tension was instant as he moved his mouth harmoniously against your heat, his tongue painting stripes across your folds and his lips sucking on your sweet spot.

“Hold me.” You commanded and his hands gripped your thick thighs bringing you down further on to his mouth. His face was completely buried inside you as you rocked on top of him begging for more. You grabbed onto his honey locks, as the pleasure was so intense you knew it wouldn't be long before you’d try and run from it.

“How do I taste baby? Am I good?” You asked tauntingly. His response was lost, muffling against you, causing vibrations to push you further.

Closer and closer to the edge you were pushed as he showed off his talented mouth.

“Keep going baby I’m so close.” You whimpered, praising his talents. His fingers dug into your thighs as he quickened his pace. A shock was delivered throughout your body suddenly, sending you to an enamored release.

You slid off of him your legs shaking as you stood.

“Baby you’re so hard. Want to take these off?” You pulled at the waistband off his sweatpants, knowing they were the only thing he had on. He nodded, a look of intense need in his eyes.

“Okay. Strip.” His body slithered as he shimmied off his pants not getting off of the couch. His dick sprang free as he rid himself of the pants, precum already dripping down the head.

“You got that turned on from me riding your face baby? Oh, c’mere.” You sat on his lap ignoring his hard-on, but bringing him into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, not caring if he touched you with or without permission at this point. Lost in the moment you forgot that you never even relieved him. Not that you cared. Dry humping his pelvis you felt his dick brush against your ass reminding you that he was still hard.

“Stop.” You commanded sternly before getting off of him.

You held on to his broad shoulder as you climbed on top of him once again hovering above his dick. Digging your nails into his shoulder you stabilized yourself controlling your speed as you slid onto him agonizingly slow.

“Mmm you feel so good inside of me Joon.” You rotated your hips on him even slower than before, offering him the slightest amount of pleasure.

“Faster, please.” He groaned into your neck.

“Anything for you baby.” Picking up your pace your thighs began to burn, knowing you were going to cum again. How could you not? His hands slid from your thighs up to your back pulling your body closer to his, pressing you chest to chest. The close proximity caused your bouncing to slow down to a grind, pushing you both higher than before. You felt the absence of one of his hands from your back but soon felt it in between your thighs, his thumb massaging your clit causing you to lose focus. He took over and flipped you on to your back, switching positions to pound into you from behind.

“Make me cum again Namjoon.” You cried out, gripping the suede under you in tight fists. He quickened his pace, going at a much better rhythm than you were at. It wasn’t long before you were a moaning mess underneath him, quickly falling apart with him following suit seconds after you releasing into you. He released a long drawn out groan before twitching inside of you. His body weight fell on top of you as he collapsed, his sweaty skin flush with yours. Your hands moved up to his hair combing through it.

“See what happens when you let go and let me take charge Namjoon?”

Written by Jo

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Vernon Roche | Baby

"I have to tell you something, I'm pregnant."

Word count: 2400+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, implied abortion, pregnant sex

I guess I could have seen it coming from a mile away. First I skipped my period once. Than twice, and my nipples had became sore. The morning sickness assured me of my state, and yet, I was anxious to tell my husband, Vernon Roche. How would the commander react? We had never discussed the fact of having children, so it was always a bit concerning whenever I was late with my cyclus, and the relief that often washed over me when there were finally the first drops of blood flowing from within was way too comforting than I liked to admit, but now, there was none. It had to be on the table as soon as was possible, and I decided to break the news whilst he was at work, so I could speak to him alone, no prying soldiers lurking around.

I paced back and forth in the tent that served as a temporary study to the commander nervously, the mace that was strapped to my hip hitting my thigh with every step I took. The armor I wore was way too tight all of a sudden and I dragged a hand through my (h/c) locks as the man I swore my vows to entered the room, smiling at me with that smirk that always made my knees buckle, yet now it was something else that was making me weak in the legs. The pile of parchment files Vernon was holding was plopped onto the wooden desk with a thud, making me jump slightly. My husband of course noticed that something was off, and his dark eyes flickered with concern. 'Is something the matter, (Y/n)?' My bottom lip slipped in between my teeth and I let out a hum. 'Did somebody hurt you?' Vernon walked up to me, taking my hand in his. '(Y/n), did somebody hurt you?' he repeated, searching my face for any sign of hurt. Taking a deep breath, I simply blurted it out.

"I have to tell you something, I'm pregnant." Vernon's eyes widened as the grip on my hand became a bit tighter. 'Really?' I felt my face become pale, because I could not see in his reaction if he was happy or not. A small nod and a large smile grew onto his face. 'That's fantastic!' he cheered. A relieved sigh left me, a grin tugging at the corner of my lips. Vernon swept me up in a hug, spinning me around in his arms. I laughed, holding onto him for I cherished those moments with him like nothing else. 'My dearest, that is amazing! A little Vernon or (Y/n) running around here in nine months, we...' He fell silent, putting me down on the floor as a frown had found its way onto both our faces. 'We...' I began, my breath hitching in my throat. 'We are at a camp. A bloody army camp. We cannot have a baby here!' I exclaimed, realization hitting me. Vernon rubbed his chin, looking around the room. 'Do not worry, my dear. We will figure something out...' He wrapped me into an embrace and I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the scent that lingered in his armor. 'I doubt it, Vernon...' He pulled back from the hug, cupping my cheek in his gloved hand, stroking it softly with his large thumb. '(Y/n), look at me.' he whispered, even though I was fully looking at him already. I didn't notice that a tear had escaped my eye until he wiped it away. 'Vernon, we are at war! We cannot raise a child in a war ridden camp!' 'I am positive that we can make this work, love.' 'There are swords everywhere!' 'The soldiers can look out for the child. They aren't fully stupid.' I bit on my lip, shaking my head. Vernons hand that was holding my face fell to his side. I swallowed thickly, letting out a shaky breath. 'Will it be safe to keep it, Vernon?' His cheerful expression faltered. 'Shut up. Don't say that.' 'What if we don't have a choi-' 'THAT IS MY CHILD IN THERE!' he pointed at my stomach, bewildered. I backed away, afraid of his darkened eyes. As soon as Vernon realized that he had yelled at me, he gasped. 'Fuck, (Y/n), I am so sorry, I didn't mean to do that.' He tried to grab my arm, but I turned away from him, pacing towards the exit of the tent. 'I... I need air.' '(Y/n), wait.' Before I could leave the tent, he grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me into him. 'You're right.' he whispered in my hair. 'This is not a safe place for a child.' I hummed, wrapping my arms around him. A light laugh escaped Vernon before he kissed me on the top of my head. 'You know, I already love that little thing even though it isn't even fully grown yet.' My face was pressed against him as he pulled me closer into him. 'I will protect you, my beloved (Y/n). As I promised.' I sighed lightly, turning my head so I could breathe again, my cheek now resting against his chest. 'We have to settle down somewhere.' I muttered, drawing circles on his back with my palm in a reassuring manner. Vernon released me, cupping my cheeks before pulled me into a loving kiss. 'Of course.' I frowned. 'Just like that? Is it that easy to convince you?' Vernon smiled, stroking my cheek lovingly. 'Yes, my love. I know what I signed up for when I told you I would be with you until death do us part. As for tonight, we will go to the nearest inn, I will rent you a room and you will be able to stay there, safe from battle whilst I do some unfinished business around here. I will give Ves instructions to take up my work as soon as the baby is born. I want to be the father to him or her that I never had.' 'Oh, Vernon...' 'Shhh, don't say anything, (Y/n). I will do it gladly for you. Come on, let me help you pack your things. We will leave before dusk.' ~

Novigrad was the city closest to the camp we were in, and we made our way towards the Kingfisher. Vernon had insisted that I had to be on the back of the horse whilst he walked next to it, as if I was about to be in labor already. It was kind of adorable. He rented a room, told the innkeep that I was to stay for as long as possible until he had found a proper residence for me to go, and helped me haul the bags I had packed upstairs towards the room where I had to stay. I smiled, plopping down onto the bed. 'You know, you don't have to do this for me, Vernon. I could stay at the camp for a few months at least.' He sat down next to me, putting his hand on mine, then on my stomach, which was still flat. 'It is too risky. I insist that you stay here for a while. I will try to visit daily, but I cannot abandon my men now, I hope you understand.' I nodded, kissing him on the cheek. He turned his head so I could kiss him on the lips, and he pulled me into his lap. His mouth moved against mine in sync, the stubble of his beard roughing against my skin, and I liked it. A soft moan left my throat and my cheeks flushed. Vernon's arms circled my waist, holding me close. 'I need you now more than ever.' I whispered, peppering kisses over his face whilst I spoke. 'Are you sure you aren't too tired?' 'Fucking hell, Vernon, it isn't like I am about to give birth.' A low chuckle left him and he turned to lay me down on the soft duvet. Crawling over me, he started kissing my neck, slowly peeling off all the layers of clothing we wore. He did it slow and sensually, as if I was a fragile porcelain doll that would break if he was too rough. It wasn't like the usual steamy sex that we had, and I smiled, for it was a kind of love-making that I was glad to try out. I shivered as he reached the point that he took off the wrapping around my chest that served as a bra, his fingertips stroking against my skin lightly with every inch he moved his hands. 'They've grown larger.' Vernon said, a smirk plastered on his features as he gave my breasts a firm squeeze, making me yelp. His expression faded into a concerned one. 'Are you alright?' I nodded. 'They're just a bit... Sensitive.' 'I will be careful.' he promised, bending down to lick around my nipples slowly. A heavy sigh of pleasure left me, my hands reaching for his chaperone to take it off his head so I could tangle my fingers in his hair. 'Hm, you like that?' I nodded, biting on my lip as he sucked softly. A trail of hot kisses left saliva between the mounds of flesh as he moved down, kissing my stomach a few times. 'In a few months, I will be able to feel our child move. Can you imagine that?' I giggled at Vernon's remark, blushing like crazy when he started pecking the skin around the edge of my panties. A low hum left him as I started to wiggle my hips in an attempt to make him hurry up. 'Someone is getting impatient.' he whispered, toying with the fabric that was still covering my core, that had grown damp with excitement. 'Here, let me help you have a good time.' He started undoing me of the underwear, causing me to completely lay naked underneath his shirtless form. The hairs on his chest shone lightly in the light of the candles that illuminated the room, and I arched my back to grind against his face, but to no avail, he pulled back. 'Don't want anyone coming in, do we?' he uttered, standing up to move towards the door in order to lock it. I pouted, tilting my head slightly. 'Even though I am pregnant, you never fail to tease me.' 'It is just fun to make you wait a bit. Makes the look of pleasure on your face even more rewarding.' He took place between my legs again and bent down to peck the soft (s/c) skin of my thighs. He lifted my hips, spreading my legs so I was laying there in a rather lewd way in front of his eyes. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he finally bent down to attach his lips to my folds. I moaned as he softly sucked on them, the sensitive lips gliding through his mouth as his saliva mixed with my own essence. He hummed lowly, smiling as he looked at me, locking eyes as his tongue started to play with my clitoris. My stomach tingled at the feeling, the vibrations of his hum rippling through my spine towards my brain, putting me into a blissful haze. I slowly exhaled, inhaling sharply again as his tongue darted across my womanhood to gather everything that he could get there, kissing it a few times before sliding the wet muscle into my core, my toes curling at the feel. 'Vernon...' I breathed, wanting to rub myself against his face, but my position prevented me from doing that. 'Just fuck me.' 'No, tonight is about you, I do not matter.' 'Of course you mat- Oh, right there!' He hit a spot I particularly liked and he continued stimulating it. I pinched my own nipples, which hurt from all the attention that they had already received. The feeling of an orgasm was approaching, making me want to moan out. 'Lay... Down... Vernon...' I grunted, making him pull back. Strings of my juices were still attached to his tongue as he pulled back, another long lick across my folds before he obeyed my orders. He laid down, smiling as I straddled his face. 'Take a deep breath, darling.' I sighed, lowering myself onto his mouth, that was eagerly awaiting the presence of my dripping core. That same feeling was tight in my stomach again, my hips being able to grind against his face now. His tongue made long, quick strokes against me as I was now directing the pace of my stimulation myself. I moaned loudly, grabbing the headboard tightly, digging my nails into it as I felt Vernon grab my ass, squeezing it. The tip of his nose hit my clitoris every few moments and it drove me wild, I wanted it to be rubbed at all times, so I re-positioned myself in a way that he could suck on it. As I looked down at him, I could see his eyes closed, his chin and cheeks slick with my essence. I smiled, quivering as his tongue darted around my clit. My husband opened his eyes, looking at me with a dark, loving gaze. 'I am going to cum...' I whined, making him slide his tongue inside me yet again, but this time he curled it to give me more pleasure. I moaned his name, my high washing over me as I sat there on his face, trembling blissfully. My juices were released onto him, his face getting more stained than it already was. He hummed, making the feeling all the more pleasurable. A few moments after my climax had finished, I lifted myself off his face, exhaustion taking pleasure's place. The commander smiled, wiping his face, making sure to lick up as many of my juices as possible. 'You seem tired, (Y/n).' he uttered after cleaning himself up, his gaze looking me up and down as I tiredly laid sprawled out on top of the duvet. I sighed, a satisfied smile crossing my features. 'I am.' 'Want to rest?' 'But I haven't pleasured you yet.' 'I just had enough pleasure of myself, dearest. You should sleep now.' He bent down to kiss my forehead. A loose strand of (h/c) hair was tucked behind my ear. My eyes fluttered shut. 'Do you need to get back to camp?' He hummed in agreement, but my grip on him tightened as soon as he was about to get up. 'Stay with me tonight.' He relaxed, laying an arm around me. 'Okay.' he said, putting his hand on my bare stomach, drawing slow circles over it. At the sound of his breath and the feel of his bare skin against mine, I fell asleep.

[silverfootstepswrites]

Butterfly [24]

summary Press play.

“Hello! I brought back souvenirs!” 

Asuma leaned back in his seat to look past Kakashi. The chair squeaked under his weight. Shikamaru, chin in his hand, also lifted his head. Lee stood in the doorway. Teeth gleaming in the morning light as he held up a big paper bag. 

“How was Los Angeles, Lee-sensei?” asked Shizune. 

“Terrific!” exclaimed Lee in English. He reached into the bag to pull out several plastic trophies. They were in the shape of man, spray-painted gold. Lee went around the room handing out the souvenirs. On the black base of the trophy were everyone’s names spelled out in sparkly gold letters. 

“What’s this?” asked Sakura as she walked into the faculty room. Kurenai followed her inside. They both carried water bottles from the vending machine down the hall.

“Presents from LA,” replied Kakashi. Lee ran over to place their customized gifts into their hands. Sakura blinked down at the plastic statue. 

“You’re not as tan as I thought, Lee-sensei. I thought you were going to California to surf. What happened?” Sakura inquired. Lee’s smile disappeared. Grimacing, he lifted his sunglasses onto the top of his head. 

“They all spoke English so quickly. I couldn’t understand half of what they were saying. So I spent most of my time in Little Tokyo,” he confessed. 

“....But you’re the English teacher,” Kurenai pointed out. Silence answered her. 

“Terrific,” muttered Kakashi, mimicking Lee’s classic thumbs-up pose. The room erupted into laughter. Sakura fought giggles as she patted Lee’s arm.

“Aw, don’t look so down, Lee-sensei. English is hard,” she assured him. 

Itachi was wearing a collared shirt. From a distance, it looked like it was light blue with polka dots. But when she came closer, she saw that it was actually a white and blue striped pattern with toucans scattered around. She plucked a loose thread off his collar. He glanced down at her, smiling before he returned his attention back to his work.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Haruno-sensei?”he questioned.

He was flipping through a stack of drawings, marking down points in his gradebook in red pencil as he went. 

“How do you decide which ones are good and which aren’t?” Sakura asked in return. She settled in on the stool next to him, elbow leaning on the table. Itachi pulled his hands away to let her shuffle through the pile on her own. 

“Well,” Itachi sighed. He sat up straight, tucking his pencil behind his ear. “Artistic talent isn’t a supply I can just tell students to bring in. So it’s mostly about effort. And how well they followed directions.”

Itachi leaned over to search through the papers. He pulled one out from the middle. Pulling the pencil out from behind his ear, he used the wrong end to etch invisible circles over areas of the drawing. 

“See. This was a practice in shading. This student didn’t follow my instructions. They didn’t decide on a light source, so the shadows are all over the place,” he explained, “The shadows here should be darker. And these should be lighter.” And then he rifled through the pile to pull out a different drawing. This one had wobbly lines and wonky shapes. But Itachi mimed circles over it just the same. 

“On the other hand, this student decided that the light source was here,” Itachi told her. He gestured to the top right corner. Traced a path from the corner to the shadows stretching out to the left. Sakura followed his pencil. And then she squinted closer at the drawing. 

“This is heinous. Did Naruto do this one?” she questioned. 

They flipped the drawing over. And indeed it was Naruto’s name scrawled onto the corner. Sakura covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too hard. 

“Aw,” she cooed, holding it up to the light, “He’s always been so awful. Have you seen him try to draw people yet?”

“It’s the effort that counts,” Itachi sighed. 

“You have. Doesn’t it look like Planet of the Apes?” she went on. Rolling his eyes, Itachi pulled the paper out of her hands. 

The bell rang. They could hear low chatter and footsteps bouncing up and down the halls. The door to the art room slid open. 

“Oh!”

Several students hesitated in the doorway. They were all girls, cheeks pink, slightly out of breath. Like they had run to be there first. But they crowded at the threshold, eyes darting from Itachi to Sakura. 

“Come in, girls,” Itachi said, returning his attention back to his grading. Sakura hopped off the stool. Crossing her arms across her chest, she watched the girls file in. They pulled easels out of the corner and set them up at the stools clustered in the back of the room. 

“I’ll get out of your way,” Sakura told Itachi. And he simply nodded. 

On her way out of the classroom, Sakura paused. The girls who had arrived early had set up big pads of paper on their easels. It appeared that they were finishing up an assignment that they had already started. Some of them had clipped images to the corner of their paper for reference.

The one that had caught her eye was drawing a man bent over backwards, arms stretched out. The girl sitting at the easel was fussing with the bottom, erasing and redrawing the feet over and over again. When Sakura looked at the reference, it was a photo torn from a magazine. Of Haku during his Junior days. In an ombre lavender and purple shirt, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. It was of him doing his signature Ina Bauer. 

Sakura crouched by the girl, who started. She pointed to the blades of Haku’s skates in the photo. And then pointed to the same part in the unfinished drawing. 

“You drew him skating on the inside edge. He’s actually on the outside edge. That’s why the balance feels wrong,” Sakura told her. The girl’s blank stare was all that responded. 

Sakura held up her hands. Laid the left one flat and then set the right on top so that her hands were perpendicular. “So let’s pretend that this is the ice,” Sakura tried again. She wiggled her left fingers. Waited until the girl nodded. “And this is the blade of a skate, okay?” Sakura wiggled her right fingers this time. The girl nodded again. 

Sakura tilted her right hand to the left. 

“This is called the inside edge. It’s the side where you have the ball and the arch of your foot,” Sakura told her. And when the girl looked blank again, Sakura gestured with her chin. 

“Point to the ball of your foot for me,” Sakura ordered. The girl blinked several times. Then, slowly, she stretched her right leg out. She reached down to tap the inside of her right foot. 

“Okay. Now where’s the arch?” asked Sakura. 

The girl traced the inner edge of her shoe. Then glanced back at Sakura, who nodded. 

“Do what I do. If I lean into the inside edge, my foot would go like this,” Sakura explained. She tilted her hand to the left again. And the girl copied the motion with her foot. 

“Good. But like I said, he’s on the outside edge, which means the blade would actually be doing this,” Sakura went on, tilting her hand to the right now. The girl’s foot also leaned to the right. Her face lit up.

“Oh! So I should draw him leaning this way on his feet?” she asked, looking back at Sakura. Sakura smiled at her before she rose to her full height. She continued on her way to the door. But stopped when the girl called, “Sensei!”

Sakura looked over her shoulder at her. The girl beamed at her. 

“Thank you, Sensei!” she said.

And then she looked past her. Saw that Itachi was watching her too, cheek in his hand as he smiled. 

As September went on, temperatures continued to grow more and more gentle. Hokkaido felt the change first. And then the season would stretch down the archipelago like water flowing out of a cup. The leaves wouldn’t start turning in Konoha for a couple months or so, but everyone acted like autumn was already in full swing. Vendors near the high school began roasting chestnuts and sweet potato. The air was filled with the fragrance throughout the day, drawing in hungry students and teachers alike.

Gaara’s sister living in up north in Hokkaido sent over a huge box filled with apples from Aomori. They sat in a glass bowl in the fridge in the faculty room. The teachers walked around crunching on apples for several weeks. 

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Sakura scowled. 

There was one computer in the library. But it might as well have been an abacus for how slow and outdated it was. It took a million years to boot up, and Sakura always worried that it would burst into flames if she opened more than one tab at a time. 

She refreshed the page for the millionth time. To her relief, the little link for “Result” was lit up in blue now. She clicked it, watching the page chug along at a snail’s pace to load. 

But when the entire page finally showed up, Sakura scanned through the pink and red boxes. She was unsurprised to see Russian flags for the first two spots. And then she recognized the white flag with a bright red circle in the center. Third and fourth place had gone to Japanese skaters. 

When the library door slid open, Sakura closed the window. She shoved away from the computer and opened up a book. 

“Good afternoon, Sensei,” the students greeted her as they walked past. Sakura glanced up to smile at them before looking down at the book. Like she was too absorbed in her task to talk. 

Soon, the students came over to ask her about finding some books for a project. Sakura got up from her chair to lead them to the right set of shelves. They kept her busy for the rest of the day as she helped them find the exact authors they were looking for. One of them complimented Sakura’s outfit, which struck her as odd. When the last bell rang, more students came in to clean up the library for their duty. 

Sakura watered the plants as they busied themselves sweeping up and taking out the garbage. They normally did their jobs quickly and with little chatter before they headed home for the day. 

“Sensei, do you need help putting these away?” one of the boys asked, gesturing toward the cart. 

“Oh, you don’t have to. That’s not part of your duty,” Sakura replied. But the other students were already grabbing the titles and matching them up to the right shelf numbers. She stood. A little dumbfounded as they cleaned up the books for her. 

“Where does this go, Sensei?” one of the girls questioned. Sakura pointed to the back room. The girl rolled the cart in through the opened door and then returned, clapping the dust off her hands.

“Bye-bye, Sensei. See you tomorrow,” she said. And her classmates echoed her as they headed out of the library. They carried their brooms and dustpans over their shoulders, laughing and chatting with each other. 

Not long after that, the door opened again. Naruto walked in to find Sakura pulling a few yellow leaves off her snake plant.

“Yo, Nee-chan. When’re you heading out?” he asked, arms crossed behind his head. 

“Well... now, I guess,” she answered. Naruto beamed at her. 

“Cool. I’ll see you after practice,” he told her.

“Wait. Naruto,” Sakura said. He turned back to her, eyes wide.

“The kids on duty today helped me put my books away. And talked to me. What’s going on?” she wondered, “Is this some sort of prank?”

Naruto raised his eyebrows. “Oh... well, no,” he replied. And then he lowered his arms, putting one hand on his hip instead. 

“I guess they’re just used to you by now. Some of my classmates were saying how you’re really nice- just strict about being noisy in the library. And Honda-san from Class 1-A said that you helped her with her art assignment the other day,” Naruto told her. And then his signature grin returned. 

“Ah, but don’t worry. I told them not to bug you for autographs and photos or anything. I know you came home just to relax,” he added. Waving, he headed out of the library. Outside, Sakura could hear Asuma blowing his whistle as the baseball team began running laps. 

“Where’s Uzumaki?” she heard him shout. 

“You know, Kushina-san,” Sakura said later that afternoon. “Maybe your son is smarter than he looks.”

Kushina snorted as she took a step back. She squinted, tongue sticking out as she made sure that the phone was level. 

“Okay. So I just push the red button when you say?” Kushina asked for the hundredth time. Sakura nodded. She swung her arms in a couple circles. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the camera. When she gave a thumbs up, Kushina returned the gesture. 

Sakura skated away several yards before she called out, “Now!”

Kushina hit the ‘record’ button just as Sakura launched herself through the air in a triple lutz. When she landed on her right foot, she took off in a triple toe loop. This was the combination that had won gold at her last World Championships. As she swung her left leg around, Sakura looked into the camera and smiled. Kushina released her thumb. 

Sakura went over to inspect the video. She and Kushina watched as the video played forward and then in reverse. Over and over again. At first, she hadn’t been a big fan of this function in Instagram. But over time, it had become a staple of her posts. 

“Perfect! Thank you,” Sakura sang, reclaiming her phone. She took off on the rink, skating as she selected the perfect filter. She glided on the inside edge of her blade as she typed out the right caption for the video. Finished with the right emojis and hashtags. Like a sprinkling of chocolate shavings on a tiramisu.

She posted the video and then watched as she likes and comments began pouring in. 

American fans in particular loved to type: yaaaaaas qween, which always made her laugh. After a while, she pocketed her phone. Kushina was still standing there in her blue jacket that read “Konoha Skates” across her chest. When she met Sakura’s eyes, she smiled. 

“When did you get so big, Sakura-chan?” wondered Kushina. Sakura didn’t respond. That wasn’t a question that really wanted an answer. All she could give in return was a smile.

Kushina stuck around for a little while longer before she headed back outside to mind the counter. 

Naruto dropped by after baseball practice. But he had exams to study for, so he headed up to his room. Sakura kept her earbuds plugged in, letting the beat and pitches guide her skates. They even played as she changed out of her skates and into her sneakers. She popped them out just as she waved goodbye to Minato and Kushina. 

The temperature had begun to drop at night. She pulled her arms through the sleeves of her jacket before she headed down the road. The beach stretched out down the left side of the path. The ocean rocking back and forth across the sands in the same rhythm as always. 

On some strange impulse, Sakura glanced around to make sure that no one was watching. And then she climbed over the metal railing the hopped down onto the beach. Sand immediately filled her sneakers and seeped into her socks. Sakura leaned against the concrete wall to free her feet. She let her sneakers dangle from her fingers before she continued walking. 

Sakura kept to the dry parts of the sand. One toe in the water had shown her that the ocean, at least, thought that it wasn’t summer anymore. Her footprints trailed after her. When the tide rose, they would get washed away, as if she had never been there in the first place. 

To the right, Sakura could see all the houses. Their windows glowing soft gold in the darkness. She recognized Shikamaru’s house with its curved green roof. Two doors down would be her place, the windows black. Waiting for someone to return to fill it with light. 

Sakura dug her feet down into the cold sand. Staring at the street. At the way power lines cut across the sky. At the way stars sparkled so clearly out in the countryside. 

And then she saw someone run up to the barrier separating the beach from the rest of the town. She could hear a plastic bag rustling, flip-flops slapping against the hard surface of the road. 

“Don’t go! You have so much to live for!” a man’s voice called out. 

“What?” she said.

As she watched, he jumped down to the beach. Sand sprayed up all around him. Hands held out in front of him, he yelled, “Whatever you’re going through, drowning yourself isn’t the answer.”

Sakura squinted in the darkness. “Uchiha-sensei?”

“...Haruno-sensei?” he asked in return. 

“I can’t believe you thought I was going to walk into the ocean,” Sakura laughed. Itachi sat down beside her, stretching his legs out. Opening up his plastic bag, he fished out two cans of beer. He handed one to Sakura. 

“Hold on. Maybe you should-”  Before she could finish, Itachi popped the tab of his can. Liquid foamed up and dribbled all over his hands and pants. He held it over the sand, beer dripping down his hand and spilling down his forearm. Itachi heaved a sigh.

Sakura opened up her duffel bag and pulled out a towel. “Hang on,” she told him. 

She got to her feet and went to dip just the edge of the towel into the water. When she returned, she used it to wipe up the beer still dribbling down his arm. Itachi sat very still as she rubbed his hands and then the can clean. 

“Thank you,” he said. He slurped up the beer that had gathered in the lip of the can. Sakura settled dow next to him, wiggling just a little to shift the sand around. 

He looked over at her as she opened up her own drink. It fizzed loudly, but didn’t overflow. 

“You shouldn’t laugh at me. I saw a woman roaming around the beach at night. What was I supposed to think?” he defended himself. He kicked his sandals off and dug his feet into the sand. Sakura rested her forearm on her raised knee. She looked up when she felt him clink his can against the side of hers. 

“Well, besides looking out for the good citizens of Konoha, what’re you doing out here?” Sakura queried. She listened to him take a sip. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw him lower his beer. 

“I’ve always liked the ocean. Especially at night,” he told her. And then he gestured with his beer toward the horizon. 

“This is called nautical twilight,” Itachi informed her. Sakura blinked, tilting her head.

“It’s technically dark out, right? But see how you can see some light from beyond the horizon?” he explained. He pointed, tracing the faint curve of the water. There was no moon out, but it wasn’t hard to see.

Because it was true. Even though the top portion of the heavens was dark, the bottom was still blue. blending to orange where the sky met the ocean. 

“I had no idea that there was a word for that,” she commented. 

“It’s so pretty,” she then added, resting her head against her left shoulder. Listening to the music of the ocean waves moving in and out. Smoothing out the shore. Turning jagged bits of stone into glittering glass. 

Sakura wondered if she had said something wrong. Because they stopped talking then. Just staring out at the water as the sky turned black all the way down to the horizon. And when she stole a glance at Itachi, she thought his eyes looked just a little sad.

[sage-nebula]

I was looking through my documents folder and I found a file titled “venty wish angst”. Obviously, I became curious about what, exactly, that was, and I found this. It’s unfinished (though I do remember where it was going to go), but there’s still quite a bit of here, so I figured I’d share it.

Enjoy it, if you will. Takes place post-canon (obviously), when Yuugi and Jounouchi are about 23/24, and have finally made their relationship romantic. (Probably shortly after that, too, so this is before they buy their condo.)

Yuugi was not skipping.  He ran on the balls of his feet, and every time his shoe connected with the pavement he sprang forward as if he was trying to sprint across the surface of a trampoline, but he wasn’t skipping.  When he reached the stairs of his apartment building, he took the stairs two at a time, and although the stairs were still comprised of concrete slabs, he imagined that each one was a beam of light instead, each one propelling him onward higher and faster than the one before it.  But he still wasn’t skipping; no, it was just that his excitement, when combined with the light stairs, allowed him to purposefully avoid every other step on his way up to the front door.

Such was his not skipping that he threw his body weight against his apartment door when he reached it, and---having had the foresight to pull his keys out of his pocket the second his door came into view---he slid his key into the lock in the same beat.  As a result, his momentum was not so much halted by the door as it was momentarily slowed down, and he all but tumbled through the front door as a result.

Katsuya was seated on the couch, the Xbox controller in his hands, and his eyebrows shot up beneath his bangs at Yuugi’s grand entrance. “Whoa,” he said, and Yuugi couldn’t help but huff a breathless laugh at the look on his face.  Well, at that, and at the very thing that had been bubbling inside him for the past hour---the very thing that was directly responsible for the ache in his cheeks from the force of his smile. “Welcome ho---”

“My dad’s coming in,” Yuugi blurted out, and he flung the door closed before he kicked off his shoes by the television stand.

Katsuya blinked, his eyes wide, looking no less surprised by this announcement than he had been by Yuugi���s sudden entrance. “What?”

“My dad’s coming in!”  Yuugi bounded over and jumped onto the couch, his legs folded beneath him when he landed.  He bounced a little, the couch cushion springy beneath his weight. “He’s coming to visit---he’s coming home! He’ll be here next week and he’s staying for two months!”

“Hey---that’s great!” Katsuya said, grinning. Yuugi nodded, laughing again.  There was nothing to laugh at, really, but he just couldn’t help it.  “No wonder you’re so stoked. Congrats, man!”

“Yeah,” Yuugi said, and he bounced a little on the couch---on purpose, this time. “It’s the first time in years---a lot of years, actually. I haven’t seen him since Mom, Grandpa, and I took that trip out to visit him after we---you and I, I mean---graduated high school.” Yuugi bounced a little on the couch again, and grabbed Katsuya’s shoulder to shake him a little as he said, “But he’s actually coming home now! For two months!”

Katsuya laughed, and let Yuugi shake him. “Yeah, I know! I’m really happy for you; it’s really great news.”

Yuugi beamed. “Yup, it definitely is. And speaking of which, we’re having dinner next week when he comes in, at Grandpa’s place. It won’t be the same night he gets in, because he’ll probably be pretty tired, but the night after. Mom’s cooking.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Katsuya said, and as Yuugi rapidly drummed his fingers against his knees in an effort to channel the energy still buzzing through him, Katsuya added, “Have fun and enjoy it. Just shoot me a text if you end up deciding to crash there for the night, okay?”

Yuugi paused, his fingers poised over his knees, and he felt his smile slip. But as Katsuya looked back at the game he was playing, the pieces of what Katsuya had just said---and what he had meant by what he had said, what he had misunderstood---clicked together, and Yuugi laughed again. “No, Katsuya---when I said we were having dinner, I meant you, too. We’re all having dinner with my dad at Grandpa’s place.”

Katsuya’s thumbs froze over the buttons of the Xbox controller, his other fingers constricting around the plastic. He was still staring at the TV screen, but his mouth had dropped open a little, his eyes a little wider than before. “What?”

“This dinner’s for you, too,” Yuugi said, and now he felt a little bemused himself as Katsuya still continued to stare at the television screen, despite the fact that he wasn’t actually playing the game. “You’re invited---or I guess not really invited, but Mom double-checked to make sure you could make it, and you don’t work evenings anymore so I told her you can---”

“But isn’t it a family thing?” Katsuya asked, and when he finally looked over at Yuugi, his otherwise even tone was betrayed by the furrow of his brow, and the fact that the Xbox controller was now being squeezed so tightly Yuugi thought it might break. “Like---he’s your dad, Yuugi. And he’s been gone for years. Don’t you want to spend some time alone with him? Just you, your parents, and Gramps?”

“Well, yeah, but I’ve got two whole months to spend with him, and you’re a part of the family, too.”  Just like how he had blurted out that his dad was coming to visit before Katsuya had a chance to welcome him home, Yuugi didn’t realize what he was saying before it was too late---before the words had already tumbled out of his mouth, Katsuya’s eyes widened to the size of basketballs, and a blush spread across his nose and cheeks that the heat swarming through Yuugi’s body told him was no doubt mirrored on his own.  Yuugi rubbed the back of his neck, and swallowed as he attempted to recover. “Not---not that we’re married, or anything, I know we’re not, we’re just---together, you know---but you are still my boyfriend, and you’re really important to me, and Dad wants to meet you, so . . . it’s important for you to be there, too.”

The background music in Katsuya’s game was still playing on loop, and while Yuugi hadn’t paid too much attention to it before, it was impossible not to notice the cheery, repetitive beat now, especially with the way Katsuya looked back down at the controller, his eyes searching it for answers the white plastic couldn’t provide. After a second he jammed his thumb onto the center X button to turn the controller and console off.

Earlier, Yuugi had not been skipping, but he had still felt as if he could easily climb into the sky by the air alone.  Now, he felt tethered to the couch---inarguably grounded.  “Katsuya?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, that’s fine.  It’s okay. It’s great,” Katsuya said.  He tossed the controller onto the coffee table and got up to stride toward the kitchen, but he made it only three steps before he stopped, as if he had forgotten what he was going in there for (or, Yuugi thought, maybe didn’t really know in the first place). “Everything’s---great.  That sounds like a plan.  Let’s do it.”

Yuugi frowned, and crossed his arms over his lap.  “You really don’t want to go?”

“No.  I mean, I do---I don’t care.  Really! It’s fine.”  Jounouchi turned back to face Yuugi, and he smiled, but it was stiff and didn’t reach his eyes.  As if to underscore it (though Yuugi knew it was a subconscious habit), he ran his hand through his hair.  “It’s great, like I said.  It’ll be great.”

“If it was great, you wouldn’t be freaking out,” Yuugi said.

Jounouchi dropped his hand to his side. “I’m not freaking out.”

“Yes, you are.  Come here.”  Yuugi pushed himself off the couch so he could cross the few paces necessary to take Katsuya’s hand, and he led him back over.  Katsuya flopped back down onto the couch, his arms crossed over his stomach, and looked back at the now dark television screen as Yuugi sat down next to him, his knee against Katsuya’s leg. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Katsuya said promptly, and Yuugi gave him a flat look.  When their eyes met, Katsuya sighed, and mussed his hair again. “It’s nothing, it’s just . . . is this really how you wanna start your dad’s visit off, Yuugi?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like . . .” Katsuya tossed one hand up and let it fall back against his leg, as if gesturing to a point hovering above their coffee table, and then heaved a sigh. “You know how this is gonna go, right? This whole meet-and-greet? I’m---in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really . . . I’m not the greatest with parents. Actually, I really, really suck.”

“What?” Yuugi said, and when Katsuya only continued to look at him, he shook his head. “That’s not true! You’re---”

“Yuugi, it took a year, some change, and you almost dying in a fire for your mom to like me,” Katsuya said flatly. “Honda’s parents have known me since I was twelve, and once they got past the initial excitement that he actually had a friend and realized that I was not the studious lab partner they thought I was at first, they decided I was a bad influence on him and never looked back. Seriously, I’m pretty sure they still think that. Still.”

“Yeah, but Honda-kun’s parents are really overprotective. I’m pretty sure Anzu’s the only one of us they like now since they saw my choker that one time, and walked in on Bakura-kun explaining the stages of body decomposition after being buried in a standard grave that other time. They didn’t even really listen when we tried to explain he was just researching it for Spirits & Sanctuaries.”

“To be fair, that was one of the most disgusting conversations we’ve ever had,” Katsuya said, and Yuugi shrugged to give him the point. “But it doesn’t matter, the point stands. I’m just---I’m not the kinda guy you introduce to your parents, Yuugi. Your mom’s one thing, but it’s not like we have a fire to help me out this time. Not that the fire was good, because it wasn’t, but it’s just that something kinda positive ended up coming out of it in the end, I guess---”

“We don’t need a fire for Dad to like you,” Yuugi said. “Mom was just being overprotective, too, and judging you unfairly, and so the fire helped her see that, but Dad won’t need it.  He’ll like you from the start, I know he will.”

Katsuya scoffed. “Yeah, sure he will.”

“He will,” Yuugi insisted. “Grandpa did---”

“Yeah, but that’s Gramps, he’s different.  He’s the exception, not the---”

“No he’s not, and I’m telling you---”

“How can you tell me that when I’m---”

“Because I know my dad, and I know you, and I know for a fact he’s going to love you,” Yuugi said, and he raised his voice just a little louder to make sure Katsuya would hear him.

Katsuya closed his mouth, staring at Yuugi for a moment, before he asked, “And why’s that, huh? How do you know that?”

“Because you’re lovable,” Yuugi said simply.

It was obvious to him, as much of a fact as the way thick, dark clouds gave way to rain, and flowers bloomed in late April.  But Katsuya snorted a laugh, said, “Yeah, okay,” and turned away to look over toward the kitchen instead.

“What?”  Yuugi said.

“Seriously?”  Katsuya said in turn.  He looked back at Yuugi, who continued to stare straight back at him, and then said, “Yuugi, come on.”

“What?”

“Lovable.  Really?  Me?”

“Yes, really, you,” Yuugi said, and once again Katsuya gave him a sort of come on half grimace before he looked away again. “What’s so wrong about saying that? You are. I mean, I love you.”

Katsuya swallowed, a light pink flush rising in his cheeks again, and picked at the denim of his jeans.  “Yeah, but . . .”

“But what?”

“But . . .” Katsuya shrugged, and when no answer materialized for him, mumbled, “I . . . I dunno.  I’m . . .” He huffed an empty laugh, and ran his hand through his hair again as he shook his head, his eyes focused on the carpet. “I still don’t really get that one, either.”

Yuugi furrowed his brow.  “What’s there to get?  I love you.  I’m in love with you, so---”

“No, I get that,” Katsuya said, and as he looked over to meet Yuugi’s eyes again, he took Yuugi’s hand in his, and gave his fingers a short squeeze. “I’ve got that part, I get it, I don’t doubt it.  I don’t doubt you.  It’s the---the why that I don’t get. Maybe the how if you think about it that way, like, ‘how in the world could someone like you love someone like---’”

“Because you’re amazing, and great, and the best,” Yuugi said, and when Katsuya gave him a skeptical, disbelieving look, he said, “You are.  You’re . . .”

But he could see in the way Katsuya turned away again---in the way he looked back at his knees as he chewed the inside of his cheek, in the way he ran his thumb along Yuugi’s fingers---that Katsuya didn’t believe him.  

“I know what I am,” Katsuya said quietly. “And I know that your dad’s . . . not gonna be impressed, to say the least. And do you really want that bringing down the rest of his stay here?  I mean---I don’t know, maybe he wouldn’t say anything to you about it, but if he does---”

“The only thing my dad is going to say to me about you is how much he likes you, and how great he thinks you are,” Yuugi said firmly.  Katsuya said nothing, and Yuugi laced their fingers together so he could squeeze Katsuya’s hand.  “I mean it. He’s going to love everything about you. How funny you are, how warm, how clever---”

“Clever,” Katsuya interrupted flatly, and Yuugi stared just as determinedly back.

“Yes, clever.  And generous, and protective, and trustworthy, and sincere, and---and you!”  Yuugi gestured at Katsuya with his other hand, and after a second’s worth of consideration, scooted closer so that he was pressed against Katsuya’s side.  “Everything about you is wonderful.  I love everything---every bit---of you.  There’s nothing I don’t, no part of you I would change . . . except for how you don’t believe me right now.”

Katsuya winced, and looked away again. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, or that I think you’re lying, ‘cause I know you’re being honest with how you feel, and I’m not doubting that you feel that way, but I just---”

“No, it’s okay,” Yuugi said.  “I understand---I know what you mean.  I know you’re not really doubting me. You’re doubting yourself.  I get it.  But . . .” He brushed his thumb along the side of Katsuya’s hand, and smiled faintly at their interlocked fingers before he looked up to meet Katsuya’s eyes again.  “I believe in you.  Always have, always will.”

[chocolatequeennk]

Snapshots of Forever, 2/2

Little snapshots taken along the path of forever.

This fills in the gaps in The Course of True Love. There's been a lot of time skips in that series, and I wanted to let you watch their relationship develop. Most of these happen during Love on a Desert Island. The last section will be between that and With This Ring.

Ten x Rose

Fills the @doctorroseprompts “missing moments” prompt

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP | Ch 1

After three weeks, Mickey wished he’d never come on the TARDIS. He’d known Rose wasn’t his girl when she’d stood on the playground and told him there was nothing for her on the Estate. He’d known she loved the Doctor when she’d been devastated by his regeneration.

But he hadn’t known they were properly together.

Seeing them cuddled together watching telly, or catching them stealing a kiss in the galley while they made breakfast… Every day on the TARDIS reminded him that Rose had moved on to something better.

Rose’s apologetic glances stung, too. He didn’t need her protecting him… though he didn’t know if he wanted to see her in a full-on snog with the Doctor, either.

Mickey rolled his eyes as he pressed down on the button the Doctor had shown him. But the kisses and tender looks weren’t the worst part about being their third wheel.

Sitting beside Rose in the jump seat, the Doctor gestured wildly as he reminded her of some adventure. “And that weird munchkin lady with the big eyes? Do you remember—the way she looked at you! And then she opens her mouth and fire comes out!”

Rose laughed and put her hand on his leg. “I thought I was going to get frazzled!”

“Yeah. One minute she’s standing there, and the next minute roar!”

Mickey could handle kisses and tender looks, but the way they got lost in their own world was too much. Time to find my own something better.

oOoOoOoOo

On a hill overlooking Battersea Power Plant, the Doctor laid out the plan they’d just agreed to. “We attack on three sides. Above, between, below. We get to the control centre, we stop the conversion machines.”

“What about me?”

The Doctor blinked and looked at Mickey. “Mickey. You can…” He tugged on his ear.

“What, stay out of trouble? Be the tin dog?” Mickey shook his head. “No, those days are over. I’m going with Jake.”

Jake, still grieving for Ricky, scowled at him. “I don’t need you, idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot!” Mickey shouted. “You got that? I’m offering to help.”

The Doctor held his breath as timelines shifted.  

“Whatever,” Jake muttered, then stomped off towards the zeppelin, Mickey hot on his heels.

“Mickey,” the Doctor called out. “Good luck.”

Mickey’s smile was surprised. “Yeah, you too. Rose, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, you’d better,” Rose answered, her voice light.

“If we survive this, I’ll see you back at the TARDIS,” the Doctor told him.

“That’s a promise.” Mickey nodded, then turned around and followed Jake.

The Doctor looked at Rose. She’d taken the most dangerous part of the plan on herself, but there was no way to talk her out of it. Instead, he brought her close with a hand on her waist and kissed her.

The kiss was far too brief, and when he pulled back, three words were on the tip of his tongue. “Good luck,” he said instead.

Rose kissed his hand, then walked away.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose sat at the kitchen table while her mum filled the kettle and got two mugs out of the cabinet. The Doctor had returned to the TARDIS after supper, so it was just the two Tyler women, getting ready to have their nighttime cuppa.

The normalcy of the routine reminded Rose of her conversation about a bedtime cuppa with the parallel Jackie, and she swallowed back tears. There’d been enough crying today.

The kettle went off, and Jackie poured boiling water into the waiting mugs. “So I see himself finally got his act together.”

“What?”

Her mum rolled her eyes as she brought the tea and milk over. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re not like that, sweetheart. The little kiss on your cheek before he took that box of his down to the street where it belongs?” She sniffed. “Have to admit, that was sweet.”

“Oh.” Rose poured milk into her tea. “Yeah, we’re properly together now. Have been for… oh, almost two months.” She took a sip of her tea and remembered the trip to paradise where the Doctor had kissed her for the first time.

“Well, he isn’t what I imagined for you,” her mum said. “But he obviously makes you happy, if that smile is any indication.”

Rose stiffened and stared down at her tea, her stomach in knots. She hadn’t even known she was smiling. I am a horrible friend. “I’ve gotta go,” she muttered, jumping to her feet and running from the flat.

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor looked up in surprise when Rose burst into the TARDIS, her eyes wild. He held out his arms in invitation and she fell into them willingly. His hearts constricted when her tears soaked his shirt. “Come on, love,” he whispered. “Let’s sit down.”

She nodded against his chest, and he led her to the jump seat. She immediately curled up in his lap, and the Doctor wrapped his arms tight around her.

“What’s wrong?”  

Rose played with his tie. “It’s my fault Mickey left.” She swiped at the fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “He felt like he didn’t matter anymore, so he went someplace where he was needed.”

The Doctor pulled Rose close. “It isn’t our fault Mickey left, Rose. This was something he needed to do for himself.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “And it’s something that had to happen. I felt timelines snap in place when he ran after Jake.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.” The Doctor hesitated, then asked, “What brought this on, anyway?”

She sighed. “Mum asked about us—you and me,” she clarified. “She knows, by the way.”

“Oh, she does?”

Rose smirked when his voice squeaked. “Yep. Thinks you’re sweet.”

That… that was probably good. “Okay…”

“And… I remembered our first kiss under the ciamanto ciel, and for a moment, I forgot about Mickey.”

Ah. The Doctor smiled tenderly at Rose. “You can still be happy, even though Mickey’s gone.”

Rose rested her head on his shoulder. “Good. Because I don’t think I could stop.”

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor’s hearts stopped when he saw the newest victim. Even with her face covered, he recognised her—only a few hours ago, Rose had been on the jump seat, teasing him with glimpses of her legs as she put on those pink heels.

He dropped the police file and walked towards her in a daze as the officer revealed her blank face. No brown eyes twinkled up at him, no cheeky tongue teased him with her smile.

“Rose.”

“You know her?” Detective Inspector Bishop asked.

“Know her? She…” His voice trailed off and he cupped her jaw tenderly, just as he had her unfinished statue months ago. He swallowed back tears when she didn’t nuzzle into his hand. His Rose was gone; this was just her body.

Slowly, the conversation between the police officers filtered into his brain. “They did what?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I’m sorry?” asked Bishop.  

“They left her where?” the Doctor demanded.  

“Just… in the street.”

“In the street.” Anger powered the storm brewing in his mind. “They left her in the street. They took her face and just chucked her out and left her in the street. And as a result, that makes things simple. Very, very simple. Do you know why?” He took off his glasses and turned around.

“No.”

“Because now, Detective Inspector Bishop, there is no power on this Earth that can stop me. Come on!”

He squeezed her hand before leaving the room. I’m coming to get you, Rose.

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor still hadn’t conquered the last of his fear as he ran alongside Tommy back towards Florizel Street. Even though he knew his device had worked, had seen the red crackle of electricity pull back from London as the Wire was defeated, he wouldn’t believe all was well until he saw Rose’s face.

Tommy burst around the last corner, but the Doctor slowed, scanning the street for familiar blonde hair. It seemed like forever passed before a flash of pink caught his eye, and the air escaped his body on a loud whoosh.

Perhaps sensing his presence, Rose looked at him, and at the sight of her wide smile, he sped up to an almost-run. Rose threw her arms around his neck when he picked her up. “Oh, I missed you,” he whispered as he spun her around. “I missed you so much.”

The need to see her face again overpowered his need to hold her close, and he set Rose back on her feet. Her eyes fluttered closed when he ran his fingers down the sweep of her nose and over her cheekbones, and the Doctor shook his head. “Open your eyes for me, love,” he whispered. “I need to see…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, but the compassion in her eyes when she looked at him told him he didn’t need to. “Oh, Rose. I thought I’d lost you.”

She took his hand and kissed it. “I’m still here, Doctor. I’m not letting forever go that easily.”

oOoOoOoOo

The bed they were given on the Sanctuary Base was narrow, meant for only one. But after losing the TARDIS, cuddling as close to Rose as possible was a welcome comfort.

“You’ll find her,” Rose whispered, echoing what the timelines were telling him.

The Doctor turned them carefully so they were on their sides, facing each other. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, then leaned forward and kissed her.

Rose’s lips parted on a sigh, and the Doctor deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Her hands twined in his hair as he flicked his tongue against the roof of her mouth, and he was seized by a desperation he rarely felt when kissing Rose—a need for more, to never stop, to just lose himself in her.

As he trailed kisses along her jawline, laving at a spot on her neck that drew a sharp moan of pleasure from her, he moved his hand to the small of her back and pulled her closer. Rose hooked a leg over his hip, and they sucked in a breath when she brushed against his growing erection.

“Doctor… is this—are we…”

The Doctor’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded. “It’s not what I imagined for our first time,” he admitted, “but I would like to make love with you here, tonight. If you want,” he added quickly.

Rose shifted closer and the Doctor groaned when she rubbed herself against him. “Oh, I want,” she whispered.

oOoOoOoOo

“Don’t go!” Ida pleaded.

He licked his lips. He had to go—they’d covered that already. But he could leave a message for Rose. “If they get back in touch, if you talk to Rose, just tell her.” His throat closed up. He knew what he wanted to tell her, but he wanted to see her eyes light up when she heard those words for the first time. Tell her… that I let go of the rope, but not of our forever.”

On the surface, Rose held her breath as she listened for the Doctor’s voice. “Are you there, Doctor?” she asked a second time. He has to be there. He promised I could spend the rest of my life with him.

“He’s gone.”

A band tightened around Rose’s chest when she heard Ida’s voice. An answer, finally, but not the one she was looking for.

Rose shook her head. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“He fell into the pit. And I don’t know how deep it is. Miles and miles and miles.”

Rose’s hand clenched, even though she knew she couldn’t pull him back. “But what do you mean, he fell?”

“I couldn’t stop him. He said to tell you that he was only letting go of the rope, not of forever.”

A sob choked Rose, and she dropped the mic. Through the roaring in her ears, she heard Zach tell Ida they were leaving.

She straightened her back. Well I’m not going anywhere. Not without the Doctor.

[wellamarke]

someday

humans challenge, week 4, day 2: prequels this is a prequel to the actual setting of @nachocheese-itsmycheese’s fic ’finally’ but refers to a time period mentioned within it

Sophie had taken her niece to the park, since it was a sunny afternoon and Mattie was busy with work. She sat in her flat, listening to how empty and silent it was without her daughter in it. Even the tapping of her fingers against computer keys couldn’t distract her from that absence.

It was funny to think that only two years ago, she’d scarcely been able to imagine herself with a child at all. Now, being without one, even for an hour or so, was what felt unnatural.

Mattie glanced over her laptop screen, at a picture on the wall behind it. It was a framed photograph of a sleeping baby, one pudgy hand curled up next to her cheek, the other tucked under her blanket. Her eyes were closed, the soft, pink eyelids hiding the piercing blue eyes she’d inherited from her father. It was unfair, really, how closely she resembled him. Sometimes Mattie wondered guiltily if that particular picture was actually all that good, or if she’d just chosen to display that one because it hid the most defining Leo-feature from view. The further he was from her thoughts, the easier it was to carry on.

It had been almost six months since she’d last heard from him at all. Leo was in the States these days, helping Athena Morrow with her research. He was still the only one of his kind, but Dr Morrow was convinced that with enough observation, she could figure out how David Elster had ‘resurrected’ him, and rework it for other head trauma patients. It would be a major breakthrough; it would rewrite whole fields of medical science. It also kept him well out of Mattie’s way, which was a bittersweet bonus. Part of her still loved him at least as much as she hated him, if not more. The balance was fragile, and tiring, and never-ending.

She finished fixing the faulty code she’d been asked to work on, and sent it back to her client, with instructions on how to check if their synth friend was responding to the update. That done, she was just about to click on the next email when the buzzer sounded, letting her know someone wanted to be let into the building.

She got up from her desk and pressed the intercom button, half expecting it to be Sophie, back from the park a little early. “Hello?”

At first there was no response. Then the intercom gave a crackle, and a voice that certainly wasn’t Sophie said, “Hi. It’s me.”

There was a pause. Then, “Can I come up?”

Mattie’s chest felt suddenly hollow, like a huge gulf had opened there, vast and terrible and able to swallow her whole if she didn’t do something to escape it. “Leo,” she all but croaked.

Another crackle. “Yes,” he said, sounding hesitant, as though answering a roll-call for a class he hadn’t signed up for.

“I’ll come down,” she said. She didn’t want him in her flat. She didn’t want to be enclosed in this space with him. Not because she had ever feared him or what he could do or say to her, but because this was her place: the home she shared with her daughter and no-one else, that had a bed Leo had never slept in and a door he’d never so much as knocked on. It worked for her because he wasn’t part of it. If she let him inside, even once, the trace of him would never go away. She wouldn’t put herself through that.

Mattie grabbed her keys from the hook and left the flat, pausing briefly outside the lift, but then drifting past it in favour of the stairs. She was four floors up. She would take the small delay, and use it to attempt to gather her thoughts.

Why was he here? What could possibly have brought him to her block, after all these months of silence? If there was any big, awful news in the family, she would know via Mia or Max by now. Surely he wasn’t here to apologise, or ask forgiveness, or any of those things she’d given up hoping for sometime between the start of her third trimester and the sound of a newborn cry. None of that was ever going to happen. They were always going to be unfinished, and she’d learnt to call the frayed endings ‘closure’. It was healthier that way.

Mattie’s heart was beating far too fast for just four flights of stairs, by the time she reached the bottom. She couldn’t pretend it was the physical exertion. Talking to Leo was, somehow, both the last thing she wanted to do, and the thing she wanted most in the world. Why did everything with him have to be a duality, a contradiction in terms?

She made her way along the hallway, her stride several times more confident than she felt inside. Eventually she reached the door, and she gave herself a final second to prepare before opening it.

He wasn’t on the doorstep, as she might have expected. He’d retreated to the bottom of the path that lead to the block of flats, hunched over, his hands in his pockets. Looking as he so often did, like a fish out of water, cut adrift from everything. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, and their eyes met across the short distance between them.

Part of Mattie wanted to stand her ground, and force him to be the one to close the gap, but part of her didn’t want to associate him even with the outside of her building. She went down the path and met him, fixing him with her coldest glance as she did so.

“What do you want?” she asked, bluntly.

He didn’t answer. Instead he looked about her, as if expecting her not to be alone. “Where’s…?”

She noted with hostility that he couldn’t even bring himself to say his daughter’s name. “She’s not here,” Mattie said.

Leo’s eyes widened slightly, but whatever he was wondering, he didn’t voice it.

“She’s out with Sophie,” Mattie added, before she could stop herself. She refused to wonder if her subconscious had taken pity on his obvious confusion. “Did you want to see her?”

He nodded. Mattie was taken aback, but she tried not to show it.

“Both of you,” he clarified, voice somewhat hoarse. “I wanted to see both of you.”

“Well, come back in an hour,” she said. “Or meet them at the park. Whatever you want.”

“You don’t mind?”

Mattie’s eyes flashed with fury. “Mind?” Her throat felt tight and strained, but somehow the words forced themselves out regardless. “It was never me who wanted her to grow up without a dad, Leo. That was you. I’ve wanted her to see you every single day since the moment she was born. I don't—” She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I don’t personally believe that you deserve to see her. But I’m not going to stand in the way of my daughter seeing her father. She deserves that much, even if you don’t.”

She turned away from him. She’d said too much already, less than two minutes in - the conversation wasn’t going to end with a civil handshake now. She wished he would leave. She wished he would stay. She wanted him to never come back and never leave her side again. Most of all she wished she’d gone to the park with Sophie, and left an empty flat for him to ring up. She would never have even known he’d been here.

“I thought I’d left it too late,” he said. He cleared his throat, a strangled sound. “She won’t remember me.”

“And whose fault is that,” Mattie said bitterly.

“Mine,” he said, without hesitation. “Obviously, mine. Everything has been my fault. I don’t expect anything from you, I just… had to ask if you’d let me see her again.”

“Well, I’ve said you can. I’ve told you how. Is that all you came for?”

“No. I… want to try. I want to try and… be something, to her.”

“Something,” Mattie repeated sourly. “As in ‘better than nothing’? How about just being her father?”

“I…”

He trailed off completely. Long moments passed before he spoke again. “I was wrong before. I said I never wanted to be a father, but what I meant was that I didn’t want to be my father. I think you knew that. We had that long argument about frames of reference, but I wasn’t hearing you properly. I couldn’t… I just kept coming back to all the ways I’m exactly like him. Do you know how often I’ve wished he’d just left me at the bottom of that lake? I couldn’t see myself doing any better than he did.”

“So you decided to punish our daughter for your own insecurities,” said Mattie. “This isn’t news, Leo. I’m not stupid. I don’t have to be a psychiatrist to know you’ve got issues with the concept of fatherhood - it would be weirder if you didn’t. But you can’t just…use that as an excuse. It’s not her fault. It’s not my fault. But you left both of us.”

“I know,” he said. “I shouldn’t have run away, or said any of the things I said. I don’t have any justification for that.”

“So what’s changed?” Mattie folded her arms in front of her. “Why show up now?”

“I realised I was wasting Doctor Morrow’s time,” said Leo. “She wanted to study my memories, the way they’re ordered and how the recall works. I let her see some of them. The old ones, from… before. But it was the newer files she was interested in, how my brain creates new paths for itself. And I wouldn’t let her see them, because I didn’t want to look up on that screen and see… you.”

Mattie pressed her lips together, and stared down at her feet, giving him nothing.

“I’d closed off everything about you. I hadn’t even realised I could do that. I don’t think I ever could before. When we first met, I told you I was unable to forget, and that’s still true, but I realised only recently that I can partition off whole sections of data. Like moving them to another drive. It’s something to do with the grafts Athena put in after… after Hester. There’s still a disconnect. Everything I didn’t want to think about, I was transferring across so that it wouldn’t keep surfacing, and that made all her research pretty much defunct, because she wasn’t trying to replicate a repair that went wrong. She wanted the real thing, and I couldn’t let myself show her it, because that would mean… admitting that I’d been avoiding even thinking about you.” He kicked at a stray stone on the path in front. “So I told her I was sorry, and I caught the next flight. The others don’t even know I’m back in England.”

Mattie stood there, stock still, taking in what she could.

“You asked me what changed,” Leo continued. “And I suppose what I’m trying to say is… nothing changed. All this time thinking I didn’t need you any more, but none of it was true. I just wasn’t letting myself remember. It’s all the same as it ever was.”

For a while there was silence between them. A breeze whipped Mattie’s hair over her shoulder, and she raised her hand to swipe it away from her face. She tried not to notice the dampness on her skin as she did so.

“It isn’t the same,” she said softly. “It’s two years later. We can’t just… pick up where we left off.”

“I know.”

“I meant it when I said I won’t stop you seeing her. But please don’t make her any promises if you’re not going to keep them. Just… spend some time with her. But not here. Her home is for people who are permanent.”

Leo nodded. “Okay. I’ll… think of something.”

“I really wish I could just say I understand,” Mattie said, honestly. "And that we can try again. But if…”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not going to start any ‘ifs’ today. Give me some time to work those out.”

She dared to look at him again, and wondered if she saw a glimmer of hope in those eyes. She had grown unaccustomed to reading them.

“I think you should go, for now,“ she said. “I’ve got to process some of this without you standing there.”

“Of course.”

“And...I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Mattie added, “But it was good to see you. I think I’ve been doing a bit of memory partitioning myself.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, a sad quarter-smile.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“A B&B in town. Just until I find out if Max and Flash can put me up.”

Mattie nodded. “Get Max to let me know, if they do. I can bring her over to theirs whenever you’re ready.”

“Alright. I will.”

He met her eyes again. “Thank you. For giving me a chance.”

“I’m only doing it for her,” she reminded him, although she wasn’t sure how true the words were, even as she spoke them.

He would have to work a lot harder and longer than this, that was for sure. But maybe there was a reason the ends had frayed so wildly, like they’d always been meant to knit back together. Someday. Somehow.

Perhaps it wasn't too late, not just yet.

[tao-long]

On the essence of a black belt

I started training in the martial arts 30 years ago.  At 20, I tested for my 1st Kyu, which is the highest ranking belt in Shorin Ryu before black. The test was physically and mentally grueling. It ended with the testing board going into the back room to discuss our (mine and the 2 friends I tested with) performance and 6 cinder blocks emerging each topped with a concrete block 1.5″ thick, 8″ wide, and 16″ long. A belt for each of us was placed neatly under each block. None of us had ever broken concrete before, but we all had experience breaking boards.  We all succeeded.  

We were then faced with one additional challenge.  One by one, our Sensei lit the edges of our certificates on fire and the certificates were laid flat. We were given the instructions to put the fire out by placing our hands on it, not pulling back, and moving our hands around the edges of the certificate to smolder the flames. I remember the experience being extremely intimidating, however, aside from minor singes, we all emerged unscathed.  And most importantly, we were not asked to do anything we were not capable of doing. We were only asked to do things we did not know we could do - a lesson that has stuck with me my entire life.

When I was 23, and about ready to move across the county for a new job, I had about 10 years of training in Shorin Ryu under my belt.  My school and Sensei were extremely traditional and only observed 3 common dans (levels) of black whereas many schools treated the first dan as the first true step in your martial arts journey and observed up to 10 levels of black.  Recognizing that not having a black belt could impair my ability to join other schools and bias folks in their understanding of my expertise, I was awarded my Shodan (first black) just before leaving for my new job.  I found that, despite recognizing how I got to that point and my Sensei’s best intentions, the experience lacked a certain amount of closure and decorum and left me with a feeling of being “unfinished”.  

Over the next 20 years, I accumulated rank in a number of different styles.  I worked my way up to green in Shotokan, 3rd brown in Chinese Kenpo, 1st brown in American Kenpo, and 1st brown in Okinawan Kempo. In each instance, I moved or life interrupted in some way such that I never “finished”.  

Over this most recent summer, I had hit bottom in struggling with a persistent and deep depression that took hold after my son was born. Ultimately, it stemmed from a combination of sleep deprivation from doing all of the night feedings, our son's medical issues, and an extremely stressful work environment. I could not sleep. I was treated with the wrong medications, worsening my symptoms, multiple times. I knew my dark mood was affecting the entire family, despite my best efforts to hide and/or manage it. And I never wanted to be a burden to anyone.

Over the course of my depression, suicidal ideation set in.  At first, it was just thoughts. Then I added a timeline. I did not want to leave my family in a bad place, so I told myself I would hold on until some perceived milestone passed. Eventually, the pain became more than I could bear and I started looking at shorter and shorter horizons. I eventually learned that after 2 years, my company’s life insurance policy would pay out 200k regardless of the cause of death. In my mind, that money would have served my family better than having to cope with me in my darkness.  

With complex childhood trauma, certain issues become common. As a young man, I was asked how I would feel about a bi-polar diagnoses. At the time, I said ‘no-way’. My symptoms were incredibly mild and more often than not, I presented as an extremely productive person. I was always reliable and I often fell back on the discipline I learned in the martial arts to manage my ups and downs in life.  When I first sat down with my psych nurse to discuss options for my depression, I informed him of that initial diagnoses discussion and that the diagnoses was never written down. In his defense, I was wishy-washy on the whole thing. However, I was prescribed a number of drugs that were contraindicated for people with bi-polar depression.  I found my depression worsening. I had begun acting out in ways that I had never before over the course of my 40 years (staying out all night, getting drunk and not picking up the children, and a number of slightly less horrible things). Each time I acted out I hated myself more and each time was a betrayal of my wife and family in some way. I also did not understand why it was happening. Brain chemistry is a bitch.  

Eventually, after doing something particularly stupid and really hurting my wife, I reached a place where I was done. I made some preparations, and had resolved to kill myself during the night after my family had gone to sleep. I truly believed, in the moment, that my family would have done better without me. In my mind, my wife had just finished a degree, my boys were young enough that my passing would eventually be forgotten, and that my wife would have the money she needed to rebuild her life. As fate would have it, I married an incredible, resilient woman.  She noticed that something was less right than usual and she forced me into a conversation.  Over the course of a gut-wrenching discussion (for both of us), I told her everything.

My wife immediately jumped into action. We made a safety pact. She got me in touch with a number of friends who could help support me. She scheduled an immediate discussions with my psychologist, family doctor, and psych nurse and she attended all of them. She had me file for short term disability to take some time to recover. And she sent me back to kickboxing, which I had taken a break from some months back.

After conversing with my doctors, it quickly became apparent that I was on the wrong medications and was advised to immediately stop them. We came up with a plan to ensure I got enough sleep and I was prescribed something that would actually help. Within a few weeks I was feeling better.  Within months, I was well into a desperately needed recovery. The hardest thing to work through was the repercussions of the actions that I took while sick. I felt like I was dealing with the fallout from someone else’s bad behavior - but it was me, however poorly medicated and severely depressed.

During my recovery, I reached out to my first teacher who put me in touch with someone who ran a global federation. My new teacher was willing to work with me remotely, would coach me through reviewing all of my kata, and would eventually test me for my black belt, this time with intention and as part of a global federation that could support my continued growth and my own dream of teaching. I had found new purpose. I had found a healthy activity and outlet for my energy and daily frustrations. My new routine was kickboxing three times a week for cardio and timing and kata practice 5 times a week to hone my techniques, mind, and spirit.  Kata is very much an exercise in mindfulness and a form of walking mediation.  

A few days ago, I tested for my black belt in Shorin Ryu and passed.  I don’t feel any different than I did last week, but I do feel much different than I felt a year ago. Over the prior 10 years, I had faced all of my biggest life fears and emerged stronger.  I was pushed out of a job (for all the wrong reasons) twice, had gone through a divorce, re-married, became a step-dad, became a biological parent, started new jobs, was abandoned by my parents and sister, fought through a chronic illness that I thought might be fatal, and fought off a bout of severe depression that was very nearly fatal. Along the way, I made a ton of mistakes that I handled with varying amounts of grace and poise (often very little of each). I lost friends and gained others. I lost trust of those closest to me and fought to gain it back. And I worked on healing and rediscovered my path and values, ultimately allowing me to move forward in life stronger than I was before.

I ran across a quote that really resonated with me during this time:

Everything I feared already happened to me, so I fear nothing.

Bushido, the warrior code, rests on 8 virtues (Wikipedia):

Righteousness (義 gi)

Be acutely honest throughout your dealings with all people. Believe in justice, not from other people, but from yourself. To the true warrior, all points of view are deeply considered regarding honesty, justice and integrity. Warriors make a full commitment to their decisions.

Heroic Courage (勇 yū)

Hiding like a turtle in a shell is not living at all. A true warrior must have heroic courage. It is absolutely risky. It is living life completely, fully and wonderfully. Heroic courage is not blind. It is intelligent and strong.

Benevolence, Compassion (仁 jin)

Through intense training and hard work the true warrior becomes quick and strong. They are not as most people. They develop a power that must be used for good. They have compassion. They help their fellow men at every opportunity. If an opportunity does not arise, they go out of their way to find one.

Respect (礼 rei)

True warriors have no reason to be cruel. They do not need to prove their strength. Warriors are not only respected for their strength in battle, but also by their dealings with others. The true strength of a warrior becomes apparent during difficult times.

Honesty (誠 makoto)

When warriors say that they will perform an action, it is as good as done. Nothing will stop them from completing what they say they will do. They do not have to 'give their word'. They do not have to 'promise'. Speaking and doing are the same action.

Honour (名誉 meiyo)

Warriors have only one judge of honor and character, and this is themselves. Decisions they make and how these decisions are carried out are a reflection of who they truly are. You cannot hide from yourself.

Duty and Loyalty (忠義 chūgi)

Warriors are responsible for everything that they have done and everything that they have said and all of the consequences that follow. They are immensely loyal to all of those in their care. To everyone that they are responsible for, they remain fiercely true.

Self-Control (自制 jisei)

In a way, it’s fitting that I tested for and earned my black belt now, in the way that I have. As a young man, I was physically ready and possessed the skills and knowledge necessary to pass a test in the dojo. I had been tested in combat and I survived a childhood filled with emotional and physical abuse. However, I had not been tested in life. Fighting someone one on one, however physically intimidating, is very different than having someone essentially threaten your livelihood and the well-being of your family over something as inane as office politics. Breaking a concrete block is different than holding your infant as they are coming out of general anesthesia or seeing the insides of your wife while she is getting sewn up from a c-section during the birth of your child. Putting a fire out with your hand is different than staring death in the face during extremely trying circumstances and making a different choice. 

There are very few things that still scare me - my wife or children falling seriously ill or being injured are chief among them. However, with a lifetime of tests behind me and the knowledge that there will be more to come, I’ll use this milestone to set my intentions for the next 30 years:

To provide a good life for my wife and boys

To be the best husband and partner that I can be

To be a good and patient parent

To keep sight of and on my path as a martial artist

To found my own dojo to serve those who are disadvantaged and who need to learn the lessons that carried me through life

To leave the world a little better than I found it

[crowleyaj]

To Death

For @fandomwritingchallenge.

Fandom: James Bond Pairing: James Bond/Q Rating: PG Word count: 4,781 Prompt: carnival Warnings: swearing, non-graphic violence, very light sexual content (nothing really happens though)

Q returned home from a very exhausting, tedious day at work, bearing the image of a steaming hot cup of tea in his mind. He has been looking forward to one since the moment he left his lab, and now he could enjoy it at last.

Only—he found his flat’s door open by a cranny as he approached it with a key in his hand. He panicked. His other hand automatically reached for a pen with a mechanism that could shoot poisonous darts if the right button is pressed. He always kept it in the front pocket of his bag.

He narrowed his eyes and proceeded with utmost caution. There had been an intruder in his flat, and maybe still was. He had to be ready. One slow step at a time, he approached the door and opened it; it emitted a creaky sound. Whoever was inside must have heard it.

Pointing the dangerous pen in front of him, he entered the foyer. No visible damage had occurred in there, but there was no sign of his furry friends, either. When he listened carefully, he could hear a female voice coming from the living room.

Though, he had a glimpse he had heard that voice before. But that was impossible, because that woman was—

Q neglected all of the previous cautiousness and rushed to the source of the noise. He nearly forgot to breathe.

The door between the living room and the kitchen was open ajar. He burst through it, and came to an immediate halt when he sighted the figure standing in front of the telly.

Why wasn’t he surprised to see 007 in there?

However, he was surprised by one different thing: the reason why it was so, that is to say. Well, it was two things, in fact—that, and whom he could see on a video tape.

M. His M. The silver-haired iron lady just as he remembered her and very much alive. It was merely a tape, but his brain was suddenly flooded with memories. She was telling Bond about an unfinished business; giving him instructions.

Bond acknowledged Q’s presence without moving by a bit. “M’s given me work. I’m going to Mexico,” he said matter-of-factly, without a twitch of his face. He did not add any explanation so as to why he had gone to his flat and not his fucking own. “And I need your help, Q.”

Bond needed his help. His. He trusted him enough to show him a secret recording M had bequeathed to him and him only; he trusted him enough to ask for his help with an unauthorised, off-record mission in bloody Mexico. Q figured he should feel honoured—but in reality, he had mixed feelings about it, because doing what Bond had asked him to would require going against the new M’s orders, and his own protocols. And it would require flying to boot.

Was he truly going to do this? Q asked himself before he knocked on the door and entered M’s office. Was he truly going to lie to M, to everyone, for the sake of a stupid, impossible crush?

He took a deep breath. Yes was the answer to that, apparently.

M was sitting at his desk, dealing with some paperwork. Having heard the door click as it closed, he looked up. The bags under his eyes gave away the sleepless hours he had tortured himself with whilst ordering the opposite to his employees.

“Yes, Quartermaster?”

“Good day, sir,” began Q. He cleared his throat before he continued. “I have a request to ask.”

He got this. He had prepared the speech and the impossible yet plausible stories that came with it. He had nothing to fear. Right?

M nodded, propping him to continue. “Sir, it’s my brother, Daniel. He’s been injured, and he’s got no one to take care of him, which is why I’d like to ask you for a week off.”

M raised an eyebrow. He closed the file he has been reading. “Is that it? Well, in that case, consider yourself dismissed, Quartermaster. I thought you were asking for a budget rise or something.”

Well, that went easier than he’d thought. Although it was true that he’d saved for about six months of leave he hadn’t used, and however he couldn’t see inside Mallory’s head, Q was certain he was happy to release his overworking Quartermaster without persuasion for once.

And speaking of money: “Since you’re mentioning it… Q-Branch could really use a budget rise too, after the recent development of events…”

“Dismissed, Q!” M raised his voice.

“Yes, sir. And thank you.”

Q backed out of the office. He stepped towards an unexpected and most likely unpleasant adventure he might really regret later. If there even is a later.

  Why was he doing this, again? It certainly wasn’t for the sake of sanity and self-preservation; those factors were forgotten in the presence of Double-Ohs.

Speaking of which, there was one currently lounging on his sofa with a cat on his stomach. The smug bastard must have thought he owned the place, by the looks of it. The overly casual behaviour made Q nervous and slightly irritated.

“007,” said Q. He came to the sofa, holding a rifle in one hand. The other one was on his hip. “I hope you do realise I had to sneak into my own lab and get past a certain nosy brunette, in and out, in order to take this unauthorised firearm for the purpose of your little secret operation.” Bond did not seem to register any of those words. Q frowned. “It’s the only thing you’ve got. Don’t destroy it.”

“Wrong, Q,” Bond said, quiet. “I’ve got you, do I not?” He smirked, and turned his head to him.

“Alas,” he said, “but I outrank you, 007, and therefore you must obey my orders. And I am certainly not a piece of equipment.” He laid the rifle on the coffee table behind him and put both his arms akimbo.

The smirk on Bond’s face widened. Q had to look away, because he liked the way he looked more than what would be appropriate. “You work with one.”

“But you need me,” Q delivered a quick reply. He went to take his medical kit from the kitchen.

Bond cocked his head. He had to raise his voice if he wanted for Q to hear him. “And you need someone to pull the trigger for you.”

“In theory, I do not, 007,” Q shouted back. “Remember I could do as much damage as you, and far beyond. I could ruin their bank accounts and data files with one finger.”

“I could do that better.”

Q came back. “Don’t push your luck, 007. And get up from my sofa.”

  His messenger bag hung over his shoulder. He carried no other luggage than that, unlike Bond, who had a trolley suitcase that let everybody in a 500 metres radius know they were coming.

He did not need more than that: more than his laptop, his mobile, passport, wallet, some spare clothes, some gear in case something went wrong, and a toothbrush. It was that simple. It was supposed to be that quick. He hoped it would be. Perhaps he shouldn’t, because he knew the history of 007’s operations all too well, but he didn’t have much of a choice than to swallow a sickness pill, and his fear with it.

And move forward in the passport control queue by two spots. It was nearly their turn.

Butterflies flew around in his stomach. He did not know if it was because of the upcoming flight or Bond’s presence. He did not desire to know. He just moved, clutching the passport of a British citizen in his hand.

  “Can I get you something to drink or eat, gentlemen?” the nice, dark-skinned stewardess asked them with an accustomed broad smile.

Q was too dizzy to think about his stomach, or even register the question properly. They were merely two hours into the journey, but he had calculated every possible danger or breakdown that might possibly occur along the way three times.

Bond, however, “A bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.”

That man will be the death of him one day. With this wild approach, it might come sooner than anyone would like.

“Of course,” the woman said. She moved on to take orders from a couple sitting behind them. There were only nine people with a first-class ticket.

Q cast an incredulous glance at Bond. “If you are attempting to get me drunk so you could hit on the stewardess, good luck with it.”

“I am doing no such thing, Q. I wouldn’t dream,” the Double-Oh said innocently.

“Ha.” As if he was supposed to believe that.

Q turned away from Bond and faced the window instead. The sky was beautifully clear, and clouds stretched out beneath the plane like fluffy, white blanket of mountains. It provided at least some comfort for his eyes and mind.

Since he already happened to be in such height, he took his mobile and took a few hazy pictures. The view was breathtaking, both figuratively and literally.

Later on, when the stewardess returned with the champagne, and Q took one or two gulps out of politeness, the perpetual hum of the engines managed to lull him to sleep.

When his head fell onto Bond’s shoulders during a turn, he did nothing to move him back into the original position. He sat in absolute peace, reading a detective novel. When another two hours passed, the words in his book began to blur. He was tired, so he rested his head against Q’s and breathed in the lemony scent of his shampoo.

  It was easy to blend in the crowd at that particular time of year: it was the Day of the Dead tomorrow, and thousands of tourists travelled to Mexico to join the celebrations. Not one man was too outstanding. They passed through the airport smoothly.

It was dark when Q and Bond arrived at the four-star hotel. It was in the centre of Mexico City, a little too posh to Q’s liking. This was Bond’s world, not his. But he could adapt.

  According to what Q had dug out of the dark depths of the internet, Sciarra will be arranging a ‘business deal’ tomorrow, in a flat a block away from the hotel. The parade will provide a great cover and alibi: to both him and 007.

For now, the two of them could just wait.

Each of them had a separate suite, thank God. Q did not know how he could possibly deal with sleeping with the abomination in one room. Having him sitting next to him for the short amount of time they had before heading to their rightful quarters and calling it a night was fairly enough.

Q unzipped his bag and fished out a small piece of tech. An earpiece.

“I’m giving you this so we could stay connected. Do not—I repeat, do not—crush it, throw it away, or drown it in an alcoholic drink of any kind, please. We don’t have an endless supply.”

Bond accepted it. Their fingers touched briefly. “Yes, sir,” he said and added a half-smile.

Q, nonetheless, uttered a micro sigh. Knowing Bond, the odds of never seeing the earpiece again were too high at all times.

“That’s all. Now, I would kindly ask you to retire to your suite and not stain my sight with your presence for the next few peaceful hours.”

  It was a rough wake up. Q’s mobile wouldn’t stop yelling at him, heat licked at his feet, and when he finally brought himself to unlock his eyes to shut the alarm up, he saw 007 sitting in an armchair in front of him. Q flinched. For how long was he watching him sleep?

“Good morning, Q,” he said. “I’ve brought you breakfast in bed.”

Q sat up with a grunt. He rubbed sleep and rheum out of his eyes and reached for his glasses.

“What have you done this time, hmm?” he replied. He gazed at the other half of the queen-sized bed. A tray with a fresh glass of orange juice, two warm croissants, and some pineapple lay on top of the sheets indeed.

“Why immediately assume I’ve done something bad, Q,” Bond said. His tone bore a tinge of reproachfulness. “Perhaps I wanted to do something for you. Or perhaps I’ve poisoned your juice so I could chase after my personal vendetta without your responsible arse in the way.”

“So help you God if you dare to be foolish enough to try that, 007,” Q retorted, last traces of sleep worn off. His senses have fully woken up.

He reached for the tray, despite the disapproval of the ‘nice gesture’ from the agent. He was famished—all he had eaten yesterday was a sandwich at the airport and later an apple. Just to be certain, he smelled the juice. It looked and smelled alright, deliciously fresh, even. He took a sip and ate his breakfast in silence.

He merely asked Bond whether he had eaten and if he had checked the environs.

To his surprise, Bond lifted a plastic bag from the ground and emptied it on a coffee table. There were two skull-shaped masks, two black top hats, and two black, matching suits with white imprints of bones.

“First rule of undercover: blend in.”

  “To have the perfect aim on Sciarra, you must get on the roof of the opposite building, Bond. I think you should access it from the top floor…” Q said. The last words faded into pondering silence.

“Can you hack into one of the rooms?” Bond was buttoning his shirt. Q’s suit was already on; he tried hard not to stare at 007’s bare chest, and the bastard noticed.

“I am the Quartermaster of MI6 for a reason, am I not?” Q smirked. He opened another window and started typing quickly. “Done. You need to leave in twenty minutes.”

Bond put on the jacket. “Excellent.”

“Now, there is a CCTV camera in the flat. I’ve counted four armed men standing guard, and the heat scan showed me an unpleasant surprise in the form of an explosive ready to go off the moment you fire the first round. Someone needs to be on the inside, Bond, and that someone has to be me. You can’t go in.”

Bond’s face stiffened. He blinked.

“Please, don’t tell me you are worried, 007. I know how to fire a gun if need be,” Q responded. Though, deep down in his stomach, something twisted with an impossible hope he perhaps might truly be worried for him. Him.

“I know you do. But that is dangerous, Q.”

He knew. It had come to the point he started to regret his life choices. One of them was the decision to be insanely brave and do something he’d never thought of even considering.

“You’d asked for my help. I am helping you. I don’t need a failed mission or an agent down,” Q argued. “There is no valid argument that could convince me otherwise, which you are, of course, aware of. Besides, I happen to have invented a device that will disarm the bomb remotely; they won’t even see me coming.”

Bond stepped closer to Q. He contemplated putting his arm on his shoulders; in the end, he did not do it. “Be safe, Q.”

“Always,” Q said. “Unlike a certain somebody.”

  Bond jumped over the rails on the balcony and quickly strode along the ledges. He put the radio in his ear; the connection between him and Q was restored after a few minutes of silence.

“Q?”

“I hear you loud and clear, 007,” the man said, quiet. “I am in position. The bomb is deactivated. Sciarra and his business partner have arrived.”

Bond readied his rifle. He put the silencer on, stepping over a gap between two buildings. He was nearly in position, too. Sun shone on his face, and he had to narrow his eyes.

He was worried about Q. He wasn’t a field operative, and missions like these easily go tits up. He has had the experience. If something happens to him in there, if they discover him—

“I’ve eliminated two guards. There are only two now, but I can’t get to them unseen. I’d have to shoot,” he reported.

What secret has Q been hiding from the world? Bond thought he should never dare underestimate the Quartermaster again. That did not lessen on the worry, though.

“Wait, Q.” Bond came to the edge and hunkered down. He could see Sciarra and the other man standing in front of the window as though they were waiting for him to fire; as though they knew.

Sciarra showed the other man a shining ring on his finger, and Bond could swear he had seen one of those before.

  Q was inside, so he could hear every word of their conversation clearly. They both spoke Spanish, but he had no problem understanding.

‘Welcome, Signor Sciarra. I trust you had a pleasant journey.’

‘Do you have it?’

‘Yes. It’s over there.’

‘When do we blow the stadium?’

That kind of business deal, then. He pricked up his ears instead of shooting: one of the mission’s purposes were discovering their plans. Q was recording it, he knew, but either way, killing the men at the moment wasn’t an option.

‘This evening at six.’

‘And the flight out of here?’

‘All arranged.’

‘And then what?’

‘Then I visit The Pale King.’

The Pale King? Bond hesitated. He has never heard that name before, but he sensed it was crucial for the operation. Someone no lesser than the head of whatever convoluted organisation that connected all the criminal minds MI6 have been after for the past years.

‘A toast, my friend.’

  ‘To Death!’

“Bottoms up,” Bond said. He targeted the man. Two bullets escaped the gun barrel and crossed the distance between him and Sciarra in high speed. They broke the glass and embedded in the men’s heads. The shots were clear.

And so were the rounds Q fired to dispose of the guards who were ready to eliminate Bond the second they’ve registered the assault. He had wasted three bullets.

He was a killer now. Bond had brought him to his world, the world of manipulation, pretence, surveillance, and murder without really thinking of what consequences might his ill-considered, often premature actions have.

But it was his choice; he couldn’t have stopped him. Q can well damn obstinate when it came to fulfilling duties. He was entitled to such decisions. Bond could do nothing but go along with it.

  They walked through the carnival parade, unrecognisable in their masks. They strode fast enough to get to the hotel in time but slow enough to remain inconspicuous. They sought refuge in the shadows at the walls, where weren’t many people and no one looked. The weapons were safely tucked in the bag Q was carrying.

“Have you recorded everything?” Bond asked, voice stone cold, emotion hidden behind a shell of sobriety—and the mask. He wanted to be certain, although Q was far from an amateur.

Q did not avert his gaze from the crowd encircling them. “Yes, and I’ve extracted all data from Sciarra’s laptop while you were busy on the roof.”

Bond made a brief pause. “Can I ask you a question, Q?”

“I suspect you will anyway, so I as well might say you can, 007,” Q replied.

“Why haven’t you complete the training and become a spy? You’re as good as a Double-Oh, Q.” This question had occurred to Bond before, on multiple occasions, but had never gathered enough interest to ask. Having seen him in action just confirmed him in his professional surmise.

“Perhaps,” said Q, “but I think you’d find out I prove to be more seminal on the position of the Quartermaster. Where would your arse be without me in the lab, hmm?”

“Fair enough.” Q stopped at the crossroads to let some people pass, so Bond had to do so as well. “But that changes nothing about the fact you could be the same genius in the field.”

Q moved on. “Have you just publicly admitted I am a genius, 007?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about, mister.”

  As Q’s hotel room’s door clicked closed, he promptly ran to take his laptop. After he took off his mask, he pulled a flash drive out of his trouser pocket and plugged it in. Bond, however, had a different idea about how to spend the rest of their time in Mexico. Decoding and analysing information, and subsequent dispatch to MI6 could wait for an hour or two. Especially after what they both has just done.

“Q?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm?” Q was absent-minded. His eyes flitted across the screen.

“We are in Mexico during Día de los Muertos, Q, and if someone should celebrate the festival, it’s you and me. Get up and go have some fun.”

Bond’s suit-clad form blocked Q’s field of vision. Q frowned. “I take the liberty of assuming my and your idea of fun slightly differs, Bond,” Q replied. His eyes were focused on the files on his computer. “I have work to do, in case you’d failed to notice.”

“Mallory has no idea we are here, therefore he doesn’t need the files,” argued Bond. He leant over the laptop and put his hands on the top of the screen. His tie swung before it and prevented clear sight of the contents.

Q looked up, this time. He shot an annoyed glance at Bond. “But I need the files,” he insisted. “There is something bigger than Sciarra going on, bigger than any of us. This—all that’s in here—contains more data than we thought we could ever own, Bond. I cannot even begin to imagine what we could do with the half of it.”

“Then don’t.”

Bond gave the laptop a push and closed it swiftly; Q so-so moved his fingers out of the way on time. He took it and threw it on the bed, behind Q. He held out his hands, expecting Q to take them. He did not.

His heart was close to racing at the moment. He swallowed dry. This was too much to bear. He was trying to order him around, and wanted him to just take him by his tanned, calloused, beautiful hands and go do… whatever he was intending to do?

Apparently, he did, since when Q did not respond, he grabbed him and pulled him up, already heading for the door. He somehow got his hands on the mask Q had taken off, and his own dangled on his elbow. “Since I can’t seem to convince you nicely, Q, we have to do this the hard way.”

He backed out of the room, letting go of Q only to pull the door handle. With a foxy smirk decorating his face, he led them both to the morbidly vibrant carnival parade outside. His moves told Q he knew exactly where he was going.

  Bond offered Q his arm. Q looked him in the face and back, hesitating. The little voice lurking in the subconscious whispered that allowing Bond to play his games wouldn’t be a wise idea and that he might end up in some serious trouble.

But when it came to Bond, he was never particularly good at listening to that voice, was he? So he linked his arm with his, possible consequences be damned.

“Where are we going?” he asked. They weren’t hiding anymore but walking amidst the bustling crowd, on everyone’s sight yet comfortingly anonymous in their costumes.

“I know a place,” Bond answered, tight-lipped. “They make the best carnitas in town.”

Q was slightly confused by the statement. “Are you… asking me for a lunch?”

“And a tequila,” he said, still as casual. Q knew what that meant coming from Bond’s mouth.

“Is this a date, Bond?”

Do you honestly think you can just say the two of us are going to share some tortilla or whatever that meal is supposed to be and ask me for a drink with that charming smile of yours, if hidden under a skull mask, while we’re on an off-record mission in bloody Mexico and have just murdered six assassins? Oh, of course you do.

  “If you want it to be.” Bond even began to swing in the cheery rhythm of the music around them.

“I…” Yes, his mind offered immediately. “don’t know.”

“Then it is a date, Quartermaster. Will you eat carnitas with me?”

So help me Force. “Yes.”

Bond was actually dancing now, dragging Q along with him due to their linked arms. But Q let himself be carried away, this once. There were things to celebrate, after all. Six things lying on the building’s floor amidst pools of their own blood.

  The bartender placed two snifters of neat tequila in front of them. Q and Bond lifted them simultaneously.

“To Death,” said Q, repeating Sciarra’s toast. It was to his death.

Bond added, “To us.”

They drank the strong drink off. Bond ordered another round.

Like Q had said, this man will be the death of him one day—so he might enjoy this day while he still can. He emptied the other glass as well, and did not stop Bond from ordering a third.

  He found the carnival an acceptable form of entertainment in the inebriated state. More than before, anyway, with all worries and embarrassment long thrown away and the threat of a bomb attack having been warded off, he was more apt to dance and move along with the parade through the entire city.

The hat on the top of his head had somehow been replaced by a flower crown James had bought for him. They were holding hands now, open and joyous.

If this was a date, it was probably one of the best dates he has been on. It was with James Bond—he really wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the fact. James Bond.

  James hadn’t even slammed the door to Q’s room, and his shirt was already unbuttoned. Q’s fingers weren’t only skilful with a keyboard; they could make short work of a jacket and a shirt, too, and with ardour that James wouldn’t seek inside the slender body of the boffin.

Q’s mouth was firmly attached to his. The kisses were devouring and hot, and tasting like tequila, but neither of them had that in mind; they were finally each other’s.

They separated for a moment, and James took off the shirt. He threw it on the floor carelessly. Q’s hands were on his chest now, searching, owning, tracing every scar carved into his skin. His lips were pressing a myriad of kisses along his exposed neck.

James slowly navigated them towards the bedroom. Q knocked his shoes off on the way, abandoning them at a chest of drawers. James’ ended up nearby. With his hands in Q’s gorgeous hair, he stepped forward and pushed them on the bed. Q lay on his back, and James was on top of him.

They paused for an instant, looking each other in the eye. There was a spark of longing in James’. Q loved that it belonged to him of all people he could have taken to bed that night. Only to him.

James’ lips parted, and Q met him in another eager kiss before he could say whatever he had desired to say. James found his hands. Lacing his fingers with Q’s, he pinned them to the sheets.

  James lay in the middle of the bed. Q rested his head on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat. The room was dark but a streak of yellow light on the ceiling. It was well past midnight, but the music and cheers of people outside did not seem to cease anytime soon. They would celebrate till the morning and on.

James played with Q’s hair gently with one hand; he couldn’t resist. Every stroke made Q shiver with pleasure. James’ other hand held Q’s. His entire body radiated warmth and warmed Q’s skin and heart.

Q closed his eyes. After a long time, he allowed himself to fully relax, and not just because he was exhausted in entirety.

“What do we do now, James?” he whispered. That question had many meanings. To be completely honest, he was not sure which he’d like to be answered.

“Now we go to Rome.”

[megsmotion]

AX3001 TV Series Part 3: Synopsis & Sample Script - Synopses

For my TV Series, I had to create a synopsis for 8 episodes, I had a word count between 100-200 words.

I initially found this pretty hard to try and summarise an episode in a small number of words without explaining too much. I often found myself including details that you’d only see in a script or script breakdown rather than the synopsis. My tutor suggested I bullet point key events and go from there, this made it easier for me so this is what I have for my submission:

Episode 1: It’s A New Beginning -  

The time had finally come for Charlie to pack her bags and move on to the next step of her life. 18 years old, alone, and scared.  Today was the day. Charlie was leaving her chaotic life at home and moving to the other side of the country to start University. She never really wanted to go to university, but she had no choice, she knew she could no longer stay in her dysfunctional home. The whole idea of packing was a challenge in itself, trying to decide what was supposed to get her through the next 3 years wasn't exactly easy. What to take? What to leave behind? Were they good or bad memories? She spent all day pacing up and down her room, packing stuff up and then taking it back out again. Finally, her whole life shoved into a single cardboard box, she was determined to leave her old life behind. With that, she set walked out the door and never looked back, off into her car with a 6-hour drive ahead. At least it gave her some time to be on her own, or, at least she thought. 

Episode 2: Uninvited Passenger -  

Driving down the country roads Charlie starts to hear noises coming from her box of belongings, she peers over and sees nothing, she shrugs it off and continues to drive.  As the journey goes on the roads get busier, she gets stuck in traffic jams, and almost runs out of petrol with not a station in sight.  Panicking, Charlie pulls over on a busy motorway to try and calm herself down. Once again, she hears something rustling from her box of belongings. This time, Charlie couldn't just ‘shrug off’ what she thought she heard.  Suddenly, some kind of bird flies out of the box, whilst a small creature scuttles out the box and onto the floor. To her complete dismay, she quickly stumbles out of the car and slams the door shut behind her.  She peers through the window of her car as the bird flaps about, she also noticed a shell, with little legs peering out in the footwell.  She couldn't believe what was happening, frantically looking round to see if anyone saw. As she looked back into her car, they’d gone.  

Episode 3: Adjusting To Isolation -  

Trying to come to terms with what had happened in the car, Charlie tried her hardest to put it all down to a long day.  She had finally arrived at her new apartment and was ready to go and collect her keys. She was nervous about having to spend the next 3 years living alone, yet she tried to remain optimistic for the new opportunities. She gathered her box of belongings and made her way up a long dark corridor, and up a long flight of stairs there it was, in all its glory... flat 9A. She slumped into her room, looked around in disappointment and dumped her belongings. She couldn't believe that this is where she was going to spend the next 3 years of her life. She started to unpack and shuffled through some old medical papers. She was determined to not allow poor mental health issues to creep back up on her.  Throwing the papers on a shelf, Charlie sat on her bed and peered out the window. She lay back as she tried to come to terms with the next upcoming days.  

Episode 4: Unexpected Roommates - 

 Charlie woke up hoping to have a fresh start, she tried to forget about yesterday. She decided she was going to go and an explore the new town she was living in. As she was about to leave, she heard a voice coming from the other side of the room. Puzzled, she went back to investigate.  To her complete and utter shock, there stood 4 very familiar figures. She quickly grabbed the papers she’d previously thrown on the shelf and frantically flicked through the pages. She suddenly dropped the book as the pages flew up into the air, her jaw dropped to the ground.  Anxiety, Depression, OCD and Insomnia. Charlie’s personal demons stood right before her. Previous drawings of what were once the voices in her head had come to life. She simply couldn’t believe what on earth was happening. Trying to comprehend what just happened. Charlie looked on in dismay as her disorders looked back at her. She found the words to finally ask ‘How the hell did you get here, and why!?’. Had they been with her all these years?  

Episode 5: Coming To Terms With It - 

 After yesterday's antics, Charlie decided the best thing she could do is just leave the flat. Surely, they wouldn’t follow her out into the public? She was shocked to realise that Anxiety was perched on her shoulder, as she wandered through the busy city, he whispered bad thoughts into her ear. Suddenly, she stopped dead in the street, she screamed and told Anxiety to shut up. She had totally forgot to take in to account that no-one could see her disorders, they were her drawings after all.  Embarrassed, she ran all the way home, However, OCD suddenly flew close behind her and began squawking into her ear, reminding Charlie of everything she had done wrong. Repeating it over and over. She tried to shoo her away as people continued to look on in confusion. She got into her room and slammed the door behind her. Surely this entire thing was a joke? As she lay back onto the bed, Depression slumped on top of her chest pinning her down like a weight. The door creaked open as Insomnia burst on through.  Charlie knew this had to end, and fast. 

Episode 6: Enough Is Enough Already -  

Charlie was utterly overwhelmed. Her brain was a minefield. She had a parrot squawking down one ear, a hermit crab whispering in another, a sloth pulling her to the ground, and an elephant who couldn’t keep quiet for a second. She decided enough was enough already and she was going to get rid of the disorders somehow. She grabbed all of the drawings from her file and ran to her car. Driving as fast as she could, she reached a nearby beach. She ran towards the ocean with her drawings in her hand. Throwing them all up in the air, she hit the ground and sobbed. OCD landed on her shoulder, she squawked and flew around the drawings, picking them up and throwing them back towards Charlie.  Confused, Charlie got to her feet and picked back the papers back up. She got back into her car and looked out into the ocean.  She screamed back at her disorders, demanding them to leave she tried to crumple up the drawings. A passerby looked on in utter confusion as they couldn’t see how she could. In complete exhaustion, Charlie fell asleep in her car.  

Episode 7: All About First Impressions - 

 Charlie wakes up in her car on the beach. She quickly realised that It was supposed to be her first day at university and she was about to miss it. She sped back to campus and rushed into lesson, she burst through the door in yesterday's clothes and scruffy. She was exhausted. She didn’t exactly draw the right attention to herself.  She was already late, so all eyes were on her. Anxiety was quick to perch on her shoulder, whilst OCD was on another. They put thoughts in her head as she tried to speak up. She quickly realised she had to get out before the voices started to get too much.  Everyone was laughing at her as she seemed to shoo away thin air to the eyes of everyone else. She quickly got up to leave the classroom but was brought to her knees by the weight of depression digging into her shoulders. Her first day back in absolute shambles, she shuffled out the class as everyone stared, she got out into the corridor and screamed, as she stormed back to her flat. 

Episode 8: A Change Of Heart -  

Once again, Charlie found herself running away from all her problems. She decided that this time was going to be different, and she was going to try and fight them. If she had made them in the first place, she thought that there must have been a way around them.  Rather than trying to shunt them away, she tried to reason with them and find out what they were doing here in the first place. She spoke with them, tried to understand them better. Charlie re-visited all her medical notes, her therapy notes, counselling sessions the lot. She hadn’t looked over them in months, after she quit all her treatments, she decided to just box them all up.  Suddenly, she realised why her drawings had come back. She spent all the months trying to just box up a big part of her life. Anxiety crept back up onto her shoulder and all her memories flooded through her mind. She could feel the weight of depressions arms clinging on to her shoulders once again.  She knew she needed to make some changes, it was time to go back into therapy. 

There would be more episodes to a season, however, I only had to write about 8, hence why it ended on unfinished buisness.

I’ve not yet shown these to my tutor so they may have to change slightly depending on feedback. However, I’m happy with them for now.