#this whole thing is just a sloppy mess that is frustrating and fascinating to watch w/ a major in this crap

[kokiri]

Elon Musk walking into Twitter HQ to commit brand suicide by changing it to X like

[1tad0ri]

hiii. can i request a rough nsfw with sukuna where he's so frustrated with jujutsu sorcerers that he decided to unleash those said frustrations on the reader? like he just won't stop until he release all the stress inside him— kshjsch i feel like sukuna would do that 😳 he'll be rough all night long

warning: degradation, choking, breath play, very mild pain kink, hate fucking

ryoumen sukuna x fem!reader

i feel the same way so thank you, i’m going to be thinking about this for a long time

“you know, i really thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

the grip he had on your neck was bruising, but certainly a lot looser than you thought the king of curses would be. your hands clawed at him nonetheless, although the whole current concept of being shoved against the wall of your bedroom wasn’t exactly something you were complaining about.

the three impatient raps at your door earlier had you rolling out of bed, wanting to sleep after your latest mission. you’d thought it was yuuji, hungry for your warmth, but when you unlocked the door, rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you’d been unceremoniously shoved backwards, the wind knocked out of you when your back met the wall. the glint of tattoos on a familiar face in the moonlight coming from your window told you all you needed to know.

sukuna watched you curiously and then his sickening grin was back, fingers squeezing a little harder. you gasped, stretching your neck away. “what? not going to answer?” he sneered, “maybe you all really are the same. scared little fucking sorcerers.” he leaned closer, breath fanning across your face. “isn’t that fucking stupid? you’re all a bunch of scaredy cats, aren’t you?” he pouted mockingly when he spat out the name. his lips were so close, if you just tilted forward—

no. whatever morbid fascination you harbored towards him didn’t change the fact he was... well... him. you stood your ground, leaning forward to bump your nose against his, your own scowl evident. “you can’t do anything, sukuna. once we find all the—”

“all my fingers you mean? the ones you can’t destroy on your own so you have to come up with some little plan to get rid of me?” he laughed bitterly in your face and you bit your lip, trying to calm your fury before you did something you’d regret. “it’s all the same. you’re scared of me. you don’t have the upperhand. never will,” he whispered at the end.

“i’m not scared of you.” your thoughts tumbled out of your mouth plainly without a second of hesitation, but the tilt of his head in question, his forehead brushing against yours, made you think that perhaps telling the truth around him was a very bad idea.

it was dark, hard to see his face, but god he was so close. “yeah? what are you then?”

good question. wait, no, bad question. bad, very bad, because you already knew the answer to it. or... did you? vocal chords at a stand still, there was no way to verbalize what you felt.

“hurry up, brat.” sukuna tightened his grip on your neck before loosening it just the smallest bit so you could speak. “i don’t have all day. how do you feel then? you with your little human emotions.”

words... what are the words. it turns out staring down a literal demon king in the eyes wasn’t the optimal place to think. “i... i don’t know.” your voice was small, unsure, lying.

the staring contest, backed by deafening silence, continued for a mere beat longer as you regarded each other with quiet contemplation. you could just barely make out his eyes and the curve of his lips, parted slightly. his breath was warm.

you couldn’t take it anymore and it seemed like he couldn’t either—you both automatically tilted your heads, lips pressing against each other easily, eyes falling shut. mouths sliding against the other, he gently pushed your head back to hit the wall, tongues running over one another. it was slow, hot, and you decided you should probably thank yuuji for keeping his lips so soft.

sukuna sucked your bottom lip between his own and your hands fell away from his grip on your neck to pull him closer by the front of his shirt (he hadn’t ripped it apart yet, an impressive feat). his leg slipped between your own, and you pushed down on it with your hips, the friction making you open your mouth further to him, something enticing about the fact he was a very good kisser.

but then it was like a switch flipped and his hold on your neck tightened once again. “what... what am i doing,” you thought he mumbled, voice hoarse (then again, your brain wasn’t exactly listening when you were busy making out with someone like him), kiss faltering for a brief moment. his lips curled into a frown, disdainful.

shoving you further into the wall as he pushed against you with his mouth, sukuna was all sharp teeth and rough lips now, swallowing up your whimpers, nothing soothing about it like his previous actions.

“i fucking hate you,” he spat, his hand abandoned your neck and moved up to squish your cheeks together, finding satisfaction in the way your lips puckering out, barely able to move. “do you hear me? i hate all of you.”

“the feeling’s mutual,” you mumbled around his grip, hazy from the kiss but knowing what you stood for, fury evident in your eyes and furrowed brows. he was the enemy. and you were... you. and... and...

you were met with a bitter laugh, your stomach curling into knots at the sound. you hadn’t noticed his free hand tugging at your waistband until it was too late, his hand slipping in and wasting no time running two fingers harshly against your soaking folds. “why are you dripping wet then? a slut and a liar?”

“fuck off,” you mumbled again, a lot quieter this time, face burning hot from embarrassment.

“i’ll fuck off when you stop acting like you want to fuck me.”

his words made you straightened up. “i- i’m not—”

“you’re not acting? mmm,” sukuna let go of your cheeks just enough that he could properly kiss you, tongue forcing it’s way past your lips, “of course you’re not. of course.” he was mocking you and you couldn’t say anything.

a finger pushed into your heat and you bit down on his lip in surprise, although the pain only seemed to spur him on further, a second finger easily shoving its way in next to the first. curling, pushing, rubbing against that sensitive, spongy spot inside of you, sukuna’s fingers had your legs shaking, the knee he still had pressed between them the only thing keeping you up at this rate. the grip on your face as he hummed against your mouth prevented you from avoiding eye contact with him, lips wet as he disregarded any type of mess he was making.

he was everywhere at once and you felt trapped. hot—it was too hot, your body was burning.

“su- ku... n... a,” his name came out garbled between the onslaught of your face being squished together and the sloppy kisses he pressed into you at irregular intervals. when his thumb rubbed against your clit as the two fingers continued to pump in and out, you gripped his shirt so hard you were sure you would rip it this time. “too... mmm,” a kiss that was more tongue than lip cut you off and you weren’t even sure if he heard you as you choked out the next words, “mmm, hah— much, suku—”

at once he released you, almost letting you drop to the floor, but you were able to just barely steady yourself against the wall in time. sukuna stepped back and away from your shaking form. you were gasping, lungs burning.

“w...why did you—”

“i can listen you know.” you could practically feel his eye roll from his dripping tone, even if you weren’t looking at him. “‘too much.’” he laughed as he mocked you. “more like you’re too weak.”

you were thankful he actually seemed to have a brain, but still— “you’re an idiot.” fuck, your lungs hurt, the retort scraping against the walls of them. he was good. it had been a while since anyone had left your head spinning like that.

sukuna flicked a hand dismissively. “‘an idiot’ who’s giving you a chance to breathe, you brat.” he decided to ignore the name for now, thankfully for you (although you didn’t exactly see it that way).

you couldn’t choke out another snarky response and simply focused on clearing your head. he gave you a chance to think and once you seemed clear-minded, he wasted no further time.

“bed.”

you blinked, eyes bleary, peering up at him from where you bent over, trying to catch your breath. “w...what?”

“on the bed. now.” he shoved his hands into his pockets, watching you blankly as you regained your senses. “unless you want me to fuck you on the floor?”

“no...” god, what was with you? or rather... what was with him? the ache in your core answered your question, your cunt feeling so empty now—he hadn’t even bothered to let you cum and you already wanted his fingers stuffed back into you. he was irresistible—you felt stupid even having the thought.

sukuna’s eyes narrowed, close to shoving you to the ground to finish what he started but exercising restraint for your sake. you’d need it. “i’m being nice and giving you a chance to get comfortable on your stupid bed, you idiot. go. now.” he was getting tired of repeating himself.

the last few snarky words and your own desire for him actually had you moving this time, climbing up onto the bed a few steps away and settling uncertainly onto the covers. you went to look up for further instructions but he was already on you, both of you tumbling back onto the mattress as he practically shoved his tongue down your throat, hands pushing up and under your shirt to squeeze your tits.

“take this off.”

you automatically pulled at the hem of the flimsy t-shirt at his command, sukuna giving you just enough room to get it over your head, and then his teeth were on your exposed breasts, marking them up. your fingers threaded through his hair, his head moving under your touch as you watched his mouth work with half-lidded eyes.

you didn’t think you’d be able to change in front of anyone any time soon, already knowing the blossoming colors of bruises would be apparent the next morning. reminder to self: cancel your upcoming shopping trip with nobara; the dressing rooms with her would surely be a disaster if he kept this up.

“who’s are these?” his grip was rough when he cupped your breasts, squeezing.

you immediately knew the answer he was looking for, all too eager to hand it over. “yours. fuck, they’re all yours.” your hands ran through his hair, urging him to continue his onslaught on the previously unmarked skin.

sukuna laughed, thumbing your nipples, giving one of them a light lick that made you squirm. “you’re more obedient than i thought you’d be.” he pinched the buds, rolling them between his fingers as you squeezed your eyes closed, gasping at the pain. “but that’s enough of that.” your eyes snapped open, about to ask him what the fuck he meant by that, but he was already setting to work.

his fingers hooked around your sleeping bottoms and pulled them down with your underwear, the night air cold against your damp lips. you rubbed your thighs together but his hands on your knees forced them apart as he peered down at you. you felt so exposed under his hungry gaze, entirely bare for him to see while he was still dressed. unfair.

“wanna see. don’t close them,” was his short, clipped explanation as he kept your legs spread. one hand on your knee, sukuna brought the fingers of his other to run along your folds again just as he had done before, except this time he could actaully see how you quivered under him, cunt glistening and dripping. he slipped two fingers to run between the folds and then popped them in his mouth, sucking the slick from his fingers and maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. you couldn’t look away.

he hummed, content as he licked the last bit off of the tips. “you don’t taste bad for a slut.”

all the focus was on you, him criticizing everything little thing you did, and you were a mess because of it. not even a chance to run your hands over his chest? unacceptable. you pointedly ignored his comment, pining after some form of a reward instead. “at least take your shirt off. thought you hated those things.” the clothing ratio here was starting to grate on your nerves.

sukuna rolled his eyes but crossed his arms over his chest to grab ahold of the sides of his fitted t-shirt and tug it over his head. you watched, mouth watering at the sight—the moon provided excellent illumination for the scene, his body revealed inch by painstaking inch as he disposed of the fabric. god, he was so hot. you hated it.

muscles on display, sukuna raised an eyebrow at you as though he were asking, happy now? your silent reply came when you reached up to run your hands over the dips of his abs, his chest solid and tattoos curling over the surface.

“that’s better.” you made a show of your gaze tracing over the surface before looking up at him, smiling to yourself. “surprised you didn’t just rip it off.”

sukuna simply scoffed and swatted your hand away, moving from between your legs so he could work off his pants and kick them off to the side.

“knew you’d like to see me take it off properly,” he answered at last, back to you as he wiggled out of his boxers finally and chucked them off the foot of the bed. you didn’t get much time to admire his flexing back muscles before he was on you again, settling between your legs like he knew he belonged there (you weren’t sure you could argue with that point).

he pumped his cock, grabbing one of your legs and pushing it back. precum leaked from his tip, length already fully hard, and sukuna was enjoying your gaze on him maybe a little too much. leg shoved back and in the air, you whimpered when he rubbed the head along you. you didn’t need prep after being fucked by his fingers earlier you supposed and you weren’t sure you’d even be patient enough to sit through him stretching you out any further with anything but his dick.

you wanted to feel it yourself and so you reached a hand out to wrap around the base, captivated by how he watched you as you thumbed the slit, breathing heavy but not saying anything, letting you do what you wanted.

you wanted it in you so badly.

when he opened his mouth in question, eyes flitting up to yours, you were quick to cut him off, already knowing what he was going to ask. “yes, i’m sure.” you didn’t know curses could actually be compassionate, and it was cute when his jaw locked hard at your confirmation and he nodded, shifting his gaze back to your hand.

you released his cock and sukuna set back to lining it up with you, grip on your leg locking the limb in place. you shivered under his hold and he grunted when the head nudged your entrance, slowly pushing in.

“fuck. take it. take it all in. fucking slut.” he sunk fully in in one motion, the pace enough not to have you screaming out at the stretch but making your breath catch in your throat all the same. “yes, just like that. a good bitch, that’s what you are, aren’t you? look at you.”

you didn’t even know what to think at this point, a shaky resemblance to his name tumbling from you, more so a moan than actual talking. you could feel him everywhere—so full, so overwhelmingly full.

shoving your leg back further until it was almost painful, cock bottomed out in you, sukuna snapped his fingers in front of your face. “i asked you a question, brat. or are you already too fucked out of your mind to answer?”

you couldn’t breathe, head heavy, and tried to nod in confirmation as you struggled to puzzle through his words, but then you shook your head to answer no—god, you were confused. what was the right answer? what was happening?

maybe you really were already too fucked out of your mind. you vaguely recalled his words from earlier and were able to form a somewhat coherent response. “a good bitch... yes, i a- wait.” what were you saying? first you let him fuck you and now you’re openly submitting to him? the curse that had nearly cost you and your friends your lives countless times?

pride wouldn’t let you go along with his little game even as your dripping pussy told a different story. “i’m not anything to you.”

sukuna scoffed, hips grinding into you as he leaned over you, hooking both of your legs over his shoulders and pressing them back, close to your head. “and here i thought we were actually starting to get along.” a mirthless laugh left him, both of you eye-to-eye now where you lay.

fire burning in your eyes, you were very much reminded why you hated him so much. a self-obsessed asshole was what he was. “i’m not exactly looking to be friends with the king of curses, you idiot.”

“but look at you now. you wanted this.” he licked a stripe up the side of your neck, pausing at the base of your jaw to grin and press a sweet kiss to the area. you shivered and your hands found his shoulders to grip onto. he wasn’t wrong about the wanting it part—the amount of times you’d fantasized about exactly this was concerning. “i wonder what would happen if your little friends knew about how you really felt. what’s that term you like to use? ‘fraternizing with the enemy?’”

sukuna laughed again when your expression fell, face hot at the reminder of the others. “i suppose this is considered a bit more than mere fraternizing though, hm?” he continued, smiling and kissing your cheek.

whatever. no one would find out anyway. expect... expect maybe... yuuji—what had happened to him anyway for this to happen? knowing him, he’d probably been too tired after the last mission and sukuna had easily switched in—the same mission that seemed to have set sukuna even further along in his fury against jujutsu sorcerers this night.

you weren’t dating yuuji per say (it was... complicated), so your qualms when it came to fucking the curse possessing him were... minimal to say the least. you wouldn’t have done it if you were already taken, couldn’t have done that to yuuji, sweet as he was. but even in spite of all that, sukuna was right... this whole thing was so... no, don’t think about it.

you didn’t care either way (...maybe)—you couldn’t let his words get to you.

“just move already.”

you heard him grumble, annoyed, and he propped himself up to hover above your face. “i was giving you time to adjust. you’re so ungrateful.”

and with that, sukuna snapped his hips into yours without another moment of hesitation and you dug your nails into his back, mouth open in a silent scream because fuck.

“ungrateful fucking brat.”

“more,” your voice was hoarse, focus narrowing in only on the way he was fucking you.

you weren’t sure if it was your words or his own desire that spurred him on, but he set a bruising pace from the start, the places where your hips met hurting every time he rammed back into you. he was marking up your neck, the area already feeling sensitive and oh-so overabused, yet you not wanting to tell him to stop.

sukuna’s hand wrapped around your neck again, the feeling familiar now and you clenched around him at the sensation, him growling when you did so. the slight squeeze of his fingers had you seeing stars, the light-headed feeling going straight to your building arousal.

just like before, his hand traveled up to squeeze your cheeks and he was hovering over your mouth again, lips brushing against your own from the momentum of his thrusts. “let me kiss you again.” sukuna’s eyes were dark, unreadable.

you were quick to act at that, not letting him lean down, but rather craning your neck up to latch onto him, moaning as your mouth fell open for him to push his tongue in. his hand released your face to travel down to tweak at your nipples and grip your breasts again, other hand holding your leg steady against him. “filthy fucking slut.” he forced the words into your mouth, speaking around your lips that kept chasing after him. “fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

sukuna’s attention returned to your neck, leaving you to gasp into the air and missing his warmth against your face. when his thumb found your clit, your breath hitched and you knew you so close to coming undone. the rubbing of his cock against just the right spots inside of you, filling you so wholly was not helping.

“su...kuna, please, i’m gonna—” you were babbling, chest heavy when his teeth sank into your shoulder, stinging. his wet kiss on the area was cooling, the contrast making your head tilt further back, wanting to give him easy access to whatever he wanted.

“i’ve got you.” he was whispering against the wet skin, voice low with his pants, and you shivered, digging your nails into his back even more. “come on, brat, you want to cum for me, don’t you?” yes, you did. the stretch, his hands everywhere at once, his scraping lips—yes, you wanted to let everything go.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” you let yourself come undone, heat filling your chest. everything was him—that’s all you knew in this state.

“look at you, creaming all over my cock. god, you’re so pretty. pretty little slut.” the words just kept flowing as he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own release.

when he finally came, your hole was aching, abused, the sound of skin against skin the only thing you could focus on, mind cloudy. his cum was hot and filling when it spilled into you, your stomach doing summersualts at the feeling. his pace gradually began to slow, the sopping sound of him fucking his cum into you as he rode out his own high the only sound besides your ragged breaths. when he eventually stopped, he was leaning over you, sweaty foreheads pressed together, and he pushed one final bruising kiss to your lips that you gladly returned.

you were panting, chest rising and falling unevenly. “fuck, oh my god.” you reached up pull him back into another kiss, needing something to hold onto. it was an easy kiss, no thought going into its form, just knowing that lips were meant to be on each other and slotted together. his lips were so soft, and his fingers along your side were so soft, and his chest against yours was so soft and you were absolutely lost to everything.

sukuna finally pulled back to let you breath, knowing you were probably stupid enough to just keep pulling him in more and more and ignoring your lung capacity until the very last second unless he stopped you.

chests heaving, you stared at each other and he brought a thumb up to rub at your swollen lips. you flicked your tongue out to lick at the digit playfully and smiled. a laugh bubbled out of you and he returned the grin, his own deep chuckle vibrating through you where you were still pressed against each other.

it was laughing that you moved to push him to roll off of you. “oh my god, i can’t believe we just-” the hand that gripped your wrist, your own hands still planted on his chest, stopped you immediately. his smile had morphed back into one that was anything but sweet.

you were suddenly aware of the ache in your legs where they were still pressed over his shoulders and the dull throbbing of your pussy as it begged for a break, him still not having pulled out—the look on his face told you that you wouldn’t be getting a break from those sensations any time soon.

“who said we’re done?” his teeth glinted in the moonlight and god the line was so cliche and he must’ve known you’d hate it so much. what you hated even more was the throb in your core at his words despite all that. “wanted to cum in you at least once, but your tits-” he paused to squeeze one of them for emphasis, “are looking a little too clean.” body covered in sweat and marks all over your chest from his handiwork made you think clean wasn’t exactly the correct description, although you understood his sentiment.

surprise ridden expression falling away, you rose to meet his challenge, your own grin reflecting back. how would it feel when he came on your stomach, on your face, on your ass—anywhere and everywhere? would it be the same feeling as before when he’d spilled inside of you? (would you get to taste it?)

the thought was horrible, you knew, but the trickle of white out of your hole around his cock and dripping onto the sheets made you think maybe it was okay to be horrible for once.

“do your worst, king.”

[viktorredemptionarc]

Title: Think of me softly.

A/N: What if musicals and Jayce and Viktor in a blender. This.

Word Count: 10220.

Characters/Relationships: Jayce/Viktor.

Rating: T (for swearing).

Summary: Jayce has been having a pretty good time playing every main role until Viktor steals the spotlight.

Link to AO3 again.

Madness, folly, and insanity. An outrageous act of disrespect towards Jayce, the best actor that company is going to have the pleasure of encountering in its, most likely, short life.

Caitlyn watches as he speaks, no, declaims. She stands in front of him, in the dressing room, with her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Are you done?” she grits out, and Jayce would have said that no, he is not, but her eyebrows are pinched together and that is never a good sign so he nods instead. “I have not given you Erik because Viktor is good at being a gloomy bastard and his pitch fits better. Now you can either keep on being a brat about it and bugger off, don’t bother coming back, or accept it.”

Jayce breathes in deep. He tries to stay reasonable and level-headed. Like an adult would. But it’s hard, because he’s both a senior and a good actor. And companies aren’t supposed to give the leading role to new additions. It doesn’t work like that. It’s absurd and offensive towards the rest. Then again, if he says that Caitlyn will probably drop a latte on him and then kick him out.

“So what am I supposed to do, then? Play a supporting role?”

Caitlyn quirks an eyebrow. “You are going to play Christine. E6 Christine? Highest note in the whole production Christine? How is that a supporting role.”

And that is another matter that they should be discussing. He isn’t sure that he’ll be able to reach that note in his lifetime. But alas, he won’t be the one mentioning the issue. Not now, not ever. He gets it, now. This is a challenge. Caitlyn gave him the role because she trusts him and his prowess, bringing the matter up will only disappoint her and show her that he’s weak. And he isn't weak. He's the best actor they have.

Jayce forces a smile. It's a good one, Caitlyn will buy it. He's positive. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

The door opens with a bang and Caitlyn, just a second ago sighing in relief, groans. Viktor strides in and Jayce stares at the scene as it develops as he’d look at someone putting an egg in a microwave. In quiet horror, fully aware of the disaster that’s to come the second Viktor faces Caitlyn and opens his mouth.

“I won’t play Erik,” he says, and Jayce scoffs. Caitlyn glares his way before turning to face Viktor, not even attempting a smile. Jayce has only seen Viktor once before, when he got introduced to the rest of the cast, and he looks even worse than then, which is a mighty feat. His hair is an absolute mess and he seems unaware of what color coordination is. What color is, full stop. Viktor hasn’t even glanced his way, though, so Jayce says nothing. “I’ve hated him since I’ve been old enough to know what hate is. Can’t he play him? I’d do any supporting role, I don’t care.”

“Hang on,” Caitlyn replies, and she makes a show out of getting her phone out of her pocket, dialing, and bringing it up to her ear. “Vi? Yes, it’s me. No, I’m okay. Could you please check some files for me? Nothing happened, I just want to check if Viktor and Jayce are really of age.”

Jayce can hear Vi laughing through the phone before Caitlyn hangs up and seizes them with a withering look. When she speaks, she does so pointing at them and carefully enunciating every syllable.

“I’m saying this once and only once. You will play your parts, you will not complain about them again, and you will be grateful that I even  thought of you when casting. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Jayce chirps in, as obnoxiously as he feels he can get away with, and Viktor huffs.

“Fine,” he says, between his teeth, and Caitlyn drags her hands down her face with a drawn-out sigh, turns sharply, and leaves slamming the door shut behind her. "Jayce, right?"

"The one and only," Jayce answers, grinning, and Viktor's expression goes from neutral to mild annoyance. Why, Jayce can't know. It's kind of offensive, kind of entertaining. "Seems like we're going to have to work together. Hope you aren't too sloppy. Not everyone can be on my level, I get that, but you have to earn your place on a stage with me."

Viktor clicks his tongue. "Right. I'm going to leave now. See you around, Carlotta."

He doesn't add anything or address Jayce further before leaving the room. Jayce doesn't care or think much of it, not until later when he's home about to fall asleep and realizes the exact implications of what Viktor had said.

-x-

Three years before joining the company, Viktor saw Jayce for the first time.

He was twenty-four then, trying to find a place in the acting world, frustrated and desperate and attempting to have at least one afternoon for himself to do something that he knew he'd enjoy. So he went to the theatre, not knowing what they'd perform, and was lucky enough to catch Frankenstein onstage.

Jayce was playing Victor, and he had never seen anyone face the role like that. There was something about him, an air of sorrow yet so much passion. He moved with so much purpose but knew when to be soft. It was fascinating, nuanced, and Viktor couldn't take his eyes off him.

And then he sang, and Viktor stared at him as he did feeling his heart beating against his chest. He had been moved before, he had admired actors before; yet never had Viktor felt so strongly as he had upon hearing Jayce's voice. It was overwhelming, how controlled and careful Jayce was when singing. The inflection, the pitch, just the right touch of emotion to elevate it instead of smothering it. He was, in a way, enamored.

It was one of the reasons why he even tried to join that company in the first place. And after three years of trying, he had time to wonder almost endlessly about how Jayce would be like. Judging by how he played Victor, he thought that he might be a complex and disciplined man. One who took his craft seriously and valued his peers. It was, as far as fantasies went, a pretty nice one to indulge in.

Viktor now knows that he shouldn't have expected Jayce to be anything but an irredeemable asshole.

He shouldn't have kept on hoping after meeting him when he got introduced to the cast and Jayce looked him up and down, scoffed and left without a word. Yet he did, and he tried to talk to him, and he got what he deserved which was a thorough letdown.

Jayce isn't aware of Viktor having met him before, after all. It's not as if Viktor has told him, or is about to now. The last thing Jayce needs is confirmation of how good an actor he is coming from the man that stole the leading role from him, to add insult to injury. Viktor can only imagine the gargantuan proportions his ego would reach if he were to tell him that his rendition of Birth to my Creation left Viktor breathless and vaguely in love.

So the second Jayce smirks and says "the one and only" with the arrogance of someone who's never faced a serious letdown in their life, Viktor is certain that he was mistaken and that he must move on and forget his fantasies at once. Jayce's next claim only serves to strengthen his resolve and though the contrast from what he imagined to the reality of Jayce is harsh and ungainly, he guesses that it's for the best as he walks into the costume department to find Vi squinting at the lapel of a suit jacket.

"Hello?" he says, uncertain, and Vi turns his way and smiles.

"Hey, Viktorino. How's it going? Is everyone being nice?"

Viktor walks her way and she slaps his back. Hard.

"It's...I'm okay. You're all great, yes. Although..." he pauses, wondering if Jayce and her are close and whether or not he can talk to her about him. Then he decides that he doesn't specially care all that much, since he doesn't have anything particularly bad to say about him besides how irritating he is. It isn't her fault, or even Jayce's, that he didn't meet his expectations. She's looking at him as if she knows what he's going to say, anyway, which is a bit unnerving. "Has Jayce always been that much of a diva?"

Vi guffaws. "It took you way too long to complain about him. Most crack during the first week. You didn't talk much, did you?"

"No, not really. Mostly only today."

She snorts, again, and holds the suit jacket in front of him, hanger and all.

"Right. He's kind of an asshole but he's a funny asshole, you know? Just...try and give him a chance. Turn around."

He turns and hums as she holds the jacket against his shoulders, then taps his back for him to turn again.

"I can try, but I don't think it'll end up well. He's not like I thought he'd be," she hangs the jacket and, alarmingly, turns to him with a knowing smile on her face. "What."

She shrugs, still smiling. "Like you thought he'd be."

Right. Viktor dodges her gaze and Vi starts laughing.

"Chill, okay? It's not as if you're the first one who got fucked up over an idealized version of Jayce. Won't be the last either, probably," she pats his shoulder and he nods, mortified but trying to avoid showing just how much. "He's my best friend, though. Has been for years. The Jaycer ain't all that bad."

She slaps his back again and winks before leading him out of the room, and Viktor would like to know in which way a man who thinks that it is proper to tell another actor that he hopes he isn't too sloppy, as if he has any right to judge anybody else's performances, isn't that bad.

After all, once deciding to give up on even trying to get close to Jayce in any capacity but the strictly professional, the prospect of getting to know Jayce the "funny asshole" is dreadful, to say the least.

His phone rings and Viktor digs it up from his pocket as he walks out of the theatre, surprised to see that Jayce, of all people, has texted him.

Jayce (company): hey were rhew fukc is the scdeipt

Jayce (company): wairt ur not vi

Jayce (company): were rhe fucki s th e script tho i need to starrt reading it liek yesterday

Viktor blinks down at his phone. Then he looks up and blinks at the cars parked in front of the theatre, and looks back down at his phone to stare at the screen, puzzled. Mildly endeared, and annoyed at himself for being so, by how awful Jayce's texting etiquette and skills are, which is alarming. Maybe a bit foolish of him to expect his crush to die down just like that.

Me: it should be in the meeting room

Me: that's WHERE I got mine from, at least

Jayce doesn't answer until that night, when Viktor is in bed leafing through the script.

Jayce (company): o fortunata non ancor abbandonata

Jayce (company): .I.

Viktor laughs despite himself, then blames it on exhaustion for his own peace of mind.

-x-

As far as Jayce is concerned, Viktor's only redeeming quality and the reason why he got the starring role instead of him is that he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. That was, mostly, his first impression of him. A tired, unkempt, man. Barely even interesting. And Jayce had to rehearse anyway, so he left the second he saw that Viktor didn't look like much.

That might have been a mistake, he reckons, now that it's been a week since he got the script and he has to build his whole performance around both Viktor, playing Erik, and Ezreal, playing Raoul. Ezreal he knows and he can work with, no problem. Viktor? He's an enigma. Jayce hasn't seen him perform, not once. Not even during his auditions. That was Caitlyn's job, after all, not his. So he's completely in the dark and with no point of reference from which to begin putting together the puzzle of his Christine. Christian, as the script says, it's the same character either way.

He reads his lines for the first scene during the first act, over and over, holed up in one of the rooms they use to practice. He'll get to the annotations later, once he has a clue of how he's going to do this. For now, he's guessing that a sort of bland naïveté is as good a starting point as any. So he bats his lashes at no one, gazing at the middle distance in affected bashfulness.

"I don't know, sir," he says, in the most obnoxiously Victorian way he can come up with, and almost feigns a fainting fit if only to amuse himself.

"Oh, not you as well," comes a voice from the door, drawling and low, and Jayce stares at Viktor as he stands there, looking way too irritated not to be overacting and for all he can see following his lead. "Can you believe it? A full house...and we have to cancel!"

Viktor does affect a fainting fit against the doorframe, arm over the forehead and all, and Jayce refuses to smile out of principle. Viktor straightens and walks his way, script held loosely in his hand, and Jayce feels like he has to somehow justify himself. You see, this isn't really how I do things. I'm just trying to get a feel of the character. This is not me.

"I'm assuming that since you are such a great actor you don't need any help with establishing the character?" Viktor says, face inscrutable, and Jayce decides that he doesn't need to justify himself after all.

"Fuck off. How are you dealing with Erik?"

Viktor huffs, but as far as Jayce can see there's no farther emotional reaction to that. Until he frowns and kind of grimaces? Jayce thinks. And looks at Jayce in such a sour way he somehow feels inadequate.

"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion basking in your glory. Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor sharing in my triumph," he doesn't sing it as he's supposed to, he recites it. He does so looking at Jayce dead in the eye, enunciating every syllable, and every word sounds both like he's taunting Jayce and like he very much would rather be anywhere else but there.

It's an absolute mess of a register for that line. Tonally, a disaster. Specially if he's supposed to be talking to Christine. But, in a way, Jayce gets what Viktor's trying to convey.

"So bitter jackass is what you're going for," Viktor nods. Jayce is kind of pissed off. Getting his own interpretation of the character doesn't imply that he has to like it, and it's not like he has it all figured out but there's something about the situation that irks him. "You know that disliking Erik doesn't justify getting rid of the things that can make the audience empathize with him, right?"

"Why should I make the audience empathize with Erik, exactly?"

Jayce spares a second trying to reconcile himself with the idea of someone asking that question. Maybe Viktor is an entity from a world in which this play they're working on doesn't exist, and he doesn't know how it goes. Then again, he did say that he had hated Erik since, if he recalls correctly, he knew what hate was.

"Have you read the script?"

Viktor frowns and Jayce is bewildered. If Viktor gets mad at him over whether or not the audience is supposed feel sad for Erik he's probably going to end up throwing a boombox at him.

"Yes, I have. My point still stands. Why should the audience be made to empathize with Erik when the only thing he does is let himself get dragged around by his emotions, harming others while doing so, and send pointless notes."

"That's what most of the characters do. Erik is given a background for a reason. It's not like we're supposed to agree with him, just think about why he does what he does," Jayce says, and Viktor doesn't answer. He stands in front of him, staring, grimacing. "If his emotions are more out of control that those of most characters', I disagree by the way, is because he's supposed to be intense and make the audience feel his sad, anguished, fury."

"I know," Viktor says, slowly, and Jayce would love to start rehearsing and stop talking about this only no, actually, he's invested in the conversation now. He's intrigued. "What I mean is that his actions still condemn him, and those actions are driven by emotion. And what he seems to be feeling most of all is bitterness. He's bitter at Christine for having a life, the gall. He's bitter at Raoul for existing. He's bitter at the theatre's new owners for not doing things how he wants them to which is absurd, to begin with. He's bitter at Carlotta for being the prima donna instead of Christine. He's bitter at himself, but not as much as he is at everybody else. And you expect my starting point to be anything but bitter jackass?"

"That's not what we were talking about," is what Jayce has to say to that, because Viktor is making a lot of sense and he wants to be contradictory.

"Fine. They can empathize if they want, I have no control over that, but I want to play Erik as he is written. Softening him for the sake of sympathy sounds like a copout. If I play a bitter jackass and they can still empathize, that would be awful and awfully telling but a success, in a way. "

Awfully telling, he says. Yet Jayce can see, now, how his ideas make sense. He might not agree, he doesn't think he ever will because, for one, his idea of Erik differs greatly, but he can see how it can be useful to Viktor as an actor. It's interesting.

"Right. So bitter jackass it is, then."

Viktor, to his credit, doesn't seem eager to gloat or show any sign at all that he's won an argument. He merely nods and flips some pages of his script until he finds what he's looking for, then looks up at Jayce and hums.

"How's your Christine coming along?" Jayce shrugs. "We could try doing some scenes, see how it goes."

They try. Viktor is, Jayce is surprised to see, a fairly decent actor. Not as good as him, not likely to happen anyway, but they work well together. By the time Ezreal arrives and they can start getting to Raoul's scenes in depth, he has a way better grasp on Christine than he had when he first tried.

"Viktor, I want to try that line I was doing when you came in again. Ezreal, can you see if it's gonna go well with your Raoul?" he says. Viktor hums and stands in front of him. For that scene, he has to get in the mindset of someone with dreams too big for them, that's at an impasse and suddenly given a chance to get closer to what they want. It takes him a bit, to reach that mindset. There's not much that he needs, or a dream he hasn't yet conquered.

But once he feels like he can do it, he looks right at Viktor and he stares back, waiting.

Jayce dodges his eyes, then. He fidgets, looking at Viktor's chin as he loosely closes his fists and wets his lips.

"I don't know, sir," he says, and he tries to make it sound firm but trembling. A string of sound but one with purpose. It's harder than he anticipated and he kind of botches it, a little, but it's going to have to do. He looks back up at Viktor's eyes and he catches his gaze, almost unblinking.  

"That was good, I think. I can work with that," Ezreal says while walking his way, and Jayce notices with some trepidation that Viktor seems to be barely breathing. "Jayce? Hey, it was a good one. What's up."

"Him," Jayce points at Viktor and he seems to snap out of it, blinking rapidly and gasping before turning away. "You okay?"

"Yes," Viktor croaks, and Ezreal snorts by Jayce's side. "I'm fine. Got distracted is all."

"Well some of us are professionals so try to keep up," Ezreal jokes, but Jayce almost hits his smug face. Viktor just nods, waving a hand their way gesturing for them to continue as he steals Jayce's water bottle and takes a sip.

"I'll be back in a second," he leaves them with those words, and Jayce stares at the now closed door until Ezreal kicks him in the shin.

-x-

It's too early to have a phone.

It's not the most coherent thought he's had in his life, but it will have to do until Viktor's awaken properly and, hopefully, his phone stops beeping. He gropes for it, half asleep, around the bed and finds it inside the pillowcase. How it ended there, he dares not think about.

He blinks blearily at the screen. It has stopped beeping, thankfully, but he has gotten a string of messages from Jayce once again. Why can't he grasp the concept of proper texting hours is a mystery to Viktor, but it's the second time since they've met that he's done it when anybody else would've been either asleep or about to be.

Viktor refuses to read them until he's taken a shower and is dressed, sitting in his living room nursing a cup of coffee. The only real reason he can find to be that petty is that Jayce irks him in that way that things that he doesn't like but can't fully hate do. It would be nice if emotions could start making sense, Viktor would appreciate that, but it doesn't seem to be going to happen anytime soon. And anyway, if it had been an emergency he would've called. He cannot possibly be stupid enough to just text him and leave it at that in that case.

He isn't, which is a small relief.

Jayce (company): vi

Jayce (company): havde u evaer trde to hit e6 it sucs

Jayce (company): is it enve possibl?????

Jayce (company): y iou arent vi

Jayce (company): Again.

Jayce (company): See? I'm writing like a stuffy old man so you don't have to correct me

Jayce (company): fuc it its annouin

Jayce (company): can u reac e6??????? bet u cant

Jayce (company): ??????????????????????????????????????????????????

Viktor reads the texts twice, then leaves his coffee on his living room's tiny table to avoid spilling it everywhere when he starts laughing in disbelief.

Me: I can't

Me: Is this going to happen often? I don't want to know any more of your secrets

Pocketing his phone after checking the time, he leaves for the theatre without expecting an answer and, sure enough, he doesn't hear of Jayce until he arrives and finds him sitting crossed legged on the floor of one of the rooms, looking morosely  down at the script.

"Good morning," Viktor says, and Jayce looks up at him and waves. "When did you get here?"

Jayce frowns. "I don't know. A couple of hours before I texted you? Sorry if I woke you but you should've been awake by then, anyway."

If that is true, and ignoring the jab, Jayce has been there since six in the morning.

"What have you been doing?"

"Warming up. Lines. Think of Me, which is sounding quite good actually," he says, standing up, and yawns. Viktor quirks an eyebrow. "Fuck. I'm going to go over that again. You can stay if you want, you could even end up learning something, who knows."

Viktor stays, mostly out of spite. He has been amazed by Jayce's acting, he now has a very complicated relationship with that fact, and he has played along with Jayce's overacting too. Maybe that's the day he gets to hear Jayce squawk.

It isn't.

Jayce starts hesitant, as he should. He avoids looking Viktor in the eye. And slowly, steadily, his voice grows stronger. And he glances Viktor's way. And Viktor can't look away. Up until then, he was certain that he could never feel what he felt during Frankenstein again. It was a once in a lifetime occurrence. That sense of wonder, the beating of his heart against his ribcage, his own breathing stuttering. It was impossible to recreate. Yet he feels it again, and it's twice as overwhelming because then Jayce is standing right in front of him. There's nobody else in the room, there are no costumes, there's no set. The experience is raw and Viktor finds himself drowning in his own emotions until Jayce snaps his fingers in front of his eyes.

"I know I am good but you need to breath, I refuse to carry you all the way to the infirmary," he says, and Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he abruptly comes down from his elation and crashes into the room with Jayce, notorious asshole. A funny one according to Vi, but an asshole nonetheless.

"You do carry your ego around every day," Jayce's laughter sounds as surprised as Viktor himself is to hear it, and he looks at Jayce in wonder as he shakes his head.

"That's why my back is so broad and dreamy, I reckon."

"I'm sure the spotlight's flare weighs heavily on you."

"It's almost unbearable," Jayce says, gravely, and Viktor has to fight off a smile. "You'll find me crushed under it one day and regret your harshness."

"Should I hire a troupe to sing Prima Donna to you? That should soothe your weary soul. Give you some peace."

"I'd rather you did it yourself," Jayce steps closer and Viktor crosses his arms, defensive yet unwilling to give into the temptation of stepping back. "Caitlyn spoke so highly of you, maybe that way I'll get to listen to you myself before my ego shatters me."

Viktor has been doing a great job of keeping a stern, sour, expression throughout the exchange. He's proud of it. It's Jayce's roundabout, stupid, and overdramatic way of asking him to sing that breaks him and makes him snort and ruins everything.

"You could have just asked. It would have been easier. There's no point in trying to be subtle when you're this flamboyant to begin with."

Jayce shrugs. "You laughed, kind of? I think. It sounded a lot like a sneeze but I'll count that as a victory."

Why Jayce would want to make him laugh, that's another mystery added to his whole person. He refuses to make any sense. Viktor doesn't know if he was right when he thought about Jayce during those past three years as a hardworking, serious, actor with a heart of gold. But he isn't sure if he's right about him being an irredeemable asshole either. Maybe he's neither. He seems to be waiting, in any case, for Viktor to sing.

"Fine. Any requests? I'm feeling generous."

"Whatever you want is fine. Something from the play would be nice, to see how you're going to do it," Jayce steps back then, and Viktor finds that his breathing evens out without having him so close. He hates it. So he decides that he might as well go for something mean, it's a happy coincidence that Erik has a wide repertoire of those, and takes a deep breath before he starts.

-x-

If he has to be completely honest with himself, Jayce didn't expect it to work nor for Viktor to see right through his stupid taunt. Yet he did, and he's breathing in slowly with his eyes closed. Jayce doesn't think he's warmed up, so he doesn't expect anything spectacular or for Viktor to blow his mind.

In a way, he's right. He is also incredibly wrong.

Partly because Viktor chooses The Mirror, which involves him, and Jayce sees it as a challenge. Not only because Viktor is looking right at him as he sings, it's his posture. How he starts circling him. And his voice might not be amazing, but Jayce has the dreadful thought that it's not amazing yet and that it will be when he's had the time to get ready. It's raspy, aggressive, more emotion than intonation as far as Jayce can discern in that moment. It makes Jayce want to sing back and fuck Christine's character completely by doing it in an equally cocky way.

Viktor has stopped walking and Jayce can feel his presence behind him, his breathing. There's silence, for a beat. Jayce turns, and accepts Viktor's challenge singing Christine's reply. Viktor smiles, and Jayce could swear that it's the first time he's seen him do it so openly, before answering. He's getting closer, brushing Jayce, stepping around him but just out of reach when Jayce tries to follow. Viktor's harshness makes it more vivid, and it doesn't matter so much that he isn't nailing every note. It makes Jayce feel how Christine would in that scene, in a way. Her desperate plea for forgiveness from an entity that she doesn't understand after a mishap that wasn't even hers. How she would have considered Erik to be. Frustrating, maddening, and incomprehensible. Yet alluring.

And suddenly it's over, and he's leaning into Viktor and Viktor's holding his shoulder and keeping him at an arm's distance, staring down at him. It surprises him that it developed so organically, considering that it's a scene that they've never done together. Viktor pats his shoulder once and lets go, and Jayce steps back as he mulls over the whole situation.

So maybe Viktor and him improvised a whole scene so naturally that no rehearsing was required to set the tone and make Jayce get into character. That happened. Without Viktor needing to even be in tune.

"Was it that bad?" Viktor asks, and Jayce looks up to find him frowning slightly. "I was out of tune, but it didn't seem to bother you much so I kept going."

And what is Jayce supposed to say then.

It was maybe the easiest time I've had acting with anyone in my life? That would be ludicrous. They don't know each other and Jayce kind of dislikes Viktor? Maybe? A little? He doesn't know. Viktor is dry and way too into poking fun at his ego.

He's also staring at Jayce.

"You didn't hit one note right," he says, lets his mouth run wild because he's an idiot who sucks, and Viktor grimaces. "But I guess Caitlyn was right, because it worked anyway."

Viktor smiles, again, and it reaches his eyes even though he also seems reluctant to be showing any mirth at all.

Jayce doesn't like the way his own breathing stutters one bit.

-x-

viktorino: vi, what is Jayce's deal exactly?

Me: hwo am i suposed to knww?

viktorino: you know him

Me: am not him tho????

viktorino: I don't understand him

Me: I am Caitlyn. Vi is getting more popcorn. Hello.

Me: She also says that I should be the one to handle this.

Me: I don't know why.

Me: Jayce is just Jayce.

Me: am bac

Me: caitl did a shtity job

viktorino: you think

Me: shur up

Me: lstien

Me: ust go w the flow dude

Me: youll gt him evdntually

-x-

Viktor certainly does not get him. It's been two weeks and Jayce is still an enigma that he cannot decipher. He's nice enough, yet he's still overbearing. He spends hours rehearsing by himself, trying to train himself into reaching e6, and then rehearses with the rest as if he isn't exhausted. As if they can't see the bags under his eyes or feel his frustration. Yet he keeps speaking as if he's a diva that has graced them with his presence while, at the same time, being frustratingly charming.

So Jayce is this man that is exactly how Viktor expected him to be yet the complete opposite of what he expected, both things somehow at the same time. And he has to deal with that, every single day of his life, since they work together and have many shared scenes. At least he gets to wear a cape sometimes, and can have the satisfaction of walking around with it in a dramatic fashion. Small mercies.

It's too late to be in the theatre right then. Maybe past midnight, but there was a scene that eluded him and he stayed until he felt that he had the fundamentals right. He was well and truly exhausted and only wanted to stop thinking about Jayce and leave.

And then he hears coughing, coming from a room with the door ajar a few steps from where he is, and Viktor peaks inside to find Jayce rubbing at his throat.

Fuck.

Viktor strides to the small kitchenette they all share with purpose and doesn't bother to second guess himself before he's heating water and dropping honey and lemon in it. This is, no matter how convoluted his feelings for Jayce might be, a serious enough matter for him to act without thinking. He stirs the mix as he walks back to the room and sure enough, Jayce is still inside.

He doesn't look up when Viktor enters. He's standing by the mirrored wall, looking down at his hands with a frown.

"Jayce," he says, and Jayce starts and looks at him wide eyed. "This'll help."

"Thank you," Jayce takes the cup from him and sighs. "If only I weren't so good, they wouldn't ask me to do ridiculous bullshit like reaching e6."

He laughs, but it's weak. Viktor raises a hand, puts a finger on Jayce's mouth to channel his frustration in a way that doesn't imply hitting him.

"Shut up."

Surprisingly enough, Jayce does. He smiles, nods, and drinks in silence. Viktor stays with him, if only to have something to do instead of fuming at home. He's angry at Jayce but it feels wrong to snap at him when he's obviously over-exerted himself, even if that's the main reason why Viktor wants to kick him in the teeth.

Yet, somehow, a piece of the puzzle that Jayce is falls into place and it brings a little bit of order into Viktor's chaotic idea of him. He feels closer to Jayce, which is good for work and for maybe friendship? Very bad for his juvenile attraction for him, which refuses to fade no matter how angry he gets at Jayce.

At some point, Viktor doesn't know how much time passes, Jayce leaves the cup on a speaker and gestures to the door with his head. Viktor nods, somehow reluctant to break the silence, and Jayce throws a tired smile his way.

They leave together without a single word spoken between them until Jayce gets to his car, giving Viktor's back a light pat before getting in.

"You aren't that bad," he says, more to himself than to Viktor, and then he closes the door and drives away.

-x-

There is something cathartic about staying in bed staring at the ceiling in quiet panic, Jayce thinks. It lets him ponder about how to approach the subject of him thinking that Viktor, after a couple of weeks of knowing him, isn't that bad. Perhaps even likable. Maybe. Uncertain on that.

Jayce should stop lying to himself.

He likes Viktor's dry witted humor and no-nonsense approach to things, and his rants about Erik being too emotional. It's crept on him silently, treacherously, this feeling that Viktor's someone who he likes to spend time with.

It's an awful revelation, considering that they have to work together.

Jayce grabs his phone.

Me: vi soemhing awful happende

Viktor: before you continue, I am not Vi

Never has he ever been so thankful for hesitating before hitting send before, since it was the only thing that stopped him from telling Viktor that he was a frustrating motherfucker that made Jayce question how the fuck someone could be so funny yet so stupidly coarse. Not in those many words, but almost.

Viktor: do you need any help?

Viktor: has a spotlight actually crushed you?

Jayce snorts. It sucks.

Me: yes

Me: so i tried to text vi

Me: am gfonna dei anyway so better alugh it off

Viktor: is it because she's the only one who can decipher your texts?

Viktor: you two write in exactly the same horrifying way

Me: i wrtie fast sue me

Viktor: not in your dying bed

Jayce is tempted to kick his feet like a child. He doesn't, deciding that it'd be best to get ready for work instead, but it's a close call.

After that, it's oddly anticlimactic for Jayce, when he gets to the theatre and enters the room they use to rehearse to find Ezreal and Viktor already doing a scene and think, absentmindedly, that Viktor looks good in that shirt. Being how things were going, it would have been fitting to have a dramatic revelation, he thinks.

He'd expected it to be bombastic, to blow his mind, to be loud and horrifying.

Instead of that, he just glances Viktor's way and finds him to be casually attractive.

In a way, he figures that the natural flow of it all is what makes it extraordinary.

"Hey Jayce, are you gonna join or just gape at us?" Ezreal asks, and Jayce sighs and reluctantly walks their way. "I mean, I get it. I'm very handsome."

"You keep telling yourself that," Jayse says, and Ezreal huffs but lets it slide. Viktor doesn't say anything, writing something down on his script as they talk. Somehow, he also expected a certain hyperawareness of him. So far, he's mildly alarmed he expected anything at all and that's about it. "Which scene were you at?"

"Erik's backstory," Viktor drawls, and Ezreal snorts. "I'm being his Giry until Camille arrives."

"You have the tessiture for that?"

"Not really, but it's not like I have to sing much."

"He's good enough," Ezreal pats Viktor's shoulder and Viktor hums. "Maybe a bit too mad about having to give the ghost a backstory at all. But since Giry's so stern listening to her speaking like she's mocking the ghost is funny. Challenging, also, since I'm trying not to break character and Raoul has to be like super into the whole story."

Viktor huffs. "Glad to be of service."

"Like...the accidents part? Do that again," Viktor sighs but doesn't argue. He takes a few steps the mirror's way and straightens his back, his face set in a distant gesture.

"I have said too much, monsieur," he starts, and already his voice sounds different. Detached. "And there have been too many accidents."

Ezreal gasps. Jayce has always liked how he tackles his roles, expressive and as faithful to the character as he can be. Wide eyed, preoccupied, Raoul is a good fit for him.

"Accidents?" he says, sounding properly scandalized, and Viktor seems to almost smile, yet not quite.

"Too many," Viktor says, and the delivery of the line drips so much with joyless irony that Jayce wonders where the fuck Viktor reaches to achieve that. Yet he doesn't keep the character going for long, and as soon as he's said it he relaxes his posture and walks back to where he is, with Ezreal.

"See? That line is supposed to be ironic but that? What the fuck. It was chilling and so out of character I want to hit him but I can't because it was so good," Ezreal says, pointing at Viktor, and Jayce doesn't know what to answer to that. It's true. Ezreal's right. Viktor would be a terrible Giry but there's no denying that he's good. Jayce looks his way and catches him shrugging.

"Sorry? It's how Giry feels to me. Wouldn't you be tired of someone if he kept throwing the catwalk on everybody they don't like? Or crawling around the trap room. I would. I'm guessing she is, too, just too scared to voice it. So she finds her ways."

Viktor shrugs again. Ezreal keeps pointing at him mouthing "unbelievable" even as he checks his phone and starts for the door.

"I gotta bounce, Camille is here. Hopefully she'll stop complaining about me not being properly outraged this time around."

He leaves, and Jayce is left with Viktor. Who looks good in that shirt.

Jayce opens his mouth and is saved from droning out "you look good in that shirt" by Viktor snapping his fingers in front of his eyes.

"Are you okay?" judging by his tone, it's probably the second time he's asked.

"Yes. Frustrated over that e6," Viktor hums, grimacing. "But all I can do about it is practice."

Viktor looks like he wants to add something, but he sidesteps Jayce and after a second throws a thermos his way before leaving the room without another word.

Jayce, having barely caught the thing, opens it and smiles upon finding warm, honeyed, water inside.

-x-

The first time Viktor sees Jayce when not in the theatre since they start working together, he's taking a walk through a park near his apartment and is trying to avoid thinking about Jayce. He needs a break from his own confusing emotions, some distance. At least to reconcile the highly contradictory ideas of Jayce that he has.

As his luck may have it, it's barely been ten minutes since he's set foot in the park when he sees Jayce sitting on a bench, looking out into the middle distance, with his phone cuddled in his hands and his headphones on.

Viktor looks at him while he considers his options. He could leave and pretend that he never saw him, go back home and let that be it, or approach Jayce and face the consequences. Leaving is tempting but he knows himself and he'd feel guilty afterwards for ignoring Jayce, no matter if he hadn't seen him yet, so he takes a stealing breath and walks his way.

Jayce doesn't notice his presence until Viktor sits by his side, and he blinks at Viktor and tugs his earphones off.

"Hey. You live nearby?" Viktor nods. Jayce hasn't turned the music off and Viktor can hear the part of Phantom of the Opera where Christine sings in e6 through the headphones over and over again. "I do too, kind of."

"Today, too?" Viktor points at Jayce's phone and Jayce pauses the music with a drawn-out sigh, dropping his head against the back of the bench.

"I'm so close. It's even more frustrating now that I know for sure that I can do it, only not just yet," he smiles, bitter. "But I didn't get into this business because I thought it'd be easy."

Jayce straightens then. It doesn't help matters for Viktor that he's handsome, yet he has a feeling it wouldn't have mattered either way. Him being a ridiculously hardworking yet arrogant man would've got Viktor, in the end. He's cursed.

"Why did you?"

"I wanted to be famous and I knew that I had the talent for it," Jayce shrugs. "I was aiming for Hollywood, but ended up in a theatre company performing musicals. Not that I'm complaining, I love it. Now, that is."

"You've given up on Hollywood, then?"

"What can I say," Jayce answers, and he leans close enough for Viktor's heart to skip a beat. "I rather enjoy telling you that those who have seen your face draw back in fear."

Viktor scoffs as Jayce laughs. "You would love to be able to overdramatize everything."

"Of course. Why did you get in the business?"

"My parents were actors, they showed me how it went and I liked it. It's not a great story, but it's the one I have."

"And how did you find our company?"

"You," Viktor blurts out, and almost stands and runs back home when he realizes. Jayce expression hasn't changed, though, so he guesses that in for a penny in for a pound. "I saw you perform as Victor Frankenstein three years before I joined. Itwas good. I liked it, and I looked into the company because of it."

Jayce seems genuinely happy to hear that and Viktor would like his heart to beat at a normal pace please and thank you.

"That was one of my first roles with them. And the hardest, maybe? Victor isn't easy," Jayce snorts and Viktor quirks and eyebrow. "I think. Are you easy?"

Viktor's horrified by how his skin prickles at Jayce's tone, but he hits his arm nonetheless.

"No. You were a good Victor, in any case. Hard to believe, knowing you. But you were."

"Knowing me," Jayce says, leaning farther into Viktor's space, and Viktor huffs. "You'd be a better Victor, I think. But I was already the best actor they had, and Ezreal was better as Henry."

"Camille?" Viktor asks, just to be an asshole, but Jayce doesn't bite.

"You saw her as Adam, too. It fit her like glove," Jayce is still too close for Viktor's comfort. "You think you could play Victor?"

"I could," he answers embarrassingly fast, but he's sure that he can do it for once and Jayce seems more amused than offended by it. "I like the role."

"Isn't he too emotional, too?"

"He is, but I don't see him sending notes around asking for a salary."

Jayce laughs at that, and his breathing hits Viktor's cheek, and Viktor looks at him under the shadows of the trees and for the first time finds comfort in the idea of loving him.

-x-

Ezreal is home nursing his sore throat after a particularly long and frustrating session and Jayce is alone, facing the record player with a frown because he’s never been good at practicing duets alone and he’s yet to get All I Ask of You to the level he desires.

He could try. And he does. And it’s a disaster.

“Do you...need help with that?” he starts and turns, halfway through a verse, to find Viktor standing by the door. He’s too tired to feel mortified, at least. “I can leave if you want me to. Sorry to interrupt.”

Jayce should tell him to leave but he wants help and he also wants to see if Viktor can sing Raoul. So his nodding is half morbid curiosity, half a desperate plea for help that he hopes Viktor can answer. If not, at least he’ll have a good laugh. Nothing to lose.

“Yes, sure. Can you do Raoul?”

Viktor enters the room, looking around as he walks, and hums.

“Probably better than Erik, yes.”

Jayce huffs a laugh because honestly, he’s unbelievable.

“Of course. You do love to walk around in that stupid cape, though.”

Viktor shrugs. “It adds a nice dramatic flair,” he stands by the cd player and fidgets, glancing at Jayce from under his fringe. Jayce blames the odd little jump in his heartbeat on nerves. “How are you going about this with Ezreal? Movie approach? Broadway style? Still figuring it out?” “We haven’t decided yet but we are kind of going for over the top. Seems to be what works best.” “Okay. I can do over the top. Whenever you’re ready, I warmed up before.”

Jayce takes a deep breath and nods. He mumbles "fine" between his teeth and approaches the cd player trying to shake off his nervousness. It’s just a rehearsal, one of many, and nothing else.

He starts the music. Viktor takes his hand. And he sings. And Jayce realizes just how awful an idea this was.

Jayce had begrudgingly recognized that Viktor was a good actor and singer but him as Erik is worlds apart from him as Raoul. As Erik he’s a force of nature, brash, unknowable and dangerous. As Raoul he’s tender, soft, he feels close and solid and safe and Jayce almost misses his cue because Viktor has him by the waist and is looking down at him as if he wants him. He’s afraid of his voice cracking with how overwhelmed he feels but he lets it flow and it flows clean. He lets Viktor lead him, grab him by the waist and lift him, tag on him and push him away. And when Viktor steps close and holds his hands throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him feels like the right thing to do.

Viktor freezes and Jayce panics until Viktor lets go of his hands and circles his waist with his arms sighing into his mouth. Jayce doesn’t really care about the playback anymore, his focus is on Viktor’s warmth and his lips and the way his heart is beating in his throat. His fingers grace Viktor’s hair and Jayce opens his mouth and licks Viktor’s lips until he finds his tongue. The player beeps and Jayce jumps and steps away from Viktor as a recorded voice tells them that the next song will start in four seconds.

Viktor is staring at him, wide eyed and open mouthed, and Jayce doesn’t know what to tell him or what to do about all the things he should be facing but refuses to.

So he clears his throat and avoids Viktor’s gaze as he turns the cd player off.

“That was...good. Very convincing. It’d be a good tone for the song, I think.”

“A good tone,” Viktor mumbles, and Jayce swallows. “Why...”

“I’m a professional,” he interjects, before Viktor can say anything else that implies that Jayce kissed him because he wanted to, and plasters a smile on his face before turning to look at Viktor. He looks tense, but Jayce can’t read his expression anymore. “Every adaptation has a kiss. It’s mandatory.”

Viktor stares, blinks, and all of a sudden all tension seems to leave his body and he smiles, small and queasy.

“Right. Of course. That makes sense,” Viktor nods. Jayce nods. “Want to go again?” “No!” even Jayce is offended at how fast he answered but Viktor only raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “It’s okay. I don’t want to get used to your Raoul and have to adapt to Ezreal later.” That’s...not a lie but not exactly true. He doesn’t want another ride on that emotional rollercoaster is the truth.

“I’m...going to leave, then. Good luck.”

Jayce tries not to stare at Viktor’s retreating form but it doesn’t work. He looks fixedly at his back as he walks away and can’t stop looking until he glances over his shoulder, nods, and closes the door behind him.

-x-

Maybe telling Vi what had happened during rehearsals as she's poking at him with pins in the dressing room isn't the best idea he's ever had, but Viktor feels like he has to tell someone or he'll overthink himself into a nervous breakdown.

Vi doesn't prick him but she has never laughed so much in her life, Viktor thinks. She's doubled over, gasping for air, and it takes her a while to be in enough control to breathe properly and straighten.

"If Jayce ever changes I'll be so heartbroken," she says. "I don't see what the problem is? He snogged you, then said something stupid. But he isn't being weird about it, right?"

Viktor shakes his head. If anything, he feels closer than before. It's a small comfort. Even the more so after Viktor has made peace with his own feelings.

"So what is it, then? Just grab his stupid face and kiss him back. It isn't that hard."

"I don't know if he wants me to do that," Vi snorts. "I'm serious. He could've being following the flow of the scene. Something like that."

"Oh my God," Vi's laughing again, more controlled this time, but she does slap Viktor's shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Why don't you ask him about it?"

Viktor blanches. Vi rolls her eyes.

"Fine, don't ask him then," she shrugs and Viktor sighs. He's way out of his element. "I told you he wasn't that bad, though. I knew you'd get on with him."

"Maybe too well, is the problem here."

"Funny assholes are so charming," Vi quips, beaming, and Viktor punches her arm softly. "But like. Honestly? If you aren't sure, just wait it out. Knowing Jayce, he'll break eventually. Knowing you, you'll pour all your feelings into your performances and make them very uncomfortable to watch. Caitlyn will be ecstatic, though."

She grimaces, suddenly, and Viktor frowns.

"What."

"Jayce is going to come crying to me about it. He's so overdramatic. He'll throw himself on a couch and start declaiming and I'll have to listen to him for hours on end. Fuck."

"Sorry?"

She shrugs. "It's his own fault. Now stay still so I don't poke you with a pin."

By the time he gets home, he's only been pinned once and he's the one to blame for jumping upon hearing Jayce enter the room, then exiting again once Vi tells him that she's fitting Viktor.

And Jayce has texted him something.

It's a video. Short. It's of Jayce himself, sitting with his back straight, and singing the part leading to the one on e6. His voice breaks and he spits "fuck" and tries again and there it is. He hits the note for maybe a full second and then his voice breaks again but Viktor has heard it. He got there. He can do it. Now it's only a matter of holding it.

Viktor's smiling so wide it almost hurts.

Me: congrats

Me: though I should tell you that I'm not Vi, just in case

Jayce: i knwo

Jayce: i wanted you t see

Viktor feels like screaming.

-x-

Jayce has many problems with Phantom of the Opera, the song, and they not only revolve around the fact that e6 is a hellish note to reach. Some of them are about Viktor.

Specifically about how he looks in full suit, cape strewn around his feet, looking at Jayce with a fire in his eyes that burns him from the inside out. And about how he sounds, mocking and raspy, voice booming as he smirks at Jayce.

If he didn’t know any better, Jayce would think that Viktor was doing this all to spite him. But this is just how he plays Erik. Gloomy but cocky as he reaches out and grabs Jayce from behind, a hand on his hip and the other on his cheek, and Jayce goes with him and struggles to keep his composure because fuck finding Viktor hot, he’s a professional. But it’s so hard when he’s forced to look up and back and they’re harmonizing and Viktor’s leaning in and over and Jayce stutters as he feels himself trying to reach Viktor’s lips.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Ezreal says, and Jayce snaps out of his reverie and disentangles himself from Viktor to step away with an awkward little cough. “Caitlyn, are you seeing this? Oh my god. Is that allowed? Are they gonna start sucking face onstage?”

“It wasn’t bad, it added some nice tension to the scene.”

“No, Ezreal’s right,” Viktor says, behind Jayce and closer than he expected, and Jayce swallows. “This is...it needs to be subtle. We set the wrong tone. Sorry about that.” Jayce almost starts laughing. It’s a close call. Sorry about that? About what? Sorry Jayce almost grabbed me by the neck and made out with me wildly because he has the hots for me? Sorry Jayce can’t control himself? Sorry I look great in costume? But Caitlyn is staring at him and Jayce stops himself before it’s too late.

“Right. We...were trying something new and it didn’t work. Sorry. Can we go again?”

He endures Caitlyn’s piercing gaze for what feels like minutes and Jayce is one hundred percent sure she can see through him and his excuses. She smiles nonetheless and nods.

“Certainly. Take it from the top and, Jayce? I get the awed amazement but please, can we get a bit of fear there too?”

And Jayce is absolutely positive, because he is at that very moment as afraid as he’s ever been of how stupid Viktor makes him, so he affects a smirk and struts into position as he shoots a “sure” over his shoulder.

-x-

They've been rehearsing for so long that there's a certain soothing cadence to going through the motions. There's still tension between Jayce and him, but they're dealing with it in a way that isn't leading to disaster. He likes to think.

He's happy about how that particular enactment of Phantom of the Opera is going. The mood is right, they're in tune, they've been harmonizing fine, they haven't botched the subtlety of it, and now all that's left if Christine's last part. And Jayce felt confident enough that day to try.

So he does.

Viktor does what he's supposed to, though he suspects that he'll never find it any easier to avoid laughing when he has to bellow at Jayce to sing for him, and Jayce sings. Viktor circles him. Tugs on him. Listens to him with his heart beating faster and faster until the moment comes and Jayce is looking at him, almost pleading, and Viktor grabs his wrists loosely as Jayce breathes and his voice flows clean.

It doesn't break, he holds it until the music fades, and then he stops and grabs onto Viktor's forearms breathing hard and fast, still staring up at him wide eyed and looking as shocked as Viktor feels.

"You did it," Viktor says, overwhelmed, and Jayce throws his arms around his neck and kisses him.

Viktor holds onto Jayce's waist and kisses back with all he's got, trying to tell him everything he can't quite put into words in a way that doesn't need any. He bites at Jayce's lips until he groans, opening his mouth and licking at Viktor's holding him closer, tugging at his hair. Viktor's heart is beating in his ears and he only breaks the kiss to breathe, refusing to step apart or let Jayce go anyway, feeling Jayce's breath on his chin.

Jayce laughs, dropping his forehead on Viktor's shoulder.

"Fuck you're hot when you sing," Viktor blinks down at Jayce's back, watching his own hands on it in quiet amazement.

"Fuck you're hot always? No, scratch that. Your ego doesn't need to get any bigger."

"Too late," Jayce kisses Viktor's neck lightly and Viktor fidgets. "Stay."

Viktor does.

-x-

Something beeps by Jayce's side and he slaps in its general direction and snuggles into Viktor's side in his bed. The thing keeps on beeping. Viktor groans but doesn't move, so Jayce sighs and sits up.

It's probably way too early to be alive. He looks down at Viktor, sleeping by him, and his stomach does a fun sort of flip that at least makes having woken up worth it. As it turns out, what's beeping is Viktor's phone and Jayce answers it out of spite.

"What," he croaks, and laughter explodes on the other end of the line. Laughter that he recognizes as Vi's. Jayce regrets everything he's ever done, from being born to answering that phone, anticipating what's to come.

"Jaycer! What the fuck!" she's still laughing, gasping for air. Viktor stirs and throws an arm over his lap and Jayce's heart clenches. "I didn't know you were so risqué. Like what if I had been his mom?"

"I would have hanged up, which is what I'm going to do now."

"Oh come on, don't be a stranger. I just wanted to ask my dearest Viktorino how he was feeling about premiering tonight but I'm guessing that the answer's pretty damn good."

She snickers and Jayce rolls his eyes. "Aren't you a riot."

"Jayce, in all seriousness," Jayce does snort, then, because when has Vi ever been serious, and she huffs. "Listen to me. I'm happy for you, okay?"

Viktor mumbles something between his teeth then, sitting up, and Jayce looks at him as he blinks blearily at the wall.

"What time is it," he drawls, and Jayce shrugs. Viktor frowns at him. "Is that my phone?"

Vi's cackling away. This could be the most embarrassing moment of Jayce's whole life, and he acts in musicals for a living.

"It's Vi," Viktor hums, leaning against his side, and Jayce holds his weight with a sigh. For all he knows, Viktor has gone right away to sleep again. "He's out."

"I meant what I said," she says, and Jayce smiles despite himself. Sitting in Viktor's bed, with his weight pressed to his side, holding him as he presumably sleeps, talking to his best friend using Viktor's phone. He feels whole. Satisfied with his life in ways unknown to him until then.

"I know."

Viktor snores, and Vi guffaws loudly in his ear as Jayce tries not to laugh himself.

[aion-rsa]

Star Trek: In Defense of Enterprise’s Worst Episode

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Don’t worry, this isn’t a defense of “These Are The Voyages.”* We’re here today to talk about the other “worst episode of Enterprise,” season two’s “A Night In Sickbay.”

“The episode that killed Star Trek.” “One of the worst episodes of the whole Star Trek franchise.” “Almost as bad as ‘These Are The Voyages.’” These and similar opinions of “A Night In Sickbay” are all over the Internet. The episode frequently appears on “worst episodes of all time” lists alongside “Spock’s Brain” from The Original Series and Star Trek: Voyager’s “Threshold.”

I have no intention of arguing that this is a great or outstanding episode of Star Trek – it’s not. But nor is it anything like as bad as those other two notorious examples. Does anyone turn into a lizard? No. Do any crew members abduct other crew members to have lizard sex with them? No. Does anyone’s brain get taken out and yet their body still, inexplicably, functions? No. It’s about time we went over a few of the more common complaints about this episode, to see if it really deserves its terrible reputation.

Complaint 1: Archer behaves like an idiot, and no trained diplomat should behave the way he does.

The episode’s events are kicked off when Archer takes his dog Porthos down to an alien planet on a sensitive diplomatic mission, and then gets upset when the aliens are insulted because the dog peed on one of their sacred trees, while poor Porthos nearly dies after coming into contact with an alien pathogen.

Viewers have complained that Archer’s behaviour in this episode is childish, that no “trained diplomat” should ever think it was appropriate to bring a dog on a sensitive visit, and that the episode makes the Captain look like an idiot. He spends most of the time railing at the aliens, the Kreetassans, avoiding taking any responsibility for what happened, and suggesting that he might refuse to apologise.

Bringing Porthos may not have been the brightest idea in the world, but it isn’t the act of total idiocy critics have made it out to be either. Archer himself points out repeatedly that they told the Kreetassans he was planning on bringing Porthos, and the Kreetassans said nothing about their sacred trees, plus they endangered Porthos’ life by not running proper checks on his genome. Should Archer have known better than to try to bring the dog with him at all, considering an alien species may not understand the nature of the dog-human relationship? Yes, and T’Pol tells him as much in the episode. Is he completely irredeemably stupid for thinking that he’d taken appropriate precautions and wanting to give his dog some exercise? No.

Archer’s reactions are also aggravated by the fact that the Kreetassans are, to put it mildly, gigantic pains in the backside. In their previous encounter, in the first season episode Vox Sola, the Kreetassans took offense because the Enterprise crew ate in front of them, which they consider vulgar. Except the crew didn’t just turn up to their planet touting takeaway – they were eating in their mess hall on their own ship. You know, the room set aside specifically for eating, an important social activity in Earth culture. The Kreetassans’ reaction is ridiculous and made worse by their reluctance to explain the problem, a reluctance they show again in this episode. Sure, Archer should grow up and get over it, but his frustration, while unprofessional, is very human.

It’s also worth bearing in mind the title of the episode – this takes place over the course of a sleepless night during which Archer is afraid Porthos is dying. He is stressed, emotional, and on edge, and he’s lashing out. By morning (and with Porthos thankfully having survived) he has cooled down and started behaving more appropriately again. And none of Archer’s complaints are actually communicated to the Kreetassans – he’s sounding off to his crew and his colleagues about a frustrating situation. He may not be the world’s best diplomat, but there are real life diplomats guilty of worse offences.

Complaint 2: Archer shouldn’t be whining so much about his dog.

How you feel about this one is going to depend partly on how you feel about dogs, or about pets in general. As a person who has slept in the lounge to watch over and comfort a sick dog, I have every sympathy with how Archer feels. If my dog is sick, you can bet I’m not at my best at work, especially if I’ve also had very little sleep. Archer’s way of explaining this, calling Porthos “my beagle, my pal”, may be a cringe-worthy way to put it, but those of us with “subservient quadrupeds” at home really are very attached to them.

Incidentally, given that Phlox’s bizarre treatment for Porthos involves drowning and reviving him, this episode initiates the dog into the grand tradition of Star Trek episodes that “kill” main characters only to bring them back to life again.

Complaint 3: Archer’s romantic feelings for T’Pol come out of nowhere and aren’t convincing.

While many viewers consider Archer’s romantic feelings for T’Pol in this episode to be a one-off story thread that was never picked up again, this is actually the end of a slight romantic thread between the two of them that started in season one, but largely fizzled out afterwards. Archer’s defence of T’Pol in “Fusion” could be assumed to be no more than a Captain protecting a member of his crew, but as well as several aside glances over the first season, they snuggle up together under a blanket in “The Andorian Incident”; in “Fallen Hero,” Vulcan ambassador V’Lar tells them she sees a “great bond” of “friendship” between them, and in “Shockwave Part 1,” T’Pol tells Archer she has his back. That may not sound like much, but in 90s Trek terms, that was practically a relationship.

The suggestion of an Archer/T’Pol romance would come up once more, in season three’s “Twilight.” Nothing to do with sparkly vampires, this episode had originally been suggested as a romantic storyline between Captain Janeway and First Officer Chakotay on Star Trek: Voyager, a couple who flirted mercilessly for seven years before Chakotay was inexplicably paired with Seven of Nine at the last minute. Re-written for Captain Archer and his First Officer, this episode is often considered one of Enterprise’s best – so it’s not the sexual tension between Archer and T’Pol itself that is the issue with “A Night In Sickbay,” merely the sloppy execution.

The main reason the idea of a romance between the two has such a poor reputation is that the way it’s brought up here feels rather strange, with Phlox insisting Archer’s concern for his dog is actually stress caused by underlying sexual tension, and some very dubious “Polarian slips” (“the breast I can,” really? With poor Jolene Blalock in that catsuit?). It’s true that the dream sequence in which Porthos’ funeral becomes a romantic moment between Archer and T’Pol, followed by yet more sexy “decontamination”, is rather silly, but it is just a dream. No one mated with each other and had lizard babies, and dreams are often weird – it’s not that bad a scene.

But the idea in itself isn’t inherently terrible – T’Pol and Archer do work well together and she is an obviously attractive woman. However, when she calmly tells Archer any kind of relationship would be inappropriate he does the right thing and moves on, and that’s the end of that. It’s a simple story of an attraction at work that isn’t pursued.

Complaint 4: The humor doesn’t work.

Some of the episode’s bad reputation is the result of its attempts at humour. The opening panning shot across Hoshi “decontaminating” T’Pol, who is “decontaminating” Archer, who is “decontaminating” Porthos, is presumably meant to be funny. The problem is, the exploitative “decontamination” scenes are so problematic in general, it just isn’t very funny, but rather makes it seem like the show is trying to sexualize the dog.

Similarly, the daft sequence at the end of the episode, where Archer has to go through a bizarre ritual in order to apologise to the Kreetassans, is a simple case of humour gone wrong. It’s too silly, his hairdo is bizarre, and it makes no sense. But again, no one turns into a lizard, or randomly picks a fight with some cavemen. It’s not great, but it’s hardly the worst Star Trek has to offer.

The main sources of humour in the episode are, of course, Phlox’s various shenanigans overnight in sickbay. He trims his toenails, he brushes his tongue, he and Archer chase a bat around. If you don’t find any of that funny, then sure, you may find the episode grating. Perhaps I just have a terrible sense of humour, but what can I say – I thought it was funny. Judging by this episode’s Hugo nomination, I’m not the only one.

This episode is sometimes accused of having “killed Star Trek” and blamed for Enterprise’s dwindling viewing figures and eventual cancellation. It’s true that it has flaws and it won’t be bothering any “Best Of” lists. But it doesn’t deserve its place on all the ‘Worst Of’ lists either. It’s a good chance to get to know Phlox a bit better, a fascinating and genuinely alien character who didn’t get the spotlight often enough. The interaction between Phlox and Archer here is genuinely fun to watch. It’s light and fluffy and silly, and maybe that’s not your bag, but that doesn’t make it bad. It shows Archer at his worst, at his most childish and petulant, but how can we really get to know any character without seeing them at their lowest? By the end of the episode, he has regained his sense of duty and is fulfilling his role as normal once again. He had a bad night – so do we all, sometimes. It’s about time we cut him, and this episode, some slack.

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*Though if that was a season finale, rather than a series finale, and if it hadn’t killed off a major character, it really wouldn’t be that bad either.

The post Star Trek: In Defense of Enterprise’s Worst Episode appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[imaginationworlds]

Parents Night

Author: @imaginationworlds Requested: Can you do a Tom Holland smut that’s like cute and fluffy? Warning(s): Fluff, implied smut Words: 2,7k A/N: This one sucks especially the writing mistakes and I’m deeply sorry for messing this one up. please don’t be mad at me but midterms are killing me and I promise you that next time I will do better. :( xx

Masterlist//You wanna request something?

“It’s snowing outside!”, the well- known voice of your 2-year-old-toddler that was currently running around the house in a hyperactive manner that couldn’t get stopped even if you would try your best interrupted the talk between your mum that was giving your household a small visit.

The sound of opening cabinets and smashing them shut made you wonder where your husband that was supposed to play with your baby boy upstairs so you can have a quiet and subtle chit-chat with your loved mother that supported you with all her might would hang around. “Wait, Buddy!”, and this is when your question got answered. 

Corbyn recently learned how to walk properly on two healthy legs without the support he begged for not long ago, within the time he discovered how to run up and down with the delighted squeal he always had when we had to rush after him. Snow made him excited for Christmas. Winter always leaves him as an overzealous mess at the end of the day, he would lose it as soon as he would see one snowflake falling from the cloudy sky and as soon another one would settle on the cold ground he would start to scream ‘Santa Claus’ the whole day including the fact that he wants us to build the Christmas tree up. Even in January.

“You are 100% sure you want him to sleep over at your place?”, you pointed towards the hallway where the noise came from and she nodded in response. 

Your mother showed understanding when you told her that you were sexually frustrated at the moment, even though it was an embarrassing confession you had to confess as you asked her if Corbyn can stay a night at your parents' house. She was happy to spend some quality time with her treasured grandson before he would stop visiting her nor be calling her.

“Mummy, can Daddy and I go outside?”, the innocent voice of you son filled your heart with another shot of devotion for your child that was standing in the door frame of the living room with his favourite bobble hat on his head that was decorated with the Spiderman logo. His eyes were sparkling whenever he tried to get his way, he was pouting with his lips and his hands in a prayer motion while he mouthed ‘please’ with his small pink lips serval times. “if Daddy wants to.”, you simply replied.

And with that, he ran up the stairs while shouting ‘dad’ the whole time until he finally found Tom sitting in the bathroom and tried to clean up the chaos his son left behind. You could hear the hysterical screeches of your son from upstairs that was telling his probably already exhausted father to hurry up so they could start a snowball fight.

The day continued with both boys being overwhelmed to feel the icy cold snow between their in contrast moderately hot palms. “I told you that I wasn’t ready!”, Corbyn scowled as Tom threw a perfectly shaped snowball against his smaller chest. “superheroes are never ready, enemies are coming unexpectedly!”, your husband shouted while he formed another snowball before he hid behind one of the semi-tall snow walls they build for the match.

“Why?”, Corbyn was in the current phase of always questioning things whenever you would tell him a story or a random fact- he would start questioning the whole thing until it gets annoying. Tom was willing to answer all these questions his boy would ask before going to tug him into bed. “ Corbyn!”, you huffed when you realised that he started to pause the game purposely, so he as a superior chance to win the fight while he started to form a snowball behind his back as he distracted his father by asking more and more questions. 

“C’mon Buddy, I’m Spiderman!”, Tom exclaimed and immediately crawled out from his hideout; presenting himself on a silver plate while throwing his arms in the cold chilly air. “I think that Captain America is cooler...”,  Corbyn mumbled under his breath with an in the crimson coloured nose as he formed his snowball in front of his chest, his lower lip quivering while he faced the snowed-in ground.

Tom’s helpless glance snapped towards you shortly before your toddler started to break out in hot tears and let his snowball drop as an immediate, running towards you and clamped his short arms around your knee chin- covering his small head into your thigh as he sopped into your thigh, drenching your jeans in big tears while you comforted your weeping son by caressing his soft curls.

Your Husbands impression of seeing his son crying broke his heart into thousand pieces,”He’s just tired, honey.”, you signed in response to the cries that died down beside the small sobs interrupted the silence, his face softens as you picked his smaller version up. Your mum brought a package of tissues as you gently leaned his head against the crook of your neck, slowly rocking him back and forth. 

Tom embraced you two in a hug, pressing a short peck on your cheek and letting his lips rest on his son’s clothed head.

7:47 PM

“What if he can’t sleep without me singing the Spiderman theme song?”, your concern husband whispered loud enough for you to hear it as you packed the little Avenger Backpack that Corbyn got for his 2nd Birthday.

“When are you singing the Spiderman Theme song?”, you snarled with a hint of amusement of your Husband’s consideration that he won’t be with his boy for less than 24 hours. “Always! He totally enjoys it!”, you rolled your eyes in response, hardly doubting the fact that Tom would sing the Spiderman theme song to Corbyn since he is a huge Captain America fan.

Corbyn’s lullaby would be every AC/DC song which pretty much fascinated you real quick whenever you played AC/DC while preparing dinner or watching Iron Man downstairs that’s how you ended up playing the hard rock band whenever your little todd has trouble sleeping.

“Don’t forget the Album.”, Tom reminded you while handing you your son’s the favourite album. You thanked him before stuffing the last piece into the now fully packed rucksack. 

You both walked down the stairs, greeted by your already slumbering son in your mother arms that were wrapped around him securely, his mouth slightly gaped- looking just like his father. “You guys are ready to go?”, Tom asked in a hushed tone as he arrived downstairs with you following behind while carrying the car seat in one hand and the rucksack in the other.

“Yeah, this little pumpkin fell asleep while I got him ready to go.”, she stroked Corbyn’s usual hot cheeks. “Could you help me installing the car seat into my car, Tom?”, your mum asked in a friendly tone before handing you the sleeping todd so she can tie her shoes.

Both of them walked through the door with the car seat while you were fondling with your baby’s curls, pressing your soft lips against his forehead that was slightly wrinkled as he felt something touching him but shook it off and continued his peaceful slumber as you swayed him in one arm- slowly walking towards the starting car where Tom and you mum were waiting for you.

“I’m gonna take him.”, Tom breathed out with a hint of heartache in his voice. You kissed Corbyn good-bye before handing him over to your awaiting husband. “I know that you are the secret member of team Tony Stark, eh?”, you heard him say as you walked to your loved mum that had a smile creeping onto her pink painted lips. “You guys are too appealing for my small heart.”, she welcomed you by stroking your shoulders to comfort you.

You shrugged your shoulders as a response. When your mum met Corbyn for the first time after supporting you with Tom for countless hours in hard and harrowing labour she immediately fell in love with her grandson as soon as he entered the world. Even though Corbyn was the perfect copy of Tom she says he looks exactly like you- character wise.

“That’s my cue to go.”, she pointed with her car keys towards already settled into his car seats but still sound asleep as Tom made his way over to you guys, hands into his pockets. “Please don’t forget about the CD in the backpack, just play and he would be asleep within seconds.”, you said and handed her the bag, giving her a hug as a goodbye.

Tom said his usual ‘goodbye’ by giving her hand a squeeze before embracing her in a short hug while thanking her. Your mum jumped into the car and started the car engine and you both waved goodbye as she backed out of the driveway onto the road, driving into the starry night.

10:29 PM

“Corbyn loves that movie.”, you heard Tom mumble under his breath as he flipped through the channels, trying to find something interesting that could run in the background while he’s doing something useful for work.

You looked up from your script you were currently working on as you realised that he was talking about the movie ‘Finding Dory’. You shook your head at your mourning husband;”Stop acting like you won’t see him for the next years.”, your voice was a little bit harsh.

His head snapped into your direction, a frown of dubiousness plastered onto his face as you thew your laptop off your lap onto the armest of the couch before you crawled over to your lover, straddling his lap while your hands were slightly massaging the tensed up muscles- your faces inches apart.

Lips were aching for each other and eyes were gazing holes into your retina. “I’m glad to call you my other half.”, your heart fluttered in desire as he breathed against your lips. Your hands were creeping up his skilled jaw, feeling some stubbles of freshly shaved skin.

At short notice your lips were crashing together, teeth were clashing together as your hands travelled downtown, his arms were resting under your breasts. A soft moan escaped your throat as soon as he left wet and sloppy kisses under your jaw, down to your throat and stopping on your sensitive neck. 

“It’s been so long.”, Tom groaned before your hands were tanged in his uncommon short hair were the slightest curls were coming back already. His hands were all over your curvy body, touching and squeezing some parts of it. lips never leaving your toned skin.

The hot make-out session continued until you both were without a stitch naked:”So beautiful.”, he worshipped you like you were a goddess. His fingers were caressing your back while his lips latched onto your already erected nipple, bitting it nimbly before licking it as you moaned in agony. Your hands were tugging on the soft roots of his chocolate brown hair before you moaned into his ear, shaky breaths against the earshell.

You slowly rolled your wet core against his throbbing erection, clutching onto his shoulder as a beg for him finally to stop the teasing an finally make love to you for what you’ve been waiting for unknowingly long. “I love you so much.”, he whined as his shafted got slick with all your juices. The only sound in the living room were soft moans and the sound of wetness that was pooling around your legs. 

His mouth wandered over to your exposed neck, sucking another purplish bruise on your tender skin which you have to explain the next morning to your 2-year-old without accidentally enlighten into his parent's sex life. “I want you so bad, darling.”, your walls clenched around nothing as the words were leaving his mouth with a tottering undertone.

The movements stopped, as you carefully tugged on the roots of his messy hair. A smile appeared on your plump sucked lips as you pressed another passionate kiss onto his pink lips while you grabbed his erection and slowly guiding it into your throbbing pussy. Your hands were searching for each other until your booth intertwined them as soon as you started to bounce at a slow and comfortable pace on to his dick. It’s been so long since you guys were this close without anyone interrupting this moment and it was hair-raising His palms were slightly damped but you didn't mind at all, this was the only time you guys could be as loud as you wanted to be and as libidinous.

Your hearts were screaming for each other, your bodies were shaking in pleasure. It was a sensation you guys haven’t felt a while ago something that shouldn’t end too quickly to your liking. “You are doing amazing, Love”, he squeezed your hands while staring at you like some kind of hero that saved his life seconds before his death greeted him, eyes were sparkling with love while drops of sweats were running down his forehead.

Skin slapping against skin as the pace picked up, ragged breaths and low groans were able to be heard.

He shortly squinted his eyes in self-indulgence before letting a low groaned out, his hands slowly tugging itself away from yours before they clutched on the flesh of your butt- guiding you at a faster pace. Your breath picked up, your arms flying up to his shoulders, chest pressed against his’ as whines and moans were running out of your mouth like water.

Clinging to his skin for dear life was a sign for Tom that you were about to reach your climax unnoticed, just like you walls almost squeezing the blood out of his veins. Your moans grew louder with every thrust he set. “Don’t hold back, baby.”, he gritted his perfect white teeth as his hands travelled between your sweaty bodies down to your clit.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, squeezing shot as you tried to let the moment last for a little bit longer but it was too much. For both of you. “Fuck.”, you whined with an unrecognised high pitched voice as your orgasm spread around your stomach, the coil that thinned out left your legs shaking behind and your head falling into the crook of your lover’s neck. Breathing the familiar scent of sweat and perfume in as he kept pushing in and out of your sensitive vagina.

“C’mon, Champ.”, you encouraged your Husband by sucking on his neck and jaw in addition to tug on the roots of his beautiful and damped hair.

These words tipped him over the edge. His moans were higher than ever, his breath was ragged and short before he reached his reach unexpectedly fast. His shaking as he spilled himself inside your warm walls. Nails were digging into the slightly bruised flesh shortly before he showered your shoulder with soft kisses as praises.

His penis started to soften inside you and that's when he lifted you off his chest and laid you down on the couch, grabbing his boxers that were thrown into a various corner of the dim living room before disappearing in one of the guest bathrooms for some seconds before coming back with a damp but lukewarm towel that he would use to clean the mess the he has made up. He settled between his legs, grabbing you by your thighs before dabbing the cloth around your now-sensitive area. Cleaning you carefully up with a small smile creeping up.

“Why are you smiling?”, you asked with a raspy voice. He shrugged his shoulders, actually knowing why he was smiling like a goof. “ You called me Champ instead of Spiderman.”, he giggled

Your cheeks blushed in a deep red as you head your face behind one of the many pillows that were settling on the couch. Groaning in embarrassment. “You ruined the moment.”, you complained with a hint of goofiness hiding in your voice.

The nights ended like several others ended; Both of you watching a movie and being cuddled in a bunch of sheets while enjoying each others company.

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Oh!

Author: ShoysRock

Year: 2011

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Rich/Noel

“Ah!”

“You alright mate?”

“Yeah, yeah...”

Rich grunted, shifting underneath him. Teeth continued to flash into the light as Noel smiled, continuing the assault on his throat. He was surprised that he had gotten this far with him.

Rich was surprised himself.

“God stop teasing you...oh.”

His 'oh' came out like a soft cry, lacking the general laugh in the tone when he spoke 'oh' normally.

“There, happy now?”

“Oh...”

“That's a yes isn't it? Yes, it is Rich. Tell me it is.” Noel huffed, gripping the bear of a man to hold on and thrust. He started slow, pushing in a little deeper each time. He was very tight making it difficult but it was worth it, the sensations.

“Yes, yes! Noel, its great, j-just great.”

His voice cracked, losing some control already. Noel's warm lithe body curled around his back, bent with him. The light smack of his hips meeting backside in rhythm.

I can't believe it. I just can't. And he's really good too.

“God Rich...jeez...!” The younger man's hot mouth was wet, slick from brutal snogging and cock sucking. “Shoulda boned you ages ago...”

“You were with Julian at the time you big slut. When I was more...ah...younger...”

Rich was also surprised it took this long for him to cave in for his desires. Desires for this little fairy-man.

As well as the fairy-man desiring him. It only made him harder.

“You've gotten...mmmm!” His voice was low but the noises were high. Bony hands ran and groped around his belly, his arms, his chest, gracing his neck. Rich was loving it.

“Its cu...cute!”

“What's c-cute?”

“You sound like a girl-l.”

Noel thrust harder, grunting now trying to stifle his moans once Rich was breathlessly laughing.

“You're ruining the mood you naughty wanker.”

“Can't help being a funny guy.”

He didn't respond to that, his mouth open to speak but the lips snarled and he flexed, a pure pang of pleasure through him once Rich reached around, an arm round Noel's neck twisting him further against him. Noel continued to thrust and nearly lost his cool once he was held so possessively. Just Rich's touch, twisting them both into this entwined spooning position was getting him off. Showing how much they wanted this, for so long.

Thicklips tried to reach Noels fluttering eyelids but he couldn't stretch that far, so Noel did it for him. He leaned in for the kiss and was ableto properly swing his bowed leg over, hooking it under the other man's thighs to gain leverage. Their tongues were entwining...a bit sloppier, seeing their concentration was slipping away like a stream through a gully. Slobber everywhere on their chins once Noel's eyes shut and he keened again, nuzzling his head into Fulcher's neck. Rich's head fell back to its side as he breathed and groaned. Louder. And louder.

“Noel...Noel...that's just g-great...great...right there...right...”

“Uhhn...” His speed quickened and his words no more. Girlish churrs and breathy, near-effeminate rolled noises came from the back of Noel's throat. The Fielding's eyes shut and, gritting his teeth, gripped his bedtime lover tightly to thrust and fulfill their desired ends.

Rich's hand once free from embracing Noel crept down to his aching sex. Shuddering he winced and muffled a whimper into the pillow once he began to stroke. It made it feel so much better, he thought. But his hand wasreplaced by the other.

“Don't cum well yet.” Darkly mumbling he sighed and slipped out to recover. He'd been eying his dick for a while now. Wanting to know what it tasted like. So he went to find out. He crawled over him monkey-like, bent over Rich's hips to reach and lick. Not even bothering to go slow in their desperation he sucked it in to play around, gripping it as his mouth went to work.

“Jesus, Noel!” Rich jerked and groaned from Noel's hot mouth on him. Panting he looked down, watching in the dim light as Noel sucked and bobbed like a slurpy hot mess what with the noise. The moans in his throat vibrated as a hum. Bucking slightly Rich sucked in his breath once Noel took the whole cock in his mouth. Glancing to the left he saw over his body Noel's arm working, no doubt getting himself off. There were two sets of wet fappings noises from saliva and lube now.

“Mpmmrgh, mmmpfh...umphf.”

“Come on then,” Rich yanked the arm, dragging Noel over to his side, “I wanna see how YOU like it up the ass.”

“Mmphff! Urrmpghff...I almost bit you!” With a pop he spat out the cock once he was completely vaulted over. With a gasp he sat up in this near-69 position while Rich smiled in lust, hands all over and grabbing the discarded pop-cap of lube to his pillow. Sucking his thick finger he pried open Noel's thighs and got to work, circling Noel's puckered hole. His frustrated red face melted away once he moaned and shut his eyes. Rich was pleased to watch the raven-head flop back on the covers with a gasp uttered from those lips. “...oh.”

Now he could pay attention to the beautiful boy's body. His sublime legs and pale peach thighs he grasped and felt. The dusting of hair all over and around his perfect tummy. The line from button to cock which bobbed around in its grace. He would have leaned in to venture a lick but it was still slick with the smack taste of lube, so he settled for a hand hold. It was longer than his and it hardened back to life once he fisted it fast and quick. Stomach twisting he moaned himself with Noel, just simply hearing those sympathetic pleasure-sounds and watching the hips jerk and undulate like water from the hand job was enough to arouse him.

“Ah! Oh...that's...Please...”

Rich continued, spurred by his whimpers. His finger probed and circled, letting it twitch under his fingers. Spitting again he slipped it in. The dark-haired man was losing his dominant streak once he started to tremble and let loose low, yet high moans. Grinning Rich's fingers pushed in, in and out of the tight unrelenting hole.

“Please what?” Man am I enjoying this...! He squealed in his head. He's trembling, the little bugger.

“C-come on deeper, you've almost eeeEEE!”

“Mmm? Oh...ohoho...” Now Rich couldn't contain that little pleased laugh. His fingers curled in and found Noel's prostrate. Now the bugger was really squealing.

“You've done this before?”

“Y-yeah but this is...d-di...diff...”

Different? “Is it because its me?”

“Yeah,” Noel blushed. “Yeah, you...”

The last 'ou' melted to a moan. Noel felt like a pillow princess, nuzzling his head into the sheet as Rich's virgin fingers explored and tried to figure out what exactly to do. In the ensuing minute or two he found is he twisted and curled one way Noel would squeal and grip something, clenching the sheets or now just holding unto Rich's own body for dear life. If he did it that way he could slip in two, and this way made the petal jitter and make an 'ack!' sound.

Of course, Noel soon realized he shouldn't be the only one enjoying this. His lover's cock was hot and throbbing near his eyelashes and his mouth felt empty. Noel nuzzled his way over and, resting his up-spread leg over Fulcher's sides stuffed his mouth again. The effect was immediate, Rich pausing his finger fucking to exhale and exclaim his usual 'oh!' again. Noel lazily working him in and ou of his mouth, bobbing head and gullet, moaning and enjoying everything. Rich's fingers were thrusting faster, faster and faster, but he had another trick up his sleeve.

“...mphfFFF!”

Tongue darted inside, licking around and round. Noel squealed around Rich's girth, shut eyes open. No one had ever really...rimmed him before, and considering the sloppy enthusiastic sounds Rich was making moaning and tonguing him fiercely it seemed Rich rather liked doing this sort of thing. Noel wondered if he was liking it, too, but the throbbing increased and the sensations more sensitive, ticklish, and giving him pangs of pleasure. He was enjoying it, then.

It was a rather interesting 69 position. Wetness and warmth drawing one in and slippery thrusts and pushing fingers squealing the other. Noel was certainly arousing, fascinating and delightful moaning and sucking like this, at his mercy. But he wanted to do more. Shoving Noel over to lay on his back he grunted, crawling over on top of him. With a hungry smirk he mounted him up, legs pushed up and his wet dick pressing against the prepared hole. Noel looked in a haze with lost eyes opening and shutting, moaning softly. Reactions were sluggish, murmuring 'What...are you doing...' but, he knew what he was doing. The hitch in his breath betrayed the pleasure he felt that Rich was switching on him.

“Wanted to do this for a long time Noely,” Fulcher exclaimed as he angled himself in. Slowly and surely he pushed and slicked deep inside. Noely adjusted and groaned, whimpering a little to take it, huffing his breath and chewing his fingers.

“Why do you always do that Noel?” Husked Rich, thrusting.

“Do what?”

“Suck your thumb. What do you want a cock or something whenever you're bored?”

“Sometimes I...imagine its lips.”

“Mmm...” Rich moaned with him, panting and closing the space between their undulating bodies in a sweaty embrace. “Maybe mine?”

“Maybe...if you keep ah...! doing that yes...!”

Rich's smile continued while Noel's faded into a limp shape, his head thrown back. His long black hair was a mess around him as he bucked once, twice, and dug his shaking legs as much as he could around the rotund form of his lover.

“Y...yes...yes...ah...nnn...”

“I love it when you whimper. You look heavenly, sweet pea. Dumpling. God...” Rich fucked him harder, eager to watch Noel's face keep moving, keep expressing, keep emoting the touch of sex that was driving his young androgynous friend into this moaning, dripping frenzy.

“R-Rich,” He cried, “R-Riiiich!”

He couldn't resist touching him. Hands roamed the pale leaner body. Noel's hands stopped wrinkling the sheets to grasp, touch and slide his hands on the warm tan of Rich's shoulders, arms and chest. Touch and sensation fueled the passion that was happening between them. With them. Friction. Hot sweat. Steam. Heat.

Shuddering Noel came, making a yowling whimper as he spurted. It was sooner than Rich had expected, but he could say the same thing to himself. The clenching of his lover's muscles round him tightened, viced him to spasm with him. Their breath was shared hot across their faces fanning like flames. Rich's wet face collapsed on the chest underneath. His breath sputtered as he spilled inside, not minding the spunk lubricated between belly to belly. Their hearts raced and minds at a pulsing bliss as they lumped, shaking, spreading for the pleasure fading back.

All was still save for their slowing hearts. Noel uncoiled from the warmth and nuzzled back in, kissing swollen lips to life. Like two beached lumps, a lanky cat and a loaf of bread they flopped over in each others arms wet with fluids. The loaf of bread hoped Noel wouldn't regret it in the morning, having this sort of...encounter, after all these years. While the cat, stretching and yawning into the breaded coils of Fulcher pumpernickel did not regret it; he only worried how weird their humor relationship was going to be now.

There were no more words. Rich cuddled back as much as he could in their exhaustion. Noel's face had nestled in in what could only be described as, well, cute to Rich's eyes. Soon however he fell asleep, snoring much to the interruption of Noel's bliss. Laughing quietly he yanked the covers over them and went back in, sighing and eventually sleeping as well even with Rich's infamous sleep-apnea.

Well. Noel thought, finally drifting into their wet dreams. This means something, doesn't it?

Whatever. I'll wait till tomorrow.

I'm sure the fans won't notice something different between us, will they?

[memswrites]

Aftercare

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs Pairing: Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya Rating: Gen.  Warnings: None

Summary:  Dazai's always there to bring him back, and there in the days after, too, when Chuuya needs him just a little more.

Read on AO3

Entry for @soukokuweek 2017, Day Two - “That’s what being a partner means, right?” 

The apartment is still, almost too quiet for the middle of a weekday. Dazai has kicked everyone out – all the visitors and well-wishers, every person with curious, prying eyes and pressing questions, too. The only person he hasn’t is Kouyou, but there’s no kicking Kouyou out of anywhere and she’s left on her own already; she simply knows when space is needed.

And Dazai needs it, badly.

He leaves the living room, littered with cards and slowly browning flowers, bags of get well soon gifts and other bullshit that’ll probably end up in the trash, to head tiredly to the kitchen. There’s scotch in the cabinet with his name on it, fresh ice in the freezer and he pulls out a glass and fills it full with both. He sighs as he does, long, drawn out, too weary for someone that hasn’t cleared seventeen yet and while he’s got his mind on Kouyou and how maybe, perhaps, he could have done with her in his space after all right now, she likely wouldn’t approve of his methods of coping.

Regardless of his ill-timed regrets, he’s got his scotch, anyway, and the burn of it down his throat when he tosses it back is welcome. Dazai hasn’t been able to feel much of anything but a general, encompassing numbness since that night, and as feeling slowly ebbs on in, he can’t help the desire to chase it all away again with more burning alcohol, and feel a little less human than his mind and body are trying to make him.  

It’s not the first time that they’ve done this, but each time he has hopes it’s the last time, as unlikely as that is. They still don’t have a decent handle on Corruption – no clue how long Chuuya can actually last while in it, no real idea what it even is, though Dazai has some guesses and none of them are particularly pleasant. It doesn’t really matter they’re inexperienced with the whole thing, and the fact that they can’t safely toy around with it is part of the reason Chuuya’s knocked out in his bedroom, pumped full of painkillers, practically dead to the world.

They’re tools. They’ve always been tools. Dazai doesn’t fool himself into thinking that they’re anything more to Mori; he lost that childlike ideation years ago and Mori’s never done much to prove him wrong. Perhaps to the others… yes… there’s something more there with the others, like Kouyou and old Hirotsu, and even little rabid Ryuu-kun, but the others aren’t the Boss, and what the Boss wants the Boss gets – nice little demonstration of his prized Double Black.

You could have said no. That we weren’t ready. You’re his partner, you know that better than anyone else –

Dazai shakes his head. You know better than that though, don’t you? He’d have told Mori no, if he thought it have done any good, but he knows Mori and knows sooner or later, he’d have gotten what he wanted, anyway. Mori hadn’t gotten the chance to see Corruption up close, after all, and it’s always been a fascination among the Mafia since he and Chuuya discovered it as children. Whatever other methods Mori would have used outside of a polite request would have been less than pleasant for either of them or anyone else involved. It’s as inevitable as the next drink Dazai slings back, and the second, and as unavoidable as Dazai passing out on the couch that evening.

Some partner you are.

The first thing Dazai does when he wakes up in the morning is trek to his bedroom, wobbling with a sloshing, unhappy stomach. His head feels like Kaiji exploded a truck load of lemons over it, and he can’t exactly see straight yet, but he knows his own apartment, damnit –

“Ouch, shit –!”

…except for when he stubs his toe on the door jam leading into his bedroom, it seems.

Chuuya’s still there, in his room, still in the same position on his back in the middle of his bed, arms folded atop the two layers of comforter that Dazai and Kouyou tucked him into the night before. There’s bags beneath his eyes that don’t belong there; even sleeping he looks tired, and the corners of his mouth sag down in a frown. His hair fans out over the pillows, and the vision is almost picture-book, strawberries and cream, until Dazai reaches out and runs his fingers through the sweat-greased tresses that haven’t been washed out in days.

Ahh… He’ll love that when he wakes up.

But he’s not awake yet. His chest rises and falls steady in his narcotics-induced sleep. Chuuya snores like an old man, something Dazai’s always expressed as an annoyance while finding it mildly endearing.

If he lingers any longer, he knows that he’ll start to think a little too hard on everything. So, he leaves Chuuya in his bed, giving a small little pat to his forehead, and decides to do something constructive on his day off.

The apartment is a mess, between what others brought over for Chuuya and his own mildly chaotic system. It’s a surprise to many to learn Dazai is the one that likes to live in organized chaos and not Chuuya, but Dazai knows if Chuuya wakes up to a mess after having been pushed through Corruption, a mild hospital wing stay, and no shower for days, it’ll only heat his already hot-headed mood. It doesn’t usually bother him; Chuuya’s frustrations with his sloppy living are usually amusing and really, does he care if Chuuya’s a gross, unshowered mess? Not really, not on a normal day, but it’s not a normal day and he recognizes it’s one of a few of the least things he can do at the moment, because Chuuya will care. He’s able to bring Chuuya back, after all, not fix the aftermath and that’s honestly the most annoying of the failings of his ability.

No point griping over things you can’t change.

He gathers the bags and the cards, scattered about the living room, as well as the flowers, and brings them to his bedroom. Flowers arranged on the nightstand, bags of gifts over by the window, out of the way. Cards to the nightstand, too, after he thinks about it, and then he sets to straightening the rest of the apartment.

It’s a distraction, mostly. A purposeful distraction but one nevertheless. It keeps him from looking at the clock every few minutes and instead only every hour or so, trying to gauge if Chuuya’s slept a little too long or if he can afford to let Chuuya sleep longer. Eventually it gets late enough and it’s been long enough since his last meal that he thinks it’s time to fix something to eat – and by fix, he preps instant noodles and dresses them up a little better than the packet of powder seasoning that comes with the noodles will do.

They’re good enough, for the moment. Chuuya will need more than instant noodles or… He looks through his cabinets and there’s bread that’s not too hard to make sandwiches with, and about a spoonful of peanut butter in the bottom of his peanut butter jar… rice… more rice…

He sighs. He hates cooking, and doesn’t do it very well on his own, either, but he drags his ass out after finishing up his noodles to see if he can bring back something decent for when Chuuya wakes up.

Dazai pulls a recipe from online, and has Kouyou on the phone.

“…and that’s boiled now, Dazai-kun?”

“Yes, Kouyou-san.”

“Whisk in the miso paste then.”

He does, keeping his phone propped between his shoulder and ear. He’s never made miso soup, but the simplest of recipes seemed easy enough to make. He calls Kouyou merely for a second opinion – he’s an Executive, and therefore definitely self-sufficient, after all.

“Ah, got that. Then –”

“The onions, tofu, mix those in too.”

“…alright. I think it’s all done –”

“What is?”

Dazai isn’t often taken by surprise, but he doesn’t hear Chuuya leave the room and looks over his shoulder a little wide-eyed when Chuuya speaks. Chuuya doesn’t look much better, if he’s honest, even with the twenty-six going on twenty-seven hours of sleep. If Dazai didn’t know better he’d have been steam-rolled, but that’s entirely beside the point. He stares at Chuuya, who glares tiredly back at him, before slowly approaching with stiff steps on legs that peek out under the oversized shirt Dazai put him in, with the intention being that sleeping in his shirt and boxers would be a little more comfortable than sleeping in his works clothes and harness.

Chuuya peeks into the pot of miso boiling on the stove. He sniffs at it, and Dazai’s pleased he doesn’t seem by put-off by the scent. Chuuya gives it a curious stir as Kouyou tries to get Dazai’s attention again on the other end.

“Is that him? He’s awake? Dazai-kun?”

“Hm? Ah, yes, Kouyou-san, he’s awake.”

“…how does he look?”

Like he needs another twenty-four hours of sleep. Like he’s going to topple over any second now. Like he needs to never do another damn thing Mori says again –

“Better.”

Kouyou sighs, a tired sort of relief in her voice.

“I’ll let you go, Dazai-kun. I’ll call later and check on him. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kouyou-san.”

The line goes quiet and Dazai hangs up. Meanwhile, Chuuya’s still stirring, almost listlessly, watching the tofu and onion swirl around in the miso broth.

“Doing that won’t make it taste any better,” Dazai says after a moment. Chuuya doesn’t have to look at him for Dazai to know that he’s rolled his eyes.

“I can’t believe you cooked.” Chuuya’s voice sounds raw, like he’s speaking through a sore throat. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”

“As if I’d kill you in such a lackluster manner.”

“Heh. Funny.”

It’s not, not really, but they lapse into a silence and it’s not too uncomfortable.

“Seriously, I can’t believe you cooked. You never cook.”

“I cook.”

“Tch. Instant noodles doesn’t count. No, you don’t.” He pauses. And Dazai counts down the seconds to the inevitable question. “It was bad this time, wasn’t it? How long have I been out?”

Dazai shifts against the counter, idly playing with a loose string from one of his bandages.

“Since coming out of it, or since being here?”

“What do you think?”

“That you’re hungry, which is why you’re so annoyed.”

That’s not the case, but Chuuya doesn’t argue with him about it as Dazai pulls down a bowl. Dazai spoons it full of miso, salts and peppers and plops a spoon into it before sliding it across the counter over to Chuuya. Chuuya merely stares down at it, and then around the apartment. One of his brows raise as he does, and Dazai has the urge to slide his fingers through Chuuya’s messy, greasy hair if only to distract him.

The food does that for him, though. Chuuya takes a spoonful, and then another. He coughs, once, and Dazai realizes he was maybe a little heavy handed on the pepper.

At least it’s not killing him….

Chuuya’s tired blues scan the apartment while he eats, and it’s only a few more quite spoonfuls that he eats before he’s talking again.  

“You cleaned, too.”

“How uncommonly observant.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

Trying not to.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like shit, Dazai. Drugged shit.”

“Fun.”

“Not really.”

Dazai doesn’t have anything else to say to that, and Chuuya goes back to eating. Dazai lets him, and watches how Chuuya shovels his bites into his mouth. His hand shakes, spills a little, but he doesn’t hover too bad, only goes to grab a paper towel and hand it over to Chuuya to clean up for himself. After another few bites, Chuuya speaks again.

“Has he at least satisfied with what he saw?” Chuuya doesn’t have to say who he is.

“He said we were above and beyond expectation.”

“Well, great I guess.”

“I told him it wasn’t going to happen again.”

Chuuya pauses his bite, and looks over at Dazai. The bags that were there while he was sleeping still hang under his eyes, somehow more than they had before. Last time they had gone through with Corruption, it had been out of necessity, and it hadn’t left Chuuya looking so weary. What a waste of the ability, doing it for show, letting it drag out the way it had.

Dazai can tell that Chuuya’s not particularly convinced by his assertion, though he supposes that’s fine; he’s not convinced that Mori took it to heart, either, and can see it in the shrug that Chuuya gives before he goes back to his soup.

“You’re going to unravel those if you keep picking at them, you useless mummy.”

Dazai hadn’t realized he was still picking at his bandages, but stops and shakes his head.

“Come on. Finish up.”

“Why the hurry?” Chuuya grumbles out.

“I need a bath and you might as well take one with me, too.”

Dazai preps the bath while Chuuya finishes eating. Nothing fancy, but it’s warm and bubbly with a bit of liquid soap poured in while it was filling. Dazai strips, out of clothes and bandages and piles them out of the way on top of toilet. When he sinks into the water, he sighs, leans his head back, and waits for Chuuya.

I told him it wasn’t going to happen again.

There’s a number of ways he could make it happen, and if he thinks enough on it, a handful of those ways he could do and get away with, without getting himself into too much trouble. It’s less himself in trouble and more Chuuya, though. Mori likes using him as leverage, sometimes. Mori likes using a lot of things as leverage. It didn’t used to work… there was a point where he didn’t have a lot to care about, but now it seemed there was a lot – comparatively speaking.

I’ll tell him it’s not something that can be controlled right now, even with No Longer Human. He wouldn’t risk Chuuya like that… Chuuya’s too powerful and useful in the long run he needs him more than he needs –

“Are you trying to drown?”

Dazai opens his eyes and looks over. Chuuya’s already out of his clothes and has two towels bundled in his arms. For the first time that evening, Dazai smiles, a little.

“That wouldn’t be very pleasant, would it?”

“Don’t know; never tried to drown.”

“It’s not very fun.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, but there’s a tug of a smirk of his own at the corner of his lips. Chuuya walks in, still wobbly even if he tries hard not to be. He sets the towels aside and lowers himself gingerly into the bath in front of Dazai, back to chest. Dazai reaches out to help him, splaying his fingers along Chuuya’s back while his other hand takes Chuuya by the wrist to steady him.

They don’t say anything while Dazai washes him. He soaps up a sponge with the same liquid soap he’d used for the bubbles in their bath, drags it and suds along Chuuya’s scarred, bruised back. He’s gentle with it, at least, while Chuuya sits and slowly his hands ease out the tension in the way Chuuya sits, until he’s slumped forward a little. He mutters something, as Dazai brings his hands up and over his shoulders.

“Hm?”

Chuuya doesn’t respond immediately, but Dazai just keeps washing him until he does.

“I said thank you,” Chuuya says, louder this time. “For the soup. For this.” Then, quieter again – “Mori’s a shit-head, you know?”

Dazai pauses at the wavering in Chuuya’s voice, used to Chuuya being free with his emotions though never quick to tears. It’s unsettling. Angering. But he knows Chuuya won’t want to be coddled even if he’s appreciative of… this. He’s always been appreciative of this, after rough missions.

His arms wrap around Chuuya, holding him about his waist while he settles his chin on Chuuya’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”

[inkinthemoonlight]

human (read tags please, loves!!!!!!!)

I say I'm not human,

but I am

I'm dirty, I'm messy, I'm sloppy,

and it's okay

because I'm human.

humans aren't perfect.

humans aren't always nice.

humans aren't always able to withstand such scathing comments,

even from themseves.

I say I'm fine

and I'm not fine

I say I'm bad

and I'm not bad

I say I'm doing good

when I'm not doing good

because maybe if I lie

things will change.

they won't.

lying gets you nowhere

most of the time.

but when you lie to yourself

it causes you to break down

and hate

and feel bad

so, so bad

and it sometimes hurts so, so good

to feel really bad

after flying for too long

but like she said

you can't hide from the thunder

in a sky full of song.

sometimes,

the thunder is good.

it rattles you,

shakes you to your core,

makes you feel alive

and happy

and worth something

and like everything's alright in this moment.

and sometimes

it's just a little too loud

and it scares your mind awake

and jolts you upright

and it's so, so unforgivingly loud

and it's booming

and mad and angry and frustrated with you

and it's scary

and bad and so so angry and dark

and you stop breathing for a few moments

because oh my gods, it's gonna get me

and it's terrible and it hurts

and the rumble goes right through you

startling your heart in your chest

and making you shake so badly

you start to cry

and other times

it's a fading call to adventure in the distance.

but the second kind of thunder

is what I feel right now

and it's aching

burning

unpleasant

upsetting

and I don't like it.

and I'm so, so detached from reality right now

I'm dizzy

and my head feels light.

and I need to start waking up

because all this is happening to me and I'm in a daze

and I need to start remembering

that this is all real

just because it's not a cut

or a bruise

doesn't mean it can't hurt

and oh my gods, what else have I been ignoring?

I'm human

I'm human

I'm human

I'm human

I'm human.

oh my gods

I'm human

and I'm spiraling downward faster now

because I'm so full of stress

and my chest is tight with anxiety

and I don't want to be here right now

but anywhere else seems terrible and terrifying

and,

gods

why can't I just wake up and realize I'm still human?

after all this,

after all I've been through,

I'm still human.

I'm a monster and an animal and a cryptid and I'm human, too, most importantly of all

and I think we all take that for granted

because a lot of us out there

are fighting for our lives

and the rest of us are turning a blind eye

and oh my gods I'm human what's happening what's happening what's happening

I need to stop

stop

stop

stop

stop

but just keep goinand going and going and going

and I'm so self-destructive sometimes

even though I'm healed

but I guess I'm not totally healed

am I

yeah

I'm still healing

and it's okay

to still be healing

because I'm human

you're human

we're all human.

and that's amazing.

I often say I'm not human,

but I am.

I'm filthy,

and self-destructive,

and mean,

and soft,

and cruel,

and sweet,

and harsh,

and sharp-tongued,

and compassionate,

I'm a little bit of everything human all at once,

and I like that.

I'm amazing.

you're amazing.

we're all amazing.

and I may be anxious right now

but I won't be an hour from now

I may not even be in a few minutes here

while I get this all off my chest

because I think it's all been buried there

for quite a while now

just waiting for me to realize it

and just waiting for me to realize its potential

and wow, I'm really not okay

I'm broke and battered and angry and bitter and non-responsive and I just clock out sometimes and ignore people and leave them behind when things get bad

and I'm insecure and not myself and myself at the same time

and I'm petty and mean and needlessly cruel sometimes

and I don't know how to help myself or save myself and yeah I know I need therapy but who can afford that right now?

not my parents

not me

nobody

and so I'm left here with my words trying to sort it all out

and is it hard?

yeah

yeah, it's hard

and y'know I thought I was swearing just for fun

but turns out it's still my coping mechanism

and I still have to watch out for that, even now,

now that I've left around a decade of trauma behind

I still have tp be careful

and gentle with myself

and watch what I say

and watch what I do

and be aware that I'm not always aware

and know that I love myself so, so much

and whatever happens

I'll always be by my side

letting the waves of life and human time roll over me

and oh gods time can be scary

but only man falls victim to his own system

because time isn't real

it's all just you, me, and the expanse of the universe,

and we're not alone

we're never alone

unless we want to be

and wow, yeah, I'm really, really not okay

because I'm still terrified of everything

terrified

obsessive, in fact

in so many ways

that I need to help

and heal

with time and love and a whole lot of effort

and this is what I've been missing for the past year, isn't it?

I'm not okay, and it's not just playing a song over an cover again that's gonna fix that

when echoes of depression still haunt me

when the whippers of anxiety still get to me

when my own voice terrifies me

I'll know why

and I'll own it right now

as my heart flutters and pounds with the fear and worry and everything

because I'm human.

and yeah,

thanks to years of built-up trauma,

I still have trouble being and feeling human

because for the longest time I never wanted to be real

but I want to be real now

and I am, and always have been, real.

and it feels good.

it feels so, so good to finally admit that.

he believes in so many things

so I know he believes in me too.

and yeah

I might fail to react to seriously hurting myself

or bumping into another doorknob

or a death

or a love

or a funny thing

but these things take time to learn and relearn and heal.

I'll nurse these aching bones and this aching heart and this tired mind until they're better, end of story.

and yeah

I might struggle to feel emotions sometimes

but that's just because I'm convincing myself

that I'm too broken again

when I've already demonstrated

the fact that I can cry

and laugh

and scream

and talk

all at the same time

because emotions tend to work in some strange fascinating way for me

and that's okay

and that's good

and that's fantastic

and yeah,

I'll mess up along the way

I'll make mistakes

I'll make some people angry

and disappointed

and I'll makemusef angry

and disappointed

because I thought I was over this

but I think

somewhere

deep down

I knew it wasn't true

I knew I wasn't

and that's okay

because despite all the lies in my head

that I've told to myself in hopes of fixing the problem

I can still laugh.

I can still cry.

I can still blush.

I can still scream.

and yell.

and hit things.

and fight.

and sink into my bed at night and wonder when it all will get better.

and the answer is soon this time.

soon because I'm actively working to feel human for the first time in my life. soon because I know I'll be able to do it. soon because I know I have enough determination to lay this journey. soon because I'll know myself. soon because I'm here, right now, typing this and feeling alive and scared and worried and anxious and terrible and okay all at the same time. soon because I matter to me, and that's all I want.

I am human.