#what he's done can never be undone. and he is certainly (at least partially) to blame.

[orcelito]

Giving myself emotions bc

This song is so painfully an akechi song. POV is a bit more disputable. Maybe a less forgiving Akira, maybe an omniscient third party,

Or MAYBE. Akechi himself.

It's a big ow when you think about it from that pov

[tsbikersau]

Christmas Special

Hi folks! this one is a bit different from the other ones. I feel like you deserve a heads up as to what you’re about to read: the first half is crack-like, if not crack in the best way possible (it was really fun to write and i hope it will be as fun to read). The second half is much, much softer (and shippier), so please, do get through the not-so-serious bit!

This is in the canon world but you may take it as a “what if” or just a parralell universe, or something that can happen in the future. This is NOT connected to what’s happening next in the main storyline at this point.

For everyone who celebrates Christmas, have fun celebrating, don’t eat too much and if you do, don’t feel bad about it, it’s Christmas, if not now then when?

For anyone who doesn’t but still gets to have a break, really do take at least a full one day off to relax and reload batteries. It won’t hurt if you give yourself just that one day, I promise.

For everyone reading, I hope you’ll like it!

Oh, and it’s a slight swearing warning for this one!

Word count: 1810

Craaaaaaash

Okay, that was more than enough, Logan thought as he stood up with enough force to shake the desk if he happened to hit it – which, fortunately for all the papers that were scattered on it, he did not – and walked to the door only to open it equally as abruptly.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

He knew that there were people doing things in his garage, of course he did, there always were people doing things in his garage while on the clock, after all, it was their job which they were getting paid for. What they didn’t get paid for was destroying the living shit out of the whole working space.

Logan didn’t know what to focus on first. Patton was standing over a pile of spare parts that was probably the source of the loud noise, Logan deduced, as Patton was looking extremely guilty upon seeing his boss in the door, and started smiling apologetically.

Looking a bit further away, Remus was cackling because whatever he was trying to help Patton built just came undone and for some reason he found that hilarious – Logan grew concerned at the sound of said cackling, to the point of wondering if the noise that finally alarmed him wasn’t by change the man itself.

At the other corned there was Virgil crouching on a table, with his phone in his hand. Why did he have to be up there to record whatever was happening, Logan had no idea, and frankly, he was so used to the oddities of his fellow mechanics that he might have as well let this one slide.

As soon as he noticed that the phone is not directed at the pair opposite to him but slightly to the side, his eyes followed suit and he saw Roman on a stool, trying to put a star on top of a tree that was way too big for the small space it got crammed into (when did he even manage to bring this thing to the garage?), the racer just barely keeping his balance. So the question why Virgil was even recording got answered.

“What the HELL is going on here”, Logan finally found his voice and yes, that was the question that was the most important. He threw a look that clearly transferred the message of ‘clean this up’ at Patton and the pile, which finally made the man move, maybe a bit too quickly because he stumbled on one of the parts and had to be caught by Remus in order not to fall and slice his face open, to which Virgil’s instinct turned on the “action mode”, and he was right beside the pair in no more than two seconds.

The fact that he, too, in his haze stumbled on his own feet didn’t go unnoticed, but he caught himself without help and was soon asking Patton if he was alright.

Seeing all of that unfold in just a few seconds, Logan started moving from the doorway to stand beside Roman in case he was the next one to stumble. He didn’t think about that too much, acting on instinct for once in his life.

Lo and behold, Roman got startled when he glanced over to check if everyone’s still alive and saw Logan right there, causing him to wobble on the unsteady stool and fall right into Logan’s arms.

The impact came unexpectedly and made them both tumble to the ground after a quick second when both of them thought Logan would be able to keep them upright (which he certainly could have, he just wasn’t ready for the momentum to be this strong).

(Roman would be very impressed and very flustered, so while a part of him was wailing because of the embarrassing situation and the fact that his ego got bruises too, a small part of him was glad that at least he wasn’t blushing like crazy staring up at the nerd from his arms).

They both got up from the ground, groaning, accompanied by the very same inhumane cackle from before, to which Roman answered with a middle finger as soon as he finished dusting himself off.

“Can somebody, please, explain to me what is happening?” Logan asked once again, scanning the room once more as well, noticing more Christmas decorations on the walls and stopping to give each of the men in the room a few seconds of his unfiltered stern look.

“Christmas is coming!”, came the answer from Patton, though he soon regretted bringing the attention to himself as Logan focused his eyes on him. “So… We thought… We could decorate a bit?”. He moved his hand to adjust his collar and glasses, realising that it might not have been the greatest idea.

“In the garage?”. Logan raised his brow, voice steady.

A nod.

“With all of the materials scattered everywhere?”

Another nod, more unsure. The rest of their little group starting to grow concerned of how calmly Logan was taking it.

He just took a deep breath and sighed, pinching his nose.

“Just clean this mess up”, he motioned to whatever was meant to be done from all those metal that still laid on the floor, “and you can focus on that tree since it’s already there”, he added, knowing that if they had a star, they must have had other decorations as well.

Patton squealed and jumped to give Logan a quick hug before he could really change his mind.

Virgil was smiling slightly as he bent down to start cleaning up, seeing as Patton got immediately pulled to the tree, forgetting of the first request Logan made. He didn’t really mind that.

“Thanks, Lo”, he heard right next to him, looking at the racer for a second before asking him to not let Patton try and get the highest branches and leaving for his office once more, this time hoping for no such disruptions.

***

It was after a few hours, when Logan had heard them say goodbye and the space behind his door grow more and more quiet with each bout of time when he finally finished all that his position required him to do. He was finally free to close up and rest.

He stretched before standing up, fingers rubbing at his eye under his glasses as he made sure everything was turned off and got ready to leave. Long hours in front of the computer were never the softest on his eyes, but it was nothing he couldn’t manage.

The main lights in the garage were off, but the strings of Christmas lights his mechanics used to line the walls were strong enough to cast everything in a moderately strong glow, while also making the place look quite cosy.

He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the tree, somehow organised in its disarray.

“Oh, you’re still here?”, a voice said suddenly, startling Logan a bit before the figure of the star racer came into view. “You shouldn’t work so late”.

“There is nothing I can do about that”, he answered simply, watching the other walk towards him before stopping at his side, turned so that he could look in the same direction.

Roman hummed a short sound before changing the subject. “The lights really set the mood, huh? Wonderous how just a few strings of colourful lights make everything look so different.”

Logan didn’t say anything to that, letting himself drink in the quiet and peace of the place that’s usually full of chatter and different machine sounds, from the roar of the engines to the clattering of accidentally dropped tools.

He let himself close his eyes just for a second, fully enveloped in the pleasant surroundings, forgetting about Roman being there in the first place. This was his safe heaven, owned by him, giving him the means to support himself and to be himself with the company of his own choosing.

He was brought back to the reality when he heard a small laugh from the side, immediately frowning at the conclusion that it must be directed at him, but when he looked at his companion his eyes were cast upon the ceiling, confusing him for a second.

“Roman”, he spoke up, tone level, when he followed his fellow’s line of sight. “Did you put mistletoe in my garage?”.

This question made Roman laugh out loud, the sound tinted with surprise and humour.

“I didn’t! I would have remembered if I did, Mr. Big Boss”. Roman looked at him, smiling, and that’s when the situation fully set in and Logan’s heart started to beat a little faster.

The fairly lights and the dimness of the rest of the garage, just how close they were, the smile shining all the way to Roman’s eyes that moved away from Logan , leaving him staring at Roman’s profile – there was something that made the whole situation feel like a dream.

The silence, though, was getting prolonged. Not tense, not asking for one of them to break it, but prolonged.

“I do think traditions should be celebrated, but I don’t demand it”, Roman said after a while, casual, keeping his voice vague enough so that his words may be easily converted into a topic for conversation rather than hinting at the sole action.

Somehow, that was the thing that made Logan feel the warmth of the season even more, or maybe it was just the warmth of Roman as a person? He was sure there was no other who could make their consent clear without any pressure on the other person to act on it in any way, and to do it in such gentle and clear way without being explicit…

Well, Logan was always partial to poetry.

And there is was, a kiss on the cheek, nothing more than the slightest brush of lips, to fulfil the tradition Logan would never predict he’d want to fulfil.

"Thank you" Logan said quietly after moving back just a tad, lingering close for a short second longer, looking at Roman's face with consideration before moving back to stand in their previous position, side by side, looking at the decorated interior. He wasn’t entirely sure how Roman would interpret that gratitude, but it didn’t matter at the time.

As soon as he moved, Roman's eyes glanced at him, the smallest bit of the smile he was desperately trying to hold back showing through, making Logan smile the slightest bit as well.

Roman stepped to the side, closing the distance once again, making their hands brush but not making any moves to do anything else. It was nice, Logan more felt than thought. The contact was relaxed and unobtrusive, open but not demanding. They both felt like this was enough, at least for now.

It was quite an eventful day and that peaceful moment was its ideal conclusion.

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

Masterpost

Tag list: @mxxangel @mariita-2006 @compactdiscdraws

[chroniclesinlacuna]

Snow Drifts (read on ao3)

Pairing: m!detective (Merry Roka) x Felix Warnings: none Words: ~1.6k  Rating: G Summary: Felix shows up to walk Merry home. They get a little distracted in the snow. (It’s fluff. That’s it.)

Merry eyed the clock on his monitor with a baleful look. He was supposed to leave upwards of an hour ago by now. Nothing had even happened this week, and yet - and yet - the paperwork on his desk still somehow doubled in size.

It was like every time he looked away from the pile a new file materialized to spite him.

Or, you know, he could just stop putting this crap off until the whole thing threatened to topple off his desk. But, hey, he took care of the important stuff first - always - which meant some things tended to…fall to the wayside. Just a little.

...And there he was, getting distracted.

Okay, that’s it. It was one in the morning and he was leaving. He’d be back here tomorrow anyway, with a fresh pot of coffee, and the will to finish the most recent stack. Probably just in time for another to start forming, but still. Work was never done, yadda yadda yadda, always more to do and all that bullshit.

He could bitch and moan all he wanted, but having a plan to get things finished made him feel a lot better about leaving the work undone - helped make his steps a little lighter as he grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the office. Just because it was his least favorite part of the job didn’t mean he didn’t take at least a little bit of pride in doing it right.

Just. Not at one in the morning.

He’s just about to head out the side door when he actually clues in to the noise coming from the lobby. Frowning, he turns on his heel and heads that way. There’s no way that’s…

Except, it is. There’s Felix - bright blue jacket, bright orange cap, and a smile that puts them both to shame - happily chatting away with Tina, who was probably waiting around for the night volunteer to show up.

Merry feels a little ridiculous standing there, blinking at the two. But Felix hadn’t said anything about coming around that night - part of the reason he hadn’t tried to pack it in earlier actually - and from the looks of things, they’d been talking for awhile now.

He’s almost sure Felix hasn’t noticed him yet, right up until Felix glances up as Tina turns to check her phone, grinning and winking without missing a beat before focusing back on her.

And Merry...all Merry can do is laugh softly, dragging a hand down his face as the day finally catches up with him. He’s tired and all he wants to do right now is get home and go to bed - a warm curl of something...soft going through his chest at the idea of Felix being there as well.

His laugh though seems to startle Tina though, if the way she whips around is anything to go by. He just raises his hands, grinning at her even as she huffs. “There you are. Felix was about to head back there to haul you out. What’re you still doing here?”

“Paperwork multiplied.” He says as way of explanation, finally slipping over to wrap his arm around Felix’s waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek - doing it again when it gets a laugh out of the man.

“Yeah, it does that. Now shoo, before the snow gets even worse.”

“Oh please, the snow stopped two hours ago,” Merry scoffs, twisting enough to look out the doors. Sure enough, though the snow had certainly piled up since that morning, the night outside was still and serene.

“It’s still cold, and getting colder. Shoo!”

“Alright, alright, we’re going!” Felix says, laughing softly at Merry’s soft ‘hey’ as he gets pulled towards the door. “Night Tina!”

“Night! Get him home safe!”

Felix salutes, grinning at the laugh it gets from Tina before shoving Merry out the door.

“Suck up.” Merry says once they’re both outside, barely giving Felix time to adjust his coat before his arms back around his waist again, keeping him close. Partially because of the cold. Partially because it’s Felix and he just...wants to be close. It seems the feeling’s mutual, since Felix’s hand finds its way into his back pocket and seems content to stay there.

“I mean, yeah. She didn’t have to let me hang out in the lobby for an hour.”

“You could’ve come back to my office you know.” Merry says, frowning slightly at the confirmation he’d been waiting that entire time.

“Nah, you were busy. And this was supposed to be a surprise walk home, not a surprise interruption. Besides, she’s nice. And your best friend.” And there’s something there that Merry’s not getting - but he’s too focused on the first part of that anyway.

He presses a kiss to his temple with a hum, “Even if I can’t stop work, I’d still like to see you. Also, she wouldn’t kick you out regardless. She likes you.” And he’d heard all about that pretty much since...well, since they started dating.

Felix beams at him, and Merry knows he’s missing something, but...come on, it’s Felix and he’s right there, and he wants to kiss that smile. He always wants to kiss that smile - and luckily for him, Felix seems to actively encourage it.

“Mm…much as I love making out with you in the middle of the street,” and it could be sarcastic. But it isn’t, and Merry grins, even as Felix pulls away from the kiss.

“There’s no one here to see.”

“And isn’t that a damn shame? But, no, uh-uh,” Felix gently shoves Merry away with a laugh when he tries to go for another kiss, “It may not be snowing anymore, but it’s still cold, and I know for a fact your apartment is a lot warmer,” he finishes as he dodges out of Merry’s reach.

Merry huffs after him. He was warm, pressed up against Felix, thank you very much. Felix just snickers at him, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and turning on his heel to keep walking.

And it’s such a...a dumb idea. Felix is a vampire. With fantastic reflexes. And a penchant for payback pranks.

But...well.

Merry doesn’t think about it much more than that - instead, taking a moment to gather snow in his hands before walking after Felix to keep him distracted by the sound of his footsteps. He’ll get one chance at this - and probably won’t even get th-

He doesn’t even see Felix move. One moment, he’s aiming a snowball for the bright orange cap he’s wearing, the next, he’s watching stars flash by across the night sky as strong arms wrap around his middle and send them both tumbling back into the snow.

Felix shifts at the last moment, landing so he’s on his back in the berm, Merry splayed out on top of him, both of them laughing breathlessly in the snap of time and cold that comes when they hit - sending fluffy snow every which way in the process, glittering like falling stars.

They lose their breath somewhere in there, laughter turned to little more than breathy chuckles and silent smiles shared in the warm hollow between them, and Merry...Merry just stares down at Felix, as the snow slowly falls back down to halo them both, drinking in that beautiful smile that crinkles the edges of his eyes - those eyes that he could drown in, if he let himself. If he keeps letting himself.

In that sparkling moment, he has to kiss him.

There’s a low whistle behind them, and Merry groans, breaking the kiss to bury his face in Felix’s chest, biting down hard on a laugh, while Felix doesn’t even bother - the sound loud and bright.

“You two couldn’t even make it twenty feet out the door.” Tina calls, and when Merry finally looks up, she’s standing on the sidewalk behind them, bundled up in her own coat. The night volunteer must’ve just gotten in.

“In my defense, he tried to throw a snowball at me.” Felix says - and his tone says sheepish, his smile says anything but.

Tina just raises an eyebrow at them, unimpressed. “Uh-huh. And that equals making out in a snow drift...how?”

“We were gonna end up covered in snow anyway?” Felix offers.

Tina snorts, shaking her head.

“You’re just jealous, Poname.” Merry finally speaks up, grinning at her delighted laugh.

“Jealous? Of what? You two having to walk home soaking wet and cold from the snow?" Tina asks - trying for disapproving. But Merry knows her too well, and she’s missing it by a mile.

“Nope. Jealous,” he pushes himself up on his elbow so he can get a look at Felix again, properly, “of my wonderful,” a kiss to his cheek, “amazing,” another to his temple, “beautiful,” the corner of his mouth, curled up in a smile as Felix tries not to laugh, eyes bright with humor and something else Merry can’t quite parse, “boyfriend,” and finally properly on the lips, even though both of them are now laughing a little too much to meet it right the first try.

“Oh my god, just go be ridiculously into each other at home already!” Tina yells at them, laughing and walking away shaking her head.

Merry hums, taking another moment to break the kiss - partially out of spite, and partially because Felix - and rest his forehead against Felix’s. “What do you think? Sound like a plan?”

“I like the way she thinks.” Felix agrees, wrapping his arms around Merry’s waist and making absolutely no move to get up. “In like, five minutes anyway.”

(They last three before the cold finally gets them back to their feet. And, sure, the walk home is significantly colder. But neither can really find it in them to care.)

[lesserfandomappreciation]

Hello! I saw you wrote for Toriko and nearly went wild. Can I request headcanons for Coco dating a blind, semi-feral chef who’s just not scared of him? Kinda like the “extrovert adopts introvert” thing. SFW and NSFW please! (Coco is a bottom and no one can convince me otherwise)

“Kinda”? This is absolutely an extrovert adopting an introvert. Always glad for Toriko!

Also this wound up being a partial scenario - the feral chef demanded a short story.

Coco and the blind, feral chef with 0 self-preservation skills (Toriko)

The 4 Heavenly Kings. Throughout the world of gourmet, there are no finer Gourmet Hunters to partner with. For years Chefs from around the world have been unable to do so. The walls around the 4 Heavenly Kings were tall and strong - those that didn’t live in self-imposed isolation were in jail. It was a tragedy Chefs had to accept - some partnering with lesser Gourmet Hunters in an attempt to cover the wound, others refusing partnership in it’s entirety. 

Then. Toriko, one of the Heavenly Kings, Gourmet Hunter Extraordinaire, self-isolated due to boredom. Befriends a chef. 

A world of opportunities opened. 

“There’s a thousand things I want to cook. Everyone wants to cook safe, little things - who the hell wants that?! We live in a world where there’s a mountain giant made of sugar rocks - why would you settle for some fruit when that’s right there?!” S/o threw hands up in the air, aggravation etched onto their face. “But there’s a problem - I’m a chef. Not a Hunter. Half the stuff I wanna cook is too dangerous to hunt on my own! Sure, it’s not done much to stop me so far but the very nice Government agent was pretty firm about me attempting to break in again instead of hiring a Gourmet Hunter would mean getting arrested, and like, there’s nothing in prison worth cooking?! Ya’ know?!”

Coco nodded along at their explanation with a blank look on his face, not getting any of this. At all. They’re going to spill the tea he poured for them if they keep gesturing so wildly. Should he stop them?

Frankly he had no idea how they got up here. Well, he does but he has no idea what logic was driving them. The sun usually woke him up first thing in the morning. A cheery chef grinning ear to ear, dirt under their nails from scaling up his mountain, demanding to speak to him about ‘a hell of a deal that you’re lucky to be getting’ was a new alarm clock he wasn’t aiming at getting. Especially one that went around knocking on self-imposed hermits minding their own business’ doors at 4:00 AM in the gods-damned morning. 

S/o slammed down more tea before clacking the cup against the table. “That got me to thinkin’ - every sissy Gourmet Hunters run for the damn hills when I mention some of the weaker stuff I wanna cook. The Government Agents insist I get one every time they send me a notice-” Coco closed his eyes, quietly offering a prayer of patience for those poor souls. “-everybody says they’re not strong enough. SO! Why not go for a Gourmet Hunter who is known for being stupid strong? It only makes sense! I got a ticket, got directions, realized you had no stairs -very rude by the way, at least make in handicap accessible you ass - and here I am! What do you think?”

“I think you certainly are a very determined spirit.” He smiled at them grinning at the compliment. Their passion was to be commended. As... strangely as it manifested in their actions. “You want to hire me as a Gourmet Hunter then?”

“As my Gourmet Hunter.”

He chuckled. “Ah. Of course. Your Gourmet Hunter.” He drummed his fingers against his cup. He let out a pensive hum. “Certainly a tempting offer. I imagine my brothers have received a similar offer?”

“Fuck no.” Coco caught his dropped cup. “Why the fuck would I ask for their help?”

Coco coughed to keep the tea inside. “Forg- guh, -forgive me, I choked on my tea,” why the ...what they said.. wouldn’t they ask for their help?! “Why would you not? They are equally talented hunters.” If not more so - said his inner voice. A poison Gourmet Hunter was not exactly popular - though he did have his fair share of requests, Coco’s abilities made him a difficult Gourmet Hunter to request. And the others (two of the others, anyways) were more amiable to the idea of requests from such a unique character as the one in front of him. “They would certainly be able to do the same as myself-”

“But they’re not YOU!” S/o’s hands slammed against the table, their face dangerously close when they leaned forward. “...I know I look like a mess of a chef. People act like I’m either too wild or too unable to take me seriously. I’ve never met anyone able to keep up with me. BUT!” They stuck out their hand, pointing at his chest. “You can! You’re amazing - you do amazing shit as if it was nothing, you’re humble, you understand how tough it is out here. And I know you can be more amazing when we work together.”

With a huff they leaned back, stretching out their hand to him. “I want to work with you. Got a problem with that?”

Coco blinked blankly at them. At the dirt-covered hands that had clawed their way to be there. And smiled. 

“No,” he said, clasping their hand with his own. “None at all. Where do we start?”

SFW

Coco is mostly in awe of their extroverted nature. This is a person who has likely faced extra challenges (due to both their blindness and their... unique approach to life) to get in their profession on top of the standard tests every chef must face and still, still keeps themselves entirely up-beat and unafraid of the world. They remind him a bit of a younger Toriko, only somehow more wild than him (what a frightening thought..). He can’t help but enjoy some of their crazier antics.

He does however have the foresight to pick them up by the back of the shirt in several instances. S/o is a feral kitten, and Coco is a resigned mother cat stuck getting them out of trouble.

This is a couple that talks a lot. S/o is certainly a talker just out of their very nature of being, happily ranting about new recipes, ideas, what they experienced that day, or even the must random question out there. Coco is just as much a talker, only with certain people. Once their connection is established they have a lot of long-winding conversations. Some of them get to be pretty deep! 

He does however wish they would save the deep questions for when there’s sunlight rather than 3 minutes after minutes when he wants to sleep.

“Do animals hunt Gourmet Hunters? Are there Gourmet Hunters Hunters? Hm? Coco why do I hear your sleeping bag being dragged away?”

Coco falls for them first. He already likes them from their straight-forward nature, but their continued (much-neeed) positivity in his life just cements that into romantic affection. He pines for a while about it - it’s up to s/o to figure out he likes them.

...Which granted is a little hard since he doesn’t act on it and when he talks about it he’s incredibly cryptic about his feelings. Good luck!

When they do get together, touch is something they’re going to have to be patient with. Because of his powers he is wary of letting his emotions get the best of him in the wrong time, so slowly adjusting to getting more affection is a requirement. 

Once he is used to it, any affection S/o has given him will be returned 10 fold. Not in public but they will be dragged into his lap when he’s reading something. 

NSFW

You’re not wrong about him being a bottom, though I will say he’s also a service top. He wants to please them so so so badly. 

He does however prefer for them to take the lead. Coco does not strike me as someone experienced. Makes sense, considering his abilities - I too wouldn’t be confident enough to even hold a hand, much less have sex, if my touch could wilt a mammoth. Having his partner on top of his, breathing into his ear sweet teasing words while their hands wander around his body. Gently dom him and he’s like puddy in one’s hand.

If his partner wants him on top, they can order him to please them by any means necessary - drive them crazy the way they know he can. Coco will be undone by this, and while he adores the gentleness of lovemaking, these orders will bring out a more rugged side of sexual appetite. 

Coco has a very low sex drive so it is rare he wants sex. That said, all his s/o has to do is tell him they “want something special” from him and he’s down to serve their needs. Just because he’s not hard for sex at that moment doesn’t mean his hands and tongue are unable to get the job done. 

Fingering master. His oral/blow techniques are fine, but his fingers- holy shit are they dexterous little bastards. There is no sight lovelier to Coco than his partner ordering him to keep going as his fingers make them lose their mind. 

[drwcn]

chengqing au idea: Before the Wens died at Jinlintai, Wen Qing gave A-Yuan to Jiang Cheng. This action had its consequences.

~

Wen Qing led her clan for exactly a day and a half, from the early dawn they departed from Burial Mount to the dusk of the next day when they arrived at Jinlintai. Even in the beginning, as she took her first step away from Wei Wuxian, from the man who had given up everything to protect them, she knew it was to their deaths. 

Too many had died, too many will die still. She was taught her whole life that when it was impossible to save, first do no harm. Yet, her existence alone had become a sin, a burden onto others. Jin Zixuan was dead, his young wife a widow, his infant son fatherless. 

Wen Qing held A-Yuan on her hip, walking at the front of her clan’s death parade. Wei Wuxian would not awaken for some time yet. The child was too young to be left alone in a place like the Burial Mount. There was a buddhist temple on their way to Lanling, not far west from Yiling. She had plans to leave him there with the zhu’chi. A letter was already drafted and tucked safely in the child’s robes along with the remainder of what little money they had made selling produce. Buddhist monks were known for their charity and detachment from worldly longings, but Wen Qing knew that a little donation went a long way, especially for a child bearing a past like theirs. 

Everything was planned. If their deaths meant Wei Wuxian could finally find peace, then so be it... And yet, fate would have it otherwise. 

At the foot of Mt. Yiling, a familiar figure in violet robes marched towards them. Wen Qing did not think after she had returned him the dark mahogany comb that she would ever see Jiang Wanyin again in this life. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked him, brows furrowed. Had he come to seek revenge on behalf of his widowed sister? But no, he came alone without his men. He must’ve heard what happened by now. Perhaps... 

“Where are you going?” He only asked in response. 

Jiang Cheng glanced at the throng of old men and women behind Wen Qing, and then at Wen Ning with his head bowed in shame at her side. Zidian crackled as his fist tightened around Sandu’s sheath. “You’re turning yourselves in? Wei Wuxian agreed to this?!” 

She shook her head. “No. He doesn’t know. I left him unconscious back at the Burial Mount. Why have you come?” 

“I came to -” Jiang Cheng gritted his teeth, a red flush beginning to overtake his face. “I came to check on him, for my sister. The Jins said he made your brother,” he cast a glare at Wen Ning, “kill Jin Zixun and Jin Zixuan. Is this true?” 

Ah, so he was here on Jiang Yanli’s behest. She truly was a saintly woman; even now, her conviction in her foster brother’s innocence never wavered. 

Wen Qing felt she had no more energy left to lie or fight him. These were her last days, and she ought to live it honestly. “It is. We’re not sure what exactly happened. They seemed to have lost control. Wei Wuxian...he is your brother; whatever happened, it was because of us. Now it’s time for us to go. Lanling asked for the Wens to submit before the law, they didn’t ask for him. If there’s a chance for him at all, Jiang Wanyin, take your brother home.” 

At her words, Jiang Cheng’s frown twisted into an angry scowl, “You think he would come back to Lotus Pier after you die? If he learned that you -” 

“Then what? What other road is there for us to take?! Which clan will accept us?! Yours?! ” Wen Qing did not mean to raise her voice, but she did anyway. Disturbed from his sleep, A-Yuan whimpered unhappily against her shoulder. She tightened her hold on him and smoothed a hand down his back. “Shhh, it’s okay A-Yuan.” 

Jiang Cheng finally allowed himself to look at the boy. His voice was without heat when he spoke again. “What about him? Is he to submit before the law too?” 

Wen Qing stared up at the man who in another less unforgiving life might’ve meant something entirely different to her. Theirs was a hopeless path. Whatever spark of 'maybe’ that might have existed was extinguished the day soldiers of the Wen Clan pillaged Lotus Pier and murdered his parents, and was rendered entirely impossible when she cut open his brother and transferred his golden core to him. Wei Wuxian may think of it as fulfilling his duty, but to do this to Jiang Cheng without his knowledge and consent, even if it was to save his life, meant that Wen Qing had broken the sacred oaths she took as a physician. But what was done could not be undone, so this secret, this transgression, she and A-Ning would just have to take to their graves. 

For all Jiang Wanyin could never do for her, Wen Qing could not deny that she understood him, and knew deep down that he was a good man. For Yunmeng’s sake, he couldn’t help her. His sect, his responsibilities, came first, and she could not fault him for it. After all she was much the same. 

But...

“Jiang Wanyin, at Nevernight, you said if I ever needed anything, I could come to you. I returned your comb, but if the offer still stands, I have but one thing to ask. Not for myself.” Wen Qing turned so Jiang Cheng could see the little face that was pressed into her neck. She stared him straight in the eyes. “Will you take him?” 

Jiang Cheng stared back at her for a long, long time. The silence that hung between them was dense and heavy with all the ‘couldn’t, ‘wouldn’t’ and ‘shouldn’ts’ that eroded away their youthful dreams and made their life what it was. Finally, when Wen Qing had all but given up, Jiang Cheng raised a hand and placed it on A-Yuan’s back. 

“What’s the boy’s name?” 

Wen Qing let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Today, it’s Wen Yuan. Tomorrow, it can be whatever you want it to be. Keep him safe. It’s all I ask.” 

The only children Jiang Cheng ever held before this moment was his nephew Jin Ling, and only for less than a minute before Jin Zixuan ushered him aside to take his place. Nevertheless, his grip as Wen Qing passed A-Yuan to him was gentle and firm.  

Her worst worry alleviated, Wen Qing lowered her eyes. There was no good in goodbyes, so she merely said what was necessary. “Thank you.” 

He said nothing. 

Taking A-Ning’s hand, Wen Qing walked away. 

“Wen Qing!” Jiang Cheng called out her name, the first, last, and only time. Was he really going to just stand there at the foot of Mt Yiling and watch her walk towards her death? Was this really the kind of man he was? The heroes in the stories would not have chosen as he had chosen. Wei Wuxian would not have chosen as he had chosen. 

But Jiang Cheng was not Wei Wuxian. He was not a hero. He was just a man. 

“I can’t help you. I can’t.” 

He did not apologize, but Wen Qing’s smile across the dusty winding road was forgiving. 

“I know. I know.” 

~

Jiang Cheng stood rooted to the earth beneath him as Wen Qing's figure disappeared slowly into the mountain fog.

Jiang Cheng held A-Yuan tight.

And if Jiang Cheng cried, well...no one has to know.

~

All of Yunmeng knows Sect Master Jiang returned one day with a boy from nowhere. When the bravest Jiang disciple finally mustered up the courage to ask him who the child was, all they got in answer was a curt ‘xiao’shaoye’ followed by an angier ‘piss off.’  

The next day, it was said that Sect Leader Jiang travelled to Jinlintai to witness Wen remnant’s execution but was late by half n hour. It was said he stood by the ashes of the Wens until the sun was gone and the sky was dark. 

That night, Sect Leader Jiang pleaded his case with Sect Leader Jin to remove his sister from Lanling on grounds of her ill health so that he may care for her in their ancestral home in Yunmeng. As well, since Jin Ling was still an infant, he stipulated that the boy ought not be separated from his mother. At first, neither Jin Guangshan nor Madam Jin was in agreement, especially since Wei Wuxian was sighted fleeing from Jin Zixuan’s funeral hall. But Jiang Cheng could not be dissuaded, stating that his sister’s health could not withstand the forty-nine days of shouling that was Lanling’s custom, and that for his love of his wife, Jin Zixuan would not have wished for Yanli to suffer. She would mourn in private, as was the ways of Yunmeng. Eventually, Jin Guangshan acquiesced, not wishing to fracture ties with an ally over trivial matters of ceremony. A month was the time he gave Jiang Cheng, which the younger man accepted with graciousness that was more show than sincerity. 

If Jiang Yanli seemed too eager to leave, people chalked it up to grief. What Jiang Cheng said to his sister in private, that was not for anyone else to know. And yet, the consequence was this: when Wei Wuxian died at Nevernight not a week later, Jiang Yanli was safe at Lotus Pier with her son and the boy the servants referred to as their ‘young master’. 

It was said that Wei Wuxian, driven to madness by demonic power, had lost control and gravely injured his foster brother Jiang Wanyin. Assuming he’d done the unimaginable, Wei Wuxian had given in to death over the mountainous cliff, witnessed in its entirety by Hanguang-jun himself. Some claimed Lan Wangji had attempted to save the monstrous Yiling Laozu but was too late. This claim was largely deemed unsubstantiated.

Sect Leader Jiang lived, as unlikely as it had seemed at the time. Most attributed his survival to the quick combined efforts of Sect Leader Lan and Sect Leader Nie, who were the firsts to arrive at his side, but the healers who tended to him would tell you that Jiang Wanyin’s escape from death had at least been partially due to the strength of his golden core, a specimen most rare in its purity and tenacity. 

As for the boy, he was given the name Yuán 圆 (togetherness, reunite) and the courtesy name Wu’Guo 无过 (without fault), as was insisted upon by both Jiang Cheng and Yanli. And if others assumed Jiang Yuan - Jiang Wuguo - was Jiang Wanyin’s illegitimate son, the Jiang family did nothing to dispel such notions. Certainly, the boy referred to Jiang Cheng as “a-die” and to Jiang Yanli as “gu’gu”, so really what else was the cultivator realm to think? The greatest speculations were pertaining to the identity of the boy’s mother, but no rumour or gossip ever held any real weight. The only thing anyone knew for sure was from the lips of a handmaid charged with tidying Sect Master Jiang’s personal quarters. She claimed that Jiang Wuguo’s mother must have died and that Jiang Wanyin must’ve been very in love, for he still kept a mahogany comb wrapped in lilac silk at his bedside table. The maid’s claims were widely accepted in Yunmeng’s circles when all candidates put forth by matchmakers were rejected by Jiang Cheng. As the years went on and Jiang Cheng remained a bachelor, it went without question who his heir would one day be. 

Jiang Wuguo grew and was loved. Of those that cherished him, perhaps the most surprising was Gusu’s Hanguang-jun, who visited him often, so much so that Jiang Yanli suggested perhaps it would not be against courtesy for Lan Wangji to accept Jiang Wuguo as his godson. Everyone expected Jiang Cheng the hothead to be offended, but for once, he defied their expectations. 

Then, some thirteen years after Wen Qing laid A-Yuan in Jiang Cheng’s arms, Jin Ling came to Lotus Pier with the news that Mo Xuanyu was evicted from Lanling for reasons not entirely clear. 

A few months later, at Dafan Mountain where once another group of youths had fought the stone fairy, Jiang Wuguo turned to Jiang Cheng and asked, “A-die, yi’fu who is that man in the mask?” 

=====

[ zhu’chi 住持 ] - the abbot/head monk of a buddhist temple. 

[ xiao’shaoye 小少爷 ] - young master  

[ shou’ling 守灵 ] - to keep vigil at the funeral altar. 

[ yuán 圆 ] - circular, or togetherness. It is intonation-ally different but similar enough to his original name yuàn 苑 or the name Lan Zhan would’ve given him yuàn 原.

[ wu’guo 无过 ] - without fault, but also an echo of WWX’s courtsey name wu’xian 无羡 (without envy). 

[ a-die 阿爹 ] - dad 

[ gu’gu 姑姑 ] - auntie, sister of father. 

[yi'fu 义父 ] - godfather

[childrenoflight-darkness-nothing]

Jace sighed as ey stepped out onto the roof, the door closed with a thud behind them, and all of the tension fell out of eir shoulders as eir muscles loosened. As the careful mask ey forced everyday lifted away for a moment.

The lights of the compound flickered around, small pockets of activity framed by the darkness of the night. And the cold air floated around em in a gentle breeze.

It was quiet. And for a moment ey were allowed to simply exist. No pressure. No masks. No forced confidence.

That all changed as ey heard the door open behind em. Muscles tensing as footsteps sounded in the gravel.

With shoulders squared ey turned towards the intruder. "What do you want?" Eir tone was hostile, probably a little more than was warranted. But it had always been enough to get em left alone in the past.

Nyar stood before em, a hand raised. Surrender or greeting ey weren't entirely sure. It hardly mattered which. "Sorry... I uh. Probably shouldn't have followed you."

"No. You shouldn't have." Words defensive, but tone lighter. Softer than it'd been moments before. Though Jace wasn't entirely sure why.

He was human, for all ey knew. Though one with a curious story, as he'd shown up with a group of archangels months before. He puzzled em, sure. But he wasn't one ey knew well. Certainly not well enough to let down eir guard around.

Jace crossed eir arms over eir chest, feeling the mask slipping just the slightest. The forced harshness ey showed to the world.

"I can leave."

The offer was genuine. And one that someone smarter probably would've taken. But Jace simply found emself shaking eir head as ey turned around. Ey leaned up against the bricks that made up the fall surrounding the roof, arms crossed in front of em as ey studied the city below. And ey just felt the wind on eir face for a moment before ey spoke. "You're fine."

It was a moment before either of them spoke. Both waiting for the other to make the first move. And finally Nyar did.

Though Jace couldn't see him, ey heard the gravel beneath his feet crunch as he stepped forward. Not back towards the door they'd both come from. But closer to the edge of the roof. Closer to em.

"I can see why you always come up here," he said, a small hesitation to his voice that Jace didn't quite understand. "The views amazing."

"The breeze is better," ey countered softly, eyes opening as ey turned eir head in his direction. "I like to come up here and feel the wind in my wings."

Ey weren't quite sure why ey'd admitted that. But there wasn't any taking it back as he cocked his head to the side a little, curious.

"Why not just fly?"

Jace scoffed, ducking eir head down to look at eir hands. The question hung heavy in the air for a moment until ey unfurled eir wings from the careful glamor that kept them tucked away. It was an action done without much thought, and not one that could be undone as feathers stretched out as far as they could before it could be deemed painful. The reach of them not as much as others, wings still partially tucked into themselves.

Feathers worn and patchy, mostly grey. But white and black in places.

Broken.

"You tell me."

He stepped towards em, and Jace prepared to feel his fingers trace along eir feathers. Shoulders tensing. But the touch never came.

Instead ey felt the warmth of his hand hovering just inches away, and heard his faint breathy whisper that ey weren't quite sure he'd meant to actually say outlook.

"Beautiful.."

Ey laughed, a small breath forced out between eir lips as ey pushed off of the wall ey were leaning against and turned once again to face him. "Useless."

"Because of your fall?"

Jace shook eir head. "No. The events leading up to... maybe.. But.. I didn't fall. I'm not like the rest of them, I'm not like your friends. I was tossed down. I had freewill shoved down my throat. It wasn't a choice."

They stood their for a moment, and Jace almost hoped Nyar was done asking questions. But it also felt relieving to answer them. To finally let some of it out. When ey'd always kept everything so carefully guarded.

Nyar was slow with his next question, careful. "You'd go back?"

Jace shook eir head once again, a pain flashing in eir eyes that ey tried to hide. Ey sucked in a breath before ey spoke. "There's nothing left for me there. Not anymore."

He nodded, seeming to understand what ey hadn't said. The memories that were still to painful to voice allowed even five years later. In truth ey weren't quite sure why ey'd opened up at all. Eir story... it wasn't something ey'd told anyone.

And Nyar was an acquaintance at best. And an infuriating pain in the ass with a superiority complex at worst.

But here he was, standing with em underneath the stars. His questions demanded nothing, and yet ey gave him all of the answers.

It was a relief. Almost. To let the mask drop. To let the truth fall out at least once, when it'd never been granted to anyone.

"I tried for years... to find something. Anyone with a solution. Desperate to find my way to the skies again."

"What about Avanda? She studied and trained on wings for years. She'd know more about how to heal them than any of the other doctors here, as hard as they might try. They're—"

Jace cut him off, tone defeated and tired. "I appreciate it... But I'm done. I tried for years. And I'm tired. It's exhausting. Getting your hopes up over and over again. I'm not something that can be fixed."

"I'm just fine on the ground."

—

Silence surrounded them for a while. The world quiet. Asleep.

Jace's wings had long been tucked back away. And ey turned towards Nyar with a smile, a challenge in eirs.

"Do you want to know the closest thing I've found that you humans have to flying?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

[floweryfreelance]

𝕴𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖆 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖘

CHAPTER FOUR

Table of Contents

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

This work of fiction is an original collaborative work between tumblr users @theearltrancy and @floweryfreelance. Its original format was in that of a roleplay, and has been edited to be a more cohesive story. This work was created on 11.10.20 and completed on 11.30.20.

Please consider following each author for more fictional works.

-

Ciel made his way up the grand staircase in the center of the foyer, admiring paintings on the walls as he made his way down the hallway towards his own bedroom. As he walked, growing closer and closer to Alois’ old spare room, he heard voices. Ah, he must have been right. That cocky demon butler of his must be getting a stern talking to. He smirked.

Feeling too mature to stand with his ear against the door, Ciel simply slowed his walking pace, tuning his ear just in case he was able to pick up anything being said inside the room. And what he heard, well, it certainly didn’t sound pleasant.

Inside the room was Alois’ voice quickly reaching a louder and louder pitch. He once saved his anger for Hannah, but the roles had reversed now, the man’s now deeper voice rattling things in the room. He could feel himself getting too heated, but the demon couldn’t feel pain; he was keenly aware. 

“No, I don’t care, you absolute wretch!” He screamed, taking his own shoe from earlier and tossing it at the butler’s head. He dodged, the object smacking the wall behind him. “I will do things in my own time, do you understand? I will not be a pawn for your f*cking problems anymore! Not tonight, not ever!” 

Claude’s response was low and threatening, almost as if he were still disciplining a child. In fact, he seemed to think that’s exactly all he was doing. The dismissive attitude only angered him more. “Your Highness… If you do not have the drive to take that man from that wretched butler, you will only be stuck with me longer. It is beneficial for us both that you complete your contract, and that means you must take the boy.”

“For you! Always for you! I signed that contract thinking I would get something out of it! Maybe a companion, for god’s sake!” Alois screeched, knowing now he could be heard from outside of the room. “But all you’ve done is lie to and cheat me! I wanted you to take me!” 

“You know I cannot do that until you find a way to take him. Even if you isolate him, I can leave. I can make it a pleasurable experience for you.” 

“But that’s not what you really want, is it?” The man retorted, cooling into sass. “Get the hell out of here. And take your god damn attitude too. That’s an ORDER.” 

The door opened moments later, revealing an emotionless Claude if not slightly annoyed, and a simply vicious Alois with his arms crossed on his chest. The demon nodded at Ciel as if nothing had happened, but a peek in the room would show that was not the case. The blonde had been throwing all his things around, tearing his clothes from the closet onto the floor now, a flurry of a man. Though grown now, it was at times as if all he had grown was taller.

Ciel couldn’t mask his searing glare at the butler as he walked past, perhaps partially compensating for just how shaken he felt after hearing their words, particularly Claude’s. He really would give anything to just see him dead, wouldn’t he? As is the nature of such a contract.

Seeing Alois in this fragile state, knowing he hadn’t been noticed quite yet, he quietly stepped into the room, looking at the clothes on the floor. “..You’ve made a mess.” He noted, bending down to pick up a deep purple coat that had been crumpled on the floor. “Did you notice?” He inquired, looking up at the distressed blond man before him. “These clothes, they’re yours from all those years ago. I left them.” He inspected the sleeves. “I’m frankly surprised there aren’t more moth holes.”

In his experience, Ciel knew the best way to approach Alois during these fits of rage was calmly. In fact, his presence typically helped to calm him down regardless.It pained him to see him like this. In the past, he found his tantrums childish and annoying, but since growing to understand him, they just hurt to see. However, he always kept a slight distance until he could tell if he was still in the heat of the moment. And so, Ciel stood still, gently holding the small boy’s coat in his hand while looking at his love.

He took a step closer, standing so that his leg was just brushing Alois’ arm as he sat on the ground. He crouched beside him, still holding the purple coat. His mind wandered, trying to find the right words to say.

“..I.. lied earlier.” Ciel admitted, rubbing the coat fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “I didn’t leave this room untouched. I had it cleaned everyday.” It was embarrassing to admit, he felt, but he wanted to ground Alois. He wanted to remind him he was wanted and loved and desired. He could withstand feeling embarrassed for a minute or two. “The maid dusted everyday, changed the sheets once a week. And by the looks of it, kept your old clothes ironed. How she did all that everyday, I don’t know.”

He stood once again, looking around the room he hadn’t stepped foot into in eight long years. It truly looked as though it was in present use, not a speck of dust or a single stain anywhere to be found. Impressive, he thought to himself. “I remember sneaking in here.” Ciel couldn’t help but smile softly. “On the nights when you were too stubborn to come to my room, and waited here until I grew impatient enough to sneak into yours.” 

The thought brought a small smile to the man’s face, though he betrayed none of that information to the other. He did lift his head, though, taking a look around at the hell he had created. Though his anger had once again caused destruction, he couldn’t help but notice the man was correct - the room was dusted, polished, and comfortable. His old clothing was flawlessly ironed, and he remembered that before he’d been triggered, it was in fact all folded and hung just the way it was when he was a teen. He let some of the tension in his body go, taking one hand from his head to rest his arm on his knee. 

“We took turns.” He recalled, still breathing heavily but coming back to the room slowly, “I liked to play. You made it easy.” He looked his lover in the eyes. “We were so small.” The man sighed, looking away to the clothes on the floor surrounding him, noting he had also made a small dent in the wall behind them with his heel. 

Note to self. Aim better next time.

“We did play.” Ciel agreed, standing and walking to the wardrobe, hanging the purple coat back in the closet. The remaining clothes could be taken care of in the morning, as they were the least of his concerns. The white night clothes set out on the bed caught his eye, though upon closer inspection, he noticed there were two pairs. He smirked, that idiot, he thought, knowing Sebastian must have thought it would be amusing to prepare for what they all knew would happen.

Turning back to Alois, he held out his hand and leaned his cane against the wardrobe. “Here now, stand up. We don’t have our butlers to dress us,” he said sarcastically. “But we can’t sleep in our dinner attire.”

Smiling gently to himself now, Alois took another deep breath and stood up, dusting himself off. He bit his lip, planning his next move, for they were finally truly alone. The man took a good few solid steps towards the other until they were impossibly close. The sudden movement pressed his lover against the closed door of the closet, placing an arm on the other side so that the man couldn’t escape him. 

“I suppose we can’t.” He acknowledged, placing his free hand under the other’s chin. This being the first time since they were young teenagers, he added, “Hm, seems I’m still taller than you.” 

If there were any way he knew how to transition out of an intense emotion, it was straight through another one - lust. Even as an adult, he only had three modes - indifferent, violent, and reveling in sin. 

“So. Dress me.” He ordered.

The cool of the wood door against his back counteracted the heat filling his body. Eight years had passed since he was spoken to like this, touched like this. The Earl honestly thought he would never experience anything like it again, so long as he lived.

His heart pounded in the chamber of his chest, and he wondered if the other man could feel it too. His jaw shifted as he swallowed hard, feeling the warm fingers of his lover caressing his chin. Ciel melted for him, just like he always did. “Don’t order me around..” he protested, the tone of his voice eager and excited but attempting to hide behind a disguise of stubbornness.

Without taking his eyes off of him, Ciel cautiously reached up to Alois’ chest, grasping the buttons of his overcoat and beginning to undo them. His hands visibly shook and he cursed himself for it, it was as if it were the first time all over again. 

“And if I do?” He purred, holding control over himself while he leaned in to press a small kiss on Ciel’s earlobe. His whole body pulled closer, closing even more distance between the two. Leaving just enough space for the buttons to come undone, he leaned back once they were loose, shrugging the coat off to the floor along with his other things. The size difference was notable when the two coats were side by side, Alois now pushing 6′ tall himself. 

In response, he reached back out to his lover’s chest, pulling button after button open. The pale skin underneath caught the moonlight like a modern day Adonis. Just as Aphrodite had done long ago, he would sacrifice his sanity to spend only several nights a year with him if it came to it. Now there was definition to his chest - not quite muscle, but the man wasn’t soft either. Alois smiled mischievously, ducking in for a deep kiss on the lips with no hesitation. 

While the other was nervous and shaky, the taller man was confident and needy. He’d bided his time pretending that positions like this were with his fantasy to begin with. Now that it really was the one he imagined most nights, he’d waste no time. He’d push the subject and get his way - for once, just for once.

“Y..You..” A sad attempt at a protest. He was helpless at this point, as he always was when they played this game. Shuddered breaths escaped Ciel’s lips, his throat and hands and legs beginning to throb with the violent beating of his heart. Hardly even noticing his own buttons being undone, he couldn’t help but stare at the unfamiliar physique of his partner, still just as pale and soft and smelling of lavender, but larger. Of course, he was used to that aspect, as Alois had always had the advantage when it came to physical size. Another reminder they were men now.

A cool breeze crossed his chest as button after button was opened, and he trailed his fingertips down his lover’s abdomen, touching him as if he was still unsure if he was really there. His fingers kept moving until they reached a new texture, his eyes following. A scar. The scar. His thumb gently ran across it, memories of that awful night haunting his memory again.

A distraction. He wanted a distraction. This moment was too sweet to be ruined by those nightmares. Ciel’s hand darted back up Alois’ body, wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him back in for a deeply passionate kiss, the feeling of his lips on his own bringing him back to the present moment.

Noticing his pause, Alois was pulled out of the moment for a split-second, eyes following the other’s to the raggedly-healed wound on his abdomen. Once upon a time, it nearly killed him. It took months to seal up to the point he would no longer vomit blood. Yet, it served as a reminder to tie the two together. The man had made peace with it, never answering Jean honestly when he asked about it. A fight with a carriage, maybe he’d fallen, sometimes he changed his lie to keep it fresh in his mind. Little did he know about the beautifully composed violent blue boy in London. 

Though the thought didn’t last long until he was to be wrapped in another kiss. The two lost themselves in the texture of the other’s lips, the newfound fullness and softness. For a moment, the blonde forgot that for the other, it had been years since he felt this much passion, for he knew his lover would only accept a partner that could destroy him and build him back up in one night; a challenging love. The night allowed for this kind of depraved waltz. 

Shrugging off his own shirt, he pulled off the necktie he’d chosen for that day, pulling it behind Ciel’s neck and quickly grabbing it tight - cutting off breath for a split-second. The gasp for air would last long enough to make the other slightly dizzy, almost a drunk sort of feeling. While Ciel had been saving himself for marriage, Alois had been learning new tricks in Paris.

His breath caught in his throat as his neck was pulled forward slightly, his eyes widening at the unfamiliar and sudden sensation. He liked it. His hands grabbed tightly at his lover’s shoulders, his body’s initial reaction being to fight for air, until he relaxed and leaned into the lightheaded feeling. As the tightness of the tie around his neck loosened he gasped for breath, heat pooling in his lower stomach.

Ciel’s hand ran up the back of Alois’ neck, lightly entangling itself in the silky blond hair and tugging, all needy and wanting. It was during moments like these that Ciel was thankful there wasn’t a mirror nearby, as he’d never be able to forgive himself for how he looked now- desperate and weak, two traits he prided himself on seldom exhibiting. Meanwhile, his free hand worked its way down to the other’s trousers, his subconscious growing impatient.

A devilish smile crossed the man’s face, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he felt his lover’s hand stray from his chest. In reaction, the blonde grabbed the other by the hips, fingers hooking through the belt loops. Using this guide, he swung Ciel to the other side and walked him back to the bed in the center of the room. 

The soft silk accepted the two into its folds as Alois pressed him down into it, following on top in a straddle. Oh, how long it had been since he had looked down at the real version of this scene rather than the discount. It even made the space worth it somehow, made the taste sweeter. Reaching down to finish undoing all the remaining buttons on his lover’s chest, he took a second to trace the new body. He was certainly well-built, and knowing how many sweets the other indulged in, it made him wonder exactly where it came from. Of course, this matched his fantasy even more so and lit a fire within him.

“I’ve missed the real thing..” He whispered, leaning down to place a lengthy kiss on the other’s exposed collarbone. “You’re worth it.”

Ciel’s hands instinctively fell against the pillows on either side of his head as he laid back, his body remembering how many times he had been pinned down in this position to be toyed with by his lover. His chest rose and fell as he took shallow, nervous breaths, his spine arching ever so slightly as he felt the other’s lips against his collarbone.

This was bliss, it had to be. For eight years he spent every night alone, many of those nights sleepless as Alois’ face appeared behind his eyelids. And yet, here he was. Here they were, tangled in each other’s arms and peppering each other with kisses and nips, their bodies illuminated by a sliver of moonlight shining through the curtains. If he had ever wanted a painting of anything, it would be this.

A hand came up to cradle Alois’ head as he kissed his chest, his other hand sliding up his lover’s thigh eagerly and brushing his fingertips just underneath the hem of his trousers. Lifting Alois’ head so his eyes met his own, he tugged lightly on the fabric of his pants. “Off.”

“Hm,” Alois snickered quietly, smiling against the other’s skin. He’d forgotten all about the past few weeks, even the dent he’d just made in the wall. The man leaned back to stand and undid his belt, allowing the layer to fall to the floor. All that remained now was a pair of not-so-modest undergarments and his socks, illuminated by the moonlight. 

“Since you want to be so demanding,” He purred, leaning back in to speak right against the other’s neck. “You too, coward.” 

The two were as close to heaven as they could ever get. Living in sin left one with only so many options - sink to the bottom, or find a way out. Being that they’d already sold their souls, this love was to be their only glimpse of it. That it was; both were old enough to savor it as such, hardened by the world outside this room. Yet, they were still young enough to allow some recklessness into their doomed sorts of lives. Knowing this fact, Alois rolled off his lover, now sitting on the edge of the bed and gesturing. Up.

He would never admit it aloud, or maybe even to himself, but Alois was more than likely the only person who could order him around, and have it arouse him. His eyes watched intently as his partner continued to undress, noting the way his fingers methodically moved, the way his stomach and chest expanded with every breath; it was exhilarating.

Hearing the command, Ciel moved in carefully calculated movements, as if he could be pounced on at any moment. He stood up, dropping his unbuttoned shirt to the floor before moving onto his own trousers. Button by button, the fabric loosened before pooling around his ankles. He stepped out of them, his hands on Alois’ shoulders for balance. And there he stood, nearly naked and completely vulnerable for the first time in nearly a decade.

The bluenette moved as if leaning in for another kiss but hesitated, leaning away again. He reached behind his own head, grabbing the string of his eye patch between his thumb and forefingers, pulling until it loosened and fell to the floor. There, he thought, off.

Surprised by the sight of both eyes, the man’s eyes locked with the other’s. A soft sound of “oh, love…” escaped his lips, his hand moving up the side of Ciel’s skull to gently hold him there. He took a moment to gaze into both eyes, having all but forgotten he’d only ever seen the one. Even as teens, Ciel was always cautious about how much of himself he revealed even when completely alone. Though he knew the contract resided there, it never really dawned on him that he had never seen it. Recognizing how raw this moment was, the man leaned back until he was flat against the bed, other hand coming up to trace along his partner’s chest. 

It was only moments before he pulled him back in for a deep kiss, filled now with all the longing and pining of eight full years. For a moment, it crossed his mind that this man deserved better from him- he always had. He deserved all his raw moments, anger and joy, sickness and health, fear and confidence. Alois wished he could find a way to give that all to him. If only there were a way, Alois would risk it all. Maybe someday they could play dead and run away, have Sebastian kill Claude, write Lizzie a nice letter - something about market study in the States. 

At least they could sail away in these sheets for the night, he thought. Before he realized it, his hands had travelled to his lover’s waist, pulling them so close together that it would require something earth-shattering to pull them away. His mind was scattered, but his body fell into old patterns, finding it completely impossible not to touch the other. Suddenly, every moment he spent with his ex-lover felt like a paperback book that ended on a cliffhanger- so close to satisfying, but nothing compared to a happy ending.

Vulnerability was surprisingly becoming on Ciel; as someone who prided himself on being completely untouchable both emotionally and physically, he appeared most beautiful in this state, especially in the eyes of his lover. He rubbed his eye slightly, trying to regain the balanced sight of two eyes he had been lacking for a whole day. He wanted to see Alois clearly.

Pulled back in for a deep kiss, Ciel climbed forward, straddling the blond man underneath him with his arms wrapped underneath his neck, pulling them impossibly close. He hummed as their hips ground against one another, as he brought one hand around to lightly trace his thumb across Alois’ bottom lip.

“Let me see yours..” He whispered, his digit pulling down lightly on his lip and brushing against his bottom teeth. The other Earl’s contract seal was not new to him- he had seen it before a number of times, but he had nearly forgotten what it looked like now, the image just a fuzzy memory buried in his mind. This thing, this stupidly complicated thing, was one of the few things that they felt tied them together.

Smiling with his teeth, a rare sight in and of itself, the man was glad he could share this with someone. Jean knew nothing of his contract, making efforts to hide his contract from the lover of his. It was a deep secret once he left the city, one he planned to take to his grave after Claude gutted him for his soul. It was a secret he shared with the man in front of him and in a way, the shared tragedy made him feel like he could be all of himself without effort. 

He allowed his tongue to stick out of his mouth, the inactive pattern still visible despite its faded nature. It spoke to the strength of the bond he held with his demon, or lack thereof. Though it looked like a burn mark when it wasn’t on display, it was still visible. Alois searched his lover’s eyes for approval, insecurity bleeding through his expression.

Sensing his partner’s vulnerability his lips curled into some mixture of a smile and a smirk, enjoying the look on his face though trying to remain comforting. “Beautiful..” he whispered, fingers grasping Alois’ jaw to pull him into another kiss. This kiss was backed with more fire, all teeth and tongue as they savored the taste and texture of one another.

The fire in his belly growing hotter, he found himself subconsciously rocking his hips against the other’s, searching desperately for some sort of friction to release the knot he felt forming deep inside him. His neediness was showing as he pulled down on his partner’s undergarments, annoyed by the thin pieces of fabric still keeping them even remotely decent. “These too..” he whined, clearing his throat as he felt embarrassment wash over him at the sound of his own voice. “Off..”

A light laugh left his lips, finding the desperation completely hilarious. Alois pushed his lover off eagerly, shifting his legs to get the undergarment off and allowing it to fall to the floor. He swiftly pulled the other man back in for a deep kiss, rolling the two over so that he could position himself on top and straddle the other. Now completely nude, the moonlight caught his skin in his moment of pause. 

“You’re so demanding…” He purred, leaning back in and winding a hand behind the other’s head. He locked his fingers in the denim hair, briefly eliciting a light amount of pain. “Though, you’ve been saving yourself.” He added, raising an eyebrow to challenge him. He’d missed just how needy his lover got with him, circumstance leading them to secrecy, and him being the only man unafraid to break that barrier - the only man who held this secret with him.

A soft whine left his lips as his head was pulled back, his Adam’s apple protruding from his throat as his neck arched. His face contorted slightly as he gazed up at the controlling man, brows furrowed and eyes slightly widened as his face flushed a deep rosy red.

He would be lying to himself if he tried to claim he wasn’t at least a bit nervous, as excited as he was. It had been nearly a decade since he had been in this position, this situation, and it had his nerves running rampant. Considering he still wasn’t married, he really hadn’t been physically intimate with another person since he was a young teen, when they experimented with each other’s bodies and memorized every curve and mark.

Ciel swallowed hard, the action difficult with the angle of his neck. “Eight years.. yes..” he breathed, his hands gently running up Alois’ thighs, dangerously close to his core but refusing to touch it. As desperate as he appeared, he liked to play games with him, too.

“Mm…” He trailed, tensing at the touch and biting his lip to stay calm as possible. “All for me, then..” He hummed. He was getting closer to losing his mind in the intimacy, whole body heating up. While he hadn’t had a lack of intimacy by any means, none of it was anything honest. He’d used his ex-lover as a means to an end, a way to spend those eight years not so alone. None of it was true pleasure. 

But this, this most certainly was just that. It was as if he hadn’t been touched in years either, never as nervous with another as he was with Ciel. The man knew every curve and spot by muscle memory, but his passion clouded his mind, rendered just as useless.

Removing his hand from the back of Ciel’s head, he grabbed the hand that was wandering near his thighs. Alois guided it, allowing it to rest directly beside his member, leaving the choice still ever open. Besides, his own hands had become shaky, his eyes having trouble staying open. “Please…” He whispered, opening his eyes for a second to reveal a pleading expression.

Ciel’s lips parted and hung open, his eyes never leaving Alois’ as he carefully wrapped his palm around the other’s member, grasping it gently. He watched his face for a change in expression, enjoying teasing his lover even as he laid underneath him, powerless.

Truth be told, Ciel would stay in this moment for all eternity if he could. Just the two of them; bodies bare and vulnerable, entangled in each other’s arms and legs twisted around one another, just like this forever.

Despite his current position, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of confidence as he touched the other man, his hand slowly beginning to move back and forth, his movements triggered by muscle memory. He grinned, looking up at Alois through half lidded eyes. “I so love that face you make..” He commented, his free hand running up and down Alois’ chest and stomach. “The same face, only older..” His hand squeezed slightly around the other’s member, hoping to provoke a more entertaining reaction from his partner.

Upon the contact, the blonde man gasped loudly, clapping a hand over his mouth in embarassment. Although they were entirely alone, it had been a long time since he’d felt a genuine surge of passion and the sudden vocalization shocked even himself. Confident, my love. 

“Ah-” he attempted, his breath catching, God, it was so hard to speak when handling actual pleasure. His entire body was so hot. “I’ll need to relearn you…” He trailed, eyes closing again, “all over again…” He admitted, his memory of Paris disappearing as the evening turned to deep blue night. 

Like the other, he wished for the time to just freeze here. They were so safe under the cover of night, and they didn’t have to lie to the world here. The blonde could be open with the other man underneath him, mouths and sins combining.

Ciel’s face subconsciously mimicked the other’s, his mouth slightly agape as he felt his lover harden under his touch. He continued stroking softly, tracing his thumb ever so gently around the tip.

“Then start studying..” he whispered, his voice breathy and longing. The knot in his stomach grew tighter and hotter, the friction between the two of them arousing himself as well. “You have a lot of catching up to do.” His cockiness was showing, made even more obvious by the smirk spreading across his lips like melted butter. Ciel spoke teasingly as if he himself didn’t have to relearn his lover’s body.

But his teasing didn’t stop there. He swiftly removed his hand from Alois’ member, placing both of his hands by either side of his head against the mattress. Alois got a taste, now it was his turn. And he would lay here until he got it. Clearly it hadn’t taken long for the two of them to fall back into the passionate and competitive, also quite stubborn, nature of their games.

“Fuck you…” He breathed, sending his lover a dagger of a glare. The man crawled off the bed at this moment, sliding down to the ground on his knees. He didn’t wait for the other man to reposition, but instead chose to grab both legs and tug him closer to the edge of the bed. 

The blonde licked his lips, a glimpse of his contract seal showing as he did so, leaning in now to place his lover’s member in his own mouth. Things like this held double-meaning for him, only ever soiling his seal for the other man. He and Jean’s love life was still a mystery to both; Alois lived in a daze then, and feeling alive at all came at a price. One thing could be said about it, however - Alois never allowed anyone else to touch his tongue in such a way. 

He worked the other to a fever pitch, he himself getting lost as well. Lesson one, he thought, one of many from here on out. The idea that the other was still engaged made him smile, knowing that he was able to prove his own worth on his knees.

A surprised gasp left him as he was pulled, moving to sit up on his elbows to watch Alois sink down to the ground before him. A pretty sight, he thought, though the devilish smirk on his face was quickly wiped away as soon as he felt his mouth on him. His right hand immediately went to the blond’s hair, gripping tightly as his left hand twisted itself in the sheets. His head, suddenly heavy, fell back against the mattress, a whimpering moan pouring from his lips.

Before his eyes, the other man could see his stomach muscles twitching and his chest heaving with heavy breaths as his mind frantically tried to make sense of this long forgotten feeling. Fingers and toes curled, back arched, eyes shut tightly as he felt his member engulfed in wet warmth.

His goal pleasure, the blonde bobbed his head dutifully, lost in the motion. He could feel his lover grow harder and hotter on the walls of his cheeks, a forgotten feeling and one long-missed. Ciel’s moans were a welcome melody to his ears, hands grabbing the other’s legs tightly; he had to be careful not to leave any bruises though he would delve great pleasure from doing so. 

He wished nothing more than to provide pleasure, despite only ever being good at receiving it. It was bliss to see the other’s edges soften right in front of his eyes, his breath quickening and his reaction exactly what he wanted out of the other. The taste of skin and the heat of the room were but a backdrop to their worlds entwining for a night - hopefully, there would be many more.

The two continued without words, only the sounds of whines and moans singing in their ears. Opening his eyes after holding them so tightly shut, Ciel felt as though he were seeing stars. He felt as though he could cry. Eight years of loneliness, eight years of being completely touch starved and wishing everyday so ashamedly that it was Alois’ cheek he were kissing instead of Lizzie’s.

His legs suddenly curled up around Alois’ head, unknowingly squeezing him between them as he felt hot pleasure pooling deep within him. It couldn’t end now, he had to last longer than this. He wished he could last hours doing this, all night if he were able. Gripping the blond’s hair tighter than he meant to, he pulled, lifting Alois’ head from his groin before he fell over the edge.

And what a sight he was. Pink and flushed and sweating and completely out of breath, barely able to hold himself up balancing on one elbow dug into the mattress. Ciel stared into nothing, eyes half lidded and pupils larger than moons, a bit embarrassed at how quickly Alois had gotten a rise out of him, but also trying to come down off of his overwhelming high.

The high was like a drug, a quick and fast hit now and then to stay satisfied. Alois felt like an addict, seeking his next hit from every hallway and dark room until he could come home and get high on his own supply. To compare it, Jean had been like a weak supply, a watered-down opiate that kept him alive but did naught much else. Ciel was the cleanest form of it, one hit could make him lose his mind. 

The contact turned his entire face bright pink and his whole body hot as the fire they stood in front of earlier. He was briefly thankful that his butler had worn him down already, stripped him emotionally so he could feel his lover piece him back together, breath by breath; pure opium poppies to soothe him. The blonde felt dizzy and lightheaded as his hair was grasped, crawling back on top of his love. What a sight that man beneath him was. 

Ciel had grown into a remarkable man, chiseled chest as if by the gods themselves. He took a pause to look him over, messy and unseamed. This was a sight he could behold for hours upon hours, the moonlight through the slightly drawn curtain dancing on them both. Leaning down on his own elbow, he placed a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek, a sweet gesture unusual for the Earl. 

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled, brushing hair from the other man’s face with his free hand. “All I ever wanted.. right here.”

It was painfully poetic, how the two Earl’s saw each other in exactly the same way, particularly in this very moment. Flushed pink, out of breath and sweat beading up on their foreheads; surely the most beautiful sight they had seen in a long time.

Catching his breath, Ciel looked Alois in the eyes upon hearing his words, his heart clenching. Beautiful, the voice repeated in his mind. It was in moments like these that Ciel struggled to find words, too caught up in the act to think properly, as if he never learned to speak in the first place. He did what he could only think of doing then, and wrapped his arms tightly around Alois and pulled him in close, capturing his lips yet again in a deep kiss. His legs lifted, locking ankles around Alois’ hips, and he trailed one hand back down to his lover’s member, wasting no time in stroking him eagerly. Ciel wanted to capture every one of his moans and breathless gasps.

He needed him. He wanted him. He wanted just as much for it to happen as he wanted the scene to last for hours. “Please..” he whined in the kiss, nearly desperate enough to begin begging. “Alois, please..”

Allowing a heavy breath to pass his lips upon the touch of the other, he closed his eyes in desire. His hot breath released onto his lover’s face, relaxing into a soft smile. Alois opened his eyes to fix his gaze on his face, taking in every sweet second they had right now. 

“Take me however you wish.” He stated, weak and low. “You’re the one who’s been waiting without a placeholder. So… show me what you fantasized about.” His statement dripped with desire and longing, his thoughts still partially distant but his body and world contained in this room. He wondered exactly what the other wanted to see from him, nothing but a circus clown when it came to the other man. Alois knew in that moment, he’d do absolutely anything if it made the love of his life feel some kind of freedom from all the responsibility they both held, knowing none of those fantasies were for the consumption of his betrothed.

With his hand still working diligently, stroking his lover ever so intently, his face froze as he stared up at the other, looking so deeply into his sea blue eyes he thought he might be falling in.

What had he fantasized about? Eight years had passed and Ciel spent every one of those days trying desperately to forget Alois; his scent, his body, the feeling of his skin against his own. When they were young, they spent nights like these experimenting, learning about each other’s bodies and their own; what felt good and what felt right. In fact, thinking about it now, they had probably used almost every surface in this room for sinning. Ciel’s face turned an even darker red at the thought, those memories resurfacing.

But ultimately, he knew what he wanted. “This..” he breathed, bringing both of his hands up to Alois’ cheeks to hold him and stroke his thumbs across his skin. “Like this.. I want to see your face..” Saying it this way made it sound romantic, and while of course it was, a part of Ciel also wanted so desperately to watch the other’s face contort with pleasure as they neared the end of this. That was admittedly his favorite part. “Take me this way..”

He nodded softly, breath catching in his throat at every stroke. Fuck, jean wishes he could. Alois had only ever loved one other like this- his butler never returning the favor, every other man in his bed only ever filling the space. He had nearly forgotten what love really felt like; the passion of such a love never quite matching up. 

He rolled himself over, taking his lover with him since they were locked in such a manner. The man splayed himself out beneath him, giving himself up to the moment. “All of me is yours,” he purred, leaving himself on display for the other alone. His pale skin was hot as a stovetop, arching towards the other in desire. 

It has always belonged to the other man, he thought. No matter what he tried to do to move on, none of it had worked. He knew now that this was due to the fact that having sold their souls, their bodies were forever bound by the lack. They were a match made directly in hell itself, the fires of which came through their bodies when they were alone.

A moment passed as Ciel regained his balance from being flipped over, now hovering over the other young man with his hands against the mattress on either side of his head. He forgot how this felt, being in control. A rush of confidence sparked through him, sitting up straight to look down at Alois, a calm but devious look in his eyes.

Ciel slowly ran his fingertips under Alois’ jaw, placing his first two fingers against his lips. “Open.“ He commanded, slipping his two fingers into the other’s mouth and against his tongue, coating them in slick saliva. “I forgot how lovely you look like this..” He teased, grinning as he pressed his fingers down against the pad of Alois’ tongue, admiring the seal that was barely visible.

Alois heeded the command, parting his lips eagerly. The seal of his contract appeared as if a latent burn mark, branded but inactive as ever as he waited for his lover to defile it. The act was one of disrespect, wanting his mouth to be used to the fullest extent to coat the mark. The man smiled slightly, wanting nothing more than to be used. 

While he always stayed on top in the past, he felt comfortable letting himself loose only with his love. It had been years since they’d been together, years more since he’d been used last like this. While some memories still burned of the old man and his torture, Ciel would be the only one who could take those memories and light them ablaze. Nights such as these served as his only form of therapy, twisting his old memories into new ones and taking their place.

While distracting Alois with his fingers in his mouth, Ciel thought deeply about how he should go about being in this new position of control. He hadn’t done it like this before, and was wracking his brain for memories of things Alois had done to him. This was the perfect opportunity to give his lover a taste of his own medicine.

And suddenly, he had a wonderful idea. He stifled a small laugh, sneering as he removed his now soaked fingers from Alois’ mouth. In what looked like one swift movement from Alois’ love drunk point of view, Ciel scooched down the bed, lifting each of Alois’ legs over his shoulders and pulling him close by his thighs. “Relax for me, love,” he cooed, pressing an eager digit to his lover’s entrance. Remembering the initial discomfort he usually felt during this, he made sure to stimulate him in other ways, squeezing the other’s thigh with his free hand and licking gently at his member. He kept his gaze locked firmly on Alois’ face, studying him for any hint of pain or pleasure as he slowly massaged his finger inside of him, deeper and deeper until he reached his second knuckle.

With a sharp gasp, the man pressed into it, growing dizzy. While painful, no one else ever took so much care with his body. It hurt, but in the best kind of way; pain morphed into pleasure, heat growing in his abdomen. Letting out a soft moan, Alois closed his eyes tightly, breathing through any of the remaining pain. 

The man wanted to lose complete control underneath the other, relaxing as his fingers tied knots of the silken sheets and sweat beading on his chest. Drunk on love was a look that suited him flawlessly, arching his back into it and giving himself up to the mercy of the moment. He grew harder, heartbeats siphoning blood to the region and heard through the silence now only they punctured. 

“F…. fucking hell…”

Watching him carefully through his eyelashes, Ciel left wet kisses along his inner thighs, stopping to bite lightly at the skin. Hearing the other’s comment he couldn’t help but grin, sensing another opportunity for cockiness. “Don’t be so sensitive with me now..” he teased, remembering every time their positions had been switched, with Alois purring in his ear about how sensitive and tightly wound he could be.

Careful not to move too quickly, Ciel massaged in a second finger, this one sliding in a bit easier than the first, He curled them together, gently beginning to move them in and out of the other’s entrance. His free hand ran up, up his thigh and up the side of his torso, eventually finding his hand and interlocking their fingers tightly. “I’m never this quiet,” he smirked, pushing his fingers in just a bit deeper. “Let me hear you..”

Neither am I, he thought, not when I’m faking. That was just it, wasn’t it though. This time, Alois was actually embarrassed by how desperate he’d gotten for this brat. While familiar with the feeling, he wasn’t used to his heartbeat quickening this much, the heat in his stomach growing so much. Everything without him had just been a release, and only satisfied when he could block out Jean’s body. Thank god their faces were similar, but their personalities held different appeal. The man inside him now, for example, was one he loved. 

With another thrust, he was driven close to the edge. A louder moan escaped him, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. Sticky-sweet bliss coursed through his whole body, feeling as though he had been dipped into syrup with how lost in paradise he was becoming. His fingers tightened into the sheets, pulling them off the other side of the bed as he allowed another moan to escape.

“You make such pretty noises..” He hummed, sucking a dark bruise into the inside of Alois’ thigh. He continued twisting and thrusting his fingers into him, curling them and trying to ensure he was relaxed. It wouldn’t be pleasing for either of them if it wasn’t.

Planting a quick kiss on his thigh, Ciel gently removed his fingers, sitting himself up and pulling Alois’ legs around his hips, securing them there. His chest rose and fell as he took deep breaths, trying to push aside the nervousness he felt in this moment. A final look at the blond’s face caused him to relax completely, feeling the heat between their bodies grow hotter. He swallowed hard, leaning in to kiss his lover passionately.

Pulling away so they were just centimeters apart, Ciel gazed into the eyes of Alois, exhausted and aroused. “Stop me if it hurts..” He whispered softly, remembering how Alois always said something along those lines to him when the positions were switched.

Ciel gently stroked himself a few times, stifling soft moans before pressing the tip of his member to Alois’ entrance, moving as slowly as he could as he began to push inside. A low groan melted from his lips, feeling the tight heat surround his member. It was almost enough to send him over the edge just like this, but he was determined to hold on. Steadier now, he placed his palms over Alois’ locking their fingers together on either side of his head against the mattress.

Wincing slightly, he exhaled sharply as he felt the other enter. It did hurt, of course, but he could relax into it in a way he hadn’t been able to with his replacement. It had been years however, since he’d done anything like this, and he was tighter than he used to be. Held down by his palms, he struggled to clear the brain fog that made him feel drunk. 

Eyes watering at the remnants of pain, he let himself ease into the pleasure. The heat in his abdomen grew, placing him right on the edge of the cliff. The man moaned repeatedly at every thrust, leaving his mouth open so as not to worry about it as much as he was prior. The room grew louder and hotter and he felt himself edging so close to release, fingers holding tightly through the other’s. 

After only minutes, Alois felt the pressure burst, arching back into the bed in ever-fleeting bliss. The moment made him feel lightheaded, all the blood rushing to the area and leaving him a succulent mess. Embarrassed, he released his fingers to wind tightly together behind his lover’s back. “Fuck you…” He sighed, an echoing release rocking his body again.

Upon feeling his body relax, Ciel picked up his pace a bit, thrusting rhythmically into his lover. Soft gasps and low groans tumbled from his lips, his brows furrowing as sweat beaded along his rosy forehead.

Only minutes later did the rhythm he found begin to fumble, his thrusts becoming less precise and more desperate. He leaned over Alois’ body, gripping the sheets above his head as the other wrapped tightly around his back. The knot in his lower abdomen pulled, tighter and tighter until the rope snapped, forcing his blissful release inside of Alois. He shuddered, his hips still slowly rocking as he rode out his high, looking down at the mess Alois had left all over his lower stomach.

Ciel barely had any energy left, his muscles quivering slightly as he rested on top of the other man, yet to pull out. He chuckled softly at Alois’ feisty words, peppering the side of his face and neck with soft kisses. “You loved it..” Ciel hummed into his ear.

After taking a few deep breaths, Ciel moved to pull out, both of them flinching a bit as he did so, followed by a relaxed sigh. He knew they had cleaning up to do, but he decided it could wait a few more minutes. The power high he had felt was dying down now as he curled up against Alois’ side, resting his head on his lover’s chest and listening to his heart. It felt as though a part of him had been fulfilled, like an incomplete puzzle finally placing the last puzzle piece after years of being incomplete. Alois Trancy was his missing puzzle piece.

“Mm…” Alois hummed ,closing his eyes and holding his lover close. “Irrelevant.” He teased, looking over. He poked one finger into Ciel’s red hot cheek, causing the other man’s face to shrink for a moment. The expression made him chuckle lightly, all tension gone between the two. It was a childish gesture, calling back to the years they spent apart and tying the time together. It was as if they’d never been apart to being with, the shedded years as irrelevant as the comment.

The taller man turned his head, nuzzling into Ciel’s neck. “I just want you to know,” he began softly, “you have no one to compete with.” 

He wondered just how much his past affair bugged the other man, though he hoped not at all. Jean had looked nearly the same, spoke the same, and shared most mannerisms. Yet, he held the knowledge to be true that the comparison was never truly there. Nights were desperate in a different way, as if he had to prove himself time and time again. Both men had grown up beside Alois, but Alois had never grown out of London, rather leaving a piece of himself here that he was able to gain back in these sickly sweet nothings.

Ciel closed his eyes, nuzzling deeper into the embrace and wrapping his arms around Alois. He wrapped a strand of blond hair around his finger, twisting it gently.

The sudden confession took him by surprise, his eyes opening although he didn’t move. He was surprisingly not angry or hurt in the slightest. The two of them were not only living under different circumstances, one of them actively engaged and the other free to do as he pleased, but they also handled their pain quite differently. Ciel tended to shrink away from the world and wallow in silence, muting any emotion he felt until it passed. Alois would act out in a number of ways, grabbing onto anything he could to chase a new feeling that would distract him from the pain.

“I know..” he whispered, lifting his head to look at Alois, still playing with his hair. “I do, I know..”

The two Earls shared that moment, looking into each other’s eyes and reaching a silent understanding that they would be okay, that the past didn’t matter and whatever happened in the last eight years wasn’t something they could change. They laid there awhile longer, snuggling close and sharing the occasional kiss, before eventually rising from the bed to clean one another. Ciel felt both pride and pity at the sight of Alois struggling to sit up, hiding a snicker as he helped clean him up.

Their bodies cooled down, no longer out of breath and coated in a layer of sweat. They pulled the silky covers over themselves, resting their heads comfortably in the folds of the pillows, still clinging to one another as if they feared the other would disappear before morning.

Tied together, all worries dissipated in the fog of the London night. They were finally alone, even if it were for only a night or two here and there. As grown men, they knew they were both on borrowed time even more so than as teens. Any moment outside this manor or this room could endanger either one, and yet they were perfectly calm. Falling asleep now, the blonde was sure to hide in his lover’s chest, letting darkness cover him completely. Pain from long ago didn’t touch him here, sewing up the lost edges of their love story.

[pazvizslaplasmathrower]

A Father’s Duty Chapter 33

Read here or on AO3

Word Count: 1311

Summary:

While still unsure of your feelings towards the Jedi Order, you take a tentative step forward as the Razor Crest moves on. 

The light seemed to grumble to itself, irritated by your words. “As if the foster situation wasn’t enough of a situation…”

 “If you’re done, I’d like to go to bed. My father expects me to be sleeping.” Though obedience was in no way an innate part of your being, your body was tired and a bit overwhelmed. Some rest was certainly overdue.

 “’Father’?” The green light questioned. “That Mandalorian?”

 “Um, yeah?”  

 “Such close bonds are dangerous for a Jedi, especially such a young one. They can become the root of personal obsession; a swift path to the dark side.”

 “I-.”

 “In the past, living in one of clans would have been preferable, but now that is a mere dream…I would suggest following the rest of us the next time this starship lands, though I sense your bond to that Mandalorian is strong…”

 “I’m not leaving!” Though doing your best to stay quiet, your voice wavered loudly.

 “Tell me, young one, do you protect those you care about?”

 “Y-Yes…”

 “And does growing stronger and wiser aid you in that venture?”

“Yes.”

 “Then tell me, how have you grown in that Mandalorian’s care?”

 Mind racing, your ears started to ring incessantly. “I-.”

 “Perhaps you have grown healthier, but you have no control over the living Force, and have no knowledge of lightsaber countermeasures. I am still at a loss as to how you created your own. Without a master’s guidance, the attempt should have left you maimed at the very least.”

 Glaring at the light, you sensed it was fixing its gaze upon you with great uncertainty.

 “You should be with him, participating in the Gathering, and starting out your days as a proper Padawan…Too many formalities, but I suppose it is for the best.” It paused. “And they have left the ugly work for me. Young one, I take no joy in your suffering-.”

 “Master Jedi, please, I am so confused!”

 The voice sighed; a hint of sympathy embedded in it.

“Master Jedi,” fists clenched, you were tempted to call out for him, the Mandalorian. “Why are you here? I’m not a Jedi! I have no master! But now…Now I have a Papa! Or Buir; I think that is how it’s said.”

 The odd, warm sensation drew closer with the green light, not comforting like your father’s embrace, but smothering, and contrived. Shutting your eyes tight, you hoped it would back off and in a matter of seconds it did, returning to its place across from you.

 “Little Padawan.” It christened you against your will. “He is not your father. And that boy is not your brother. You are not his child.”

 “Liar…” You snarled viciously.

 “Personal bonds can birth immense suffering and agony. Tell me, young one, what have you felt when the Mandalorian and the child are in danger?”

Taking a shaky breath, you struggled to look at the light directly. “Fear. I was afraid.”

 “And where has that fear led you?

Tugging on your braid nervously, a sense of utter dread made you weary. “I lost control…But I’m sick, I can’t-.”

 “Let go. That is how you protect them, little one. We shall guide you. What ails you can be undone. It is not too late. Oh Force…”

 Hot tears poured down your face that had become quite pallid, your teeth clenched together so roughly, you could have sworn they were moments away from shattering.

 “Let go.” The light spoke, “I have never been one for following rules, but I am afraid there is no other way. When I next return, where we go, we will go together.”

 “No.” Your poor voice cracked.

 “Child-.”

 “NO... No.” Taking a moment to compose yourself, you tried to stare at the ghost without squinting. “I finally have something, Master Jedi. I have a Papa, I feel safe! If it’s selfish…I don’t care! I’ll be selfish then! If I can’t keep my family, then I don’t want to be a Jedi!”

 It didn’t say anything for a while, and for a second you wondered if the ghost would kill you for such a declaration of defiance against the Order.

 “…Very well. Your first lesson soon approaches. Be prepared, Little One.”

 As the light faded into nothingness, you fell back on your cot, with one hand, restlessly fiddling with your braid, your fingers finding much to your shock, a bead.

  The soft babbling of your little brother woke you slowly, when your vision focused, you could see his tiny hands had seized your braid and brought it to his mouth. Absentmindedly, he covered your new bead in drool.

 “Little Brother…” You yawned, “I’m too tired for this.”

 After sitting right and picking him up, a soft knock came at your door.

 “Come in!” Discreetly you shoved the old Jedi text among the cot sheets, something told you it needed to be hidden for the time being.

 Cara entered, giving you the usual pat on the head, then moving to scratch the baby behind the ear. “You kinda slept in, kid. Had to be one hell of a nap.”

 Shrugging, you felt more exhausted then when you had first fallen asleep; truly unfair.

 “Anyways, there was a change of plans, and we just landed. Metal Head went out to find a place to stay, but he should be back soon.”

 Walking out of your quarters, you peered out one of the viewports to see moonlight casting a rather cold glow over miles and miles of sand. Climbing up into the cockpit you could see the Razor Crest had landed close to the outside of a rather hectic borough.

 “Where are we?” You called out.

 “Tatooine!” Cara yelled from somewhere else on the ship. “You ever been?”

 “Yeah…”

 You could hear her come from behind, “Well, that doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.”

 “It’s where I was dropped off when that kriffing pirate thought he killed me. I was dumped along with the rest of the trash.”

 How someone could be so immensely strong yet so mellow was baffling, certainly when Cara’s hand fell on your shoulder, the grip actually reassuring. “Kid, it’s okay. He’s long gone, and I won’t, and your dad won’t let anything happen to you.”

 Nodding, your head turned along with your brother’s, both of you sensing the return of your father. The baby gurgled excitedly, waving his arms about in delight. If you had been any younger, you would have bolted out of the ship to go hug him. After that last meeting with the ghostly Master Jedi, finding out that the Mandalorian had left alone was quite alarming. Still restraining yourself, you set the baby down who ran to grab onto the Mandalorian’s leg as he entered from the boarding ramp.

 “You’re awake, ad’ika?” He mumbled, scooping the little one up gently. “Oh, you’re all up.”

 He informed you all he had found a safe place to stay; after practically abandoning Greef Karga on Bespin, he had made his own way to Tatooine, finding safe haven in an outlying club he partially owned. Though he was certainly disgruntled about being left behind, Greef Karga was more than willing to let the group of you stay in the room above. Tatooine was no more dangerous than any other planet on the outer rim, but even so Cara and Din were quick to usher you and the baby inside your lodging for the night. Despite having rested plenty earlier, you were easily able to find slumber again as soon as your head hit the pillow. Perhaps it was only the second bed you had ever slept in save the cot on the Crest. Or maybe it was the soup; you had felt oddly sleepy not long after drinking it. The room being without a proper crib, you hugged you brother loosely to you, unaware of your father and Cara noticing something going on outside.

[plague-of-insomnia]

So Andre suggested I post my serial original fiction, In/Exhale, on AO3.

The thing is, I wrote season 1 in like 2012, and it was the first time I had tried to write the story for a public audience... so I would have a huge urge to re-write/Re-edit it (again)... but I honestly don’t really have the time/energy for that.

Would anyone be interested in reading it via AO3?

(In its current state. You can read it via free downloadable ebook on my site right now.)

It’s on on-going series, with three complete seasons so far, probably like 300-500K words.

I know several of you expressed interest in reading some of my original work. When I asked that question I wasn’t thinking of I/E, but it is a story very close to my heart.

Here is some info about the story from my website:

Here’s a tiny excerpt from the first episode (abridged):

Kai tried to bite back the wave of regret that swept over him. Sure, he’d lost a few years, but that was behind him. He had a future now, one he hadn’t thought would be possible, and he needed to focus on that. He’d put the past firmly behind him, and focus on the now, on the possibilities ahead of him instead. And none of these people had to know any of it, if he could help it.

It only took a few minutes to reach the third floor, and Kai shuffled out behind a couple of cute girls. He wondered if he could ever bring himself to get close to someone again. Not just in bed--he had Nikki for that, and what they had was incredible--in fact, he planned on seeing her tonight after his classes. But growing up as an orphan in a home, he'd always dreamed of having a family someday. A wife whom he loved, and who loved him, some kids. Most of his life that had been as big a fantasy as flying, but then he'd met Becca. Becca, who he'd thought could maybe be the one, who would stick with him despite everything.

Kai felt his hands balling into fists as he wandered down the hall for his first class. New start, new start, he thought, fighting his fingers' instinct to sign the words as he finally found room 312, shuffling in behind a few other students.

Room 312 was one of the large auditorium-style lecture halls on campus, with stadium seating leading up in tiered rows, divided into three sections by stairs. It was still early; class didn't start for at least another twenty minutes, so plenty of seats lay empty. Kai glanced at the front row, where there were gaps obviously intended for wheelchairs and sighed despite himself before turning his attention to the stairs and the far top back of the room. Troy had told him to push himself as far as he reasonably could, and although he had avoided stairs as a general rule for most of his life, he decided to give them a try.

Without his crutches or a handrail it was harder than it could have been, and halfway up Kai debated stopping. But he'd been trapped at the bottom of rooms like this so often in his life, and the thrill of his breath coming so easily even as his exhalations and inhalations grew quicker and shallower, encouraged him to keep going.

When he finally reached the top, he collapsed in the first available seat, staring down and reveling in his achievement. He knew it was silly, and it wasn't like he'd ever seen a mountain, but he realized this must be what it felt like to climb one and look down, admiring the view, knowing what you did to earn it. It wasn't the most practical seat for various reasons.

Kai was so lost in his own thoughts he hadn't realized a girl had sat down beside him. It was her aroma that got him first; one of the things Kai had enjoyed most since he'd been extubated post-transplant was getting his sense of smell back. She smelled delicate and floral; he couldn't quite place the exact scent, but it was subtle and lovely. A body spray, perhaps, instead of a perfume. Certainly not pungent enough to provoke an attack if this had been before.

When he turned his head, he realized she'd been staring at him, and for a moment, he grew nervous. Had his collar dipped or come undone and she could see his trache scar? He knew it was creepy looking, especially if you'd never seen anything like it before. Reflexively, he brought his fingers to his neck, and maybe she sensed she'd been staring, because she blinked, shook her head, and smiled.

"Sorry." She cleared her throat. "I'm Renee Poche," she said. Her voice was soft and sweet like her scent; clearly, she wasn't from the Midwest.

"Kai Fox," he replied, offering his hand, reluctantly dropping it from his throat.

She smiled. God, she had a beautiful smile. She was petite; it was hard to tell how tall now that they were sitting, but it was yet another indication that she wasn't from around here. Her hair was dark--almost black--and curly. Kai didn't know much about women, but it looked natural, her thick tendrils perfectly framing her face in a managed chaos he found entrancing despite the fact that Becca also had curly hair.

"That's an unusual name. You a freshman?" She asked as she pulled a notebook and pen out of her bag.

Kai flushed slightly, realizing how silly it was for his body to react this way. "Yeah." He couldn't manage to say more than that.

She flipped her desk out and laid her supplies on it, smiling the whole time. "I'm an architecture student, so my program's five years. I'm a second-year right now. But I put off most of my core classes last year, so here I am."

Kai grinned despite himself. He wanted to touch her curls, feel their softness on his skin, never stop smelling her unique floral scent. His stomach churned and he knew immediately he wanted to know more about her--everything. Suddenly, his chest grew tight, and his face paled. No. This hadn't happened since. . . . Reflexively, he dropped his hand to his right pocket, feeling the inhaler beneath his palm.

"You OK?" Her face was so concerned and sincere, and she'd reached for him, placing a warm, tiny hand on his arm.

He stared at it, forced himself to take a few slow breaths, realizing he was OK. They'd experimentally grafted the most important nerves, so he had more sensation than most transplant patients, but it was different than before, something he was still getting used to. The tightness could have been his imagination. How was it that this girl he hardly knew, whom he'd just met, could make him feel so off kilter? He eased his lips into a smile to reassure her and give backing to his words.

"Yeah. Sorry." He swallowed. "First day jitters, I guess," he added with a bit of a blush.

She laughed, a musical, lilting sound that made him grateful for his hearing. "So what classes are you taking this semester?"

Kai thought a moment. "World History I, English Comp, Intro to Philosophy, Intro to Psych."

The professor had arrived and was setting up for the lecture, writing "World History I, H101, MILLER" on the white board.

"Me too," she said. "I mean, I have those same classes. We should sit together in them, too."

Kai felt a warm flutter in his stomach. "I'd like that."

Renee looked as if she were about to say something else when the professor cleared his throat and began to speak. He was a short, chubby, bearded man, or perhaps his height was an illusion created by the distance, dressed almost stereotypically in khakis, simple button-up, and tartan sportscoat with brown patches on the elbows.

"Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to World History I. This course will fulfill your common curriculum requirement, but only if you study hard and pass my exams."

Kai knew he should be taking notes, but he'd nearly forgotten himself, so entranced by Renee, so he fumbled for his bag to grab a notebook and his own pen. It could have been his imagination, but she seemed to be casting glances at him every few minutes, smiling the entire time.

"Many people ask, 'why study history?'" Professor Miller leaned on his podium as if he were studying the class, taking everyone in one by one. With nearly three-hundred students in this section, there was no way he could know them all, and Kai knew he and Renee were just two in a sea of faces. "Of course, the easy answer is 'because then we're doomed to repeat it.' However, I think life is far more complicated than that."Professor Miller abandoned his podium and crossed so he was nearer to the first row of students, laying one arm across his stomach and balancing his opposite elbow in the palm of his hand, supporting his chin on his fist. "I believe that the past, however behind us it may seem, is never truly gone." Miller again searched the faces in the crowd, and for a split moment, despite being dozens of feet away, Kai felt as if their eyes met, and his pulse quickened, nervous, but not sure exactly why. He glanced over at Renee, partially so he didn’t have to look at the professor, and partially to simply steal a peek at her. She had her head bent over her paper, as if she were taking notes, but he could see from here her page was blank.

"The past is always a part of us, and as much as we may like to forget that, not only can't we, we mustn't." Professor Miller nodded his head, then turned his back on the audience.

Kai knew Miller wasn’t speaking to him, couldn’t be speaking to him, but why did his words feel so personal? And why couldn’t one forget the past? Kai had done it before, shifting dark memories into the deep recesses of his brain, never talked about, never thought about. Why should now be any different?

[its-flicked-switch]

When Fox Met Dana

What will happen when Mulder runs into a tearful and more scantily dressed Scully on the outskirts of D.C. on a Friday night? 

Early MSR. Set early to mid-season 3.

Rating: Teen and Up

This story was originally written for The X-Files Secret Santa Fanfic Exchange back in December as a gift for @viceversawrites. Prompt: Someone feels insecure about something. 

I’m in the process of getting all of my current works posted on Tumblr, but should you be interested in viewing a comprehensive list, visit my AO3 profile.  

Once every couple of months, Mulder humors his mother and meets her for dinner. He feels guilty for putting her off as much as he does, especially with Samantha and his father gone, but the guilt he feels following every cancelation always wains in the aftermath of what always turns out to be a torturously long conversation about any and all things non-consequential — gardening, real-estate, and wine tastings … meaningful conversations of merit always monopolized and downgraded to match her level of comfort with little thought given to what he wished or wished not to discuss.

Sadly, this is what he has come to expect from his mother.

The only difference being that dinner tonight started with a lecture. His mother usually reserves those for when the food arrives, but tonight he made the mistake of underestimating traffic. That in combination with the parking being particularly egregious resulted in him being 20 minutes late to a dinner that he had already canceled on three separate occasions. Admittedly, this had not been the best way to start off the evening.

He had anticipated her being irritated when he arrived but had not expected her to be quite so crass.

"It's no wonder I don't have any grandchildren. You should never keep a lady waiting, Fox. It's poor form, even for you. I raised you better," she said to him by way of greeting.

He had known then that it was going to be a long evening but still did his best to bite his tongue, nod, smile, and comment appropriately in all the right places.

When the time finally came for them to part ways, he walked her to her car, opened her door, and kissed her on the cheek as he bid her goodbye. She offered to drop him off at his car, but he declined, opting instead to take advantage of the cool evening air. Her words from earlier still echoing in his mind.

"The work you do is dangerous Fox, and there's no need for it. I have yet to understand why you refuse to take the path so generously laid out in front of you. You went to Oxford for Christ's sake."

Following his father's death, conversations pertaining to his future have come up more and more frequently. She doesn't get it. She never has and likely never will. People handle grief in different ways. Mulder has always wanted answers. His mother, on the other hand, has only ever wanted to forget.

As he watches her pull off onto the side street and drive away, he cannot help but feel relieved that it is over, which in turn, makes him feel guilty. As much as she grades on his nerves, she is still his mother, and a son shouldn't avoid and dread seeing his own mother. Especially when she is all he has left.

Walking down the street with his hands buried deep in his pockets, he is so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice the woman hastily exiting the building alongside him until it's too late to avoid her.

Despite being caught off guard, he somehow manages to get his hands out of his pockets in time to steady her before she loses her balance.

"Shit," he exclaims.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you … Are you—"

When the woman turns to face him more directly, he's immediately stunned into silence.

"Scully?"

As he looks her over to ensure that she is unharmed, he immediately becomes acutely aware of two things.

One, she has been crying.

Two, her breasts are much larger than he thought they were.

Trying not to focus too much on the latter of the two observations, he shifts his focus to her bloodshot eyes and smeared makeup.

"Scully … what are you—What's wrong? Are you OK," he asks, struggling to find words.

The surprise of her sudden appearance in combination with the shock of seeing her dressed for a night out has nearly rendered him speechless, making the interaction all that much more awkward.

She makes a noise that he quickly identifies as being one of annoyance as she takes a step back and ties her coat more tightly around her body in an attempt to cover up and downplay the revealing dress she is wearing, but it's too late. While he may have refrained from staring, he certainly noticed.

"I'm fine," she says, but her tone, body language, and reluctance to meet his eyes suggest that she is anything but.

"You don't look fine," he says cautiously, unsure of how wise it will be to draw attention to fact that her makeup is smeared. "Where is your car?"

Her eyes roam the length of the street and sidewalk as if she's looking for someone.

"I didn't drive. I've called a cab."

"A cab? To take you home? That's going to cost at least 40 bucks from here, if not more … Common, my car is just down the—"

"Mulder it's fine I—"

"Dana?"

The man comes out of nowhere.

Mulder starts to move aside until he sees the look on Scully's face. He's not sure what has transpired between the two of them, but it's quite clear that this piece of shit, whoever he is, is the reason for Scully's swift and tearful exit and that's all he needs to know.

Situating himself to stand slightly in front of her, Mulder gives the man a pointed glance.

"She's leaving."

"Oh, and who might you be," the man asks running his hands through his hair in what appears to be an attempt to calm himself. His rolled up sleeves and partially undone buttons give him an air of casualness that his body language does not portray.

"Fox Mulder. I'm her partner, and she'll be leaving with me."

To his surprise, Scully does not object.

Although the man is clearly perturbed and a bit flustered, he doesn't make a scene. Instead, he walks away shaking his head and mumbling under his breath as he makes his way back into the building.

"Scully, what did he do," Mulder asks, turning to face her.

"It's nothing Mulder. I just want to go home."

He wants to argue with her because clearly whatever happened was a far cry from nothing.

Dana Scully making a tearful exit and hailing a 40 dollar cab is the exact opposite of nothing, but the uneasiness radiating off of her keeps him from pressing her any further, at least for the time being. Because if there is one that is abundantly clear, it's how uncomfortable and embarrassed she is by the fact that he happened upon what has clearly been an unsuccessful romantic evening.

The fact that she has not mentioned seeing anyone actually surprises him. Scully has always made it a point to set boundaries and tell him when he is interfering with her life outside of work, which makes the situation he has happened upon all that much more curious.

Although it's not necessarily any of his business, the fact that she exited a private, high-end building filled with condominiums makes him a bit uneasy.

Leaving a restaurant under duress is one thing, leaving private residence is another. One does not have to be a profiler to come up with any number of troubling scenarios as to why a woman would leave a man's residence in tears.

"What are you doing on the outskirts of D.C. on a Friday night Mulder," she asks breaking their silence as they reach his car.

"Having a very uncomfortable dinner with my mother. I would like to say that she was in rare form tonight, but that would be a lie."

Despite her state of duress, she manages to snort back a laugh as she waits for him to unlock the doors.

"Sounds like we are both batting a thousand tonight then."

"Why Scully, did you just make a baseball referenced joke?"

Although he's not looking at her directly, he can sense her soft smile in the darkness of his car.

Turning up the heat, he pulls out of the parking lot thankful that he has least managed to get a smile out of her.

Just as he is mulling over what to say next to break the ice, he hears a rumble.

"Scully … was that your stomach?"

Sighing and shifting uncomfortably she confirms what he already suspects.

"I left before we ate."

"Wow. That bad huh?"

"Yes. That bad."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Thank you for driving me. I know it's a bit out of your way."

Knowing now what he needs to do, he changes his course, turning onto the next side street and looping back around.

"Mulder what are you—"

"I know I can be an ass sometimes, but I'm not taking my partner home with an empty stomach and makeup smeared all over her face from crying."

"Mulder, I would really prefer to just—"

"Greek or Italian?"

"Mulder …"

"Greek … or Italian?"

Letting out an exasperated huff of air, she relents.

"Italian."

When they enter the restaurant, Scully immediately excuses herself and disappears into the bathroom.

Unsure of what she will want to eat or drink, he orders them both water and waits. Just when he is about to check to make sure that she hasn't bailed on him and called a cab, she reappears.

"Sorry … I needed to freshen up a bit."

"I'm just glad you didn't bail on me and call a cab," he says with a chuckle.

"Fortunately for you, I'm too hungry to bail," she replies.

Her tone is serious, but there is an edge of playfulness to it that he appreciates.

In the two years that they have been partnered, they have seen and experienced a lot together. They may not always see eye to eye, but he would like to think that they have grown closer. He has certainly grown to respect and appreciate her, and he would like to think that she has done the same — at least on some level.

"I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you …"

"Have you ever been here before," she asks as she begins the flip through the menu.

"Nope. First time."

"Hmmm …"

"Wine?"

After he asks, he internally winces as he recognizes the potential implications of his question.

You wine and dine dates, not partners.

Based on her expression, she has undoubtedly come to the same conclusion. Fortunately, she doesn't appear to be offended. If she is, she has at least had the grace to hide it well.

"No. I'm good."

She has yet to remove her coat, and he has a pretty good idea as to why.

Although he did not get the opportunity to fully appreciate what she was wearing when he bumped into her earlier, he saw enough to get a general idea. The plunging neckline she is sporting is much more risqué than anything he has ever seen her wear before. The black sheer-like material clung to her tightly in some areas while hanging loosely in others, revealing her curves quite nicely.

Scully has apparently been hiding quite a bit in those loose fitting pantsuits. While he has always made it a point to remain respectful, he is still a man. He still sees her — all of her.

When the bread arrives he cannot help but chuckle at the look of pure elation that crosses her features. The basket barely hits the table before she grabs a piece and places it on her plate. It occurs to him that it's quite possible that she has not eaten since lunch, and it's well past 8:00 now.

Braving a more serious conversation, he tries again to get her to open up to him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sighing, she stops chewing for a minute and looks up to meet his eyes.

"Not really."

Mulder is not hungry, but he grabs a piece of bread to keep her from feeling guilty about eating all of it. He has apparently done a poor job of hiding his disappointment at her reluctance to open up to him because within a few seconds she is taking a deep breath and speaking again.

"A friend set us up. We've been out a few times and have always had a good time, so when he offered to cook me dinner, I accepted."

Nodding, Mulder waits for her to continue.

"But he apparently had more than dinner in mind tonight."

"Did he touch you," Mulder asks before he can stop himself.

It's a highly personal question, but the mere thought of someone touching her without her consent makes his blood boil, especially in light of her abduction and everything else she has been through this year.

The wave of protectiveness and fury he initially felt, however, dissipates quickly and is replaced by guilt as he watches her struggle to determine just how much she is going to disclose. He's clearly made her uncomfortable by asking her something so specific.

"He … He was just … very forward."

"I take it that you asked him to stop?"

She doesn't reply with words, but she doesn't have to. The pointed glance she offers him is enough.

"I take it that he didn't?"

"Mulder … I really don't want to talk about it. I left. I won't be seeing him again. End of story."

He wants to press her for details, but more than anything he just wants the pummel Mr. Run-My-Hands-Through-My-Hair Causal.

Reining in his fury, he keeps his voice as level as possible.

"Well, order whatever you want. Tonight is on me."

"Mulder, that's not necessary."

"I'll give you a call the next time I have dinner with my mother, and you can buy me a couple of drinks."

"Hmmm … that bad huh?"

"Yes. That bad."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. It's just the way things are."

When the waiter returns, Scully orders chicken tortellini. Mulder, on the other hand, settles for a small salad, not because he is hungry, but because he does not want her to feel uncomfortable eating alone.

"Are you still cold," he asks, trying desperately to keep his voice casual and passive.

He knows he is playing with fire, but the discomfort she is displaying is almost comical. It's clear from the redness in her cheeks that she has more than warmed up since their arrival. In fact, she appears to be uncomfortably warm. Her coat remaining on has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature in the room and they both know it.

Giving him a pointed look of warning, she returns her attention to her bread, picking at it nervously.

While he would certainly enjoy teasing her about this under more normal circumstances, he doubts that tonight is the time to push the envelope. On some level, he can understand why she is reluctant to remove it. He has never seen her in anything remotely revealing. She has always made it point to dress professionally and modestly for work — excessively so, and given what she has clearly been hiding under those loosely fitting pantsuits, he cannot say that he blames her.

Being a female in a male-dominated field is undoubtedly challenging. Although she could clearly use her sex appeal to turn heads and get a leg up, she doesn't. It is one of the many things that he has always respected and appreciated about her. Scully is a woman of integrity. She is a professional, which is why running into her on the street dressed so scantly had come as such a surprise.

"If you're worried about what I'll think about the dress, I've already seen it and happen to approve. There's no need for you to be uncomfortably warm on my account."

Taking a sip of water, she studies his face. Looking for a punchline or some sign that he is being anything other than genuine. When she appears to find whatever it is that she's looking for, she sighs.

"This is not something that I would normally wear … Melissa picked it out … She was ... always on my case about being too uptight. I bought it a year ago, but this is the first time I've worn it … It just felt like it was time to wear it." she confesses.

The mere mention of her sister's name provokes an emotional response that is quickly swallowed away when she reaches for the ties of her coat. Shifting in her seat, she lets it fall off of her shoulders and into the seat behind her.

Mulder had intended to make her more comfortable by encouraging her to make herself more comfortable, but so far removing her coat has only served to make them both more uncomfortable. Fighting to keep his eyes level with hers, he gives her an encouraging smile and takes another piece of bread. He has always thought that she was an attractive woman, but tonight she's not just attractive — she's beautiful … stunningly so.

Her hair, which is typically only curled lightly at the ends, is styled with larger curls, giving it more of a wavy flow that makes it look a good one to two inches shorter. Although he isn't sure if her makeup is darker due to her earlier tears or if she has intentionally crafted it that way, he likes it. The smokey darkness makes the color of her eyes look several shades lighter, giving them a glow that would make the shallows of the Caribbean envious.

"You're staring," she says, raising her brow.

He wants to tell her what he really thinks of date-night-Scully, but thinks better of it, choosing instead words that are more becoming of a partner speaking to a partner.

"I'm sorry … It's just … You look really nice Scully."

Silence falls between them when the salads arrive, but the blush in her cheeks remains as they each busy themselves with utensils and the task of pouring their dressing.

Mulder starts to worry that even nice had crossed a line when she begins to fidget and play with her food.

"Mulder … do you think that I gave him the wrong idea by wearing this," she asks quietly.

God. Surely she did not think that she had asked for whatever had happened between them. He certainly hopes that whatever look crossed his face as he watched her remove her coat did not add to whatever convictions she previously held.

"Scully, what you wear, revealing or not, does not give anyone the right to make assumptions. I have little doubt that he appreciated your … ensemble …," he says choosing his words carefully as he runs his eyes over her, "but appreciating and touching are two entirely different things."

"I just …"

"Look. I don't know what happened. I can imagine, but ultimately, it doesn't matter, because whatever it was … if it's not something you wanted then he had no right — period."

"I was just … I was just trying to loosen up a bit. My abduction and … Melissa … have each caused me looking at things a bit differently than I did before. I enjoy the work we do. I wouldn't trade it to go back to medicine, but that doesn't mean that I don't recognize that there is more to life than working. I just … wanted to try."

"There's nothing wrong with that Scully."

"But tonight made me realize that maybe working all the time isn't all that bad after all."

Now Mulder really wants to know exactly what happened, but he has asked twice already. Would asking a third time make him just as insistent and forceful as the asshole she was with earlier? Probably.

One thing is for certain, that man, whoever he is, better hope that Mulder never sees him again.

"Do you think that I'm frigid?"

She would wait until he had taken a drink of water to ask him that question.

Clearing his throat, he looks across the table at her and studies her for a moment in an attempt to read her. The insecurity and nervousness he sees behind her eyes and in her body language surprises him.

Scully has never crossed him as being someone with underlying insecurities. In the field, she is fearless and relentless, digging in her heels and taking command of each and every space she occupies. But right now, sitting in a fancy restaurant looking as stunning as he has ever seen her — she's unsure of herself.

He wants to tell her that she is absolutely gorgeous.

He wants to tell her that ice cannot scientifically encapsulate fire.

But he says neither of these things, stopping himself short of saying the words — not because he doesn't believe them, but because of what they might imply.

He doesn't want to say anything that would imply that only he sees her in the physical sense. Not to say that he hasn't taken notice in the years that they have worked together, but thinking about it and vocalizing it are two entirely different things. He cherishes their friendship and the last thing he wants to do is say something that would create an awkward tension between them in the future.

Scully has worked hard to build a reputation in man's world, and while her work ethic and professionalism have not gone unnoticed, neither has her physique. Despite the less than flattering pantsuits she wears, she has not gone unnoticed. He sees the longing stares and hears the whispers in the hallways as she sways past, and he knows that she does too.

The last thing he wants is to be misconstrued as being one of those guys.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that," she says nervously.

Dammit. He's been quiet too long.

Snapping out of his rumination, he quickly works to gather his thoughts and put them into words. Giving her a reassuring smile, he tells her what he should have told her earlier.

"No. You didn't. Not really. I just … I don't want to say anything that would offend you or make you uncomfortable, so I was trying to choose my words carefully," he says, studying her expression for a moment before continuing.

"You're a beautiful woman Scully — distractingly so …"

To this she blushes, letting her eyes drift down to her plate.

"Some people can't handle disinterest … it's easier to make the rejection about you than it is to acknowledge that there is nothing alluring about them. Calling you frigid is an out for them … it says nothing about you and everything about them."

Before she can reply the food arrives, but Scully is not looking down at her food, she is looking at him. The intensity of her gaze causes butterflies to form in his stomach and sends shivers down his spine.

She has given him a lot of looks over the past two years, but this one is new.

This look isn't Scully at all — it's Dana.

"Did you pick that up in one of your psychology courses at Oxford," she asks, giving him a soft smile of appreciation as she grabs her fork and begins to eat her pasta.

"Well, I suppose it depends on who you ask. If you ask my mother, my time at Oxford was wasted, given that I'm working for the federal government and not raking in millions with the silver spoon I was given as a child."

"Ah. Was that the topic of tonight's dinner?"

"Among other things."

"Such as?"

"Well, apparently I am incapable of having any type of meaningful relationship since I work constantly and am always late for dinner. She also made a snide comment about giving up on grandchildren that I chose to ignore."

"Ouch."

"And she wonders why I cancel," he says with a laugh.

"I'm sorry that it's like that. I can't imagine not having my mom to talk too."

"I'm used to it."

"That almost makes it worse."

"How's the food," he asks, gesturing to the bowl in front of her in an attempt to drift conversation away from his mother.

"It's really good. Thank you. Thank you for bringing me here."

"Anytime."

The rest of their conversation flows freely. He is actually quite amazed at how at ease he is with her and even more amazed that they have managed to talk for nearly an hour without mentioning any of their active cases. In fact, work hardly comes up at all, which is first. They talk all the time, but never about themselves, their families, or their lives outside of work. It's wonderful. He cannot remember the last time he enjoyed himself so immensely.

After she finishes eating, he picks up the tab and escorts her out the car, this time opening the door for her.

As they get settled into the car and pull out into traffic, she turns to him and studies him as if she seeing him for the first time. Although he's not looking at her, he can feel the intensity of her gaze.

"Thank you again for tonight. It was … nice," she says finally after a few moments of silence.

"I enjoyed it too. I think we both needed to get a bad taste out of our mouth."

As soon as he says it, he inwardly cringes at his word choice.

Smooth Mulder, he thinks.

"Yeah," she says quietly.

"I'm sorry Scully, that was a poor word choice … I didn't mean it—"

"I know you didn't. It's fine."

The ease and weightlessness of their earlier conversation disappears. It's as if a spell has been broken, and he feels absolutely terrible. He's about to resort to turning on the radio when she begins to speak.

"He … He kissed me, which was ok at first … but when I tried to pull back to cool things off a bit he kept pushing … to the point where I slapped him. I've never slapped a man before, but I slapped him."

Until this very moment, Mulder had not realized how much the visual of another man having his hands on Scully actually bothered him — more than bothered him. The mere thought of it steals his grip on the wheel to the point of whitening his knuckles. Although she still has not specifically told him what exactly he did, he knows it had to have been rather egregious for her to resort to slapping him.

The idea that anyone would disrespect her in that way, pushing her boundaries to point the where she felt like she had to physically attack them to make them stop, makes his blood boil.

"I immediately felt bad for hitting him. I think he was just as shocked as I was that I did."

"Scully—"

"Then he got mad … really mad. Said that he had heard that I was frigid, but never imagined that I would be frozen … I made my exit shortly after that."

"Sounds to me like he got exactly what he deserved."

To this, she says nothing, clearly still uncomfortable with the fact that she resorted to striking him.

"Name? Date of birth? Social security number?"

Cutting her eyes at him, she snorts and then relaxes her head back against the headrest.

"Trust me. He's not worth it."

"No, but you are."

Although it's dark and his eyes are predominately on the road, he can see her head turn in his peripheral vision. First to study him and then to look away, suddenly finding something very interesting along with a route that she travels almost daily.

Fearing he has already said too much, he refrains from making any further comment.

When they reach her apartment, he pulls into an open spot and moves to get out when she places her hand over his and stops him.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?"

Mulder isn't sure if she's referring to his comment about her being worth the effort or the fact that he referred to her has being distractingly beautiful, but since the answer would be the same either way, he doesn't bother to ask her for clarification.

"I meant everything I said."

Nodding, she shifts uncomfortably, removing her hand from his and placing it in her lap.

"It's just … no-one has ever really said anything like that to me, not in that context anyway."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"There has … always been an agenda," she says, refusing to meet his eyes.

He can only assume that she is referring to intimacy. Is it really possible that there has never been a figure in her life that told her that she was absolutely stunning? Has every guy she has ever been with actually been that shallow? Only appreciating her body in the biblical sense?

"Men can be assholes. I would know."

To this, she laughs … genuinely laughs.

"You're not an asshole Mulder. Well, at least not most of the time. Only when you are ditching me, ignoring hard science, and disregarding protocols that could put us both out of a job."

"All in a day's work."

Snorting, she shakes her head from side to side and looks up to meet his eyes.

"I'll walk you up," he says, reaching for her hand and giving a squeeze. He walks around the car with a purpose, intending to open her door for her, but by the time he reaches the other side, she has already gotten out.

Mulder half expects her to insist that she is fine and to bid him farewell on the street, but to his surprise she says nothing, walking alongside him in silence as he opens the door to her building.

When they reach her door, Mulder feels a twinge of nervousness. It's just them. Mulder and Scully, yet it's not. He can tell that she feels it too by the way she shifts nervously on her feet as she digs for her keys.

"Would you like to come in," she offers.

Swallowing the lump in this throat, he politely declines.

"No, I should go, it's late, and I promised the gunmen I would meet them for an early breakfast."

"Conspiracy theories?"

"Always," he says with a smile.

"Ok … Well. Thanks again for tonight. It was nice."

"Yes. It was."

For a moment they both just stand there, gazing into each other's eyes.

"Well. I guess I'll see you Monday," she says finally, putting her key in the lock and turning it.

"Yeah."

He starts to walk away, but stops himself short, turning back to face her and catching her before she makes it fully inside.

"Scully?"

"Yeah."

Moving to stand directly in front of her, he reaches for her hand and takes it in his.

"Never let someone treat you any less than what you are worth."

Although she's fighting it, he can see the tears working to form in her eyes.

"And what might that be," she asks quietly.

"Whatever it is … I can't afford it."

Giving her a gentle smile he raises her hand to his lips, kisses it, and then turns to walk away.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah."

"You might could if you tried."

With that, she gives him a soft, appreciative smile and then disappears behind her door, leaving him to stand in the hallway with a slack jaw.

Come Monday, neither of them speaks of their impromptu date.

Little do they know that years later, they will each refer to this night as being a pivot point in their relationship — a time where she first saw Fox, and he first saw Dana.

[theateared]

You’re One Hell of a Guy. ❜

Summary:  But deep inside, you and I are still the same kids.

      Going to Murr’s house was something he barely had time for, but he refused to leave him hanging.  Though the times that he could stop by properly were few and far between, he’d become adamant on at least trying to make them happen.

                                Murr is, after all, my best friend.  I want to see him.

       As he took a swig of his coffee  ( Murr hated the stuff but kept some in his cupboard specifically for when he visited ),  Kuro leaned on the table, cheek cradled in his hand.  The early hours were always the best time for him to visit,  the time he was the least likely to be pulled away.  Over time, Murr had grown less frustrated with him.  He’d realised that it wasn’t his fault when he was called to action.  He was yanked away from everybody equally--  even his beloved wife suffered for it.

      “I’m glad ya could come,”   Murr admitted, sitting at the table with a cup of hot chocolate between his hands.   “I was feelin’ kinda lonely.  Feels like ya’ve been a little MIA recently.”

       "Just work,”   Kuro replied with a heavy sigh, trying to will the recurring ache in his forehead away.  The last thing he wanted was for the little time he did have with his friend to be plagued by the dull thrum of an oncoming migraine.  Gently does it.  Pushing hard only makes it stick more.   “Real fucked up case.  Some kinda gang activity in Vidé.  At first we thought it was just some kids fuckin’ around but it turns out they have some real dons runnin’ the show.  Shit’s a little more serious now.”

       Murr sniffed derisively.   "Yeesh.  Sounds like a fuckin’ party.”

       "Psh, yer invited if y’feel left out.”

       “No thanks, pal.  I like havin’ my organs in my body?  Ya know--  where they belong?"

       Kuro couldn’t help but snicker at the facetious remark.  The knowledge that most Huros had on gang activity was incredibly basic, based almost solely on fiction.  It was all "buying hearts” and “selling drugs”, boisterous street rats and crime lords that struck and then vanished like ghosts.  From a place so peaceful, most had no clue about the horrors that occurred outside of their cosy borders.  Sadly, it was Huron that was the exception, not the districts that were chock-full of violence.

       The topic of his most recent play came up, and he watched as Murr became excitable, one leg crossing over his lap as his hands began to join the conversation.  He’d always been the type to talk with his body too.  Somewhere along the way, Kuro found himself zoning out.  Something disconcerting had been on his mind lately.  Though he’d never stray from his wife,  he’d been thinking a lot about Murr lately.  Innocently, almost in passing, but frequently nonetheless.  The things he never said to his friend were beginning to irritate him, like a rash that wouldn’t go away, and an alien pang of longing arose whenever they shared space like this.  You’re just so easy to be around now that I’ve allowed myself to be.  I feel regret every day now for the way that I treated you.  Maybe if I hadn’t been so one-dimensional, I wouldn’t be feeling the way I do now--

       “Helloooo?  Huron t’Sheriff?”   He refocused to see Murr leaning over the table, waving a hand almost desperately in his face.  Despite this, his expression was full of mirth.   ❛❛ Damn!  If ya really think my ideas are that borin’ ya can just say so! ❜❜

       ❛❛ No, it ain’t that.  It’s just…  I’m thinkin’ again. ❜❜

       His eyes closed as he felt Murr flick his forehead.   “Well don’t.  Ya get sad when ya think too much.  I don’t wanna have ta tell yer wife that I made ya cry, again, so ya’d better stop bein’ a dumbass.”

       “Yeah yeah…  I get it.”   Maybe I don’t.  Maybe we should finally talk about this.  I have some conflicting feelings about you.  It’s making me feel like a bad husband.  A bad person, even.   "Actually...”   For some reason, he felt unbearably nervous all of a sudden, heart speeding up as he thought about how best to pose the question.  Eventually, he settled on an inoffensive:   "Can we talk?”   He watched Murr’s face fall based on his body language, waving a hand at him quickly.    “It’s nothin’ bad.  I don’t think.  It’s just…  somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about lately.  I feel like I should be honest with y’.”

       "Okay...”   Murr tugged at his collar briefly, as if to get air beneath it.   "Yeesh...  way t’make a guy nervous.”

       Kuro couldn’t help but chuckle, fingers drumming soundlessly against the pot of his mug.  He wasn’t entirely sure why the idea of saying something about this was filling him with so much apprehension.  It wasn’t like anything was going to come of it.  Not only was he happily married, he was almost certain that Murr wouldn’t be able to live with him after the things he’d done.  Forgiven he may have been, but it didn’t mean that the pain has miraculously been undone.  He’d still prompted Murr to almost take his life;  had still put his parents--  his second family-- through the terrible strain of thinking they were going to lose their son;  had still treated him with aggravated fury every time he’d tried to come back into his life despite having no right to.  In truth, it wasn’t a matter of whether he was truly bisexual or not--  it was that Murr was too good for him.

       ❛❛ … when we were kids…  y’know, befer everythin’ went t’shit, I sorta-- ❜❜   He caught himself then.  He almost wanted to laugh at his feeble attempt to utter an age-old confession.  It was as if he was 140 all over again, flushed and stammering through a halfhearted ‘’I like you!’’.  It was this thought that made him feel better, a tiny sliver of a smile forming on his face as he finished with a blunt:   ❛❛ I had a crush on you.  A pretty big one. ❜❜

       ❛❛ Aheh…  this’s a joke, right? ❜❜

       ❛❛ No. ❜❜

       He watched his friend’s body language closely.  On occasion, his face revealed itself to him too, but now was not one of those times.  He suddenly became very closed, as if trying to fold himself into a small cube and slot himself somewhere safe from his gaze.  The quiet lingered like a cloud, uncomfortable silence stretching between them like wire, and in his head Kuro could hear the same phrase repeating over and over:  please say something, please say something, please say something, plea--

       ❛❛ Oh.  Pfft.  Me too! ❜❜

       He all but gawked at how easy it was for Murr to say such a thing.  Though he knew that Murr had never been the type to act apologetically, there were some things the man treated with an air of secrecy.  His sexuality, for whatever reason, was one of them.  It wasn’t as if Huron was rich with homophobia;  he just didn’t seem to like labels like a lot of other people did.  For that reason, despite being his best friend, Kuro still wasn’t quite sure where on the spectrum Murr sits.  It didn’t matter, wouldn’t affect their relationship any in the slightest, but he was curious.  He’d almost been curious about his own leaning lately.  Had he not withdrawn from Murr during his tens, could they maybe have forged some sort of romance together?  There were certainly feelings involved, and now that he knew they were requited he had to wonder if either of them would have been bold enough to say something at some point.  It was this constant lack of knowledge that was turning his brain to mush.  The relationship he consciously desired with Murr was nothing more than a friendship, but his subconscious seemed to have other things in mind.

       For some reason, he felt a dull form of elation that caused his pulse to flutter.  It wasn’t as if he was still in love--  he never would have burdened a woman with a ring if he was--  but having Murr back in his life again, so close and personal after years of sombre silence, raised some primitive questions in his gut.  Could we have been together?  Could that ring have been yours, or would college have split us apart in a different way?  Would we not have aged well and not remained friends at all?  Did I need to lose you to be close with you again later?  What would have become of us?  Do I strictly like women?  Or was my attraction to you a one-off thing based on friendship?  What do I like?

       "Really?”

       "Well duh,”  Murr chirped airily, hopping up from his seat and beginning to rinse his mug clean.   “We spent all our time together!  And even back then, you were all stoic ‘n’ weird--  I was drawn t’that like a magnet.  It was interestin’.  You were different from the other kids.  So was I.  It made sense ta me.  Us against the world kinda thing, ya know?”  There was a pause as he set his cup down on the drying rack, eyes glued to one drop of water running slowly along the handle until it fell and met the drain below.  In a way, it reminded him of what he thought college would be like:  as if he’d be lowered from his awkward tenner suspension and be reunited with souls that his could understand.  After a moment of thought, he picked it back up, leaving it in his lap to fiddle with.   “… maybe that was why it hurt me so much when ya wouldn’t answer my calls or hang out with me much.  Maybe I was a little homesick.”

       "Homesick?”

       "Yeah.  You were my home, Kuro.  No two ways about it.”

       He should have learned by now to not grow stunned by Murr’s poetic brevity, but he’d always been partial to a heartfelt yet conveniently short verse.  You’re one hell of a guy, Murr.

      “... ‘n’ now?”

     There was a pregnant pause, one that latched onto his insecurities and fed much like a parasite would.  For some reason or another, a heavy sense of dread opened up inside of him, that familiar black hole sucking the life out of everything around him as it so often did.  Then, all at once, Murr released the tension in his shoulders with a shrug.

     “Nothin’s changed about that, bud.”   He moved then, perching on the counter much like a child would, long legs kicking gently.   “... are we good?  Why’d ya feel the need t’bring that up?  It ain’t like we’re the same people.”   His vision wasn’t impaired the same way Kuro’s was;  he could see his face clearly, knew the creases of worry in his brow almost as well as he knew his own hands.

     “I worry that you are the same person,”   he replied quietly, almost as if he’d been holding his breath prior to admitting it.   “‘n’ sometimes I worry that I am too.”

     The air fell still, both men cloaked in silence, and only when Kuro felt something wet on his face did he look up.  Murr’s face was clear  -  and it was pissed.  The empty cup in his hand sat tilted in the Sheriff’s direction, telling him plainly that he’d filled it and then flung it at him as if he’d desperately needed a bath.  Kuro wasn’t one to flinch often, but the scorn in his dearest friend’s eyes shook him to the core.

     “Ya keep sayin’ stupid shit like that, yer gonna flood my house,”   he said through clenched teeth.  There was no way in hell that he could tell the other man why he was so angry.  It would ruin everything he’d worked so hard to piece back together.   “If ya think I’m selfish enough t’split you ‘n’ yer wife up fer some dumb childhood crush then think again.”   The words hurt to say, an all-too-familiar pain blossoming in his chest like a thorn-covered rose, but he knew it was the right thing to do.  If he was ever to tell Kuro that he felt similarly--  that their convoluted history kept him awake at night, that he still fantasised about holding his hand sometimes, that he tossed and turned some nights, unable to sleep, because all he could think about was the what if that had steadily consumed his life--  he knew that they could both be led down a very dark road.  He didn’t believe in cheating, and he certainly didn’t believe in homewrecking.  He also didn’t believe in Kuro’s self-esteem enough to think that he would be above doing either if he was to open the door for him.  I’m saying this for you.  Maybe you don’t realise it now but you will in time.     “We’re not like that.  It doesn’t matter how it was when we were kids.  We’re not kids anymore.  You left.”   He internally cursed the bitterness in his voice at that, cursed the slight stiffen of Kuro’s shoulders even more.  He continued before he could lose his nerve--  before he could truly do something stupid.   “... and that’s just it, Kuro.”  He forced himself to smile, though the expression looked crestfallen at best.   “You’ve got somethin’ good now.  So don’t throw it all away for a couple’a stupid kids that don’t even exist anymore, alright?”

     Kuro stared at him a moment longer before averting his gaze completely.  When he tried to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, he found that his face was blank once again.  The static spiralled tauntingly ahead of him, the dreary squiggles ruining the clear picture he’d set his sights on just moments ago.  Even your anger is better than the static.  A large hand raised to wipe at his face, ridding it of the damp as best he could before he rose from his chair.

     “Alright,”   he said with a grunt, his usual monotone drawl returning with a vengeance.  Murr’s right.  Things are different now.  Living in the past will only fuck up the present  -  and there’s a lot to fuck up now that I’m married.  His coat was shrugged on, hands slid into his pockets.   “... thanks fer the wake-up call.  Yer right.”

     “Of course I am.”   He smiled wider despite the words twisting in his heart like a knife.  It’s selfish, but I want you to stay.   “Ya should go now.  Yer wife’s gonna be askin’ where ya are again.”

     A humourless laugh escaped the other man, head bobbing once in acknowledgement before he turned around and headed to the exit.   “Remember t’mop yer floor by the way.  Asshole.”   The front door clicked shut behind him.  It was quiet, but it echoed with an agonising finality in Murr’s head as the smile faded.

     What was that?  Was he trying to approach the topic of a relationship with me?  Or did I make that up?  Gah…  it doesn’t matter.  He’s gone.  Like he’s always been.

     He hated himself for the weakness that welled up in his eyes, hot and shameful as he tried desperately to keep himself from falling to pieces.  It doesn’t take much these days.  I used to be so much more durable.  Now I’m all sensitive and lost.  A palm dug stubbornly into one of his eyes, ridding it of tears, before he followed suit with the other.  He didn’t feel much better with them dry, but he knew that he at least looked the part now.  He hopped down from the counter, grabbing the mop from inside the utility cupboard, beginning to clean, the wet sound of water spreading across a surface filling his ears like white noise.  He welcomed it, zoned out altogether, and by the time he stopped mopping, half an hour had flown by.

     A vacant feeling had always been there since college, but it ebbed and flowed, came and went in waves, and it often left him stranded in a dangerous spot between ‘okay’ and ‘absolutely falling apart’.  It was an emptiness he couldn’t quite explain;  oxymoronic in that it was so void and yet so full, as if his head was closer to imploding with every second longer that it chose to reside inside of him.  His heart felt like a rock, his brain a grenade.  If only I could reach inside myself and pull the pin.  I want to pull the pin.  I have for a while.

     When he put the mop back in its place, he thought only momentarily before stepping inside the cupboard himself, closing the door behind him.  If I put myself away like a broom or a bottle of bleach, will people forget I exist until they need me again?  What if I’m never needed again?  Will I stay undiscovered in this closet until I die?  The smell of chemicals and damp immediately rose to his attention, though it was a welcome distraction.  His head met the closed door gently, eyes opening despite not being able to see anything.  It was an accurate depiction of the void inside of him;  that inky blackness that covered everything in a thick layer of nothing, as if all it touched simply ceased to exist

     I don’t feel real.  I can’t see.  I can’t touch.  Even the smell is beginning to fade away.  I’m just an empty vessel in an empty space.  A cat in a box that is both dead and alive at the same time.  Tired bones rather than tired eyes.

     At some point, he felt himself slip to the floor, content to remain in the dismal darkness a while longer.  He hated that the only thing he could think of was him.  Sitting there alone in the dark, wondering if he’d just ruined his one chance at true happiness, he felt both horribly and wonderfully alone.

[beneaththetangles]

Nice Shoujo Protagonist You’ve Got There…Shame If Anything Happened to Her

Jeskai Angel continues our Holy Week series on anime and disability by examining a condition that might quality as the latter, but which as he mentions, can certainly be significantly disabling.

-----

Shame is an extremely common result of being abused, and it can happen with any kind of abuse: physical, emotional, sexual, etc. Shame isn’t a disability, at least not in the usual sense of that word, but it is indeed disabling. It constrains one’s choices, paralyzes one to the point of inaction, prevents one from considering new possibilities, blinds one to the truth, and gets in the way of relationships. Of course, in ordinary everyday language, “shame” is a synonym of “guilt,” both words being used to describe a distressing awareness of having done wrong. This raises obvious questions about what I mean by “shame.”

Some years back, my psychologist, Dr. Geoff Weckel of Fort Worth, Texas, explained to me that there is a profound difference between “shame” and “guilt” as mental health professionals use those terms. In this paradigm, “guilt” is a feeling that says “I did a bad thing.” On the other hand, “shame” is a feeling that says “I am bad.” To put it another way, guilt is a negative view of specific actions one has committed, while shame is negative view of one’s very identity. Someone who feels guilty thinks “I shouldn’t have done such-and-such, I should apologize for doing such-and-such, I shouldn’t do such-and-such again,” etc. But a person suffering from shame believes that their fundamental nature is flawed: “I am a terrible person, my inner self is irreparably flawed.” Real and even imagined failings are regarded as proof of one’s own corrupt character.

I’ve read books and articles by various other mental health professionals, and they consistently define shame and guilt in terms similar to those my therapist used. Since I don’t want you to rely on a secondhand recollection of something I heard years ago, I tracked down some direct quotes. First, a 2013 quote from Dr. Brené Brown, professor of social work:

I believe that there is a profound difference between shame and guilt. I believe that guilt is adaptive and helpful – it’s holding something we’ve done or failed to do up against our values and feeling psychological discomfort. I define shame as the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging – something we’ve experienced, done, or failed to do makes us unworthy of connection.

Second, a 2017 quote from sociology professor Dr. Thomas Henricks:

Guilt is distinguished by its focus on particular actions… Guilt, it may be recalled centers on improper actions – things done and undone. Even in its free-floating form, it focuses on failed actions to come.  By contrast, shame centers on the self in its fullness. Guilty people regrets their moments of “deviance.”  Shamed people, that they have become, profoundly, “deviants.”

Hopefully these examples suffice to clarify what I mean by “shame.”

Shame is a liar, hobbling its victims with false perceptions of reality. Shame is a voice in one’s head insisting at all hours of the day that one is dirty, not good enough, unworthy. Shame says that one never does anything right, and even if one does something right, it must have been from wrong motives. Shame says one has nothing of value to contribute, that one’s very presence is a net negative for other people. Shame says that one doesn’t deserve to enjoy good things and that one is unlovable.

With that typically long-winded intro out of the way, let’s…err…have a slightly less long-winded intro? I Refuse to Be Your Enemy, a fairly recent entry in the reincarnated-into-a-video-game subgenre of isekai light novels, opens with an ominous letter from fourteen-year-old Kiara’s nominal guardian Count Patriciel announcing her arranged marriage to the noble Lord Credias. This letter proves to be the last piece of a puzzle, helping Kiara connect the dots with the strange, recurring dreams she’s had as long as she can remember—dreams of being a different person in a different world. All the details add up and she deduces that she’s living in the world of a tactical RPG (e.g., Fire Emblem, Final Fantasy Tactics) that this other self was fond of playing in her past life.

Most importantly, she recognizes her soon-to-be married name “Kiara Credias” as the name of a villain who dies by the hand of the game’s protagonist: “I was a character in a video game. And even worse, I was an antagonist.” Being sensible, Kiara flees. Immediately. She takes a few moments to gather her meager possessions, then hastens to get away from the school her guardian had her attending. Naturally, book-protagonist Kiara soon winds up involved with game-protagonist Alan and his associates. Lots of fun and sweet stuff happens, so go read the book once you finish this article.

All this is relevant because Kiara is a remarkably well-written example of a character who suffered childhood abuse and now lives with the shame those traumatic experiences caused. In short, her mother died when Kiara was quite young, her father never loved her, and her stepmother hated her. Then her father died and her stepmother treated her like a slave for a while, before finally selling Kiara to Count Patriciel for a large sum of money giving her up for adoption to Count Patriciel. Her new guardian doesn’t treat her like a slave, but he does some pretty sketchy things, like force her to drink mysterious concoctions, train to fight with a dagger, and carry a vial of poison with her. Finally, at age eleven, Kiara goes off to boarding school to become a proper noblewoman.

I would expect such a traumatic background to leave serious scars on the person who went through all that, and at first, I was rather annoyed by how well-adjusted Kiara seemed to be. She appears smart, decisive, friendly, and kind. I suspected the author was just using a melodramatic tragic backstory to build easy sympathy for the otherwise emotionally healthy protagonist. Thankfully, first impressions proved misleading. Kiara is deeply traumatized by her past, and the story reflects that. However, like many victims of abuse, she doesn’t fully understand how hurt she is, and she has grown capable of appearing psychologically functional around others. As a result, the symptoms of her trauma aren’t immediately obvious.

Kiara’s burden of shame is no less real for manifesting in subtle ways. Indeed, the subtlety makes her shame more realistic! The story never explicitly says “Kiara was traumatized by abuse,” but it does provide an accumulating series of examples of behavior that accurately depict a person dealing with shame from past abuse. For one thing, Kiara feels almost pathologically compelled to prove her worth to the people around her—even if they already like her plenty well. She believes that unless she demonstrates her value to others, they will soon cast her out. Second, she expects rejection at every turn, even when it’s totally irrational to think her friends would suddenly turn against her over this or that. She fully expects they will cast her out the moment she makes the tiniest mistake. Kiara is under the impression that unless she is perfect, she will be rejected by others.

Finally, Kiara is nearly incapable of considering that anyone might love her, or even just care about her as a friend. This is dangerously reminiscent of tiresome tropes we’ve all seen before involving stupidly dense characters, but Kiara averts them once we remember her background. She lives with shame born of trauma inflicted through abuse. That means it’s eminently realistic that she would believe others can’t like or love her. This being a shoujo story, there are three potential male love interests, though only one, Prince Reggie, goes out of his way to express it to her. But in Kiara’s mind, there’s obviously no way that any of these guys could be romantically interested in someone like her, which leaves her sincerely baffled and slightly worried by their inexplicable behavior. To the reader, it’s obvious that the guys are treating her with friendly, and Reggie’s case romantic, affection, but Kiara, with her distorted, shame-wracked perspective, just finds it puzzling.

Kiara’s sad backstory isn’t merely a pile of tropes used for cheap drama: abuse left her with shame that is reflected strongly in the kind of person she’s become. As someone who grew up in an emotionally abusive environment, I find Kiara deeply relatable on all these points. I remember more than once feeling mystified and disconcerted by kindness from others. “Why are they so nice to me? I don’t deserve their generosity, and I haven’t done anything for them to have earned their favor.” I’ve lived with the belief that people cared about and respected me only so long as I proved my worthiness by being perfect all the time. Worst of all was God: What with that whole omniscience thing, there’s no way God could be mistaken about how bad I am, and since that was the only basis on which anyone could care about me, I concluded there was no chance God could love me.

Shame is a liar, a vicious non-physical wound left in one’s mind by the sins of abuse others committed. This intangible injury to the psyche is harder to perceive than many of the issues that we commonly associate with “disability,” but it is no less a hindrance to living life as one wishes. I can’t say for certain, but I strongly suspect that like more concrete injuries or disabilities, shame will never be *fully* healed in this life. But even while we wait for the resurrection, when our minds and bodies alike will be completely whole, partial recovery from shame is possible right now. I can say from experience that good counseling with an appropriate mental health professional makes an incredible difference. I’m much more capable of fighting back when the voice in my head spews cruel lies. If you or anyone you know is besieged by shame, please don’t give up. Remember that shame is a liar, cunningly twisting our thoughts so that we see ourselves and others in a distorted way. Take courage, seek help from licensed professionals, pray without ceasing. You are lovable (and loved!), and you deserve to enjoy good things.

=====

Beneath the Tangles recommends I Refuse to be Your Enemy!

[rheyninwrites]

The Photographer’s Assistant

You’ve been traveling with your cousin, Albert, trying to help him with a photography project he’s been working on. He’s trying to document the true, unspoiled American wilderness, and the animals of each region. One day, as he’s trying to lure out some coyotes to photograph, a mysterious stranger comes along to help him out, and you find yourself inexplicably drawn to him. He’s strong, handsome, and has an almost unnatural knack for handling the wildlife you’ve been trying to photograph. What’s this man’s story, and is he as drawn to you as you are him?

*I forgot when I posted this to mention it’s part of a series based on the “Arcadia for Amateurs” mission. Also, I am trying to keep it gender neutral.

You sat on a nearby rock, waiting, while Albert made the final adjustments to his camera. He was definitely a perfectionist, which was probably why his photographs always turned out so nice, and why he was so popular with the upper class when it came to his portraits. He could have made a fortune that way, if he’d wanted. But the wilderness called to him, or at least he thought it had, and he’d asked you, his dearest cousin, to come along to help him out.

It probably had a lot to do with the fact that he knew your mother had been continually harassing you about marriage. Past thirty, you were proudly marching beyond an easily marriageable age, and she just couldn’t stand the thought of it. She’d begun throwing every eligible single in the area your way, just hoping you’d give in and marry one of them. For you, it simply wasn’t an option. All of your life, you’d known that it would take a pretty extraordinary individual to get you interested in marriage. It wasn’t that you disliked the idea of committing to one person for the rest of your life, quite the opposite. It was that you couldn’t fathom the idea of marrying anyone that you didn’t feel absolutely certain you’d never get tired of or bored with.

After you’d written all of this to Albert, he’d shown up weeks later, begging your mother to let him take you as his assistant. He needed family, someone who he could trust. Someone kind, good with animals, and, most of all, someone with your natural eye for art. He’d plead his case so fervently, your mother couldn’t help but agree. Of course, the idea that you might make money from book royalties didn’t hurt, either. So now, here you were, watching with bated breath as a lone coyote approached the bag of meat Albert had set out. He laid low in the grass, crawling slowly towards it. Little by little, bit by bit, he made his way over . . . and was startled off by a man approaching them on horseback.

“What you doing here?” He asked, dismounting and walking over.

As you watched, the coyote disappeared into the distance. You leapt off the rock after him, ready to tell him off for disturbing the shot, but the words of fire you’d prepared died on your tongue when you saw him. He had to be just about the most attractive man you’d ever seen. Albert, undaunted by the disturbance, walked up and introduced himself. As he began explaining the project, you took the opportunity to stare at this handsome stranger shamelessly.

He was at least six feet tall, with broad, heavily muscled shoulders and arms, and dark sandy brown hair. Heavy, furrowed eyebrows sat atop steel blue eyes, with a beautifully chiseled nose between, and full, weathered lips beneath. His jawline was firm, squared, covered with a perfect dusting of stubble, and it was making you feel more than a little weak in the knees. His shirt was partially undone, giving you a view of his burly chest, a fine tuft of dark hair peeking deliciously up from the bottom of the gap. Everything about his body said he was a rugged powerhouse of a man who could probably throw you over his shoulder without a second thought, and the very thought made your cheeks flush.

As Albert was talking to the man, trying to convince him to pose for a photo, the coyote returned. He slunk forward slowly, then moved so quickly that you didn’t have a chance to breathe a word of warning before he’d grabbed the bag and run off with it. Moving almost as quickly as the coyote had, the man took off after him.

“That bag had some of my supplies in it!” Albert cried after him.

While you were busy chastising Albert for being so careless with the expensive supplies, the gentleman, whose name you learned was Arthur Morgan, chased the bag. Before long, he returned with it in hand, but not before you’d heard him yelling out a warning to the coyote to stay away. The thought of such a rugged looking man talking mindlessly to animals was so adorable, you had to stifle a laugh as he approached.

“I got your bag!” Arthur approached with an unmistakable strut. “But a bag of meat will tend to bring out the worst in the local wildlife.”

Albert thanked him profusely, then disappeared back into the world of his camera, effectively dismissing Arthur, but he seemed reluctant to leave, glancing at the camera and watching everything Albert was doing. After a minute, you walked over to him.

“Can I help you, Mr Morgan?” You asked in your sweetest voice, giving him a look that would melt butter. “You seem very interested.”

He shuffled his feet a bit, looking down just after meeting your eyes. You could swear you saw a blush across his cheeks. All that from just a look? Who would have guessed this tough looking guy could be so easily rattled?

“Uh, yeah. I was just wondering about this project you’re doing. You just working around here?” He hooked his thumbs on his belt, doing his best to look you in the eyes, but failing miserably.

“Oh, no. We’re actually traveling quite extensively. Albert intends to photograph as many species of wildlife as he possibly can, as well as document what life is like for people who live in the more remote areas of the country.”

He looked a bit impressed. “That right? Your husband’s pretty ambitious, ‘specially for a man with no wildlife experience.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Albert’s not my husband!” Albert glanced over upon hearing his name. “He’s lovely, really, but he’s my cousin. I’m just here to help.”

Arthur’s eyes brightened at that, and he’d just opened his mouth to say something when Albert came butting in.

“Mr Morgan, would you mind terribly stepping over here a moment?” He lead him away to a spot in front of the camera while you watched on helplessly. “It’s just that you are a fine example of a rugged outdoorsman. A man who lives by his wits, fighting the elements! It would make a wonderful photo.”

“Me?” Arthur asked, his doubts written across his face.

“Oh, certainly, Mr Morgan.”

“Yes, Mr Morgan, please do pose for Albert!” You tried to be as encouraging as you could. A photograph of this man might be all you’d have to remember him by, and you definitely wanted to remember him. “We can send you a copy of the photo, if you like.”

With your encouragement, Arthur relented, and Albert snapped several different poses before he was finally satisfied. When he was, he disappeared back into his own little world, packing up his camera and talking to himself. Not wanting Arthur to feel abandoned, you walked over to where he was standing, then accompanied him to his horse. Trying to delay him just a few moments, you apologized for Albert.

“He doesn’t mean to be rude, he’s just very absorbed in his projects.”

“Ah, it’s alright. No harm done, to me anyway, but if he insists on leaving meat out for wild animals, he might have some harm coming to him. Or you, for that matter.”

“ I do tell him these are bad ideas, he’s just so determined! As I said, he’s quite focused.”

“Well, I’d hate to see harm come to you ‘cause he’s intent on being an idiot.”

You laughed, then shook your head. “I hope it won’t come to that.”

“Well, you take care.”

“I will, Mr Morgan. Thank you again for your help.”

With that, he smiled softly and mounted his horse, but just before he rode off, he turned to you again.

“Where’d you say you’d be taking pictures again?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t, but Albert has mentioned some wildlife he’d like to see over near Valentine, and some wild horses near a place called Emerald Ranch. Plus I know he’d really like to get some shots from the swamps by Saint Denis, and his most prized shot would be to get an Eagle, nesting.. I’m not sure about the safety of that last, though.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He pursed his lips for a minute, like he was thinking hard about something. “ You know, I travel around a lot. Maybe I’ll catch up with you later on.”

Smiling warmly, you replied “I’d like that very much Mr Morgan.”

[artificialqueens]

Stupid Girl, part 2 (Miz Cracker x Brooke Lynn Hytes) - fandomfeministe

A/N: Part 2 of my fic challenge piece - a brief time jump after the end… what happens next? Time to find out! Thanks to Saiph again for her support, and for the people who said such sweet and helpful things about Part 1. I hope this one does them justice!

It’s a thief in the night to come and grab you - it can creep up inside you and consume you

Later that evening, layer after layer of what made the queens into their stage personas was gradually stripped away. First went the makeup, discarded into bins after faces were scrubbed hard with wipes. Then came the costumes, piece by piece, some of the girls hanging them neatly on hangers while others threw clothes haphazardly into cases, vowing to deal with them later after sleep. The last step was to remove their actual selves from the dressing rooms, gear already loaded beneath the bus, with the final action being to haul their tired bodies up the steps and towards their assigned bunks.

For Cracker and Brooke, the difference an hour had made was not purely physical. De-dragging had been a process of mentally gathering themselves, yes, while the other girls were around. However, the discomfort between them, the tension that had begun to build from the moment both of them were offstage, had not yet dissipated, the arousal both queens had been feeling still lingering, each the cause of a tight knot, twisting and pulling at the other’s insides.

An hour or so after the show’s end, queens stripped away and men standing there in the cold as they waited to get on the bus, the taste of the vodka he’d been drinking burned the back of Cracker’s throat. He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but the irony of needing some Dutch courage after being the one to instigate things, the cat and mouse-like dance in this chase for power between them, was not lost upon him. He felt almost naked in the London night air, swamped as he was in an over-sized hoodie, and only partially because of the way Brooke was now staring, head turned before stepping up and away, the two of them the last ones to board.

Queens exhaustedly wished each other goodnight. Some went straight to bed, carefully folding tired limbs into cramped bunks, others lingered in the small area in back with couches and the TV, waiting for the adrenaline from the show to wear off. Seated next to each other - which somehow felt dangerous in this public gathering, now - Cracker and Brooke watched one by one as the rest filtered off, each one closer to leaving them alone, each one departing as the two of them subconsciously shuffled closer together.

Cracker was unhelpfully reminded of the physical contact from earlier, where despite being pinned against the wall in a show of force, the dominance Brooke Lynn had used against him was weirdly supportive. Every second they’d been there, him being held up by the taller man’s thigh - and damn if that hadn’t done things to him - he’d felt as though he could relax, physically trusting the other queen to keep him safe and emotionally letting this thoughts wander to things that might come later.

Except, ‘later’ was now ‘now’, and as the minutes loudly ticked by on the communal area clock, Cracker felt Brooke’s façade gradually start to crumble. The ice queen, who’d placed a hand on his knee while Asia fell asleep with her head on an also dozing Kameron’s shoulder, was now rubbing the inside of his thigh with his thumb, working his way higher and higher. Cracker turned his head back towards Brooke, meeting his eyes properly for the first time, and was about to say something when Asia awoke, her eyes opening with a snort of breath. He felt the Canadian subtly and silently withdraw his hand, and tried to ignore the almost lonely feeling that gave him while he said goodnight to his Season 10 sisters, who slunk haltingly to their respective beds without a backwards glance.

And then they were alone.

All it took was for Cracker’s eyes to linger ever so slightly too long on Brooke’s lips. In the milisecond it took for him to contemplate just how damn good they’d looked in the purple he’d worn tonight, Brooke had rotated his hips and was ready to pounce. No longer mauve, the taller queen’s lips were on his own, and he found himself being straddled atop the thin cushions of the tour bus sofa with zero way out but the word no.  To his realisation, Cracker realised there was no way he ever would have said it. This - whatever this was that was happening now - was merely the near-conclusion of the battle for control that had been going on all evening.

It may have been Brooke Lynn who had made the first move tonight - not once, but twice, really - but it was Cracker who now deepened the embrace, wrapping both hands around the blond’s head, fingers sliding into his hair for a stronger grip. Oh god. He felt his knees wobble under Brooke’s weight and thanked heaven he was sitting down, trying his best to concentrate on every tiny sensation he was feeling, because who knew if he’d ever feel them again? The first realisation which came to him as Brooke Lynn’s own hands were running down his sides, was that the other queen’s mouth had the faint taste of cigarettes and tequila. Hadn’t he given both of those up? Was this slip into one old habit a sign he was willingly choosing another - more men? Or were they both a symptom of something else, a greater problem going through the younger man’s mind?

“You’re overthinking… stop.”

Brooke’s words - the breathiest of whispers ghosting against the skin of his ear - caused his breath to hitch and his heart to stop, or at least, that was what it felt like. A tiny, barely visible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he wondered how the other queen knew. Apparently, the stone cold bitch really did have emotional awareness, and he would end up finding just how much sooner or later. The retort came just as quietly, and with it, a slight chuckle from both of them.

“Hypocrite.”

Brooke grinned back, lifting his hips so the pressure was no longer on Cracker’s legs, but he was certainly feeling tension elsewhere in his body. It seemed, though, that Brooke Lynn was smooth in this type of performance too, as he wordlessly climbed off the couch and began to kneel on the floor, palming the smaller man’s crotch. Cracker didn’t even have the slightest moment to miss the weight of his - lover? Partner? Neither of those things quite yet - before he was being bossed around again. Not that he was complaining about that, either.

“Stay quiet, yeah?” Brooke mouthed, before reaching to the waistband of his fellow queen’s jogging pants.

All Cracker could do in response was gulp.

And we never have a clue, we never see it coming - train wreck headed for us, but we never think of running

The tang of their sweat after performing was now combined with the sweat from another kind of exertion - coming from the effort of keeping quiet as well as from the more pleasurable aspects of their late night. Cracker, focused as he was on the fact that Brooke Lynn Hytes of all people was now on his knees for him, strong dancer’s arms keeping his legs apart while his mouth - and oh god, what a talented mouth that was - expertly built him up into a frenzy.

The only lights they had now were the occasional street light and neon signs as the bus headed onto the motorway, now thankfully on a straight road so that Brooke could concentrate on the task in hand, rather than pausing every few seconds to avoid choking himself or hurting Cracker when the bus turned or shook over a bumpy patch. The outside lights meant that they only got rare glimpses of each other as they sped by, the rest of their encounter in the dark, cloaked by shadows.

It was a real metaphor for what they were doing, actually, each act accompanied by a quiet sigh as the two men attempted to hide their desire from their tourmates. Soft moans. Gentle breaths. Only a meagre glance at the other’s face. Darting movements in the corner of an eye, swiftly realising it was only a fleeting reflection in glass.

Brooke trailed his fingertips over the bare skin of Cracker’s thighs as he continued, almost grinning to himself as he heard the couch shift and creak underneath him, the featherlight touches clearly getting the response he was hoping for. However, as much as he enjoyed knowing that he could reduce his lover to putty without even pulling out his best moves, there was still the risk of them being caught. Shooting Cracker a warning glance that he hoped he could see, he gave the older man a squeeze around his thighs, bringing him back into that submissive place that he was growing rather enamoured with.

It didn’t take much longer to get them both to breaking point, Cracker coming undone with a strangled moan hidden behind a cushion he’d somehow acquired mid blowjob, the only way he could actually keep quiet during Brooke’s ministrations. Brooke himself followed shortly afterwards, taking care of his own arousal after Cracker’s, slumping forward onto the latter’s legs with a contended groan.

Minutes later, with the pair of them cleaned up and now sitting back on the couch sofa, they found themselves sitting together in a position that suddenly felt far more intimate than either of them could have imagined that morning. Leaning back into the corner of the couch, with Cracker curled across his midsection to account for the difference in height, Brooke Lynn reached down and idly stroked the New Yorker’s cheek with the back of his hand. In response, Cracker tilted his face, kissing the back of the Canadian’s fingers before making his own reach, lacing them with his own. They lay there like that in companionable silence, still driving, nonchalantly gazing out of the window as Britain passed by in the night.

This thing - whatever it was, whatever they were - had been, at the very least, a satisfying diversion from their other shit they had going on. Somehow, though, it didn’t feel like an ending.

More like a beginning.

[dfroza]

A great and terrible Judgment will befall earth

at some point.

this is its cleansing of sin.

(with rebirth carried in its wings)

John wrote of this in the book of Revelation with Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the closing book of the New Testament

[Chapter 8]

When the Lamb cracked open the seventh and final seal, a great silence filled all heaven penetrating everything for about half an hour. Then I saw seven heavenly messengers, the ones who stand before God, receive seven trumpets.

An eighth messenger came and stood before the altar carrying a golden censer. He received a large portion of incense to complement the prayers of all the saints on the golden altar that sits in front of the throne. From the hand of the eighth messenger, the smoke of the incense mixed with the prayers of God’s people and billowed up before God. The messenger filled the censer with fiery coals from the altar and cast it upon the earth, causing a great commotion of thunder, rumblings, flashes of lightning, and an earthquake.

The seven heavenly messengers raised the seven trumpets and prepared to sound them.

The first messenger sounded his trumpet, and a blast of hail and fire mixed with blood was cast down to the earth. As a result, one-third of the land was set ablaze, one-third of the trees were burned, and all the green grass was scorched.

The second messenger sounded his trumpet, and something like a great mountain, with bright flames of burning fire, was cast into the sea. As a result, one-third of the sea turned into blood, one-third of the living sea creatures died, and one-third of the ships were obliterated.

The third messenger sounded his trumpet, and a great star called Wormwood dropped out of heaven, flaming like a torch as it fell on one-third of the rivers and the springs. As a result, one-third of the waters turned bitter like the herb wormwood so that many people died from the poisonous bitter waters.

The fourth messenger sounded his trumpet, and one-third of the sun, one-third of the moon, and one-third of the stars were darkened. As a result, one-third of their light flickered and failed. For one-third of the day, the sun did not shine; and likewise for one-third of the night, the moon and stars did not give their light.

Then I saw an eagle flying through midheaven, and I heard it cry with a loud voice.

Eagle: Woe, woe, woe—horror, disaster, and calamity—to the earth dwellers! The rest of the trumpet blasts from the last three messengers are about to sound.

The Book of Revelation, Chapter 8 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 19th chapter of 2nd Chronicles that takes a look at the appointing of righteous judges over the people:

Then Jehoshaphat returned safely to his house in Jerusalem. When he arrived, Jehu (the son of Hanani the seer whom Asa imprisoned for predicting wars against Judah) greeted the king.

Jehu: Should you aid the wicked and align yourself with those who hate the Eternal? If you do, you will bring the wrath of the Eternal upon yourself. In spite of helping God’s enemies, there is still some good in you—you did remove the Asherah idols from Judah and seek the True God.

Unlike his father Asa, Jehoshaphat did not punish the seer for his message. Instead, the king dedicated himself to drawing his nation closer to the Eternal One, the True God of their ancestors. He lived in Jerusalem, but he traveled among his people from Beersheba in the South to the hill country of Ephraim in the North. Jehoshaphat, whose name means “the Lord judges,” appointed judges throughout the land—in the fortified cities of Judah, one at a time.

Jehoshaphat (to the judges): When you are rendering your judgments, consider them carefully. When you judge, you are representing the Eternal, who is with you when you render a verdict, not man or any institution. Be guided by your fear of Him. Act carefully because the Eternal One, our True God, is never associated with unrighteousness, partiality, or bribery.

In Jerusalem, Jehoshaphat appointed judges from three specific groups: the Levites, the priests, and the tribal leaders of Israel. They enacted the Eternal’s judgments and presided over the daily disputes among the citizens of Jerusalem.

Jehoshaphat (commissioning his judges): You will faithfully and wholeheartedly perform these duties in the fear of the Eternal: instruct your brothers about the various laws (so they and you will be innocent before the Eternal and all of you will avoid His anger) whenever any city dweller brings you subjective cases where the right decisions are not apparent, cases where you must choose who is justified in bloodshed or how to interpret the laws and commandments. Amariah, the chief priest, will be in charge of all that pertains to the Eternal; Zebadiah, the son of Ishmael and leader of the Judahites, will be in charge of all that pertains to governance; and the Levites will be your officers. If you act decisively, then the Eternal is a part of your good actions.

The Book of 2nd Chronicles, Chapter 19 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, february 16 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about faith vs. fear:

“And now abides faith, hope, love; these three” (1 Cor. 13:13). The opposite of faith is fear; of hope, despair; and of love, indifference. Fear is the “default mode” of the soul that dwells in darkness. This is because the “fallen” soul regards the empirical world and its flux as ultimately real -- and therefore “sees in order to believe.” The life of faith, on the other hand, looks beyond the realm of appearances to behold an abiding glory -- and therefore “believes in order to see.” How we choose to see is ultimately a spiritual decision for which we are each responsible....

In the geo-political world there are more seemingly good reasons to be afraid today than in any time since the rise of Nazi Germany in the 1930s. Every day the media indoctrinates people about threats of various kinds: plagues (e.g., the bird flu, swine flu, coronavirus, etc.), natural disasters, economic uncertainties, terrorist plots, and so on. In short, by choosing to engage the “culture of fear” (with its ongoing propaganda campaigns from both the right and left wing perspectives) induces a sense of dread and anxiety (as someone once said, “FEAR” is "False Education Appearing Real"). Just as a lie-detector can physiologically sense when people are telling lies, so our souls can sense when we are believing them... There is no neutral ground here, no “transcendent” place of the soul where we can rise above the realm of contrary truth claims: We will either be set free by the truth or else we will live in fear. As Yeshua said, the “Truth shall set you free.”

Of course this isn’t easy, and the temptation to yield to fear is ongoing. The test of our faith is of more value to the Lord than our material or emotional comfort, however, and therefore we will all experience tribulation of various kinds. This is the way we obtain heart (i.e., courage). Several years ago I wrote a Hebrew meditation (“Fear Thou Not”) that reminded us that the most frequently occurring commandment in Scripture is simply al tirah (אַל־תִּירָא), “don’t be afraid.” If living without fear were easy, it would be of little spiritual worth, but since it requires all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength, it is therefore considered precious. Faith requires, in short, an infinite (and divinely given) passion. And it is part of God’s plan for us to be “in but not of” the world system, to be alienated, to be misunderstood, to be persecuted... We are called to “take up the cross” and die daily. Following Yeshua means sacrificing ourselves along the way.

Ultimately worldly fear distills to the fear of death, or rather, fear of “the one who has the power of death, namely the devil” (Heb. 2:14-15). If we come to peace with our own finitude, our own mortality, and our eventual end in the Messiah, however, then death has no more power over us. Perhaps this is part of the reason why those who sincerely live the Christian faith are so hated in communist countries or in other places of absolutist secular ideologies. If you are delivered from the greatest threat that man can menace over you, you are free to be a voice crying in the wilderness. The life of truth is something the humanist and atheist can never comprehend.

Fear is the antithesis of faith, though living without fear is certainly not easy. After all, how do we naturally choose to be unafraid of what we in fact fear? Is this power within our conscious control? Only by a miracle are we set free from fear... Indeed, true faith working within the heart is one of the greatest miracles of God. May it please God to impart to each of us real courage that comes from Heaven itself... Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

2.15.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

February 16, 2021

All Things Well

“And were beyond measure astonished, saying, He hath done all things well: he maketh both the deaf to hear, and the dumb to speak.” (Mark 7:37)

Jesus indeed “hath done all things well.” One strong evidence of His deity is this very fact. No matter how carefully we study His deeds, we can find no flaw in any of them—no deficiency, nothing He should have done differently or left undone. He never had to apologize or express regrets, as we often at least ought to do. He was always master of every situation. Peter said that He just “went about doing good, and healing all that were oppressed of the devil; for God was with him” (Acts 10:38).

The same truth would apply—perhaps even more emphatically— to His words. He never had to speculate or equivocate: “And they were astonished at his doctrine: for he taught them as one that had authority, and not as the scribes” (Mark 1:22). Jesus never guessed about anything or merely expressed an opinion, as we frequently do. He never suggested a “possible” interpretation. Everything He taught was with absolute authority, for He was (and is) the very Word of God (John 1:1, 14).

His words occasionally were harsh and judgmental when dealing with hypocrisy and false teaching (e.g., Matthew 23:29-33), but more often were kind and forgiving. In fact, “all bare him witness, and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth” (Luke 4:22). Even the soldiers sent to arrest Jesus returned empty-handed, for as they said: “Never man spake like this man” (John 7:46).

Indeed, “his word was with power” (Luke 4:32). He was “Jesus of Nazareth...a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people” (Luke 24:19). In fact, He was more than a man; He was the perfect man and the only-begotten Son of God! HMM

and a Tuesday tweet by illumiNations:

@IlluminationsBT: #translationtuesday Our voyage in the history of Bible translation continues ...

1450 - Gutenberg invents the printing press in Germany, allowing for the printing of Bibles.

2.16.21 • 10:56am • Twitter

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 29)

Note: Extra long chapter, before I take a short break to assess other writing projects before the year ends.

An hour earlier, at a house that looked like a combination between a hunting lodge, a field laboratory, and a remote storage facility for old records and equipment, situated high up on the side of a mountain by the town of Hoshiko…

Inside of a large closet turned bedroom, its walls decorated with several Rune Rangers posters; calendars and planners covered in multi-coloured ink and childish doodles; and collectible figurines and manga on shelves, an alarm clock started beeping.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Laying sprawled out on her stomach in her bed, Silsa “Snowie” Schnee groaned, and put her pillow over her head. The alarm gradually kept on getting louder and louder, till no matter how many of her many pillows she packed over her ears, there was no blocking out the sound.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Snowie just groaned, resigning herself to an unpleasant, sleepless morning, laying in the comfort of her own bed. The beeping switched to a pre-recorded message in Nick’s voice, spoken in Vox:

“Snowie, sweetheart, come on: get up. There’s shit to do, love to give and get, and a brand new day to meet, kiddo.”

Underneath her pillow reinforcements, Snowie smiled, but still stayed in her bed in the silence that followed. Her alarm switched to a different pre-recorded message, this time in Freya’s voice, but also spoken in Vox:

“Silsa! Get up, right this instant! You have chores and duties to attend to, and you better be sick, bedridden, or dying for you to be ignoring this!”

Snowie groaned, and started slowly pulling her pillows off her head, throwing them into space on her wall painted in black and yellow hazard lines. When all of them were piled up or otherwise out of the way, Snowie slowly rolled over onto her side, off the bed and onto the waiting carpet below.

Thump.

Sprawled out on her back, she stared up at the Solitan saying on her ceiling, painted a bright, gaudy pink, contrasting with the earthy browns of Mistralian hardwood:

“Good day or terrible day, you will see it to the end.”

She smiled, before she punched the pressure plate just above her head, shutting off her alarm. That done, she rolled over to her stomach, pulled out the items underneath. First, she took out her pill organizer and a water bottle, took her three daily doses. Then, she pulled out a notebook covered in incredibly tough, worn leather binding, opened it and pulled out the pen inside.

She marked three X’s on the boxes next to that day’s date, started slowly going down the list of things she’d written down the night before, before she flipped to the inside of the cover. Among other things, there was a small sliding chart with pictures of her family, and a free space with silhouettes adorned with question marks.

Snowie sighed—red bars for everyone but Whitley. She forced herself to get up, walked over to her door, and reviewed the laminated pictures on it:

Her three prescription bottles.

A journal covered with bullets, of the “firearms” variety.

Clothes, a shirt and a pair of pants, with a plus sign between them furiously scribbled in black marker.

Satisfied she’d assessed all of them, she stepped out of her door, and headed to the kitchen. Whitley was already seated at the table, eating a bowl of Starlight Crusader Crunchies, and reading something on his scroll at the same time.

“Good morning, Whitley!” Snowie said as she stepped up behind Whitley’s chair, hugged him and kissed the top of his head. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Extremely glad it’s the weekend, and I have a two days reprieve from being tossed around in the Thunderdome that is Sanctum!” Whitley replied, looking up from his scroll long enough to smile at her. “How are you feeling, mother?”

“Like complete and absolute shit, as usual!” Snowie chirped happily as she stepped to the fridge, got herself a bottle of ginger ale. “I’m hungover, definitely had too much Steinbier last night, and overindulged in fanfiction shortly thereafter, but hey: at least it’s the weekend for me, too!” she said as she started taking slow, careful sips.

“Any plans for when Akko, Diana, and Ruby come over?”

“Already way ahead of you!” Snowie said, smiling and shooting Whitley a finger gun. “Got the perfect recipes already in mind, just gotta bike to Hoshiko later, get all the prep work done, put most of it in the fridge, then remember to toss the rest of the shit in the slow cooker before I pass out tonight!

“Then, come morning, I only need to toss it in the oven for like half-an-hour or unplug the crockpot, it’s gonna be delicious, and more importantly, it requires the least amount of active input from me possible, which minimizes the chances of me screwing it up!

“Unless Ruby and Diana have serious food allergies or aversions to literally everything I can buy at Hoshiko, there’s no way this can go wrong!”

Whitley put his spoon back into his bowl, and looked up from his scroll once more.

Snowie calmly took one more drink of her ginger ale, and carefully put it back down on the counter. “I fucked up and wrote ‘Sunday’ instead of ‘Saturday,’ didn’t I?”

Whitley nodded. “Yes. Yes you did, mother.”

Snowie began to make a long, continuous noise, starting as a quiet whine, gradually growing louder and louder to a wail of pure anguish, occasionally broken by hysterical sobbing.

Whitley sighed as he put his scroll down. “Mom, you’re going to be fine, we’re going to be fine.”

“No, no we’re not!” Snowie wailed as she started pacing about in the tiny kitchen, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. “Ruby and Diana are going to go in through that door, see how much of a fucking disaster this house is, and because we’re the only ones around to handle them, they’ll probably silently promise never to come back here again, and just stay at the inn at Hoshiko if circumstance ever drives them back here!”

Whitley turned around in his seat to look at her, Snowie held up both her palms, before she made the time-out sign. Whitley shut his mouth, Snowie gripped the counter as she took long, deep breaths, in-and-out, in-and-out.

“…We need to clean this place up…” Snowie said as she let go of the counter, noticeably calmer. “Cook breakfast… a socially acceptable one you can offer guests… and I need to bathe, because I smell like beer, ugly crying, and nervous sweating!”

“Okay, that last one certainly is a priority, and the second would be nice, but is the first really necessary?” Whitley asked. “I mean, we’re both exhausted from school starting up again—your struggling to be here all alone all day on weekdays, Weiss’ clearly less-than-ideal first week in Haven, and my being back in Sanctum.

“Not to mention, the limited square footage of this house hasn’t made it physically impossible to get that dirty—our crap’s just more densely packed and space-efficient,” he said, gesturing to one of the shelves and containers close to the ceiling and crammed into the nooks and crannies of the house, all overflowing with random crap.

Snowie scowled. “Look here, you little shit: Ruby and Diana are going to be stuck with Weiss and Akko for the next four years, and we need to—hmnnnn…!” she balled her shaking hands, and took in some more deep, calming breaths, before she uncurled her fists. “… Sit down, like reasonable, responsible adults, and we are going to discuss our response, or lack thereof, to Weiss’ and Akko’s team coming here today.”

Whitley put his spoon back into his cereal, shut off his scroll, and set them both to the side. “You have my attention, mother. Would you like to start?” he asked, spreading his hands open in front of him.

“Yes, yes I would, actually, Whitley, thank you,” Snowie said as she sat in the seat opposite his, pulling out the chair with one hand before she summarily parked her butt on it. “I would really like you to please help me clean up the house and cook a decent breakfast for three, because as you know, I’m pretty usele—“ she winced “--unconfident in my abilities and competence…!”

Whitley nodded. “I understand why you would want my help with this, and I also understand the motivation and the reasoning behind making a good first impression for Weiss and Akko’s teammates, but I will counter with this:

“Mother, throughout all my years of living in this house, I have come to the conclusion that we as a family are totally incapable of keeping any sense of normality, order, or decency for any prolonged periods of time.

“However well we can clean up this house and whatever we can whip up on short notice to give the impression that life here is generally at this level of ‘Nice,’ I am absolutely certain that within the hour of AWRD sans Weiss arriving, all of our hard work will be undone, and whatever positive assumptions or beliefs they had from said first impression will swiftly be totally, brutally erased and readjusted to fit the reality that they will be exposed to later today, and indeed, however many times her other two teammates return here afterward, if they ever do.

“In short: I believe that the effort and the stress of cleaning up and pretending we are even the slightest bit normal is not worth the very, very temporary, possibly even counter-intuitive rewards. Why should we even bother…?”

“Because, Whitley, we need to at least look like we give a shit.”

“An excellent point!” Whitley said, pointing at Snowie. “However, I remain unconvinced, and I am still not yet even partially recovered from the hellish events of this week, and thus will be returning to my cereal and fictional lesbians now,” he said as he pulled his scroll and breakfast back to him.

Snowie scowled and slammed both her hands on the table. “Okay, you know what? Forget it!” she knocked her chair back as she shot up from her seat, caught it and threw it back down to all four legs as she walked away. “I’ll just do this all by myself!”

“I wish you the best of luck, mother, really I do!” Whitley called out, idly shoveling some cereal into his mouth as he returned to his reading.

Snowie ignored him as she went to her “Instructions To My Future Self” file cabinet in the living room, situated just by the stairs leading upwards. She pulled out the master list from the top drawer, found the one for “First Visit By AWRD,” and proceeded to unfold a gigantic flowchart decorated with stickers, symbols, cryptic code, and a system of arrows and nodes that seemed to go every which way.

Snowie flipped it over from the “If Drunk” side on the front to the “If Sober” side at the back, read the slightly more legible and better organized version of the flowchart, then got to work.

She began with the cleaning, picking up empty beer bottles, random junk, and discarded clothes scattered wherever there was space; crusty plates and utensils that had been left abandoned over the week; and all manner of takeout napkins, butcher paper, and obsolete print-outs that were adorned with Snowie’s doodles, writing, and random, sometimes illegible scribbling.

When all of that was shoved into her bedroom, and the door securely braced to prevent any sort of mortifying avalanche if it all spilled out, she went back to the kitchen, pulling out Freya’s homemade cleaning supplies. After strapping on a mask, gloves, safety goggles, and an apron loaded with pockets akin to a military vest, she wielded two modified combat-grade chemical sprayers in both hands, their revolvers gleaming in the light.

“Seal the kitchen, Whitley, mommy’s going on a germicidal war!” Snowie cried as she ran out, putting the safeties off.

“Way ahead of you!” Whitley said, using his scroll to activate the emergency air-vents, doors coming down from the ceiling and sealing off the entrances.

Snowie slid out into the living room on her knees, guns akimbo and firing cleaning solutions loaded with acetic and citric acids, specially engineered and cultivated bacteria and enzymes, her mother’s dirt-and-dust-eating concoctions, and water to make sure the various mixtures weren’t too concentrated.

She got back up on her feet, still firing like mad, spraying thick clouds of disinfectant everywhere, switching firing modes to suit the job: pressurized bullets to shoot up into the ceiling and hard to reach nooks; explosive, short-range gobs to dislodge stubborn stains; and continuous streams to wear down some of the most egregious splatters and spots from who-knew-what from however long ago.

No surface remained uncovered, Snowie’s hands flying every which way and whatever angle she needed to, twisting, spinning, and even bending backwards to eradicate every last stain.

Those that still refused to disappear were quickly set upon with much more dedicated, close-range physical assault with brushes, sponges, and cleaning cloths, Snowie scrubbing as vigorously as it took to eradicate them, the sturdy furniture and materials her parents’ preferred for everything barely affected.

She ran up to their bathroom, pulled out a grenade from her apron pocket. She opened the door, pulled the pin, tossed the bomb in, then shut the door.

Slam.

Shortly after:

Boom.

Snowie waited a few moments, before she opened the door, bluish mist pouring out the crack. She peered in, and satisfied that the bathroom-bomb had done its job well, scrambled up the stairs to the second floor. She was happy that she didn’t need to clean her parents’ room or their indoor workshops/laboratories, but there was still one more massive, difficult job waiting for her:

Her kids’ room.

It used to be a rather spacious guest room for cramming all the people Nick and/or Freya needed to absolutely have in their remote, intentionally isolated home, but now it was cramped with four bunk beds, and an excess of storage and shelving that made it possible to store more items than should have probably been physically possible in that space.

Weiss and Akko’s things were for the most part gone, moved to Haven or back to the latter’s home in Hoshiko, but there were still all the belongings they had had chosen to leave behind, not to mention Whitley and Winter’s possessions.

Snowie calmly sucked in a breath as she flipped open both her sprayers revolvers, tilted the almost-to-completely spent cartridges into her apron, before loading them with fresh ammo using two speedloaders.

She snapped the revolvers back into place. “Let’s fucking do this,” she said, spinning the sprayers in her hands before she holstered them.

Sheets were pulled off. Pillows were thrown out to the hall. Dirty clothing was thrown into the Starlight Crusaders hampers in the corner. Physically printed doujin and manga (Winter’s especially) were put back into their respective bookshelves, and their owner’s preferred method of discrete storage, such as trap doors underneath the beds, camouflaged shelves, or hidden nooks in the ceiling.

Every moisture-sensitive item back into its place, or otherwise sheltered and shielded from potential harm, Snowie whipped out her sprayers, and started fumigating once more.

A minute later, she staggered out of the room, heaving and sweating as she felt her mask’s filters finally begin to reach their limits. She took a brief reprieve by an open window to feel the rays of the rising sun on her face, breath in fresh air, wipe the sweat off her skin, and switch out the air-filters for fresh ones.

She was tempted to look at her scroll, before she stayed the hand reaching into the pocket containing it. “No, Snowie, no...” she whispered in-between pants. “… As soon as you open decantr… it’s all over.” She reached instead to the one with a bottle of water, chugged it, before she shoved it back into her apron, then bolted for the fireman’s pole that was in the center of their winding staircase.

She leaped towards it with a proud grin on her face!

Her outstretched hand missed it, Snowie hit the bar full-force, her aura preventing any physical damage, but not the uniquely unpleasant sensation of accidentally throwing yourself into a solid metal pole.

Tung…!

The pole vibrated slightly from the impact, Snowie’s other hand reflexively gripped it, slowing her descent back down to the living room, still holding onto it as she carefully lowered herself down to her butt, before she let go, fell backwards, and let out a quiet, agonized gasp of pain.

A glyph appeared underneath her, glowing the same shade as Whitley’s eyes, before it exploded in a flash, Snowie’s body now glowing with the slate blue of her Aura. She sighed as she felt the pain disappear and strength flood back into her body.

“Thanks, Whitley!” Snowie called out, still on the floor.

“Don’t thank me yet!” Whitley yelled back from the kitchen. “Akko and the others managed to hitch a ride with Owaka’s airship—he’s dropping them off somewhere down the road, and they’re going to be here any minute!”

Snowie scrambled back up to her feet, spewing the vilest curses she knew in Vox, rapid-fire. “… rat-dicked motherfucker!” she finished as she began to stagger to the kitchen. “I have to get cooking—Whitley, please, just distract them until I can--” she stopped, and sniffed the air. “Wait, are you cooking something…?”

“Quiche, two of them!” Whitley replied. “Better pray neither Ruby nor Diana hate or have severe allergies to eggs, milk, spinach, bacon, and/or nuts, because otherwise we don’t have anything else in the fridge right now!”

Snowie blinked, before her eyes watered. “Whitley: have I ever told you that I love you...?”

“Yes, mother, very many times...” Whitley replied. “Mostly whilst drunk and/or sobbing hysterically, and as always: I love you too.”

Snowie sniffed, before she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll just be sneaking out the back entrance and taking a bath in the river, Whitley!” she called out. “But first, I’m going to have myself a celebratory beer for being fucking awesome,” she said to herself as she reached into a small drawer right by the front door, the empty and full Mantle Steinbier bottles inside clinking noisily.

Snowie picked one up and popped the lid off with a smooth, almost uninterrupted motion; she took a swig of freezing cold beer, shivered in pleasure as she pulled it away from her lips.

Their door rang, a series of different sized bells chiming in a melody. Snowie nearly jumped, shut her front door beer drawer, fixed her appearance in the mirror on the wall opposite it, before she peered out the peephole.

Akko’s smiling face took up the entire view, standing right in front of the door as usual.

Snowie smiled too, and didn’t hesitate to pull open the door. “Hi Akko!” she greeted warmly. Her smile remained plastered on her face as her eyes grew wide. “… Akko’s teammates! Ruby and Diana, right…?”

The two of them were about to smile and greet her back, before all three of them noticed the freshly opened beer in Snowie’s hand, frost still pouring out the mouth of it. Still smiling, Snowie slowly reached for the beer drawer again, pulled it open, put her bottle back in, and closed it, its contents clinking noisily the whole time.

Just then, the short-range communicator by the door activated. “Air-Med to Snowfall, Air-Med to Snowfall: come in, Snowfall, over.”

All of them looked at it in confusion, before Snowie held up her hand to Akko and co, and quietly picked up the receiver with the other. “Snowfall to Air-Med, Snowfall to Air-Med: we read you, but where are you from, and what the hell are you doing here, over?”

“Ōkuninushi Medical, bringing a patient plus guardian back home, Snowfall. Over.”

“Wait, Weiss...? I thought they said she’d be at the hospital for a week, at the minimum…? Ah, over!”

“Doctor’s changed their mind, Snowfall; guardian wanted the early discharge it to be a surprise. Anyway, requesting clearance for landing, over.”

Snowie looked at the others, a mix of expressions on their faces, cast a glance at Whitley looking in from the kitchen with a spatula in hand, before she returned to the receiver. “Circle for five minutes, Air-Med; it’s been a while since we had a landing, getting it ready might be a while. Over and out.”

“Roger willco, Snowfall, over and out.”

Five minutes later, the roof of the house was transformed into a landing pad, sections of it becoming part of the runway or giving way to the sturdy materials that had been folded up inside. The gears, motors, and assorted machinery groaned and churned from lack of use and maintenance, but it was still enough for the airbus to land safely.

“Mom! Whitley!” Weiss cried as she was rolled out to the runway, Freya trailing beside her. The smiles on both their faces stayed as they noticed the three other faces carefully peering out from the trap door that lead out to the landing pad-roof. “… Akko, Ruby, Diana…!

“… What are you three doing here…?” Freya continued, a tremour of nervousness in her voice.

“We ran into an issue with Akko’s studying back at Haven,” Diana replied as she and the others sheepishly climbed out. “We thought we should go back here and study Akko’s old reviewers, try and recreate it once we get back to Haven...”

There was a moment of silence as all of Team AWRD, the other Schnees present, and the paramedics in the airbus all looked at each other.

“Well, this is horribly awkward!” Whitley said, breaking it. “Who wants to have breakfast before we all talk about this later, in private groups, or all at once? I made quiche—bacon or spinach, both with eggs and milk so apologies for intolerance to any of those!

“We can even use Blubbermouth.”

“Blubbermouth…?” Diana asked.

“It’s a plushie we all use when we need to talk about difficult things to each other...” Weiss said as a paramedic continued to wheel her in. “Very useful for things like a conversation we should have had about a certain condition of mine...”

Akko’s eyes widened. “Ah, yeah about that… sorry Weiss, but I kinda… told Ruby and Akko after we met up at the hospital. Just them, though, and we all promise we haven’t leaked to anyone else!”

Weiss’ eyes widened, before she sighed, resigned. “It’s okay, Akko… I would have done the same then if I could.” She sucked in a breath, and looked at Ruby and Diana. “Look, I know Akko probably told you everything you needed to know about it and then some, but I trust you still have questions she couldn’t answer, and, well, I kinda need to explain it myself, too.”

“So… Team AWRD to breakfast, then my room to talk about my Depression...?” she asked, smiling hopefully as she carefully raised her hand into the air.

“To breakfast, then your room!” Akko said, striking a pose.

“To breakfast, then your room!” Ruby said as she did the same.

Diana looked at the three of them, before she sighed, imitated the pose, and then said, “To breakfast, then your room...”

Whitley smiled and teared up. “I’ll moderate,” he said as he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “It’s the least I can do for that reference.”

The airbus took back off to Mistral, team AWRD and the Schnees headed back down inside for breakfast, then a much-needed talk in Weiss’ room afterward.

Note: There’s the big reveal. Did you guys not notice that the answer was in the AO3 tags the entire time…?