#yearning for you 5

[scificrows]

“I was having an emotion, and I hate that. I’d rather have nice safe emotions about shows on the entertainment media; having them about things real-life humans said and did just led to stupid decisions.” ― Martha Wells, Exit Strategy

Title sequence designs inspired by the real-life shows Martha Wells based Murderbot's favorite shows on.

[add1ctedt0you]

The Untamed - Episode 19

Throughout the night, he [Jiang Cheng] had somehow managed to sleep a couple of times. The first reason was that, having been too tired from crying himself weak, he couldn't help from passing out. The second reason was that he still had the hope that this might be a nightmare. He couldn't wait to wake up after some rest and open his eyes to find himself lying inside of his room back in Lotus Pier. His father would be wiping his sword in the main hall. His mother would be angry again and complaining, scolding Wei Wuxian who winked in a funny way. His sister would be in the kitchen, thinking as hard as she could about what to make today. His shidi would be refusing to do their morning lessons properly and jumping around.

The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Chapter 59, Poisons- Part Four

[napping-sapphic]

I talk so much about how i want to fall in love for all the things i could do for someone and all the things someone could do for me but deep down, if i’m being honest, i want to fall in love because i just so desperately need to know that love is actually real and that there are people out there capable of truly loving me

[skimpilydressedwithanaxe]

I made this mainly for fun because I like a lot of colors but it turned out somewhat ok

[s-aint-elmo]

girl who has suffered more than alll-mer

(ID in alt text)

[flowercrowngods]

yearning hours (bonus track)

🤍 also on ao3

Seeing Steve like this always makes Eddie feel like he’s suddenly in on some secret of the universe. Like he knew nothing prior to this moment, like history is rewriting itself around the two of them just now. It makes him feel like the boy he is — young, stupid, with no idea about the world and what lies beyond, and absolutely in love with another boy. 

The light of the full moon catches in his hair, painting it silver and covering him in a sheen of light that Steve knows to wear like a second skin. He’s calm out here, his legs dangling over the abyss of the quarry, his hands in his lap, his chest rising and falling steadily. Slowly. Evenly. Eddie wants to reach out and hold his hand over Steve’s heart just to feel it against his skin, just to give his own some direction; to get it right. 

No frown between his brows, no tension in the line of his shoulders, no clenched jaw or balled fists. 

He looks beautiful like this; a playing field for light and darkness that treat him like an old friend that comes to visit, to stay just for the night. 

Steve is beautiful. And Eddie gets to watch; take it all in, the silver light on the bridge of his nose, the shadows underneath his lips, the dried trail of old tears, telling a glistening tale of the heart that combines history and future. 

Eddie watches as Steve stares out at the quarry, his eyes fixed somewhere in the darkness, unaware of his surroundings as he loses himself in that freedom he makes for himself every night he is out here. The freedom he is willing to share with Eddie, apparently. 

It’s a privilege. An honour. And still all Eddie can do, all he wants to do, is look at Steve and watch him and see. Justbecause he can. Because Steve won’t tell him to stop, because he won’t ask him about it, won’t duck his face or skip away from Eddie’s smile or his hands or his silent confessions whispered into his very own thoughts. Not here, not in the darkness. Not anymore. 

He wants to reach out and take that hand that’s resting in Steve‘s lap, weave their fingers together and breathe a promise into the air between them. Wants to tug on that hand and make Steve fall into him, make their hearts pick up their paces because for just a fraction of a second they’ll think they’re about to lose their balance and fall. Fall down there, into the darkness, and never see the light again. 

A breeze picks up around them, brushing through Steve‘s hair and making it dance in the moon light. Eddie’s eyes follow with rapt attention, but still it breaks the spell of yearning and brings a question to the forefront of his mind. 

A question about calm, about darkness, about Steve and what that means. 

Lifting one leg from the abyss to wrap his arms around it and give his hands something to do, something to hold, Eddie asks, “You ever think about jumping?” 

Steve blinks once. Twice. Coming back from wherever he went while Eddie waits patiently and watches. 

“Jumping?” 

Eddie inclines his head even though Steve’s not looking. “Off. Down there. Y’know...”  He trails off. 

Steve blinks again, a frown between his brows redirecting the silver light on his face before he finally turns his head to look at Eddie. 

“No. Not uhm... Not jumping." 

Eddie takes it all in, trailing his gaze over Steve's face, searching for something he's not sure exists. This thing between them that's been growing steadily. This thing between them that has lead to quiet nights at the quarry, to Steve talking about bravery and jumping and all those things that aren't meant for daylight. 

"No? What then?" 

Eddie reaches for a pebble, scratching its smooth surface with the nail of his thumb because he’s feeling restless again and he needs something to anchor him. He always does, around Steve. The boy just makes him feel weightless and heavy and floating and sinking at the same time, and Eddie is always just along for the ride. Wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.

Steve musters him for a moment and Eddie can feel himself tensing up a little, aiming to seem nonchalant with the pebble in his hand, like it’s the most normal thing to do for a boy who’s not ready to be a man yet in a world that never even let him be a child. A boy who failed his senior year three times. A boy who’s endlessly in love with Steve Harrington. 

The golden boy. But he’s painted in silver now in this moment shared just between the two of them. Maybe Eddie is looking for symbolism where there is none, his mind clinging to romanticisations and narratives of beauty and belonging just to defy the bleakness of the world that grownups have always been so adamantly demanding of him to believe in. 

Maybe he’s blinded by infatuation, stupid and colourblind with it. Or maybe it means something that this gold-skinned boy is veiled in silver light as he’s looking at Eddie like that. 

Like he sees it, too. 

Like he can feel it, that something between them that’s been growing. 

And Eddie feels hope rising in his chest for a second, dares to let his heart skip and jump and race, brought to life by Steve’s eyes trailing down to his lips; and falling, when the boy only huffs. 

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” 

Eddie hums, pleading his heart to come down, a little bit terrified that Steve would hear it for how heavily and rapidly it’s beating against his ribcage. “Tell me anyway?” 

He loves it, the way Steve’s lips tug up into a smile. A shy, secret little one, illuminated and captured for all eternity by the moonlight for one second, two, before he turns his face away and looks down into the abyss again. 

“I like when you do that.” 

“What?” 

“Tell me anyway. It’s… It makes me feel not-stupid. Or like it’s okay, you know? Like even if it’s stupid, it’s still there, still worth telling maybe. Not an empty phrase. Just… Yeah. You know I’ll tell you anyway, Ed.” 

And what do you even say to that? Nothing. There’s nothing for Eddie to say because his heart is still racing against itself and winning and losing and falling ever after. 

Stupidly, he offers Steve his pebble. Wondrously, Steve takes it, his fingertips lingering on Eddie’s palm, electric and tickling, and they both huff. Breathless. 

“Falling,” Steve says at last. 

“Hm?” 

A twitch of his lips, looking over for the briefest of seconds before he focuses on Eddie’s pebble, rolling it between his fingers, placing it in the middle of his palm, and Eddie aches to take its place. To place his hand on Steve’s palm and hold him, to have Steve play with his fingers like that. To be the centre of Steve’s attention more than he already is. 

“It’s not about jumping. Just falling. And trying not to.” 

Eddie swallows, biting his tongue, not daring to speak now. His voice would waver, his heart would jump out and he’d be found out. So he watches. Listens. Longs. 

“I’ve never…” Steve trails off and closes his fingers around the pebble. “I’ve never been good at not falling.” 

It hangs in the air between them, boring into Eddie’s mind, his thoughts, his desires, and it leaves him reeling. Confused. Blinking. 

Steve doesn’t elaborate, though, and Eddie feels like he’s losing his mind. He’s been there, he’s done that, and Steve always makes him feel like he’s terribly close to that, but… There was something in his voice when he said that. The same something that’s in the air when they sit together, just a tad closer than is strictly necessary or acceptable. The same something that floats between them when their eyes meet and neither of them looks away — until they have to, with pink-tinted smiles on their faces. 

This something that is reserved in the universe; reserved for them. Reserved for Eddie and his crush that has turned into a flame, a bonfire that keeps him warm and sustained and safe so long as he doesn’t touch it. Reserved for Steve and the way he doesn’t duck his head to hide his smile anymore, the way he started laughing more around Eddie, and the way he always finds excuses to touch him, to linger, to stay. 

And so, with a voice that doesn’t quite feel like his, he asks, “Why are you trying not to fall?” 

“Because…” He shrugs, frowning at the pebble. “Because the landing always hurts, Eddie.” 

And I’ve already hurt so much. I’m already hurting so much. Can’t you see it? It goes unsaid, but it’s spoken still with the tiny shrug, with the tone of resignation, and the way his voice breaks on Eddie’s name. 

It breaks something inside Eddie, too. 

“Steve,” he whispers. Thought that if he said his name, it would be unbroken. It’s not, though, it’s just a name that hangs in the air now. 

Steve puts away the pebble, laying it gently between them, and Eddie feels colder for it. “Told you it was stupid.” 

“It’s not,” he hurries to reassure him, insistent and desperate for Steve to believe him. “I’m not judging or anything, shit, Stevie, I’m just…” 

“Just?” 

Just thinking that I would catch you. Just longing to fall with you. Not just for you. Always, always for you, though. 

But it’s too much; the words are bubbling inside him, too close to the surface, ready to break out and face the world, but Eddie swallows thickly until they lose their momentum. 

So he shakes his head and breathes deeply. Watches as Steve’s shoulders fall slightly as tension bleeds out of them. Maybe it’s better for the words to stay where they are. Unsaid. Secret. 

He wants to take the pebble back, but he feels paralysed. Maybe it’s one secret too many. Maybe it’s what will break him, them, this something between them. 

But looking at Steve now, streaked in silver and a loneliness that wasn’t there before, something settles inside him. 

“I would catch you,” he says, like it’s that simple. “Give it all to find a way. It sounds cheesy as fuck, and maybe it is, but Jesus, Stevie.” His voice is small, gentle like he’s never really heard it out of his own mouth, and he reaches out to tuck a strand of Steve’s hair behind his ear. It was never out of place, he just felt this ache he needed to soothe. Just wanted to touch Steve. He always wants to touch him. “I would find a way.” 

Steve looks at him, meets his eyes over the thrum of darkness and secrets, over the terrifying petrification that seems to have overcome them both, and over the hitching breaths and skipping hearts that guide the hand of fate. 

“Why?” he breathes. Like it’s just a word. Like it’s not Eddie’s entire heart and soul laid bare, Steve’s name embedded in weeks and months and years of simile and symbolism, deeply ingrained in his every thought now. 

“Because I want to,” Eddie says. Like it’s that easy. He leans forward, falling toward Steve to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder and being the one to hide now. “God, I want to.” 

It’s a whisper, but Steve’s shaking underneath him. Eddie is ready to bolt, ready to run, his hands wrapped around his middle protectively just in case he’s misreading all of this spectacularly. Hoping and aching and pleading that he isn’t. 

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, but doesn’t move away from him. He sounds a little lost with it, and Eddie is reminded of the hurt, broken little sound that was his name just moments earlier. It makes him snake his hand out from under himself to lay it on Steve’s thigh, palm up. Inviting. Offering. “You can’t just say shit like that, man.” 

Eddie huffs a breath he wasn’t aware he still had in his lungs when everything has turned into Steve and falling and catching and wanting. 

“Why not?” And there’s vulnerability in it, spreading its wings inside him, pushing back everything else he’s been feeling before as a different kind of the same reality comes crashing down on him. Why not? Because we’re boys? Because you’re Steve and I’m Eddie? Because I’ve been misreading this after all? 

He pulls away, but Steve does take his hand before he can get too far.

“Because I’m already falling. And falling and falling and falling, and there you are.” Steve’s hand comes up to his hair now, brushing it behind his ear to meet his eyes. “Pretty.” He sighs, leaving his hand on Eddie’s cheek. “What if it’s too much?”

“You?” 

“Me.” It’s rotten work. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Never.” Not to me. Not if it’s you. 

“‘M gonna start saying shit,” Steve murmurs then, his face impossibly closer now, and Eddie’s eyes trail to his lips. He doesn’t want to kiss Steve. Well, he does, and quite desperately in fact; but not right now. He wants to keep looking at him, wants to keep talking, wants to drink him in and just to be there. Make good on his promise. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Cheesy shit,” Steve grins, though it wavers in the moonlight. Still it makes Eddie’s breath hitch. “Like asking you to hold me. And never let me go.” 

Eddie smiles, plucking Steve’s hand from his cheek to rest it in his lap, playing with his fingers and marvelling at the feel of them. They’re so warm. Maybe Steve has that same bonfire inside him. 

He almost asks. Instead, what he says is, “And if I do that? If I hold you? And catch you. And never let you go. And tell you that you look really good in the moonlight, and all that cheesy shit…” They grin, Steve’s fingers twitching in his lap. “Would you let me?”

“Let you what?” 

Eddie swallows, his cheeks heating, his heart racing again.“Be the one you fall for.” 

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, and the sound is far from broken this time, spoken as it is around a smile, accompanied by eyes glistening in the moonlight. “You already are.” 

His heart is soaring. There is no other word to describe the feeling that overcomes him, body and soul, and he wants to scream about it, wants to laugh and cry and jump and fly. But all he says is, “Good.”

“Yeah?” 

And, God, he sounds so hopeful, so innocent, so purely and deeply serene that Eddie can’t help but move carefully until he’s standing, holding one hand out to Steve. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, laughing as Eddie pulls him to his feet and immediately wraps his arms around Steve’s middle, leaving him to bury his face in Eddie’s neck and wind his arms around him, too. 

“Just making good on that promise, Stevie. Gonna hold you til you’re sick of me.” 

“God, I love you,” Steve whispers into his skin, accompanied by another breathless laugh as he burrows deeper into him. 

Or, at least Eddie thinks that he said. Maybe he was the one who said it. Maybe he just thought it, made it feel real with how strong he's feeling.

But before he can so much as freeze with the onslaught of both possibility and reality, Steve’s hand comes up to his cheek again and he brushes a kiss to his neck, one to his jaw, and then one to his cheek, before returning to bury himself in Eddie’s embrace. 

Eddie closes his eyes and just breathes him in as they stand there, just holding each other. Falling and catching each other. Cradling their something new in trembling hands that tell the tale of two boys terrified and brave, and smiles that speak of future. 

yearning hours | yearning hours b-side

[moregraceful]

one time my mom told me that our young neighbors loved our persimmons so much that they decided to plant some trees of their own. so they planted four persimmon trees ☠️

[realityisdulllonglivefiction]

just started watching Oh, My General! and can I just say

MA’AM

DROP HIS ASS

Oh my gods the ml is so unappealing and the the general is so hot ma’am please I’ll be your wife I’ll be your concubine you do not need to submit yourself to that I’ll submit myself to you instead for your considwration

[junesprince]

when im in a yearning competition and my opponent is toshiro kasukabe

[threadbaresweater]

okokok since we both have it had for arthur rn, just imagine all his longing glances from across camp. feeling like he just never has a chance with you because of the man he is. little does he know, you‘re looking at him the exact same way

idk something about high-honor arthur and all the longing that comes with him has me in a grip and in a mutual pining scenario even more so because he’s too blinded by thinking he’s a terrible man, deserving of nothing good, to realize you love him too

oh carrie...

thinking about being at camp- it starts at horseshoe overlook. you notice it one night when the gang is celebrating a successful stagecoach robbery. You've drunk more than your fair share of whiskey, and you're sitting by the campfire while Javier sings, your head laid against Hosea's shoulder because you can hardly hold it up on your own anymore.

Arthur, you notice, has been quieter than usual tonight. He didn't have much to drink like the others. He's in his tent, scrawling something in that damn journal you like to tease him about. You reckon maybe it's some kind of repentance, a way for him to ease the guilt of robbing innocent folks.

you don't realize you're staring until Hosea jostles you and asks if you're still with him.

"Just about," you slur. Arthur perks up at the sound of your voice, even over the din of the party, and your eyes meet. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, and your face feels hot, but not because of the fire.

He doesn't deserve something as good and pure as you, he thinks. You don't deserve a man who lies and cheats his way through life, who carries a burden of guilt and shame as heavy as an Atlas stone.

So you'll look. And you'll feel your heart swell; Arthur will keep his feelings to himself for now. Forever, he thinks. He doesn't want to ruin your chance at a good life.

[shivunin]

To the Last Drop

(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 1,682 Words | No warnings)

It wasn’t that Fenris had never seen liquid lyrium in use. 

Obviously, that wasn’t the case. The mages of the Imperium had always made sure it was in reach, of course, and Hawke and the other two kept it on hand whenever they expected a brawl. He’d seen empty vials of it tossed aside mid-fight, seen it sipped from the finest gold goblets, passed from mouth to mouth in intimate moments—yes, Fenris had seen plenty of lyrium in use. 

He wished it weren’t the case, though. Because if he was unfamiliar with it, that might explain the way he couldn’t seem to help watching Hawke when she drank it down. 

Unfortunately, it was not novelty but something else entirely that kept his eyes on her lips, pressed to the glass, on the long line of her throat when she tipped her head back to finish the draught. 

On…on her tongue, when she traced it over her full lower lip to gather up any loose drops. 

“Ready?” Isabela asked, twirling a dagger in one hand absently, “I’ve an itch I need to scratch.”

“Oh?” Hawke said, laughing, her head still half-back. She was all but a silhouette to him, standing near the top of a hill while he leaned against a boulder at the bottom. 

“Again?” Merrill asked, peering at the Rivaini, “Is it the one under your shoulder blade that you can never reach? D’you want me to try—”

“No, no,” Isabela laughed, slinging an arm over the elf’s shoulders, “Not that kind of itch, Kitten.”

“Oh,” Merrill said, as the two began to wander back toward the road, “I thought…” 

Fenris had already stopped paying attention to them. Hawke was looking at him, one arm stretched across her bountiful chest, her head angled to the side. Fenris pushed off of the boulder and made his way very deliberately up the last rise. He stopped a decent distance away—he knew because he was measuring the space between them very carefully in his mind—and went on looking at her. 

He’d intended to say something. He knew he’d intended to stay something. 

Hawke eyed him carefully, then stretched the other arm across her chest, wincing faintly. She only ever did that when he was the sole observer—and yes, he only knew this because he was so often watching her—but Fenris could find no reason for it. 

Under other circumstances, he might think she was trying to get something from him. For anyone else, he would be right. But this: that he was the only one she allowed to bind her wounds, aside from the healer; that he was the one she balanced herself with when she was limping or woozy from blood loss. Fenris could not understand it, and he dare not ask. The obvious explanation—that she still trusted him after everything else that had happened—was simply beyond consideration. 

There had to be a reason. If she were anyone else, he thought with a sense of dissatisfaction, he would almost certainly ask.

“Stiff?” he asked gruffly, tapping the fingers of one hand against his thigh. 

Maria—her given name, not that anyone ever used it; Fenris only thought of her thus because she’d gasped it into his ear that night three years ago, told him not to call her Hawke while—

Nevermind. 

Hawke sighed and her mouth turned down at the corners in an exaggerated pout.

“I’m getting old, Fenris,” she said, so woefully that he almost believed her for a moment, “I feel it in my bones. Soon, I’ll only ever talk about…oh, gout and how young folk these days never know how to treat their elders.”

“You could have just said no,” he told her sternly, but the corner of his mouth lifted faintly. She must have seen it, for her lips curled up in answer, even as she lifted her eyes dolefully to the sky. 

“No, Fenris, you don’t understand,” she said, and set the back of her hand against her forehead, “Who will chase mercenaries all over these hills when I can’t hobble after them? Soon I shall be all wrinkles and white hair and—”

“And still look just as—” 

Fenris bit the end of the sentence off before he could make the fatal mistake of speaking it aloud, but both of them froze anyway. 

And still look just as lovely as you do now. 

The words hovered on his tongue for a moment, kept caged behind his teeth, and it was a force of will not to say the words aloud. 

They’d only made it this far by pretending it—that night—had never happened. Three years, nearly, and they were both still here together. That first night at cards in the Hanged Man, Fenris had hesitated at the door, abruptly itchy everywhere, as if the air itself were anathema to him. He’d thought to leave, to prevent the inevitable discomfort, but she….

She’d met his eyes and scooted over, nudging Isabela with her, clearing room at the other end of the table. So…so he’d know he still had a place there, even if it wasn’t at her side. Fenris thought he might be grateful to her for that forever, no matter what else happened between the two of them. How strange, not to realize how much having a place of one’s own meant until one faced down the possibility of losing it permanently.

“Well,” Hawke said after a moment, blinking first and lowering her eyes, “In any case, maybe I’ll be lucky and go bald. I cannot believe I forgot to tie all this up before I left the manor this morning. The wind is wreaking absolute havoc.”

“I can—” Fenris began, then winced inwardly. 

He could, in fact, help with that; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d tied someone else’s hair up, nor the first time he’d done it for her—but those had been simpler times. 

“If you have a bit of leather, or…anything, I can manage,” she said. 

Fenris’s fingers touched her token, still tied around his wrist, but he would not part with it—not even for the sake of her comfort. He reached into his pocket instead and retrieved a loose bit of leather he’d intended to tame his own hair with in case the weather turned. He despised the way wet hair stuck to one’s skin, and he’d endured it several times too many on these outings to the coast. The leather ought to be long enough for her hair, too, if he plaited it first.

“Turn,” he told her, his voice thicker than he would have liked, and she turned without a word. 

Fenris gathered the bounty of her hair in his hands, untangling several knots as carefully as possible. It seemed to cling to his fingers, twining around the joints, black against the pale blue lyrium that lined his skin. It had looked like that three years ago, too, had tangled around him just so when he’d tilted her head back over his hand to kiss down the length of her neck. It had felt like this draped over his chest when he’d combed his fingers through it after, and—

“Are you coming down from there anytime soon?” Isabela demanded from the bottom of the hill, and Fenris realized he’d been combing his fingers through Maria’s hair without moving onto the next step. For how long? Her chest rose and fell too quickly, as if she’d just climbed a very steep hill, but that was…probably just exertion. 

Fenris let his eyes focus again on her dark curls, pulling them into a simple plait down the middle while she answered Isabela. They were laughing about something—not him; it sounded different when Hawke was laughing about him—so all must be well enough. He finished the braid, tied it off as intended, and then he just…stood there, holding the end of her thick hair. 

It was soft as silk between his fingers, shiny as a raven’s wing and dark against the brown of his hands, against the pale blue of the lyrium that thrummed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. Hawke was underneath his skin, too, in her way; and it was all the worse for knowing it had all been his choice. That having and leaving her had been his choice. And for all the times Fenris had wished he could forget what her skin had felt like, how she’d sounded when—

Well.

For all he’d wished he could forget, he was deeply, deeply grateful that he could still remember every second of it. What would he be if this, too, had been taken from him? He did not wish to consider it.

“Finished?” Hawke asked, turning her head. 

There was a faint quiver to her bottom lip that made him want to press his thumb to it, but he did not. He hadn’t the right. 

Fenris didn’t move at all. He just stood, and looked, and wished. 

Finished, she’d asked.

“I am…not certain,” Fenris told her. 

Hawke’s fingers found the end of the braid, tested the leather tie, but her attention was on him. He could tell; one could always tell when Hawke’s full attention was fixed on them. 

“Are you?” he finished, the words nearly carried off by the wind. She opened her mouth to answer and—

“Let’s go,” Isabela called from the other side of the hill, “I have plans for tonight that don’t include murder!”

Hawke turned, shaking her head at the words, but for a moment—just a moment—her hand brushed against Fenris’s, the warmth of her fingers barely felt between the joints of his armor. As she set off down the hill, the hand she’d touched curled into a fist, tight enough to dig into his palm, and flexed loose again. 

Fenris set off after her, eyes carefully on the steep ground ahead, but a careful observer might have been able to note the color in his cheeks, and the matching red that spilled over Hawke’s. 

It was unfortunate, then, that Varric had not come with them that day—for there was nobody present who would notice such things at all.

(For @14daysdalovers, Day 5: Lyrium. In case anyone is keeping track, this was about a week before the party ficlet I posted yesterday c: )

[ejzah]

No Matter How Far You Run, We’ll Draw You Back Again, Part 5

***

Kensi kept it together for the first week; Deeks was always on her mind, but balancing everything on her own took up most of her energy. By the second week, her concern started to increase, along with the stress of taking care of the twins full time, trying to calm them when they clearly wanted missed his presence. The third week, Kensi started making calls.

She was stonewalled at every turn though. Her contacts within various agencies were silent and Vance certainly wasn’t talking. Being left in the dark and the lack of power she felt was not only maddening, but terrifying. She truly had no way to contact Deeks or check on him.

Three weeks and three days after Deeks left, Kensi woke from a restless sleep to a cold and empty bed, the room still dark. The twins hadn’t slept well, which meant she was exhausted, but knew she wouldn’t be fall back asleep again, so she dragged herself out of bed. She showered on autopilot, then headed for the twins’ room, feeling marginally more awake.

“Hey sweetie,” she said, leaning down into Caleb’s crib. He had already sat up, and gave Kensi a gummy smile, reaching for her. Picking him up, she settled him in one arm, and kissed the top of his short blonde curls. “C’mon, let’s go get your sister.”

Caleb babbled agreeably and pointed to Sophia’s crib.

Once they were both fed and dressed, she walked to their local park. They spent a couple hours swinging and taking turns on the baby slides, until Caleb and Sophia started getting antsy. By the time she got them home, they both were distinctly antsy, and no amount of nursing, peek-a-boo, or attempts to rock them to sleep would calm them.

“I don’t know what to do for you, sweetie,” Kensi said helplessly as Sophia whimpered softly. As she watched, Sophia scooted along the floor, pulling herself up on the couch cushions. With a sad look in Kensi’s direction, she pressed her face into the spot where Deeks normally sat.

“Oh, I miss him too. Daddy’s going to be back soon.”

At the word “daddy”, Caleb perked up, looking expectantly towards the door. It broke Kensi’s heart. She knew they loved and needed her, but that didn’t erase their need for Deeks. Even if they couldn’t voice their feelings, she could tell how badly they missed him. It was obvious in the way they watched for him to come into the room, when she couldn’t settle them at night, or in the motorboat noise they tried to mimic during bath time.

Finally, deciding she’d had enough, Kensi bundled the twins into the van. When Sam opened his front door to find her on his doorstep half an hour later, he didn’t seemed more surprised than concerned.

“Kensi, I didn’t—”

“I need you to help me find out where Deeks is,” she interrupted pushing past him with a twin in each arm.

Sam wordlessly followed her into his den, and she felt his eyes on her as she set Caleb and Sophia on the floor. They’d been to his house often enough that they immediately started exploring the room.

“Kensi, I know you’re worried, but I’m not even supposed to know that he’s undercover,” he said once Kensi had turned around. She expected as much. Each of the team had visited over the past few weeks, and one way or another, they’d figured out the reason behind Deeks’ absence.

“I don’t really care,” she replied. “Deeks was supposed to be under for a week at most, but no one will tell me anything because it’s such a covert operation and I no longer have privileged access.” She said the last two words bitterly. “Vance is being cagey about answering my questions, because of the damn FBI director, but I know something is wrong.”

“Kensi, you know what it’s like when you’re undercover. You’ve been in this kind of situation yourself many times in the past. Things change quick and you don’t always have a chance to notify your contact. Deeks can handle himself.”

Kensi shot Sam an annoyed, unimpressed glare, pacing across the room with her arms tightly folded over her chest. Picking up on her mood, Caleb reached over and roughly patted her ankle. Managing a smile, Kensi swing him up into her arms, and he snuggled against her chest. Not to be outdone, Sophia scrambled across the floor, tugging at Sam’s pants until he picked her up too.

“I haven’t been out so long I’ve forgotten.” Kensi said. She shook her head. “No, something’s wrong. I can feel it.” Pressing her fist to the center of her chest, she willed Sam to understand. It was on the tip of her tongue to mention how angry and on edge he’d been when Michelle was undercover as Quinn, but that would be too cruel.

Sam stilled, his eyes taking on a sad, distant tinge. He glanced down at Sophia, who was slowly monkeying her way up his shoulder. With a grim sigh, he nodded. “Alright, let’s go talk to Kilbride.”

[heart-shaped-chains]

Need a guy to love on and hug and cuddle and whisper sweet nothings into his ear and more

[napping-sapphic]

tbh we need to buy matching stuffed animals to send each other pictures of whenever we are apart

[cinna-bunnie]

hey haha I've typed and deleted three different messages this morning because i love you and appreciate you, and I want to tell you but in a way that won't be weird or affect our friendship. because i love you deeply as a friend, but i love you Too and would like for you to know everything.

it's sooo easy I haven't been thinking about it for an hour or two hahah a..

[lostozian]

There's just too much to do...

It's Halloween, tomorrow is NaNoWriMo, and I am overwhelmed by the scope of creative things I want to do that are in direct competition with each other for my time >_<

Final chapter of Shattered, Scattered (magnum opus, do not want this hanging over my head in 2024, the intention is to use NaNoWriMo Power to edit my draft and finish it.)

AkeSumi Secret Santa gift (hype levels are unreal, the prompts I got are so good.)

RyuKita Week starts in 5 days (I want more RyuKita in the world, those prompts are ALSO so good.)

I have a completely different RyuKita romance fic in the works (WIPs are itchy so I want to be working on this.)

I have a sequel chapter to a NG+ Royal Trio fic from earlier this year (this one is also itchy, I love these idiots.)

Pantheon AU (I talk about this to anyone who will listen.)

Sons of Shido AU/Post Game Hybrid (I have talked about this one with trusted partners and it just won't leave me alone.)

And I'm supposedly employed in an office job. >_>

I probably need to go to bed. :P