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blandmemoirs · 2 months

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Chasing the Stars

The Star Bandits were formed 4 years ago by its original 12 members while trespassing on a baseball field ducking from police surveillance. It was a dark night, with a shitty projector as our only light, as some of us attempted to find nourishment in freshly heated hot dogs from a portable stovetop. We had previously been asked to leave the area after campus police caught us playing tag, only to leave everything where it was and meander away for a little bit and return not even an hour later to commence the first ever ring ceremony. Therein we each set the precedent of giving a speech, accepting our ring, and ceremoniously becoming the Star Bandits we always were. We set the foundation for the basic principles of Star Banditry- being artistic, having a sense of adventure, and being endorsed by other star bandits. Since then, our numbers have multiplied to 4 times our original size, now having as many members as there are states in this union of a nation. As such, many of you weren't here for the original inception, and don't know just how far we've come.

Since its establishment, the Star Bandits expanded from an artist's collective, that's us, to a Publishing Company, owned and operated by Marcus Delzell, who published his landmark work, "Living in a Paracosm", as well as into a Production Company, owned and operated by Dalton Anderson, who I intend to work for later this year. For those of us who love yapping, there was the year-long yap-athon called the Star Bandits Podcast, of which many star bandits were welcomed on to speak about their passions, and make dirty jokes, mostly making dirty jokes, the podcast was eventually restructured by some of its hosts into the Star Bandits YouTube channel, which hosted short films and sketch comedy skits, with a special shoutout to Israel Sheahan, who dedicated so much time and effort into keeping that channel alive for a time. Now, even into a non-profit foundation, whose work you may be familiar with after the grand effort that was its inaugural fundraising event: STARGAZE THEATER FESTIVAL, the culmination of a years effort led by the Board of Directors: Marcus Delzell, Kate Robinson, Bella Nunez, Kevin Serrano, and me myself and I. And now soon we will inaugurate our newly implemented star bandit recognition of excellence awards, one of the successful things I championed for during my tenure with the council.

With so many different things being named Star Bandit, it can certainly be confused as to who exactly the Star Bandits are supposed to be, but to me, the answer has always been simple: The Star Bandits is you. If you have an art, any art, something that brings the creativity and passion and dedication to craft out of you, and a sense of adventure to go with it, you are the star bandits. It doesn't matter whether you live here, what books are published with the brand on them, what videos get uploaded to the channels, what events or grants the foundation creates, or even what the council dictates, or who gets recognized with an award, if you meet the bar, you're a star bandit waiting to be endorsed, the endorsements just make it official, and the ring ceremonial, but you never needed those things to be who or what you are. Most of you can't pass a ring check. Many of you don't live in this city or this state. The Star Bandits aren't a cult or corporation or business or religion or any one of those things. The Star Bandits are people, and they are friends, or at the very least, friendly.

In this era of expansion, we face a crossroads that has left me feeling many different ways. In watching us grow and expand and evolve I have been at times wary, and other times excited, sometimes both, at the same time, if you can believe that a person can have simultaneously contradicting feelings. My greatest concern isn't that the Star Bandits is becoming too big or that it's not doing enough to proliferate art, I have always been a proponent of growing our body, as many of you can attest when I made it my mission to personally reach out and recruit you. You might remember me telling you the criteria, and who specifically to ask for endorsements. Inclusion has always been a priority of mine. Growing this bubble and expanding this tent to fit all kinds of people from all walks of life. I don't make people pass ideological purity tests, or ask them to prove their creativity to me, I believe in them because you, the Star bandits, told me you wanted to be star bandits. I just made it as easy for you as I could with respect to our barriers of entry. Inclusion has always been so important to me, that I made it a mission that we broaden our ranks to include people that aren't men, as originally, this group was just a bunch of boys. I personally championed for Kate and Richie to become members, because I didn't want to be a part of an exclusive group that they couldn't be members of if they wanted to be. So they were given the opportunity to join us, and they did, becoming pillars of this community. And that's always been the most important thing, the people who are star bandits are the people who want to be star bandits. No one is here against their will, no one is paid to be a member of this group. You're here because these are your friends and you want to be around them. That's what, deep down, the Star bandits are to me.

So any proposal to raise the standard for accepting new members, be it minimum endorsements, filling out applications, paying dues, or whatever well-intentioned idea leads us to raise our fence higher, I will vehemently reject. Any proposal that distills the Star bandits into being represented by just one person or faction, be it the establishment of a president or the bolstering of authority held by our council, I will fight, or I will leave. If the umbrella which encompasses the Star bandits no longer covers me, I will take my leave, as I expect anyone who no longer feels they can call themselves a star bandit to do. Fortunately, that day has not come, and on our current trajectory, I don't think it will.

Many of you may not know this, but when the Star bandits was first pitched to me I said no. I said no to the rings, I said no to the tattoos. I even turned down the idea of a name. It wasn't until several hours of arguing and a few more days of contemplation that I came around, because I realized despite my loathing of labels and my dread of the consequences of creating a group identity, be it untimely schisms or the unfortunate creation of echo chambers, that this was only ever about furthering our bonds with each other.

Because what the Star bandits was on that baseball field four years ago, was a group of friends deepening their relationship by creating something bigger than ourselves. We were a group of rogues, trespassing, shoplifting, and pushing whatever boundaries we could find, even our boundaries with each other. Though we may have straightened out somewhat since our early days, I still believe that art, adventure, and what we are doing in this group is valuable because we continue to push boundaries, especially our own. Pushing forward and challenging ourselves and each other to be the best we can be. Sometimes we have growing pains, or we run out gas on the way to the finish line, we keep pushing forward. We reject the atomization and isolation of modern society, we uplift each other and create art, expressing ourselves and daring and inspiring others to do the same. For that, we will always be rogues. The Star Bandits should always belong to the rogues, the free thinkers and the individuals who express themselves without compromise.

Though we have come so far and changed so much from that first leap day, I never want us to lose sight of what we were. Yes, we make art, yes, we are adventurers, I would argue adventuring is an art! Traveling long distances to spend time with the people you love, to create a better world for each other, that is art. Art is creation, it is self-expression, it is collaboration to make something that was not before. That is what we are. That is what makes us an artist's collective. It is not and should never be about raw output(though everyone working harder on their crafts to make more cool things is always encouraged!), it is about this community. Let us never lose sight of that as we continue to evolve. If you don't know someone, talk to them. Get to know them, make a new friend :) because everyone who is here, is valid, welcome, and belongs. There should never come a time where some star bandits are more equal than others.

To be a star bandit, as I said one year ago, is to be yourself. And what we created that night of our founding, was what I have been seeking for my entire life. A found family to call my home. Whether I'm in a big group house on Evans Street or Journeyville or Roseborough, sharing a bed with Jacob in Wisconsin, traveling across the country to meet one of my best friends Liz for the first time to help him move away from the family that raised him to the family we now share, or going on a stardust crusaders esque adventure to bring William his car in Colorado, I feel at home.

Even at my most jaded, cynical, and paranoid, and Ive hit some real lows in recent times, I'm grateful for this. I want to belong here, and I want every single one of you to feel that same way, to have what I have. If ever there is a way that we, the Star bandits, are failing to include you, failing to uplift you, failing to give you a place to belong, please speak up, advocate for yourself, and help us help you. It won't always be easy, love never is, but I do love all of you and want to be in your lives in whatever capacity you will let me. Thank you, to everyone I can call friend, thank you for letting me be myself, thank you for listening to me ramble and rave about this special thing we've created. Most people don't have this. Thank you, Star Bandits. Ad Astra.

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ciceroballtorture · 3 years

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oh u a quotes blog? uh u read books and post excerpts? then why dont u post the excerpts EYE like? 🙄

#.text #mostly a joke #but ive scrolling through the god of small things tag and its never the quote i find to be most impactful that get posted 😔#its abt the impersonal acts of violence of History of agents over their depersonalised victims #its not abt the violence its abt the history that preceded those acts #like thats terrifying!!!!

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tomatograter · 4 years

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New to the fandom, Could you explain June? 💯 Love and support her. But homestuck 2 doesn't have her and I'm just confused?

June Egbert precedes the concept of homestuck^2! I’ve seen a lot of people be confused about this because they weren’t active on the fandom at the time the epilogues dropped, when reading her as a trans woman got a lot of discussion going and eventually lead to multiple confirmations.

So here’s an attempt at contextualization:

Throughout Homestuck, a few key ideas about Egbert’s identity and motivation to push forward with her hero’s journey are dropped like breadcrumbs. She’s meant to play the default straight-man protagonist. Her defining traits are ridiculously… generic, when compared to how all the other kids present themselves and stick to exaggerated bits. She’s a perfectly normal, regular suburban kid with normal, suburban issues.

She may not leave her room a whole lot. She may not have a lot of real life friends in the neighborhood. She holds a comical irritation for the concept of birthdays, even though her father is extremely supportive, and is delighted to see his son grow up nice and healthy. There’s no reason for her to be so irrationally upset at cakes and gifts, and that’s what makes the setup funny! June doesn’t even know why she’s annoyed with half of the things that annoy her, what the heck.

But under all that playing around there is a sense that her life is so normal, so blasé, so unexciting and limiting and hollow and fake that she’d give anything to not be herself, even if only for ten minutes. This goes way, way back. It’s why June needs SBURB to happen.

June lives as though her life hasn’t started yet. She’s stuck in the Tutorial stage. I would argue while most kids (and trolls) play SBURB to escape a shitty environment or the end of the world as they know it, June plays for a simpler reason: She needs to escape herself, and she needs to do it before it is too late.

Being thirteen means crossing the homeric abyss between being a child with no care for the world sporting a generic hand-me-down identity and becoming a Teen (capital T) who needs to figure out how to cope with atrocious bodily changes while building the adult they’re meant to be AND deciding what the fuck they want out of life, and how they’re going to work to get it, forever and ever.

When you’re trans, and you don’t yet know you’re trans (or that this is a thing you’re even ALLOWED to be) the above feels a lot like serving a life sentence for an intangible crime.

You know what you’re supposed to do. You’ve seen it on tv, you’ve heard it from your dad, you know what are the normal trials and tribulations. You know you'll grow a few pimples and stubble and you'll need to learn how to shave, obviously, because it's basically a tradition in your family, and no one is really happy to be a teen. You know at some point you'll find a nice girl and you'll grow a hat out of your skull and then you will have to pay taxes and maybe you will have a baby daughter? You'd like it to be a daughter for no particular reason. And when you get a daughter you're going to name her Casey and she's going to be adorable and this is something you've dedicated a lot of thought to. Maybe its because you thought Nic Cage looked really cool with those long flowing locks in con air, the movie who featured a trans woman as a minor character for a few minutes (and she gets quite a bit of compliments, regardless of how the movie has aged), and he had a really exciting life, but goddamn did he love his daughter. There is no purer love than the bond between a father and his daughter.

This absolutely has nothing to do with your father and you, or how you hold no excitement for becoming an adult man, or how your father's excitement for you becoming an adult man in your stead feels a little stifling.

But i digress.

June spends her time on SBURB mostly hassling karkat, and readily following the instructions of zany, dangerous, COOL girls that seem to know what they're doing. June lets Terezi lead her to certain death without blinking. June lets Vriska dress her up as soon as opportunity presents itself. June thinks its really funny to trick this troll Who Types Really Oddly into believing she's Rose, and also into believing that she's a very silly girl. You may even say Homestuck employs a few of jokes pertaining to how her name looks like EGG !

June has a ball playing this game until it starts to get shitty. She's never able to mend her relationship with her dad, as he's one of the first causalities. She has to spend a lot of time waiting around with jade on a ship until things get cool and exciting again, but she never stops growing during those three years. Its fine, though, because there's always more things to be done and more people to fight.

Until there aren't, and they make a new earth, and while everyone cheers and claps for the birth of a new planet June realizes all her excuses are over. Her friends begin to grow up. Rose gets married. Jade is living her best life. Dave has a not-boyfriend glued to his hip. Jane has a job. Jake is on TV for some reason. June doesn't want to leave home. June's birthday is around the corner again. Here come all the congratulations for becoming a strong lad for yet another year! Vriska is gone. Terezi is gone. SBURB is over. Wacky hijinks have been swapped for real-ass, boring-ass Regular life. We watch her unsuccessfully chase after the glory of days gone by when Rose presents her the possibility of going back into the game, when things were cool and mattered, or her flimsy decision to settle down with a nice girl she hasn’t really made an effort to know and become a father and be absolutely miserable for four decades as she asserts nothing is real, not anymore, and this is just how it is.

Depersonalization, depression and general apathy towards the world are all pronounced aspects of dysphoria that seem like unrelated incidents for someone who hasn't came out yet. June's trainwreck of a life post-game, specially her feeling of hollowness and chasing after anything that could fill it struck a chord with trans readers who left the epilogues to read HS again and discovered this has always sort of been here. June being a trans woman who doesn't have the proper vocabulary to express she is a trans woman makes a lot of earlier bits from the comic click into place, now in a broader context. We settled in the name "June" because it's what she imagines Vriska is calling her at some point, amid laughs, but even that was discussed for a lengthy period last year. What would she want to be called, what are possible tags for this, etc. But it was mostly for fun and games, because the prospect of the protagonist of a 10 year old beloved cult series being ACTUALLY confirmed as a trans woman just wasn't something that was done.

Until word got around to Andrew Hussie and he was reportedly so pleased with this interpretation of events he’d be making references to it, and some time later, a box of toblerones was left in a cave as a gift for fans to find. The first person to find a toblerone thought it would be funny to dedicate it to June, because now she was an ongoing reference that was fun to make. Instead of it ending there, Hussie logs on twitter for the first time in a long while to say 'Oh yeah, i'll make it happen' and that's when the whole thing exploded. I have a post detailing this made a year ago (with pictures!) so i won't keep you here.

In the year since, June has been vaguely alluded to in Pesterquest (in jade's end card, she's having her nails painted by rose.) Has been widely adopted by the community, those making their own fanventures and continuations, and the team behind Homestuck^2. In every way that matters, she's already thriving within the community that brought her to light a year ago. But her coming out in canon is something that will take time and a proper narrative arc to happen, one that is still being set up. We know it'll come eventually, the only question is “how”.

Not that the wind waits for anyone.

#meta #june egbert #homestuck #homestuck 2

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meowdejavu · 2 years

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As a follow-up to this post now that I’ve seen Black Sails twice, I want to clarify some thoughts I have about the ending since I no longer feel strongly about the specific theories I shared there...mostly just to feel better about what shows up in my meta tag.

First thing’s first: I still unwaveringly do not view the end as having “two interpretations,” and the second watch only solidified that. There are so many reasons the alternate “theory” holds no water (hi four seasons of foreshadowing!), but to me it really boils down to people suggesting that maybe they filmed the reunion scene as a joke. There is absolutely zero precedent for this show to lie to the viewer about the outcome for a specific character. All of my takes on this show are predicated upon the depicted scene being obviously canon. (Ahem.)

Anyway, I previously said I thought Silver was probably lying about how he got Flint to Savannah, but on the second watch, I wasn’t so sure! It’s not possible to know exactly what happened on that journey, but I really like how bring-it-all-down phrased it in our exchange here: “Silver thinks he’s telling the truth.” The idea that Silver told Madi what he believes he saw definitely tracks, because he essentially sees it as possible to read Flint’s mind. If I take Silver at his word that he saw Flint “unmade,” I’d imagine that what he actually witnessed was Flint’s rage/grief at facing this specific ending to his quest that he’d resisted for so long, combined with the knowledge that Thomas had been alive/alone the whole time (!!!). I was probably too soft with the “friendship” angle in that post, though I do think that's not too far removed from how Silver would justify his own actions. Also, in retrospect, I wish I had specified “narratively” re: the “death” of Flint, because I do still read the ending that way, but in very literal terms about the end of the character’s years as a pirate captain and not as a commentary on his actual identity.

#black sails #black sails meta #that was kinda weird but we're back in the club

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genevievemd · 3 years

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head scratches e and g

Confessions

Book: Open Heart: Third Year Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 1399 Rating: G Category: fluff, hurt/comfort Trope(s): and they were in the office

Summary: MC has been feeling unsteady, and Ethan has finally noticed.

No Warnings

A/N: this turned into a post ch 4 (bk 3) fic. Because I’m a little disappointed that PB didn’t let us talk to Ethan about the weird shit he was doing with Harper. Also look at me, once again using a one word title, because I suck at titles and its 3 am and I’m too tired to try to come up with something better.

The sun sets outside the floor to ceiling windows, casting the diagnostics office a dance of shadows and lights. Ethan gets up from the desk, walking over to shut off the fluorescent lights leaving the room in growing darkness. He rolls his neck as he returns to the desk, turning on the lamp on the wooden surface.

He’s felt a migraine forming all afternoon, since Leland’s bombshell that Ethan’s rival would now be joining his team. The sense that all control is steadily slipping through his fingers, growing by the day, by the hour it seems.

What was promised to be a democracy was now nothing but a dictatorship disguised in new equipment and pay raises.

Ethan closes his eyes, leaning back in the chair, desperately trying to cling onto the thoughts of the one good and stable thing he has left.

Genevieve.

“How are you feeling?”

A soft voice breaks through the silence, Ethan opening his eyes to see the very thing he was thinking of standing in the doorway. A pleasant warmth runs through him, he’s not a man that believes in fate, but there is something utterly divine in the way she appears at the very moment he needs her.

Genevieve walks to the desk, every step that brings her closer settling the anxiety and rage boiling inside him. She smiles sweetly at him, perching herself on his desk.

“Like I’m slowly losing control.” Ethan sits up, a hand coming to rest on her knee, thumb tracing circles on her skin. “It’s bad enough we have to deal with Bloom, but now I have to contend with Tobias as his lapdog, as well.”

“You have me, though,” Her green eyes fill with warmth as she leans forward, holding his cheek delicately in her hand. “And I’ll always be on your side.”

“I know. I’m incredibly thankful for that, believe me.”

They share a smile, that four letter word swirling around his head for the umpteenth time as they get lost in each other. Gen breaks the spell, hopping off the desk and settling in his lap. His arms come around her without a second thought, pulling her impossibly closer.

“How can I help?” Her words are nothing more than a whisper as her fingers trace his jawline.

“There’s nothing you can do, unfortunately.”

“I can at least try and alleviate some stress. It’s what girlfriends are for, after all.”

The word girlfriend sparks something inside him, setting his heart into a rapid beat. They haven’t discussed terms, which is mostly his fault. In the moments when he has Gen alone, he spends the time doing everything but talking. The need to make up for the months he had spent pushing her away taking precedence over defining what they are to each other. But he knows they need to have that talk soon, he can see her growing impatient and hesitant with each passing day.

Gen takes off his glasses, tossing them onto the desk. She threads her fingers in his hair, scratching lightly as she goes. He closes his eyes again, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder as her fingers continue to weave through his hair.

“I meant what I said at lunch, G. Just having you in the room makes me feel more at peace.”

“Should I stop then?”

“Absolutely not.” He kisses the side of her neck, nuzzling sweetly. “I will take any and all forms of affection from you.”

“Quite the difference from last year, Doctor ‘We Need a Reset’.”

“We all have a lapse in judgment from time to time.”

“Mhm.” He can feel her giggle, his arms tightening around her.

They settle into an easy quiet, drawing comfort from a shared space.

As much as he wants to get lost in her touch, he can’t help but fall back to the thoughts of Gen’s newfound uncertainty. Ethan’s half sure it has something to do with him, but he hopes more than anything that it’s not. Praying instead that it all falls to the new easy comradery of the team and the ever growing changes their employer makes.

He wants nothing more than for Genevieve to confide in him, lean on him in the same way he leans on her.

“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you lately?”

“It’s not important anymore.”

“I beg to differ, Gen.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder before lifting his head to look at her. “You’ve been tossing and turning every night for a week. Something is wrong.”

“I don’t want to ruin the moment or make you feel more stressed.”

“So it’s me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” His brows furrow at her lack of honesty, she’s never been this closed off before. Its unnerving and so unlike her. Fear settles deep in his bones as their eyes meet, the need to find a solution growing with every second that passes. “I can’t fix it if you aren’t forthcoming.”

“It’s already fixed, kind of.” She sighs, adverting her eyes from him again. “Harper more or less set things straight.”

“Harper?” Ethan tilts his head, face scrunched in confusion.

“I was... feeling unsteady, about my place on the team and with you.”

“With me? The team I can understand, but I thought things were fine between us.”

Her face drops, taking a breath. “You really have no idea?”

Gen gets up from his lap, moving back to her previous spot on the desk. The distance she places between them is small, but enough to make his heart ache fiercely.

“Let’s put it this way, if my ex joined the team and I spent more time reminiscing about our history - weddings and flamenco lessons and dates at some intimate bistro named after a freaking Disney character - and you had to sit here, constantly interrupted, looked over and forced to listen to every second of it, how would you feel?”

“I was doing that to you.” The pain he feels is instant, regret following quickly after. “I didn’t realize.”

“Which, if I’m being honest, Ethan, makes it hurt ten times more. Because that says that you didn’t think of me or my feelings at all.”

He wants to jump up and dispute her claims. She’s the only thing he thinks of on most days and it kills him that he’s somehow made her feel the opposite.

“I don’t care that you’re friends with your ex, Harper is wonderful. But when you sit here and talk about dates you went on and veer off topic to bring up some inside joke, it makes me feel like you don’t respect me or our relationship. Like this is a casual fling you could quickly let go off and not a committed relationship. Like I’m an afterthought and that isn’t fair to me.”

Ethan stands from his chair, unable to cope with the distance between them any longer. He steps in front of her, holding her face in his hands. “This isn’t causal, Gen. Far from it. And you’re not an afterthought, you never have been.”

“Yeah, well actions speak louder than words and half of your actions lately say otherwise.”

“You’re right. I was being inconsiderate and tactless” He can see by the way she pulls away that his words aren’t enough. If he’s going to really set things back into place, Gen is going to need a real apology.

Ethan lets out a breath, holding her gaze for a long moment. “It was wrong of me to do that to you, even worse that I did it without realizing. Your thoughts and feelings are important to me, they take precedence. I’m sorry, Genevieve. Truly. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.” She reaches for his hand, interlacing their fingers.

“Not that there’ll be a next time, but should I do something this imbecilic again, feel free to call me out on it sooner rather than later.”

“Trust me, I will.”

Her smile returns, brighter than it was when she’d walked in ten minutes ago. Ethan leans forward, pressing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. He gets bolder when she sighs, as she opens up to him and threads her fingers through his hair.

“This is teetering towards a pg-13 rating.” Gen mutters against his lips, their foreheads pressed together as they catch their breaths. “Take me home.”

“Whatever you want, Rookie.”

a/n: it took me all week to get this to a point where I liked it enough to post it. But we did it and I like it enough.

Tag Lists:

Perma: @terrm9 @potionsprefect @iemcpbchoices @archxxronrookie @coffeeheartaddict @queencarb @lucy-268 @custaroonie @maurine07 @gryffindordaughterofathena @ohchoices @choicesaddict5 @fireycookie @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @oldminniemcg @sizzlingcashherohumanoid @taniasethi @mrs-ramsey @shanzay44 @aussieez @stygianflood @uneravine @openheartfan @fayeswiftie @stateofgracious @sophxwithers @estellaelysian @mm2305 @withbeautyandrage @udishaman @mercury84choices @silma-words @headoverheelsforramsey @iloveethanramsey

Fic: @overwhelminglyaquarius @me-and-my-choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @crazy-loca-blog @a-crepusculo @drakewalkerfantasy @adrex04 @drariellevalentine @openheartthot @caseyvalentineramsey @aworldoffandoms @dulceghernandez @elwetritsche75 @emotionalswift2 @thegreentwin @starrystarrytrouble @utterlyinevitable @angela8754 @jooous @3riche @open-heart-ramseyy @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @alexabeta @smilex1104 @arnikki-2406 @jamespotterthefirst @openheartfanfics

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #Anonymous #asked and answered #ethan x gen #intimacy prompts

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the28thofseptemberr · 3 years

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helloooo!! i didn't do a fic rec last month because i was so busy with my exams and barely had time to read, so this month's post is going to comprise of mostly fics i've read in june but also some i've read in may.

thank you to all of the incredible writers, please go support them!! and remember to read all of the tags and possible warnings before reading the fic! here is the list of fics (mostly below the cut):

read

•° — led by your beating heart by @missandrogyny 29.4k | E | famous harry/non-famous louis

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any help right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

note: this was so funny and cute and well written, and everyone was characterized so perfectly!! i adored the chemistry between louis and harry, this fic kept me smiling for the whole time while i was reading <3

•° — sounds like love to me by @neondiamond 14.6k | G | kid fic

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

note: i'm not a fan of mpreg or kid fics in general, but i stumbled across the fic post for this on my dash and the summary sounded really intriguing to me, so i had a go at reading and it did not disappoint!! it was really sweet and fluffy but also so touching and heartbreaking in some parts. plus, i really enjoyed how harry and louis worked together and supported each other.

•° — this restless dream by @afirethatcannotdie 5.6k | NR | first meetings

“Hiii, I called earlier about the dogs?” he asks, taking a few steps closer to the desk where Louis is standing. He’s taller than Louis, with a dimple when he smiles and bright green eyes. There's a cute eagerness about his whole presence. “Do you have any puppies?” He’s a bit like a puppy himself, actually.

AU. Louis works at an animal shelter and Harry wants a puppy. Things don't go quite according to plan.

note: this was so so adorable and soft, especially since i have a soft spot for h&l with pets. i also have a soft spot for h&l being oblivious lovesick idiots and this was perfect!!

•° — all i see is you, lately by @runaway-train-works 2k | G | first meetings

Harry noticed him for the first time three months ago. He couldn’t not, really, what with the man being so pretty and all, and Harry remembers it well because it was three days before his birthday and he had joked to himself that seeing someone so gorgeous for three days on the trot must be an early present from the Gods.

The one where Harry has a crush on a fellow commuter.

note: this one was quite short but so sweet and perfect and lovely!!

•° — the things i'd do to wake up next to you by orphan_account 36.1k | M | amnesia fic

AU. Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

note: this fic was incredible, i'm always up for an amnesia fic and this one was heart-breaking and realistic but also sweet and fluffy as well :)

•° — this glorious mess by theweightofmywords 14.2k | M | post-breakup

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes float open to focus on what used to be his bedside table.

It’s empty now, devoid of the framed photo of the two of them. And Louis knows that he has no right to feel hurt, but somehow, this only confirms what this really is.

“This is the last time,” he cries, his voice breaking both from pleasure and pain.

“I know, baby,” Harry breathes, burying his face in Louis neck.

note: this is the third mpreg-centric fic i've read this month and... i don't even like mpreg?? but god the premise of this fic intrigued me so much, and it was lovely and emotional and beautifully written.

•° — BLAH BLAH BLAH there's a moment you know (you're f*cked) by @mercurial-madhouse 3.2k | M | spy au

Anyone impulsive enough to betray their country is either foolish or overly-confident. Louis’s too cunning for the former. So his inflated ego tips precariously close to the edge between pride and hubris. In sum: He may be an expert, (as proven by the .32-cal Beretta Alleycat Harry found strapped to his back) but ex-agent Louis Tomlinson will explode like a busted bullet misfiring in a broken gunbarrel if Harry can find his trigger.

___

Or, the spy AU in which Harry thinks he's prepared to meet Louis only to find he's not.

note: the banter and tension in this fic was so good and so fun!! i need moreee

•° — every lonely place by @ham-palpert 38k | E | time travel/alternate lives fic

Facing the fact that he’s been prioritizing his career over his relationship, Harry proposes to his longtime boyfriend Louis on a whim. But when yet another work emergency takes precedence over their plans, Louis decides he’s had enough. Harry goes to bed drunk and alone, and when he wakes, he finds himself in an entirely different world. Over and over again, Harry visits a lifetime he’s once lived, across time and dimensions. And wherever there’s a Harry Styles, there’s a Louis Tomlinson.

note: this was such a unique fic! and such an emotional one too, love the message it sends and the character arc and development was so good

•° — tick-tock by bubblegumclouds 6k | G | soulmate au

When Louis was born to Jay Tomlinson with a tiny 2 years on his clock, it starts the most beautiful love story. Even if things are missed, fate finds a way to make it work.

note: this was just so, so cute and fluffy and sweet! i loved it

•° — baby baby, you're a caramel macchiato by @missandrogyny 3.2k | T | coffee shop au

So, yeah, Harry doesn't think it's that far of a stretch to call himself a good barista. There are some particularly bad ones, and some particularly good ones, and, with his work ethic, his skill, and his charm, he'd probably be lumped in with the latter group.

note: this was so lovely, and i especially really loved the little section talking about louis' name and how it suits him!

re-read

•° — one shines brighter by @afirethatcannotdie 11.8k | T | wedding fic

“Hi, baby. You doing anything fun today?” Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Thought I’d see how I was feeling before making any plans.” “You wanna get married?” Louis asks. Harry’s face breaks into a smile, and he nods. Louis’ lips are just brushing Harry’s when Gemma appears in the hallway. “You two are in so much trouble.” Harry's wedding was never supposed to be the happiest day of his life. No, that was going to be the day after, when he finally got to start his marriage. Unfortunately his family (and Louis) have other ideas.

Featuring a pair of moms who only want the best for their kids, meddling sisters with too much time on their hands, and a groom who gets caught up in the fairytale.

note: i adore this fic!! it's so so so adorable and so soft and well written, and you can feel how in love h&l are with each other. so so good!

my own fics

•° — under your bed in new york 33.4k | T | exes to lovers

"We know you're still in love with Harry."

Louis' nostrils flared up. "I'm not—"

"Louis."

"I'm not!"

there are many things louis likes to tell himself. we broke up for a reason. it's been so many years. and of course, the classic: i’ve definitely moved on from him. but when he suddenly finds harry back in his life after three years, louis realizes he might be a little less moved on than he thought.

au; spilling coffee onto an ex, being set up on dates, and having a nosy puppy might be all louis needs to find love again

note: i didn't actually write or publish this one this month, but i did edit, revamp and make a fic post for it this month so i thought i'd put it in here anyway. reblog the fic post here!

#28th appreciation #tracksintheam #trackinghome #hl source #1d source #fic rec #my fic rec #2021 recs #fic list #june rec #june 2021 rec #*#sched

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catsafarithewriter · 2 years

Note

hiya! for the writing questions, I'll say 1, 3, 8, and/or 23. whichever one/s you like.

This got a little long, sorry, but thank you for the questions! I loved answering them!

Want to send me writing questions? Find the list here!

1. Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?

*gestures to any of my early stories, or I would, if I had the courage to re-read any of them lmao* I wrote a hell of a lot during 2010-2013, and unfortunately most of it was fuelled by teenage angst. There were some good ideas though (eg: Not That Simple was a BatB story where the Beauty accidentally cursed the Beast) and if I did rewrite them, the ideas would mostly stay but I'd probably lighten the mood/remove some of the unnecessary angst.

3. How would you describe your writing style?

I'd like to think my style shifts depending on the fic's mood but, generally, I think it's a fairly simple style which relies more on the events depicted than the descriptions/language used to get the emotions across. I aim for a kind of 'tongue-in-cheek' style when writing humour (aka: slightly self-aware), but more of a flow when going for emotional. (Also I almost always write short emotional oneshots in present tense. For some reason that's easier?)

8: How slow is a slow burn?

Lmao, I forgot to tag TBF as slow burn, and that only has confirmed Haru/Baron going into S6. But, Baron and Haru's relationship doesn't really come up very often, so I guess, for me, it depends on how often you tease the reader with the "will they, won't they?" vibe. (Also I'm very aroace, so if the ship is already very cutely platonic, I'll happily chill in that zone. Slow burn? What slow burn?)

23: Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?

Dialogue! I think this comes of listening to too many podcasts and not reading enough books, esp. as of late. I also find dialogue a lot easier when I've spent more time socialising (rip my introverted ass).

Descriptions need you to explain what something looks like??? And make it sound natural??? And then you read someone else's writing and it's beautiful so you go, "great, I'll give it a go" and the end result is "the grass was green" and you want to scream.

That said, I have found some rule-of-thumbs that make it easier for me. For starters: I try to describe something the way I would naturally take notice of it. For example, if encountering a giant tree made of iron, the fact that it's made of iron would precede anything about the plot-important inscription carved in tiny writing.

The only time I tend to break this rule is if it would be very funny to do so. AKA the literary version of this joke:

[Above: A picture of the "Whatcha got there?" "A smoothie" meme from iCarly.]

Want to send me writing questions? Find the list here!

#honestly I'm not entirely sure what my writing style is #or how it feels to other people #I only know I use the word 'linger' a lot relatively speaking #basically the more 'rules' I have to use for writing #the more difficult that particular thing is for me #I also try to keep the language choices and style of description consistent with the POV #esp when writing for third person limited #because good description should also tell you about the POV person #even if it is third person limited #ie in Baron's POV a flat disc would be likened to a vinyl disc #whereas in haru's pov it would be likened to a CD #also yes the iron tree is something that actually happned in a published book #I was so confused when the fact it was made of iron came up halfway through the apge #*the page #and it was at that point I was like 'okay neW RULE'

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

Start With This

Summary: Luke accidentally hurts Spencer because they are both hopelessly stupid, but when Spencer's faced with a dangerous situation there's nothing he wants more than Luke. Calling him turns out to be a very good decision.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Making Up, Getting Together

Pairing: Luke x Spencer

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: implied/mentioned sexual assault, more detailed cw on the end notes of the AO3 post <3

Read on AO3

Luke knows he’s getting obvious. His subtlety has completely thrown itself out the window, his dignity’s in the wind, and he’s so, so painfully aware of it all.

He was probably in love with Spencer before he even met the man: his reputation had preceded him -- as he’d told him that first day in the briefing room -- and the way his friends talked about him, the gentleness he seemed to possess along with the dynamite intelligence of a 187 IQ had his stomach fluttering as he walked in to meet him for the first time. And hadn’t that just sealed the deal.

Spencer’s face as he walked into the room feels like it’s been permanently burned into the back of his eyelids ever since. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t someone so adorable. He’d been so open and welcoming and they’d hit it off straight away, every look shared between them, every joint task on the case in Arizona had him buzzing with excitement. If he could spend every waking moment with Spencer, he would.

And he’s been so good at keeping it under wraps, but lately the looks the girls and Rossi have been sending his way are a bit too… knowing. Like they see right through him. It’s terrifying, really. He’s never had a bad coming out story, mostly because he didn’t until his late twenties when it was much less taboo to be gay and he was surrounded by people who cared far too much about him as a person to care about who he fucked. But he’s also never had a crush on a coworker before, not even a friend, so to be under so much scrutiny in a situation that feels so out of his depths is overwhelming to say the least.

The next case they take on, then, he takes extra caution to be subtle. He volunteers to pair up with others before Emily can assign him something with Spencer; he ignores the looks he directs his way and leaves him behind to room with JJ while he pairs up with Steven. Maybe it’s even more obvious, maybe the looks he’s getting now are far harder to deal with than the ones before but he’s made his bed. Now he’ll lie in it.

And he’ll pointedly refuse to acknowledge the hurt looks Spencer is shooting his way. It’s better to ruffle a few feathers now and get over his crush than ruin such a good friendship and drive a wedge through the team, even if his gut twists and his heart protests as Spencer furrows his brow and looks at his feet.

★

Spencer is fully aware that his chances with Luke are slim to none -- he’s not delusional -- but boy does it hurt being avoided like the plague. It takes him back to school, when he was either politely ignored, mocked from a distance or straight up bullied, when nobody could associate themselves with him without risking a beating of their own.

As soon as the case is over, he declines Emily’s invitation to go for a drink at her place with the rest of the team, instead opting to go out by himself. There’s a small, hole-in-the-wall joint a few blocks from his apartment that he’s been to a few times; it’s low-key and reasonably quiet, and the food is nice, too. It’ll do him good, he thinks, to get out of his head a bit with a few drinks and a book or three. He’s met the guy who owns the place a few times, and no-one pays enough attention to care that he’s reading a book at a bar instead of solemnly staring into a pint or gyrating on the dance floor, neither of which especially appeal to him.

As predicted, the bar is quiet, so he orders a drink and some nachos and heads to a table in the back. He used to hate bars; so full of people and germs he tended to avoid them at all costs. Now though, he finds the background noise soothing, the chatter and music a comforting backdrop to his own isolation. And on days like today, after difficult cases and tricky emotional minefields to navigate, it’s the perfect setting to sit quietly and read, far more preferable than the deafening silence of his apartment.

For some reason, though, he simply cannot get his mind off Luke. He was so hopelessly gone for him and it was making everyday tasks that much harder. Even psyching himself up to get out of bed and go to work was proving more and more difficult: knowing he would have to face the man he loved so much who clearly did not love him back was bordering on psychological torture at this point.

His one saving grace, though, was that he’d always been able to take refuge in the fact that they were friends. That even if he could never have Luke kiss him or take him on a date or sleep in his bed, he could have his friendship. He’d have the warm smiles and hugs and inside jokes and that would be enough. But now even that was seeming like a farflung pipe dream. Had he figured him out? Did he realise Spencer’s feelings for him and feel disgusted? Violated even?

It’s only after Spencer’s been reading the same page over and over for nearly 10 minutes that he gives up and orders another drink. If he can’t distract himself, he may as well drown his sorrows now he’s here.

And drown them he does. He finally stumbles onto the pavement outside the bar in the small hours of the morning feeling a little dazed and confused, and he squints his eyes as he tries to get his bearings. He lives round here, he knows that much, but where? He’s looking around for a taxi when a man he’d seen sitting not far from him in the bar approaches him.

“Hey, baby,” he grins, checking Spencer out as obviously as he’d been doing inside.

It takes Spencer’s mind only a few seconds to recognise that he’s in a potentially vulnerable or dangerous situation but he can’t for the life of him sort through his muddled brain fast enough to figure out the correct response, here. Instead he stares dumbly at the man in front of him, trying to not look as scared as he feels.

“You looking for a good time?” the man asks, reaching a hand forward to pet crudely at his face. Spencer wishes his flinch wasn’t so obviously borne from terror, but he’s sad and drunk and confused so all he can do is shake his head aggressively and back away. “Aww, come on. I’m a catch, I promise.”

Spencer jumps back further, his back hitting a brick wall as he finally finds his voice. “No, leave me alone, thank you,” he says, trying to sound firm but only sounding scared shitless. The man is huge, Spencer is not, and the street is quiet. Spencer does not like any of these variables, let alone a cocktail made from them.

The man laughs cruelly, but before he gets a chance to respond another beefy guy he recognises from inside the bar comes over, cigarette in his hand, and clocks the situation. “Oi,” he shouts aggressively, approaching the two of them. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Dude said no.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

Before Spencer can blink, the beefy guy punches his assailant square in the eye, causing him to cuss them both out before telling Spencer he isn’t even worth the trouble and leaving to lick his wounds. “Hey, you okay?” the beefy dude asks, voice much softer when talking to Spencer. “You need me to call someone?”

At this moment, the only person Spencer wants is Luke. He’s shaken up and so sad, and even if Luke is sort of the reason for that, he has to try, right? Maybe… maybe he just was having a bad day and it isn’t Spencer at all. He could call JJ but even her cuddles wouldn’t scratch the itch that’s burning away at his skin, so he finally shakes his head at the guy looking at him with concern. “No, no it’s okay,” he says slowly, voice catching a little. “I know who to call.”

★

Luke also says no to Emily’s invitation, instead heading back to his own place and cracking open a bottle of wine before plonking himself in front of the team and appreciating the cuddles Roxy chooses to bestow on him. He throws in an oven pizza sometime around 11pm and eats it, laughing humourlessly at the scene for a moment. God, if his colleagues could see just how pathetic he is Emily would have to boot him off the team.

The wine and the warm temperature of the room have him dozing off on the sofa by midnight but he’s woken up abruptly by his phone ringing not long after. The clock on the wall says 1.50am so this is either a case or an emergency; blearily he picks it up to see Spencer’s name on the screen and he can’t slide his finger to answer it fast enough.

“Spencer?” he asks, voice full of concern.

The only reply is a choked off sob, making Luke sit up on high alert. “Spence, what’s wrong?” his voice is gentle but determined, he wants to know what’s wrong so he can fix it damnit.

“Can you-- Can you come and get me?” Spencer asks tearfully. He sounds hesitant like he thinks Luke might say no or be angry with him which doesn’t make any sense. He’d never feel like that, not for anything Spencer needs from him.

“Of course,” he reassures him, gently, still a little bewildered by the absurdity of it all. He springs into action and leaps off the sofa, slipping into some trainers and grabbing his keys. “Where are you, Spence? I’m on my way to the car.”

Spencer rattles off an address before he says, “Wait, don’t go, can you stay on the phone with me?”

Luke’s heart damn near melts at that but he obeys and stays on the phone with him, mumbling platitudes and promising he’s on his way the whole five minute drive until he pulls up in front of the address Spencer gave him, immediately spotting the younger man hunched down against a wall. He parks the car quickly and rushes over, crouching down in front of Spencer and gently pulling his head away from his knees so he can look into his eyes. He immediately recognises he’s drunk and sighs internally, hoping this won’t be too impossible.

“Hey, Spence, what’s going on?” he asks earnestly, holding onto the man’s forearms partially to help steady himself and partially to offer a noninvasive point of contact for Spencer.

“Sad,” Spencer says, looking into Luke’s eyes with wide, honest eyes. “You’re angry at me.”

“What?” Luke asks incredulously. “I’m not angry at you, Spencer.”

“Yes,” Spencer nods enthusiastically. “You wanted to work with other people on the case today. You were ignoring me.”

He’s not quite slurring his words but it’s close, and if Luke wasn’t so concerned about the situation at hand he’d find it adorable. “Oh, Spencer, no,” he protests, a sinking feeling in his chest. His own insecurities and fears had got the better of him and he’d managed to make Spencer feel bad about himself. “That was unrelated and not your fault at all, okay? It’s complicated and definitely not a conversation to have on the ground outside a bar at 2am, but we can talk about it somewhere else if you’d like. Do you want me to take you back to your place?”

Spencer looks back at him. “No, don’t want to be alone, please don’t leave me on my own, Luke,” he says, eyes wide in fear this time, not honesty.

“Okay, okay,” he placates him. “Would you like to come back to mine?”

Spencer launches forward to hug Luke, burying his face into his neck and Luke takes the opportunity to relish the feeling of Spencer’s lithe body against his own, the intimacy he craves so deeply finally being awarded in a small way. “Should I take that as a yes?” he chuckles.

As soon as they get into Luke’s apartment, he gets to sobering Spencer up. He’d managed to pry the number of drinks he’d had out of him in the car, and as soon as they get back he butters him some toast and gives him a glass of water to drink on the sofa while he fills up another glass and grabs some advil.

“How’s that, Spence, are you okay?” he asks softly as he joins him on the sofa where Spencer is dutifully munching down the toast while late-night TV plays in the background.

“Yeah,” he whispers, smiling up at Luke, already looking more lucid than he did on the street, though he suspects part of the reason was he was scared and a bit disoriented then and now feels safe. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Spencer,” he smiles back, patting his knee affectionately as he pours him another glass of water. “Have your toast and another glass of water and then you can have a shower, if you like. It’ll help ground you and warm you up a bit.”

Spencer’s compliant through it all, which is obviously desirable, but he’s also quiet. He takes the hoodie Luke chucks his way without comment and slips it on -- Luke very pointedly does not think about how good he looks -- before looking to him for his next direction.

His eyes are much clearer now and he seems far more sad than drunk, so Luke steers him back to the sofa and hands him a blanket. “Hey, Spencer,” he says, waiting for him to look up before continuing. “What’s going on? Why did you need me to pick you up?”

Spencer fidgets with the blanket as he answers. “Well, I went to the bar to stop thinking, like distract myself, but it didn’t really work so I just decided to have some wine instead, which was really nice and I liked the fuzziness, but then when I left there was this man. He came up to me and was trying to… like he was trying to ask me to sleep with him,” he risks a quick look up to check if Luke is listening to him but averts his eyes from the intense stare when he realises he is. “But I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do and I panicked but then this man came out of the bar and he punched the other guy and helped me but then I called you so he didn’t have to do anything else.” His voice is nervous as he talks, clearly unsure of himself from the way he darts around from point to point, his typical eloquence evading him.

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” Luke says, earnestly. “I’m sorry that happened to you but I’m even more sorry that you were sad enough to drown your sorrowsbecause of me. Tomorrow, I promise we can talk about this and I’ll explain everything, but right now I think you should sleep. You can take my bed or the sofa tonight, whichever one makes you feel more comfortable, and then I’ll make you whatever you want for breakfast in the morning and we can chat. How does that sound?”

Spencer looks satisfied for now, cocking his head to the side. “Hm, can I have pancakes?” he asks.

Luke laughs fondly at that, leaning forward to ruffle Spencer’s hair lightly as he tries not to read into it when Spencer leans into his touch. “Are you kidding?” he teases. “You’re looking at the pancake maker extraordinaire right here.” He relishes Spencer’s giggle at that, pleased at how relaxed he looks now he knows Luke isn’t angry at him. “Pancakes in the morning. For now, where would you like to sleep?”

“The sofa’s fine,” Spencer says softly, a small smile playing over his face as he follows Luke with his eyes as he stands up to collect some blankets and pillows. “Thank you, Luke.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he smiles back, and hands him the extra blankets and cushions. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

★

Spencer wakes up to the sound of dog paws on wooden floors and is momentarily confused -- he does not have a dog nor wooden floors -- before the events of last night flood into his head with a crashing wave of humiliation. He sits up abruptly, blinking his eyes against the soft grey light of the gloomy day, and looks around until he meets Luke’s eyes where he’s sat drinking a cup of coffee at the dining table.

He knows he’s flushing an embarrassing shade of red but he can’t help it, this whole situation is so bizarre. “Good morning,” he finally says.

“Morning Spencer,” Luke says, hiding his far-too-wide smile behind his coffee mug. “Did you sleep okay?”

He just nods and hums in response, before excusing himself and rushing to the bathroom for a small semblance of privacy. Looking in the mirror, he splashes his face with some cold water and fiddles with his hair until it’s sat the way he wants it to before taking some deep breaths in a vain attempt at composure. He’s sort of in love with Luke, being in his apartment like this is mildly intoxicating.

Eventually, he surfaces back in the main living area where Luke’s already started on the pancakes. “Hey, you good?” he calls over his shoulder as he flips the pan, a delish smell intoxicating the kitchen.

“I’m good,” Spencer confirms, joining him in the kitchen for a front row seat of Luke cooking. Chatting menially together as the pancake stash slowly builds, Spencer gathers all the toppings at Luke’s direction before they move to sit at the table and start tucking in, both trying to ignore the rising tension at what they both know is coming.

“You’re being so nice to me now but all throughout the case you barely looked at me, I mean you couldn’t even share a room with me in the hotel,” Spencer says after a few moments of silent apprehension as they have their first bites. “Is it… is it because I’m gay?” His voice drops to a whisper, face contorting from confusion to apprehension, feeling a little nervous that Luke might get angry now he’s reminded him of it.

“What, no, Spencer, of course not,” Luke says defensively. “God, I’m not a homophobe. The exact opposite, actually. I’m gay, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Luke puts his knife and fork down and runs a hand over his face as he psychs himself up. “That’s the problem. The truth is, I’m into you, Spencer, very much so. And I’m fully aware that you’re my best friend and you won’t feel the same way, so… that’s a problem. The others were starting to realise so I distanced myself, but it has nothing to do with you, it’s all me so please don’t blame yourself, alright?”

“Oh.” Spencer’s brain is short-circuiting.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to explain why I acted like that.” Luke apologises, sitting forward again. “I know this is probably making you uncomfortable, I can drop you back or call you a cab or something--”

“No,” Spencer says suddenly, snapping back into action as the information finally processes. Leaving right now is the last thing he wants. “No, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just caught off guard. You… like me?”

“Well, yeah,” Luke smiles, a little awkwardly. “If you want to put it like that.”

“Oh.” He pauses for a moment as everything finally clicks into place. “We are both very stupid.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the primary reason I was sad and drinking at a bar alone last night was because I am very much in love with you and feared you were pushing me away. That I’d lost my chance forever,” Spencer explains. “I don’t have much experience with relationships, so I didn’t know how to deal with it and when you started acting distant I did the same and… ran away, I guess.”

Luke’s glad that Spencer’s eyes are clear this morning and his eloquence is back or he’d fear he’s still somehow drunk out of his mind still and has no idea what he’s saying. “Oh.” It’s his turn to blank on a response.

“To be honest, Luke, I don’t know where to go from here,” Spencer laughs, a little awkwardly.

“Let’s start with this,” Luke says, getting up from his seat across the table and sliding into the chair next to Spencer, bridging the gap between the two before he kisses him gently. Spencer’s hand reaches forward to grip the front of his shirt, kissing back with just as much trusting desire as he feels Luke smile against his lips. They part at the kiss’ natural conclusion, pulling back to look at each other, tense awkwardness replaced with a new understanding of one another.

“Yeah,” Spencer smiles. “That feels like a good start.”

It’s a good start, but it’s by no means the end. The heaviness that had weighed between them for so long finally lifts and the lightness that replaces it means they both breathe easier, finishing their pancakes in between shy, cautious looks and shameless giggles. “Do you have anything you need to do today?” Luke asks as he washes their plates up, Spencer perched on the kitchen counter next to him.

“Nope,” Spencer says, smiling at the implication of such an answer.

“Well, what do you feel like doing?” he asks, wearing far too cheeky of a grin for Spencer to avoid leaning down and planting a kiss on his lips.

“Hm,” Spencer ponders, looking out the window at the rainy day. “I think movies and snacks would be perfect if I have you as company.”

“You smooth little thing,” Luke teases, poking Spencer’s side with a wet finger and delighting in the giggle that escaped his lips. “That sounds perfect to me.” He washes the frying pan last and quickly wipes down the kitchen before they head to the sofa, arms piled high with all the crisps, chocolate and cookies they can find in his cupboards. Spencer also digs about in the freezer and finds a pint of ice cream to share, which they feed each other bites of later in a sickeningly sweet, cliched moment of tenderness.

Luke chooses the first movie, picking out a Marvel film that Spencer ends up actually enjoying, though Luke can’t exactly say the same about Spencer’s choice, an obscure period piece from the 1960s. Still, he cuddles him close and pays attention to every minute. If it matters to Spencer, it matters to him.

And if wasting the day away with movies, snacks, and heart to hearts turns out to be exhausting enough that Spencer just has to stay the night again, this time sharing Luke’s bed with him and Roxy, then they’ll just have to make the absolute most out of such a terribly inconvenient situation. And they’ll deal with how to hide a 2 night love-fest from a team of profilers in the morning, because they’re far too oblivious to realise they already know.

Tags: @johanna-swann @pretty-b0yy

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #ralvez #spencer reid #luke alvez #criminal minds angst #my writing

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rebeccatherine · 3 years

Text

Reconnaissance

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Rating: Mature Characters: Sharon Carter (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Arthur Parks Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Espionage Summary: Sam Wilson accompanies Sharon Carter on an undercover SHIELD mission.

Read on AO3 under the pseud rebeccavis or below.

Sam had offered to sleep on the floor. He said he was used to it from his days in the military, which Sharon understood; Steve had mentioned to her offhandedly before that his bed never felt quite right. However, on this occasion the bed was probably the safest place for both of them. As she had pointed out to Sam, they had a clear view of the window from there should they need it and, if anyone decided to check in on them, it would look a little strange for a doting wife to be alone in a king-size bed. Sam, after looking horrified by the notion of someone spying on him while he was asleep, eventually conceded.

“Sorry.” Sam’s whisper had been preceded by the sound of something soft hitting the floor. “Why do they give you so many dang pillows?”

Sharon chuckled. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “Rich people shit?”

Their backs were turned to each other and, even if they hadn’t been, Sharon doubted she’d be able to see much of anything in the darkness of their isolated cabin. She heard a soft rumble from next to her, though, and could see Sam smiling in her head. “Rich people shit,” he agreed.

Sharon supposed she was meant to go to sleep now. While she hadn’t served in the military, she’d had her fair share of sleeping in strange places as a SHIELD agent, many of which had been far less comfortable than where she was at the moment. Even so, this was maybe the first time she was worried about having trouble drifting off. Her mind was usually where she felt it should be: focused on the job and what steps she needed to take to ensure its success, including getting a good night’s sleep. Tonight, her mind was for some reason lingering on terms of endearment, unexpected compliments and arms wrapped tenderly around her waist.

She felt Sam’s weight shift slowly next to her and suspected he was turning over onto his other side. It was something she had been thinking about, too, although now it meant they’d be face to face, which would be weird. Or would it? She settled for rolling over onto her back instead to stare at the ceiling. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and she could just about trace the outline of the wooden beams above her head.

“Hey, Shar?” Sam’s voice was soft, but so unexpected that she froze for a split second. “Can we talk?”

“Sam? Is my purse out there?” Sharon had raised her voice a little, hoping she’d be heard from outside the bathroom where she was putting on her makeup.

“Uh...yeah, I see it, baby,” she heard Sam reply, emphasizing his last word significantly more than was necessary, “Do you need it?”

“Oh, I think I left something in there, but I can…” Sharon trailed off as she heard footsteps in her direction and then a gentle rap on the door she hadn’t bothered to lock. “You can come in. I’m almost done.”

The door opened with a click and Sam stepped in, offering up a smile as his eyes met hers. She could tell there was a slight nervousness to his expression, at odds with how comfortably the bespoke dark suit he was wearing fit him.

“Almost, huh?” he said, his tone playful.

“Wouldn’t want to forget my lipstick,” Sharon explained, reaching over to take her small silver clutch from his hand, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’d look terrible without it,” Sam teased, to which Sharon chuckled.

Having reclaimed the missing item from her purse, Sharon turned back towards the mirror to apply the deep red shade to her lips. It reminded her of the colors her aunt had always been fond of wearing, perhaps even more so because, like her aunt once had, she was currently sporting brunette shoulder-length curls. Her dress, on the other hand - red, full-length, with a front slit and a mostly open back - was probably something Peggy would not have opted for unless she had also been undercover.

“Just to be clear - you look amazing, Shar.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Sam’s words, then directed a grin at him.

“So we’re not going with ‘baby’?” she asked.

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Damn it.”

“It’s OK, you don’t have to worry. While you were out I put a bug killer in one of the lamps by the bed, so nobody’s listening in on us,” Sharon assured him as she turned around, “It’s good to get some practice, though.”

“I just thought ‘baby’ would be easier,” Sam explained, “I’m worried I’m going to forget to call you by your cover name.”

“‘Baby’ works great. I’ll go with it, too.” Sharon gave a nod to indicate she was ready to go, then emerged with Sam into the bedroom. “Look, I know this undercover stuff isn’t exactly your thing, but I promise you’re in safe hands,” she added, “Besides, it’s not like you have to put on a British accent or anything.”

“Thank God,” Sam noted, “I bet you can do a great British accent. You have family from there, right?”

“Yeah, that’s an easy one for me. My grandfather’s whole side of the family is British.”

“Did they teach you any fun British slang?”

“Plenty, but I’m pretty sure it’s all from the fifties so I’m totally out of date.” Sharon gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “You know my aunt used to call me ‘Shaz’ sometimes?”

“Shaz?” Sam echoed. His eyebrows raised as he shot an endearing glance at her, clearly entertained by the idea. “That’s amazing. Can I call you ‘Shaz’?”

“Absolutely not,” Sharon replied, though she kept her tone light.

“Noted. Although I make no promises after this mission is over and I’ve found the nearest place where I can get a daiquiri,” Sam noted, “You don’t have to join me, though.”

“Maybe I’d be OK with it under those circumstances,” Sharon conceded with a smile, “I do like ‘Shar’, though.”

Sam looked pleased with himself. He made his way over to the bed to pick up Sharon’s coat, which he offered to her. “Trust me, I’ve worked with you enough and heard enough to know I’m in the safest of hands,” he affirmed, “I just don’t want to get in your way. Do the photos look good?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re perfect. All you need to do is distract Parks and I know exactly where I need to go,” Sharon slipped her arms into the outstretched garment, shrugging it over her shoulders and gently tugging her hair out from underneath it. “Tell Redwing I said thanks.”

“I will,” Sam replied after a small pause, “So we’re in, we talk to the party guests for a bit, you go download the files, and we’re out. Pretty straightforward apart from the fact that our ride isn’t coming until tomorrow morning.”

“So unlike Maria to not come pick up her friends after a party, but what can you do?” Sharon joked, “I think we’ll be OK to spend the night in our luxury log cabin.”

“I can always take the floor,” Sam said.

“We can talk about that later. Let me give you your comm.” Sharon’s purse didn’t have room for much besides her lipstick and some cash, but the communication devices - one of which she handed to Sam - barely took up any space at all. “Is there anything else we need to go over?”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad we have these,” Sam admitted, then something seemed to occur to him, “Oh, I was going to ask you about ground rules. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I know we’re supposed to be married...I guess I don’t know how this usually works.”

“When we’re in the field pretending to be a couple we tend not to go overboard on public displays of affection unless the intention is to make someone else feel uncomfortable. Honestly, though, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I trust you.” Sharon exchanged a small smile with him, and was glad to see he looked a little relieved.

“Alright, then, Mrs. Dixon. Let’s go.” Sam offered up his arm, which Sharon took as they made their way down the wooden staircase to the living room. “This is some really weird rich people shit, you know. What kind of person owns what looks like an English mansion in upstate New York and makes his friends hire out nearby log cabins with no cellphone service just to attend his party?”

Sharon laughed, partly because it sounded a lot like something Tony Stark might do. “I’m glad you got that off your chest,” she commented, “And you’re right. Unfortunately, tonight I think we’re going to have to deal with a lot of rich people shit.”

“Name?” The man at the entrance to the mansion was dressed as a butler and peering at Sam as if he was a curiosity, which gave Sharon a strong urge to kick him in the face with one of her high heels.

“Dixon. Sean Dixon,” Sam told him with a confidence that meant Sharon didn’t have to force a smile. She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze, having kept her own wrapped around it for most of the drive over.

“Ah, yes, and you must be the lovely Cherie Dixon.” The butler pronounced her name with a perfect French accent, so Sharon naturally had to correct him.

“Oh, it’s ‘Sherry’, but believe me, if I could say it your way I would,” she declared. The giggle she gave along with her words was fake but well-practiced, unlike the smile the butler gave her in return which was simply fake.

“If you would be so kind as to step into our testing area,” the butler instructed them.

Sharon gave a small nod which Sam mirrored, and the two of them made their way inside. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon noticed that their ride - a chauffeured limousine that had been provided by the owner of the mansion - was still waiting in the extended driveway. She wondered what instructions the chauffeur had been given should she and/or Sam turn out to be mutants.

They had both been briefed early on that the party had a strict policy against mutants attending. It wasn’t a particularly new development; there were many, particularly those in power, who didn’t like that mutants could often hide in plain sight unlike most of the Avengers. What wasn’t clear, however, was how such policies were being enforced, and that was one of the things she and Sam had been tasked with finding out.

“Please give me your left index finger.” Sharon had been ushered along with Sam through the first door on the left, where a line of men and women dressed as old-fashioned footmen and maids were holding anachronistic devices that were roughly the same shape as a large calculator. She glanced at Sam, who just barely raised his eyebrows, then turned to the woman who had addressed her.

“Here you go,” she said, letting go of her companion’s arm to present her left hand to what she assumed was a lab technician-turned-maid. The woman clearly didn’t have much in the way of bedside manner, as she pricked Sharon’s finger with a needle without so much as a warning. She then instructed her to press the small drop of blood to a pad on the device she was holding, where a bright light shone behind Sharon’s finger before she received a reading.

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed.

“Is that good?” Sharon asked, her eyes wide.

The woman who had tested her all but rolled her eyes. “Yeah. That’s good,” she said, then turning to Sam, “You’re up next.”

Sharon’s eyes darted around to the other would-be house staff while Sam was similarly tested for his lack of a mutant gene. The devices they were using were unfamiliar to her, and she could almost make out a logo on the back of them but not quite. For now, she just made a mental note to try to steal one of the devices before they left the mansion for the night.

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed again, and Sam was also cleared to go out the door and back into the foyer.

“I feel like she drew way more blood than she needed to,” Sharon remarked, shaking her head. The needle prick didn’t really bother her at all and she’d had far worse injuries in the field, but Sam had been very quiet so far and it was starting to unnerve her how differently he was acting compared to his usual self. She hoped that she might be able to help him relax by drawing him into a conversation.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam’s response wasn’t very encouraging but he did offer her his hand, which she took.

“Maybe she was just jealous,” Sharon mused playfully. Sam had taken her hand in both of his and gently turned it over. “What are you doing?”

“Just surveying the damage,” Sam said with a hint of a smile, “You think she was jealous of your ring?”

Sharon had managed to almost forget about the 2 carat, heart-shaped engagement ring and matching wedding ring on her left finger. Sam clearly hadn’t, though, and she was glad he seemed to be settling into his role. “I think she was jealous of my gorgeous husband,” she replied, “You do look very good in that suit, baby.”

“Well, you look good in pretty much everything, baby,” Sam replied. Something about the way he was looking at her took Sharon off guard, and she was surprised to feel the back of her neck grow hot. Sam was apparently a better actor than she had given him credit for.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended at first. She cleared her throat and then added: “You’ve always known how to compliment a girl.”

“Isn’t that why you married me?” Sam teased. He let go of her hand and offered his arm to her again.

“One of many reasons,” Sharon replied with a grin. She accepted his offer and then nodded towards an open doorway that led into what appeared to be the living room. “Everyone seems to be heading in there and it looks like they have drinks, so I vote we go check my coat and then we follow,” she suggested.

“Lead the way, Cherie.” Sam managed a pretty decent impersonation of the butler from earlier, and Sharon laughed.

“Shut up.”

“Sher-ee.”

“Sher-ee,” Sharon repeated, butchering the French guttural ‘R’ sound as if she hadn’t had plenty of practice speaking French in her line of work.

“Eh, close enough.” The woman seated in a small, cream-colored armchair across from Sharon and Sam shrugged her shoulders with a smile, tossing her shoulder-length blonde bob. Sharon didn’t know too much about her yet but she did know that her name was Marie, she seemed to speak better French than Sharon did even when she wasn’t pretending, and - most importantly - she was their ticket to the person they were looking for. She seemed younger than Sharon, maybe twenty at most, and eager to make conversation. Sharon had spotted her chatting with the host of the party earlier, and all they needed to do now was get her to lead them to him.

“Didn’t you tell me your name means ‘darling’?” Sam asked, glancing at Sharon. They were sitting on a powder blue couch, his arm resting gently around her shoulders.

Sharon all but batted her eyelashes. “That’s what my mom always said.”

“Yes, she was correct,” Marie said enthusiastically, “From chérir, to cherish.”

“Like the Madonna song,” Sharon joked. Sam chuckled, but Marie’s blank expression suggested to Sharon she’d been right about the other woman’s age.

“Clearly your mother chose well,” Marie continued, “You make a wonderful couple.”

“Thank you. I feel like I can barely remember what life was like before Sean,” Sharon said, all smiles, “We’re a good team. He makes up for all the things I’m missing.”

“Come on, baby, there isn’t anything you’re missing,” Sam insisted.

“It’s OK, I know I’m not the smartest cookie in the cookie jar,” Sharon retorted, “But you, on the other hand...I’m telling you, Marie, you’re looking at the world’s next Tony Stark.”

“My wife likes to brag about me,” Sam told Marie, “I also love to hear it, though, so it all works out.”

“So you are interested in technology?” Marie asked.

“I’m working on starting up my own tech company,” Sam explained, “Cherie’s father is an investor and I’m looking for a few more.”

“In that case, you should definitely talk to Arthur if you haven’t yet. I know he’s always looking for new collaborators,” Marie said, “You know the mutant detectors that scanned your blood when you first arrived?”

“So that’s what they were?” Sharon mused out loud.

“Wait, did Parks provide the lasers they use in those?” Sam piped up.

Marie grinned. “Yes. He and Trask are hoping they’ll be able to make them available to the mass market soon.”

“That’s impressive,” Sam said with a nod, “Do you work with him?”

“Oh, no.” Despite Marie’s reply, Sharon could tell she was flattered by the notion that she might be involved in Arthur Parks’s company. Nice going, Sam. “I’ve just known him since I was very young. Arthur’s wife, Lucy, knew my father and when I was growing up he wasn’t around very much...the Parks practically raised me.”

“Well, clearly you’ve picked up a lot from them. I’m around Sean all the time and I still don’t really understand his work,” Sharon said with a laugh.

“I actually had been hoping to get a chance to talk to Mr. Parks. I’ve never met him directly but from talking to friends of his I really think we’d have a lot to offer each other,” Sam affirmed.

“Then allow me to introduce you,” Marie offered, “Trust me, it would be my pleasure.”

“Alright, Sam, I’m in the study. Clear your throat if our friend is suitably distracted.”

Sharon soon heard Sam’s subtle assurance over her comm, although she almost didn’t need it because she could also hear Arthur Parks droning on in the background. She felt relieved that she had only had to stand next to Sam and pretend to be interested in the man’s work for a relatively short time before, as she had expected him to, Parks had invited ‘Sean’ to join him and a couple of other men for a cigar. Sharon had then spent a few minutes in Marie’s company before excusing herself to use the powder room. Her companion had offered to go with her, but Sharon had managed to convince her that she needed some privacy when she implied that she might be taking a pregnancy test.

“I’ll be as fast as I can and keep you updated. Sorry this has to be a one-way conversation,” Sharon told Sam.

When she thought about it, there were quite a few things she felt as though she wanted to apologize to Sam for. This wasn’t supposed to be his mission in the first place, for one. The original plan had been for Steve to accompany her, until the discovery that more than a few guests at the party had ties to HYDRA had made it impossible for Steve to go incognito. Sam had the technical expertise to both help in the field and impress Parks, so he had been the natural choice. The world of espionage was far from Sam’s natural environment, though, and even though he’d been doing well so far, Sharon felt a sense of responsibility in making sure nothing happened to him. That feeling was coupled with a decent-sized amount of guilt that she would actually rather be on a mission with Sam than Steve at the moment.

“I’ve got to admit I’m a little envious of you, Dixon. It sounds like your story’s just starting and you have a world of opportunities ahead of you. I remember when it felt that way for me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes as she took her lipstick out of her purse and popped a concealed flash drive out of the bottom of it. She had little to no sympathy for the plight of someone like Arthur Parks.

“I do feel very lucky,” Sharon heard Sam’s voice say, “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely had to hustle, but the hustle was worth it.”

“Hacking in now,” she informed Sam quietly, the flash drive now inserted into Parks’s personal laptop.

“Mmmm, and I’m sure having a rich wife can’t have hurt. I wasn’t so lucky.”

Arthur Parks’s use of the word ‘wasn’t’ gave Sharon pause. They hadn’t been given any intel on his marriage having recently fallen apart, although it was a little odd that his wife Lucy didn’t seem to be in attendance at the party.

“A word of advice, Dixon, although it’s probably too late,” Parks continued unprompted, “Always sign a prenup.”

Sam gave what sounded like a slightly nervous laugh. “I don’t think I need to worry about my wife.” Sharon was about to tell him not to be afraid to throw his wife under the metaphorical bus if he needed to, but a third person with an English accent spoke up before she had a chance.

“I think this one’s a lost cause, Arthur.” Sharon had heard the man introduce himself as Jonathan Wilson a little bit earlier. “You and your wife seem very much in love.”

“I really think it’d be hard not to fall in love with Cher,” Sam declared. Sharon noticed his ‘Cher’ sounded a little close to ‘Shar’, but hopefully nobody else would pick up on it. “I mean, you’ve all seen how beautiful she is but on top of that she’s so...brave, and talented, and just so competent…”

Sharon couldn’t help the smile that crossed her features for a moment, even if it quickly vanished as she realized she was listening to a bout of silence. Either something had gone wrong with the comms or Sam had paused awkwardly mid-sentence and although the latter was preferable, it still wasn’t ideal.

“...at making me happy, you know what I’m saying?” Sharon heard a few ripples of laughter following Sam’s joke, and she breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Nice recovery,” she told him, “Alright, I’m in. Just keep doing your thing, but maybe don’t lean into the doting husband role too much. I don’t see so much as a picture of Athur’s wife in his study and it sounds like things got ugly.”

The conversation took more of a business slant again and Sharon was able to relax ever so slightly, continuing to listen while she went through the files on Arthur Parks’s laptop. She had always found it a little ironic that the objective of any given mission, like this, tended to be the easiest part. Getting in and getting out were usually the parts that you had to worry about.

“Looks like the intel we got was solid. Parks is definitely trying to build himself some kind of team, but I think SHIELD will have to dig deeper to find out what for,” Sharon informed Sam, “I’m copying the list of contacts and his correspondence. Lots of familiar names here, several associated with HYDRA...and Georges Batroc. Interesting.”

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired of listening to me by now. Maybe I can get my laptop and show you some photos of all the places Parks lasers have been used. Who knows, I might even give you some ideas about where they haven’t.”

Sharon stiffened as she glanced at the progress bar in the corner of the computer screen. “I’m not done,” she said after hearing Arthur Parks’s words, “Sam, can you stall him?”

“I...think I already have some ideas, actually,” Sharon heard Sam say, “Marie mentioned you were interested in music, and I…”

“Marie thinks she knows a lot more than she actually does,” Parks interrupted, “My wife is the music lover. Not that her taste in music is any good.”

“Marie’s just a kid,” Sam noted softly, “They always think they know a lot.”

“Not that much of a kid.” Arthur Parks’s voice was quieter than before and Sharon was having a hard time hearing him. “It’d be nice if she acted like more of an adult every once in a while.”

“Almost there,” Sharon said to Sam. Her fingers were hovering over the flash drive, ready to retrieve it the moment it was finished copying the files. “Just keep him talking.”

“Well, she has nothing but nice things to say about you and your wife, so it seems like you taught her something,” Sam said, managing to keep his tone jovial, “She said you practically raised her?”

“You seem to be very interested in Marie,” Parks commented. Sharon thought she might have heard the sound of a clinking glass. “Wilson?”

“Yeah?” Sam answered at the exact same time as another voice that Sharon presumed belonged to Jonathan Wilson did.

Shit. Sharon watched the progress bar creep towards the end far too slowly for her taste as Arthur Parks offered Jonathan Wilson a drink.

“Sorry. I thought you said Dixon,” Sam said sheepishly.

“Well, I was also going to ask you a different question,” Parks said, “You a Scotch drinker?”

“Sometimes,” Sam answered.

“Sometimes,” Parks echoed with a chuckle, “Where are you from again?”

“New York,” Sam replied, “City. The City. Harlem.” He clearly remembered his cover story but seemed to be having trouble keeping his nerves under control.

“Right, right.”

“Got it,” Sharon declared, “I’m going to close up here and I’ll come knock on the door looking for you.”

“There’s something about your accent, though…” she heard Parks muse while she stowed the flash drive away back in her lipstick tube, “Sometimes it sounds a little off to me.”

“I can’t pick up on anything...but then, I don’t suppose I’d be able to,” Jonathan Wilson commented with a chortle.

Sharon stood up after closing Parks’s laptop, making sure it looked just as it did when she had first found it. She felt as though she could practically hear Sam’s heart beating faster, or perhaps it was just her own. “Hey, don’t be afraid to change your backstory a little if you need to,” she encouraged him, “The easiest lies to tell are the ones with a bit of truth.”

“How did you know?” Sam said, feigning being impressed, “My dad is from Louisiana. I don’t even notice it most of the time but Cher tells me sometimes the occasional word slips out.”

Sharon smiled to herself. The door to the study was closed behind her and from there it was only a quick trip across the hallway to where she needed to be. Granted, it was quite a large hallway.

“I knew it,” Parks declared, “I’ve been to Louisiana a couple of times. New Orleans is a great…”

Sharon knocked loudly at the door. When Arthur Parks pulled it open, he was greeted with the sight of her with her hair slightly dishevelled and grinning from ear to ear.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Dixon?” he asked.

“I just thought I’d stop by to rescue my husband,” Sharon answered.

It was getting in and getting out that you had to worry about. Getting to the party had required a lot of planning, from SHIELD providing Sharon and Sam with aliases and a mission briefing to their conversations on the flight to New York. During that time they had also planned how they’d be getting out, but that plan hinged on everyone perceiving them as nothing more than party guests. To that end, what they couldn’t do was leave the party at the nearest opportunity. Rather than make more small talk, Sharon had suggested they head to the ballroom and she didn’t think she’d ever seen Sam look more relieved.

“So do you think I thoroughly destroyed your chances at entering into a business deal with Arthur Parks?” Sharon wondered playfully. She had to lean in close to him to be heard over the music, but that was easy to do when they were dancing.

“Oh, I think those chances are pretty much roadkill by now,” Sam replied, making her chuckle, “That’s alright. I think if I’d had to listen to him for another half hour I’d have lost my mind.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. It’s his loss, at any rate.”

“Sure is. For a successful businessman, he seems pretty good at losing things.” Sam lifted his arm and gently twirled her around while she barely hid a grin.

“You can spin me more than that,” she said, “I used to be a figure skater, you know.”

“Wait, really?” Sam closed the small distance between them as the song changed to one with a slower tempo, his hands coming to her waist.

“Oh, yeah. My mom taught me to ice skate when I was a kid,” Sharon explained, “Have you ever tried it?”

“No, I haven’t, but I always thought it looked fun,” Sam replied, “I guess it’s probably a bit like flying.”

“Well, I’ve never flown, but to me it feels a lot like flying.” Sharon let her arms rest around Sam’s shoulders almost without thinking about it. “I’m a little out of practice, but I still go sometimes. I’ll take you - maybe before rather than after we go to a bar for that daiquiri.”

Sam seemed to like that idea if his grin was any indication. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He glanced over his shoulder momentarily and then leant in so that he could lower his voice even more, speaking softly close to her ear. “You just need to go on a few more ops with me if you ever want to try flying.”

Sharon was surprised not by Sam’s gesture but her own reaction to it. She’d seen him harmlessly flirt with other people before, especially Natasha, and she enjoyed flirting herself when the occasion called for it. The unusual part was feeling her neck grow hot and letting her gaze linger on his lips when he pulled back. “I’d like that,” she admitted, “You’re a good partner.”

Sam smiled again.

Sharon swiftly decided that she should keep talking, mostly because she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she didn’t. “Hopefully next time you’ll get to have a little more fun,” she told him.

“Hey, I’m having fun,” Sam insisted, to which Sharon raised her eyebrows. “I am now, at least.” Sharon laughed. “I do wish the music was a little better.”

“Mmm, some Marvin Gaye, maybe?” Sharon suggested.

“For starters,” Sam replied, a hint of suspicion in his smile.

“You know who probably would’ve picked better music?” Sharon said. She was struggling to keep a straight face before the punchline of her own joke, which she decided to attribute to a combination of both the high and relief from having completed a large part of their mission. “Arthur Parks’s wife,” she just about managed to get out before she burst into laughter, hiding her face in Sam’s shoulder. She heard him laughing as well, which only made it more difficult for her to compose herself, but at least she figured the other party guests wouldn’t think much of it.

“You’re a great partner,” Sam declared, then adding, “We’re good to stay here for the rest of the party, right?”

Sharon nodded, pressing her lips together to suppress any remnants of her giggles. “I did just tell you that I’m pregnant, after all.” Sam’s eyes widened almost comically for a moment before he seemed to remember the excuse Sharon had used to get rid of Marie.

“Of course,” Sam joined in, “We can name the kid Laser.”

Sharon had to cover her mouth with one of her hands to muffle a guffaw.

“Hey, Shar? Can we talk?”

Somehow, Sharon had a feeling Sam didn’t want to talk about the mission, which had gone remarkably smoothly, all things considered. The intel they needed was stored on the flash drive in Sharon’s purse, which was sitting on the nightstand next to something else they had also managed to bring back. Just before they left the mansion, they had returned to the testing room with an excuse about Sharon having misplaced her wedding ring. While Sam distracted the woman who had tested Sharon earlier, Sharon had managed to grab one of the mutant detectors and the staff seemed none the wiser. The only real concern now was the fact that they had to spend the rest of the night in their cabin, which meant if Arthur Parks or anyone else did suspect them, they would know where to find them. Sam was aware of all of that, though, and she would be very surprised if he wanted to go over what to do if they caught a glimpse of someone staring at them through the window.

“Sure,” she replied, her eyes still on the ceiling. She let out a small exhale before she rolled over onto her side to face Sam, barely able to make out his expression in the darkness. “Is everything OK?”

“Yeah. I just...I’m not even sure I should be saying anything, but...y’know, aside from almost forgetting New York was both a state and a city and being called ‘entertaining’ by some weird British folks, I actually had a really good time tonight.”

Sharon couldn’t help a small smile. “I kind of meant it when I told Marie we made a good team.”

“Did you mean it when you said we should go ice skating and then for drinks?” That question caught Sharon off guard, particularly in how hopeful Sam sounded when he said it. “It’s OK if you didn’t,” he added quickly, before she had a chance to respond, “We’ve known each other for a while, but we’ve never…” Sam paused. “Tonight, when we were dancing, I just felt like…”

“I felt it, too,” Sharon said quietly.

“OK.” She was starting to be able to see his face better as her eyes continued to adjust to the light, and she realized a smile was slowly spreading across it. “OK,” he repeated with a nod, “I’m kind of getting the feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming, though.”

“There’s a ‘but’,” Sharon admitted. His delight at the notion that they both felt similarly was already making her reconsider what she was about to say, but she wanted to be honest with him. “I’m not ready, Sam.”

“Ah. There it is,” Sam said. His grin vanished, as she expected, and he gave a small nod. “I understand. You did break up with Captain America. That had to have been pretty crazy.”

“Or, as my extended family likes to tell me, I’m the crazy one.” Sharon flashed a humorless smile. “I don’t...I’m not in love with Steve anymore, but that breakup wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even anyone’s fault, really, it was just...well, I’m sure the last thing you want to hear is gossip about your best friend.”

“I did just kind of admit to having a crush on my best friend’s ex-girlfriend, though,” Sam noted.

“I guess you did.” Sharon’s smile was genuine this time. “God, I wish we’d figured this out sooner.”

“I’ll take some of the blame for that. I was too busy staring at redheads.”

“And I was too busy thinking if I stuck around long enough Steve might fall in love with me.”

“Shar…” Sam’s voice was soft, and Sharon suddenly felt like she might have said too much.

“If you were just a hot stranger this would be a whole lot easier,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Sam teased back, “It’s OK, Sharon. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right.”

“I just meant that if it was someone I didn’t really care about, maybe I’d go on a date or two and it wouldn’t end well but it wouldn’t be a big deal. If it was you, though...I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”

“If it was you, I wouldn’t want to mess it up, either.” Sharon’s breath caught in her throat. “Can I...can I ask you a favor, though? If you do feel like you’re ready someday, and assuming you haven’t met anyone even hotter, can you let me know?”

“What if you’re dating Natasha Romanoff by then?” Sharon asked, not entirely unseriously.

“In that case I would like everyone to please give us as much privacy as possible,” Sam replied with a smirk.

“Wow, OK. She’s really your type?”

“Are you jealous, Shaz?”

Sharon couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe a little. Is that OK?”

“Yeah. That’s OK.” Sam’s eyes had what could only be described as a twinkle in them. “You still haven’t answered me.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

#SamSharon #Sharon x Sam #Sam x Sharon #Sam Wilson #Sharon Carter #MCU #Marvel #One Shots #Shasam

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Omertà👄13

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Alright, I cranked it out. Here ya go!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Steve got you back to the casino in one piece but you weren’t foolish enough to think it was because of your pathetic play with the pen. You suspected his behaviour hadn’t entirely been spontaneous. His boss surely had something to do with it though how, you couldn’t guess.

You waited in the office on the second floor for the delivery of the carelessly selected furniture. After the scene against the desk, you were less than interested in your actual purpose in the store. Your selection had been impulsive and rushed.

You helped the men as they set up the large wooden desk and the purple suede chair you tacked onto the purchase. There was also a set of simple arm chairs that you placed opposite each other around the low table preserved from the casino’s skeleton and the jade paperweight better used as a bludgeon.

You like the carved curlicues along the sides of the table and really didn’t mind the overall effect. It was much better than your former school-girlish set up in the antique shop. In fact, a third room had been cleared out to provide your own space though you noted that Bucky’s own separated you from Loki. A deliberate and heavy-handed move.

You locked your ledger in the second drawer as your irritated boss appeared and sneered at the mismatched set-up. You were thankful that he arrived alone. Though you suspected he did not feel the same. He crossed his arms as he refused to cross the threshold.

“It’s late,” He hissed.

You looked at him. He didn’t need to say anything else. His faced was drawn in a sharp scowl and his green eyes burned as they skittered around impatiently. You grabbed your bag and rounded the desk to meet him at the door.

“Thor?” You asked.

“Late. Still.” He turned and strode down the hallway, barely concerned about your presence as he did. “As always. I’m hardly surprised and yet I am entirely annoyed.”

You grumbled and followed him down the wide staircase to the foyer. The men continued their work, the hammering and drilling, as you passed. Outside, the air was cool and you could smell the water as its mist wafted over the boardwalk not far from the casino.

Silent, you dropped into the passenger seat of Loki’s car and he cleared his throat as he swung his long legs under the steering wheel. He shifted in the seat and shoved the keys in the ignition. His fingers tapped on the leather wheel before he turned the engine and roared away from the curb.

“Your little shopping spree,” He snarled. “How did that go?”

“It… went,” You sighed and leaned against the door. “I don’t dare ask about your own day.”

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel even tighter and ignored a red light. He hissed as he kept his fiery gaze on the road ahead.

“That… imbecile…” He muttered. “And his damn one percent!”

You were quiet as you stared at the dashboard. You adjusted your bag in your lap and tangled your arm in the strap. You could smirk and say I told you so but that would do you no favour.

“I say one thing, he wants the other,” Loki continued. “As if I’m stupid enough not to realise it is all a joke to him. If I were to say the sky is blue, he’d declare it yellow. And--” Loki huffed and pulled a hand away from the wheel to smooth his hair. “You!”

Your eyes rounded in confusion as you peered over at him.

“I know he won’t leave you alone,” He growled. “He can’t leave my things alone. Like a child.”

You blinked and frowned. While his ire was mostly aimed at Bucky, you knew it would not be thrust upon him. You shook your head and turned back to the gaze out the windshield.

“And this business with the hotel rooms,” He carried on. “As if to keep us apart. To keep me from my toy.”

You hugged your bag tightly, growing irritated by his ranting. But his blatant disregard for you. The scabbed cut on your pelvis itched beneath your dress.

“Well, darling, he has only fed my appetite,” He smirked. “And I don’t care if the entire city should hear me sate it.”

“Christ,” You uttered as he pulled up to the front of the hotel.

As he did, a man in a dark blue jacket approached and stood in wait at the curb. Loki shot you a warning look as you opened your door. He neared the valet and handed him his keys with a curt order not to manhandle it and his room number.

You gave an apologetic smile to the employee and dug around in your bag. You fished out a fifty and offered it to him with a sorry before he could round the car.

You turned and found Loki with his arms crossed waiting by the hotel’s facade, the door held open by another man in a similar jacket. You hurried over, your heels loudly clicking across the walkway. He turned and preceded you as you struggled to keep up.

“I can pay my own way, darling,” He grumbled under his breath. “Speaking of.”

He held out his hand and you fished around for the black card. You slipped it into his palm as he swept over to the elevators and he quickly tucked it away. He hit the button and waited with his hand on his hip. He checked his phone and tutted under his breath.

“Fucking Thor,” He waved you forward as the doors slid open. “I swear.”

He got into the elevator with you and you watched his reflection in the doors as they closed. His eyes went to the ceiling as he roiled with anger and impatience. You didn’t see this turning out well. Your fears were confirmed as his gaze found your owned mirrored image and flared. His tongue poked out and the corner of his mouth curved.

He grabbed your elbow as the elevator dinged and he dragged you out with him. Your bag slipped down your other arm and you barely caught it before it hit the floor. You stumbled over your feet as he pulled out his room key and checked the number in the shiny folder.

He slipped the card out with two fingers and stopped before the suite at the end of the hallway. He flicked it along the slot and the light flashed a pale purple as the lock sounded. He pushed inward and as good as flung you inside. You caught yourself on the small table beneath the regal mirror, a doorway just beside it which led to a darkened bathroom.

The door closed with a decisive click and Loki brushed past you. You set your bag down and watched him pace the large suite as he removed his jacket. A kitchenette, a luscious living space, a polished dining set, and an immense sliding glass door led to the high balcony. Another doorway at the other end of the suite led to what you assumed was the bedroom.

Loki tugged at his tie as he neared the sofa and pulled out his phone once more. One hand worked at untangling his tie as the other typed out something on the screen. He dumped both on the table behind him and turned back to the cushions.

“Come on,” He pointed to the couch. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

You hesitated before you walked across the marble floor and onto the rich rug. You stopped at the end of the sofa and shook your head.

“Why--”

“No. No.” He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you towards him. “This entire day has been one big argument, I’ll not have another. Especially with you, darling.”

He spun you to face the couch and shoved you harshly. Your knees hit the edge and you fell awkwardly onto the cushion. He pushed you down so that your chest was against the back of the sofa as his other hand hiked up your dress. You wriggled and reached back to slap him away. He caught your wrist and twisted cruelly.

“Must we continue like this?” He snarled. “My patience with you runs thinner and thinner, darling, and I become more inclined to…” He squeezed your wrist and bent your arm further up your back until you whined. “Really make you suffer.”

You whimpered and he kept a hold of your wrist.

“Now do you prefer I break your arm then fuck you, or just the latter?” He added more pressure and you cried out.

“Ah, stop, stop!” You pleaded. “Fuck, Loki! Stop! Okay, okay!”

He released you harshly and your arm shook as you drew it away. You shakily touched your skirt and drew it over your thigh. He ripped it up entirely to your waist and pushed you against the couch so that your arms were bent between you and the upholstery. Your arm still throbbed as the blood rushed back to your hand.

“Good girl,” He smacked your ass sharply and his long fingers crept beneath the elastic of your panties and tugged them down just as roughly.

He fumbled behind you and you heard the familiar metallic clink. You closed your eyes and hung your head. Maybe he would be quick. Ha, did it matter?

He stepped closer and you felt his smooth, swollen tip against your ass. He gripped your shoulder and bent you further. He guided himself down to your folds and rubbed along them. He growled and pushed into you without warning. You weren’t quite wet enough and it hurt. You bit into the heel of your hand as your other grasped the couch.

He rutted into you without pause. You grunted and gritted your teeth as you clung to the back of the sofa. He jerked your body with each thrust as his breaths grew heady. One hand kept hold of your shoulder as the other closed over your hip. His pelvis hit your ass with loud slaps and his groans sounded like bestial growls.

“Fuck,” He uttered as he sped up and dug his nails into your hip. “Come on, give me something.”

He slammed you back into him and you shuddered. You did your best to move your body in tandem with his. Your spine ached as he pounded into you harder and harder. You panted into the thick fabric of the sofa and clamped your lips shut as you held in the unbidden moans.

“Ah, shit. Darl--”

His voice died and he stopped suddenly, completely sheathed in you, as a knock came at the door. You lifted your head and he reluctantly slipped his hand from your shoulder. He pinched your ass as he pulled out of you. He took a breath and exhaled slowly.

“Fuck, must be our bags,” He stepped back and you carefully stood as he tucked his cock away and buckled his pants.

He found his jacket slung over a chair and pulled it on in an attempt to hide his unspent arousal. You pulled your panties up and straightened your skirt as you turned to sit on the sofa. You clasped your hands over your lap as you watched him near the door. He cursed again as he peered through the peephole.

He grabbed the handle and shook his head as he slowly opened it. You were just as uneasy as him to find Thor on the other side. The older brother wasted no time as he grinned and entered with a casual ‘hey’. He pushed past Loki as he looked around, his eyes falling on you as you tried to keep your cool.

“This is quite the room,” Thor mused as he came close. He turned back as he reached the couch and looked to his brother. “Everything you need, eh?”

He flopped onto the couch next to you and stretched his arm behind you.

“All the amenities,” He winked and his arm fell down onto your shoulders.

Loki squinted and sighed. He took the chair where his jacket had formerly resided and shifted awkwardly on the seat.

“You’re late.” Loki declared.

“Well, shit, I had a lot to do before I could just leave behind your business,” Thor retorted as he played with the sleeve of your dress. “You know, Heimdall flew all the way from London, all night, so you know, unlike you, I do allow my workers some degree of humanity. He took a nap before we could get all sorted.”

“A nap?” Loki rolled his eyes.

“You ever let your sweet bookkeeper sleep?” Thor asked as his arm hugged you. “I can’t say I would but…” He glanced over at you. “She looks tired, doesn’t she?”

You wriggled and tried to draw away. He was strong and you suspected his brother would do little to aid your escape. You glared at Loki and his lips thinned.

“Oh… oh, did I interrupt something?” Thor chuckled. “Well, don’t mind me, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“You’re repulsive,” Loki snorted. “I am certain you might acquire your own board for the night.”

“Front desk says they’re all booked up for the night.” Thor clung to you as his other large hand rested on his thigh and he rubbed his trousers with his finger tips. “So looks like we’ll be rooming together, brother, hmm? Just like when we were boys.”

“Hopefully not,” Loki sneered. “You will take her room, then.”

“Ah, no, I could not inconvenience the girl. I see you’ve already done so.” Thor insisted. “Beside, we do have much to discuss, wouldn’t you agree?”

Loki leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he steepled his fingers together and pressed his lips to them. His eyes bore into Thor and then flitted to you. He sat back and nodded.

“You’re right,” He said. “Darling, why don’t you go get settled in your rooms? I’ll send the porter with your bag when he arrives.”

You peeked over at Thor and slowly slid forward. You stood and his arm fell, his hand grazing your ass. You smoothed the front of your dress and cleared your throat.

“Alright.” Your legs felt unsteady as you swept to the entryway and scooped up your bag.

“It is business, brother,” Thor intoned. “Shouldn’t she stay?”

“We can go over numbers tomorrow,” Loki said. “And I would agree with you, she does look tired.” He looked over his shoulder and nodded. “Go on, darling. Enjoy your night. Alone.”

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our-wargame · 3 years

Text

miss the sun, and it starts to snow

Rating: M Pairing: Oda Sakunosuke / Dazai Osamu Tags: Implied Sexual ContentI...I...legitimately wrote this for fluff week...but it's not fluff. Mutual Pining. I can't even use the fluff and angst tag because it's literally not fluff. Chuuya's a Hoe and Also The Reason I Wrote This - Thank Him. Angst. angst with a ? ending. Ambiguous/Open Ending. Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence. One suicide mention. Hurt/Comfort. But Mostly Hurt Word Count: 2099 Status: Complete AO3 Link

Summary:

Sleeping with someone who cares about you too much despite the warning signs is the most selfish thing Dazai's done in the entirety of his lifetime, and he's slaughtered numbers and brought down entire nations to try and understand himself.

He knows this will not end well. They keep fucking like it might.

The first time Oda Sakunosuke fucks Dazai Osamu, it's a little more than a good decision made by two mature consenting parties. It starts with a slow night at Bar Lupin; low lights, lax words, long talks of nothing and everything. Tonight is not the first time Dazai looked at Odasaku and remembered the stars glittering for them, or the last time that he had thought, maybe the galaxy in its lonesome darkness could learn to live with some light. But it is the first time Dazai figures out the look in Odasaku's eyes, finally registers it for what it is. He breaks off from the middle of a bad joke. With an elbow on the counter propping him up and his chin in his hand, his bangs dance in and out of his eyes when he gives a little shake of his head, a little grin. "Odasaku."

"Mm?" Odasaku's gaze is too warm, too kind. All of his features are even softer under the mellow lighting.

Dazai's grin gets a little meaner. "You should know better than to look at me like that!" Like you want me. "If you were anyone else, I'd have already taken your hand in mine and asked you to come home with me!" His drink tastes like layers and layers of lies. Don't.

The gate's been blown wide open; there are an infinite number of responses that could walk into his arms. But this is Odasaku, Odasaku who tils his head a degree, says, with meaning, "Do you want me to go home with you?"

Odasaku holds himself still, waits because he understands Dazai needs to search him. When Dazai can find nothing in his eyes that say anything else besides I'd choose you, if ever you'd let me, he's a fool for wanting to give in.

He tosses back the rest of the contents of his glass, a mess of melted ice and soft heat splashing down his throat, then rises to a stand. The bar stool shakes a little from his- enthusiasm? anxiousness? Odasaku waits. "I do." Dazai replies, and it is the most honest thing he has said so far, but that doesn't negate that it takes every bit of his willpower to keep holding Odasaku's gaze. They could stop here. They could turn back to talking about nothing at all.

The pressing need to flee battles against the way his chest hurts when he thinks about Odasaku and his willingness to offer a friend the universe.

Shut up. Just shut up. He should stop now. Shut. Up.

"Will you?" says Dazai.

So their first kiss is not preceded by the slide of a grin, the slip of a laugh. Dazai steps into Odasaku's space, a little concerned with how his approach feels like he's threatening Odasaku more than anything else, but Odasaku is already leaning in, slotting their mouths together. And that is that. That is that, because then Odasaku disengages, looks down to assess Dazai's reaction, absolutely overreacting in his care and attention. Dazai stares back at him, doing the same. And then they are leaving Lupin.

The first time Odasaku fucks Dazai, there is a little more to it than what's said. It may be a mistake, because this is not how things are supposed to go, is it? You can acknowledge your feelings, tuck them away, and never bring them up again. You can acknowledge your feelings and choose not to pursue them. But he wants to.

The beginnings of regret, the poison in his veins, is watered down, bearable.

That night, Odasaku part his lips with his own, again and again and again. Dazai's had a couple of meaningless hookups with nameless mafia members before, but this is anything but that, so he fumbles in every instant that Odasaku is too close and yet not close enough. The lingering scent of smoke on Odasaku's coat lights the room. Dazai gets his hands in the thick of Odasaku's hair, presses teeth to the shell of an ear, slides his tongue over steady collarbone, trying to burn bruises there. Sometime later, he find himself burying his face into the warm crook between neck and shoulder, just breathing them in.

Lying in the same bed in the aftermath, Dazai knows he doesn't regret this but he may come to. The truth is, he's afraid of what comes next.

"Osamu," says Odasaku, rescuing Dazai, rather jarringly, out of his own head. "Stop thinking so loudly." It is a request- talk to me.

Dazai closes his eyes. He tugs the blankets over his head, curling his entire body inward, towards Odasaku, but keeping distance. Then he finds Odasaku's fingers, leaves the back of his hand against Odasaku's palm. Odasaku's thumb comes down to tap his palm once, then retreats, because you can't corner a stray dog and expect it not to get away in any way it knows how to. Dazai leaves between two and three in the morning anyways. Odasaku lets him, only telling him to grab an extra coat from the closet because of the cold. This is the little Dazai can comply with, so he complies, he does.

Sleeping with someone who cares about you too much despite the warning signs is the most selfish thing Dazai has done in the entirety of his lifetime, which is really something considering he's slaughtered numbers and brought down entire nations to try and understand himself.

He knows this will not end well, so the only question is if the war he's fighting is between knowing and wanting to believe differently, or deciding who he can bring himself to trust more.

This does not end well. They keep fucking like it might.

****

The first time Dazai uses Odasaku's given name, Odasaku isn't even present. Using it is an accident, the unfortunate result of accumulating far more hours of stress than sleep, particularly the last four nights, which have requested the best of the Port Mafia to meet on each one. More importantly, The first time that Dazai says Sakunosuke, it is not so much an accident as it is a mistake. This means he can bite his tongue all he wants when he realizes what's left his lips, but the rest of the room falls silent with or without him. Chuuya's head snaps up, off of the meeting table from where it was resting in nap and the expression he turns on Dazai is both too incredulous and violent to be a grin.

"What a scandal- the executive sleeping with the errand boy!'" Chuuya gasps. "Does this mean Sakunosuke-"

Dazai plunges his hand into his pocket. Chuuya doesn't even bother with his ability- just tilts his head, lets the entire pistol fly by, clocking the wall and clattering to the ground.

Triumphant. "-is finally moving up the ladder?" Vicious. "The man deserves a different position! It's only right to return the favor...I assume he puts you in a different one every night-"

Dazai contributes a solid effort towards putting a bullet through Chuuya's kneecap. It is a good place to go for, because even reconstruction surgery does not revive that which dies. In the end, their meeting table collects some new scars and the Golden Demon is summoned to hold him back. He cannot be objective about whether it is more for his own good or for Chuuya's, but his partner's sneer is telling, as is the gloat, the edge of his coat flaring out when he shows Dazai his back and skips off.

Dazai not hate Chuuya. There is nothing to be held against Chuuya, and he will acknowledge Chuuya's act of grace ungrudgingly. They're dogs after all. To savage without mercy when weakness is exposed is expected of them. Those who can not understand are driven from the pack and those who teach the law to others walk on. Dazai prefers the stray dogs.

He loathes himself a little more.

For Sakunosuke, today is a visit to the kids. He spends the usual number of hours of the afternoon with them, until his phone rings. The number of people who would call him are few, and the fraction of them who would call right now are even fewer. He knows it's Dazai. Even as he brings the phone to his ear, he knows there's something wrong.

"Odasaku-"

"Where are you," he interrupts, and his voice is rough from the worry so he swallows. Tries again. "Dazai, I'm coming. Where are you?"

"...your apartment. In 10?"

"Be there in 10." He promises. A moment is spent debating whether or not to hang up- would Dazai prefer to stay on call? But the line goes dead and he gets moving. Quick hugs for the kids, his thanks goes to the curry shop owner, and then he's gone.

There's very little that distresses Dazai. With his lips pressed in a tight line, Sakunosuke grips the steering wheel tighter and tries to keep within twice the speed limit. This is his fault.

Dazai's always known how Sakunosuke feels about him, just like he's known it's never not been mutual, even before Dazai said yes, before they'd walked away, hand in hand, that first night. But it's fault, because then he let Dazai drift, walk free. He thought it was time that would slowly pull Dazai into coming to terms with believing- they could make it work. But now he sees what he was extending, what he thought was kindness, for only its flaws. Right now, Dazai does not need Sakunosuke's patience.

What Dazai needs is a reminder. A reminder that he is only everything to Sakunosuke. Even if this does not end well...Sakunosuke is too selfish to want anything else for them.

Racing through the city takes an eternity. He takes the stairs instead of the elevator to give himself something to do, with his heartbeat thundering in his head, but counts to ten, reigns himself in, when he works the doors instead of breaking them down.

Dazai lies in their bed, lies on his side, doesn't lift his head. "Odasaku..."

"I'm here." Sakunosuke murmurs. The mattress sinks a little when he sits on the edge of the bed, his back to Dazai. After a moment, he hears it creak again, Dazai shifting, moving close so he can reach and wrap an arm around Odasaku's waist, rest his hand on Odasaku's knee. Odasaku threads their fingers together. He doesn't know what it is that set Dazai off, because there are too many possibilities. Life. Death. Work. Mafia. Osamu. Sakunosuke. Nothing. Everything. If he could take Dazai's misery and make it his own, he would.

Dazai squeezes his fingers. Sakunosuke makes himself breathe.

An eon goes by. And then another. Humans live, humans die. Someone scrawls down history in letters and sends bottles out to sea.

Dazai whispers, "How's Sakura?"

"I love you."

Dazai flinches like he's been burned. This is the first time Odsaku has said it out loud, but is only cruel for him to give the words to Dazai right now. Sakunosuke relaxes his grip so that Dazai can disengage if he wants to, but this time, if Dazai runs, Odasaku will chase him. This doesn't mean he isn't tensed from head to toe, doesn't have the rest of his muscles locked.

"I love you too."

Odasaku's inhale is sharp. He wants, so badly wants to believe that this isn't a goodbye.

They could run away. Ango would help them hide the kids, the curry shop owner....and then what? Move, pack up every time, word of men in black are spotted some dozen miles away? Port Mafia is ruthless, Mori relentless.

They could part ways. It is- possible- that Odasaku will be allowed to leave the organization and yet, unlikely. Mori is a man of logic. He will find a way to use Sakunosuke up entirely beforehand, or if he is let go, somehow, Dazai will be used to call him back. Neither of them are okay with either of these.

They could die. It has been some time since he's asked, because he's stayed willing to learn himself, and because Sakunosuke still wants to write some day. This must be where Dazai's thoughts go now, and Sakunosuke trips over the same rabbithole. But they deserve better than that. If Sakunosuke is to die, it will be dying fighting.

They could stay. They could live and hurt and die a little and stay.

His ability only sees six seconds into the future. He does not know how this ends. Dazai's fingers are warm against his.

---

Notes:

I'm dying to debrief the story owo.... As an additional disclaimer, I wrote the beginning and middle and end bit in entirely different moods but humor me and pretend it came out okay. [Legitimately Chuuya’s part is what convinced me to develop the rest of it mwahhaa]

*claps my hands* Though it's technically an open ending, I prefer Dazai still holding Odasaku's hand. :) He stays.

Let me know what you thought (tumblr replies yo); as always, reblogs appreciated + hmu on tumblr to talk odazai

#odazai #angst #open ending #reblogs are appreciated!!! <3 #you have no idea how much #like you reblog? and i'll lay my damn soul down for you #i'd write you too

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