#I think you might be tilting at windmills here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-dream-beyond · 2 years ago

Text

Feb. 15, 2023: Experiencing The Joy of Living with John David Mann

John Mann

All of the best things that have happened to me in my life have come about about not as a result of my plan. What if the reason that we don't feel like we have enough is because we don't give enough. We don't have the courage to give enough. That's what today's guest is going to be talking about just a counterintuitive way to find true fulfillment in your life.

Nik Tarascio

Welcome to the dream beyond. I'm your host, Nik Tarascio. I'm a CEO, musician and overall seeker of Truth, inspiration and simply put, how to live the most fulfilling life possible. Growing up surrounded by extremely wealthy and successful people gave me unique and unfiltered perspectives of those who have seemingly made it that on the dream beyond, we're letting you in on what it really takes to achieve your dreams. What happens when it turns out your destination isn't the promised land you are expecting? How to process the lessons from your past while mapping of course to true fulfillment. Let's get started.

All right. Hey, everybody. I'm really excited to bring to you today an author who has sold more than 3 million books, multiple time New York, multiple New York Times best seller. Some of his books are the Go Giver, the red circle, the latte factor. I mean, these are incredible books. I've actually read two out of three of those already. You started a high school as a teenager, I'm still like trying to process what it is to start a high school as a teenager, I barely liked going to my high school. You're an award winning composer and a cellist. And everybody please welcome John David. Man, he is so generous with his time today being here with us.

John Mann

No, thank you. It's, it's it's very, very cool to be here. It's funny. That's the thing people always latch on to that, like you started a high school when you were a kid. It's like, a long time ago, you know, but But yes, that was that was my that's my claim to fame, perhaps no.

Nik Tarascio

Amazing. Well, you know, again, I think just from my intro, it's clear that you are quite a high achiever and you've taken a circuitous path to becoming an author with all the things you've done. And I'm, I always wonder, when I hear many high achievers do this, they kind of go from thing to thing to thing, and other people might look at that as a failure. Like I started this, this and I ended was that and I ended up as this. How did you have the confidence to keep starting over trying something new and what guided you through it?

John Mann

Yeah, it's, I guess, I feel like Don Quixote tilting at windmills. My life is kind of like a pinball game, you know, bing, bing, bing, bing, bing. And it was nothing. I will say, it's not by design. You know, people say, Well, how did you get? Did you always have this burning desire to be a writer? How do you how do you get started writing? I don't know how I got started writing. No, I didn't have a burning desire to be a writer. In fact, I had other burning desires. And I came to writing, which is really what my career is now. It's what I really have have, you know, pinned to the wall of my life today. But I came to that late in life, and you know, 3 million books, New York Times bestsellers, all that. That's like the second half of my life. So honestly, I have been pursuing passions since I was a kid, without a lot of design, in terms of where it was going.

I've mostly formulated my game plans after the fact. I'm not sure if that's a good idea. Those of you listening, I'm not sure you should follow me on this. But yeah, I started out the, you know, the high school thing. It was, in a way, I guess, my first entrepreneurial act. Probably my first entrepreneurial Act was when I was 13. My mom was a teacher, she taught Greek mythology, she had a passion for Greek culture, and that, that, that, you know, translated to me. And she was gonna take a group of school kids over to Greece and perform, play Prometheus Bound by useless, you know, 1000s of years old, incredible play at this theater up in Epidaurus, where it was originally premiered over 2000 years ago, or 3000 years ago, whenever it was. And she said, I was gonna be one of those kids. And she said, I need music. I'm going to set eight of the courses to music. So I'd like you to write the music.

And I'm like, I'm 13 years old. I don't know how to compose music. I can't do that. And she said, I'm sure you can. So hi, Ted. And it later that one awards, one of my first award when I was when I was 13. Actually, by that time, I was 15. And I won an award for that music I wrote when I was 13. And that kind of got me started on my path of doing things that looked impossible. But I didn't really know they were impossible, and I just did him anyway. school I started when I was 17. And like you I hated my high school. I left high school my parents allowed me to drop out and spearhead a group of disaffected teenagers to create our own high school. We wanted to have a school where we could learn stuff. We wanted to learn shit, man, that was our deal.

We were tired of spending eight hours a day Every day in this gigantic concrete box where we just like my memory, sounded like the the adults in a peanuts, special whap, whap, whap Whap law. And they weren't teaching us anything that really fascinated us or really interested us, in these public high schools where we were where we were locked in. So we, we started our own school, and we studied everything from computer science to, to, at the central literature, to knitting to organic food to, you know, you name it, it was a gas was a blast, the school went on for 10 years, we had dozens of teachers, volunteer teachers, mostly from the ranks of our parents, and others in the community. And it was, it was a guess it was it was great. So yeah, from from there, I won't trace the whole path.

But I went through classical music I did that I was that was my career path. For a while, I got very involved in nutrition and natural health, I did that for a while, that kind of bumped me backwards into journalism, because I was always the guy writing the newsletter, or the article or whatever. And eventually, I spent two decades of my life editing other people's stuff, which turned into writing my own stuff, which turned into, you know, where I am now. None of it by design. All of it led by whatever it was that fascinated me. And I, you know, man, I couldn't not do at the moment.

Nik Tarascio

How would you advise someone who's young and driven and facing that challenge of, you know, do I pursue the career that's going to serve me? Or do I follow my passion? Like, I'd be curious to know what what what are the blessings and the curses, because there's always a downside to pursuing passion without any regard for a plan.

John Mann

You know, you said that a career path of going bing, bing, bing, bing, bing could look from the outside like failure, a string of failures. And honestly, it can feel like on the inside as well, it felt like that, to me it many times. It's like, I was doing this for a while, but then this hasn't really worked out. I mean, I planned to be a soloist a major recording, you know, marquee cello soloist, that was my, my ambition. That didn't happen. It didn't happen because I abandoned it, to do something else, but but, you know, I would look back after a few decades and say, What have I really accomplished? So it's a great, I'm just saying it's a great question. There is this kind of you have these two, two poles of sort of freedom and security of, you know, what's my fallback? Where is this headed in terms of nailing down something who's going to support my life, and it's going to work, I'm going to be successful, versus what's got my pulse pounding what's got my interest?

And I think it's, you know, it can be incredibly naive to say, just do what you love in the Money Follows. Just follow your passions, and you'll and successful find you, because that is honestly not always true. It's important to do what you love, but you do it within the context of a world and does the world have a need or a desire for what you do that you love? You know, if what you love is to create sculptures out of discarded cigarette butts because you find this as a great metaphorical message in that. Well, that's, that's super is anybody can pay you for that. I don't know. So it's, it's a conundrum. I don't know how to answer.

What I do know is this. Sometimes you pursue what is practical in front of you and discover in that something that you love. And I'll give you an example. I edited I'll tell you, Nik, I didn't say man, I want to be an editor. I got into editing, because I needed to put money on the table. I needed to keep the lights on. I found in that subjects that I was fascinated in. But honestly, editing other people's stuff was kind of a grind. It wasn't my stuff. It was their stuff. And I was kind of like being a janitor. I was cleaning up their messy writing. And it never occurred to me that there was going to be a passion in that for me. But what happened was unknown unbeknownst to me, all those years of editing, were training me how to clean up my own writing, which is a huge part of being a successful writer.

As it turns out, I discovered in Matt, an incredible passion for excellence in the written word. It's like this. So turns me on I can't even begin to tell you I wake up at five o'clock in the morning to make my writing better to take a piece of stuff that I dabbled with yesterday. And look at it now and start to make it make it you know, fantastic well before it was mediocre. I didn't set out to do that. It found me, I kind of found it to the process of doing something that I needed to do. So you know, sometimes I think that be open to opportunity where you don't see it being open to kind of what circumstances present you, even if it doesn't seem like the most ideal path can hold hidden nuggets that lead to two hidden chambers in which your dreams can come true.

Nik Tarascio

Essentially, I heard two concepts emerge in there that I'm really inspired by one is Are you familiar with it a guy? That yeah, yeah, principle like, so I heard a little bit of that, right? Do what you do what the world needs, do what people are willing to pay you for? And also, you're good at it. Yeah. The other thing I really heard is this balance between the cycling between I'm going to passionately go out and fight for something. But I'm also going to know when to surrender to my circumstance.

John Mann

Yeah, yeah. And I'll give you a great example. There was a point in my life when what I was doing, I was involved in and I had built a huge sales organization. And just in the world of nutrition, and it was doing fabulously well. I was making millions and it over the over a couple of years, it kind of crashed began crashing, I saw it crashing. I saw the marketplace going away. I saw the whole thing shifting under my seat. And I had no idea what to do. I kind of panicked. So I decided, well, I love editing stuff. I'll be a writer. I'm going to be a screenwriter. I fell in love with screenplays, I'm going to be an A list Hollywood screenwriter. And that was my deal. And I was firmly on that path. I went out to Hollywood, I did conferences. I gobbled up dozens of incredible screenplays. Learning what makes them tick is when I get invested in something I like to you know, just dive in and take everything apart and learn it.

I was on my way to Hollywood to be an elite screenwriter when Bob Berg knocked on my door and said, Hey, I got this idea for a book. I really liked you to write it with me because I can't write this kind of book. And I was like, I don't have time for this. And do it. I didn't I didn't I didn't see the concept. I don't go give her go getter. I get the idea. I didn't see it. And honestly, Nik, I wouldn't have even looked at it twice if it wasn't for the fact that I had a friendship with Bob. And so I said, Okay, I'll you know, let me let me do this. And so we sat down one afternoon, talked over a few ideas. That was it. In fact, I think it was may have been the first time that we were ever physically in the same room, we'd had a relationship on email before that. Went back home. And when I had a free couple of days, I doodled with some ideas, he had made some preliminary notes, and he'd sketch drafts of some of some chapters and some characters and I kind of started riffing on that. And I wrote a chapter and I sent it to him. And he's like, God, this is incredible. And I've loved writing it. And so I wrote the whole book.

It took us a couple of weeks, maybe six weeks to write the book. It has sold over a million copies. It made my career, it completely changed my life. And when it came into my life, it was an irritation in the way of what I was intending to do, and you know what, I'm still not a list Hollywood screenwriter, screenplays, I haven't got a single produced screenplay. You know, the world had a better idea. And you have incredible ideas. Everybody has incredible ideas. But sometimes the world has a better idea for implementing the passion. And the drive that you have is something that some form or context that you don't have the omniscience to foresee. So you have to always be open to the world, the world tells you, you know,

Nik Tarascio

When I was thinking about some of the takeaways from your book, that I struggle so much with receiving, right, yeah, even as this concept of give, give, give, I don't I remember someone had to teach me at some point when someone compliments you just say thank you stop is playing it down and be like, No, not me. It's actually not gracious. And in many ways, I hear that in that story, too, of knowing when to receive and say, You know what, I'm going to allow this friendship to shine on me. And it's amazing in that moment of receiving you literally said that made your career. It's unbelievable.

John Mann

Yeah, yeah, totally. It changed my life made my career. All of the best things that have happened to me in my life have come a bit about not as a result of my plan or have not heard about as a result of my plan. Go Giver is one the writing career is one my wife is one I didn't plan to meet her marry her. Give you another example. I was well into my career as an author or co author of nonfiction stuff. Like the Go Giver, the whole series of Go Giver books. I've done a bunch of other nonfiction books, how to books, books on areas of expertise. I call them topical nonfiction. Couple of memoirs, like you mentioned the red circle. My literary agent put me in touch with Brandon Webb Navy Seal, former Navy SEAL sniper and Brandon and I connected around he needed a writer to work with him when his memoir, we wrote the memoir.

You know, my my agent emailed me and said, I know this isn't your kind of book. I know you don't do this. I know this isn't your area but I usually take a look at this. And I read a one page that Brandon had written about the book and I said Holy shit, I wrote back to and said, I don't want to do this. I am doing this. There's no way I'm not doing so this is so fascinating. This dude you know, grows up son have to go to California hippies becomes a Navy SEAL sniper instructor. Yeah, you're one of the first platoons to land in Afghanistan after 911. I'm writing the story. So I wrote Brandon's memoir. When we partnered on his memoir, New York Times bestseller. It's cemented our relationship. He wanted to write a few more books. So we wrote a bunch more nonfiction books. And then here comes the point of the story. Random pitched me this idea for a novel he said, would you ever be interested in reading a novel? I don't know how many words it is seven words, eight words. I don't know how if you'd be interested in reading a novel, those words also changed my life. Because I knew nothing about writing novels.

To me the idea of writing a novel was like climbing. You know, Kilimanjaro, when I was used to taking little hikes on hills in my in my neighborhood terrified me. And my mind said, Absolutely not. There's no way I can do that. I don't have the skills. I don't have the training. And my mouth said, Sure. I'd love to. And we did. And that has changed my life. Because I'm now I'm a novelist. You know, we've that first novel came out, it was nominated for a barrier word. The second novel was called Jeff Deaver called it that one of the best crime novels of the year. I mean, these novels have come out to this fantastic critical acclaim. And I absolutely would never have put single word on paper of a novel, if the opportunity hadn't come along and just said, boom. So Well, that's what was my plan, but there it is.

Nik Tarascio

So I'd love to I'd love to,

John Mann

I guess, my, my, the point I make that is that the world has wisdom, if you're listening, if you keep your ears open.

Nik Tarascio

Yeah, I think that's a you know, it's something that from the from the standpoint of scarcity, I think that the fundamental belief under that, at least in my case, has been that the world is happening to me in those moments, not that the world is happening for me. Yeah, and that's what I mean by the receiving it's like, even when something gets really hard in my life, going into victim instead of saying, What's the gift here? Where's the gift? And if I if I hang on for the ride, but I'd love to transition into a big question, which is, again, as someone who's done so many things, I wonder how you relate to identity being that many people's identity is what they do. But since you've done so many things, what is your identity? How do you relate to that?

John Mann

Guy? That's, that's such a great point. I know for the first I'm gonna say 50 years of my life, right? Or 40 years, certainly for decades, all my life as a young adult, I completely identified with what I do, which is a deadly trap here was a deadly trap for me, because I was constantly not achieving enough to validate myself as a human means like, I was always looking to the big win, there was always ahead of me. I had, you know, you know, every every big Solo Cello career that I didn't have. It was like something I didn't accomplish. For every goal. I fell short on it was you it was a personal crushing blow. And identifying with what I do you know how this same as dichotomy. They talked about the car and said, I think, therefore, I am Cogito ergo soon. And I mean Eckhart Tolle says that he has a backwards you know, it's what I'm thinking that I'm not. For me, the modern the modern day card philosophy is I do therefore I am, we are justified in our existence by the evidence of our accomplishments. Social media only amplifies what's already there. And it's a it's a burr in our saddle, a stone in our psychic shoe. It's a trap. It's a death trap.

For me for years, I was never living, satisfied with the present moment, because I was always on a path to accomplish some goal. I think goal setting is is is it is a treacherous thing. It's a beautiful thing, but a treacherous thing. It was somewhere in the last 1015 years I suddenly woke up one day and realize that I am I'm in my third marriage. My first two crumbled. The third one has been like the lucky charm. Third Strike hit it out of the park. I live with my best friend. I get up every morning after a good night's Sleep, I feel rested. I do what I love. Some days are frustrating. Some days are not in my writing world in my career world. But I'm just gloriously happy in the day that I have with my wife with my life with my existence. And that's kind of a new experience for me. Professionally I identify as we say, these days I identify as a writer. I don't identify as a cellist, or is it as a a educational entrepreneur or as a nutritional entrepreneur or as a sales director, I've done all these things. Right now I identify as a novelist, but not really. It's just a hat that I wear. It's a thing that I love.

And I, I think that that this is tricky. Because I've always been a very conscious of almost every country, but legacy I've always wanted wanted my life to matter during my life, but I've also always wanted it to matter after I'm gone. I don't know, I can't say why. But I always really wanted my life to matter. After I was gone. So legacy, this whole idea matters to me, I think it matters to a lot of people. And it's one reason we love our kids so much they are going to be here after we're gone, usually. And so I think that my impact after I'm gone is going to happen mainly through what I write, my writings will be here after I go go group is going to be here, the novels will be here after read, you're gonna be here after I'm gone. But where I've got to is it isn't the writing that will make a difference in someone's life. When I'm not sure anymore. It's going to be my my experience of the joy of living. My my experience of exuberance, that leaks into that writing that will leak out into people who will read it. It's really what I'm experiencing right now talking to you what I'm experiencing right now living my day. Allowing that in, you talk about abundance, allowing kind of the abundance of exuberance that I took the universe is made out of allowing that to seep into my core and link it in my writing. Even if it's you know, reading it's a crime thriller. That's what I have traces of that is what I have to leave after I interesting, you know, shuffled off.

Nik Tarascio

I mean, it sounds a lot like the answer to you're not necessarily what you do, but you're how you do it is what I am what you're saying.

John Mann

Yeah, how you do it, and how you and how you experience it. Yeah, yeah. What you experienced some incredible it's funny, because I've written all these these books, like the Go Giver books, and the latte factor, another parable. And these parables, by the way, you know, a parable is a book, that it's a, it's like a little story that you'd write to illustrate a point. So, in a crappy version, a mediocre parable, is kind of like a PowerPoint, disguised as a story, thinly disguised as a story with human characters that are really like kind of cardboard figures. I send out to with parables that feel so real to have characters in the match feel so real, that when you finish, when you turn the last page, it's really affected you emotionally.

Because that's the only way people learn from a book, I think, or learn from the story that it has to touch you has to move you already agree with that? Yeah, so I've written all these parables that are very much from an abundant kind of mindset. They're about how the world is an abundant place, how it's trying to treat you. Well, if you'll let it, it's if you learn these principles in interaction, your life becomes bigger, your life becomes richer, not at the sacrifice of somebody else, but to the to the betterment of other people. It's a very opposite of a zero sum game. That's kind of the message. And over here, I'm reading these crime novels with serial killers and suffering and tragedy. And it's kind of a weird thing. Like a lot of my friends. I when I started writing these, I thought that a lot of my friends would go do this, isn't you What are you doing? But it is it is the same? It's, it's I don't want people to read the book like The Go Giver, and come away saying, Oh, this guy thinks that the whole world is better roses, it's all unicorns and fairy tales and rainbows.

Your suffering is real with the world is a hard place. When we talk about abundance. It's it's so easy to to have an inside this reaction of like, yet you think there aren't people dying in the streets? You think Poverty isn't real? You think suffering is? No it's real. World is a hard place. And the universe is an abundant place and reconciling the tragedy and the glory the suffering In the exuberance of of the world is, is a fascinating thing. It's a challenging thing. I always come down the side of the universe is benign. For all the evidence to the contrary, that it is a benign universe that's rooting for our success rooting, for our fulfilment, rooting for our joy. And I love finding the seeds of that the kernels of that in these crime stories. I think that's why people love crime stories. So much finding the hero is finding the whole finding the little triumphs. So yeah, it's, that's my life now.

Nik Tarascio

You know, it's you kind of set up my next question, which is that I would identify in earlier life as a pessimist. And it wasn't until I realized that I lost in both cases, right. If I was right, about things being bad, I lose. And if things go, Well, I'm still a loser. So yeah, like I just I always had the wrong perspective. So I think I've come to that side of, I don't know if it was Steiner said either everything means everything or everything means nothing. So I'm like, I might as well choose that everything means everything. And it's all in service of me.

Because to not live that way is just needless suffering. Yeah, so the reason for teeing up that question is the Go Giver really affected me because it really highlighted my relationship to scarcity or the lack of abundance and why that was so hard for me to say like, look, my life is hard. I'm busy things are falling apart at times. How am I supposed to put other people first and be a giver? And then I realized everything I've written in my life, everything I've created, all the music I've written came from darkness, it came from suffering, and I would have terrible relationships. I could feel pain and then spit out inspiration. How do you relate to this idea of creating from light and creating from abundance? When the world is good enough? In that case, the world is already enough. How do you how do you find the inspiration in that?

John Mann

Wow, that's it. That's Dude, that's a deep question.

Nik Tarascio

Hopefully, we didn't break the podcast, but

John Mann

I think you broke me. I you know, first I'll say in early in my life, I think I was a sort of a blind optimist. I was I was at ferocious optimist not despite this operating the world but like, refusing to see it like I was I was staunchly optimistic like the like the dark side like didn't exist and suffered a handful a series succession of tragedies myself, and difficulties a bankruptcy, death of a child loss of marriages. I mean, I went through a lot of crappy stuff that try as I like I couldn't deny was all real. I mean, I reached a point where I felt like I had gotten kind of crushed under under the thumb of a have a not very kindly thinking universe. But now I'm an optimist. who embraces the dark side, one of my favorite crime authors, Robert Crace, who writes the Elvis Cole novels. If you look at his bio on Twitter, it's his grumpy optimist. resent resentful of vegan, and I yeah, I guess I'm I'm a dark optimist.

For me, abundance is trust, that there's more than enough. Although finding it, getting the path to it is not always smooth and not always easy. I've never had a profound sense of scarcity in terms of money. I've always kind of had this this abiding belief that there would be enough money even though I've been through a lot of poverty in my life, is never really worried me. I've always thought there's more coming. I know there's more out there. It's always fun. It's never stressed me out that much. So I always thought that I had an abundant mindset. Until I realized a few decades ago that I had profound lack mentality in relation to time. I was like, there's never enough time. And so I was fairly selfish in relation to other people in relation to time. I'm happy to help you if it involves money, if it involves taking my time, not so much.

And so, I've had to learn. I've had first I had to acknowledge that I had to understand that that I'm living with a sense of scarcity of time, because you know, time is finite. It's taken me a while to get to the place of realizing that when I am more generous with my time, I end up having more time. It sounds bizarre, it feels bizarre, but it is the case when I am more generous with my time. I end up having more of the time that I need. For me also a lot of that has come has come with learning what to say no to. With a sense of scarcity, I would have a tendency to say yes to every opportunity that came along out of a sense of scarcity. Early in my career as a writer, I was doing a lot of CO writing a lot of taking on other people's writing projects. And I would basically say yes to anything that came along, even projects that I wasn't that excited about. Because I felt like I had to. I reached a point. It's funny one, one time, I got a contract for a book. It was one of my very first books.

In fact, it was my very first book just before the Go Giver. I got a contract for it and was like my first contract your contract for a book, I got an advance for this book. It was great. I got my, my advance my contract for for the next book. I met with publishers. This publisher was very excited about the book was Harper, Harper Collins, they wanted to do the book. They said, it's a deal. Well, it could tomorrow, I went back to my hotel room, and I called my current employer and resigned, and said, I was editor for a journal. And I said, I love you guys and had a great time here. But I'm going to be writing books. So I resigned. And the next day, I got a call from my agent, the publisher had backed out. Oh, shit. It was like my parachute just collapsed. And I just resigned.

And it was at that moment that that I realized, paradoxically, I had to start saying no to projects I didn't want to do, they really didn't suit me. Because I had to make room for the stuff that was going to work. I had to make room for the stuff that was there was going to be really a great project. I had taken this project, you know, out of desperation. And something in me knew that I don't think I'm answering your question, but I'm gonna get get get to it. Something in me knew that that wasn't a project that was going to that was going to bear fruit. Like it was I taking it, I was taking it out of desperation. But I took it anyway. It was only when the university yank that rug out from under me. I was like, Okay, this is this, this is definitely a message I, I am opening on my ears here. I hear you.

So the first thing I guess I'll say around that is creating out of a sense of scarcity has always led me astray. Creating out of a sense of I got to do this, because if I don't, you know, that feeling of anxiety, creating from anxiety, doesn't work for me, creating from the total lack of anxiety, I have to sometimes get up in the morning, and sit in my chair, to talk about abundance, not in terms of money, not in terms of time, but in terms of ideas. I like most writers I know suffer from the belief that I don't know how to write this next book, that this that these, these last two books worked, but I'm out at sea without a paddle. I'm upstairs creek here with this next book, I don't know what I'm doing. I'll have to sit down in my chair at five o'clock in the morning with a cup of tea and give myself an hour of just like limbering up my mental muscles, and getting rid of rid of the negative message.

I'm telling myself, I'll actually verbalize them put my my thought process out loud and hear myself saying, I have no idea how to write this book. I have no idea what to do with this chapter. Let's say, Dude, really? You have no idea? Well, you know what? That's okay. Because there's an abundance of ideas out there and just shut up. Stop with this. Take a breath, and the ideas will come. I have to actually work to make myself a relaxed open channel almost every day of the writing process. It's Does that make sense? I think that has, I think, entrepreneurial overtones as well, entrepreneurial versions as well.

Nik Tarascio

Yeah. I mean, I hear these incredible themes coming through and what you share. So two things came through on that that really, again, stuck out for me, number one is this idea of meditating or getting access to your underlying motivations behind your decisions. That, you know, again, it's easy to lie to yourself and say, Oh, I'm abundant. That's why I do everything that comes to me when in reality, it's a scarcity play. Right? And so that idea of really asking the question, Am I doing this for anxiety? Am I doing this for abundance and love to live in that energy attracts that energy is what it sounds like.

But the second thing that I heard, too, that I really, really love is it sounds like especially as a person who wants to be a writer who wants to create, it sounds like when you really stop and listen, is when you're guided. It sounds like that's when you connect to some source. And I love that idea to have it actually ties up to the next point. And again, I only recently found out about the Go Giver marriage. And I often don't shut up, I often just talk and talk and talk. The podcast is amazing for me because I have to sit here ask questions and shut up. And listen. I'm very curious to know more about this idea of, you know, again, I literally have lights shining on me right now most of my life was the desire to be in the spotlight. And as a person who performed on stage as maybe you can relate to this. I'm finding that right now, especially in relationship to my fiance. Maybe it's time for me to allow that light to be on her for me to be a supporter and maybe be the unsung hero at times. So I'm curious again, I know nothing about the Go Giver marriage. So forgive me asking about something that I haven't read yet. I'm curious to know how that relationship to being a listener shows up in abundance in creation in connecting to another human being.

John Mann

Yeah, yeah, man. It's so good. You know, the go giver in marriage, which I co wrote with my wife. And for those who don't know, the Go Giver, the original Go Giver came out which I co wrote with Bomberg. We went in this book 5050. It's 5050. Financially, but it's also 5050. In terms of ideas, it's like our book. And then I wrote three more Go Giver books, all with Bob. So Bob, and I have this, you know, decades long history of writing these cookbooks, go give her marriage, Bob says I'm out. Because I've never been married, I wouldn't, it wouldn't be cool.

So my wife and I wrote this book together. And she is a marriage therapist, it's been been one of her many careers has been as a marriage therapist. So this kind of her area. But it basically we took the core Go Giver idea, which is which is the more you give, the more you have. As a basic, the basic counter intuitive Go Giver principle, I call it Pindaric principle, the more you give, the more you have, which is the opposite of conventional economics, which is the more you you you spend, right, the less you have. We say the more you give, the more you have, and apply that to marriage and relationships. It's the Go Giver marriage, but it really applies to all close relationships. And as in the Go Giver, their five laws of stratospheric success in Go Giver marriage, there's, there's also called the Five Secrets to lasting love. And what's at the core of those five is approaching a relationship with the spirit of generosity.

We say 5050 marriage as a formula for failure. 50 marriages, like, let's make sure this is fair. Right, we should do the dishes three and a half times per week. And yeah, there's your money, and there's my money and make sure that you know, you don't do more errands than I do. And, and this whole idea of equity talk, toss that out the window, and rather go for a spirit of generosity. And one of the places that that manifests we have a principle we call allow one of the sequences to allow is to allow the other person to be who they are, how they are, you know, and not trying to control them. A lot of the trouble that happens in relationships grows from the seed of the need to control or the desire to control to make you like, be more like me, or be more like what I think would make me feel comfortable.

And one of the things that I've noticed with entrepreneurs, that's really fascinating. I've seen this, especially with guys, but I'm sure it happens both ways. Where you know, you have this relationship, and then you're together and scaling successful and is winning, supporting him, and then his woman career starts to take off. And now she starts to be successful. And the guy starts to get uncomfortable because of that. I feel threatened by that. And I'm like, Dude, are you crazy? This is like, this should be your dream. It's like when Yeah, when my wife started to step up, because I had done scores of podcasts, 1000s of podcasts for all my books over the years.

And my wife was always like, in the background, she never did podcast, we put up the Go Giver marriage, and all of a sudden, I'm on podcast with her and she's talking 80% of the time, and I'm just like, 20% of time I'm mostly I would always get in the pocket, say my job is to is to see her and try to look handsome. And she's the brains of the brawn.

And this is like, my dream come true. Because when she's in the spotlight, when she when her star shines, it's like, the rising tide that raises all ships, my life, man gets better. My life just gets better. And I think that that's, you know, the, the truth that underlies that is that when you when you live in a relationship, living this concept of if I can help make her life better, it's going to make my life better. As opposed to well, if I give her more support, than Am I getting less support? It's like, is it if isn't it You know, you don't apply the laws of conventional economics to relationship because if you do the Hmong you do, you're lost the moment you try to keep score, you've lost the relationship, because now we've gone to our separate corners. And It's you versus me.

And I love what you're saying that this thing about how maybe it's time for me to let her be in the spotlight. It's what happens is when she gets in the glow of the spotlight, if there's a real us, if there's a real soul and spirit to this relationship, if it's a living growing thing, then you're just getting warmed, you're basking in it, you're basking in it, is that that isn't the healthier she is, one of the best things you can do for a relationship is take care of your own health. We forget that, you know, we think that part of being generous is to take care of yourself.

Because if you if you go into a marriage, being all self sacrificing, and I'm just going to be here for you, and I'm going to just be a martyr. You go into a relationship and sacrifice your own health. When you're 60, when you're 70, you're going to suddenly become an incredible burden to the other person. So it's kind of like the thing in the airline. You know, when when, if the airline gets in trouble, put your own oxygen mask on first and then help the kid in a relationship. Yeah. Part of a healthy relationship is taking care of yourself. It's not you or me. It's not you know, weighing cutting up the pie. So I think you're absolutely right. It when it's time for the other person to shine, it's like, damn, this is great for the US great for the for the, for the all of us.

Nik Tarascio

That's powerful stuff. I guess the last question I have for you today is for the skeptic in me and for the skeptic and many of us. That sounds beautiful. The idea I give more. And strangely, I get more. How do you address that skeptic that says that just doesn't make sense.

John Mann

It doesn't make sense. When you look at it from the point of view of marbles. Like I got a dozen marbles. I'll give you two, but I've still got 10 which is good. Well shit if I give him four now I've only got eight. If I give you all 12. I've got no marbles, though, in terms of marbles. Yes, it doesn't make sense. But human beings aren't collections of marbles. Human beings are collections of, of, of feeling, and energy. So think about this. If you give somebody respect, do you now have less respect.

Now, if you're somebody who gives somebody, if you're somebody who gives your time, your attention, your care, your trust, your respect. If you give love, does that make you suddenly have less because you gave because you gave up some of yours. Love isn't marvels. In the area of human feelings and human behavior, it's really easy to see how giving more ends up making you a richer person, you get a richer reputation. People like you more people take care of you more people respect you more because they're you're that kind of person. They look up to you because you're somebody who has been a mentor to somebody who has helped so many. You look at the actors in Hollywood, who if you go inside, who people like, you know, someone like Ben Stiller, as an example, Ben Stiller is somebody who has helped lift up a ton of other people's careers. People in Hollywood, love them. They don't love him because he's funny, or because he's talented, is because he's a go giver. You find actors like that all through Hollywood.

And you'll also find actors all through Hollywood, who aren't go givers. And people I hate working with them. And guess what? Their careers tank? Because Because directors don't want to work with this asshole who's always always out for himself. You can see how this whole Go Giver idea works in terms of reputation. If you pursue it consistently, it works in it works in economics, it works in career, it works in in enterprise, it works everywhere.

Nik Tarascio

That's amazing. Well, I think kind of the closing takeaway for me is just to continually have the courage and trust that giving wins out from taking. I think that that is why the book was so moving to me is that my skeptic was calmed by reading the book and by hearing you speak, and also Wouldn't that just be a much more beautiful experience of life to know that that's exactly how it all works. You just give, give, give, and you always have enough.

John Mann

It's amazing how much it's amazing how Any phenomenally successful people actually live with the spirit of generosity. And I don't mean giving money to charity, it's got nothing to do with money, or spirit or generosity, having a giving nature, the point I want to make. The last point I want to make about that is, it's really, really important to understand that we're, you know, we're not talking about being the martyr, or like, giving yourself to every request that comes along, or like giving your stuff away for free, or all these kinds of sort of artificial givenness says, You have to take care of yourself. You have to take care of the gifts that you are yourself. Learning how to say no learning how to have intelligent boundaries, boundaries that serve you, as well as other people is a critical part of being a go giver. It's so it's not being a schmuck and getting yourself taken advantage of it's the opposite of being naive.

Nik Tarascio

Well, that sounds like again, a beautiful quest for most people in life to figure out the balance between the two giving but not giving away oneself in the process. Alright, so again, this was a deeply meaningful podcast for me. I've just really been moved by your work. And yeah, I just want to make a couple of suggestions for people that are listening. Go check out John David Mann Ma, n n.com. John just told me today, he's got a book that you could download on there for free by signing up on his site. It's it let me see if I got this right. How to write good or at least, at least gooder.. or is that right?

John Mann

How to write good, or at least gooder?

Nik Tarascio

Awesome? Well, again, I'm someone that loves the craft of writing. So I'm very curious to check that out. Also, I will be getting a copy of the Go Giver marriage to read with my fiance. Check that out as well. And I'm gonna call out Brandon Webber, our mutual friend who just an incredible guy and he has a site with you. It's web web, and a n d man ma n n.com. You can check that out and they have a book blind fear coming out in July, which again, I will absolutely be checking that out. I'm just so grateful for your time today.

John Mann

Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.

Nik Tarascio

All right. Take care everybody. Thank you for listening to the dream beyond. I hope that you received whatever message or inspiration you were meant to get from today's episode. I had a great time recording it for you. If you love the show, please take 30 seconds to subscribe rate and review it. That really helps get the word out. And if you want to connect with me, you can find me at:

Instagram

YouTube

1 note · View note

communistkenobi · 2 years ago

Text

i have an extremely fraught relationship to the phrase “water is wet” in the context of people on here responding to studies about social issues that have “obvious” or otherwise seemingly basic conclusions. because like a lot of people just use it to be anti intellectual (“why are you studying this when the public already ‘knows’ the answer to this question”) and don’t realise (or refuse to learn) that a lot of social science research is done with the goal of producing policy recommendations and professional summaries of topics that are then presented to governmental bodies for review. like yeah no shit if an author is studying, like, bigotry against trans people then they know bigotry against trans people exists already. They didn’t start their research under the assumption that they might discover that the oppression of trans people doesn’t actually exist. They’re doing it because you need statistical proof and evidence to inform your recommendations to solve the issue. If you get mad about those types of studies you’re tilting at windmills.

But on the other hand I also recognise that like, yeah it is frustrating that people only pay attention to social problems when an official report is released about it. Like you won’t believe vulnerable groups who talk about their experience with oppression but a journal article about the exact same topic is suddenly worth your time and effort. I get how that is frustrating and infuriating. And like obviously there are a lot of problems with academia, especially its long and bloody history of scientific bigotry, and pointing those issues out isn’t anti-intellectualism. But then on the other other hand I don’t think the general user base of this website is literate enough to have a measured conversation about that topic, so this leaves me with the conclusion that, like, if you respond to posts reporting information you think is obvious with “water is wet” I’m going to smack you upside the head

#maybe EYE am tilting at windmills. perhaps this is a nested issue #anyway getting annoyed at the tags on some of my posts #whatever man #book club

76 notes · View notes

hotwings0203 · 3 years ago

Note

fighter kirishima who doesn't like it when other people even stare for one second at his partner, so then he just kills anyone who dares to stand less than 2ft from his darling 😌👍

Tw:noncon implication, implied murder

“Why’re you standing so far away babe?”

You’re not, he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist to the point of crushing your hips.

“‘M not, just couldn’t breathe.”

“Oh good, for a moment there I was worried you were looking at that guy again.

That guy referring to the blond haired weirdo who kept laughing and pointing at the losers of the ring like a maniac.

Right, like you were totally head over heels for the one weirdo in the entire basement.

Except your “boyfriend “ maybe. He could definitely take that title.

Well, maybe not weirdo. Maybe Possessive Controling Freak would be a better name for him, instead of Kirishima.

And just to drive the point home, he soothingly rubs his calloused hand up and down your arm while the next match rages on in front of you both.

It’s not soothing, on the contrary it seems like a threat.

He just amps it up from then on any time he feels like your attention is elsewhere or if he feels like other men are looking at you for a second too long.

First it’s taking on arm and tightly squeezing it. Then, he puts one leg of yours over his thigh much to your embarrassment.

Eventually he just picks you up and plops you on his lap. While he thinks he’s keeping other men at bay with this tactic, it’s doing the complete opposite.

Because these testosterone filled savages are quite enjoying the scene with your limbs being toyed with and thrown over a man like the rest of them, your ragdoll-maneuvered body a promise of something they might be able to one day get a taste of.

The entirety of the fight goes by dreadfully slow because all you can focus on is how long Kiri’s hands dip in and out of the crevice of your legs way too casually. His hands settle comfortably under your shirt and across your boobs, which can be seen by literally everyone when they catch a glimpse of an evident hand on your chest.

He prevents you from squirming too much with his limbs tightening around you and disapproving grunts to your discomfort. So you sit there, stewing with rage and humiliation.

Until a distraction appears.

In the midst of the next match brawling in the ring, a smaller fight breaks out amongst the raging spectators.

It only catches both your attention when the yelling starts getting close to your area and men start throwing fists and yelling until their faces tie beet-red.

Kirishima and you both crane your heads around to see the source of the commotion, but you realize quickly that it’s getting way too intense around you, so much so that men begin lifting chairs and falling over themselves in their own battles.

You try to get up but Kiri’s hands are wrapped so tightly around your midriff that you barely manage to dislodge his arm. He’s distracted and looking around curiously at the dangerous setting and you have to frantically tap his arm to indicate it’s time to go.

But he snaps out of it too late, and a body gets punched your way, his large mass descending on your weaker frame.

You shriek and try to lift your hands up to protect yourself, but it doesn’t work. You’re slammed into and knocked clean off Kirishima’s lap onto the floor laced with blood and bits of torn clothes.

There’s a loud ringing in your ears as you blearily get up and take in your surrounds, which seem to love in slow motion around you. You belatedly think that you must’ve hit your head on the concrete floor when you fell.

Your arms ache as you groan and lift yourself up on shaky elbows, the sounds around you swim in and out of your aching head when suddenly an open hand is thrust in front of your face.

“Are you alright? I’m so sorry!”

Grimacing, you tilt your head up and see the same man who knocked you down. You’re in no condition to refuse help in such a volatile area however, so you gingerly lift your hand and grasp onto his open palm.

You find yourself being pulled up easily and crushed into the man’s body. It’s hard to push back but when you see how many bloody faces and broken limbs windmill around you decide it’s best to keep close to a safe space.

The man gently starts stepping over writhing bodies and lifting you up under your arms to ensure that you don’t trip and fall again while on your way to a clearer area.

You don’t resist, only looking up at him helplessly like a kitten being dragged by its mom from the scruff. His body is warm and toned, yet plush and comfortable to lean against when you need to. Your cranium still pounds, but your head clears a bit when you look into his surprisingly concerned grey eyes.

“You alright? Hit your head a little hard, huh? My bad.”

He sets you on a perch near the office and looks around, deeming it a less loud and crowded area for your health.

He says nothing, but you don’t sense any malice from him. He doesn’t move either though, he just leans an arm on the extension and puts another hand on his hip, scanning the screaming men and casualties as if he were looking out in a snowy field.

He might be protecting you, or looking for a good place to jump in and start swinging himself, you’re not sure.

But you’re grateful for his helpful presence, nonetheless.

And then suddenly your moment of reprieve is dismantled when you hear him frantically calling your name.

You see his head hair sticking up, spiky as ever while the top of his head bobs left and right, in circles and backwards as he tries finding you.

Your head starts to hurt again.

“Y/N! Where the hell are you?”

Eventually and unfortunately he sees your figure above the fray, and he swears you look like an angel-siting above this rifraff, your body perfectly intact unlike the rest of these thugs, your expression dazed and vulnerable like it did when you were choking on his co-

He sees the man next to you, and his vision shatters like glass when he takes in the proximity of him next to you.

Kirishima sees red.

“Hey, there you are cutie! I got scared I lost you for a sec’ there. Thanks for looking out for her man,” he smiles and shakes his hand with the steel-haired guy, crushing his grip a little too hard to be deemed grateful.

“No problem. The name’s Tetsutetsu. ‘Think I’ve seen you around here, you fight pretty good not gonna lie! When’s it gonna be my turn to match that strength in the rink?” He smiles deviously and knocks shoulders with you in jest.

While you smile uncomfortably and rub your now-bruising shoulder, Kirishima’s eye twitches at the contact and his smile starts straining as well.

But this is too easy to give up.

“Hey, that’s actually a really good idea. Why don’t we have our own little practice match after the shit here clears up?” He nods around to the ongoing pandemonium.

You look at him stricken, unsure of what he’s playing at. You’re not stupid, you can tell by his off body language that he’s not at rest or relaxed at all by this conversation.

The expression he’s making, while it might fool the himbo next to you, is extremely reminiscent of the faces he pulls when he chides gently in your ear to stop moving so fucking far away from him and soothes a hand over your head.

“Sounds good, and don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you.” The other man laughs heartily and kicks away a stray rolling body.

Kirishima merely grins gently. “For your sake, is give it my best.”

*************

He’s strapped you to the bed-check.

You’ve been spanked black and blue-check.

A lecture has been given to your sobbing body-check.

Ointment has been slathered on the bruises-double check.

And he’s out the door at exactly 9pm, jogging his way to the bar and down the steps to the basement as a light warm up. He considers calling an ambulance before-hand, but that would mean he’d give enough mercy to leave Tetsutetsu intact…and alive.

When he bounds down the rickety steps he finds that Tetsu is already there and lightly boxing a body bag that the newbies use for practice.

He has to hold back his snort and paint his usual cheery face on, but something tells him even the dim yellow light in this room would still show the dark emotion swirling in his ruby eyes.

“What’s up bro, you made it?”

“No, I’m still at home.”

Tetsutetsu laughs heartily and doesn’t catch onto the cold bite Kirishima’s words hold.

“You’re funny. ‘Wanna warm up-“

“-Nah, actually, ‘think I’m good. Let’s just get started, I’ve been waiting for this.”

“You got it boss.”

And without further ado they both shrug off their shirts in the hot basement and ready their fists in a protective stance, circling each other.

“Y’know, when I saw you next to my girl I fantasized about caving your face in,” a punch is thrown suddenly and Tetsu is thrown off guard by the surprising agility of the bully opponent and his words.

He practically eats the hit square in the nose, his head snapping back and immediately pouring blood from his nostrils.

He coughs and staggers before realigning himself the opposite end of the fighting circle. “Wha-? Why?” The victim sounds congested from the leaking blood but his focus is only on Kirishima’s change in expression.

“Yeah, and then I saw you knock shoulders with her too…maybe I’ll cut yours off and sell ‘em for a couple hundred, whaddaya think bro?”

This time when Kirishima aims for his face again he’s ready, and he quickly dodges and strikes his face fist out.

But what he doesn’t expect is the redhead to actually catch the fist in his own larger hand and hold it in midair. He also doesn’t react in time to pull his hand out and move back when Kiri’s other fist swings low and punches so hard into his stomach that he falls to the ground, hand still captivated by Kirishima’s.

He’s never seen a man with that kinda of face on while fighting. His eyes are narrowed and dark, his mouth is set in a thin like and his whole body is taut, as if holding back his own strength.

For the first time since he’s ever been in the basement, Tetsutetsu doesn’t to fight anymore.

“Look Kirishima,” he hacks and looks wildly at him. “I don’t know if you’re upset at me for something but you gotta chill out. You can’t catch my hands like that, that’s not how you’re supposed to fight-“

“You still think I give a shit how we’re supposed to fight? No ones gonna care about strategy or sportsmanship when you’re dead, Tetsutetsu.”

His last scream is so loud and so shrill that Kirishima thinks it’s a shame it wasn’t witnessed in a real match by paying spectators.

#bully kirishima #yandere kirishima x reader #yandere kirishima #tw: implied noncon #tw: implied death #yandere mha #bnha #mha #yandere bnha #kirishima #mha kirishima #bnha kirishima

351 notes · View notes

fierceawakening · 2 years ago

Text

II'm not @mindthelspace but

I don't think the idea that some categories can be moved into or out of implies that anyone chooses their oppression. Oppressors are the people who choose to mistreat others. Oppressed people do not go "Oh whee I think I'll let people treat me badly!" Similarly, if there exists a trans woman who wants to change her body or social role specifically because she enjoys people being misogynistic toward her... I've never met her, and I have several friends who are trans women. That's not what's going on. (Which is part of what animates my OP--people seem so convinced of "what the transcult is like," but don't appear to have ever had more than a cursory conversation with a trans person, and definitely not the kind of personal or intimate one that would lead someone to disclose what transitioning means to them personally.)

That documentary is interesting. Dies it give detailed study results? I ask because the only study results I have ever seen have said that at least for transition related surgeries, the regret rate is far lower than for other surgeries. It seems odd that both those things would be true at once, so I'm curious what the differences in methodology might have been.

Again, I can't speak for mindthel, but I'm not sure saying a detransitioner wasn't really trans is no true scotsmaning. Because "no one is really trans" is exactly what some detransitioners are saying. "There is no such thing as transness; it is a lie. Therefore I was not trans and neither are you." Which is I think the thing mind and I are disagreeing with--that just because Person A decides "trans was a word I thought described my experience but I was disastrously mistaken," this does not mean that Person B will ultimately decide the same thing.

I'm probably tilting at windmills here, but what exactly is it that makes you think transness is about gender stereotypes? If we want to change sex (yes, I know you argue we can't!) why is that about stereotypes? In an ideal world I'd have a penis so as not to fumble with straps, not because I'm unfeminine. (I'm also unfeminine, but those things are not necessarily related. I'm baffled at the way terfs constantly insist they are related, while at the same time insisting that they, not us, are the people unshackled by gender roles.)

The point about how some people have gender identities and some don't is confusing to me, because... that's what the trans side thinks? That if someone tells us they have a gender identity, we should respect that, and if they tell us they don't, we should respect that too. Sex is a loose grouping of physical characteristics which can be altered to varying degrees by surgical and hormonal treatments (which is where terfs get "you can't change sex" and trans people get "yes you can"--it's a disagreement about how much alteration has to happen to validly "count"); gender is a social role. Some social roles are hard to move in and out of, but very few are completely impossible. Why insist, in particular, that men and women shouldn't try, when a minority of people have been moving in and out of those social roles since time immemorial?

Weird question of the day: so what is terfs’ actual endgame?

Like I know the middle game is “everyone identifies with their assigned sex and no one modifies their body in ways that alter secondary sex characteristics.” But then what?

They say they’re feminists, so that would imply the actual endgame isn’t just “the destruction of the transcult” but the end of patriarchy.

But how is everyone identifying with their asab and not modifying their body supposed to do that?

It’s very Underpants Gnomes.

Recruit trans people who doubt.

Destroy the transcult!

…..

End patriarchy!

?????

11K notes · View notes

bethagain · 3 years ago

Text

There's been much, er, thirst on my dash recently regarding the living waters beneath the mines of Mandalore.

We all get so excited when we get to see his face, but now Din's going to have to... Isn't he? He can't go in the water with his clothes on??

Well, I thought about it and, um, yes. This is Din. Yes he most certainly can.

And then I had to write about it. C'mon with me, and let's see Din and Grogu visit the mines of Mandalore.

Din steps into the water.

The current is not so fast here. This slope of rock floors a wide oval bowed out from the underground river’s edge. A few meters in, the living waters rush past, surface unruffled by wind but rippled enough to sparkle in the light from the side of his helmet.

The current tugs, just a bit, at his boot.

He sets his other foot in, testing for the sole's grip on the bottom before resting his full weight. The slope steepens, but his balance holds.

He takes another step.

The water is over his boot tops. It takes a moment to seep through his flightsuit. It trickles down over his ankles. It creeps further inside his boots, until it has filled the narrow spaces around his feet.

The current, stronger here, pulls at his calves. Each time he lifts a foot, his muscles have to adjust. His waterlogged boots are heavy. He pushes hard through the water to make contact with the stone again.

Din looks back at the child, who's watching from the dry slope of rock.

"Do you think this is what they meant?"

The child tilts his head, big ears perked up with curiosity.

"I don't know either," Din says. "You stay there," he tells the child. "I don't know if it's safe out here."

Living waters. He hopes the descriptor refers to the water itself, running as it does from unknown depths, through these tunnels, and on again into the darkness. Not to anything that might be living in it.

With the next step, the bottom isn't where it ought to be.

He's stepped off the ledge, and the current is much faster beyond it. His foot slides in the moving water. Din's arms windmill as he goes down. There's nothing to grab onto.

Beskar is remarkably light for its strength, but it's not without weight. Those kilos, usually a comfort, combine with the flightsuit's soaked fabric to drag him down. Din's knee hits stone and he tries to get his feet under him, but the current isn't having it.

It doesn't make sense, then, when suddenly the current softens and he's floating back toward land. Until, water dripping down his visor, he sees the child reaching out for him.

"I guess that's what I was supposed to do," Din says, as they make their way slowly back down the mine tunnel.

"Pah," says the child, looking up at him but staying back so he doesn't get dripped on.

It's chilly in the tunnel. Din's flightsuit and underlayers are soggy. The armor rubs uncomfortably through the wet cloth.

Does he feel any better, though? He considers, as his boots squelch along and the light mounted to his helmet catches remnants of the veins of beskar ore.

He does, yes. For having done this ritual, even if he probably got it completely wrong.

Even more, for the presence of the child, who has now wandered over to see what's shining in the tunnel wall.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #living waters of mandalore #noromo mando #fanfic #mini-fic

29 notes · View notes

i-cant-sing · 3 years ago

Text

Daniel and YN part 9 🌗🌗

“Sensei, I think we have a lead on Daniel and YN.” “Tell me more, Tomura.” Shigaraki’s spine tingles when his master speaks.

His father figure, his sensei. Desperate to please, he pulled up the file his rat in the police station grabbed. “Last week there was an incident at the cafe in the pink district. There were several vases destroyed from an unknown explosion. The windows were cracked from trembling so hard. Almost all the footage tapes were melted, melted in the camera holder. When examined, the broken materials were giving off radiation. Radiation so bad it left a cop in the hospital.” “Interesting… you said almost all the footage?” “Yes. My rat got me the only tape that survived. When I watched it, I think I saw them.” AFO tilted his head. It was progressing faster than planned, but of course he was prepared for that possibility. Daniel seemed to be more subject to his emotions than his sister. Over the years AFO did not see an improvement on his mental development. It seemed that he would need to intervene sooner than expected if he did not want to lose his child to a hero. “Sensei. There’s also news that All Might and his protege are investigating the incident.” Now that was a complication. All Might and his other child should not be allowed total influence over the two. It was time to enact a different plan. One that involved seeing his past wife. “Thank you Tomura. I want you to keep an eye out for them. They are not to be harmed. I have to make arrangements. When you find them make sure you keep a nullifier on hand. In case Daniel needs to be calmed down.” With that, AFO hung up and opened a portal to the Midoryia household. He hasn’t gone by Midoryia for a long time, but even so he did not expect a warm welcome from his past wife. And when she opened the door to him, the look of worry on her face confirmed his suspicions. “They’re not here. Izuku is out trying to find YN. You can’t lash out at him or All Might. They’re-” “I plan to find them first. Izuku is not capable of handling Daniel’s quirk if they upset him. And you underestimate YN. She is very adept at hiding and defense.” “How would you know?” “Because I keep a watchful eye on all my children.” “All your..?” “Four years before we conceived Izuku, I donated my DNA for a little… experiment. The mother had a minor quirk involving radiation. From that pregnancy cane Daniel. Four years later, months after we conceived Izuku, I had my DNA donated again. YN was born from that.” “They 're just experiments to you?” “At first, yes. I did not plan to get attached. But I did. And I have been attached since. I was there when Daniel first displayed reminances of a quirk. I was there when YN learned to balance herself on a high wire. I found them when they were lost. I arranged for her mother’s job to move her to this district and apartment building. I’m the reason you gained custody of them if you recall the deal we made.” “I…” “My point is I may not have been there for Izuku’s life but I have been there for my other two. And I don’t plan to relinquish my children to All Might or those heroes. Is that understood, All Might?” Inko turned around to see her son and his mentor standing in the doorway. Both were glaring at the villain. Ready to ounce at him if need be. But without him she would lose the children. “Mom get away from him.” “Is that any way to speak to your father Izuku?” “YOU LEFT!” Before the fighting could get any worse Inko stood between them. “My baby, my love.” She turned to All Might and Izuku. “We may not like it but he is their father. And he probably would be useful to returning YN and Daniel safely. We have to sit down and figure this out. For them.” So with great tension, Two rivals sat across a dinner table along with a green haired boy and a troubled mother. All discussing the custody of two individuals that didn’t belong to them. 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN part 10 🌗🌗

Sometimes YN wished she had made more of an effort to make friends. Yes Daniel was her best and closest friend, but it would be nice to have a girl or boy her own age to talk to. Someone that she could talk about stupid crap with. She tried being friends with Izuku when she and her brother officially moved in with the Midoryia’s, but they never saw her or Daniel as their own people. Izuku never really cared that YN was great at math. The best in her class. That she had a tiny interest in math because the answers were always exact and never had to be debated. He didn’t bother to care that YN liked reading romance and horror stories, that she really liked cheesy murder mystery movies with a twist villain hidden in plain sight. Izuku knew those things about her, but he just wrote it down in his notebook and filed it away like she wasn’t a person. They were no better to Daniel either. He was treated like an incompetant child. Like he was stupid and a baby. Sure he was disabled but he wasn’t incapable of everything. If they bothered talking and treating him like a person they’d see how complex he was. They’d see that he was so talented when he painted, that he could find a focus on the small important details. That Daniel, while he couldn’t understand complex emotions, could create beautiful things. Daniel had a delayed mind, but he loved figuring out puzzles. Daniel loved pinwheels and painted windmills, loved when they spun to beautiful colours. But did they care, no they saw only a child that needed to be coddled and kept away from how beautiful the world could be. YN couldn’t help but tear up as she held her knees to her chest. Why? Why couldn’t Izuku have been the friend she needed when her parents died? Why didn’t she try harder to make friends when she was at public school? Why did she act so introverted and angry at everyone? Just as she was about to cry, YN felt two long arms wrap around her. “Why you sad?” “It’s nothing really. I just… I really miss momma and pop. I really wish they were here.” “....Me too.” So the two hugged tightly. For tonight and every night that will come, they’ll have each other. In another place, a skinny blue haired villain placed a severed hand on his face. Determined to please his master, his father figure, Shigaraki set out to find the two troubled teens. They couldn’t be hidden forever. Besides, AFO should be allowed to see his children. He was their father, by blood. Shigaraki wasn’t an idiot though. He knew that the incident caused a commotion for those hungry for power. Ready to use quirk off the Boy. Shigaraki made sure to send some of his underlings out to gather intel and report whether or not other crimelords had their sights and claws on the teens. He had to be careful not to cause a scene and bring the heroes upon them. As the cold night blew his hair slightly, Shigaraki pondered the situation. Sensei had a wife, and three children? But not all share the same mother. He didn’t raise his three children, but he looked after them. But out of all of them Sensei chose to raise Shigaraki. He felt special. Sensei wanted to be near him. Nonetheless, these two were family. His sorta siblings. And he would bring them home. 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN part 11 🌗🌗

Young Izuku had the foundations to be a great hero. He was kind, string in heart, brave, and a little stupid. Toshinori knew that he would make a fine owner of OFA. And when he trained the boy he saw the makings of a new symbol of peace. Inko was a beautiful woman, even if she was too anxious to notice. He felt this urge to love and protect her. And over the months with her and Izuku, they formed a genuine love. Toshinori was a little concerned at first when he met YN and Daniel though. He did not really understand why they were kept so sheltered and why they were so babied. YN seemed like a capable young woman. But like with Izuku and Inko, the more time he spent near them, the more he felt protective, loving, obsessive. “Ah, good morning young YN. How was your night?” “What do you think. You stole my switchblade.” Inko seemed to bristle a bit at YN’s angry tone. “Sweetie.. We just thought that you could get hurt. It’s for the best. You know that w-” “That you only want the best for me. Yea I heard the same argument over and over again. And each time it’s still bull.” Before either could reprimand her, she stomped to her room slamming the door. Mornings usually weren’t so great. Especially when the night before they had to make big decisions regr=arding her safety. On All Might’s days off he would spend time with the Midoryia’s, sometimes it would go smoothly and sometimes the mood couldn’t surpass a funeral. All Might felt that he should’ve noticed the signs that YN was going to run away sooner. Perhaps then he could have intervened and then the whole family could air out why things were the way they were.

The first signs had to be when YN kept interfering with the way Inko felt was right to take care of poor Daniel. “Come on Daniel, It’s time to go to the learning center.” “Oh sweetie, I forgot to tell you that we pulled Daniel out of the center classes.” “What?” When YN’s face turned, All Might could see that a screaming match would begin, well not really a match considering young YN would be doing all the screaming. He was just here to pick up young Midoryia but he couldn’t help but stop in. “Well it’s just that Daniel learns so much better at a home, and the center is full of so many people that would be mean to him. Besides, he doesn’t really need to be at the center when I can take care of him.” “Yes he does! How is he gonna learn to cook and clean and manage any type of money if you refuse to let him learn!?!” “Daniel’s mind can’t handle all the new information. He might start to panic and his quirk might-” “YOU don’t know a GODDAMN thing about him! About what is best for him! You wanna do what’s best for my brother?! Than STOP treating him like he’s completely incompetent!” Before she could yell another word All Might stepped in with his trademark ‘I AM HERE’ . “Now young YN that’s no way to speak to your foster mother. She just believes that someone more personal should be teaching Daniel these things. That's not so bad is it?” “But-” “IS IT?” “Fine.I’ll get my school work done early so that I can teach Daniel in the afternoon.”

With that the argument was resolved. If only that was the last time she lashed out at them. If only he prevented the biggest fight that broke out between Izuku and YN. “Will you stop pestering him about his quirk?! It obviously makes him uncomfortable!” YN had walked into the room seeing Izuku asking Daniel all sorts of questions about his quirk and how he used it. It would’ve been fine had he stopped at the first two questions, but he kept going on and on. Wouldn’t stop asking about the destructive qualities, or about how his mind sometimes couldn’t comprehend his own quirk. Izuku didn’t notice how uncomfortable Daniel was getting. “I was just asking him some questions!” “You were being a jerk!” Before Izuku could yell at her again, the table and the mirrors broke. Both turned to see Daniel staring furious and scared, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Don’t scream at my sister!” He spoke angrily. He was so brave, so ready to defend his baby sister. Daniel could’ve brought the whole room down, had All Might in his ultimate form not stepped and stopped him. All Might should’ve known not to grab him and held him down. He should’ve known that the constriction made Daniel panic. Made him destroy more things to make it stop. The screaming continued, until YN grabbed her brother and calmed him. They barricaded themselves in her room that night. And in the morning, the three tried to act like it didn’t happen. All Might took the kids out for the day. Celebrating Izuku’s placement in the hero program. The signs were there that day. The signs that they were going to run. That they were going to leave. If only All Might had seen the signs. If only Toshinori hadn’t gotten attached to them. 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN part 12 🌗🌗

Toshinori was a good man. He wasn’t perfect but he was a good man. He had a moral code and knew right from wrong. Though selfish desires sometimes took his attention more than the moral desires. He knew it was wrong to smother and coddle Daniel and YN, but he couldn’t help wanting to protect them. Even if they didn’t want it. He felt like Izuku, YN, and Daniel were like his children. He felt just as protective over Izuku as he was over YN and Daniel. But he couldn’t coddle him like the other two. He had a duty to Nana to pass on OFA, Izuku had to live up to that power now. And he was so dedicated to being a hero. Toshinori wanted to do right by all the kids. He felt that it was his duty to find his missing kids, and bring them home. Let YN know that he didn’t feel angry that she left. Let Daniel know that he was sorry. So before he could work with his arch enemy, he decided to learn more about the two. So that when they were found again, he could show them that he was ready to be a real mentor figure, a guardian. When he entered YN’s room, it was not what he expected. He thought the sullen looking problem child would have grunge posters, a dirty room, torn up clothes and what not. Imagine his surprise when he saw colourful mini lantern lights strung over the walls. A math book along with several romance and horror storybooks. Her bedspread was a mix of several pillows and a giant comforter. Something that he’s sure would look inviting after a long day. There was a fluffy rug that cushioned his feet. The curtains were dark and cut out all light. On her bookshelf there was a collection of old murder mystery and comedy movies. When he popped one into the small tv player, he felt a stronger connection than before with her. Laughing at the cheesy twists and overacting. She was more than just a quirkless victim. She felt like a daughter to him. Toshinori never understood why he never went into Daniel’s room before. Of course Inko was there. Holding Daniel’s favorite pillow. This room, like the other, was a window into someone that Toshinori never actually knew. For some reason he thought Daniel would have soft light wall colors and some doodles on the wall. But the walls were an earthy dark blue. His blankets were patterned with prints of old paintings. There were canvases of unfinished pieces of art littered around the desk and bed. Notes and papers of unconnected thoughts all tucked away in a drawer. He spotted a framed photo of what he assumed were Daniel’s parents. Hidden under his pillows. When he saw the ceiling, it was a mix of a starry night sky but had handprints all over. In various colors. Touching his own hand to the print, Toshinori felt a connection to the boy. It was like a click happened. He wasn’t just a boy struggling with his developmental disability. Daniel saw the world in colors and was just frustrated that no one could understand those colors. Daniel wasn’t an emotionally compromised person with a violent quirk, he was a boy who wanted to be happy and understood. That day, Toshinori finally felt the wall that was preventing him from really understanding these two was finally lifted. And had he been listening to his moral side he would’ve known to not pursue them. But his selfish side won that fight. With his new understanding came an ugly obsession. A protective instinct to hold and protect them even more. Whilst quirkless YN might be strong and smart, she was too emotional and easy to provoke. Daniel might not be safe out there either. He loses control when people don’t understand. But Toshinori understood now. He would keep his children safe. Izuku, Daniel, and YN. Even if he had to work with the devil. “I’ll bring you home. Everything will be okay. Because I am here.” 🌗🌗

Amazing work as always moon anon! The story has become quite interesting! Its inspiring me to write for platonic AFO, something that I've not talked about for quite a while. Him and well, Erasermic

#moon anon

32 notes · View notes

expectingtofly · 3 years ago

Text

angel in the garden

established deancas, post-canon, fluff

700 words

written for @one-more-offbeat-anthem's follower celebration. congrats on the milestone! you make our dashes brighter places with your writing <3

Joni Mitchell plays on the outdoor speaker and Cas pats dirt around a lavender plant, cool and smooth under his fingertips. Leaning back, he admires the way the purple flowers fill the space between his caladiums and lamb’s ear.

The garden stretches around the one-story bungalow he and Dean bought last year, finally moving out of the cold, sterile bunker. When they moved in, the porch and front yard had been bare except for a towering oak tree. Now, one year later, grass has been cleared for a thriving garden, and overflowing flower baskets crowd the porch.

It's relaxing, kneeling in the sun, pulling tiny weeds from the mulch, digging holes for new plants. Meditative work. As his hands move among the dirt, his mind travels through space and time. Images of Babylonian gardens flit through his mind, a field with a windmill, an ocean stretching to the horizon. All places he felt a measure of calm. Nothing could ever compare, though, to this place, his home. The first place he feels he can truly call his own—walls he covered in shelves and photo frames, a front door he painted green, a mattress he helped choose. Every item, every space, holds his fingertips.

Every plant, his duty, his charge. He takes them under his wings, nurtures them, marks their growth dutifully. Slow progress. One day, only undisturbed dirt, the next—a tiny green stem piercing upwards to the light.

With his grace, he could easily summon the stems to break free of the seeds, to push their way through the dirt and sprout leaves, waver in the breeze.

But he enjoys this process. Steady, methodical. A type of faith, to trust a process unseen, to diligently return to the dirt day after day without promise of results. Unlike his relationship with Heaven, he enjoys putting his faith in the ability of his hands, in the dirt he waters, in the sun that shines overhead. What happens, happens. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn't fear the unknown.

The creak of the screen door draws his eyes to the porch where Dean steps outside, holding a glass. The sunlight brightens his face when he pauses at the steps, watching him unabashedly. Cas smiles.

“You’ve been out here for hours,” Dean says, steps creaking when he goes down them.

Cas sits back on his heels, pushing back his sunhat a little on his forehead. Dean had made fun of him for buying the floppy hat, but there's a photo on the fridge that Dean took of him wearing it, so he thinks Dean might not hate it so much. “I’m almost done for the day. I just have to water this one.”

Dean stops at his side and nudges his shoulder with the glass. “Got a name for it yet?”

Cold lemonade, the glass sweating. “Hm.” He taps his chin with his finger, then realizes his hands are covered in dirt. No matter, he's probably already dirt-stained everywhere else. “Julian,” he decides.

“How’s Dean doing?”

Cas points to the hosta plant, leaves whispering in a breeze. “Very well. His leaves are the prettiest green in the garden.” He smiles up at Dean. “I think he takes after his namesake.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sap.” He settles down on the grass next to him and rubs a lamb’s leaf between his fingers. The sun is warm on Cas’ back, and he drinks from the glass gratefully. Cool, sweet, with a twinge of sour.

“What’s this one again?”

Cas wipes his mouth on his wrist. “Mimi. Next to her is shasta daisy Jordan, marigold Luna, and bee balm Florence.” He points to each in turn, their leaves green and rich, petals vibrant.

“Lookin good.” With a grin Dean flicks at the brim of Cas’ sunhat and Cas swats him away.

“The garden or me?” he asks, tilting his head back to see him under the brim.

“Both,” Dean says, leaning over to kiss him. Then he gets to his feet, offering his hand. Cas lets him pull him to his feet, grabbing the watering can on his way up.

“Did you make dinner?”

“Used the tomatoes you grew and everything.”

When Cas waters his plants, spending ample time on each, the water droplets bounce and roll over the leaves and petals, leave indents in the soft dirt. Dean hooks his chin over his shoulder, and he is content.

#pure fluff #offbeat1k #destiel fic #userstarry #spncreatorsdaily #hey look i wrote post-canon with angel!cas #that's new #expectingtofly writes #fun fact:#just learned caladiums are often called angel wings #very fitting i think

60 notes · View notes

berylcluster · 5 months ago

Text

➫ JAMES could admit he hadn't know the hauler life very long, even less so in the belt, though he hadn't been in the UNN for very long either, he made more bonds on the Cant than he had with those bucket heads from Earth. It was a nice and refreshing change from the life he had known, at least in the belt no one expected you to take on fights for other people. Holden hadn't known anything else, growing up on tales of Don Quixote and tilting at windmills or whatever came across his path, all for the ones who couldn't fight. He looked up to the unlikely hero, the old man who thought he could be a knight. He placed the glass back on the table, filling their shots and chuckling at her attempt to make him feel better, she didn't have to do that. He appreciated her none the less, fondness growing in his eyes when he finally met her gaze, "Is that so? What is WITH the freeze dried food on every station we come across? Tastes like ass most of the time, not that Alex's cooking is any better - "

He tries to joke around her 'quick fuck' comment, heat coating his face as he tries not to think about it too hard, but the seriousness in her voice draws him from the attempt to soothe things over. He levels with her on this, regardless. Out here, connection was dangerous, you could be killed for a number of reasons and in a million different ways. Of all the Belters he knew, that seemed to be the general understanding. One and done, it saved you a lot of trouble. "Thanks, for saying that. You know, if you're any nicer to me and I might consider you being secretly sweet on me."

It probably was not the best lesson to be imparted on a boy of barely twelve years of age, letting him read all those hero books, but that's what he was or wanted to be. Not that anyone would ever know it. He gave up on the dream after a fight with his commanding officer over the treatment of Belters that led him to be discharged, dishonorably at that. It left a bitterness in his throat that no amount of alcohol could wash away. Watching the crew he had or hadn't come to consider like a family being killed en masse, it had reignited the old flame, the desperation to do anything he could to avenge them, to bring some kind of justice to their memories. He was just happy to have Naomi here to pull him out of the dark. "Well." He sighed and gave her the biggest smile he could muster, adjusting in his seat to face her more, holding up the next round of shots for them. "I'm ready to get trashed, how about you?"

THEIR LIVES CHANGED RADICALLY IN A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME. if she knew she would be out frequently drinking with james holden, she wouldn't have believed it. not that she would believe the cant's destruction and everything else that came with it. but, it wasn't the first time she'd had to start over, so it was easier to shut that part of herself off. instead, naomi listens, weighing the best way to reply. a barely-there laugh escapes her before anything else at the mention of the type of company he sought out back then.

she knows this is most likely the guilt speaking. naomi feels part of the weight, too. it's only natural after surviving what they did. but holden tends to borrow trouble that isn't his and she won't let him drown in that. it's her duty as his XO, but it's also her concern as his friend. " that's normal with long-haul gigs. there are only so many months you can be surrounded by the same people. " belters understand that more than anyone. even those that have family or lovers in the crew. and yet, that had drawn her into her biggest mistake. a crew that stuck together, one that looked like a family.

naomi downs the rest of her glass to stop the trip back in memory lane. " every time we hit port, i was looking for food that didn't come out of a machine and a quick fuck, " she shares in hopes of reassuring him that he was not the only one not prioritizing connections with their crewmates. that it'd been human; since no one could've known the end. despite everything a smile crossed her face. it was endearing to see he liked their company. " we like being here, " in the roci with this crew. another reassurance, before a serious truth. " none of this is on you. " not the cant's destruction, nor the sole leadership moving forward.

#beltraised #☆: james holden #listening to: take me home tonight by eddie money

6 notes · View notes

novelconcepts · 4 years ago

Text

fic: unexpected

a fill for @karatam’s prompt : “Five things Dani realizes she likes in bed (and one thing Jamie realizes she likes about being with Dani).”

It comes as little surprise to Dani Clayton, who has spent most of her life trying not to pay attention to the things her body craves, that time with Jamie has been unlocking some unexpected doors. It’s embarrassing, sometimes, but not in a way that feels too heavy to bear; the more time she spends with Jamie, the more time she spends feeling progressively better in her own skin, the more she’s bound to understand about what makes her tick. It’s kind of nice, actually. Kind of refreshing, finding situations where she doesn’t feel inclined to hold herself rigid, where she can let her guard down and just exhale.

Still, there are some experiences which--until they sneak up on her--she absolutely does not see coming.

There is a rule in their house about cleanliness. Not because Jamie is a terrible mess, by any stretch of the imagination, but because a small space gets out of control fast. Especially given how much time Jamie spends with both hands buried in potting soil, Dani feels it’s important to set some ground rules. Things like “shoes stay on the plastic tray if you’ve been out gardening.” Things like “clothes caked in dirt go straight into the special hamper to get washed first.”

Things like “if you’re going to initiate anything requiring hands on bare skin, you scrub up first.”

Jamie takes it in stride, agrees wholeheartedly that this is the only safe and hygienic approach to life. She kicks off her boots, drops any mud-encrusted flannel in the proper receptacle, and works the grime out from under short nails without pressure.

“I’d do this without the rule,” she tells Dani the first time after this conversation, eyebrows arched. “How filthy d’you think I am, anyway?”

Dani chooses not to dignify this with a response. It’s still early-days, all things considered, and Jamie poking her tongue through her teeth on a word like filthy sends her brain places that aren’t conducive to getting anything done.

Still, there are things that test her carefully-imposed boundaries. Not so much the gardening; gardening and Jamie are a singular entity, a packaged deal Dani was wholly aware of long before falling into the woman’s bed. She sees flowers and root webs and clods of dirt packed into pots and thinks, Yes. That’s Jamie.

It’s the fixing she wasn’t prepared for.

There are things she is better at than Jamie around the house: remembering to pick up groceries, basic human chores like laundry and vacuuming and taking out the trash. And there are the things Jamie has an edge on: hot drinks, building furniture, and repairing just about anything that slips sideways.

“Grew up without a lot to lean on,” she explains while Dani, feeling a little light-headed in a way she can’t fully explain, watches her replace a questionable light fixture. Her hands are nimble and steady, her eyes on the job at hand, but she’s smiling. “You pick up a lot of convenient tricks along the way, life like that.”

Dani, who grew up in a household marked by her mother having “a guy”--usually neighborhood men with bad facial hair who scrubbed her around the head and called her “little lady”--for just about every little hiccup, can only watch with fascination. Jamie, it seems, has a sixth sense for problems. By the end of their first year together, she’s fixed the bathroom sink, the AC unit, innumerable lightbulbs, and the vacuum cleaner. Never once batting an eye. Just a simple smile and a “give it here, then.”

Dani, for her part, tells herself she’s watching closely to learn. To pick up these convenient tricks Jamie mentions like they’re nothing. To be able to one day make similar repairs while Jamie is busy or out of the house.

She tells herself this, even as her skin grows warm and her mouth goes dry, because there is just something about watching Jamie work. Something she can’t put her finger on about the way Jamie tips her head musingly, inspecting every inch of the problem area like her attention belongs nowhere else. She moves methodically, deliberately, never frustrated, never slamming or swearing. Her hands squeeze and slide, her brow furrowed, and Dani...

Likes this.

She keeps it to herself, careful not to distract Jamie from the task at hand, even as her own face flushes at the sight of Jamie working a screwdriver or sifting through a set of drill bits. It’s stupid, she thinks with a hot thread of embarrassment, that her legs are weakening at the mere image of Jamie on her back on the bathroom tile, knees bent, arms working to seal some hidden leak in the piping.

“You want to try?” Jamie asks, head and shoulders in the cabinet below the sink. Dani clears her throat.

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Jamie says absently, the muscles of her stomach flexing as she arches for that little extra strength to finish up. Dani leans her forehead against the wall, struggling to find some measure of calm before Jamie can extricate herself and catch sight of the look on her face.

She manages to keep it quiet for months, this strange heat that springs up whenever Jamie’s hands are greasy and her face has that serious cast of inspecting a complicated problem. She might have kept it quiet for months longer--indefinitely, perhaps--if not for Colorado.

Colorado is, like so many of their trips, a spur-of-the-moment decision. They rent a battered Jeep from a questionable agency, intent on seeing the Rockies as man was always intended: hopped up on a decent amount of bad gas station coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and each other. It’s a good day, cheery sun beaming down from a sky scattered with soft clouds. Dani has been having more and more of these kinds of days, and is starting to think maybe this is the new normal. Less fear. Less tension. Just her hand in Jamie’s as they bump over an endless road in the middle of--

“No,” Jamie says in a low, frustrated tone. Dani, who has been gazing distantly out the passenger window, snaps back to reality.

“What’s going on?”

The Jeep is slowing. Jamie steers it toward the side of the road, which is to Dani’s eyes the most abandoned place on earth.

“Something’s off,” Jamie groans. “Engine light came on.”

Engine light came on is one of those phrases Dani intellectually understands is in English, but it might as well not be. She’s grateful for how much Jamie enjoys driving; cars are something of a mystery to her, loud, rattling machines she’d prefer not to ever deal with on her own.

She steps out onto the road now, arms hugged tight around her body, and watches Jamie pop the hood. The day is as warm as it is beautiful, and it isn’t long before sweat is trickling down the back of her neck. Jamie, in jeans and a flannel shirt, rolls the sleeves up past her elbows and grimaces.

“Gonna be a minute, I think. But maybe...”

She’s muttering words Dani wouldn’t understand even if she thought Jamie was speaking to her and not a busted set of gears and pistons. Jamie, thankfully, seems to know what she’s talking about as she pushes the hair out of her eyes, ties a bandana around her head, and sets to work.

She’ll fix it, Dani assures herself, rocking back and forth on her heels in the sunshine. Jamie fixes everything.

And, in the meantime, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with the view. The horizon is endless, the land green and gorgeous and sprawling out as far as she can process. Dani could stand here for hours, head tilted back to take it all in, letting the clean air bathe her face.

She could also, she notes, eyes sliding back to Jamie, watch this for hours. Jamie, up on her toes, an emergency set of tools open on the ground. Jamie, sweat beading on her upper lip and trickling down her temples. Jamie, pink-cheeked, the muscles of her forearms from years of groundswork standing out in sharp relief as she jams a wrench beneath the hood and twists.

It is...very hot out here, Dani thinks dazedly. She snaps her eyes away, searching the sky for birds, searching the world for anything that could be more interesting than the sight of Jamie with grease halfway up to her elbows, a dip of skin tantalizing between her shirt riding up and the waistband of her jeans.

Dani swallows hard. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, currently stranded on the side of a road in Colorado. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, not in a situation that should be excruciatingly appealing.

Jamie makes a low noise in her chest, pulling hard on the wrench. Something in Dani, already strung tight enough to make her pulse race, seems to snap.

“Hey,” Jamie protests as the tool drops from her hand and clatters against the pavement. Dani has her around the wrist, dragging her with firm intent away from the open hood. “Hey, Poppins, I don’t think--”

Dani, unable to stop herself, catches her around the back of the neck and kisses her hard. Jamie’s protests go slack against her lips, her hands windmilling uselessly as she tries and fails to locate somewhere safe to place them.

“I--Dani, what--”

“Can’t explain,” Dani says, muffled, mouth a bit occupied with trying to kiss Jamie stupid. “Just. Need this.”

“Right now?” Jamie asks, plainly bewildered--though, Dani notes, not exactly arguing. Her hands rest gently on Dani’s hips, as though the desire to hang on and the desire not to ruin Dani’s skirt are locked in fervent battle.

“Right,” Dani groans, licking at the sweat running down the side of Jamie’s neck, “now.”

She fumbles them toward the backseat, pausing every couple of steps to push Jamie hard against the car. There’s something about it--something about the sun beating down, and her hand caught between the hard shell of the Jeep and the soft skin at Jamie’s back, and the way Jamie is making surprised breathy sounds against her ear. Something, most of all, about Jamie trying so hard not to get her dirty while being utterly unable to keep her hands to herself.

“There’s a rule,” Jamie says, like she’s reciting a play she couldn’t possibly care less about. “Your rule.”

Dani, pulling the back door open and sliding along the gray leather, shakes her head. “House rule. Don't care.”

Jamie’s laughing, but there's something nervous about it, something like she sort of expects to get into trouble for this. “Poppins, you are...something else today.”

Dani pauses, leaning back on her elbows, watching with dark desire as Jamie climbs in after her. The door latches with a soft click, Jamie hovering on her knees over her in the small space.

“Something okay?” Dani asks, her voice smaller than intended. Jamie grins.

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Dani grabs for her again, unable to pin down the roaring pleasure in her chest as Jamie’s smile lands against her skin. Her hands are wild, roaming creatures with their own agenda, sliding under Jamie’s collar, fisting around Jamie’s shirt. When Jamie kisses the hollow of her throat, she sighs, arches, liking the weight of Jamie between her bent knees.

There is a rule about dirty hands, it’s true, and they both know it’s for a reason--which is why, eyes on Dani’s face the whole time, Jamie grasps her by the hips and lifts, shifts, eases Dani until her back is pressed against the window. Jamie hooks her fingers into the waistband of underwear already too ruined to be of use, sliding them down Dani’s thighs, shoving them restlessly into the back pocket of her own jeans.

“Jesus,” she breathes against Dani’s skin, already soaked through with sweat and want. “This much from--”

“Watching,” Dani groans confirmation. One hand is gripping the back of the seat, her knuckles stark against the dark leather. Jamie makes a noise she thinks might be amusement, or utter helpless desire--maybe some mad combination of the two.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for--”

“Jamie,” Dani interrupts, a sharp plea that snaps Jamie’s attention back where it belongs. They can talk about this later, Jamie teasing her for an unexpected mechanic kink, Dani hiding her face and laughing. Right now, she can focus on nothing but Jamie’s hands, creased with engine oil, gripping her thighs. Sliding smooth down to bracket her kneecaps, up to hold her hips steady. Jamie, mouthing at her slowly, trying to make it last, teasing her with soft flicks of her tongue and warm, soft kisses.

“Jamie,” Dani repeats, her voice cracking, her free hand winding in Jamie’s hair and pulling. Jamie concedes, head bobbing gently between her legs, body coiled in a position that will probably feel fantastic tomorrow--but, if she cares, she certainly doesn’t show it. Her fingers dig into Dani’s skin, leaving dark stains behind, her mouth drawing Dani tighter by the second.

Sex with Jamie has never been what Dani would call boring, but something about the sight of her here--eyes closed, breathing hard, fingers pushing Dani’s skirt up as she strains to keep from putting those hands directly between Dani’s legs--has an effect they’ve never quite managed before. Dani, biting hard into the back of her own hand as her hips jerk out of control. Jamie, making the most of the moment, kissing her clean with long, sweet strokes.

“Jesus,” Jamie says again, sitting up and staring at her. “If I’d known--”

“You’d never have finished a repair around the house,” Dani points out, breathing hard, head lolling back against the glass with a light thump.

“You’ve been feeling this at the house?” Jamie looks stunned. “Poppins, you’ve been wanting this for months, and you’ve just been letting me fix things instead of taking you to bed? Where the hell are your priorities?”

“Didn’t want to distract you,” Dani mumbles, the drowsy delight of a good orgasm wrapping comforting hands around her good sense. Jamie’s jaw hangs open.

“Poppins.”

“Mm?”

“Distract me. For the love of god. Distract me.”

Dani doesn’t go back to teaching. It’s not that she doesn’t love it, not that she doesn’t know she’d still be good at it; it’s more that the world is too unpredictable now. That she is too unpredictable now, unable to tell what tomorrow will look like inside her own head. She’s been feeling better, admittedly--Jamie has a way of making the ground stand still under their feet, of leading her by the hand into warmly-lit places where she feels less like there’s something following at her heels--but it’s not the same. Even before the Lady, before Bly, before fleeing to Europe in the first place, teaching had been heavier than school had prepared her for. So many kids, with so many expectations, so many needs one person couldn’t possibly fulfill.

So, no--she doesn’t go back to teaching. Teaching feels like the old Dani in some terribly sad way she can’t define. The new Dani turns her attention toward a different kind of cultivation, toward learning how to make people happy with the art of living things. It’s a creative outlet she hadn’t realized she needs. It brings her closer to Jamie, gives her a better understanding of Jamie’s way of seeing the world. It’s different, but she does love it.

It does not, for all of that, erase old habits.

She doesn’t really realize she’s doing it, at first. Some things are just so naturally ingrained, so much a part of her daily experience, that she doesn’t think about what she’s saying.

Until Jamie just stops and...looks at her.

“What?” Self-consciousness, not a particularly new song, hums under the word. Jamie is gazing at her with head slightly cocked, lip between her teeth.

“Nothing. Nothing, just...”

Dani reels back the last five minutes, searching for whatever might have put this truly unfamiliar look on Jamie’s face. It’s not teasing, exactly; not bothered, either. It’s...pleased?

Jamie had just passed her with a basket under her arm, laundry rescued from the dryer and folded before Dani had even realized they were ready. She had turned, watched Jamie amble by with a spring in her step that said I have done the thing, and the thing is good, and she had said...

“Oh.” She can actually feel the color draining from her face. “I just, uh. I mean. Habit.”

Jamie grins, still looking a little surprised, but not exactly upset. “No, no, it’s fine, Poppins. Got no argument with being a good girl now and then.”

She winks, throwing an exaggerated little swing into her walk as she makes off toward the bedroom, and Dani sags against the couch. Has she done this before? Has she been absently calling Jamie a good girl upon the completion of little tasks this whole time, and only just realized?

It is a very particular kind of embarrassing, and Dani does not have the first idea what to do with it.

“Have I been doing that?” she asks over dinner, picking awkwardly at her pasta and studiously not looking Jamie in the eye. Jamie, midway through pouring a glass of wine, pauses.

“Doing what?”

“Calling--uh--I mean--”

“Praising me for my efforts about the house?” Jamie is too pleased about this, Dani has decided. Entirely too pleased for her own good.

“Hey, I can take it back,” she mutters. Jamie snorts, setting a full glass beside Dani’s place and kissing the top of her head.

“Uh uh. I’ve earned my gold stars, Poppins. Pry ‘em from my cold dead hands.”

Dani downs half the glass in a single swallow, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Jamie is really laughing now, the full-body laugh she reserves for poking fun at Dani with absolute affection.

“Oh, don't be like that. It’s sweet. Can’t say anyone’s had nice words of the like for me much before you.”

Dani looks up to find Jamie leaning across the table, her expression heartbreakingly earnest. The tension melts slowly out of her body; she realizes she’s made a fist under the table, her thumb tucked into her fingers. Old habits, indeed.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about things like that,” Jamie says, her voice softening. Her hand slides under the table to close over Dani’s flexing fingers, like she knows what Dani was just doing, that Dani was just sliding back to anxieties she’s long tried to bury. “I take no offense at being called good at anything where you’re concerned, Dani. Trust me.”

She does, very much, but even so, she tries to keep a handle on it. Isn’t it condescending, she wonders, speaking to Jamie that way? Why on earth would Jamie appreciate a pat on the head, a gentle assertion of good work?

She gets it under control. Reminds herself she is not a teacher anymore, and Jamie is very appropriately an adult who doesn’t need to be confirmed in her choices at every turn.

She gets it under control--until one night. One night, spent celebrating an exceptional year at the shop, with too much wine in her system and too many hours spent in a too-public setting to be allowed to touch Jamie properly. They’d sat at a table with a few well-meaning shopkeepers from down the street, and they’d laughed, and drank to hard work and good fortune, and all the while, she’d been watching Jamie out of the corner of her eye. Jamie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair mussed from hands Dani understood as wanting to be on her body, sifting through her hair. Jamie, chain-smoking cigarettes Dani ached to take from her and place between her own lips, if only to taste Jamie.

By the time they make it home, her hands are tingling, her body desperate. Jamie, watching her with the smug smile of a woman who knows Dani’s hand has been flexing between her own knees for two hours, makes a show of stretching. Her shirt pulls up from her belt, flashing a glimpse of stomach.

“Bit tired,” she says. “What do you think, time for bed?”

Dani makes a powerfully undignified noise, and Jamie’s laughter rings bright in the otherwise-silent apartment. She catches Dani by the hand, eyes shining.

“Honestly, Poppins, you are too damn easy.”

They fall into bed--into couch, really, the bed being far too many steps away--and the world shrinks to the polished buttons of Jamie’s shirt popping open under her tripping fingers, the material of Jamie’s slacks shoved awkwardly down her legs, the trace of Jamie’s tongue around her earlobe as she tries desperately to focus on intricate details like zippers. Jamie, bless and damn her, never seems this clumsy, even with all the wine in the world in her blood.

“I like it,” Jamie breathes, grinning. “You only get clumsy when you’re desperate.”

She climbs over Dani, curling behind her to better get at the zip on her dress. Dani leans back, dizzy with the rush of Jamie pressed against her back, grinding her hips slowly as if to intentionally drive Dani up the wall. The dress peels away, and Dani hears herself swear.

“Could you go any slower.”

“Could if I tried,” Jamie murmurs, nipping at her neck. “Why? Don’t like it?”

She splays a hand beneath Dani’s breasts, pressing in tight against her back, rocking against her with little sign of picking up the pace and putting those hands where they’re most wanted. Dani groans, lets her head fall back against Jamie’s shoulder.

“You,” she says without thinking, “are being a bad girl tonight.”

Jamie freezes. Dani, head buzzing with the aggravation of Jamie playing her little game, Jamie’s fingers toying across her belly, doesn’t hear herself. Not at first. Not until Jamie says in a voice almost like a growl, “That so?”

Oh, Dani thinks. Oh no. I did it again.

“Tell me, please,” Jamie goes on, hand slinking lower, “how I can get back into your good graces.”

It should be weird. It should be so uncomfortable, slamming the brakes on this whole evening--but Jamie’s hand is on a mission, Jamie’s hips rocking against her faster, and Dani finds she doesn’t care nearly as much as she should.

“You--know--”

“Tell me anyway.” Jamie’s hand is circling, refusing to continue its descent, and Dani almost wants to laugh. This is insane. This is insane, and stupid, and if she doesn’t get Jamie to keep going, she might just kill her.

She turns her head, finds Jamie looking at her with pupils blown and lips parted. She reaches back, grabs Jamie by the jaw.

“Touch me,” she says, her voice firmer than it’s been in a long time. “Now.”

Jamie’s eyes roll back in her head, her fingers dipping between Dani’s legs with obedient speed. Dani sighs, moving to meet her strokes.

“More,” she hears herself say in that same commanding voice, and Jamie shudders. “Harder.”

She’s never done this before; it’s never crossed her mind to tell Jamie what to do, how to touch her, what she needs. Jamie is intuitive, naturally taking the lead on nights like these, and she’s damn good at it--but this feels incredible in an entirely new way. Her hand slides down to join Jamie’s, curling around Jamie’s fingers as they slide in and out in a series of increasingly rough thrusts. She finds herself arching back, Jamie’s hips bucking as she strains for friction of her own, and when Jamie curls her fingers deep, she curls with her.

“Fuck,” Jamie groans, shifting her hand out from between Dani’s legs and replacing it instantly between her own. Dani rolls, pushing her flat against the cushions, grabbing hold of Jamie’s wrist and stilling her fingers.

“That,” she breathes, lips brushing Jamie’s softly enough to burn, “was very good work. Gold star.”

Jamie whimpers, letting her hand drop away so Dani can return the favor. It doesn’t take long at all; Jamie’s pretty far gone even before Dani brushes against her with a hand that no longer feels clumsy.

“That,” Jamie says when they’ve collapsed in a sweat-slick mess of limbs, “was new. Teacher voice always just sort of on tap, huh?”

Dani resists the suddenly-overwhelming urge to hide her face. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Don’t much care,” Jamie says, rather happily. “It works for me, as it turns out. I am gonna line these gold stars up on the fridge.”

There is something engrossing about being wanted, something Dani never really understood before Jamie. Being wanted before wasn’t exactly a positive sensation; men looking her up and down in malls and bars, eyes like brands on her skin, made her feel like crawling under a table. Women, on the rare occasion she crossed one who met her eyes, were somehow even worse--their smiles were thin, brittle reminders that Dani wasn’t Normal. That, if she ever were to jump from that ledge, these women wouldn’t be there to catch her. Their want was an ice bath, a horrible reminder that there was something wrong with her ability to be wanted.

And, with Edmund, it was worst of all, because she wanted to want it. Wanted to want the way his eyes started following her out of rooms before they were even in their teens. Wanted to want the way his hands would reach for her as they grew older, as his body began sending signals that she was right, and hers developed an alarm bell that only ever screamed stop, please, go away.

She should have listened to that alarm bell sooner, probably, but Edmund--for all the horrible suffocating sense of him draped over her life--was also a shield against the rest. With Edmund’s arm around her, she felt caged, but strange men let their eyes slide off her like rain. With Edmund kissing her cheek, she felt wrong, but strange men stopped trying to brush up against her skin.

The line, however, she had to draw somewhere, and she drew it at marks. Eddie accepted her unwillingness to climb into his bed as classic “good girl” behavior; Danielle, he thought with ease of understanding, wanted to wait until they were married. Sure, fine, good. His mother would approve, and hers would leave them both un-defenestrated by their wedding day. Perfect for everyone.

Still, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to press his lips to her skin. Wanted to make sure she--and anyone else who chanced a look--knew he was always there, etched into her.

She hated it. Hated the way he’d lean back after leaving a hickey hot on her neck, looking faux-apologetic and more than a little smug. Hated the way, no matter how many times she told him it wasn’t professional for an elementary school teacher to stroll in with love bites, he always seemed to “forget.”

She hated being marked.

With Edmund.

With Jamie, it’s an entirely different story.

“Shit,” Jamie sighs. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Dani, shirt slung over the back of a kitchen chair, shifts in Jamie’s lap. There’s something about being able to do this at their own leisure, about Sunday brunch fading into charred bacon and lost-chance waffles as she and Jamie sink into long slow kisses on the other side of the kitchen, that she thinks she’ll never be over.

Jamie, looking more than a little irritated with herself, is now brushing soft fingertips across Dani’s collarbone. Even that much sends sharp little thrills up her spine. She tips her chin down, tries to see the spot Jamie is pressing against.

“Left a mark?”

“Yeah.” Jamie sighs again. “Sorry, Poppins, I don’t know my own goddamn--”

Dani laughs. She really doesn’t, is the thing. Jamie, who couldn’t be more unlike Eddie if she tried, genuinely doesn’t ever mean to mark her skin. And it’s not like it happens often. She’s normally pretty good about self-control in ways Dani suspects have to do with a history of punishment and consequence following every action.

Jamie is grounded. Jamie is restrained.

Except when Jamie isn’t. And, lately, Jamie has been restrained with her less and less.

It started the day she told Dani she was in love with her. A thing Jamie had been saying without words for a long time, Dani knew, but it was so good to hear the phrase fall from her lips anyway. So reassuring, to see the nerves in Jamie’s face, the way Jamie’s eyes shone with a desperate need to make Dani understand.

That day, in the back room of the shop, Jamie had marked her for the first time. Heat still pools in her belly when she thinks of it, even now: how Jamie had shoved her up against the door, hands fevered, mouth a hot wet slide against her throat. Jamie’s touch had felt good; Jamie’s devotion, even better. And something about the sum of it--of being in the shop, where precautions had been taken, but they were still rather public, of Jamie’s nerves still holding the reins, of Jamie’s words still fluttering between them: pretty in love with you, it turns out--had both of them nearly high. By the time they broke apart, giggling and heaving for air, the deed was done. A single red mark, low on Dani’s neck, burning bright for anyone to see.

Jamie had touched it lightly, kissed it gently, face flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean--”

And, somehow, that had been the thing to do it. The thing that sent Dani’s arousal over the edge. Not just Jamie leaving the mark on her skin, but the apology in Jamie’s eyes as she realized. Jamie, never intending to force ownership. Jamie, never striving to show the world she owned Dani’s body.

Every time since, she’s tried to explain it to Jamie, tried to bring clarity of word to the hot pulse of pleasure she feels. How there’s a wild delight to watching Jamie want her. How Jamie is, as the time passes, getting worse at pretending to be cool about it.

It isn’t kind, exactly. Isn’t the nice, sweet, orderly thing to do about it. But all the same, Dani finds she’s having trouble not coaxing Jamie along when it’s clear she’s starting to lose control.

She’s taken to loitering in the bathroom while Jamie showers, for example. Most days, it’s innocent; Dani will post up on the counter with a book, or a cup of tea, and they’ll just make small talk through the thin curtain. Jamie will wash quickly, with no sign of needing assistance, and Dani will hand her a towel when the water shuts off. Perfectly fine. Perfectly civil.

But there are days--usually when the shop has been particularly stressful, when customers have been needy and shipments have been delayed--when Jamie will gesture for her to follow under the spray. Days where Jamie’s nerves are so frazzled, her control over all the tiny little details of owning a business so slim, that she’ll invite Dani to join her. These days, with Jamie loving her under hot water, with Jamie whispering her name into the steam, Dani thinks it is good to be wanted. So good, to be the small bright spot of control in the world for Jamie, who likes understanding how things work, who likes being able to set things right. With her back against the shower wall, Jamie’s mouth sucking sharp hot bites into her shoulder as her fingers stroke and rub between her legs, Dani thinks there’s nothing better than giving Jamie that measure of control.

She notices it other times, too--usually when the world is bigger than the two of them can stand. When a snowstorm blocks off the whole street, stranding them inside, and the power goes, and it’s just the two of them moving together under a stack of blankets to make their own warmth. When it’s Jamie, fearful of how long it will take to dig them out again, leaving sharp, nervous marks on her breasts only to be dragged back up by the hair to kiss her as her fingers work Dani to orgasm.

Or when they make the mistake of turning on the news, signs of war and violence and politicians making unacceptable calls about the bodies of their constituents, and the only way to bring Jamie back from the brink of hopelessness is to coax her into shutting it all out. Pinned against the counter with her hands braced, with Jamie biting hard and kissing soft, Dani forgets for a long stretch of matching heartbeats that anyone else exists outside their walls.

Sometimes, the mark is gone by morning. Sometimes, Jamie ruefully kisses the spot on her throat, the underside of her jaw, her breast, and says, “You really should yank on my hair or something to stop me.”

Dani can't quite find the words to tell her how much she likes it. How the brief flare of delicious pain, soothed so soon after by Jamie’s tongue, the pad of Jamie’s thumb, Jamie’s soft embarrassment, grounds her in the strangest way. Not because it shows the world anything--she’s good at wearing sweaters that hide the spots nicely, to keep anyone from questioning her “roommate” in the aftermath--but because it shows that Jamie doesn’t need to keep her head when Dani’s around. That, sometimes, the act of giving Jamie full control over their bed and the way their bodies come together, feels as good as the first nervous time Jamie had said she loved her.

Jamie shows her with every act, every day, that this is love. Jamie in these moments of unrestrained passion is showing her something else. That she’s safe with Dani. That she doesn’t need to hold anything apart from Dani anymore.

And there is something else to it, as well. Something entirely different. Something about the rare occasion she rolls Jamie onto her back, holds her wrists to the mattress, gazes into Jamie’s eyes in search of permission. Jamie likes to give, in all ways that matter, but sometimes, Dani likes this, too: to give back more than she takes. To grant Jamie not just control, but release.

On this kind of night, left hand pinning Jamie in place, right hand setting a brisk, rough pace between damp thighs, Dani lowers her mouth to Jamie’s throat. She kisses slow, tasting sweat and that undefined thing that is Jamie alone, and waits for Jamie to chase her hand. Waits for Jamie to writhe beneath her. Waits for the moment where the right twist, the right pressure, sends Jamie over the edge. Then, only then, does she bite down.

Because Jamie is embarrassed by marking her, but she’s seen the way Jamie looks at the rare mark she receives in the mirror. The way the collar of her t-shirt will slip, revealing a maroon blemish on pale skin. The way Jamie’s eyes grow dark, her body leaning against the counter like she’s suddenly lost all the strength in her knees.

She really does prefer giving Jamie control, giving Jamie the gift of building a safe space for them both to land. But every so often, it is beyond worth it, to see the look of surprised delight in Jamie’s face when she flips the script.

There are things, though. Things she didn’t know, before Jamie. Things she’d never thought to glance at, before Jamie.

“I don’t know about this,” she says. Jamie doesn’t look the least bit perturbed.

“It’s only an idea, Poppins. Can absolutely veto it at any time.”

Dani frowns. “I don’t--I mean, what made you think--”

She’s going about this all wrong. Jamie shakes her head, some of that old shuttered guard dropping into her expression in a way Dani decidedly does not like.

“I’ve embarrassed you,” Jamie says. “I’m sorry, Dani, I wasn’t trying to--”

“No, It’s just...won’t somebody notice?”

Two women walking into a shop like that. Two women looking around a shop like that, having conversations about what they’d like or like nothing to do with. Somebody is bound to overhear, Dani thinks. Bound to report it down the line, and what then?

They’re in San Francisco, and Dani knows that’s the main reason Jamie’s even talking about this. They’re in San Francisco, have just bought a brownie that, yes, makes her feel more inclined than usual to drop her guard. She’d thought maybe they’d partake of that brownie in the comfort of their hotel room, that she’d follow the buzzing of her body right into the bed with Jamie, and that would be their afternoon spoken for. It had seemed a good idea at the time.

Jamie, evidently, has other ideas.

Which is how Dani, with a bit of a body high and the grip of anxiety tight around her throat, finds herself gazing at a Californian sex shop.

“We do not,” Jamie says, watching her carefully, “and I cannot stress this enough, Poppins, we do not have to go in.”

“There’s...stuff in there.” The brownie is certainly doing its work. Dani swallows hard, searching for words more befitting of the situation. “Toys and things.”

Jamie looks as though she's suddenly trying very hard not to laugh. She seems considerably less high thus far, less inclined to disappear into this sidewalk if only someone were to let go of her arm and allow her to lie down.

“It’s the brave new frontier,” Jamie says, managing to keep her amusement tamped down in the face of Dani’s wide eyes. “We’re in the 90s now, Dani Clayton. The world is changing.”

“It is,” Dani repeats in a stage whisper that sounds very loud to her own ears, “a sex shop. In California.”

“Bit better stocked than one in England, I’d wager,” Jamie says through a smile that might yet dissolve into giggles. Dani squints at her, trying to stop the street from performing a gentle rotation around her.

“Whose idea was this again?”

“The brownie,” Jamie says, “was yours, actually. Haven’t tried this, Jamie, that’s what you said. We’re on an adventure, Jamie. I thought a nice spot of grass would do the trick fine enough, but...”

Dani slaps at her shoulder, misses somehow, almost tips over. Jamie catches her around the middle, and there’s a flash--the briefest, there-and-gone flash--of that night. Of Jamie holding her up. Of watching the world spin for a very different reason.

Life, she thinks with a stab of unease, is very short.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jamie repeats, a bit bewildered. She adjusts her grip, helping Dani find her feet again so she can let go. California is better than most anywhere else--at least this part of California--but it still isn’t good to give the universe an open shot.

“We can...” She can’t say it. Isn’t quite that high. “We can--”

“Explore,” Jamie supplies. “See the sights. It’s an adventure, after all.”

And it does feel adventurous. There is a bravery in Dani Clayton she never seems able to predict--the things she’s capable of, the things she even finds she enjoys, tend to come out of left field and catch her unawares. Some of these things have a tendency to work out better than others.

(Example: kissing Jamie. Truly the best snap decision she’s ever made. Inviting a ghost into her body? Maybe not so high on the list.)

But the sun is bright, and the buzz beneath her skin feels good, and there is no sign of ghosts in California. Just a surprisingly well-lit shop with a clerk who gives them a bored nod and a tiny hand gesture that says, Go on, couldn’t care less what you do, long as you’ve got cash. Dani smiles at him, too wide, and wonders if he’s like them. If he, too, has spent a lifetime unable to show off in the world.

There isn’t much time to think about it, not with Jamie taking her by the sleeve and guiding her through neatly arranged aisles. There are costumes here that make Dani’s skin go white-hot to imagine trying to be serious wearing. There are items designed to vibrate, items designed to bind wrists, items designed for things she really feels better off not thinking about at all.

“What d’you think?” Jamie asks at one shelf, eyebrows raised, and Dani thinks she’s joking. Probably joking. Must be joking.

“Have you--I mean, I’d have no idea how to--”

“You could,” Jamie says in a low voice that sends a shiver down her spine. How Jamie can do this to her without even trying, even after years together, she can’t explain. Jamie isn’t even working at it now; her hands are tucked into her pockets, her head tilted pensively as she considers the array of options laid out before them. She’s barely even looking at Dani.

“I could,” Dani repeats weakly, “what?”

“Try it out,” Jamie explains. “If you wanted. If you were interested. But that’s not really what I’m suggesting. See...I know how they work. I’ve, uh...I mean, if you’re interested in...that.”

Her voice trails off, her eyes darting to steal a brief glance at Dani’s face, and Dani’s not entirely sure what her face is even doing. Judging by the way Jamie licks her lips, she suspects it isn’t subtle.

“Interested,” she says in a very small voice, gripping Jamie’s hand with convulsive force. “Yeah. Little bit.”

They don’t try it out in the hotel room; that is, Dani says once the brownie has worn off some, entirely too bold, even for an adventure. They make absolutely certain the package is tucked away in the bottom of the suitcase, as far as possible from prying eyes that never come to call. They don’t even talk about it again until they’re safely home.

Dani’s suddenly so nervous, it’s like the first time. Like stumbling up to her room with Jamie pressed close behind, every touch the kind of electric she’d thought might take her out before she had a chance to get Jamie’s clothes off. She walks into their apartment, this place they’ve called home for almost four years, and she thinks, I have never been terrified here before.

Jamie, seeming to sense her mood, sets the bag by the door and pulls her into an embrace. She kisses the side of her head. “Hey. We don’t have to. Can just put it in the closet for a rainy day.”

Dani senses the truth of this statement, that Jamie is perfectly fine pretending they never bought the thing at all. That Jamie would be perfectly fine sliding into bed with her like always, relying on skilled hands and searching tongue, loving Dani with everything she’s got as she has for years. Jamie would be okay with this. Jamie would never push.

But life is short, and sometimes, a person can surprise herself.

Jamie switches the lights off. Jamie almost never switches the lights off, not since the first time she ever told Dani she was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. Still, Dani is relieved. There is something reassuring about Jamie’s willingness to take her hands in the dark, about Jamie’s eagerness to please her binding tight to Jamie’s devotion to keeping her safe.

“Slow,” she promises Dani, sliding into bed and cradling her face. She is still just Jamie, Dani recognizes, though anxiety is playing tricks on her heart rate. Just Jamie’s hands, soft on her cheeks, brushing her hair back. Just Jamie’s mouth, raining small, light kisses across her face. Waiting for her to decide how far this goes.

And Dani would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous--if she said the brush of cloth harness around Jamie’s hips and the silicon between her legs wasn’t a surprise, even knowing what to expect. She would be lying, too, if she said it wasn’t a thrill. That Jamie is just laying alongside her in familiar sheets, thumb drawing soft arcs across her cheekbone, down the line of her jaw, tipping her head back so Jamie can kiss her neck. That Jamie is touching her like always, not pushing, not rushing, fingers playing along her skin like she’s the world’s most well-loved instrument.

Jamie, breathing soft words into every kiss. Jamie, exhaling, “Lead the way, okay? Tell me. Anything you want.”

Dani finds her own hand sliding down, exploring the familiar curve of Jamie’s neck, fingering the chain that rests against her collarbones, drawing down, down, until she’s taking a handful of something not Jamie in the least. Testing its weight against her palm. Curling her fingers loosely. Jamie, though this object is not possessed of skin or nerve endings, sucks a breath in through her teeth anyway. Like Dani taking the time to explore is doing something maybe Jamie herself can’t even explain.

“Okay?” she says, breath warm on Dani’s skin, and Dani nods. She finds her body is searching Jamie’s out, pressing in close, and Jamie’s hand is covering hers. Even as she moves Dani gently to her back, even as her hips are coming to rest against Dani’s, her hand is there. A grounding force, as ever. Guiding in.

Dani draws a hot breath, knees bent, and Jamie pauses. Moves only when Dani’s eyes open and she nods, one arm around Jamie’s neck, pulling her down to kiss her parted lips.

“Slow,” she agrees, and Jamie makes a noise she likes more than anything else in the world as she shifts her hips, slides all the way in. The world is dark around them, made up of little more than the careful rock of Jamie’s body against hers, the instinctive way her own legs come up to pull Jamie deeper, the wonderfully small, uncontrolled noise she can hear herself making against Jamie’s shoulder. The method is foreign, but it’s still Jamie’s body behind each thrust, still Jamie’s rhythm making her whimper and clutch at Jamie’s neck.

They move together, and it’s been four years, four years of learning every inch of how Jamie is capable of moving with her, but Dani finds this is something other. Something perfectly matched. Not better, not a completion she’s never found before--Jamie has never been lacking--but new, anyway.

She hears her own hitching breaths, hears the fevered, reverent way Jamie says her name over and over, the bed knocking against the wall again and again. Jamie, true to her word, goes slow the whole way, until Dani is biting her own lip against a cry, until Dani is clenching and shuddering under her.

“Good kind of adventure?” Jamie asks, having carefully extricated herself, stripped off the addition, curled up against Dani’s chest. Dani hums.

“Thank you.”

Jamie raises her head. “For what?”

Dani mulls it over, her body spent, her mind already on its way to sleep.

“For,” she says at last, nuzzling closer, “not getting sick of me. Not getting sick of walking with me through the parts I’m not...prepared for.”

She doesn’t say what she means--that, someday, the parts she isn’t prepared for won’t be trying a new toy in bed--and knows she doesn’t have to. Jamie signed on for the whole adventure the day she took Dani’s hand, kissed her knuckles, promised her company for good or for ill.

There’s a promise like that, Dani thinks blearily as she sinks into sleep. For better or worse. People say that to the person they’re going to...

Living in America when you can’t share the love of your life with the world is, sometimes, a lot more frustrating than Dani would have given it credit for before finding Jamie. Back in her old life, walking around with Edmund’s hand possessively wrapped around her waist, she’d felt like no one should want to lean into PDA. It was embarrassing, she felt. Horribly awkward, having someone else’s arm around your shoulders as you tried to fall into step with their much longer legs, or trying to find the right produce at the grocery store with someone insisting you hold their hand. She’d thought it would be a relief, in its own horrible way, not to have that opportunity.

And then Eddie was gone, and Jamie’s was the hand in the grocery store, the arm hesitating before reaching her shoulders. Now? Dani gets it. Dani gets it, and can’t have it, and it makes her crazy.

She thinks Jamie knows this. Knows Jamie, too, longs for a world where no one would look twice if they curled close together in a movie theater, or lay with Dani’s head pillowed in Jamie’s lap at the park. Jamie wants the constant contact at least as much as Dani does, because tactile environments are where Jamie shines.

It is, before Jamie ever said the words aloud, how Dani knew for a fact Jamie loves her.

It is, before Jamie ever admitted as much, how she knew for a fact Jamie has chosen this for good and for all.

And it is, as time marches on and strangers remain staunchly bigoted, making her crazy not to be able to embrace.

Jamie feels it, too, she knows, but Jamie has a very particular way of coping with her inability to just behave normally with Dani in social situations. A way that is, in its own way, also driving Dani crazy.

She just keeps getting more and more handsy.

The thing is, she’s doing it in the most absent-minded way possible, like Dani has watched girls--straight girls, girls who are allowed to cuddle close to other women and touch their hair and play with their jewelry without anyone caring to judge--do her whole life. In ways Dani herself can’t imagine. Jamie will just sidle up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder and falling away again before anyone can question it. She’ll touch two fingers lightly to the soft inner stretch of Dani’s wrist to get her attention at dinner, and by the time Dani’s fully registered it, her hand is gone, flagging down a waiter.

At first, Dani thought she was doing it on purpose. A kind of game to keep them entertained in boring public situations. She’d thought it was another brand of adventure, of Jamie being comfortable in her skin so long, she feels capable of sneaking past strangers.

Now, after weeks of increasing torment, she thinks Jamie is just doing this. Somehow toeing the line between what is dangerous and what is fraying at Dani’s sanity.

“How are you doing that?” she asks when Jamie brushes the tips of her fingers just under Dani’s blouse, catching the strip of skin before her jeans begin, though they’ve got seven customers milling around the shop. Jamie looks confused.

“How am I doing what?”

“You’re--” Dani bites down on the words as old Mrs. Morgan, who comes in twice a month for arrangements to present to her daughter-in-law, shuffles up to the counter. Jamie smiles her best customer-service smile, as polished and somehow genuine as anything, and sets to work ringing her up. Dani, free for the moment, leans back with thumbs folded tight into her fists.

“Sorry,” Jamie says a few minutes later, once more wearing that lightly-perplexed look she gets when Dani points out something of which she has not been conscious. “What’ve I been doing, now?”

“You’ve been...” Dani makes a concerted effort to lower her voice, which seems like a wise idea right until Jamie takes another step and bends her head to hear the next words. She’s right there, barely three inches away, and Dani’s never clenched her fists so hard to keep from grabbing at thin black suspenders. “Touching me. In public.”

“Have I?” Jamie looks genuinely startled. “More than is normal, you mean?”

Dani shakes her head, unable to stomach the difference between what is normal for them and what is normal for women who are not sleeping together. Not in love. Not sharing every inch of a life that deserves to have songs written about it.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. “Honestly, Dani, I didn’t mean--am I making you uncomfortable?”

You’re making me want you, Dani thinks helplessly, in places I absolutely cannot have you. Which is, in its own way, worse.

“I’ll be more careful,” Jamie assures her, completely missing the point. She reaches as if to touch Dani’s elbow, catches herself, smiles wryly. “A lot more careful.”

Dani wants to tell her that isn't what she wants, isn’t what she’s ever wanted, that there’s only so much time in the world for careful--but that’s the fire talking, the one running through her blood each time Jamie looks up from repotting flowers and gives her a little once-over, a wink. The real world requires careful. The real world requires walking lightly, hands swinging a little apart.

The real world requires, when Jamie leans over her to recover paper towel from a higher shelf, breasts pressing into Dani’s back, her to keep her goddamned head.

It requires, when Jamie reaches around her for a drinking fountain in the park, bare skin of her arm pressed flush to Dani’s, her to keep her goddamned self-control in check.

It requires, when Jamie laughs and bumps close in line at the airport, her fingers brushing the hair behind Dani’s ear to keep it out of her eyes, for Dani to keep her goddamned pulse from skittering into adrenaline overdrive.

It’s been years, she reminds herself furiously as they settle in on the plane. They’re off to see Owen for the first time in ages, and it’ll be good to get away--there have been feelings she can’t collate inside her head, dreams in black and white she wakes from gasping. A little time away should help bring her back down.

Back down from worrying over ghosts, anyway.

Jamie’s wandering hands, on the other hand...

“Jamie,” she hisses, because airplane seats are really not spacious, and though they don’t have a seatmate on the aisle, there’s an elderly couple across the way with a perfect view of Jamie’s hand resting on her knee. Jamie looks down, jumps a little, tucks the offending hand under her own leg.

“Shit. Don’t know what’s wrong with me...”

Nothing, Dani wants to say, is wrong with you. It’s them. They’re wrong for asking us to hide. They’re wrong for asking me to ever pretend, even for a second, that you’re not the most important person in my life.

“It’s all right,” she whispers instead, like the pressure of Jamie’s palm sliding off her kneecap hasn’t left scorch marks. She closes her eyes, leans her head back. There’s a long flight ahead for someone already on fire. A long flight, and she thinks with truly feral madness, There’s a bathroom. Small. Cramped. But we could fit, maybe. I could get her in there, maybe.

She lets the image unspool for a moment: Jamie propped against a tiny airplane sink, muffling filthy sounds against her arm, Dani on her knees before her. No. No, best put that away for now. Even if they weren’t caught, by some insane miracle, they’d just have a bigger problem afterward. A problem labeled we’ve proven we’re willing to test this.

Dani isn’t, not really. Not if there’s a chance of blowing up their whole life.

Still, it’s hard to scrub the idea away. Jamie is looking at her with some concern, and it’s fair: Dani’s aware her cheeks are pink, her breath coming in sharp hitches. She forces a smile.

“You all right?” Jamie asks quietly. “Don’t feel sick, do you?”

“Not sick,” Dani says. She presses her lips into a thin line, gaze flicking unintentionally from Jamie’s eyes to her mouth, and understanding breaks slowly across Jamie’s face.

“Ah.” She looks so smug. Dani wishes that made her want Jamie any less.

“Don’t tease,” she mutters. “Can’t help it.” She really can’t, either. Jamie’s been there, right there, touching her everywhere for such short bursts, but the shop has been crazy. They’ve been tired. There hasn’t been any real time together in far too long.

Jamie looks at her, a long look that Dani thinks for a heart-stopping second will end in her simply saying, “Fuck it” and leaning in to kiss Dani on this plane. Can’t, she warns her silently. Can’t do that, Jamie, because if you start, I won’t be able to stop--

“Bit chilly,” Jamie says conversationally to someone over Dani’s head. She turns, catching sight of an airline stewardess just as Jamie adds, “Wouldn’t say no to a blanket, if there’s one handy.”

Oh, she’s made a joke, Dani thinks, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Heaven help me, she’s made a goddamn Owen pun, and they don’t even know.

The blanket, when it arrives, is thick, made of a somewhat scratchy dark gray material. Jamie spreads it laboriously across her own lap first, then makes a show of looking at Dani.

“You cold? Only, this is huge, and I’d feel terribly selfish hogging it the whole trip.”

Across the aisle, one of their elderly neighbors nods as though Jamie is the wisest, kindest person she’s ever seen in the wild. Jamie gives a returning nod, says blithely, “Ask for a blanket, flight’s always frigid once we get going.”

She’s pulling the blanket across Dani’s lap now, somehow making it look as though her hands are not sliding up Dani’s thigh in the process. Dani nearly bites her tongue trying not to respond.

She does believe, with her whole heart, that Jamie did not mean to start this. That Jamie’s wandering hands in public are entirely a thing of habit built at home. Jamie is always touching her at the apartment, always squeezing her arm or stroking her cheek or kissing whatever part of her is within reach. It’s the most natural thing in the world. She certainly hasn’t been putting them at risk on purpose.

But right now? Right now, on this plane, tucking the blanket carefully around Dani so there’s no way prying eyes can catch a glimpse of what’s going on beneath it?

Jamie is absolutely doing this on purpose.

“Are you crazy?” she hisses, trying to look as though she isn’t seconds from flying out of her own skin. Jamie is smiling so calmly, so rationally, tucking her hands under the blanket.

“Nope. Just chilly, as I said. Aren't you?”

Dani thinks she’s never been warmer in her entire life, not with Jamie’s rebellious left hand dragging the skirt up over her knees. From an outside perspective, it’s impossible to see; Jamie looks perfectly calm. Even friendly, should anyone catch her eye. She smiles like she doesn’t have Dani’s skirt rucked nearly to her waist.

She smiles like her hand isn’t sliding down the curve of Dani’s thigh now, cresting against the front of cotton underwear.

“Jamie,” Dani breathes. Jamie leans over on the pretense of trying to glance into the aisle for persons unknown. Her lips graze Dani’s ear.

“Keep quiet. Just pretend you’re looking out the window.”

Looking out the window, Dani thinks wildly, right. Like nothing’s going on under the noses of their fellow passengers. Like nothing whatsoever is happening under this blessedly-thick blanket, Jamie’s left hand tracing shapes into the apex of her groin. Jamie, with the calmest goddamn smile she’s ever seen, saying, “This is going to be good for us, y’know. Haven’t been out to see the sights in ages. America’s really gotten under my skin...”

How, thinks Dani, fists clenched against her own thighs under the blanket, is she talking? How can she possibly be holding a perfectly sane, perfectly serene conversation with her fingers sliding up, pulling aside the elastic of Dani’s underwear, moving the material aside just enough to press against slick skin. Dani swallows hard enough to hurt. Her own fingers are leaving impressions against her legs, bruises she’d rather be digging into Jamie’s skin.

“You’ll like it,” Jamie says in a placid, low voice, like her fingers aren’t currently tracing a spot particularly wet and warm. Like Dani’s hips aren’t twitching as she fights the urge to press into Jamie’s hand. Like she doesn’t know Dani’s nails are biting into her own thighs, dragging grooves that will burn later.

“Jamie.”

“Mm?” Like she doesn’t know. She’s grinning a crooked, cheerful little grin that makes Dani want to kiss her blind. If only they weren’t on a plane, if only there weren’t so many damn people around, she’d be out of this seat and riding Jamie’s lap, paying her back for this, making her squirm--

“You,” Dani says through clenched teeth as Jamie teases with one finger, slowly sliding in and easing right back out again. “You are in so much trouble when we land.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, eyes shining. If anyone bothered to look at her properly, they’d see the hunger etched all over her face, even under the easy smile. “Yeah, reckon I am. But that’s hours off, yet, Poppins. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

Dani moves a hand to grip Jamie’s knee as hard as she can, exhaling through her nose to keep from whimpering as Jamie sets a slow, dangerous pace.

This, she decides, will certainly be the thing to drive her insane.

She's learned a lot about Dani over the years. A lot of wonderful, invigorating, sexy things about Dani--and a lot of simple ones, too. How much garlic Dani prefers in just about any dish. How good she is at decorating a house so it looks safer than anywhere in the world. How bad she is at pretending not to stare when Jamie walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a mis-buttoned flannel shirt.

A good relationship, Jamie has determined--all too aware that this is the first and last truly good relationship of her life--is constant education. Learning what your person likes, and doesn’t like, and didn’t think they could ever tell you they liked until the moment arrived. Learning when to keep the lights on, when to hold them in the dark. Learning what moods beg a kiss, which ones require hands wiping away tears, and which ask only for silence.

She’s been with Dani a long time. Hopes to be with her a lot longer. Decades, if she can trick the universe into granting them that long a reprieve. Years, if she can only steal that much. Any time with Dani is cherished. Any time with Dani is more than either of them expected.

She’s been with Dani a long time, and there’s a lot she knows now. Where Dani’s ticklish in ways that will derail sex entirely by way of hysterical laughter; where she’s ticklish in less aggressive ways that will, in fact, enhance the experience when Jamie kisses those spots. She knows that Dani likes to relinquish control, because it makes her feel safe in Jamie’s hands, and that she sometimes likes to sneak control back when Jamie isn’t looking, because she likes the way Jamie forgets how to speak when she’s surprised. She knows the way Dani likes her neck kissed, the way Dani likes to be held through a particularly intense orgasm, the way Dani gets the right kind of embarrassed when something unexpectedly obscene comes out of her mouth at just the right moment.

She knows a lot about Dani, every last detail precious, but she doesn’t know everything. Sometimes, Dani still surprises her.

Like the day she comes home with a sad little plant.

She doesn’t recognize the look on Dani’s face, and a part of her--the part that’s been waking more and more as Dani jerks restlessly in her sleep, as she carefully averts her eyes from the bathroom mirror, as she gives that old tired not-quite-present smile Jamie remembers so well from their last week at Bly--worries. Dani is still full of surprises, but some of those surprises have teeth. Some, Jamie fears she’s not strong enough to lift from Dani’s shoulders.

This time, though, the look is less hunted and more...quietly nervous. Jamie is distracted, failing miserably to secure dinner for what feels like the thousandth time in this kitchen, but something about the way Dani is hefting this plant cuts through her focus.

Dani, rescuing plants off the side of the road. Be still her heart.

Something about the way Dani glances at her as she takes over at the stove, something about the way Dani brushes past like she’s running on something electric, nearly ruins the surprise. Nearly. Except Jamie is distracted, and there's something green and not entirely lifeless to repair, and Jamie has always been up for getting to the heart of a problem. The roots, she sees without really needing to dig. The roots are...

“Dani,” she hears herself say. “Why’s there a...”

And then Dani is using words like best friend, love of my life, words so big and so wonderful Jamie wonders if she’s really awake right now. And there are other words, scary ones--don’t know how much time we have left--but Dani chases them quickly with the best words Jamie’s ever heard. Words like spend them with you. Words like we’ll know. Words like it’s enough for me, if it’s enough for you.

Jamie can’t imagine this not being enough.

She’s half-crying, kissing Dani, half-laughing, wholly effervescent. Dani’s hair is soft under hands that suddenly feel too small, too clumsy, holding on to something so fragile. Dani’s whispering I love you against her lips, and Jamie recognizes some fear in the way she’s pulling Jamie closer. Some fear, and a huge amount of relief, too.

“Did you think I’d say no?” she teases when the tears dry up enough to let her speak again. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, shakes her head minutely.

“I don’t think anyone knows what the answer will be. But...no. No, I didn’t.”

“Good,” Jamie says, trying to look like she’s not sniffling. “Think you know me better than that.”

“I know you better than anyone,” Dani says, so honestly, Jamie feels something crack from deep inside. She slides the ring onto her finger to distract from this feeling of being dunked under by some enormous wave, by feelings she truly once thought she’d never have the space for in her body.

Dinner is decidedly not salvageable by this point, and Jamie finds she isn’t hungry, anyway. She leads Dani to the the couch, curls up close to her, eyes straying back to that sad little potted plant.

“Tried to grow it, didn’t you?”

“No,” Dani says, with exactly the same inflection she once used at six in the morning in a greenhouse. Jamie laughs.

There’s an energy between them tonight unlike anything Jamie’s ever felt before. It’s been hinted at over the years--in a bedroom at Bly, in a diner in the Midwest, in the middle of their shop--but never quite so clearly as in this moment. Dani, who has seemed less and less content lately, has an arm around her shoulders, her breath coming easier than it has in weeks. Jamie doesn’t like thinking about that, doesn’t like looking too closely at what might be pulling Dani back down that particular road.

This, she decides. Just this. Just today. The rest can wait.

Dani has her hand in her lap, is fiddling with the ring like she can't quite believe she had the guts to actually give it to Jamie. Dani is always so much more surprised by her own courage than Jamie has ever been. It was always, she thinks, watching Dani idly twist the gold band back and forth, going to be Dani doing the proposing. Dani, whose relationship with marriage is so complicated. Dani, whose relationship with time is so complicated.

There’s a lot in the relationship Dani leaves in Jamie’s hands. Repairs around the house, ideas of how the shop could run more smoothly, most nights in the bedroom. There’s a lot Dani doesn’t feel like she needs to grip in tense fists, a lot Dani has never felt the need to control. Jamie’s not sure control is the word she’d choose for herself, either, but there’s a certain natural leadership to her posture in the world. Maybe because, for a time, there was no one but Jamie herself calling the shots. Maybe because she’s used to making hard choices, unable to drop them on anyone else’s shoulders.

It makes her feel an unexpected kind of strong, that Dani trusts her with so much.

But this always felt important to leave to Dani. Jamie would have been all right if they never had this conversation; the way she sees it, not much would have changed. Dani is still her most important person, ring or no. She’ll be here as long as Dani will have her, even without vows or witnesses.

But for Dani to have done this--for Dani to have planned it out, kept it a secret when she is absolutely terrible at keeping secrets from Jamie (”I never know,” she says, making a horror into the sweetest thing in the world by virtue of pout alone, “how much time we have, why would I keep anything from you?”), dropped it smoothly on a sunny evening like this--is perfect. It’s small, and it’s private, and it’s the bravest thing in the world.

“I love you,” Jamie says, because there is no amount of saying it that would feel like enough. Dani smiles until the corners of her eyes crinkle.

There are things that have surprised her about Dani over the years, and things that may have surprised Dani even more--but the thing Jamie finds most surprising of all comes from this. From the way her whole body relaxes in Dani’s hands. From the way her eyes close and her breath shallows out when Dani’s nearby. She’s never been good at vulnerability, not with anyone, but the minute Dani entered her life, it’s like vulnerability became her life’s mission.

Never consciously. Never with intent. Just...organically, the way cells know to age, the way plants know to seek sunlight. Dani walked into her life with shoulders tight and more love in her heart than she seemed to know what to do with, and suddenly, Jamie wanted only to give. Her time, her affection, anything Dani needed. Anything Dani could ever want.

It should be exhausting. It should take everything out of her. It should wring her out and leave nothing in its wake.

Instead, it seems to make her stronger every day. It seems to make her more with everything she gives to Dani: her love, her hope, her reassurances. She gives, and Dani, who could so easily take, gives back, and Jamie thinks, It’s this. It’s the exchange. Not just the caring, but the being taken care of.

“What’re you thinking?” Dani asks. Jamie winds their fingers together, brings their joined hands to her lips.

“That I’m lucky. Incredibly, illogically lucky.”

“Should I have--” Dani hesitates. “I don’t know, done it sooner?”

Sand in an hourglass, Jamie thinks. In the end, it’s all sand in an hourglass, and no amount of rushing can change it.

“It was perfect,” she says, leaning across Dani to kiss her lips. “Truly. Couldn’t ask for better.”

Dani looks like she may be considering pressing--there’s a particular crease she gets between the eyes when self-consciousness is at the wheel, and it breaks Jamie’s heart every time she sees it. Jamie pushes her back against the arm of the couch, dropping with her until they’re laying flush, cupping one hand under Dani’s jaw to kiss her properly.

“Perfect,” she repeats, brushing her nose against Dani’s, sighing when Dani’s hands move reflexively to slide the strap of her overalls off her shoulder.

There’s less verbal reassurance from there, considerably more work done via hands and sighs and lips. They’re laughing even as Jamie shifts too far to the left and rolls them both onto the very-solid floor in a half-dressed heap. Dani’s still laughing--half-wild with what Jamie reads as untempered relief--even as Jamie helps her wrestle out of her jacket, even as Jamie is sliding down her body, kissing her way back up again through the impossibly-deep slit in her dress.

There are times with Dani that feel like the pair of them will burst into flame if they aren’t touching, if they aren’t setting a rhythm together in that very moment. There are times where it’s all hunger, all heat, where Jamie thinks the very act of loving Dani might set her ablaze. And then there are times like this: times where Dani watches her with half-lidded eyes, smiling even as Jamie is undressing her, even as Jamie is coaxing cloth aside and pulling Dani to her mouth. Smiling, sighing, shifting under Jamie like there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.

Times like this, tasting Dani, grasping blindly for her hand with eyes closed, are secretly Jamie’s favorite. Times like this, feeling Dani move beneath her, tracing Dani’s knuckles with the pad of her thumb, Dani’s voice the only song in the room, are the absolute ideal. It’s only here, in their home, knowing Dani would give anything to keep this safe, that Jamie thinks she’s her absolute best self.

It’s here--curled on the floor with her back against Dani’s chest, Dani’s hand tossed lightly over her hip, both of them covered with a very badly crocheted blanket Dani picked out at a flea market--that she feels most real.

“I want this,” Dani says sleepily, words muffled with her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder. “For as long as possible.”

“Sleeping naked on a hardwood floor?” Jamie shifts her face against her bent elbow, grinning. Dani’s arm slides tighter around her middle.

“Holding you. Anywhere.”

“Think that can be arranged,” Jamie says, voice unexpectedly thick with emotion. Dani nuzzles against her shoulder again.

“Promise?”

Something releases in her chest, the duality of Dani now--a Dani who is starting to get scared again, but still brave enough to ask Jamie to marry her--and Dani then--a Dani terrified already, but so brave in asking Jamie to stay--coalescing into one. She inhales, shuddering, pressing back into Dani’s arms as hard as she can. Dani squeezes like she understands, like she knows Jamie needs nothing like she needs to know Dani is the most solid thing in the room.

This is the thing, Jamie thinks, that surprises her most. Not just being taken care of, but needing it from Dani. Needing to be held, needing to feel the weight of Dani’s body against her own. Needing to be reminded that for all her good humor, all her confidence, all the times Jamie can’t help putting Dani first--Dani’s doing the exact same thing.

“I’m gonna marry you,” she hears herself say, turning in Dani’s grasp and pressing her face against Dani’s neck. “Someday. Minute it’s even remotely legal.”

Dani makes the most content noise she’s ever heard in her life. “One day at a time,” she says. To Jamie’s ears, it's the purest kind of vow.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #good lord this took three days #1) as usual thank jess #2) it has been a long time since I've written this much smut #3) this one shouldn't make people cry as much you're welcome.

276 notes · View notes