#I’m just happy at that we’re already applying for new apartments cos I’m not doing this shit anymore. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cadence-talle · 4 years ago

Text

Sugar Snow and Peppermint Pathways

Pairing: Fitz Vacker/Dex Dizznee, Sophie Foster/Biana Vacker

Wordcount: 9,587

Summary: Unlike many baking shows out there, the Holiday Bake-Off isn’t elimination-based, which viewers claim makes it all the more interesting. Each competitor, however, is entirely on their own- which means that if the Vacker siblings do attend, they’ll be working against each other for the first time ever.

Dex rolls out the cookie dough again. "I hate them so much."

(Or: nearly everyone is a famous baker, Biana and Fitz are both a little bit in love, and Dex Dizznee does not, under any circumstances, want to interact with the Vackers.)

Other notes: my Winter Exchange gift for @yeetersofthelostcities! I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you as much about this fic as I did, but it’s also 9k, so I think you can forgive me.

Read it on AO3 (much recommended since this is long and some of the fonts didn’t quite translate to Tumblr) or under the cut!

World-Famous Vacker Siblings Rumored To Be On 2020’s Annual Holiday Bake-Off

Fitzroy and Biana Vacker have been making a lot of headlines this year, from the opening of their new bakery in Chicago to the millions of dollars they’ve donated to various charities around the globe. The sibling duo seems to have been born with baking skills- and it’s no surprise, since their mother is Della Vacker, author of five bestselling cookbooks. (See our biography of Della Vacker if you’d like to learn more!)

But this December may mark their greatest trial yet. Netflix’s Happy Holiday Bake-Off garnered more than three million views last year, and it’s set to get even more attention this year now that four-star restaurant owner Edaline Ruewen is hosting.

For those of you new to the bake-off, the rules are simple: it’s comprised of five different baking challenges, spread out over the week leading up to Christmas Day. Each of the eight competitors will have five different chances to wow the judges- and on the final day, whoever’s made the most impact will win thousands of dollars. Unlike many baking shows out there, the Holiday Bake-Off isn’t elimination-based, which viewers claim makes it all the more interesting. Each competitor, however, is entirely on their own- which means that if the Vacker siblings do attend, they’ll be working against each other for the first time ever.

--read more--

OTHER NEWS

13 Christmas Cookie recipes to brighten up your winter!

“It’s All In The Butter”: Edaline Ruewen shares the secret of her famous butterblasts!

Fintan Pyren opens a new barbeque joint in Upper Manhattan. Its name? Flambé.

Subscribe to BAKER’S WEEKLY ONLINE today and get a free tote bag!

-/-

December 12, 2020.

Biana Vacker’s Self-Proclaimed Trash Can Fire

New York City, New York.

“No.”

“Yes,” Biana says cheerfully, leaning over the dining room table to ruffle her brother’s hair. Fitz glares at her. “I’ve already signed the papers.”

“But-” Fitz sighs, apparently already giving up. “Ugh. I’m busy.”

“Fun fact: spending thirty hours trying to refine the perfect croissant recipe does not qualify as being ‘busy’. Our croissants are delicious. They don’t need any more work. You, however, need a vacation.”

“Funner fact: competing against my own sister on a reality show broadcast to the country is less of a vacation than working out apricot croissants would be.”

“Even more fun fact: ‘funner’ is not a word.”

“Even funner fact: I literally do not give a single fuck.”

Della’s laugh crackles over the phone, warm and bright. “Language, Fitzroy,” she says. Livvy snorts.

“He’s twenty-two years old, Dell. I don’t think you get to say that.”

Biana giggles. She can almost picture the scene at the other end of the call- her moms curled up on the couch, Della nursing a cup of mulled cider as Livvy talks intently about her patients at the hospital. Their menorah will have four candles lit by tonight, mirroring the one that sits on Biana’s own side table. The whole house will be filled with warmth and laughter.

Biana misses that sometimes, looking around her empty apartment. Wishes she was still a little girl and could snuggle up next to her mom and watch The Nutcracker because Della knew, without asking, that Biana was sad. Before all this… responsibility.

That’s not really fair, though, because when she was a little girl Livvy wasn’t there, and Della was sad, and Fitz was angry. So maybe she doesn’t miss the old days- maybe she just misses having someone there to understand her.

Fitz is here, she reminds herself. He’s not leaving. He’s good, and he’s not leaving.

“... chocolate chips on the ceiling,” her brother is saying when Biana snaps back to the conversation. Over the phone, Della groans.

“Don’t even mention that. Goodness, I’m glad you’ve left the ‘crazy parties’ stage of your life behind, Fitz. Those were hell to clean up after.”

“I don’t know, it was pretty funny to watch him try to repair a chair while hungover the next morning,” Biana teases. Fitz rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I didn’t-”

There’s a loud beeping noise Biana registers as an oven timer, and she spins around towards her kitchen before realizing it’s coming from her moms’ end. Della makes an apologetic noise.

“Sorry, darlings, we should go. I love you!”

“Love you too,” Biana and Fitz echo. There’s a rustling sound, like Della is moving to hang up, and then she pauses.

“Oh, and Fitz, I think the Holiday Bake-Off is a wonderful idea. Good luck!”

And then Biana’s phone is flashing the Time Elapsed: 22 minutes screen, and her brother is back to glaring at her.

“No.”

“I’m not arguing this anymore,” Biana says, moving towards the kitchen and filling up a pot of water. “Do we want spaghetti for dinner?”

“Sure,” Fitz retrieves several cans of tomato sauce and dumps them in a pot. “I just- sorry. What if we lose?”

“Well, at least one of us is going to lose,” Biana points out. “And even if we both get the lowest ratings in the entire show, so what? We don’t need the money.”

“But-” Fitz waves his hands in the air. “We’re going to be- people are going to be watching us. What happens if we fuck up?”

Oh. Of course that’s what he’s worried about. Fitz has always, always been worried about public appearances. Biana sets the water on the stove and moves over to him, leaning against the opposite counter.

“Bro. Man. My dude.” She says seriously. Fitz purses his lips in a way that makes it clear he’s hiding a smile. “Fitz, we’re going to be fine. No one’s going to be judging how we do in this competition.”

“Sorry, do you hear yourself?”

“Okay, fair, but you know what I mean. Losing this contest isn’t going to wreck our business. If we can strike up enough of a friendship with whoever does win, we could even stand to grow.”

Fitz stares at her. Biana stares back. The tomato sauce starts to bubble.

“Fine,” Fitz finally says. “Do we have any veggie meatballs?”

-/-

December 13, 2020.

The Good Place Bakery

Middlebury, Vermont.

Dex drops the cookie dough onto the flour-covered counter, smacking it with what’s probably more force than necessary. It holds up, though, and he cuts out two entire trays of tiny snowmen and stars before his co-owner arrives in a blaze of glory.

“Guess who’s got a date this weekend!” Keefe sings, dumping his coat on a hook and pushing himself up on the counter. He gets a good look at Dex’s face and frowns. “Whoa, who bruleed your creme?”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Dex rolls his eyes, “and everything’s fine. What poor guy did you pick up now?”

“His name’s Nathan and he’s beautiful,” Keefe sighs. “But don’t try to change the subject. Why do you have your grumpy face on?”

Dex grabs the letter from where he threw it across the room half an hour ago and hands it to the other man. Keefe skims it.

“You have been invited onto Netflix’s Happy Holiday Bake-Off,” he reads. He glances up at Dex. “Okay… didn’t we already know that? Soph’s been talking about the contest for weeks.”

“Yes, but I got more information this time around,” Dex says tightly. “And it turns out the Vacker siblings are also competing.”

“Oh.” Keefe sets the letter down and picks up one of the cookie sheets, sliding it into the oven. “Well, I think you can beat them.”

“Of course I can beat them,” Dex snaps. “That’s not the problem. The problem is-” he sweeps up the dough scraps and prepares to roll them out again. “The problem is they’re fake and I don’t like them.”

He’s aware he sounds like a child. It’s hard to describe, though, what makes him so frustrated about the Vacker siblings. The two of them just make it look so… easy, though. Born into fame and given a head start in front of everyone else. Dex had to take out three different loans to start this bakery, and even that was with Keefe’s huge trust fund.

“They’re just… fake,” he says lamely. “No one’s that perfect.”

“Mmm.” Keefe hums, then murmurs, “okay, but you know who is that perfect?”

Dex sighs. “Okay, tell me about Nathan.”

Keefe is halfway through the story of how they met- at the library, apparently, because that’s widely known to be the most romantic spot in town- when Amy shoves through the doors and steals an unbaked cookie.

“Morning,” she grins around a mouthful of crumbs. Dex raises an eyebrow and slides the cookie sheet towards Keefe before she can eat more.

“Morning,” he says. “How’s Marty?”

“Still hates everyone but Sophie,” Amy shrugs. “Who isn’t here, obviously, because she and Mom are in Chicago setting up the Bake-Off.” She squints at Dex. “I can’t believe you got onto the show. There have to be rules against that.”

“Technically, that only applies if it’s direct relation. So, like, kids and parents.” Keefe grabs a piece of cookie dough. “Plus, even if Edaline did give Dex super high ratings on everything, he can’t win unless the other judges agree.”

“You’re going to get salmonella,” Dex tells the two of them. “But yeah, Keefe’s right. I’ll have to actually try if I want to win.”

“Do you?” Amy asks. Dex bites his lip, dusting some flour off his shirt.

“The money would be nice, I guess. But- I don’t know. We’ll get publicity either way, and that’s what’s important.”

“Attaboy,” Keefe gives him a thumbs-up. “You’re gonna win all the brownie points. Well, assuming they have you make brownies.”

“I-” Dex stares at him, shaking his head. “Why don’t you tell Amy about Nathan.”

-/-

December 17, 2020.

Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois.

Biana glances around the room, light reflecting off the chandelier above and casting glittering patterns on the carpet and various couches scattered around the hall-like space. Four days have passed she broke the news to Fitz, and she’s wondering if this was a bad idea after all.

She’s not the first one here, thank goodness; there’s a tiny blond woman seated on a chair further down chatting to a man with silver-dyed bangs and a frizzy-haired woman tapping impatiently on her phone a few feet away. A door at the other end of the hall presumably leads further into the hotel.

A buzz in her pocket prompts her to retrieve her phone, and Biana opens it to find three texts from her brother.

ritzroy

Ok I made it to our room

[image.jpg]

There’s a paper crane on the kitchen counter is this some sort of message

yes.

they're trying to tell u that u r a paper crane

ritzroy

*you *are

I know you only do that to annoy me.

now get down here i feel awkward standing all by myself

ritzroy

Have you tried talking to people?

fuck you

Sighing a bit, she plops down on a couch half-obscured by a large plant. Someone coughs from where they’re sitting next to her and Biana turns around to apologize.

“Hi,” says Sophie Foster.

Biana stares. The woman is about half an inch shorter than her, blond hair tucked back into a ponytail and white blouse slightly wrinkled. Biana’s seen this face on television upwards of a hundred times- the award-winning chef daughter of Grady and Edaline Ruewen attracts attention, after all- but never quite like this, with eyebrows furrowed and mouth tilted a little to the side.

“Hey,” Biana says about a minute too late. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t know there was someone sitting here.”

“No problem,” Sophie assures her. “You’re Biana Vacker, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Biana nods, slightly stunned that Sophie Elizabeth Foster knows her name. “You’re- Sophie Foster.”

“That’s me,” Sophie says, smiling a little. “You ready for the competition?”

“Definitely,” Biana responds. “I mean, I don’t celebrate Christmas, but I watched the Holiday Bake-Off last year, and it seems like it’s super fun? And it’ll be cool to see what other people make too.”

“Yeah.” Silence falls over the two of them, and Biana cringes inwardly. This is the worst possible thing. Where on earth is her brother?

Searching for something to say, Biana opens her mouth. “Um-”

“Huh?” Sophie turns a little more towards her, eyes fixed on Biana’s face. Biana swallows a little.

“Uh, I was actually really nervous when I noticed I was sitting next to you. I’m kind of a huge fan.”

Sophie blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“No?”

“When I found out you were going to be competing, I literally asked my mom if she could get me on the show because I wanted to meet you so bad.”

Biana’s staring again. “Oh.”

Sophie’s phone buzzes and she pulls it out, tapping the screen. Biana tilts her head a little in confusion.

“Gotta go,” Sophie says with an apologetic smile. She stands up and starts towards the door, turning back to say one last thing before she leaves.

“You’re even prettier in person.”

When Fitz shows up two minutes later, Biana’s still staring wide-eyed at the place where Sophie was just standing. Her brother flops down onto the couch next to her and raises an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Biana shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Well, I dropped the bags off. The room’s nice,” Fitz offers. “Oh, and Mom says we should video chat tonight. She wants the tea.”

Biana blinks. “The… tea.”

“Her words, not mine.”

“Yeah, I think I could tell. What-”

“Hello, everyone!” The door at the end of the hall swings open and a smiling red-haired woman steps out, followed by two others. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Edaline Ruewen, from Vermont. I’ll be one of the judges next week. We’re all gonna go around and introduce ourselves, I’ll outline a schedule, and then y’all will be free to go. Cadence?”

“Good afternoon,” a tall dark-skinned woman greets. “I’m Cadence Talle, food journalist for the LA Times. I’ll be another one of your judges, along with-”

“Bronte.” The third man interrupts. He raises an eyebrow at the faces waiting for him to go on. “Well?”

“Looks like someone’s judging us already,” Fitz whispers. Biana muffles a laugh in her coat sleeve as the blond woman from before speaks up.

“Hi, I’m Marella Redek. I’m a pastry chef over in Portland.”

“Tam Song. I do the baking for a restaurant here in the city.”

People introduce themselves quickly, names flashing by in quick succession- Maruca Chebota, Jensi Babblos, Stina Heks.

“I’m Biana Vacker,” Biana says when it’s her turn. “My brother and I co-manage a couple bakeries across the country.”

Fitz raises his hand. “I’m her brother.”

“Dex Dizznee,” says the last competitor, a strawberry-blond man seated on the arm of a couch. “I have a bakery up in Middlebury.”

“Wait, The Good Place?” Fitz leans forward. “I made your chocolate cream pie recipe once. It’s fantastic.”

Dex blinks, face finally settling in an expression that reminds Biana of some of the people at the huge dinner parties her dad used to throw- carefully, delicately concealed disdain. She wonders what Fitz has done to warrant that look.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Dex says calmly. “Chocolate cream is one of my co-owner’s favorites, actually.”

Fitz nods. “Neat.”

Edaline smiles at them, clapping her hands for attention. “All right! Let’s go over the schedule, then. The first round is on Saturday, and the last one is next Wednesday. You’ll be expected to arrive at the kitchens by eleven am…”

“What’s up with him?” Biana whispers. Fitz raises one shoulder in a tiny shrug.

“I don’t know, but he doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

There’s no way Dex can hear them- he’s nearly fifteen feet away and Edaline’s voice carries throughout the entire hall. Still, he’s staring at Fitz when Biana glances at him, and there’s molten caramel in his gaze.

-/-

December 17, 2020.

Some Fancy Room In Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois.

“And then he just went, ‘Neat.’ Neat? Like, what the fuck?”

“Dude, you know I love you, but don’t you think you’re making a bit of a big deal out of this? He just complimented the bakery.”

Dex heaves a sigh, flopping onto his hotel bed and staring up at the light fixture. It’s probably trendy, with all those boxes or whatever, but Dex can’t really tell. This is why he’s a baker.

“I know, I know. He just- gets under my skin. I’ve been pissed all day.”

“Funny,” Keefe says, and Dex can just hear him smiling. “I thought you had more of a problem with the Vackers as a whole than you did with Fitz. Or is he just too attractive to be anything but your singular arch-nemesis?”

“Enemies to lovers speedrun,” Amy calls in the background and Keefe laughs. He’s probably having dinner with Grady and Amy tonight like they typically do once a month. Normally, Dex, Sophie and Edaline are there too.

Dex’s family is weirdly spread across the country- Grady and Edaline live an hour away, Rex and Bex are somehow both coexisting at Seattle University while Lex stays closer to home back in Michigan, and Sophie and Amy split their time between Middlebury and their apartment in San Francisco. They do their best to stay in touch, though, even with the bakery’s odd hours and the Ruewen’s constant media appearances.

“So how’s the hotel?” Keefe asks. Dex shrugs.

“It’s a hotel. My room has a little kitchen, which is nice, and there’s, like, a bigger community pantry-slash-kitchen down the hall. It feels like college.”

“College is worse, actually,” Amy says. Dex snorts.

“You say that like I haven’t been to college.”

“Dude, we met in college,” Keefe points out, “and you did not get the full college experience. You just, like, baked 23/7 and then miraculously passed all your classes with the last hour.”

“Yes,” Dex says over the sound of Amy’s cackling. “Yes, that is exactly what I did. You’re completely right.”

“I know,” Keefe says. “I’m always right. I have, never, ever done anything wrong.”

“You called me this morning to freak out over your date outfit for a date that’s three days away, but go off I guess.” Amy deadpans.

“Fuck you-” The sounds of a small scuffle come through the speakers and Dex rolls his eyes.

“I’m going to sleep,” he calls. “See you guys in a week.”

“Good luck!” Amy calls, and Dex hangs up.

-/-

December 19, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois.

Biana tucks one last strand of hair back into her braid and glances over at the imposing black camera standing next to her station. There are ones just like it scattered around the entire room, fluorescent overhead lights reflected off their shiny exteriors. It’ll be weird trying to bake with someone recording her the whole time, but she can take it.

“Good morning, everyone!” Edaline calls, sweeping out to the judges bench with Cadence and Bronte close on her heels. There’s some sort of sheet-covered circle on the wall behind them. “I hope y’all are ready to bake!”

Everyone cheers and Edaline throws her head back, laughing a laugh with just enough snort in it to sound real. Biana’s reminded suddenly of her own mother; Edaline has the same sort of tough core and caring nature covered by a thin layer of plastic for the cameras. She wonders if Sophie is the same.

“And without further ado,” Edaline says. Biana snaps her attention back, hoping she hasn’t missed anything important. “Today’s challenge is…”

Bronte tugs on the fabric and it falls away to reveal a casino-style roulette wheel. If Biana squints, she can see words written on each colored section; CHOCOLATE and RASPBERRY and ALMOND.

“Cookies,” he announces.

Cadence sweeps her gaze over all of them. “Spin the wheel twice to find out what ingredients you need to include, and then you’ll have forty-five minutes to bake. Understood?”

Biana nods, glancing at the camera out of the corner of her eye and rearranging her face into something a bit more excited. She should probably start thinking about what to say in the post-baking interview.

Fitz is the first to spin the wheel, and he gets COCONUT and STRAWBERRY. He looks a little confused but smiles, media persona still firmly in place.

Biana gets GINGER and CHOCOLATE, returning to her station with a wide smile. This recipe is one she created with Livvy- they were home alone while Della and Fitz went out to a show and decided to try the most difficult food combinations they could think of.

Honey-covered crickets were surprisingly delicious. Hot sauce mixed with Gatorade was not.

(I knew what I was going to do immediately, she tells the cameras afterward. It’s a family favorite; chocolate-ginger crinkle cookies.)

She retrieves a packet of candied ginger and grabs two bags of chocolate chips, dumping one bag in a saucepan and starting to melt them. A few feet away, Dex Dizznee stares at his ingredients- ALMOND and ANISE, a fairly simple combination- before turning away towards the ingredients. If Biana had to hazard a guess, she’d say he’s making biscotti.

(Biscotti’s probably too obvious for almonds, Dex shrugs later, but my friend Keefe and I perfected an almond-anise biscotti a while back and I figured, why waste what little time I had on something new?)

Once she gets started, it’s easy to just focus on the recipe. She’s not like Fitz; baking’s not the be-all end-all stress reliever it is for him, but there’s definitely something comforting about the familiar motions. Before she knows it, she’s pulling the sheets out of the oven and arranging the prettiest ones on a plate for the judges to try.

Marella Redek goes up first, showing off her caramel-pecan shortbread with a polite smile.

(I’m just glad I didn’t get one of those crazy combinations, she says with a sigh of relief.)

Then Fitz, who’s managed to make tiny sandwich cookies filled with strawberry jam and dusted with coconut in forty-five minutes. He fidgets with his hands as the judges taste them.

(I was really worried when I got my ingredients. I’m so relieved they turned out okay.)

Biana’s cookies go over well, Cadence nodding and reaching for another one. Finally Dex Dizznee steps up.

“Almond-anise biscotti,” he says with a small smile. The judges all bite into the cookies at the same time and smile.

“Delicious,” Bronte says. Dex grins and steps back to his station.

Fifteen minutes later, the contestants stand in front of the judges bench in a straight line, worried eyes and tapping feet all the way down.

“All your cookies were exquisite,” Edaline says. “But one of you made a fantastic first impression.”

Cadence offers the group a tiny, sideways smile. “Dexter Dizznee,” she says. “You are today’s winner.”

There’s a round of applause and Dex’s cheeks go a little bit red.

“Thank you,” he says.

(I won! It’s only the first round, of course, but I’m still proud to have started off on the right foot.)

“Hey,” Biana nudges her brother’s shoulder as they trail out of the room for individual interviews.“That wasn’t too bad, huh?”

“No,” Fitz tilts his head and glances back at the still-smiling Dex. “I guess it wasn’t.”

(I don’t think I’m too sad about losing this round. Dex’s cookies looked absolutely delicious, anyway.)

Biana’s phone buzzes on the way back to her room. She pulls it out to see two messages from an unknown number.

415-623-7868

hi!! sorry if this is mega creepy but it was super cool to meet you the other day and i’d love to talk more sometime

this is sophie foster btw

“Holy shit,” Biana whispers. Her brother turns around with a questioning glance but she waves him off. “Nothing, I’m fine.” She’s pretty sure she’s grinning at her phone screen with all the force of a thousand suns. “I’m totally fine.”

(Tomorrow, we try again.)

-/-

December 20, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois.

Buoyed by the previous day’s success and an especially good breakfast buffet (he is not immune to chocolate-chip pancakes, no matter what he might claim), Dex practically floats into the kitchen the next day. His mood isn’t even brought down by Bronte’s lackluster announcement that the second challenge is simply Snowflakes. The bakery’s meringues are a town favorite for a reason, after all, and that reason is that they’re fucking good.

He does get annoyed, though, by the man leaning against a counter a few feet away as he pipes the meringue. Fitz Vacker is tapping his fingers against the marble, watching the ice cream machine with a calm sort of fixation. Dex huffs and accidentally pipes too much meringue on the baking sheet.

“Do you mind?” He grumbles under his breath. Fitz’s head snaps up.

“Sorry,” he says, slight accent curling around his words. It’s not a British accent or really any sort Dex can discern, and that just makes him more frustrated. “Am I in your way?”

“No,” Dex says as politely as he can. He’s well aware of the cameras standing a few feet away. “No, you're fine.”

Fitz nods and tilts his head towards the meringues, apparently taking Dex’s grudging silence as an invitation. “Those look pretty good.”

“Thank you,” Dex says shortly, letting out an annoyed sigh internally when Fitz doesn’t budge. “You’re making ice cream?”

“Heh, yeah. I couldn’t really think of anything else, so.” Fitz shrugs. “Ice cream bars.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. “At least it’s cold, right? Like snow.”

This startles a laugh out of Dex. “Yeah, like snow.” He leans back a little to give the now-completed snowflakes a once-over. “What do you think?”

“They look great!” Fitz enthuses, jumping a bit when the ice cream machine lets out a long beep. “Oh, looks like that’s me. I should go. Nice to meet you!”

And then he’s off to his own station, bowl of ice cream clutched tightly in one hand. Dex allows himself thirty seconds of staring into the camera like he’s on The Office before he sighs and slides the meringues into the oven.

What on earth was that.

He bumps into Sophie on his way out of the room after interviews. Biana Vacker’s chocolate-pecan-bark snowflakes won today; unsurprising, since they looked almost real- and he kind of just wants to go back to his room and sleep for a month. His cousin, however, seems to have other ideas.

“Quick,” she says, grabbing his arm. Her phone is in her other hand, screen lighting up with a message. “How much would my mom kill me if I went on a date with one of the Bake-Off contestants?”

“Um,” Dex blinks. “I’m going to need some more information?”

“Okay, so I met Biana Vacker the other day, and I might have gotten her number from the contestant files we have? And then texted her? For like five hours last night? And I might have asked her out and she might have said yes?” Sophie tugs at her eyelashes. “Please help me, I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“You’re going on a date with Biana Vacker,” Dex confirms. “Why?”

“Because she’s smart, and pretty, and incredibly funny, and because I don’t have some weird hate-obsession with her.”

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do. Seriously, how much is Mom going to murder me for this?”

“How much is Mom going to murder you for what?”

Edaline’s standing a few feet away, arms folded across her chest and eyebrows raised. Sophie’s eyes go wide, but she sighs as if already giving up.

Dex gets it. Edaline is scary when she wants to be.

“Is it illegal and-slash-or nepotism if I go on a date with Biana Vacker tomorrow night?”

Edaline blinks. “Probably not? As long as you can confirm that she’s not using you to get further in the contest.” She shrugs. “I could talk to Cadence and Bronte about it, but they were all right with Dex being on the show, so.”

“Wait, really?” Sophie grins and throws her arms around her mother. “This is the best. Thanks, Mom! I’m gonna go text her.”

She takes off down the hall, typing frantically. Edaline watches her go with a fond smile.

“It’s incredibly weird to see her this old,” She says to Dex. “I still think of her as twelve, honestly.”

Dex snorts. “Yeah.”

“So,” Edaline cocks her head, looking at him with the same I’m going to ask you a question and we both know what the right answer is look that Dex’s own mother has. “I saw you talking to Fitz Vacker earlier. Making friends?”

“No.” Dex says immediately. Then he rolls his eyes. “He’s not as bad as I was expecting, though.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, like, posh and rich and British or whatever they are. But he’s actually a decent person or whatever.”

“Or whatever.” Edaline laughs. “Well, I’m glad you’re having fun either way. I’ve got to get to a meeting, but I’ll see you later, all right? Say hi to Keefe for me.”

Dex nods and heads back to his room.

He really needs to sleep.

-/-

December 21, 2020.

The Art Institute of Chicago

Chicago, Illinois.

“Here we are,” Sophie says as they push through museum security and enter the clearly-marked Thorne Rooms. Biana glances at the art curiously; the exhibit is made up of tiny glass windows set into low walls all around. She peers into one and lets out a tiny gasp.

“Oh.”

It’s a tiny room in there; chairs and sofas all with perfectly embroidered cushions as small as Biana’s thumb. Through minuscule doors in the back, Biana glimpses a painted background and a balcony. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Sophie snorts behind her, and Biana realizes she said that last bit out loud. “Right? It’s all real, too. Took Narcissa Thorne and her craftsmen eight years.”

“Wow.”

“I used to come here all the time,” Sophie says, stepping forward and tracing one finger over the glass. “Whenever we were in town. I wished I could live in some of these rooms.” She glances back at Biana and gives a little self-deprecating smile. “Pretty stupid, probably.”

“No, it’s not,” Biana shakes her head. “I get it. It would be nice to escape for a little bit, especially to a place that looks like that.” She tilts her head at the room. Sophie laughs.

“I’ll bet it gets really dusty, though. And that chair seems highly uncomfortable.”

They move throughout the whole exhibit, making low comments to each other every time they see a particularly amazing piece of furniture or a fancy candlestick. Biana finds herself relaxing more and more- Sophie is smart, and funny, and keeps shooting her little smiles that make Biana’s knees weak.

That day’s competition had been the hardest yet. Each contestant had had to make a dessert based around a Christmas carol; a specific, judge-assigned Christmas carol. It was, for lack of a better term, absolute shit.

Biana had gotten Santa Claus Is Coming To Town- not the worst, considering the circumstances, and at least she knew it- and had had to figure out how to map the route of an overweight stalker on baked goods.

She hadn’t won; that honor had gone to Maruca Chebota’s fondant replica of a sleigh for Over The River And Through The Woods. (Biana is pretty sure that song is actually a Thanksgiving song, but she wasn’t going to contradict.) Still, Biana’s happy, content as they leave the museum and move down to an Italian restaurant a few blocks away. Smiling as Sophie’s hand brushes against hers.

They get settled in a little corner near a window, knees bumping under the table. The room is dim, lit by one chandelier in the middle and candles on every table. It’s warm, something delicious wafting through the air.

Sophie leans forward to grab a menu, hair lit golden in the candlelight, and Biana revises her earlier statement. The Thorne Rooms aren’t the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. This woman is.

“Everything okay?” Sophie asks. Biana realizes she’s been staring and gives her a quick nod.

“Yeah, no. Everything’s perfect.” She glances down at the tablecloth, sees Sophie fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. “Are you all right?”

“I, uh,” Sophie tugs at one of her eyelashes. “I just wanted to say that I don’t really tend to talk to my mom about the competition? So, like, if you’re just trying to get an edge or something-”

“No!” Biana shakes her head, reaching forward to grab the other woman’s hand. “No, no no. Absolutely not. This is like, the opposite of that.”

“Pretty sure the opposite of that would be divorcing me to lose the Bake-Off,” Sophie says, but she’s smiling. Biana smiles back.

“Well, I don’t want to do that either.”

“What do you want to do?”

Biana shrugs. “I don’t know. This is pretty nice. I like spending time with you.”

Sophie blushes and tightens her grip on Biana’s hand. “I-”

“Pardon me.” There’s a waiter standing next to their table, notepad in hand. He offers them an awkward smile. “Are you ready to order?”

“Right!” Biana says at the same time as Sophie’s “Yes! For sure! Just give me a second!”. They grin at each other and look back down at the menus.

“Thank you,” Sophie murmurs after they’ve ordered. Biana doesn’t have to ask what for.

“Of course.”

(Biana leans down to kiss her barely an hour later. Sophie smiles against her lips and tugs her in closer.)

(Biana doesn’t get back to her hotel that night.)

-/-

December 22, 2020.

Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois.

Dex can’t sleep.

There’s no particular reason why, no loud party down the street or flashing lights outside his window. He just can’t sleep, which is especially frustrating when he glances at the clock and finds it’s one AM. Tomorrow- or, today, really- is event four, and if he wants to make a good impression, he’d better do it on more than three hours of sleep.

Heaving a sigh, he flops himself out of bed and flips on the light switch. As long as he’s awake, he might as well read or something.

A loud crash sounds from down the hall. Dex blinks and grabs his sneakers, opening his door and peeking out. No one’s in sight, but rustling noises are coming from the communal kitchen a few doors away. Dex decides that sleep is for the weak and pads down to investigate.

Fitz Vacker is standing in the middle of the kitchen, aggressively stirring a bowl of what looks like cookie dough and frowning. There’s a flour-dusted cookbook on the counter.

“Um.” Dex coughs a little. Fitz looks up from the cookie dough and turns toward him. He's wearing a sweatshirt thrown over a pair of what looks like Walgreens-brand pajamas. Dex is a little surprised that a Vacker would wear something that shitty.

“Sorry,” he says in his annoyingly perfect accent. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah, you’re fine. Why are you still awake?”

Fitz shrugs. “Couldn’t fall asleep. You?”

“Same.” Dex moves over and peers into the bowl. “Sugar cookies?”

“They’re a classic Christmas cookie, right?” Fitz looks at him. Dex blinks. “No, really, I’m asking. I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

This startles a laugh out of Dex. “Yeah, they’re a classic. My aunt used to make them all the time in December. I’d come home from school and she’d be, like, chilling on our couch with three different kinds of cookies.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t even realize she was famous until I was eight. She was just Aunt Eda.”

“My mom used to have to do all these photo shoots? With baked goods and shit? And she’d bring me and Bi along because our daycare didn’t go that late so we’d just be hanging out around this camera equipment and doing our best not to break anything.” Fitz looks down and stirs the cookie dough a bit more. “Bi always says we grew up with a camera in our faces, so much that we never learned to be normal. She’s more right than I’d like to think.”

Dex doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have anything to say; he’s always assumed, like so many other people, that the spotlight on the Vackers was effortless and encouraged. Life seemed so easy for them.

Of course it does, Dex reminds himself. Life always looks easy when you’re the one looking at it.

“Sorry,” Fitz grabs the bowl and turns away, reaching up into a cabinet for some powdered sugar. “I get… honest when I’m tired.”

“Yeah, well, I get grumpy, so you’re still better off.” Dex grabs a baking sheet out of where they’re being stored in the oven, since the cookies look about ready to be rolled out. “You’re fine, though. No cameras here.”

You’re not being judged here, he means. I’d like to get to know you.

This must translate at least a little, because Fitz gives him a small smile and dumps the dough out onto the counter.

“Help me? I think the cookie cutters are in the bottom left drawer.”

“Got it.” Dex grabs a tiny metal snowman and cuts out a piece of dough, laying it flat on the metal sheet. He’s reminded suddenly of going through the same motions back home, with Keefe and Amy arguing good-naturedly over his head.

There’s a different air in the kitchen right now. It’s quieter, slower, dark-dark-chocolatey; something bitter and sweet and smooth all at the same time.

“Are you worried about the competition?” He asks. Fitz blinks, lifting another three cookies onto the sheet before answering.

“I don’t think so. I was, before, but once I got here…” he gives an expansive shrug. “It’s just baking. Baking calms me down.”

“Hence the cookies at one AM,” Dex notes. Fitz laughs.

“Hence the stress-baking cookies at one AM,” he agrees. “I don’t even think I was stressed about the contest, just-” he waves a hand in the air. “Just stressed in general.”

“I get that.” Dex presses a few buttons on the oven and tilts his head toward the table a few feet away. They’ll need to wait for the oven to heat up before they put the cookies in. “I was pretty scared of fucking up at first, but, I mean, it’s a baking competition. Everyone’s gonna forget the butter at some point.”

Fitz squints at him. “I can’t tell if ‘forget the butter’ is an expression I’m unaware of, or if you actually did that and I just didn’t hear about it.”

“Maruca from Cali did that, actually. I have more style, at least- I forgot the eggs.”

“My friend’s cat got into my kitchen once,” Fitz says seriously. “Not during this contest, but when I was making her daughter’s birthday cake. There was hair everywhere. It was… a cat-astrophe.”

Both of them are silent for almost a full minute, just staring at each other, before Dex breaks down.

“That was terrible,” he wheezes, trying to stop laughing. Fitz grins.

“I know, I’m embarrassed of myself.”

“You should be.”

The oven beeps and they both startle, turning toward it. Fitz retrieves an oven mitt and slides the cookies into the oven. Dex closes the door and stands back up, suddenly realizing how close they’re standing.

“You should try to sleep,” Fitz says quietly. “It’s late.”

Dex nods slightly but doesn’t move. There’s a tiny bit of flour on Fitz’s cheekbone. He doesn’t know why he notices it.

They seem to stand there forever, just looking at each other. Then, suddenly, Fitz turns away and looks over the cookbook again.

“I should sleep,” Dex says. Fitz nods, face shadowed in the dim lights. Dex turns away and heads back to his room.

What the fuck was that.

-/-

December 23, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois.

“Dex Dizznee. Biana Vacker. Maruca Chebota. And Tam Song.” Bronte reads out the names, then looks down at the contestants. “The four of you have won the past events, so you’ll get an extra prize today.”

“As you all know, today is the last event!” Edaline says cheerfully. “All eight of you have made some truly fantastic desserts in the past week, but only one person can win and today’s your final chance to really wow the judges. So, Event Five is…”

Cadence gestures toward the table up front, which holds two candy-covered houses. “Gingerbread houses,” she says. “You have four hours to bake, assemble, and decorate a gingerbread house with your partner.”

“Yep, you’ll be working in pairs for this one,” Edaline says when the murmurs start up. “And our four previous winners get to choose who they’re working with.” She smiles at Biana. “Although, Miss Vacker, I’m afraid you can’t work with your brother.”

Biana laughs, turning and holding out a hand to Marella Redek instead. “All right. How about it, partner?”

Marella shrugs and takes her hand. Edaline gestures to Dex.

He glances over the seven remaining contestants. Jensi Babblos seems nice- he probably wouldn’t be too bad to work with. Or maybe he can pair up with another winner and ask Maruca?

Then Fitz catches his eye and Dex remembers the previous day, cutting out cookies in the early-early morning light. It’s not really a choice after that.

“Fitz,” he decides, and the man strides over to stand next to him.

The other two pairs find each other, Edaline lays out the final rules, and then she shouts go! and they’re off.

“Hand me the cinnamon?” Dex asks. Fitz drops it into his hand and Dex dumps a tablespoon in the bowl, starting up the mixer. “Okay, and we should get the icing started so it has time to cool-”

“Already done,” Fitz says. He points to a bowl of fluffy white icing on the counter a foot away. “We should probably-”

“Figure out the decorations, yeah. You wanna-”

“Sketch something?”

They grin at each other and Dex pours the gingerbread batter into a pan. “Perfect,” he says. The oven lets out a tiny beep when he closes it.

The hours pass quickly, in a blur of candy and icing. They cover the sides of the house in dark red modeling chocolate and drag a toothpick through them for the individual bricks, carefully shape a vanilla wafer chimney, build a candy-cane fence. The actual construction of the house is tricky- Dex has to hold the walls up while Fitz pipes the icing and then keeps holding them until it sets. They get through it with only one roof collapse, though, and the final house looks pretty good. Fitz glues down three peppermints to make a path in front of the door, Dex attaches tiny sugar cookie trees to the ground, and they’re done with two minutes to spare.

“Wait, no. Hang on.” Fitz rummages through the mess they’ve made at their station, skirting a camera and grabbing the half-empty container of powdered sugar. He dumps it into a sieve.

“Snow,” he and Dex say in unison. Fitz laughs and shakes the sieve over their presentation board, covering the whole thing in a fine layer of powder.

“Perfect,” Dex says just as the timer goes off. “Let’s win this thing.”

-/-

December 23, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois.

Cameras flash as they zero in on Dex and Fitz’s gingerbread house, presumably taking the shots that will go along with Edaline’s and the winner of Event Five is Fitz Vacker and Dex Dizznee! announcement in the actual show. Biana’s staring at the opposite wall, though; if she looks towards the recording equipment, she doubts she’ll be able to hide how nervous she is.

The competition doesn’t matter in the long run, but it would be really, really cool to win.

“Now,” Edaline says after the cameras have returned to their original places. “You’ve all shown amazing talent in the past few days. Frankly, all three of us were just blown away at some of the things you created. But one of you managed to wow us at every turn, showcasing your art as well as your baking skills. And that person is…”

Next to Biana, her brother stares at the ground. A few feet away, Dex is twisting his hands together, expression schooled into something just left of panic. Biana takes a deep breath.

“Maruca Chebota!”

The room is silent, and then everyone breaks into applause. Maruca is smiling wide, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you so much,” she manages before getting crushed into a giant group hug.

Later, Biana stands in the front hall of the hotel with her suitcase by her side. She and Fitz are flying home tonight, and she can’t wait to get back to her own apartment.

“It’ll be nice,” Sophie agrees. “I’m heading straight out to Michigan to see my aunt and uncle for Christmas.”

Fitz appears in the doorway, talking animatedly with someone out of sight. Biana takes the opportunity to give Sophie one last kiss.

“I’ll text you?” She asks. Sophie nods.

Fitz strolls up, Dex by his side. They’ve finished their conversation, apparently, and are now just looking at each other. Biana coughs.

“We should get to the airport.” She reminds him. Fitz jumps.

“Right! Yes, of course. Um-” he glances back at Dex and then sweeps the shorter man into a hug. Dex’s eyes widen but he hugs back.

“It was so nice to meet you,” Biana tells Dex when the two break apart. “Have a nice Christmas.”

“You too,” Dex says, and then he and Sophie are gone. Biana elbows her brother.

“Dexter Dizznee, huh?” She asks. Fitz glares at her.

“Shut up.”

-/-

December 28, 2020.

Dizznee Family Household

Detroit, Michigan.

Christmas is low-key. Or, it’s as low-key as Christmas with the Dizznees can be, anyway. Bex manages to get lights on the roof, Rex brings his partners to dinner and the three of them break into an impromptu performance of Deck The Halls, and Lex sets up an elaborate present-wrapping station in the living room that seems to involve heinous amounts of tape.

Edaline disappears upstairs a few times to work out all the details of the show, but she has enough time to help Kesler baste a turkey and kick all of their collective asses at foosball alongside Juline. Grady makes chocolate-covered cherries and Amy eats too many of them and Sophie laughs herself to tears when her sister trips over an armchair in her post-chocolate haze. They smile and exchange terrible presents and sing carols and it’s all normal, as normal as anything gets these days.

So maybe they’re not low-key. Maybe it’s just Dex who’s low, Dex who still feels like something’s missing.

He lost the competition. He’s not mad about it; losing by a few stray points isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. And the publicity he’ll gain from just being on television is definitely worth it.

None of that explains his mood, though, and Dex is starting to wonder what on earth he isn’t seeing.

“Hey,” Sophie says, wandering into the den and flopping down on the couch alongside him. Dex has been absentmindedly fiddling with a Rubik's cube for the past ten minutes, and he only now realizes it’s solved. “What’s up?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been mopey all day,” she says. “All week, actually. Which is weird, because you’re not normally mopey.”

“You- noticed?”

Sophie gives him an affronted look. “I do pay attention.”

“I’m not mopey,” Dex protests.

“So staring into the distance and frowning is just a hobby?” Sophie sighs, plucking the Rubik’s cube out of his hands and scooting closer. “Look, I’m not trying to shame you. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Dex stares at her, then glances down at his hands. “I… who do you keep texting?”

The question catches Sophie off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been glancing down at your phone and smiling all through vacation,” he says. “Who are you texting?”

Sophie’s cheeks flush pink. “Um. Biana?”

“Oh.” Right. Biana Vacker. Dex had almost forgotten about her, in all the chaos of the last day of competition and then heading back home. Sophie didn’t, apparently. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“You sound like a greeting card.”

“Fuck you, I’m trying.”

Sophie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Thanks, though. I really like her.” She tilts her head. “Now, back to your moping.”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Sophie says. She fixes him with a look that says I can see into your soul and there is some weird stuff in there. “Dex. What happened when you teamed up with Fitz Vacker in the last round of the contest?”

“Um.” Dex blinks. “We… made a gingerbread house?”

“And after that?” Sophie raises an eyebrow. “Dex, I know you. You’ve hated the Vackers possibly since you were born. How on Earth did you go from that to hugging Fitz when you said goodbye to him?”

“I-”

There have been a lot of things recently, Dex reflects, that he’s been unable to explain, even to himself. Why he disliked the Vackers in the first place. Why he’s been empty the past few days.

Why he and Fitz are sort of on decent terms now.

But things start to dig themselves out of his memory; an out-of-the-blue compliment about his pies, a night spent in a terrible hotel kitchen unable to sleep, a grin and a tiny peppermint swirl and fake sugar snow on a rooftop.

“Oh.” Dex’s eyes go wide. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Sophie asks. As if on cue, three strawberry-blond heads poke into the doorway. Dex groans.

“Do you hear that?” Rex asks, shit-eating grin on his face. Lex nods seriously.

“I believe it’s the sound of a local man realizing he’s been in love with Fitzroy Vacker this whole time.”

Bex gestures towards Dex as if she’s holding a microphone. “Tell me, sir, how does it feel to come to such a conclusion? Do you think your behavior towards Mr. Vacker will change after this?”

“Please leave,” Dex says flatly. Sophie squints at him.

“Wait, are you really-”

“I don’t know. Please make them leave.”

Sophie looks from him to the triplets, who give her matching smiles. She shakes her head and stands up.

“I don’t think I’m capable of doing that, honestly. I’m going to go text Bi.”

“Traitor!” Dex calls after her. The triplets flop down on the couch, garishly patterned Christmas sweaters clashing terribly with the blue cushions. Bex gives him an exaggerated I’m thinking look.

“Hmm,” she says. “You know, maybe Amy was onto something with all her ‘enemies to lovers speedrun’ stuff.”

“I’m leaving this family,” Dex mutters, shoving a pillow over his face. “I will go to Canada and buy a large house and never have to see any of you ever again.”

Rex raises his eyebrows. “Wow, you’d leave your boyfriend behind like that?”

“Nope! No, nope, not doing this.” Dex stands up and moves towards the door. Behind him, he hears at least one of his siblings fall off the couch.

“Seriously, though. What are you going to do?”

Dex turns back around. Rex and Bex are sprawled on the floor in a tangle of feet, but Lex is looking at Dex with a strangely sympathetic expression. He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

There’s a buzz in his pocket and Dex pulls his phone out as his siblings start to untangle themselves.

Fos-Boss

hey. wanna go to nyc?

-/-

December 31, 2020.

Biana Vacker’s Self-Proclaimed Trash Can Fire

New York City, New York.

“You’re doing it again.”

Fitz leans his head over the back of the couch and frowns at her. “Doing what?”

“Your whole woe is me, time to stare aimlessly at the wall thing.” Biana waves a hand towards her brother. “Stop that and help me cut the baklava.”

“This is… a lot of baklava for just the two of us,” Fitz says. “Are you sure you didn’t decide to throw another giant stupid New Years party again?”

“I promise there will be no giant New Years party,” Biana says. “I’ve invited two people over. That’s it.”

“But you refuse to tell me who those people are, which automatically makes me suspicious.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Biana smiles at her brother and takes the knife from him.

“Why don’t you go find out?”

Fitz sighs and moves out into the hallway. Biana hears him swing the door open, and then- nothing.

She pushes the now-cut baklava onto a plate and leans her head out the doorway. Her brother is standing there, staring at a man with strawberry-blond hair. Sophie stands behind him, smiling awkwardly.

“Hello!” She says, directing the statement at Biana since her cousin is still locked in a staring contest with Fitz. “Happy New Year!”

“It’s not New Years yet,” Biana laughs, coming out of the doorway to grab Sophie’s coat and drop a quick kiss to her lips. “How was your drive?”

“Long,” Sophie says. “But I’ve had worse. And we had some decent pancakes, right?”

“Right,” Dex murmurs, still staring at Fitz. He shakes his head. “Yeah, they were pretty good. Happy New Year, by the way.”

“You too,” Fitz manages. Biana hides a laugh behind her sweater sleeve and grabs Dex’s arm.

“Hey, you wanna come help me open the champagne?”

“Sure, but-”

“We’ll be fine,” Fitz manages a bright grin. “I’m gonna show Sophie some of Bi’s elementary school pictures.”

“Fitzroy Avery Vacker, don’t you dare-”

Fitz laughs and Biana and Dex retreat back to the kitchen. Biana reaches for one of the bottles of champagne and turns towards the shorter man.

“I’m not going to give you a shovel talk,” she shrugs, “mainly because I think you already know I could murder you if you hurt him.”

“Yep,” Dex nods. He looks down. “But you don’t have to worry about giving me a shovel talk. It’s not like we’re dating.”

“No, you two have just been in love with each other for a ridiculously long amount of time.” The cork pops out of the champagne bottle and Sophie cheers from the other room. Biana grins at the stunned expression Dex is giving her. “Come on. Only an hour till midnight.”

They put the Times Square Ball Drop on at 11:30, watching as some band Biana vaguely recognizes but couldn’t name rocks out in front of the crowd. Sophie says that looks cold, and Biana says it’s always cold. That’s why I stay home, and Sophie snuggles a little closer to her. At the ten-minute mark, Dex and Fitz make some sort of telepathic agreement to go out and stand on the balcony.

“Hey,” Biana mutters as the lights onscreen get brighter. The countdown should start soon. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Sophie turns her face, so close their noses almost brush. “Me too,” she smiles. “But I’m even happier I get to do this.”

A hurricane could probably pass through the apartment right now without Biana noticing. Sophie's lips are soft, and Biana knows this woman will stick with her no matter what.

Numbers start to flash on the screen. Biana couldn’t care less about what they say.

-/-

December 31, 2020.

Fitz Vacker’s Plant-Covered Balcony

New York City, New York.

“The apartment’s Biana’s, technically,” Fitz says as they step out into the cold night air. “But she never uses the balcony and I needed a place to put my plants, so it’s mine now.”

“And you’re certainly using the space,” Dex notes. He can spot at least five different kinds of flowers out here, and that’s just with his non-existent plant knowledge.

Fitz laughs, loud and bright against the painted backdrop of the sky. There are only a few stars Dex can see, but the whole sky is a shade of midnight blue that makes up for the darkness.

“I am, yeah.” He leans on the railing for a moment, staring down at the world below, before turning back a bit. “How was your Christmas?”

“Good,” Dex says. “How was your… Hanukkah?”

“It ended before the contest started, but yeah, it was good” Fitz glances down at the street again and Dex goes to stand next to him. Minutes tick by, the two of them just watching cars pass by.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Fitz says finally. The words are soft, barely more than whispers, and Dex thinks for a moment that he imagined them. Then Fitz looks up and meets his eyes.

A cheer goes up from around the city, people everywhere shouting Ten!

“I’m glad too,” Dex says. Carefully, oh-so-slowly, he reaches up and cups the other man’s cheek. Fitz’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment.

Seven!

“The ball will drop soon,” he murmurs. “If you want to watch it.”

“I’m fine,” Dex smiles. “Unless- you want to?”

Five!

“Nah,” Fitz says, reaching up to touch Dex’s hand where it’s still on his face. “I think I can do without the spectacle for tonight.”

Three!

Dex nods, rocking forward just a little.

Two!

Fitz’s eyes are bright, and his breath is warm where it ghosts across Dex’s skin.

One!

They barely have to move in before their lips meet.

-/-

January 1, 2021.

Somewhere Over New York City.

Fireworks bloom into bursts of color against the dark sky.

#lynn rambles #my writing #kotlc #detz #sophiana #fitz vacker #biana vacker #sophie foster #dex dizznee #edaline ruewen

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finleyfray · 4 years ago

Text

Bittersweet Memories part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Huge thanks to @captain-josslett for helping me.

TW: some past abuse, mention of suicide, smut(ish) just a little, laguage

Finley sat on their bed looking at the door. She was mad at her girlfriends. She didn’t want them to know, not like that, she was not ready yet. Her past was fucked up, and she has spent previous years trying to forget about it. No need to touch these memories when she was doing okay now.

But now Alex knows and Maggie too.

God knows what Alex saw in her head. She felt so exposed. She knows she has to tell them at some point, that she can’t run from it forever. Especially while her girlfriends told her about their past.

How Maggie’s father threw her out and she had to live with her aunt. How she tried to make it work between them, but he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that his daughter was gay.

How Alex’s father passed away, or at least that was what they were told, then two years ago he came back, turned out that he was a traitor working for Cadmus. It had happened early in their relationship. Alex was officially dating Maggie at the time, and they weren’t out as polyamorous yet.

The redhead was devastated and they both held her close while she cried.

“Finley can we please talk?” There was a knock on the door and Maggie opened it. “Please, we need to talk this through.” She came to sit beside Fin, and Alex followed her, sitting on the other side of her girlfriend.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone into your head like that.” Alex begins. “But hear me out. After they disconnected you from the ventilator, you were technically supposed to wake up. But then the days went by, and you were still asleep. We were starting to become hopeless. And one day Brainy comes in and says that you’re deep in your dreams, and he can help us wake you up. The only way for that was to go to your mind. And once I was in your mind, I had zero control, your memories were just flowing by. Until I found you, and tried to wake you up. But that somehow ended bad and we almost lost you... Again.” Alex looked at Maggie, they both had tears in their eyes.

“We can’t lose you...” Finley hugged her crying girlfriends and sighed.

They were right. If she ever was in this situation, she would do exactly the same. Finley feels bad now. She yelled at them, but they were just taking the chance to wake her up.

“I’m sorry I yelled. I just wished you didn’t have to see that. And it’s not like I didn’t want to tell you. It’s more like, I don’t want to think about it that much.”

“You can still tell us...” Maggie whispered. “Alex refused to tell me anything after she was taken out of your mind. She had a huge panic attack, it took me an hour to calm her down. But she just said that she wants you to tell us. Whenever you’re ready.” Her girlfriend kissed her cheek. “I hate how I’m the only one missing this.”

“All right.” Finley sighed. “I’ll keep it short though, if you don’t mind, I really don’t like getting into the details. When my mom died, my father began drinking. He became more and more aggressive, he used to yell at me a lot, and always ended up beating me. One day, after he hit me, police knocked on our door. They took me to the orphanage. And I was actually happy, I thought it’s going to be better now. But orphanage wasn’t fun. Everyone kept to themselves, trying to survive as the workers there didn’t give a shit about us, we just often walked around hungry and dirty. Because of that, school was also hard, dealing with bullies that claimed to be better cause they had parents. But the years just flew by, and when I became eighteen they kicked me out. I was homeless for a while, but finally I was allowed into University, and they gave me a place to live and offered a job. It was really a miracle, I applied there with the last money I had, and just passed their exam with 100%. But it was hard. I had to pay for my room and all the bills, work and go to classes every day. Sometimes I didn’t have enough money to eat and that’s why I just often forget to do that. What makes you mad is something that made me survive for so long.” Finley stopped for a second, wiped her tears, she was tearing up, she needed to speed this up, otherwise she won’t finish. “And just, you know, I finished college, but then couldn’t find any work, it was hard to find something considering my past. And one time I just wanted to end it all. But then out of nowhere J’onn appeared, offered me a chance so I took it. Yeah, so the rest you already know.” She sobs as her girlfriends hold her close.

It was hard telling them about her past. But she’s glad she did. Cause now she feels as if some weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

She feels safe. And that’s what she dreamed about her whole life.

***

Alex wakes up to knocking on their door. She sleepily looks around seeing her girlfriends still asleep so she went to open the door.

“Mom! Hi.” She frowns, she forgot her mother was coming for breakfast. “Shit, we overslept.” The redhead yawns and leads her mom to their apartment.

“And Merry Christmas to you.” Eliza chuckles but then looks at her daughter. “Alex, are you okay sweetie? Is everything alright? You look like you’ve been crying all night. Is Finley okay?” Alex sobs and goes to hug her mother.

Maybe they didn’t have the best relationship in the past, but hearing everything from Fin made her really appreciate her mother.

“Oh, okay.” Eliza hugs her daughter in surprise. “Honey talk to me, I’m worried.”

“Finley’s all right. Physically. We’re good. I’m just happy I have you. Love you mom.” The older woman smiles at her daughter.

“Love you too sweetie. What brought this?”

“I just... We talked yesterday about Finley’s time at the orphanage. And I am just really grateful I had you. Even after dad disappeared, you still took care of Kara and I. And Finley told us how her father became violent after her mom died. Just I’m glad you didn’t.” The redhead wipes her tears and looks at her mom.

“Oh sweetie, I would never hurt you.” Eliza gently grabs her cheek and wipes her tears away. She kisses the redhead forehead. “Go wake your sleepyheads up. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Thank you mom.” Alex beams and goes to wake her girlfriends up. She gently lay beside Fin and placed small kisses on her face until she opened her eyes.

“Merry Christmas baby.” She smiles as Finley sleepily greets her back. She looks into her girlfriend's blue eyes and kisses her softly. The younger woman smiles into the kiss and embraces Alex in a hug.

Maggie turns around and hugs them too. She looks at her girlfriends with a huge grin.

“Merry Christmas baby.” The redhead smiles at her and reaches over Finley to kiss her.

“Your boob’s on my face.” Fin laughs.

“I fail to see a problem with that.” The raven-haired woman remarks.

“Well... It’s still clothed.”

“Dorks, stop. Mom’s here. We overslept.” Alex stands up. “I’m going to shower.”

“Can I...” Maggie began, only to be interrupted.

“No. We all know how that ends.” The raven-haired woman pouts. Finley laughs and kisses her as the redhead leaves the room.

***

Later that day Finley was sitting on the couch with Alex. Maggie was out to get her Aunt from the airport, and Eliza decided to take a nap in the guest room. They didn’t mind and decided to watch some TV.

Finley thought about how she met her girlfriends.

After J’onn offered her a job she gladly took it. He told her he’ll pick her up next Monday, to show her around and begin training her. What surprised her, and she soon learned that it also was a shock for all her new co-workers, the man decided to train her himself. As her apartment was being sold, she was offered a room in the DEO. Each day she arrived punctually for her training. They trained all day which Fin loved. It gave Fin no time to think about her life, being so exhausted from it all. About a week after arriving, she met Alex. Fin thought Alex was the most beautiful human being she ever met.

Sadly Fin soon learned that the agent was taken. That was until she had the chance to meet her girlfriend, Maggie. Finley then decided Alex and Maggie were both the most beautiful women ever. It was a shock, she didn’t ever have time to think about any relationship in her life, she was simply too busy to. And now not only had she had a crush on a woman, but on two. It took her a lot of time and research to figure it out.

Nevertheless the fact that she had a crush on these two women, Finley never thought that they could like her.

That was until one day they approached her and asked her out for dinner. One became two, and after the third date, they talked about their relationship. It took them a bit of time to come out to their friends and family but Finley was patient. It took her a long time to figure this out, so she gave them their time too. It was adventurous, sneaking around to give each other kisses. She felt like a teenager being in love for the first time.

“You okay? You zoned out.” The redhead asks, looking at her. The shorter woman smiles and guided the redhead to sit on her lap. She would rather sit on Alex’s, but her plaster was making that impossible.

“I’m okay. I was just thinking about how it all began. The day you asked me on a date.” She smiles and kisses the redhead. Her girlfriend kisses her back and Finley slips her tongue in Alex’s mouth. The woman on her moans quietly.

“Hi... Oh Rao, I’m sorry.” They part and look at Kara and Lena as they stand in the doorway. “T...the door was unlocked!” The superhero cheeks were as red as he cape.

Finley begins laughing and all three of them look at her surprised.

“I just remembered the first time this happened.”

Alex, Maggie and Finley had been sitting on the couch watching ‘Avengers’. They were enjoying their free evening as they weren’t out as polyamorous yet, so that excluded any attention outside their apartment.

Finley was sitting between them, her head on the raven-haired woman lap, and her legs tangled with redheads. Her girlfriends learned pretty soon that the youngest woman was touch deprived.

They didn’t mind that seeing how even small touches of Finley’s hand made her smile like the happiest being on earth. They made sure to give her a lot of cuddles. Maggie bended her head to give her black-haired woman a kiss.

“I’m going to grab us some drinks. You mind moving?” Finley pouted and gently bit her girlfriend's lip. The raven-haired woman gasped.

“Fin...” she looked at her with a playful smirk.

“Whatcha gonna do bout it?”

“I’m just...” Maggie smiled and lifted her girlfriend up, making her sit in Alex’s lap. “Here. Stay there.” She winked at Alex as the red head embraced Finley in a strong hug.

Fin took her chance and decided to kiss the redhead. Her girlfriend was very enthusiastic about it. Alex slipped her tongue in Finley’s mouth and placed her hands on her hips and guided her to move back and forth.

Finley broke the kiss and moaned suddenly feeling hot. Her red-haired girlfriend took off her shirt and tossed it in the corner. She kissed Fin’s neck, sucking it hard.

“Alex...! Oh RAO, I’M SO SORRY!” They heard Kara yell and jumped from each other. They were breathing hard, looking at the blonde who had her eyes covered. “Wait a second...” She looked at them in shock. “Alex! That ain’t Maggie!!” Kara yelled.

“Hi, little Danvers!” Maggie came with their drinks and looked at the scene before her.

Finley was standing there with only her bra on and Alex was standing next to her. Both her girlfriends looked uncomfortable, their cheeks were red, and they were breathing hard. Well they had been busy.

Then there was Kara. Standing there looking at them and then at Maggie, she was confused and flustered.

“Kara it is not what it looks like" Alex rushed to grab a sheet and covered Finley with it. “I didn’t cheat on Maggie, we’re in a polyamorous relationship!”

“Maggie! They were kissing.”

“Yeah, I know that.” The Detective laughed. “What’s the problem?”

“Oh...” The blonde became more confused, but nodded her head. “Alright I’m going to go...” She flew away and Maggie laughed hard.

“Oh God...” Alex whined.

“She flew to me after that and asked what’s a polyamorous relationship. I almost had a heart attack. It was as if a toddler came up to me and asked how kids are made.” Lena laughs looking at her fiancé, who turns her head away embarrassed.

“How was I supposed to know that! I thought Alex was cheating on Maggie.” She stutters.

“Don’t worry little Danvers. We weren’t doing anything nasty this time. Just kissing. I’m sure you can handle that.” Finley laughs.

Alex stands up from her girlfriend and looks at her sister in disbelief.

“I would never cheat on Maggie. Or Fin. But I understand your confusion. We should’ve talked with you about it sooner.” She admits. “I would say that I’ll make sure of it next time, but there wouldn’t be one. Staying with these two forever.”

***

After the Christmas dinner, Alex, Maggie, Kara and Lena decided to go for a walk. They wanted to take Finley along, but she said that wheeling around is not a walk, so she’s going to pass and help Eliza in the kitchen. Vivian went to unpack her things in the guest room. After that they sat by the dinner table, Eliza made them coffee and Finley put the sweets on the table.

“Can I ask you both something?” Fin begins looking hesitantly at both women. She specifically chose to sit against them to be able to see both their reactions.

“Of course darling.” Vivian smiles at her. Even though she was Maggie’s aunt, they both looked very alike. Both had brown hairs and brown eyes. They even had the same dimpled smile.

Finley looked at Eliza and the older woman nodded her head encouraging her to continue.

“Well before the accident I was planning something... And I know it isn’t possible yet, and we don’t even know if it’ll ever be, but I just wanted to, and I…” Finley spoke really fast, she was stressed.

‘This was a stupid idea. What if they laugh. What if they say no?!’

“Take a deep breath sweetie.” Eliza gently squeezes her hand, making her calm down. “Tell us slowly what’s going on.” Finley took a deep breath.

‘It’s now or never.’

“I love your daughters very much. I want to propose to them soon. And I know it’s not possible yet to marry them legally. But when the possibility will come, I want them to be my wives. And I wanted to ask you both for permission.” She looks at them scared.

“Ohh, Finley.” Eliza stands up and goes to hug her. “Of course you have my permission to marry Alex. I could never imagine better wives for her. You three are so amazing together.” She smiles and kisses Finley on the forehead. She pulls away and Vivian takes her place.

“I agree with Eliza. I couldn’t imagine anyone that could make my girl happier than you and Alex. You have my blessing, darling.” She hugs her and Finley beams.

“Thank you. This means so much to me. I can’t even imagine my life without them, so I have to make sure they stick around as long as it’s possible. Now I just need to have a fully working leg to get down on one knee” She jokes. Things are going perfect right now. **

Later that evening as their family left and Vivian went to the guest room to rest, Finley was lying comfortably with her girlfriends.

“We met J’onn earlier.” Alex begins. “He asked about you. We told him that Maggie takes care of you. He didn’t know Maggie resigned.”

“Oh?” Fin looked at the redhead. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I kind of forgot. And since he’s afraid to read my mind anymore...”

“That’s cause you're a pervert.” Maggie laughs. “Thinking bout the nasty 24/7”

“Hey! Don’t mind me, those are my thoughts, can’t do anything about it!” Alex pouts.

“Well back to the main point, he offered me a job at the DEO.” The raven-haired woman said, looking at Finley. “Starting January 2nd.” “That’s amazing!” Fin hugs her girlfriend. “Congrats baby, you can work with us now.”

“She didn’t accept it yet.” Alex murmured.

“Wait why?” The black-haired woman frowned. It was an amazing opportunity, why didn’t Maggie say yes?

“I want to take care of you.” The raven-haired woman kissed her girlfriend.

“I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself! They are taking my plaster off soon and replacing it with the brace. I’m really better. You need to accept the job darling.” She looked into her girlfriend's eyes. “Accept it.”

“But...”

“No buts. Accept it. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Okay.” Maggie sighs. She wanted the job, but also wanted to look after her still healing girlfriend.

“But we’ll need some ground rules. Like you calling us every hour. And if something is wrong, you’ll tell us immediately. And you take care of yourself, taking your medicine, eating and drinking. And you’ll take it easy.”

“I promise. I’ll be fine.” Finley smiles and kisses her. “You okay with it?” She turned to look at Alex.

“Well, I think so. But also if it won’t work out I know that J’onn will just give us days off.”

“That won’t be needed.” Fin kisses the redhead. “I’ll be just fine.” She snuggles into her girlfriend's arm and was soon sleeping.

#alex danvers x reader #alex danvers x maggie sawyer #alex danvers x oc #sanvers x reader #sanvers x oc #maggie sawyer x reader #maggie sawyer x oc #polamory

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hellomynameisbisexual · 4 years ago

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I’d go so far as to say that the nomination probably saved the site, in fact. For those who need a little background: despite being a small voluntary project the site was nominated for the 2014 Publication of the Year award by Stonewall, the UK’s largest LGBT charity, just nine months after its inception. This was a landmark step in Stonewall’s positive new direction on bi issues. To the best of my knowledge, this was the first time Stonewall had specifically nominated a specifically bi publication or organisation for an award. At this point my co-founder, who was taking care of the business side of things, had recently jumped ship and I was seriously considering packing the whole thing in. I won’t lie, I was astonished to read the email.

I’d worked on a publication which won the award under my editorship a few years previously. Unlike Biscuit, however, g3 magazine – at the time one of the two leading print mags for lesbian and bi women in the UK – had an estimated readership of 140,000, had been going for eight years and boasted full-time paid office staff and regular paid freelancers. Biscuit, by contrast, was being dragged along by one weary unpaid editor and a bunch of unpaid writers who understandably, for the most part, couldn’t commit to regularly submitting work.

Little Biscuit’s enormous competition for the award consisted of Buzzfeed, Attitude.co.uk, iNewspaper and Property Week. We didn’t win – that accolade went to iNewspaper – but the nomination was nevertheless, as I say, a huge catalyst to continue with the site. I launched a crowdfunder, which finished way off target. I sold one ad space, for two months. Then nothing. I attempted in vain to recruit a sales manager but nobody wanted to work on commission. Some wonderful writers came and went. There were periods of tumbleweed when I frantically had to fill the site with my own writing, thereby completely defeating the object of providing a platform for a wide range of bi voices.

The Stonewall Award nomination persuaded me to keep going with the site

The departure of the webmaster was another blow. Thankfully by this point I had a co-editor on board – the amazing Libby – so I was persuaded to stick with it. And here we are now. I don’t actually know where the next article is coming from. That’s not a good feeling. But, apart from for Biscuit, I try not to write for free anymore myself, so I understand exactly why that is. As a freelance journo trying to make a living I’ve had to be strict with myself about that. I regularly post on the “Stop Working For Free” Facebook group and often feel a pang of misplaced guilt because I ask my writers to write for free, even though I’m working on the site for free myself, and losing valuable time I could be spending on looking for paid work.

Biscuit hasn’t exactly been a stranger to controversy, in addition to its financial and staffing issues. Its original tagline – “for girls who like girls and boys” – was considered cis-centric by some, leading to accusations that the site had some kind of trans/genderqueer*-phobic agenda. Which was amusing, as at the height of this a) we’d just had two articles about non-binary issues published and b) I was actually engaged to a genderqueer partner, a fact they were clearly unaware of. Now the site is under fire from various pansexual activists who object to the term “bisexual”. To clarify – “girl and boys” was supposed to imply a spectrum and, no, we don’t think “bi” applies only to an attraction to binary folk. The site aims the main part of its content at female-spectrum readers attracted to more than one gender because this group does have specific needs. But there is something here for EVERYONE bisexual. Anyway, it’s a shame all of this gossip was relayed secondhand, and the people in question didn’t think to confront me about it (which at least the pan activists have bothered to do). We damage our community immeasurably with these kinds of Chinese whispers.

Biscuit ed Libby, being amazing

Whilst trying to keep the site afloat, I’ve also been building on the work I started right back when I edited g3, and trying to improve bi visibility in other media outlets. I’ve recently had articles published by Cosmopolitan, SheWired, The F-Word, GayStar News and Women Make Waves and I’m constantly emailing other sites which I’ve not yet written for with bi pitches. Unfortunately, although I am over the moon to be writing for mainstream outlets such as Cosmo about bi issues, it’s been an uphill struggle trying to persuade some editors out there that they have more readers to whom bi-interest stories apply than they might think. It’s an incredibly exhausting and frustrating process.

Libby and I are doing our best with Biscuit. I can’t guarantee that I would be doing anything at all with it if Libby hadn’t arrived on the scene, so once again I would like to mention how fabulous she is. But we desperately need more writers. We need some help with site design and tech issues. We need a hand with the business and sales side of things. We can’t do it without you. And if you know any rich bisexual heiresses who read Biscuit, please do send them our way. 😉

Grant Denkinson’s story

denkinsonpanel

Grant speaks on a panel chaired by Biscuit’s Lottie at a Bi Visibility Day event

So first of all, explain a little about the activism you’re involved/have been involved in.  

“I’ve been involved with bisexual community organising for a bit over 20 years. Some has been within community: writing for and editing our national newsletter, organising events for bisexuals and helping others with their events by running workshop sessions or offering services such as 1st aid. I’ve spoken to the media about bisexuality and organised bi contingents at LGBT Pride events (sometimes just me in a bi T-shirt!). I’ve helped organise and participated in bi activist weekends and trainings. I’ve help train professionals about bisexuality. I’ve also piped up about bisexuality a lot when organising within wider LGBT and gender and sexuality and relationship diversity umbrellas. I’ve been a supportive bi person on-line and in person for other bi folks. I’ve been out and visibly bi for some time. I’ve helped fund bi activists to meet, publish and travel. I’ve funded advertising for bi events. I’ve set up companies and charities for or including bi people. I’ve personally supported other bi activists.”

 What made you get involved?

“ In some ways I was looking for a way to be outside the norm and to make a difference and coming out as bi gave me something to push against. I’ve been less down on myself when feeling attacked. I’ve also found the bi community very welcoming and where I can be myself and so wanted to organise with friends and to give others a similar experience. There weren’t too many others already doing everything better than I could.”

How do you feel about the state of bi activism worldwide (esp UK and USA) at the moment?

“There have been great changes for same-sex attracted people legally and socially and these have happened quickly. Bi people have been involved with making that happen and benefit from it. We can also be hidden by gay advances or actively erased. We still have bi people not knowing many or any other local bi people, not seeing other bisexuals in the mainstream or LGT worlds and not knowing or being able to access community things with other bis. We are little represented in books or the media and people don’t know about the books and zines and magazines already available. The internet has made it easy to find like-minded people but also limited privacy and I think is really fragmented and siloed. It is hard to find bisexuals who aren’t women actors, harmful or fucked up men or women in pornography designed for straight men. We have persistent and high quality bi events but they are sparse and small.”

What’s causing you to feel disillusioned?

“I’m fed up of bi things just not happening if I don’t do them. Not everything should be in my style and voice and I shouldn’t be doing it all. I and other activists campaign for bi people to be more OK and don’t take care of ourselves enough while doing so. People are so convinced we don’t exist they don’t bother with a simple search that would find us. We have little resources while having some of the worst outcomes of any group. I don’t want to spend my entire life being the one person who reminds people about bisexuals, including our so-called allies. I’m not impressed with the problem resolution skills in our communities and while we talk about being welcoming I’m not sure we’re very effective at it. I’m fed up with mouthing the very basics and never getting into depth about bi lives and being one who supports but who is not supported. I’m all for lowering barriers but at a certain point if people don’t actively want to do bi community volunteering it won’t happen. Some people are great critics but build little.”

What do you want to say to other activists about this?

“Why are we doing this personally? I’m not sure we know. How long will we hope rather than do? Honestly, are there so few who care? Alternatively should we stop the trying to do bi stuff and either do some self-analysis, be happy to accept being what we are now as a community, chill out and just let stuff happen or give up and go and do something else instead.”

Patrick Richards-Fink’s story

085d4de So first of all, explain a little about the activism you’re involved/have been involved in.

“Mostly internet – I am a Label Warrior, a theorist and educator. Here’s how I described it on my blog: “One of the reasons that I am a bisexual activist rather than a more general queer activist is because I see every day people just like me being told they don’t belong. It doesn’t mean I don’t work on the basic issues that we all struggle against — homophobia, heterosexism, classism, out-of-control oligarchy, racism, misogyny, this list in in no particular order and is by no means comprehensive. But I have found that I can be most effective if I focus, work towards understanding the deep issues that drive the problems that affect people who identify the same way that I have ever since I started to understand who I am. I find that I’m not a community organizer type of activist or a storm the capitol with a petition in one hand and a bullhorn in the other activist — I’m much better at poring over studies and writing long wall-o’-text articles and occasionally presenting what I’ve gleaned to groups of students until my voice is so hoarse that I can barely do more than croak.” So internet, and when I was still in school, a lot of on-campus stuff. Now I’m moving into a new phase where my activism is more subtle – I’m working as a therapist, and so my social justice lens informs my treatment, especially of bi and trans people.”

What made you get involved?

“I can’t not be.”

How do you feel about the state of bi activism worldwide (esp UK and USA) at the moment?

“I feel like we made a couple strides, and every time that happens the attacks renewed. I hionestly think the constant attempts to divide the bisexual community into ‘good pansexuals’ and ‘bad bisexuals’ and ‘holy no-labels’ is the thing that’s most likely to screw us.”

What’s causing you to feel disillusioned?  

“It is literally everywhere I turn – colleges redefining bisexuality on their LGBT Center pages, news articles quoting how ‘Bi=2 and pan=all therefore pan=better’, everybloodywhere I turn I see it every day. The word bi is being taken out of the names of organisations now, by the next group of up-and-comers who haven’t bothered to learn their history and understand that if you erase our past, you take away our present. Celebrities come out as No Label, wtf is that. Don’t they make kids read 1984 anymore? It’s gotten to the point now that even seeing the word pansexual in print triggers me. I’m reaching the point now that if someone really wants to be offended when all I am trying to do is welcome them on board, then I don’t have time for it.”

What do you want to say to other activists about this?

“Stay strong, and don’t give them a goddamned inch. I honestly think that the bi organizations – even, truth be told, the one I am with – are enabling this level of bullshit by attempting to be conciliatory, saying things that end up reinforcing the idea that bi and pan are separate communities. We try to be too careful not to offend anyone. Like the thing about Freddie Mercury. Gay people say ‘He was gay.’ Bi people say ‘Um, begging your pardon, good sirs and madams and gentlefolk of other genders, but Freddie was bi.’ And they respond ‘DON’T GIVE HIM A LABEL HE DIDN’T CLAIM WAAHHH WAAHHH!’ And yet… Freddie Mercury never used the label ‘gay’, but it’s OK when they do it. And he WAS bisexual by any measure you want to use. But we back down. And 2.5% of the bisexual population decides pansexual is a better word, and instead of educating them, we add ‘pan’ to our organisation names and descriptions. Now, this is clearly a dissenting view – I will always be part of a united front where my organization is concerned. But everyone knows how I feel, and I think it’s totally valid to be loyal and in dissent at the same time. Not exactly a typically American viewpoint, but everyone says I’d be a lot more at home in Britain than I am here anyway.”

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fusonzai · 4 years ago

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花束みたいな恋をした

Hantaba mitai na koi wo shita

When I first moved to Japan, to say I had some struggles would be an understatement.

It was my first time living away from home, and in a foreign country where I didn’t speak much of the language. I mismanaged my savings, overestimated how much I’d be getting paid, and greatly underestimated just how bad the dreaded daily train ride was.

I was living in a pretty worn down apartment in a somewhat far area called Chofu. Life there was certainly interesting. The apartment was built at least 100 years prior to me living there and it was located 30 minutes from the station. Even though the rent was cheap I was still living pay check to pay check, misusing my credit card in an attempt to feign normalcy.

(First book store, pretending I could read anything)

Suffice to say five years later, when I stepped into the cinema to watch 花束みたいな恋をした, I was taken aback when the films male lead was also living pay check to pay check in a decrepit apartment in Chofu. Shots of Chofu station and the recently completed shopping mall all made me nostalgic for a time that I feel was incredibly formative for me now, years later.

The two leads are both incredibly talented and popular entertainers in Japan. Suda Masaki (the male lead) has appeared in countless television shows and released acclaimed albums while Arimura Kasumi comes off to me as Japan’s sweetheart; starring in romantic dramas in both television and cinema. Their popularity could be compared to that of Timothee Chalamet and Zendaya. I’m not one to spoil films for people, or re-tell stories already told on the screen, but due to the sheer unlikelihood of this film being translated or released anytime soon; some concessions had to be made.

(Tell me these two aren't adorable)

The film centres around the 5 year relationship between two soon to be university graduates, Mugi (Suda Masaki) and Kinu (Arimura Kasumi), and the highs and lows that they experience as a couple in their twenties, navigating their first adult relationship. Mugi is a creative type, writing short comic strips on commission, not too sure of his own direction post university whilst Kinu describes herself as the type of person whose luck is so bad that whenever she drops toast, it always falls butter side first. Kinu comes off as more earnest and less outgoing than Mugi, however the two are both still on that precipice of adulthood. Not quite sure where their lives will lead, still enjoying that idle time between the end of university and the jump into the working world.

(Mugi & Kinu during that honeymoon phase)

We start in 2020 with both Mugi and Kinu sitting in a cafe with different partners; they’ve clearly broken up and don’t even acknowledge each other when they first notice one another. A chance at rekindled love seems unlikely, this is going to be a how they got to where they are type story. A little less ‘The Notebook’ and a little more’500 Days of Summer’.

We’re then taken back to 2015 and see the two meet at the always busy Meidaimae station. They both fail to catch that last train home and spend a night together in Karaoke Bars, Izakayas and eventually Mugi’s apartment where Kinu falls asleep watching his 3 hour long movie on Gas Tanks. They go on three dates where Mugi (afraid of being relegated to only friends) confesses his feelings towards Kinu, and the two start dating.

These initial encounters are so important in detailing the striking amount of shared interests they have. They read the same books, use movie tickets as bookmarks for said books, like the same music, even wear the same white converse sneakers. Yet they tend to hide their differences from one another. Kinu isn’t all too interested in Mugi’s 3 hour gas tank short film and Mugi wasn’t as interested as Kinu in the Egyptian exhibit they both had tickets for before they met. This hiding of differences only gets worse as time passes.

They both graduate and move in together. We’re shown the harshness of Japan’s shuushoku. This is a practice where everyone applies for career orientated jobs at the same time, but those that fail generally have to wait until next year. Kinu fails initially and works part time jobs. Things don’t go well for Mugi either; his freelance work dries up and he decides to bow to the pressures around him and begin looking for a real job. After an almost honeymoon like two years together, the two eventually begin their ‘adult’ jobs, and we first see the cracks of their relationship start to show.

Throughout the next 3 years, we see two people who have gotten through their relationship solely via common interests, suddenly see those shared hobbies crumble. They’re left with the realisation that they can’t actually communicate that well, and feel helpless in trying to stop the conflict that ensues. Mugi works overtime at the new job that he clearly doesn’t enjoy, because he believes, as a man, that he has to provide and protect the status quo and that the adult thing to do is abandon those things that once brought him enjoyment. Meanwhile Kinu struggles to figure out what she wants to do. She eventually gets a job through shuushoku however it doesn’t seem to suit her at all and she ponders changing to a more fulfilling yet lower paying job. The two both get so caught up in their own situations that they often don’t see each other for days at a time. Their walks home together and time spent playing Zelda on the couch gradually fade until they’re no longer. Their arguments about work and life get worse with neither of them managing to get through to the other, at times wondering how they even ended up together.

This all culminates in them deciding to break up after their friend’s wedding, sharing one last happy day together before going their separate ways.

There’s a lot of scenes in this movie that I’d like to break down but for now I want to talk about the break up scene. This scene felt so reflective of some dated, but still prevalent, ideas about love and marriage in Japan that were often espoused to me here by co workers and friends.

Kinu can’t relate to her boyfriend anymore, they don’t have sex, nearly every conversation ends in a fight and anything she tries to do just seems to push the two further apart. Mugi seems too caught up in his job and the future: he believes it’s natural for two people to grow apart after the love fades, and that marriage and starting a family is key to get over this hurdle.

Foregoing the wedding reception afterparty, the two have their break up at the same chain restaurant where Mugi first confessed his love. They go to sit in their original seats, but they’re already occupied. Something about this stung in some indirect way, almost as if the film maker is forewarning that the two can no longer go back to how they were. After some debate, they both air their grievances. Kinu has fallen out of love but Mugi believes that this is normal and believes marriage is the answer. There’s this beautifully acted monologue from Mugi where he ruminates on a future where he and Kinu get married and have children. He romanticises how nice it’d be to be called Mama and Papa, to go on holiday, to take the kids to Disneyland and to have people say, ‘those two had some issues but they really sorted it all out’. He believes love is a like a raw object and has an expiration date, with marriage being the key to prolonging that expiration.

For almost a second it looks as though Kinu is going to accept this fanciful, but sadly flawed, proposal until a young couple behind them is seated in their old spot. This part is almost too on the nose. The couple displays that same youthful awkwarkdness that Mugi and Kuni once had and goes through the exact same motions they did; swapping books, and talking music interests and of course they’re also wearing white converses.

Their youthful bliss and naivety is piercing to both the audience and the sombre couple. Mugi realises it’s over, Kinu realises it’s over, and judging from the sniffles in the audience everyone watching does too. There are some things you just can’t get back, there isn’t a reset button, and you can’t use marriage and children to fix your issues.

This seems common sense to me, however the interactions I’ve had since moving to Japan suggest that that might not be the norm here.

Marriage and weddings in the west always seemed liked a celebration of two peoples’ relationship up until that point and then the beginning of the next chapter of their life together. I used to work catering at weddings, and it’s strange to think that statistically half of those incredibly stressed, but incredibly joyous, couples will divorce, or already have.

So why do these once happy couples decide to go their separate ways? Extramarital affairs is still one of the top cited reasons in the west. It’s also probably the only thing I don’t think I could ever forgive. From an early age this ideal had been drilled into me that people that were married were in love and if you’re in love why would you cheat? If you didn’t want to be with that person, why would you marry them? I think infidelity is still incredibly strong grounds for divorce in the west. If you’re caught you can apologise and maybe make amends but there’s always a stain on the relationship from the outside, once a cheater always a cheater etc. There’s a strong emphasis on faithfulness above almost all else.

Flash forward a few years to me moving to Japan. Now before the move here, I’d seen the Youtube videos and the stories from friends of friends about rampant infidelity in Japan. One of my favourite entertainment personalities found out his wife was cheating on him for the entirety of their marriage and waited until she got citizenship to tell him. I don’t believe anyone is in a position to make broad claims about the culture of a country based on some internet articles. I believe you need experience to shape your world view but that doesn’t mean your world view is necessarily the correct one.

Whilst being an advanced country in many facets, gender roles in Japan often feel as though they have some catching up to do. Whilst there’s this heavy pressure to get married early (if you’re female, 25 and not seeing someone with the intention to get married, what the hell are you doing?) and a market much like the west promoting incredibly expensive weddings and honeymoons, there isn’t that much to care about after the marriage (provided you’re having children, of course). It’s strange in that I found I admired the whole one unit aspect of marriage here. Financially, it seemed that whilst most of my co workers and friends wives controlled the purse strings, big decisions were made together. There is a coldness to the lack of emotion to some of these decisions, but they were often best in the long run.

However there also seemed to be this separation of marriage and of love. Friends wouldn’t consider it cheating if their partner slept with a sex worker or if it was only because they were drunk. I had friends who were actively cheating on their partner whilst being aware that their partner was actively cheating on them. However there was this weird agreement that as long as neither was too obvious it was alright. I had an old boss who said if he was feeling the urge, he’d just go see a sex worker as that arrangement was better for both him and his wife. It was almost as if being married and being in love weren’t mutually exclusive. Love and sexual attraction were for young people, marriage was about creating a family and supporting that family. Marriage was the next step in a relationship to further your life (married people often get paid more, there are large subsidies for having children etc.) As responsible adults, a couple would get married by 30 or so to have children and protect the status quo. If you didn’t disturb that status quo too much; some cheating was allowed and often expected.

(My boss & I, sunglasses and all)

“Marriage is a result, not a destination” is a line my boss uttered to me. I was dating a girl who shared different views on marriage than I did. Our relationship was expected to end in marriage in a sense; her family knew of me and mine her. I didn’t want to get married but at the same I loved her so much that I thought the only way to show that was marriage. My boss thought there was a flaw in her and a lot of Japan’s way of thinking. He believed that marriage wasn’t something to strive for, but merely the result of a happy relationship. He also thought my love had an expiry date and his estimation wasn’t far off.

I don’t think his line of thinking is all that idealistic, the heavy expectation of marriage at the start of a relationship puts pressure on a base that isn’t that well established. Is there a line we can draw between knowing what you want from a relationship and expecting too much before you even know the other partner? Had Kinu and Mugi discussed their differences earlier on would that have saved them down the track or only led them to a faster break up where they could then move onto more suitable partners?

Looking at Mugi’s proposal from a purely western lens, it seems ludicrous and somewhat insulting. Looking at it from my own experiences, it’s still not romantic, but it has an appealing practicality that I’m sure some older people in the audience may relate to.

(Wise words, to translate it roughly: Young hearts, don't run free)

With all this in mind, the break up scene really is layered with expectations and differing ideologies. What surprised me the most was that after this tear laden break up, the two lived a plutonic and, by all accounts, friendly 3 months together whilst they both sorted out their individual accommodation. They both opt to move out and leave the old apartment and those old memories behind. The idea of living with someone for 3 months post break up seems almost ludicrous. The fact that they live these three months as if they’re in their honeymoon phase again is baffling initially, but once you remove romance and talk to the person you’re with, without the expectations you once had, it isn’t really all that surprising. These two had and still have more in common than they do apart. Whilst initially off putting, it’s charming that these two best friends can live together even though they’ve separated. I look at the countless times people break up; sides are chosen in friendship groups and efforts are made to not invite both people to the same event. Could you live with your ex after you broke up for 3 months? Doesn’t it make more sense for you to still want the person you shared so much of your life with to still be in it regardless of what once was? Regardless of what was, wouldn’t you still want someone you shared so much of your life with to still be around in some way?

Three months pass and we’re back to the cafe again, both Kinu and Mugi with their respective new partners. They leave the cafe at the same time, ride the same long escalator down whilst not acknowledging each other. They split at the end of the escalator, both of them raise their hand waving goodbye, not knowing if the other is waving as well.

There is something sobering and satisfying about such an anti-climactic ending. They didn’t run into each other’s arms, this meeting wasn’t the start of the second act of the film like I suspected it would be. It was simply two people that once were together continuing down a different road. We often watch romantic films to see two people fall in love and learn to live a life together. Depending on the film it can often seem too idyllic or fanciful but it always seems in reach…if you find that right person. Hanataba mitai na koi wo shita presents a more grounded argument. The right person isn’t always enough. Your situation, your beliefs and your respective flaws might get the best of you. Your own happy ever after might not be all you thought it would be, hell it might not even be one at all.

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sareyen · 4 years ago

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Das Haus am See: The Lake House Cherik AU (Part 3/3)

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A Lake House Cherik AU: Charles and Erik both lived in the lake house, Charles in 2017, and Erik in 2019. By magic or fate, the two find out that the house’s letter box is able to send letters through time - and, in doing so, the two fall in love despite living in two different years. They vow to meet in the future, but fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Chapter 3

Charles stared at the screen of his computer, page blank. There was a half-drained bottle of scotch resting beside him, and pages of crumpled and torn note paper was strewn across his desk and oak floors – papers covered with desperate apologies that Charles had only just stopped sending to Erik through the letter box.

A week had passed, and the letter box was full to bursting with the numerous letters Charles left there, hoping that Erik would read them – any of them. Each day, Charles wrote handfuls of apologies, pleas and wishes, praying that he could hear the familiar phantom scrape of the letter box’s red flag and see the letters disappear two years into the future.

But Erik had been true to his word – he hadn’t come back to the lake house again.

When Charles saw the pile of forgotten letters through the haze of his hopeless gaze, he felt his blue eyes grow wet again, slamming down the screen of his computer before dropping his face into his hands. He pressed hard against his eyes with the palms of his hands, trying to will the tears to stop, as if he were applying pressure over a stab wound.

Erik’s final letter had felt like a stab wound, in the end, and had left Charles bleeding.

Charles had spent the majority of the week drinking his sorrows away and berating a version of himself that didn’t even exist yet. Charles had laughed bitterly, never hating himself more than he had in that moment. Charles hated the him living two years in the future, a version of himself that was as much a stranger to him as the nameless people he passed on the street.

Hours passed until Charles opened his laptop again, steeling himself as he tried to write – to finish Max and Wesley’s story.

Charles Wesley clung to the letters from Erik Max like they were his tether to everything that was real – because, to Wesley, there was nothing more real to him than Max. Max’s mind was a beacon, a light house saving Wesley from crashing onto the rocks. Before Max, Wesley had been floating aimlessly, adrift and lost.

It was when Wesley met the man beyond time that everything seemed to make sense, that Wesley began to find his purpose. With Max, Wesley finally felt like he wasn’t alone.

But, Max was not a man who believed in love so easily. Unlike Wesley, who was optimistic and filled to the brim with unadulterated hope, Max was a pragmatist, a realist and cynical in nature. Max was not one to easily believe that Wesley’s affections were strong enough to stand against time, even if Wesley himself knew the true magnitude of his longing, his pining – of his love.

Wesley did not know how to make Max hear his voice. With the seemingly insurmountable wall of two years between them, Wesley could scream and scream, but Max could not hear him, his head and his heart blocked by barriers of impenetrable steel.

How could Charles get Erik to hear him?

Charles looked at the clock on his desk, and it was well past midnight now. The lake outside was still and quiet, so silent it was almost eerie. The sound of cicadas punctuated the silence outside, alongside the occasional creak of the rafters as wind tugged at the walls of the lake house.

Getting up from his desk, his laptop left open to his novel without an ending, Charles walked outside with the bottle of scotch and planted himself by the edge of the lake. The night was crisp, but Charles warmed himself up with the burning slide of liquid amber down his throat.

Charles wondered if Erik ever sat by the lakeside like this, looking out over the expanse of water from the same vantage point as Charles did now. Have they ever appreciated the same view? If they have, Charles could begin to pretend that Erik was sitting beside him, looking in the same direction.

“Why did I abandon you?” Charles whispered to no one, his question responded to by cicadas and the wind. “I don’t understand… I would never abandon you, Erik.”

Charles drained the rest of the scotch, feeling light headed and heavy at the same time, and let himself fall back onto the plush grass. As Charles stared up at the stars, they stared right back at him, judging and questioning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Charles grumbled at Cassiopeia, the constellation seeming to roll her eyes back at him. “I’m not lying. I’d never leave Erik like that. Never.”

Soon, Charles’s vision began to swim, the alcohol and his fatigue overtaking him.

‘Yes, I’d never leave you like that, Erik.’

‘I’ll find you.’

***

“You don’t look too good, Sugar.”

Erik didn’t even bother to lift his head from where he was staring into his now-cold coffee in the break room, sensing Emma slide into her usual seat across the table from him, white tailored suit filling Erik’s periphery.

“Not in the mood, Emma,” Erik grunted, finally taking a sip of his coffee.

“No, you’re definitely not. Your mood is terrible, it’s making all the new interns consider dropping out because you terrifying them,” Emma said, Erik looking up at her with weary eyes rimmed with dark circles. Emma just raised a brow as her cool eyes flicked up and down her co-worker, before letting out an irritating, all-knowing hum as if she could read Erik like a book.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Erik said, Emma smiling.

“Of course you don’t. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Come on, Erik. Sometimes it helps to get things off your chest, instead of bottling in all of those feelings you so abhor,” Emma pushed, Erik glaring at her. Emma was undeterred, leaning forwards a little in her seat. “Erik, we’re friends – at least, I consider us friends. Talk to me, I’m worried. Frankly, you haven’t been like this since… you know.”

Emma waved her hands around vaguely, but her insinuations were more than vague, the unspoken word divorce lingering in the air.

“I really don’t want to talk about him, Emma,” Erik said, Emma snapping her finger.

“Ah, so it’s about a him? I see.”

“Emma.”

“Erik,” Emma countered, rolling her eyes and tugging up her white sleeves. “I’ve seen you. You were always a workaholic, and I’m going to be blunt, but that’s part of what made things fall apart with Magda. Of course, there were other things, but let’s not pretend that your work wasn’t a part of it. But lately, over the past month, you’ve always been leaving the office on time on Fridays, and that Wednesday the other week. You never leave work early, and especially not when Shaw has given you so much to do. It’s obvious that you met someone, and I was honestly glad for you. You’ve seemed… happier, as of late, Sugar. And we both know you haven’t been happy in a long time.”

Erik stared at his co-worker – his friend – who was just giving him a look which told Erik that it was pointless to argue. Emma, as always, was right – and far too observant for Erik’s liking.

“If you know so much already, Emma, then you know better than to ask me anything else,” Erik responded with a grimace, sinking into his chair. Emma just sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I wouldn’t ask anything else if you didn’t look so depressed, Erik. Ever since last weekend, you’ve looked like a kicked puppy. Did things fall through with your new guy?”

What could fall through, when nothing ever started?

“There was nothing there to begin with,” Erik grumbled, shrugging. “We… We had only met once.” And I didn’t even remember it.

Emma blinked.

“Sugar, you met this guy once and he’s got you moping around like this? Damn, I want to meet this guy who managed to do this to the great Erik Lehnsherr.”

“It’s… complicated,” Erik said, biting his lip. “We… we talked. Through letters. We wrote letters to each other, and met once – a coincidence, really. At least, I think it was, on my part at least.”

“When did you meet him? Is that why you look like a kicked puppy now? The real thing didn’t match up to the person in the letters? And… letters? Really, Erik? How antiquated.”

“The letters were… I’m not even going to bother explaining it to you. And no, he-” didn’t show up. He abandoned me. “No, we met two years ago, right before Magda and I… I didn’t really remember, but we started talking through letters about a month ago and… Ugh. Anyway, it’s complicated, and long story short, we made plans and he didn’t show up. So that’s that,” Erik said, Emma sighing.

“Ah, so you got stood up. That must hurt, Sugar,” Emma said, before pausing. “But wait, so you met two years ago, but only now started talking again? You said you forgot him – he must have remembered you, though? To start talking to you again?”

Erik snorted at that – of course Charles remembered, he had just lived it, while it was two years in the past for the lawyer. Charles was still in 2017, and as much as he promised Erik he would weather time for him, he hadn’t.

“It’s too complicated to explain, but it’s over now. I ended it, and… and it’s for the better. He has his life, I have mine,” Erik said, Emma tilting her head to the side, scrutinising him before getting up from her chair to pat Erik’s shoulder once. The action reminded Erik of the balcony and Charles, how the once-stranger had comforted Erik in a similar manner.

Erik’s heart ached.

“Love is complicated, Sugar,” Emma said, giving Erik a small smile. “But, does this letter-writing ex-man of yours have a name?”

“Why do you want to know?” Erik asked, eyes narrowed. Emma just smiled, laughing a little.

“I did say that we were friends, did I not? I’d like to know the name of the person who stood you up in case I ever run into him. With my car,” Emma said, Erik letting out a snort at her ridiculous notion, but giving her a grateful look for her (potentially ill-directed) support.

“I don’t want him to be hurt, Emma. He… Charles had his reasons,” Erik said, Emma humming.

“Charles. Sounds like a pretentious prick,” Emma said, Erik barking out a laugh at that.

“I thought so too, at first. I mean, ‘Charles Xavier’ – I really shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he has a posh English accent,” Erik said, Emma freezing.

“What did you say, Erik?” Emma asked, voice still.

“What?”

“Xavier? You said his name is Charles Xavier?”

“Yeah?” Erik said, frowning now, confused by Emma’s odd reaction. The woman rarely looked thrown, but right now she was gazing at Erik with a foreign look. “What is it, Emma?”

“No, it’s probably just a very scary coincidence. I mean, Charles is a common enough name, and I could have heard wrong, and it wouldn’t be surprising if there was more than one Charles Xavier in New York…” Emma said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“Emma, I don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Erik said, standing from his seat now to level himself with Emma.

“No, it’s just that, you know the case Shaw is working right now?”

“The Francis Graymalkin one, of course I know. Shaw hasn’t shut up about it for the past few weeks,” Erik responded, Emma nodding.

“Yes, well Francis Graymalkin was just the man’s pen name, a pseudonym,” Emma said, and Erik let out a grunt of knowing.

“I know. The man’s sister is the one who hired Shaw, right? Because their step-father and brother are trying to weasel their way into Francis Graymalkin’s inheritance. Her name was something Darkholme, so I figured Francis Graymalkin was a pseudonym – he’s probably called Francis Darkholme, or something of the like,” Erik said, Emma shaking her head.

“See, that’s the thing. Erik, Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier.”

***

Charles woke up the day after with a headache and a chill in his bones – falling asleep on the grass outside had made Charles awaken with a scratch in his throat and lungs that felt two sizes too big for his chest.

Still, Charles remembered the dream he had that night – of driving to NYC, of banging on Erik’s door, his pregnant wife be damned. In his dream, Charles had been selfish, pulling Erik into a molten kiss that sent his heart into spasms, his toes curling in his shoes. In his dreams, Erik hadn’t tasted of cigarettes but of scotch, heady and warm.

The Erik in his dreams had murmured a sigh against Charles’s lips, saying “Gott, Charles. What took you so long?” before tilting his head to slot his lips closer to Charles, devouring him in body and spirit.

People were always bolder in dreams; maybe it was a subconscious understanding that dreams couldn’t hurt you, and that they weren’t real. Dreams weren’t real, but they reflected Charles’s innermost desires. He wanted Erik, and he knew he wanted him, more than he has wanted anything before in his life.

Erik had said in his final letter that, since Charles hadn’t shown up to any of their planned meetings, that he clearly didn’t want Erik. That Charles couldn’t wait two years. Charles hadn’t believed him, but Erik knew the future better than Charles.

So, if it was true, and for some reason Charles couldn’t wait, why did he have to?

Erik said that he had to live his life, and maybe Charles should do the same. He should find Erik, talk to him like he did at the wedding. Yes, Erik had a wife that was with child, but Charles knew how that would turn out. Charles abhorred his own selfish and distasteful thoughts, but he couldn’t help them – Charles never wished such tragedy and misfortune upon any one, least of all Erik, but he couldn’t help but want a man who was taken.

At least, in 2017.

But oh, Erik. Erik. Charles couldn’t give up on Erik like that. Not Erik, who inspired Charles, who made him feel and live and want to live.

Charles rallied his determination, and peeled himself off the grass. Charles showered and shaved, and tamed his slightly over-grown mop of chestnut hair as much as he could. He brushed his teeth and ironed his clothes, pulling on his most comforting cardigan that he wore like armour.

Then, Charles picked up the keys to his rust-bucket car and gingerly tucked Erik’s The Once and Future King under his arm, thumb rubbing against the worn paperback.

As he walked to his car, Charles checked the letter box like he did every day, and found that it was still empty.

‘I’ll find you, Erik. Here and now,’ Charles vowed silently, getting into his car with Erik’s book in the passenger seat.

‘I’ll return your book to you, in person. I vow to you that I won’t break this promise, unlike the me of the future, which broke them all.’

***

‘Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier.’

The words echoed around the empty darkness in Erik’s head.

Coincidence?

Fate?

“But, since the man has been dead for two years, it’s obviously just a scary coincidence that he shares the same name as your pen pal,” Emma said, Erik barely registering her words over the repeated chant in his head of ‘Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier’.

Logically, it had to be a coincidence. But, there was nothing logical about any of this – about Charles, about the letter box, about everything.

Erik didn’t say a word as he pushed past Emma and out of the break room, his numb legs taking him straight to Shaw’s office. Bursting in, Erik was glad to see that the man was not there.

Erik wasted no time, not hesitating for a moment, striding over to the files splayed out on Shaw’s desk. Francis Graymalkin’s – Charles Xavier’s – poorly-written will was on top. Legal documents from some people surnamed Marko, notes regarding Charles Xavier’s properties and financials were scattered across the mahogany tabletop.

Properties.

Erik sifted through the papers, seeing some documents of ownership for a house in England, a holiday home in Cuba and a sprawling estate just outside of New York. Among them was a document of ownership for an idyllic lake house made of red-brick and a roof topped with blue tiles.

Erik felt like his heart was in his throat as he picked up the document, eyes flitting down towards the signature at the bottom – an elegant scribble with wide, confident loops sat under a printed name, in hand-writing that Erik had seen time and time before.

Charles Xavier.

The name had the same swooping ‘C’, the same looped ‘l’, and the same curled ‘r’. Charles Xavier was written in the exact same way that Erik’s Charles signed his letters, letters that Erik had unwittingly engraved in his memory and heart. Erik would never mistake that handwriting.

Erik’s Charles was Charles Xavier, and Charles Xavier was Francis Graymalkin.

And Francis Graymalkin was dead.

Erik felt bile begin to rise up his throat.

Francis Graymalkin died two years ago.

That meant that Charles, Erik’s Charles, died two years ago too.

“Oh, Gott,” Erik choked out, hands dropping the stack of property papers in his hand as his heart plummeted, everything going blank.

Erik now knew why Charles hadn’t picked up the phone that day. Why Charles hadn’t surprised him in Central Park in person. Why Charles didn’t show up for dinner at Genosha last weekend.

How could he, when he was already dead?

Erik remembered everything – Charles had been so sure that he would never break his promise to Erik. He had been adamant that he could wait, that he was a patient and faithful man. Charles, who knew who Erik was on the balcony but didn’t give in to his own selfish notions, because Erik had a pregnant wife. Charles, who begged and pleaded for Erik to give him another chance. Charles, who loved Erik. The man never said it aloud in words, but screamed it between every line in each of his letters. Erik knew that Charles loved him, that he loved him enough to be willing to wait for two years.

The plaque on Erik’s bench in Central Park had asked Erik to wait for Charles to catch up.

But, Charles had always been the one waiting for Erik. Charles, who loved a man that hadn’t yet known that he existed, that hadn’t had the chance to fall in love with him just yet, because Erik hadn’t lived at the lake house until later, because he hadn’t received that first letter until after Charles was already buried beneath the ground.

And what had Erik said to him, in his last letter? He said that he couldn’t wait for Charles, that Charles didn’t feel as much as Erik did. That Charles couldn’t keep his promise, to meet Erik two years in the future.

While Charles had always whispered his love between the lines, Erik had accused him of abandoning him in the same spaces.

But Charles hadn’t abandoned him – hadn’t even been given a chance to choose to abandon Erik. No, Erik had abandoned Charles, and Charles had died.

Charles died thinking that Erik hated him. That Erik didn’t love him.

Erik never told Charles that he loved him.

Oh, Gott. Fuck. CharlesCharlesCharles. No.

Suddenly, the door to Shaw’s office opened, revealing the man and a slightly familiar woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Shaw asked, voice snapping. Erik didn’t even care that his boss was staring him down, absolutely livid once he noticed the messy papers on his desk that Erik had obviously rifled through. Erik was too busy staring at the blonde woman, who was just looking at Erik curiously, a large book bag hanging from her slender shoulders.

“Did you know Charles?” Erik asked the young woman dumbly, voice cracking. The girl frowned, but nodded.

“Yeah, he was my brother,” she said slowly, Erik’s heart cracking.

Was.

Erik suddenly lost all words, as well as his breath. The woman – Raven Darkholme – stared at Erik questioningly.

“Did you know my brot-”

“Erik, I said, what are you doing in my office?” Shaw said, cutting the woman off. Raven’s large eyes flashed with something akin to recognition.

“Erik? Your name is Erik?” Raven asked, stepping past Shaw towards the man of that name.

“Yeah,” Erik coughed out, Raven biting her lower lip. “Yeah, I’m… I’m Erik. And I know… knew… shit. I knew your brother. Charles. How did you… Did he tell you? About me?”

“He only mentioned you once, on the day he…” Raven said, suddenly swallowing, like she had a boulder in her throat. Coughing a little, the young woman continued.

“What happened?” Erik whispered, Raven blinking to get rid of the tears. It had been two years, but Charles’s death still hurt her – he was her only family, even if not by blood.

“He told me about you, how he had… met someone. He said he – you – were a lawyer, who lived in New York. And… And that he was going to see you, and said that he had to, even if you didn’t want to see him or even know him – I never understood that part – but then there was a car accident. It was raining, and Charles… Charles was tired and sick, feverish, and… and… a truck… The paramedics, they said that he was calling out ‘Erik’ when he…”

Charles was going to see Erik.

Charles died because he was going to see Erik.

Erik swayed on his feet a little, but did not collapse, even if it felt like his head was ringing.

“When?” Erik asked, voice stretched thin, simmering with panic. “When did Charles… die?”

“Wednesday, March 15, 2017, at 7:39pm. Two years ago today,” Raven said quickly, like she was reading from a book.

Francis Graymalkin died two years ago, on Wednesday the 15th of March, 2017.

That meant that Charles, Erik’s Charles, died that day too.

Today was Friday the 15th of March, 2019.

That meant that two years ago, Charles would die today.

“No,” Erik breathed out, rushing out of Shaw’s office. Shaw yelled at his retreating figure, Raven stared at him in confusion, and Emma’s eyes followed Erik’s form with disguised concern.

Erik was barely registering what his body was doing, and soon he found himself in his car and driving down the highway out of the city.

Like his body was being controlled by an outside presence, Erik drove to the lake house, where he had to tell Charles not to find him. To tell Charles that he would die if he did, to tell Charles that he should wait a little longer.

Wait for Erik a little longer, because Erik loved him.

Erik had to tell Charles that he loved him.

***

Charles’s cold took a turn for the worst about five hours into the drive. He pulled over for a short break, refuelling his car, using the restroom and buying himself a coffee to warm his throat and shivering body. It didn’t take long for Charles to get back on the road, headache building and throat churning out harsh, shoulder-wracking coughs.

Charles smiled sourly to himself – of course, the day he chooses to see Erik, he had to have a cold. Even if he had showered and blow-dried his hair and picked out clean and crisp clothes, his effort went out the window the moment he got sick – his cheeks were feverishly flushed and dark eye bags prominent. His nose was dribbling and his lips chapped, and he was hardly attractive in such a ragged state.

Still, Charles wasn’t banking on anything happening – it was 2017, and Erik was still married, and his wife still pregnant. Charles wasn’t going to push anything, not now. But, Charles could be there for the man, get to know him in person. They could become friends, and maybe, two years in the future, when Erik was no longer married and knew who Charles was, the author could tell him that he loved him, and Erik could, maybe, say it back.

It was a nice dream, a dream that was shattered when a large freight truck slammed into the side of Charles’s car without warning, sending his rust bucket rolling across the highway. Charles couldn’t even scream, because he didn’t even know what was going on – one moment, he was fiddling with the radio that kept dropping out, and the next he was hanging upside down by his seatbelt, glass falling like snow over his face and something wet and warm dribbling down his forehead.

Strangely, Charles didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t move his legs. In fact, he couldn’t really move anything at all.

Images flashed before his blue eyes, which were slipping in and out of lucidity. Charles heard voices, so many voices, but he couldn’t understand a thing. Soon, there were flashing lights in pretty shades of red and blue, and then Charles was finally moving, even if he couldn’t really feel it.

Paramedics kept asking Charles questions, but the man couldn’t answer – his chest gurgled with blood, and he heard the paramedics curse, which made him try to laugh. God, why did laughing hurt?

Laughing should never hurt.

Things drifted in and out for Charles, but strangely, Erik was there; when Charles was awake, he saw Erik resting beside him, wearing the suit he had at Angel’s wedding, with his copy of The Once and Future King in his large hands.

‘Oh, I must have returned it to you,’ Charles thought, the Erik sitting in the ambulance with him smiling with all of his teeth.

When Charles fell unconscious briefly, Erik was still there – this time, Charles saw him sitting in front of a familiar letter box, small smile on his face as he read a letter covered with Charles’s cursive scrawl.

When Charles woke up again, Erik had disappeared, but a paramedic was hovering over him and yelling for him to stay awake.

“Erik…” Charles gurgled out, the paramedic leaning in to try and hear him over the sounds of his lungs collapsing.

“Erik? Is your name Erik?” the paramedic asked, trying to keep Charles’s focus on him. “Come on, stay awake for me!”

Charles tried to speak again, but everything was red, so he just thought instead.

‘I’m coming, Erik,’ Charles thought into the screaming silence, the ambulance pulling up to the emergency wing of the hospital.

The paramedics wheeled Charles out of the chair, blue eyes beginning to lose their lustre.

‘Erik, wait for me.’

“He’s crashing!” a doctor yelled out, wheels rolling across the concrete leading up to the hospital, rain beginning to drizzle down.

‘Erik, where are you?’

“We’re losing him!”

Charles’s blue eyes flittered here and there, losing their hold on everything real.

Well, everything except for the man standing outside of the hospital, brown-copper hair a little damp with rain, glowing embers of a cigarette dangling from his fingers. When Charles was wheeled past the man, time seemed to slow, if only for a moment.

The man’s face looked distraught, which was understandable considering he was at the hospital because his wife had miscarried for the third time and he had come outside to try and clear his head. When the man looked up into the sky, he wondered how much longer it would take for him to stop feeling so lost.

In a final flash of clarity, Charles recognised the man as the person he has been looking for this whole time.

Erik.

‘Oh, there you are, Erik. See?’ Charles thought, blood-splattered mouth curling upwards with eerie tranquillity.

‘I found you. I didn’t abandon you.’

***

Erik was sure that he would get a speeding fine, but he didn’t care. All he could think about as he drove like a madman, the route to get to the lake house second nature by now, was that Charles is going to die.

Erik’s car clock said that it was just past ten in the morning and Erik had been driving for an hour already, having bolted from work barely an hour in. Erik had always been good at numbers, and if it took Erik six hours to get to the lake house, he would get there around 3pm.

Charles died at 7:39pm, but he had been on the road at the time.

How long had Charles been driving for? Was this the stretch of road Charles died on?

‘Please, please let Charles still be at the lake house. Please, don’t let him leave, not before I tell him that I love him, not before I beg him not to look for me.’

When Erik reached the unfixed bottle neck that Charles had found frustrating two years ago, Erik screamed in the suffocating confines of his car – Erik willed the cars around him to move, because he had to get to Charles, and he was already two years too late.

When Erik finally pulled up to the front of the lake house, parking haphazardly on the lawn, he didn’t even bother to turn the engine off before fumbling to find some paper and a pen from the glovebox of his car. Erik ran to the letter box, scribbling frantically and wildly, breath lodged in his throat and heart threatening to burst open at its stitched seams.

Charles, I know why you didn’t answer your phone, why you weren’t at the park, why you didn’t show up for dinner. It wasn’t your fault, Charles. You didn’t abandon me.

I know who you are now, I know that you’re Francis Graymalkin. You were trying to find me that day – today. Charles, you died that day, trying to find me.

So please, don’t go.

Just wait, please.

Don’t look for me, don’t try to find me. I need you to live, Charles.

I love you.

It’s taken me all this time to say it, but ich liebe dich, Charles.

I told you in my last letter that I couldn’t wait for you, but I was wrong. I’ll wait for you forever. Professor X waited for Magneto for decades. For you, I’d wait centuries, because I want a life with you, Charles. I want you by my side.

We want the same thing.

So please, wait for me once again. Wait with me.

Just wait.

Wait.

Wait two years, Charles.

Then come to the lake house. Come home.

I’m here.

Erik’s hands were shaking as he shoved the letter into the mail box, slamming the flag down. Erik took a hasty step back, like giving the letter box space for it to work its magic would help.

Erik’s breaths were thin and shaky, steel-grey eyes staring at the unmoving letter box without blinking.

‘Please, please, please, Charles. Check the letter box. Please, don’t let me be too late. Please, I love you, bitte. Gott, please, not Charles. Please, please.’

A sob clawed its way out from Erik’s throat when the letter box didn’t move, sending Erik crumpling to his knees. Erik crawled forwards to grip the letter box, shaking it before dropping his forehead against its still surface.

For the first time in a long time, Erik cried.

“Please, Charles, bitte,” Erik whispered, shaking. The letter box remained still, stagnant. “Gott, please. Not now, not after all this. Please.”

Erik held on to the letter box like he wanted to hold onto Charles, to tether him to this world, to keep him by his side, but it remained unmoving, and all Erik could think was:

‘Oh Gott, it’s too late. I’m toolatetoolatetoola-”

Thunk.

Erik’s tremors ceased at the sound, the familiar scrape and clunk of the metal flag tickling his ears.

‘Wait for me.’

Slowly, Erik looked up through wet eyes, a sprig of hope emerging from beneath the cold.

Then, the letter box shook, the flag leaping.

Erik let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, opening the letter box with careful hands.

Inside was a single red carnation atop a small folded piece of paper, a single sentence written upon it.

Turn around, Erik.

Erik pulled himself to his feet, shuffling around like he was compelled to follow the written words. As he did, he saw a slightly beat-up car begin rattling across the street before stilling by the curb of the lake house. Erik’s breath caught, his feet beginning to walk, one step at a time, across the lawn.

The driver stepped out of the car, wrapped up in a light lilac sweater and grey tweed coat. Full head of dark brown hair, flushed red cheeks and even redder lips, bright blue eyes that were so alive.

Erik’s mouth parted slightly in awe, relief and hope as he walked towards the man – Charles – who began moving towards Erik as well.

The two met, almost toe-to-toe, in the middle of the lawn in front of the lake house. Erik held the three-word note and carnation, while in Charles’s hands was a very worn letter – the one that had been in Erik’s hands only moments ago. The one that told Charles that Erik loved him.

Erik stared into Charles’s eyes, and Erik into his, like they couldn’t quite believe what was happening. They both seemed to be waiting, waiting like they always did, so Erik had to speak.

“You waited,” Erik breathed out, and that was all it took for Charles to immediately surge into Erik’s space. Charles cupped Erik’s cheeks desperately, fingers careful but firm, and kissed Erik with two years’ worth of longing. Erik almost whimpered into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Charles’s frame and pulling him close, crushing him against his chest and deepening the kiss, wanting to feel Charles, to confirm that yes, he’s alive, he’s here, he’s with me, he waited.

The two pulled back for a brief moment, only when they remembered that they needed to breathe.

“Sorry for the wait, darling,” Charles murmured, kissing Erik’s mouth again, and again, and again.

“What took you so long?” Erik asked teasingly, nipping at Charles’s mouth, which curled up in a wide smile that made his eyes crinkle in the corners, a small peal of laughter lighting a fire in Erik’s heart.

“Mm, sorry. Traffic was horrendous. You’d think they’d have fixed that blasted bottle neck by now,” Charles said, shooting Erik a small smile before leaning in close to bury his face into Erik’s neck, breathing him in. Erik held him tightly, deciding that he’d never let go again.

“Let’s go home,” Erik murmured against Charles’s hair, the shorter man humming in agreement, Erik taking his hand as they walked towards the lake house that had been the beginning of everything.

When Charles and Erik stepped through the threshold of the lake house, the red brick and blue-roofed house seemed to sigh – it had been waiting for this moment too.

***

Erik’s hands traced abstract patterns atop the map of freckles on Charles’s back, the author letting out a blissful sigh. It was late at night, and the two men lay in bed, tangled in each other’s limbs.

“Your sister owns this house now?” Erik asked, Charles nodding from where he rested his head on Erik’s chest.

“Mm. I gave it to her two years ago. I… knew I couldn’t live there, not when you were supposed to move in. You changed the future – my future – Erik. This… This wasn’t the plan, and I thought that if I tried to force it to change, to meet you prematurely like I tried to before…”

Erik knew what Charles was skirting around – the last time Charles had tried to upend Erik’s past, he had paid the price with his life. The two men didn’t understand the fabric of time travel, they didn’t know of the rules that fate and lady time had laid down. All they knew was that they were meant to meet, but only at a certain time. Charles had tried too early the first time, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

He hadn’t made the same mistake again.

“I don’t think we were meant to meet until now,” Charles then whispered, pressing a kiss to Erik’s collarbone.

“We met at Angel’s wedding,” Erik reminded Charles, as if it were yesterday. Charles chuckled, a little wistful.

“Yes, but I didn’t try to change anything when I met you then. Meeting me didn’t change the course of your life between 2017 and now. I mean, Erik, you didn’t even remember me,” Charles said, chuckling in jest as he kissed away the frown building on Erik’s face. “But, the day I… died, I wanted to… well. Let’s just say that the world didn’t want me to change your past.”

“But it let you change my future?” Erik mused, Charles propping himself up to look at Erik, reaching out to smooth some of Erik’s sex-mussed hair from his eyes, gaze fond.

“I don’t know how this works, Erik, but, I wrote a theory about it, in my novel.”

“Your incomplete one?” Erik asked, raising a brow. Charles grinned.

“Well, considering I didn’t die, I had two years to finish writing it, darling. My theory is that the past can’t be unwritten. I couldn’t change your past, as in, anything that would have a lasting impact on your life before 2019. And you couldn’t have changed what would be considered my past, either,” Charles said, Erik’s mind whirling.

“But, I did change your past. I… You died before, Charles. But now you’re here, and…” Erik felt his tumultuous emotions begin to surface again, and before he completely lost it there and then in their bed, Erik kissed Charles. Charles indulged him, sighing into the lawyer’s touch, before pulling back with a serene smile on his face.

“Yes, I’m here, darling. And I don’t plan on leaving. But, like I was saying, you can’t change my past. Erik, I was living in 2017, so even though everything that happened that year for me was the past for you, it was still my future. You simply changed my future, Erik.”

“But still, what about all the other effects? The ripples that change caused. I still remember everything that would have happened – your step family contesting your will, your sister hiring Shaw. None of that would’ve happened if you died…”

“Ah, yes, well, that’s what has me in a bit of a rut. You seem to remember the events of your past timeline, but what I remember is different. It’s a funny thing, really – I ended up re-writing my will when I was… reminded of my mortality. There are no more loopholes, and my step father and brother lay no claim to anything I own. As for my sister, she still ended up hiring Shaw, just not about my will. Something about a secret trust fund that was hidden from her, courtesy of our lovely step-father,” Charles said, rolling his eyes. “So, in the end, not a whole lot changed – I’d wager that these minor ripples didn’t bother fate herself too much.”

“And you’re saying that you escaping death was only a ‘minor ripple’ as well?” Erik said, scoffing.

“Well, in my book I do say that fate had made an error in her original time line and sought to correct it,” Charles said, eyes softening. “You see, I’m inclined to think that we were destined to meet earlier.”

Erik’s mouth twitched at Charles’s words, instinctively drawing the man closer.

“Go on,” Erik said, bumping his forehead against Charles’s. “Tell me about this theory of yours.”

“Mm, demanding. But yes, I believe that we were supposed to meet sooner, but fate and time cocked up and we missed each other – so, they had to try and fix their mistake without undoing all of their other work. That’s why they linked us through the letter box, so we could meet and… well. The rest is history, isn’t it?”

“You really are a fiction writer, aren’t you, Francis?” Erik said, Charles laughing and swatting his lover’s chest.

“Oh, please! I know you’re a fan of my work, you’ve told me before. I have the letters to prove it!” Charles said, before suddenly sitting up like he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Or an epiphany.

Erik was surprised when Charles suddenly wrenched the blankets off their naked bodies and jumped off the bed, tugging Erik’s arm. “Come on.”

“Charles, what are you doing?” Erik huffed, wanting nothing more than to have Charles’s weight pressed against him in bed, his thoughts apparently written all over his face when Charles laughed, kissing Erik’s lips briefly.

“I promise we’ll go back to bed soon. Just… humour me, for a moment, I almost forgot,” Charles said, squeezing Erik’s hand. Erik wasn’t going to protest, not now. Charles could probably ask him to do anything, and he wouldn’t think twice about doing it.

The two men didn’t bother putting their clothes back on, just wrapping some blankets around their shoulders as Charles nudged Erik down the upstairs hallway and to the drop-down ladder leading to the attic.

“The attic?” Erik asked, Charles nodding.

“Yes. Remember your first letter to me? The one you addressed to the new tenant?”

Erik did, Charles having brought Erik all of the letters he had saved, the two of them reading them together curled up by the fireplace.

“You mentioned the burn in the kitchen, courtesy of my poor cooking skills,” Charles said, giggling at his self-deprecating remark, which Erik found endlessly endearing. “But, you also mentioned the box in the attic. You obviously didn’t think too much of it back then.”

“No, I only glanced inside when I moved in, but it was just… full of stuff,” Erik said, Charles laughing.

“Full of my stuff,” Charles corrected, climbing up and tugging a dusty, slightly humidity-damp box, sneezing as a flurry of dust swirled in the air. Opening it up, Charles rummaged through the random knick-knacks that Erik had disregarded when he had moved in, before procuring something hidden beneath all of the irrelevant bits and pieces.

“What’s that?” Erik asked, Charles giving Erik a small smile, pressing it into Erik’s hand. And oh, Erik knew what this was.

“I believe I promised you that I’d return this to you, in person,” Charles said, leaning forward to lay his hand atop Erik’s, which caressed the book in his hand.

‘The Once and Future King.’

It had been here all along, simply waiting for Charles and Erik to unearth it, together.

“I love you,” Erik said, the words not quite able to convey just how deep Erik’s love ran. But, Charles seemed to understand, like he could hear it pouring directly from Erik’s heart.

“I love you too, Erik. Let me show you just how much,” Charles said, Erik letting out a breathless laugh as Charles kissed him.

Charles did show him. In the span of a kiss, Charles showed Erik two years’ worth of love.

And they both thought, for a moment, that yes, the wait was worth it.

Every single second.

#cherik #Charles Xavier #Erik Lehnsherr #X-men #x-men fic #xmen #the lake house #ao3 #AO3 fanfic #james mcavoy #Michael Fassbender

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tearsofthemis · 4 years ago

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Tears of Themis : Chapter 1 “Social Snobbery” Part 5

[Previous Part] | [Masterlist] | [Next Part]

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▌ Location- Commerce Avenue

MC: “Miss. Xue, is the restaurant entrance located in an alley?”

(As we approached the restaurant, Xue XinRang suddenly pulled me toward a side road.)

Xue XinRan: “You can call me XinRan. Grandpa Fang converted the first story of his home into the restaurant, so that’s why it’s not front-facing on Commerce Avenue.”

(I’m guessing it’s to be expected in the CBD area, but even the less frequented side roads are kept meticulously. The entranceway had a comforting atmosphere, as a light breeze picked up the delicate scent of camellias kept in flowerpots.)

Xue XinRan: “We’re almost there, it’s just around the corner. What do you think of the camellias, aren’t they pretty? Grandpa Fang planted them in memory of his late wife.”

MC: “I can see that Mr. Fang’s love for his wife has never wavered…”

MC: “...”

(After we rounded the bend, I stood still in place. We came face to face with someone who felt both familiar, yet foreign. He resided in every single one of my precious childhood memories, and yet, he had disappeared from my life eight years ago without a trace.)

MC: “Xia… Xia Yan!”

(He turned at the sound of my voice as his amber eyes widened in shock, recognition, and finally, lit up with joy.)

Xia Yan: “MC, is that you? It’s gotta be!”

(He ran toward me, and his bright smile instantly took me back to a sunny afternoon, eight years ago…)

[Flashback]

MC: “Xia Yan! How many times have I told you not to read while sitting on the window ledge, what if you fall?”

Xia Yan: “Sorry, I was lost in thought and ended up sitting here by habit.”

(The warm summer winds that rustled through the trees, and the birds that perched on its branches filled the skies with a lazy song. The colorful years of childhood melded away as our voices changed, but now, the memory only grew clearer in my mind…)

MC: “Are you thinking about your acceptance to Capital University? Mom called during lunchtime and leaked the news. She said you won’t be coming to school tomorrow.”

Xia Yan: “Yeah, I was accepted early to Capital University, I’ll move to the capital next week.”

MC: “You are absolutely incredible, to get accepted into the country’s top university in your sophomore year!”

▌ [Examine Xia Yan’s face]

Xia Yan: “Why are you staring at me so intensely…”

MC: “I can’t help but notice that you don’t look too happy, is your program major not to your liking?”

Xia Yan: “I don’t mind it, I’ll be studying bio-engineering. If my mom caught wind of the news, I think she’d be ecstatic. However… we’ve never been so far apart from each other. Will you… You have to work hard so you can get accepted and come to the capital to find me!”

MC: “There’s no way I’d apply to Capital University. I want to pursue my law degree, and everyone knows Stellis University’s law program is the best in the industry... The copies of Sherlock Holmes in your room, are you taking all of them with you?

Xia Yan: “Nah, I’ll leave it at your parents’ place. I'll leave you my bedroom key, you can borrow them whenever you like.”

MC: “Getting accepted to Capital University is such good news, I don’t understand why you and my parents were so tight-lipped about it.”

Xia Yan: “It’s because I asked them to keep it a secret. I didn’t know how to break it to you. All these years of me slumming it with your family, I’ve caused you guys a lot of trouble, so I-“

MC: “Hey hey, just because you’re going away for university, does that automatically demote us from family to strangers? God, I can’t believe you’d even say something so outrageous.”

Xia Yan: “W-wait! Don’t get upset, I misspoke.”

▌ [Examine Xia Yan’s key necklace]

MC: “Since you’re leaving anyways, can’t you tell me what’s in the box that’s opened with this key?”

Xia Yan: “Don’t you think it's more exciting to hang on to the suspense? When everything under the sun has been said and done, the story would have reached its ending.”

▌ [Examine Xia Yan’s book]

Xia Yan: “I��m the one who got accepted to university, so why do you seem happier than I am?”

MC: “Of course I’m happy. The top student of our grade is leaving, I can finally experience the joy of not being number two.”

Xia Yan: “That’s why you’re happy? You should’ve said so sooner, I would’ve let you have the spot…”

MC: “STOP! I don’t want you to let me have it!”

Xia Yan: “Ha, even if I tried my hardest to compete, once we get divided into streams, you’ll easily be the top student in liberal arts. I thought it’d a shame that we won’t be in the same classes, little did I know, you didn’t share the same sentiments…”

▌ [Examine the window]

MC: “Alright, alright, let’s liven up. Early acceptance is a happy occasion.”

Xia Yan: “Let’s promise to video call every day. That way, the distance might not be so bad after all.”

MC: “Okay, I promise.”

[Flashback ends]

(Our promise to each other lies in the past, so why does it feel like we’ve only said goodbye yesterday? It turns out, our childhood memories are ingrained in my heart, where a mere eight years apart would do little to erase it...)

Xia Yan: “I… I never thought I’d get to see you again. How have you been over the years?”

(I was about to ask him the same thing, looks like he beat me to it.)

MC: “I’ve been well, and you? I didn’t hear from you after you left for the capital. Meeting each other again like this is incredible… When mom, dad, and I tried to contact the university, they told us you were selected to participate in some secret experiment, so I...”

Xia Yan: “Y-yeah… It was a government project, so security was tight. I wasn’t allowed to interact with the outside world during the experiment, and the moment it ended, I came right back. I-”

MC: “You came back and didn’t even think to contact me. I’ll have you know, I never changed my phone number!”

Xia Yan: “It’s not that, I..”

(Xia Yan reached out and he tried to grab hold of my wrist. When we were little, this was his method of begging for forgiveness when I would jokingly pretend to be upset with him. But today…)

MC: “Xia Yan…”

(His hand paused midway, and he quickly pulled it behind his back.)

Xia Yan: “I didn’t mean to stay away for so long. Please forgive me?”

MC: “What forgiveness, I’m not actually mad at you, you know. I’m really really happy that I get to see you again!”

Xia Yan: “Really? Seeing me again makes you happy?”

(Perhaps my enthusiasm was contagious as Xia Yan’s body gradually relaxed again.)

MC: “Of course. Are you here to stay, or just visiting?”

Xia Yan: “...”

(Xia Yan flinched, but smiled at me once more.)

Xia Yan: “Would you like it if I stayed?”

MC: “What kind of wishful thinking is that. You’re already the government’s property, it’s not like you can stay just because I’d like you to.”

Xia Yan: “But I can! This time, I’ll listen to you.”

MC: “Alright, let’s not talk about that stuff. What exactly are you doing here? Are you…”

(My gaze wandered and settled on the Sherlock pendant Xia Yan wore, and it clicked in my mind.)

MC: “The private detective XinRan hired, it’s gotta be you!”

-------

[Previous Part] | [Masterlist] | [Next Part]

------

《CREDIT》 Translator: @humi-and-co Editor: @hallowsivy 《未定事件簿》Tears of Themis is a 2020 Chinese otome game by 米哈游Mihoyo. All original credits go to 米哈游Mihoyo.

《 VOICE ACTORS 》 Xia Yan | Jin Xian: https://weibo.com/riceranger Zuo Ran | Zhao Lu: https://weibo.com/mzhaolu Lu HaiYang | Zhang Pei: https://weibo.com/u/1937059462 Xue XinRan | V17-Su Wan: https://weibo.com/u/2925530143

#tears of themis #tears of themis translations #tears of themis trans #xia yan #tears of themis xia yan #otome #otome game #otome game translations #未定事件簿 #夏彦

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buckybeardreams · 3 years ago

Text

Unwanted

Chapters: 10/11

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Harley Keener

Additional Tags: Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Tony Stark, Service Top, Dominant Bottom, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Virgin Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Romantic Soulmates, First Meetings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sappy, Romantic Fluff, Awkwardness, Drinking to Cope, Self-Worth Issues, Insecure Tony Stark, Insecure Steve Rogers, Age Difference, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Claiming, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Non-Explicit Sex, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Masturbation, Coming Untouched, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Knotting

Series: Part 1 of Second Chances

Summary:

Steve is a soft Alpha and Tony is an in charge kind of Omega with no desire to find a mate. He doesn't want to find his soulmate and when he does meet Steve he's determined to stay away from him.

That is until he realizes just how right they are for each other.

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11

Can also be read here

Words: 1,583

Tony went to Brock's to tell him about winning the case against Obie and Pierce, and ended up making another less expected announcement. One that Brock followed up with good news of his own.

"Wait? You're pregnant?"

"Yeah, but don't tell anyone. We're not telling people yet," Brock told him.

"I'm sorry, what? If I hadn't just told you I was pregnant, would you not have told me?"

"Probably not."

"What the fuck, Brock? I'm your best friend!"

"Yeah, but you know I was an only child, Tony. Not from a lack of trying on my parents' part either. They went through three miscarriages before they finally used in vitro to have me. If this baby doesn't make it, I don't want to deal with a whole bunch of people pitying me while I'm grieving."

Tony reached over and pulled him in for a hug.

"Okay, I get it now, but can I at least tell Steve?"

"Honestly, it's inevitable. I went to the hair salon yesterday and my hairdresser told me that Jessica, some girl that lives in her apartment that I don't even know, was having an affair with her current lover's ex-lover, not to mention she's married with three kids. I spilled my guts the moment Sam got home. Keeping things from mates is practically impossible."

Tony bit his lip.

"I haven't told Steve."

"Of course you didn't. You just found out, Tony. You literally haven't even left the room and your phone is sitting on the coffee table. How would you have told him?"

Tony shook his head.

"No, not that. I mean that I'm pregnant."

Brock blinked at him for a minute before narrowing his eyes.

"Why?" He asked suspiciously.

Tony fidgeted nervously.

"I don't know how he's gonna take it," Tony admitted.

Brock rolled his eyes.

"Good God, you're pathetic," Brock groaned in exasperation. "Seriously? That boy lives to please you. He's gonna be thrilled that you're gonna need massages and foot rubs for the next nine months. Not to mention, now he's gonna have two people to order him around. He's gonna be so excited to spoil your little mini-me, Tony."

Tony glared at him halfheartedly.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm still anxious about it and I'm not entirely sure why. I know it's ridiculous and I know Steve's gonna be thrilled."

Brock eyed him for a moment.

"Yes, we've established that," Brock said, watching Tony carefully. "What about you? Are you excited about it?"

Tony bit his lip and looked over at Brock guiltily.

"I don't know. I know that I should be. I know that babies are like miracles and all that, but I never thought I'd have one. I never thought I'd have an Alpha and now I do, and now this. It's just a lot and I'm not sure if I'm ready. I'm not sure if I want a child."

Brock nodded.

"If you need someone to go with you to take care of it, Tony-"

"No, no, I'm gonna keep it. I already considered that, but I think I'll regret it if I do."

Brock frowned.

"There's nothing wrong-"

"No, I know, Brock. It's not that. It's just- I think I'm scared, because this wasn't part of the plan. Steve wasn't part of the plan and the plan has completely changed. It's a lot, but I was scared about Steve, too, and he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Maybe this baby will be like that too."

Brock nodded.

"Okay, if it's really what you want then I'll support it and be happy for you. I'll support you no matter what choice you make, you know that right?"

"I do and I love you for that."

Brock rolled his eyes, but he smiled softly and pulled Tony in for a hug.

"Now let's talk nurseries," Brock said when he pulled back.

Tony grinned at him.

*****

"We're buying the bar," Tony said to the group.

He had invited everyone over to Steve's place, since his place was bigger and neater and just overall better for hosting people. He chose to do this on a Sunday night, the only night that the bar wasn't open, so everyone could be there. Everyone was so excited about having won the case, but also scared about what that would mean for them. They had all figured when they first decided to take their boss to court that they would be left jobless regardless of the outcome.

Clint raised his hand like he was still in elementary school and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Clint? Do you have something to say to the class?" Tony said sarcastically.

"Um... you're doing what?"

Tony sighed.

"We-" He said, gesturing between him and Steve, "Are buying the bar. This way we can all keep our jobs, have decent fucking pay checks, get the benefits we deserve, and just overall have a positive work environment. Sound good?"

There were murmurs and nods of agreement. Bucky stood up and grabbed the bottle of wine on the counter.

"Okay, well, I think we should all drink to that and to our new bosses."

"Yeah, um, we should clarify, that while I'm technically gonna be on the lease, it's really only because it looks good to have an Alpha on it," Steve said. "I'm an artist. Um, leadership? Yeah, that's not really my thing. Tony, though, he's gonna make a damn fine boss. So yeah, he's gonna run the place and work with you guys. I'm just gonna do the paperwork and manage schedules. That kind of behind the scenes stuff."

Tony giggled and kissed his cheek.

"Steve's gonna be a great co-owner and let me do whatever I want with the place, so I suggest you kiss up to me, if there's anything specific you want out of the renovations," Tony teased. "Steve will also be very busy raising our child and being a work-from-home dad while he paints and helps manage the bar.

Tony rested his hand on his flat belly and all the eyes in the room went wide and congratulations and cheers went off after a moment of shock. Steve was the most shocked though and it took him the longest to say something.

"Wait? Are you serious? Tony, if you're joking then tell me now before I get my hopes up."

"Nope, not joking," Tony told him with a grin, but a part of him was nervous that Steve would be unhappy about it.

"Oh my God. Oh my God! We're having a baby!" Steve practically shouted to the room in his excitement and scooped Tony up into his arms.

Tony laughed and wrapped his limbs around him, leaning down to kiss him.

"I can't believe it. This is amazing, baby! I'm gonna set up a nursery-"

"No, I'm setting up the nursery and Brock's gonna help me since he's also pregnant and we're gonna have matching nurseries."

"Right, right, then I'm gonna paint a mural on the walls."

"That's acceptable."

"Yeah and- Wait? Did you say Brock's pregnant?"

"Yeah, but you didn't hear it from me. They're not telling people yet," Tony told him with a wink.

Steve furrowed his brows.

"Who else would I have heard it from if they're not telling people?"

"I don't know. Sam?"

"But Sam would know that he didn't tell me," Steve pointed out.

Tony rolled his eyes.

"Not my problem."

Steve set Tony down when Bucky cleared his throat.

"Hate to ruin the moment, but I've got wine," Bucky said handing a glass to Steve before reaching for a glass on the counter, "and for you--"

"Oh, no, I can't--"

"It's grape juice, Tony," Bucky cut him off. "I wouldn't do anything to risk your baby."

Tony nodded his thanks and smiled at Bucky.

"Congratulations, by the way. On the mating and the pup."

The words seemed sincere enough, but Bucky's smile seemed off. Tony brushed it off though, letting everyone else come up and hug him and make him promise to invite them to the baby shower. It was a good day, everyone in high spirits, excited about the new baby and getting to keep their jobs.

*****

That night at home Steve sat on the couch with Tony's feet in his lap, rubbing them.

"I'll do this for you everyday until the baby's born," Steve promised.

Tony smirked.

"Only until the baby's born," Tony teased, wiggling his toes.

Steve laughed.

"No, I'll do it every day until we die, because I love you more than anything in the world and I'd do anything for you, Tony, my beautiful Omega.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Yeah, well, don't let the baby hear you say that. I'm pretty sure your world is going to expand the moment I pop this thing out."

"Yeah," Steve said dreamily. "I can't believe we're gonna be parents."

"Yeah, this kid's so fucked," Tony teased.

Steve grinned at him.

"We're gonna have the most spoiled, loved, and happiest baby ever. He's never gonna want for anything."

"He? What makes you think we're having a boy?"

"Or she," Steve amended. "I don't care either way. I just hope the baby's just like you."

"Well, jokes on you. This baby's gonna have blond hair and blue eyes."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"I didn't say the baby was gonna look like you, just be like you. You know, brilliant and stubborn."

Tony giggled and shook his head.

“Just focus on rubbing my feet, Alpha.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve teased.

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

🎃 Frightful October Act IV, #11 ~ Jealousy (Cory Hong)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Supernatural, Romance, Vampire AU

Word Count: 3,227

Pairing: Reader x Cory

World: 24K

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

When you first met Cory, he was a member of the group 24K. You had met the group through mutual friends and instantly hit it off with the group’s leader. Pretty soon, you and Cory became inseparable – every bit of spare time he had was spent with you.

He was your best friend and you were his, but life seemed determined to keep the two of you apart. Every time you made plans to hang out, something came up at the last minute and the outing had to be canceled. It got to the point where you weren’t able to see each other at all. You were busy with college and work, while Cory was working his ass off trying to make it big.

A month passed. Two. Three.

You could feel yourself growing apart from him and it scared you. While you had many acquaintances in your life, you only had a handful of friends but none of them bore the same weight in your heart as Cory did. What if you never saw him again? What if he forgot about you?

You frowned at the thought and quickly shook your head. He was a busy man that barely got time for himself, must less for anyone else. You were thankful for whatever time he could spare you, no matter how little that ended up being.

That was enough for you… right?

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

A year had passed since you last saw Cory. Your brother had gotten into a car accident and needed to be looked after, so you left South Korea, returning to your home state of Oregon to care for him. It had broken your heart to say goodbye to Cory, but nothing could be done about it. You briefly wondered if the universe really did have something against your friendship.

Autumn had finally rolled around and you couldn’t be happier. It was your favorite time of year, after all. A Halloween superstore had just opened up down the street from your college and you wasted no time in applying there. You got a callback that same day – you were hired to work the closing shift, from six in the afternoon until close at midnight.

There were a couple others that had been hired for the same shift, and they were not happy about you. You were, though. Ever since you had been a kid, you’ve always found solace in the night time. It was peaceful and quiet, and more importantly, lacked the number of people you would typically find during the day.

Between work and school, you didn’t have much free time. Although there were others that had been scheduled to work the closing shift throughout the week, they up and quit without warning, leaving your boss understaffed. You offered to take over their hours, which he happily agreed.

Getting to work in a store surrounded by Halloween decorations, props, and costumes during the night time when very few people messed with you… it was like a childhood dream come true!

The bell above the door dinged as it was pulled open and you smiled brightly. “Welcome! Oh, hello, Fried.”

Fried smiled a charming smile, brushing strands of his navy blue hair away from his face. As usual, his long hair was loosely braided, resting on his right shoulder. The bright red ribbon on the end stuck out against his dark clothes. “A fine night to you, Y/N.”

Fried was a regular. He had been visiting the store every night without fail since the day it opened, always appearing around ten-thirty. He never actually bought anything, just browsed the products and made small talk with you. It creeped out the other employees that had worked the same shift, but you just assumed that he was lonely and enjoyed the Halloween merchandise like you did. He never did or said anything bad, so his presence didn’t bother you in the slightest.

Cory always did say you were too trusting for your own good.

“You got in new stock today, as I understand,” he commented as he approached the glass counter, watching you re-arrange the candles on shelves behind the counter.

“That’s right!” you smiled over your shoulder at him before picking up another scented candle from the box, this one claiming to smell like witch’s brew. “Vampires are pretty popular lately, so we got a whole shipment of Vampire-themed merch today.”

Fried’s dark eyes flashed with anger before returning to normal, his hand forming a fist atop the counter. “I see,” his words were breathy. “Where?”

You didn’t notice his change in attitude or how tense he became, too focused on the task at hand – you were terrified that if you let your attention slip, you’d drop and break them and they were expensive candles. “Over in the back right corner. Mason should still be over… there…” you glanced over your shoulder, blinking at the spot he had been seconds before. ‘Huh, he must be really into vampires’.

A few minutes of silence passed. You had just placed the last candle and were hopping down from the step ladder when your co-worker, Mason, approached you with a weary expression.

“Did you finish the display?” you asked with a smile.

“Almost,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder. “That guy is really weird.”

“Fried?” you questioned, tilting your head curiously.

Mason frowned at you, his blue eyes filled with worry. “You shouldn’t be so friendly with that guy, Y/N. There’s something… off about him.”

You mirrored his frown, giving him your full attention after folding up the step ladder. “He seems fine to me.”

He sighed, shaking his head. The motion caused a few strands of blonde hair to fall over his forehead. “You’re too nice, Y/N! Just… be careful, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

A hand reached out, resting on his shoulder. He jumped back in surprise, slapping the hand away from him. Fried stared him down for a moment before turning to you. “Is everything alright, Y/N?”

Before you could answer him, Mason spoke up, eyes narrowed. “Sorry, but we’re closing early today. Please leave.”

“Do you even have that authority?” Fried challenged, folding his arms over his chest.

Mason scowled, taking a step forward. “I’m the manager on duty, so yes I have that authority. Leave now, sir.”

You frowned, your gaze flickering between the two men as they glared each other down. You could almost feel the electricity between them. After a tense minute, Fried turned and exited the store. Mason followed close behind, locking up and unplugging the neon ‘Open’ sign.

“Won’t you get into trouble for closing early?” you asked, softly, not wanting to further annoy him.

He seemed to relax a bit now that the door was secure, but he kept his guard up just in case. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” he offered you a smile. “Let’s finish up and head home.”

You nodded and got back to work.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

You stifled a yawn as you entered your dorm building. It was only just turning midnight, meaning you got home about an hour or so earlier than you normally would. Even so, you were exhausted and still had class to get to early that morning. You turned the corner and froze, nearly dropping your keys. “Cory?”

The male in question had been pacing back and forth in front of your door but he stopped dead when he heard your voice. One second, he was at the end of the hall and the next, he was hugging you tightly to his body, picking you up off the ground. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, resting his face in your neck. He could hear your pulse increase. “I called you so many times!”

“I kinda forgot my phone…” you rubbed the back of your head, offering a sheepish smile.

He set you down, eyes scanning your body. It was very faint, but he detected a strange scent on you, lingering on your skin and clothes. His eyes narrowed, grip tightening unconsciously. He didn’t like that smell. Not one bit.

“Cory? What’s wrong?”

He snapped out of it, releasing you as he forced a smile. “Nothing! Just happy to see you after so long.”

Your heart skipped a beat, cheeks growing warm as you turned to your door, sliding the keys in the lock. Cory followed you inside, his nose in the air as he tried to detect the scent inside your room, but it wasn’t on any of the furniture or books. Whatever that scent came from, it had never been inside your room. That made him relax a bit.

“I didn’t know you were coming back to Oregon,” you told him, pulling your coat off.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he grinned, flopping onto the bed. “Did it work?”

“Definitely,” you turned your back to him to hide the smile that lit up your face. You were so happy to see him that you could cry, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment, so you held them back.

The scent was beginning to drive him nuts, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fully relax as long as it invaded his nostrils. “Why don’t you go take a shower to warm up? Then we can catch up over some horror movies.”

“Is that your subtle way of saying I stink, Cory?” you raised a brow at him playfully.

If he could blush, he would have. “No, I just don’t want you to get sick.”

“Fine, fine~” you clutched your towel and change of clothes to your chest as you entered the bathroom attached to your room.

Cory grabbed your laptop, skimming through a list of horror movies. He avoided the topic of vampires and chose a movie that was sure to make your hair stand on end.

You stepped out of the bathroom, fully clothed and refreshed from the warm water. You saw Cory on his stomach on your bed, playing around on his phone. The laptop was open in front of him – he had set up the movie already, pausing it on the intro screen so you could see the title of the movie.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas? Really?” you cocked a brow, sitting beside him and crossing your legs. “Isn’t that more of a Christmas movie than Halloween?”

He shrugged, scooting over so you weren’t hanging off the edge. “Who cares. It has all of the elements to make it a good Halloween movie. It’s a movie that must be watched twice a year without fail.”

“Is that right?” you chuckled, pulling the comforter from under his body. Even though the dorms had a heating system, it was old and didn’t circulate well through the old building. Once the two of you were snuggled under the comforter, he hit play.

You made it through half the movie before your eyes began to droop. You fought against the sleepiness trying to claim you, but you lost, your head falling onto your arms. Cory smiled softly as he put his arm protectively around you, kissing your forehead.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

You entered the Halloween store with a bright smile, greeting your co-worker before heading into the back to clock in. Cory had insisted on following you to work, refusing to accept ‘no’ as an answer. You had been hesitant, but you were scheduled to work alone that night so it would be nice to have some company. Your co-worker clocked out as soon as you clocked in and left the store with a polite ‘goodbye’.

“I didn’t think this store would be so… empty,” Cory commented when you returned to the front. He leaned on the glass counter, looking at the various glass knick-knacks that had been placed on display. “Is it always this dead?”

You hummed, thoughtfully. “It’s pretty busy during the day, but it starts to slow down around five o’clock. A couple people show up at night here and there, but I’m sure as Halloween gets closer, it’ll start to get busier.”

“And do you always work alone?” he frowned. The thought made his stomach clench painfully. He didn’t consider you to be weak by no means, but what would happen if some lunatic came at you with a gun? Your chances of survival were lowered if you were alone, and the chance of getting robbed was higher. Not only that, but there were more than just criminals stalking the night.

“Not usually, no,” you picked up the basket that had been set behind the counter. It was filled with ‘return items’, or items that people decided they didn’t want or couldn’t afford at the register. “Mason, the night manager, is usually with me, but his mom is really sick so he had to call out to care for his baby sister.”

Cory followed you closely as you returned the items, his brow furrowed in thought. ‘Mason… is he the scent I detected on her? If he usually works with her, it might just be…’

The last item in the basket was a ceramic pumpkin cookie jar that needed to be returned to the top shelf. All glass and ceramic items were kept up high to avoid kids grabbing and breaking them. Even on your tiptoes, you couldn’t quite reach the shelf.

Chuckling, Cory came up behind you, his chest against your band as his large hand overtook yours. He easily pushed the pumpkin onto the shelf, but he didn’t step back from you. Your cheeks were burning and he knew it, he could smell the blood rushing to your face.

His arms wrapped around your shoulders, his nose nuzzling your neck. It was so easy for him to turn you into a blushing mess and he loved it. He loved knowing he had this power over you, and he loved being able to feel your blood rushing through your veins. You drove him crazy and you didn’t even know it.

The bell above the door dinged and you quickly pulled away, rushing to the front of the store. You were thankful for the excuse to get away from such an embarrassing situation. Your eyes landed on Fried and you smiled, about to greet him, but his expression made you stop dead, smile faltering.

He was standing in the doorway, his hands clenched tightly at his sides and his jaw set. His eyes took in your red face and the sound of your racing heart and his eyes narrowed over your shoulder, starting to glow a bright, crimson red.

Something inside your brain told you that these were not just contacts. Alarm bells were ringing like crazy in your mind. You took a shaky step backward, smacking into Cory, who put his hands on your shoulders protectively. You glanced up at him and squeaked – his eyes were glowing red, too!

Your heart was pulsing in your ears. ‘What the hell is happening right now…’

“It was you that I smelled on her,” Cory spoke. You could see fangs inside his mouth, glinting menacingly in the low light of the store.

“And who are you?” Fried tilted his head up, a smug expression on his face. He, too had fangs that glinted when he spoke. “I have been with Y/N every day for two and a half weeks. Not once have I caught your scent. And believe me, I would have noticed since it’s so… pungent.”

Jealousy bubbled up from within him, his fists clenching as he stepped forward to put himself between you and Fried.

You aren’t sure what suddenly came over you, but you didn’t like the smug tone Fried was using or the fact that he had just insulted your best friend. You put your hands on your hips. “I’ll have you know that Cory and I are best friends and we’ve known each other for three years. And he doesn’t smell!” you instantly regretted your decision as his glare snapped to you. He looked pissed. You cleared your throat, shrinking back behind Cory, who had a mix of happiness and amusement on his face.

Fried took a step forward and Cory followed suit, ordering you to stay behind him. Fried grew angrier at this, his upper lip curling back as he hissed. “I spent three weeks scoping out this mark. Do you honestly believe I’m going to just step aside and let you have her?”

“No one decides who has me but me!” you could feel his glare through Cory’s body. “No matter how long you ‘scope me out’, I’ll never be yours!”

Fried snarled at you and you squeaked in fright, throwing your arms around Cory’s waist, your face hidden in the back of his jacket. The reality suddenly hit you that this was not a normal man that you were yelling at.

“You heard her, now leave,” Cory ordered, his voice full of bravado.

Though Fried had been a vampire much longer than Cory, about seven centuries, in fact, Cory was stronger and Fried knew that. He could easily sense the power lurking beneath the surface. If they fought it out, Fried would surely lose.

“This isn’t over,” Fried promised, but he knew it very much was. He hastily exited the store, shattering the glass when he slammed into it.

You hadn’t realized you were shaking until Cory turned, bringing you into his warm chest. His embrace was warm and protective. “Cory, you… you’re a vampire?”

His body tensed and he nodded. His voice was soft as he asked. “Are you scared of me, Y/N?”

“If I was scared of you, do you really think I’m be clinging to you, you dork?” your face was still pressed against his chest, so your words were a bit muffled, but he heard them.

Cory smiled, pulling back just enough so he could rest his forehead against yours. “I wanted to tell you so bad, but I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Your cold hands cupped his face. “You’re my best friend, Cory. No matter what happens, I’ll always be on your side,” you could feel the blood rushing to your face, but you had to speak from your heart. It was now or never. “You are honestly the most important person in my life. You always have been, and you always will be.”

Hearing those words made him lose his self-control. He slammed his lips against yours, his fangs dragging across the flesh as his grip tightened around your body. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, holding back a groan when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip to taste your blood.

“Come back to Korea with me,” he whispered, licking his lips, stained red from your blood. “We can get a house together. And a cat. I know you like cats.”

“Are you trying to bribe me with a cat?” you teased, tugging at his t-shirt.

He chuckled, running his tongue over your lip to collect the new bead of blood that had formed. “Maybe~ Is it working?”

“You had me long before you mentioned a cat,” you pulled away, your hands folded behind your back as you grinned. “But you can’t go back on your word! We are definitely getting a cat.”

“Of course,” Cory smiled, his voice soft. “I will give you the world, Y/N. Just say the word.”

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

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hillnerd · 6 years ago

Note

Hi, I was reading an ask you answered on shipping and you mentioned that people don’t like the weasleys due to classism, which I’ve never thought of but definitely makes sense. Have you made any posts that expand on this? I’d be interested to read more

You know, I believe I haven’t made any long posts regarding this issue. Time to remedy that, eh?

I suppose it’s important to define what classism is and how it instructs our views on things in the first place.

It’s defined as: “prejudice against or in favor of people belonging to a particular social class.”

Classism is very much built into our social fabric, and almost always has. The social classes of Western society (which are the ones I’m dealing with as this is an HP post) have been highly structured for thousands of years. The names and qualifications may have altered over time, but in general there are always about 4-5 social classes. Elite, Middle, Working, Poor being the general layout, with overlaps and extra subsets within each class.

On some level we are taught that ‘money doesn’t mean everything’- but that is constantly undermined by the continuance of the classist messages put forth in media and advertisements. We are bombarded by images of success meaning accumulated wealth. Every time there’s another holiday businesses can exploit for profit, they will trot out advertisements for cars, jewelry, toys, homes etc. And we’re supposed to buy into that mindset- to find objects to display our very worth, and convey worth to others. It’s ‘sexy’ to be ‘successful’ in these ways.

In fandoms there are certain tropes people gravitate to- and the rich man with nothing but time on his hands to shower his lover in riches? That is a highly beloved trope. Mournful giant mansions are ever so much more ‘interesting’ than a working class farmhouse.

Which brings us round to the Weasleys. They are very coded as working class/lower middle class, as well as ‘normal’ when it comes to looks, and red haired (which between their great numbers and red hair read as Irish Catholic to many audiences.) The father is tall, skinny and balding, the bother is short overweight and overworked. This is not the vision of ‘sexy and succesful’ we are told are the height of accomplishment. They aren’t glamourous, wealthy, or traditionally good looking. We know the Weasley kids all must deal with the reality of coming from a poor family. The twins bemoan the price of books in CoS, and we see Percy angry about his father’s lack of reputation- but the only child we see consistently dealing with the consequences of this poverty is Ron.

The consequences of being poor, and from a large family, are evident in many ways- and from the get go Ron is the only one we get to see them with.

The ‘look’ of wealth:

He’s in scruffy hand me downs, doesn’t have extra money to spend on things like sweets, has a fat old rat as a pet, and a wand that’s not even his own. This is all well and good when you’re eleven- but as he grows up, in some ways he’s expected to ‘be cooler’ ‘be sexier’ ‘be more together’- so when he’s still gangly, freckled, in crap clothes with a silly owl- well it’s not the sexy picture of wealth and success.

The confidence of wealth that comes with curating your life:

The confidence of wealth is something people expect others to exude as well. If you can’t be wealthy, then you’re supposed to at least be incredibly confident and self assured. The luxury of choice is denied Ron. He’s unable to have choices about anything, because it’s either except what you’re given, or go without (jumpers, sandwiches, pets, broken wands, dress robes, brooms etc). Ron is unable to curate his life at all. He can’t pick and choose much- and this comes across as ‘childish’ or ‘lazy’ to some. He is unable to be self actualized due to his wealth status (And the fact that he’s a teenage boy), and this is further compounded by the fact that he’s from a large family where all paths of selfactualization he could take, have already been taken- thus undermining anything he hopes to accomplish for himself until he’s out of school, minimum.

Classism as a means of bullying:

Ron is the only Weasley to be consistently mocked and belittled for his wealth status throughout the series. When we first meet Ron, Immediately his class is thrown in his face by Malfoy- and this is continued- coming to a head with the ‘Weasley is our King’ song, where he is sung at about how poor he is.

The emotional consequences of poverty are written off:

The poor are allowed to be poor as long as they never complain. But the moment they do, there tends to be a view of this as not only weak, but ‘ungrateful.’ How dare they not be happy to have what they have? How dare they not dociley and silently improve their status so we don’t have to hear them complain anymore?

Workingclass stereotypes at play:

Working class stereotypes are very much at play, especially when it comes to how people perceive Ron. Uncultured, stupid, lazy, violent, wife beaters etc. You see fandom littered with this view of him. And then it also likes to paint the Weasley women as the shrewish, provoking nag.

In some ways the Weasleys do fit into these stereotypes- the Weasleys are ready for a physical fight many times in the books, Mrs Weasley can be the nagging wife/mother stereotype, none of the youngest Weasleys are seen as erudite library lovers and instead are more sporty, and many of the Weasleys aren’t particularly motivated about school.

Rough and tumble is quickly painted as problematic and dangerous. Jovial and sporty is quickly painted as uncultured and lacking in intellectual pursuits. Lovingly protective is quickly painted as controlling and harmful. Being laid back about certain goals suddenly makes them lazy.

The thing is, when these same features come from other characters, they are not generally seen in that way.

Draco and his family are a prime example of that. The framing of these two families by fandom is tied to closely with class distinctions:

They are constantly threatening violence, both with fists (even if they are hired thugs) and wands- yet they aren’t painted as particularly prone towards violence.

Draco is never shown as particularly intelligent or learned- yet is portrayed that way by fandom despite his lack of accomplishments. His barbs aren’t even very intelligent- they’re just mean and sarcastic.

The Malfoys actually are controlling and harmful- they’ve abused house elves, threaten people left and right, and are highly influential- but that’s seemingly not as big a crime as Molly Weasley worrying over her children?

Draco is so supremely lazy he goes out of his way to have servants do things for him- including Ron in PoA- he does not earn his way onto te quidditch team- it’s given to him, along with new brooms for everyone. Yet Ron is seen as lazy because he’s not a school nerd, and Draco an erudite because he sarcastically comes up with barbs on the sidelines.

Meanwhile the Weasleys are fighting for justice, all of them are proving their intelligence and grit every book, the Weasleys are so loving and helpful that they take in other people (Harry and Hermione), are the ones making the parties at Gryffindor tower awesome, and are the main caretakers for the whole Order. They earn everything they ever have (with the exception being when Percy is handed a position in ootp so they can manipulate him) and work hard to achieve everything they do. Ron puts in the time with his sweat and body- but it’s rarely recognized.

Classist tropes heavily enforced in the films

Steve Kloves heavily changed the Weasleys in the movies. He simplified them, made them pretty stupid, lazy, unloyal, and fearful. They are the bravest family in the books, but in the films it’s not really touched on. He loves making them look a joke, though. The films played heavily into classist tropes of dumb/funny poor people basically being kept around to amuse the middle and upper class.

It’s rare the actual merit of the Weasleys was shown, and so it re-enforced the stereoptypes people already had. Basically look up any ‘irish stereotype’ and it is heavily applied to the working class- and it seems this continues with the Weasleys.

Technically, with Arthur’s job, they are considered low middle class in many ways. He has a job that touches on the political, he knows people and has some modicum of influence. They own property. They are the ‘noble poor’ (which is very much set apart from the truly impoverished like Lupin, problematic poor who are criminals and snatchers, or the slave-class poor of the elves.)

They struggle, though, to balance it all out- and in the films we see little of their merits. They are played for jokes throughout most of the series, and are rather cartoonish.

The actors are all very good- but they were given a script and followed it- and in the script it very much dictates buffoonery and silliness is the rule of the day for the Weasleys the majority of the time. When they are not cartoons, they are to stand idly and cry as they are victimized/put in danger (literally every single film with Ron) much of the fire is taken out of Mr Weasley in is Arthur v Lucius scenes, They just stand around as their home is burnt down. We don’t see any of them fight successfully except Molly Weasley, and few throwaway spells by Ginny and Ron towards the end of the series. Like… They are not shown as intelligent, fearsome, or important to the narrative/Harry much at all, despite their significance in the series. They’re window dressing, but not actual people.

The Malfoys are given more gravitas and reality, by contrast- and they added in moments of humanity and heroism even (such as the deleted scene of Draco tossing Harry his wand.)

Same for Curse Child. Draco’s journey as a father is important to the play- his son is one of the protagonists- meanwhile Ron is basically pure comedy, Ginny is quiet, and Rose is snotty and barely present.

CONCLUSION

Overall the treatment we’ve seen of the Weasleys both in the films, the play, and fandom shows a disdain/ambivalence towards them that seems steeped in the traditions of classism towards the working class. They’ve become a bunch of Punch and Judys, or bystanders, while the rest of the main cast is afforded a bit more dignity and gravitas. Their importance and power are minimized, and their internal struggles are minimized so that when they DO come up they are seen as out of nowhere (sometimes even mean), their cartoonishness is emphasized- and their overall character arcs/journeys are treated as jokes, because that is how the working class is treated in society. I find it interesting that as JKR became more and more removed from the world of poverty she knew, the more cartoonish moments were added to the Weasleys. :P Just sayin’. She obviously still cares about them, but there is a difference in their treatment from the earlier books to the later in many ways- especially Ron- not even touching on how she let him be portrayed in the films and play.

#classism #harry potter #meta #weasleys #malfoys #analysis #my wriitng #hillnerd writes #Anonymous

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anagentinwriting · 5 years ago

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Subscribe - Part 14

Summary: (Modern AU) Peter was your college sweetheart until a certain event led to your break up. Seven years later another event brings you two back together, but this time a little girl is in the picture. Will listening to your podcasts be the reason you two get back together or be another reason to keep you apart?

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 4655 (ooftah!!)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, swearing, implied sexy times

Subscribe Masterlist / Main Masterlist

AN: Again, Podcast is in italics and the flashback is indented and in italics. Hopefully, this works on all platforms.

Peter got back home from dropping Mer off and knew he needed to clean up the kitchen. He was going to be finding rogue sprinkles for the foreseeable future, but he figured it could wait a few hours. He laid on his couch and turned on Netflix, but he couldn’t settle on what to watch. Instead, he switched off the TV and grabbed his headphones off the coffee table. As soon as he found episode #93, he pressed play.

“Hey, my loves, this is your charismatic host, Wanda Maximoff. In today’s episode, we tackle breakups, divorce, and co-parenting. Our guest today is recent divorcee, Scott Lang. We’re going to be talking about these subjects among others as he shares his experience on co-parenting over his daughter Cassie. Play that intro.”

“Hi Scott, Welcome to our little show,” Wanda stated with enthusiasm.

“I am honored to be here. This may surprise some people, but I do listen to this show from time to time. There is so much good advice and tips on here, and the banter between you and YN is hilarious.”

“We aim to please,” Wanda chuckled. “We know you’re divorced and from what I understand you and your ex-wife get along really well.”

“We do, yes, but it takes time to figure out the right schedule and who gets her on what holidays. It’s all about collaborating and working together. It’s not a competition, but what is best for your child. Sometimes it’s tough.”

“Life is. Let’s get into it shall we, so what happened with you and your ex-wife Maggie?”

“It all started……..

....and then we got a divorce. She ended up marrying this asshat cop. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice guy and all, but I often wonder where it all went wrong. I thought me and Maggie were going to be forever, but some people just don’t work together,” Scott stated.

“How do you and your ex-wife do it?

“Well, we don't anymore,” Scott laughed. “Oh right, you meant co-parenting with Cassie, well, when it's my time with her she's all I focus on. I have to be there for her because before I know it, she will be all grown up. I'm an open book around her, and I try to be as honest as I can with her."

“Does she want you and her mom to get back together?”

“No, no, I don't think so. I’m happy for Maggie and Jim. What they have together, I hope I can find one day. I’m not mad at her because our marriage didn’t work. To tell you the truth, it was probably for the best. I wasn’t going to try and make it work because it would have done more harm than good. Sure, I miss seeing and hanging out with Cassie every day, but Maggie allows me to visit her whenever I can and I can’t thank her enough for that.”

“You sound like you have an understanding ex-wife.”

“I do! Some of us don't get so lucky. How about you YN?” Scott paused. “That’s right, get in here.”

You chuckled, “I'm amazed how Wanda keeps asking the guests to invite me in and talk. It’s like she thinks I won't say no to them.”

“Well, are you going to say no?” Scott asked.

“How could I say no to you, Scott?”

“You’re too sweet, YN.”

“Ooo...you’re too kind Scott.”

“Oh my god, are you two done flirting? We do have a show to finish first,” Wanda joked.

“Yeah we’re done,” you chuckled.

“You can answer this or not, but what led to the events of Star-lord and your breakup?” Scott questioned.

“I will answer this.” You cleared your throat. “It all started when he applied for this internship in Los Angeles on a whim and got it. If you all remember right, we were attending college in Missouri so it would have been a long trip to visit him. Anyways, I was proud of him, so I helped move him there. I got to meet his fellow intern and roommate, let’s call him…Buck, he was a good guy.”

“Would you say the distance is what drove you two apart?” Scott asked.

“Part of it and our communication dwindled down.” You took a deep breath. “Once I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. When I called him, I focused on him and kept the attention off me. I didn’t want him to think something was wrong, so I stayed my happy self when we talked.

At the time, I was still trying to find a solid job. It’s hard enough, job searching right out of college, let alone pregnant and job searching, because they always say you lack experience. I thought about moving to LA to find a job and be near Peter, but when I moved him out there I didn’t like it; the traffic, the noise, I couldn’t handle it.

Anyways, it got to the point where we only talked a few nights a week and texts turned into short replies. Once I started to show, I knew I needed to tell him, so I went out there to surprise him, and we broke up. As for the reason why it will remain a mystery to our listeners.”

“Just when it was getting good, am I right? I respect your decision, but I can’t speak for the fans,” Wanda commented.

“As much as I love hearing about Star-lord, I understand you're allowed to keep private things…well private,” Scott agreed. “Things like breakups are hard to talk about.”

Peter remembered the day of the breakup all too vividly because he knew you were the one and he fucked it all up.

Peter slept on his bed after a long night out partying. He stirred awake at the sound of someone knocking on his door. Each pound on the door only made his headache worse. As his door creaked open, he put his pillow over his head.

“You had another admirer stop by,” Nat joked with her arms across her chest. Peter lifted the pillow off his head only enough to see her.

“Oh, great,” he scoffed. “Who was it this time? Tina, Cara, Sarah, Nickel,” he yawned still half asleep.

“She was a new one but she told me to tell you, 'Goodbye, Star-Lord.' I don’t know what kind of kinky stuff you're into, but I don’t want to know about it.”

He lifted his head out from under the pillow and narrowed his eyes, trying to think it over. “Goodbye, Starlord?” His eyes snapped open once he realized it was you and jumped out of bed. “Shit. No, no, no!” He ran to the window and saw you walking down the sidewalk rubbing your eyes. “Dammit.” He scrambled to throw on a shirt and shorts. Nat stared at him in confusion and amusement.

“Who is she?” Nat asked with a smirk on her face.

“I’ll explain when I get back. Can’t you wear more around the house,” he asked, rushing to his closet to slip on his shoes.

“I have Bucky’s robe on.”

“No, it’s my robe, but I am pretty sure my girlfriend thought something different when she saw YOU wearing it,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

“Shit,” Nat cursed as he went after you.

He ran down the stairs two to three at a time. He jumped the last four steps and ran out the front entrance. He turned right, seeing the coat you were wearing from earlier and shouted your name. You stopped dead in your tracks.

“Hey, I didn't--”

“Save it,” you shouted, turning around to face him. Tears were flowing from your eyes, and all he wanted to do was make you feel better. “Clearly, you have found time to preoccupy yourself with some blonde. I knew this long-distance thing was a bad idea.”

“Hold on,” he whispered, trying to reach out to you, but you stepped back. “Let me explain.”

“No, you don’t get to explain what you did, or better yet, what you have been doing.” You shake your head, wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I should have known something like this was going to happen. I’m done, Peter. We’re over. I never want to see you again,” you sniffled, turning on your heels and walking away from him.

Peter watched you walk away until he couldn’t see you anymore. You were gone. Gone from his life, and the future he wanted to share with you. He decided to head back to his apartment as tears started to creep into the corners of his eyes. He opened the door to find Nat and Bucky in the kitchen.

“How'd it go? Nat asked, stacking pancakes on a plate.

“It’s over.”

“Wait, what happened?” Bucky questioned, staring at him mid-bite.

“YN thinks I have been cheating on her with Nat.”

“Fuck! I’m sorry, Pete. I can go talk to her.”

“NO! JUST......don't. You've already done enough harm today,” he huffed, slamming his bedroom door shut.

Why did he let you slip through his fingers? Why didn’t he chase after you? Why didn’t he make you listen to him? You walked away from him, and all he did was watch. He didn’t even try to fight for you or get you to listen to him. You disappeared from his life, and he didn’t do anything to stop you.

“Did the breakup affect you?” Wanda questioned.

“Yes,” you breathed. “When I found out what he was doing, I hated him for it. I was so frustrated with him because I thought I did something wrong in our relationship to provoke this,” you paused, remaining silence before you continued. “Breakups are hard. Some are easy to get over, some take time, but the real ones stick with you no matter how hard you try to forget them.”

“Where do you fall in those categories?”

“Are you trying to get me to confess to something, Mrs. Maximoff?”

“Counter question, do you still care about him?” Scott asked.

“Yes, I don’t think I will ever stop caring about him. I will always have a soft spot for him. I mean, when someone makes that big of an impression on your life it’s hard to forget them and move on. I could, but I have a daughter with him, and I see him in her every day.”

“Hypothetically, if this Star-Lord character came back into the picture and wanted to be a part of his daughter’s life, how would you handle it?” Scott asked.

“I would let him be a part of her life.”

“Wow, just like that?”

“Yes,” you replied. “When Star-lord was growing up, his dad was never in his life. He ran out on him and his mother when he was young, and he despised him for it. I remember Star-Lord telling me that if he ever had a child, he would want to be apart of their life. Given those circumstances, I would let him see her. She always wants me to tell stories about him, and I can tell she wants to meet him. And she will when the time is right.”

“Well said,” Scott said. “I like this podcast thing. It's so much fun.”

“It can be,” you chuckled.

“Try doing it every week with an uncooperative co-host,” Wanda added.

“Ooooh, YN, I bet you felt that sting,” Scott joked, making you laugh.

“And with that listeners, this has been another info filled episode with Wanda Maximoff signing off until next time on Everyday's a Monday. Don’t forget to rate, comment, and subscribe to our podcast or wherever you get your podcasts. Have a good week, everybody! Be sure to check out our new Instagram account for new updates on the show and behind the scenes looks as we film our podcast.”

How did he not see the signs? How did he not notice something was off about you when they talked? How were you going through all this, and he didn’t know a thing about it? Did that make him a bad boyfriend? A terrible friend? He needed to talk to you about this. It was the only way he was going to get answers.

______

It’s been about a month since you and Wanda went to New York, and Potts of Honey finally got all the right permits to begin construction. We would be hitting ground as early as next week, and you couldn’t be more excited for the company. Pepper was heading there later this week for a big press conference and a ribbon-cutting. It was all the fancy stuff you didn't care about. She wished you would go with her, but you had a podcast episode to figure out, and someone needed to stay back and be in charge while she was away.

You enjoyed stepping in for Pepper when the need arised. It was fun to negotiate with people and figure out the next course of action. You never realized how much Pepper did until she took a two-week-long vacation. It was hectic the first couple days, but then you got used to it. It became pretty easy, and it turned out you really enjoyed it. Whenever Pepper went away, she could always count on you to take over for her.

A routine set in with you and Peter. He would pick Mer up every day after school and one day each weekend Mer would stay with him. Mer loved the setup and this way she could have the best of both worlds. There were still some arguments you had with Peter about him buying her things you told her she couldn’t have. Or the time he gave her candy for breakfast. He was learning, but so were you at the beginning, too.

You continued to change the subject when you knew he was going to bring up the breakup. He never point-blank mentioned it, but from the look in his eyes, it told you he wanted to talk about it. It was something you didn’t want to bring back to light. It was something you would rather forget. You didn’t want all those feelings from the past coming back and hurting you all over again.

You finished the last thing on your to-do list before you left work for the day. You entered Walkman Records, greeting Mantis with a smile as you replied to a last minute email you forgot about.

“Hey Mantis, any new messages for me?” You glanced up to see a familiar looking woman with red hair, but you couldn’t place where you’ve seen her before.

“No nothing, but it has been a very slow day.”

“Understandable,” She smirked at you. “Hi, you must be Meredith’s mother, YN. I’m Natasha but call me Nat.” She held out your hand and you took it.

“That’s me.” You forced a smile, shaking her hand. She eyed you almost as if she knew something you didn’t.

“Hey, babe. Can you look over this bio for me?” Bucky asked, walking up beside her. He gave her the clipboard and flashed you a smile once he noticed you. “Hey, YN. How’s it going?”

“Good,” you said, clearing your throat. “Has Mer been behaving around here?

“Oh yes, she is like our little mascot, and the artists love her input even if it is crazy ridiculous,” Bucky replied, making you crack a smile.

“Buck. Are we still considering this girl? She's still in high school, do you think she has what it takes?” Nat asked, flipping through the file.

“Meredith likes her, and I don’t think this girl's boyfriend is gonna stop sending us demos until we tell them no to their faces. That is if we do decide to go that route. Besides, I'll do that thing you like tonight,” Bucky winked, speaking close to her ear.

“Who said I liked that move in the first place,” Nat scoffed with a playful smile.

“Oh, you didn’t need to tell me,” Bucky teased, winking at her before giving her a quick kiss and headed back to his office.

You couldn’t help but smile at their playful exchange. The teasing and playful behavior in a relationship was always your favorite part. It kept things interesting and fun. What Bucky and Nat had was love, and it was going to last. It’s not like you stopped believing in love because you experience it every day. You loved your little girl unconditionally, but romantic love was always harder to grasp.

“Men. Am I right?”

“You don’t have to tell me. How do you think I ended up pregnant,” you breathed a soft chuckle. “How long have you been together?”

“I trapped his ass about 8 years ago, and I even tricked him into marrying me,” she smirked. “It was nice to meet you, YN, but duty calls.”

“Nice meeting you, too.”

Peter and Mer came out of the hallway, passing Nat. You didn’t miss Peter narrowing his eyes at her as Nat shrugged in his direction. What was that about?

Mer ran to you and gave you a big hug. “How was spending time with your dad?”

“The best,” she grinned.

“Are you ready to go?”

“No, but if I have to,” she groaned. “I’m going to go say goodbye to Nat and Bucky.”

“Okay, but make it quick,” you said as she ran back down the hallway. “How was she?”

“She was great,” Peter smirked with a slight nod. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes met yours. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are we ever going to talk about what happ…”

“Okay, I’m ready to go.” Meredith ran back into the room interrupting Peter.

“That was fast, Mer,” You paused, looking at Peter. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

“Another time,” he waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Love you, daddy.” Mer pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tight.

“Love you, too. See you tomorrow, Twig!” He pulled away and ruffled her hair, smiling down at her. “Goodbye, YN.”

“Bye, Peter."

______

It felt like dishes were a never ending job in your house, but it did give you some time to think. You were positive you’ve seen Natasha or Nat before, but you couldn’t remember. She looked so familiar, but maybe you met her once before or perhaps Peter mentioned her. Did Bucky introduce you to her when you helped them move in? They’ve been together for eight years so you could only assume you met her at their apartment. Either way, she seemed like the type of woman you could get along with.

There was a solid knock on the door, making you flinch and slice your palm open with the knife you were washing. “Fuck,” you cursed. You grabbed a towel, putting pressure on it as you went to the door.

You peeked out the window, seeing Peter standing there. “Hey, come on in.” You opened the door and went back into the kitchen.

“You okay?”

“Yeah fine...cut my hand while washing dishes.” You pulled out a first aid kit from the cabinet struggling to open it.

“Here let me help.” He opened it and pulled out some antibiotics and a band-aid. “Let me see.” You hide it from him as he let out an annoyed scoff and rolled his eyes. He grabbed your hand, and you finally gave in. He removed the towel, noticing a small two-inch gash. He led you to the sink and held it under the faucet, cleaning it for you. You watch him take your hand and rub the ointment on it before placing the band-aid over it. “All set.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it. I like taking care of you.”

You feel your face heat up as your eyes met his. “What brings you here?” You cleared your throat.

“I needed to come clean about a few things.”

“About what?”

“The day you came to LA to surprise me….” You nodded as your mind drifted to that dreadful day.

You stood outside Peter’s apartment door in LA. You were nervous about how he was going to react. You were two in a half months pregnant, and your stomach was starting to show. This wasn’t the type of information to share over the phone. Would he leave you for this? You take a deep breath and knock on the door. You could feel your hands start to shake, and your palms begin to tingle. You tucked a few loose strands of hair behind your ear when the door opens. In front of you stood a blonde haired woman with red roots peeking through her scalp, and she was wearing Peter’s space robe that you got him for his birthday.

“Um...hi,” you gulped, eyeing the robe she was wearing. “I don’t know if this…nevermind...Is Peter here?”

“Seriously,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “You know what, let me go wake his ass up. What’s your name?”

“Um,” you mumbled, trying to find your voice. You could feel the tears tickling behind your eyes. You wanted to cry, but not in front of this woman you didn't even know. “Will you tell him...tell him goodbye, Star-Lord for me. He’ll know who I am.”

“Okay, but are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? It’s no trouble for me to go get him.” She eyed you over as if she was judging you, especially for wearing a jacket in the middle of July.

“Thanks, but--” you cleared your throat, fighting back tears "--it’s not necessary. Thank you for passing along the message.” She nodded as you walked away, feeling her eyes dig into your back. Once you were in the elevator, you let the tears fall.

“...truth is, I never cheated. Were their girls lining up to get with me, sure, but I never did anything with them. I already had everything I needed. I had you. The woman who answered the door that day was Natasha, my business partner and Bucky’s wife, she put on the wrong robe.”

Your eyes widened as you realized that's how you recognized Natasha. Back then her hair was different, but she was the same person. “Excuse me?”

“I never cheated on you, YN.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, shaking your head. “Why did you fucking lie to me then? Why did you make me believe you cheated on me this whole fucking time?”

“I didn’t lie, you just assumed I did.”

“So what if I did. How would you react to seeing a woman in your boyfriend's robe? I was pissed and upset like I did something to provoke you to cheat. I thought I was the problem. I thought it was my fault. Oh my god, Peter!” You ran your hands down your face as Peter tried to say something, but you continued. “Why didn’t you try and make me listen to you? Fight for me or something? Why didn’t you chase after me and explain it? ”

“I thought--” he stammered “--I thought you came to LA to break up with me.” You stared at him in shock.

“Break up with you! Are you fucking kidding me, Peter? I loved you. Why would your head even go there?”

“The distance between us wasn’t doing us any favors. We didn’t talk on the phone like we used to, barely texted, and any other source of contact stopped. I thought our relationship was dwindling down to nothing and thought you were mad at me for leaving you behind. I thought you were having doubts about our relationship, so I figured if you hated me, it would be easier for you to move on.”

“I was pregnant, Peter! I was trying to figure out how to tell you, but I didn’t want to break up with you.”

“I realize that now,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” you shouted a little louder than you planned.

“Why didn’t you tell me we had a daughter together?”

“I wanted to, I tried, but then you got the internship. You were finally accomplishing what you set out to do, and you were living your childhood dreams. I didn't want to be the one to ruin it for you, Peter. You loved it; I could hear it in your voice every time we talked. I watched how hard you worked to get there, and I didn't want you resenting me and Mer for taking that opportunity away from you."

“I never would’ve resented you or Mer.”

“You say that now,” you exasperated, running your bandaged hand through your hair. “But you don’t know what would’ve happened back then.”

“Yes, I do. It’s me. I’m the same person, only better looking and far more mature. Sort of.” You shake your head, rolling your eyes. “You’re right. Maybe, I don’t know what I would’ve done, but I know I wouldn’t have left you behind,” he acknowledged, furrowing his eyebrows together. “The truth is I regret everything I didn’t do that day. I didn’t stop you. I didn’t fight for you. I didn’t even try.” He shrugged, biting his bottom lip. “I acted like a fucking child,” he cursed with a deep breath. “I watched you walk away knowing I lost the best thing I ever had. The only thing I ever needed. You. It was always you,” he swallowed as your eyes widened. “If I could give up everything to go back in time and be with you? I would do it in a heartbeat.”

Without even thinking, you grabbed his face and kissed him. You pulled back once you realized what you did. “Shit! That was…”

He interrupted as his lips collided with yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he grabbed your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter. You pushed his jacket off, letting it hit the floor without breaking contact with his lips. He grabbed your shirt, pulling it over your head, and in a split second, your lips were back together. It felt like you were two eager teenagers trying to get to home base.

He lifted you off the counter and carried you down the hall. For once, you were glad your bedroom was on the first floor. Breaking contact with your lips, you mumbled what door was your bedroom as he stumbled on a rug almost dropping you. You both laughed as Peter caught himself. He finally reached your door, pushing it open and kicking it softly shut behind him. He laid you down near the end of the bed, kissing you as you melted into the mattress. Your hands skimmed the hem of his shirt, and you slowly started pulling it over his head.

He started placing soft kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sending goosebumps to the surface of your skin. His lips left your skin as his face hovered over yours almost like he didn’t know what to do next. You felt his breath on your lips, making your insides twist with anticipation. You reached up to cup his cheek as he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. Your hand moved to his chest over his heart, and his eyes fluttered open, gazing down at you. He licked his lips, drawing your eyes to them before drifting back to his lust filled eyes.

His eyes etched with worry as he watched you. He was waiting; waiting to see what you were going to do next; waiting to see how you were going to react; waiting for your next move. Your breath quickened, feeling his rapid heartbeat underneath your hand. You couldn't help, but feel how this could be the start of something great; a new beginning; a second chance. Without a second thought, you leaned up brushing your lips against his.

________

AN: Well, that escalated quickly! But damn, emotions, am I right?! Did some of your questions finally get answered? I hope so, but maybe there are still a few left unanswered. Where do you think their relationship will go after this? Will they finally become a happy family, or is there one thing that still stands in the way. Guess you’ll have to wait and find out! And I hope you all enjoyed Scott's cameo on the podcast! Right away, I knew he would be on an episode because who doesn't love Cassie! Thanks for reading.

#peter quill #peter quill au #peter quill x reader #peter quill reader insert #peter quill image #Star-Lord #star-lord x reader #star-lord au #marvel #marvel fanfic #Marvel AU #GotG #Guardians of the Galaxy #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 #Chris Pratt

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purplesurveys · 5 years ago

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773

What’s the name of a song you’ve listened to a lot recently? Prepare for another Hayley answer folks. I’ve been listening to nothing but Petals For Armor this whole week – even lo-fi got a break :o – and Dead Horse is very easily my favorite track so that’s been racking up plays.

Are you texting anyone at this moment? No. I currently have a conversation with Gab on Messenger but replies on both ends are choppy because we’re doing our own thing.

Recently, who in your house has gotten on your nerves the most? It’d be a surprise if someone still doesn’t know the answer to this, but it’s my mom. We just have very different personalities and traits, and that is mostly because I have made it my life’s mission to not end up like her.

Think of the most recent time that you went out to eat with someone, who ended up paying? We split the bill, as we always do. That last time was in my favorite ramen place I now realize :( I miss the outside worldddddd.

Is there anything that’s been weighing on your mind as far as a decision your contemplating whether to act on or not? Explain. Everyday it’s always a mental battle whether I’m touching my thesis or not for that day. It’s such a big deal for me and there’s so much pressure to produce an excellent one that I’m always too scared to look at it, even if it is MY work.

What all has pissed you off today, if anything at all? My mom was making unbelievable statements about ABSCBN (the major network that the government pettily hates and demanded to shut down) and how they deserve the ordeal they’ve been going through...fucking unbelievable. I wasn’t going to let her slide so I offered up my arguments, but I felt her cowering and my suspicions were confirmed when she changed the topic.

How often do you talk to the person you currently have feelings for? Well I’m already with her, so we talk pretty often throughout the day. It’ll decrease if we’re both super busy, but when it’s one of those days we make sure we at least talk when we wake up and before we go to bed.

When was the last time you couldn’t stop laughing? A Tiktok Angela shared with me. Holy shit it was so funny - it was of a girl going through Twilight and reading every single time Stephenie Meyer used the word ‘chuckled’ with a hilarious voice filter.

Out of all of your friends who have you gotten in the worst fight with? Explain what happened. I super hate having conflicts with people I’m close to, so I honestly can’t tell you an argument I’ve had with a friend even if I try racking my brain for one.

If you had $100 dollars, how would you spend it? I’d rather save it till I’ll have to go job-hunting. I’ll spend the money on gas to go to job interviews.

What’s something you would love to have happen right now? I just want the reassurance that I’ll end up in a good job eventually. This whole period waiting for graduation with nothing happening isn’t good for me, and with the lockdown still in place I’ll have to also wait till I can start legit applying for jobs, so these days I’m essentially just living with double the amount of anxiety I’d normally have.

You were given the opportunity to get a new cellular device, what do you choose? iPhone 11 Pro Max.

Which of your classes in school is most capable of killing a good mood for you? Business reporting. Before the quarantine, that class absolutely ruined my Fridays which used to be my favorite day of the week. I had a great teacher who opened every avenue possible to help us because it was objectively a difficult class, but that’s all I saw it as – difficult. All my other classes were okay.

How nice of a person are you, honestly? I’m super nice and am always that way with everyone. Though if I encounter someone with a behavior that I don’t like, like being a lousy co-worker or if they support the government lolol, I’ll be less nice but like still not an asshole. It’s a waste of time being a shitty person to other people.

What good things have happened today? My dad bought Pringles yesterday so I got to have them today and holy shit, they are so so good. It also wasn’t that hot today - weather was still awful of course, but at least I didn’t sweat through my shirt or have to breathe heavily, which is good enough for me.

Can you honestly say that at this point and time you’re happy with the way things are going in your life? Not yet, but I’ll get there.

Is there anyone of your preferred sex who tends to mess with your head? I don’t have a preferred sex.

What have you recently gotten the most compliments on? Honestly nothing. I haven’t been on social media lately because the country is shit and citizens are always saying stupid shit, so I haven’t talked to that many people lately.

When you get to go shopping for new clothes, where do you go to find your clothes? Feliz.

How do you feel about inter-racial couples? You do you. I don’t see anything wrong with it and besides, Filipinos marrying foreigners has always been a common sight.

Have you ever thought you were in love, and then realized later on that your feelings weren’t as strong as you had thought? No.

When will be the next time you travel out of state, where will you be going? I have no clue. All travel plans have been put on hold for a while, so I’ll have to wait until that eases out.

If I were to see you face to face, who would you more than likely be with? My dog.

What is one assumption people make of you, by just seeing you? That I’m grumpy. It’s not inaccurate at all, I definitely have a bit of a short fuse.

When deciding the significance of someone in your life, what is an important deciding factor? How much I can trust them, if we’ve had memorable times together, and if they have the ability to make me feel better when I’m down.

What is something that you have come to realize doesn’t work for you? Trying to have a rational disagreement with my mom. She will always handle conflict immaturely. I will always wonder why she has lasted this long without anyone calling her out on such a poor behavior.

Have you ever grown apart from someone, and then over time you came back into each others lives? Yeah dude, Gabie. I lost her for a while after our first breakup, which was technically two losses for me because she’s also my best friend. We grew apart for around four months but after that we reconnected, patched things up, and realized being friends wasn’t gonna cut it so we ended up dating again haha.

On a scale of 1 to 10 how shy are you? 12 for people I’m not close to, maybe a 6 for those I know well already.

Chose one quality of yours that has caused you problems, explain one situation where the quality was apparent. Mmm when I’m anxious or not having a good day overall, I tend to ignore everyone. I will open messages but not reply to anyone of them, and on the worst days I won’t reply even to the work-related messages. And if anyone asks me if I’m ok or not, it’s going to be seenzoned; if anyone sends me a meme, it’s going to be seenzoned, you get the idea.

I was having a rough time the other day when JM asked me to take over a task for the org, and while I had every intention of doing it, I a) didn’t reply to him, and b) didn’t feel like doing the task until after dinner. When I opened my laptop to get on the job, I already got a message from JM apologizing and saying he had to overstep and do the work himself because he didn’t get a reply from me and because I haven’t done the task yet. I can honestly that’s never happened before and as a perfectionist I was super disappointed in myself and I must’ve apologized to him a thousand times.

Is there something you should be doing right now, besides this survey? Taking a shower.

When was the last time you turned down making plans with someone, why did you? I think it was just that party with Rita’s sister’s DJ friend. I don’t normally turn down plans because I’m always game for anything lol.

Who did you last confide in, what did it involve? I was telling Gabie how much I hate the Mother’s Day posts from everyone on Facebook. I didn’t use Facebook last Sunday precisely because I wanted to avoid seeing any of them, but when I loaded my feed now they were still all over my timeline. I had had enough of waiting for them to go away, so I vented to her.

#survey #surveys

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jeannereames · 5 years ago

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Happy Birthday to the real Amyntor: Ed Reames

9/11 is a day of mourning in the US. But for me, 9/11 means my father’s birthday. And with Dancing with the Lion: Rise coming out next month--which is dedicated to my father’s memory--I decided I’d post here the tribute to my father that I wrote shortly after his death in February of 2017. My father (and mother) provided the model for Amyntor in the novel. So if you’d like to meet the “real” Amyntor, here he is.

Calvin Edward Reames, c. 1944

As some of you are already aware, my father’s health—physical and mental—has been failing, especially since autumn. In late January, he caught pneumonia and was admitted to the hospital. He never regained conscious awareness and was placed on palliative care. At 3:15pm, Eastern time, February 10, 2017, he died, almost exactly 92 years and 5 months since he entered this world.

Social media has become the communication currency of our time, and supposedly nothing on the Internet ever really disappears. Ergo I want to tell you about my father so HE won’t disappear. This is my own reflection. No one’s life can be understood by any single individual in it. We’re too multifaceted. The father I knew wasn't even the father my brother knew, as we were born almost 18 years apart--he at the beginning of the Baby Boom and me at the tail end. Yet my father raised a writer for a daughter, so I feel the need to eulogize him as I knew him. Others will have other stories, more or less flattering.

Born on the now-infamous date of 9/11, 1924, in Gorham, Jackson County, (Southern) Illinois, he survived the Tri-State Tornado at only 6 months of age. With him in her arms, his mother ran for the railroad tracks and got on the opposite side from the mile-wide monster bearing down on them, then laid her own body over his; the tornado leapt the tracks and spared them. Perhaps that was an omen for a charmed life. On the face of if, his life might not seem particularly charmed, but he survived the Depression, a world war, and mostly made good on the American Dream. He even lived long enough to see his Cubbies win the World Series.

Iva Mae Gregersen Reames & Daddy, 1925

The eldest of 13 children, he grew up in a family who were poor even by Depression-era standards. It made him generous, occasionally foolishly so. Yet if he decided someone was “his” (family or friend), he saw it as his obligation to help. That conviction stemmed less from abstract ethics than from an innate kindness arising out of his recall of what it meant to be in need. Sometimes people say, “Well, I managed …” and expect others to suffer as they had. Daddy could do that, too, but mostly he didn't. If he could prevent someone from suffering, that made him happy. He just wanted a “Thank you.” When he was in the war, he sent virtually his whole paycheque home to his mother each month to help care for his younger brothers and sisters. He kept $5. Yes, $5 went much further then, but as an unmarried corporal in the US army, he made about $65 dollars monthly in 1944. So he kept 1/13th of his income and gave away the rest.

US Army Corporal, 126th AAA Battalion, 1943

That, perhaps better than anything, exemplifies his fundamental nature. It’s in our actions and choices that, I believe, we reveal our true selves.

He liked to laugh, and kid, but never cruelly. For some families, a disparaging jest is meant as back-handed affection, but that wasn’t heard in the house in which I grew up. When I was younger, I was frequently teased because I walked right into comments with potential double meanings. Perhaps one of the values of getting old(er) is that I’ve aged out of being an easy target. Yet I never learned to hear what others said as an opportunity for ribbing because my parents didn’t find that sort of thing funny. My father's sense of humor was devoid of sarcasm, as he thought it mean-spirited. Some of that owed to his own mother, who—to hear him talk about her—should have been beatified immediately upon her death. But I also believe it owed to having lived through real struggle himself.

To his mind, the world is mean enough. He saw no need to make it meaner via our interactions with people about whom we should care. It's partly for that reason, and a basic aversion to drama, that he was a much-desired member of the pastor-parish relations committee at our church in Lakeland, Florida. His presence tended to tamp down exaggerated crises and occasional bouts of flailing (which is actually a bit funny, given his own tendency to worry).

My father had a will of iron, and a quiet ambition easily overlooked. For instance, when he decided to stop smoking, back before I was born, he’d just received a new carton of cigarettes for Christmas. He threw them in the trash and quit cold turkey because he’d decided he was done. He took up a pipe later (I think largely for image), but decided he didn’t want to do that, either, and just put down the pipe one day. That was it.

"The Lineman," Normal Rockwell

When Daddy decided to do something, he did it. “Failure is not an option”: Apollo 13’s motto. Well, the men (and women) who got Apollo 13 home are my father’s generation. When he returned from the war, he was one of millions looking for a job. He tried on several, but finally decided to work for the telephone company because communications seemed like the future. Before the war, he’d wanted to be a pharmacist, yet circumstance had curtailed the college degree required. So he began showing up regularly in the hiring offices of General Telephone Electric (GTE), asking for work. He made himself annoying. But squeaky wheel gets the grease, and finally they sent him north as a telephone lineman … in January … during a blizzard. He was a relatively little guy (wiry, but short), and they doubted he’d last 2 days. They figured it was a good way to get rid of his terrier persistence.

Daddy on right, GTE employee award

He persisted for 40+ years, and retired as a (self-taught) senior engineer in the mid-1980s. Never tell a Reames, "You can’t do that."

The guys who’d worked under him at the end liked him so much, they kept coming to visit him for years after. He had that effect on people, whether at work, at church, or as a ham radio operator ("This is K9RWP calling..."). They sensed he truly cared about them, and responded in kind. He wasn’t a boisterous or especially outgoing person, but he was still an extrovert. He’d strike up conversations with random strangers in lines at store check-outs.

Especially if there was a baby involved.

Daddy & his great-granddaughter, Leila

See, Daddy loved babies. And babies loved Daddy. Maybe as a result of being the eldest of 13, but he could burp them, change a diaper pronto, or make them laugh. He so enjoyed watching little kids, especially as he aged; he’d break into a grin just to see them playing at a distance. He was never among the “Children should be seen and not heard” crowd. To his mind, children should be talked to and played with. They would inherit the earth. When my son was born just a few months after my mother's death, Daddy said, “He’s my little replacement.” At the time, I worried his words were fatalistic. But he went on to survive my mother by almost 20 years, and now, I see his words as an expression of continuity. We are our ancestors.

Daddy, Grandson Ian & Licorice as a kitten

So my son, Ian, is his replacement, in the larger sense. When we look forward, we also look back to where we came from. I tried to insure that Ian got to know his Grandpa, who was there just days after he came home from the hospital after birth, and was there when he graduated from high school, even paid his first bill for books at college. Because that’s who Daddy was. If he didn’t get to attend college himself, he made sure both his kids did, and his grandkids. For him, that was an achievement.

As I said…the success of others, especially friends and family, seemed to Daddy the same as his own.

Yet his generosity and empathy extended beyond just people. Daddy was a cat magnet. We used to joke that if he sat down and there was a cat within 50 feet, pretty soon, that cat would be on his lap. He liked dogs, to be sure, but dogs (and horses) were my mother’s favorites. Daddy liked cats, and they liked him. Dogs are forgiving. They’ll stay with even an abusive owner; but cats leave. They don’t put up with crap. Daddy? Even semi-feral cats trusted him.

Daddy, me, Ian, and a completely random barn cat who decided to adopt him for the day at my aunt’s farm

So while he was raised in a time when animals were tools and food more than family members, and he certainly went hunting from a young age to help put food on the table, I think he, more than my mother, had a soft spot for animals. I remember in the ‘70s, he decided we were going to raise rabbits for food, and bought a pair of does. Well, it didn’t take long for yours truly to make pets not only of the does, but of the first litter of babies. All of them had to go to homes where they’d be pets, not dinner. And while I’d made the pronouncement, it didn’t take much to convince my father. Shooting a wild squirrel for the stew pot (especially when hungry) was one thing; killing the rabbits one fed regularly and took care of was another. So our venture in home-grown meat failed miserably (to, I’m sure, the rabbits’ collective relief). Yet it wasn’t just due to my agitating. I don’t think Daddy could have killed a one of them, even if I hadn’t protested. They had names, after all.

He wasn’t a saint. None of us are. The cliche applies: we're a mix of vices and virtues, like shadows against the backlight of the sun. Age softened some of his, while exacerbating others due to a failing filter. Among other things he did well, Daddy was a champion worrier. He worried about anything you can imagine (and then some). Perhaps that owed to growing up in such an unstable era as the Depression when it seemed anything could happen, but for instance, he would remind me constantly to hold onto handrails while going up and down stairs. It seems trivial, but he genuinely angsted over me falling at home and hurting myself when nobody might find me for days. So I (mostly) hold onto rails, because I hear his voice in my head, telling me to.

The irony, of course, is that he was in much more danger of falling, yet he didn't tend to worry about himself. Before he moved up to be near my brother, I tried to get him to buy one of those Life Alert systems. I even employed the ultimate weapon: his grandson (Ian), to beg. He refused. He’d be fine, because he’s of that generation when all a man should need was himself, a gun, a good job, and a driver's license. And oh, boy, getting him to relinquish that driver's license as he went increasingly blind from macular degeneration was quite the battle, one my poor brother largely had to face when Daddy moved north to Kentucky in his last years. Daddy never did let go of the worrying, though.

He could be impatient, and critical, too, sometimes overly so. I never wanted to sing in front of him because he, like many of his siblings, had an excellent ear and I was, well, usually a little flat. He could hear it, and would say so. But the one he was most critical of was himself, if he failed to live up to his (very high) standards of what he thought he ought to do. Some of that, I lay at the feet of his own father, at least as my mother told it to me. Yet in contrast, as noted earlier, he delighted in the success of others. As a child and young woman I wanted to succeed not because I feared his critique (except about my singing), but because I basked in his happiness when I did well. He could be downright embarrassing in his bragging. If failure, especially his, was not an option, he didn't feel the need to build himself up by tearing down others. He was happy to share the spotlight, or even to applaud from the sidelines--and mean it. Again, maybe that owed to being one of 13, but I think it went deeper, back to his fundamental worldview: “You and me,” not, “Me or you.” He was quietly ambitious, but not especially competitive. Except at cards. Then all bets were off (sometimes literally).

Daddy with Mama, Christmas, c. 1990

One of his most outstanding virtues was his loyalty. For instance, he fell in love with my mother and stayed married to her for 51 years, then never remarried. While it might have been nice for him to remarry, I don't think it was in him; it would have felt like "replacing" her, and to his mind, she had no replacement.

After her death in 1997, I recall going through old pictures of her with him, one from just after the war, which showed them out with friends. Keep in mind that my mother, from childhood until after the birth of my brother, was…pudgy. While on the shorter side, my father was never heavy in his youth. In fact, he got quite buff during WWII: broad-chested and slim-waisted. But as we looked at that picture of my mother next to her friends, he pointed to her with tears in his eyes, and said, "She was the most beautiful of them all." Yup, the "pudgy" girl.

Idalee Brouillette, c. 1944, the picture my father carried during WWII

But he was right: Mama was a stunner. I know that, now, people say I look a lot like her, and I’m honored it’s so. But I was never as pretty as she was, especially in her youth, and I think my father felt bedazzled that this beautiful, black-haired Brouillette girl decided she was going to marry him, and that was the end of it. Her family was better off financially during the Depression, even with Indian blood; they had a farm with a full section, and a car, and enough money for my grandfather to send my mother and her sisters into town to go to school when he thought the teacher at the school on Buttermilk Hill was unqualified. So I suppose you could say Daddy "married up." But to Mama’s mind, she’d won the deal, getting the determined, smart guy.

See, long before they met in person, Mama had gone with her best friend Annie to Gorham High School for a day, visiting. In math class, the teacher put a problem on the board and asked the class to solve it. Only one student could: my father. He got up and wrote the solution on the blackboard, and Mama was enchanted. She asked Annie, “Who is that guy!?”

Some years later, she married that guy.

March 8th, 1946, wedding picture

In many ways, my parents were quite different people. My mother was progressive in thought beyond her time, naturally empathic and perceptive, a bookworm introvert with a steel spine when she needed it and the amazing ability to keep 5+ people’s business in her head without forgetting anything. Everything I know about organization (and I’m pretty good at it), I learned from my mother. My father was conservative, protective, supportive, more intelligent (in sheer IQ), but less emotionally intelligent (EQ), more driven, but less philosophical. Yet they created a unique alchemy of spirit. They didn’t share common interests—Mama loved reading novels, Daddy never read fiction, Mama loved watching murder mysteries, Daddy preferred ball games or the news. Yet they looked out on the world in the same direction, and that’s what mattered.

Ed Reames in high school

In the end, what can I say but that Daddy was the epitome of the Greatest Generation. And now he’s gone. I won’t say we’ll never see their like again, because nobody knows the future. They weren’t perfect—racism was an institutionalized assumption enshrined in segregation, women barely had the vote, LGBTQ wasn’t even talked about—but we, in our current America, could take a page from those who survived abject poverty and economic collapse without government safety nets, then went on to save the world from fascism. They did it not by grand deeds, but by the simple heroism of young men and a few women storming a beach at Normandy or Iwo Jima, a lot of whom never came home. Daddy used to joke that he chased Hitler all over Europe but never caught him.

Daddy, you did catch him. You were part of the men and women who stopped him.

You are my hero. You are the real Captain America.

I’m privileged and grateful to be your daughter, and I love you, forever.

#My 9/11 #The Greatest Generation #Amyntor #Ed Reames #Dancing with the Lion #DwtL #tribute to my father

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