#In most cases none of the intimacy or relationship in my writings are meant to be construed as romantic

[copperbadge]

Review: Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents

I am still trying to log my reading more diligently! And this one is the latest. Now there’s a title that makes it tough to recommend to people without a lot of disclaimers. :D

My psychiatrist is a specialist in medication management, and while he does see patients therapeutically, I’m not one of them; he sees me to prescribe ADHD medication and make sure I’m not having side-effects or misusing it. But of course part of the meeting is just chatting so he can gauge my behavior for himself, and in our last meeting we got onto the topic how I haven’t told my parents about my diagnosis because I don’t think any good can come of it. After explaining my somewhat complex relationship to my mother and stepfather, who I love but who also can be difficult, he recommended Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents (subtitle: “How to heal from distant, rejecting, or self-involved parents”) by Lindsay Gibson. 

It’s kind of a shame the book title is so direct, because I think my mother could actually really use to read it, but if you recommend a book like that to your parents it means you also read it and that...does not send a super great message about how you feel about them. 

I did a lot of highlighting.

Although, in the end, not for the reasons one would think. In part, while I recognized parental behaviors described in the book, I also recognized behaviors in myself. About halfway through, especially when Gibson was writing about how emotionally immature parents generally come from emotionally immature parenting themselves, I had to stop and think, “Oh. Maybe this is also me.” Fortunately I’m not a parent nor likely to become one, but it’s still a bit of a hard truth to see yourself in that kind of thing. I’m not much one to cause drama, at least not intentionally, and I try to be a generally good and emotionally supportive friend, but some of the stuff -- shallow emotional affect, difficulty with empathy and intimacy, anxiety surrounding strong emotion and personal relationships -- landed kind of close to home. 

The problem with self-help books and books like this which are on the edge of the self-help genre is that they tend to be written very structurally. They have a specific way of being, which if you’re already part of the way to the conclusions they’re presenting (or familiar with the scammier ones) can be less helpful. For one, because they are aimed at people who tend to be wounded and confused, they lay out whatever they’re discussing in a very systematized way, and human behavior often defies systems. I was seeing aspects of behavior in my parents and myself here and there, but none of us fit into the categories the book lays out. Most people won’t fit precisely, but being an outlier doesn’t really help. 

And, honestly, the case studies that are meant to resonate tended not to, simply because I looked at them and went “Oh, that person was abused. Those behaviors happened to me, but not at that level, and not in those ways.” I struggled too with the “workbook” aspects, where you’re asked to answer specific questions or make a list of things. One of the questions was “I wish people would just ______” where you fill in the blank, and like...I don’t have wishes like that. I’m still trying to figure out what I would even put there. Not stand in front of bus doorways so often? Stop voting Republican? I suspect that’s not what they’re reaching for.   

And when you get a little distance on stuff like the categories and case studies, what you start to see is a book that, like many books in this vein, could be half the length it is. So much of this book is designed to cause a resonance with the reader and then reinforce and reinforce and reinforce that resonance -- there’s a lot of repetition of theme in order to pull someone emotionally further and further into the book, meanwhile not really presenting new information, just the same information framed within a different anecdote. I don’t condemn that; it’s what you have to do to sell the book, and to sell the ideas within it to some people. Otherwise it’s not super publishable, and I get that. But once you see the manipulation going on it’s hard not to react poorly to it. 

A shorter, more informative book wouldn’t necessarily appeal to people who are pulled into the book via those reinforcements, but I started to do a lot of skimming because I knew I could. In that sense it’s a fast read, but I’m sure I missed some information here and there. 

And the real problem is that the solutions presented for how to deal with emotionally immature parents as an adult are all things I was already doing, which after all the emotional build of earlier was quite disappointing. The reason I’m capable of having a pretty positive relationship with my parents is that I know how to handle them without taking too much psychic damage, enough that it’s worth maintaining a relationship, and apparently that’s as good as it’s going to get. There’s a lot healing from the harm inflicted just in those behaviors, but also for anyone wanting to DIY the rest, there’s not much good advice -- it circles back around to “Go to therapy and heal your childhood wounds” which is fine, I guess, but not a super executable solution for me. It reminded me powerfully of reading a book about autism when I was younger; there was a chapter about resources for family members of people with autism, and within that chapter there was one paragraph about siblings. I can give it to you in a sentence: “Asking your neurotypical child to help their autistic sibling is very character-building and will teach them responsibility.” Sure, but could we not dig for something a little deeper?

So, insightful book, potentially very useful if you do have a fraught relationship with your parents, but unfortunately not terribly helpful to me personally. Still, worth getting out of the library. 

[sapphire-strikes]

♡Some Pokémon Headcanons Part. 6!♡

Back to villian analysis! This will be the last set of baddies I talk about for a while, I know I still have Sun/Moon to do but I'm gonna push any characters Gen 7 and after to the side for now.

Part. 1 Part. 2 Part. 3 Part. 4 Part. 5

N: Quite possibly the most sympathetic antagonist in the series. N's motives are entirely unselfish and based wholly on what he believes to be right; and while it does change depending on which version you pick, inevitably, N represents the belief in one's ideals, with his world view completely reflective of the environment he grew up in and striving to change it in his image. Whereas the player represents truth, acknowledging and adapting to the world around them and pushing forward to do what's right regardless of what's thrown their way.

• When first encountered, N's impression of the player is just as it had been of any other trainer he'd encountered thus far. He believes you to be just as selfish and misguided as all the rest until he sees the bond you share with your pokemon and something begins to change. You may be unsure of yourself, only looking to help, but even as you stood in the way of Team Plasma, he couldn't help but sense right off that something different about you. When he speaks to your Pokémon he's even more surprised. Whether it be the partner you'd been through many adventures with or the starter you'd been gifted just a week ago, they were filled with love for you.

• While he initially wanted to brush this under the rug as naivety or innocence on the pokemon's part. He couldn't deny he had grown curious about you and after your parting, found that he couldn't get you out of his mind, wanting an excuse to talk to you again later and doing so quite untactfully when inviting you to ride the Faris wheel with him.

• While he never considered human connection something he needed, content with the family he'd made among his pokemon, when finally given the opportunity, he opens up and can't help but tell you the truth of his true identity. At this point, you've hardly managed to form much of an opinion on the guy beside the fact that he seemed a little odd, whereas he's already built up an entire complicated relationship based completely on the fact that you, the first real normal pokemon trainer he's had an interaction with, turned out to be even a mildly nice person with respect for their pokemon. It's almost funny how much it inwardly throws him for a loop and it's the first time he begins questioning his plan if only a little bit.

• Regardless of your reaction to N's ideology, whether it be sympathetic and understanding, or rather straightforward as you call him out for being blinded by his ideals, the two of you form a strange connection after that, running into each other time and time again during your journeys. Each time giving you the opportunity to defend your beliefs but being cut off by circumstances before moving forward once again. And while he couldn't bring himself to admit it, N begins to develop something he didn't think possible, an attachment to another human.

• After he awakens Zekrom and returns to his castle, I feel like the way he so passionately challenges you to battle him is his way of trying to push away those feelings. He's spent his whole life full of disdain for the evil that so easily settles itself into human hearts and is full of guilt and confusion at the idea that he would almost consider a trainer a friend. But sealing your connection to each other, you're chosen as the hero of truth and battle him with Reshiram at your side. In the end, your truth, the truth of the relationship between people and pokemon, is stronger than any ideals.

• When Ghetsis shows his true colors, truthfully, N wasn't as hurt by it as one would think. Up until now, N had never put trust into any human, that included the members of Team Plasma even if he was loyal to them. So initially, Ghetsis' reveal only made him feel stupid for having not been more careful and potentially endangering the lives of pokemon by working with him so blindly.

• His first thought is to brush Ghetsis' betrayal under the rug as what was to be expected of human behavior and not let it bother him, but when he looked to you, a pokemon trainer, no, a human, that had fought so hard for the truth and the future of all pokemon, he realized he had so much more to learn about the world and that his old way of thinking was flawed.

"There's no way a person like me, someone who understands only Pokémon— No, actually… I didn't understand them, either. No way could I measure up to you, when you had met so many Pokémon and were surrounded by friends…"The Champion has forgiven me, and… What I should do now is something I'll have to decide for myself."

• It's a rather unsatisfying goodbye at the time, but N bids you farewell and leaves with Zekrom shortly after, deciding he had much to think about, his whereabouts became unknown afterward.

• You and Looker's attention is instead directed to locating the remaining sages before leaving Unova. If you're clearly worried about N, Looker will notice and attempt to launch an investigation into his whereabouts, but the only clue turning up a couple of months later is a reported sighting of the legendary pokemon spotted flying towards the ocean with someone on its back. Looker doesn't think much of it when he reports it to you, hoping to have found something more solid but it's enough to assure you that he's alive so you're thankful.

• Then sometime later while in the middle of another case, you receive a report that Team Plasma has begun activity again in Unova and Looker swears he's never seen you jump on a case so fast.

• Since the first disbandment of Team Plasma, N has been doing some soul searching, returning to the forest he grew up in to be with his friends. And while more time around pokemon might seem like the last thing that he would need, the whole ordeal weighed on him much more heavily than he was prepared to admit so he turned to those he knew he could trust for comfort. This also gave him time to think about his relationship with Ghetsis and the player and how both of their connections to him meant more to him than he initially thought.

• Even if he wasn't yet ready to face the world when N himself heard of the return of Team Plasma, he jumped to investigate as well. Going to Alder, the only other person he could think to turn to, to ask for info. You were already well into the thick of it by the time he made it back to Central Unova and Alder informed him you had gone on your own to stop Ghetsis, prompting N to go after the both of you as well.

• While N was still struggling with his ideals, Ghetsis was his father, living proof of N's own humanity, so while still vulnerable, N attempted to reach out to him. To bad Ghetsis had no humanity left to spare. And instead, N once again found reassurance in your sense of truth, as the two of you worked together to defeat him.

• In some ways, his relationships with both of you were similar. As his father, Ghetsis was living proof that N himself was indeed human. He always knew that was something he couldn't change, the fact that he was born a human that is, but he'd always hoped he could rise above it with his ideals and actions. That was until you came along and proved it wasn't as simple as that. You provided him with something unique that he'd never had before, a human connection.

• It can be said that the connection a human can have with a pokemon can be just as strong, and that would be very true; but there is something different that comes from a friendship between two of the same species. There's a reason most pokemon form packs after all, or why some people prefer to live in populated areas. It's not necessarily better or worse, but there's a reason nonetheless. The idea that he was human had always bothered him, but the idea of being the same as you... that wasn't so bad.

• In the end, seeing you work together with your pokemon, so desperately trying to free Kyurem and the other legendaries, was enough to finally convince him a world shared by humans and pokemon was possible and if he wanted to make right the wrongs he'd almost committed, he'd need to work towards bettering himself. That meant understanding both people and pokemon so he too could be a part of it.

• After Ghetsis is apprehended for the final time, N decides he needs to try his hand at living among human society, quite the daunting task at first but one made much less intimidating when Alder offers to take him under his wing. N even moves in with him after the events of the game. It's an excellent fit too, as there aren't a lot of people with the patience to house all of N's pokemon friends along with him.

• With the threat of world-changing or dominating ideals out of the way, you get to witness a much more playful side to him as well as getting personally introduced to each of his pokemon friends.

• Outside of his usual quirks, N is an extremely curious person, asking a nearly unending amount of questions about any and all things. He's also a bit of a hippy, spending a lot of time meditating with his pokemon and for the most part, doesn't like to eat human food, but Alder is slowly helping him branch out.

• Even as you travel, N remains close friends with you. He acts at peace with your having to leave, but there's a part of him that wishes he had all the time in the world to get to know you better, and while he does a good job of remaining composed, he always gets excited when you come back to visit Unova. Alder even mentions that he brings you up in conversation quite a lot when you're not around; whether it be while talking to other people or when he sees something that reminds him of you. Neither N nor Alder are good with technology, so the two of you write letters back and forth to keep in touch.

• Maybe it's a sense of gratitude for having shown him the light, or for being his very first human friend, but N will never forget what you've done for him. Promising that if you ever feel lost or abandoned by the world of people or even by the world of pokemon, you will always have a place as his friend and should seek him out if ever in need.

Ghetsis: In comparison to other Pokemon Villians, Ghetsis motives come closest in comparison to that of Giovanni. With the exception that if the two ever had the chance to meet, Giovanni would be personally offended at that comparison having been made. Similar to Giovanni, Ghetsis' goals are entirely selfish, with a goal of amassing power and control, but in Ghetsis' case with the added bonus of him being a narcissist and a complete megalomaniac.

• He's incredibly intelligent and charming to a fault, coming off with a priestly and humble demeanor while putting up a front. But despite his natural cunning, his hunger for power and confidence in himself is so far removed from reality that being faced with defeat at the end of the second game was enough to send him into a mental breakdown.

• Throughout N's childhood and the events of both games, Ghetsis had always regarded N, initially inwardly and eventually quite outspokenly as "a freak without a human heart". So blind to his own faults he'd never realize the ironic truth that that description fits him the best out of anyone.

• During the rise of Team Plasma when the player appears and begins to interact with N. Ghetsis is stuck with an immediate hatred of them. Entirely in part because of the way you begin to connect with N, treating him with kindness and as a person. Even if you didn't appear as a threat to Team Plasma, it's an entirely toxic kind of bitterness that came from his own hatred of N, believing his son to be inhuman and undeserving of that kind of human connection. He keeps these feelings hidden well until he reveals his true nature and is all the more satisfied to try to strike you down, even taunting you for wasting kindness on a person incapable of ever truly appreciating it.

• In the events of the second game. Your return fills him with a rage that rivals his disdain for N. Resulting in the moment in the cave when he all too happily orders Kyurem to impale you. That moment acts as a good turning point, when his prudish demeanor begins to slip, revealing the maniac inside and he quickly begins to decline from there, going near mad by the time he's been defeated

• By the end of both games, Ghetsis is apprehended and I can very well see him having to be placed in special containment as he's wildly uncooperative with the authorities, having lost his composure altogether after being consumed by his hatred. Any attempt at trial would leave him in contempt of court as he'd spend the whole time outlandishly claiming it his right to be the ruler of Unova as well as cursing the names of you and N.

• For this reason, both you and N are specifically forbidden to see him after his imprisonment as there is great concern for both your safety and his own while he's in this manic state. After some time has passed N does receive permission from the authorities to visit him under supervision, but N himself needs time to make peace with himself before he's ready to see his father again.

Colress: There's debate among the fandom as to whether or not Colress can be classified as a villain but anyone aware of his character knows it's not quite that black and white. (Pun intended)

• Polite, friendly and genuine, Colress doesn't take any steps to hide his true intention from the MC or even Team Plasma as he was working with them. Colress is a man dedicated to science and one singular goal, to unlock the true potential of pokemon. And during the events of B2/W2 has reached a very critical point in his research, having finally found himself in a position where he could witness their true potential first hand, and with a legendary no doubt. So when he met Ghetsis and was offered a chance to work alongside him, Colress happily accepted.

• While I don't see Colress as being rude or dismissive, he is completely indifferent to all those around him when he has his eyes on a goal. This indifference even led to him disregarding the safety of others as he was more than willing to freeze over Unova if it meant getting to see Kyurem at full strength.

• I don't think Colress even stopped to think about the lives he would be sacrificing in doing so, he was simply carrying out an experiment regardless of the outcome. And while I don't believe this justifies his actions, there were no evil intentions behind his experiments, he just never worried about the consequences.

• However, despite this indifference, I believe it is quite telling of Ghetsis' character that he alone was able to garner the distaste of Colress even though he was helping him with his research. Colress is an excellent judge of character when he gives others the time of day and from the moment they first shook hands, something about Ghetsis rubbed him the wrong way.

• In direct contrast to that, he had the very opposite reaction to the player and was immediately intrigued by you. Your first meeting was met with a friendly handshake and a flurry of questions about your relationship with your team. And with the introduction of another pokemon powered force challenging Ghetsis, he became very intrigued with the idea that perhaps whatever power you held could be stronger than that of a legendary pushed to its limits.

• While it did throw a small wrench into his original plans, he was more than happy to see you win, science is all about new conclusions after all and after meeting you, Colress begins to favor the idea that a trainer's bond with their pokemon is the ultimate way to unlock their true strength, even without the proof to support it yet. When Ghetsis is finally defeated, Colress is one of the first to congratulate you.

• The international police may try to build a case against him, as he did aid Team Plasma, but in the end thanks to the way he kept his involvement with Team Plasma to a minimum, there's not enough evidence to convict him and he's able to walk free.

• It's entirely possible that you'll want nothing to do with him considering he did endanger the lives of an entire nation, but even if you are hostile to him, Colress doesn't react negatively to it at all almost ignoring it as he treats the two of you as if you're good friends. Thanks to you, or at least he considers it thanks to you, he's accepted the bonds between pokemon and trainer as his new course of study. I like to think his moral compass has improved somewhat too, the events in Unova being eye-opening to him and leading him to understand that working with others and forming friendships can be far more useful to his research than he originally thought possible.

• He also leaves Unova afterward to travel and expand his research and routinely pops up during your travels in other regions and inserts himself into whatever you may be doing (sometimes you wonder if it might not just be coincidence as he insists it is). Usually prodding you with friendly questions and even inviting you back to his lab. You've yet to accept but he insists his doors are always open if you change your mind and want to swing by for a chat, but something tells you he has a little more than just chatting in mind.

• Looker doesn't like him and does his best to keep him away from you if he's around when he happens to pop up, even if you yourself are on friendly terms with Colress. For now at least you suppose it's safe to consider him an ally. He always seems more than happy to help when you are involved, offering a variety of high-tech solutions. And who knows, having someone like that on your side may prove quite helpful later on.

Okay, long post, thank you for reading! I'm gonna move on to professor, rivals, champions, literally anyone else next! I'm not quite sure who I wanna start with so if there's anyone in particular you wanna see, go ahead and ask!

[tinyhistory]

Hey! Love your stories so much I just had to ask! Do you have any favorite drarry authors/stories? I sometimes compare the quality of other stories to ROA (oops!) because ROA is just that good. My personal favorites are ROA (of course!), the Foundations Series (saras_girl), the ordeal of being known (louisfake), denouement (the_never_was), Good to Me (And I'd Be So Good to You) (AWickedMemory), and To Hurt and Heal (cassisluna). Have you read these? Have a wonderful day! :)

Thank you, so glad you’ve enjoyed my stories! And thank you for so patiently waiting for a reply. I haven’t been online much in the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately I haven’t read any of your recs, but I’m always happy to add another fic to my to-read list.

I did a rec post a few months ago, but I’ll post an updated version now. The Skyhawke Archives appear to be down, which is crushing news. I’ve had to update a lot of the links.

So here are my favourite Drarry fanfics:

And We Are At Our Apogee (PG-13) by angelgazing

Summary: Draco wanted revenge, but it didn't work out that way.

My notes: Californian beaches, supermarkets, road trips, and a bittersweet ending.

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A Reckless State of Mind (T) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Draco is a Psyche-Diver, and his newest patient is Auror Potter, who’s been a pathological liar for over a year—and has just tried to violently end his own life.

Notes: The plot alone guarantees inclusion on this list. Probably the most creative fic I’ve ever read, and the twists and turns will keep you guessing.

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Berlin, In the Year of Our Lord (PG) by Are

Summary: Harry is a green-tea addict. Draco stalks him.

Notes: Probably my all-time favourite fic, along with Blue Vase. It’s sparse and minimal and I love that writing style.

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Blue Vase (M) by ivyblossom

Summary: Let’s pretend.

Notes: Draco finds an amnesiac Harry and befriends him, pretending they were once lovers. It’s pensive, short, and bittersweet.

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The Boy Who Only Lived Twice (E) by lettered

Summary: Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Notes: Action-heavy fics are damn hard to write, but lettered nails it. The action scenes are breakneck speed, the conversations are threaded with double meaning, and even the silences are tense.

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Draco in Darkness (T) by Plumeria47.

Summary: Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight.

Notes: This is one of the first fics I ever read (when it was over on FF in 2003) so it’s probably here just for nostalgia points alone. I read it when I was a kid and just thought it was a lovely golden fairytale, the best romance I’d ever read in my (very short, thus far) life. I love reading it again, even years later as an adult when I can see the tarnish on it; the things my childhood eyes didn’t notice. I don’t care. It’s my soft and fuzzy comfort fic.

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The Flesh is Frail (NC-17) by wildestranger

Summary: None

Notes: Draco has injuries from curses and spells, and Harry keeps him company. Draco is angry; Harry is stubborn. They argue their way into a grudging relationship. It’s a short read and well worth your ten minutes.

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Good-bye to Yesterday (NC-17) by furiosity

Summary: Draco felt ready to face even a million years in Azkaban as long as it meant that at the end of it all, he would make Potter pay.

Notes: It’s not a dark fic, but it certainly dips in and out of the shadows. If you like your romance to be sharp as a razor and bitter as black coffee, give it a read.

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Hymn to Color (PG) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Months after Draco cast a curse that took Harry’s eyesight, Harry is still trying to come to terms with it. Draco still wanted forgiveness, which was probably the problem.

Notes: Probably my very inadequate idea of “fluff”. It’s a quiet, introspective fic. Draco and Harry are well-written.

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Kings among runaways (PG) by enderxenocide.

Summary: Later, the toast will be slightly overcooked, Draco will burn the eggs, and there will be another fist fight in-between the living room and the front door, but they’ll eat breakfast with second-hand plates and Draco’s great-grandmother’s silverware.

Notes: Dreamy descriptions, abstract scenes, and the characters are lovingly delineated. Beautiful writing.

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On Broken Glass (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: After the final battle, Draco is holding the shards that are left of his and Harry’s life.

Notes: Established relationship. Harry’s forgetful and seems to suffer both short-term and long-term memory loss; Draco stays by his side through six years of post-war amnesia. Very short, just a tiny ficlet. There’s sequels (in bite-size pieces) but I prefer to read the first ficlet and leave it there.

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Paper Dolls (M) by cupiscent

Summary: In the final year of the War, Draco gets a letter, makes a choice and pays the price.

Notes: Short, succinct, and packs a punch. No character deaths, in case the summary has you feeling nervous.

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Portrait (PG-13) by Silent Blast

Summary: None.

Notes: Dorian Grey, but Drarry. Of course it’s going to be good.

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Shattered (NC-17) by femmequixotic

Summary: One damned accident involving one too-lucky curse, and suddenly you'd think he was five again, with their Harry, be carefuls and their quick Levitating charms ready the instant the potion gives way and his rebelling hands lose hold of whatever's in their grasp.

Notes: Draco’s an artist. Harry’s intrigued by his sculptures and paintings.

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Snatch (PG-13) by didntyoupotter

Summary: Harry is comatose, Hermione and Ron aren’t much help, and Draco isn’t sure about anything anymore.

Notes: The opening scene fools you into thinking this will be a light read with a streak of good humour. Don’t fall for it. By the third act, you’ll be hanging onto every word and feeling a lot of emotions. Also, back in the day, this was one of the Draco/Harry fics. Everyone knew of it. Pay your respects to your fandom history and read this beloved classic.

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The Stages of Acceptance (T) by Lomonaaeren.

Summary: Harry, already happily married to Ginny, receives the news that he's Draco's mate. Law and custom don't give him the option of ignoring the news. The stages of his reaction, one by one.

Notes: This is not a romance, and I love that the author just casually chucks all the Veela tropes in the bin and says “nope”. In Lomonaaeren’s own words, this fic is more practical than romantic. Harry is unfamiliar with the Veela concepts and hates the very idea of being “shackled” to someone; he rejects Draco at once. Draco is miserable and lonely. They do eventually come to understand each other better, but it’s a huge struggle with lots of setbacks. The general air of pessimism and misery does make the small glimpses of compassion and empathy feel so well-earned. I love a fic that rations out its happiness.

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The Stately Homes of Wiltshire (E) by waspabi

Summary: Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Notes: This one needs no introduction. The writing is polished, the characterisation perfect, and the dialogue is fun. I love the humour woven throughout it.

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Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain (E) by faithwood.

Summary: It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Notes: Another one that most of us know. It’s a lighthearted and fun read.

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Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (M) by novembersnow

Summary: In the war-torn years after Hogwarts, one man has no knowledge of his yesterdays.

Notes: Another classic back in the feverish heyday of the Harry Potter fandom, when books were still being released and everyone had worked themselves up into a shipping frenzy. And no wonder this fic was an instant hit. Draco has lost all his memories and Harry’s investigating as an Auror, but the longer you read, the more you start questioning everything. Good twists and turns that lead to a tender ending.

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Turn by Saras_Girl

Summary: One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Notes: An inevitable inclusion on any favourites list. I think my favourite thing about it is the characterisation. Everyone is so well-rounded; the characters are brought to life and feel like old friends. All their habits, styles, mannerisms, even the way they walk or talk. While I love everyone in this fic, I have to admit that Blaise is just amazing. Of all the thousands of Blaises imagined by fanfic writers, I love this one the best. “Old bean” indeed.

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Under the Ivy (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: It is impressive how much you can learn about someone by simply sharing a few rooms. They don’t spend time together, not really, but Harry still knows that Malfoy prefers raspberry jam over strawberry, that he hums along to the Wireless when he thinks no one is around, and that his leg is bothering him more than usual when the temperatures drop below freezing.

Notes: Another old, old favourite of mine. It’s like snuggling into a soft blanket. Remus owns a cottage and Harry moves in after the war. Later, Remus lets a room to Draco, who is an outcast after the war and has limited housing options. Harry isn’t happy at first with the new lodger, but he eventually warms up to Draco. A slow and gentle romance.

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Vale Sanare (M) by rurounihime

Summary: Draco’s world gains a new component, just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

Notes: London nightclubs, one-night-stands, loud music and lonely nights. Draco has seizures due to a curse from the war, and the seizures have led to a fear of intimacy. Short and sweet.

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The Way Down (T) by lettered

Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”

Notes: I just adore this fic. The fic starts well-grounded, giving you a solid backstory and matter-of-fact context, but as it goes on, it slowly unravels into dreamy scenes, lush settings, and repeated motifs. It’s just such a beautiful story.

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When Love beckons to you, follow him (PG-13) by megyal

Summary: Draco wakes up, lost, somewhere in a forest. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. As he is blundering around trying to find his way home, he hears Harry's voice in his head, telling him what to do.

Notes: I generally like my fics to be bittersweet or with a bit of heartache — but this fic is just a little cloud of softness. If you need something light and lovely without being syrupy-sweet, this is a good choice!

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The World of the Living (M) by fourth_rose

Summary: A traumatised war hero and a convicted criminal under the roof of an eccentric journalist make for a rather odd ensemble, but Luna has never had a problem with oddities as long as they make sense.

Notes: The story is told from Luna’s perspective, which gives everything a lovely dreamy quality. She takes in a couple of strays after the war — first Harry, who is avoiding his other friends and has quit his Auror job — and then she offers a room to Draco right after his trial. Draco is rude, angry, and ungrateful; Harry is churlish, withdrawn, and moody. Luna doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and over the course of the next few months, her house guests slowly warm up to each other.

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Voices From the Fog (E) by noeon

Summary: After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

Notes: Harry drifts across Europe, trying to forget the war. He ends up in a woodworking shop in Amsterdam, alongside a moody Draco. Atmospheric settings and solid characterisation.

[homosexuhauls]

15 JUNE, 2021 by Chimamanda Ngozi-Adichie

IT IS OBSCENE: A TRUE REFLECTION IN THREE PARTS

PART ONE

When you are a public figure, people will write and say false things about you. It comes with the territory. Many of those things you brush aside. Many you ignore. The people close to you advise you that silence is best. And it often is. Sometimes, though, silence makes a lie begin to take on the shimmer of truth.

In this age of social media, where a story travels the world in minutes, silence sometimes means that other people can hijack your story and soon, their false version becomes the defining story about you.

Falsehood flies, and the Truth comes limping after it, as Jonathan Swift wrote.

Take the case of a young woman who attended my Lagos writing workshop some years ago; she stood out because she was bright and interested in feminism.

After the workshop, I welcomed her into my life. I very rarely do this, because my past experiences with young Nigerians left me wary of people who are calculating and insincere and want to use me only as an opportunity. But she was a Bright Young Nigerian Feminist and I thought that was worth making an exception.

She spent time in my Lagos home. We had long conversations. I was support-giver, counsellor, comforter.

Then I gave an interview in March 2017 in which I said that a trans woman is a trans woman, (the larger point of which was to say that we should be able to acknowledge difference while being fully inclusive, that in fact the whole premise of inclusiveness is difference.)

I was told she went on social media and insulted me.

This woman knows me enough to know that I fully support the rights of trans people and all marginalized people. That I have always been fiercely supportive of difference, in general. And that I am a person who reads and thinks and forms my opinions in a carefully considered way.

Of course she could very well have had concerns with the interview. That is fair enough. But I had a personal relationship with her. She could have emailed or called or texted me. Instead she went on social media to put on a public performance.

I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. But I mostly held myself responsible. My spirit had been slightly stalled, from the beginning, by her. My first sense of unease with her came when she posted a photo taken in my house, at a time when I did not want any photos of my personal life on social media. I asked that she take it down. The second case of unease was her publicizing something I had told her in confidence about another member of the workshop. The most upsetting was when she, without telling me, used my name to apply for an American visa. Above all else was my lingering suspicion that she was a person who chose as friends only those from whom she could benefit. But she was a Bright Young Nigerian Feminist and I allowed that sentiment to over-ride my unease.

After she publicly insulted me, it was clear to me that this kind of noxious person had no business in my life, ever again.

A few months later, she sent this affected, self-regarding email which I ignored.

Friday September 15 2017 at 4.35 AM

Dearest Chimamanda,

Happy birthday. I mean this with all my heart, even though I know I have fallen (removed myself?) from your grace. It would be impossible for me to stop loving you; long before you gave me the possibility of being your friend you were the embodiment of my deepest hopes, and that will never change.

I think of you often, still – stating the obvious. I grieve the loss of our friendship; it is a complicated sadness. I’m sorry that I caused you pain, or to feel like you can no longer trust me. There’s so much that I wish could be said.

I pray this birthday is the happiest one yet. I wish you rest and quiet and abiding stability, and of course more of the kind of success that means the most to you.

I hope mothering X is everything you hoped and prayed for and more.

Have a wonderful day today.

Love always.

About a year later, she sent this email, which I also ignored.

Thursday November 29 2018 at 8.42 AM

Dear Chimamanda,

I realise this is long overdue and vastly insufficient, but I’m really sorry. I’ve spent so much time going back and forth in my head and my email drafts; wondering whether to write you, how to write you, what to say, all kinds of things. But in the end, this is the thing I realise I need to say.

I’m sorry I disappointed and hurt you by saying things publicly that were sharply critical, unkind and even disrespectful, especially in light of all the backlash and criticism you experience from people who don’t know you. I could have acted with more consideration towards you. I should have, especially given the privilege of intimacy that you had offered me. There are many reasons why I chose to behave the way I did, but none of them is an excuse. And I clearly realise now, after many, many months of needless sadness and angst and hurt and actual confusion, that I did not treat you as a friend would—certainly not as someone would to whom you had offered unprecedented access to yourself and your life.

You’ve meant the world to me since I was barely a teenager. It’s been very hard navigating the emotional fallout of the past several months, knowing you were displeased with me but truly not quite understanding why, then deciding I didn’t care, then realising that would never be true. I’ve always cared. But I was too mixed up about the situation to be able to make sense of it, or properly see past my own justifications. I’m sorry it took me so long to grasp how I let you down.

I realise that I don’t have room to ask anything of you, but I would be grateful for a chance to say this in person. Still, even if I never get that, I really hope you believe me.

Congratulations on restarting the workshop, and on all the other amazing successes of the past several months. I think of you often; it would be impossible not to. You look so happy in your pictures. I really hope you are well.

All my love,

I hoped never to hear from her again. But she has recently gone on social media to write about how she “refused to kiss my ring,” as if I demanded some kind of obeisance from her. She also suggests that there is some dark, shadowy ‘more’ to tell that she won’t tell, with an undertone of “if only you knew the whole story.”

It is a manipulative way of lying. By suggesting there is ‘more’ when you know very well that there isn’t, you do sufficient reputational damage while also being able to plead deniability. Innuendo without fact is immoral.

No, there isn’t more to the story. It is a simple story – you got close to a famous person, you publicly insulted the famous person to aggrandize yourself, the famous person cut you off, you sent emails and texts that were ignored, and you then decided to go on social media to peddle falsehoods. It is obscene to tell the world that you refused to kiss a ring when in fact there isn’t any ring at all.

I cannot make much of the hostility of strangers who do not know me – fame taints our view of the humanity of famous people. But the truth is that the famous person remains irretrievably human. Fame does not inoculate the famous person from disappointment and depression, fame does not make you any less angered or hurt by the duplicitous nature of people. To be famous is to be assumed to have power, which is true, but in the analysis of fame, people often ignore the vulnerability that comes with fame, and they are unable to see how others who have nothing to lose can lie and connive in order to take advantage of that fame, while not giving a single thought to the feelings and humanity of the famous person.

And when you personally know a famous person, when you have experienced their humanity, when you have benefited from their kindness, and yet you are unable to extend to them the basic grace and respect that even a casual acquaintanceship deserves, then it says something fundamental about you.

And in a deluded way, you will convince yourself that your hypocritical, self-regarding, compassion-free behavior is in fact principled feminism. It isn’t. You will wrap your mediocre malice in the false gauziness of ideological purity. But it’s still malice. You will tell yourself that being able to parrot the latest American Feminist orthodoxy justifies your hacking at the spirit of a person who had shown you only kindness. You can call your opportunism by any name, but it doesn’t make it any less of the ugly opportunism that it is.

PART TWO

When I first read this person’s work, which was their application to my writing workshop, I thought the sentences were well-done. I accepted this person. At the workshop, I thought they could have been more respectful of the other participants, perhaps not kept typing dismissively as others’ stories were discussed, with an air of being among people below their level. After the workshop, I decided to select the best stories, edit them, pay the writers a fee, and publish them in an e-magazine. The first story I chose was this person’s. I wrote a glowing introduction, which the story truly deserved.

They sent this email.

Fri, Aug 7, 2015, 8:20 AM

Thank you so much for that introduction. It means so much to me and I’m going to keep reading it to get through the rest of my stay at Syracuse. I sent it to my mother and she got nervous about the piece because you said ‘it disturbs’, said she’s not sure how she’s going to feel when she reads it. But she’s also one of those ‘let’s leave the past in the past’ people. My sister approved, which meant a lot because our childhoods were each other’s.

All that to say, I’m so grateful you gave me the space to write the short version of this piece, the encouragement to write the longer piece, and now, a platform for it. I definitely have plans to write more about Aba.

Thank you, with all my heart.

PS- I wanted to sign off gratefully + gracefully in Igbo but I said let me not fall my own hand 🙂

About a year later, they sent another email to let me know that their novel would be published.

Wed, Jun 8, 2016, 8:20 AM

Greetings!

I hope all’s been well with you this past year. Belated congratulations on the baby’s arrival, I hope she’s being a delight (I’m sure she is), and on the Johns Hopkins honors.

I was thinking about how this time last year, I’d just received the email from you about Farafina and I wanted to reach out with a quick update. I’ve just accepted an offer for the novel I excerpted as my application and it feels like the workshop was a catalyst for the events that’ve led me here. So, thank you, for the workshop and your words and the Olisa TV series and listening to me babble on about my story at the hotel. I deeply appreciate all of it and you.

All my best,

Before the novel was published, I spoke of it to some people, to help it get attention. I had not been able to finish reading it. I found the writing beautiful, but the story false-hearted and burdened by bathos. When I spoke of the novel, however, it was the former sentiment that I expressed, never the latter.

After I gave the March 2017 interview in which I said that a trans woman is a trans woman, I was told that this person had insulted me on social media, calling me, among other things, a murderer. I was deeply upset, because while I did not really know them personally, I felt they knew what I stood for and that I fully supported the rights of trans people, and that I do not wish anybody dead.

Still, I took no action. I ignored the public insult.

When this person’s publishers sent me an early copy of their novel, I was surprised to see that my name was included in their cover biography. I had never seen that done in a book before. I didn’t like that I had not been asked for permission to use my name, but most of all I thought – why would a person who thinks I’m a murderer want my name so prominently displayed in their biography?

Then I learned that, because my name was in the cover biography, a journalist had called them my “protegee” and they then threw a Twitter tantrum about it, calling it clickbait, viciously disavowing having received any help from me.

I knew this person had called me a murderer, I knew they were actively campaigning to “cancel” me and tweeting about how I should no longer be invited to speak at events. But this I felt I could not ignore.

I sent an email to my representative:

From: Chimamanda Adichie

Date: Wed, Feb 14, 2018 at 2:06 PM

I’m writing about X

She attended my Lagos workshop two years ago and I selected hers as one of a few pieces I published after the workshop.

Apparently I was referred to as her ‘mentor’ and/or she was referred to as my ‘protege,’ in some articles, which led to her tweeting about it. Her tweets were forwarded to me by friends. In them, she reacted quite viscerally to my being called her ‘mentor’ and her being my ‘protege.’ To be fair, she is not technically my ‘protege,’ and it is perfectly fine that she feels this way, but her ungracious tone and the ugliness of the energy spent on her tweets surprised me.

I recently received her book and noticed that my name was included in her official book bio. I was stunned. Surely if she is so strongly averse to my being considered a person who has been significant in her career, (which is my understanding of the loose use of protege/mentor) then it is unseemly to make the choice to include my name in her bio. I found it unusual, as I don’t think I’ve seen it done before in a book bio, but I also now find it unacceptably cynical.

It is only reasonable for a person who sees my name as it is used in her bio — ‘her work has been selected and edited by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’ — to assume some sort of mentor/protege relationship.

To publicly disavow this with a tone bordering on hostility and at the same time so baldly use my name to sell her book is utterly unacceptable to me.

I’d like you to please reach out to her publishers and ask that my name be removed from her official book bio. I refuse to be used in this way.

After contacting her publishers, my representative wrote:

They have asked whether your preference would be to remove the Acknowledgment to you in the back of the book also, in future reprints.

I replied:

I don’t think that is my decision to take, and so will not answer either way, although it would be ideal if she herself made the decision to do so.

On the subject of how to go about it, I was absolutely determined not to be used by this person, but I was also sensitive to the costs the publisher might incur, as this was not in any way the publisher’s fault. Instead of pulping the already printed copies, I asked that the jackets be stripped and rebound. To my representative I wrote:

I’m completely determined that I not be used in this opportunistic and hypocritical way. But I want to make sure to proceed reasonably.

I was assured that my name would be removed and I moved on.

But from time to time, I would be informed of yet another social media post in which this person had attacked me.

This person has created a space in which social media followers have – and this I find unforgiveable – trivialized my parents’ death, claiming that the sudden and devastating loss of my parents within months of each other during this pandemic, was ‘punishment’ for my ‘transphobia.’

This person has asked followers to pick up machetes and attack me.

This person began a narrative that I had sabotaged their career, a narrative that has been picked up and repeated by others.

The normal response would be to ignore it all, because this person is seeking attention and publicity to benefit themselves. Claiming that I have sabotaged their career is a lie and this person knows that it is a lie. But if something is repeated often enough, in this age in which people do not need proof or verification to run with a story, especially a story that has outrage potential, then it can easily begin to seem true.

My addressing this lie will indeed get this person some attention – may they bask in it.

Here is the truth: I was very supportive of this writer. I didn’t have to be. I wasn’t asked to be. I supported this writer because I believe we need a diverse range of African stories.

Sabotaging a young writer’s career is just not my style; I would get no benefit or satisfaction from it. Asking that my name be removed from your biography is not sabotaging your career. It is about protecting my boundaries of what I consider acceptable in civil human behavior.

You publicly call me a murderer AND still feel entitled to benefit from my name?

You use my name (without my permission) to sell your book AND then throw an ugly tantrum when someone makes a reference to it?

What kind of monstrous entitlement, what kind of perverse self-absorption, what utter lack of self-awareness, what unheeding heartlessness, what frightening immaturity makes a person act this way?

Besides, a person who genuinely believes me to be a murderer cannot possibly want my name on their book cover, unless of course that person is a rank opportunist.

PART THREE

In certain young people today like these two from my writing workshop, I notice what I find increasingly troubling: a cold-blooded grasping, a hunger to take and take and take, but never give; a massive sense of entitlement; an inability to show gratitude; an ease with dishonesty and pretension and selfishness that is couched in the language of self-care; an expectation always to be helped and rewarded no matter whether deserving or not; language that is slick and sleek but with little emotional intelligence; an astonishing level of self-absorption; an unrealistic expectation of puritanism from others; an over-inflated sense of ability, or of talent where there is any at all; an inability to apologize, truly and fully, without justifications; a passionate performance of virtue that is well executed in the public space of Twitter but not in the intimate space of friendship.

I find it obscene.

There are many social-media-savvy people who are choking on sanctimony and lacking in compassion, who can fluidly pontificate on Twitter about kindness but are unable to actually show kindness. People whose social media lives are case studies in emotional aridity. People for whom friendship, and its expectations of loyalty and compassion and support, no longer matter. People who claim to love literature – the messy stories of our humanity – but are also monomaniacally obsessed with whatever is the prevailing ideological orthodoxy. People who demand that you denounce your friends for flimsy reasons in order to remain a member of the chosen puritan class.

People who ask you to ‘educate’ yourself while not having actually read any books themselves, while not being able to intelligently defend their own ideological positions, because by ‘educate,’ they actually mean ‘parrot what I say, flatten all nuance, wish away complexity.’

People who do not recognize that what they call a sophisticated take is really a simplistic mix of abstraction and orthodoxy – sophistication in this case being a showing-off of how au fait they are on the current version of ideological orthodoxy.

People who wield the words ‘violence’ and ‘weaponize’ like tarnished pitchforks. People who depend on obfuscation, who have no compassion for anybody genuinely curious or confused. Ask them a question and you are told that the answer is to repeat a mantra. Ask again for clarity and be accused of violence. (How ironic, speaking of violence, that it is one of these two who encouraged Twitter followers to pick up machetes and attack me.)

And so we have a generation of young people on social media so terrified of having the wrong opinions that they have robbed themselves of the opportunity to think and to learn and to grow.

I have spoken to young people who tell me they are terrified to tweet anything, that they read and re-read their tweets because they fear they will be attacked by their own. The assumption of good faith is dead. What matters is not goodness but the appearance of goodness. We are no longer human beings. We are now angels jostling to out-angel one another. God help us. It is obscene.

[ashes-in-a-jar]

There Are Moments Like These That Keep Me on My Feet

Martin realises a terrible truth regarding Jon's relationship with this new world and has to make a decision on how to handle it.

Hurt and comfort in the Apocalypse and their consequences.

Rated: G

Word count: 2.3K

Tw: non sexual intimacy, memory loss, bad tea

Looking back after leaving Upton House, Martin finally understood. He'd had a feeling, he wasn't completely blind but he had hoped, hoped so badly that he was wrong. That all those times were just a fluke. That he was imagining things. But no, Jon really did forget. It was almost unnoticeable, small things really, but Jon forgot them all.

It started at Kinloss Barracks. Jon had just finished whatever it was the Eye made him talk about. When Martin looked up and uncovered his ears he saw Jon with the tape recorder clicking off, looking pale and rattled. As Jon breathed deeply Martin got up from where he was huddled and crouched next to him, gently cupping his cheek.

"Hey, you alright?"

Jon inhaled one more time. As he resumed breathing normally he turned his face into Martin's hand, lips softly moving against his palm.

"I'm okay Martin. It was just. Alot. Like my first statements at the institute. " He huffed in amused irony and Martin's heart clenched.

"Do you need something? Can I help?" Martin hated how useless he felt when Jon's emotions were at odds with his... Patron.

"It's alright Martin, I'm alright. Maybe just... Stay like this for a bit?" Jon mumbled, holding Martin's hand in place where he was framing Jon's face.

"Okay. I can do that." Martin huffed a small smile and brought the other hand up as well, bracketing both of Jon's sides, making a barrier between him and the sounds of violence outside their little hideaway.

It didn't take long for Martin to slowly begin rubbing Jon's temples and soon enough he was gently massaging his face, trying to draw out the tension set between the eyebrows and beneath the hairline and throughout the pronounced cheekbones.

Jon sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, letting out small sounds of approval every few moments.

When Martin was done, Jon opened his eyes languidly and smiled softly at Martin. "That felt good. Thank you, Martin. For everything."

"It's nothing, I'm here for you."

"I know." Jon took a moment to just look at Martin with that tender but piercing gaze Martin was still trying to get used to ever since they left the Lonely, then took Martin's hands in his and helped both of them up on their feet. "Let's go."

Later, after the village, after the many questions answered and unanswered, after Helen's headache-inducing laugh dissipated with a creak of a door, Jon made a sound akin to a groan-infused sigh. Martin glanced at him and saw he was rubbing the bridge of his nose, moving his hands to his temples. Martin took a step to face him. "Do you want me to do that again?" He asked, raising his arms as indication.

Jon's thick eyebrows creased in confusion "Do what again?"

"You know, in the war zone when you finished…" Martin saw a deepening confusion and decided to forgo the explanation, "Here." He brought his hands up to rub Jon's temples. Once again Jon sighed and once again he thanked Martin softly when it was time they moved on. He didn't mention Martin doing that again afterwards, or ask for it when Martin didn't offer. Which he did every now and then, suspicion growing as each time Jon reacted in novelty.

But that wasn't the only instance. Martin brought with him his poetry book in his pack. When they were able to talk about the carousel again without mentioning the... Smiting, Martin insisted on defending the good aspects of poetry which the Stranger mostly lacked, namely identity and awareness. Jon countered by asking Martin to prove it and recite poetry. "That's not fair, I can't remember them by heart that well."

"Martin, you have a poetry book here, why not just read out of it?"

"You, you want to hear my poetry?" Martin nearly tripped.

"I thought it was obvious by this point there is nothing I'd like more." Jon smiled at him.

Martin recoiled and stammered incoherently. Jon interrupted.

"Martin, stop. I know your poetry is good. I've seen some." Blatantly choosing to ignore his own wince at the circumstances in which he managed to peek at Martin's writing, he went on. "It really is quite good. It'd be a shame not to take the chance to perform a bit of your words. You'll find I make quite a compelling listener." Jon smiled lopsidedly and Martin snorted.

"Okay, okay fine. One poem. And I pick!"

"Fine." Jon shrugged.

Martin intentionally chose one of his more mundane works. About rain and windows of opportunity being washed away. It did hint a bit at the times where his feelings for Jon felt unanswered but it wasn't as... Glaring as others he had.

When he finished he looked up expectantly. He was not prepared for the intensely affectionate expression he saw, nor the tackle of a bear hug that followed.

"Jon! Watch out, we're walking!" He gasped, muffled by the shock of Jon's tangled hair in his face. They had to stop anyway, as Jon refused to let go, tightening his hold and nuzzling into Martin's neck.

"Thank you." He said quietly. "That was... That was more affecting than I thought it would be."

"Really? It's just some words on paper." Martin teased, petting the hair near his face, mainly to get strands of it out of his mouth.

"But they're your words, Martin. They are a, a window into you, how you think and who you are. I don't Look to see what you are thinking a-and the you in front of me is more than enough! Truly! But it's nice to hear a bit more. And it's nice to see that, that I'm there too. This made me really happy, Martin. Thank you."

"O-oh." Martin squeaked, not expecting the forthright reaction. He laughed nervously "Well in that case, we'll make it a, a tradition? Once in a while, if you ask nicely, I'll read you a poem- If you want." he added quickly, feeling a little presumptuous.

"You already know my feelings on the matter. Don't worry, I will ask you again, you can be certain of that." And with that he planted a kiss on the dazed Martin's cheek, readjusted his backpack and began walking again. Martin chuckled to himself and rushed to join him.

But the request never came again. And later, when Martin tentatively asked Jon if he wanted another recitation, Jon's face lit up and said, "So you're finally willing to share? I thought I'd never see the day."

Martin looked at him confused but said nothing and instead chose a different poem about bridges and connections which elicited a very similar reaction as the first.

The request never came again unless Martin offered. Each time he was too afraid to try the same poem lest his concerns would be confirmed. He didn't want to know.

There were other times as well. The time after the Lonely estate when Martin insisted on sitting with their meager supply of tea and talking about small nothings. The tea was nicer than he expected and Jon was practically jovial with giddy relief at Martin's rescue and choice to stay with him, laughing sonorously and uncharacteristically at Martin's silly jokes. Later, he did not recall what they laughed about, nor understood why the tea supply was depleted when Martin tried to remind him. Other jokes in general too. Martin would make Jon laugh and when referring back to the joke, Jon would simply stare at him blankly. Jon did not remember when Martin brushed and braided his ever more tangled hair, fiddling with the stands wondering aloud when he'd done that. Jon forgot when Martin took out his sewing kit and fixed a hole made by the fires of the Desolation, wondering why his shirt suddenly had stitches. Jon forgot compliments, short rests when they quietly held one another close, brief exchanges of reassurance.

Martin tried not to think about it, tried not to make the connection. Tried not to read into the words 'They just get whatever hurts them the most. Even me.' that Jon had said when they were traveling with Basira on her tragic quest. Tried not to remember the times Jon, and even Martin himself, commented about the nature of this place,

'This is not a world where you can trust comfort.'

'Levity off the cards.'

'Nice things, they tend not to stay nice out there.'

But they were there. And he had to face it at some point. Because after they've left the wonderful comfort of Salesa's home, Jon, feeling rejuvenated, said with a dreamy quality to his voice, "Pity. It’s going away. That peace, the safety, the memory of ignorance. It's gone. Like a dream."

"That’s… Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Martin replied, resigned. It was all coming together now and Martin could not avoid it any longer.

Jon couldn't remember. He was the 'Archive' and whatever that meant ensured Jon retained all the pain and fear this world had to offer and nothing else. Jon could not keep the memories of anything nice or happy that happened to him personally in this hellscape. Every good word, every caring touch, every wide smile, bark of laughter. It all faded right after it occurred. Maybe if it was small enough he could remember. But Martin's mothering? Martin's hugs? Martin's tea? Martin's poetry? None of it stayed. Only Martin could remember those moments and what was lost.

As they walked away from the green and the sky Martin fell slightly behind, trying to reign in his tears.

Of course he remembered. This place ensured that Martin would remember so the pain of loss would be ever more acute later. It was what this world was. The worst pain it could inflict on them.

It's not fair! They had just got together, they had just begun to open up, share their deepest facets with each other, enjoy the closeness. Was that all pointless? Were all of his efforts worth anything in the long run at all? Martin felt himself slowly descending into a sharp kind of despair that became heavier and heavier as he sunk deeper.

No! He forced himself upright and shook his head vigorously,letting the tears shake off his face.

No! It was worth it! Those moments are there and they exist, even if the memory is gone. They have value and a worth inherent to them as the Good moments that they are, apocalypse rules be damned!

He balled his hands into fists, silently challenging whichever dread power was listening. They cannot take those moments away! The hugs, the soft gazes, the pure happiness, even forgotten will remain and have their merit. Martin will make sure there are more of them, always more of them, to spite the Eye! To spite the Fears! To spite this place! Jon will get all of the love he deserves, memory or not. Martin will double, no, triple the care he will give Jon, make sure he is okay in the quiet moments, give him a reason to smile.

He will see the braided hair afterwards, feel the ache in his cheeks from a long laugh, feel the lingering warmth around his arms and back, the tingle on his lips. The remnants will give him the strength to stand against the powers that be and retain the hope they cultivated. And Martin will be there, every step of the way. Loving, caring, smiling. Because that's what they deserve. And Martin will fight for it to the end.

Later, after that dreadful hospital and another long stretch of time walking quietly, contemplating. Martin was sure Jon was still agonizing over his decision to help Breekon by relieving him of his suffering, so Martin called Jon to stop.

"What?" Jon asked, confused.

"I am making the executive decision to make a stop and rest. I have a little bit of tea left and I will read you some of my poetry while we're at it."

Jon's face lit up, though still retaining its confused quality. "Alright, if you insist. What brought this on?"

Martin already settled down and began setting up a small fire for the water. "We had a time so now we're taking a breather. The air here is slightly fresher than what it was back there."

"Alright." Jon smiled.

Martin put the small pot on the fire and looked up at Jon still standing over him "C'mere, " he opened his arms.

Chuckling lightly, Jon unslung his pack and sank into Martin's embrace. Martin in turn pulled him in tight and nuzzled the top of his hair.

"I know it wasn't easy back there but what you did, it was the right thing to do."

"How do you know?" Bitterness seeped into Jon's voice and Martin began stroking circles on his back. Jon shuffled even closer into Martin's jumper, burying his face in his chest.

"I just do. You couldn't leave him like that. A small act of mercy. To spite this place."

"If you say so." Jon mumbled into the fabric.

"I do. Now move over so I can get my book." Martin decided to read the sappiest, most Jon-related poem he had, cringe be damned.

"I don't want to." Jon grumbled and leaned in, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"Okay, we can wait. There's no rush." Martin said fondly.

They stayed that way for a long while until the water boiled over and they drank what was left if that dreadful brew that dared call itself tea. They sat there in a comfort later forgotten, reclaiming depleted energy and regaining motivation. A moment that had infinite value, regardless of what the past held or the future entailed. A tangible instant that was completely theirs within the infinite universe, unending in the singular space and time which no one can ever take away.

[itsclydebitches]

PFFFF The newest Witcher trailes LITERALLY throws shade! They have the 'Geralt, but you've been such lone wofl so long, what change' and deadass show JASKIER before later shoving Geralt saying 'Yennefer' like a cheap 'no homo!' excuse. I can't. xD Whoever edited it knows what's on. xD

I feel so conflicted about the Jaskier-Geralt relationship in the show because on the one hand, yeah, they're definitely leaning into this non-romance in a way that can get uncomfortable for some, how shall I put this... jaded viewers lol. We know they'll never be canon. No matter what else we might say about Netflix's inability to accurately adapt the books, Geralt/Yennefer has always and will always be endgame, so getting intimacy between Geralt and Jaskier in these particular ways (flirty jokes, bath scene, argument staged like a breakup), while not explicitly queerbaiting, can make viewers feel... icky about it all. Especially for any show-only fans who might not know that Geralt/Yennefer is endgame. Many viewers, particularly American viewers, approach shows as malleable forms of entertainment that can provide them with the representation they crave, provided the fanbase is vocal enough about wanting it. And the more talk that surfaces about major, crucial changes to the plot that reinterpret huge swaths of the books' purpose and intent, the more it can feel like they might just change Geralt's love life too! Even though they (obviously) won't. And frankly shouldn't given that this is supposed to be a faithful adaptation.

Yet on the flipside, the Netflix versions of Jaskier and Geralt don't feel intimate to me at all. Their hostile introduction, Geralt outright punching him, the continued performance of 'I'm a big strong manly man who can't admit that he cares about others,' reducing decades of their bonding to a surprising, throwaway line, that argument when Geralt blames Jaskier for all his problems... it's terrible and I've never liked this dynamic for them (even as I, somewhat hypocritically, play with it in fic). So I'm like, you're intimate enough that fans are starting to side-eye the creators' intentions and yet simultaneously not intimate in any of the ways you should be if you were actually faithful adaptations of the book. And these problems, I believe, go hand-in-hand. By ignoring the actual friendship of the books, Netflix has been forced to "prove" that they care for one another by falling back on tired buddy tropes that, historically, fans have used as evidence for a potential romantic relationship. By not writing Geralt and Jaskier as having the open, witty, philosophical, caring-but-also-taking-no-shit relationship they had in the books, Netflix has fallen back on a dynamic that isn't doing their show any favors. Fans either hate it, or love it to the point where they expect something of the show that the show can never deliver.

So it's a mess! And that mess hasn't done Yennefer any favors either. I'm really not in a position to be defending that pairing - I've never hid that I'm not a Geralt/Yen fan - but whatever the books did that made others love their relationship... I don't think Netflix is capitalizing on that either. In that other ask I brought up how in the games their relationship seems to revolve entirely around Ciri and sex. If they're not talking about their daughter (or if Yen isn't being cruel) their relationship is just about how horny they are for each other, which... isn't really a relationship to me. Or at least, not the deep, "We belong together forever, we're basically soulmates" relationship that the franchise is going for. Same with Netflix. I never liked the foundation of their relationship being an ambiguous wish that tethered them irrevocably and a quickie in the rubble as a replacement for actually getting to know one another... but Netflix takes those aspects and emphasizes them to a disappointing degree.

"You spent a lifetime alone. What changed?"

"Yennefer of Vengerberg."

Yet when it comes time for the trailer to show us what this deep, insightful relationship is that changed a man after an entire lifetime of wandering alone... it's just sex. That's literally all Netflix is able to show us because that's the only meaningful interactions Geralt and Yen have had together. Here's a clip of them falling into bed together and Geralt, without any of that emotional work shown to the viewer, professes that he loves Yennefer the way she's always wanted to be loved.

Here's a clip of the joke we got where Jaskier is gaping over them having sex on the floor post-Yen nearly killing the lot of them.

I'm like... what out of any of this is meant to be appealing to me? Besides the fact that they're both hot as hell? (The casting does make my little bi heart happy lol.) For me, Geralt and Yen are a classic case of a story insisting they're meant for each other because That's Just How Stories Work, without doing any of the actual, you know, work to show us why they like each other, or how they got there, or why these superficial things (the sex is great!) trump the huge hurdles they should be working through. The games might have their flaws, but god bless 'em for letting the characters point out, "Hey... how do we even know this love is real and not just a byproduct of the djinn's wish?"

Geralt and Jaskier, as established, absolutely have their problems in the show, but I can understand why so many fans ship them over Geralt/Yen. And no, though bigotry can play a part, we also can't demonize the entirety of its popularity with, "You just hate women/are racist/creepily obsessed with queer men/whatever the latest accusation is." Rather, the popularity exists because, whatever their faults, it feels like they actually have a relationship in the show. We see them developing together in a way we simply don't get with Yennefer/Geralt and because that development isn't largely reduced to sex scenes—the narrative trying to pass every bonding moment off as True Love, with True Love equaling physical attraction—it comes across (at least to me) as more realistic and believable, especially given Geralt's character, someone who is emotionally closed off. If Vesemir (I think it's Vesemir) asked what changed and we deliberately cut to that moment of Jaskier leaving after Geralt drove him away... I'd more easily believe that yeah, this relationship is causing Geralt to rethink things in a way he hasn't for an entire lifetime. We've seen them travel together, become (begrudging) comrades, defend one another, do favors for each other, tease each other, have a major fight that they'll inevitably make up from, Jaskier is presented as Geralt's first friend, and none of this is tied to a questionable wish, or passed off as the totality of Geralt's development.

The fact that Netflix would include those lines, cut to a legitimately heart-wrenching moment between Geralt and Jaskier, but when it comes times to show his relationship with Yennefer, the most powerful moments are her without him (smashing the mirror, undergoing her transformation, stepping out in her new body for the first time, etc.) and their moments together are just sex—one of which is used partially for comedy—well... that just illustrates the problem for me. What relationship? The one that supposedly exists simply because the story says it's there? I don't think I'll ever be a Geralt/Yen shipper, but I'm perfectly capable of separating my personal preferences from subpar writing choices. Netflix is far into the latter. The way that they're adapting the story is, imo, hurting both fans of the book material and fans who are on the fence about book material. Because so few of these changes are working well, we've lost all the good the books contained and are now stuck with so much new bad. Basically, "No one liked that."

Except, of course, for the Geralt/Jaskier shippers riding the coattails of those tropes... though many will likely be disappointed and hurt by the series' end when they're not made canonical, with others growing frustrated with how the fandom has turned on them simply for liking what they were given. It's really turning into a lose-lose for everyone involved.

[nastasyafilippovnas]

Santhony (duh) for "you look at him/her the way i look at you" and "tell me how you really feel about me?"

Thanks! I went for the "you look at him the way i look at you" first, if I do the other I will tag you. <3 Beware of the angst ahead, lol.

santhony + you look at him the way i look at you (wc. 894)

“You look at him the way I look at you.” Siena stilled at the sound of his voice coming from behind her. The words seemed to brush against the hairs on the back of her neck, even though she was at loss as to their meaning. 

It had been three years. Too long, some would say. Not long enough to heal her heart, she would've answered. 

Anthony came closer and stopped beside her. His hair was cut slightly different, shorter, following the current London fashion. And she thought she could see some extra worry lines around his eyes. But his body still had that same physicality that she had throughly enjoyed years ago and he looked more attractive than ever. She had sincerely hoped married life would’ve turned him soft and fat, but it  didn’t seem to be the case. Yet, she added to herself. They had only been married for two years, after all. 

She had known there was a chance she would be seeing him tonight. It was the most sought out event of the season and surely the Bridgertons wouldn’t miss it. And she had been, if she were completely honest, equally dreading and hoping for an encounter. But she hadn’t noticed when he had arrived and his unexpected presence next to her left her feeling out of sorts.

“My lord.” She greeted him as calmly as she could manage, bowing her head. If she pretended he was just another gentleman, it became easier. “It’s been a while. I hope you’re well.”

“Siena.” He didn’t bother calling her Miss Rosso or feigning they didn’t know each other. And there was still that same softness she had missed about how he pronounced her name. If anyone were listening in to their conversation, it sure would be enough to raise commentaries about his lack of propriety. She could only imagine what Lady Whistledown would write about it on her paper next morning. “I see you’re doing well…with the Prince.” 

He knew it then. Of course he knew. It was only the most talked about subject (scandal, if one was to use their favorite word) of the ton.

“His Grace has been most kind to me.” She answered politely, a small smile gracing her lips. “I can't complain of anything.” 

Indeed, it was the truth, Prince Friedrich had been very attentive. The invitation to perform, and later the spot as lead soprano at the Viena Opera House, she had gotten all on her own. But it had taken one look at her during the performance of Medea (and a meeting in her dressing room afterwards) for the Prince to fall head over heels. He had sat her up in a townhouse on the most elegant and desirable neighborhood in Viena and lavished her with all kinds of presents, more gowns and jewelry than she knew what to do with. He also had a goodness to him Siena had rarely found in members of the male sex, especially not in those of royal blood. Sometimes she still wondered how she had gotten so lucky to find such a protector. 

So when Friedrich asked her to travel back to London with him, in another one of his visits to his dear aunt, Siena could hardly deny his request. Not even knowing it meant likely seeing Anthony again.

“I…I am happy for you, Siena.” She searched for a hint of irony in his words and found none. His eyes looked sad, but she could tell he meant every word he said. “I can see it when you look at him. You’re in love.”

Siena could feel her carefully constructed façade of indifference crumbling under his words.

What was it that he had said? You look at him the way I look at you. 

Oh.

“Anthony…” His name came out pained before she could stop herself. She didn’t know how to continue that sentence. I’m not. I am, but not…

Before she could say anything she would surely regret and make a fool of herself, he took her gloved hand into his and dropped a parting kiss on it. 

The kiss was brief, a mockery of the intimacy they had once shared, but he held her hand a moment longer than necessary and she could feel herself shivering. 

“Be well, Siena."

Her eyes closed involuntarily at his words and, when she opened them again, he was already halfway across the ballroom. 

Friedrich showed up a moment later, a glass of champagne in hand for her. “Was it the Viscount Bridgerton I saw talking to you?”

“Indeed, Your Grace.” She answered, taking her flute from him and willing her hands to stop shaking. 

Apparently she didn’t do a good enough job, because Friedrich looked concerned. “Are you alright, my love? You look a little pale. He didn’t say anything to upset you, did he?"

Most of the London society didn’t approve of their relationship, and he knew they would say things to her that they wouldn’t dare say in his presence. 

“No, nothing of the sort. He was just playing his compliments to my acting skills.”

Friedrich beamed at that. “As he should, my dear. I’ve never met an opera singer who interpreted the stories so well. Your acting is as good as your singing.”

Siena smiled lovingly at him.

The greatest actress of all, she thought.

send me a sentence from this list + a ship and i'll write a drabble

[deejadabbles]

Touch (Yami/Atem x Reader)

Summary: Atem's love of affection became apparent to you rather early on, even before you two started dating. The touch-starved ex-pharaoh meant well of course, but, what happens when his affections lead you to realize that you're the exact opposite?

(or, to put it simply, an Atem stays AU where Atem's a touchy-feely cutie, but you have to work through the fact that you flinch and shy away when touched.)

AN: I've been wanting to do a little something centered around my headcanon that Atem's touch-starved for a while now, I just couldn't think of much of a plot until now. The reader's situation is based on my own experiences and feelings, my own "problems" with physical contact that I've been trying to work through. It was actually a bit therapeutic to write about and hopefully some of you guys identify with the reader, or are at least interested in the contrast between them and Atem <3

It became clear to you even as early as a month or two after Atem regained his body; after he was sent back to earth and freed to live his natural life with Yugi, you, and the rest of the gang. You suspected that he became more comfortable, once again being in his own skin and in possession of his memories, and that comforted state made him more willing to...indulge, or perhaps explore his own habits and wants.

You would have never suspected it, seeing as how the pharaoh had always been a bit distant in some ways. Always caring, supportive, and kind, of course, but distant. You would have never suspected it, but Atem was actually a rather touchy person.

It was never anything bad, never lewd or anything that crossed a line. Rather it was his hand on your shoulder paired with an encouraging squeeze. It was a gentle touch brushing between your shoulder blades as he came to stand beside you. His fingers wrapping around yours in a brief greeting, and maybe even lingering there as he smiled at you.

It wasn’t even just with you, he clapped Jonouchi on the back all the time, touched Anzu’s upper arm when she talked to him, hugged Yugi as often as he could. The list went on.

Still, despite the innocence of his touches and the fact that they weren’t directed solely at you, it made something of your own come to a sudden light. Something you hadn’t given much attention to, or even realized on a conscious level- not until you found yourself tensing against those gentle touches and flinching ever so slightly as his fingers brushed against you. You hadn’t ever realized it, but it seemed that had a bit of an issue with casual touching.

You hated your reactions, hated the way you seemed to instinctively recoil from him when he put his arm around you, or the way your very mind jolted when his hands touched yours. You hated it because you didn’t want to feel that way with Atem’s casual affections, you didn’t want to feel ill at ease or downright edgy and upset when he held you.

When you realized just how not-okay you actually were with touch, you did plenty of soul searching and reflecting on your past, wondering where this came from. There was perhaps an incident or two that might have led to this. Words said or an action done that had tarnished your association with physical contact, though you hadn’t realized it at the time, or the coming years since. Not until now.

It didn’t sit well with you at all. You wanted to like Atem’s displays, you wanted to not have those automatic reactions when he showed you those affections. He didn’t seem to notice at first, at least not before his casual touches became something more. Not before he was able to show you that he felt something more, for you.

When Atem kissed you for the first time, your body and heart were at strange odds. Your heart raced with want and elation, even as your shoulders shifted ever so slightly away from his hand as he stroked your back to pull you deeper into the kiss. You didn’t want to ruin that moment, that first wonderful kiss, because damn it you loved Atem and wanted to show him that you did.

He didn’t notice it then, but as one would suspect, after entering a relationship with each other, his affections only increased. He loved hugging you from behind, loved brushing your hair away from your face or neck so he could place a chaste kiss on your cheek or shoulder. And when you two sat together, even with friends, he seemed to almost always have a hand on you, rubbing gently across your knee, grazing the small of your back, or taking your hand in his own.

Atem hadn’t noticed your “issue” at first, but with that increased intimacy, it wasn’t long before he started to. Notice the way you tensed even as you hugged him back, or the barely noticeable flinch you gave when he rubbed your back even as you smiled at him; the way you seemed to pull away from his hands before you caught yourself.

He must have noticed eventually though, because before you knew it, Atem was starting to pull away. You noticed the way he’d reach out to you, just short of grazing his fingers across your side or taking your hand in his, before suddenly pulling back. You didn’t miss the way he shortened his hugs and lessened his chaste kisses; not lingering in the embrace nearly long enough and only giving you pecks on the cheek when you said goodbye. And though his consideration was appreciated and moved you, in the long run, you hated it. Hated that he felt like he had to deprive himself because of your reactions- especially since another part of you didn’t want him to pull away at all.

You wanted to be okay with touch, with his affections, you yearned for a day when you wouldn’t instinctively flinch away from his hands and hugs. Because no matter how or why you had that aversion, you wanted to be...better. You wanted to welcome his affections and return them in kind, but it seemed that simply wasn’t the case. Simultaneously craving touch as well as disliking it on some deep barely explored level, it was an odd situation to be in.

Slowly, you tried to get used to the physical contacts and did so by initiating them yourself. You actively told yourself to lean on his shoulder during quiet moments, to hug him with every greeting and parting, or reach out and take his hand as you walked. In some small way it might be working, but again, much like when he had first kissed you, your heart and the rest of your body were at odds.

One second you were wanting to sigh in content as you leaned against him and felt his arm wrap around you, but the next your skin started to prickle with an anxious unease. It was rather infuriating, honestly, the waring reactions making you want to scream! Perhaps you just needed time, but you wanted to be over this personal hurdle now. Or at least sooner rather than later.

***

It took Atem longer than he wanted to admit to notice it. Perhaps at first, when he had been granted a second chance at life, he was too caught up in his own reality, his own wants and habits. Having his own body as well as his memories back was astonishing at first and in some ways, he almost had to rediscover himself. In that discovery, he actively took notice to a quirk most may not expect a powerful pharaoh to have.

He noticed it in the way his hands reached out before he even thought, the way his skin tingled and warmed when someone hugged him back or touched him in turn. He remembered when he was young, how he had gravitated towards Mana not only for her bright and pure heart but because she was one of the few in the palace who never withheld her affections around him. He carried royal blood and, among his people, that made him a god- and mortals were not permitted to touch the body of a god so lightly.

There was a word for it in the modern age, and Atem admitted to himself quite early on that he was “touch starved”. His father had hugged and held him plenty when he was a child, but that decreased as he got older and most around him were barely willing to look him in the eyes, let alone show him any kind of affection that wasn’t verbal. He supposed five thousand years trapped alone in darkness didn’t help either. So much loneliness, endless and unyielding until the moment Yugi solved the puzzle, the mere memory of it still kept him awake some nights. No, it hadn’t helped at all. Nor did the years he spent as a specter, only able to view and receive the world through the lens of Yugi’s body. Even when others did hug him and clap him on the back when in control, it felt...numb in away. As if the skin not truly being his own made it impossible to truly feel touch the way he once had. And that only made him crave touch more.

It was easier now, with you, Yugi, and the rest of the gang. None of you cared that deeply about his (now irrelevant) royal status, and given how close he had become to all of you, no one seemed to think much of it when he brushed his fingers along a friend’s back or hugged someone just a second or two longer than most.

Then of course, there was the touch he wanted most. The rare times he felt you hug him back or give his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away made him feel a level of warm content he has never experienced before. He should have noticed it then, long ago, but perhaps he was too caught up in how you made him feel to notice. And of course, he was too busy figuring out the best way to act on the feelings he’d had for you even as a spirit sharing Yugi’s body.

Now that he was his own man again, free to live a life of his own, there was little stopping him from finally showing you how deeply he cared for you- Well, little aside from his own failings when it came to romance. That department was the only place he seemed to become awkward and inept, but he pushed through it all the same!

The first time he had kissed you it felt like his body was soaring; his hand rubbing along your back and pulling you closer, your own fingers gripping his biceps as if you needed grounding or held up so you wouldn’t fall. And now that the door to romance was open, Atem could...indulge even more and sate his need for touch by holding your hand, pulling you into his arms, and planting loving kisses along your skin.

Well, that is until he finally took notice to something. To the fact that you didn’t exactly seem all that comfortable with physical contact.

He finally noted the way you almost- almost, seemed to pull away from him. The way you flinched when his hand brushed your side or slid across your stomach as he hugged you from behind. You always smiled at him and seemed to put effort into returning the affections, but he couldn’t ignore those reactions.

Never, not for one moment, did Atem want to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps you didn’t like how often he showed affection, perhaps you were simply uncomfortable with his kinds of affection, or perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, Atem hated the idea of making you uneasy, no matter how much he craved you. So he pulled back, he made himself stop when he found himself snaking his arms around you, or brushing his hands against you. He still showed you affection, especially on the nights curled together on your couch, but he decreased it by a notable amount, and prayed you would forgive him for not noticing your discomfort sooner.

You must have taken notice of it because soon enough, you were increasing how often you initiated affection. More often than ever you pulled him into hugs, you reached out to take his hand or pressed your lips to his. And though he wanted to melt into your touch, he hated it. Hated that you felt the need to satisfy him at your own expense, hated that you thought you had to put aside your discomfort to appease him.

Atem loved you, by the gods did he love you, and he’d be damned if his love turned into a selfish one. He refused to cross your line of comfort, refused to let his own needs and wants override your boundaries. No matter how much he ached for you, no matter how elated your touch made him feel, he would not let you suffer for that, for him.

***

You stretched your arms over your head after taking the last bite of pizza, full and content. It was Friday, a night you and your beloved boyfriend always set aside for movies and some alone time. Hanging out with the gang was great and all, but sometimes a couple needed time to themselves. You caught the way Atem smiled before shifting his gaze back to the TV as you leaned back against your couch.

After a moment, you stole a glance at him, how relaxed he looked with his arm resting on the back of the couch and supporting his head as he watched the movie. He shifted slightly as you looked on, and you noted the way he almost (almost) seemed to lean in closer to you. You knew he was probably wanting, wishing to cuddle you close like he had so often on these nights alone.

You scooted closer until you were nestled under his arm and against his side, before resting your head on his chest. As if on instinct, Atem’s arm moved from supporting his head, to wrap tightly around you. His warmth felt nice and you could hear and feel the steady beating of his heart under your ear. However, you already sensed that irritating unease creeping up, waiting to crawl across your skin the longer he held you.

Then, you felt Atem heave a sigh and he whispered your name- before he pulled away!

You looked up at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, “Atem? What’s wrong?”

He wasn’t looking at you, instead scratching the back of his neck as he sighed again, more frustrated this time. Finally, he looked at you again, but only for a moment before he breathed your name again and grabbed the tv remote. After smashing the pause button and setting the remote aside, he moved again and faced you fully.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, tone firm, but gentle, almost abashed. “You don’t have to force yourself to show me affection like that.”

Your heart sank and an uneasy heat rose under your skin. So he had noticed, everything apparently, not only your discomfort but your efforts to push through said discomfort.

“Atem, I-”

“I’m sorry,” he cut in, averting his eyes, hands tightening as he shook his head. “I should have noticed sooner, how uncomfortable I was making you. I was being selfish, I didn’t even realize I was forcing my affections on you.”

“You weren’t!” your voice was louder than you had meant it to be, but you couldn’t help it with the borderline panic rising in your chest. “Atem, you weren’t- I mean I didn’t-” you cursed under your breath and ran a desperate hand over your face, trying to collect yourself. After a moment, you found your voice again and tried to push through the awkwardness. “Atem, I know you didn’t mean anything bad by it. You weren’t ‘forcing your affections’ on me. I get it, you’re a touchy person, I’m not going to hold that against you.”

“But now you feel like you have to put aside your own feelings to please me,” there was a bite in his tone and he still wasn’t looking at you, instead narrowing his eyes at the coffee table. “I don’t want you to feel that way. I love you, and I want to respect your boundaries, I want to respect you .”

A not entirely unwelcome fluttering started in your chest. You really had won the boyfriend lottery with Atem. After a few beats of silence, you whispered his name and reached out, brushing your hand along his cheek until he finally looked at you, gorgeous eyes meeting your own.

“The truth is, I want to be as affectionate as you. I want to be okay with your PDA and touches- damn it I really really do! I hate that I can’t reciprocate, hate that I can’t even really control how I respond. But I’m trying to get better with it. Yeah, part of it was because I wanted to make sure you weren’t...unsatisfied in the affection department, but it wasn’t just that. I want to be more affectionate too. I want to sit here and cuddle with you for hours, I want to hold your hand while we’re walking down the street, I want to rest my head on your shoulder while we’re spending time with the gang- I want all of it! I think...I think I just need time. Time and practice.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit shaky from your mini-rant, then your hand fell from his cheek to take his hand in yours. He finally seemed to ease a little, his shoulders losing some of their tenseness and he leaned in a bit closer.

He whispered your name again, “I just...I don’t want to push you. Promise me you will take your time with this? If you want to hold my hand or be held, that would be nice, but only if you want to. I can wait until you’re completely comfortable in my arms.”

You smiled at him, feeling as though something achy was finally being lifted from your whole body. It felt nice, to be honest and open. Then you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, relishing the way his breath caught in his throat and how he moved in perfect sync with you. The hand holding yours tightened a bit, and a jerk of movement indicated that he was wanting to do something with his free hand too. To test the proverbial waters, and also genuinely wanting to deepen the kiss, you took his free hand in yours and guided him to cup your face. His thumb ran along your cheek and he moaned a little when you nipped at his bottom lip.

“I promise,” you whispered against his lips sometime later, “promise I’ll take my time getting better at this. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours as he continued to stroke your cheek.

The two of you lingered there for a while, simply enjoying each other and this open, honest state. Then eventually, Atem pulled back and gave you a small smile.

“I could tell you were getting tense in my embrace earlier, so we don’t have to cuddle during the rest of the movie if you don’t want to.”

You bit your lip, mulling over the truth of his words, even as you wished they weren’t true. “I think I’d be okay with holding hands while we’re sitting here, if that’s okay.”

Atem’s smile softened and he began shifting his pose back towards the TV, “I would like that.”

You settled back into a more comfy position too as he pressed play, one hand resting in your lap, the other holding his as he gently, rather absentmindedly, stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. Only a minute or so passed before you got a certain almost whimsical urge. You brought your clasped hands up and pressed a chate kiss to the back of Atem’s hand, before dropping them back to his lap. You relished the almost bashful smile he flashed you, since a bashful Atem was a rare Atem.

Yeah, it may take some time, but being with a man who was equal parts respectful and loving, you were pretty confident you could reach that higher level of affectionate someday.

[invisibleinorange]

A Different Ending |  4/?

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: M Warnings:  Only be forewarned that this is an AU from the Adrift saga but Colin actually died in this one, so if he’s mentioned he’s actually gone. Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington (past feelings),  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics,  Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Hastings Characters:  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Penadict (do we have a ship name yet?)

Summary:  There were some requests for an alternate/Parallel word to "Bridgerton's Adrift" where Benedict and Penelope actually did get married. So this is the result of that peer pressure.

Benedict Bridgerton was hardly a virgin. He’d been with plenty of women through the years who all understood that nothing was going to come of the dalliance. He hadn’t ever been with someone who actually meant something to him.  He couldn’t earnestly say that he was in love with Penelope at this point but with every passing day of their marriage, he certainly grew to admire her more.

That admiration was why it was easy to find affection and intimacy in ways that weren’t overtly sexual in nature. They spent their days taking leisurely strolls and leaning against each other while they enjoyed their personal exploits.  She’d read to him from whatever book she’d stolen from the library and he’d spend the afternoons sketching away.  

In the evenings, they would go to bed together and while neither saw fit to initiate kissing they had progressed to curling into each other.  Sometimes, Penelope would curl into his chest and others his arms around her middle. Regardless of the form it took, they would lay there talking until sleep inevitably took them.

It was something they had both come to look forward to.  Penelope had never quite felt like she belonged anywhere as much as she did in Benedict’s company. Sometimes it took her by surprise how right it all felt.  She hadn’t really thought she could have a happy ending.  She’d always thought it something meant for her sisters.

Her life had been so different mere weeks ago and yet it felt like another lifetime ago.  She’d thought her heart might never heal after Colin had died, especially when she’d learned that he’d done so thinking she was sore with him. She was actually happier than she felt she deserved though.

“I should probably write something about our honeymoon,” she told him from a desk in their bedroom where she’d taken to writing her latest article for Lady Whistledown.

Benedict saw propped against the pillows. He was dressed but his shirt was undone slightly. His hair was messy because he’d just completed a bit of nap.  He gazed over to her affectionately.

Eloise had not wasted any time ending her letters about what was happening at home though not much happened in the short time since they left.  Benedict had been pleasantly surprised that Penelope had already worked out how to ensure publication was not stalled in her absence from London though.  It was impressive for a woman to be so savvy.

“Well how do you think our honeymoon should be reported?” her asked from where he was sitting. “Are we the vision of newlywed bliss or misery?”

She laughed softly.

“Bliss,” she told him sincerely before scribbling some words on the paper.  She smiled before lifting the page, gaze moving toward his as she decided to read the excerpt.  “While most of London’s gaze turns to those who will seeking their match in the coming season, this writer is happy to report that the off-season wedding of one Benedict Bridgerton to Penelope Featherington has proven fruitful. Sources report that they have may forsake London all together – as they are particularly fond of their bed as most newlyweds prove to be.”

“It’s true,” Benedict said with a laugh before petting the space on the bed next to him.  “I think you should return to bed.”

“As you wish.”

Penelope laughed putting down her article that she’d have to finish later, ignoring the ink stains on her fingers to go climb back into the bed. She moved right into Benedict’s waiting arms, curling into his warm body.  He pressed an affectionate kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ve actually been thinking about our future home,” he told her after a moment, eyes closed as he just enjoyed having her close.

“I thought you’d found a few places that might work,” she told him quietly.

“Yes but none are good enough,” he confessed.  “I found some undeveloped land in Kensington.  It would take a little longer but have someone build us the perfect house.”

“I’m going to be happy as long as we have food and a bed to sleep in,” she told him honestly.  “You know that it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“I know that but it won’t stop me from providing it. I was thinking you could have your own study for your writing and not just for Whistledown,” he told her, happy to encourage your passion.  “Most houses would only have one and while we could convert a room to one, we’ll need the room for when we have company or children.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d casually mentioned a future with children in it but it was the first time since they’d been married.  It was kind of strange to think about filling a home with them when their intimacy hadn’t quite evolved to the point where there was even potential to children.  It was always reassuring to hear them mentioned though because it meant that they would get there.

“You’ll need space for your art too,” she told him after a moment. “If we’re going to go all in on this, we should both have whatever we need to be happy.”

“You make me happy,” he told her honestly, arms tightening around her.  His face buried in her hair, a hand idly moved to play with some of her curls. “Whatever you want you’ll get but… the point is that this might mean living in my former bachelor quarters for a little while.”

“I’ve never actually seem it.  Tell me about it,” she told him relaxing against him, encouraging him to tell her about what was going to be their temporary home in the coming weeks. Daphne and the Duke had been generous but they couldn’t stay in the country forever.

“It’s smaller without a proper staff,” he told her after a moment.  “It’s in Piccadilly near Albany Hall.  It’s certainly less grand than the family home but it is private.  I kept two bedrooms just in case one of my brothers ended up needing to stay.  It’s quite simple though.  There is a pretty nice stairwell to the roof though and I’ve been fond of going up there and taking in the city.”

“I can see why you weren’t in a hurry to end your bachelorhood,” she told him with a small smile.  “I mean, I couldn’t begin to tell you how many times I wished there to be an escape from my mother’s home.”

“I’d say it was a pretty fair trade,” he told her earnestly.  “I’m glad my mother meddled and brought you home to us. I don’t know that I would have convinced you to accept me if she hadn’t.”

“We’ll never know,” Penelope said with a playful smile.  

--

There were almost always charcoals and paper nearby.  Benedict had moments where he didn’t feel inspired but he had taken to sketching in the early mornings before the light became so bright that Penelope would be awake to watch him do it.

It was one thing for her to provide commentary when he was sketching inanimate objects or flowers but when he found himself particularly inspired by the look on her face as she slept or the way the fabric of her nightgown clung to her he was scared of her judgment.

His lips tightened as his eyes moved back and forth between her sleeping form and the paper,  knowing that whatever he put to paper wouldn’t equal to how adorable she when she having a pleasant dream.

Normally he had enough focus to know when she was about to wake, so he could stop but his focus had been on the shading of her curls when he felt arms curl around him from behind.

Her face buried into his shoulder for a moment before looking up.

He heard her surprised sigh and he braced himself for her to say something negative but she didn’t.

“You were sketching me?” she asked in surprise.  Her eyes lit up in recognition of her own form, in the fact that she actually looked quite beautiful in Benedict’s art even when she didn’t see herself as beautiful.

“I’ve been doing a little bit every day,” he confessed.  “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.”

“I’m flattered,” she told him, moving to sit in his lap sideways, moving the charcoals from his hand to the table. “You’ve made me look beautiful.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow at that.

“You are beautiful,” he told her firmly.

Their eyes found each other and he expected her to argue it but instead she leaned in and captured his mouth. It caught him completely and utterly off guard and he knew he froze for a second before melting into it. Her lips were soft and desirable.

One of his hands found the back of her head, fingers curling in the red locks. Between the proximity and her kisses, his body was beginning to respond and warning lights began to go off in his head. It would be all too easy to carrying her across the small distance from his chair to their bed and take her.   He could literally feel himself getting more aggressive with her. He had to stop himself.

“Pen,” he murmured softly against her mouth, when he forced himself to pull back. He was her husband and there was absolutely no reason why he couldn’t do whatever he wanted but he’d always prized himself on being gentle, patient.  In this moment, he wasn’t sure he could temper himself.  He needed to step away but it was difficult with her in his lap, especially when he was cognizant of the fact she was still in her nightgown.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked eyes fluttering open, gaze questioning.

He could have laughed if it wouldn’t have been misconstrued.

“You’re perfect,” he told her, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head before gently moving her off him so he could rise to his feel. “—I was just thinking that maybe I should try and find someone to get us some breakfast.”

Penelope frowned slightly from her new standing position.

“You don’t have to go,” she told him.

He wasn’t quite sure how to explain it to her though, especially as his eyes cast over her from the door frame that he’d made a point to get himself too.

“Yes I do,” he said resolutely before disappearing down the hall to regain some level of self-control.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

What do you think about the relationship between Napoleon and Lannes? Were they like best friends or something? I read that when Lannes died Nap was really sad he cried and wasn't in a very good mood even after he returned home

Oh I love their friendship. Love their love. And they were intimately close. Terribly familiar and affectionate with each other (if in a bit of a rough-housey military sort of affectionate). Lannes was Roland to Napoleon’s Charlemagne. Patroclus to Napoleon’s Achilles. 

They met as young men during the 1796 Italian Campaign and became fast friends. Both were from more modest backgrounds, both were stiff-necked and hard-headed, both had a military background, and so on. Lannes also fits into Napoleon’s category of “people he loved in part because they were there from the beginning”. Lasting sixteen years (and it would have lasted through to the end I think, had Lannes lived) their relationship was deep, intimate and meaningful to both.

Lannes was one of the few who could tutoyer Napoleon (in private and, more importantly, in public), and did so with great enthusiasm. He’s also one of the few who could publicly oppose/butt heads/insult/be overly familiar with Napoleon and not suffer any real consequences. (e.g. Lannes famously called Napoleon a harlot once in public. To which I am sure we can all hear Napoleon going: Fuck you Lannes. Lannes’ “punishments” when he overstepped the mark were either temporary banishment [it never lasted long] or being sent on diplomatic journeys he didn’t want to go on.) 

They were what some would call intimate friends, or romantic friends. 

Lannes’ death cut Napoleon to the core in a way that is only matched, I would argue, by Duroc and Josephine. Napoleon was mournful and grief stricken over others, such as Desaix and Chauvet, but not to the same degree or intensity. 

(Desaix’s death did prompt that heartbroken line from Napoleon of (roughly) “he always wanted to die in battle but did death have to be so eager to grant him his wish”. Chauvet’s gave us that letter to Josephine where Napoleon says that Chauvet is dead, his ghost whistles through Napoleon’s tent.) 

Indeed, in terms of displays of emotion on the battlefield, particularly open weeping and almost inconsolable grief, Lannes is one of the few that garnered such a reaction from Napoleon. (Duroc being another.) Which speaks to their profound relationship and what Lannes meant to Napoleon (and it certainly goes the other way around as well). Napoleon said of Lannes, “Lannes adored me…he was certainly one of the men on whom I could most depend in this world.” 

Later on St. Helena: “he [Lannes] clung to me [Napoleon] … for the rest of his life; he wanted only me, thought only of me … Certainly, he loved his wife and children more than me; nevertheless, he never spoke about it because he expected nothing of it; he was the one who protected them, while in turn, I was his protector.” (A sort of military-esque marriage.)

One of my favourite exchanges, which can be summed up as: Presenting you the married couple of Napoleon & Lannes. 

You damn Gascon! What the hell were you doing… trying to prove you’re so damn brave when we already know that? No… you were out there risking your men and yourself for no bloody reason! You’d do better to follow your orders from now on. When I want you to get yourself killed I’ll let you know!

– Napoleon to Lannes, after the takeing of Malta, 1798. Cited in The Emperor’s Friend: Marshal Jean Lannes

Mostly because you can hear Lannes yelling back: I DO WHAT I WANT YOU STUPID CORSICAN. Also because this is such a “I’m so panicked you almost died I love you and also want to slap you” moment from Napoleon. 

Married Couple #2: 

There were a few diversions, however, particularly the evening meetings of the savants who would later organize the Institut d’Égypte. Bonaparte took these meetings seriously and made his generals and staff attend. He could not always control such a diverse crowd, however. Several officers were unimpressed and obviously bored with scholarly discussions. A participant claimed Lannes and Junot were the worst behaved, joking with each other and making rude remarks while the savants attempted to educate them. Junot would deliberately mispronounce Lannes’s name as one of his better jokes, calling him l’âne, or ass. Lannes told Bonaparte that nobody could hear the scholars over Junot’s snores rumbling from the back of the crowded gathering. Bonaparte excused Junot from further sessions, but he made Lannes stay, fidgety, bored, with no one to listen his sotto voce comments.

— Margaret S. Chrisawn, The Emperor’s Friend: Marshal Jean Lannes.

Junot and Napoleon though, that’s another complicated situation. (It was a mess, a hot, hot mess. Junot was in Love. Napoleon was embarrassed. It got messy and mean.)

A few accounts from Lannes’ death: 

As soon as the Emperor saw him, he ran, hastened to him, covered him with kisses. He called to him in the middle of his sobs, and said to him in a muffled voice: ‘Lannes, my friend, do you recognize me? It’s me, it’s the Emperor. It’s Bonaparte, your friend!’ … Napoleon, kneeling before the dying hero, cried hot tears. This most touching meeting, these most tender embraces moved us profoundly … The Emperor’s pain was so intense that none of the witnesses to this scene could ever deny the profound feeling that it inspired.

– Account from Jean-Jacques-Germain Pelet

“My Cousin, the marshal died this morning of wounds he received on the battlefield. My grief is equal to yours. I lose my armies’ most distinguished general, my companion in arms for the last sixteen years, the one I considered my closest friend. His family and his children will always have a particular right to my protection. It’s to assure you of this that I wanted to write you this letter, because I sense that nothing can relieve the true sorrow that you will feel.”

— Letter from Napoleon to the Duchess of Montebello, 31 May 1809.

Following Lannes’s agonizing death on May 31, 1809, Napoleon retreated to his tent where his valet Louis Constant later found the Emperor “seated, immobile, mute, and staring into space, in front of his hastily prepared meal. Napoleon’s eyes were inundated with tears; they multiplied and fell silently into the soup.”

[…]

Napoleon’s grief for Marshal Lannes took on the very public character of open lamentation. Rather than grieve behind closed doors and conceal his personal vulnerabilities in order to show public strength, Napoleon’s mourning for his beloved friend became a matter of great public spectacle. Like Achilles mourning his beloved Patroclus, Napoleon wept publicly and openly expressed his affection in a way that was widely reported, discussed, and admired by the officers and soldiers in his armies.

[…]

Napoleon’s public grief at the death of Jean Lannes represented a new model for social relations between soldiers in the early nineteenth-century France. weeping over his friend’s broken body, Napoleon demonstrated how the revolution and empire had made it possible not only for an emperor to grieve openly for a fallen marshal, but for a soldier to love his comrade. This uncharacteristic expression of affection between Napoleon and Lannes was echoes in similar relationships between officers and foot soldiers in Napoleon’s armies. Military memories of the first empire bear witness to a wide range of intimate relationships among generals, colonels, and captains as well as sergeants, corporals, and grunts (grognards), the infantry soldiers who made up the majority of the imperial armies. Napoleon’s love for Lannes might thus be said to represent a broad spectrum of masculine affection and intimacy in the ranks of the Grande Armée, or what could be called Napoleonic friendship.

- Napoleonic Friendship: Military Fraternity, Intimacy, and Sexuality in Nineteenth-century France

“The Emperor also spoke of the last moments of Marshal Lannes, the valorous Duke of Montebello, so justly called the Roland of the army, who, visited by the Emperor on his deathbed, seemed to forget his own condition and tend to him whom he loved above everything.” 

-Las Cases, Memorial of Saint Helena. 

Indeed, Napoleon’s friendship and open pain and grief at Lannes’ death is one of those rare moments that allows us to separate the Napoleonic Myth - that enigmatic Emperor who is a repository of collective fears and hopes - and see the man beneath it. And while, as with everything relating to Napoleon, his friendship with Lannes can be either over, or under, stated - I think we can all safely agree that there was love, intimacy, affection and friendship between them and Lannes’ death impacted Napoleon in a way that I’m not sure we can fully appreciate. 

Until the end, whenever Lannes was brought up Napoleon would discuss him briefly then quickly move on to other subjects and it’s clear, based on how he is described in those moments (going silent, blinking a lot, looking away), he’s trying not to cry. 

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Nine

Summary: Ahkmenrah gathers medicines for Nouke’s mother. Kahmunrah is suspicious. The pharaoh and his friend explore Waset and find that time has only made their bond stronger. Ahk breaks a promise. 

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 7478

Warnings: a tad angsty at the very end.

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe​, @r-ahh-mi​, @theultraviolencefan​, @hah0106​, @rami-malek-trash​, @diasimar​, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @babyalienfairy​​, @edteche2​  (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list) 

A/N: Here’s another of my favorite chapters! I hope you enjoy it too. I was so pleased to see your responses to the last chapter, since it too is one of my favorite of this story. Your comments and gifs and overall reactions to this story bring me loads of happiness and a bunch of motivation, so thank you! Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

Sleep was an elusive campaign the night the pharaoh saw his friend again. Seeing Nouke after so many years apart sparked latent sentiments into flames that were once nothing more than glowing embers of foolish longing. His body and mind were awake with a fervor that kept him tossing in his bed, and when a modicum of rest did attempt to take him, it failed to linger. Restless thoughts occupied his mind with questions gone unspoken—craving answers his heart yearned to hold. His better judgment kept them in his mind where they could dwell until the circumstances of their unforeseen reunion were resolved.

As he laid in the darkness of his chamber listening to the sounds of insects beyond his balcony with a smile on his lips, Ahk found it difficult to stifle a slight pang of guilt. His joy seemed wrong, in that it was out of Nouke’s misfortune that saw fit to bring their paths together once more. There were so many obstacles standing before them, duties to be done, roles to be played, and yet, for Ahkmenrah, none of them mattered. He would jump a thousand hurtles if doing so meant Nouke could be at his side.

She had reminded him of the impassioned tingle of true happiness her presence always lent and he wanted to hold onto it forever. Still, he found it cruel the gods saw fit to bring them together at long last out of desperation and sickness instead of the love he’d always held for her—more obstacles to face, he thought.

The warm fluttering of his heart brought to mind the most important answer he yearned for: did she share the love he felt? Or was it too late for them? Too much time lost, too many barriers separating their fated trajectory? 

Ahkmenrah hoped not. 

Life had been far kinder to him than most, thus it only seemed entirely too plausible for the gods to deny him the one thing he sorely wanted. The gods were as cruel as they were kind, and they had been plenty kind.

By dawn, Ahkmenrah adorned his usual raiment, the only evidence of his sleepless night the noticeable discoloration under his eyes. The eagerness pulsing through his body culminated raw stamina and it lit a fire under him that helped see him through his duties as fast as he could.

He skipped breakfast to spend the majority of the morning in the healer's temple: a wing of the palace a good walk from his own chamber. Ahk spoke with his high priest, Tak-Sharu, listing all the details Nouke left with him about her mother’s ailment.

“You look tired, my king. These symptoms you bring—”

“They are not mine; I assure you,” Ahk told him kindly, noting the lines of concern on his face.

Tak-Sharu matched the pharaoh’s kind expression and let out a sigh of relief.

“If I may speak freely?” 

“Of course,” Ahkmenrah nodded.

“My skills would be better used if the afflicted were to come to me. I could more accurately suggest curatives."

Ahk agreed, wishing there was a way around the secrecy.

“Perhapse in time, my friend. For now, I ask you do your best with what I have provided,” the pharaoh said.

Tak-Sharu bowed his head with his understanding, “Check back come the days end. I should have the remedies you require prepared.”

“Thank you,” Ahk said.

“An honor, my pharaoh.”

***

The fiery impatience saw the pharaoh through most of his duties that day, the most arduous of which was meeting subjects in the throne room. Usually, he enjoyed meeting with his people. Being able to help them in some way was always his favorite part of his duty, but after a couple dozen, Ahk was certain the queue of civilians would never end. He fidgeted and sighed much too often for his restlessness to go unnoticed, still, he did his best to listen despite every thought in his head bursting with musings of his friend from the garden.

By the time he met with his advisors, Ahk's patience was running thin.

“Is everything alright, my king?” Merenkahre asked when the pharaoh spent the first half of the council meeting uttering nothing but a few approving or disapproving grunts.

Ahk didn’t respond, over-focusing on trying to focus.

“Ahkmenrah.” His father tired again with a stern tone.

Ahk blinked out of overzealous focus and turned.

“Father?”

“Where is your head?”

With Nouke, he thought. 

Ahkmenrah sat up straighter and mustered a halfhearted smile to set the council at ease.

“Forgive my distraction—sleep eluded me last night. I long for some rest.”

The fib worked on everyone but Kahmunrah. His brother’s narrowed eye glare was heavy with suspicion across the table, and Ahk elected to ignore it. Kah loved to pick fights, and the pharaoh could almost guarantee his older brother would find an excuse to interrogate him as to why sleep never came. Ahk rolled his eyes and sighed preparing himself for when that moment came.

“In that case,” Meren said. “You may be excused from this meeting--a pharaoh’s mind must be sharp. Go. I pray you find rest.”

Ahk stood too swiftly, sending balls of light to twinkle in his vision, and left the council chamber uttering a too quick thank you over his shoulder.

The pharaoh took his supper with his sister and Satauhotep, as was their usual routine, giving the couple an inkling of a normal relationship. As always, Ahkmenrah spent the meal quietly envying their level of intimacy; every poetic glance and tender touch—even a shared chuckle—Ahkmenrah longed to share with Nouke. Especially then, with her suddenly back in his life.

The queen and her lover were much too preoccupied with one another to pay the pharaoh’s restlessness any mind. Ahk finished quickly and instructed Kamuzu to stay with them and to meet back in his chamber once they finished.

“Where are you going?” Setshepsut asked, finally noting the urgency radiating from her brother.

“I have errands to see to,” Ahk told her vaguely. “Enjoy your dinner.”

He left them with a quick smile and made his leave, headed for the healer's temple. 

Ahkmenrah was glad for the long trek to the far wing of the palace were the priests concocted their medicines. The journey gave him a chance to release a portion of the pent-up energy flowing through him like the steady current of the Nile. The day was close to its end—his duties fulfilled, and he could finally let his excitement blossom. Every step he took was more buoyant, his golden robes whipping behind him whimsically as his smile stretched tighter across his face.

That glint of elation faded the moment Kahmunrah came into his sight; a frown quickly twisted onto his lips.

A large part of the pharaoh was angry with his brother for what he had done to Nouke and her family. Kahmunrah was to blame for much of Ahk's inner turmoil. Nouke was the cornerstone of his happiness, and his brother chose to rip it away by banishing her family. There was something about it that did not sit well with the pharaoh, the knots in his stomach writhed with suspicion. Kah was not above playing underhandedly; in fact, he excelled at such things. Removing Nouke was surely a purposeful gambit to steal away a little of Ahk's happiness, just as Ahk had stolen Kah's happiness upon being born. Nevertheless, Ahkmenrah smothered his irritation; it was best to keep Kah as far out of the loop as possible and far out of his mind as possible.

Although, Kahmunrah had a tendency to rear his smug face where he was not welcome.

Ahkmenrah's brother made stifling anger difficult, never more so then when he deliberately stood to block the pharaoh’s path. And for a second, Ahk considered shoving past him. By rights as pharaoh, he could have pushed his brother to the ground with little, to no consequence, but Kahmunrah was taller, broader built, and muscular from his time spent as a soldier. Ahk was lean and fit, but almost a whole head shorter. In truth, Kah was properly built to rule, and while Ahkmenrah would never admit it, Kahmunrah's physique always intimidated him to some degree. 

Instinctively, Ahkmenrah gathered himself to his full height and puffed out his chest to appear larger; Kahmunrah was grossly unfazed.

“Are you ill, baby brother?” Kah’s brow creased with mock concern.

Ahkmenrah narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He knew his brother was itching for a spat, but the pharaoh was not in the mood to argue.

“What do you want, Kahmunrah?”

A look of feigned hurt tugged at his arrogant features, and Ahk had to keep from rolling his eyes.

“I am only checking on the well-being of my only brother,” he said pragmatically. “My guards informed me you spent most of your morning consulting with the priests.”

Ahkmenrah knew better than to fall for Kahmunrah’s spurious compassion. He was fishing for a morsel of gossip to gnaw on, and Ahk was not going to give him anything.

“My business is my own. You will leave it at that, are we clear?” Ahk derived a certain pleasure out of watching Kah’s arrogance wither into annoyance, having gained nothing, prompting a slight smirk to settle on the pharaoh's lips.

“Of course, your majesty,” he quipped. “Your health was my only concern.”

“If that’s true, then I thank you for your sentiment, brother. Now step aside.”

Kahmunrah, bowed and made a show of stepping out of the way, gesturing with a swing of his arm for the pharaoh to proceed. He rolled his eyes and thanked his brother as he passed. 

Ahk managed two full steps before Kah spoke again with his usual insolent tone, and Ahkmenrah stopped—his own annoyance stealing his amused smirk.

“I forgot to ask. What became of that thief my guards apprehended?”

“Frightened is more.” Ahk bit out harshly, recalling the look of fear in Nouke’s eyes when he’d happened upon their squabble.

The impassioned outburst aroused a delightfully suspicious glower to take shape on Kahmunrah’s brow as he searched the pharaoh’s expression. Ahk cursed himself and did his best to regain his composure in hopes to lessen the look on Kah’s face.

“I let her go.”

“Let her go?” Kahmunrah’s nose wrinkled, eyeing him with distrust and bafflement. His words fell from his lips as though the act was entirely too heinous to speak of.

“She was hungry,” Ahkmenrah lied before his brother could concoct his own reasoning. “I gave her a satchel of food and sent her on her way. She meant no harm.”

Kah’s face contorted into several expressions as he digested the pharaoh’s words before deciding to settle on one full of scrutiny.

“Forgive me, brother,” he began, sounding every bit displeased as he looked. “But do you think such charitable acts are wise? Now any ravenous street urchin brave enough to scale these walls will think they will be greeted with a meal and not punishment.”

“What good is it to be pharaoh if I cannot help my people?”Ahk challenged, unwilling to let his brother have the final word.

To his surprise, Kahmunrah had no snappy retort; his brother simply eyed him with the same heavy glower he usually did. Just once, Ahkmenrah wanted to have a conversation with Kah that didn’t feel like he had to prove his status as king. Perhaps one-day…

“I trust you will enjoy the rest of your evening,” Ahk bid him rather coldly, done with his brother’s irritation--his own beginning to bleed into his tone.

The pharaoh didn’t wait for Kah to reply and left without another word. 

The tiff with his brother left Ahkmenrah with a soured mood. All he ever wanted for himself, and Kahmunrah was to be more like kin—Ahk wanted a real brother. Countless times as he was growing up, he had extended an Olive Branch for Kahmunrah to take hold of, but he never grasped it. The pharaoh feared Kah would only ever see him as a usurper—a child who had taken away from him all he ever wanted. Ahkmenrah didn’t want to dwell on how often his brother surely wished ill upon him; Kahmunrah was ruled by his bitterness and a love for cruelty.  All Ahk could do was hope that one day he would no longer look upon Kahmunrah’s face and feel a deep abiding rage and regret. Until that day, every moment not spent in his brother's presence was a blessed one.

When Tak-Sharu greeted the pharaoh with many curatives gathered neatly in a leather satchel, his mood shifted back into the thrill he’d known before Kahmunrah upset him. There were a number of elixirs, ointments, and teas to help soothe what ailed Nouke’s mother, and the high priest took his time explaining each to Ahkmenrah in detail.

“I will be making more of these medicines to store on reserve for your friend, my pharaoh, should they need them,” Tak-Sharu said with a pleasant smile.

“Thank you,” Ahk beamed, situating the satchel over his shoulder. “The gods smile upon you this night. I pray you enjoy the rest of it.”

He bid the other priests and healers in the temple a pleasant evening and turned lithely on his heel to make his way to his chambers where Kamuzu would be waiting. The vibrancy was present in his stride once more as he walked through the corridors, his smile growing at the thought of seeing Nouke again soon. No-one stopped him—his brother the last thought on his mind—and when he made it into the privacy of his chamber, Ahk was visibly bubbling with excitement.

“Evening!” he told Kamuzu with nothing more than an errant wave and a grin.

He hastily made for a nearby table and began removing each medicine and bundle of herbs for tea to make sure they were all there, as though during his trip, one may have vanished. Ahk grinned at them all. Among the vials, was a tiny scroll of papyrus marked with a set of written instructions that Ahk read thoroughly to reacquaint himself with the information he’d been given only a short time ago.

Nouke risked so much coming to him that Ahk wanted to be sure everything was just as it should be. He did not want to mess up any more of his friend’s life—she had been through enough.

When he was confident he would remember every instruction, Ahkmenrah carefully repacked the medicines and the scroll. He exhaled deeply, throwing a hopeful glance at the sky beyond the balcony, finding the sun sinking below the horizon.

“We should make our way.” 

As Ahkmenrah made his way towards the door, Kamuzu stopped in front of him, and the pharaoh had to fight to keep his irritation from twisting onto his face. Twice his steps had been interrupted, and he was tired of it.

Ahk met his Medjay protector with pursed lips and inquiry on his features. Kamuzu responded by handing him a neatly folded bundle of garments. The pharaoh’s puzzlement sank deeper as his eyes teetered from Kamuzu, to the garments, then back to Kamuzu.

“These are servant robes,’ Ahk stated feeling as though he was missing some important variable as to why they were just handed to him.

It was only then, Ahkmenrah took notice of Kamuzu’s attire. The Medjay’s usual fine garb of armor and linen was swapped for garments much like the ones he’d handed over.

“My king, you are known by your people dressed in gold and finery. It would be wise to draw as little attention to yourself as possible.”

“Oh…” Ahk’s mouth hung open as understanding consumed him.

Suddenly, he felt embarrassingly foolish for not considering the necessity of a disguise first. The last thing he needed was word traveling that the pharaoh was sneaking beyond the palace walls to reach the council’s ears.

“Of course,” Ahk nodded. “Thank you, my friend—wise thinking.”

He changed quickly, leaving all his fine attire folded neatly on a nearby table. The crown on his head he removed last, setting it along with the rest of his raiment and ran a hand through his hair to fluff it into place.

It was an odd feeling to be dressed so humbly: a simple white shendyt that fell to his knees and a robe with a hood to mask his face. He felt acutely naked without the weight of his golden belts and collars, but the weight of responsibilities seemed less crushing without them to remind him who he was. It was though the fate of Egypt lived only in the golden ornaments he wore.

“Better, my king.” Kamuzu bowed his head with a faint smile of approval.

“Let’s go,” Ahk grinned, gripping the satchel of medicines tight.  

Despite the halls being mostly vacant due to the hour growing late, no one paid him or Kamuzu any attention—a notion that filled Ahk with a sense of thrill. Never before had he passed so many faces, servants, guards, or noblemen without having to bear witness to forced bows or timid praise. Everyone they passed never so much as looked at him.

The newly acquired anonymity thrilled him, and he found himself trying to quell a puckish grin by pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. For the first time, he truly felt like “Ahk” instead of the pharaoh Ahkmenrah.

The sky that greeted him when they came to the West Garden was a masterful work of painted hues, rich with reds and deep purples as the sun began to sink lower. The vivid display prompted a full, unabashed, and toothy smile to Ahk’s lips—the exuberance he felt mirrored in the heavens above him. The goddess Nut had indeed blessed his impending journey by painting the heavens so vividly

The pharaoh took a moment as he tread deeper into the garden of his youth to gaze in wonder at the fiery skies, silently thanking the gods for bringing Nouke back into his life—even if only for a short time. However long their paths would stay intertwined; Ahkmenrah would be grateful.

Before any more of the light was lost to the black of night, Ahk’s learned steps carried him to the break in the foliage that lead him to the passage through the wall. Every stone was in perfect order, but Ahkmenrah’s keen glance easily found the single brick placed slightly askew. His eyes stayed transfixed on that solitary block as he recalled every moment leading up to the one he was in: all the times in his youth passing through the secret garden wall to escape the toil of the path he’d been given. Every venture past those stones was done on a foolish whim; this time, it was a second chance. A chance to save someone and to bring back the part of him that he had not realized was missing.

The pharaoh’s heart was pounding at the thought of ruining that chance, and it wasn’t until Kamuzu cleared his throat that Ahk snapped back to reality. Time was working against them; his absence could only go unnoticed for so long, they needed to get to work. Even so, Ahkmenrah refused to let something as trivial as time steal away an ounce of the peace he found when he was with Nouke.

Be it out of the need to see his friend again, or the daunting persistence of time, Ahk began tearing bricks from the wall, one by one, until more stones fell away from the other side as Nouke came into his view. Time for the pharaoh stopped indefinitely when every muscle in his body froze at the sight of her. She continued, however, never surrendering her task until she caught his gawking. 

“What?” she asked, confusion settling on her brow as she turned to look behind her. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” Ahk blinked as heat rushed to tint his cheeks, his hands resuming their task.

“Is everything in that satchel, wait, wha—” Nouke’s words halted as Ahkmenrah and Kamuzu passed through the breach.

“What are you doing?” she tried again, glancing at both, her brows creased with puzzlement. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Ahk was too happy to see her to find words, instead, he pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck. It took her a moment to register his gesture but eventually, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed just as tightly.

“I’m so glad to see you again,” he finally said, finding his voice, speaking into her neck.

He inhaled the sun-drenched scent clinging to her: the smell of soil and smoke—warm and soft like desert sand. There was a sweetness too, a fragrant undertone that he knew to be hers alone. The coupling delighted his senses, and he inhaled again to fix it in his memory. 

Time was irrelevant as he held Nouke in his arms, realizing how easy it would be to forsake his duty and run away into the unknown, forever, if she asked it of him.

When he finally found the will to surrender his hold, he found a smile in place of her confusion.

“I’m glad to see you too,” she reached out and touched the simple white linen of the hooded robe he wore. “Why are you dressed like this?”

Ahk glanced at his servant attire, his hand trailing down the fabric until he met hers and took it.

“This was Kamuzu’s idea.” He threw a smile to his Medjay protector. “He thought it best if we tried to blend in.”

A flash of inquiry colored Nouke’s features, but she found the answer before she could ask the question.

“You’re coming with me, then?”

Ahk’s closed-lipped smirk unfurled into a toothy smile.

“The high priest entrusted me with the knowledge of how to use these medicines. Let me teach you and your mother.”

A peculiar fearfulness drifted onto Nouke’s face that Ahk had difficulty placing. She moved a half step away and pulled her hand out of his, her eyes falling to look at the sand.

“That’s not necessary,” she insisted. “You’ve already helped more than you’ve needed to, and I’m profoundly grateful."

Ahk closed the space she’d put between them, and took both of her hands in his.

“Nouke?” 

 She looked at him then, eyes still shimmering with an uncertainty he didn’t understand.

“Please allow me to do this. Allow me to apologize to your mother for what my brother has done to your family.”

Her eyes never left his, and some of that curious worry faded as her dark eyes quickly smoldered into pools of amber.

“Okay,” she murmured with a nod, squeezing his hands.

Nouke led them with practiced steps along the banks of the Nile, through the harbor and into the city with only the light of twinkling stars and Khonsu’s silver glow to help guide her. She swiftly wove them in and out of main thoroughfares, and down alleyways with ease. A fissure of newfound awe worked through Ahk as he followed, losing himself in the breathtaking sight of his city. Life pulsed through the streets: a thriving metropolis bursting at every turn with fresh scents and a vitality that drew the pharaoh’s wide eyes in every direction.

His heart pounded in his chest, his mouth hanging open as his eyes darted with childlike wonder. More than once Nouke had to call his name, motioning for him to keep up having gotten distracted by all there was to see. The third time, she rolled her eyes, cracked a fond smirk, and took his hand to pull him along. The weight of her hand in his only caused his smile to stretch wider.

Being among his people—seeing how the majority lived—was profoundly more fulfilling than Ahk could have ever imagined. The reality of his city was finally there for him to reach out and touch, his sandaled feet on the ground. From the platform of his golden chariot, Waset seemed vastly different. Time always stood still when he rode through the city. Everyone stopped to gaze in wonder at him during those parades; at ground level, no one cared who he was.

Ahkmenrah was completely immersed in his own culture for the first time. All the wonder and realization dug into him with a sharp pang of melancholy that turned his grin into a frown. 

“This is the first time I’ve walked my own streets,” he thought allowed, glancing at his feet.

The regret in his tone was enough to make Nouke’s quick feet stop just shy of the mouth of the alley, leaving them secluded in the shadows of the empty side street.

She met his gaze with a silent question woven into her features.

“The only time I’ve ever seen these streets is from my chariot, with a hundred guards on every side of me.”

Nouke’s expression wilted, understanding his dismay.

“What about everything you must have seen when you left all those years ago?”

Ahkmenrah caught the optimism in her voice, but sighed and shook his head.

“Apart from venturing to temples and ruins, I spent a remarkable amount of time within the walls of houses of powerful men.”

Nouke gave his hand a squeeze and smiled softly on his behalf.

“Don’t dwell on those small details. You saw your empire firsthand—great things few men will ever see.”

Her words were gentle and drove out some of his wistfulness, letting a tiny smile return to his face—oh how I missed your hopeful spirit.

“You still owe me those stories,” she said through a grin that made his heart swell. “The ones about your adventures.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” He smiled back. 

Nouke’s eyes sparkled in the faint sliver of moonlight breaking through the makeshift and broken canopies overhead. They were locked on his with the same abundant longing that was thrumming in his heart. Every part of Ahk fought to keep from scooping her into his arms to kiss her; to press her against the alley wall until the feel of her chased away every sorrow ever to plague him. In fact, he would have if Kamuzu didn’t clear his throat, purposely yanking them both back to the mission at hand.

A slight pink tinted Nouke’s cheeks as she turned away, tugging him into the open as she mumbled a sheepish, "We're not far now.”

As they neared the outskirts of the capital city, the buildings became more sparse and less well kept. Some of the structures appeared sturdy enough, surrounded by large fields of fertile land. Several, however, had ample land but the homes were derelict and unlivable. A heaviness grew in Ahk’s heart at the sight. The people living with such plight were strangers, yet he yearned to help them. He lived in such splendor while some of his people dwelled in hovels. The thought of Nouke and her family living in such squalor more than pained him—it broke his heart.

The pharaoh was tangled in his thoughts and the poignant ache in his heart, so much so, that he didn’t realize Nouke stopped in front of him, and he ran into her. The collision startled him and he quickly issued an apology that his friend shrugged off.

She turned her timid glance from him to the structure before them.

“This is my home.” The softness of her timbre sounded almost embarrassed, as though she feared the pharaoh would mock her humble home.

The dwelling was of modest means, two stories like many of the other farmhouses they’d passed: stables for livestock on the bottom with a space to live up above. Surrounding it was a fair bit of land, most of which was grown over field--abandoned with not enough help to properly till. The bit of cultivated soil that had not been forgotten was rich with healthy sprouts. Around it all was a sturdy fence.

Relief surged through Ahkmenrah, drawing a content smile to his lips. Her home stood in stark contrast to some of the neighboring shelters—its foundations seemed strong and the land fertile. It was far from the life she’d known in the palace, but the little farm was something to be cherished.

“You and your mother work all of this by yourselves?” Ahk asked as Nouke led them onto the grounds.

She nodded, “Yes, although we’ve fallen behind a bit since my father passed.” Nouke’s sight wandered to the overgrown fields, and she sighed. “But we get by.”

“You should be proud,” Ahk told her with a soft grin. “Your father, I’m certain would be.”

Nouke met his glance with a half-smile, biting her lip, but said nothing as she took him up the stairs and into her home, leaving Kamuzu to guard the door. 

For all the home was on the outside, the interior was sparse. In the center was a table with simple wooden stools and a singular oil lamp to light the entire space. The small flame flickered in the breeze from the cut-out windows, casting elongated and dancing shadows upon the walls. In the obscurity of the dim light, Ahk could make out clay pots, woven baskets, and various sacks lining the walls while varying herbs dried from the rafters above them.

Maketaten sat facing them near the table, her frail fingers struggling to weave a basket in the soft orange glow of the lamp. The sight of Nouke’s mother stirred a hundred fond memories of his childhood; she had always been so kind to him—a trusted servant and friend to his own mother. Ahkmenrah had missed Nouke so much, but as he stood watching Maketaten silently, he realized he missed her too.

“Mother, you should be resting,” Nouke scolded gently as she approached.

Ahk lingered behind, not wanting to startle the woman.

Even in the dull light, Ahk could see how much Nouke favored her mother; the same delicate but subtly strong features graced them both, and it made him smile.

Maketaten shook her head stubbornly in response to her daughter, not moving her focus away from her work. A cough rattled her, disrupting her task for only a moment, and insisted she was fine.

“You are back sooner than I thought. You were gone so long yesterday; I thought you—” Her eyes moved from her work to her daughter as she spoke, stopping only when she caught sight of the pharaoh.

A sudden look of confusion mixed with a fair amount of horror, and she gasped. With trembling hands, she tossed aside her would be basket and attempted to kneel.

“My king!”

Ahk rushed to the woman and helped Nouke set her back on her stool. A sharp stab of guilt cut into him seeing the fear so prominent on her brow. Maketaten's brown eyes were wide and scared as she looked to her daughter who was kneeling in front of her.

“What have you done?”

“She’s done nothing,” Ahk assured her in a soft tone. “Nouke came to me, asking for my help. Please do not be afraid.”

In slow increments, the shock and fear began to ebb, but her dark eyes continued to watch him, as though she expected him to recant his kind words. Finally, she turned to Nouke.

“You went to the palace?”

Nouke nodded and took her mother’s hand.

“I have to help you, mother. I cannot lose you like father.”

A tender smile turned Maketaten’s lips upward, and she caressed her daughter's face on either side with open palms, drawing her close to lay a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“My brave, foolish girl,” she sighed. “You could have been killed.”

Nouke shook her head, “That was Kahmunrah’s threat, not Ahk’s. He wants to help. Let him help.”

Maketaten moved her sight to the pharaoh, a subtle touch of skepticism in her tired eyes.

“I am no one, my king,” she said softly. “Why have you come to help me?”

There was a tenuous sound of defeat in her voice when she spoke, as though she suspected him to hold an ulterior motive to want to help someone beneath him. Ahk wasn’t surprised or offended by her obvious distrust given her history with his brother, but Ahkmenrah was not his brother, and he wanted to prove it.

“I have come to help you because your daughter asked me to," Ahk paused, stealing a glance at Nouke beside him.

Her amber eyes were watching him in admiration, glistening with moisture in the light of the singular flame. Her reverent beauty struck him at that moment, and his breath caught sharply as his heart leapt in his chest. Ahk blinked back to Maketaten feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

“A-and I’ve come to apologize for what has been done.” Ahk pulled the satchel from around his torso and began removing each of the medicines, placing them on the table as he continued.

“My brother is unworthy of your forgiveness, and by default, myself. I come to you, not as the pharaoh Ahkmenrah.” He looked at Nouke. “But Ahk: the little boy whose happiest memories are those spent playing with your daughter in the garden. Let him help you.”

When the pharaoh’s eyes looked back to Maketaten, disbelief was shining in her features.

“Please,” Ahk implored. “I cannot bear to see such grief in your daughter's eyes.”

After what could have been simple seconds or several minutes, Maketaten’s features softened, and she nodded, smiling at them both. Nouke threw her arms around her mother, sighing with relief.

Ahkmenrah took his time explaining everything about the curatives so both Nouke and her mother knew how to properly administer each, just as Tak-Sharu had done for him hours before. When he finished, Maketaten gave him a warm, motherly smile, laying a gentle hand to his cheek.

“You have a kind heart, my king. You always have. Thank you.”

Ahk held his hand over hers, his smile growing under her touch.

“It has been an honor to help you,” he told her. “Whatever you need, just ask.”

“All I need now, I think, is rest,” she said struggling to her feet.

Ahkmenrah jumped to help her stand.

“I’ll help her to bed,” Nouke said as she maneuvered to hold most of her mother’s weight. “Wait for me on the roof?”

Nouke tossed a pointed glance to the back corner of the room to a ladder that led through a cut out in the ceiling. His eyes followed and he nodded, moving to easily scale the wooden rungs. 

In a sense, the roof of the farmhouse reminded the pharaoh of the balcony in his chamber. The 360-degree view was more than he had at home; a turn of his heel allowed him to marvel at endless horizon and sky in every direction. Scattered about were more clay pots and baskets, but nothing particularly worthwhile apart from one corner.

Constructed from a collection of rudimentary barbels: sacks and mats and old, dusty cushions (whose origins had to have begun in a noblemen’s home, abandoned, to be found again) was a nest of sorts. A smirk tugged at Ahk’s lips, heartened by its existence. What a perfect place for a dreamer like Nouke to spend hours gazing at all there was to see. In times of loneliness, the moon and the stars were ample company; Ahkmenrah knew firsthand their quiet hospitality. She undoubtedly knew it too.

“I come up here to think,” Nouke’s voice carried softly on the breeze, drawing Ahk’s eyes away from the nest and glittering heavens above.

“To think…and to cry,” she admitted, coming to stand beside him.

A doleful smile fought to work its way on to her lips, desperate it seemed to keep the mood light.

Ahk only nodded understanding, but lost for words to say.

A silence fell between them, their gazes lingering on the other until Nouke broke it to step closer to the edge of the roof, mustering a true smile as she looked out over the city.

“Isn’t the view magnificent?” she mused.

Ahk didn’t follow her gaze. His eyes were transfixed on her, hypnotized by the way the desert breeze danced through her dark hair.

“Mmhm,” he murmured, moving to stand a little closer.

“I hope I didn’t frighten your mother too terribly.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her as he spoke.

When the wind swept her hair to reveal the smile on her face, the sight prickled his skin with goosebumps. In the silvery light, Nouke was more enchanting than any sight of any city he had ever perceived. Without the cloud of grief and fear to veil her features, all that remained was her beauty--the spirited girl he remembered from his youth.

Nouke chuckled slightly, “No I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he grinned. “Good.”

The pharaoh’s eye wandered the horizon and when he found his palace nestled far in the distance, he remembered time was working against him. His evening with Nouke had not been long enough.

“When do you have to go back?” Nouke asked softly as though she could feel the vexing grasp of time closing in on them too.

That time, the sadness in her tone matched his own; the end of their reunion was upon them.

“Sooner than I would like,” he sighed.

There was still so much he wanted to share with his friend, but duty called—as it always would. Setshepsut was undoubtedly already waiting for him in his chambers for another night of marital charade. The thought alone exhausted him.

“Then we should go,” Nouke said, sensibly trying to suppress the pain in her features. “I’ll lead you back.” 

As she began to turn away, Ahkmenrah tapped into his latent yearnings and no small amount of courage and reached out to take her hand and pull her close. He felt the hot breath of her startled gasp sweep over his skin, and it fanned his desire. Nouke’s eyes locked with his, dilating, and before she could pull away, or he could think rationally; Ahk captured her lips in a gentle—chaste—way, marked with soft pressure and held breath.

His heart was pounding, and his head felt dizzy when he pulled away just enough to gauge her reaction—Nouke’s eyes bursting with stardust. In a second, her timid lips were against his again, and he didn’t hesitate to welcome them. Her kiss was slow and lazy and perfect. Nouke molded herself to his frame, throwing her arms around his neck to deepen their kiss; Ahk grinned at her eagerness and snaked his arms around her waist to hug her even closer.

Both were smiling and unwilling to surrender their hold when their mouths parted.

“Stay here,” Ahk implored, tilting his forehead against hers. “Watch your mother tonight. Kamuzu can lead me back safely.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

Ahk grinned at her breathless awe as he reached to sweep the pad of his thumb over her lips and down along her jaw.

“Come to me tomorrow?” he asked, his sight fixed on where his thumb traced her mouth. 

There was a faint hint of apprehension that flashed in her dazzled eyes, but she chased it away with a slow blink before she nodded.

“Okay.” Her wistful murmur made him smile, and he kissed her again.

“I’ll have Kamuzu waiting for you at sunset.” He pulled her against him in a lingering embrace, inhaling her intoxicating scent to hold him until he could be close to her again.

“Until tomorrow,” he whispered against her ear, feeling every beat of her wild heart in perfect rhythm with his own.

“Tomorrow,” she echoed in a breathy timbre full of enchantment.

Ahkmenrah left her with a tender kiss to the back of her hand and a sweet farewell, feeling his spirit at last rejuvenated. 

The trek back to the palace seemed longer somehow. None of the sights captivated Ahkmenrah as they had only hours ago. His heart begged for him to turn around and go back, but his mind and the omnipresence of his responsibilities kept him moving onward.

A sigh worked through him as his feet beat against the earth with a listless tread. Despite how genuinely grand his evening had been; he was disheartened how quickly it had progressed. Never had he given any heed to how fickle time was; one moment could feel like a thousand—drawn out like an ache—while others could come and go so rapidly they left no air inside his lungs. It wasn’t fair.

By the time he and his guardian reached the passage through the wall, Ahkmenrah’s feet pulsed with soreness. They lingered in the garden long enough to replace the dismantled stones, leaving one askew to mark the passage for the next venture. Only a few servants or guards passed them in the halls due to the lateness of the hour and just as before, he was invisible to them dressed humbly. The only set of eyes that met him with any recognition were his brothers.

It was a fleeting glance at first, but Kah’s cold eyes looked at him from the length of the hall with puzzlement and intense scrutiny. A suspicion marked Kahmunrah’s leer, but Ahk had no interest in explaining himself. Instead, the pharaoh cast his brother a glower of equal intensity and carried on without so much as a hello.

When he came to his chamber door, Ahk turned to his protector with a soft grin.

“Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your loyalty and your companionship.”

A small smirk ghosted over Kamuzu’s lips, and he nodded, “Goodnight, my king.”

“Goodnight, Kamuzu.”

The Medjay left with a respectful bow.

The two Medjay standing at either side of his door uttered a hello and goodnight, also inclining their heads. Satauhotep was there too, looking confused by the frock the pharaoh wore. Ahk grinned impishly and offered no explanation before he entered. 

As evidenced by her lover waiting beyond the chamber doors, Ahkmenrah found his sister inside. She was asleep on his bed, with a scroll of Egypt’s histories still in her hand. She stirred awake at the sound of the door's closing, her heavy-lidded eyes quickly dismissing him as a servant, yawning, and stretching. Only when the pharaoh smiled did her eyes dart open, and she bolted right up.

“Ahkmen?” Her voice was groggy when she spoke, but enveloped with confusion. “Where have you been?”

She paused, her eyes skirting over his attire, “Why are you dressed like a servant?”

Her tiredness slowly came back to her with another yawn, and she rubbed at her eyes despite the heavy Kohl lining them. She chuckled, though, when he couldn’t stop grinning.

“I haven’t seen you smile like this in a long time.” Set thought a moment, chewing her bottom lip, watching him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like this.”

Setshepsut smiled too, “What happened?”

Ahkmenrah motioned for her to sit back on the edge of the bed, and he joined her.

“Nouke,” he told her. “I was with Nouke.”

A look of bewilderment surfaced on his sister’s face, and she urged him to tell her everything. Ahk was almost certain he was speaking much too fast and with a level of exuberance that greatly diminished the coherence of his story, but the smile on Set’s face told him that she understood anyway.

“Well are you going to see her again?” she asked, eager too.

“I’ve asked her to meet me here tomorrow,” Ahk beamed. He could hardly believe it. “I’ve finally found someone I love to be my second wife! Oh Set, you were right. I did give my heart to her years ago,” he paused long enough to take a breath, his excitement blinding and somewhat exhausting, but he didn’t care.

“I-I feel as though I may burst from all this joy!”

Setshepsut’s smile faded, although, Ahk was too preoccupied with the love in his heart to notice.

“Second wife?” she murmured sadly.

Ahkmenrah nodded, too caught in his own happiness to see the betrayal and heartbreak drift onto her features.

“Yes, Just as the council and father has asked me to do. I know father wanted to have a say in my choice of a bride but—where are you going?”

Ahk watched in bemusement as his sister stood and walked to the doors. Suddenly, he could see the tense lines of her body and the wilt of her shoulders. She tossed him a pained glance.

“I’m very tired,” she said, her usual sing-song voice suddenly hollow.

“Set?” His confusion stole all the thrill from his features as he tried to understand what had chased her away.

“I’m happy you found her, Ahkmen. You deserve that happiness…”

The anguish in her tone was palpable, and it settled uneasily in the pit of Ahkmenrah’s stomach leaving him with a sting of guilt he couldn’t place. 

Next Chapter-> Chapter Ten: When It Is Gone

[tintinxtintin]

professor barba

cute little fluff imagine for our favorite ada ❤️

warnings: none really, possible trigger of an attempted harassment incident, but mostly fluff

words: 2.1k

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rafael never thought this would happen. he's a respected and very reputable lawyer turned professor. he doesn't meddle in the lives of his students. he doesn't listen to what they say when they discuss the latest relationship drama. he doesn't get involved in their personal lives. until you, that is.

you changed everything. after you, rafael began to listen in on whispered conversations between you and your friends. he learned that you recently went through a break up, and that while you were sad about it, you had your eye on someone else. after you, rafael got involved in the personal lives of his students. he chatted with them more, in the hopes of hearing something about you.

since you, no one else had been on his mind. seeing you in that intro to legal analysis class every monday and wednesday is the highlight of his week. what rafael didn't know though, is that you felt the same way about him.

you were never the one to be into older guys. they didn't really attract you. in fact, normally you weren't ever into guys at all. or anyone for that matter. you'd just gotten out of a six month long relationship, and if you were being honest, you weren't that invested in it to begin with.

but ever since the start of the semester, something about your legal analysis professor had you thinking about him in ways you know you shouldn't. you were drawn to the gruffness of his voice when he spoke, like he couldn't be bothered to speak up. you loved the way he sometimes loosened his tie if he got too hot while going on a tangent about the IRAC method. it especially made you smile, though, when the class would be writing something down, all quiet, and you'd peek up, and swear you'd see him already staring at you.

you never thought that these little things would grow into a crush. but they did, and surprisingly, you were okay with that. so what if you had an innocent little crush on your professor? you wouldn't be the first person ever to experience that. he would probably never even notice you in a lecture hall of a hundred students. so, you decided that your silly little affection for the cuban man could live on, so long as it didn't effect your grade in his class.

~~~

there was a day when rafael actually thought he would lose it. he'd gotten a call earlier in the morning from olivia, his friend and former coworker, about a case that she wanted his professional opinion on. it was a tough one, and the thought of the scumbag suspect involved really put him in a pissy mood for the rest of the day.

then, upon arriving to his office to settle in before his first class, he noticed you. his attitude seemed to melt away just looking at you. you looked beautiful in a casual outfit: black leggings paired with an NYU sweatshirt. you'd tossed a jean jacket over the sweatshirt; it made you look more put together.

you were sitting outside his office, waiting for him to get there. you wanted some extra study material for the next exam. he noticed your smile when you saw him walking towards you, and he took note of the way your eyes looked him up and down once he was close enough.

"hi professor," you squeaked out. you were shy, but your voice came out soft.

"i was wondering if you had any extra material on the IRAC method? i want to be as prepared as possible for the exam next week." you didn't fully look into his eyes when you spoke, instead you'd look above him or behind him. eye contact was not your strong suit; you disliked the intimacy it held.

rafael could see that you were shy, and he loved it. it added to the reasons he found you adorable.

"well, y/n, i'm not 100% sure what i've got in my office, but you're welcome to come in and sit down while i look." he appreciated that you came to him on your own for extra material. most professors just gave you what they gave you and that was it. rafael didn't roll like that. he cared about all of his students, even if he didn't make the effort to get to know them all. as outlined in his course syllabus, extra material on any given subject was available, but must be asked for by the students. he wouldn't just hand it out.

in doing this, rafael could see which students would take the initiative to seek extra help when needed. not a lot of students had done so this semester, so he was incredibly pleased to see you at his office.

you agreed to come in and wait, and he lead you into his little office. it wasn't much. just a sizeable desk and some chairs to match. the walls were built in shelves, which had stacks and rows of books upon books. being quite a bookworm yourself, you respected the collection, though you suspected they were mostly compromised of law books and such.

"just have a seat, y/n. let me set my things down and then i'll look for anything i have on the IRAC method," he said.

you did as told and sat down, watching him as he went over to his chair opposite yours, pulled out his laptop and booted it up, before turning around to look into his collection of books. he swiveled in the chair and turned to his left. getting on his feet, he reached up to pull a thick textbook down. you marveled at the size. you'd just wanted a few papers of notes not a whole bible. surely he didn't expect you to actually take and read the entire thing.

"this book's a few years old, but it's got some really good information in it and some of the chapters go into more detail than i was able to do in class. i will flag the important chapters for you and then you can go and photocopy them so that you can keep them. is that okay?"

"yes. thank you, professor," you smiled. god, your smile. did you not see what you were doing to him? was it not obvious that he was into you?

"alright, i'll flag them right now and then i'll give you the book in class." you nodded and thanked him again before heading out.

you weren't far away at all from rafael's office when you heard someone calling your name. you glanced up and saw todd, a friend of yours. he came up to you and gave you a quick hug before engaging in conversation with you. rafael watched at first, mostly to determine what the relationship between you two might be. he quickly assumed that you were just friends, as you didn't make it seem like there was anything else going on. in fact, rafael had pretty much started to tune you out until he heard something that intrigued him.

"hey, so mandy said that you and jack broke up last week, and i was wondering if you and i could finally go out." todd asked, looking increasingly hopeful.

you liked todd, but not enough to go out with him. you didn't see anything more than friendship happening with him. especially not when your crush on rafael was so fresh.

"oh, um. well, todd, i'm not really looking for anything right now. the break up is still recent so i'm just focusing on other things right now."

okay, so maybe you lied to him a little. but you didn't want hurt his feelings. he'd been a friend to you so you didn't want to just outright reject him. looking back, maybe you should've.

"oh come on. i know you and i have something here. jack wasn't right for you. but i know i am. let me show you."

something in todd's tone shifted, and you weren't the only one who noticed. he made a move towards you, causing you to instinctively take a step back. your heart rate picked up a bit and your skin started to feel hot. you had a bad feeling about what was about to happen, but you couldn't do anything about it. it was like being outside of your body.

todd was just about to reach for your waist when rafael came out of his office.

"hey, y/n? i was just about to head down to the printing room to photocopy these. why don't you come with me so i don't have to flag you down later."

rafael was heated, and it was evident in his voice. he had his fists clenched, but neither you or todd noticed. todd immediately backed away from you, stammering an awkward goodbye before turning and going back the way he came. you let out a breath of relief.

you glanced at rafael, who's hardened exterior had softened upon seeing your scared expression.

"thank you, professor. you didn't have to do that."

"on the contrary, y/n. i did. couldn't call myself a good man if i didn't. why don't you actually walk with me? i'd feel better about leaving you if i knew you got where you needed to go safely."

you nodded and lead him down the hallway and out of the building. you chatted along the way to your class. you learned that he could actually be quite sassy, and you found it funny. the two of you walked in sync. you were desperate to reach out and grab his hand, but you knew that would be inappropriate. if only you realized he was thinking the same.

when you finally approached the building your class was in, you turned to rafael and thanked him again for walking you to class.

"of course. i'm glad i was able to make sure you were safe."

'you make me feel safe.' you thought.

rafael felt his cheeks heat up. actually, his whole body temperature rose at the compliment from you. he wasn't sure he even heard you right.

"i'm glad i do."

you hadn't realized it, but you'd said that out loud. you felt yourself begin to blush. how embarrassing. now he would think you were a silly girl with a silly crush.

"sorry, that wasn't meant for you to hear." you quickly put your head down, not wanting to see the look of disapproval on his face.

but, unbeknownst to you, his face contorted into a smile. he liked knowing that you felt safe with him. he wanted to do everything he could to make sure you were never hurt. his heart leaped at the realization that maybe, just maybe, you might like him a little more than a student should like their professor.

but how to find out? surely he couldn't just come right out with it and ask you? what if you said no? and then went and told all your friends? what if it somehow got back to the dean? or the president of the college? no. it was better to just let it go. play it safe.

"no, that's quite okay. you'll always be safe with me, y/n."

fuck. had he really just said that? now you were going to think he was a bona fide creep. he blew it.

hearing him say this gave you a burst of confidence. he clearly cared enough about you to not only save you from a potentially dangerous incident, but to also make sure you get to your next destination safely. not many other people would've done that. knowing this made you feel better about your crush on him. so, with everybit of self-assurance you had, you went for it.

"um, professor?" you asked, looking up into his eyes.

"yes?"

"would it- would you like to get a coffee sometime?"

rafael almost wasn't sure he heard you right. had you asked to coffee? you? asked him? no. he clearly was dreaming. this couldn't be real.

his lack of an answer began to scare you, and all that confidence was gone now. you felt small, the rejection beginning to loom over you lile a dark cloud.

"i'm sorry, that was wrong of me. you don't have to-"

"no, no. i would love to get a coffee with you. i was just taken aback by you asking."

you smiled at the cuban, him doing the same. you couldn't believe he'd said yes.

"okay good. i have to get to class now but how about i stay after your class so we can figure out a time?"

"that sounds good. i'll see you later."

with that, he gave you another smile and headed off back the way you guys had walked. he couldn't contain his joy as he walked the path back to the building.

you walked into your class with a stupid grin plastered on your face, eager to see him again later.

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

[written-on-the-trees]

Strawberry Necklace Part 1 - Yungblud Fan Fiction

Word Count: 2175

Warnings: None, for this part. Smut, fem-dom, and prostitution for the whole story.

Summary: Nova was right; Dom is more interested in her than he probably should be...just as she is in him.

Where else can you find this:  Ao3  |  Wattpad

Take It Easy, Boy  |  Part Two

"You have a last-minute appointment this evening." Robert poked his head around the door to Nova's dressing room, raising an eyebrow at her semi-dressed state: "I know it's a little late, but I didn't think you'd mind when you found out which client it was."

 Nova forwent getting ready for her next client entirely - even though she was technically already behind schedule - to twist in the mirrored vanity's chair to grin at Robert: "Is it my favourite little punk sweetheart?"

 Robert rolled his eyes: "You're the wrong side of thirty to be calling him that."

 "Rude." Nova pointed a French manicured nail at her friend: "Remember, we don't discuss ages, lest I remind you that I am the younger one of us."

 Robert flipped her off, laughing openly at her 'telling off': "Better hurry if you're going to be ready for your two o'clock."

   Nova laughed as Robert slipped away, his stockinged feet silent on the floors.

 As fun as it was to bicker with him, though, he was right - if she wanted to be ready on time, she would need to get a move on and stop being distracted. Which meant putting her favourite punk boy to the back of her mind for now.

 She deliberately didn't think about him as she slid into an ivory satin underwear set, garter belt, and nude stockings. She left the gauzy ivory robe off for now, hanging on the wardrobe door above the nine-inch crystal-encrusted stilettos, wandering around in the stockings and a fluffy dressing gown while she did her hair and make-up. Thankfully this particular client preferred a 'natural' look, so although she wore more make-up than he would ever realise, it didn't take her as long as some of her more elaborate looks, and her hair could be left how it was: wavy from where it had just been released from the braid she'd had it in over-night. A little hairspray and she was good to go, fifteen minutes early and now with plenty of time to go back to thinking about the person she was trying not to.

 She was failing. Miserably.

 Dominic Harrison was starting to take up residence in her mind quite a bit recently - so much she was considering starting to charge him rent, as well as what he paid for her services.

   He'd probably pay it too.

   It was sad, but true.

 Nova wasn't inexperienced - she knew how to read people, and Dom liked her a lot more than he should. Most of the time, when clients got like that, Nova gently pushed them out of her schedule until she didn't see them anymore, but not with Dom.

 Because she liked him more than she should, too.

   A lot more.

   If she was being fair to herself, Nova knew there was only so much she could help it. Dom was likable in almost everything she'd seen him in, swinging between enthusiastic and earnest all with so much love and passion it was hard not to be charmed - and that was even before she thought about their personal interactions. It wasn't even just the sex (although she couldn't deny his particular brand of eagerness didn't affect her a little more than other clients' did) it was literally everything about him.

 He was a genuine sweetheart - it was hard not to like him.

 Since he'd been coming around more often in the last few months, he’d really started to relax and open up to her about his life: the songs he was writing, the things his agents had booked for him, the places he was going. It was all a little bit vague (secrecy was important: Nova understood that perfectly), but even that vagueness couldn't hide how excited he was. It was clear that he enjoyed what he did, and it always made their conversations stand out to her.

 And he wasn’t the only one sharing. Even though she kept her own secrets just as Dom kept his, that didn't stop her from mentioning inconsequential things about herself like her favourite type of fruit or that, that foxes were her favourite animals, or the fact that outside of work she never wore rings (nothing he could use to ever link her to her real life; after all, secrecy was important)...and as if just having him listen wasn't enough to make Nova smile, every now and then he would bring her gifts that always seemed to be linked back to one of their conversations. That always tugged at Nova’s heartstrings.

Dom wasn’t the only client who brought her gifts - she had a few that were into financial domination, and even without them Nova had a room in her flat full of expensive clothes, shoes, and jewellery, perfumes, and just about everything she could think of, all bought for her by clients - but Dom’s presents were the only ones that were in any way personal to her.

A bottle of strawberry and cherry rosé - a lot cheaper than what she was used to, but all the more delicious because Dom had bought it because he thought she might like it after she mentioned she liked sweet wines, not to show off how much he could drop on a bottle of wine for a hooker. A punnet of nectarines, before he passed through a market on his way to their appointment, and they looked nice and ripe and colourful, and 'sweet like you are'. A bar of Cadbury’s ‘Marvellous Creations’, because apparently he’d recently tried chocolate with popping candy in for the first time, and wanted to share the revelation with her.

Small, but truly sweet presents. The kind of presents that people bought for people that actually gave a shit about, and that was the bit that bothered Nova - because that kind of thing never ended well.

 When she'd been young - and stupid - she'd fallen for a client that had fallen for her.

 It wasn't exactly unusual; sexual intimacy, especially on a regular basis, paired with supposed 'friendliness' that was really just good customer service, could often be misconstrued for romantic feelings, especially developing ones. Nova's client had made that mistake, and when he'd started caring about her, she'd made the mistake of caring back. It had gone from a business transaction where he paid her for sex, to him paying her for sex and bringing her presents he thought she would like, to her taking him home: her real home, not the flat she had been working out of. He'd stopped being a client, and became James.

 At first, it had been great...a year later she was alone, penniless, and homeless. James hadn't liked her, he'd just liked the idea of her, and once that illusion had been dispelled by the pair of them living together, and her dropping her 'Madam' persona, he'd lost interest and started resenting her for not being who he thought she was.

   Dom would be the same.

   Even if he wasn't...Nova wasn't the same naive - the stupid - girl she'd been at twenty-two. She wasn't going to risk going back to that hopeless position of broken, heartsick, and destitute, not even for someone as sweet as Dom. At the end of the day, he was a client, and when you stripped away all Nova's airs and graces, she was a prostitute.

 And just in case she ever forgot, she heard the doorbell ring, signalling her next client had arrived.

 Nova slipped out of the fluffy robe and slid into the gauzy, pearlescent one, before stepping into the diamanté shoes. She checked her hair in the mirror, and fixed her face into the contemptuous sneer this made this particular client so hot under the collar.

 It was time to go to work.

      Nova climbed into the shower two hours later, fighting the urge to scream in frustration.

 In truth, she had no reason to be so dramatic. Her session had been an easy one; all she'd done was stalk around the dining room in her diamanté high heels, snarling and sneering while Mr Snow sat at the table with his phone, buying her all the expensive things she could think to command him to. Then he'd sat there while she put on the diamond necklace he'd bought her last time, making sure to touch the inner curves of her breasts plenty as she did it, stood next to him and propped one foot on the table so he could see the shoes he'd bought for on her feet, and spritzed herself with perfume he'd paid for, moaning dramatically as she did it.

 He'd come untouched, and thanked her for putting him in his place, before she told him he was disgusting and to get out of her sight. Mr Snow didn't like her breaking character; he was old fashioned that way, so even though Nova would've liked to have checked on him, she didn't. He was paying her to be a bitch so she'd forced him to leave without showering while she hid in the bathroom and tried not to feel like she was going mad.

 It was proving slightly difficult.

 Thinking about James had put her in a bad place, and comparing him to Dom had done her no favours, especially since he was constantly invading her thoughts. Now she couldn't think of the sweet way Dom smiled without seeing James' charming smile just behind it, and that was fucking with her.

 She wasn't hurt by what had happened with James anymore; it had been ten years ago, by now the hurt had faded and the confusion had cleared, leaving Nova with nothing but memories and the knowledge that he had been a prick and she had been an idiot. Now that relationship was a lesson - a warning not to get involved romantically with clients, no matter what a good idea it might seem.

 Even thinking about it was pointless.

 At the end of the day, she was a dominatrix, and Dom was a client: he paid her to indulge his kinks. Even if that wasn't the case, he was so young, and so painfully eager to please - more than just in the bedroom - and so inexperienced that Nova honestly wasn't sure she wouldn't be taking advantage of Dom if they started having anything other than a business transaction. Just like James had taken advantage of her.

 Nova never wanted to put someone in the position she had been put in. Especially not someone like Dom.

 Dom wasn't a bad person - far from it. He was just an enthusiastic and inexperienced kid who was in over his head when it came to their relationship - or, rather, the lack thereof. He thought just because they liked each other, that things could work out. That love would conquer all. Nova had seen it before, and she had no doubt she would see it again...but that didn't make it the truth. Love couldn't conquer everything, and sometimes it was better to just leave it alone.

 For his own good, and the sake of protecting her own heart, Nova needed to make sure that things remained professional...or she needed to stop seeing him. Anything else would just be unfair on both of them.

 Which meant no more moping around in the shower.

 Turning the hot water off, Nova twisted the excess water out of her hair and stepped out of the shower. Dom's preferred look was mildly complicated, allowing Nova to focus on drying her hair enough so it looked dry and she could pull it back into a perfect bun at the crown of her head, before going straight into doing her make-up. Red lipstick, neat black eye-liner, subtle contouring, no time to think about anything but what she was doing. She changed into another pair of nude stockings, a black pencil skirt and crisp white shirt, sliding her feet into the eight-inch Louboutins with the narrow strap around the ankle that Dom seemed to like so much, before looking at the clock.

   Six fifty-eight.

   Nova watched the second hand ticking away, until at seven on the dot the doorbell rang.

 She counted to sixty, keeping time with the second hand on the clock, before she rose from the chair in front of her dressing table and before heading out of the room, her eight-inch Louboutins clacking on the polished tile of the hallway.

   "Look at you, pretty boy, exactly on time." she teased: "Tell me, were you waiting on my doorstep for the clock to hit seven?"

   Dom blushed - but that was all the answer Nova needed to know she was right. And not just about him being waiting outside until it turned seven before he rang the doorbell. The look in his eyes wasn't just embarrassment; he was happy to see her. More than happy, even. He was overjoyed, and she had been right.

 He was in way over his head.

[curtisandlewis]

ML Relationship through the Perspective of a Fanfiction Writer

Listen to the Spotify playlist I made as an auditory companion

For their anniversary I would like to discuss from my perspective as a writer of fanfiction the many layers of ML’s relationship

Onions have layers as well as cake! I learned that from Jerry’s friend Eddie Murphy.

We all know how much the boys love cake…

Layer One Partnership

I wouldn’t be writing fanfiction about two guys who worked at a gas station. Their act is the reason we know about them and celebrate them today. What all of America saw was two men equally skilled at their art (though many were too stupid to realize), both in awe and each other’s biggest fan. What was not presented to the public was the communication it took to pull off their act. It took negotiation to set up a gag and trust as well as the sense to know when not to push when doing a stunt. Their natural rhythm made adlibs come off better than scripted material. They were so attuned to one another they could do the impossible.

Layer Two Friendship

Dean and Jerry most likely met in 1942 that’s four years of friendship before they ever were on stage together. They hung out, had more fun than anyone, and were emotionally supportive of the other. A subset of this aspect is when they act like boys. Wrestling each other to the ground, play fighting, playing football in the hall in nothing but your boxer shorts, and innocent kisses are all the actions of boys not yet taught the rules of manhood. In my writing I sometimes explore the idea of them having a romantic friendship. More than friends, less than lovers. Their relationship isn’t physical and neither has a sexual attraction but are deeply attracted to each other emotionally. This love can be (and Jerry often has!) compared to romantic love. They are affectionate sometimes in the form of kisses but that’s only to communicate their strong emotions for the other.

Layer Three Family

Some people are uncomfortable with them having a romantic friendship. What part of it was a LOVE STORY do you not understand? Often these people will say they loved each other like BROTHERS. In the past I have compared them to brothers but I meant only in the sense that they have a family-like bond. Brothers are protective in this “no one beats the shit out of my brother but me” kind of way. No real life brother relationship I know of is anything like Dean and Jerry. I do, however, get strong father/son vibes from them. Dean is protective, caring, gives Jerry discipline when he needs it, and loves him without condition. It’s important to note these are all things Jerry’s biological father didn’t provide.

Layer Four Marriage

Now we’re getting deep. When I talk about their marriage I don’t mean romantic love or a sexual relationship. I’m speaking strictly of their domesticity. Their act made it so they had to live on the road, sharing hotel rooms and a bed in the early days. As Jerry once said, LIVING AND LOVING TOGETHER. It’s canon that Dean moved in with Jerry more than once. They know what the other is like in a domestic situation. Jerry knows that Dean cuts corners when doing house work and can be a slob. Dean thinks Jerry should relax and not be so fussy. They learned to accept the other’s irritating quirks and create a harmonious environment where they can enjoy each other’s company. Dean and Jerry have to work together to (Jerry would love this analogy!) nurture their baby (their act). This requires...you guessed it! COMMUNICATION. When they communicate and I mean TALK, exchange words and make hard decisions, nothing can break them. In real life their little spats were like the arguments that married people have. In my fiction when they can no longer communicate what they want or need that’s the beginning of the end.

Layer Five Dom/sub

I’m not talking about in a sexual relationship or even within them practicing an alternative lifestyle. When Dean is dominant over Jerry it makes him feel owned. For Jerry to be owned is the highest form of love. He willingly submits to Dean’s loving authority and to serve him brings him great joy. The roles often switch back and forth depending on what the other needs. When Jerry is dominant over Dean it gives him a chance to breathe. For most of Dean’s life he had to appear dominant and in control because that’s what is expected of a man. Jerry is seen as the wife, the female half and naturally the more submissive. But when Jerry takes over the dominant role Dean can just be. He doesn’t have to worry about appearances. Sometimes a man just likes to be led.

Layer Six Romantic

This is when I write Dean and Jerry as lovers. Call them boyfriends, husbands, whatever you want. They are romantically attracted and deeply in love. If you would like a description look up any quote from Jerry about their relationship.

Layer Seven Supernatural

I’m not planning on doing any crossovers with the TV show if that’s what you were thinking. I’m speaking of all the things related to their connection that cannot be explained. They were mythological. In real life they spoke of a connection so deep they knew when the other was sick, in pain, or even angry at them before they were in the same room. I create stories that hint at this connection. They were fated to be together. No matter how stupid they act or how badly they fuck everything up a force beyond their control will always bring them back together.

Layer Eight Sexual

I have left this to be the final layer because it is the most deepest and intimate aspect of their relationship. When I write them having sex all of their aspects work together. Their professional partnership, especially the part where they must know the other’s limits, prepares them for a sexual relationship. As boys they can wrestle and play and as men these games can become something more meaningful than harmless fun. If you replace father with caretaker then that aspect also plays a key part. Making love is what married couples traditionally do. Dominance, submission, the switching between the two awakens their deepest desires and fulfills their deepest need. In Dean’s case it’s a need he didn’t know he had. When I write them practicing an alternative lifestyle I include pain and that sex doesn’t have to be gentle to be deeply romantic. Sex and physical touch on it’s own is how Dean can express his love for Jerry. Words fail him but his hands never do. I write that they can feel the love as if it was something tangible and passed to the other. As for the supernatural aspect, imagine how satisfying sex could be with your soul mate who knew when you would take your next breath and who knew your body as well as you did. This is why whenever I write Dean and Jerry having sex or experiencing sexual intimacy it is always more than that. It does not matter what they do or the lies they tell they are experiencing a deeply emotional act that can sometimes border on the spiritual.

I remember hearing the writer of a TV show talking about writing sex scenes. He used sex scenes as an opportunity to show who the characters were. That always stuck with me and as a writer I prefer examining their relationship and personalities through sex scenes. I mainly write them in a sexual relationship for this reason and also because it’s fun.

Below the cut is my personal experience with writing their sexual relationship, particularly penetrative sex. None of this will be included on the version posted to AO3

It is very important for me to know if and when my characters engage in certain acts, especially penetrative sex.

I am very protective of my Jerry character. Once upon a time, I wanted Dean to be his first everything. I think we all like the idea of Jerry being in control of his experiences with men and for those experiences to be really special. But when I would attempt to write Jerry as shy and innocent it felt like I was writing an original character that had the same name. Jerry’s experiences whether good or bad make him who he is. I can’t logically write that Jerry never acted on his attraction towards men in sixteen years because his soul mate was out there waiting for him. Also, Dean’s possessiveness would take over when he found out Jerry was untouched. He would think of him as “pure” and that never sat right with me.

Jerry kissed boys and men, was held by some and maybe even developed romantic feelings for one of them and Mr. Martin is just going to have to accept that.

Another thing Mr. Martin has to deal with is that Jerry very much enjoys penetrative sex and wants that in his sexual relationships. I write Dean as his first experience with homosexual intercourse because I want that experience to be special for him. If the idea weren’t so laughable I would have Dean sprinkle rose petals on their bed. Jerry isn’t losing his “virginity” he’s had sex before. Intercourse isn’t any different from any other sexual act. Any way men choose to have sex or get off with each other is valid, intimate, and as romantic as they feel.

However, intercourse is a riskier act than the others. The first time for any gender can be tricky and a lot can go wrong. I want Jerry to be with someone gentle and caring enough that he can receive the maximum amount of pleasure. I want this person to be someone he’s in love with and only gives him positive emotions during. Most importantly I want him never to regret this happened and when he thinks of it throughout the decades he feels good.

Quite recently, I’ve decided on a specific time when they do this. Drum roll please... Dean and Jerry share this special experience in 1947 when Jerry is twenty-one.

Why such a specific time? Because in 1948 Jerry goes to Hollywood and reunites with his oh so special friend Tony. When I first joined this fandom I thought Jerry met Tony in 1948 and in my fanfiction writer mind because of their strong sexual chemistry they instantly started a sexual relationship. They did EVERYTHING. Jerry didn’t have to worry about the rules that men were supposed to follow or if he was acting too feminine in bed or not feminine enough. There was no hesitation or holding back with Tony. He bottomed, he topped, dominant, submissive he explored every side of himself. To be with Tony he has to be a fully blossomed flower of a man and when the fifties hit he knows exactly what he wants sexually and completely accepts the desires he has for whichever gender he has a relationship with.

It’s beautiful isn’t it? Tony and Jerry definitely have their problems but when it comes to their sexual relationship I always write it as positive and satisfying for the both of them. When I started writing fanfiction for them it’s what I loved the most.

[ciarawritesmarvel]

wanderlust [1] - steve rogers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k (yayyyy)

Warnings: Mutual pining to the max? Lots of secretly loving Steve. Minimal language. 

A/N: Eeeee I know I know, I have a Bucky series ongoing what am I doing but I’m in such a Steve mood at the moment, and I have to do this! A little mini series following Steve and the reader’s trip around the world, just a little one, full of pining and love and fluff and sunsets and intimacy but not smut. This has really sparked something in me and I can’t stop writing it. I love you guys and please do let me know what you think of this if you have time! <3

Summary: Your best friend and colleague Steve Rogers only really wants to make you happy, even if that means taking you around the world to do so. Will you satisfy your wanderlust or somehow wander into love?

Prompt: I love you. And I’m sorry if that scares you but it won’t change. I love you. I have for a while now. [written for Attie’s 4K Challenge Challenge! @barnesrogersvstheworld]

I’m going to start tagging in reblogs and my masterlist is in my bio if you want to find it! Enjoy! 

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new york city - usa

Your bright smile and smart dress were the only thing keeping the fact that you were sleep-deprived and exhausted a secret. The black skirt suit was too hot and you felt yourself pulling at your neckerchief whenever you thought no one was looking.

“Hello and welcome to Gaia Airlines! Could you place your luggage on the conveyor belt for me?”

Over and over and over, that sentence was seared onto your mind like a brand, so natural were the words that fell from your lips that it felt as if you were on autopilot, not really thinking about anything as you asked the typical questions and ripped tickets with the mechanical movements of a bored human being.

You cast a glance down the line of people on the night shift alongside you and saw the similar subtle signs that lack of sleep adds to your features. Sam was rubbing his face, Bucky’s shoulders had sagged, Nat’s heels lay strewn on the floor under the desk and Steve beside you had dark circles under his eyes and a slightly more worn smile than usual.

He’d caught you stealing a glance at him between customers and inclined his head towards you just slightly with a small tilt as if to ask if you were doing okay. You gave him a soft smile and a tiny, almost imperceptible nod that you knew he would pick up on. Not only was he good at reading others in the first place, but you two had gotten to know each other rather well over the past five and a half years. Calling him a best friend, calling all four of them best friends, didn’t feel out of place.

He turned back to his next customer, satisfied with your answer, and began to serve them, you continuing with your own line. Why people couldn’t just get flights in the daytime like a normal person would baffled you. But not really.

You’d take any flight you could get if it meant you’d get to go out and see the world.

Working at an airport and watching people flying away on magical adventures every single night whilst also being someone who had never left the United States and had a serious case of wanderlust was an interesting situation to say the least. The irony was certainly not lost on you.

Almost a whole night of the same old, same old checking in had gone by and if it was even possible, everyone appeared to be flagging so much more. You’d lost your own heels a few hours previous, secretly reaching down to massage your aching feet every couple of minutes. It wasn’t as if you even got a decent break in your 12 hour shift, just two half hour ones that were just used for a much needed sit down, a run to the bathroom and a quick snack.

With just an hour left, it was Steve’s turn for a break and as soon as the clock struck the hour he put a rope across his station and stepped back from the podium with a stretched out sigh. He walked behind you to make his way to the break room and squeezed your shoulder on the way past with a pitying smile and you brought your hand up to cover his for only a second, meeting his glance with grateful eyes.

“I’ll grab you a coffee,” he whispered on his way.

“Thank you!” you mumbled, even though he was already gone and you could hear his shoes clicking on the floor, quieter and quieter as he travelled down the corridor.

There was a part of you, your heart most likely, that seemed to warm at the thought of Steve offering to get you a coffee and none of the others, however selfish it may have sounded. But in reality, it reaffirmed your belief that the relationship the two of you held went a little beyond the rest of your work relationships. Steve was a little more than that to you than a mere best friend and it was nice to know that feeling was reciprocated.

There were other feelings in the back of your mind for Steve, ones that used to be right at the forefront, begging to be set free, but it had been a long time since you had properly listened to those. They just happened to lurk there, completely unwanted and unreciprocated, of that you were sure, and so you cast them away in fear that they may one day interfere in the best friendship of your adult life.

You heard a mini beep from your computer screen that indicated a chat message. You continued to talk through the protocol safety questions with the customer you were currently serving but clicked on the little bell icon to open up the chat window at the same time. Sam had set up the chat about a year ago, installed it on the five workstation computers only and done it in a certain way you didn’t quite understand to ensure that the airline wouldn’t see it and that the day shifters couldn’t access it either.

You were added to a chat with Badass, Princess and Birdman.

Nat: Sorry, am I mistaken or did somebody just offer just one singular person a coffee?

Bucky: No Nat, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what just happened.

Sam: What would possibly cause such unabashed favouritism?

Your brow furrowed at the messages but you ignored them for a second as you ripped the tickets you’d just printed from the mini printer and handed them to the customer in front of you as you told them to have a wonderful flight. There was no one left in the queue for the time being, though you knew it wouldn’t last, so you turned your attention back to the messages.

Y/N: If you guys ever want to stop being children, just let me know.

Bucky: Someone’s tetchy. It’s as if we haven’t all just done 11 hours of a 12 hour shift.

Y/N: Less of the sass, Barnes.

Nat: You’re willingly blind, Y/N.

Sam: Willingly ignorant, blind isn’t a strong enough word.

You have left the chat.

You could feel a couple of glances at the side of your head as the others noticed your exit but you ignored them, focusing on the person that had arrived in front of you to be checked in. Your colleagues, as you currently felt compelled to call them just colleagues, had been alluding to a crush from a certain other colleague for a good few months now, but it was something you wouldn’t even consider a possibility. It wasn’t up for discussion. Not anymore. Not when you’d had to spend months locking away every thought of Steve that you couldn’t have, months boxing up every inappropriate feeling you found in your brain.

Steve returned and you felt his arm just brush your side lightly as he placed a steaming hot mug on your desk, not stopping to talk to you but just returning to his station. You glanced at him and he was already looking at you, a weird glimmer in his eye and a grin adorning his features. You shot him a quick puzzled look but he shook his head lightly, the grin only growing.

And then he did something completely new. He winked at you.

It was playful and excitable and he was like a puppy that had just been given a new home. He looked revitalised, a different man to the one that had trudged away to the break room half an hour ago. Completely bewildered, and just slightly more flustered than you’d like to admit, you hurriedly dropped your gaze away from him and towards your work instead, silently wracking your brain for anything that could have happened to him to have made him so cheerful so suddenly. The others were looking confused too, with Bucky and Sam shaking their heads at each other and rolling their eyes and Nat mouthing expletives at you. You resolved to ask him about it as soon as your shift ended.

You had never seen such a sudden change in Steve’s mood. And he had never sent you a wink that made you shiver.

30 minutes earlier

Steve struggled through the corridor, desperately trying to keep his feet moving, one after the other, even though it was difficult to keep it going. He was so tired. He’d taken the early and late break this evening, so that the others could have the middle ones that they really needed. Especially you, since you’d been secretly signing yourself up for the early and late breaks for the past week in order to help the others.

He’d now signed himself up for the coming week. It was the absolute least he could do.

As was grabbing you a coffee.

In the break room, there were a myriad of other airport employees, flight attendants, duty free salespersons and even a few pilots scattered around. Steve’s ears automatically tuned in to a familiar voice and his lips turned up in a knowing smile.

“...so I told him, look Rhodey, just because you’re my co-pilot doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate to send you out the door with a parachute!”

A few of his colleagues laughed at his clearly exaggerated tale as Steve walked over and tapped him on the shoulder, watching his face break into a grin when he turned around.

“Steve Rogers!” he exclaimed, cupping his face with both hands and planting a kiss on each cheek, something Steve had grown somewhat accustomed to.

“Tony Stark,” he replied, clapping a hand on his arm, “It’s been a little while. How was South Korea?”

“Wonderful. How’s Y/N?”

Steve’s whole face seemed to slump into one of a grumpy teenager although there was the faintest hint of a blush forming on his cheeks that told Tony his teasing wasn’t unwarranted. He’d been teasing him as such for about four years, however, so it was beginning to become tiresome.

“Wonderful,” Steve mumbled reluctantly, “But you could really ask her yourself.”

“Where would the fun be in that?”

Tony grinned and Steve glowered at him, but still he sat opposite him at one of the tables in the break room when Tony indicated to do so. Tony may have been a pain in the ass, but he was an old friend and one of the only people Steve would willingly endure such teasing from. The other was Bucky, and sometimes Nat but never Sam. He had his limits.

“Seriously, have you still not said anything to her? You know she-”

“Tony,” he warned, sounding exasperated, “Move on. Was Pepper on your flight to Korea?”

“No,” Tony grumbled, “They don’t let us on the same flights more than once a month now, something about not trusting us to keep the plane...sanitary.” Steve’s nose wrinkled in light disgust.

“You know how gross that is, right?”

“We most certainly do!”

“Pepper’s such a lucky woman,” Steve said sarcastically and Tony laughed, Steve congratulating himself on successfully changing the subject, even if it was just for now.

“That she is. She’s back from Thailand tomorrow so best to stay out of our way for at least 6 hours, then feel free to stop by the apartment and say hello!”

“I’ll give you 12 hours, but I will pop over, I haven’t seen Pep in such a long time!”

“Chief flight attendants don’t get too much free time.”

“Neither do pilots, Tony. How do you two manage it?” Steve asked, curious and a soft, genuine smile played with Tony’s lips as he shrugged lightly.

“We get by. Cherish the time we do spend together. It helps that we’ve known each other for ten years. Though five and a half is probably enough too.”

“Tony-”

“Oh come on Steve! It’s been four years of you being in love with this girl and four years of being too scared to anything about it. Do you realise how long that is? Four years!” he insisted and Steve felt a small anger building in his stomach.

“I’m not too scared to do anything about it, Stark,” Tony looked slightly taken aback by the bite in Steve’s words and knew that he was only referred to as Stark when he’d gone just a little too far, “I’m not doing anything about it because, above everything, I count myself lucky to have Y/N in my life and I refuse to do anything that might jeopardise that. Period.”

Tony blinked a couple of times.

“Okay, fine. That makes sense, I guess,” it almost sounded as if Tony was being serious but Steve knew him better than that, “Or at least, it would if I wasn’t 100% sure without a doubt that Y/N is head over heels for you.”

“She isn’t.”

“I’ve known her for just as long as you, Stevie, and I know that she does.”

“You don’t see her everyday like I do. We’re best friends; I would know. Drop it.”

Tony sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He couldn’t count how many times the two men had had this conversation. It was growing unbearably annoying. Steve was forthright about his feelings about you and had been for a very long time and whilst you wouldn’t dream of admitting anything to Tony, who was little more than a friendly face that you saw around sometimes, Tony had seen the way you looked at Steve. He knew that look. It was the look he got when Pepper was around.

It was that of a lovesick puppy.

And whilst you weren’t much of the puppy type and that was far more Steve’s game, he knew what he’d seen. You were smitten. Steve was smitten. Why neither of you were brave enough to take this further was beyond him. Though this was coming from the man who had showered his wife with bouquets upon bouquets of flowers and one ill-begotten batch of strawberries before she agreed to date him, so subtlety wasn’t exactly his strongest suit.

“She means that much to you, huh?”

A pause. Full of weight. Meaning.

“You know she does, Tony,” he said softly, looking down at his hands which had starting wringing together nervously without him even noticing, “I’d do pretty much anything for her. Which reminds me, I should really be getting her coffee so-”

Steve pushed himself up from the chair with his hands on his thighs, not noticing the look on Tony’s face and the clear fact that he’d just had what he thought was a genius idea. As Steve wandered over to the coffee machine in the kitchenette area, Tony bounded up from his chair and over to his friend, taking off his pilot cap and tugging it over Steve’s head.

“I’ve just had an incredible idea!”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” Tony pouted as Steve waiting for the coffee to brew, having put your favourite pod in the machine. He turned from the counter and leaned back against it, hands pressing into it on either side of him. He nodded reluctantly for Tony to continue, “Why don’t you and Y/N take a trip? All expenses paid by yours truly, a holiday from the night shift, a chance to spend some quality time together. It would be perfect!”

“Are you out of your mind?” Steve scoffed, shaking his head, “I am not going on a trip with Y/N.”

“Why not? You said it yourself, you’re best friends. Best friends go on vacations together.”

“Yeah but-” he floundered for some other excuse, “I can’t let you pay for it!”

Tony laughed at that. Steve could admit that was a pretty weak point. What with Tony’s air miles and his ridiculous amount inherited from his father, he wouldn’t even notice if somebody stole from him, Steve was sure. And he was a generous man at heart, so accepting such a huge gift, though difficult, wouldn’t be that hard to stomach.

“Forget the conversation we just had. Forget romance. You love her. That means something, even between best friends. And wouldn’t this make her happy?”

Steve paused. It would. There was no denying that this would make you happier than he’d probably ever seen you. Work was beating your ass lately, and there wasn’t a day, or night, that went by when you didn’t talk about some part of the world you wanted to see, or lamented about an incredible place that one of your flight attendant friends was flying out to that night. You’d always wanted to travel.

He could make it happen. He could make you happy.

Or, at least, the trip could.

“I don’t know, Tony-”

“You think too much, Rogers,” Tony pointed, accusatory, at Steve, a stern look overtaking his features, “For once in your life, just do something spontaneous. Invite Y/N to come around the world with you. Why not?”

There were so many reasons why not. Because it was ill advised for a man in love to go away with the object of his affections. Because he shouldn’t take a free trip from Tony Stark. Because you might say no, he might be crushed. Because you did not love him back and he should be distancing himself from you in order to deal with that fact and not throwing himself before you in some grand gesture that wouldn’t win your love or make him feel any better about his unreciprocated feelings.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Tony clapped him on the back in his excitement with a grin of glee on his face.

“Ask her tonight, ask her tonight!”

Steve chuckled, because, although it was clear that Tony was getting ahead of himself, he couldn’t deny that he was feeling a little lightheaded himself. A world trip? The only thing that made those three words exponentially better was the addition of another two words.

With you.

He picked up the coffee cup, the steam rising in a steady stream from it and disappearing into the air above. Smiling at Tony, he placed a firm hand on his shoulder for a second.

“Thank you.”

It was sincere and the look of happiness on Tony’s face, in the crinkles around his eyes, was evident enough. With that, and a final word that he would come visit him and Pepper in the coming week, Steve left the break room, fulling intending to arrive back to you a little earlier than was necessary and forgo some of his break.

You needed your coffee after all.

And so here he was, grinning unnaturally at anyone who arrived with tickets at his stations, messing up his perfectly practised lines and questions and, instead of stumbling and apologising profusely, simply chuckling with a light apology and a small shake of the head at himself. He had even winked at you and hadn’t thought twice about how ridiculous he must’ve looked. He was the epitome of giddy.

A beep brought him out of his reverie.

You have been added to a chat with Princess.

Bucky: What is going on with you, pal? You’ve been smiled manically at yourself for the past ten minutes.

Steve: Tell you later, Buck.

Bucky: Can you at least tell me how to change my damn name on this crap?

Steve has left the chat.

Princess suited him too well. He couldn’t rob the team of that chuckle every time he was added to a chat.

The shift finished quicker than ever for Steve and what felt like slower than ever for you. Steve’s change in mood was almost worrying, even if it seemed positive, and you cornered him in the staffroom as soon as you arrived there. You both had your lockers open, ridding yourselves of suit jackets that would be needed tomorrow night, Steve passing you your heels that he had carried back for you.

“Okay, come on Rogers. Spill.”

“What are you talking about?” he feigned nonchalance, but he was such a terrible liar and he was still smiling. He hadn’t stopped smiling since. It was unnerving.

“You. Your face. It’s weird,” you argued, pulling out a black duster coat from your locker and weaving your arms into it, pulling it tight around yourself as you hoisted your bag onto one shoulder and shut your locker, “So tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, fine, there is something. Just, don’t freak out.”

“...Okay.”

You were beginning to get a little worried, but you tried not to let it show, not wanting to put Steve off telling you whatever was on his mind. He was easily spooked.

“I saw Tony on my break-“

“Oh my god! Tony! How is he? Still a little shit?” you said playfully as Steve closed his locker and you both began walking through the airport towards the staff car park.

“Still a little shit, yeah. But he’s good, Pep’s back tomorrow and they have a week off together so he’s naturally ecstatic,” you laughed slightly but looked genuinely happy for your pilot friend and his wife. Steve found himself falling for you just a millimetre more at the happiness you held for other people’s happiness, even those you didn’t know well. Little moments such as this could add millimetres and millimetres to his fall, “But anyway, he offered me a gift. And you.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” Steve could feel his voice getting more excited and his steps becoming bouncier as you walked through the huge rooms, arms bumping each other every few seconds, “What would you say if I told you he was going to pay for us to go on holiday?”

You stopped in your tracks and held out a hand to stop Steve too. You stared at him.

“Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny, you know how much I want to-“

“Travel, yes I do which is why I would never joke about this Y/N. It’s true.”

“Shut up,” you hit his arm then, not being able to process this, “Shut up! Wait, wait, we can’t let him pay, that’s ridiculous.”

“Do you know how rich Tony is?”

“...Fair point.”

“I would never usually accept such gifts from him either, trust me, but this? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Two weeks off work, a trip around the world, to the places you’ve always talked and dreamt about.”

There were tears in your eyes and whilst Steve was sure they were happy tears, he couldn’t help but be a little scared by them. You were still gripping his forearm tightly, to ground yourself, because your head was spinning. You couldn’t take this in. Steve wiped a tear that happened to fall onto your chin with the pad of his thumb with a shaky smile.

“And you’d be coming with me?” you asked quietly when you found your words.

“Yes, I mean, if you don’t mind-“

“‘Cause I don’t think I could do this without you.”

He breathed out a long breath. He was worried you wouldn’t want him but he should’ve known you would. Of course you would. You were best friends. He knew he was an important part of your life, even if not in the way he would like, just as you were an important part of his. He turned his forearm in your grip and held your own arm in his hand.

“I’d be there every step of the way, doll. We’d see the world together.”

His words were so comforting although they did a number on the locks of the boxes at the back of your mind and made your heart jump in its place. Together as friends, you reminded yourself, filling in the blank. You mulled over the proposition in your head. It was all too much.

“We need to talk about this properly.”

“Of course,” Steve replied readily, feeling you begin to waver.

“And I’ll need to talk to Tony.”

“I’m meeting him and Pepper sometime this week, you can come with me.”

“But if we can get it all sorted… well then I’m in buddy.”

“You are?” Steve was shocked and overwhelmed and felt like he was jumping over the moon.

“Of course I am! How could I say no? Oh Steve, this is amazing!”

There were a few tears falling now, happy tears that were actually rather unnoticeable, since your grin was taking up your entire face and there was a light in your eyes that Steve hadn’t seen in at least a year. He’d forgotten how beautiful true happiness looked on you.

All too soon he couldn’t see it anymore though, because you were clasping his shoulders and bringing him down for a hug, clutching at his back with a ferocity that was new. But this meant so much to you. More than you’d ever be able to tell him.

Tony might be paying for it, but Steve was going to take you around the world. That was everything.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into his shoulder, your chin resting on it as his arms melted into your back and he held you to him tightly.

“Tony’s paying-“

“Thank you.”

Your insistent tone told him not to argue and so he just squeezed you impossibly tighter.

You were happy. He’d done his job.

next chapter

[vmohlere]

More Infinite Coffee Q&A

@musings-on-bucky-barnes​ had some more questions from last year’s Q&A, and after AGES of procrastination on my part, here’s the first set of answers. Also on Ao3.

·         When does Pepper teach Bucky to wink?

 I have no idea! That’s not one of the little details that my brain bothered to supply.

 Or perhaps he saw her do it (to himself or someone else) and decided to copy it.

 Very possible! Barnes definitely watches Pepper closely, because he considers her a reliable source for acceptable social cues.

 ·         Reactions of the Tower residents and other friends when Bucky recovers enough to start grinning and winking? (We know that Natasha said it makes him look epically hot!)

 Pretty much the universal reaction to being grinned at by Barnes for the first time is being stunned and maybe a little turned on. Barnes doesn’t bring out the flirting that often – most often with the Olds and the folks at the Lucky Carp, because of his comfort levels – but Barton and Sam flirt with him pretty shamelessly, trying to get him to smile. Hill has been known to save up a particularly juicy smart comment so she can make it in front of him. And Tony would deny it forever, but once Barnes laughs softly at something during arm maintenance, he ramps the Tony Show up to 13 to try to make Barnes laugh again.

 And also what about flirting at and with Steve? Lucky Steve would get the full force of it when they’re together.

 Prior to Upgrade: Advanced Happiness Skills, Barnes only flirts with Steve when it’ll cause maximum embarrassment and/or make Steve drop something heavy onto his own foot.

 ·         The reactions of the others to Steve and Bucky being together? We get to see the main Avengers and the Olds react, but not Pepper, Maria, Bruce, Katie, Peggy and the Carp clan.

 Hill yells at them for ruining No-Touch Valentine’s Day, but come on – you know she’s delighted. Especially since their timing meant that neither Barton nor Tony won the betting pool for how long it would take. (Pepper won, because she picked the date Nat told her to).

 The others might complain that the bet is then null and void because Nat had insider information ;)

 Who would dare complain (to her face)?

 Mr. Hayashi blinks at them for a minute, until Kazue fusses at him for being old-fashioned.

 How does he then react?

 Oh, he’s fine, just momentarily surprised.

 Katie cries with happiness, and Steve’s a sympathy crier, so that’s a very damp conversation.

 Bruce notices. Eventually. (Nah, I kid – all the Tower residents saw this coming miles and miles away.)

 So that means that they are good at keeping their poker faces, as Bucky says in Advanced Happiness Skills that none of them (apart from Nat) noticed and that they appeared to be morons. (Which could mean that HE was so happy and distracted that he was actually the unobservant moron!)

 Correct.

 Sadly, I’m not sure that the Peggy in this world would be mentally together enough to hold onto the news. But her objective was always that Steve be safe and happy.

  ·         Steve and Peggy’s relationship - how it was affected in the period after Bucky’s ‘death’?

 I don’t have anything for this. Just thinking about it makes me so sad, though.

It is ironic that Bucky remembers more about Steve’s sex life than his own, like Steve & Peggy in the room in Lyon. Poor Bucky…

 Oof, his own sex life has a lot of stuff he didn’t want to remember, so he walled off all of it.

 Steve’s reactions to knowing that Bucky loved him and was jealous of Peggy

 Capt. Compartmentalization took that knowledge and tucked it very far back in his mind, bringing it back only when he wanted to torture himself by feeling guilty about it.

                 Will Steve and Bucky discuss Steve’s feelings/guilt about how he felt he let Bucky down during WW II?

 Oh, sure. They live for a very long time, and eventually, they talk all of it through.

  ·         Other Tower residents & Olds after Bucky has been shot

 Widespread frantic worry. There’s a phone tree for updates. Barton remembers to add the Hayashis to it.

 Steve’s reactions to wounded Bucky’s ramblings – including the ‘you’re my favorite person’ comment

 Well, you know, Buck was just as high as a kite there, couldn’t be held responsible for anything he was saying, and there definitely was no teeny tiny little part of Steve that had been in love with Bucky Barnes since he was 15 years old that was 100% thrilled.

 ·         Does Bucky ever run into Tyler and Dale again? Or they recognize him on TV when the media realize Bucky is alive/helping the Avengers?

 Oh man, I don’t know. I have thought about The Dale & Tyler Question a number of times, and I haven’t ever been able to decide what the funniest option is.

 ·         Bucky’s next birthday – will he be recovered enough for a big birthday party of his own?

 No, but I’ve just decided this minute that they rent out the Carp for the evening and have all the mission-assists for dinner. Barnes has to sit with his back to the wall near the front door, but he loves it.

 ·         What made you decide to do Steve’s POV? It was the first look at Bucky from the outside in this series.

 That section rose up and demanded to be written and fell out all in one lump. The only thing I changed while revising was to rearrange it a little. I really loved writing Steve’s voice.

 ·         Tony’s reaction to someone apart from himself doing something risqué/scandalous (the skinny dipping)

 He hates it, of course! While secretly loving it. Incapable of having a straightforward emotion, that one.

 ·         Solo trips to the Carp by other Avengers

 Oh, sure. They’re very good for that place’s bottom line. And Nat visits the Olds on her own.

 ·         It seems that Ollie’s honey Wayne died not long before Ollie encountered Bucky for the first time. How did the Olds all meet? Did they know Wayne?

 That must be so, given the way I mentioned things, but the timing wasn’t deliberate. Esther and Lidia had both lived in the building for several years, moving in when it was a much less dire place, and neither could afford to leave once it started getting bad. They were “nodding neighbors” until O’Reilly bought the place and started using it for nefarious purposes, and then they clung together for safety. Ollie moved in because it was what he could afford. They took one look at how sad he was and adopted him.

 Eventually, all three of them move to California, because the NYC winters get to be too much for their joints, and Ollie’s family is so happy to have him more active in their lives, and they don’t want to be separated. Barnes is NOT a fan of the plan, though it’s what ultimately makes him stubborn about learning to make air travel okay.

 That makes me sad and happy in equal measure. Tony would probably offer to do something whiz bang to the building’s heating, but a permanent move to warmer climes makes sense (and he and Pepper would make sure they got a great home). Hopefully Cat Eleanor likes her new home!

 Yeah, they are all really happy in California. Ollie’s family takes them all in with open arms.

 ·         Use of first names/surnames/nicknames and the importance of choice of which.

Like how you mentioned in a Tumblr post that you were very specific in Bucky’s use of Rogers, Steve and Stevie. And there is also how he only seems to prefer to let Steve say ‘Bucky’.

 Using a first name is a sign of intimacy for Barnes. Surnames keep people at arm’s length – or, in Hill’s case, are a sign of recognizing one as an equal.  His using “Steve” or “Stevie” means that it’s a moment of the programming losing power.

 And yes. Only Steve can call him “Bucky.” Only the Olds can call him “Jimmy.” He thinks of himself as “Barnes.”

 ·         How quickly did it take the Olds to realize that their mysterious new neighbor was Bucky Barnes?

 A couple of weeks.

 ·         Any more snippets of Cat Eleanor being her glorious cat self with the boys?

 Oh man, I wish I had one for you, but I don’t.

 They do eventually adopt their own cat, though, after the Olds move. His name is Jack, and he’s a hideous old grey thing with one eye. He and Barnes are devoted to one another. Jack tolerates Steve as a second-class roommate.

 ·         In ‘This You Protect’, you mention that Barnes is somewhat of a prude when Steve trolls him by singing rude and yucky songs. Is that a feature of old Bucky or new Barnes or both?

 Barnes

 Bucky thought all those songs were hilarious.

 ·         Recently you gave an intriguing one line summary about your original novel – please repeat that and tell us a bit about the genre, what stage it is up to, why you decided to write it.

 oh jeez.

 Did I say it was about a lady and her six werewolf boyfriends? I’m working on my query letter now, and I don’t know whether it’s urban fantasy—with—romance or paranormal romance, because marketing labels are a mystery unto me, but it’s full of jokes and people being dumb about their own emotions and baked goods. It’s definitely a coffeeshop AU, plus lots of boning.

 It’s not high art, but I had a ton of fun writing it.

 Honestly, I wrote it because I got mad at a bad fic (non-MCU) and decided I could do better. I will NOT link the fic.

 ·         Tell us the story behind your choice of that Battle of the Planets art for your icon.

 HA! I loved that cartoon when I was a kid. But mostly that picture just makes me laugh every time I look at it – it’s so cheesy. There’s something about the pose and the facial expression that I find hilarious, and I’ve used it for long enough now that it would be weird to change it.

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