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homosexuhauls · 2 years

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On Gender-critical disputes - Maya Forstater

LINK

Helen Joyce comes up with really good allegories and mental models at the rate of about one a week. But the one that I keep coming back to is one she told me the first time I met her, when I was still scrambling to keep my job at CGD, and trying to understand how it was that my smart and normally convivial colleagues had succumbed to repeating and enforcing irrational, circular nonsense.

1=0

Helen (a mathematician by training) said that pretending that human beings can change sex is like saying 1=0, and that the rules and laws we use for sense-making and decision-making are like a series of interconnected equations. When the 1=0 untruth proliferates through them it breaks things: single-sex becomes mixed-sex, fair becomes unfair, truth becomes lie. It works like kryptonite on safeguards, and causes organisations to operate in direct opposition to their purpose. People who need or want to remain inside those institutions create layers of argument (which may be impenetrable even to themselves) in order to protect the untruth and avoid being cast out.

On the sidelines of FiLiA in October, Helen and I had a long conversation with Jane Clare Jones about our respective positions in the internecine feminist wars.

I’m a feminist in the Rebecca West sense. I don’t claim to know precisely what feminism is; “I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat, or a prostitute.” I subscribe to the radical notion that women are full human beings, but I don’t subscribe to radical feminism, because I think it’s fundamentally wrong about human nature. Still, I am happy to work with people with whom I disagree where we have common goals.

I have co-founded a human-rights organisation, and I think that the human-rights framework is the way to resolve the question of how society should treat people who identify as transgender (respect their basic human rights and liberties, but don’t respect their fantasy).

Pretending that 1=0 harms everyone’s human rights. It harms women and girls (and, as Julie Bindel points out, it hurts the most powerless women and girls first and hardest), but also parents and children, religious people, people who care about truth and people who care about science. Ultimately, it harms anyone who wants to be able to do their job with integrity, and the people who depend on institutions acting with integrity (which is everyone, but again the least powerful most of all).

So I will talk with everyone who cares about this truth, and who is not seeking to destroy basic human rights (the principle of being “worthy of respect in a democratic society”).

Like most ordinary women in this fight, I think that Woman’s Place UK has done an amazing job in holding indoor events and articulating left-wing arguments, and I think that Standing for Women does an amazing job in holding outdoor events where any woman can speak. The cross-party working with parliamentarians by political activists of all stripes is also crucial.

In our long discussion with Jane in Cardiff, I encouraged her to take her beef with those she disagrees with off Twitter and to write it in long-form, focusing on the principles rather than the interpersonal conflicts and hurts. She and her colleagues at Radical Notion have had a go at that this month.

https://theradicalnotion.org/gender-critical-disputes/

The essays and articles are long and winding (some of the footnotes are long enough to be blog posts in their own right). They add up to a broadside against people who work with anyone, the religious (Christians specifically), conservatives, and those with an evolutionary understanding of human psychology and society. Mary Harrington, Helen Joyce, Kellie-Jay Keen and Kathleen Stock all come in for personal criticism (Kellie-Jay Keen most of all).

I am she-who-cannot-be-named, but clearly I am one of the women doing-feminism-wrong.

I attend Standing for Women events and wear their merch; I follow @troonytunes; I view men dressing as women as a form of “womanface” (this is racist, apparently); I want to defend the word and concept of woman, not just female; I think Matt Walsh made a good film. I don’t think men who think they are women are oppressed, and I do think they can be laughed at.

Worse than this, I have taken part in events with Alliance Defending Freedom, and have even gone for a drink with them afterwards. I refused to denounce Kellie-Jay Keen because Hearts of Oak came to the Standing for Women event in Brighton and made a video. All this puts me outside the narrow bounds of acceptability defined by the Radical Notion team. Fair enough, that’s their party. I never applied to be part of the sisterhood. I don’t see much hope for it having mass appeal, though.

The criticisms of Kellie-Jay Keen, Kathleen Stock, Helen Joyce and Mary Harrington are long, personal, wrong and tedious (I just don’t recognise much of what they are describing and it would take me far too long to explain why). The articles vacillate incoherently between “we are not the same movement” and “we are mobilizing as a collective”.

Blame it on the Patriarchy

I think the reason the authors end up making long-winded and unsatisfactory arguments is because they start out from an idea about the world that is fundamentally wrong.

The editorial piece by Rose Rickford spells out the 1=0 statement in its first line: “Patriarchy is not universal, and it is not inevitable. It was developed by people through historical processes for the material purpose of controlling and appropriating women’s bodies and labour.

I think the idea that the thing called “patriarchy” was overlaid on top of (and after) the evolution of human bodies and minds is just as untrue as the idea that men can become women, or the nonsense that the “binary system of gender” is a Western, colonial export.

Every human being who was ever born was gestated inside the body of a woman (and until 1983 that woman was in every case the biological mother of that child). A foetus “appropriates” its mother’s body progressively from the moment of conception, stripping the calcium from her teeth and bones if it needs to, squashing her organs and stretching her pelvis. A baby may kill its mother on its way out. The whole process is primal and brutal. It is inevitable, universal, and in no sense man-made. “Patriarchy”, if it means appropriating women’s bodies for the production of children, is baked-in.

We share the basics of this with other animals, but human beings have some specific features: hidden ovulation (and therefore uncertain paternity) and long, dependent childhoods. It is our long and labour-intensive childhood that enables our species to be uniquely versatile in the ecological niches it occupies, and devastatingly creative in the problems we solve and create for each other. Human behavioural and intellectual flexibility, big brains, long dependent childhoods, painful birth, uncertain paternity, intensive parental involvement and sexual politics are inherent to humanity (it’s what the Bible seeks to explain in the story of The Fall).

The mother-child dyad and the mother-father-child triad are essential parts of who we are, in the same way that women are the “big gamete” people and men the “small gamete” ones. And this is not just about infancy. For a child to survive to reproductive adulthood, it must “appropriate” resources (food, energy, attention and protection), almost always from its mother and usually from its father too, for 15 years or more. Social structures co-evolved alongside the bodies and minds built to do this (men built for the small-gamete route to the future and women for the large-gamete one).

There are no societies that do not view nuclear family relationships as centrally important. The emotions that underpin them — lust, love, shame, sexual jealousy, the parent-child bond, guilt, anger, pride and so on — are evolved and universally recognisable.

There are no societies where women are not vulnerable to rape, or where men are not capable of it. There are no societies where women do not bear the risks and physical impacts of pregnancy, and the responsibility for their infants. There are no societies where men are not on average stronger, faster and more powerful than women. There are no societies where the question of who is the father of the child, and the role of the father in providing for that child, are not viewed as important, or which lack social norms, status and structures reflecting this.

The idea that these features of “patriarchy” did not co-evolve with our big-brained, creative, flexible, language-using species is as improbable as people being “born in the wrong body”.

While I recognise the painful split that Jane describes, her division of the two teams into “true feminists” and “gender-critical identitarianism” is off the mark.

I think what we are seeing is the contradictions of a philosophy that does not make sense (it envisages a world where male violence is universal, but not biological; where women and men’s interests are negotiated on a “sex-class” basis; where family can be replaced by collective, and where prosperity exists without capitalism). It is another case of when ideology meets reality.

By contrast, what might be called “Mumsnet feminism” focuses on the messy material reality of mothers, fathers (good and bad, present and absent) and children, who need care and protection. It may be low on theory but it can see gender ideology and queer theory for what it is; an attack on the social structures that protect children (many of which are derided as part of the patriarchy by those who see the world this way).

A key theme running through criticisms of the “populists” in the magazine is disapproval at calling-out the behaviour of male sexual deviants in dresses, and at “othering” people who pretend to be the opposite sex.

But this is the dark heart of what we have not been allowed to talk about. Pronouns are rohypnol. Language is an evolved, hard-wired risk-appraisal protocol. So too is the ability to see things, say what we see and recognise patterns. The moral disgust reflex is part of this. So too is laughter and ridicule.

Jane argues that we should try to repress feelings of distaste, disgust or mirth at men in women’s clothing (and sometimes that is the polite or prudent thing to do). But encouraging people to repress the tools of pattern recognition and risk appraisal, and cast-out those who don’t is how the gender ideology movement works. It make things unsayable and lowers people’s barriers. Men in women’s spaces should raise alarm. This is the practical truth that the thought-control and language-control has been trying to obscure.

Freedom of expression, the ability to make arguments and observations in plain, simple language is crucial. So too is the ability to mock and laugh (which is a means of saying that something isn’t right). None of this should be forbidden.

I hope that when the battle for clarity about biological sex in law and policy has been won, a new Darwinian feminist synthesis might develop. Understanding how we came to be does not mean accepting that we cannot change anything.

Right now, though, I am busy trying to work with and communicate with whoever is concerned by gender ideology. Jane Clare Jones and her colleagues may choose to work with a smaller circle that doesn’t include me, or Helen, Kellie-Jay, Kathleen Stock or Mary Harrington, or religious women and men, or conservative women and men, or so many ordinary people who just want to say men are not women, and children need protecting.

In a choice between being part of an ideologically pure sisterhood and pragmatic and effective impact, I would chose impact.

#maya forstater #radfems please interact #radfem safe #radical feminism #gender critical #idk what tags we use in this era lol

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libidxne · 2 years

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Ind. Selective, and Mutual Exclusive, smut-based rp blog. Mun and both muses are 21+. There will be kinks and some potentially darker themes portrayed here. all will be tagged appropriately. all potential rp partner MUST be 21+ to write with me here. important note: everything here involves consent... there will be no writing of r*pe, dubious consent, etc. this blog is an adventure is combating some of my own sexual trauma, so activity will be super hit and miss as i slowly get acclimated to sexual content, again.

muses and brief rules down below for easy acess

name: Jett Williams age: 31 leaning: fully dominant sexuality: pansexual / panromantic profession: retail store ceo

personality: nice, kindhearted, always willing to lend a helping hand where needed. can’t function without a latte in the morning. pretty much a gentleman. total dom in bed, though. is into a lot of domination, control, etc. think mr. grey from 50 sh.ades, but if he actually respected consent, wasn’t controlling, gave a shit about aftercare, and was a practiced, careful, considerate dom who knew that the real control comes from the sub willingly, enthusiastically giving it...

kinks: bondage, gentle / rough domination, knife play, agoraphilia ( public sex) and exhibitionism, blood play, rope play, impact play, acarophilia ( scratching kink), choking, being begged, orgasm control, sex through clothing, degradation, orgasm control/denial, dirty talking, face fucking, face sitting (receiving), slapping, somnophilia (sex with partner who’s asleep), lingerie

name: Blakely Marke age: 27 leaning: true switch sexuality: pansexual / panromantic profession: owner of medieval themed bar/restaurant

personality: no nonsense, speaks her mind, but does try to be empathic about it. has been described by her staff as someone who’ll have your back no matter what, just don’t piss her off. has a pittie named Carly. doesn’t care what people think of her, has plenty of confidence in herself. good sense of humor, if a sarcastic one. does get a lot of enjoyment out of both being the dom, and being dommed. also isn’t opposed to something super vanilla, bc it’s nice to have a slow change of pace sometimes.

kinks: light bondage, impact play, overstimulation, dirty talk, face sitting, sensory deprivation (blindfolds, earplugs), gags, nipple torture/nipple worship, collaring, partner in uniforms/outfits, lingerie, crying and encouragement, food play (whip cream), joi (jerk off instructions, instructing how to masturbate), sex in front of mirrors, biting, orgasm control/denial, sensation play (ice cubes, feathers), strap-ons, teasing, praise

RULES:

1. stating, again, all mun / muses interacting here MUST be 21+.

2. For my comfort, for the time being, I will only be writing with muns I know prior from my main blog @rubiesintherough

3. all kinks and potentially triggering content will be tagged as triggername cw. if you need something specific tagged, just ask.

4. as with real sex, consent is key. before we start writing, please fill me in on what your muse is into, even just a vague rundown so we have a place to start all interactions, whether through memes or starters, will be implied consent. all parties having agreed to have sex, to the kinks. aka, if you send a meme involving a kink, that means your muse has given consent for that kink. there will be NO dubious consent or noncon here.

5. while this will be a primarily smut based blog --- and both muses are very happy with casual, purely sexual relationships --- i’m totally down for establishing actual ships, real relationships between our muses, etc. both are pansexual / panromantic, so gender of partner isn’t an issue.

6. when sending a meme, please be sure to specify which muse its for.

7. I’m always open to hc asks, ic asks, starters, plots thrown my way, etc. i’m also fully happy to plot out past a first meeting, as those can sometimes be awkward and difficult to write.

TBA

#tag dump:#. ooc.#thread : JETT #desires : JETT #answers : JETT #visage : JETT #thread : BLAKELY #desires : BLAKELY #answers : BLAKELY #visage : BLAKELY #MEMES.

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takaraphoenix · 3 years

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Ship game!! What about Nico and Will?? It’s pretty popular, but I don’t think I’ve seen you write much of it…

That's an interesting one in that I have vocalized my reasons for disliking it way back when it first became popular but instead of just linking that, it has been years so I think it's time for an updated version.

Firstly: This post is gonna be properly tagged and not crosstagged so if any shipper comes across it and feels the need to bitch about it, just don't; your lack of curating your own tumblr experience is not my problem! ;D

Now, there are three key factors that play into my dislike of this ship: How it was written, what it represents, how the fandom around it acts.

1. It’s rushed and uncomfortable

In BoO, it was incredibly rushed. They had literally five sentences of interactions before they walked into the literal sunset together. Five. It was just entirely born from Riordan's Noah's Ark Complex, where he just can't let people be single. The series was ending and he needed Nico to have an endgame so he rushed into some random romance with zero build-up.

The way their interactions went down was also severely uncomfortable for me. Will was acting so offended by Nico not wanting to go to camp and be friends in an entitled way that he had no right to be, he downright guilt-tripped Nico about how he had wanted to be friends. Nico has been just so severely traumatized at such a young age and his coping mechanism, as unhealthy as it was, was to run away and hide. Will acted like Nico not wanting to form attachments to people who could potentially leave him again was somehow just an Edgy Emo Decision and not a direct reaction to his trauma. His entire approach to Nico was basically all these hippie posts of "Don't have depression!! Just go out into the sun and stop being depressed!", which is already a bad take with non-medical people but he's supposed to be a doctor (and let's not get into the shadiness of him technically being Nico's doctor).

There is also an inherent "I can fix him" angle to this ship and to me, only few ship dynamics are more uncomfortable than that. If you want to fundamentally change a person's behavior and personality, you... don't actually want to be with this person.

Now, here's where my points overlap, because the following parts of their writing that bothers me also stand for what this ship fundamentally represents.

2. Solangelo is a queer ship written by and for straights

I'm a queer woman and as a queer woman, I want queer wish-fulfillment, not what straights want out of queerness. I'm kind of tired of that, I've been sitting through it for enough decades now. That's, of course, not to say that no straight writer can give proper queer representation, but far too often do straight writers - even the most well-meaning ones - project straight desires of queerness into their queer representation.

Let me explain that closer through this ship.

Nico's been in love with Percy for years and I'm going to do my best to not hijack this post with some Percico agenda; that's not what this his about, this isn't some "my ship is better than your ship" ship-war nonsense. It's simply a canonical fact that Nico has had romantic feelings for another character for years.

A character who, in this medium, is heterosexual. And if you're queer, you've been there. In love with your straight best friend. It's a cliche, but it's a cliche for a reason.

We have also all been well-meaningly rejected by said straight friend.

And here's the straight desires for you: The queer person who was in love with a straight person just immediately stops having those feelings and will then as quickly as possible fall in love with the next queer person they meet to be happy and no longer uncomfortably in love with a straight person, because that thought makes the straights uncomfortable.

Queer wish-fulfillment would be for Percy to return those feelings, for the queer character to get his first love, to not be rejected. That thing queer teens always dreamed about for themselves.

Aside from the wish-fulfillment angle, the pacing is another problem. Let me repeat, Nico was in love for years. But a five sentence conversation with Will once causes a crush on Will and we see him physically turn away from Percy and toward Will just immediately to rebound and actually fall out of love with Percy and in love with Will. Anyone who's ever been unlucky in love will attest to just how unrealistic and ridiculous the pacing here is.

It's also straight queerness in another respect; Nico has been the first ever queer character we meet in that world. He loves a straight guy - and to get over that, we introduce the second queer character. Because heaven forbid there are multiple queers to pick from. No, in straight-written queer romances, there is always that one main queer and then they introduce a second one and the two just immediately hit it off and develop a romance like all a queer person needs to form attraction to someone is the confirmation that the other person shares your sexuality.

Also the notable gay guy on gay guy ship here, whereas the more queer-wish-fulfillment option would have also included more nuance to the queer experience, because Percy doesn't have to be heterosexual just because he has only been with girls so far. It's a very old-fashioned - think 90s and early 2000s - kind of straight-written queerness that there are only exactly two homosexuals and that those two homosexuals then pair up.

And, listen, I'm not immune to these outdated straight-written queers entirely, I have many such ships that I grew up with that I am still fond of because they were groundbreaking at that time and they weren't outdated yet back when they happened in said 90s and early 2000s. I am however a grown woman now and just like I have grown, so has queer rep so I am not as easily baited into falling onto my knees in gratitude for canon rep. You have to go with the times. And this ship, by all that is given to us, is just entirely outdated straight-written rep.

Which, I mention earlier that even straight-written rep can be good. If the author tries. Riordan doesn't really try though; he does the bare minimum when he writes any of his rep - and there have been many, many more qualified voices being very vocal about his depiction of people of color and, as a woman, I've been vocal about his depiction of women. I don't want to derail this post with all of that, but I do think that it bears mentioning that Riordan doing rep but only doing a bare minimum and not putting in the necessary work to deepen the representation he wants to give is a repeating pattern that has been pointed out many times by now.

(I’d also like to point out that no, it is not just the ship and not just the listed instances that make it straight-written rep for straights. It’s Nico’s entire queer arc, starting with his forced coming out. A severely traumatizing event that is completely brushed over because the straight author doesn’t understand the impact this has on queer people. Not to mention the framework; Nico’s coming out isn’t Nico’s story, it happens in Jason’s POV, it is given to us through the POV of the straight bystander who gets to be Best Ally by assuring Nico that being gay is okay. This kind of coming out is not a queer wish-fulfillment, it’s a straight wish-fulfillment of getting to be the straight savior, the ally to show the gay the light of acceptance. And, additional to the ridiculous pacing of how fast Nico gets over his love for Percy, Nico also gets over years of internalized homophobia just because of, I don’t know, Jason’s few encouraging words and the fact that Will paid attention to him? For a gay kid who was in the closet all his life, the nonchalant way in which he publicly confessed his crush to Percy at the end made absolutely no sense and was written as basically a joke, finished off with Nico literally high-fiving Percy’s girlfriend despite those two never having seen eye to eye before but this is straight wish-fulfillment so all straights are Super Allies, because that’s the way straights want to see themselves, even though Annabeth has shown before just how jealous she can be and she most definitely wouldn’t go around high-fiving people who confess to her boyfriend. Nothing about Nico’s queer arc in HoO felt natural or queer or satisfying.)

Sure, Solangelo on a surface level is big because it's a canon queer couple in a YA book-series and kudos for that and yay for the kids who get to grow up seeing queers in YA books, but I actually do think that kids growing up with books written in the 2010s shouldn't grow up with 1990s levels of representation, because the 2010s overall are actually at a far more nuanced and better level of representation when it comes to queerness. And I do reserve the right to quit on too straight-written and too outdated queer rep in a landscape where I can get more satisfying representation elsewhere; we don’t live in times anymore where you necessarily have to love every bit of rep because it’s the only one you get.

Now that we've gone through my first two gripes, let's wrap this up with the final point, because it also directly ties into this.

3. The new wave of antis hiding behind this ship

A huge part of the fandom is so busy kissing Riordan's ass solely for giving them queer rep at all they think that both the author and the ship are beyond flawless and that kind of attitude is not good. Just because an author includes rep doesn't make either perfect. Absolutely no one is beyond critique - especially not when said critique comes from the very people the author is representing. And even beyond any "valid" critique on the ship, quite frankly, someone should also be allowed to just not like it, without any reasons given at all.

But there is a certain... protective obsessiveness about this ship that doesn't allow a not liking. Very similar to how PJO bore this mindset around Perc/abeth already. It's okay to have OTPs, even OTPs that you have a blindspot for and just don't want to see any flaws in. It is however not okay to then go around attacking people who don't like the thing and mind their own business.

Solangelo's bred a new generation of antis in this fandom. And, particularly with the fact that this post too receives an "anti" tag, I feel like there needs to be a clarification (because tumblr likes to forget what actually makes an anti). Not liking something doesn't make you an anti, venting in properly tagged posts doesn't either; it's the people who harass others, who seek out the content they dislike to then complain that it even exists and who actively try to make others stop creating for it - those are antis.

And with Solangelo's popularity, there was a high rise in Percico antis, who sought it out, were unnecessarily nasty about it, harrassed creators and tried to enforce some kind of "Solangelo supremacy" that won't allow other ships for the characters.

I've been in fandom long enough to be perfectly aware that not all Solangelo shippers count into this category and that there are completely normal and nice Solangelo shippers, but this is a Venn diagram where the overlap between Solangelo shippers and antis is too large to not widely associate the nasty people with the ship itself. (I've been there myself, shipping the very ship behind which a fandom's antis all hid. The second-hand embarrassment of having these people give the ship a bad name is horrendous and I do feel bad for all the normal Solangelo shippers.)

The more often I encountered these people, who made Percico bad (sometimes in wildly ridiculous manners that bent and deliberately misinterpreted canon) and who in the same breath praised Solangelo high, the more tired I grew of that ship. It's a simple game of association, really. You see that linked to the gross and nasty behavior and you start associating the ship itself with that gross and nasty behavior - and with all the things I said before that already weighed into my dislike of the ship, this just was the final tipping point, really.

And that's it. That sums up why I dislike Solangelo. It was hastily rushed, uncomfortable in its execution, it is outdated rep that very much feels as straight-written as it factually is and it does not feel aimed at me as a queer person but rather at the straight audience and it has gathered a cult following of quite uncomfortable people who on their own would be reason enough to avoid it so you can avoid them.

Send me a ship and I will explain why I do or don't ship it

#Anti Solangelo #PJOverse #Riordan Critical #Shipping #Ship Ask Game #send me asks #it IS both a positive AND negative game #and I gotta admit #it is nice to put these things #into proper words #every once in a while

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tojiverse · 4 years

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JUST FOR FUN pt 2

read pt 1 here part 3 here

toji fushiguro x f!reader

warnings: smut degredation swp creampie uhh just rough sex in gen overstim (lmk if i missed any!!)

After what you would like to call an incident, things between Toji and you weren’t the same. He now had a habit to quickly put you in your place, all with a smirk which was irritating to say the least. You found yourself trying to avoid him, any time he came too close you’d quickly put distance between the two of you, not wanting to deal with him yourself. Toji made it difficult for the distance to be kept, he truly enjoyed being able to make you squirm with just his presence. You were locked away within your office, which was the only moment you were Toji free.

“Come in,” You said softly as you filled out paperwork from your latest bounty, which was a success.

“Who knew you’d be stuck here all of sudden,” Toji said in a playful tone and you continued to do your work.

“What is it that you want Fushiguro?” You said, making sure your tone was dull, as you didn’t want to entertain him any longer.

“Why so cold all of a sudden? Am I bothering you that much?” He asks, faking a hurt look as his hand went over his chest, a small frown on his face.

“Truly, if you have no business with me then fuck off, God you’re annoying,” You said dismissing him with a small shoo motion and going back to work.

“Someone must need an attitude adjustment again, you’re being such a fucking brat,” Toji said in a growl, and you felt your face warm up.

A quick flashback of your previous intimate moment with him replayed in your head causing you to clench your thighs together.

“You’re a pervert Fushiguro, now get out. Don’t make me repeat myself,” You said, quieter than you had planned but you still meant it.

He smirked and went towards the door turning around to face you once again.

“I do hope I get to hear you whine and beg for me again,” He said before exiting your office.

You put your head in your hands groaning as he had worked you up and you weren’t going to chase after him. You sighed shifting into a comfortable position and then finishing for the day.

Several days went on like this, he’d invade your personal space, fluster you only to leave before you could think of a witty comeback. You took in a deep breath as you heard footsteps approaching your office once again. You got ready to pay him no mind, keeping your eyes focused on your work as he approached you.

“What do you want?” You said sternly, obviously not in the mood for his antics.

“Aw, come on don’t be a brat now, do you need an attitude adjustment?” He asked leaning over your whispering into your ear.

Your face flushed and you focused on your work, which led to Toji letting out an amused laugh. You felt his hand grip your face firmly and tug your face up so you’d look at him. He loved the innocent look you had in your eyes, doe eyes brimming with need and confusion. Toji could only smirk, seeing how much you needed him he leaned down slightly.

“You’re such a brat, but I know exactly what a needy slut like you needs, isn’t that right? You just want someone to break you until you’re crying fat tears isn’t that right sweetheart?” Toji asked and you found yourself nodding slightly. “Ah, use your words.”

“Yes, that’s what I want,” You said quietly and Toji only looked at you.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t quite hear you, speak up, and maybe, I’ll reward you,” Toji said and you flushed.

“Please Toji, that’s what I want,” You said a bit louder this time, it seemed to satisfy him.

He quickly picked you up, placing you on the desk, grabbing your wrists, and pinning you down. You remembered what he said last time and you kept your hands there. Toji noticed and smirked while calling you a good girl. Toji began to give you rough kisses on the neck, making sure your neck would be painted in a dark purple. You left out soft whimpers which only served to fuel his pace. He moved between your legs and you could feel his hard-on pressing against your core. Your back slightly arched, wanting to feel him more but a quick slap to your thigh and you stopped.

“You’re such an obedient whore for me, isn’t that right? My cute little fuck toy, that’s all you’re good for anyway,” He said in a condescending tone, and you felt it go straight to your core.

Toji’s hand slowly made it down, teasing touches along the way until he got to your pussy, which was already wet in anticipation for him. He ripped your stockings down the center and your eyes widened in shock, you were upset he had ripped them but knew better than to say anything. Toji moved your underwear to the side and began by easing a finger in, prepping you. You loved but hated the way his fingers made you feel, full —he managed to reach spots you couldn’t even dream to reach, on your own. Toji eased another finger in curling them slightly against your sweet spot, which caused your walls to flutter around him. You were babbling nonsense, nothing that came out of your mouth was coherent, just pleas for more.

“You need to lower your voice, or else someone might hear you and come in, oh? You must like that, you just clamped around my fingers,” Toji said and your eyes widened before looking away.

Toji quickly forced you to look back at him, eyes glaring down at you.

“Look away from me again and I’ll ruin every one of your orgasms, do I make myself clear?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yes, yes yes I’m sorry Toji,” You stuttered out remembering what he told you before.

“Good whore, You must love the idea of being found out hm? Anyone could come in at any moment and all they’d see is your gushing all over my fingers, maybe even creaming around my fat cock,” Toji whispered in your ear, which caused you to moan out softly.

Toji continued to finger you by using his thumb to play with your clit, causing your abdomen to tighten. Toji could tell you were close and only looked down at you with the same shit-eating grin as the last time.

“No, please, please, please, I promise I’ll be good please let me cum,” You pleaded with a whine following and his fingers only began to slow down.

“Who does this pussy belong to, hm?” “You!” “Oh? And who’s the only person who makes you feel this good hm?” He asked while picking up the pace.

You choked on your saliva, his fingers hitting the perfect spot.

“You! Only you Toji please,” You pleaded desperately, stuttering his name as if though you were praying to him.

“Yeah, that’s right you whore, I’m gonna wreck yer cunt to the point where only I can pleasure you, you’ll only crave me,” He said, and he meant it as not only a threat, but a promise as well.

Right after, you reached your peak, gushing all over his fingers as your hips shook slightly from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. You only whined and mindlessly babbled incoherently, words not making any sort of sense to you while drooling slightly. Toji helped you ride out your high, taking his fingers out and tasting you with a smirk.

“Always so sweet for me,” He said and you whimpered.

Toji pulled his pants down followed by his boxers and your eyes widened. You honestly didn’t remember him being this big. His cock had a bit of precum flowing out as it slapped his stomach.

“Aw come on, don’t tell me you can’t take me? Such a shame too isn’t it?” He said going to pull his pants back up but you quickly shook your head.

“No, no I can I promise, please,” You pleaded and he smirked.

He lined himself up with your core before slipping himself in a fluid motion causing your back to arch, you swore you could see stars. He gave you a second to adjust to him before he began to just abuse your pussy. All that could be heard within the room was skin slapping and your whines. Toji quickly stuck his fingers in your mouth in order to silence you, as he didn’t feel like getting caught. You could only whine as he hit your g-spot repeatedly, you felt your orgasm rushing at you.

“‘M so close Toji, please,” You pleaded and he shook his head.

“Aw, it’s too early for that isn’t it? You cum when I allow you to,” Toji said and you let out a desperate whine.

This only further encouraged him to bring his thumb over your clit and began to play with it which caused you to clench around him even harder.

“So tight for me, fuck, your cunt was made for me and only me, shit, so good for me baby,” He said and you whined softly.

He began to pound roughly into you while gagging you with his fingers, ensuring that you wouldn’t get loud. You felt your high quickly approaching as you clenched around him tightly causing him to groan.

“Yeah, that’s it slut, cum all over my cock, wanna see you gush all over me,” He said, and with that, you squirted on him while moaning loudly.

Toji looked down in shock, soon smirking and looking at you. He continued to thrust roughly through your high helping you ride it out. As soon as you stopped twitching he began to thrust again causing you to look up at him.

“Aw, you didn’t think we were done did you? I know you have one more in there for me, now be a good fuck toy for me,” He said and you nodded.

Toji picked you up from the desk and put his hands on your waist and began to fuck you while standing up. You felt like he had somehow reached deeper into you and you dug your nails into his back as you moaned quietly.

“So good Toji, so so so good!” You said loudly at the end when he had reached your g spot.

You quickly took this opportunity to leave him with the same hickeys he gave you which caused him to curse under his breath.

“You’re such a bad girl hm? I guess I should fuck you like a whore then,” He said and you tightened around him, aroused by the idea.

He only smirked and began to thrust harder into you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You began to chant his name like a mantra, not caring who could hear you at this point, you were too lost in what he had to offer. You quickly felt your third high approaching and Toji could also feel his.

“You cum when I do, don’t forget that,” He growled and you desperately nodded.

Toji’s thrust became sloppy and you both reached your highs at the same time, you gushed around him as he looked down watching his load seep out of you with a smirk. You both caught your breath and you quickly realized the situation you were in. Your eyes widened as you quickly put both your hands against his chest and you pushed against him.

“Let me down, you have to leave,” You said quickly while Toji only smirked.

He pulled out stuffing his cum right back into you with a smirk, before slipping your underwear back over. You whimpered at the empty feeling and carefully unwrapped your legs from his waist, your legs shaking as you stood. Toji could only laugh which caused you to glare at him, eyes swimming with hatred once again.

“Get out Toji,” You said firmly and he only looked at you.

“You have to admit it, you don’t really hate me, you love the way I fuck you, I can tell,” He said and you rolled your eyes.

Before leaving he grabbed your neck and leaned down giving you a rough sloppy kiss, which only left you wanting more. He left throwing a wink in your direction and you felt like screaming. God this man frustrated you but he fucked you so well you couldn’t help but want more. When you got home to your estate, your clan advisors were waiting for you. Your heart was in your throat as you quickly walked in with them and they began to prep you for your meeting. When you walked through the doors in there waiting for you was Kai Satoru and a representative of the Zenin Clan. You felt your heart drop, as this only screamed some sort of marriage proposal. You sat down across from them, your advisors behind you, and the meeting began. You felt as if time had dragged on, it honestly felt like the meeting had gone on for hours when in reality you were only one hour in.

“(y/n) we want to offer an alliance between the Satoru clan and yours, but it would have to be fortified through marriage,” Kai said and your eyes widened.

If you were to get married Kai would become the head of the clan and you’d be fucked over for good, being stripped of all power and forced to be some trophy wife, and you would rather die than let that happen. Kai noticed your hesitation and spoke up before you could object.

“I know traditional marriage laws would imply that I would become head of your clan, but we can alter it completely so that you remain in power,” Kai said quickly and you stared.

“Although both offers I have been offered are enticing, I need time to work them over with my advisors, it’s getting late and I would hate for anything bad to happen,” You said and both men nodded.

All of you got up bowing and then two of the advisors helped the men find their way out. You followed and noticed a white-haired boy quickly join Kai, who only stared at you. It quickly clicked who the boy was, Gojo Satoru. You soon were dragged back into the room and sat in front of your advisors.

“So, which deal are you more inclined to take? Both the Zenin and Satoru clan are highly powerful, and marriage with either of them would clean the clan name,” One of them, Kaisa, said quickly, the others nodding.

“I don’t know the offer the Satoru clan ensures that I remain as head of the clan until an heir is produced and of age, but marriage right now is scary,” You said and they nodded.

“You’re going to have to get married soon,” One of them spoke up and you could only nod.

#toji x reader #jjk toji #jjk #jjk smut #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen #smut #anime smut

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honeyhenry · 4 years

Text

Homeward Bound

A/N: This was NOT meant to be this long...but I was inspired and now we have this... dad!Syverson....you can thank me later :)

Warnings: army-related talk, labour, fluff (because i rue the day I actually write anything other than that)

After an honourable stint, Captain Syverson had finally finished up his active duty in the army, having chosen now to spend his life devoted and committed to you. While every second week he had to make a daily 45 minute commute up the road to train newbies needing a boot up their asses to prepare for the realities of war, Sy was able to come home to you just in time for dinner every evening. He got the best of both worlds, earning a solid pay with training up new recruits, and having the ability to make good on those promises he made you way back before he told you that the next tour would be his last.

He had kept his first promise within a month of him returning for good - giving you a shiny ring that he’d had the deposit down on for as long as he can remember. That was his most nerve-wracking promise to keep, even though you’d assured him no matter what, the answer would always be a “yes”. His second promise was also signed, sealed, and delivered within weeks of his return, most likely conceived in celebration of your engagement.

That promise had stuck with you a little more than the first; “Gonna put a baby in ya, peach. Can promise ya that I’m ready for wantin that with ya.”

Sy had arrived home in October, and there you were, round and ready to pop at the end of the following August.

During your labour on that warm summer’s day, he’d been gritting it out right beside you, clutching your hand and holding your half full cup of ice chips, using his best Captain voice in offering encouragement. Between contractions you had cried, screeched, and panicked. It had seemed Sy had given you the big baby he had been so certain of.

“Your baby’s too big Syv, it hurts so much...”

“Peach believe me, if I could I’d take all this pain for ya I would” he had comforted you, knowing by making eye contact that he meant every word. You had relaxed momentarily at the love you held for him, before the pain hit again leaving you crying and screaming once more.

And then Captain Syverson heard the words that he detests, typically uttered from his soldiers in the base camps or training rounds.

“I can’t...”

It’s a cowards way of thinking, a poor outlook on life, and it makes the entire side weak because of one weak link. It angers him to no end, and he usually ends up heading off alone to clear his head. But not when it’s you

“I can’t do it, Sy...”

You’re the strongest person he knows, pushing out a brand new Syverson into the world with minimal medication and a steely determination for the past 14 hours. You’re no coward, and you’re by no means weak. He’s had men on his side who haven’t blinked in the face of adversity and terrorism, and yet here you were, stronger than the lot of them in every way.

“Yeah you can, peach. Ya think I’d put my baby in any ol’ fool? No it’s you, ‘cause you’re the strongest woman I know. C’mon now, let’s have us a baby.”

And then you did it, almost an hour later and she’s earth-side. As the sun had set on the last day of a sweltering August, it is as though the room cools to a warm breeze, the world stopping in its tracks as you birth your sweet baby Syverson, born in the first minutes of a new September. She’s all yours, and when the doctor announced above the primal, wild screams that “it’s a girl!” you’d looked to Sy, watching him as he cried. It was just a couple of tears, and he won’t admit that they happened, but it sure as hell doesn’t make him any less proud.

You’ve only been cooped up in the room for 24 hours, and while you and baby Syverson have been cared for and helped with the basics (along with you receiving a substantial amount of pain relief), Sy wanted you and his baby girl home so that he could be the one to take care of you both; plump your pillows, fetch you cups of tea, burp the baby, dote on her endlessly. All within the quiet, cosy home you’d made together over the past years and months. Pictures lined the walls, featuring happy memories including your courthouse wedding that had been planned and occurred within a week of knowing about baby Sy. Your big gruff man just couldn’t take not having you as his wife, especially when you were carrying his child.

There’d also been a picture of the sonogram taped to the fridge in your quaint little kitchen, courtesy of Sy wanting to see the baby each morning before heading to work, or while he cooked you a warm breakfast. It’s as though he didn't keep updated pictures in his wallet and in his truck, right next to a beautiful picture of you. From your first sonogram with “SYVERSON” printed at the top, Sy loved to see his growing family, and always taped the newest scan picture right on top, using the same piece of tape he’d just found laying around one afternoon. Now, after plenty of pictures taken on his phone, he was going to update the fridge once more to feature a picture of the little pink squish with big bug eyes and a smattering of dusty brown hair. Maybe he’ll add some new tape, too.

Now three Syversons would live in this home, where old caps, worn from war and still grimy after a couple of washes, lay around the house, and where a still somewhat-tinged green Aika would roam freely - except on the bed. Sy was adamant that Aika never jumped or slept on the marital bed. That was his place, with his woman. The wooden interior and cosy fireplace that Sy himself had built, made it an even more homely and special place for you both to live. The perfect place out in the country to raise your girl. 45 minutes from Sy’s work, 15 to the local school. It was a dream, and now it had come true, as you watch him lift your princess into the baby carrier, fastening her in and watching her little pouty face as he removes his large, warm hands that you know she must adore being held by already.

He’s so glad that he can now take you both home. He insists on carrying both the baby carrier and the hospital bag from the past few days as you both leave the room where your girl entered the world, now entering the real world and all the opportunities she would have out there to explore. Since you don’t have to lift a thing, you just get to watch the sweet view of the “scary” Captain Sy check things off mentally to make sure you've brought everything.

“As long as we bring the baby home, I think we’ll be okay” you grin, and he blinks out of his organised, battle-ready mindset for a moment, remembering that this wasn’t some covert operation. This was a big deal, but one that is exciting and new and as Sy turns to look at his daughter again, it seems he’s already forgotten how tiny she is. She’s wrapped up, but Sy insists that he wraps the carrier with his flannel top, protecting the baby from both the sun, and any chill that pierces the air. He can’t resist a final little peek into the baby carrier as you sign the final documents to discharge you both from the hospital. You even hear him talk to your sweet girl, having one of their first little talks together.

“i’ll show ya a real home, just wait. Nun’a this bright light and doctors nonsense. Got a crib with your name on it ya can be all cosy in. Built it myself while Momma watched. You are gonna be so loved up with her, she is everything sweet in the world. Just like you princess.”

“I thought i was your princess?” you interrupt him and...is that a blush you see mark his cheeks? If only his men knew the state you could get the great Captain Syverson into, and most likely that your baby girl will be able to as well.

“You’ve been promoted peach, after all that giving birth to her, you’re a queen among peasants. I got two number 1 gals now. Gotta be ya knight in shinin’ armour.”

All the war torn memories, the killing, and the violence from his past, doesn’t mean a thing. It baffles him to this day - he still doesn't know how he’s ended up with two slices of heaven in you and your baby girl, but he’s selfish and he’s keeping you all for himself.

“You can be a Captain to your men but you’re our King, Sy. I know you’ll always protect us, and she’ll grow up knowing that too. Now come on. Let’s get her out of here. Lead the way Daddy?” you grin, watching as he proudly marches through the doors of the ward with a tight grip on the baby carrier, while the bag is slung over his shoulder.

The rest of his life with you and baby Syverson, just waiting on the other side.

taglist: @seriouslygoodlookinggents @ohmygoodie

#henry cavill x reader #captain syverson x reader #captain sy x reader #syverson x reader #dad!syverson #dad!sy #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters

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milenadaniels · 3 years

Text

Before the Night Fades, 8.6k - POV Outsider on Buck/Eddie double date shenanigans (AO3)

“I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who."

---

Or, EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night.

The nearly-post-COVID return to normal rush is going exactly as well as management at the Tilted Cactus expected it would, which is to say it’s going as miserably as the waitstaff at the Tilted Cactus expected it would.

The owners lost a lot of money to lockdowns, diminished capacity and the general (extremely warranted) paranoia of co-mingling in public during an international plague for the sake of overpriced appetizers. And despite accurately predicting the business would boom once the doors re-opened, management didn’t feel the need to account for more staff to serve said business.

So despite owing $34k on her student loans (that’s after a generous gift from both her parents and her maternal grandmother), barely being able to afford rent in LA, and the utter lack of career prospects, Mere is taking a break in the backroom, next to the dirty mop bucket, mentally running through her finances before she officially gives her notice.

She can’t quit, she knows that.

Turns out leaving New Zealand for LA with nothing but a dream and the idea that if Taika could do it so could she was not the most future-proof plan she could have come up with. The starving artist thing was so 2010.

But Mere’s made up her mind. She’s not made for this abuse. This is bullshit. She’s going to pack up, go home, and you know, do...something else. She’ll figure it out.

Mere pulls herself up from her indelicate crouch on some empty crates and goes in search of a piece of paper — or a fucking napkin, who cares — on which to write up her official resignation.

“No, in section 3A,” she hears Tomas fake-whisper. He’s one of the few new hires to grace these hallowed halls and still thinks it’s disrespectful to talk shit about customers even in the backroom. Umida, a five year veteran of this distinguished profession, has been trying to disabuse him of this particular nonsense.

“Where the fuck is section 3A, Tommy? We have sections 1 to 9, we don’t have any letters.”

“The new sidewalk sections have letters, to distinguish them from inside.”

“You mean sections 10 and 11?”

“...Mr. Peters said they’re using letters.”

“Mr. Peters can swallow my entire ass. The sidewalk sections are literally right outside the door from 9, why would they not be called 10 and 11?”

“Or ‘Hell On Earth’ and ‘Kill Me Please’, as we call them colloquially,” Mere offers, startling Tomas as she pushes through the swinging door she’d been hiding behind. Patio dining is highly encouraged and an excellent way to dine if one has patios. The Tilted Cactus does not have patios. It has a temporary license to put tables on the dirty sidewalk outside their restaurant, where waitstaff get to weave around pedestrians, dogs, and carts like they’re completing an obstacle course.

“Yeah, those work,” Umida agrees, emphasizing her point with a dispirited index finger in Mere’s direction.

“Okay, whatever,” Tomas says with a pained eye roll. “Can you please just check it out and let me know?”

“What’s happening?” Mere asks. She’s leaving this popsicle stand (ideally, on fire as she walks away slowly into the night) but she’s also starved of both human attention and the inherent drama of the culinary world so she’ll be damned if she misses out on one final showdown.

Tomas takes a breath to steel himself. “I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who.”

“You don’t have gaydar where you come from?” Umida asks in perfect deadpan.

Tomas glares harder, crosses his arms and juts one hip out. “I come from San Francisco. We invented gaydar. I’m saying I’m pretty sure the guys are together, but I’m also pretty sure they’re each with the women they’re sitting next to. So figure that out.”

“Like a double thruple?” Mere asks, now actually becoming curious.

“Like a ‘I don’t know what y’all are smoking this far north but I don’t understand your weird relationship dynamics and I’m still on probation and I can’t lose this job because I can’t move back in with my brother because I will murder him and I can’t be an only child with aging parents in this economy so can you please just go out there and tell me what the fuck is happening so I can throw this ring at the right person and punch out sometime before I ‘accidentally’ fall on the meat clever downstairs?’ kind of situation.”

Umida and Mere share a glance.

“Okay, well, don’t despair, new guy,” Mere says with a pat on his arm. “Save the meat cleaving for the capitalist elite. We got you. Let the pros handle this.”

“What did the note say?” Umida asks. “One ‘e’ or two? We can at least eliminate half of our options.”

Tomas does not check the note to spot whether the note-taker had written ‘fiancé’ or ‘fiancée’. He stares them down and fips the note in his fingers so the text faces them.

“It says ‘finance’.”

“Ah.”

“We’re going to need a more hands-on investigation, then,” Mere announces.

—————————-

Mere goes first, only because Umida was on her way to swap a side dressing for her table when Tomas intercepted her.

Mere carries a jug of water and makes the rounds of the outdoor tables, trying to hold in her visible distaste for the pseudo-patio vibe the owners tried to make happen out here. There’s a bike stand and a taxi stand two feet from where people are trying to have a romantic dinner. Every now and again, the LA traffic gets rowdy and noisy, completely butchering the atmosphere. There’s a shitty speaker funneling in some Frank Sinatra but it really does nothing to help.

But after this mystery is solved, none of this will be her problem anymore.

Like Tomas said, there are two men and two women sitting like cardinal points around a round table. The women are on the north and east ends, the men on the south and west ones. Two of them are brunets, one a redhead, and one a blond. They’re all disgustingly gorgeous.

And that’s all she’s got.

“The ravioli sounds so good,” the brunette woman says, casting a look at the brunet man to her side.

“Yeah, it does,” he says.

“Mm,” the blond man disagrees. “It’s got feta.”

“What’s wrong with feta?” Asks the redheaded woman.

“Absolutely nothing is wrong with feta,” he responds with a superior smile directed at the man next to him who’s preemptively adopting the look of someone ready to hear some bullshit. “Unless you have an underdeveloped palate and are simply overwhelmed by such strong delicacies as a moderately salty cheese.”

“Okay, don’t talk to me about an underdeveloped palate, Pennsylvania,” the other man responds, posturing despite the softness of his eyes.

“Hey, I said nothing to besmirch the great state of Texas. Texas is a wonder of culinary delight. I’m saying you’re...a simple man.”

“Feta’s disgusting and that’s a hill I’m willing to die on,” the brunet says with smug finality, holding the other man’s eyes until they’re both smirking and looking back at their menus.

Well then.

Mere’s a little bummed as she fills the water at table 36. She’d been hoping the mystery would run longer than 2 whole minutes, but these guys are definitely together. So the mystery will only come down to who’s getting eng—

“Thankfully Chris inherited a more refined palate,” the blond man — Pennsylvania — chirps as the last word.

“He did,” the brunette woman chimes in with a playful smile. “He loves my cooking. You both loved that greek salad I made last week, didn’t you? That had feta in it.”

“It did!” the brunet man replies, slipping his hand overtop hers. “And I loved it. So clearly context is a factor.”

Mere almost spills the rest of the water all over the lady at table 38 as she takes in the man and woman mooning at each other. Though if it’s any consolation, the redheaded woman looks as unimpressed as Mere feels.

“Yeah, I have no idea,” Mere reports back to Tomas.

“The redheads are playing footsie under the table now. That’s one couple at least right?” Tomas asks. The two of them are parked behind the bar where they can see through the window outside but the exterior tint prevents anyone outside from seeing them. The bar is still used for pouring drinks but the stools are gone — can’t maintain 6 feet between them — so the staff pretty much have the run of this corner of the restaurant.

“He’s not a redhead,” Mere mutters, looking out the window to catch the action. “It’s like a dark blond. And I don’t know, I’m pretty sure the two brunets are together, but then blond guy’s foot is way into the other guy’s space.” For a moment she’s distracted by just how damn long his legs are. “That’s certainly...familiar.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida declares when she returns from dropping off plates at table 32.

“They’re lesbians?” Tomas parrots skeptically. “I did not get that vibe.”

“I could see lesbian for the redhead, I think,” Mere says. “Don’t know about the brunette.”

“Lesbians come in all flavours,” Umida informs them haughtily. It’s the start of Pride month and her hijab is held together by an “Ally” pin. “You can’t tell someone’s orientation just by looking at them.”

“But you’ve declared them lesbians,” Mere points out.

“Because lesbians are approaching their table and only lesbians know other lesbians.”

“That’s definitely not true,” Tomas reproaches.

“No, she’s right, lesbians coming up!” Mere watches as two more unfairly gorgeous women approach with two young boys in tow. Honestly, screw LA and their beauty standards. The parties look surprised to see each other, but they clearly know each other well. One of the boys stays with the women, but the other one breaks off to join the table.

“No, I mean you can know lesbians without being a lesbian.”

Umida and Mere ignore him.

“Okay, that’s one of their kids, right?” Umida asks. “Lesbians babysitting for date night?”

“He’s got Pennsylvania’s curls,” Mere agrees. "That's the blond guy, by the way, I think he’s from there. Brunet guy is Texas for the time being."

The boy reaches the table and is pulled into a strong hug by Texas, who then directs him to a hug with the brunette.

“Oh, unexpected.” Mere would have sworn he was a dead ringer for Pennsylvania. “But okay, that confirms the hand-holding I saw. We have a set of parents. And unless this is a super modern table, I don’t see the parents being here on dates with other people.”

“Mm, I don’t know.” Umida dithers. “That’s like an auntie hug, not a parent hug. Like if she is the mom, the kid is not happy with her.”

“Wait,” Tomas says.

The boy is wiggling out of Brunette’s grasp and rounding the table to Pennsylvania who’s waiting with a wide smile and open arms, and instead of letting go after, the boy finagles his way onto Pennsylvania’s lap to steal a breadstick. Pennsylvania reaches into the basket for another breadstick to pass to the little boy still waiting with his moms and Mere’s heart tugs a little.

Texas watches on from across the table with unrestrained fondness. His leg shifts to press against Pennsylvania’s who looks up with a smile.

“Boom, gay dads!” Tomas crows.

“And lesbians,” Umida adds.

“Redhead definitely has no part of this,” Mere notes. The woman is smiling but it’s polite and practised, not warm or welcoming. “I guess the brunets could be siblings maybe? Really close siblings?”

Finally, the babysitters make to leave so Pennsylvania kisses the boy’s temple and guides him back to his feet. Texas presses his own kiss to the boy’s curls as he passes, saying something they can’t make out from behind the glass. Brunette gets only a wave as he leaves.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida concludes smugly.

“Okay, good,” Tomas sighs with relief. “So we know who the couples are, now who’s gettin—”

“Um,” Mere interrupts, pointing at the table.

Redhead’s foot is making its way up Pennsylvania’s leg and he shoots her a grin.

“For fuck’s sake,” Tomas spits as he walks away.

“Did you even take their order yet?” Mere calls after him. He doesn’t answer.

———-

Mere gets pulled away because now that she’s not quitting in outrage until this table 34 drama is over, she figures she should actually get back to work. Happily, having not seen her for the last 20 minutes, Mikael figured she had left or died and had taken over her section. She agrees to split half the tips with him and lets herself be pulled back into the tide of madness.

“Got it figured yet, Tim-Tam?” she asks when she passes him near the bathrooms.

“The guys are sharing their orders,” he says despondently.

“That’s not that incriminating. I split my orders with people. I’m not about to pay full price to discover if I like something.”

“No,” Tomas glares before gesturing to the window with disgust. “They’re sharing their orders.”

Tomas stalks away to hopefully take an herbal break to calm down and Mere goes back to the window just in time to catch the insanity. Mere feels Umida come up behind her and tries to suppress her shiver when her “what in all that is holy” skates across her bare shoulder.

Pennsylvania has just finished piling some of his spaghetti on Texas’ plate, which is exceedingly normal. But now Pennsylvania is reaching for Texas' burger.

“He didn’t cut that,” Umida notes.

“No, he did not.”

They have pretty messy burgers at Tilted Cactus, ones that are hard to share because if you cut them down the middle they tend to lose structural integrity. Of course, this isn’t a big concern if you’re sharing already-bitten-into burgers. Which these absolute freaks are doing.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida declares again, the earlier smugness replaced with an air of disgust.

But when Umida walks away, Mere watches Brunette wipe something off Texas’ cheek and frowns. One throuple and redheaded side piece? Maybe?

————

“I’m struggling with lesbians as a theory,” Mere tells Umida the next chance she gets at the pickup counter. “I want to believe, but…”

“Yeah, I’m doubting now too. They’re almost exclusively talking to each other. But then I realized it was more getting-to-know-you conversation and this would be a hell of a weird first date.”

“Huh, so heteros all around?”

“Well, I also caught on that they’re spending all this time talking to each other because the guys are like in their own world. Finishing each others’ —”

“Sandwiches?”

“Exactly,” Umida grins, unexpectedly delighted by the reference. “So I don’t know. I really don’t envy Tommy.”

“Me either.”

“Hey Manish,” Umida yells out to the other side of the pickup window, “I’m picking up for Lenore but she’s got a two-seater, why do I have four dishes here?”

“Because Lenore can’t write for shit,” Mere says, picking up the order slip and squinting at the scrawl. “These are for table 24, not 29. It’s a four-seater.”

“Alright, well I guess you’re helping me, then,” Umida says with a wink.

Umida is fully capable of carrying four dishes on her own but she’s asking Mere to come with her so Mere’s already reaching for the plates, hoping the blush on her cheek can be written off as heat from the kitchen.

————-

During a slow stretch, Mere takes it upon herself to refill water and wine glasses in section 10.

From table 32 she can hear them talking about elementary school workloads.

“Oh, ah, I meant to let you know,” Pennsylvania says to Redhead, sitting up in his seat. “I can’t make it to the movies next Friday, can we move it to the next week? I should know my schedule by Wednesday.”

“Sure,” Redhead says with a hint of bite to her pleasant smile. “But I thought you had Friday off.”

“I do,” Pennsylvania says, his lips curving into a small, excited smile, “but Christopher won his class’ public speaking competition and they’re doing a kind of show of all the winners for the parents, and it’s on Friday.”

Mere moves around table 34 and heads for table 36 next, but catches the looks of discomfort on every face aside from Pennsylvania’s. He doesn’t realize he’s said something wrong, but the rest of them have.

“Isn’t that just during school hours?” Brunette woman asks.

Texas hesitates before saying, “yeah, but we’re taking him to Universal after to celebrate.”

Out of pity, Mere doubles back to table 34 and reaches for his water glass to fill. People tend to keep their drama buckled while the waitstaff is there. And sure enough, Redhead glances up and paints a tense smile on her face.

“Yeah, not a problem. That sounds exciting.”

There’s a bite to her words, and by the way his shoulders tense and his fingers curl more tightly around his fork, Texas seems to have picked up on it.

————-

By the end of the entrees, most of the staff have caught onto Tomas’ predicament and one by one everyone from the table-bussers to the cooks have gone out for a smokeless smoke break to try to be the one to divine what the hell is happening at table 34.

None are successful.

“This isn’t even like a romantic date,” Mani laments. “Like none of them are that dressed up and they’re talking about like natural disasters and shit. I don’t get a proposal vibe from like any of them.”

“Who even goes on a double date to propose? Who does that? It’s so tacky!” Gabby says from behind the bar where she’s helping herself to a quick nip before she heads home.

“Who still thinks the ring in the champagne bit is a good idea, is my question. It’s a choking hazard!” Mere says. “How romantic to start off your engagement with a trip to the ER.”

Tomas ignores them all. He looks about 10 minutes away from saying to hell with his probationary status and drinking the next hour away straight out of the vodka bottle at his elbow. “I know it’s Pride and I should be representing but I could really do with a little heteronormativity right now.”

—————-

Tomas is stalling.

Table 34 asked for dessert, of course, and when he vaguely floated the idea of champagne, Texas had readily agreed, so this is happening. The champagne flutes are lined up on a tray, the champagne in them is warming with every minute that passes, and he is no closer to figuring out what to do.

“What if I put all the glasses in the middle and they have to pick which one they want?”

“Okay but the person getting proposed to tonight likely doesn’t know?” Mikael says.

“What if you pretend you didn’t see the instructions?” Shania pitches. “As if we can ever write stuff down correctly anyway. Just say it said to bring out the champagne but nothing about the ring being in a flute! Just hand it back to the proposer and let them get it done.”

“You think we don’t know who the proposee is but we know who the proposer is?” Tomas bites. “If I knew that, Shania, I could have just called them away with a phone call or something and asked them who to give the flute to.”

“Geez,” Shania exclaims, hopping off the bar counter to walk away. “You try to help…”

“And then there were three,” Mario announces as he comes back from another completely unnecessary round of filling water glasses outside.

Tomas’ head snaps up from where he’d been staring into the countertops. “What?”

They all rush to the window and sure enough: Redhead is gone.

“I didn’t see her come in,” Mere says, almost breathlessly. If she’d come in to use the restroom, they would have seen her.

“No, she’s gone-gone,” Mario supplies. “Said she had to get back to work but I’m pretty sure she just wanted out. That’s the chick from the news, you know?”

“People still watch the news?” Mere wondered aloud.

Tomas tsks. “Redhead was the least probable suspect!”

“Well we can rule out Brunette and Pennsylvania as a couple, right?” Umida asks, waiting briefly for the gathered crowd to nod. “Okay, so we’re down to the brunets together, or Pennsylvania and Texas.”

“Or polyamorous,” Mikael sniffs. Mikael is trying polyamory. He doesn’t know there’s a bet going on how long he’ll last. It’s a fine relationship style to get into but one he and his jealousy and insecurity issues are deeply unsuited for.

“Apologies, Mikael, or polyamorous. So you have...yeah, 3 of 3 options left for that ring,” Umida grimaces.

“Wait!” So-Hee cries. She’s supposed to be hosting at the entrance but COVID-19 protocols mean people don’t show up earlier than 5 minutes before their reservation so the podium isn’t very backed up. “What does the ring look like? That could be a clue, right?”

They look to Tomas, whose face is blank.

“You didn’t look?” Mere accuses him, though to be fair it never occurred to her either.

So-Hee pounces on the deep purple velvet box without waiting for Tomas to answer.

“Please god,” Tomas mumbles, grabbing the box out of her hands and prying it open with almost reckless enthusiasm.

All six members of staff currently on duty at the window crowd around, many heads bumping together to catch a glimpse. The ring nestled in the box has a slim, dainty band with a solitaire diamond jutting out proudly, with filigree details on either side.

“Oh thank sweet baby Jesus, that is a woman’s ring!” Tomas nearly yells.

“It could be a man’s ring,” Umida protests weakly, almost sad to see the drama come to an end.

Mere’s a little put out too if she’s being honest. But even if they couldn’t tell from the design, the sizing is way too small to fit on either of table 34’s men’s fingers, as So-Hee demonstrates by plucking the ring up and sliding it onto her own tiny finger.

“Yeah, get it stuck on your sweaty fingers, So-Hee,” Tomas protests almost hysterically, feeling his win come into danger. He wrestles it back off her finger and shoves it back in the box before taking a deep cleansing breath.

“Okay, I’ve got a dessert course to deliver,” he says, the picture of calm professionalism as if he hasn’t spent the last hour losing his entire shit.

———-

They should disperse then, but like brothers in arms after battle, all of them feel the need to stand guard as Tomas prepares to deliver the goods.

Some of them, like So-Hee, stand because they’ve foolishly become emotionally invested in the upcoming nuptial bliss.

Some of them, like Umida, stand because they fell in love with their version of events and they feel the need to properly mourn for what might have been.

“They’re co-parenting that boy,” Umida grumbles. “We all saw that! They can’t deny that!”

And some of them, like Mere, stand because they really can’t be bothered to get back to work.

But stand together they do as Tomas plops the ring in one flute and carries the tray out.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice off to the side of their group.

So-Hee, ever the consummate people-pleaser, actually turns to take care of the customer. The rest of them stay fixed at the window. “Yes, sir, can I help you?”

“Maybe? I couldn’t help but notice that young man taking some champagne out.”

“Yes, would you like to order a bottle as well?” So-Hee pokes Mikael. “We’d be happy to bring some out to you.”

“Ah, no,” the man says. “Well, yes. But I’ve already ordered some. I called earlier, when I reserved my table.”

Mere stiffens, her sixth sense borne of years of customer service piquing. Beside her, Umida takes note as well.

“I asked that champagne be brought to the table with dessert, and I left a box...one that looks a lot like the one on your counter there. And I’m sure it’s just a coincidence but I couldn’t help but want to make sure it’s not my ring that just went out to that other table.”

Mere’s wide eyes spring to Umida’s.

“Oh my fuck,” Umida whispers.

Then they’re both racing for the door.

“Wrong table, wrong table, wrong table,” Mere mutters under her breath as she dodges a stroller and a dog walker trying to reach Tomas —

“Oh, Edmundo!” Brunette exclaims brightly.

Umida’s hand braces Mere like a soccer mom in a car.

It’s too late now.

There’s nothing they can do but watch this trainwreck happen.

Happily, Redhead vacated the seat nearest to them so they have an unobstructed view of Brunette’s eyes filling with tears, of Texas’ wide eyes, and of Pennsylvania’s face losing all colour.

From context, Texas is the Edmundo Brunette is so pleased with.

But Edmundo is shaking his head, his brow furrowed. “I...wha— ”

Pennsylvania comes back to himself first, though the smile he paints on his face is strained and frail. “Ah, con — congratulations.”

“Wha— Buck, no.”

Pennsylvania — Buck — stands up from the table like a colt learning to walk, his eyes darting across the table without landing anywhere. “I — ah — I should let you guys celebrate.”

“Buck, no, I—” Edmundo’s voice is firmer now, his hand darting out to reach for Buck, and Brunette starts to catch on that nobody’s getting down on one knee with a flowery speech.

“Edmundo?” she calls, her bright smile dimming.

Edmundo looks torn and trapped in equal measure, and Mere wonders for a heartbreaking moment if maybe he’s as confused about his relationships as the Tilted Cactus employees have been tonight.

With a sigh, and a reminder that she’s out of this place like Cinderella at midnight, Mere falls on the proverbial meat cleaver. Stepping around Umida’s still outstretched arm, Mere weaves herself in front of Tomas just in case there’s any physical fallout, and pitches her voice low so the neighbouring tables will have to strain to listen in.

“Excuse me, my name is Mere, I’m the assistant manager. I am so sorry to inform you there’s been a terrible mistake. We’ve delivered a ring to your table that was destined to another this evening. We apologize deeply for any confusion this has caused and we will of course be comping your meals.”

“It—Oh.” Brunette’s eyes land on the ring on her finger, and her remaining excitement implodes into embarrassment so quickly and resoundly that Mere’s surprised it doesn’t produce an audible sound. The fingers of her opposite hand grip the ring and pause for a moment before slipping it off. There’s no box to slip it into so Mere holds out her hand, the other tucked neatly behind her back.

“Thank you,” Mere says quietly. “Please forgive us for the mistake. We will be investigating what happened so it never happens again.”

“Of course,” Brunette says lightly, forcing some life back into her voice. “I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Her eyes lift then and take in the scene across from her. Edmundo and Buck still standing, Edmundo’s hand wrapped round Buck’s wrist to keep him from leaving, and her eyes shutter once more.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up,” she says politely, rising from her seat and escaping into the restaurant.

Edmundo watches her go but says nothing, frozen still, holding onto the man beside him.

With all eyes more or less off them now, Mere gathers Tomas and Umida and hauls ass back into the restaurant.

————-

The ring is cleaned and inspected by Gareth, its actual owner, who is amiable enough to not escalate the situation further. His fiancée-to-be is none the wiser on any of these happenings — luckily their table, 29, is indoors — so his proposal is still on for the next course. But, just in case it doesn’t go the way Gareth hopes and he turns on them, Mere preemptively comps their meal too and congratulates him before he’s reseated.

On her way back to the kitchen, she grabs Lenore and uses the last hour of her completely fake authority to formally bar her from ever answering the phone again, or taking notes from the phone, or writing anything anywhere ever again. Lenore, having heard about the drama at table 34 and having seen the crying woman rush to the bathroom just now, accepts with little resistance.

And Mere, heart heavy with the weight of what they’ve done to this poor woman, mentally shakes her fist at her own curiosity and need for schadenfreude. If she’d bailed on this place an hour ago, she wouldn’t be leaving with this heartache by proxy.

As if beckoned by her thoughts, Brunette emerges from the bathroom just as Mere is crossing in front of it. She looks better, her tears packed away, and her cheeks only slightly reddened. Mere is about to offer her something — a glass of water? wine? a whole bottle? — when Edmundo steps into view. Mere doesn’t break stride until she’s behind the protection of the pay terminal privacy partition where she can see them but not be seen.

“Hey,” he says softly, his frame pretty loose and relaxed for a man who looked so troubled moments ago.

“Hey,” she returns with a forced smile.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know—”

Brunette cuts him off with a hand. “It’s not your fault. They made a mistake. It happens.”

Edmundo nods.

“But…” Brunette continues, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. “For a moment, it didn’t seem far-fetched that it...might be real, you know? I know we’ve been taking things slow, but we have been seeing each other for nearly a year now. And I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but it...it didn’t seem so far-fetched.”

Edmundo’s shoulders have grown tense, and it doesn’t escape Brunette’s notice. She smiles sadly.

“But then I looked up and you weren’t even looking at me. You were looking at Buck. You were so scared he would leave and that — that just doesn’t make sense, does it? I mean, even if the...the ring was a big misunderstanding, wouldn’t it have been better that he leave so we could talk about it privately? But you were scared, because he was upset… And if he was...I don’t know...upset that you hadn’t told him about this, you could have caught up later and discussed it, cleared it up.”

Edmundo says nothing, but he hangs his head and gnaws on his lower lip.

“But you were scared. Scared of him leaving in that moment. Scared...that he’d leave with the wrong idea? That he’d leave thinking you were — we were... ” Brunette sighs sharply. “I think I’ve been a fool.”

“You haven’t—” Edmundo tries to say.

“No, I have. It’s felt so many times like there’s been a third wheel in this relationship, and I genuinely didn’t realize until now that it was me. And maybe I’m naive but I’d like to think you didn’t realize it until today either. That you’re just as big a fool as I am. And maybe Buck is too.”

Edmundo opens his mouth twice to say something but nothing comes out. In the end, he settles on, “Ana, I’m sorry. I...didn’t realize. I don’t even know if I understand what I realize. But I...I know you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met and you didn’t deserve this.”

Brunette — Ana — smiles again sadly, and if a touch bitterly, she’s entitled to it.

“Thank you,” she says softly, before fidgeting with her purse strap again. “I’m going to go. You’ll...say goodbye to Buck for me?” Edmundo nods.

“Goodbye, Edmundo.”

“Take care, Ana,” he responds.

Ana takes a few steps before stopping and turning. “Good luck. I think…” she shakes her head before repeating, “good luck,” and leaving out the side doors.

Mere unglues herself from the privacy wall and slinks sadly back to the bar where she finds Tomas and Umida already halfway through a glass of red each. There’s a third, untouched glass waiting for her.

“We’re horrible people,” Mere decides. “Brunette and Texas just broke up.”

“We didn’t do this,” Umida protests half-heartedly. “Technically, Tomas did.”

“Ugh, you ass,” Tomas sputters. “The note said table 34, you all saw it. It’s Lenore’s fault.”

“It is Lenore’s fault,” Mere agrees before downing half her glass like a shot. Out the window, she can see Pennsyl — Buck — slumped in his chair, staring at the tablecloth. There’s a fresh bottle of wine on the table, two empty glasses at his and Edmundo’s places. Mere raises a glass at Tomas for the gesture.

“If they don’t end up drinking it, I’m taking it home,” Tomas says, “I already wrote it off.”

That’s fair.

Unfortunately for him, when Edmundo gets back to the table, he immediately pours them both a very full glass.

Buck straightens out in his chair, looking concerned and looking around for Ana, who doesn’t materialize. Edmundo says something that has Buck relaxing but looking guilty. Then Edmundo shuffles closer and puts a hand back on Buck’s wrist.

“Okay, back to work,” Mere orders. “We’ve intruded on this drama way too much already.”

When she finds her way back to the bar some twenty minutes later for a totally appropriate reason, table 34 is empty.

————————

A year later, Mere finds herself sitting on the Tilted Cactus bar counter on a Friday night, legs swinging and popping olives like they’re mints. She ended up not quitting her job the night she intended to. Between the excitement, the drama, and the on-duty alcohol, she was feeling pretty chill about sticking it out at the Tilted Cactus a while longer.

But she ended up quitting two days later when the owner found out about how she impersonated an assistant manager and gave her hell for it. She could have stayed, he wasn’t really going to reprimand her. But listening to him talk down at her while her stomach filled with dread at the idea of having to apologize and walk back into that hell hole…nah. Fuck the Tilted Cactus, fuck the owner, and fuck two weeks’ notice. They weren’t getting a minute out of her ever again.

She took the gamble of taking out more student loans and was wrapping up her EMT certification. She’d be in an ambulance soon enough, actually helping people. Not the dream that got her to America, but one that would suffice for now. Make up enough karma to get her feet back under her.

“The lesbians are back,” Umida announces excitedly in a whisper as she fits herself between Mere’s legs against the bar.

“Which lesbians?”

“THEE lesbians,” Umida returns, pointing out the window.

“Those are two guys, babe. Three if you count the kid.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida insists, waving her hand to dismiss the kid from her labels. “They have strong lesbian energy.”

“You’re claiming them for your people?” Mere grins fondly. It’s the start of Pride again and Umida’s Ally pin has been traded in for a lesbian-flag coloured hijab secured with the updated BIPOC Pride flag pin. She’s very pretty in pink, right down to the lipstick Mere isn’t allowed to kiss off of her until her shift is up.

“I am, they’re mine. I claim them.”

“Wait,” Mere squints, trying to pin down the familiar feeling she’s getting, “are those…”

“The guys! Eddie and Buck. I told you they were semi-regulars now. And we were right, that’s totally their kid. I don’t know how, especially since we know they weren’t together before that night, but he’s their kid. My money’s on one of them being trans because he’s literally their spitting image combined.”

Mere sighs happily and hugs Umida to her. “Well, I’m glad some good came out of that night.”

“Umida?” a young voice asks from across the bar. In the year since the reopening, a slew of new hires have joined the ranks to replace all the veterans leaving and Mere barely recognizes anyone anymore. She saw Mikael (unsurprisingly single again) a couple of weeks ago but he’s clearly on his way out too. Tomas lasted until his probation was over before quitting. Umida, in no small part because she was the longest lasting employee, was rightfully promoted to the role of assistant manager. Mere still hopes she’ll leave this hell hole soon but in the meantime, at least she’s getting paid. And authority looks really good on her.

“What up, Jerome?”

Jerome pushes his dark blue fringe back and holds up a sheet of paper. “I have a note here to deliver a ring to a table with dessert but it doesn’t say who’s supposed to get it.”

“Oh my god, no, no way,” Mere laughs and tries to push Umida away. “Let me out of here.”

Umida’s arms close around her hips, preventing her escape.

“Calm down. I created a form so that night doesn’t happen again. Jerome, did you use the form?”

“Um, yeah.” He shakes the sheet of paper in his hands. “I mean whoever took the call did. They checked off the table number, and it’s a ‘fiancé’ not a ‘fiancée’, but it’s a table with two guys so…”

“Okay, but there’s a field for the name, did they fill it out?”

“How am I supposed to know who they are from a name though?”

“Oh my god, kid, you schmooze,” Umida says. “You roll up to their table, you lay on the customer service thick and introduce yourself and ask their names. People are idiots, they’ll tell you, just like that.”

Jerome cocks his head in contemplation. “Yeah okay, but no, there’s no name. It’s blank.”

“But you made a form,” Mere mock whispers.

Umida turns on her, her eyeshadow catching the bar lights as she narrows her eyes. “This is not the form’s fault, don’t you blame this on the form! The form has a field for a name! The form provides!”

“The form is flawless,” Mere agrees quickly, running her hand down Umida’s arm soothingly. “You can’t account for user error.”

Umida glares harder before looking up to the ceiling in supplication.

Mere, who has never in her life been able to resist picking at a scab, asks, “what table is it?”

Jerome checks the paper. “34.”

“The cursed table. The cursed lesbians!” Mere gasps, squirming out of the way when Umida tries to pinch her side.

“Well it’s not like the kid is a contender, so it’s 50/50,” Umida points out. “Much better odds than last time.”

“And to be fair, if the wrong guy gets the flute, he can just improvise and propose with the ring in hand,” Mere continues. “Overall, much less exciting drama than last time. 3/10 for me.”

“Thank god. Yeah, let’s do that.” Jerome walks away with his marching orders and Umida turns to Mere. “I have to actually go work. You gonna hang out here?” She’s off in a half hour and they have tickets to the back row of the latest Marvel nonsense.

“I got booze, olives, and an unobstructed view of my favourite drama. I’m all set.” In lieu of a proper kiss, Mere lifts Umida’s hand and kisses her wrist, delighting in watching her girlfriend’s eyes soften. She blows Mere a kiss and flits away to put out fires.

Mere is usually on her phone while she waits for Umida but tonight she watches table 34. The guys — Eddie and Buck, Umida reminded her — are across the table from each other, Eddie is relaxed in his chair but Buck is leaning forward, elbows on the table as he tells their son a story that has him cackling in his seat. They’re not holding hands, but anyone looking can see they’re together. They have ridiculous heart eyes for each other, and from her vantage point she can see those long legs intermingling again, one knee occasionally jostling into the other. Little tangible reminders that they’re there and together.

She saw hints of this that night, and to see it have taken hold and blossomed...suddenly she’s really invested in them having a great night. One of them planned this night out, wanted to surprise the other, and she doesn’t want that going to waste because of a blank field on a form.

Mere’s wearing a dark long-sleeve blouse, not too far off the dress code, so slips off the counter, snags the backup apron they always leave behind the bar and ties it around her waist. One of the newbies whose name she doesn’t know watches her from the host pedestal and Mere raises a fierce eyebrow at them until they go back to minding their own business.

She rinses out a jug and fills it with water and ice and slips back into her customer service posture to make the rounds of the tables in section 10.

“Well now, I recognize you handsome folk, don’t I?” she schmoozes when she gets to table 34, picking up Eddie’s glass first to fill.

Eddie doesn’t place her and she doesn’t blame him, he was under a lot of stress that night. It takes Buck a second but he gets it.

“Oh hey, yeah! Weren’t you — “ Buck cuts himself off awkwardly and casts an eye to Eddie and the kid. “You, ah, gave us our meals for free! Because of the, um, mix-up.”

That’s enough for Eddie to place her, and where Buck relaxes back into his chair as she fills his glass, Eddie goes stock still.

Bingo.

“What mix-up?” the kid asks.

“Ah, they put something in our drink by accident,” Buck lies without lying. “Real choking hazard! So they gave us our meals for free.”

“That’s dangerous,” the kid says.

“It was dangerous,” Mere agrees, filling his glass. “Choking hazard was right. Could have turned a really great night all wrong with a trip to the hospital.”

Eddie’s brow furrows slightly and Mere struggles to keep a neutral face.

“It’s never a good idea to hide things in food. I don’t know why people keep trying instead of just calling us for advice. We have tons of ways to help people with surprises.”

“I completely agree,” Buck says. “We’re actually firefighters and you wouldn’t believe how many accidental choking calls we get.”

Eddie swallows, his eyes looking mildly panicked.

“Firefighters!” Mere schmoozes harder, smiling at the kid as he gets excited again. “Well I certainly feel safer then.”

“Ah, you probably shouldn’t. I was actually one of those calls once,” Buck says halfway through a smile and grimace, pointing to his throat where there’s a faint scar. “Emergency tracheotomy on the floor of a restaurant. But that wasn’t a surprise, just, ah, too enthusiastic about the breadsticks.”

Eddie’s looking decidedly gray now, eyes laser focused on the scar.

“Okay, well I’ll just go ahead and clear these,” Mere says, jokingly reaching for the bread basket until Buck laughs back.

“I’m better now, promise! Small bites, chewed thoroughly!”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she dithers dramatically, nodding to the kid. “If I leave those here, can I trust you to keep an eye on your dad?”

“Yeah!” the kid agrees with a toothy grin.

Buck’s cheeks redden quickly but he’s still smiling, his head ducked shyly in a way Mere doubts is due to her teasing. Eddie, meanwhile, is still looking poleaxed though fondness is fighting its way back in.

“Well, I was just subbing into this section so this will be goodbye for us but it was great to see you guys! Enjoy your evening!”

“Thanks, you too!” Buck says with an easy smile. Eddie manages a “thank you” and Mere has to restrain herself from patting his shoulder as she walks away.

She’s only just returned the apron to the bar when she sees Eddie walk in and head straight for the host before being led to the back.

“Ready to go?” Umida asks, back in her unsensible heels and cross-chest messenger bag.

Mere takes the hand she extends but tugs her closer instead of following her out, before saying the worst thing she’s ever said in her life, “Actually, do you mind if we stick around a little longer?”

“Something good about to happen?” she asks, peeking out the window.

Mere tugs her in closer and leans her chin on her shoulder. “I think so.”

Twenty minutes later, when Jerome passes by with a tray of assorted chocolate treats and two overturned coffee cups, Mere and Umida find themselves bracketed by half the front and back staff. Gossip still spreads like wildfire it seems.

Buck’s overturned coffee cup and plate is the last thing Jerome puts on the table, and as soon as it’s down, he excuses himself. He keeps a professional pace until he’s past the exterior doors and then he’s racing to take a front seat at the bar.

Eddie turns over his cup but doesn’t reach for the carafe, he wipes his hands on his jeans instead.

“Oh my god, he’s so nervous,” Jerome whispers.

“The kid is so in on it,” the host whose name Mere never caught says, and they’re right. Where Eddie’s tensed up, the kid is bouncing in his seat like he knows something’s coming.

“Come on, guy,” a bus boy mutters, checking his watch. His break is almost over.

Mere’s heart is beating hard in sympathy with Eddie’s as they all watch Buck ignore his coffee cup in favor of serving their kid from the tray. Then he signals to Eddie’s plate, who can’t not lift it for the offered chocolate tortes. Finally, there’s chocolate on everyone’s plates and Buck sits back to try a piece of brownie and Eddie can’t take it anymore.

He motions to the carafe and Buck perks up, finally reaching for his cup. But just as his fingers close around it, some idiot’s dog barks on the sideway, calling his attention away. His fingers flip the cup without ever looking at it, or the plate underneath it.

“Oh come on,” Umida moans.

The dog passes with its dumbass owner and Buck puts his cup back down, or tries to, but finds something in the way. He tries again, pushing the intrusion away with the bottom of the cup.

“Oh my god,” is whined in Mere’s left ear and when she turns her head she’s surprised to find not another Tilted Cactus employee but a customer dressed to the nines, pearls and all.

“Ma’am, did you —”

“Shh,” the woman returns, her eyes never moving from the window. Mere turns back too.

Finally, Buck has managed to push the offending items off the plate and settle his cup down and it’s a nail-biting few seconds where it actually looks like he’s going to reach for the carafe and go about his business.

But like a true wingman, the little kid points directly at it, prompting Buck to push the napkin aside and pick up — the ring.

Buck freezes, holding the ring between his thumb and index. His cheeks flush and a smile begins to break over his face before he looks startled and the smile falls abruptly away.

It’s about this time Eddie realizes that proposing by recreating the night they got together was never going to be the best idea when the impetus to their relationship was an engagement ring accidentally sent to the wrong person.

Eddie vaults out of his seat and into the empty one next to Buck, wrapping his hand around the one holding the ring, and bringing his other hand to his cheek to gently turn his head until Buck is looking at him. They can’t tell what he says, but they can watch Buck’s eyes fill with tears, watch as Eddie gestures to their son who’s smiling wide and reaching out for a hand, which Buck instantly provides. His attention comes back to Eddie then, who’s saying something that gets them both looking a little fragile and it’s hard to say if he actually popped the question yet but Buck is surging forward to kiss him hard and fast. Eddie gives as good as he’s getting for a moment before he slows them with small, gentle kisses. And when they finally break apart, Eddie plucks the ring from Buck’s fingers and slides it onto his ring finger as Buck watches, his eyes wide and half incredulous.

Outside, the nearby tables break out into applause, startling the trio and reminding the two men that they are indeed out in public. Eddie acknowledges the applause with an embarrassed hand and waits until they have a modicum of privacy again before taking Buck’s hand and kissing right near the where the ring now sits. He then reluctantly shuffles back into his seat.

Inside, Mere is hugging Umida to her with a strength buoyed by love. Around them, the staff are starting to disperse, some wiping their eyes, some with goofy grins on their faces.

“Young man,” the lady in the pearls says to Jerome, holding out her credit card, “I want you to charge that family’s meal to my card.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s very generous of you.”

The woman sniffs delicately and leaves without another word. Hopefully Jerome knows where she was sitting…

“I’m glad she did that,” Mere says into Umida’s shoulder, “I was going to, otherwise, and I’m a broke-ass student.”

“I would have pitched in,” Umida says, her voice soft and pensive. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Mere agrees, sliding off the bar counter for the last time. “Oh, hold on.”

She gets closer to the window and turns the flash off of her camera before taking a pic.

“I think that’s bordering on creepy now,” Umida says without judgement.

“It’s not for me.” Mere sends the pic off with a note and three ring emojis.

They don’t make it out of the restaurant before her phone dings.

“What does Tomas have to say?” Umida asks with a smirk.

Mere pulls up the text and reads, “Gays and lesbians. Both, at the same time. Never doubting Umida’s gaydar again.”

Umida laughs victoriously, which shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, and Mere lets her drag her by the hand down the street, letting the nostalgia from tonight settle in her chest.

If there’s anything she misses from working the restaurant scene, it’s getting this glimpse into people’s lives.

Yeah, most of the work was gross, obnoxious, or mind-numbing. But every now and again, she got to be a part of strangers’ stories. Got to be there for the happiest days like graduations, or bridal showers. And even the sadder stories could be beautiful sometimes, like when she got to be extra kind to the elderly woman coming into the restaurant alone for the first time in ten years, or watch a family have their last supper together before their kid moves away for school. It’s just all so human and some kind of wonderful.

She hopes her career as a paramedic will have just a little bit of that kind of magic.

#911fic #buddie fics #buddie #my fics #okay this is fic 2 of 2 for pov outsider for me!#completely opposite tone of the last one this is just fun and dumb :P #hope y'all like it!#my posts

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andreafmn · 3 years

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I'm Not Afraid - Chapter 5

xWord Count: 3,374

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ storyline.

Chapter: 5/?

A/N: If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 5

I woke up to a heavy and warm wight around my waist. As my mind started registering the scene around me, I noticed the soft snores that were filling the room, the strong smell of cologne, the rough skin encircling me, the chest in front of me that raised and fell at a slow pace. At some point during the night, Derek must have crawled into bed, and I couldn’t say that I minded.

He looked peaceful when he slept. No supernatural problems, no feuds, no hunters, just peace. My hand unconsciously landed on his cheek, softly stroking his cheek. Still succumbed to slumber, he leaned into the touch, nuzzling his head onto my hand like a puppy. I wish this could be the way it always was, but now that I knew the reality of the world we were in, there was no chance it would ever stay this way.

Deciding to let him sleep longer, I tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen where breakfast had already been prepared. I looked around and noticed that their car keys were gone, which meant they had left early in the morning to do whatever it was that they always did. I greeted Brody who had trotted my way from the living room, and filled his dog bowl, adding a few tasty treats. While I served two plates, I put the coffee machine to run, ensuring the freshest pot for the morning. I looked around for a tray to take the breakfast upstairs in case my parents came back at any moment, eating my food as the coffee brewed. Placing some cream and sugars on the tray, I made my way back to the bedroom where Derek was starting to wake up, Brody following behind.

“Morning, sour wolf.” I softly pushed open the door, the tray in front of me. Derek was rubbing the night from his eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. Upon seeing the man, Brody jumped on the bed greeting him with slobbery kissed. Derek laughed and petted his head as he laid at the foot of the bed.

“Morning,” he yawned. “Whatcha got there?”

“Some eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Also, some coffee.” He took the tray from my hands and set it on the bed. Taking one of the coffee cups, I sat over on my desk to work on the homework I had left pile during the week. Derek grabbed the plate and came to stand behind me, leaning down to rest his chin on my shoulder.”

“What are you doing?” He inquired, downing the food from the plate quickly.

“Homework. You know, the thing people my age have to do to be able to graduate from high school with good grades.” I looked to the side, my heart beating faster noticing the closeness of our faces. “I’m sure you wouldn’t know much about that.”

“I’ll have you know I was a good enough student.”

“Emphasis on good enough.” I booped his nose with my pen and continued my work. “When you’re done you should head home, don’t want my parents catching you here just in case.”

“Why? We’re not doing anything.” He sipped his coffee and sat down on the bed, Brody laying his head on his lap. I turned my chair and faced him, a laugh escaping my lips.

“I think you’re forgetting who you are and who my family is. Apart from that, I don’t think my dad will particularly enjoy the fact that a 21-year-old werewolf is in his teenage daughter’s bedroom, alone.” I grinned. “But suit yourself. I’d love to see how it will play out.”

“Alright, but can I at least take you out some time this week?” My heartbeat quickened, the sound loud enough for me to hear. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no,” I grinned.

“I kind of need an answer,” he pressed. A grin played on his lips by the point he had stood and rested his hands on the arms of the chair.

“How about, I’ll let you know?”

“I’ll take it,” he smiled. “I’ll text you.”

“Alright, I’ll be waiting.” He kissed my cheek and grabbed his jacket to head towards the door. “Where are you going?”

“Home?”

“Not through the door you’re not.” The dumbfounded look on his face was hilarious. “what would I do if my parents walked in.”

“I’m fast, you know. Like supernaturally fast.”

“Mm, I’ve seen you. Not fast enough.”

“Fine,” he surrendered. “Keep watch of your phone.”

“I will,” I smiled. He took a step back and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Brody got alerted by the sudden move and jumped off the bed to bark at the window, standing on his hind legs to prop his eye out. I joined his side and saw Derek standing normally in my backyard as if he hadn’t just jumped out of a two-story window. He waved and I waved back as he became a blur, vanishing before my very eyes.

I slumped down on my bed and ran my hands over my face. What was I doing? There were so many things that were pit against us. My 18th birthday was still a little less than a year away, he had something going on with Erica, my family and he are natural-born enemies, we are currently under the terror of a reptilian shapeshifting Jackson, and that was just scratching the surface. I couldn’t scrutinize why he would ask me out too much, it was probably not even in a romantic way. It could just well be that he wanted to keep an eye on me since I was new to this whole werewolf, Kanima, hunter thing.

A couple of hours went by where I took Brody out for a walk, finished what was left of my homework, and started watching a movie when my phone went off.

“Hey, I heard the good news! You’re staying in town.”

“Hey, Allison. Yeah, it looks that way.”

“Well then, I believe you owe some people an apology.”

“What could you possibly mean?” I scoffed. But she was right, as hard as it was to admit.

“Don’t act dumb, (Y/N). You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t like it when you’re right,” I sighed. “What do you think I should do?”

“I could invite them over to your house and you could apologize to them. They never object to free pizza.”

I was glad. Instead of sulking on the 'he likes me, he likes me not' nonsense, I prepared the house for Allison and her friends, the people I hope to win over. One by one they arrived at my doorstep. Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison. I had put out some snacks and the pizza I had bought. Scott and Stiles were not shy about their hunger as they dove in right away.

"So, what's the purpose of this meeting?" Lydia asked, her usual cocky attitude on full show.

"Uh, well, I wanted to apologize for being such a bitch these past few weeks."

"Hm, understatement of the century." Stiles chuckled with his mouth full.

"Actually, she can be 1,000 times worse. That was just level 1 bitchiness."

"Point taken. But why would you apologize? We get it you don't want to be our friend."

"That's not it, it's just... ugh... Look, it’s honestly a very long story, but moving around it’s hard to cut ties and start over for so long. After a while it’s easier to builds walls up and maintain everyone at arm’s length." They all stared at me. Hopefully I was getting through to them. "But this time I'm changing that. I want to be your friend and that's why I'm apologizing."

"Well, I don't know about the other guys, but I've always considered you my friend. I mean, I've considered Lydia my friend and she hates me."

"Oh, please, Stiles. I don't hate you, you're just, um.... special."

"I'll take it."

"We understand. And of course you're our friend, (Y/N). You were just too stubborn to notice." Scott smiled at me. "Now, is there more pizza?"

"How the hell did you two boys just finish two boxes of pizza?"

"We're growing?" Stiles said with his mouth full.

"Barely," Allison mumbled.

"You know I can hear you, right?"

"That's the point, Scott."

The whole room laughed and continued to enjoy a very pleasant afternoon. It felt weird to finally feel like I belonged somewhere; that there were people around me that cared for me despite my flaws. As I looked around the faces of the group that had welcomed me with open arms, I couldn’t help but feel that someone was missing; the person that had first accepted me.

The clock had hit 4 o’clock when the last piece of food was gone, and the gang had gone home. After cleaning up, I decided it was time to call Isaac. I didn’t like the person he had become after the bite. But I couldn’t say I didn’t understand. He felt confident, strong, but he was using the wrong outlet. Just like I was.

“So, you’re finally talking to me,” Isaac chuckled, a cocky tone to his voice.

“Only if you’re done being a douche.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since you turned into a werewolf you’ve been nothing short of unbearable with your cocky behavior and holier-than-thou attitude.” I could hear him shifting on the other line, the news taking him aback. It seems Derek hadn’t told his pack that I knew everything.

“H-how… who told you?”

“Derek, your alpha. He told me everything the other day. I know all about werewolves, kanimas, hunters, pack, blah, blah, blah. But none of that excuses your behavior,’’ I sighed. “So, are you done being a dick?”

“Maybe,” he chuckled. “Can I see you?”

“Sure. Why don’t we go grab a bite? I’ll pick you up.”

“Alright!” He sounded excited. “I’ll text you the address.”

After hanging up I decided to take a quick shower before leaving. I threw on a white t-shirt and jeans and paired them with my leather jacket. As I tied my boots, I reached for the keys of my dad’s Chevrolet Suburban. Hopefully, I didn’t crash. In the car, I typed in the address Isaac had sent me. It was an industrial loft not too far from my own home. I honked my horn to notify Isaac I was there as well as sent a text.

“Are you stalking me now?”

I jumped at the sound of Derek’s voice and the knock he left on my window. . He appeared like a ghost and leaned on my door. “I could say the same about you. I’ve never been here before.”

“I live here,” he laughed, pointing at the building. “It’s my loft.”

“I’m here to pick up Isaac,” I said sheepishly. “So, he’s been staying with you. I thought you live in the woods.”

“It’s my family’s house and it’s under my ownership, but it’s not under livable conditions. And, yes, Isaac has been staying with me.”

“Hey, Derek.” Isaac finally emerged from the doors and jogged up to my car, patting Derek on the back. The man’s expression rapidly changed as soon as Isaac joined the conversation. The playful smile he wore had been replaced by a menacing scowl. “We’re going out for a while. I’ll see you later.”

We said goodbye and as I drove off, I stared at Derek. His body was tense, and his jaw was clenched. He was angry, but I didn’t know why. When we were alone, he was a completely different person than what he showed to others. There was this terrifying façade that was impenetrable by everyone else, yet he was a completely different person with me; he was an Alpha to the others, but he was just Derek to me.

I parked the car at a small burger joint Isaac directed me to. It wasn’t too full, so our food came out quickly. We sat at a table in the back, far from any prying ears.

“So, what did you mean about this cocky attitude?” He popped a french fry into his mouth, playing around with his food. “You seemed quite mad about it. Mad enough that you avoided me for some time.”

“Ever since you transformed you’ve been carrying yourself like you’re above everyone, you don’t even bother to be respectful of teachers or anyone for that matter. I miss the old Isaac.”

“You mean the pushover wimpy kid?” He scoffed. “I can’t say the same.”

“That’s not what I meant.” My hand reached out to his clenched fist and his hold softened. “You were nice and respectful, and knew how to treat others because you knew how it felt to be mistreated. Of course, you could have done with more confidence, but that’s not what this is. It’s almost as if you’re turning into Jackson, heaven forbid.”

His eyes softened and I knew I was getting through the wall he had built up.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N). It's just… this is the first time in my life that I have felt powerful, like nothing and no one can touch me. I've dealt with so much shit that I thought I deserved to act like that," he sighed. "Can you ever forgive me?"

“You’re practically my best friend, how could I not?”

“Thanks.” He gave me a smile that I happily reciprocated. For the first time in a while, I was seeing the Isaac I had met some time ago. “So, what is it that you needed to speak to me so eagerly.”

“Remember how I mentioned that I would be moving at the end of the year so you shouldn’t get attached?” He nodded. “Well, it seems you’re gonna have to put up with me for a long time. Beacon Hills is now my home.”

“What?! That’s great!” He exclaimed a little too loud. Heads turned towards us and Isaac tried to hide his blush. “Does that mean we can truly be friends now? Not just study partners or casual conversation acquaintances?”

“Yes, Isaac. That’s exactly what that means,” I laughed. His face had lit up as the hard mask he wore finally broke apart. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what happened the night that I picked you up? It was such a weird night.”

His whole demeanor changed, clearly a sore subject to talk about. "If Derek told you what we are I presume he told you about everything else." I nodded. "The Kanima. It killed my father. We, um, had gotten into a fight and I ran out. It seems he went out looking for me but didn't get to me. I found him dead in his car, but I ran and called you."

" Isaac, why didn't you tell me? I mean, I know why you didn't tell me, but something; you should have told me something.” I looked into his eyes, worry evident in them. He had gone through such a traumatic event basically by himself. “Is that why the police were looking for you?"

He nodded. "They thought I had something to do with his murder because of something Jackson said. He was unfortunately my neighbor and had seen me running out of the house, but there were no tracks leading to me. I'm not a fugitive anymore." He smiled softly.

“I’m glad, Isaac, really. And I’m truly sorry for everything you’ve had to endure alone for all these years. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). At least that part of my life is over.”

“Now we just have to get that damn Kanima and get on with our lives.” We laughed.

Before we knew it, the sky outside had turned dark, signaling the arrival of the night. The car ride back was filled with mindless chitchat and soft background music. It had been a long few days and exhaustion was evident in both of us. Soon enough, the grey building had come into view.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” Isaac leaned into the open window of the driver’s side.

“I think I’m just gonna head on home. I’m a bit tired and we have school tomorrow.” I smiled. “But, I’ll take you up on the offer someday.”

“Isaac, good to see you’re back,” Derek announced himself, his two betas following behind. “You’re late for training.”

“Sorry, Derek. Time slipped away.”

“Sorry won’t cut it.” His voice was commanding and a bit intimidating. I could see why everyone around me feared him. “Go with Erica and Boyd. Get started.”

'‘Bye, (Y/N). I’ll see you tomorrow.” I smiled and nodded, trying my best to comfort him.

“See you.” Derek stood back as we both watched the three figures disappear into the building. His chest moved, heaving, and he reeked of jealousy. “What’s your problem?”

“What?” Did he truly believe I was that oblivious? “I just…”

“You’re acting like a prissy child, Derek. You knew where Isaac was, who he was with, and that there was a possibility that he would come back late. There’s no need to grill him that hard.”

“He’s old enough to manage his time correctly, (Y/N). He needs to learn discipline. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Clearly, that’s not what’s happening here,’’ I laughed dryly. “Look, pardon the metaphor, but this whole alpha male act is gonna get very tiring, very quickly. If this is how you’re gonna be, don’t bother on scheduling that date this week.”

“Don’t be like that, (Y/N). I swear this has nothing to do with you. There are certain rules that we have to abide by, a different life. It’s complicated.”

“You’re not making any sense, Derek.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Yesterday we said no secrets, Derek. What changed in the hours that have passed?”

“Nothing’s changed. I’m sorry if I seemed too harsh on Isaac, but I have to be. They’re young and reckless, and it’s my job to make sure they stay safe. No matter the cost.” He ran his hands across his face as he let out a loud sigh. “Why don’t we just keep the supernatural and our personal lives apart.”

“We can try that for a while, but they’re bound to intersect at some point.”

“I know, but…”

“Let’s play it your way and see how it goes, okay? And lay off Isaac and the others? They are just kids.”

“I’ll try,” he smiled softly. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“If I remember.”

I backed the car up and sped back to my house. When I opened the garage, my father was sitting on the spot where the car usually went. I had forgotten to tell them I would be gone, and my phone’s battery had died a while back. I was in so much trouble.

“Good to know you’re alive, darling daughter.” The sarcasm spewed from my father’s mouth, and it stung.

“I’m so sorry. I went out with a friend and my phone died. And I know I forgot to say I was leaving the house, but I rarely do that, so please forgive me.”

“Calm down, (Y/N),” he laughed. “We just wanted to make sure you were okay. You weren’t answering your phone, so we got worried. But remember, there’s a tracker on the car. We figured you were out. And I’m glad to hear you have a friend. It’s about time.”

“Thanks, dad.” He wrapped me in a hug and patted my head. If he knew who my friends were I’m sure he wouldn’t feel the same way. “But, if you knew where I was, what was this whole scary setup? I for sure thought you were going to kill me.”

“Nothing like that, honey. But your mother and I have something we have to talk to you about.”

“What is it? You can’t take back that we are staying.”

“It’s not that, but it is serious. Let’s go, your mom is waiting in the kitchen.”

My heart was beating at a rapid pace, a million thoughts running through my head. Although, at the bottom of my heart I knew what this talk was going to be about.

Tag List: @hellowinterlane @lokisgoddesofpower @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @malar-region

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samstree · 3 years

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Hug a Witcher Day (1/3)

Jaskier writes a new song ‘Hug a Witcher Day.’ It gains insane popularity and Geralt finds himself hugged by random strangers on one day every year. He just wishes a particular bard would hug him too.

By one person’s popular demand, I present to you a touch-starved Geralt, a cheeky Jaskier and a lot of pining.

fluff, hand holding, sharing clothes, yearning, 3k, rated G

read on AO3

It is the most ordinary morning.

The wind is picking up after last night’s rain, a common occurrence in the fall, bringing nice moisture in the air all the way from the sea. The last of the heat washed away to reveal crisp blue sky, stretching all the way to meet the mountain range.

It’s an ordinary morning, except everyone is staring at Geralt.

The inn is not busy this early in the morning, but a few patrons have risen for the first meal of the day. As the witcher sits down at a table, the atmosphere changes instantly. The conversation hushes and eyes start turning in his direction. Some are even giggling with their friends upon seeing him.

Although, there’s no malice, no fear, or disdain.

Only amusement.

It won’t be the first time that a crowd finds a witcher to be a curious sight. Although it is unusual for a town of this scale to have never seen one of them before.

So Geralt pays no mind. He only wants to finish his porridge in peace. His stomach has been rumbling since he missed dinner last night. The hunt took way longer than he anticipated, and by the time he returned, the inn had long since stopped serving. Although the maid—a young girl no more than sixteen—promised to give him an extra portion at breakfast.

Even she’s staring too.

The girl takes a look at Geralt’s finished bowl and hurries to fetch another from the kitchen. She carries the porridge and an extra loaf of rye bread to his table with a smile that gradually lights up her whole face.

Geralt nods as she puts them down, confused at the good mood of this whole establishment.

His confusion grows when she doesn’t leave. Instead, the girl lingers a moment, as if working up her courage, before bending down to circle her arms around Geralt.

He has to fight every instinct in his body to stay still and let her hug him. Her arms are squeezing gently, not the too-tight kink. Her curled locks are all over his face. When she pulls back, her round cheeks are flushed like a beet, the grin now carrying a hint of embarrassment.

“Why—”

“Thank you, master witcher!” she exclaims chirpily.

“What for?” he frowns.

“For getting rid of the fiend, of course!” She’s almost taking offense at the question. “Right before today, no less.”

“What’s so special about today?”

“It’s the day before Saovine, sir. Do you not know?”

Well…no. The passage of time registers too vaguely when he’s traveling alone from one town to another. The contract last night was no different from the last five.

Geralt doesn’t want to think about how monotonous the path is without a companion, or he’ll have to admit to himself that he’s missing the bard and his ridiculous songs and too-loud playing. He won’t do it, even in the safety of his own mind.

Still, her answer doesn’t explain anything.

“The day before Saovine!” she must be seeing his silence as an encouragement to continue. “It’s Hug a Witcher Day!”

Geralt drops the spoon into the porridge. Biting back a curse in a child’s company, he fumbles to fish it out.

“Hug a—what?”

“It’s how the song goes! Hug a witcher and thank him for the work he’s done. All the monster-killing in the past year!” Her smile turns to a tiny frown. “And you, sir, just killed that fiend for us last night. As the lyrics say, it’s only right that I hug you!”

“It was…my job. And why does it have to be Saovine?”

“It’s the day before Saovine, sir. It’s the last holiday before witchers rest for the winter. It’s only right to thank them now.” she proclaims proudly. “Have you really not heard ‘Hug a Witcher’?”

Should he have? Before asking the next question, Geralt has an inkling that he already knows the answer.

“Whose song is it?”

“Who else? Your bard of course. Master Jaskier the bard!”

The words your bard somehow lands on a soft spot in Geralt’s chest.

Although Jaskier hasn’t traveled with him for months. Geralt doesn’t pay attention to the bard’s new hits because they will eventually reach his ears anyway. Jaskier can never pass an opportunity to serenade him with every new composition when they are alone by a campfire, looking for the witcher’s personal reviews no matter how well-received by the public they appear to be.

“Hmm.” Geralt calculates the distance between where he is and Oxenfurt. This ‘Hug a Witcher’ song, in fact, is spreading faster than any of Jaskier’s famous ballads.

A hug can’t be worse than being tossed coins, right?

It keeps happening for the rest of the day.

First, it’s the stable hand. Geralt is just trying to load his pack onto Roach when the young lad comes in. He doesn’t try to hug Geralt, only giving him a polite nod.

“Thank you. For your work, sir,” the lad says, before helping Geralt saddle the mare. “Like the song says, eh? Thank a witcher so no monster will plague you in the coming year.”

And then, it’s a few small children. A flock of them suddenly come out of nowhere and just… cling to his legs.

“Thank you master wiiiiitcheeeeer!” They shout in unison and drag the last few syllables longer and longer. And then the group disperses just as quickly as they gathered, giggling and running off to an alley.

All except one.

The smallest one stays at his feet, looking up and staring at him.

“Hug!” the boy stretches out his short arms.

Geralt blinks.

The boy stares, eyes wide and expectant.

So Geralt has no choice but to bend down and let the boy wrap those short arms around his neck.

“You’re welc—"

It’s over in a second and the child is rejoining his friends, who are now peaking their heads out of the corner of the alley. Excited squeals erupt among them.

Geralt feels the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

When he gets to the market, a few shop owners are smiling so brightly and offering discounts. Roach gets a horseshoe and an apple for free within the first hour. The silversmith shouts out thanks before jogging up to him and pulls him in for a bear hug.

“Hug a witcher for luck,” she says.

“No, it’s for good harvests!” an old man corrects her.

They keep coming.

But everyone has a different reason and it makes Geralt wonder how many versions Jaskier has for this one song. Or, he dreads to think, how long it is.

“Hug a witcher and death will avoid your door.”

“Hug a witcher for a merciful winter.”

“Hug a witcher for good rain!”

“Thank you, master witcher.”

“Thanks, sir, for your service!”

“Geralt! You need to control your bard!”

Lambert growls as he slams into the heavy wooden door of Kaer Morhen keep, stamping his foot to shake off the snow.

Turning another page of the book, Geralt refuses to look at his younger brother when he’s in a grouchy mood.

“What did he do?” he asks nonchalantly.

“You know—" Lambert grits his teeth. “—what he did.”

The youngest wolf sits down, crowding Geralt’s space, his cloak still wet from the storm outside. Geralt raises an eyebrow but stays on the book. He is not going to make it easier for his brother.

After seconds of silence, Lambert finally gives in. “His song!”

“You can’t possibly be mad about Hug a Witcher.” Eskel walks in and also sits at the table, the sewing kit and a ripped shirt in hand. “It’s a good one.”

“I’m a witcher! They saw me and tried to hug me!”

“So?”

Like Geralt, Eskel only fuels the youngest wolf’s exasperation. He even starts to thread the needle, completely unfazed.

“So?” Lambert pulls off his cloak and the water splashes all over Geralt’s book. “For a whole day, people tried to touch me. A whole day, Geralt! All thanks to your bard and his blasted song! I couldn’t even get out of town without those folks jumping on me.”

“And? I don’t know about you, but I appreciate some showing of gratitude. Thank your bard for me, will you?” Eskel nudges at Geralt.

“Hmm.”

“I don’t care,” Lambert continues, pointing a finger at Geralt. “Tell the bard to stop this nonsense, or I will stop him myself and he won’t be as pretty afterwards.”

Geralt finally dogears the page and faces his brother’s tantrum. He wonders if the crease between his eyebrows is tight enough to crack a walnut—it might be fun to try one day. “Or you can just not let them,” he deadpans.

“What?”

“You are a witcher, the best one among us—according to yourself.” Geralt tilts his head, squinting. “Are you telling me you couldn’t fend off some villagers who were only trying to give you a squeeze?”

Lambert’s face stills, his index finger hanging in the air. In front of Geralt’s unblinking eyes, his face turns redder and redder.

“Urgh,” with an annoyed wave, Lambert storms off the same way he stormed in, all the while muttering all kinds of colorful curses.

Geralt purses his lips as to not let out a too-obviously laugh, but at the corner of his eyes, he notices Eskel shaking his head in amusement.

“All jokes aside, I liked the song.”

Geralt shrugs.

“Jaskier knows how to make them go around.”

“No, I like the day that came with the song. Just about a decade ago, people barely thanked us for a job well done, but now? Lambert is a prick, but I don’t mind having a pat on the back after spending a whole year on the path. Don’t you think?”

“Hmm.” He shrugs again.

Eskel has put down his needlework and is observing him intently. Both of his brothers are so weird about this, Geralt reckons, but on opposite sides of weird. Maybe that’ll be the bard’s review when they meet in the spring.

“Maybe you are indifferent because your bard already knows to appreciate you, wolf. Being your barker and all. Was he thrilled to see the rest of the world catch on?”

Geralt frowns while opening the book again, not sure where this is going.

“Jaskier wasn’t with me during Saovine.”

“No?” Eskel is moving into his space too. Urgh, the two of them. “You bard got the whole continent to hug you, but he wasn’t there to give you one himself?”

“No.”

A sudden surge of irritation rises, but Geralt isn’t sure why. All he wants to do is read the damn book without his brothers nagging him about how terrible or how amazing this ridiculous day is.

“Hmm.” Eskel mirrors his hum. Every time the older witcher does this is because he’s trying to figure out something, and Geralt has no intention of finding out.

“I’ll read elsewhere.” With a loud snap of the book, Geralt leaves the room in a few quick strides.

He has a feeling that this lousy mood might stick with him for a while yet. At least until he can leave Eskel’s inexplicable prodding and Lambert’s grumpy ass behind.

“I know you don’t like the touchy mushy stuff, Geralt. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they would actually hug you all day long!”

Jaskier looks so contrite that his hands are reined in from his full-body gestures, and that’s how Geralt knows the guilt is genuine. His fingers are fidgeting with the hemline of his winter doublet and his hands, exposed in the chill, are turning red.

It’s still quite early in the spring, since Geralt has come to find the bard in Oxenfurt as soon as the ground thawed. A cold spell is hitting the town pretty hard, although Jaskier is sure that it’ll be the last one before green returns to this town.

It doesn’t help that snow has been steadily falling and melting at the same time during their stroll around campus. The bard shivers a little.

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, taking off his own scarf and wrapping it around Jaskier’s neck.

“It is not! Once again, I have been so focused on my professional achievements and forgotten about the impact those songs have on you. All of you.”

Jaskier helps Geralt adjust the scarf so it covers all of his neck and the lower half of his face. It’s made of the warmest yarn Vesemir keeps at Kaer Morhen, but the plain color is a stark contrast against the delicate design of the bard’s fur-lined doublet. In comparison, Geralt’s scarf looks too coarse to be there, but Jaskier seems content enough to bury his face into the material, letting out a soft sigh.

His hands still look cold, so Geralt removes his gloves as well.

“Eskel likes it. The song and the day.”

Those words seem to lighten Jaskier’s mood. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly.

“Really? He likes Hug a Witcher day?”

“Mm-hmm.”

The bard flexes his stiff hands before sliding into the leather gloves. They fit surprisingly well with Jaskier’s long fingers, only a bit loose on the wrists, so Geralt makes sure to fasten the cords. He then holds both Jaskier’s hands between his palms, just to warm them up a little.

Can’t let a lutenist complain about frostbite on his fingers.

“Says it’s nice to be appreciated for all the hard work he’s done. The hugs aren’t bad either,” Geralt explains. “Eskel never minded them anyway.”

“And you?” Despite his slight apprehension, Jaskier’s eyes are filled with careful hope. “Do you mind them?”

With a final squeeze, Geralt lets go.

“I told you it’s fine.”

“You don’t have to say it to make me feel better, my dear. I know how you don’t like people touching you,” the bard says, reaching out to brush off some snowflakes on Geralt’s shoulder with a gloved hand.

Geralt frowns, looks down to Jaskier’s casual touch on his shoulder, and then back to his concerned blue eyes.

Why on earth does Jaskier think he hates touches? The bard himself touches him all the time, at least in the past couple of years. Not at the beginning though, when they were barely friends and Geralt told him to fuck off all the time and not to feed Roach treats and—

And when Geralt punched him in the gut just to drive him away.

He’s seen Jaskier hug so many people, countless flings, long-term lovers, his parents, cousins, even other bards. He’s seen Jaskier hug Essi just this morning while being teased by her relentlessly about something Geralt didn’t understand. Must have been an inside joke.

But never him.

Jaskier never hugs him.

The realization sinks Geralt’s heart somehow. The cold wind suddenly cuts a lot more brutally on his bare neck and hands.

He doesn’t mind a little nip when Jaskier is the more sensitive one, being human and all. But at this moment, with the bard all bundled up in a soft doublet with those feathery puffs on his shoulders, he looks like he can give great hugs.

Jaskier looks so…huggable.

Geralt wonders what it would be like to take Jaskier in his arms and squish him over those thick, airy clothes. He wonders if he can bury his nose into his scarf—now it would smell like a mixture of Jaskier’s floral scent and the wood ash that always lingers around Geralt’s person. He would pull away to see Jaskier’s cheeks painted pink in the cold air and snow melting on his long lashes—

“You are just saying it, aren’t you? I have deeply offended you.” Jaskier interrupts those wandering thoughts because he has taken the silence as anger. His expression can only be described as crestfallen. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be too mad. I cannot lose my best friend. I simply cannot take it, Geralt! I will die of a broken heart!”

The plea is so dramatic that Geralt lets out a chuckle.

“Will you relax?” he pats Jaskier on his puffy sleeve. “I’m not mad, little poet. It truly is fine. Some children hugging me on the leg is not the end of the world.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Somehow, Geralt knows that if Jaskier decides to also give him a hug that day, it won’t be the worst thing either. Hug a witcher to thank him, it’s the bard’s own words. He’s protected Jaskier from angry spouses so many times it will definitely warrant a hug, right?

“Good, then.” Jaskier lowers his face into the scarf again, pretending to hide from a draft, but Geralt can see the faint smile around the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad your brothers also enjoyed my contribution to what will become the next official holiday.”

“Oh no, that’s just Eskel. You should avoid Lambert this year.” Geralt grimaces. “Maybe the next few years too.”

Jaskier is taken aback but recovers quickly.

“Well, I’ve got you to protect me from his wrath, my friend who’s not angry with me.” The smile, this time, is genuine and brightens up Jaskier’s whole being. His arms stretch out in a pose once more. “Where shall we go when spring comes? You know, when it really comes.”

Jaskier grimaces at the sky as if judging it for the untimely harsh weather blocking their way.

“Hmm.”

Geralt is in no hurry to determine the where of their journey this year, but the when of it…

A sudden ache in his chest tells him that maybe he should stick with Jaskier until Saovine.

Or at least the day before.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier fic #geraskier #my writing #touch-starved geralt #soft jaskier #soft geralt #mutual pining #emotional hurt/comfort #but in later chapters #geralt x jaskier

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Initiative pt 2 - ao3 or tumblr pt 1

It was just typical of his brother, Nie Huaisang thought. He finally, finally, finally found a girl that might suit him, agreed to marry her, and then he spent all his time worrying about…saber.

Typical.

Nie Huaisang volunteered himself to act as the family representative in negotiations with the Jiang sect, seeing as his brother would undoubtedly get them fleeced if he were trying to do it himself – “Try not to be too mercenary, Huaisang. We are the ones in the stronger position, through no fault of theirs.” – and with one thing or another he arrived at the Lotus Pier less than a week after Jiang Yanli did.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian seemed rather surprised to see him.

“I haven’t had a moment to tell them,” Jiang Yanli said, pressing her head to her forehead and looking a little tired. “They’d just completed the memorial hall, when I arrived.”

“And it’s been nothing but keeping them from fighting ever since?” Nie Huaisang said, not without some sympathy.

Only some, though. If Jiang Yanli couldn’t handle Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, even the grieved and tragic versions of them, what was she going to do the first time his brother went into a rage?

Maybe he was being too cold-blooded. After all, they’d been her parents, too.

“Your arrival is a good thing,” she said, narrowing her eyes a little in satisfaction. “Now they have no excuse to run away from me.”

Nie Huaisang couldn’t help but smile a little at that.

She summoned a few sect disciples, divided them neatly into two groups – one larger than the other – and instructed them to go bring her two recalcitrant brothers to the main hall. “You may use force,” she informed the larger group. “I would advise you that A-Xian is especially weak to tickling around his ribs, and don’t let him scare you off with that Yiling Patriarch stuff. And as for the group going to get A-Cheng – may I suggest looking especially pathetic when you convey the message that his sister, who he left alone for almost the entire war, would really like to see him if he has a moment to spare for her?”

Nie Huaisang’s smile broadened. “Tears,” he added solemnly. “Tears are very good. He hates tears.”

“Just so. Thank you all.”

“My brother is already planning out your saber,” he told her once the disciples had left, and she brightened visibly. “If there’s anything you want to contribute in terms of design, now’s the time – I brought mine in case you want to have a look later on.”

Aituan was in his luggage. Somewhere. His brother had refused to let him leave the Unclean Realm before he’d produced proof of saber, and he hadn’t unpacked since then, so surely it was somewhere.

“I’m sure whatever your brother comes up with will be fine,” she said. “I don’t know anything about weapons.”

A brief hesitation.

“Although, perhaps not – so large…?”

Nie Huaisang decided to be daring. He opened his fan in front of his face and looked at her over it, allowing his eyes to curve up in a smile. “Don’t worry about that – though if all goes well, you’re going to have to accustom yourself to dealing with a large saber at some point in the process.”

She burst out laughing, which was good.

“Nie Huaisang!” Oh, look, Jiang Cheng was here. “What are you saying to my sister? You’d better not be harassing her!”

“What would you do if I was?” Nie Huaisang wondered. “I mean, I’m not, I don’t think, but –”

“Just don’t.”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli said. “Be polite. Where’s A-Xian? I have something to tell you both.”

Wei Wuxian came in a few moments later, grumbling and rubbing his ribs but brightening when he saw them all gathered up there, and he slid into place by Jiang Cheng’s side easy as anything even if they did sort of stare awkwardly with quasi-glares, quasi-grimaces at each other first.

And then Jiang Yanli told them why Nie Huaisang was there, and all awkwardness fell away at once so that they could unite in glaring at Nie Huaisang.

“Why are you looking at me for?” he asked. “I’m not the one marrying her, that’s my brother.”

“If you had anything to do with this –” Wei Wuxian started, doing his whole looming-with-the-subtonal-wailing-of-dark-forces Yiling Patriarch thing, but ticklish around the ribs and a summer of nonsense didn’t really do much to encourage fear in Nie Huaisang, who’d never had as much common sense as a regular person ought.

“Oh, no, I objected to it,” Nie Huaisang said breezily. “Your sister doesn’t deserve my brother.”

And that, of course, got them both up in arms even more.

“What’s that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with my sister?” Jiang Cheng shouted, and Wei Wuxian’s aura-of-darkness got even more out of hand as he crossed his arms and glared death. “She’d be a great bride for anyone! Give me one reason –”

“I’m glad to have your support, didi,” Jiang Yanli said, calmly ladling out the soup she’d promised Nie Huaisang as if they were sitting in the midst of a nice breeze instead of a hurricane, and okay, fine, maybe his brother had a point about the importance of things like backbone and patience. “Don’t worry so much. If Nie-er-gongzi is here as his brother’s representative, that must mean he’s accepted the match.”

Or that he was here to sabotage it, but he appreciated her good faith interpretation.

“Please, just Huaisang is fine,” he said, smiling at her. “You’ll be my sister-in-law soon enough, won’t you?”

“We haven’t agreed yet!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed.

“Oh, like your opinion matters,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. “You know how many people have put good money down on you leaving the Jiang sect in the next three-to-six months?”

That got all of them looking like they’d just been unexpectedly stabbed in the chest, Jiang Yanli included.

“What?” he asked, batting his eyelashes innocently at them. “Did I say something wrong? Everyone knows you aren’t doing anything for the Jiang sect anymore, Wei-xiong. All the rumors says so, and the only reason for that is if you were planning on ditching now that you don’t need them anymore.”

“That’s enough,” Jiang Yanli said, and there was a bit of steel in her voice. “A-Xian isn’t leaving, and even if he was, his opinion on my marriage would still matter to me.”

“That’s one of the reasons I objected,” Nie Huaisang said to her, deciding that she was clearly the only one mature enough to have this extremely necessary discussion with. “Meaning no offense, but in every possible respect, you’re a bad match. If you marry my brother, will you be expecting him to run around defending everything the Yiling Patriarch does whenever he’s in the mood to thumb his nose at the cultivation world? Or paying for the Lotus Pier’s reconstruction costs, even though Jiang-xiong hasn’t made a single overture to our Nie sect in terms of reestablishing trade routes or even just swapping craftsmen for mutual benefit?”

Both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian were positively black in the face.

“Of course, even if you weren’t going to anchor him down with even more political obligations, there’s your personal value,” Nie Huaisang continued, tapping his finger against his cheek. “Word has it that you’re weak and sickly. Who’s to say that you won’t die along with the first child you bear –”

“How dare you talk about my shijie like that!” Wei Wuxian shouted, slamming his hand down on the table, while Jiang Cheng’s Zidian crackled lightning like an overactive firework. “How dare you –”

“And do you still support the marriage, even with all of these disadvantages?” Jiang Yanli asked, holding up her hands to hold her brothers back. Her eyes were a bit wet, but she was otherwise unperturbed, at least on the surface.

“I do, actually,” Nie Huaisang said, pleased. Even if she went to go cry later, which he didn’t think she would, she’d done well enough to pass his personal test of what constituted backbone. “My brother doesn’t care about politics, we have plenty of money, and there’s doctors for the rest of it. If you’re really willing to put in the effort, I’d be happy to call you my sister-in-law.”

Jiang Cheng was hissing like a pot of water on the boil. Wei Wuxian was grinding his teeth.

“I appreciate that,” Jiang Yanli said, disregarding them entirely. “I can promise you that I’ll do my best.”

“Good, good,” Nie Huaisang said, and grinned at her. “There’s only enough room for one useless flower vase in the Nie household, and the position is taken. By me, if that’s not clear. I brought my brother’s eight characters – do you have yours at hand? We can calculate the auspicious date immediately.”

“I still haven’t agreed!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, and Jiang Yanli reached out to touch his arm lightly. “I haven’t! Jiejie, you don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to, no matter what good things you think it’d bring to the sect, okay? You should marry for love!”

“Jiang Cheng’s right, shijie,” Wei Wuxian said at once. “You should get anyone you like. Even if you still want that stupid Jin sect peacock, we’d find a way to get him for you.”

Nie Huaisang looked at Jiang Yanli carefully at that one. It was even odds if his brother minded her having some vestigial affections, especially in the beginning, but he himself wouldn’t be having any of that – least of all with a Jin, no matter how much better Jin Zixuan seemed to be than his father.

His brother deserved someone who would put him first, this time.

“No, thank you,” she said without the slightest hesitation, and Nie Huaisang nodded in approval. “Young Master Jin has made his opinion about me clear enough, and not just once. I’m not going to run after him like I think that’s all I’m good for. And anyway, Chifeng-zun is a good man, who you both greatly admire – why can’t I marry him?”

“You can marry anyone you want,” Jiang Cheng said at once.

“And I want to marry him,” she said, and smiled. “At first, yes, it was primarily because he seemed to offer the most advantages for our sect, but…I don’t know. He’s very nice.”

Nie Huaisang mouthed the word ‘nice’ to himself, rolling it around in his mouth like a fine wine. It might be the first time anyone had ever described his brother that way.

“I think I would be happy being married to him,” she concluded. “Even very happy. Will you approve?”

They folded like a stack of cards.

“Oh, I like you,” Nie Huaisang told her, finally but now wholly delighted. “It’ll be good for my brother.”

And it’ll be interesting to see how the Jin sect takes it, he thought with a smirk half-hidden behind his fan. Since you bring the power and influence of whole Jiang sect with you, and the Yiling Patriarch too.

He wouldn’t mention that, of course.

Only an idiot would negotiate against themselves.

#mdzs #jiang yanli #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #initative

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marisandini-chu-blog · 3 years

Text

How Shadow and Bones Differentiate Villain and Anti-Hero

Alright, first I need to claim the fact that I love dark, edgy, but misunderstood bad boy in stories with the potential of epic redemption. Loki from Marvel. Jason Todd from DC. Captain Hook from Once Upon a Time. Zuko from AtLA. You name them, I simp them.

So when I watched this new show on Netflix and shown a tall, handsome man in dark clothing, both respected and feared for his power. I feel... nothing.

WHICH IS WEIRD! Like... he’s obviously my type. Complete with the sad backstory and vicious streak. So I kept wondering why I wasn’t enamored by the Darkling, Alexander Kirigan. I wasn’t surprised he was the main villain, I even expected it. But I usually at least have a bit of sympathy for them. This OOC behavior of mine made me introspect myself and the show, trying to find out which part gave me the red flags before Mother Darkling decides to pop the chosen one out halfway in the season.

That’s when it hit me; there were red flags! The show had been subtly trying to tell us Kirigan is a manipulative boyfriend not just by great acting and good directing, but by comparing him with the actual anti-hero of the story who I actually love; Kaz Brekker.

Here’s the list of signs you might not notice of why Kirigan is meant to be a Villain instead of an Anti-Hero.

1. The Eyes

"The eyes are the window to the soul" is a common saying and and the key to good acting for any good show. Eyes tell us a lot about what a person’s character is like and SaB showed us the difference of a sincere man and a man with a hidden agenda.

Look at him! Look at that little smirk. Look at the gaze. That's the look you find when someone's evil little plan is finally coming together. Not one awed by the power or by Alina. A blatant sus move is what I'm saying. Congrat, first flag planted.

Sure he could still fall in love with Alina, but that doesn't stop his agenda either. All it does is potentially create conflict for him to pick either his plan for revenge or life with Alina.

In comparison, look at Kaz when he said this to Inej; "She isn't like you, no one is." Straightforward eyes. Serious grim. No nonsense tone. Inej is one of the most talented and terrifying rogue-assassin and Kaz just blatantly said that he kept her from 'slavery' because of who she is, not what she's capable of. Like... the man has no shame being known to love her while still trying to be professional (or as professional a thief can be). I can respect that.

This is the eye of a man who would abandon everything to make sure she comes out alright in the end. Do not argue with me on this!

2. Leverage and Status

The moment Alina steps into the Little Palace she was treated like a princess. A palace, by the way, that’s managed by the Darkling. She gets favorable treatment; from the food, Zoya displaced when she fought Alina, a horseback ride just the two of them, asking her to call by his name to make them familiar, a black uniform that might as well be claiming???

Dude is desperate is what I’m saying.

Sure, this could all be romantic gestures. There’s the problem that Kirigan is superior in status and name, powerful Grisha, and has a vested interest in her power. Pursuing romance while Kirigan has the ability to make her life heaven or hell with a snap of his finger made every single decision be seen with wariness.

"Beware of powerful men," Genya couldn't put it any better.

Had they pursued romance after they destroy the fold, cementing Alina’s position as a saint more. Then I might have let go of that wariness.

I’m only proven correct when the moment Alina turned away from him, Kirigan made another leverage by (spoiler!) putting an antler to her collarbone... eeeewwww much?!

That’s how desperate the Darkling is to be in control of a person and a situation.

And when no letter came for Alina? That a big red flag because who else in this castle can control the coming of going of letter with the Savior. HMMMMMMMMMMM.....

Then there’s Kaz. My man. There’s no competition. This guy held no leverage on my dear Inej. When she almost decided to leave, Kaz didn't force or convince her to stay but he ask her. Doesn't remind her of her debt whether monetary or life debt to him. In fact, this guy needs money for revenge but instead mortgage his main source of income for her freedom.

HE POSTPONED HIS LIFE GOAL TO FREE HER FROM DEBT ASJHAKFSDJGLDFJ!!!

What more do I need to say?

3. Sympathy Card

This is the type of point you want to watch out from your partners, ladies, gents, and others. The sympathy card is the way to go when anyone wants to reach out to you so you can take care of them before they abuse or gaslight you.

While it’s good to share trauma and eased the burden, sometimes it's healthy to ask yourself whether the person can take advantage of you and to verify whether they lie to you or not.

When Kirigan shared about his past as a sympathetic boy with his secluded fountain and coin. Everything about that scene rang warning bells for me... the part he had requested her to use his color... requesting to horse ride with just them two... sharing sob story that may encourage Alina to help him...

Kudos to Alina to see through the fact she's seen as a means to an end.

It was only when Kirigan showed righteous anger and frustration of a war that's killing his people did Alina finally opened her heart to him.

Kaz however doesn't use the sympathy card. Heck, the man likes to believe he shed away any weakness and threw it in the harbor where it belongs. Kaz hates weaknesses. And garnering sympathy is an admission of weakness for him.

We still know there's a tragic backstory as any decent anti-hero would have... but by not sharing that, this implies that Inej and Jesper stayed because of who he is, and not because of who he was or how he came to be. They don't need a sob story to stay together and that showed a stronger bond between them.

4. Friends

To be frank, I find this the most hilarious because this point is the one that convinced me that Kirigan was secretly an evil bastard.

He doesn’t have any friends!!!

Like... dude had a literal witch army, a wife once, a fuck buddy, and a girlfriend but there wasn’t a single moment in the show where someone, outside of Alina and superior, to speak casually to him.

You’re telling me this person... the most powerful and influential Grisha in the East Ravka, charming as hell, handsome as fuck, and yet he doesn’t have friends?!

“I’ve buried good soldiers... friends...” Get the fuck out of here! WHAT FRIENDS?!?! Maybe if you get off your little power trip from your self-made pedestal, you can actually be less of an asshole and make one.

Sure he excused himself by blaming his ‘ancestor’ for being a shadow summoner. I can see how the fear makes it hard for him to get close to anybody. But all the other characters who are part of his army only ever shown to speak with him respectfully, and the royalty even commend him. No one disrespected him even openly and you’re telling me he doesn’t have one friend amidst all these people?!

In comparison, look at Kaz. He’s brash, crude, and unapologetic. He held true to his moniker ‘Bastard of the Barrel’ and yet this ass has friends. They show Jesper joking with Kaz, and Kaz has shown to banter with him back as well as tolerating his gambling addiction when it could have jeopardized the Job. Inej was shown to actually argue and have disagreement with Kaz when he’s technically her boss. Can you imagine the Darkling doing that? CAN YOU?!

No. Because he's a pretentious ass. That's why.

This is a great example of the use “show not tell” of how Kaz despite his obvious edges has a soft spot shown through his relationship with Inej and Jesper, who have a friendly dynamic. I can attest that while Kaz didn’t create a good first impression, I love Jesper and Inej (they are precious!) so much that I project it to Kaz in extension.

On the other hand, Kirigan’s goodwill had only ever been told by outsiders or himself. None from his inner circle (which he doesn’t have!) other than his mother, who ended up outing him instead.

So I applaud the writers and showrunners of SaB to actually have subtext signs of a manipulative bastard. The Duckling is a good villain character that's complex but unredeemable. Sometimes, you just have a good ol' charming villain you can't redeem and that's okay.

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hoarder-of-stories-27 · 3 years

Note

… man antis are so…. Just??? Gosh I’m so sorry you have to deal with all this absolute nonsense.

Wishing death/harassment on a living person for something that 1: they can avoid if they knew how to actually /use/ the internet correctly and 2: would make a far bigger difference in the lives of people with paraphilia if they approached with kindness and a desire to help and understand.

You /can/ work with all paraphilia by directing them in healthy positive ways. This is the same for difficult psychological and behavioral disorders as well. By redirecting something you can’t help in a positive way you are doing A GOOD THING. Fiction is one such way! Admittedly it’s not the answer for everyone but it /is/ an answer.

By forcing someone to be horrified and ashamed of a part of themselves that person oftentimes feels the need to hide and not get the help/coaching they need in order to redirect these things in a good way that doesn’t harm themselves/others.

Harassment doesn’t change anyone in good ways. All it does is hurt a living person. Treat everyone equally, they all deserve to be treated respectfully and kindly. All people are human beings regardless of their paraphilia or disorders or handicaps.

It amazes me that when Hoarder approaches antis with kindness and respect they go back like rabid dogs, following along with whatever someone else says because: oh that person sounded legit and told me to harass this person. It’s cruel, stupid, and pointless. Please for the love of god or whatever else you believe in, direct your energy somewhere more worthwhile. Maybe protest actual cruelty like idk: animal abuse, racism, by joining protests.

Anyways, sending love and support your way Hoarder🐍💕

This most recent one, if that's what you're referring to, isn't so bad! They haven't threatened violence or wished it on me or anything (yet). :D If they do, I'll ignore them - I'm only continuing to respond because I think I might be able to help.

Yeah, if I didn't have fiction to help me deal with things, I would be much worse off. Writing and reading fictional noncon is what got me to the point of not feeling distress about my biastophilia. It's very common for fiction to help in that way. You're very right, finding a harmless outlet like that is a good thing.

I'm worried about that person. I seriously doubt being in anti spaces, where they're encouraged to repress their paraphilia and fear that they'll become a rapist if they see too much Wrong Stuff, is helping them with the distress they feel. That nonsense didn't help me.

Thank you so much. 🥺❤️ I hope things are going well for you!!

#asks #aj #long #fiction discourse #my posts #antis /#paraphilia stuff #rape mention /#-responsible

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sugarcubetikki · 3 years

Text

Marinette Isn’t A Mary Sue.

At least a half of her salters constantly complain about how Marinette’s a Mary Sue and use this as a reason to justify their hate of her character (Ironically, the other half keeps complaining about how her flaws are really really bad). There are a number of so-called “justifiable reasons” on why she’s a Mary Sue. And I’ll just say that I don’t agree with any of them. These reasons can range from “absolute nonsense. are you even watching the show?” to “I can see why you’d think that but you’re ignoring this aspect.” I’ll be breaking down each and every claim that I know of to tell you why exactly I disagree.

Marinette never faces the consequences of her mistakes

This is one of the reasons I downright disagree with and think is absolute nonsense. Marinette is very fallible. The show has portrayed that on multiple occasions. When she makes a mistake, she always faces the consequences and she tries to fix it. That element to her character is what makes her a great role model and it builds up majority of her character arc. I’m not sure what the salters who say this are exactly thinking, but it looks like they really need to re-watch the show.

I’ll give you a fine example. Ikari Gozen is one of my favourite exhibits of her fixing her mistake. She judged Kagami too quick. Based on some presumptions she had on her personality, her feelings towards Adrien and her own jealousy, she judged her intentions too quick and made some really bad choices that episode by trying to sabotage her. In the first half of the episode, a lot of us were quite irritated by Marinette’s behaviour, we genuinely felt bad for Kagami. Which is quite surprising as Kagami is an over-hated character and Marinette is the popular protagonist. But no. The show painted the first half in such a manner that we’d feel sorry for Kagami and reprimand Marinette’s actions. The show itself acknowledged that Marinette was on the wrong side in that moment. That she wasn’t perfect, she was in the wrong. Until Marinette finds out that Kagami had genuine intentions, that she only wanted to be friends with her, she feels bad. She feels really bad with the way she treated her previously. And she realises that her unfriendly treatment could potentially lead to Kagami getting hurt, and yes, it did happen. Kagami did get hurt. And Marinette almost lost the chance of becoming friends with Kagami in that moment. And she would have to live with that guilt for some time if her mother hadn’t called. When her mother called, Marinette stepped up and took the opportunity to prove to Kagami that she was a good friend. That she was sorry. And did want to be friends with her. She made a mistake, faces the consequences and steps up to fix them. The way her relationship with Kagami changes in the course of episodes is a really good example that tells us Marinette is fallible.

Marinette has way too many talents and achievements

Okay. This one is somewhat reasonable and I can see where people are coming from here. However, I still don’t think it accounts for her being a Mary Sue. Here’s why. In Miraculous World, not going to lie, everyone is pretty talented, they’ve all made crazy achievements. Do I need to list now?

Alya runs a famous blog: The Ladyblog. She even earned an interview with Nadia Chamack. Nino is a DJ. He appeared on a show and won! Marc and Nathaniel write/illustrate and publish comics! Ivan, Luka, Juleka and Rose are in a band: Kitty Section. They played live on TV! Adrien’s a teen model, multilingual, pianist, has great physical skills due to fencing and basketball. Even Lila has decent modelling skills, she works for Gabriel now. Kagami is an excellent fencer. That comes from the idea that she’s from a prestigious family world-renowned for fencing. Marinette is pretty close with Jagged because she designed his #1 album for him. Also, she won the contest for Gabriel and was recognised by Audrey Bourgeois. Max literally built a super-intelligent robot with emotions and everything.

So, what does that mean? They’re all Mary Sues and Gary Stu’s. No! We need to remind ourselves that this a kids show and there’s the aspect of encouraging kids to believe in working on their own talents, so they’re encouraged to do anything and push ahead for their dreams. Plus, it doesn’t portray that their talents come naturally, it shows that they work for them and developed these talents through practice.

Clumsiness and stuttering are Mary Sue traits

First of all, not every character that has these traits is a Mary Sue. It always depends on how these traits are represented. Her stuttering isn’t just there for no reason. It’s meant to display her difficulty with expressing her own feelings. We’ve had episodes with Marinette saying how it’s difficult for her to say what she feels. Episodes! And it isn’t just a meaningless detail. It represents her fear. Her fear of rejection. Her fear of being in a relationship and things going wrong. Her fear of many things. Her fear is the reason why she hesitates. Why she stutters. And it tells us that fear is completely natural. Fear in love is something that’s natural.

I'm so tired of not being able to just tell him how I feel! But I'm so scared, Tikki, always so scared he'll reject me.

What if he tells me that he loves me? Or that he doesn't love me? Or that he likes me, but not in that way -

Yeah. Don’t you dare tell me that this fear isn’t depicted in the show. It’s blatantly obvious.

As for her clumsiness, it represents her nervousness. It comes in the form of her fear to mess up. She’s clumsy when she’s nervous. And thus she’s afraid she can mess up due to that clumsiness and nervousness. In the Origins, her insecurity, her nervousness was all displayed in the form of her clumsiness, and she knows she displays her nervousness through clumsiness And she was afraid that her clumsiness could mess things up. That’s why she believed she was disaster-prone. And incapable of being a superhero. Because she was nervous and scared.

She gets too much screen-time

This one I really don’t get. How is having more screen time making her a Mary Sue? She’s the main protagonist. Of course, she’s going to get a lot of screen-time. Her endearing personality and active lifestyle molds the storyline of the show. She’s easy to follow along. If you’re comparing her to Adrien, I’ll say that...Adrien’s a mysterious and sheltered character. Giving him too much screen-time can get boring because he’s stuck at home all the time. We can focus on his family mystery but if the show does it too much, it ruins the mystery aspect of it. I adore Adrien getting screen-time with episodes focused around him too but I’m not going to expect him to get as much as screen-time as Marinette because his character is different, and him getting as much screen-time as her doesn’t work for the style and demographic. And claiming that she’s Mary Sue because of more screen-time is stupidity.

Encouraged jealousy and despising other girls around her crush is a Mary Sue quality

Firstly, the show never encourages Marinette’s jealousy. It doesn’t encourage it. Plus, she’s not jealous in every situation. Only in specific situation when she thinks there’s something off about the person like Chloe and Lila. In Volpina, Marinette had realised she had gone overboard with calling out Lila. And she did face consequences for it. Her akumatization. And she did try to fix her mistake in the end by apologising for overreacting. Lila was the one who turned her away that time. As for Kagami, her jealousy arc changed based on her attitudes about Kagami. During Frozer, she wasn’t jealous per say, upset but not jealous. Frozer made Marinette and Kagami misunderstand each other, that’s why they’re quite petty towards one and other for the next few episodes. In Animaestro, I don’t think Marinette would’ve been that petty if it weren’t for Chloe. But yeah, that episode isn’t one of her best moments. I’m not a fan of it either. In Ikari Gozen, these misunderstandings were cleared and so were the issues from Animaestro, and it’s fine now. On a overall, I don’t believe Marinette would get jealous around everyone. At least, not in a way where she would try to stop them from getting close to Adrien all the time. It depends on the person and situation.

---

In conclusion, Marinette isn’t a Mary Sue. She’s fallible, has flaws, fears and works for her achievements. And that’s on point.

#sugar analyses #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #ml fandom salt #ml meta #ml analysis #character analysis #anti marinette salt #marinette is not a mary sue

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Begone

Streamer Gang & Asexual Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Acephobia, Swearing

Genre: Platonic Fluff, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having recently come out as asexual, Y/N faces some less than pleasant or appropriate responses in their chat during their stream with the gang. Luckily, they’re not alone in battling the haters this time.

Requested by the lovely Anon who told acephobes to begone, yeah you know who you are hehe. Thank you so much for the request darling! Let’s show these acehobes who they’re messing with! Love, Vy ❤

Boy is this nerve-wrecking or what? Sure, I maybe woke up with a ton of confidence, I listened to motivational and uplifting talks and listened to mood boosting music. I had a healthy breakfast and a cup of coffee. Damn it, I went on a run, all in an attempt to convince myself that dealing with the online world again is but a piece of cake for a badass like me. Well, low and behold, that feeling didn’t last very long. Here I am, chewing my nails off at the though of hopping in the Discord call and Among Us lobby with my friends and starting my stream. It’s not like I’m not expecting my friends and fans to support me - of course I am! I know they’re gonna give me a ton of love and appreciation and support and uplift me no matter what. But then again, there’s still those people who believe me and other people like me to be invalid and broken and whatnot.

Those are the ones I wanna avoid.

It’s not like their words mean much to me but I simply don’t wanna see em, you know? It’s not only about me - it’s least about me actually - it’s more about all those wonderful people they are insulting when they say shit like that about asexuals and all the people on the ace spectrum. I can’t help but flare up and get angry on the behalf of all my ace friends and even people I’ve never met.

It’s also my first time being directly thrown into the fire instead of getting caught in the crossfire seeing as how I came out to my fandom via a tweet and an Instagram post a week ago, telling my identity’s truth: finally bringing my asexuality to the surface to shine its brightest so I can be be my best and reach for my full potential.

But damn am I afraid to see how everyone took it.

My friends were quick to jump in and take me offline before I start refreshing my own posts to see the comments under them. Lord knows that without them I would’ve driven myself insane, I’ll forever be grateful for what they did and the lengths they went to to keep me offline and whatnot. One word to give you an idea of how invested they were in this: origami. All of us might as well have been born with two left hands and yet we still tried doing origami. Freaking origami.

Damn do I love my friends.

But now I don’t have sheets of paper and my friends to distract me. I have a fanbase to entertain and another friend group I haven’t talked to in a while. I don’t wanna get any predictions in already so I don’t jinx myself, so I’m just gonna say it’s gonna be...interesting regardless of what happens.

Then again, when is it not interesting when the streamer gang’s involved.

Deep breaths, Y/N. You got this

Listening to that encouraging little voice inside my head, I finally equip my headphones and in one fluid motion turn my camera on, officially starting my stream and unmuting my mic as I hop in the call with everyone.

“Hi guys! Guess who’s returned!“ I exclaim cheerfully, desperate to hide the nervousness of my voice.

“You really missed your opportunity to say ‘guess who’s back...back again’ didn’t you?“ Charlie is the one who greets me first, sounding rather disappointed in me in his usual jokester manner. It’s nice to hear, it makes me feel like nothing’s changed in the week I’ve been gone. Like I’m still the same person to these people. I really am the same, I just now am a lot better version of myself. Almost as though I’ve reached my final form. It feels empowering really. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Charlie laughs again, “Congrats, by the way. You keep proving you can get cooler and cooler.“

“Careful there Charlie, I can only handle so large of an ego.“ I joke back, rolling my eyes playfully as a wide grin spreads across my face, “No, but seriously, thank you so much, man. It means the world to me that you support me.“

“Um, how could we NOT?“ That’s very clearly Rae, “Hun, you are so brave and amazing and wonderful, how could we ever NOT support you?“

“Yeah, we’ll always support you no matter what, Y/N. We’ll always be your friends, through thick, thin and beyond.“ Poki too interferes, her words only making my smile wider.

“Alright, alright, y’all are gonna make me cry and I haven’t even read my chat yet, hold on.“ I say, fanning my face to dry the tears I hope the webcam isn’t spotting, “Darn, you guys are the best. Sorry, give me a sec to gather my composure, I’ll be right back.“

I quickly mute my in-game mic as I turn to my chat where I see the same amount of love and support in the form of comments and emojis flooding in from my viewers. A warm feeling spreads throughout my chest, making me feel the most comfortable with myself I’ve ever felt. The most loved I’ve ever felt. The most seen and understood. To finally be you feels like you are finally really living in this world, not like you’ve been already living in it for God knows how long. It makes me so freaking happy and fulfilled to finally be living as me, as the real me.

Unfortunately, in life, nothing can be 100% pure and good. There’s always at least 1% there threatening to ruin all your happiness you worked so hard to build or obtain. It may be one in a hundred, but fuck it’s powerful and effective.

And in my case it comes in the form of two comments that stick out to my eyes. Acephobic comments saying my identity’s fake, claiming I’m faking it, saying us acephobes are immature creatures who refuse to grow up, or attention whores. Or just saying we’re delusional and in denial, confused about who we are.

I hadn’t even realized I was clenching my jaw and fists but when I do, I slowly relax my muscles and crack my knuckles before addressing the two people who spat out that nonsense.

“Ok, listen here, shooterpro69 and yourmom_lol. For starters, I want to apologize for your ignorance and lack of education on the matter of asexuality. In fact, for you especially, I plan on making an educational video, explaining asexuality to people who need or want to learn more. You, my friends, are in desperate need to be fed some knowledge cause damn, God knows how many people secretly think you’re hella stupid. Not that they’re wrong to think so but anyway. Unless you have anything nice or positive to say, begone from my chat. Actually, when I think about it, begone from every chat. No one needs you polluting their communities with acephobia and hate.“ I say, all spoken in a calm tone despite the boiling anger within me. People who know me well would probably be able to tell I’m fuming underneath the calm façade, but at least I got my message across loud and clear.

“WOO HOO, You tell em Y/N!“ Toast cheers, clapping his hands and whistling as more cheering arises from each my friends, leaving me in a state of mild shock and confusion.

Wait, what?!

“Um, wait, you guys heard that?“ I ask, my eyes darting to thein-game mic symbol that shows an not crossed-off mic, meaning it was enabled during the entirety of my speech.

“Hell yeah we did! You slayed them, Y/N! Damn goddamn!“ Rae whistles too, her enthusiasm wafting over me like a breath of fresh air.

“I second that!“ Corpse joins in, “And remember what we said - we’ll support you through anything. Need to bury an acephobe’s body, we’re the people you should call.” He says, confident as heck.

And I just can’t hold it in anymore - I burst out laughing, doubling over from the intensity.

If I thought I was happy and fulfilled before, this has to be the closest to paradise I’m gonna get on Earth. All thanks to these wonderful people. Friends are really something else aren’t they: they come into your life - often unexpectedly - and change it completely. Suddenly you’re not alone, you’re not forced to deal with everything and face everything on your own. Someone’s got your back and you’ve got theirs.

Through thick, thin and beyond.

And it’s so fucking amazing.

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