#and did some reading to what sorts of soaps i could use as alternatives if needed

[yearning-gay]

oh the urge to play with the new dildo which i must suppress for i am so fucking sleepy and do not have the required items to store, clean, and use it. augh ough etc

[marvelmusing]

In Another Life

Part Thirteen

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: Slowly the pieces of your plan for the Fold come into place, but thoughts and fears of the future continue to haunt you.

Warnings: nightmare (featuring death and angst), mentions of canon level violence, references to RoW duology and the Language of Thorns (canon has officially been put in the blender, sorry Leigh Bardugo but the narrative is mine now)

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

“I’ve remembered something else about the Fold.” You say, your brows scrunched together as you think.

Aleksander hums in response from where he’s sitting in the armchair beside the bath in your room. Bathing was the only time you ever really used your own rooms.

At first, Aleksander had been bewildered by your insistence on bathing privately, without the help of any servants. Now that you were closer with one another, you didn’t mind Aleksander helping you.

He was always respectful about it, and he had already seen you battered, bruised, and delirious. After all that, bathing didn’t seem too intimate anymore.

His kefta and tunic had been hung over one of the chairs in your bedroom, leaving him in a white shirt and dark trousers. When he had offered to assist you, he had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms.

You shake your head suddenly, your cheeks flushing with warmth.

“I’m sorry.” You say, and Aleksander frowns. “I feel like we only ever talk about our plans or the world ending.”

“That’s not true.” Aleksander argues softly as he scoops up a handful of bath water to rinse the soap from your back. “Just yesterday we walked through the grounds and discussed the gardener’s flower arrangements.”

A smile tugs at your lips.

With Aleksander managing both the First and Second Army after Zlatan’s arrest, you’ve both been particularly busy. Quiet moments where you could walk through the grounds were a rarity, but you still worried that you might bore him.

“I’m sure you found that conversation riveting.”

“I like hearing you speak your mind.” He assures you. “It’s certainly a change being able to talk with someone about all manner of things.”

“You have siblings, don’t you?” He hums quietly in confirmation. “I haven’t read about any of them, but I’ve heard of Ulla.”

No doubt Aleksander can hear the unspoken questioning in your voice. The corner of his mouth lifts and his eyes soften, the early morning sun casting a warm glow over his features.

“We see each other once every few hundred years.” He tells you. “What have you heard of her?”

“I know she’s a saint, and some sort of mermaid.” Aleksander raises a brow, confusion in his eyes.

“Mermaid?” Your own brows crease lightly as you think over his reaction.

“You must have a different word for it here.”

“She’s half sildroher.” He offers, and you mouth the unfamiliar word over your tongue carefully. “She was born with a tail.” Aleksander tells you softly as his fingers trace over the surface of your bath water. “Baghra gave her back to her father not long after her birth.”

“How did you find her?”

“There were rumours that the sea whip inhabited the waters closer to Fjerda. I was working as an apprentice there when she visited the local king.”

You nod slowly, hands scooping up the frothy bubbles that had formed at the surface of the bath water, gliding slowly over the sweet smelling liquid like an iceberg on the sea.

“What’s she like?” You ask softly, smoothing the bubbles over your arms and watching them as they slowly dissolve into your skin.

“Independent, fiercely loyal, though it takes quite some time to earn her trust.”

He dips his hand into the water, before he runs it along the length of your arm, clearing away the soapy bubbles.

“You sound quite similar.”

“We look alike.” The corner of your mouth quirks, and you can’t help but tease,

“Have you been hiding a tail from me?”

He smiles widely and a boyish twinkle of amusement sparkles in his eyes.

“What was it that you remembered?” He prompts, as he stands to retrieve a towel for you. “About the Fold.”

“I think there’s a way to mend the tear at the making.”

He raises a brow at you as he opens up the towel, white with a delicate golden hem, and you step out of the bath. Aleksander wraps the towel around your body, and you begin to pat yourself dry as you explain.

“There’s some sort of relic. Named after one of the saints, and it’s believed that it could repair the making.”

“What is it?” At his question, you falter.

“It’s named after Sankt Feliks, I think.”

The two of you walk into your bedroom, and Aleksander lounges back against your headboard as you move behind the wooden screen to dress.

“Do you know his story?” Aleksander asks you.

“Would you tell it to me?”

“He’s known as the patron saint of horticulture, due to his rather gifted tending of his monastery’s orchard. His crop grew even in the harshest winters, and the people accused him of witchcraft.”

“Instead of realising that he could help with their crops as well?” You remark, stepping out from behind the screen once you’re fully dressed.

Aleksander hums knowingly in response to your words.

“He’s said to have been skewered on the trunk of an apple tree.”

Your eyes widen, and sympathy fills your face as you sit at the end of your bed, pulling your boots on.

“Though anyone who knew Feliks would know that it was likely a thornwood tree.” He adds, and you nearly drop your boot.

“Thornwood?”

An ache seizes your chest, and flashes of future events swirl through your mind. The thornwood tree tucked away in the mountains. Aleksander’s painful sacrifice, to suffer for eternity in order to mend the tear at the making.

Tying up your laces with harsh motions, you try not to dwell on such thoughts. They only make you sad, or angry, which won’t help save Aleksander.

“Something’s upset you.” Aleksander observes quietly.

“It’s nothing.” You insist.

Standing quickly, you move over to your vanity table, looking out of the window to stare towards the summoners’ pavilion as you try to push away your emotions.

Aleksander calls out your name softly. When you turn he’s sitting up at the side of your bed, with his hands outstretched towards you. Taking a step forward, you accept them.

“It will be nothing.” You assure him as he pulls you to stand between his legs. “It hasn’t even happened yet.” Then your expression hardens. “And I will not let it happen.”

Releasing one of his hands, you curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Aleksander’s voice is a near whisper as he says,

“Whatever it is. You don’t have to face it alone.”

You shake your head.

“I’m not alone. I have you.”

»»---------------------►

That night you dream of the thornwood tree.

Blood red blossoms fall elegantly to the ground, twirling in the breeze. One lands in Aleksander’s hair, and you smile softly as you brush it away. He smiles back at you, offering you a hand as you step over the rocky ground.

The monks stand awaiting your arrival, and you triumphantly present them with the heart of Sankt Feliks.

They exchange looks of confusion.

“This will not mend the tear.” One of them tells you, and your stomach drops. “Someone must hold it closed.”

“No.” You say, tears already flooding down your cheeks. “No.”

You turn to Aleksander, who stares grimly at the thornwood tree beside you.

“Aleksander please, no.”

He holds you in his arms, and you grip onto him tightly. His heart beats steady and firm against your ear, and you begin to shake with sobs of fear as he holds the back of your head, keeping you close.

“Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.” You beg against his chest. He cups your face in his hand.

“The Fold is my fault. I need to fix this.” You shake your head hurriedly, still crying.

“You don’t deserve this.”

He kisses you fiercely, and for a second the world melts away. Aleksander is the only thing that matters. He holds your face with infinite care, and the ache returns to your heart as he pulls away. Aleksander stares deeply into your eyes as he says,

“Nikolai will look after you.” You frown as he glances over your shoulder. “Promise me.”

Nikolai stands behind you, and nods resolutely.

“I promise.” He says. You shake your head.

“Aleksander no-”

“Forgive me.” He whispers, pushing you away.

You stumble back into Nikolai’s arms, who holds you firm against his chest as Aleksander steps away, tears in his dark eyes. Fighting against Nikolai is unless, yet you fight all the same. Begging and screaming for Aleksander.

Scrambling against the covers, you gasp and sob as you wake with a choked scream on your lips. Too overwhelmed by the final scenes of your nightmare, seeing Aleksander’s heart pierced by the thornwood and hearing his screams, you struggle to breathe.

Then a pair of warm arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against a familiar bare chest. Frantic eyes search through the darkness, and you soon find Aleksander’s face, filled with concern as he soothes you.

It’s only then that you realise he’s speaking to you. A low comforting murmur, as he takes your palm and flattens it against his chest, encouraging you to breathe in time with him.

“That’s it.” He says softly. “I’m here, my love.” He presses his lips delicately against your forehead. “We’re both safe. I have you.”

One of his arms remains wrapped around your waist, and the other settles on your back, rubbing nonsensical patterns over the bare skin of your shoulder as your heart rate slows to a more comfortable level.

Exhaustion floods through you, and you collapse weakly into his body. You keep your hand on his chest, protectively splayed over his beating heart, as if you could shield it from the events of the future.

“Do you think my nightmares have some sort of meaning?” You murmur against his chest.

Aleksander is quiet for a moment, as he appears to give your question some genuine thought.

“Have they ever come true?”

“Not yet.”

Another pause.

“But you’re afraid this one will?”

You nod. Aleksander hesitates for a long moment, and you watch his face carefully.

“You said my name.” He admits quietly.

“Did I?”

“You were begging me not to do something.”

There’s an unspoken question in his statement, and a hidden fear of his is brought into the light. You lift your head up, facing him directly as you reach out to cup his face with your hand.

“You weren’t hurting me, Sasha. I’m not afraid of you.”

He nods, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly with a small smile as he traces his fingers down the side of your face. You drop your forehead down to press against his, and breathe in how close he is.

He’s still alive. You’re both okay.

Needing a little more reassurance, you kiss him softly. Aleksander’s hand settles at the nape of your neck, squeezing gently as he holds you close.

You stay in one another’s arms for a long moment trading more soft kisses until your eyes go heavy with exhaustion and you settle yourself further down Aleksander’s body.

“The heart of Sankt Feliks.” You say softly. Aleksander tilts his head in confusion. “It was pierced by thornwood when he died. It’s what we need to fix the making.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lifting the covers to shield your tired body from the cold of the night.

“I’ll have my people look into it.” He tells you with a nod, before he encourages you to lie your head back down into the crook of his neck. “Get some rest.”

»»---------------------►

With summer on the way, you find your usual walk around the lake even more enjoyable. Aleksander sometimes joins you, but you’re glad of some solitude today.

The sun shines down on your skin and birds chirp cheerily in the branches above your head as you veer off the path and wander through the trees towards the summoners’ pavilion. It had been repainted a week ago, and the bright white sets it apart beautifully from the luscious green leaves surrounding it.

On the steps on the pavilion, you notice a familiar face frowning deeply as she sits with her knees tucked together.

“Alina?” You greet her with a small smile. Her own greeting isn’t too enthusiastic. “Is something the matter?”

She sighs and shuffles over, allowing you to sit down beside her.

“It’s just… Mal.”

“Has something happened?”

She fiddles with the sleeve of her kefta, and you notice some of the golden threads of the embroidery are fraying.

“I found out he’s been fighting with some of the other Grisha, letting them use their power to see who wins.”

You’d forgotten about that.

“Does he win?” She shrugs.

“Most of the time apparently.”

“He didn’t tell you about this?”

Shaking her head in response, she sighs and casts her legs down to graze over the ground.

“No.”

“He probably didn’t want you to worry.” She nods absently.

“I don’t understand why he’s doing it.”

“The fighting?” She hums. “We have to wait until autumn, until the firebird flies north again out of Shu Han.”

That’s not true. To keep Mal at the Little Palace, you had crafted a lie about the firebird in order to buy you and Aleksander some time to handle the Fold.

“I get the feeling that Mal doesn’t like waiting.” You say with a small laugh, which luckily prompts a smile from her.

“No, he doesn’t.”

She looks down, kicking her toe against a few small pieces of gravel.

“I just don’t get why he’s fighting Grisha.”

“Maybe he just wants to prove that he’s still useful.” You muse quietly. “Grisha are powerful, and have these amazing skills. It’s a lot to compete with when you’re otkazat’sya.”

“But I’m not asking him to compete.”

“Maybe he’s not proving it to you. Maybe he’s proving it to himself.”

She appears to give this some thought. If Mal is who Alina wants, then you’ll do what you can to help her. Even if there’s a small twist in your heart that reminds you that he will die one day. As will you. Leaving Alina and Aleksander together.

“I feel like he’s slipping away from me.” She admits.

“You could ask him if he wants you to go watch one of his fights.” You suggest.

“And if he doesn’t want me to?”

“Offer to patch him up afterwards.” A smile spreads over your face as you nudge her shoulder. “Or spend his winnings.”

She glances up at you, and smiles back.

The two of you are quiet again, and you begin to mull something over in your mind. The question is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to upset or frighten Alina.

After another few seconds of quiet, you decide to ask her,

“If you had the chance to take the Fold down, and just get rid of your power to live an ordinary life afterwards. Would you?”

You don’t dare look at her.

“I know I should probably say no.” She admits.

At that, you turn to her. There’s longing in her eyes. As if she’s imagining a quiet peaceful life, filled with domestic happiness. The simple life. No doubt with Mal.

“But you would.” You say softly.

She nods, and you begin to think.

»»---------------------►

“If we manage to find Sankt Feliks’ heart, that means we can safely destroy the Fold.” You say quietly a few evenings later.

Aleksander lifts his head up from where he had previously been resting it on your lap, and he turns to face you. The firelight flickers over his features as he frowns.

“Alina isn’t strong enough. She needs the third amplifier.”

“Mal doesn’t die in the books. She stabs him in the heart, claiming his power, but then he’s revived by a heartrender.”

“But she would still lose her power.”

Staring down at the floor, you nod faintly.

“Yes.”

Aleksander waits for you to continue.

“I’ve always hated Alina’s ending. Your power is a part of you, and losing it seems horrific.”

Aleksander nods slowly, tracing his thumb over your knuckles, no doubt thinking about what it would be like to lose his shadows.

“But she’s only known that she’s Grisha for less than a year, and whilst she is happy here… I can’t help but think she might be happier with the simple life she’s always wanted.”

You stare down at Aleksander’s thumb, watching it smooth over the top of your hand as you continue to speak your thoughts,

“Forever is a long time, especially when she would be happier with a mere eighty years spent with someone she loves.”

“You’re saying she should lose her power?”

“I’m saying that I want to give her a choice. Where she understands the consequences of whatever she picks.”

The two of you are quiet, the sound of the fire crackling softly in the hearth is the only noise in the room, aside from Aleksander’s steady breathing and the anxious pounding of your heart as you await his response.

“I agree.” You blink in surprise.

“You do?”

He nods slowly, tilting his head aside as he watches your face when you try to look away from him.

“What’s that look for?” He asks softly, hooking a finger under your jaw to move your face back towards him so that he can study your expression.

“I can’t help but feel like I’m depriving you of a life partner. Who knows what could happen in a few hundred years time?” You reason with a saddened look. “You could grow to love her, and her you.”

“But I have you, right now, and I chose you.”

He trails his finger along your jawline, holding your chin between his fingers as he leans in to kiss you. You allow yourself to sink into his kiss for a moment, before you’re breaking away. You need him to be on the same page as you.

“You know this means we’re destroying the Fold?” You ask him.

He looks down at your joined hands, fingers curled tightly around one another, and the muscle in his jaw tenses slightly.

“Have you considered weaponising it?” He asks in a low voice and you nod.

“Yes.” He lifts his eyes to stare at you.

“And?”

“And as much as I would love to make our enemies suffer, you can only push fear so far before people become resilient.”

“And if we ensure that they have no means to fight back?”

“Is that truly the world you want to make for your people?” You ask him.

Aleksander looks away, but you know he’s considering what you’ve said. So, you continue to tell him about the Ravka you’ve envisioned.

“Once we fix the tear at the making, the Tula Valley will be what it was centuries ago. Ravka can grow its own produce, we will be reunited with the West, we will have our ports, we can be self sufficient again.”

“You’ve given this quite some thought.”

“When don’t I?”

He smiles softly.

“You think this will work?”

You nod.

“I do. It won’t be easy. But Ravka will be stronger, and better, for it.”

Aleksander brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he nods his consent.

“I trust you.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu @cynthianokamaria @scarlettqueen190 @eloquentree @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sorrow-and-bliss @biblophilefox82 @tartiflvtte @rainbowgoblinfan @savagejane1

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia

[wandaromanova]

Enough

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, failing marriage

A/N: hello! happy reading! <3

anon requested: Wanda x reader where they give her divorce paper because Wanda is always gone and distant

Summary: Even the most unbreakable bonds fall victim to the struggles of marriage.

Word Count: 5.1K | navigation

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

When you first met Wanda Maximoff, it was under unusual circumstances. You were browsing through a farmer’s market a couple of streets over from your apartment, glancing at various booths as you passed them by. It was a quiet day, the sun was shining down brightly, the heat stifling. You liked to get your groceries from these marketplaces, the fruit and vegetables were fresh and fewer people touched them in comparison to a wholesaler franchise. 

You had been stood at one of your favorite fruit stands, warmly greeting the elderly woman who ran the booth and observing some strawberries. Then suddenly, your purse had been snatched from your person. You were startled and caught sight of a man running down, your purse in hand. You intended to run after the thief, but he didn’t get far. 

A red glow encased the man, stopping him in his place a couple of feet away from you. Your eyes widened, as did everyone else’s, at the sight. You turned your head over your shoulder and were mesmerized by a brunette woman, eyes red, and her head tilted slightly to the side. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Considering you didn’t live under a rock, you knew exactly who she was; Wanda Maximoff. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You had seen her on the news quite often. She was an Avenger who had unique abilities that surpassed the rest of the group. Your eyes followed Wanda as she walked past you and toward the man who was still trapped by a glow of red. You moved without thinking, following behind her. After all, it was your purse that had been stolen. 

“Stealing purses from women? How desperate could you be?” Her Sokovian accent met your ears as you stood back slightly. Wanda tore your purse out of the man’s grip and released him. He looked terrified as he took one glance at the brunette before running in the direction he was originally going in. 

Everyone in the marketplace went back to what they were doing while you stood in the middle of the walkway, frozen in place as the Sokovian turned her body around to face you. Television and photos didn’t do her beauty justice; she was captivating. 

There was a glow that surrounded her, a silhouette of gold colliding with her brunette locks. Her eyes were emerald with the smallest specks of blue. Her skin was remarkably flawless. You couldn’t help but wonder what her skincare routine was. 

Wanda smiled lightly at you, amusement present in her eyes. “I don’t have a skincare routine. I just wash my face with a bar of soap and call it a day.” You blushed profusely at Wanda’s words. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Right… she could infiltrate people’s minds too. How could you forget something like that?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“T-thank you for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if that dude actually got away with my purse.”

You mentally berated yourself for stuttering. The woman smiled at you and handed you the object, which you hung on your shoulder. 

“Don’t mention it.” Wanda spoke dismissively with a wave of her hand. “Is there anything I can do to repay you? Maybe buy you a cup of coffee? There’s a really good cafe a couple of blocks down from here.”

You looked at Wanda hopefully, wanting to thank her for what she had done for you.

The brunette took a pause, contemplating her answer before nodding her head. “I could go for some coffee.”

You smiled brightly and pointed behind you with your thumb. “Well, it’s back that way.” You turned back and began walking, Wanda right beside you. 

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

You sat in a booth with Wanda sat across from you. The cafe was fairly empty, which you were grateful for. Two cups of coffee were resting on the table, steam rising from the hot liquids.

“What’s an Avenger like yourself doing in a little farmer’s market?” You asked, taking a sip of your coffee as your eyes peered at the brunette over the rim of the mug. 

“I always loved farmer’s markets. In Sokovia, my country, they were everywhere. So, I really love coming out to these sorts of places. It reminds me of home.”

You tensed at her words. Everyone knew about the rubble that Sokovia had become, and you felt kind of like an asshole for asking. 

“I’m very sorry for what happened to your home.” You spoke sympathetically as you put your mug down gently. Wanda sent you a small smile. “Thank you. It wasn’t the greatest country. We were plagued by poverty, but it was still home.”

The Sokovian looked down to the mug in front of her in thought. You cleared your throat before speaking.

“Well, I know a ton of farmer’s markets in this area. I tend to alternate between them, depending on what I need at home.” Wanda’s eyes moved from her mug and to your own. 

“If you want some recommendations, I’m your woman. Not to brag, but I’m kind of a farmer’s market pro.” You brushed off imaginary dust from your shoulders and Wanda let out small giggles at your faux cockiness.

“I would love some recommendations if it means you’ll take me on your shopping trips.” 

You raised your eyebrow at her with a smirk. “If you wanted to spend more time with me, you should’ve just said so, Wanda. No need to be so coy.”

Wanda threw her head back, laughing wholeheartedly at your words. You couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself for making her laugh.

“Nah, I don’t want to spend time with you, I just want your street knowledge.”  Wanda managed to let out, slowly coming down from her laughing fit.

“Oh! So you want to use me? I mean, let’s be honest... I wouldn’t mind if you did.” You spoke dramatically and Wanda laughed once more. 

You smiled as you observed her. Her head was thrown back, cheeks red, and eyes closed as the cutest giggles you’ve ever heard met your ears.

It was then you decided that her laugh was your favorite sound, especially when you were the one to evoke them from the Sokovian.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

Since that day, you guys had exchanged numbers and Wanda had accompanied you shopping once a week. You’d drag the Sokovian by the hand through various markets and give her pointers on which stands sell the best produce. You even introduced her to the vendors, even if they already knew who she was. 

It was a wonderful time and afterward, the two of you would grab lunch in random restaurants, conversating over anything and everything. You had to admit, you looked forward to the one day a week you got to spend with Wanda. So, it kinda sucked whenever she couldn’t make it, away on some sort of mission. 

However, her absence made her presence all the more special. She took time out of her hectic schedule to hang out with you and roam around carelessly.

Truthfully, you were kind of a nobody, just another number to the extensive population of New York. You were the head chef of a fine-dining restaurant, hence your preference for fresh ingredients at home.

It baffled you that someone of Wanda’s caliber would want to spend time with you, but you definitely weren’t complaining. 

As weeks turned into months, you had grown exceptionally close to the Sokovian. You had gone from seeing her once a week to every other day, well, when she wasn’t away for work. 

Wanda would come over to your apartment, sipping on some wine as she watched you cook dinner. You figured she was intrigued by your gracefulness in the kitchen, but really, she was just checking you out.

She thought you looked amazing in your little chef apron, your hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep your hair out of your face. However, a few loose strands fell and framed your face perfectly. 

“Your hair looks sexy pushed back.” Wanda spoke, pulling you out of your concentration. Your eyes moved upward, staring at the woman who sat on a stool on the opposite side of your kitchen island.

“Did you just quote Mean Girls?” You asked amusedly and the brunette shrugged, a small smile on her face.

“Yes, I did. And what about it?” You rolled your eyes at Wanda’s sassiness. You would continue your task, disregarding her comment as best as you could, trying to ignore how flustered the woman made you. 

Once dinner was prepared, the two of you would sit on the couch and choose a random movie on Netflix. Those nights were always filled with commentary and laughter. It was so easy to relax around the Sokovian. Everything seemed to fall into place whenever she was near. 

So, it was no surprise when you realized you had feelings for Wanda that surpassed friendship. You had been nervous about revealing how you felt to the woman, but when you finally did, you felt like an idiot for being scared.

“I have feelings for you. Like, I like you a lot.” You anxiously played with your fingers, scared of Wanda’s reaction. She had been sat on your couch right beside you and you couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Hey.” Wanda spoke, gently gripping your chin and forcing you to look at her. “I like you, too.” Wanda giggled when your eyes widened in surprise.

“What? Don’t look so surprised. We’re practically dating already.” You rolled your eyes at the brunette with a smile on your face. The two of you sat there, smiling at each other like idiots, but neither of you seemed to care.

Your feelings weren’t one-sided and a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. After that day of confessions, you and Wanda became official.

Truthfully, not much changed between you two. You guys acted the same way you always did, but now kissing was added to the list of activities you would participate in. 

ㅤ Wanda Maximoff is the love of your life; ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ and you would never let her go. 

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

3 Years Later

You had been dating Wanda for three years and things were going wonderfully. She had moved into your apartment with you. It was amazing, knowing that she would end her days in your bed and you’d wake up with her in your arms the next morning. 

However, one morning, you definitely weren’t particularly happy with your girlfriend. She had dragged you out of bed at 5AM and rushed you to get ready. Wanda didn’t tell you where the hell she was taking you at the ass crack of dawn. Each time you asked, she just shushed you. 

Thirty minutes later, you walked with Wanda hand-in-hand. You knew the route she was taking and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You remained silent until you made it to your destination, and your suspicions had been confirmed; she had taken you to the farmer’s market closest to your apartment.

The area was completely empty, there were fairy lights strung about and a basket full of strawberries sitting on your favorite fruit stand. The sun was rising and the sky looked immaculate, the sun radiating a blood-orange color, complemented by golden yellow undertones. It was beautiful. 

Wanda let go of your hand and moved forward, turning around to face you. It was then that you noticed how anxious she looked. Seriously, it looked like she was about to puke. “What are we doing here? Is everything okay?” Your concern for the Sokovian was evident in your tone. 

Wanda gave you the best smile she could muster in her nervous state and nodded her head. “Everything is okay. Wait, scratch that. Everything is more than okay now that I have you in my life.” You smiled at your girlfriend as she took a deep breath.

“Y/N. Do you remember this spot?” Wanda asked you curiously and you nodded your head, a laugh escaping your lips. “Well, of course. We come here like once a month, duh.” The Sokovian shook her head at your words, rolling her eyes playfully.

“No shit, Sherlock. I meant, do you remember the significance of this specific spot?” You instantly nodded your head.

“This is where a random ass dude stole my purse and you scared him with your powers.” You smiled triumphantly while Wanda giggled. 

“Well, you’re not wrong, but yeah. This is where we first met.” Wanda let out a shaky breath and you stared at her curiously.

“When I first came to America and joined the Avengers, I was petrified. They say this place is the land of opportunity, but it didn’t feel like that to me.”

The Sokovian began to ramble on, her eyes locked onto yours as you listened intently. 

“Coming to America wasn’t a choice that I made, but it was the only option I had. I used to think that I could never find a home in this city, but I was wrong. I found a home. Not with the Avengers or in the Compound where I lived, but in this little market.”

Wanda moved forward, taking a step closer to you and holding both of your hands in her own. “I found you.” Your heart fluttered at her words, heat rising to your cheeks despite the cold morning air. 

“I’m so happy that I decided to come here that morning because if I didn’t, I would’ve missed my opportunity to find love.”

Wanda let go of your hands and you instantly missed the warmth. However, your eyes went wide when your girlfriend got down on one knee. 

“Y/N, you brought hope and love into my life when I ran out of it. I never thought I would entertain the idea of marriage, but now… it’s all I can think about.”

A loud gasp surpassed your lips, your hands flying up to cover your mouth as Wanda pulled out a tiny red velvet box. She opened it slowly and inside sat a stunning engagement ring with a huge diamond sat on top of it.

“Will you marry me?” Wanda looked up at you hopefully as you stared down at her with tears springing to your eyes.

You instantly nodded your head as a few tears fell down your face. “Yes!” You managed to breathe out and the Sokovian was beaming. 

She took your left hand in hers and steadily slid the ring onto your finger before kissing the back of your hand. Wanda stood up hastily and pulled your body into hers by the waist, passionately moving her lips against your own. 

It was euphoric. The sunrise encased your figures in a golden hue, the cold atmosphere turning warm from each other’s body heat. You were two women who loved each other dearly, kissing in the middle of a vacant farmer’s market without a care in the world. 

ㅤ The promise of forever hung in the air that ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤsurrounded you both; and you were free. 

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

1 Year Later

A year after your engagement, you and Wanda had gotten married. The ceremony was absolutely gorgeous as you were surrounded by your family and friends. You would never forget the way Wanda teared up as you walked down the aisle, your father by your side. 

You recall the small giggles you’d share with Wanda as the two of you stood at the altar. Neither of you could take it seriously, whispering quiet flirtatious remarks to each other. However, your laughs died down when you reached your vows. 

“Wanda, you are my hero. Sure, you may save the world from threats for a living, but you do so much more than that. You save me from purse thieves and kill the spiders in my apartment because I’m too scared to go near them.” 

Wanda and the audience seated in front of you had laughed at your words. You let out a shaky breath, Wanda sending you a reassuring smile before you continued.

“Whenever I order a burger, you always eat the tomato because you know how much I dislike them. You take care of the tiny cuts I get from work, sometimes being a little too dramatic about my injury.

You looked down at your hands nervously before returning your gaze to the brunette who stood in front of you. The white dress she had on was absolutely gorgeous, complementing her emerald eyes perfectly.

“But you’re always so gentle, you’re always there for me. I promise to do the same for you. I won’t kill the spiders for you, but I’ll be there whenever you need me, even when you don’t. I’ll be on standby anyway.”

You were entranced by the woman who stood in front of you. You weren’t too fond of public speaking, but it was easy when Wanda was with you; everything was easier with Wanda around.

“I’m so grateful for you, Wanda Maximoff. You are the other half of my heart and soul that I didn’t realize was missing, but now that I’ve found you; I never intend on letting you go. Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

You ended your vows with a small chuckle. Wanda’s eyes were focused on your own, shining brightly as a smile crossed her features. When her turn came around, you were practically a melted puddle by the end of it. 

“Y/N, you are my love. I don’t think you realize just how deeply I love you. I would do anything for you. From fighting off an entire army to letting you eat some of my food even if you said you weren’t hungry.” 

The room filled with laughter once more, a blush coming to your cheeks from being called out. Food just tasted better when it wasn’t your own. 

“I’ll let you fight your own battles, but I’ll always be there for backup. I promise to you that I will do everything in my power to keep you happy and safe because you are my main priority.. I’ll be anything you need me to be; a best friend, a shoulder to cry on, a protector, a wife. You name it and I’ll be it for you.”

You were a crying mess when Wanda finished her vows. You felt an overwhelming feeling of love consume you. Her words struck a chord within you and just… god damn it, you loved her so much. 

After the ‘I do’s,’ you and Wanda kissed as if you were the only people in the room. Honestly, it felt like it at that moment. You had just declared your devotion and unwavering love to one another.

It was the beginning of forever and you couldn’t wait to see what the future had in store for you both. 

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

2 Years Later

Two years of marriage had been interesting. The first year went flawlessly, it was as if you and Wanda were on a high. It was the most intense and passionate year that the two of you had ever shared. The two of you had purchased a condo together, moving out of your former apartment.  

Long nights of love-making that spilled over to the morning, working out together, and spending practically every single minute together possible. Of course, the two of you still had your respective jobs, but that never affected your relationship.

The married life seemed like smooth sailing, but little did you know, there was a thunderstorm not too far ahead. Treacherous waves and destructive lightning were in the near future, you just didn’t know it yet.

Things had started going south at a relatively slow pace. Wanda was progressively assigned to more missions, spending less time at home and an increased amount of time at work. You didn’t let it get to you at the time, it was the way life worked. Wanda was literally a superhero and the world always seemed to need saving. 

This went on for several months. Waking up to an empty bed and going to bed the same way. You rarely saw your wife and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t upset you. It was a drastic change from what you were used to. You only saw the Sokovian for an hour or two, every other day.

And when you did see her, your time was filled with arguing over things that neither of you could really remember. There was a sudden halt to all forms of affection, animosity taking its place. 

It was particularly bad the night you brought up the topic of Wanda’s presence and the lack thereof.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

You had been lying in bed, your head resting against the headboard as you scrolled through your phone. The sound of the front door opening had caught your attention and you quickly tossed your phone aside and stood up, making your way out of the bedroom.

You were met with Wanda taking off her shoes in front of the door. Her eyes darted up to you, the annoyance that crossed her face had hurt you, not that you would tell her that.

“Hey, you’re back early.” You stated, maintaining a happier tone to avoid an argument. Wanda walked past you and toward the kitchen, opening up the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

She shut the fridge and turned around to look at you. “Why? Did you not want me here? Because I can leave if it’s such a problem.” 

You were taken aback by Wanda’s attitude. You spoke one sentence and somehow managed to upset her. It was absurd.

Despite your growing irritation, you remained calm. You hated fighting with your wife and you knew that someone had to be the bigger person.

“No, it’s not a problem at all. I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been gone a lot and I miss you.” You smiled, walking over to your wife who still stood in the kitchen, wrapping your arms around her waist.

However, the brunette grabbed your arms and tore them off her body, whipping around to face you. 

She was clearly angry and you didn’t understand how any of what you said could’ve pissed her off. “Yeah, I’m gone a lot because people need me. I can’t drop everything to be with you just because you’re needy as fuck.” Wanda spoke bitterly as she glared at you. 

Your chest tightened at her words, flashbacks of your wedding day hitting you. You took a deep breath, gulping to prevent a sob from coming out.

“I thought I was your main priority or did you just make that up for show? To have everyone at our wedding believe that I’m of any importance to you?” 

You were getting angry, your voice rose slightly. You felt your blood pressure rising, your body getting hot from your frustration.

“Wanda, I just want to see you more because you’re my wife. It has nothing to do with being needy, seeing you more than an hour or two every few days is a fucking standard in a marriage!”

You took a step back from Wanda as you screamed. You were fed up with being made out to be some clingy person when you were simply being a wife to the Sokovian. She rolled her eyes at you, crossing her arms over her chest as she gazed at you. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Well, then maybe our marriage was a mistake.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda spoke without thinking, not caring about anything other than going for the killshot and winning the argument. Her words seemed to have worked as you visibly deflated.

Your anger was replaced with sadness. You let out a dark chuckle at her words, shaking your head before walking into the bedroom slamming the door behind you, and locking it. 

Wanda didn’t expect that reaction, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she had won the argument. She figured she would be sleeping on the couch tonight and she was satisfied with that. You didn’t want to see her and she didn’t want to see you. 

So, the Sokovian brought her bottle of water over to the living room, placing it on the coffee table before crashing onto the couch. She got comfortable, closing her eyes as slumber took over her.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

3 Weeks Later

Since the argument, things were the same, but different all at once. Wanda still went on mission after mission, but you had taken up more shifts at the restaurant. You didn’t want to be alone in the condo any longer than you had to be. You needed the extra money anyway. 

When you were home, you were silent, no longer bothering to speak to your wife. You were two strangers that occupied a living space together. Wanda’s words played in your head like a broken record. It was all you could think about whenever you’d see her. 

The promise of forever hung in the air that surrounded you both; and you were trapped. Your life had become a vicious cycle of tension and avoidance.

Your engagement and wedding felt like an absolute lie now. They always say the first years of marriage are the hardest, but you didn’t think it would be this difficult.

You and Wanda had petty arguments over the six years you two had been together, but they were rare and were usually resolved quickly.

But not this, no, this entire situation was different. You were in a never-ending loop of anger and resentment, and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

Wanda pulled out her keys and unlocked the door to the condo. She had just gotten back from an emergency meeting with the team. The Sokovian stopped in her tracks as soon as she opened the door. 

There you were, sat at the kitchen table. You were leaning back, your arm resting on the table as your hand enclosed around a glass of whiskey. Your bloodshot, red eyes, and the dried streaks of tears that adorned your cheeks were evidence of your crying. Wanda had never seen you so down. 

The brunette slowly shut the door behind her, surprised when you spoke. She didn’t think you’d noticed her presence, your eyes trained on the glass in your hand. “We need to talk.”

Wanda nodded her head at your words and slowly approached the table. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she saw a stack of papers on the table. 

Wanda sat down across from you and finally, you looked at her. The Sokovian’s heart clenched as you stared at her emotionlessly. You downed the entire glass of alcohol, not even wincing at the burn, but welcoming it. You put the glass down and cleared your throat before speaking. 

“Wanda, I love you so much, but we can’t keep living like this.” Your voice was hoarse, a result of your earlier crying and the beverage you had just ingested. Wanda stared at you in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” The Sokovian felt fear slowly creeping in. She didn’t have a good feeling about this. 

“Oh, come on. You know what I’m talking about. We act like we don’t even know each other anymore. We aren’t even wives anymore, we’re just two people who live together.” You didn’t have the energy to yell anymore, your voice was soft and calm.

Wanda still didn’t understand the direction this conversation was going in. Nothing could’ve prepared her for your next words. 

“I visited a lawyer and hired him. He was going to give you these, but I decided to do it myself.” You sat up and pushed the papers across the table. “I’m officially serving you with divorce papers.”

Wanda’s heart stopped as she comprehended your words. She couldn’t believe this was happening. 

“Wha- what? A divorce? Please tell me you’re joking.” Wanda looked down at the papers and back up to you in utter disbelief.

“I wish I was joking, but I’m not. I want a divorce.” You were eerily calm, maintaining your composure while Wanda felt like she was going to crumble to pieces at any given moment. 

“Is this about my missions? If it is, I’ll ask Steve to relax my workload. I’ll be around more often and I’ll stop being an asshole. Just, please don’t do this. I’ll make it right, I promise.” Wanda leaned forward and reached out for your hand pleadingly, but you didn’t let her.

You pulled your arm off of the table and shook your head. “Wanda, you shouldn’t have to make it up to me in the first place. It shouldn’t take a divorce for you to finally act like a proper wife. I’m not changing my mind.” You spoke firmly, but Wanda refused to accept your words.

The Sokovian abruptly stood up, the loud sound of her chair scraping against the floor filled the room.

“So, that’s it? You’re just gonna give up on everything we have? You’re gonna throw in the towel because things are a little rough right now? You’re a fucking coward, Y/N!” 

Wanda was enraged as you stared at her unimpressed. Her chest was heaving as she glared at you. “This is exactly why this needs to happen. We can’t have one conversation without someone yelling.” You stood up slowly, rounding the table and making your way to the front door. 

Wanda watched your every move like a hawk. You reached for your purse that hung beside the door and flung it over your shoulder before turning around to face the Sokovian. “I suggest you get a lawyer as well.” You spoke simply and turned back around, your hand on the doorknob. 

Something in Wanda went off, seeing you about to walk out had raised alarms in her mind. You were really leaving her. The brunette moved without a single thought, rushing over to you as you pulled the door open. She gripped your wrist tightly, causing your head to turn back to her, a sad expression on your face.

“Please don’t leave me. I love you and you love me. Does that not mean anything to you anymore?” Wanda’s anger dissipated to desperation. She stared at you right in the eyes, begging you to stay. Pleading you not to put an end to your marriage.

“Our love means the absolute world to me, Wanda. But sometimes… love just isn’t enough.”

You smiled sadly at the Sokovian before gently pulling her hand off of your wrist. It was kinda difficult considering how firm her grip had been, but you managed. 

You walked out and all Wanda could do was sit there and watch as you walked down the hall and away from all of the memories you had made together. You never thought that your marriage with the brunette would come to an end, let alone an ugly one.

But your marriage had become toxic, slowly feeding away at any sort of happiness you had left. It was a painful decision to come to; a divorce, but it felt like the right one. The Sokovian was right, you did love her; which is why you needed to put an end to the torture.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ Wanda Maximoff is the love of your life; ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ but you had to let her go.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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[dodgefred]

do you have any ideas as to how you would direct abh/certain scenes if you had the chance

short answer: yes

long answer:

i think overall i would do similar things from mcc because the directing in mcc was exquisite and jessie nelson did a wonderful job, but i would also incorporate some other elements into the show like having an ensemble onstage at all times, having the ensemble integrated into the set like the spring awakening revival does, and i would want everything to feel much more intimate. mcc already does a great job with the intimacy but i really would want to expand on that feeling and make the audience feel as if they’re a member of the bunker listening to this story too.

another thing i would keep is the parallels between bunker visuals and wonderland concepts, like the gas mask flamingos. i would like to expand on this, though, and make the parallels used in the costumes much more noticeable.

the plot structure of alice by heart, in my mind, is alice spencer telling the story of alfred’s death (whether she realizes it or not). i’d have alice begin and end the show reading her book. the music of west of words would begin as soon as alice opens to page one, and the sirens wouldn’t get introduced until after her first verse. this lets us get introduced to alice as a character before we’re introduced to her situation. this also should be the only time alice is alone onstage, and the stage would be bare.

after the siren, the rest of the ensemble would run onstage with furniture and build the bunker in a flurry of bodies and chaos surrounding alice. alfred would run in front of alice before running to his cot, and the rest of this scene would proceed with alice still standing in the middle of all of the chaos around her. her book is still open in her hands. she is our narrator.

my next major point of change would be with down the hole. the bunker kids changing into their wonderland forms would be more clear, and would feature more dramatic onstage quick changes during each of their respective verses or lines. instead of alice twirling into her blue dress, she manipulates the rest of the cast into changing themselves. i don’t think alice would change into her blue dress until alfred sings his “down and down we fall” verse. alfred would playfully remind her to change herself, too. they’re best friends and have played this game countless times and we need to show it onstage. also i think alfred deserves to wear rabbit ears. that’s all.

an alternative decision would be alice starting the show in her blue dress in order to represent how she’s constantly with “[her] head in wonderland.”

i think mcc didn’t do enough with still. a bit of a spoiler for later is that i really want to keep the lobster dance, or at least something similar to it. however, i’d introduce it in still rather than in those long eyes. i’d introduce it as an overarching theme of their relationship. just like wonderland, the lobster dance is something they do quite often; often enough for alfred to know how to do it even when he isn’t fully paying attention. in still, alfred would still try to be evading the discussion and escape alice’s grasp, but she’d try and do their dance together. they don’t finish the dance before the end of the song.

the only major change i would make to chillin the regrets is i’d have the caterpillars lay down more for the scene before. they can get up and do fun choreo with alice afterwards (during the song) but i think she should work more for the attention they give her (during the scene), like alice has to in the original story. they should definitely be more apathetic towards her at first. i’d also like to introduce some sort of dance motif in chillin that alice echoes to alfred in the key is when she tries to get him to smoke. in chillin, i also think it would be cool if there was a smoke machine onstage making the stage as foggy as alice’s head is. if she as our narrator doesn’t know what’s going on, how are we supposed to? i think the smoke can fade for the key is, because we actually need to see that one for the plot, but i think even so there could be some sort of playing with shadows and silhouettes that would be really cool.

i think the bird scene would be really fun with puppetry! the puppets could be made out of items that would only be found in the bunker, like the same fabric the cots are made of, buttons that match the ones on the characters’ clothes, and the gas mask beaks. the birds would just be so much fun as puppets. skipping ahead a bit here, but i also think the duchess in manage your flamingo should have a pig puppet to reference the original a bit more closely.

as mentioned earlier, those long eyes would have a dance motif that would continue throughout the show, and i think while the dance in those long eyes lasted longer than it did in still, it still should be cut off by the sirens and shouldn’t be complete. alice still doesn’t have closure for their relationship by this point, so the dance shouldn’t either.

for most of the show, the cheshire puss should be hooded and perched on an upper platform whenever shes giving alice advice. when alice wont listen to her, she finally snaps and sings some things fall away. she gets on alice’s level and finally reveals her face.

i don’t have many more specific ideas until the end because most of the songs in the middle chunk of the show are just alice running around wonderland and i’m not a choreographer so i’m not really sure what i’d do exactly with these. but i do want to bring up the jabberwocky. i’m obsessed with what mcc does by making alice’s fear of the doctor and the soldiers physical, but i think we could take brillig braellig as an opportunity to bring back the puppets. i think it could be an entirely dark stage except for alice and the jabberwocky. the jabberwocky can be made entirely of white fabric and have images of war and alice’s other fears and traumas projected onto him. the stage can be lit from below so we get some interesting shadows. if we want to incorporate something like mcc did with butridge literally being the jabberwocky, he can be dressed in all white as well and have the puppet follow him around the stage to have more physical interaction with alice. in this scene, i imagine the puppet being pretty big so the ensemble’s place onstage would be helping in puppeteering so the stage would feel emptier than it actually is.

i’m obsessed with the falling rose petals and the coughing before another room in your head in mcc but i think that part could really benefit from some modifications. instead of them being in an empty stage, i think there could be a carpet of white roses beneath them and soap blood could literally come from alfred all over them and all over him. the roses aren’t the only roses in that scene.

in i’ve shrunk enough, i think it would be cool for the characters to go up in a puff of smoke and exit out of a trap door in the stage when alice poofs them out of existence. alice should be the only one poofing everyone away, as she is our narrator. i also think there could be a moment where alfred quickly runs backstage and changes back into his original hospital gown for the final scenes. (in terms of logistics i think the hospital gown could stay beneath his white rabbit costume so he’s able to more quickly change). when he returns onstage, it should be the end of the song. in the vassar reading, at the end of i’ve shrunk enough, alfred says “time’s up” after the final notes of the song. i would want to bring that back. alfred says it as he returns onstage, and the lighting suddenly shifts to two spotlights — one on alice and one on alfred — that merge as the two get closer throughout the next scene.

in afternoon, we bring back the lobster dance. this should be the only time the dance comes to a close. alice isn’t ready for alfred to die, but she’s a hell of a lot more ready than she was during still. she can continue doing the dance by herself after alfred leaves.

after alfred leaves the stage, alice also picks up the book. throughout the show it was probably left downstage in one of the corners of the stage, so here alice picks it back up and finishes it on alfred’s cot. the spotlight follows and doesn’t disperse to reveal the rest of the ensemble until the final notes of the song when alice finally closes the book.

throughout winter blooms, the characters should dismantle the bunker like they brought it on in the beginning. they each change into their wonderland costumes once again (or at least bits and pieces of them, since winter blooms is a pretty quick song, but i doubt their wonderland costumes are too drastically different from their bunker costumes regardless) throughout the rest of the song. at the very end, i’d have alice come centerstage once more, standing in the same place she was during alfred’s death. she’d sing to an empty stage, for the most part, until her final “and there you are.” alfred comes onstage (whether he comes onstage himself or he’s brought up through the stage on a lift or a turntable, i don’t know) in his white rabbit costume once again, and alice pulls him into an embrace as the stage fades to black once more.

[sanghyukstattoos]

Long-lasting nights

Summary: Chani works not far from where you live and appears at your door when his bereaved and raging colleague Youngkyun falls into a hallucinatory trap, leaving Chani wounded.

Genre: Fluff-fluff-fluff; mentions of violence

Characters: Chani x Reader (Gender Neutral)

WC: 1.6k

A/N: Thank you anon for this request! Read more here~~

His face was scrunched in an expression of pain and he clutched his leg in an embrace so tight that it could stop the dripping blood. He stumbled across a red brick placed unevenly, staining it with red drops. There was a wall nearby, some sort of dirty marble structure resembling a lion and some other animals, that he took a breath against. His pain grew in inflamed streaks, each clouding his vision that shifted between your house and his wound. It had been such a surprise to see Kyun- his colleague from his part-time job at the supermarket, with blood-stained hands and a gun.

The implication of death by a shot to the forehead toppled his imagination. It made him run callously, not seeing Kyun's reflection in the mirror pick up the gun, an escaped chuckle never so incongruous to the lines of blasted milk and food. His breath was heavier when he pushed himself off the wall, almost falling to his knees when he tapped at your door. Hastily he looked around, a resonant thud shaking his inner system as he banged the door on the way down.

Peeling the door open, you had no questions, except for the worry that he would die. It was almost routine for him to knock at the front door and bring the dirty blood on his clothes in intriguing you to the situation he had encountered. You held him under the arms, hearing his soft whines near to volume zero as you carelessly placed him in the tub. Your arms drastically ached when you had to search for your first aid kit, pupils as big as clocks after looking at the beautiful red tint of the transparent water.

It had been much longer since you had gone out like him, partly in need of a break. The images had too much impact, seeing you to sleep and waking you up in the morning, leaving little to the imagination as you had cut up the last strawberry and tossed it into the bowl. You ruffled his hair, pulling his head back, lingering your lips near his ear, asking him to stay awake. ''For me, no?'' you ended, cleaning him up.

Mindlessly you cleaned him up, draining the plug, watching it clear out. In the silence, you wondered nothing, struggling with his sticky clothes until he bent a knee and you looked up to see his eyes. They were staring straight ahead at the whiteness of the tub in that sense of impartiality, mind indefinitely silent as he reeled into his own numbly-filled cries. And that too, this had been his first time being on the receiving end. You washed away the soap from his pink skin, pausing as a sin of the clock passed, waiting for him to say something.

He looked straight ahead again, a certain glare of your sight on him almost impossible to miss. He chose to lean on your shoulder when you went to pick him up, encouraging him to get out of the tub. Your chuckle elicited one from him too, light-heartedness comforting his fatigued self. His mind was fogged of the clear benefit of leaning on you and not falling yet he chose to hold onto random objects, barely making it to the bed.

You let out a deprived chuckle, collecting your kit to treat his wounds. You fumbled to open it, fingers slipping over the smooth silver clasp, hands sweating. Your eyes glared hard, torso still, as well as your legs that pressed against the carpet, creating a temporary rounding. ''It's okay'' Chani breathed out, trying to reach for your hand. He moved much slower than he was thinking, like in slow motion. You smiled, hummed and then wondered if he knew that your expression was not genuine.

He knew, which paused your movements when he touched your hand. Every fibre of your being stood on edge, in alert and for a second, your heart struck so disgustingly hard against your chest that it hurt. It was like a thud, as if someone had knocked on the front- something that the both of you were fearful of. If he would come knocking and you had not prepared- ''It's okay'' Chani said again, but his voice was fading, like a whisper. You could barely hear him now and even his touch would not calm you.

Your heart picked up its pace and so did your limbs. You began to move with extraordinary force, taking out the equipment and trying to heal him, one moment at a time. For every moment that you paused to breathe, you could hear his breath fading away. It pushed you to the edge, almost on the verge of tears. You bent over backwards when it came to him, you always had a soft spot for him.

You went back and forth between your conflicts, each feeling antagonistic of the other. Looking at him made you stop feeling such conflict. You did not give up, rather, you gave in, understood what you needed. For now, you would try and save him before the actual doctor came over. When you were done, you laid next to his naked body, tucking him into the sheets. With never-ending passion or the fear of being taken away, you kissed him on the temple with a force unrivalled, always repeated in a situation like this.

When you closed your eyes, you could feel the ache come to light. You wanted so badly to ask what happened but you reserved your words for when he would be able to reply back. Although he was guarded, his walls slipped away whenever he knocked at your door. It seemed imperative to save him the first time around and every time after that, the two of you never questioned one another.

The clock had disappeared into the background, it's noise unheard to your ears. The first breath that you inhaled was shaky, it made you take in that you could not do this any longer. You could ask for him to quit but somehow, he had made it his livelihood, out of force. As his boss, you knew that every person who walked through the door lived in a prison. Prison like state or hell of the mind, their only torture was purely psychological. To survive, they knew that they had to bear their chains and over time, they grew familiar with it.

The idea of an alternate reality scared Chani, admittedly characterised by his wide, innocent-looking eyes and shaky hands. He could not grow accustomed to the idea that he could lead a better life, a way out because he had grown used to this prison he had been living in. But no one can suddenly change, you knew that and so you thought that it would be better to see him die with you than without you.

You looked at his peacefully knocked-out state and guarded your feet with light steps when you stepped out of the room. The door would not willingly shut; winds created resistance but with the grit of your teeth, you shut it and the windows, locking the front door with friction's animosity.

When he awoke, he came to find you sitting on the sofa, not missing the way the windows were shut and the door absolutely locked. You were watching tv, absorbed in the movements of the characters on-screen, clutching the blanket that covered you tightly. Running his fingertips across the walls, forcing himself to grip onto something, he fumbled onto the sofa and into your arms.

''You're awake? How are you feeling?'' you lightly asked, kissing the soft, tussled tufts of his hair that stuck out randomly. He smiled, drawing a thumb up, telling you what he could not from the blood that had been drawn out from his body. He felt some sort of numbness stem from within, be it what had just happened or the shot that had some sort of trauma attached to it. He had never properly assessed it and now he was left with this.

He chuckled, kissing your soft lips that satiated an innermost desire before plopping onto your chest with a sigh of relief. He felt no stress as he usually did to pick himself up before his team could, especially in situations like this. You could not contain yourself, softly stroking his cheek before placing what felt like more than one kiss upon it. ''I can see you worrying'' you murmured, catching his attention. ''It was so sudden- I didn't see it coming'' he said, out of breath. He wanted to say more but he stopped short, not finding the state of mind to continue.

The tv was paused, its light illuminating the room, the chirping of the birds had gone ransom now. The house stood silent, waiting to hear what Chani had to say next but he couldn't continue. He sighed and fell limp into your arms, eyes dazed with no particular fixation. You wondered what was going through his mind, having seen this many times but like always, you let him be. In your arms and laying silently, staring into space, you knew that he would come out of it.

''Do you want to eat something?'' you softly asked, clutching his face to shift his concentration onto you. He hummed, a small smile gracing him at the thought but as soon as you got up, he groaned and tried to pull you back. In a matter of seconds, you glanced at him and he had picked up the hem of your shirt and tightly clutched it before falling asleep.

As soon as you heard your phone, you answered the call, whispering, ''Yes, he is right here.''.

[greensword101]

This is for @barely-nok. I’m sorry it took so long to get some Obake content out for you to consume. I hope you find it tasty lol.

Obake never drank on principle. He needed to keep a clear head and heads were meant for thinking. And thinking meant he could create what he wanted to the limit or even beyond that.

But even sober, his brain would...fizzle if Kei ever so much as blinked at him prettily. Or pouted. Or cheerily threatened to sing “I’m Henry the Eighth , I Am” if he didn’t agree to take a break and - urgh! Just acknowledging the phrase made him feel filthy - spend some “quality time” with a coworker.

Personally speaking, Obake would have preferred the term “expendable” or “replaceable” or “unpaid intern that wasn’t getting extra credit or the merits of knowledge.” Oh, but he would pay anything to get DeciBull out of his sight! And hearing range.

Then again, hearing range would be preferable. Wild cards like Kei were acceptable. DeciBull - or Wil as Kei had casually greeted him by to the former’s chargain -  was more of a Jack; weaker than Obake, but still a threat nonetheless.

If Kei hadn’t taken the car and driven off to God knew where, he would have stormed out of the bar and left that arsehole behind. Maybe steal his glasses and see if the chubby man with a guitar gimmack could find his way back home without falling off the pier.

Wil had barely touched his first bottle and was glowering at his phone for the past half hour. This suited Obake swimmingly, if not for the fact that Kei would know that they hadn’t made any attempt at all and would be tormenting him with that song again! And she would enlist Noodle Burger Boy this time, he was certain. And possibly Trina, though he was certain she would be directed towards Wil instead.

Obake collected himself and recited the longest formulas in the Periodic Table before he rigidly glanced over to Wil.

“I’m surprised you aren’t taking advantage of the karaoke here.”

Wil yelped and fumbled with his phone - mumbling apologies to the bartender as he passed - before gaping at Obake.

“Interesting...” Obake murmured.

“What?” Wil asked bemused.

“You almost looked like an intelligent being for a moment.”

Wil scowled, “Funny.” 

Then a smile crept onto his face. Obake stiffened. He knew he could take the man, he was slimmer and certainly wasn’t sluggish, but bars were always tricky to maneuver around in. Inebriation, sympathizers, or anyone looking for an excuse to be aggressive would make Obake beating Wil up...troublesome.

“Something amusing to you?” Obake took a sip from his own glass to appear ignorant and casual.

“Just thinking how whipped you must be if Kei could make you spend time with me,” Wil leaned in conspiratorially, “Tell me, does she make you sleep on the couch when you misbehave?”

Obake sputtered and and gave Wil a hard stare. Wil stared back undaunted.

“Shut your mouth and have your bloody drink, why don’t you?” Obake snarled and took another, deeper sip from his glass. He was used to dealing with the aggressive and almost territorial behavior Wil demonstrated back at the base. He did not want to be sober to process that Wil was capable of having bloody cheek.

“How can I have my ‘bloody drink’ if my mouth’s shut?” Wil asked innocently.

“Test my patience and we’ll find out soon enough,” Obake growled under his breath. He could do it.  One stab between the ribs and he could slip out in the noise and confusion. He just didn’t want to put up with Kei pestering him when he got back and possibly annoying her with a potential murder.

Wil sniggered and had another swig of his beer. He went back to his phone, but he barely seemed to be reading what was on the screen.

That was...unexpected. But it was a better alternative to dealing with a feral monkey by himself. Obake found himself enjoying the Manhattan more than he expected and finished it off. He was beginning to fish the cherry out when Wil spoke up again.

“Was it good?”

Obake groaned and glowered at Wil, who was starting at his empty glass curiously. What didn’t that fool understand about having a little peace and quiet?

“I don’t typically drink myself,” Wil mumbled into his bottle and drank. He sputtered for a few moments and continued, “I just stick to a beer once in a while.”

“Thank Heaven for small miracles, then,” Obake narrowed his eyes and waved the bartender over, “Another one, if you would be so kind.”

“Me too,” Wil smiled at the bartender and held up his empty bottle. Amazingly, the bartender smiled back and came back moments later with their second drinks. Wil called after him as he walked off, “Thanks, Jim!”

“You frequent this place often?” Obake ventured and helped himself to his second Manhattan. Screw sobriety, it had been so long since he had anything that tasted so good touch his lips.

“I used to,” Wil admitted, “Just for a bite and maybe a bottle. That’s kind of how me and Kei met, actually.”

“A little nip before beddybye?” Obake cooed mockingly at him.

“Crime and I have something in common,” Wil smirked, “We rarely sleep.”

“Tragic,” Obake chuckled and raised his glass in mock salute, “To your insomnia, I suppose.”

Wil raised his beer in kind, “And to good company if I ever get any.”

Now, they both laughed for real. Obake noticed for the first time how pleasantly red Wil’s face had become. Was it the alcohol or the first genuine spark of life he was expressing? If it was the latter, that would mean Kei was behind it somehow.

Suddenly, the good feeling popped like a soap bubble and Obake hid his displeasure by finishing off his second Manhattan. Wil gawked at him.

“You should slow down, Kei is gonna freak if she has to pick us up from the ER because you got alcohol poisoning or something.”

“Kei this, Kei that, you haunt her like a lapdog!” Obake spat out. Damn that woman and her silly, childish notions of fun and damn that boulder she decided would make good company!

Wil blinked and leaned back a little. A moment later, he was glowering back with that familiar hostility, “At least I don’t treat her like a nuisance like you do! Do you have any idea how much she cares about you?!”

“Cares?” Obake snapped his fingers at Jim for another glass and leaned closer to Wil’s face. His nostrils flared and he could feel Wil tense inches away from him. “Why would she have to care about me? If that’s what you call pity, then I’ve no need for it! She can pretend all she wants that we’re all supposed to be some family, but in the end, that’s all it’s going to be. A stupid dream! Why would she care about making me ‘socialize’ with the others or spending ‘quality time’ with her silly boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?!”

Obake jabbed a finger into Wil’s chest, “Don’t play coy! I know you think I’m a prat to her! And I know you won’t believe that she can almost make me feel human! But you don’t have to worry about me getting in the way, Prince Charming! She’s all yours, so you don’t have to worry about me -”

“I’m gay.”

“And I’m Bob, the pleasure’s all...what.” Obake had to take a moment to process Wil’s flat retort.

“Gay. I like guys. I love them. I love kissing them. And I’m already taken.”

Obake opened his mouth and closed it again. He noticed that his third Manhattan had arrived and wasted no time downing it. Wil didn’t repeat how it wasn’t safe to do this time, and he was thankful for that. 

Suddenly, he felt someone standing right behind him and stilled.

“Is he giving you problems, Wil?”

“No worries, Eugene,” Wil smiled at the person behind him, “Just clearing up a misunderstanding over here.”

Obake felt a little dizzy and pinched his nose, “Let me understand this correctly. You have never had feelings for Kei?”

“Platonically, yes. Romantically or otherwise? No.”

“And this whole time, yo - you’ve...” Why couldn’t he find the right words? “You’ve...acted harshly because...?”

“Because she’s one of my best friends and I don’t want her to get hurt,” Wil said firmly. He pointed at Obake with a fiercely protective look, “I can’t help who she wants to connect with, but I won’t stand by and let her get hurt. She’s gone through too much to deserve that.”

“Alright, I’m just going to butt in for a moment here,” Eugene moved from behind Obake and stood to Wil’s left, wrapping an arm across him protectively. He was pleasant to the eyes; tall, broad, dark brown hair and a scruffy goatee. He looked at Wil, bemused, “You weren’t here scooping for another cutie, babe?”

“Wh...why...why would he...?” Obake’s tongue felt like lead. Dear Lord, he could barely speak, he was so embarrassed.

“Because this is a gay bar?” Eugene supplemented as if it weren’t obvious. Obake blinked. Come to think of it, it was rather odd no one had come to bother them when they came in. Did...did that mean...?

Somewhere in San Fransokyo, Kei was laughing herself silly. Obake was certain of it. 

“Everything alright over here?” Another voice, deeper than Eugene’s mischievous and light tone asked.

“Hey ‘Nan! This is an acquaintance of mine,” Wil helped himself to his beer, “and apparently he thought I was stealing his girlfriend until a few moments ago. Bob, this is Kanan. My other boyfriend.”

“Other...” Obake’s head was swimming. This was too much to process...

“Yeah,” Wil said shyly, “We’re...we’re kind of a poly sort of thing.”

As if to prove his point, Eugene promptly gave Wil a deep kiss on the lips that was eagerly returned. Kanan came into view and Obake noticed how dark skinned he was and the ponytail before he decided he was too sober to handle this all right now.

He made to stand and tripped over his stool. And a moment later, his Manhattans returned and splashed all over the floor.

In hindsight, he should have checked how much alcohol was in each glass...

It was about a half hour later when Kei found all four of them outside the bar with Obake being supported by an irksome Wil and amused Eugene. Kanan looked torn between disapproval and laughter.

“Was it fun?” Kei asked hesitantly. Obake took one look at her and sighed. It was his own fault for drinking too much.

“It was something,” Wil supplemented as he helped buckle Obake into the backseat, “And educational, apparently, so that’s a plus.”

“We were there at the tail-end,” Eugene added helpfully, “It was kind of entertaining.”

“You sure you can take care of this?” Kanan asked Wil.

Wil looked at Obake and sighed, “We’ll be alright. Thanks, anyways.”

“See you at the next heist meet, babe!” Eugene blew a kiss.

“Tell Raps and Hera I said hi!” Wil called back as they drove off.

“And here I thought I’d be picking you up at the police station for a bar brawl,” Kei half joked.

“Stay with me, Bob!” Wil shook Obake gently, “Don’t go to sleep. First rule in treating alcohol poisoning.”

“Piss off...” Obake slurred.

Wil sighed and let his head sink against the headrest for a few moments. Why didn’t he just become an accountant like his parents wanted?

“Wil...” Obake said sluggishly, “In..in the...event...I survive this with my memory intact. Would you...do it again?”

Wil blinked in surprise and chuckled weakly, “Only if you watch what you drink next time, lightweight.”

“Momma’s boy.”

“Evil Brit.”

“Four Eyes.”

“Nnnnnnnnnnneeeee~rrrrrrrrrds!” Kei cackled as her passengers bickered with each other without any former hostility from before.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Hc inverse au! Fem Reader in Victorian era England and ynm characters are in our time.

You are a character in an anime and ynm are in real life

Williams

( he seems like the type to be into really dense, historical mangas)

He first read a manga featuring you when one of his students left their copy on their desk and he had to overview some students while they were using the presentation room.

He mostly just sat in the first row while the group of teens were recording hamlet for the theater class.

He didn't really took the story seriously so he started reading a lady who was trying to seduce a noble for a few pages, he was about to leave the manga given that he supposed it was a hentai but when you poisoned them with the wine cup he found it interesting

The main character had a set of very strong ideals that weren't so common in the historical context, be it strip nobles and royals from benefits, be a suffragette, or something similar .He ate the manga in five minutes

When he returns home (and leaves the item in lost objects, ofc) he checks online to buy the first volume to see if the background and sort are interesting along with every other volume and official light novel and Novella . He usually isn't home from very early to very late at night so it would be Louis most likely the one who receives the box with the books

"Brother, did you buy a box full of comics" Louis asks from the kitchen after he feels his older brother returning home

" oh? They already arrived? I thought they would be here next week" well Louis always was worries about how his brother didn't have any hobbies aside from teaching at the University so he was happy that he found something else to do with his life

He would ask for a sick day on a Monday or Friday so he could plan everything that was needed at his class that day and spend the weekend lazing around and reading the various volumes and the light novels. That day Louis and albert almost cried of happiness, that was the first time he took a sick day in all of his teaching years to take a break

The type of fan who creates theories that everything is symbolism, how they are ambidextrous to show that even if they intend good sometimes their methods are too extreme or how their hat was placed or the color of their clothes show their political affiliation. Nothing can be just a coincidence with him, everything means something

Is a big pain in the ass about historical inaccuracies, be it dress, manners or social hierarchy being off

" But listen this is the late Victorian era, where is their crinoline??/ They are supposed to be a Victorian dandy and the writer wants me to believe they would wear that? In that society?" williams turned on the lights to his younger brother room while walking in circles as if he was trying to calm down

" Williams it's 3 am. Please I want to sleep"

" Oh and don't let me get started when they crossdressed/dressed as lady northinburg, that tight lacing scene made me so angry" he was dragging his words, Louis guessed he was sleep drunk " how much I hate that, karolina or bernadette would kill those producers if they saw it" Louis simply opted to sleep while his brother was ranting about how the hairstyles were al wrong

When speaking of merchandising he appreciates his mature and elegant reputation so he would buy small things like cute stationery and notebooks and a few pens. Most of them either are about the main character, you, or have the anime title or something similar

A few students think that the professor brings some childish pens in case some student forgets one and he doesn't have to give them his mechanical pencil. He actually uses those pens when he is grading the exams. His notebook annotations look a lot cleaner and are more colorfully bc of the markers and pens

When and if your manga gets and anime he would be 100 percent bitching about how they skipped, if you are a minor character, scenes where you are introduced or you character gets development.

" Oh my goodness, they skipped to this ark? And 'the mask'? In that ark we get the development of many characters, yn, edward, Amélie, Alex. We are absolutely robed of their backgrounds and aspirations and how they are all connected"

" Brother be honest with yourself, you only wanted more animated yn, you follow their voice actor on twitter"

" That is not my point!"

Albert

he was watching it when he came late

Albert usually keeps company to his youngest brother until around 5-6 pm, then he leaves for work and returns around 12 am and eats dinner alone mostly.

When he returns from his job the house is more often than not totally dark so he makes his way to the kitchen and microwaves the leftovers and eats silently.

But one day it seems like Louis or williams forgot to turn off the TV before going to bed, he was about to turn it off but decided that watching something with the tv muted wouldn't wake his brothers up and kept watching.

He didn't pay much attention to it at the start but it became routine, he comes home, heats the food, sits down and watches that show so he grew quite fond of it

How much attention he pays to it depends on the type of plot it has, if it is light-hearted humor he would most likely not pay much attention but laugh when a joke came, one the other hand, if it's a more serious he would find it hard to take his eyes away from the screen

Second least likely to buy merchandising, if he buys it's mostly to wear home, a one size too big shirt for a pj (mostly for the comedy anime) or, if they aren't childish and look professional maybe a pocket watch like the one x character uses ( in the more serious one)

Won't buy the mangas if there are any because he is happy watching the animated version and already has to read a lot at work, but if he is gifted the volumes he will read them sparingly, maybe he will finish one volume every week and a half, unlike williams.

Louis

He spends most of his time home because of his illness and doesn't like to stress too much given that it makes the symptoms worse, he enjoys light hearted comedies or cooking in the victorian era or those typical time travelers who now have to live in different situations than those they are used to

He most likely found it after doing all the housework and being bored so he opted to browse the TV or netflix and fell on one specific serie

If it is a comedy he will listen to it while cleaning or cooking, he feels like he does everything faster and the housework is more enjoyable that way.

If it's a cooking related program he will watch as entertainment after doing everything and to get ideas what to cook, he is always surprised with the recipes that your character comes up with, be them savory ( things he will absolutely do the next day for lunch or dinner) or sweet ( things he will make more sparingly given he can't have too much sugar). I think of mangas and series like the duchess' 50 te recipes or shokugeki no soma

If it the third option he was interested on the alternatives to modern things, like how to make a more natural soap with animal fat and wood ash, or how to use certain plants to help a headache or stomach bug.

With merchandising he doesn't buy much, some kitchenware and some bowls mugs and maybe a tea set that isn't much of an eyesore. Overall he isn't all that crazy over that kind of things if there is a cooking book he will definitely buy it

He, like albert, doesn't care much about historical accuracy and if the events that happen are cohesive, he is there to have fun

Fred

He watched it because he heard his classmates talk about it and wanted to join them but was too scared to bother them if he didn't know anything. Baby has the social abilities of an anxious lobster

He comes home from college and looks the anime up in his phone and, like every broke college student, he watches it from an illegal streaming service.

He gets hooked up and stays all night watching it until his clock snaps him out of his trance and makes him drag his feet to his 7:30 am class

Fred tries and fails to talk to the group so, after the lesson, he drags himself to his room to be miserable alone. It's not until he reaches a certain chapter or episode where you say something that make him think, " if you wish to be loved you must face first your fear to be known" he keeps thinking about it, he didn't truly ever talk to the group, he cowarded before even trying.

The next week at that same lecture he approaches the group and tries to make some small talk

" Oh hey uhm i heard the past class that you liked (maga name)" he was this close to running to his desk and act as if nothing happened

" Yeah! You like it too?" The boy seemed to notice fred was nervous

" Yes! I really like it, what is you favorite character? Mine is yn" he certainly didn't have any favorite one before but after this he thinks your character is pretty good " they are really inspiring"

In terms of merch he is broke so there is none, If he had any money to spare he would buy notebooks and even those chibi statues or funko pops

[thedevillionaire]

Panacea

Exordium, part two, though this can be read as a stand-alone. This one comes with an 18+ label.  

Some other supernatural soap opera folk get brief appearances here too. Aera – Sorcery Leader and best of frenemies with Cerberus; Vampyra – Vampirism Leader; Ashtaroth – Incubus, Vampirism Understudy, Kia’s BFF and ex-FWB. Mentioned, not appearing: Lilith – Cerberus’ ex, and Therion, Demonics Understudy.  As always, any questions, please do ask! But anyway...

*

Offering a hurried apology, Cerberus sneezed again, more heavily than before, and Aera and Vampyra frowned at him simultaneously. “Cerberus, if you get me sick, I will never forgive you,” Vampyra said, the expression on her face suggesting that she was quite serious about it too. “I have far too many things to do, and not just this. Also, if I can’t do those things, then you’ll have to work with Ashtaroth or, more likely, whoever he sends in when he doesn’t feel like working, and you’ll completely deserve it. So think about that.”

“Mm,” seconded Aera, looking at Cerberus and raising her eyebrows as if daring him to disagree.

Cerberus, mildly affronted but feeling increasingly unwell, blew his nose, excused himself and took a drink of water. He cleared his throat, grimacing a little at the pain. “If either of you would like to try reclassifying the Demonics Levels without me, then please, go right ahead. Although surely Therion can do at least some of it. I’m not particularly keen to be here, you know.”

Aera rolled her eyes. “None of us are. And really, I’m still not convinced it’s even all that necessary.  We’ve gone generations without doing anything to rejig the whole ratings whatnot and the place hasn’t collapsed.” She waved a paper in the air as if it would back her up, not that anybody else could read it. “I mean, I do agree that there probably should be more fine detail between levels, but, at the same time, if…”

“Huh-TSSCH-uu!”

Cerberus, having abruptly derailed Aera’s point, muttered a reflexive, “Pardon me,” added a more than somewhat irked, “again,” and internally cursed himself for failing to shake this off despite his best efforts. He sniffled. Everything ached, his head foggy, this damned incessant itch still refused to abate, and he knew at this point his fight was a lost cause.

“For fuck’s sake, go home,” said Vampyra crossly.

A sharp nod of agreement from Aera. “Yep, what she said. You sound awful. Go be Kia’s problem. You can test her resolve about the whole ‘in sickness’ part of things,” she said with a brief sardonic laugh. “I’ll call Therion. If he fucks it up, you can fix it in a week or so, alright? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t be double-checking it all anyway,” she added. “And don’t argue.”

Cerberus hadn’t intended to. He stood, gave them both a curt nod of acknowledgement, remarked, “Don’t call me,” and disappeared.

 ----

 Closing the door behind him wearily, Cerberus leant back against it and sneezed heavily three times in succession, his eyes watering and his head pounding. Kia, her attention abruptly and thoroughly pulled from the Inception papers she’d been reviewing, peered down at him from her vantage point at the top of the stairs. Abandoning her work, concentration destroyed, she descended and crossed the foyer to meet him.

“Meeting over already? Or just over for you?” A rhetorical question, the answer writ unambiguous across her bonded’s entire demeanour. She reached up and put her hand on his forehead. “Well, at least you don’t have a fever. Oh, hon. I knew I should have kept you home tonight.” She gave him a soft look of chastisement. “What happened to ‘I’ll be fine’?”

He’d certainly meant to be fine. “Miscalculation,” Cerberus managed before his breath caught again, sharp and demanding, and he turned from Kia in haste. “Ahh-TSSCH-uu! Gods! Pardon me. *snf!* Sorry. Can’t seem to stop doing that.” He met her eyes with apologetic dismay, sighing. “I’ve been exiled.”

Kia made a gentle noise of sympathy, stroking his arm and motioning for him to accompany her into the loungeroom. She glanced up at him as his expression helplessly crumbled anew, pressing a pre-emptive tissue into his hand as he lost a very briefly fought battle against another heavy sneeze. “Hh-hh… Huh-ATSSCHH-uu!” He groaned, excused himself again, blew his nose.

“Aw, bless you, sweetheart. Sit,” Kia said, and Cerberus all but collapsed onto the couch. Kia moved to join him, stretching her arm across his shoulders and stroking his hair repetitively, soothingly. Cerberus closed his eyes, relaxing into her touch, although with a measure of reluctance. “Careful, darkling. I do not want to give this to you,” he murmured.

Kia, not concerned about that in the slightest, kissed him lightly. “I know.” She continued to stroke his hair, and he leant into her, energy drained and thankful for the respite she provided. “Do you have any cold meds in the house?”

Cerberus sat up a little straighter, sniffled again, shook his head. “I never catch cold,” he said with another sniffle, the unmistakeable notes of congestion starting to blunt his consonants now, and he conceded quickly to the soft challenge in his love’s eyes. “Alright, well, not never...clearly.” He claimed another several tissues, wiped his nose and sighed in weary resignation, pressed his fingers to his forehead against the relentless pulse of cold-fuelled ache. “But no.” And despite Kia’s expression now plainly reflecting well that probably wasn’t the best-laid plan was it, it was indeed true that he’d not had a proper cold for well over a year, possibly two – not that his newly bonded had any way of knowing that – and there were only so many unexpected events one could prepare for.

“Okay then, I’ll do a drug run,” said Kia, deciding practicality was the best course of action right now, and stood. “I shouldn’t be too long, depending on how busy Healing is. Here.” She handed him the box of tissues from the loungeroom table. “So, um, just a thought…if it is really busy, can I name drop you and skip the queue?” Kia raised her eyebrows archly.

“Hmm. Your hopes as recent Underworld queen are certainly ambitious,” Cerberus said, then after brief consideration added, “Although…yes, probably,” with a conspiratorial chuckle and a tired but knowing smile.

“Ha! I’m going to try it.” She kissed him again. “See you soon. Because queens don’t queue.”

 ----

 Kia did indeed return in good time, carrying a bag of Healing concoctions. “Hey, babe,” she said, kicking the door closed behind her and crossing the foyer to meet Cerberus in the loungeroom, where he now sat on the chair nearest the fireplace, looking more than a little defeated, a blanket draped across his shoulders, tissues in hand. “I didn’t get a chance to name drop my way to the top, because they were actually not busy, damn it. I swear, the only time I’ve ever kind of wanted them to be busy, and…nope. Anyway, the dealer is in,” she said, leaning over to kiss him.

Cerberus held up a finger to indicate that Kia should wait, pausing with brow creased in expectation, turning from her as that expectation escalated to urgency, excusing himself as hastily as he could, desperately and unstoppably overcome. “Huh-TSSCH-uu! Hh… h-huhTSCHHUU!”

“Bless you,” said Kia, looking at him with a mix of sympathy and concern. Cerberus acknowledged her as best he could, made a small sound of exasperation and sneezed again. “Ahh-TSCHUU! Gods!” He sniffled fiercely, managed to take a determined moment to recover, and met Kia’s compassionate gaze with a matter-of-fact certainty. “I’m going to die,” he announced succinctly.

Kia suppressed a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. Well, um, probably not, but...”

“No, I-ihh-HH…” Cerberus inhaled sharply, shakily, and broke off in short order. “HehAHTSCHUU!” He groaned and cleared his throat, the resultant raw sting bringing with it instant regret. “I’m definitely dying.” He blew his nose, sniffling again, vaporised the latest addition to an increasingly long succession of used tissues, and put his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry, darkling.” Looking back up at Kia in sincerest apology, he raked his hair back from his face and rubbed his nose with resolute firm hand, sighing heavily. “I have a question for you, though, if I may. I assume you remember the night I proposed?”

“Vividly,” Kia said, chuckling in reflex at the apparent randomness of it. “Interesting tangent. But first, drugs! You sound wrecked, hon.” She handed him the bag. “By the way, I’ve been warned that you’re a terrible patient. More than once.” A kiss pressed to his forehead. “A lot, you could say, actually.”

“Malicious lies,” said Cerberus as imperiously as he could manage, which wasn’t particularly so given the circumstance.

“Naturally.” Kia rested her arms on the back of the chair, and brushed some wayward hair out of his eyes, tucking stray tendrils behind his ears. “Anyway, I think…maybe you’ve just never had the right nursemaid.” She kissed the top of his head lightly, running her fingers through his hair now in a tranquil, repetitive motion.

Cerberus raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” Well, it was certainly true that Lilith had never been caretaker inclined – not that he’d considered any alternative reaction as a possibility at the time.  Avoidance of these sorts of…contagious absurdities seemed a perfectly reasonable response anyway, he thought, as he rubbed his nose once more against another rising itch, frowning, but managed for the moment to see it off. He refocused. “My question, then, darkling, if you’ll indulge me. Earlier that night at your old apartment, when I told you that you were always beautiful, you told me that I was either a liar or crazy.”

“Or drunk,” Kia added brightly.

“Ah, yes, of course. Anyway, love, if you are even the slightest bit attracted to me in this…frankly ridiculous state—” Cerberus sniffled sharply, as if to emphasise his point. “—then I’m afraid you owe me an apology.”  

“Hmm.” Kia smiled slyly, feigning consideration, as she continued toying with heavy ebony hair, trailing her touch further now, slowly, down angular jawline, across broad shoulders, and mused, “I don’t know. I mean, what if I am crazy? Because—”

An acute deep inhalation the only warning, Cerberus interrupted her with a sudden, powerful sneeze. “AAHTSSCHHUU! ..ugh. Excuse…” he began, but the insistent, demanding need was not yet sated. “Huh-TSCHU-uu! Oh, for…” Another catch in his breath and he surrendered again, almost doubling over with the force of it. “Ahh-HEHTSSHHUU! Fuck! If I find out who’s responsible for this, I will immolate them!” His patience completely at an end, he looked up at Kia in consternation, the frustrated fury alight in vivid emerald indicating there was every chance that he wouldn’t so much as hesitate if given the opportunity.

“Sweetheart, I know that’s kind of a Demon king perk, but…probably a bit extreme in this case.” Patting his shoulder firmly on her way, Kia moved to sit on the table in front of him and tried to think a little less about just how deliciously being indignantly dishevelled suited him. For the time being, at least. She took his hand in hers, held his gaze. “Alright, I want you to listen to me now, okay? Take the drugs, go to bed and I promise I will do my best to make everything better in just a little while, but you have to help me out here.”

With a discomfited sigh, Cerberus sniffled again, apologised – though that green fire, albeit ameliorated slightly, still burned apparent – and nodded after a short time in mildly begrudging concession. He stood, taking the bag of Healing concoctions and the tissues with him. “As you wish, darkling,” he said, and kissed Kia gently on the top of her head. Another sniffle. “But make no mistake – an immolation would be entirely and thoroughly deserved.”

 --

 :Ash! Hi! Sorry about the intrusion, but I was hoping maybe you’d want to come entertain me for about an hour or so? Are you busy?: Kia stretched her legs out across the coffee table and took a sip of wine. :Also…I could kind of use your help.:

Ashtaroth needed no further encouragement. :Not busy, definitely would like to get the hell out of here, will help with whatever. See you imminently, sweetie.:

Kia laughed and began walking towards the door, reaching and opening it at almost the exact moment Ashtaroth arrived. He smiled and hugged her in greeting. “Alright, fill me in, love. A time limit and a mystery task? Darling, what is going on?”

“Come in first,” said Kia, heading back into the loungeroom to reclaim her wine and pour one for Ashtaroth. She took a seat on the couch and motioned for him to join her. “Okay, well, basically, the short version is I’m on a bit of a medication timeline, and I could use some assistance with getting into an outfit.”

Ashtaroth, taking a seat beside Kia, raised his eyebrows. “Not out of? Where’s the fun in that?” He smiled mischievously. “Wait, did you say medication timeline?” He looked closely at Kia, frowning in concentration. “Well, all hail to the Healing team. I’d never have picked you as ill. What’s wrong?”

“Not me.” She pointed upstairs. “Head cold.”

“My, my. So the delicious Demon can be undone like the rest of us after all. I imagine he’s taking it just marvellously.” Ashtaroth chuckled. “Ah…and you intend to be the cure, am I right? I am, aren’t I?” He grinned, winked and raised his wineglass in a toast. “Well, then. To the goddess Kia, panacea!”

“Ooh, I like it!” Kia laughed. “A little bit ambitious there, maybe, but, well, I’m going to try, so…here’s hoping, at least for a while. Cheers!” Kia raised her glass also, then hesitated. “Oh, actually, hang on. Probably shouldn’t. There’s kind of a fair bit of fiddly lacing up of stuff to be done yet.”

Ashtaroth drank his wine anyway. “I’m well practised,” he remarked. “And since I’m very sadly not actually the one who’s going to be the beneficiary of this, and I’ve only got an hour here – even less than that now – honestly, I should probably have your drink too.”

Kia laughed again. “Fine, but I’ll be doing my own eyeliner.”

“Deal!” Ashtaroth claimed Kia’s wineglass for himself, smiling playfully. He took a sip, then said, his tone serious and genuine, “You’ll be fucking irresistible, Kiki love. He’s so lucky.”

“Oh, Ash,” Kia said, touched. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“I mean it. He is. And I think,” Ashtaroth said, toying with Kia’s hair, “that after this you’ll even properly believe it yourself.” He stood, finishing the rest of the wine, and offered his hand. “Alright, come on! Let’s get you even more gorgeous.”

 ----

 Kia opened the door to the bedroom quietly, peeking in at Cerberus, who was semi-lying, semi-sitting amid an array of pillows on the bed, a Demonics text in one hand, and smiled to herself. Perfect. She entered the room.

Cerberus pushed some hair back from his face, sniffling lightly. Healing’s assistance had brought some manner of relief, though his head was still somewhat heavy with the cold he’d come home with and – to his immense irritation – failed to shake off, but he sat up a little straighter and widened his eyes as his bonded walked slowly further into the room, closing the door behind her. Kia, dressed for pure seduction in a black silk fitted minidress, velvet and lace detailed, bodiced and skintight, six-inch stilettos and sapphire eyes kohl smoked, her hair a wildness of arranged disorder, gave him a knowing smile as she reached the foot of the bed, and stopped. She placed one fishnet-clad leg smoothly onto the bed and looked directly at Cerberus, who gazed back at her in a mix of astonishment, disbelief and desire.

“Hey, babe,” she purred, shifting to sit now on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, her hourglass figure lushly emphasised by the corsetry she wore. “As promised…I am here to make your night…better.” Rearranging herself to straddle him, she lowered her body across his and traced a tapered dark ruby fingernail along his jawline, cupping his face in her hand and kissing him deeply before sitting up again, fluid, measured, catlike.

Stunned, Cerberus couldn’t take his eyes off her, absently dropping the text to the floor and barely noticing that he’d done so, mesmerised and fixated, only returning to his senses as a re-emergent, rising tickle sharply forced his attentions redirected. With a brief frown and shake of his head, he hastily claimed a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table, apologising as he did so but unable to do anything else much about it. “HHTSCHuu! ahH… HuhTSCHuu! Ah, gods, I’m s…” he began, intending to attempt a half-hearted protest that he wasn’t at all sure he was up to this and that he’d meant it when he’d said that he didn’t want Kia to get sick too, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “Shh,” she soothed, putting a finger to his lips. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” A little smile and a quick, gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. :Bless you.: Pressing herself closer again, she kissed him anew, warmsensual, indulgent. “And you don’t need to do anything…well, one thing, but I don’t think,” she continued, now trailing her hands down to his inner thighs and pressing, coaxing, insistent, “you’ll have any trouble with that.” She gave him a sultry smile and a quick wink as she felt him harden at her touch. She pushed herself against him a little more, and Cerberus made a small sound of pleasure, closing his eyes, giving in. Kia smiled again, briefly, wickedly, as she moved to weave her fingers through his hair and gently but firmly pull him towards her, teasingly licking, lovebiting and kissing him before murmuring, “Okay, babe, I need you—" Another soft kiss. “—to trust me now.” And another kiss, intense and absolute, accompanied by a heatwhispered Mindsend of :Drop your Protect.:

Cerberus immediately opened his eyes again at this, meeting Kia’s gaze directly, serious, questioning. :Darkling…: he began in reply, uncertainty evident, but she did not relent.

:Trust me.:

And he looked at his love, his heart, and he chose to trust her in a way that he had never trusted another and so gave himself over absolutely, and she took him in body and psyche and she was power, essence, flesh and dream, she was air and emergence, she was sensurround envelopment and possession, immersion, complete and completion, weight and flight and heat and heat and (oh gods) heat, sanctuary and abandon. She was vibration, whisper, scream and pulse, metronomic beat-beat steady and crescendo (breathe) and fall (gods) and arise, crescendo, once more, once more, again immerse again again (breathe) and again (breathe) fire my love, fire, the inferno elemental and burn, burn, burn. She was becoming, she was ascension, she was all the unknown and all the familiar. She was warmth and blood, the crimson charisma, ecstasy and power, she was urgency, debauchery, divinity, desperation, she was insatiable lust and beautiful sanctuary, the splendorous art of the succubus supreme, the frisson edge, enveloping centre and magnificent release, release, ravenous need, and (oh) she danced, yes, (oh) yes, unstoppable force ascendant, as she took his hand, his heart, his sex and his soul and she was everything, everything, everything, and she was, they were, and (oh, oh gods, oh) he was wildpurest sensation, plenary surrender, ecstatic enraptured climactic consummation everything (oh gods) everything (oh gods) everything and (oh gods yes) they were everything and now he was (oh, oh gods) he was (OH) he was hers, he was hers, he was oh (!GODS!) he was hers as he came supplicant unprecedented and she wrapped her arms around him and whispered I love you through his entire being, more than and more than, and kissed him like there was nothing else in the world but this…

..and Cerberus, as beyond words as he’d ever been, found himself unable to do anything more than gaze at Kia in a state of amazed reverie as she smoothly shifted positions on the bed to kneel beside him. She smiled gently, a little impishly. “Feeling better, yeah?” she said with a wink, and placed the palm of her hand on his forehead. :Get some sleep, babe: she Mindsent with Compel, taking advantage of his Protect still being down, and in entranced tractable rapture, he fell readily into unconsciousness. Kia kissed him lightly and stood, gathered some scattered items of clothing from on top of the bed, repositioned the bedcover to ensure he’d stay warm, and made her way downstairs, privately but without reservation delighted.

 ----

 Cerberus, rested and freshly showered and impeccably dressed in an all-black silk nightwear ensemble and robe, his hair still slightly damp and falling loose around his shoulders, entered the loungeroom slowly, almost cautiously, meeting Kia’s eyes with an intense focus as he did so. She smiled idly up at him from where she was lying stretched across the sofa and put the book she’d been reading aside. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said. “You’re looking quite unfairly hot right now. I’m not sure you should be, but…whatever. I’m fine with it.” She grinned. “I might even take some of the credit.”

Cerberus chuckled quietly. “You probably deserve all of the credit, darkling.” He walked over to sit opposite her and looked at her almost in study, a slight frown on his face, contemplative and in consideration for some time before he asked, sincerely and seriously, “What did you do to me?”

“Well, hopefully gave you the best orgasm ever, but I think you might mean more specifically, yeah?” He indicated agreement, and she continued. “Immerse and Possess, the succubus experience deluxe. Everything but the Take.” Kia smiled again. “I’m pretty good, you know,” she said haughtily.

Cerberus acknowledged this with a nod and soft laugh of assent. “I… We’ve had some marvellous sex, darkling, truly, but you… That… I can’t… You…” He shook his head. “Damn it, I really thought I’d have things together by now.” He sighed heavily, smiled a little, and sniffled. “Apparently I’ve forgotten how to talk.”

Kia laughed. “Babe, you’re sick and full of meds and, well, let’s face it, still a little fuckstruck, so…”

 “I’m what now?”

 Kia smiled, gentle victorious, and blew him a kiss.

 :Mine.:

 ----

[lifblogs]

#SPNDBCC | Domestic | @foundfamily4eva

READ ON AO3

To Sam Winchester’s utmost surprise, he was starting to enjoy doing laundry. Yes, it was something he’d always had to do, but without having to hunt, it was different. There was no sorting through his pile of clothes that had just grown larger over two to three weeks without getting washed to see what ones had to be thrown out. Before, he’d keep the jeans with a bullet hole, or a tear, a still reddish-brown bloodstain. It was small, so what was the point in throwing it away? However, he did used to have to throw away severely bloodied clothes that hydrogen peroxide, antibacterial soap, and stain remover couldn’t take care of.

He threw those shirts and jeans out now too. Even had to throw out some boxers. (Blood could seep in deep.) His laundry had only been unwashed for a week now, and he actually had time to do it. Some part of him still found it unbelievable.

So after sorting through his clothes, finding which ones he had to throw away, he sorted by fabrics and colors. He liked doing it, and this time of retrospection, doing this alone in his room, he found himself humming a Green Day song. Wow, he hadn’t listened to Green Day in forever. It was always Dean’s music that serenaded his ears with extraordinary guitar techniques, and while he did like it, he liked soft rock, older alternative… that kind of stuff.

The night before he’d actually had time to listen to his own music choices, and he’d fallen asleep to Billy Joel.

After sorting, he decided it was time for breakfast. It was nothing fancy, just eggs, bacon, and toast. But he got to eat breakfast with Dean, and they didn’t have to rush, or outright skip it. There was no hunt to go on, no pressing matters, no world to save, no hurts to fix. With Cas back, Dean was happier than ever, and he was trying to indoctrinate Cas into the domestic life, teaching him how to sort and do laundry, how to iron clothes. Sam found it absurdly amusing. Cas still didn’t seem to know what he was doing.

Lately, Dean had even been out shopping, buying Cas t-shirts, jeans, flannel… Sam actually liked seeing him in his new clothes. He looked part of the family. Which he was.

Cas had sat beside Dean for breakfast, probably with a hand on his brother’s thigh. Once Sam finished up, he cleaned the dishes. His shoulders and chest felt free, not like there was a fifty-pound weight on him. He was light, airy. Relaxed. No more problems would come their way. Cas had fixed Heaven, which Sam was very proud of him since Heaven was what had hurt Castiel so much. He’d now faced it and fixed it for himself, and he seemed to be healing at an accelerated pace. With their son as God (who popped in just about every day for game night, movie night, popcorn, to snuggle his teddy bear, to eat Krunch Cookie Crunch and find the toy in the box, to go out shopping for groceries with his dads) there certainly wouldn’t be any problems. 

As Sam went to go brush his teeth, and then throw his first pile of laundry into the wash, he just sat on the dryer, contemplative.

He should teach Jack. He’d started at one point, even reading up on how to handle gifted children. Yes, he’d learned about his powers, and hunting, but he was three. There was so much more he needed to know, and the chance of regular schooling had never existed for him.

Throughout the day, Sam finished his laundry, waiting in between the loads by watching movies in the Dean Cave with his family.

“Sammy, I can’t believe you’re being so responsible,” Dean mused, a little bit of disbelief sharp in his tone.

Sam gave him a flat stare, which made Cas let out a chortling sound. “Dean, I’ve always been responsible with chores.”

Dean shrugged. “Not always. I’m the one usually doing the cooking and cleaning.”

Sam put a hand out, arguing, “Yeah, that’s ‘cause you like it.”

His brother tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, you’re right. I do. Speaking of, I think the library needs to be dusted.”

The credits were rolling for the movie, and Cas took care of turning off the TV and the player after popping the disk out. He put it away in the entertainment center, and then he followed Dean out.

Sam went to his room to fold his clothes, enjoying how soft they were, how clean they were. He’d been able to luxuriate with them; using fabric softener, dryer sheets, a strong and fresh smelling laundry detergent.

Afterwards, he went to the library, compiled a few books, and some articles and lessons on his laptop, along with notebooks, a pen, pencil, and a highlighter, and he prayed to Jack.

Jack arrived immediately, raising his hand in greeting, smiling so brightly.

“How are things?” Sam asked.

“Good. They’re good.”

“So… I thought, maybe, you should do school,” Sam surmised, rubbing the back of his head. “You never had the chance, and you’re… in a way… technically a toddler. I think it’d be nice for you to learn some subjects.”

Jack’s smile grew, and he took a seat beside him. “Of course, Sam!”

So Sam taught him, and Dean actually decided to teach Jack literature. Sam was smiling at that. He’d always known Dean was a book worm when it came to classics and ancient texts. Now he had time to relax and explore that more.

Sam started off with teaching Jack math, and then switched to the sciences. Castiel stepped in to teach him history. Then, at Jack’s request, Castiel added Latin and Enochian to his classes. Sam was able to help a great deal with that.

Jack would visit for his classes every day, and he’d laugh with his dads, and hug them, and even help Dean and Cas with chores. He let Sam do his laundry and go clothes shopping for him as well.

They were relaxed. This was the domestic life, and Sam never wanted to give it up for anything.

[nightingiall]

things i love about you: you meet me in the afterglow

a post-little do you know drabble series // story page

Niall knew it from the moment he walked into the kitchen.

The afternoon light filtered in through the window, diffused slightly by the holographic decal Mona had applied to the top half. It casted soft rainbow flecks over her skin as she sat at the table, knees pulled up to her chest, a cup of tea balanced on top. She didn’t have to turn her face for him to know those big brown eyes were glazed over, lost in a thought that took her to some faraway place. He could tell instead from the deep hunch of her spine, rigid angles where there should be soft curves, her head slouched back in a defeated sort of slump.

Right, he remembered. Today was a Mimi day.

“Hiya, darlin’,” he greeted, mostly just to divert her attention away from whatever was swirling through her mind and focused on him instead. She flinched the slightest bit at the sound of his voice. Clearly, she was so lost in thought that she hadn’t even heard him come in.

A sharp intake of breath sounded as wide eyes flicked to him. She sent him a forced sort of smile. “Hi,” she murmured as he pressed his lips to her forehead. He had to give it to her. If he didn’t know her as well as he did then he’d have thought she was absolutely fine from the calm lilt of her voice. “Tea? I can put the kettle back on.”

“Sure.” They moved about the kitchen in a familiar shuffle. He washed his hands at the sink as she set the kettle over the stovetop, her spine cracking as she twisted back in a stretch. His fingers found her forgotten cuppa on the kitchen table because he couldn’t help it, and sure enough, it was cold, despite being more than half full. He held back a deep sigh.

When his eyes found Mona again, she was reaching up into the cupboard for a mug. “Takeout for dinner?”

He leaned against the counter as he loosened his tie, trying to appear nonchalant in his attempt to scan her features for a hint as to what could be bothering her. “Thought we were gonna try and use up all the veg that’s about to go bad in the fridge.”

Her shoulders heaved with a sigh. “Yeah, but I don’t feel like cooking tonight,” she said, that strained smile pulling along her lips again as she plopped a tea bag into the mug. “Let’s just order out and hang out on the couch. We can do a stir fry or something tomorrow.”

He knew the signs. Faraway, unfocused eyes. Constantly thrumming fingers. Tensed muscles in her shoulders. Not for the first time, he wished he could just press his ear to her head and hear all those buzzing thoughts that made her so unhappy. At least then, he’d know exactly what to do or what to say to make it all better. At least then, he wouldn’t feel this balloon of unease swelling within him at his complete helplessness, his complete inability to take all her pain away.

As always, he was at a loss whenever they ended up here. So instead, he gently smoothed her flyaway strands, tucking them gingerly into her bun, and said, “Sure. Whatever you want.”

And, so, perhaps he couldn’t fix everything, despite how desperately he would have loved to, but he could do what he knew best. He loved her a little extra. Ordered her favorite Indian takeout and ran her a bath with that fizzy lavender soap she adored. Curled up with her on the couch, a rom com playing on the television as they ate. Pressed soft kisses to her hairline when she leaned into him, her head nestled comfortably over his heart, his fingers twirling around the soft curls at the nape of her neck.

He held her as they watched the telly, close and snug, getting lost in an alternate world, a perhaps unrealistic reality, in which the two main characters fell in love and were pushed apart by some avoidable conflict but ended up with a happily ever after anyway. Except he liked to believe that perhaps a happily ever after didn’t have to be unrealistic. That he and Mona could have that.

Sure, there would always days that presented a challenge, and maybe they would get into avoidable conflicts too—they surely have gotten into their fair share of arguments over the years—but in the end, they would always choose each other. He surely made an effort to choose her every day. He knew she felt the same—or at least he hoped she did, as he often found his mind cast with a shadow of doubt on the days she got all distant on him.

Like today.

Glancing down, he found that she was fast asleep, her shoulders rising and falling rhythmically with each slow breath she took. He sighed, arms tightening the slightest bit around her. His beautiful Mona darling. She was so close and yet so far. “I wish I could read your mind,” he whispered into her hairline, eyes closed as he snuggled into her. “I wish I could make it all better.”

Mona simply snuffled slightly in sleep, fingers flexing where it was curled into the fabric of his shirt. Her lips were quirked upwards the tiniest bit, and he gently trailed a knuckle over the curved edge, savoring it. He hoped that in rest, at least, whatever bothered her while she was awake left her alone in her dreams.

With another sigh, he pressed a fleeting kiss to the corner of that tiny smile, holding her close for a few more moments before shifting slightly so he could take her to bed. A muffled sound left her throat when he sat up. “I fell asleep?”

Niall couldn’t help the way he chuckled softly when she let out the cutest yawn, bringing her arms around his neck. “Yep. Bedtime for you.”

A quiet groan left her lips, feet kicking out slightly as he lifted her off the couch and carried her towards their room. “I can walk.”

He shook his head at her, rolling his eyes fondly. She could barely keep her eyes open. “I know.” She yawned again against his chest. “I just like carrying you.”

She hummed, a smile curving along her lips, and he relished in the sight of it. “Yes, I know, you can never get enough of me,” she mumbled, voice quiet and sleep muddled.

At this, he laughed, pushing their bedroom door open with his hip. “You know it, my darlin’.” He jostled her to wake just enough so she could pull back the covers, and he gently lowered her into the bed, tucking the blankets snug around her as she nuzzled into her pillow, already being pulled back into sleep. “Sweet dreams, my love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.”

“You’re not coming to bed?” she asked, already sounding so far away, halfway to dreamland.

He smiled, flicking off the light. “I’ll just go check everything is in place and I’ll be right there.”

“’M’kay,” she murmured. Another deep breath and he knew she was already out.

And, so, his nightly ritual commenced. He checked that the doors were locked, made sure any candles were put out, any appliances unplugged, any leaky taps dealt with. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and moisturized—a habit he’d picked up at his girlfriend’s insistence. When his workday could sometimes be a whirlwind, having some sort of daily routine helped him feel more grounded and less like life was mindlessly whisking him along. It was the little things, he found, that he enjoyed most.

He was just grabbing their phones from the coffee table when Mona’s started ringing, Harlow’s face lighting up the screen. He answered. “Hey, Harley.”

“Niall, hi!” As usual, Harlow sounded like she was juggling numerous tasks. In the background, he could hear something sizzling, like she was cooking, as well as the sound of her pouring out food for her new cat. He remembered Mona mentioning that Harlow and Zayn had been having trouble in paradise, but it seemed like the cat was saving them for now as Zayn had texted him numerous photos of them cuddling with the furry creature, whom they had named Fudge. “Is Mona around?”

He sat on the couch, flicking through the mail that had come in earlier to make sure there were no bills in the mix. “She just fell asleep. Today was a Mimi day.”

Harlow audibly paused. “Oh, damn, I forgot. Not a good session, I assume?”

“I guess not, but I’m not sure,” he said, rubbing his fingers over his eyes with a sigh. “She was very quiet tonight and she hardly ate. But she didn’t talk about it and I decided it probably wasn’t the time to ask.”

Harlow hummed in thought. “She’s been going to Mimi for a long time though. Does she still have rough sessions often?”

“Not really.” Niall fiddled with the edge of an open envelope, trying to remember how often he came home to find her already in bed. “Nothing has ever been as bad as the first few, but she has her bad days. Usually I let her stew over whatever she’s thinking about for a while and she’ll fess up eventually.”

Harlow huffed. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Niall chuckled quietly in response. “I have news that might make her feel better. What are you guys doing next weekend?”

He raised a brow, wondering where she was going with this. Harlow’s plans tended to be slightly over the top. “Mmm, nothing so far, I don’t think. What’s the news?”

It was as though he could feel her enthusiasm through the phone, like it was taking everything in her not to simply squeal. “Guess!”

Niall snorted. “Give me a hint?”

“Ugh, never mind I’ll just tell you I’m too excited.” This made him laugh because of course she was. “Deepa is having a baby!”

Niall didn’t think he was a particularly dramatic person but a gasp escaped him at this. “Holy shit! That’s incredible!”

“Yeah!” Harlow cackled. “She’s like four months along now and she only now told everyone. Can you believe that? I don’t even know how she kept it a secret for so long. Mom said that she’s showing quite a bit and that she couldn’t believe that no one noticed. Apparently she’s been wearing baggy clothes all the—”

In the background, Zayn could be heard huffing at Harlow to get to the damn point, which made Niall grin. It was moments like this that had him really missing when they all lived in the same building. They didn’t see nearly as much of each other as they used to, life pulling them all in different directions, but it made them more excited for all the things they planned to do together, like their annual cabin trip next month for the holidays.

Now, Harlow huffed, and Niall imagined her waving Zayn off. “Anyway, I was thinking we could all go to Cali next weekend to surprise her. She’s not doing all the gender reveal and baby shower things and I know I could just go when she gives birth but I can’t wait that long!”

Niall laughed. “I love that idea. I’ll tell Mona about it in the morning and let you know, but I’m sure she’ll be excited to go too.”

This time, Harlow actually did squeal. “Thanks, Nially Poo! I’m so excited. I know this will lift Mona’s spirits too.”

Niall definitely hoped so.

~

The plane jolted from a minor bout of turbulence and Niall’s eyes snapped open.

Mona turned to him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You alright?”

He belatedly realized that he’d yanked on her hand when he flinched and he murmured an apology. Mona simply smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead before going back to gazing out the window. As he rested his head on her shoulder again, he noticed that as the plane sunk through the clouds, they were getting closer and closer to the ground, tiny squares of houses and swirling highways now visible in the distance. “We’re almost there?”

“Mhmm.” She gave his hand a comforting squeeze without looking at him. “Landing in fifteen minutes or so.”

He felt a bit bad. She was the one who needed cheering up, who’d been out of sorts for the past few days, and yet the morning was spent with her being the one to comfort him. He’d woken up with a raging headache, probably because everyone had come over to their place and they’d spent the night catching up and drinking cheap wine.

Mona had held his hand all throughout the cab ride over to the airport, rubbed his back gently as he tried not to be sick in the middle of the security checkpoint, and when they’d finally gotten onto the plane, she let him hide in the curve of her neck, warm fingers skimming gently along the hairs at the nape of his neck, only having to murmur, “Go to sleep, my love,” before he was out like a light.

Now, she passed him a bottle of water, instructing him to drink. She’d even saved him a packet of peanuts and some cookies the flight attendants must’ve passed out earlier. He accepted them happily, pressing a kiss to her cheek in thanks.

“Mate,” Liam groaned on his other side. He and Harry had seats on the other end of the aisle. “That wine fucked me up. What was in that shit?”

Harry scoffed, looking equally worse for wear. They were all really about to show up at the Kotecha house looking miserable and hungover. “Diesel fuel, probably,” Harry muttered, nursing a paper cup of coffee.

Niall drained his water and finished his snacks, feeling a lot better than he did earlier. After placing his rubbish in the bag held by the attendant, he turned back to Mona, tucking his face into crook of her shoulder again and comfortable settling in, even though they were going to land in a few minutes. “Did you get some rest?” he asked, catching the sight of the airport through the window, the runway closely approaching as the plane curved to the side.

“A little.” The corner of her mouth twitched and he knew it was a lie. It took a great amount of effort not to let out a resigned sigh.

From then, it was a whirlwind of activity, from landing to grabbing their luggage from the overhead compartment to filing out and meeting up in the waiting area. Harlow’s dad and Mona’s brother would be picking everyone up, and as they waited for them outside, Harlow teased the boys about their zombie-like appearances.

“Raina!” Harry called out excitedly when Nick and Mona’s mom pulled up to the curb. “You didn’t come back to New York like you promised!”

Raina laughed, letting Harry gather her into a hug when she got out the car. “I know, sorry. Soon, for sure!”

Nick pulled Mona into a quick embrace when he approached, grabbing her bag. “I think Mom likes Harry more than she likes us,” he said to her before greeting Niall with a handshake and hug as well.

Mona shrugged. “Even Niall’s mom likes Harry more than her own kids.”

Niall gasped in faux offense. “Hey!”

Mona laughed. “It’s true, though!”

When they pulled up to the Kotecha house, it was decorated with a slew of golden lights and flowers, draped across the doors and windows and railings. Niall couldn’t help but stand there for a moment and stare in awe.

“It’s Diwali,” Mona explained when she handed him his bag. Niall was familiar with the holiday. They’d celebrated it once a few years ago when the Kotechas came over to visit Harlow in New York. Though he had a feeling this was on a completely different level than that. The house could probably be seen from space with how bright it was.

“Holy shit,” he murmured when they walked inside. If the exterior was bright then inside was an absolute explosion. Niall imagined this was what it must feel like to step into a star. Not to mention the absolute heavenly aromas that were emanating from all corners—flavorful food being prepared in the kitchen, deep sandalwood from the burning incense, slight muskiness from the marigolds. He took great care not to step on the intricate swirls of colorful powder on the floor in front of the door as Harlow’s sisters, Pari and Jyoti, came rushing out to greet them.

“You’re here!” came a voice from the stairs. Niall looked up to find Deepa, Harlow’s eldest sister, and he smiled at her when she gave them all a tight hug. Harlow was not wrong, she was definitely showing quite a bit. He’d love to hear the stories of how she managed to keep this a secret for so long, which she promised to him with a laugh that she’d share later.

Harlow’s mom then ushered them all into the dining room to feed them. There was so much food that Niall couldn’t even decide what he wanted. There was that lusciously creamy paneer that he loved and the big flaky samosas that he loved and the mouthwatering but spicy biriyani that he, you guessed it, loved. Mona caught him reaching for the samosas and grinned, telling Harlow’s mom, “Seema Aunty, you’re gonna have to give Niall some more recipes because he makes samosas better than I can even dream of now.”

Both Seema and Raina gasped delightedly at this information, showering him in compliments until his cheeks felt as though they might just burn right off. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Mona holding back her laughter at his presumably tomato-red face, and he couldn’t even be miffed about it because at least she was laughing and having a good time.

After everyone showered and changed, they all sat down for prayers, indulged on delicious sweets, and then helped with lighting all the oil lamps to place in all corners of the house. There was no room for darkness in the Kotecha house. As Niall lit one, he found himself wishing that he could somehow take away all of Mona’s pain, wished that he could grab whatever was bothering her right out of her body and burn it away in the rows of oil lamps lined up all around them.

“Well,” came a voice to his left, and he glanced over to find Mona’s mom. She was smiling knowingly, eyes sparkling from the light bouncing all around the room. “Have you decided when you’re going to do it?”

He knew instantly she was referring to the proposal. He hadn’t brought the ring with him on this trip, deciding that he’d rather get to the bottom of whatever war was raging inside Mona’s head first, but he knew Raina was looking forward to the good news from the both of them. His cheeks prickled with heat again. “Erm, I dunno. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

Raina huffed exasperatedly, waving her hands. “You kids and this obsession with the right moment. I understand but I’m getting a little impatient.” They both laughed at this, Raina shoving his shoulders playfully. He looked up to find Mona only to spot her near the window, gazing out with a distant look in her eyes as she held an oil lamp in her hands. His heart twinged sharply at the sight.

As the night progressed, he noticed these short flickers shadowing over her features. She’d laugh along with Harlow’s sisters, cheeks tinging pink, until something in her head pulled her back. Or she’d reach for him randomly, a graze of fingers, a nudge of shoulders pressed together, and he’d know that it was because she was seeking comfort. He could hardly take it any longer. All he wanted was to pull her to the side and just ask her to tell him, just talk to him, just…anything except for this endless restlessness of knowing something was wrong but not knowing what to do to make it better.

Everyone laughed and shared stories and ate some more food and sweets. At the end of the night, he and Mona left with Raina, Nick, and Nick’s girlfriend, Kassie, to go back to the Shaw house. Niall joked along with Nick and Kassie while watching Mona from the corner of his eye. She’d curled into her mom’s shoulder, Raina’s arms wrapped snuggly around her, as they spoke quietly with each other.

When they got to the house, Mona told him to leave their bags in her old room and that she’d be there soon before she followed her mom up the stairs. Kassie made some tea and Niall sat around with her and Nick for a while. Nick caught Niall glancing towards the stairs and smiled. “You know,” he said, “Mo’s relationship with Mom has gotten so much better over the years. Probably even better than it ever was. And I never did thank you for that.”

Niall straightened in his seat slightly. “Thank me?”

Nick shrugged. “Yeah. Being with you, it…saved her, in a way. After dad died she’d sort of been a shell of herself. But now she’s more open. Like we’ll talk for just a few minutes and it’s like we communicate so much better now. It’s been the best thing.”

Niall didn’t know how to tell him that if that were the case, then Mona had saved him too. He’d been a completely different person before he met her, angry at the world, lost and confused. Soulmates was what she had called them once, and it never felt more true than now.

He went to bed thinking this over. There were so many things that would have been different in his life if he’d never met Mona. He probably wouldn’t have reconnected with his own family, wouldn’t have met all of his wonderful friends, wouldn’t have felt this contentment nestling in his chest. A thought of the universe working hard to help stars align—to ensure all the pieces are in the correct place so a moment like that could happen, so two complete strangers could meet and somehow the entire course of their lives would change—settled over him as he closed his eyes.

“You asleep?” Mona was closing the door behind her when he looked up, smiling at the clothes he’d laid out for her so she wouldn’t have to go digging in her bag in the dark.

“Nope. Waiting for you.”

At this, she huffed out a chuckle. “How sweet,” she drawled, pulling on her sleep shorts and oversized tee. Niall held up the edge of the sheet for her and she grinned, immediately crawling in. “Mmm,” she hummed as she settled in, curling into his arms, “I’ve waited all day for this.”

Niall laughed and held her tighter, relishing in her breathy giggles against his neck. Their legs tangled together beneath the sheet, Mona sticking her cold fingers under his shirt to warm them up. He didn’t flinch at this anymore, not after years of the gesture. In fact, he always looked forward to that cool sensation against his spine. It reminded him that the love of his life was near and close.

He turned to press a kiss to her skin when he noticed her glassy eyes. Trailing his fingers across her cheekbones confirmed his suspicions. There were tears there recently, the skin slightly puffy and red. He must have frowned at the sight because she was suddenly tapping against the corner of his mouth. “Darlin.”

She took a deep breath, nuzzling in closer. Her voice was a tiny whisper in the dark room. “Can I tell you something?”

On the inside, his heart gave a slight stutter. On the outside, he smiled. “Anything.”

When she looked at him again, all pretenses were up. A storm of anguish swirled in the deep coffee brown of her eyes. “I miss my dad terribly lately.” A slight crack sounded within the syllables and it made his heart ache. “I feel like I’m in such a good place, and things are great, and there’s nothing to complain about. But then I find myself wishing he were here. So I could share these moments with him too.” She let out a shuddery sigh. “It’s like a big, gaping hole in my heart.”

He held her closer. Her words were muffled slightly in the fabric of his shirt. This, he realized, was something he could not fix.

“I wish you met him,” she murmured, “I think he’d love you. Mom says so too.”

Silence cloaked them for a few moments. He couldn’t help but close his eyes in utter defeat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, pressing the words into her hairline. “I wish I could make it all better.”

He felt her smile against his chest and she shifted to look up at him. “But you do.” Warm fingers trailed along his jawline. “Mom helped me realize it. You do make it better.”

A buzz of warmth trickled though the cold dread in his heart. “I do?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. Those eyes, which were dark and blustery before, had softened now, lighting up slightly with her smile. “You fill that dumb gaping hole with love and light. You’re like sunshine, have I ever told you that?” She nestled back into the crook of his elbow to look at him better. “You’re warm and kind and gentle and filled with light, and you love me and I’m so lucky to have that. And I know you worry sometimes. You think I don’t notice but I do.” He huffed out a laugh at this, shaking his head because of course she noticed. He never could figure out how to be subtle when it came to her. “But you shouldn’t. Because whenever I feel lost or crazy or shitty, it’s being with you that helps me feel better. I just wanted you to know that. That I love you and that makes everything better.”

He smiled, heart surging with an indescribable warmth. It bubbled over and filled him up. He wondered if she could feel it when he kissed her. It was relief and satisfaction. It was an overflowing of everything he felt for her. His sweet Mona darling. His soulmate. Perhaps he should have brought the ring after all.

Oh, well. There were other moments. For now, he held Mona close. He’d never let go, and he knew that she never wanted him to.

[elmidol]

Get Ready (NSFW)

Read on AO3

based on this post by me

a thank you to @kylorengarbagedump​ for helping me on part of Kylo’s dialogue that was giving me issues.

----

The mattress squeaked in protest of your movements, and normally such sounds would have caused your heart to race in fear of being caught. There was presently also no need to silence the moans that spilled from your lips, nor the way you were panting as you chased your orgasm. It was building with every slick, wet slide of your finger along your clit. Each clench of your walls around three of those digits as you thrust them into yourself. You planted your feet firmly, raising your hips off the bed and pushing in more deeply. No one else was around to hear you. The post you had been sent to was not to be viewed as a punishment. You were sent there as a spy for reconnaissance. But kriff it had been a boring day. You whimpered, your head lolling towards the side. Drool dribbled out of the corner of your mouth to pool on the pillow. You imagined that the bedding underneath your ass was just as wet. Working a fourth finger into yourself, you imagined being filled with a thick, hard cock.

Maker, you should have brought some toys. You slid your free hand down the length of your body, beginning at your throat, which you squeezed, and going further. Tugging at a nipple. Drawing sloppy swirls on your lower belly. Another swear erupted, this time accompanied by a groan. There was a chiming ring from across the room on your dresser. You shook your head. It wasn’t important, it wouldn’t be important. And you were so close. “Oh,” you whined, fluttering your eyelashes. Undulating your hips in time with the thrusting fingers, you worked to get that delectable image back. Someone nameless. Their identity didn’t matter, only their cock. Thick, stretching you open. The muscles in your legs tightened at that thought. A swooping sensation traveled from your stomach to lower. You were clenching around your fingers now, and you coated those of your other hand in the wetness to assist in toying with your cilt. You flicked it back and forth, worming two fingers up and down with the nub between them.

You rolled onto your knees, face pressed into the pillow out of habit to stifle the scream of pleasure as you came. You continued to ride your fingers to draw out the orgasm for as long as you could. Felt your toes curling, your hot breath creating moisture against the pillow and the lower half of your face. The ringing was starting anew. You shook your head, thinking how much trouble you were going to be in if it turned out to be one of your superiors. That only made you moan at the thought of being punished. You collapsed onto your side, both your hands between your legs, and stared at the wall. Tried to catch your breath. Allowed yourself to sink into the calm that was spreading throughout all of your limbs. A sort of tingling, a vibration and pulsing that you had not felt in quite some time.

For a third time the chime began to sound. This time when you swore it was in unison with leaping to your feet. You darted into the refresher to straighten yourself out. Scrubbed your hands with soap and water, wondered for a moment why you were worried about the scent in the room. Whoever was on the other side of the transmission wouldn’t be able to smell you. You felt your face flush and bit down on your bottom lip. Then jerked back to attention. The caller was persistent. Was it an emergency? You did not want it to be one, did not want to hear that someone had been killed, but the alternative was that this person was going to be pissed off.

You scrambled into your uniform, pulled your hair back in a way that would allow it to have the appearances of being in regulation, and smoothed the front of your shirt before accepting the transmission.

The face and torso that met you was not who you had been expecting at all. You felt dizzy, vertigo threatening to make you lose your footing. You were already nearly breathless from your previous activities, however now you did not know what breathing even was. “Su-Supre-reme Leader.” Maker take you for stuttering. You bowed your head, unable to meet his gaze. Those eyes were some of the most intense that you had ever seen. They were brown, but sometimes they felt as though they were fire that could melt your soul.

“What was so important that you failed to answer?” Nevermind that it had been more than one call that you had missed.

“I…” You licked your lips, wetting them though your mouth felt as dry as a desert. “My comm unit was…” You touched your throat with the tips of two fingers, feeling a tightening in it. Furrowing your brow, you worked to carry on speaking, well aware that your silence would be punished. “I was away from--” Now the invisible force that constricted around your windpipe like a vise made itself known in full. Trembling, you clutched at your neck with both of your hands and met the Supreme Leader’s gaze with tears beginning to form as you fought to breathe. He would accept no lies. No matter how much it would kill you to admit the truth, he would kill you if you did not. “I...was...mas...tur...ba...t-ting.”

The pressure lessened enough that you could greedily gulp air. It felt little different than taking a drink of water. “Show me.” Those words were spoken with such a calm curiosity that you could not tell if he was interested to watch you or simply bored with life at the moment. Perhaps it was to humiliate you. The blue hologram warbled, static cutting in for the briefest of seconds. That did not interrupt the connection his powers had against your throat.

Still shaking, you stepped backwards once, tentatively, unsure what he would do. His eyes flicked along your face then down to your chest, where your hands had shifted. You gave them a small squeeze. Tried to buy yourself some time, not because you were flustered by his command--well, partly that--but more that you were still sensitive from what you had just done. You backed up again and again until the mattress hit the backs of your legs, the material bending to your weight.

You climbed onto the bed, hooking your thumbs into the waist of your pants and tugging them off as you did so. Your underwear were still on...for another three seconds. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren had raised one hand, palm facing you, and hooked two fingers. That was all he had needed to do to rid you of your panties. Or maybe he hadn’t needed to do even that. Perhaps that was just for your benefit. You squirmed under his scrutiny. His gaze was resting on your thighs, which you parted. You glanced up at the ceiling. Kriff, you were already wet. Not just with your cum, but from the arousal spreading through you as you realized that the Supreme Leader wanted this. He wanted you. To watch you.

Sucking the tips of two fingers, you dipped them between your folds and made scissoring motions. Parted your folds enough to give him a glimpse but not enough for him to truly see how wet you were becoming. There was a slight twitch of his nose, as though he was fighting off a snarl. The pressure at your throat increased. You obediently spread your legs, now in full view. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren leaned back. The transmission warbled again. This time when it corrected, you could see the man in full. He was seated at a desk of some sort. Alone. His feet stretched out. He was sitting so sloppily, but that was just as well given the fact that it gave you full view of what he was doing. He placed one of his large hands on his thigh and started to move it towards the bulge you could see beginning to tent his pants.

“Supreme Leader,” you whispered, eyes wide. That gaze again threatened to sear your face. You lowered your eyes, feeling unworthy. Peeked at him through your eyelashes, because, Maker help you, you did not want to look away. You used your index and ring finger to spread your lips open wide and ran the pad of your middle finger up and down between them. Smearing the wetness along your opening and your clit until your cunt was glistening. Your breathing was growing louder, reaching your ears. But it was not so loud that you couldn’t hear the alteration in Kylo Ren’s breathing. They were deeper, more primal. The grip around your throat clenched again before it trailed along your collarbone. Down. It moved with his eyes along your body.

You pinched one nipple as the Supreme Leader used the Force to knead your other breast. He opened the front of his pants. Your jaw could have hit the floor. Even over the transmission, you could see just how large he was. How proportionate his dick was to the rest of his body. He wrapped one gloved hand around it, allowing you to better appreciate its girth. “Please.” The word tumbled from your mouth of its own accord.

“Do you think you can take it? Your fingers were enough to keep you from answering.”

You wet your lips again, sliding three fingers into yourself. His mouth quirked on one side in the beginnings of a smirk. The pressure on your breast crawled down, split into two. You wondered if his hands would feel the same, they were so large, they would spread your thighs like he was doing with the Force. Kylo Ren stroked his cock, its head bobbing. You hungrily watched him swipe his thumb along its tip. You leaned back and planted your feet on the side of the mattress, shifting into an awkward angle that also allowed you to watch him as he observed you.

“Please.”

“Perhaps you should occupy your mouth before you disappoint me.” You did not flinch at his words, simply whimpered. Then felt something shift along your tongue. It stretched your jaw, opening your mouth. You could feel it thrust forward into your mouth and towards the back of your throat in time with the first roll of his hips. Stars, he was so big. You were starting to drool, saliva running from your tongue as you tried to feel more of him. But it wasn’t the same, not quite, as having him in your mouth there in person.

He yanked you up onto your knees with the Force. You kept rotating your fingers against your clit and toying with your entrance in alteration. Kylo Ren stood. His hand wrapped around his cock was about the only part of him that you could see in the transmission. Just the one hand. The other was using the Force, making you feel like it was at the back of your head, shoving your head down to take in more of him. You gagged around the cock that wasn’t physically in your mouth. Whined in want. Maker, you wanted him to fuck you, to use you. The invisible hand jerked back your head. Shoved you down again. You could see his hand, only part of his cock. The rest was not visible to you, a fantastic trick that strengthened the illusion that he was fucking your mouth. Your jaw nearly popped with the next thrust. You clenched around your fingers, which you had started to push into yourself.

“Are you ready for me?” He knew. He could see you completely from whatever angle he had the comm device. You whimpered and tried, failed to nod your head. Gurgled out a distorted yes, supreme leader that was wet, obnoxious, a choked out noise. He shoved you back. The hand in your hair tugged, pulling so that you tilted back. He used the Force to change the angle of the comm device on his end. You were looking up at his face. “Hmm?”

“Yes...Supreme Lea...der…” You shuddered, preparing yourself for rejection. That would be the perfect punishment for failing to answer him. It would shame you. Hurt you.

Instead you were shoved backwards. Those wonderful hands, the tendrils in the Force that were as thick as Kylo Ren’s hands, forcing your legs to bend; knees pressed towards your breasts. Ass lifted off the bed. His cock, so thick, beginning to push into you. You felt the head began to part you, stretching you. Opening you to take him inch by inch. Your hands were bunching up the bedsheets as you scrambled to grab something, anything. He was so big. You felt full, felt like he was going to split you in half but you loved it.

“Oh, please!”

“You feel so tight.” You wondered if he could actually feel you. You hoped he could. Hoped that he could feel how you were clenching, how you were so wet for him. “Play with your clit.” You once more obeyed without question. Fingers swiping along your clit, pressing down. Giving it lazy swirls whilst pressing the heel of your hand against your pubis. Kylo Ren rolled his hips. You could see him on the transmission as he once more surprised you with his capabilities by changing where your device was. So that he was staring down at you.

And as much as you enjoyed that angle, you wanted to see his cock. Wanted to--you moaned in delight. Whether or not he could read your mind, you did not know. All you knew was that the Supreme Leader ensured you could see his entire body once more in the transmission just as he could see yours. You watched his hand slide on his cock. Felt it inside of you.

Another hand around your throat, tightening, cutting off your air, letting up so that you could breathe, choking you again. Your walls constricted in time with your throat. It was not just your fingers toying with your clit either then. Kylo Ren sent out yet more tendrils. These ones explored the sides of your clit. Let the nub slide away from their grasp. Sought it out again.

He pounded into you, the mattress squeaking. Now you wished there was someone there to hear it. To know that you were going to make the Supreme Leader cum, that he was going to make you cum. You moaned out his title, knowing how much he loved it. He withdrew almost completely. Slammed back into you. His gloved hand going from the base of his cock to the head. The muscles of his abdomen, just visible, tightening. Fuck, you wanted to feel them.

“I can see why this tight cunt kept you from me.” He was growling out his words, so close to cumming. You did not know if you should apologize or not, so you kept silent. Tendrils gripping your hips, forcing them higher into the air. You were nearly seeing stars. Your vision swam. You were screaming in orgasm, feeling him continue to slam into you over and over again. His thrusts were growing more frantic. Shallow. His hips jerking, his hand moving to meet his thrusts just as you were doing the same. Taking more of his cock in. The sound that came from his mouth as he came had you shaking, your body hot and still ready for him to use more.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren shoved you off of him, onto the bed, and removed all of the tendrils of Force energy off of you. The last to leave was the one at your throat. You blinked repeatedly. Weakly moved your legs. Up onto your knees. Feeling empty without him, your cum leaking onto the bedsheets underneath your body. Chest heaving with every unsteady breath. Your eyes were on his softening cock, which he tucked away. Then only his face and torso were visible to you again. Meanwhile you, the complete mess that you were, remained exposed to him in your entirety.

“My ship will be arriving in the next hour. Be sure you are ready to receive me.”

Please, your mind whined as you dared to hope he meant what you so desperately wanted.

[savannah-lim]

The Faellen || Chloe & Savannah

Timing: Current Location: The hospital Parties: @savannah-lim and @chloeinbetween Content: Discussion of abuse, illness, trauma, kidnapping  Summary: Savannah pays a visit to Chloe at the hospital to discuss what happened to her and see if she can help in the investigation.

Savannah could scarcely believe it when she heard the news. She was no stranger to awful things happening in White Crest. She’d witnessed many of them with her own eyes. This was something else though. It wasn’t as simple as a quick death at the hands of a mere monster. The actions of Lydia Griffin had been calculated, deliberate, sustained. She left scars more deep than simple physical wounds. Guiltily, she was glad she had another case to look into, one more excuse to remain in White Crest while she conducted more investigations. She just really, really wished it hadn’t been this. 

Nevertheless, Savannah would do her duty. Griffin might still be out there, and she had all her wealth and resources to help her disappear. If they didn’t act quickly, they might lose her for good. The receptionist at the hospital directed her to the right room. The doctors were reluctant to allow visitors, but an FBI badge did wonders to grant Savannah access to places. She knocked gently, then entered. “Chloe?” she greeted, offering whatever sort of smile she could manage, a pained and subtle one. She wanted Chloe to feel comfortable, to feel safe, but she had experience in cases like this. She knew it likely wouldn’t be an option for this poor woman for some time. “I’m Agent Lim, FBI.” She held out her badge, placing it on the hospital tray for Chloe to inspect, if she wanted. “I know it’s been a long couple of days, but I wondered if you might be able to talk to me.” 

Chloe’s hands had been trembling all morning. She wasn’t really sure why, whether it was a side effect of her medical treatments or a side effect of the poison still in her system, but no matter what she did, the trembling wouldn’t stop. She’d turned on the TV news earlier, to try and catch up with what had been happening over the last four years, but the news didn’t really do recaps, as it turned out, and she was the news right now. Chloe had taken one look at the live footage from Lydia’s home, and turned off the TV with an ache in her stomach. She looked up at the door when it opened, tensing up at the sight of a stranger that wasn’t a doctor. She swallowed, her smile even weaker and more fleeting that Savannah’s. "Agent Lim," Chloe repeated slowly, picking it up off the hospital tray and reading the name on it, before setting it down on the tray before she dropped it. "I honestly wouldn't be able to tell if this is fake or not." If Savannah was using a disguise to come here and threaten her or kill her, Chloe just hoped it would be quick. She shifted in her bed, rubbing the rash that had spread up her neck yesterday morning. "I, uhh, yeah, sure. I, um, I've already talked to Detective Agatha Keen. But fire away.”

“You can call me Savannah, okay?” Savannah had enough years under her belt that she wasn’t precious about her title, especially with someone who in all likelihood needed to feel like they were talking to a friend right now, not some government official with their own motives. Savannah did have a motive. It was to see Lydia Griffin brought to justice. She hoped she and Chloe at least had that in common, but experience and a look at the case file had told her this wouldn’t be easy. “Detective Keen is good at what she does. I’ve worked with her.” If Chloe had already bonded with Agatha over being one of the first on the scene, the last thing she wanted was to make her feel like Savannah was coming in and stomping all over her. “In cases like this, it’s quite common for a larger agency to offer assistance. Do you need anything before we get started? A drink or water, some food, some tissues?”

“She’s great. She brought me chocolates. Feel free to help yourself,” Chloe said, pointing at the box of chocolates on her bednight stand, barely touched since Agatha had brought them in. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate them, it was just how little appetite she had right now, even when the alternative was hospital Jello.  “I’ve already got water and tissues. Um, haven’t really been in the mood to eat. And um, you should know that there are things… there are things I can’t talk about. I’m not- I’m not protecting her, I just… I just can’t talk about it.” Because her tongue would swell up and choke her if she tried, because the thought of betraying Lydia was still impossibly painful. “Should I be nervous?”

Of course Agatha had brought chocolates. Somehow that was so… Agatha. Savannah couldn’t help but smile at that. “Well if you need anyone to help catch you up on pop culture, she’s your girl.” Savannah took a seat by the bed, pulling out her notebook and pen. She did her best not to make things personal, to get too invested in her cases, but when she found herself face to face with people like Chloe, it was impossible. “That’s okay. We’ll talk about the things you can talk about.” Chloe’s next question broke Savannah’s heart. “Nervous?” she repeated. “Of me? No. I’m going to investigate as fairly and thoroughly as I can. I know talking might be difficult, but the more we know, the better chance we have to bring Lydia to justice.” 

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” Chloe said. “All I have at the moment is daytime soaps.” She gestured at the tv in the corner of her room. She watched apprehensively as Savannah pulled out her notebook, settling into starting her case. She was kind, but then, Lydia had been kind sometimes. It was hard to trust the intentions she was given. “It’s a reasonable question,” Chloe defended herself with a wry chuckle. “I’m kinda new at the whole talking to the FBI about being held against my will thing.” That flash of personality  faded as she looked away, her chest aching sharply. “This is going to sound fucked up, but… I don’t want to approach this from a justice angle. Or a doing anything to Lydia angle.” She was gone. She wasn’t coming back. But, whispered the loudest voice in her head, if she did, she wouldn’t have wanted you involved in any kind of justice against her. You can’t just betray her like this. Shouldn’t you be loyal? Then the quieter, unpoisoned part of her mind chimed in: Look what happened to Sammy when he betrayed her. “It’s easier-” Chloe started sharply, as if interrupting her own thoughts, “It’s easier if we talk about this in the context of just… telling the truth. Being honest. But, um, ask whatever you like.”

Savannah nodded solemnly. After all this time, the hold Lydia had on her would be difficult to break. She might have been out of the basement, but in so many ways, she was still held captive. That fear and anguish would be with her likely for the rest of her life, but Savannah hoped to help her quiet it. "Talking to the FBI about being held captive isn't a life experience many people go through, thankfully.” But she appreciated Chloe’s offer of honesty, her candor. She knew there were things Chloe would be too scarred to reveal, but Savannah would gather as much information as she could to bring that awful woman who’d done this to her to justice. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, it was difficult to know where to begin. “Do you know where Lydia might be now?” 

“Yeah I heard it’s a hard one to get off the old bucket list.” It wasn’t funny anymore. It might not have ever been funny to begin with. Chloe looked back at Savannah, weighing the question in her mind. Without me. I wasn’t good enough. Chloe squeezed her sheets in her fist, breathing deeply.  She waited. The pain had begun to dull, slowly, until she could unglue her mouth. “No,” Chloe replied, huffing in thought. “She could be anywhere. Peru, Argentina or Ireland. But probably dead. She wouldn’t leave this much evidence behind if she was alive. She’s gotten close to being caught before, I’ve heard. If this was an escape, then I wouldn’t still be here talking with you.” 

"She never spoke about where she might go if she had to escape the authorities? Nothing like that?" Savannah asked, trying to be simultaneously direct, yet gentle. She wasn't sure whether she hoped Chloe was right about Lydia being dead or not. In many ways, it would be easier, but she was an agent of the law. She wasn't supposed to think like that. Savannah had been doing many things she wasn't supposed to recently. It was becoming almost easy. "I'm sorry," Savannah said, because she felt she was supposed to apologise at the thought of that awful woman killing her captives before fleeing. "That's the only reason you think she might be dead? Did you hear her mention anyone who might be out to harm her? If she's done this before, I'm sure she made enemies."

“She had that all figured out years before I showed up on her doorstep,” Chloe replied, shaking her head. She ran her fingers over the bandage on her left arm, tracing over where the bandage glue itched most. That was a much easier pain and ache to feel. “Please don’t apologise,” Chloe said eventually, picking at the threads of the bandage. “If you apologise that I might start thinking about what I should be feeling sorry about, and I really don’t want to do that. She’s been doing this for longer than you would believe. So many people knew. People who agreed and people who didn’t, so. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

"Yeah, she seems as if she was a very intelligent woman," Savannah said, her tone making it clear that in this instance, the words weren't a compliment. She scribbled down a few more words in her notebook. "Noted," she replied as Chloe told her not to apologize. "But you don't need to be sorry for anything, okay?" Savannah said directly. Chloe didn't seem the type to want to be treated with kid gloves, which was for the best, considering Savannah was far more comfortable simply being even-toned and neutral. "You say she's been doing this for a long time. Can you tell me anything about people she might have hurt before and what happened to them? If we know their names, we can at least let their families know." 

“Agatha Keen found their IDs,” Chloe remembered, from when she’d been pressed up against the corner of Lydia’s office, trembling in fear as Agatha had searched the room. “Everyone Lydia has ever had. I know Sammy Metz was shot dead on September 30th, and Lydia killed Anneliese Vandergroot in like… April or May, but I think she was autopsied. Then before that, like summer of last year, a kid called Guillaume. There were more, but I don’t remember much of them.”

Of course, the names on the IDs appeared in the police file Agatha had started, but Savannah felt it was important to get the information from Chloe directly. Chloe could reveal more information than the mere names on little plastic cards could. “Do you know why she did this? What her motivation was?” Savannah asked. “Was it just so she could steal your work or was there another reason?” Besides being a fucking sicko, Savannah thought, but opted against saying out loud. Chloe didn’t need to hear it. 

“Would you believe me if I said she was eating us?” Chloe chuckled bitterly, subconsciously touching her fingers against her lips.  So much of her was gone. So much of her was missing. Most of her life force ripped away from her. A few years ago, Chloe hadn’t even known what that meant, but now she felt it in every muscle ache and stiff movement. No one was going to believe her. The doctors had been slowly trying to characterise all her illness, but they couldn’t work out how so much had gone sideways inside her body in those four years. Chloe winced. “Which I… also accidentally said to someone I thought was part of the paramedic team but turned out was just some rando, so now the news coverage also includes pictures from Hannibal Lecter. So. Oops.”

“I… heard something about that. We didn’t find any charred bones or cooked remains or--” Savannah narrowed her eyes in thought. She had seen so many strange things recently. The reports didn’t make sense, just like her Javier case. Lydia was in her forties, but the evidence of captives being held went back for over fifty years. “I hate that sensationalist crap,” she sighed, then immediately shook her head. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t professional.” She lowered her voice and looked around, as if trying to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard in spite of there not being anyone else in the room. “There are things in this town that don’t make sense. I don’t know how much of what happened outside that house you know about, but… if I told you the things I’d seen, you’d think I was crazy. So when I say you can tell me the truth, I really, really mean it, okay?” 

Chloe did fully shudder at the mental image of Lydia slowly cutting through Sammy’s body like one would a joint of meat, cringing away from the bed in apparent discomfort. “Well, you wouldn’t have,” she agreed quietly. What point was there in telling the truth when the truth was this? But Chloe couldn’t be fucked to work out a half truth that explained it just as well. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve spent four years being held captive by an evil fairy who is so beautiful that no piece of art could ever fully capture it which is why we’re always compulsively making pieces of art as she drains away our life force, because that’s what she eats? No, I didn’t think so.” 

Savannah was quiet and sombre for a moment as Chloe explained. She was grateful to be wearing a blazer, because the hair on the backs of her arms stood on end, stomach tightening itself into knots. Yes, she did believe. She’d seen them with her own eyes. Was this what would have happened to her if that beast from the mushroom ring had got her? If Deidre hadn’t stepped in, would she even have made it as long as Chloe? “I think I’ve seen something like the creature you’re describing before,” she admitted, voice low. She’d seen not just the beasts in the forest, but Regan too. Was Regan capable of something like this? Savannah couldn’t believe that. Surely if all humans were different, all fae were different too. “Did she have wings?” 

Chloe had already settled into a distant state, waiting for the gentle dismissal she’d already had from the psychiatrist, the nurses, the doctor. Sometimes we make new realities to process traumatic situations, they said. Especially considering the possibility of drugs.  No one, of course, could decide what drugs, but they were sure there had been some. Which wasn’t… inaccurate. Being away from Lydia was worse than any hangover or any set of withdrawal symptoms. Worse than the basement. She was jarred out of her thoughts by Savannah’s admission. “You have?” Chloe repeated in utter disbelief. “Yeah. Like a beetle. But she was like 5 foot tall, not five inches." She weighed this new information with a frown. “Are you like… the real version of the X-Files?”

Savannah narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at the description. Like a beetle. She wasn't exactly familiar with the insect world, but that tracked with what she'd seen of Regan's wings, and, from a distance, the fae that had chased her and Deidre. "Are you asking if I'm Mulder?" she asked with a small laugh. "Not exactly. My superiors don't know about the type of things that come up in my investigations. I have to make it palatable for them. But I believe you, Chloe.” She had continued making notes only for her own benefit, but the details would have to change when she typed it up, She’d have to indicate Chloe was having a reaction to her trauma and of course fairies who kidnap people aren’t real. The medical reports should have her up. It was sad how easy it was to dismiss the truth.  “Do you know where you're going to go after you're discharged? Do you have somewhere to stay?"

“I don’t know, Area 51 could all actually be a fairy cover up instead of an alien conspiracy for all I know.” Chloe chuckled beside himself. “You could be here to Men In Black me with the light pen.” Wouldn’t that be nice? Just… forget the last four years had happened, wake up to a life a mystery agency had already fixed for her. Much easier than the long way around. Remembering all of it and living with it every day for however long she had left. It was terrifying, exhilarating. It was also impossible not to include Lydia in the future her mind held. “Yeah, yeah. My brother’s coming to pick me up in a few days, I’m going home with him. There’s just… well, apparently, the last four years fucked up my body. They’re monitoring some last things, because for a while I kept getting worse.”

“Hmm, nope, don’t have one of those,” Savannah said, her tone even, but a tiny smile barely touching the corners of her mouth; an attempt at comfort. “What I know about them, which is unfortunately not a lot, is that they can do things with their words. That they control you. I can’t begin to understand what happened, but I’ll try and figure out something to write in this report that.. that can make sense to them.” Funny how she didn’t really consider herself a ‘normal’ person any more. She’d seen way too much for that. “Where is home for you?” she asked. 

“You should get one. I think it would make you look cooler. Not that you need much help with that,” Chloe chuckled drily, her spirit not quite in the tease. Savannah made her feel calmer than she had all week, but that really didn’t say much at all. It was a relief, not to have to lie about her experiences to someone in a position to help her, even if she had no idea what Savannah really knew. “Well, uh, good luck with that. My brother should understand, but I don’t know about the rest of my family.” One bridge at a time. When she could feel the unbridled hate of Lydia that she should, then she could think about explaining.  “New Jersey. So quite a distance.”

“Of all the odd things I’ve found, the Men In Black memory wiping pen isn’t one of them, sadly.” It was good that Chloe was trying to laugh, trying to joke, trying to have some semblance of a normal conversation in spite of there being nothing normal about this. Savannah gave Chloe a small nod, reaching into her blazer pocket and pulling out a card with her contact information on it. “I hope you find peace after all this, Chloe. I’m sure we’ll speak again, but call me if you need anything, okay? Even if it’s just to talk about how bad the Game of Thrones finale was.” 

[shadowfromthestarlight]

The moment a group of people stormed the Capitol building last Wednesday, news  companies began the process of sorting and commoditizing information that  long ago became standard in American media.

Media firms work backward. They first ask, “How does our target demographic want to  understand what’s just unfolded?” Then they pick both the words and the facts  they want to emphasize.

It’s why  Fox News uses the term, “Pro-Trump protesters,” while New York and The Atlantic use “Insurrectionists.” It’s why conservative media today is stressing how Apple, Google, and Amazon shut down the “Free Speech” platform Parler over  the weekend, while mainstream outlets are emphasizing a new round of  potentially armed protests reportedly planned for January 19th or 20th.

What happened last Wednesday was the apotheosis of the Hate Inc. era, when this  audience-first model became the primary means of communicating facts to the population. For a hundred reasons dating back to the mid-eighties, from the advent of the Internet to the development of the 24-hour news cycle to the end of the Fairness Doctrine and the Fox-led  discovery that news can be sold as character-driven, episodic TV in the  manner of soap operas, the concept of a “Just the facts” newscast designed to  be consumed by everyone died out.

News companies now clean world events like whalers, using every part of the  animal, funneling different facts to different consumers based upon  calculations about what will bring back the biggest engagement kick. The  Migrant Caravan? Fox slices  off comments from a Homeland Security official describing most of the  border-crossers as single adults coming for “economic reasons.” The New York Times counters  by running a story about how the caravan was deployed as a political issue by a Trump White  House staring at poor results in midterm elections.

Repeat this info-sifting process a few billion times and this is how we became, as none other than Mitch McConnell put it last week, a country:

Drifting apart into two separate tribes, with a separate set of facts and separate realities, with nothing in common except our hostility towards each other and mistrust for the few national institutions that we all still share.

The flaw in the system is that even the biggest news companies now operate under the assumption that at least half their potential audience isn’t listening. This leads to all sorts of problems, and the fact that the easiest way to keep your own demographic is to feed it negative stories about others is only the most  obvious. On all sides, we now lean into inflammatory caricatures, because the  financial incentives encourage it.

Everyone monetized Trump. The Fox  wing surrendered to the Trump phenomenon from the start, abandoning its  supposed fealty to “family values” from the Megyn Kelly incident on. Without  a thought, Rupert Murdoch sacrificed the paper-thin veneer of  pseudo-respectability Fox  had always maintained up to a point (that point being the moment advertisers  started to bail in horror, as they did with Glenn Beck). He reinvented Fox as a platform for  Trump’s conspiratorial brand of cartoon populism, rather than let some more-Fox-than-Fox imitator like OAN sell the  ads to Trump’s voters for four years.

In between its titillating quasi-porn headlines (“Lesbian Prison Gangs Waiting To Get Hands on Lindsay  Lohan, Inmate Says” is one from years ago that stuck in my mind), Fox’s business model has  long been based on scaring the crap out of aging Silent Majority viewers with  a parade of anything-but-the-truth explanations for America’s decline. It  villainized immigrants, Muslims, the new Black Panthers, environmentalists —  anyone but ADM, Wal-Mart, Countrywide, JP Morgan Chase, and other sponsors of  Fortress America. Donald Trump was one of the people who got hooked on Fox’s  narrative.

The rival media ecosystem chose cash over truth also. It could have responded to  the last election by looking harder at the tensions they didn’t see coming in  Trump’s America, which might have meant a more intense examination of the  problems that gave Trump his opening: the jobs that never came back after  bankers and retailers decided to move them to unfree labor zones in places  like China, the severe debt and addiction crises, the ridiculous  contradiction of an expanding international military garrison manned by a  population fast losing belief in the mission, etc., etc.

Instead, outlets like CNN and MSNBC took a Fox-like approach, downplaying issues in  favor of shoving Trump’s agitating personality in the faces of audiences over  and over, to the point where many people could no longer think about anything  else. To juice ratings, the Trump story — which didn’t need the slightest  exaggeration to be fantastic — was more or less constantly distorted.

Trump  began to be described as a cause of America’s problems, rather than a symptom,  and his followers, every last one, were demonized right along with him, in  caricatures that tickled the urbane audiences of channels like CNN but made  conservatives want to reach for something sharp. This technique was borrowed  from Fox,  which learned in the Bush years that you could boost ratings by selling  audiences on the idea that their liberal neighbors were terrorist traitors.  Such messaging worked better by far than bashing al-Qaeda, because this enemy  was closer, making the hate more real.

I came  into the news business convinced that the traditional “objective” style of  reporting was boring, deceptive, and deserving of mockery. I used to laugh at  the parade of “above the fray” columnists and stone-dull house editorials  that took no position on anything and always ended, “Only one thing’s for  sure: time will tell.” As a teenager I was struck by a passage in Tim  Crouse’s book about the 1972 presidential campaign, The Boys in the Bus, describing  the work of Hunter Thompson:

Thompson  had the freedom to describe the campaign as he actually experienced it: the  crummy hotels, the tedium of the press bus, the calculated lies of the press  secretaries, the agony of writing about the campaign when it seemed dull and  meaningless, the hopeless fatigue. When other reporters went home, their  wives asked them, “What was it really like?” Thompson’s wife knew from  reading his pieces.

What Rolling Stone did in  giving a political reporter the freedom to write about the banalities of the  system was revolutionary at the time. They also allowed their writer to be a  sides-taker and a rooter, which seemed natural and appropriate because biases  end up in media anyway. They were just hidden in the traditional dull  “objective” format.

The  problem is that the pendulum has swung so far in the opposite direction of  politicized hot-taking that reporters now lack freedom in the opposite  direction, i.e. the freedom to mitigate.

If you  work in conservative media, you probably felt tremendous pressure all  November to stay away from information suggesting Trump lost the election. If  you work in the other ecosystem, you probably feel right now that even  suggesting what happened last Wednesday was not a coup in the literal sense  of the word (e.g. an attempt at seizing power with an actual chance of  success) not only wouldn’t clear an editor, but might make you suspect in the  eyes of co-workers, a potentially job-imperiling problem in this environment.  

We need  a new media channel, the press version of a third party, where those  financial pressures to maintain audience are absent. Ideally, it would:

not be aligned with either Democrats or Republicans;

employ a Fairness Doctrine-inspired approach that discourages       groupthink and requires at  least occasional explorations of alternative points of view;

embrace a utilitarian mission stressing credibility over ratings, including by;

operating on a distribution model that as  much as possible doesn’t depend upon the indulgence of Apple, Google, and Amazon.

Innovations like Substack are great for opinionated individual voices like me, but what’s  desperately needed is an institutional reporting mechanism that has credibility with the whole population. That means a channel that sees its mission as something separate from politics, or at least as separate from politics as possible.

The media used to derive its institutional power from this perception of separateness. Politicians feared investigation by the news media precisely because they knew audiences perceived them as neutral arbiters.

Now there are no major commercial outlets not firmly associated with one or the other political party. Criticism of Republicans is as baked into New York Times coverage as the lambasting of Democrats is at Fox, and politicians don’t fear them as much because they know their  constituents do not consider rival media sources credible. Probably, they  don’t even read them. Echo chambers have limited utility in changing minds.

Media companies need to get out of the audience-stroking business, and by extension  the politics business. They’d then be more likely to be believed when making  pronouncements about elections or masks or anything else, for that matter.  Creating that kind of outlet also has a much better shot of restoring sanity  to the country than the current strategy, which seems based on stamping out  access to “wrong” information.

What we’ve been watching for four years, and what we saw explode last week, is a paradox: a political and informational system that profits from division and  conflict, and uses a factory-style process to stimulate it, but professes  shock and horror when real conflict happens. It’s time to admit this is a  failed system. You can’t sell hatred and seriously expect it to end.

Matt Taibbi is one of the only people I subscribe to. He’s one of the few journalists I like because I actually believe he’s genuine.

[wardenrainwall]

Day 3 of my ridiculous Alternative NaNoWriMo Words:  1,787 (7,721 Total) Pairing: Female Adaar/Cassandra Pentaghast Rating: Teen Summary: In which Ataashi Adaar confesses her feelings for Cassandra. Awkwardness ensues. But happiness prevails.

----

To the Void with it, Ataashi thought as she watched the Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast swing one final blow at the dummy. The woman was dirty and sweaty and Ataashi wasn’t much better. She stalked across the field that was currently free of soldiers. Her mind set on one thing and one thing only. Finally putting herself out there and admitting that she was utterly infatuated with the warrior woman.

And if she was lucky, the Seeker might reciprocate those feelings.

Sending up a silent prayer to any gods that might listen, she watched Cassandra sheath her sword, and reach up to wipe the back of her hand over her brow as she leaned down to grab the water skein. She was drinking deeply when Ataashi came to stand in front of her, towering over her.

“Inquisitor,” she said, drawing her lips from the opening and inclining her head. “Did you need something?”

The words dried up on her tongue. Fear that she might ruin everything swarming like bees in her belly. She’d flirted with Cassandra from the very start of all of this, and the other woman couldn’t be so oblivious that she hadn’t realized. Cassandra hadn’t told her to stop. She’d scoff, or roll her eyes, occasionally have a sharp retort, but nothing had indicated she wasn’t interested.

Ataashi knew there had been a man in Cassandra’s life, a mage who had perished in the explosion of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and her heart ached for her loss.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra lowered the skein completely and looked at her, a slight furrow between her brows. “Is everything alright?” Her gaze flicked to Ataashi’s left hand, the mark that Cassandra knew still pained her quite often.

“I’m in love with you,” she blurted out, and heat burned Ataashi’s cheeks as she stared wide-eyed at Cassandra’s face. At the look of confusion there. It was a mistake, she realized. Cassandra hadn’t realized she was flirting, didn’t know that Ataashi spent nearly every free moment thinking about the dark-haired woman. “I mean to say,” she continued, tripping over the words as she wished a chasm might open up and simply swallow her.

A fade rift would be handy right at that moment. “That is,” her mouth opened and closed like a fish and still, Cassandra just looked up at her. “I am in love with you,” she found herself saying it again, slower, softer, unable to deny it any longer.

Cassandra looked annoyed, her lips pursed into a scowl, and Ataashi silently cursed her fool-headed stupidity. “You hardly know me,” came Cassandra’s sharp reply. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight.

“I think I know you quite well, actually,” Ataashi told her, her hands hung at her sides and she wished she had something, anything to hold because she felt so awkward standing there as she was. “I know how you fight, and there is no one else I’d rather have at my back in a skirmish,” Cassandra made a dismissive sound.

“I know you love romance novels, that the idea of being swept off your feet pleases you.” And Ataashi wished she’d brought a gift. Flowers, or some trinket, anything. Cassandra didn’t look impressed. “I know that you’ve lost so much already, your brother, your lover, and the Divine.” Ataashi saw the pain in Cassandra’s eyes but she forged on. “I’d be a poor substitute,” she said it with a disparaging laugh, because what had made her think this was a good idea? “But I’d spend every day of my life making sure you know you’re cherished.”

Cassandra was quiet, she hadn’t moved from her defensive position and Ataashi felt her heart slowly shriveling up inside her chest. “Inquisitor,” Cassandra said and Ataashi couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t listen to Cassandra’s polite rejection.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Ataashi said in a rush, holding her hands up slightly as if to ward off the blow the rebuff would cause. “I apologize, please forget that this happened. Cole,” she glanced around, almost frantic for the boy. “Cole can make us both forget, and everything will go back to as it was.” she turned and fled, ignoring Cassandra’s voice calling after her.

She was half tempted to actually go and find Cole and have him make her forget. Did it work on feelings too? Instead, she retreated to the bowels of Skyhold, to the dark little library full of strange and wonderful books and made her self comfortable, ready to stay there until the end of time. Or at least, until her mortification faded.

Hours passed, she’d gotten so absorbed into the tome she was reading that she’d barely moved, and couldn’t help but groan loudly as she closed the book and stretched. Ataashi knew she couldn’t hide forever, and eventually, she’d have to face Cassandra again. Because she’d been utterly truthful about wanting no one else at her side in a fight. Over the months with the Inquisition, she and Cassandra had learned each other’s fighting style and they paired well together. Able to predict the other’s movement before they made it.

Pushing up to her feet, Ataashi made her way out of the catacombs and rubbed a hand over her belly when it let out a grumble. Drawing open the door that lead into the main hall, Ataashi glanced around. Mostly empty, though there were a handful of nobles and, Cassandra, of course, speaking with Leliana. The redheaded woman said something, inclining her head and Cassandra whirled, fury in her eyes.

“There you are,” Cassandra stormed across the hall and none too gently pushed Ataashi back through the door and slammed it shut, plunging them into darkness. There was a beat of silence. “No one knew where you were,” Cassandra said, voice sharp. “You cannot simply disappear like that.”

As if her mortification hadn’t been bad enough, to have Cassandra reprimanding her made her feel like a scolded child. “I was worried sick. No one could find you.”

“Did something happen?” Ataashi asked, worried that there may have been some sort of emergency. An attack or perhaps troops out in the field needed assistance.

“I know you wouldn’t leave,” Cassandra continued. “But you could have been injured or it wasn’t so long ago that those spies made it in and attacked Iron Bull. You could have been-” she broke off.

Ataashi wanted to reach out, reassure Cassandra, but she kept her hands to herself. There was just enough light seeping from beneath the door that she could see the outline of the other woman. “I’m sorry,” Ataashi murmured. “I didn’t mean to cause any worry. I just needed… I needed some time.”

“That is another thing,” Cassandra said, shoving her hands on her hips. “To say… to say what you did-”

“I’m sorry,” Ataashi said again. “I made you uncomfortable, I didn’t mean to. I promise I’ll never speak of it-” a warm hand on her cheek. Strong calloused fingers touching her face so gently. She couldn’t breathe. An accident. Cassandra was simply figuring out where her face was so she could properly slap her.

Cassandra stepped closer, and Ataashi drew in a slow breath, inhaling deeply. The confined space smelled of dust and Cassandra. Leather, the oil she used to hone her sword, and the soap that held just a hint of floral notes. “Did you mean it?” Cassandra’s voice was rough, a barely audible whisper. “You want to-” she swallowed, “cherish me?”

Ataashi was glad she’d stepped down onto the lower step of the hallway, because it put her and Cassandra almost eye to eye, though she couldn’t see the look in the other woman’s eyes, she could feel her breath. “Yes,” she said, more breath than sound. “I want to shower you with flowers and trinkets and all the smutty novels you can read, just-just to see you smile.”

Cassandra’s other hand came up, resting against Ataashi’s throat and she was certain she could feel her fluttering heartbeat against her fingers. “I’m not- I’ve never-” Cassandra made a quiet sound. “I care for you.” Ataashi thought her heart might beat out of her chest. “It is... unexpected.”

Their breath mingled as Cassandra leaned just a little closer, their noses touched and Ataashi wanted to reach out, to draw her closer, but she kept her hands down at her sides. “Let me love you,” Ataashi whispered. “I’ll make sure you’ll never regret it,” it was a desperate promise, but Ataashi felt desperate in that moment.

“And what about you?” Cassandra asked, causing Ataashi to frown, not sure what she meant. She opened her mouth to ask, but all words fled when she felt the softest brush of lips against hers. “Would you let me love you in return?”

The sound that escaped Ataashi was part sob, part relieved laugh. “Yes? Please.” The kiss was slow, tentative, and Ataashi finally reached up, her hands going to Cassandra’s hips. She wanted to yank her closer, push her against the wall, and tangle their tongues, but she let Cassandra set the pace and began compiling a list of all the things she wanted to give Cassandra in the back of her mind, while she slowly explored her mouth.

Ataashi would have been quite happy to stand there and kiss Cassandra for hours, but her stomach let out another grumbling protest, demanding food, causing Cassandra to draw back, a quiet laugh escaping her. “Let us go to the tavern for supper,” she said, turning away. Ataashi reached for her as Cassandra pulled open the door, the angle meant they were still hidden, but light flooded the small space, allowing her to truly look at Cassandra’s face now.

She cupped it between her hands and searched her eyes. “You’re certain?” she asked. Some things were easy to speak of in the dark, but facing them in the light was entirely different.

Cassandra angled her head back, now that they both stood on the landing, Ataashi stood a full head taller than her. She reached up, curled her fingers in the collar of Ataashi’s tunic, and tugged. She didn’t resist, and their mouths met again, this time, the kiss was harder and full of promise. “Does that answer your question?” Cassandra asked.

“I think,” Ataashi murmured, brushing her knuckles along the scar on Cassandra’s cheek. “I may need you to repeat that a few times before it sets in.”

At that, Cassandra laughed and shook her head. “Is this what I signed up for?” she asked, giving Ataashi’s shoulder a gentle shove to usher her out into the main hall once more.

“And more,” Ataashi promised with a slightly wicked grin and was pleased to see Cassandra’s cheeks flush.

[teatimeatwinterpalace]

Hello ! Can you tell me about Charles I, King of England? I am curious about this king. Thank you :)

Sigh, my problematic fave... Charlie boy got greedy and forgot he ruled England not France lmao. 

No but no shade, of course it is more complicated than that. Charles is a very controversial figure. A number of Protestant historians have condemn him and his reign. He is often depicted as cold, indecisive, or even as a tyrant. Even though there is a certain truth in each of this qualifying adjectives, I tend to agree with historians who have written a more nuanced portrait of Charles without erasing the shaddy things he did because he did cross the line of legality. I like this quote from Katie Whitaker : "Charles was the last medieval king in Britain, a man imbued with all the ideals of chilvary, who believed he was appointed by God to rule." And here lies the tragedy. His reign was a defining moment where two conceptions of power came into collision : the divine prerogatives of the King against the privileges of Parliament.

Charles as a child had a weak constitution, some historians stated he was suffering from rickets. At some point, he conquered this physical infirmity however his speech came slowly and with difficulty and until his death he had a stutter. He spent his childhood in the shadow of his strong and radiant older brother, Henry, who he loved dearly. When Henry died in 1608, Charles was eleven, he had an excellent education, he studied French, Latin, Spanish, Italian, Greek, theology, drawing, dancing, fencing... His father, James I, was very much interested in the education of his children and one of the first letter Charles wrote to his father was :  "Sweete, Sweete Father, I learne to decline substantives and adjectives, give me your blessing, I thank you for my best man, your loving sone York". In his late teens he spent more and more time with his father even though he despised his "decadent" Court. He was religiously devot and of a strong moral stance which reflected in his Court when he was king. The guiding principles was order and decorum. Contrary to his father, he was also eager to play the role of an international statesman, which made his situation with Parliament even worse. However, he lacked confidence which caused him to be influenced by the ideas of the people he most trusted: Buckingham, his father... James could read the room, Charles unfortunately not so much. After James' passing, he started taking some of his father views to an extreme. However, it's important to note that when he came to power in 1625 the situation was already tense :

His father had a patriachal view of the monarchy. He wrote political treatises exposing his own views on the divine right of kings, stating :"‘Kings are justly called gods for that they exercise a manner or resemblance of divine power on earth". This kind of discourse didn't sit well with the House of Commons which was already sensitive on the matter of its rights and privileges. Parliament thought it had a traditional right to interfere with the policy of the realm. And so the political atmosphere soured quickly between both parties. For instance, when Parliament tried to meddle with the Spanish marriage negociations (between Charles and the Infanta of Spain) James was furious.

Parliament had considerable leverage : was the one holding the purse strings. This proved to be a thorn in the side of EVERY Stuarts rulers and it’s why throughout out the 17th century, England was shy with its foreign policy. Unlike the French King who was doing whatever he wanted, the English monarch had to beg subsidies to Parliament. Schematically, here was the usual scenario : 

King opens a new Parliamentary session because he needs moneeey, the House of Commons says maaay be but before we reeeally need to discuss something else *push his own agenda*, *criticise the royal policy* (rumor has it that you can still hear the king muttering not agaaain), thus ensues many excruciating negotiations and conflicts which usually ends up with the king saying fuck you and either proroguing or dissoluting his Parliament (this hot mess found its peak during the Exclusion Crisis, was a real soap opera lol). 

Again, it is schematical because even in the House of Commons some MPs were content with James' patriachal views. Anyway, at the core, it was truly a battle between royal prerogative and privilege!

THEN, you add the very sensitive matter of religion, its impact on politics was huge.

There were the Anglicans and Presbyterians which didn't see eye to eye. Yet compromises were made which made coexistence bearable for some while others fled to Europe or in the colonies in order to set up their own independent churches. James had hoped to bring the two Churches together and to create uniformity across the two kingdoms (Scotland & England). He tried to establish a Prayer Book similar to that used in England but faced with great opposition, he withdrew. (but guess who tried to follow daddy’s steps but didn’t withdrew?)

And last but not least... who the English despised the most above all? The followers of this boy right here...

... CATHOLICS, satan's minions on earth. 

With the outbreak of the Thirty Years War in Europe the fear of Catholicism was very much alive. Charles and Buckingham pushed James to summoned Parliament to ask for money to finance a war with Spain. The very much anti-Catholic Parliament agreed to the subsidies but unfortunately the expedition failed. James died, and Charles at the age of 24 had to deal with the consequenses. 

Relations between King and Parliament deteriorated quickly. There were the matter of war + Buckingham had negotiated a marriage for Charles to Henrietta Maria, the sister of the French King, promising that she would be permitted to practise her own Catholic religion, and that English ships would help to suppress a French Protestant rebellion in La Rochelle. Obviously, Parliament was furious especially towards Buckingham and Charles was forced to dissolve Parliament. For the King it was a direct challenge to his right to appoint his advisers and to govern. The Privy Council started to consider ways of raising money without the help of Parliament : forced loan, ship money... let's say that from here it started to go downhill.

For the matter of religion, unfortunately the caution of James I was replaced by Charles' desire for uniformity. Moreover, the King was interested by the Arminian group which was an alternative to the rigid Calvinism : the emphasis was on ritual and sacraments and they rejected the doctrine of predestination. Howerver, for many English, this group had too much ties with Catholicism. Also, some of them were great supporters of a heightened royal power which freaked out a lot of people who feared a sort of takeover. Of course, as often with fears and phobias, it was out of proportion with reality. Nonetheless, for many, Arminian meant : Catholicism +  absolute monarchy = tyranny. When William Laud (the Arminian leader) became Bishop of London in 1628, another stormy Parliament session took place. Charles decided to prorogue it but the Commons refused and they passed the Three Resolutions which condemned the collection of tonnage and poundage that Charles was doing without their consent as well as the doctrine and practice of Arminianism. Charles dissolved the Parliament and proclaimed he intended to govern without the Parliament until it calms the fuck down. This proved to be a significant breakdown within the system of government and the situation got a whole lot worse.

It's already a lot right? BUT HANG ON because in this very healthy anti-Catholicism atmosphere who Charles married? A FRENCH CATHOLIC PRINCESS. It made the crown more vulnerable and perhaps a lot of things would have been different if she had been Protestant but damn they were good together!!! The romance of Charles and Henrietta Maria is one of the greatest love stories in history. At first one could say it was a mismatched couple : a Protestant King with a Catholic Princess. Their differences and lack of understanding made their earlier years together complicated and turbulent. There were lot of quarrels and yet, they fell passionately in love. Their daughter, Princess Elizabeth wrote an account the day before Charles was beheaded and she said: “He bid us tell my mother that his thoughts had never strayed from her, and that his love would be the same to the last.” Lina wrote on her blog her top 10 favourite titbits of info of love and heartache about Charles I & Henrietta Maria, go check it out ;)

This is getting too long lol I'm not going to get into what most historians called his "personnal reign" and the civil wars. I just hope that this couple of informations made you want to find more about Charles and his time :) 

Don't settle for just one book about him because as I said at the beginning, he is a very controversial figure and lot of biographies (not so much with the recent ones but still) tend to insist on his supposedly taste for "tyranny" and romanticise the role of Parliament (aka the whole Whig historiography). Charles' reign sparked off a revolution where new ideals of liberty and citizens' rights were born HOWEVER it was a matter of decades/centuries for these ideas to penetrate society and every strats of the political spectrum. The Parliament's ideology of the 1620-1640 (and then during the Restoration) had a very nostalgic vision of politics. The idea of reform was light years away from these ultraconservative men.

But to be honest even outside Parliament. When you look at men such as Fénelon, Bolingbroke or Montesquieu. They were all convinced that a restoration (often of a magnified past) was the only response to the evils of their time. Reform in the early modern period, whether it was religious or political, was thought as a restoration. It's in mid-18th century that the shift happened, the future was at last conceivable. Anyway, all of that is to say that I'm a bit wary of all the authors who depict the MPs of this period as great reformers, who fought against the tyranny. They were mostly conservative men and very attached to THEIR priviliges.

[fiercestpurpose]

hi u talked about how jean often gets overlooked as a mother, would u be willing to talk more about it? its really curious to me how scott is often associated with the role of 'father' and his relationships with nathan and rachel, how he 'failed them etc, gets talked about to death but people dont talk about jeans as much. anyways would love to hear what u have to say!

Hi! I really have three main categories of thoughts about this: Jean’s relationship with Rachel, Jean’s relationship with Cable, and Jean’s relationship with the idea of family/her own motherhood.

Jean’s relationship with Rachel is… complicated. First of all, Jean is incredibly important in Rachel’s life, but it’s not always our (616) Jean. Rachel is obviously the biological daughter of another woman, 811 Jean, and that woman raised her and was her mother until she died when Rachel was about 8 (well before the rest of Rachel’s X-Men did). Losing a parent that young is frequently very traumatic and defining, and it certainly was for Rachel, so she develops this relationship that is not so much with Jean as it is with Jean’s death. She comes to the 616 and she learns that Jean is already dead, and she vows to reclaim the name Phoenix and honour her mother’s memory (even though 616 Jean is not really her mother). And then, at least twice during the Cross-Time Caper, Rachel has to watch different universe’s versions of Jean die, trying and failing to save her. So Rachel has this whole relationship with Jean as a concept, with Jean dying and leaving her, before she and 616 Jean ever develop a real relationship with each other.

And sometimes, people (fans and writers both) use Rachel’s preexisting relationship with Jean As A Conceptual Mother as evidence that 616 Jean doesn’t really count as Rachel’s mother. However, 616 Jean and Rachel do have a relationship. It starts with Jean rejecting Rachel, denouncing her because she doesn’t accept the future that Rachel represents and doesn’t want to consider her as her daughter. She later apologizes for this, saying that she shouldn’t have pushed her problems onto Rachel because they weren’t Rachel’s problems to deal with. And we see them hug and make up and it’s clear that they consider each other family.

That relationship, the daughter viewing her mother as a concept more than a person, the mother pushing her problems onto the daughter and trying not to accept the future that she thinks the daughter represents, reads to me as a very believable mother-daughter relationship. The circumstances are a little strange, but the emotions are familiar. Many children have a hard time adjusting to seeing their parents as their own people. Many parents have a hard time recognizing their grown children as being their own people and also their children. It’s a very complex relationship that’s certainly worth exploring, and referencing it only when they want to make a joke of it (as X-Men Gold and All-New X-Men both did) is a sign of writers who are not really invested in the emotional lives of those characters.

Onto Cable! In some ways, Jean’s relationship with him is a lot simpler because he is actually and inarguably her child. To be clear, she’s not his biological mother, and we’re going to put her blood relationship to his biological mother aside because it’s not actually that important. Jean is his mother because she raised him. In X-Factor vol 1, she becomes one of his primary caregivers once his mother is out of the picture, largely because she is dating his father at the time. (I’m not going to get into the whole Sinister-creating-Maddy-to-breed-with-Scott thing or the Maddy-living-in-Jean’s-head thing. It’s messy and it complicates things, but it doesn’t change the basic facts of Jean’s situation.) Jean in X-Factor is a co-parent with a day job, a woman who’s responsible for feeding the baby and changing his diapers and helping teach him how to walk and talk and keeping him safe from harm (that time she takes him into a fight excluded, of course). The first manifestation of baby Christopher’s psychic powers is that he and Jean share a special telepathic bond. It’s hard to tell how long this goes on for (comic timelines are, as always, vague and difficult to pin down), but it’s at least several months.

After Simonson’s run on X-Factor, baby Christopher is removed from the picture by being sent off to the far-future — only to be raised by Slym and Redd, who are, of course, Scott and Jean. As a Scott fan, a Jean fan, and a Scott/Jean fan, I’m always surprised and frustrated by how little The Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix gets referenced. This is years of their lives that they spend raising their son. Specifically, twelve years, which is quite a long time, and means that Cable is probably 13 by the time Slym and Redd have to leave. Redd is the mother that Cable remembers when he grows up. She’s the one who rocks him to sleep, who negotiates with his father about how to properly raise their son, who does everything in her power to protect him while continuing to participate in a secret rebel organization. And the telepathic connection he had to her resurfaces, so that they are able to fight together on the astral plane.

(If you ever want to cry about Scott/Jean or Cable’s childhood or the Summers family in general, I highly recommend The Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix. I will forgive Lobdell any number of crimes because he gave us such an excellent miniseries.)

But she isn’t just there during his childhood. Jean has a relationship with her adult son as well. They work together as X-Men many times, before and after she realizes that he is her son. Of course, there are those incredibly cute panels you may have seen of Scott and Jean and Cable all getting together to celebrate Christmas. And after the defeat of Apocalypse, when Scott is believed to be dead, Jean and Cable become especially close. It is Jean that Cable confides in, sharing with her his feelings, his loss of purpose now that his war is over, how hard it is for him to be vulnerable again. And when Jean thinks Scott is still alive but no one else believes her, Cable is the one who comes with her and helps her bring him back. Unfortunately, post-Search for Cyclops, Morrison comes in, and Morrison has no interest in love or families and does have an interest in killing Jean off to further his ship.

Prime Cable is dead now, of course, so I cannot hope that writers will explore that relationship any further. (EDIT: Oh, yeah, he maybe sort of came back again in a comic last month. Clearly that shocking turn of events made a big impression on me.) I did enjoy getting to see Jean and Hope bond after his death over the love they shared for him, and I can wish that the writers will carry that relationship forward. As for Bable (baby Cable), he’s an angry teenager who experienced the events of The Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix #4 about three or four years ago. He’s angry, he’s upset, he’s lashing out by killing his future self. There could be something really interesting there, in Jean’s relationship with Bable, if they chose to remember that he’s still the kid she raised. Her place as the mother of a rebellious teenager is complicated because he’s both the boy who brought her husband back to life and the boy who killed the adult son that she loved. If writers looked past the soap opera of it all to actually acknowledge the emotions involved, they’d see there was an interesting story there, one that is not just about the Scott/Cable relationship but necessarily involves Jean as well.

I’m sure there are things to be said about Stryfe and Nate Grey, but I honestly do not know or care enough about alternate versions of Cable to really have a coherent picture of Jean’s relationship with them, so I’m gonna skip that.

Next, I want to talk about Jean’s relationship with the concept of family. I would like to mention (as I always do), that Jean’s entire family — her parents, her siblings, and her siblings’ children — were murdered by aliens. How she feels about this is a mystery, as the comics have not addressed it at all, but she might feel guilty, because though it’s not her fault, they were killed because of her. She might also feel guilty because while family in the abstract is very important to her, her relationship with them was strained and she wasn’t as close to them as she’d like to be. She might also feel angry as hell that somebody decided to murder her family despite them doing absolutely nothing to provoke it. Any of those emotional responses would influence how she relates to her children and her granddaughter. Maybe she becomes a little more attached and attentive because she has no other family left. Maybe she distances herself from them out of grief. Maybe she rounds up her incredibly angry son and takes him into the stars to attack aliens so they can be angry together. I think any of those, done properly, could be interesting and in-character for her, and I just want some writer to acknowledge Jean as a character with her own history and her own relationships that shape her actions.

Finally, Jean’s relationship with the concept of her own motherhood. Jean is someone who wanted and expected to be a mother. I usually tend to read Jean as coming from a more traditional and conservative family, but I don’t think that’s an adequate explanation. I think Jean genuinely wants children. In X-Factor, she says, “I always thought we’d have a girl,” when talking to Scott, showing that she had thought about children being part of their future. When she talks to Rachel about her upcoming marriage to Scott, she mentions that she thinks it likely that another Rachel will be born. She wants kids, she’s seen them as part of her future for a long time, and then she got them! She got to be a mother, to Nathan Christopher and to Rachel, as explained above. I think a woman who wanted to be a mother and now is a mother should be allowed to have real relationships with her children. This isn’t like Emma, whose distance from the Cuckoos can be read as her viewing herself more as their teacher than their mother, since Emma always understands herself as a teacher. When Jean holds a baby in X-Men Red and winks at the mother and tells her that she’s implanted a psychic suggestion he not cry so much, that’s because Jean has been responsible for a baby before. Being a mother is part of who Jean is, just like it’s part of who Jubilee is or who Sue is, and I wish that writers and fans understood that.