#and i tried to converse and organise things with her and this other person

[nooradeservedbetter]

x

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (4/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, drunk sex (with consent), incest obviously, smut, fingering, the angst, suicidal thoughts, description of cruel physical violence, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story. Song used in this chapter: Every Breath You Take by The Police

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Over the next few days, Daemon tried to get out of her what had happened and who had put the rape pill into her drink. To his fury, she lied that some guy she didn't know had done it, afraid of what would happen if her stepfather declared war on Larys Strong.

She figured this man wanted just that.

Chaos that he would be able to cash in on, using what was happening to destroy them.

"I do not comprehend you. From now on, I or your mother will be dropping you off and bringing you back from your classes at the University. No meeting friends or going out until you come to your senses." He communicated to her coldly and she replied nothing, not having the strength to stand up to him.

It wouldn't do any good anyway.

Although she should have been worried and terrified, she felt a strange kind of excitement and tension because her uncle, whom she hadn't seen for eight years, had really taken her out of there.

He had really helped her.

She closed her eyes, remembering the touch of his warm, broad hand on hers and his voice, so different from his childish one, deep and low.

Her heart beat harder at that memory, a pleasant, familiar warmth rippling through her lower abdomen.

She felt she had to write him something and after hours of thought she simply wrote the usual thank you. She couldn't stop the feeling of disappointment that spread through her body when he didn't write her back, even though she checked her phone once in a while.

For some reason, she had naively believed that something would now change between them, that she would regain contact with him, that his person would return to her life making her able to finally close this difficult chapter of her past.

However, he remained silent, exactly as he had done for eight years.

She thought it would stay that way until it turned out that her grandfather was organising his sixtieth birthday party with pomp and her whole family was to attend.

"No." She heard Daemon's voice standing in the corridor, overhearing in silence their conversation which he was having with her mother in his office. "There's no way I'm shaking that whore's hand."

"Daemon. My father is dying. You can only show up for a little while and then lock yourself in a hotel room. None of us like it, but I don't want to say no to a man who may not be among the living tomorrow."

Although no one seemed to be happy about it, they were all going to travel there and with each day approaching the event, she was panicking more and more.

She was going to see him for the first time in eight years.

He had no Facebook, Instagram or any other social media accounts: she had no idea what kind of person he was now, what he looked like.

She was afraid that seeing him would make her feel disappointed, that something inside her would finally snap, that the thought that all was lost would make her fall into a state she would never get out of again.

In addition, no one but her knew about what Larys Strong had told her.

Otto Hightower had ordered the murder of your father.

How was she supposed to look that man in the eye?

How was she supposed to look her uncle in the eye knowing he worked for him?

Driving there in their big, black Mercedes she felt like she was about to throw up, her heart pounding like crazy, making her head spin.

"Are you all right? You're pale. I don't want to go there either." Said Jace, glancing at her over his shoulder from the front passenger seat.

Daemon, who had been driving while her mother, following behind them drove the other car, looked at her in the reflection of his mirror, throwing her a piercing, menacing look.

He knew she was hiding something, he could feel it, and the tension between them grew more and more.

When they arrived, they were all searched: no guns were allowed inside.

This was to give the guests some sort of sense of security.

As they walked into the great hall, she was overwhelmed on the one hand by how many people were there, but on the other she was glad to disappear into the crowd. She felt her heart stop for a moment when she spotted Aegon talking to his mother – his blonde hair was pulled back, his jacket carelessly thrown over his shirt, sunglasses on his head.

She spotted Viserys sitting next to him, she spotted Helaena, she even spotted Otto measuring her with a focused gaze, but she didn't see him anywhere.

She felt a wave of disappointment at the thought that he would not come.

As they sat in their seats, searching for their name cards, she felt she was on the verge of crying.

He won't come because of her.

He would never forgive her.

They were served starters and drink, the loud music and the conversations of the people around her made her feel like she was at a wedding, only the guests were individuals she wanted nothing to do with.

She saw how tense Daemon was, looking around the room impatiently, throwing Otto Higtower a warning glance once in a while.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that someone had entered the room and froze, recognising him instantly – he was looking at her, his healthy eye wide open, his nostrils quivering with each of his deep, anxious breaths.

She was taken aback by how tall he was, how drawn and sharply defined his jaw and nose were, his pale, long scar running from his eyebrow arch to his cheek.

He was dressed all in black, in a leather jacket and turtleneck tucked into belted trousers, his short hair, although visibly styled in a hurry, looked elegant.

She wanted to get up, to approach him, to thank him for everything he had done, but as she rose from her seat he immediately turned his head away, something akin to disgust flashed across his face, from which she felt a squeeze in her gut.

She watched, feeling like an idiot as he took his seat next to Aegon and turned tense, thinking that she needed to get out of this place as soon as possible.

She walked out into the garden and headed towards the pier, wanting to be alone – she felt like her heart was about to leap out of her chest, burning tears squeezed under her eyelids, wanting to run down her face.

He couldn't even look at her.

He just pretended not to see her.

She couldn't say why it hurt her so much, why she couldn't let him go when he wanted it so badly: she felt there were years of unsaid words between them, wrongs that had never been made up for.

There had been no apology or explanation from anyone's lips, nothing to help her get back on the right track.

She sat on the wooden platform, staring dully into the black surface of the water, thinking about how it looked in the starlight as if it were some disgusting, dark, dangerous thick mass.

She had a feeling that if she jumped into it she would be all sticky.

She shuddered as she heard someone's footsteps, convinced for some reason that it was Daemon who had come out after her, unable to bear sitting with all these people alone. As she turned over her shoulder she froze, noticing him and stood up quickly, terrified by his gaze, piercing and cold, his eye wide open.

Her heart pounded like mad, her breath heavy in her chest as she watched him pull a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket, his gaze fixed on her face.

"− what were you doing there? −" He asked finally.

She shuddered to hear that his voice was exactly like the one in her dream: cold, deep and low. She swallowed hard, overwhelmed by how close he stood to her, that he had come to her, that he smelled of some intense, masculine perfume.

"− what do you mean? −" She choked out with difficulty, unable to take her eyes off his face.

He took his time answering − he leaned with the cigarette between his full lips over the flame, its tip lit red and hissed as he took a drag.

"− what were you doing in that club −" He hummed. "− looking for a new experiences? −"

Something in the way he said it, mocking and amused, made her feel discomfort and pain in her chest. She furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of what she should answer to such a brazenly asked question, surprised by his directness.

His lips tightened in displeasure, something in his gaze changed – she had the impression that his iris had turned completely black as he puffed out smoke with his mouth, the smell of tobacco filling her lungs.

"− I don't like to ask twice −" He said coolly, making an unpleasant shiver pass along her back. She swallowed loudly feeling that her whole body tensed, ready to run away.

There was something about him that she feared, as if he wasn't fully human.

You don't even know what monsters lurk in the shadows.

"− I wanted to find out how my father died −" She said finally, wanting to see how he would react to her words.

To her surprise, he burst out laughing, however, it was a downright chilling sound that had nothing to do with genuine amusement. He tapped his finger on his cigarette, causing ash to fly to the ground.

"− and what did you find out? −"

She looked at him with big eyes feeling her heart in her throat, wondering if she should tell him, if she should confront him.

Will he kill her for what she says?

Will he hurt her family?

Despite the questions in her head, it seemed to her that her words had left her mouth without participation of her will.

"− that your grandfather killed him −"

He stared at her for a moment, surprised, his hand frozen in mid-motion to his mouth as he laughed again – this time it sounded like a low chuckle.

"− who told you that? − Larys Strong? − was he the one who dragged you there? −" He sneered making her feel a cold sweat run down her back.

How did he know?

Seeing the look on her face he grinned in a way from which she felt a shiver sweep through her − her breath caught in her throat as he took a few steps towards her, towering over her with an expression on his face from which she could read nothing, taking a drag on the remnants of his cigarette.

"− it was Larys who reported him − after the death of his father and brother, all the fortune fell to him − my grandfather just passively looked on −"

She felt as if he had stabbed her in the heart with his words − the real pain in her chest made her open her mouth wide, her eyes filled with tears of horror.

Larys had used her like a silly little girl.

He had planned everything.

"− did you know about this? −" She muttered, for some reason wanting to believe he had nothing to do with it.

The smile disappeared from his face, as if her question had frustrated him.

"− everyone knew −" He replied. "− he passed sentence on himself when he started talking with the police − his days were numbered anyway −"

His answer made her simply move ahead, bursting into a sudden, hysterical sob, as if everything she had held inside her for the past days, months, years, had poured out of her like a dark, viscous, thick wave that could not be stopped.

Everyone knew.

She sighed and squealed when she felt his wide hand clamp down aggressively on her arm like steel tongs, turning her violently back towards him, causing her pain. She tried to push him away, panting and whimpering, something about his movements, his brutality, the ache he was causing her gave her pleasure.

Some part of her felt she deserved it.

Some part of her wanted him to kill her, to strangle her with his own hands.

She sobbed when his hand tightened on her hot cheeks, wet and red from the tears that flowed down her face, forcing her to look at him − his wide-open eye seemed completely black to her, his lips parted in a heavy, drawn-out breath swollen with excitement and rage.

He was so obscenely close, watching her as if she were some pretty, interesting, expensive object, the smell of his perfume, his sweat and his cigarettes made her dizzy, everything around them seemed blurry to her.

"− don't you miss your favourite uncle anymore? − hm? −" He breathed out at last, his words on the verge of a hiss, his face so close that the tips of their noses rubbed against each other once in a while.

There was a kind of desperation and helplessness in what he was doing, in his words, in his gaze fixed lustfully on her lips, as if he wanted to bite her.

The person in front of her had killed the boy she loved and she knew it perfectly well.

"− I don't recognise you − God, I don't recognise you −" She mumbled at last, feeling the warm tears of grief run down her cheeks.

She closed her eyes, thinking that he could do whatever he wanted to her − strangle her or throw her in the water – she would let him do anything as long as she finally stopped feeling anything.

She squealed in pain as his fingers dug into her tender skin as hard as if he wanted to break her jaw − he took a loud breath through his mouth and shuddered as if something in her words had broken him.

"− good − because I don't fucking recognise myself either −" He hissed out in a trembling, dispassionate voice full of pain from which she felt hot in her heart.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as his forehead pressed against hers, accepting at last that his brutality stemmed from a need for closeness, a need to take by force what he was sure she would never give him of her own free will.

Something in his words and in his gesture of despair made her hands, clenched until now on his jacket, rise higher, to his neck and to his face, running slowly over his jawline. He sighed and shuddered, feeling it, closing his eyes for a moment, the grip of his fingers on her cheeks easing.

She felt her nipples harden under the material of her dress, felt the space between her thighs swell and pulsate at the thought of what she wanted to do.

The moan that involuntarily escaped his throat when her fleshy, moist lips ran over his sounded sweet and innocent, the lick of his tongue that was his response made them cling to each other in a violent, loud, sticky kiss.

It had nothing to do with a gentle caress because it seemed to her that they were simply trying to devour each other − their hands clamped down on each other's bodies as if they wanted to merge into one, their slick tongues meeting again and again between their teeth, licking and teasing each other with loud clicks of their saliva, stripping this act of any sense of innocence.

They knew it was wrong and that's why they wanted it so badly, so when his fingers tightened on her plump buttocks, pressing her against the throbbing bulge in his trousers, she felt her sticky wetness run down her thigh, her hands clenched on his hair, letting him know he could take what he wanted.

"− it's your fault − it's your fault −" He panted into her mouth between deep, passionate, messy, hot kisses, his lips beneath hers swollen and wonderfully wet – he tasted of mint chewing gum and cigarettes, something forbidden, strange, terrifying.

He was a monster, and she wanted him to devour her.

There was no longer a lamp to light for her.

"− mghm −" She mumbled as she felt his hips begin to roll back and forth, rubbing deliberately against her lower abdomen, his tongue thrusting again and again deep into her throat, telling her that he could fuck her, he could destroy her, he could take everything from her, and she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen at the thought.

She wanted him to do this to her.

She wanted to know what it would be like to feel him there, deep inside her.

What it was like to have someone devour you with every thrust of his hips, every loud sigh of desire that was wrong in itself, what it was like to experience fulfilment on the brink of revelation.

"− are you sure you saw her here? −" She heard Daemon's voice and froze, pulling away from him instantly.

They looked at each other with big eyes, pale and terrified, panting hard and quivering as if they didn't recognise each other.

Oh God, oh God, oh my fucking God!

"− I'm here − I'm coming −" She called out in a trembling voice and ran towards them, towards the light, seeing the silhouettes of her step-father and her brother standing just inside the entrance where two evening lamps were lit.

Back to the light, back to the light, back to the light.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Daemon furrowed his brow as he looked at her, his gaze fleeing to the side, far away to the silhouette of her uncle standing in the distance.

"Did he do something to you?" He asked coldly.

"N-no. No, I just thanked him for what he did for me. Let's go inside." She lied, stepping back into the hall, struck immediately by the loud music, Every Breath You Take was playing all around her, dancing pairs of businessmen, gangsters and drug dealers made her feel like she was about to vomit.

Oh, can't you see You belong to me? How my poor heart aches With every step you take?

"Mum, excuse me, will you show me what room I'm going to sleep in? I feel bad." She muttered with difficulty feeling like she was suffocating, her heart pounding like mad.

His tongue deep in her throat, his heavy breath smelling of cigarettes and mint, his swollen lips pressed against hers as if he had been dreaming of this moment for years.

This is your fault.

Rhaenyra stroked her shoulder, worried, and rose from her seat.

"Are you sure? There will be birthday cake and wishing soon." She said softly, but she shook her head, the words of the song echoing around her had her on the verge of crying.

Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace I dream at night, I can only see your face I look around, but it's you I can't replace I feel so cold, and I long for your embrace I keep crying, baby, baby please

"I can't make it." She whispered.

She and her mother went to get her backpack with her things from their car, and then they walked to the hotel part of the manor − the lady at the reception gave them the right key, and her mother escorted her to her room wanting to make sure she could manage.

"Do you need anything? Shall I give you some pills for a stomach ache?" She asked, but she shook her head quickly, opening the door with her card.

"No, thank you. And I'm sorry. Have a good night."

"Don't apologise, my love. Sleep well."

As she closed the door behind her she turned on the light and saw that her room was tiny: it contained a small toilet, and beyond that a single bed, a desk with one chair and a wardrobe for clothes.

She pulled off her dress, washed her face and teeth, then changed into her pyjamas, which were really just an oversized white T-shirt and panties. The night was warm, so she turned off the light and opened the window, lying down in bed.

She tried not to think about what had happened, about how wonderfully he had kissed, about how she had never felt with any boy she had dated what she had felt with him, after years of separation.

She thought she was broken, that she was attracted to something that would help her destroy herself.

Even though her whole body screamed for her to relieve herself with her hand, to sink her own fingers into her warm folds, leaking with desire, she decided that she would not do it, that she would keep the remnants of her dignity before herself.

She fell asleep only hours later from exhaustion, dreaming of him, of him coming to her, of him taking the pillow in his hands, only to press it to her face.

She shuddered, terrified, seeing only darkness around her, hearing some noise. Only after a moment did she realise that someone was knocking on her door.

"− Rhaenys − fuck −" She heard his unclear mumble indicating that he was barely conscious and drunk. Her shoulders lifted in some subconscious defensive gesture, her lips parted in a terrified, accelerated breath.

Oh no, oh, God, no, no, no, no.

She heard a rustling and a thump, as if someone had fallen over, her hands clenched into a fist on the fabric of her duvet.

"− I want to go to sleep −" He muttered so that she barely heard him. She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling that his words, his request, what he subconsciously wanted was tearing at her heart.

He wanted to return to that moment, to fall asleep beside her as he had then.

It frightened her how well she understood him.

She stood up on trembling legs, feeling that they were as soft as cotton wool, and walked quietly to the door, pressing the handle slowly. She looked uncertainly out into the corridor, afraid of what she would see – his silhouette sat on the floor leaning against the wall, his head bowed, a nearly empty bottle of whisky in his hand.

He was not coping.

"Come." She whispered.

He shuddered and lifted his gaze to her, his stare soft and dishevelled. He muttered something under his breath, trying to get up, but fell over, collapsing to his knees, his bottle falling out of his hand, spilling its contents on the floor.

"− fuck −" He growled, wanting to reach for it and pick it up.

"− no − leave it − come inside −" She mumbled quietly, afraid someone would hear or see them.

His body was heavy and numb, making her help him up with great difficulty − he had to grab onto the frame of her door and lean against the wall to keep from falling over, and after a moment he slumped down on her bed, sighing heavily.

She closed the door behind him, swallowing loudly, and walked slowly towards him. He only flinched when she untied his shoes and pulled them off his feet, but furrowed his brow, displeased when she tried to pull his leather jacket off him.

"− you'll be too hot −" She muttered, slipping it off his shoulders but unable to pull it from behind his back, which was crushing the material. She squealed, surprised, placing her hands on his chest for balance as he drew her down with a sudden, sharp movement, causing her to fall against his body.

"− come here − God, you smell so good −" He exhaled making her moist insides pulsate greedily around nothing, a pleasant, tickling sensation filled her lower abdomen as his fingers ran through her hair in a gesture she might call affectionate.

He forced her to bend over so that her body clung to his − his thighs parted so that she could feel what was happening to him, how hard he was because of her proximity, while his lips clung to hers with a loud, messy click.

He smelled of alcohol, the taste of whisky melting on her tongue with each of his wet, hot, hungry licks − his hands slid from her neck down her back to her buttocks, slipping under her panties, his fingers digging into the soft texture of her skin.

"− tell me to leave −" He gasped out. "− tell me to stop −"

She moaned softly into his moist lips, knowing that she should do it.

But she didn't.

She felt his erection pulsate hard beneath her as she let the motions of his hands guide her body, rubbing against the bulge between his thighs, her weeping cunt all hot and swollen with desire, leaking with longing.

How could she let him do this?

How could it be so pleasurable?

She got the answer to her questions when his fingers slid deeper between her legs − she squirmed in his mouth, simultaneously terrified and delighted when the tips of his fingers found her hot, throbbing slit, slowly teasing her opening.

"− shhh − easy now −" He whispered in such a way that she felt a tickling shudder run through her lips, nipples and insides making her wetness begin to drip onto his hand, the circular motions of his fingers pressing wonderfully into her sticky folds began to be accompanied by the quiet clicks of her moisture.

She moaned into his mouth like a helpless little child − he hushed her as if he wanted to soothe and calm her, one hand placing on her head, combing his fingers through her hair, the other teasing her puffy little bud, once in a while running over her entrance, making wonderful waves of heat flow again and again through their bodies.

Their kisses became deep and lazy as they concentrated on the movements of their hips, rocking them so that they brushed against each other.

She shuddered and squirmed, shocked when she felt the tip of his middle finger sink between her fleshy walls, soaking wet with desire, sliding in and out of her with the sticky sound of her moisture, making her hips roll back and forth, coming out to meet him.

"− uncle − we can't − we can't, we can't, we can't −" She mumbled out, feeling his tongue thrust deep between her mouth with his sigh of pleasure, repeating the movements of his finger between her lips, her hands roaming over his cheeks and hair, stroking him tenderly as if she loved him.

As if she loved him.

"− we can − we will − we need to prepare you properly − shhh −" He gasped softly, making her body arch in a spasm of pleasure, a helpless, girlish moan ripped from her throat as his finger sank fully into the hot, soft structure of her throbbing cunt.

"− please − it's wrong − God, it's so wrong −" She whimpered, feeling tears of terror begin to run down her cheeks, her hands clenched on the material of his black turtleneck, her hips falling and rising on his finger, seeking fulfilment.

They both knew it wasn't enough.

"− shhh − I know, baby − I will take care of you − I got you −" He whispered as his free hand from her head slid down between their bodies, undoing his belt and the button of his trousers − she cried out loudly as she felt him slide them down along with his boxers, his fingers slick with her wetness pushing the material of her panties aside, directing her swollen, pulsing slit at the head of his cock.

"− please, Aemond, please −" She mewled, trying to pull away at the same time and spreading her legs wider, involuntarily allowing him to open her wide on his thick, long erection.

"− let me − I need you −" He exhaled, tilting his head back only to look again a moment later at their bodies, at what he was doing to her, at the way he was forcing himself deep into his niece's body.

The experience was wonderfully painful and pleasurable, as if something that had remained empty had at last been filled, as if she was at last whole, as if his body had always been part of hers.

Her walls offered him only apparent resistance, clenching against him in delight, his quiet, helpless moans were evidence of how good it felt.

She let him sink into her fully, sitting up on top of him, placing her hands on his chest, surrendering − she tilted her head back as his hips with deep, sure thrusts began to slam his cock into her body, his fingers clenched on her soft buttocks.

"− I − ah − mghmmm − G-God −" She mumbled out, bursting into sobs, parting her lips wide, leaning lower, letting him rub her with each stab where she needed it − her silky walls began to throb around his erection, soaking him wet, their breaths heavy and hitched, full of helplessness and vulnerability.

She felt strangely full, with each movement of his hips deep inside her body realising what they were doing and how sickeningly pleasurable it was.

"− thaaat's it − that's my girl − fuck, so good −" He exhaled, drifting off completely into the world of his fantasies, with steady, deep pushes building their way to fulfilment.

She thought in disbelief, panting heavily, that the experience of feeling him inside her was something almost spiritual, a revelation of sorts, her body rocking to the rhythm of his thrusts without involving her will.

What they were doing seemed both animalistic and natural to her, as if it was obvious that it had to end this way.

"− just a little more − please, just a little more − let me cum inside, baby −" He mumbled softly, his hands spreading her buttocks apart, allowing him to sink deeper into her fleshy core − she leaned over him and kissed him, their tongues colliding, licking each other in the most ungodly, perverted, lewd way imaginable.

"− A-Aemond − Aemond-Aemond-Aemond − ah! −" She whined into his mouth as he wove his hand into her hair and sank her face into his neck, feeling her warm moisture run down his thighs − her moans and cries of delight were muffled by his skin as her cunt squeezed and sucked him deep inside her in a stunning, overpowering orgasm that shook her body like a wonderful, hot, tickling wave.

She heard him sigh loudly and tilt his head back, clamping his fingers on her flesh, his body convulsing several times as if he had suffered some kind of attack when his hot seed filled her insides at last.

"− God − oh my fucking God −" He gasped out, panting heavily along with her, their hips moving for a moment more in a subconscious desire to prolong this feeling full of relief and warmth.

"− oh, baby −" He whispered, stroking her head and buttocks as if she were a small child.

For some reason unfathomable to her, she was not indebted to him, stroking his torso, neck and jaw, snuggled into him as she had been then, many years ago, feeling at peace, feeling safe, feeling good.

She felt his hand slide from her ass under his back, slipping his leather jacket out from under them, with which he covered their hips. His hand returned immediately to her soft buttock, as if he liked the feel of her silky skin under his hand, his soft manhood pulsing gently deep inside her.

She didn't mind.

"− sleep − don't worry − I want this baby −" He muttered and she swallowed hard, smiling involuntarily, wondering if he even understood what he was saying to her.

I want this baby.

His drunken alter ego was ready to become a father if it turned out that she became pregnant.

She sighed quietly and closed her eyes, focusing only on his scent, on his heart pounding hard beneath her breasts, on his broad hands embracing her body.

She thought, feeling a strange lightness in her heart, that she hadn't felt this wonderful in eight years.

[warehouse-in-la-cienaga]

Imagining a Fantasy high Junior year where the rest of the students get involved with the BK’s. There are so many times that bad things happen, and the Bad Kids are isolated from the other students so they have no clue.

Like, the last stand. Thinking of Arthur, instead of making clones, makes the last stand a whole school production, with the Students as the audience. The last stand is a ‘once a decade’ kind of test, due to the difficulty, and a perfect example of adventuring, so it’s very exciting. The students can’t interact with the fight, but the BKs have some kind of microphones, and a screen of spells and stats for the audience. The students can’t be hit, but the proctor still can.

The rest of the students seeing how competent the BK’s are in fighting. Kristin and Fig will have no problem getting followers after this. People are filming Fabian’s fights to put music to. No one can see Riz, but that’s kind of the point, and it’s a game to find any trace of him. Adaine is the most organised, respected Wizard example, even in so much chaos. When Gorgug almost solos that purple worm, at least one person faints.

And they’re joking. They’re having regular conversations. Half the time, there’s no forewarning, they’re just changing tactics on a heel turn, and they’re all on the same page. Those questions are out and answered so quickly, there isn’t a chance for the audience to give an answer. Every correct answer is a slam dunk. The stats on Fig’s damage output is insane. There was a exactly one wrong answer and it’s extra credit.

Then Buddy goes down. I think the plan was for the BKs to have no chance of revivify, so as long as none of the students see KLCK, she goes through with it. So long as the BKs are dead, no one can accuse the Rat Grinders without proof. But they don’t go down. Instead, the rest of the student body see Kristin, after a quick internal battle, run for the guy that she’s had public arguments with, try to save him even as the rest of her party finish the fight. They try to save Buddy, and the Students see it. They see there’s no diamonds, and it’s understood that there was never a plan to revivify the BKs. But they didn’t need to be.

The BKs somehow become even more cool. Gorgug’s little ‘sit down’ gets him a cult following. When Buddy shows up, claiming someone came along after to revivify him, the rest of the students show him how the BKs tried to help. The Rat Grinders, with that kind of attention, go even further underground, and the rest of the students are more and more suspicious about their involvement in the BKs almost-death.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part Two

Part One

Eddie sits in his van, and he cries about it. He cries so much the already tangled mess of yarn in his hands becomes nothing but a colourful blur. He knows a lot of this is hormones; his neglected Omega falling further and further into depression.

If he neglects his Omega much more, another heat spent alone might actually kill him. Eddie vaguely recognises he's far enough gone that simply not waking up one day sounds kind of nice.

He bought the most expensive yarn he could afford. He knew it wasn't good enough for a pups blanket, but he just couldn't afford the nicer stuff. Yarn is fucking expensive.

So yeah, he got the cheaper stuff, attracted to the colours as much as anything, even knowing he'd have to double it over to make it thick enough to knit. And that was how the trouble started because doubling it over meant unspooling the whole thing.

And now it's just another thing Eddie has fucked up.

He's not a good Omega, he knows that, he's been told it his entire life; too brash, too loud, too imaginative, not good at cooking and cleaning and organising and all the stuff Omega are supposed to naturally be good at.

Which if he didn't care, then it wouldn't matter, but Eddie wants a pup. Wants one like it's a burning urge inside him. Wants to carry one, wants to make another person who's a part of him. His Omega whines and whines and whines and Eddie wants it. Wants it enough that he tries to be a good Omega; he just always fucks it up.

And that makes it so much worse.

Some of the Omega in senior year are already mated, already walking around with bites proudly displayed on their necks. Fancy Omega with good breeding and nice families who have chosen Alphas for them. Which, sure, Eddie's not sure he'd like to have an Alpha picked for him, but to have a pup of his own? Eddie would put up with a lot.

One girl is already pregnant, everyone congratulating her and celebrating with her; as soon as she started to show Eddie found he couldn't even look at her any more, the envy was eating him alive.

But it'll never be for him.

They're supposed to make pup blankets in Omega class and Eddie can't even afford the fluffy yarn. He's already failed.

And then Eddie nearly shits himself when someone bangs on the driver side window. He's been ugly crying, and he tries to wipe his eyes and snotty nose to see who it is, winding the window down. Steve Harrington; fucking wonderful.

"Hey, man, look, are you, okay?"

"Fine," Eddie answers, clearly not at all fine, one hand smeared in snot and the other wound so tight in the fucked up yarn his fingers are turning white.

Steve sees it, "do you, want a hand with that?"

"I don't think there's any saving it." Eddie says, defeated, but it was unexpectedly decent of Harrington to offer so he tacks on, "thanks."

"I was just here, late, you know, shooting some practice hoops, maybe if we go in the gym we could spread it out, maybe?"

Eddie just stares at him for a minute, because this is the nicest anyone's been to Eddie for ages and it's coming from and Alpha which just makes it that much worse so Eddie just...nods. Finds himself following Harrington into the gym.

They work in silence for a while, and at Steve's suggestion, they do end up cutting the yarn once to make it easier.

"Thankyou."

"No worries man, I knew we could do it, what's it for?"

"Omega studies," Eddie mumbles at the gym floor, "pup blanket"

"Ah, right, that's cool, Why'd you pick it? I like the colours."

And in what universe is Steve Harrington making idle conversation with Eddie Munson, "was all I could afford," Eddie admits, shame faced.

"They make you buy it?" Steve's frowning, "even though it's for a grade?"

Eddie just nods, and then shrugs.

"Oh, well what did your Alpha think?"

Eddie snorts, can't help it, the ridiculousness of it, "I don't have an Alpha," Eddie declares, much more loudly than he'd really ment to.

"Oh. I just figured...I mean you're so pretty. You must get plenty of offers."

Eddie just...stares at Steve. He must have fallen and hit his head, surely. It's the only explanation for what's happening here, Eddie laughs again, "sure, if I want to get on my knees in the bathroom." Which is true, Eddie gets plenty of offers, just not any he'd like to participate in. He's going to loose his virginity to an Alpha who cares for him, in a nest that Alpha built, even if it kills him.

Which it just might, if he goes through another heat alone. He sees the way Wayne looks at him, the worry in his eyes. He knows he's not well, but he's just going to ignore it. There's nothing else to be done.

"Oh," Steve says, he looks uncomfortable but then he ploughs on anyway, "you do smell...well, I...I can tell you're maybe not doing so hot."

Great. Time for Eddie to fucking bail on this. He's hit his limit on Steve Harrington pity for the day.

It's the next day when Eddie finds a paper bag hanging from the windshield of his van. There's five skeins of yarn inside; dark blue, a little sparkly, and the softest thing Eddie's ever felt. He looks around to see who could have done this; across the car park Steve Harrington gives him a shy, two finger wave.

[disaster-theysbian]

Gotta say, I've been out as a lesbian for 3 years and nonbinary for a year and a half. And I've noticed something.

Just because someone *always* gets your name and pronous correct, and angrily calls out anyone who forgets, doesn't necessarily mean they support you.

Conversely, just because someone struggles to remember your name and pronouns, or can't wrap their head around gender neutral/neo pronouns at all, doesn't necessarily mean they DON'T support you.

This is applicable to any situation really not just queer shit. Watch what people do, not just what they say, and you will find your friends. Someone might shower you with compliments and have common interests with you, but what happens when you tell them no? Do they get angry when they are corrected? Do they have kind things to say about other people?

My colleagues wouldn't know a gender-neutral pronoun if one hit them in the face with a dictionary, but they make sure I've had a lunch break and get home safely. They have my back if I have a difficult patient. They defend me against other staff members who like to create drama and bitch about people as if they're still in the school playground. If someone has something to say about me being a big ol' queer, they make it known that discrimination has no place in our unit.

My best friend in the whole entire world forgets my name and pronouns every day. When the organisers of her therapy group changed "men and women" to "people" and "he/she" to "they" in order to be more inclusive, there was outcry. Everything from the "it just doesn't sound right" grammar-policing nonsense to the "f*cking special snowflakes are offended by everything". She came down on them like a ton of bricks. She said if the organisers hadn't told them that it was changing, that they wouldn't have noticed. She told them they obviously haven't loved someone outside of the gender binary and they were missing out. She then told them how she had seen me grow and develop since I came out, and how in awe she was of the person I had become. No, she doesn't understand it at all, but why should that mean that she can't be there for me and appreciate how happy I am to be able to be me? Why should that mean, because you lot don't understand it, that someone with the same issues as the rest of the therapy group feels unsafe and unwelcome and doesn't get their issues resolved? As a result, a few of them changed their minds, INCLUDING HER OWN FATHER, and the rest at least shut the hell up about it.

ON THE FLIP SIDE...

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns delighted in making me walk on eggshells, inventing reasons to be angry with me, convinced me I was a terrible person and even went as far as to try and turn me against my own therapist. They tried to tell me that my therapist only said I was a good person because she was paid to, and that because they themselves had a psychology degree that they could tell I had all these complexes and needed to work hard to be a good person, and it was unlikely I'd never get there. (I chose to listen to my therapist and stop being friends with this person).

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns continued to do things that made me uncomfortable when I asked them to stop. Never said in as many words "you're not allowed to hang out with your friends" but conveniently had an emergency every time I had plans, and accused me of being uncaring if I needed my own space. They knew I had difficulty asking for help, but still got angry with me when I asked because I didn't ask "soon enough".

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns told me they would look after me and they didnt. .

A queer person threatened to misgender me MORE when I corrected them.

I'm just saying, that if you choose to yeet everyone who doesn't get your name and pronouns right... that doesn't necessarily make you safe. We live in a very binary world. As much as we want that to change, it won't if we ignore or shout at the bits we don't like. (Believe me, I've tried).

[flamingo-writes]

ok but hear me out, artist f reader having pregnancy craving and hobie is taking care of her, that would be so adorable 😭💖 really love your posts, xoxo

No listen, I’m with you in this. Part of his badass punk nature is looking after his own, like the way he looks after Gwen, and how he helped Miles after 20 minutes of meeting him. I’m sure he’d be hella attentive of his s/o especially if his s/o is pregnant. Let’s go!

Chocolate Banana Bread — Hobie x Reader

You never really discussed children. Living together, staying life long partners was out of the question. It was just a given. Children were never part of the conversation. Not because you didn’t want them, but because it never turned up.

And when you found out you were pregnant, the both of you panicked a little bit. And you weren’t sure on what to do next. And the more time it went by, the more comfortable and even excited you got with the idea of becoming parents.

Hobie was already a very supportive boyfriend, but the moment you found out about the pregnancy he became even more protective and attentive. Even when you thought it was impossible. Especially when it came to your cravings.

However, his spider sense worked almost like telepathy. Every time he came home from doing his spidey duties, or just running errands, he always brought you something. And somehow it always seemed to be exactly what you craved.

Most of your days looked the same. Working in art pieces in the morning, a couple of commissions, a couple of personal projects. You went to the art gallery you helped run and helped around with whatever was needed. Lunch break. Some more time at the gallery, mostly showing people around. And then back home. And an hour or so later, Hobie returned.

However, on one of your free days, halfway through your pregnancy, you were starting to get restless. You spent the morning not doing much, watering your plants, cleaning your brushes, organising all the paint you had, even gathering all of Hobie’s sketches and pieces of scrap paper he used for his collages and random materials for installations.

This day in particular you weren’t sure what you were craving. But you wanted to eat something very particular, but you couldn’t pin point exactly what. Chocolate maybe? Bread? You could do some chocolate bread, but there was something else missing. Raisins? No. That was weird. But pregnant women got weird cravings wasn’t it? Banana? You don’t remember being this crazy over bananas but many of the things that had changed, you attributed them to the pregnancy.

Chocolate banana bread.

As you looked around the kitchen, you grew frustrated with the fact that you had very few cocoa powder. Enough flour. And no bananas. In any other moment, you could easily grab your wallet and keys and go buy what you needed. But not today. Today the raging hormones got the better of you and you felt incredibly overwhelmed with everything. The lack of ingredients. The effort of grabbing your things. Walking to the store. On your free day! This isn’t how you wished to spend your free day! Bubbling like soda, your emotions soon erupted from your eyes in desperate tears as you tried to make sense of your own emotions.

“Home, sweet’eart!” You heard Hobie’s voice echoing, coming from the room. “Marco!”

“Polo!” You replied between sobs.

Upon hearing your shaky voice, Hobie rushed out of the bedroom, alarmed. As he saw you, he got up to you and called your name softly.

“Hey, hey, baby, what’s wrong?” He asked as he gently cupped your cheeks in his large hands. “Hey, it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay, baby, what happened?”

“I wanted to make chocolate banana bread and we only’ve got flour…” You sobbed softly, your eyes wide and teary.

Hobie chuckled softly and kissed your forehead. “Hey, it’s a’ight, let’s make banana bread, luv…” He said as he pulled away and swung his backpack off his shoulder and opened it. “Take a peek,”

You cleaned your tears and looked at him puzzled before looking inside. Your eyes widened, and the plethora of hormones and emotions made your eyes teary once more as you started crying again. Hobie giggled softly.

“Hobie! You brought what we needed for the banana bread!” You sobbed.

“Hey, it was a hunch. These spider senses are pretty spot on, aren’t they?” He chuckled as you nodded and cleaned your face with the back of your hand. “Come on, luv…” He said, kissing your forehead. “You can stop crying…”

“I’m just very happy, Hobes…” You cried softly.

“I know, babe…” He chuckled cupping one of your cheeks, “I think it’s cute, actually” he purred before jerking his head, “c’mon, let’s get bakin’, although, I don’t want my banana bread all salty from tears…” He teased, making you laugh.

“Let me go wash my face…” You whispered as he clicked his tongue and winked.

“Sure, I’ll get started in everything else,”

[regionalcinnabonmanager]

“You wouldn’t have a key to this random door, would you?” 

Flufftober 14: locked in/trapped

You and Leon are stuck in a storage closet at the DSO's headquarters. One problem: You're claustrophobic.

fluff, (obvi) second person pov, gn reader, idiots in love, mutual pining, leon is awkward at feelings, he is also a major simp for you, written with re4 leon in mind but can be read as any, let me know if i need more tags. i don’t think it needs much? NOT PROOFREAD.

word count: 2.1k

i fell in love with leon and subsequently hopped on the fluff train, now i'm writing this nonsense fic. rationale is,, not optimum rn but thats fine, uhh enjoy, simps.

--

“Ow-!” Leon winced in response to you stepping on his foot by accident. 

“Sorry!” You took your foot off of Leon’s as you tried to look for that damn battery pack Hunnigan told you and Leon to look for, struggling greatly to find it as you shined your flashlight in various directions, trying to find it. 

A blackout had happened at the DSO. Those usually never happen at HQ, due to there being backup generators during city-wide blackouts, but apparently, some idiot electrician fixing something down there had screwed up and caused all the lights at HQ to go bye-bye.

So now you were stuck in a dark, small, storage room only big enough for two people to freely move around in, looking for a spare battery pack for people’s flashlights. 

“Found it yet?” Leon asked, shining his flashlight at the storage racks filled with various chemicals and cleaning supplies. You scoffed in response.

“If I did, I’d be grabbing the thing and getting out of this damn room ASAP. Starting to get really uncomfortable here..” You replied with snark, spotting the battery pack a little bit after. With a feeling of accomplishment, you took it. “Found it.” You turned around and held it up, shining your flashlight upwards.

“Good, let’s get out of here and get it to Hunnigan. Still don’t know why she made us do this..” He sighs, hand reaching out to turn the lever door knob. 

As he does so, the door knob falls to the floor with a clatter. Leon picks it back up and tries to reattach the piece of metal, but fails; and it falls to the floor again. 

Silence envelops the room as the two of you stare at the door knob for a few seconds… and then slowly, your eyes meet each other’s. 

Shit.

“What did you do!?” You were the first to break the silence with an exasperated remark, questioning how the fuck Leon managed to break the doorknob.

“I didn’t do anything! The knob just.. broke.” He replies, equally as confused as you are. 

Oh shit, this was your worst nightmare put into words. Which was ironic, considering you worked at an organisation that dealt with nightmarish monstrosities on the regular. 

Of all the things you could be afraid of, somehow small spaces were one of those great fears.

You felt yourself begin to panic. The room felt suffocating. 

“Okay, relax, I’ll just call Hunnigan and tell her we’re stuck in the storage closet. She’ll get us out.” Leon pulled out his phone and flipped it open, dialling Hunnigan. Shortly after, she picked up, and he explained what had happened to the both of you. 

As Leon was on the phone with her, you bit the inside of your cheek and began to zone out, trying to keep yourself together. You could barely hear their conversation as a high-pitched ringing drowned out their voices.

“..Thanks Hunnigan. Bye.” He ended the call, flipping his phone closed with a sigh. “Hunnigan called facilities. ETA is in an hour, so we might as well get comfy.” He pocketed the device as he turned to your still form staring at the wall. “Hey, you good?” He reached over to pat you on the shoulder, snapping you out of your trance.

That seemed to work, as your head immediately turned to him. “Huh? What?”

Leon sighed, repeating what he just said to you. “Are you okay?” He added at the end. “You were kinda.. zoning out.”

You shook your head and sighed, your face twisted into a frown. “No- yeah, I’m uh..” 

Leon raised a brow. “Are you okay or not?” 

Figuring that you can’t hide the truth forever, especially not in a room as small as this, you decided to tell him your fear. “I’m claustrophobic. And I’m kinda, y’know, freakin’ out right now-” You laughed in an attempt to stop yourself from spiralling, but it just made you look sad. 

A look of realisation crossed Leon’s face as he tried to think of what to do to help you calm down. He had experienced panic attacks before, and he knew how to deal with them. Maybe that can help?

“Alright, deep breaths right now, okay?” Leon took your hands and sat you down on the cold floor in an attempt to ground you back to reality. He gently took your face and made you look at him, his blue eyes meeting yours. “Tell me five things you can see.” He took your shining flashlight and pointed it up, letting you see your surroundings.

You looked around momentarily, your eyes landing on a plastic container filled with an orange liquid. “Floor cleaner,” Your eyes trailed over to other spots, “Rat poison, white floor, mop, mop bucket.”  

“Good.” Leon tried to remember the next step. “Four things you can touch.” 

You raised a hand and felt around the place, landing on the cold floor. “Floor..” You touched your arm, fabric balled into your grip. “Clothes,” you reached behind you to feel the cold metal of the storage rack. “Storage rack..” 

You then looked down at Leon’s hand on yours, turning your wrist to intertwine your fingers with his. “Your hand..” You mumbled with a little warmth in your cheeks. Leon seemed to share the same heat on his face as well, but you both chose to ignore it.

Clearing his throat, Leon let your hand stay with his as he ran you through the last three steps of the grounding technique. 

“You feel better?” He asks softly, rubbing the skin of your hand with his thumb. 

You nodded, looking up at him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m.. feeling better now..” 

There was a kind of tension in the room as the two of you sat on the floor of the supply closet in silence, hand in hand. Neither of you had ever done this before, so there was a definite awkwardness.

He was just trying to help you calm down, You thought to yourself, rationalising his actions. Nothing more to it. 

Your eyes shifted over to Leon, glancing at his face for a second before looking away.

Shit, they’re probably uncomfortable right now, Leon silently thought to himself. But, they’re not pulling their hand away.. Maybe they don’t mind it?

“How- how much time did Hunnigan say facilities would get here?” You broke the silence with a question.

“An hour, she said. Although, they might get here a bit later because they’re still dealing with the electricity problem. Then they’ll get us out.” He replied with a sigh, leaning back into the metal storage rack behind the two of you. “Don’t worry. It probably won’t be too long.” 

You nodded in response. An hour, huh? Well fuck. What’s two people to do ‘til then?

The two of you sat in more silence as you quietly waited for time to pass by, the occasional clicking of shoes together the only source of sound in the room. Leon’s flashlight was propped up and acted as the singular light source that illuminated everything just enough for it to be visible. With which, you decided to admire your best friend’s arms.

Everyone with eyes knew Leon was a catch. He was blessed with good looks, and a body that looked like it was chiselled by the Gods. Whether he knew it or not, he was dashing. You knew that, everyone did. 

Fortunately, (or unfortunately,) you had the pleasure of knowing what was behind that physical layer and found the treasure underneath. He was kind, endearing, always fought for what was right, and was overall, a really good guy.

And thus, the crush began. You’ve been hiding it pretty well, you’d think. He didn’t seem to notice anything. Besides, if he did, it’s not like you could do anything about it. He probably doesn’t feel the same..

As you went on your little thought train, your mind wandered deeper into the brainrot, thinking about how his arms would feel wrapped around you and embracing you in a warm hug..

“Can you like, hug me?”

Leon turned to you, giving you a look of confusion. “What?” 

Shit, did you say that out loud? FUCK.

Well, no turning back now.

“Uh- can you.. give me a hug?” You asked again, a little more embarrassed this time.

He was a little bit hesitant, but you reassured him that it was fine. And so he finally put his arms around you, gently pulling you towards him and resting your head on his shoulder. The position was not innocent at all. You were facing him, your chest against his as his arms wrapped around your waist and your head rested on his shoulder. 

 A little intimate for ‘best friends’, there. A little voice in your head spoke up, but you quickly shut it down, deciding to ignore it in favour of feeling the comfort of Leon’s arms around you.

Even if he doesn’t like you in the same way, then at least… you can still enjoy the feeling of being his best friend. Enjoy this hug. 

Your shoulders slumped a little at that thought. 

--

Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck, the holiest of fucks. What in the actual hell am I doing?

Leon silently panicked to himself as he held you in his arms. Was he really doing this? Was this real? Did he or did he really not have his best friend/long-time crush in his arms right now? And you’re the one that asked for the hug? This was a dream come true. 

Maybe… this is a hint that they like me? He thought to himself, before dismissing the thoughts. No.. they probably don’t feel the same way. 

He heard a little yawn from you, betraying your fatigue. “You wanna sleep?” He asked, to which you nod in response to. “Alright..” Acknowledgement comes from him in the form of a soft whisper.

Fuck, they’re so cute when they’re tired.. He raised a hand from your waist to your back, drawing circles to help you fall asleep. He knew you deserved this. You’ve been running around settling the technical things since the blackout, no wonder you’d be just about ready to collapse. 

After about 20 minutes, he eventually feels you relax in his arms, your breathing slowing down to a calmer, more peaceful pace. A tell-tale sign that you’re asleep.

He sighs quietly, deciding to talk to himself as you sleep. “Why did I have to fall for you?” He whispers as he continues to draw circles on your back. “Why did it have to be you?” 

“You’re way out of my league. Stunning, smart, funny… God, I knew I’d never have a chance, but I just couldn’t help falling for you.”

It was really no wonder how he fell for you. You were everything he wanted, but he knew he’d never have you for a multitude of reasons.

“You’re much better off without me. You shouldn’t have to worry about someone who’ll die on you anytime I’m away. But fuck, I want you so bad.”

That was the truth. His job made it hard to maintain a relationship, he knew that, you knew that. In fact, every agent in the building knew it. Though there were no restrictions on having a family, most were either too busy to find love or chose not to for obvious reasons.

Leon held you tighter in his arms, being careful not to crush you. “I love you. So much. I know I can’t have you, but that’s fine. I’ll keep loving you from afar.” 

He sighed, thinking about why he was even spilling his heart out like this. “What am I saying? You can’t even hear me..” He chuckled mirthlessly.  His hand gently cradled the back of your head, a small smile on his face as he played with the hair on the nape of your neck. 

Unbeknownst to him, you were still awake. Half-asleep, but you heard everything.

Bonus:

The lights flickered back on, waking Leon up from his sleep. The power was back, and there was a clattering of the lock on the other side of the door.

“You two okay in there?” Hunnigan’s muffled voice called from the other side of the door. “We almost got the lock opened, just hold on.”

A few minutes later, the door opened, revealing a guy from facilities and Hunnigan standing in the doorway. “Oh, thank God you two are fine-” 

She stops in her tracks, spotting you in Leon’s arms, sitting on the floor. She blinks a few times, trying to connect the dots. “Did you two-” 

“Nothing happened.” Leon got up, carrying you with ease and walking out of the door. He did not want to speak of what happened, lest it caused a gossip storm among the employees. “Don’t tell anyone.” 

Hunnigan just followed along, kind of having this ‘whatever’ mindset. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

✨✨✨ (so I can id my post)

Aita for not wanting another color guard member to be in leadership when I’m technically not either?

I (m18) am a junior in high school and have been doing color guard since the winter of my freshman year (over 2 years at this point) and besides our seniors, (who, for obvious reasons, are not going to be there next year) I am the oldest and most experienced person in our guard. Our captain is a senior, and since July, people have been saying that they think I should replace her as captain next year. I’ve been wanting to be captain after her since before then. We aren’t doing winter guard this year, but the past couple of months, we’ve been meeting after school on Wednesdays to practice. Our current captain and only other squad leader are both seniors so they haven’t been coming, making us leaderless for the time being. I’m more likely than not going to be captain next year, given that I’m the only person who’s willing and qualified, and have been attempting to step up to the plate with these practices, but but am having some problems with a certain member that we’ll call K (nb14/15).

When I told K that we’d be doing the practices weekly and gave them some of the details, they said that they knew already and that they were the one to organise it with our band director. This confused me, because I was the one who talked to our BD about the practices and she said nothing about having already talked to K about it, but I figured that it was just a communication mess-up and moved on.

The next week, I reminded everyone that we’d have practice after school on Wednesday at a specific time and in a specific place. On Wednesday, I went to the assigned place, but nobody was there, which confused and worried me because I had seen everyone that was going to be there earlier. I was legitimately really worried because even when I called/texted everyone that was supposed to be there, I was not getting a response. I’m kind of freaking out at this point, so I go to the band room to ask our band director if she’s seen them, and she tells me that they were in the gym. I go to the gym, and everyone’s in there, already practicing. I was pretty upset, because I’d told multiple people multiple times that I’d be at practice, which was happening in another place and when that changed nobody came to get me, but I brushed this off as a miscommunication. At this point, I was starting to notice that K has been doing a lot of stuff without talking to me first, and sometimes was getting information about specific guard stuff before me.

The next day, I ask K if there was a way that we could meet up for lunch to talk about color guard next year, because they were taking on certain leadership roles lately and I didn’t want to undermine them, but wanted to be able to handle things myself. They said that they were busy that week and next because of an English assignment (which shouldn’t be taking up lunch time for a full week, but I digress) and I took it and told them to get in touch with me when they were available to meet. I reminded them the next week, but they said that they were still too busy.

A couple weeks later, a different guard member texted me and said that she, K, and a few others decided that it would be best to cancel practice for the next two weeks because we were all really busy with school work that week, and had a special school event the next week. I was a little annoyed that I hadn’t been involved in this conversation, but was ok with it because I needed the time anyway. Two weeks go by, it’s Wednesday, and I’m about to go home because I thought we wouldn’t have practice, but when I passed the place that we usually meet at, everyone was there and was practicing. This time I was legitimately upset and pulled K to the side and told them that if they’re going to make decisions like this, they’re going to have to make sure EVERYONE is told, because good leadership requires communication, they apologized and we tried to move on with practice, but I left early, because there wasn’t enough space for me and it didn’t really seem like anyone wanted me there. (And even though K apologized, I was still upset about the situation)

This week (at the time of submitting) I wasn’t able to go because I was sick, but it was also the first time that some new people would be practicing, so I texted K and told them to teach them drop spins and pull hits. They responded and said that they’d taught them before so they knew what they were doing. I had not heard of this happening before then and it threw me off, but I was too tired to do anything.

this makes me look really bad, but there are a few things to take into consideration:

Before this all went down, it was sort of mutually established between us that I would be taking over next year, so it’s not like K is just doing what needs to be done, because I’ve been doing it already.

K is a freshman, and has only done color guard for one season, so they’re under experienced for the role that they’re attempting to take on

I mean this as no offense to them, because they work really hard and legitimately love guard, but K isn’t very good at it. This wouldn’t usually bother me, but I’m scared that they’re going to teach the rookies the wrong technique and it’s going to slow them down at band camp next year

I have a plan for what next year could look like, that I’m pretty positive that K would like, but I need to talk to them about it first and they’ve sort of been avoiding me.

What are these acronyms?

[mapofthemazeinthemirror]

I have been meaning to yap to you about this because I am a certified mafia jjun enjoyer but….listen!

two things: one (1) reader is hired by said mafia group to protect the leader (yeonjun) gosh I imagine like enemies to lovers? she hates yeonjun at first, and thinks he’s so so mean. At first he thinks “how is she going to protect me?” but she’s protecting him more than physically. he eventually eases up on her and ends up being mean to everyone but her. gahhh something about meanie jjunie that has a soft spot gets me.

two (2) this might be quick but reader and mafia boss tyun being from rival families, but they cross paths and end up falling for each other. aaaah forbidden romance <3

ASH I LOVE YOUR MIND. Thank you for feeding me with this. I’ve been craving gang txt ever since the new gbgb choreo, the part where it looks like they’re fighting 🫢 Number two (2) with Taehyun is so yummy, just imagine the banter they'd have with each other!

words: 1.8k oops

warnings: a bit of workplace discrimination, mentions of attacks, criminal activity, blood briefly, treating wounds, probably too soft at the end

If there’s one thing you’re going to do, it’s do your job damn well regardless of your personal feelings towards the man you’ve been hired to protect – and especially if said man seems to think you’re not fit for the job. It appeared Yeonjun was not pleased when you first showed up to work, pulling a member of his team aside and having what looked like a tense conversation. It only made you more intent on proving your position. You often butted heads, unable to agree on the right approach to many things. Yeonjun prioritized quick gains, confrontations and aggressive plays, recurrently willing to forgo his security or the safety of the more expendable members of his organisation to get what he was after. On the other hand, you wanted him to undertake less risky tactics, ones that were better for his reputation, his long-term safety. There were a couple of instances where he tried to plan some dealings without you, locking you out of his office and leaving you to stand outside fuming and trying to hear what little of the discussion you could through the crack in the door. The men took you even less seriously after that stunt – if the boss didn’t respect you, why should they?

Using your intel, you cleverly plan out routes for the driver to take that steer clear of trouble. At first Yeonjun is annoyed and questions the detour, but later that night, he learns through his informant that police were doing a random car check on the usual route, due to the crimes of a gang in the area. When he thanks you the following morning, you think you've earned the respect you've been craving. However, the good feeling doesn't last. As the day goes on, not only does Yeonjun give you his drink order, as if you're a simple assistant or coffee runner, he also laughs at a joke one of his men makes about you, right in front of you.

And maybe from time to time you fantasize about the young, stupidly good looking, ridiculously well dressed mafia boss getting what he deserved; about letting his laundering fall through, letting his shipment go to the wrong country, or turning a blind eye to the betrayal of one of his most valuable men that you have discovered. But you're a professional, and professionals don't let their sour thoughts derail their career.

It's only when the truth about the disloyalty of Yeonjun's right hand man is laid out for him that things begin to change. You had supplied all the proof, having hired a private investigator of sorts to get the incriminating photos you needed, accumulating dirt on the man who was Yeonjun's favourite, his oldest friend in the business, until there was no room for doubt in his mind.

What you hadn't expected was for the boss to show up at your place a few days after your exposé, looking more exhausted than you'd ever seen him. The betrayal had hit him hard. He seemed despondent as he glanced around at the place you lived, showing no reflection of his opinion. You weren't even sure how much he was taking in with those tired dark eyes. His hair was not to his usual standard, and his coat which was usually tied fashionably at his waist hung open and loose on his thin frame. You felt more awkward standing before him in this state than you ever had when he'd been laughing at your expense. You offered him a seat but he turned it down. All you could do was stare and wait for him to speak.

“I'm very grateful,” he began. His voice was hoarse, bringing a deepness to it you'd never known. Finally he looked you straight in the eye for the first time since he'd arrived. “I never would have seen it for myself. I was blinded by my… If you hadn't disclosed this to me…” It was the first time you'd seen him struggle to articulate himself. You nodded in understanding, and he seemed relieved.

After that, you were given a raise – a silent one, since he applied it without saying anything to you about it – and an office of your own. Not only did the jokes and snide comments from the other men stop, but they seemed to eye you with caution, some with reverence. You had become the one Yeonjun trusted most, the one he came to with his concerns, and nobody would ever question your value again. Not unless they wanted to face the boss's fury.

Things have been good for a while: you love your job – and maybe, as much as you hate to admit it, your boss, just a little bit? – when something unforeseeable happens. You're busy handling communications when you spot Yeonjun's ride pull up in the underground lot on the security monitor. Watching as the two front doors of the vehicle swing open and both the driver and the ridealong dash to open the back doors, your anxiety is thrown into gear. Then Yeonjun stumbles out from the back seat. You're on your feet before you see them check him over, out the door before he can wave them off.

By the time he's in the building, there are more men around him, asking questions and putting their hands on his shoulders in concern. He shakes them all off in annoyance, ordering them to get back to work. As the men fall away he spots you standing by, and he softens. When he approaches, you see the sharp red lines that are scratched into the side of his face, notice the bloody cuts on his hand as it sweeps his black hair up over his forehead.

“What happened?” you ask when he reaches you, even though you have a pretty good idea in your mind. You need to know anyway, as you keep a record of all offenses committed against him.

“It was an ambush,” he says simply. He watches your hands take his bigger ones from his sides and turn them over, inspecting. His hands suddenly feel cold in contrast to your warm skin as you make contact.

“Are you okay?” You glance briefly up to his eyes, indicating that your question does not refer to his obvious abrasions.

“That bullet proof glass might need a touch up,” he states rather matter-of-factly in reply, looking away from you. He sounds so nonchalant, as if it's not a big deal. Your heartbeat has picked up significantly, an unexpected reaction to hearing about danger that has already passed, and you realise that a threat to Yeonjun's safety means more to you than it should; more than a professional responsibility for his security.

You usher him into his office and locate the medical kit. This is the first time you'll be putting your first aid training to good use, you muse silently as you pull the lamp down close to Yeonjun's face. It's an intimate position you've found yourself in; Yeonjun seated on the large plush sofa while you hover above him, one knee on the seat of the sofa to steady yourself. You don't even register that your knee is between his spread legs, so focused on treating his injuries. You've never touched him before, and yet it feels like one of the most natural things you've ever done as you work instinctively, the fingers of your non-dominant hand along his cheek without your noticing. His warm eyes, which had seemed distant just a moment ago, check your face occasionally, until he abandons subtlety and they unabashedly train on you as you treat him, lit by the glow of the lamp. You try not to notice it, though you definitely do.

“I usually do this myself,” he says quietly as you reach for a new cloth and the bottle of disinfectant once more. The tug of a lazy smile appears on his mouth. “This is much better.”

Your eyes meet his, and all at once you feel much too warm. Now that you're not concentrating, you notice the placement of your knee, and your whole body seems to come alive. Retracting it as casually as possible, you hold your hand out to him, hoping your flushed state will go unnoticed. The feeling of his palm against yours sends sparks through you, making you feel like a stupid high schooler. He's still smiling, which makes it even harder to ignore. You suppose he's used to his life being threatened, used to targeted attacks, and that's how he's so calm after the ambush. Unless the starry look in his eyes speaks of an oncoming concussion.

He doesn't flinch once as you disinfect his scrapes and cuts. You're glad there's no glass to be picked out of the wounds. He watches everything you do quietly, and you find yourself having to remind yourself to breathe occasionally. It's new to be this close to him, and you don't hate it – not in the slightest. Most of his wounds are superficial, thanks to the bullet proof glass, and once you've applied coverings to the cuts on his hands, you're all finished. When you go to move the lamp away, you notice that his face has changed. He looks drained now, all his earlier charm and blasé attitude abandoned, maybe a little paler than usual even under the warm light, and you wonder if he's starting to feel the effects of the ordeal.

“I'll get you some water,” you tell him. Before you can move away, you feel his fingers softly grasp your hand. Your eyes come back to his face in surprise.

“Wait,” he says, a little weakly. His eyes are looking away from you, his brow quirked as though he's trying to figure something out. “I'm fine. Can you- can you just…”

There's only been one other time he's not been sure of his words before, and he'd been through something rough then, too. Something inside you begins to warm up and slowly melt as you realise that Yeonjun is not as unbothered on the inside as he plays on the outside. He may be tough, but he's not invincible. He may have had this kind of attack on his life before, he might even be used to it or expect it, but his body still undergoes the shock, even if it’s a delayed reaction.

His eyebrows are still slightly furrowed as he looks up at you. Without words and with the gentlest, smallest tug at your hand which you may not have noticed in another circumstance, which could probably have been played off as nothing if it had been rejected, he asks you to stay. You can't hide the smile that twitches at your lips. With something that feels like courage coursing through you, you step towards him. Turning slightly, you set yourself down on his lap and feel him relax. His arm winds around you to keep you snug to him and you lean your head onto his shoulder, getting a breath of expensive cologne. He sighs deeply before breathing evenly, dropping into a deep rest.

You're content like this, though you never imagined being this close to him, glad that he's resting when he clearly needs it, and proud that you could help. If this is how you can protect him physically, even if it's only in this small way, you'll take it. Though, in your head you've already begun thinking through methods of retaliation to whichever rival faction made this attempt on his life.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hi bby girl hope you’re doing amazing❤️‍🔥

Can I request Matt x Reader(female) they broke up bc of Daredevil Matt finds out the reader has been dating again becomes extremely jealous and tries to sabotage her dates bc he still loves her and wants her back(happy ending maybe a little angst)🥹✨

hii sweet!! hope you’re well <3 sorry for the delay, I had a writing break before I got to finish this. thank you or requesting, hope you like it 💌

—

SABOTAGE

matt murdock x female reader

word count. 1289

warnings. angst? matt being jelly. hopeful ending

Matt's nightly absences could only go unnoticed for so long, especially with your sceptical eye second-guessing every excuse he could mutter. It wasn't long before you started to connect the dots, to put the pieces together, eventually figuring out that Matt had a secret lifestyle, being Daredevil.

At first, it made no sense - a blind man doing acrobats and shutting down crime organisations. But after weeks of observations and sneaking around, you confirmed your thoughts and finally decided to question him - cornering him into confessing.

Neither of you took the news well, and it caused a massive rift in your relationship. You felt betrayed by Matt's mistrust and wounded by his decision to leave you in the dark - feeling hurt as if he didn't trust you with the information.

The disloyalty began to interfere before it all got too much for you to handle - eventually leading to you calling things off. The feelings you had -have- for each other still remained, which made moving on just that bit harder.

After a few months, you wanted to get back out there - try dating again.��Much easier said than done. The dating game was scarce and limited, so you took every available chance - wanting nothing more than to rid your mind of your ex and maybe have a couple casual hookups to clear the haze.

Though, nothing ever went to plan. 

Most of the guys you arranged dates with never showed, but the ones that did were incredibly dull and boring, and you'd find yourself having to make an excuse to leave halfway through dinner.

After a little while, it began to feel like a trick, as if you were playing a game that was rigged to lose. You were dating guys you had no interrest in, only to clear your mind of the one person you ever truly loved.

Even months later, you'd see parts of him everywhere you went or think of him when you saw his favourite food in store. The Bulletin didn't help either, plastering his face on every front page.

Eventually, you decided enough was enough and planned one last date before calling it quits. You arranged a date with the guy you had been texting non-stop for the past week. He seemed like everything you could want: sweet, charming and handsome, even similar beliefs.

-

The evening finally rolled around, and it was time for your date. You had spent the day pampering and prepping for tonight - getting your hair and nails done before splurging on a slightly over-budget dress.

You make your way to the restaurant with a pep in your step and scan the outside area for your date, waiting in the spot as arranged.

Time goes on, and you continue to stand patiently by the entrance for signs of your date's arrival. You send him another message -that goes unread like the others- before eventually deciding to call him. It goes straight to voicemail, and you can't help but notice the slight swell in your throat when you hear the line go dead.

You pull the phone from your ear and throw it in your bag. You turn back around and head for your apartment, tears welling in your eyes after being stood up for the nth time. 

On your way back home, you stop past your local Chinese restaurant for some dinner, deciding to treat yourself to food and a movie while you wallow on the couch. 

You hang around in the sitting area as you wait for the kitchen to make your favourite dishes, chatting to the elderly lady beside you when she strikes up a conversation. 

After a little while, your food is ready. You collect it from the guy at the front before waving goodbye to your new friend, and as you reach for the door, you accidentally bump into a new customer in the process.

"I'm so sorry. I wasn't— Matt?"

"Sweetheart?" your ex replies, a smile lining his lips. 

"Uh—" you breathe out, not knowing what to say. "Er— how you been?"

"Been better," he chuckles, head tilting to the side as if to analyse you. "You smell nice. What've you been up to?"

"Yeah," you laugh, remembering the series of events from this evening. "Went on a date."

"A date?" he repeats, his brows momentarily furrowing. "How was it?"

"Dunno, he never showed," you snicker, laughing at your self-depreciation. 

You brush off your hurt, but you can see the empathy and pity on Matt's face, as if he realises you're faking it - pretending not to be upset about it. 

"Are you free?" Matt asks, his features still as he fidgets with his stick - suddenly seeming tense and nervous. "Hoping you can come back to mine so we can talk."

"Yeah, guess so," you reply, clutching at your bag of takeout food. "Am I okay to eat this at yours? Don't want it getting cold."

"Yeah— yes, of course. Are you alright waiting for a few minutes while I order?"

"I can share mine," you smile genuinely, shaking the white bag. "Got plenty."

"Only if you don't mind," he grins. "I'll pay."

-

You and Matt chat at the dining table while you eat, catching up and laughing as if no time had passed, like you hadn't spent the last several months apart. 

Everything was going well until it didn't.

Matt places his chopsticks aside and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I haven't been honest with you," he exhales, shaking his head slightly. 

Your head cocks to the side, and your face pulls together - confused. "How? What do you mean?" you ask, placing your glass on the table. 

He sighs, his body language stiffening as if to tell you he's uncomfortable. "I'm not... over you," he pauses, finding the words he needs. "I didn't like that you moved on so fast... so I got in the way."

You feel your heart speed up, the flow thumping in your ears. "Got in the way? I don't— I don't understand. What did you do?"

"I scared your dates off," his tone quiet and ashamed.

"Are you serious?" your voice juxtaposing his meek one, almost cowering him. "Can't believe you," you spit, your brows knitted in anger. "Really."

"I did it because I couldn't— I still love you... I didn't want you with anyone else," he pleads, his eyes soft and apologetic. "Please? Just hear me out."

"No, Matt," your tone quieting as the hurt sinks in. "That's not fair. You don't get to do that. We broke up."

"I know, I know, but sweetheart, please," he says, his voice warm. "I never stopped loving you— and," he pauses, slipping his hand into yours. "I know you feel the same."

It was like you had to debate different parts of your brain. One part wanted to snatch your hand away and walk out the door, but the other part -the overpowering side- told you to stay, to forgive him. It told you to stop wasting more time and to kiss and make up. 

But instead, a slither of logic creeps in, and you slowly slip your hand from his, wrapping it around your arm and stroking as if to soothe yourself. 

"I do. I never stopped," you whisper. "But what you did wasn't right, Matt."

"I know, please, I would do anything— anything for you," Matt pleads, speaking desperately. "I would give you anything... just one more chance."

"Matt," you breathe out, rubbing your temples. "... I need a few days. Then maybe we can get a coffee and talk things out?"

"Yes," he replies instantly, responding without a second thought. "I'll wait. For as long as you need."

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

matt taglist: @hailey-murdock @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @redecoratestan @kpopgirlbtssvt @scarletsloveletter @princess-pebbles-things @messymissy @schneeflocky @readerhead @thegreengoop @charmedkim @queerponcho @selfryed @simplyreflected @kinglokisqueen4ever

[cetaitlaverite]

Anything to Anywhere

Masters of the Air - Bucky Egan x OC

sorry for the delay!! we are so back masterlist is here <3

13. Clay Pigeons

‘Stels,

Went on leave in London. I copied out the number of my hotel on the other side of this note. Call if you want to talk.

- John’

Stella had read and reread the note at least a hundred times since finding it beneath an empty mug at the place she sat at breakfast everyday. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling.

After storming out on him she’d spent all night tossing and turning, trying to come up with what she would say when she inevitably saw him the next day. Today. She’d even come up with something she was somewhat satisfied with. She knew she was a difficult person to deal with and resented that she showed some of her most complicated parts to John, so she’d put extra effort into forcing herself to be vulnerable when she explained herself.

But he was gone. Come morning, he had organised leave, packed up his belongings, and fled to London.

It made sense, Stella supposed, that he wasn’t going to stick around, holding his breath waiting for an apology he had no reason to expect was coming. But his absence stung her all the same. She didn’t care that he’d left a number for her to contact him on, she cared that he wasn’t here, that he’d just gone.

Screwing the letter up in one hand, Stella buried it in her pocket and thanked the waiter who delivered her breakfast. Then she went about her business as usual, trying her best to contribute to Alice and Jessop’s conversation even when she felt like storming out.

She flew her chits and mulled over everything she might say to John on the phone. She wouldn’t call him, she knew, but it was almost thrilling to imagine a version of herself who might. If she were braver or bolder or more forgivable she supposed she would. At this point, she’d made herself so utterly undesirable she was sure John had left the number solely out of courtesy and didn’t much want anything more to do with her.

Even still, that night she found herself gnawing on her bottom lip, sitting on her bed with her teddy bear in her lap as she toyed with the idea of calling.

He would be out, she reasoned with herself. He wouldn’t be sitting around in his hotel room, not on his first visit to London.

But then again, if she called and left a message at least he’d know she actually had called. She wouldn’t have to speak to him but he’d know she’d tried.

But he probably didn’t even want to hear from her. It was courtesy, she reminded herself. He didn’t mean it.

But if he did pick up, she wouldn’t have to have that difficult conversation she’d spent all night thinking up in person, and how much easier would it be to do it over the phone? He wouldn’t get to see her blush or tear up or any number of embarrassing things she might do when she had to apologise. All she would have to do was keep her voice steady.

So, pyjamas on, Stella shoved her feet into her boots and made her way to the ATA hut through the dark, to the only telephone she could use and guarantee no one would overhear her. Usually she’d go to the officers’ club, but at this time of night it would be packed and she didn’t much fancy dodging eavesdroppers while standing in the midst of everyone in her pyjamas.

Her heart was in her throat as she listened to the phone ring and she hadn’t even been put through to the operator yet. Her left foot was tapping vigorously against the ground, her right hand twisting and untwisting the telephone cord. She kept glancing over her shoulder, seeking out silhouettes in the dark corners of the room where the lamplight didn’t reach, kept tugging at the hem of her nightdress as though unwanted eyes were on her.

She felt she could have been sick.

When the operator put her through to John’s hotel the nausea only got worse. Stella considered hanging up a good many times but reasoned with herself that she’d traipsed all the way across base to get here so she was going to make it worth her while.

And then the hotel receptionist came on the phone and put her through to John’s room.

And then, after a hefty bout of ringing, the receptionist came back on the phone again.

“He doesn’t seem to be in, miss,” the receptionist said, the apology heavy in her voice. It was clear that, in spite of how Stella had introduced herself simply as a friend, the receptionist had inferred some sort of romantic intimacy in her relationship to John, had inferred that she was calling him in the middle of the night because she was suspicious of what he was doing in London.

Stella hated that implication. And she hated what the fact that he really wasn’t in his hotel room at eleven o’clock at night actually did imply.

“Oh,” Stella said, sounding forlorn even though she hadn’t honestly expected John to be in. “Can I - um -” She stopped to clear her throat of its awkward hoarseness. “Can I leave a message? Maybe?”

“Of course, miss,” the receptionist hurried to assure her warmly.

“Thank you,” Stella said, then hesitated. She was left breathing down the phone as she warred with herself about what to say. She couldn’t decide whether or not to deliver her prepared spiel to this random, unfortunate receptionist over the phone, but then the receptionist prompted her to speak and she could ruminate on it no more. Tentatively, she began, “Can you please tell him that Stella Finley called for him. That’s me. Obviously. Um - Sorry -” She shook her head at herself. “Can you just tell him that I said I’m sorry for running away from him. And that he was right. About my brothers. And - and just that I’m really sorry for being so difficult all the time and I don’t deserve to have him as a friend. Okay, that’s everything.”

The other end of the line was quiet. Stella worried, briefly, that the receptionist had hung up on her. But then she said, “I’ve got it all written down, miss. I’ll make sure to pass the message on.” There was something sad in her voice.

Stella let her eyes fall resignedly shut and breathed, “Thank you,” in reply.

She had no idea how long John was supposed to be on leave and, at first, she tried to convince herself not to care. She went to breakfast and flew her chits and wrote up her flight reports and went to dinner and went to the officers’ club and read her books and went about her business the way she always did. But she couldn’t ignore how big of a hole there was in her life; not having John there to talk to whenever she so desired left a bigger gap than she would have realised had he not so suddenly removed himself from it. A chasm, really.

He didn’t call her back the entirety of the following day.

Stella went to see Buck before he went out on his next mission.

“Finley,” he greeted her, glancing up in surprise when DeMarco, beside him, nudged him to get his attention.

“Hi,” Stella greeted in return, squinting into the morning sunshine. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced and I promise I won’t stay long, I just - do you know how long John’s going to be on leave? It’s not really any of my business and I suppose if he’d wanted me to know he would’ve told me but he left me a note and he told me to call him and I did but he didn’t pick up and now he hasn’t tried to call back - or, at least, no one’s told me that he has - so I was just wondering how long -”

“Finley,” Buck interrupted her, chuckling softly to himself under his breath. “He’ll call you back. I’m sure he’s just busy.”

“He probably doesn’t even want to talk to me,” Stella disagreed. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, shifting on her feet. “Did he tell you what I did?”

Buck’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’d you do?”

“I ran away from him.”

“Why?”

“Because he was asking me personal questions.” Stella shook her head as though to clear it, lowered her hand from where it had been resting against her forehead and then raised it immediately right back up again when she found the sun just as strong as before. “Anyway -” Buck made to interrupt her but she kept on talking over him like she didn’t notice, “- do you know when he’s coming back? I just feel like I want to be prepared before I say something stupid.”

A short silence fell. There were only the sounds of airmen preparing for a mission, mechanics running around and ensuring each plane was ready. Behind Stella, Ken Lemmons was still fiddling around with the plane Buck was about to fly.

Buck was wearing a tiny, wry smile, silent as he simply stared at Stella in the wake of her babbling.

Stella raised her eyebrows at him, shuffling once more on her feet and resisting the urge to start tugging on her sleeves. She wasn’t sure why she felt so self-conscious - there was nothing in what she’d said that should be making him look at her like this.

“Tuesday,” he confessed at last, still with that same inexplicable smile. “He’s coming back Tuesday night.”

“Tuesday?” Stella asked. “That’s a long time to be on leave.” How long did one man possibly need to be in London by himself?

Buck shrugged. “He needed a break and he’s not needed around here until then.”

“He’s always needed around here,” Stella objected without thinking. When she heard her own words, however, she flushed so suddenly her cheeks were on fire. She clamped her mouth shut. “I mean, in the ops room,” she added hastily once she’d regained some semblance of composure.

Again, Buck chuckled under his breath. “Right,” he agreed. “But he needed a break, Fin. You ever taken one of those?”

“A break?” Now it was Stella’s turn to laugh. “No, never. As long as there are planes to ferry I’m staying here. I’d get antsy if I couldn’t fly - you saw how I was when I was in the infirmary.” She shook her head and batted the thought away. “Anyway, I’ll go now. Sorry for badgering you.”

Buck brushed her aside. “Ain’t no problem at all, Fin, you’re not badgering anyone.”

Stella smiled. Now she really was fiddling with her hands. She wasn’t sure how to tell him that she was grateful to have him as a friend - were they friends? - without coming on too strong, so all she could do was stare at him and smile.

“Have a good flight,” she offered after a beat, when she became conscious she had probably outstayed her welcome. “Come home safe and all that, okay? I’ll be lonely with you and John both gone.”

Buck rolled his eyes jovially and clapped her affectionately on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Fin. Take care of yourself when you’re out flying today, alright?”

“Alright,” Stella agreed. “You too, Buck.”

“Alright,” he answered her.

Stella gave him one final smile and a half-hearted, poorly executed salute before turning on her heel and heading back to the ATA hut from whence she’d come.

Tuesday. That was so far from now. She had no idea what she was supposed to spend her time doing until then. Waiting around for a return phone call, probably. How had he still not called? Had the receptionist even passed on the message? But she’d sounded so sincere over the phone. Surely he was just ignoring her. Or maybe he wasn’t even at the hotel - maybe he’d met a lovely, pretty, normal woman and was staying with her. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Stella was twiddling her thumbs, sitting around on the edge of the airfield, when the B-17s returned from their mission. She wasn’t sure why - John wasn’t with them - but she supposed it might be nice to keep Buck company now that Curt was gone and John was away in London. He was probably even lonelier than she was with his best friend on leave.

Sixteen planes returned of the twenty-four which had been sent out. Three of those had experienced mechanical failures and come back early. Thirteen had completed a successful mission.

Eight planes had gone down somewhere over Germany.

Buck’s plane was among them.

“Fuck,” Stella wept as she sat in one of the returned B-17s that night. “Fuck!” She had no idea why she was crying except that so many people she knew were gone. Curt and Buck among her new friends, basically all of the boys she’d gone to school with, four of her brothers. Four of her brothers. She was supposed to have eight and she had four.

“Fuck!”

Stella slammed her hands into the yoke until they stung and burned, until they hurt too much to bang anymore. Then she gripped it tightly and squeezed until her hands went numb, digging her nails in until they broke and bled.

She tipped her head back until it rested against the seat behind her, shut her eyes tight and let the tears flow freely.

So many men. So many boys. How many more? John was sure to end up going too. He always talked about how good of a pilot Buck was, how he was the best. If even the best could go down then what hope did the rest of them have?

The Battle of Britain was finished and yet airmen were still being shot out of the sky like clay pigeons. The Germans were hunting all of them for sport. An entire generation of young men would be wiped out before the war was out and maybe then Stella would finally get her wish of being sent out into combat. Who else would there be to fight this pitiful, godforsaken war?

Stella’s hands were shaking when she released the yoke and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Her shoulders were heaving with every sob, with every gasping, wheezing breath she drew in. How many more times was she going to have to sit in the dark and cry for a man her age or only just above, taken too soon by some nameless Luftwaffe pilot in the name of patriotism and glory?

It was on weak, shaking legs that she started the trek back to her hut, still weeping, hugging her arms tight around herself less to ward off the chill of the night and more to ward off her demons. Her feet were dragging behind her, her shoulders slumped forward, her head shaking from side to side like she was trying to reprimand the world for doing this to her over and over again.

“Stels,” John said, pushing up off the wall to her hut when she first came into view.

She didn’t hear him, just kept sniffling and sobbing, her bottom lip clasped between her teeth and her eyes full with so many tears it was like she had an endless lake inside of her.

“Stels,” he said again, louder, when she got closer. “Stella.”

She looked up, startled, and hiccuped when her next sob never came.

Through the darkness he was formidable, big and looming, somehow casting a shadow behind him even in the absence of light.

He didn’t try to approach her, just stared back at her from where he was.

There was a long moment of silence. The two of them stared at each other.

Stella’s bottom lip wobbled and she hiccuped once more. When she couldn’t help but sniffle she hastily wiped at her nose with her sleeve and accused, “You never called me back.”

“I only got your message after -” He faltered.

“After you found out about Buck?” Stella deduced.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even nod, but Stella knew she was correct by the way his gaze hardened.

“Did you meet a woman?” she asked. She got a sick sense of satisfaction from the way he averted his eyes.

So she’d been right. He’d been staying at someone else’s place.

“Was she pretty?”

“Stels -” Again, he faltered.

Stella scoffed a low laugh. “John, it’s fine. I’m not your girlfriend. You can fuck whoever you want.”

“Stels.” No faltering, just that one word, a full sentence. All the disapproval of a father in the hardness of the consonants.

“I’ve never had sex,” she said, sniffling, wiping at her nose. “Is it any good?”

She revelled in the way she’d clearly caught him off guard. John, never unnerved by her, always expecting the unexpected, had not expected that.

“I’m not drunk,” she said, just to fill the empty air. She didn’t know if he was imagining she was but she wanted him to know she wasn’t just in case. Wanted him to know she was behaving like this out of emptiness, not inebriation. “I only had a few beers and a couple of shots. Tipsy, maybe. But not drunk.” She took an ambling step closer to him. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Are you sad?”

Silence.

“I’m so sad,” she said, and laughed at herself. It was a sad laugh, the twinkle of wind chimes in an old, abandoned house, and she hiccuped right after, just so she didn’t forget she’d just been weeping. “All the time. ‘Cause - ‘cause -” The dam broke. The sobs she’d been withholding came spilling right back out of her. She was powerless to stop them, a doorstop trying to keep out a pack of angry wolves.

Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, Stella curled in on herself and started past John, pushed past him when he stepped in front of the door and then headed briskly into her hut. She didn’t feel like talking to him anymore. Didn’t feel like crying in front of him anymore.

She collapsed on her bed, boots and all, and curled up in a ball, with Ralph, her childhood teddy bear, clutched to her chest. She muffled her crying into the top of his head, tried fruitlessly to breathe in the smell of home which had long since faded away.

John sat on the bed beside hers. Alice’s bed. She didn’t turn to look but she could sense his presence. If she wasn’t crying and if she listened hard enough she thought she’d probably be able to hear him breathe.

He didn’t say anything while she cried. He didn’t even try to touch her. Maybe he feared she’d try to flee again if he did. She was so flighty, so delicate, unpredictable and liable to combust at any given moment.

She wouldn’t have fled. If he’d tried to touch her. She might have cried harder but she also might have cried softer. Had anyone ever tried to comfort her when she cried? No one ever seemed to know what to do with her.

“I’m sorry about Buck,” she managed to choke out when her tears started to slow. “I - I went to see him earlier and - and -”

“Shh,” John said simply. Finally, tentatively, he laid a hand on the centre of her back.

He had such big hands. Just one hand was on her and yet she was sure she could feel its warmth in her entire body.

She curled into it, pushed her spine back against it.

He started to rub it slowly up and down.

“My brothers -”

“I know, Stels.”

“Four of them.”

He drew in a deep breath. “‘M sorry.”

“Everyone keeps -”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

John didn’t say anything. What was there for him to say? He didn’t know what to do either.

[queenilyrian]

“Legitimate criticism” like she is a wh*** he lost his career, they child should not exist ,his family is payed to promote PR,writing petitions for both of them to be fired from their jobs respectively ,calling out even her dead mother , not spearing even her dead dog… is “legitimate criticism”.

Honey, did I even mention that? I never excused any of that. And “because you can’t hate in peace” you take every tiny criticism of Natalie as hate. Every bit. If your life revolved around her women’s unemployment- I mean employment- we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I never said I was even a hater. Just an observer that’s read both sides. Touch some grass if you feel the need to defend someone who again, will never know you, 24/7. And like in your reply, you’re arguing with just emotion. Not logic. You clearly don’t have a professional life of your own especially with the way you rant and type. And people have tried to give you receipts of many things about her that are inarguable… like the fact the US courts couldn’t verify her place of work. Or the fact that she has produced nothing at Vertigo. You can’t name one project she’s produced in the last three years. But when someone states the facts… you lash out at anyone who dares to say anything. People see right through you. Save yourself some time and try spending time with friends and loved ones instead of obsessing over this. Have a good day.

I’m gonna address two things about this rambling Jane, the rest you can cry together with the other trolls that got rekt by me.

First of all “in the court case she…” put the fries in the bag Jane . You’re holding on to a straw that’s imaginary. Fact number 1: she was a witness in this defamation case (wow what a surprise someone is Hollywood is suing someone else for millions - shocking ) we don’t have a time stamp on when she testified. Fact number 2: she moved from Legendary to Vertigo sometimes from a date we don’t know to May 2022. Was this time 3 days ,2 weeks or 4 months that she could have testified WE DO NOT KNOW. What we do know is that we have a confirmation she is working for Vertigo. No Jane she didn’t buy an article in the Deadline to promote herself as VP. It was a business news being shared. Yes Jane people who have business read business news. No Jane you can’t pay an article that will say Riot will take over MMF! Cuz there are legal consequences Jane. There would be legal consequences for Henry Cavill claiming that his pregnant girlfriend is working for Vertigo Jane. Let it go.

Second for a self proclaimed scientist you’re insanely stupid. It pains ME to having to google the difference between VP of a production company and a producer. As you can see Natalie’s job isn’t to produce a movie or a Tv series ( but Miri Yoon does it- YES AS A P R O D U C E R) . Natalie’s job is in “overseeing the creation and execution of various projects”. Furthermore “VP of a production company works closely with the producers, directors, and other key stakeholders to ensure that the project is completed on time, within budget, and meets the creative vision.”

Lists of things VP of a production company does:

-Budgeting and financial managing

-Scheduling and logistics

-Hiring and managing the production Team

- Risk management

Notice how her job is not to P R O D U C E a Tv show/ movie Jane. Notice how her job is much more complex and serious. “But I work in the industry and no VP works from home”. Notice how all she needs is a cool boss and access to the internet. The job is planning organising and keeping everyone in check. This is why Matthew Miller (the creator behind new NbC show that’s produced by Vertigo) mentioned

N A T A L I E and her T E A M.

Film producer on the other hand is a person who oversees film production. Either employed by a production company or working independently, producers plan and coordinate various aspects of film production, such as selecting the script, coordinating writing, directing, editing, and arranging financing.

“We only care about facts and critical thinking” and the reality is that you all will read this and continue with hateful narrative because you can’t admit that you lied to slander her. These facts don’t fit in your hateful narrative. Don’t worry I will be here to keep reminding all of you over and over again.

[corleonewrites]

Wandering winds

AU: The Terror (2018)

James Fitzjames x Original Female Character fanfic

Summary: Alexandra Walton’s life was always surrounded with sea: either it was her walks near the seashore with its cold waters, or deep sea of her senses. Her father taught her to throw herself headlong into it, without fear of being drowned and she used to it since her childhood. She dived into love with the same courageous way. And even when everything and everyone was talking about the hopeless state of things she continued to believe in the opposite: that her loved one will return to her safely.

Chapter 6. Mute music soothes my breast – unutter’d harmony that I could never dream

______________________________________________________________

Midsummer Sea's Dream was the kind of a party that almost every person from high society talked about, and not only those who were somehow connected with the Admiralty or attended the actual party. There even was a short story about it in the Sunday newspaper, about which our father just grinned. He knew that Alexander was watching his reputation greatly and nothing that could possibly discredit the honor of Walton family name happened there. And never did.

Our whole country mansion and the area around it were decorated with sea-themed details: trees and bushes were covered with sea nets, transparent colourfull cloth covered the ceiling and walls in almost every room on the first floor, when our private rooms were closed with the key. Anchors were laying on the floor and starfishes were laying on tables. And the glasses into which the drinks were poured were in the form of sea cups.

It was one of those parties which almost every young officer from the Admiralty attended and all the ladies did their best to make their dresses look as if they had just come out of the sea.

What I liked about those thematic mansion parties was the opportunity to wear dresses freely. I left the skirt without extra layers of flounces and petticoats, as my costume-dress required lighter silhouette. For example, during Midsummer Sea's Dream my turquoise dress was decorated with small seashells and pearl necklace was shimmering on my neck.

When Alexander and our friends were away in the sea – it was my turn to organise events and a book club was held every month in the mansion. And during these events table in the living room was filled not only with books, but also with selection of dainty sandwiches and scones which were served with clotted cream and jam. Cakes and pastries were served as well. Indian or Ceylon tea was poured into beautifully decorated bone China cups from silver tea pot. At that time 5 o’clock tea just came into fashion and we followed it with admiration and amusement.

Of course, ladies discussed not only books which they were reading at those times: gentlemen were in the center of attention during almost every conversation. Few ladies who were Sophia’s and mine common friends were already married and they talked about their lovely husbands, sometimes maybe too much and too sweet as Sophia and I looked at each other unnoticed by them and tried not to smile openly and roll our eyes.

But the rest of ladies loved to discuss officers on whom they put attention and who were the eligible bachelors. Sometimes even those kinds of ladies’ talks bored me, as generally I didn’t want to tell them about my love worries if they took place, which happened very rarely. After late Mister Charming trampled on my feelings – I didn't want to share with anyone what was going on in my heart as a matter of principle. The exception who knew my love secrets has always been my elder brother.

______________________________________________________________

The carriage drove into our family mansion on early Saturday's morning – Alexander and I needed to have proper time to prepare for the evening. Father left our city house on Friday evening and for the weekend we were on our own. Even though he retired from his naval duties at the beginning of 1844 – he remained in The Arctic Council and continued to attend meetings and receptions.

Our mansion in the countryside always seemed to be mysterious, with hidden secrets kept from prying strangers. Sometimes it felt like it was another country where only my family lived.

The territory was huge and was surrounded by trees, separating the house from the rest of the countryside. Big stable with horses, because all three of us used to ride them, and it was easy just to take the horse and ride anywhere we wanted to.

It was possible to reach the river without much difficulty, that is why there even was werf close to our mansion, where brother and father practiced their knowledge in building ships. Sometimes I came and visited them when they were there and kindly asked them to show me everything that they were doing: ships and sea always fascinated me and I when I had the opportunity to learn more – I would take it.

Despite the fact that opened sea always frightened me – it captivated me. Such mysterious and big part of nature, sometimes unpredictable and cruel, the depth of which no one never knew – it still cursed me with deep and dark secrets.

______________________________________________________________

Winter’s Tale supposed to be dedicated to the farewell to winter and welcoming the long-awaited spring. The transition of seasons needed to be shown in decorations as well. This party had a mysterious sense too: all the guests had to wear masks. And of course, ladies' dresses needed to be flower-oriented.

It was amusing to walk around flowers and fake snowflakes with coloured tulle hanging from walls, just the process of seeing the mansion being prepared for the actual event was entertaining.

My exquisite silk dress was in bright navy blue colour, with small cream-coloured flowers around the waist and wide neckline was hanging from the wardrobe. My governess just finished lacing my corset and now I was sitting in front of a mirror, putting a white gold pendant in the shape of a narcissus flower around my neck.

Same flower-shaped earrings and a Venetian mask in navy blue colour decorated with artificial daffodils were laying on the table, surrounded by jewelry box, perfume bottle and lipstick. All those small things finished my look perfectly.

Winter's Tale promised to be one of those parties that could not be forgotten, and every moment of it meant something very personal to almost everyone who attended it. And I was not the exception.

The evening arrived smoothly. Soon the sounds of carriages arriving to the entrance outside and loud voices of guests in the living room could be heard clearly.

I took a final look at my own reflection in the mirror, put perfume behind my ears and on wrists, tied the silk ribbons of Venetian mask around the head and left the room to meet the sounds of champagne bottles being opened in the living room.

Confetti crackers and spiral ribbons were flying around me, when I was coming down the stairs.

When I entered the room – my eyes caught a big circle near the table with drinks and mechanical music player: Alexander, who was wearing his black Venetian mask and a pirate hat gathered our friends around him. Henry Le Vesconte and Graham Gore stood near my brother, laughing at joke that Alexander told. I didn’t recognise them at first among the others as both of them were wearing big masks, which covered their faces.

My eyes spotted Sophia and Captain Sir James Clark Ross talking closely to each other, standing in the quiet corner of the living room, but they never saw my curious gaze. I wondered when would I talk to Commander Fitzjames in such quiet way, sharing our thoughts and deep secrets.

“And here is the hostess of the mansion”, my brother finally saw me and held out his hand in my direction, holding a glass of champagne for me.

I smiled at him, but rolled my eyes: he always loved to make a scene when I finally came down to guests when we held such parties years ago.

"Well, I hope you weren't bored without my presence", I took a glass from his hand and stood in front of Alexander, facing him.

“Oh, surprisingly, we were not”, Alexander winked at me and nodded to his left, where Graham and Henry were standing with their glasses of champagne in their hands, “These gentlemen kept great company”

“Is that so, gentlemen?”, I looked at our friends, pretending to be surprised.

“Indeed, miss Walton”, Graham replied, making me grin at his ‘Miss Walton’, and then he raised a glass of champagne in his right hand and adjusted the slightly off mask, “I’m proposing a toast”

Alexander, Henry and I also raised our glasses, waiting for Gore’s toast. He always loved to say toasts, he was very good orator and always knew exactly what to say at a certain time, to certain people and under any circumstances. In narrow circles, he even had the nickname Cicero in honor of one of the greatest orators and philosophers of Ancient Rome.

"Here's the toast for the hosts of the party, our dear friends Alexander and Alexandra, who not only can organise such unforgettable parties, but they are great friends in life"

Suddenly, I felt uneasy after Graham's words: something was eating me inside, as if something terrible and irreversible would happen that would change life of not only Gore’s, but also Henry's, Alexander's and mine. I wanted to shove this feeling off my head, but with every new look at my friends awoke such burden even harder. Neither laughs of guests nor the music could drown it out.

"...and generally, for all four of us, our amusing company of fine officers and lovely young lady", his last words of toast finally woke me up from heavy thoughts. I wished those thoughts would only remain as my imagination.

"Here, here", we cheered together, trying to drown out the noise from the laughter of the guests, and the music playing on the background.

When our glasses clinked, there was a sound of firecrackers and confetti began to circle around the room. They looked like snow falling in the cold wind of winter. It was hard to imagine that spring was already on the threshold.

“Have all the guests arrived yet?”, I asked Alexander, leaning closer to him and raising my voice so that he could definitely hear me.

My brother looked around the room, and then, as if he saw someone who had just arrived and waved at him, inviting him to come to us.

“Now yes, Alex”, he slightly winked at me behind his mask before I could even ask something else.

“I hope I’m not late for the party”, very familiar low and slightly hoarse voice could be heard behind me, forcing me to turn towards the newcomer.

My soul trembled at that particular moment as I recognized the man, even though he was wearing white mask on his face. Commander James Fitzjames nodded to my company and kissed my hand in greeting manner. But his eyes remained to look at me longer, than it should be.

"You arrived just in time, my friend", Alexander called for another glass of champagne and gave it to commander, smiling, "Welcome to our humble abode, if I may say so", he looked around the living room, grinning a little, and began pointing at the portraits of our relatives and ancestors.

"Mind you, every person in this living room is being watched by these authoritative Waltons"

James also looked around, lingering on each portrait: my great-grandfather, grandfather and uncle.

"I see, so no mischiefs must be managed here, I suppose", he smiled again as if he had something in his mind at that moment, "May I ask, do you have other portraits? And where they are hanging?"

"Oh, yes, father thought that it’d be better to hang our portraits over the fireplace", I nodded in the fireplace's direction, which at that particular moment was too noisy and crowded: guests were having fun, confetti were flying in the air, and the music was just gaining its momentum.

Portraits of me, Alexander, our father and mother were hanging there beside the fireplace. No one knew for how long I used to stand there ang looking at mother’s portrait, paying close attention to every small detail, every paint stroke, trying to remember the face of my mother clearly, and place it in my memory.

“I don’t think that you’re able to see them now with all the noise around the room, but I think you’ll have time for it later, as the evening has just begun”, Alexander finished his glass of champagne, snaped his fingers, and signaled the servant to switch the metal disc on the mechanical music player.

Johann Strauss’ II "Sinngedichte", Op. 1 started to play and suddenly the hems of the ladies' dresses in different colours rustled more and more vigorously: everyone was getting ready for the waltz. My companions disappeared a moment later as they were either planning to continue talking somewhere quiet or searching for ladies to have a dance with.

"May I, Alexandra?", James held out his white-gloved hand to me. Both of us knew that no one could hear us or even be bothered about us calling each other by our first names. From our first interaction it was clear for everyone around us that we were destined for each other.

"By all means, James", I smiled at him, placing my hand on his.

We danced gracefully to all the waltzes of Johann Strauss’ II which sounded that evening. When "Gunstwerber", Op. 4 began – the living room transformed into the Royal Palace just for me and Commander Fitzjames. We were as close to each other as we possibly could, closer than the first time we met during the reception at the Admiralty. He held me even more tight and confident, but he didn't forget to let me lead him during our dances.

The clink of glasses and ringing laughter spread through the living room, but we didn't pay attention to it, continuing to waltz. A garland of tinsel and golden leaves sparkled with bright light, spangles and confetti flew through the air, whirling with us in the same rhythm.

When we needed a break from endless waltzes and mazurkas – we talked. James told me about his life, what was his childhood like, his first sails at the Royal Navy. He never forgotten to ask me questions about my life: it could be understood that commander was curious to learn more about me, not as Alexander’s younger sister, but as the lady, as someone with strong opinion in terms of attitude, life and principles.

I lost count how many confetti crackers burst during dances and talks, how many spiral ribbons were launched into the air, how many beverages were drunk and how many quadrille parties were danced: the euphoria of Winter's Tale and the joy of spending endless time close to James filled me with desire and excitement.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen", Alexander said loudly, his mask was now on his pirate's hat, "I welcome you to join me and my sister outside – this evening should be finished with bright notes."

Everyone was bustling around, talking excitedly to each other. Alexander spent the rest of the time before the party started preparing a mountain of all kinds of fireworks, which were currently set up on the snow-covered lawn near the fountain, not far from the rear exit to the veranda and the stables.

James helped me to put on my fur coat and we headed outside, catching crispy air of the night.

The night was cold, but it felt like no one really cared about it: everyone was already drunk and felt themselves really hot and all the guests stood as close to each other as they possibly could. James stood near me, as if protecting me not only from the crowd, but also from the freezing night. This feeling of being close to him warmed me even more, and the desire of hold his hand was unbearable. And in one second, I thought that I could hear his heartbeat.

As the fire of the fuse approached the box of fireworks faster and faster, it seemed that time was stopping and something truly magical was happening. Those seconds of waiting were always the most exciting things for me.

When the first volleys of fireworks lit up the night sky, everyone exhaled and clapped their hands. Someone began to sing, someone opened a bottle of champagne, and there were sounds of glasses clattering against each other.

Commander Fitzjames and I looked at each other at the exact same second: fireworks were in the reflection of his eyes. Invisibly to others, James put his hand in mine, and I felt light tremble inside me, and it wasn't because of the night's cold wind. With every new explosion of bright fireworks of all possible shapes and colors it felt like the remains of distance between me and commander were exploding, leaving the space behind.

When the show was over everyone cheered but I thought all the guests were cheering for me and James as if we just announced our engagement.

But something was telling me that it all would be completely different when some time would pass. This nervous feeling was crawling inside me and no matter how hard I tried – with every second it was eating my mind more and more.

I deeply wished to remember everything from that evening. Every music piece that was playing, every dance that was danced, every joke, every laugh, every look. I wished to remember faces, those familiar faces of friends who were very close to my heart.  And to believe that all those anxious thoughts that I had were only my overwhelming imagination.

______________________________________________________________

Mechanical music player stopped playing Chopin's Nocturnes, Op. 27: No. 1 in C-Sharp Minor, Larghetto some time ago. Almost all the guests left the mansion, but only one stayed a little longer. Commander James Fitzjames and I were sitting in different sofas in at that time empty living room, the fireplace was gradually fading out.

“It was a very great party”, the man said quietly and I turned his head at him, smiling, “The dances, the talks, I can’t remember a time when I had such a great time”

“Oh, James, you’re flattering”, I grinned lightly, but he shook his head

“It’s not in my nature”, he sighed and suddenly asked, “Have you ever felt lonely, Alexandra?”

It made me pause and had a thought: commander’s question caught me off guard for some reason. I never thought about it. Probably, yes, especially when father and brother were sailing away.

Of course, I had friends, books, and hobbies. And when Alexander returned, we spent our free time together. But even then, I felt lonely. Because I knew that soon he would sail away again and I would be waiting for him.

“I think we can all feel lonely sometimes”, I smiled sadly and looked at James’ beautiful hazel-green eyes, “No matter how many people surround a person during the day, at night they are always alone with their thoughts and yearns.”

There was a silence. No words were needed to be said. James understood my reply and he understood what I felt throughout my life but never admitted it to myself. Not until that night after Winter’s Tale.

With all kinds of shiny tinsel hanging from the walls, with confetti that were scattered on the floor like shiny coins, everything seemed absolutely unreal and deafeningly empty.

"May I speak to you very truthfully?", James asked me, looking into my eyes.

"Please, James.", I simply replied, my gaze was fully on him as well.

"I can't talk to anyone else as openly as I can with you", he said these words quietly, as if he wanted to keep that mysterious moment between us.

James' eyes reflected the fading fire in the fireplace, which gave a magical shine to them.

I didn't know what to say. Probably, no reply needed to be said, as the look in my eyes showed the gratitude and my admiration towards commander as he smiled warmly, never taking his eyes off me.

Sofas separated us from each other by only a few centimeters. James held out his hand to me, and I put my palm without hesitation. He gently stroked my palm with his thumb while I rested my head on the back of the sofa: at that moment, my head seemed to be too heavy from the past day and from the euphoria of emotions that I was experiencing at that tender moment between me and commander.

We sat like that for couple of minutes. There was solitude and sacredness in that moment that we shared. That nocturnal sacredness, the arrival of which I have always been waiting for. Time stood still.

I never noticed when I slightly closed my eyes and fell into sleep. I never felt how James slowly stood up beside me, touching strands of my hair. I never knew how he took me accurately in his strong arms and carried me to my room, carefully laying me on the bed. I never noticed how he looked at me lovingly and admirably for the last time before he left our mansion.

He told me those things later. When the spring of year 1844 came.

______________________________________________________________

Wandering winds masterlist

[alpaca-clouds]

I am so annoyed with atheists by now

I really am so annoyed with atheists right now. I do still have atheist friends. Like, not the "vaguely agnostic, but does not believe in the ONE GOD" kind of atheist. But the "starts screaming as soon as someone mentions religion". And... I just find it so childish?

I was so big into the entire new atheism thing between about 2010 and 2016. And even after that I got into arguments with religious people pretty regularly. Heck, I would even say I stand with some of the stuff I said back then. If you back the Catholic church that is an organisation that not only tries to keep their own child molestors from justice, but also do internationally so much harm to queer people and other minorities (like some disabled people). But... The problem in there is the organisation, not the believe. So, you know, these days I would kindly ask people to consider their membership in the church, not their believe. Especially in countries like Germany, where members of churches will help to finance the institution by the simple fact of being part of the church. (Churches in Germany are allowed to collect taxes.)

I personally was so angry about religion, because I had so much religious trauma. Because my very, very Catholic mother abused me in the name of her religion. And so many people in the church knew. And they just looked on. So I was angry. I was really angry about it. But nowadays I realize that just projecting that anger and hurt onto other religious people, that had nothing to do with it.

The thing with those atheist friends I have is, though, that they do not have religious trauma. In fact two of them were not even baptized or forced into a religion. They never had a religion. But still, they are so angry about it. And I... don't get it.

I mostly really got to be alright about religion because of Castlevania. That sounds funny, right? But really, empathizing with Isaac and his character arc helped me to... actually understand, why religion is important to so many people. From that I went into looking into how religion and race intersect. And from there more into the science of religion. I made religious friends, admittedly, yes, mostly Muslims.

My own religious believes by now are more going into the direction of spiritualism. But I do not really believe in the Abrahamitic "ONE GOD". Still, I have by now befriended an Imam. And I honestly have great philosophical conversations with him.

Still, the aforementioned atheistic friends... They have by now accused me several times of having converted to Islam because of it. Because they can just not fathom that I just talk to religious people about religion.

And they will just not... talk with religious people. Because religious people, according to them, are basically evil. And when I tell them, that with that they are about as prejudiced as they accuse religious people of being, they will just get angrier.

I will be frank... It is just exhausting.

Like, just let religious people, who do not use their religion as an excuse to be hateful towards minorities, do their stuff. They do not harm you. And you are not "more intelligent" and "more enlightened" than religious people, because you do not believe in any god.

Especially as a lot of atheists still believe in all kinds of unscientific shit.

Just chill, folks. Just chill.

[the-wales-5]

"Crazy for this girl" (Chapter 4)

William's friendships have blossomed throughout the time. He was often seen talking with several people in the dining hall and taking part in rugby matches frequently. His relationship, however, was on the rocks. The prince was aware that it was just a university thing and wouldn't last for a long period of time, but Massy-Birch’s constant complaints were an obstacle for him to find peace, furthermore he could not understand her at all. At last, he decided to have a conversation full of honesty.

“I feel like I do not matter to you anymore, Willy!” she said and pretended to cry

“I am sorry that our relationship is not as normal as you expected it to be”

“I knew what I was getting myself into! Don't treat me like a child, Willy”

“For God's sake, stop calling me ‘Willy’. You know that I don't really like that nickname”

“Oh, really? It was not an issue for you earlier”

“In fact, I do have an issue with lots of things these days” William closed his eyes

“I gather that you've got a problem with me as well” Massy-Birch rolled her eyes

“This is absolute nonsense. Why are you trying to inflict something that is not true?”

“You keep ignoring my calls, my text messages, you even avoided our one-month anniversary four days ago! Isn't that a big issue for you?!”

William tried not to scoff “Well, I'm sorry if you expected something more expensive than a new pair of earrings. And no, I am not treating you like a child as you put it. I am doing the exact opposite. I am trying to protect you and to maintain a remotely normal relationship”

“By avoiding it all the time? Why couldn't you even invite me for coffee somewhere? Is it a part of protection? You know, I also do have a problem - with your immature attitude!” his girlfriend said louder.

“We're just twenty years old. What do you expect? Nobody's ready for commitment at our age” William said a little bit louder but added calmly "Listen, it is difficult to organise those coffee dates days in advance, I've been avoiding calls not only from you but everyone, so as not to get hacked as it often happens in my family, and I've got many other things on my mind meanwhile” William exhaled deeply

“Well then, name one of those things! Let us talk in a normal way. Name at least one thing that bothers you apart from our relationship” Carley scoffed. There was silence for a moment, and William finally said “It's complicated, way too much than you think”

“No, it is not complicated at all. This is just another sick excuse of yours” Massy-Birch screamed and left the room.

William took a deep breath. At that moment, he was certain the thing between the two of them made no sense anymore. Therefore, when a day later, Carley told him that she shared the same view, it brought him relief.

*

“Isn’t she coming to greet you? Is there trouble in paradise?” was the question asked by one of William's friends when they were waiting for one of the seminars, days after his relationship between him and Carley ended.

“No. We're no longer together” William said and took a sip of water

“Oh, already?”

“They all seem annoyed” Fergus remarked as he looked in the direction of Massy-Birch, who was with two other girls, all sending evil looks towards her ex-boyfriend. “What was the reason? Was she out of your league?”

“I am not categorising women like that” William said, feeling quite annoyed by the claim “She is such a nice person, and we both love the countryside. This is not enough to keep a relationship for long, though”

“Are you still missing your previous girlfriend?” Oliver Baker asked

“That’s not the case either. My relationship with Arabella belongs to the past now”

“And what are your plans for the future?”

“Certainly not fortnight relationships like some of the couples here. I'd rather focus on organising you-know-what”

“Are the girls invited?” Fergus teased

“Stop asking me questions as if it was royal press conference"

“Is anyone aware if there will be a test from the information we were covering last week? I am not sure I am well-prepared”

“As always, Oliver” Fergus laughed

“Speak for yourself. I was not the one who could not attend one of the classes last week because of “sick leave" or rather a hangover”

“Stop it. Let's just see what happens“ Fergus replied and chuckled.

Although he did not like those particular classes, William was glad that it was starting at that moment, as it was an excuse for him to be out of his ex-girlfriend's sight.

**

Chapter 5

[acorpsecalledcorva]

Identity Dysphoria

Reading The Sisters of Dorley before during and after TDoV has honestly completely unmade me and reminded me how fragile my identity really is.

For those who don't know The Sisters of Dorley is a serialised novel posted on AO3 but since published in print form that's essentially the extreme version of this post

It's a subversion of the force feminisation trope that takes aim at toxic masculinity, the patriarchy, misogyny, and particularly the transmisogyny implicit in the institution of medical transition.

The narrative is shown through the PoV of multiple characters, starting with Stef, a transfem egg who noticed her town has a "missing person/slightly higher than average height female population" problem and wants to be inducted into the hall. Christine, an inductee in the program in her 3rd year of feminisation struggling to fully embody her new identity, and Aunt Bea, the matron of the organisation and her experience with the previous much more brutal and sadistic regime.

Something that's very common and very carefully explored throughout is all the troubled boys history of trauma and abuse and the incredibly complex relationship that can have when interacting in a cisnormative Patriarchal society.

Essentially these boys have all been victims in their lives, something which society historically has no place for. That identity, of being a victimised male, is rejected at every turn and so they reject it internally as well. Pushing it to the deepest parts of their psyche and replacing it with something else. The thing that media and culture and the legal system have been screaming at them is what a man is supposed to be.

Dorley Hall offers an alternative. A really fucked up abusive and arguably even more traumatising alternative, but an alternative nonetheless. To let go of the "driftwood" they've been clinging to all their lives and learn how to create a completely new identity for themselves that's free from the intense pressures of masculinity.

And uhhhh yeah, that's a lot to think about as a AMAB person with DID that has been through the medical transition system in the UK.

Because hey guess what, realising that my current identity isn't really working out, rejecting it and burying it deep inside me and then coming up with a brand new identity to embody and explore is something I have done many many many times throughout my life.

I have tried to become multiple different kinds of male/masculine person over the years, none of them were sustainable for more than 18 months. Some were queer, others were painfully compcishet, often I thought about the possibility of womanhood and femininity but the conversations around trans people at the time just weren't receptive to the feelings I had and it was very clear to me that being trans was the only way you were allowed to do that.

The doors to feminity were eventually opened just enough for me to slip in (if you wish you were a trans girl then you're probably a trans girl) and so that's the identity I chose for myself. I came out to my wife, I went to the GP to get my referral, and then I just...waited. A 2 year waiting list before my first appointment was welcome at the time to give me a chance to try to understand myself and decide what i wanted, but things are never simple.

This new identity as a trans woman still felt wrong. Presenting femininely and being viewed as a woman was something I very much aimed for, but made me deeply uncomfortable. I told myself it was the dysphoria, that my issues with my body were exacerbated by feminine clothing that stood in contast to how I physically looked. That when I got on HRT this would change and I'd feel better, I just need to trust in the programprocess and one day I'll get there.

Two things happened at the same time. I turned 30, and got my first appointment. Turning 30 made me panic at the idea of spending another decade as who I was and pushed me to order DIY hormones, and I got the letter for my first appointment which meant it was time to start socially transitioning.

Because the NHS does not believe that you can make physical changes to your body without also changing your social status. You have to be out to family and friends and work and college or whatever, you have to legally change your name and have lived experience to prove that you are committed (in reality it's not that harsh but the message is very much that your life will be much harder and you'll be viewed with more suspicion if you don't do these things)

So I was a good little tran and did what was asked if me. And if there's one aspect of my transition I regret? It's that. Because no matter how affirming and inclusive the message from the community is, society doesn't work that way. By coming out as a trans woman, I told the world to expect something from me. And there are much higher expectations placed on trans women for performative feminity than there are on cis women, there just are. A trans woman is a very specific object in the eyes of most people in wider society and I am not that, like, at all.

I hate my legal name and title, showing my ID makes me cringe, going to the doctor and having F on my record and then showing up as me is physically painful. I hate that I feel pressured to dress a certain way when going to events with other trans and queer people just to communicate to them "no no I promise, I'm one of you, don't look beneath the mask please don't look beneath the mask"

Because truthfully? I'm not. I'm not trans. I'm not queer. I'm not anything. Because I was never allowed to be anything.

My trauma extends back to infancy, my development has never progressed in the absence of it. I am completely and comprehensively informed by it. If I'm anything it's Assigned Traumatised at Birth. My identity as a child was formed as a reaction to an unstable environment and trying to survive it. My teenage identity was formed as a means to escape my childhood and trying to become the kind of adults that were more than happy to let a troubled teenager hang out with them. My adult identity was formed as a reaction to "oh shit I'm supposed to actually function now fuck how do I do that" and the many ways I failed. My internal female identities were formed because what happened to me isn't supposed to happen to boys so I made up a girl for it to happen to instead. And my trans identity formed because fuck, what else is there left for me to try? If we wanna get really really real with it, transition was an act of suicide. The attempt to completely obliterate who I was so that I could try to become something new.

The problem is that none of these identities are me, because there is no me. I never formed. I am only and have only ever been a collection of attempts to survive, a reflection of the society that's attacked and assaulted me at every turn. That constantly views me with suspicion because they can tell that I'm not being genuine. Because I can't be genuine.

I never can.