#and neither of them could find a way to disprove my point

[two-braincells-in-total]

Today in english we had a speach practice and the task us to roleplay a mother, father and a child in an argument

I played the mother. I won the argument easily (duh, i ain't losing even the imaginary argument) and the dude who played the dad was SILENT

The teacher asked him at the end what the final decision is, he said I win and the teacher said "the husband always has the last word and that word is You're right, darling" and the girl who played the kid was dying laughing next to me and so was i 😭😭😭

[ronearoundblindly]

Ooh ooh can we do D Y Z for Lloyd please? I absolutely love this game!

From this dirty ask game, but Z - Zones has already been answered here.

This game in general, but more specifically everything Lloyd, is MINORS DNI. Boi is nasty and rude and I hate to love himwe love to hate him.

D -Dominance

"More? You want more, you selfish bitch?" He grips your jaw harshly, fingertips digging into your cheeks. "I tell you what you need and when. I'll even give you a hint. Neither of us needs your fucking mouth right now. You'll take what I give you--" he leans so close his mustache tickles the rim of your ear "--and I will love it. Lloyd's hips snap forward, shoving you into the furniture so hard your thighs sting. "Understand?" You know he doesn't expect an answer, he told you your mouth was not required, and (whether it proves or disproves his point) he pushes two thick fingers against your tongue and holds them there until he's satisfied.

So, uh, yeah. Lloyd is a very mean dom. The type of dominant male that isn't actually a Dom because there is no safe word or system to protect you. This is not rocket science.

But...and that's a big 'but,' IF I could figure out a way to write him a repeat and consistent--the word 'lover' doesn't seem to apply here, hold up, eh, let's go with--fuck buddy, I think Lloyd would enjoy harsh pampering, someone super strict about his appearance, too, and someone brutal in their caring for him.

He would not see this as being dominated, and he would not allow it to go very far. It's not--well, I'm having trouble describing this--equal control, per se, but I think outside of sex he would appreciate someone as severe and indifferent as he is. Not a partner, bit like an appliance he finds useful, half-'sexy-butler-he-owns' and half-'a-showpiece-of-a-sextoy.' Right? That made sense. Totally articulate. For sure...

Bottomline, I hope you don't have any 'no's on your list; he'll make that his first priority of shit to do to you.

Y - Yes, Master

Lloyd.

It's not, like, a great name, is it?

Yeah, so he's good with all the power monikers--mister, master, sir, my king, my lord, whatever--and you get all the shaming ones--fatass, tubby, chubby, chubs, fuck toy, bitch, slut, whore...you get the picture.

The absolute truth is that he's...not really listening to you. He'll feed you lines of what he wants to hear, and even if you improvise things guaranteed to stroke his ego, Lloyd doesn't care. None of this is for you.

I should mention that 'daddy' is NOT on that list because it implies some sort of caring, or the requirement/expectation of care. This means something to Lloyd in the worst possible way. He hates the idea of owing you--or anyone else--anything.

If he refers to himself as 'Daddy,' if he asks you to call him 'Daddy,' FUCKING RUN.

He is in the mood to torture. He wants to feel responsible for the pain you are about to be in. For the love of all that is holy, degrading, or anywhere in between, get the fuck out of there and touch grass! You are not safe.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

a/n: how has no one kicked me out of this fandom yet??? this damn game has made me flood the poor steve smut tag, and i probably got blocked by a bunch of people sick of my shit 😭😭😭 i'm sorry!

[inertebarra]

Calex AU

But make it when they both get in touch with each other again after finding they volunteer at the same women's shelter.

Casey was a regular since the suspension

Member of the legal team AND the designated coach for any sport the children of the shelter felt like trying

Alex starts attending after that case she mentioned in canon got to her (so around S14)

She's well into her 3rd month there so it's early in her volunteering days but still late enough for them to not have bumped into each other at that point and exactly on time to have their meet-cute (again)

Insert slow burn here

Casey was always on the fence about the illegal relocation network for women. She helped though in a way that wouldn't be legally binding, looking the other way when necessary and keeping her job at the DA's office. Ofc she was guarded about not repeating the suspension fiasco

It all changes when she sees a certain blonde starting to get involved. Out of preservation, she tells herself, she starts looking out for Alexandra by keeping her occupied in 'friendly' outings. They get to know each other and at some point, they realize the other is her ride or die. Alexandra is pretty much happy because this is her first time being treated with the care only someone like Casey could show. Cassandra grows amazed each day by this exceptional woman who she wasn't a fan of previously but neither put on a pedestal.

In this house Casey fell first and Alex fell deeper. Nonetheless, while Alex is aware of her feelings Casey is an oblivious- I'm -going-to deny-my-feelings- into- the-sunset mf

At some point, Alex drops out of the DA's office, and this is a big punch in their non-relationship relationship. After their brief fall out Alex reveals she's been a part of this organization for a while and kept it a secret from Casey to protect her. Read big misunderstanding because by the time Casey first suspected Alex may rope herself into the network her little scheme to keep her from it had already been late.

It all kind of makes sense seeing as Alex comes from enough money for ten generations to live off of for her to dedicate herself fully to helping disadvantaged mistreated women and their children

Anyway, Alex convinces her in the end it's fine and the door's open but it has to be Casey's decision to get involved. They're still going to be #friends tm

When Casey does finally join is painfully obvious to everyone they work so well together professionally as well now. Even Casey starts to realize her silly little enamourment but the more she tries to disprove it the weirder and filled with tension their interactions get. That means dorkier by the second and Alexandra's heart couldn't be any more pierced by cupid but some space magically appears for that woman.

At the time Casey starts noticing things about Alex (her smile, her hair, and those too-short for-this-place skirts) she also tries to bury them through acts of service like bringing her homemade food or ironing her work clothes. There's also that one time she went overboard with a surprise birthday party for Alex where she had all the people in the shelter a part of (you're not paying attention if you think someone threw one for Alex before)

Insert side characters here annoyed by whatever bullshit these two oblivious lesbians have going on. If one of the old lady volunteers one time locked them up in a room accidentally then nobody has to know

Their feelings to feel first ™ period comes to a close after a particularly gruesome case

The kind of heavy metal when one of them gets kidnapped by a criminal ring for messing up with one of their guys. Messy and messier gonna add the details later she gets rescued and finally, there's the confession then the most awaited by the whole of the gay community and their coworkers kiss

Casey quits her job and takes on moonlighting full-time

Insert some lore later here

And this is the backstory of Alex's cameo the last time she was in svu thanks for coming to my talk, feel free to fill in the blanks

[seraandthebees]

Okay here’s the post I promised a while back about how Solas fits into my canon state!

First off disclaimer that I know there are kinda two poles of how people tend to feel about Solas - either loving him as a romance option or hating him. I am at neither of those. I think he’s a really complex character that I really love but in no way is his relationship with my inquisitor romantic (she’s a lesbian). Just putting that out here in case anyone misunderstands the vibe of this post.

Okay that put aside, let’s begin. Like I mentioned on my Introduction to Herah post, Herah values her friends and loved ones above anything else and she will do almost anything to protect them, even if that means going to extreme lengths. Her loyalty is her downfall as it were. So obviously that means she wants to redeem Solas, if we’re going by canon.

However, I diverge pretty far from canon from mid-DAI as Solas reveals of his own free will his true identity to significant other Dorian and best friend Herah. I believe that his character is open to interpretation in a way that, if he can actually be convinced that there are things in this world that he can’t or doesn’t want to lose, he will go back on his plans. Just look at how he talks to an Inquisitor who has fostered a good relationship with him at the end of Trespasser. He wants to be convinced otherwise.

I think I’m just interested in exploring what would happen if he came to the realisation on his own that he could no longer go through with his plans and having both a best friend and a lover at stake, particularly if there are two different people who are disproving his world view. The thing with Trespasser is that he views the Inquisitor as an exception, perhaps at least partially as a result of the anchor. When two pieces of evidence lie in front of you, however, it’s a bit harder to ignore or dismiss your doubts.

To explore this idea further, I wrote this fic on how he tells Dorian his true identity. I will probably at some point write something on how he breaks this news to Herah, narrating her reaction.

Skip to later on and you might be asking how the premise of Trespasser and DA4 would even work if all of this is the case and that’s a pretty fair question. Even without everything I’ve just said, I am a firm believer that DA4 would be done best if Solas is a red herring and the real danger is the Evanuris.

So I wrote a Trespasser fic on this diversion from canon wherein Solas returns just as any other companion does. This one’s a bit longer so I’ll just provide a quick summary in case anyone’s interested but doesn’t have the time to read it:

In the years between the defeat of Corypheus and the start of Trespasser, Solas and Dorian went to Tevinter to enact change. They were invited back for the Exalted Council.

After the discovery of the gaatlok, Solas begins to hear the Eluvian and he and Dorian find it, informing Herah. An extra bit of relevant information is that Solas has still been gathering Eluvians, using them as a means of transporting freed slaves from Tevinter without risking them being caught.

Given the nature of the mission, Herah takes along Solas, Dorian, and the Iron Bull through the Eluvians. As they realise where they're being led, Solas begins to put the pieces together and work out what's going on.

Bull betrays the Inquisitor, returning his loyalty to the Qun. (Important side knowledge: Herah in this version of my canon sacrificed the Chargers in order to save lives by stopping the Red Lyrium from going any further. I'll probably talk about this more later but this isn't the post for that.)

At the end, they are confronted by Elgar'nan who was able to slip through the Breach in the Veil just as demons can. He reveals that he wants to bring back all of the Evanuris, bring back Ancient Arlathan, and get revenge on Solas.

So the threat for DA4 then becomes the Evanuris as led by Elgar'nan, which I like to think parallels the ending of Trespasser well and hopefully will be compatible with the scope of DA4 (although who knows on that front). Solas agrees to join back with Herah to fight against this threat, considering it of his own creation. The Inquisition is preserved in order to divert Elgar'nan's attention elsewhere while Solas and Dorian remain undercover in Tevinter, anticipating that that's the most likely place for Elgar'nan to make his first move.

Herah's friendship with Solas is built on their combined loyalty to one another even when they recognise their disagreements. He plays an important part in Herah's journey throughout, and that's also the reason she sends him away at the end of DAI even though she really doesn't want to because her gut is telling her she needs the space even though she remains loyal to him throughout those two years apart. Part of this is also about protecting Sera, and maintaining the tricky balance of having a girlfriend who's wary of magic, being a mage herself, and having two best friends who are mages, one of whom being one of the most powerful beings in Thedas.

Again, I will at some point make a post about the dynamic between these four (who as a result end up spending a lot of time together) and how they all learn to respect and get along better even if only for Herah's sake.

I feel like I've rambled a lot here, but I think I've said all that needs to be said on this. If you've gotten this far, I hope you enjoyed the read as much as I've enjoyed tinkering with canon over the past few years!

[strangebiology]

Just wanted to update: Someone else did a similar (better, 133 data points) analysis and found the same thing that I did, sort of.

Jane Friedman is a popular and very experienced book professional who writes (emphasis added):

Alarmist articles in recent years have claimed that novelists, in order to land a traditional publishing deal, need to be online superstars. But my analysis of debut deals in Publishers Marketplace (PM) shows that’s outright false. While it is true that most authors who land deals—especially agented deals, the majority of those reported to PM—have some visibility within or connections to the traditional publishing community, it’s rarely online visibility.

One should take Friedman's book-analysis work more seriously than mine; she is a superstar in the book-publishing world.

The only reason I did my survey was that I could not find any data that was remotely similar addressing the "you need social media to get a book deal" claim. (Friedman's came later.) And neither can anyone else I've asked. Technically, even one person with a book deal without much social media would disprove that claim, but even loosening up to make the claim "social media is the best/most common way to get a book deal" is also unlikely to be correct, considering how rare it appears to be among people with actual deals.

If you want to improve the data for the next time I make these charts, and you have a book deal, please fill out the survey yourself! I'm also VERY interested in any other data, no matter what conclusion it comes to! No matter what specific group of people it might cater to or what reasonable caveats it has. I talk at conferences enough and write enough in Authors of Nonfiction Books in Progress, so I really want to have the best information possible! I do not gain or lose anything by promoting or criticizing social media, I just want to give the most accurate, contextual, nuanced advice I can. (Note: I mostly talk about traditional publishing of nonfiction non-memoir books, just because that's what I know. Maybe someone else would be better to talk to for other types of books.)

(Also note: I am interested in stories, anecdotes, thoughts, and data, but try to keep your comments value-adding, rather than just "how dare you criticize TT when I already spent too much time on it??")

Data Value and Caveats

Don't look too hard at the percentages in my pie chart, it's not meant to represent the entire industry, but to be better than the advice you find on FB groups, which is usually based on one person's experience. (And usually, that person did not get a book deal.)

^I appreciate the time this person took to type out this comment, but it's wrong AF, and harmful to ignore the significance of writing skill and experience.

Recently someone complained that my analysis was wrong because none of the people responding to my survey use TikTok much at all (not enough to mention), and I should remove all non-TikTok-users from the data and start over.

No, I...won't be removing the data because someone thinks only people with TT should count...nor would I remove data because it upsets an anti-TikTok person...

My tiny survey is far from perfectly representative of people with book deals--honestly, think of it more like 16 anecdotes from people who have book deals, and consider the caveats mentioned in the linked Substack post--but "including people who don't use TikTok" is not an issue. Excluding them would be an issue. Seriously, authors who don't use TikTok exist, and if that's a large portion of responders, then it likely does say something about publishing in general.

I'd love to interview TikTok authors for some sort of survey, but it would be a completely different survey with a different main question.

Examples of Successful Nonfiction, Trad Authors on TikTok

I've asked around to see if there are any nonfiction authors who are successful both on TikTok and with trad publishing. Here's an article listing a few TikTok nonfiction authors with big followings but IDK if they fit what I'm talking about otherwise. (I'm still happy to hear if you know of any; maybe I'll include them in a presentation, especially if they're non-memoir and/or science-focused!)

That said, here are 3 examples of exactly that; authors I would consider successful in trad publishing and with TikTok accounts that are relevant to their nonfiction non-memoir books:

John Green This might not be the best example because John Green does a LOT of media stuff well, so it's hard to narrow him down to being a nonfiction author with a successful TikTok.

Myself (sorry) I have 217,700 followers on TT and I'm pretty happy with the money I got before the book, Carcass, is out. I'll post about sales at some point, when I have some data to share. (It is OK if you don't like these numbers and don't consider me a good example, I'm just trying to be transparent!) Also, I have some comments from my agent and other agents who were interested in my book about how social media was a part of their interest.

Geo Rutherford (Spooky Lakes!) 1.7 million followers, and her trad book, Spooky Lakes, published this month is already a New York Times Best seller! The cover even says "The Official Book Based on the Hit TikTok Series!" She'll probably be in a presentation of mine in the future! Note: We respect the work these authors put into their art and media. (Er...you don't have to respect me personally; how about just the other two?) We are not jealous; we do not lament that they are so lucky to have followers to exploit. We are inspired by the work they put into making valuable content, and we are happy that they can capitalize on their work. We may strategize in a similar way to leverage our skills, build followings, analyze content performance, etc. Sorry for the long post! Remember, I like social media and I really think more nonfiction writers/journalists/outlets should use it more! But it's complicated, and I sadly have very little good data to work with.

Do nonfiction authors really need social media to get a book deal?

I asked successful agents and trad signed authors how important social media is to getting book contracts. Here are some data and quotes about how they responded on my Authors of Nonfiction Books in Progress Substack! Read if you want more details and caveats to the data, as well as my story and why I like social media anyway.

TLDR: Social media is NOT necessary!

Here's an editorial explaining why. But for nonfiction non-memoir, you have to do something to prove that you know what you’re talking about, as you'll see repeated over and over in my Substack article. That proof could be social media.

Trad publishing is very hard and competitive, and sometimes even unfair. But the people who say "you can't get a deal unless you know someone or are TikTok famous" are flat-out wrong. (Also, you can become a person who knows someone by joining communities, attending conferences...hell, you can DM me if you have writing experience and I might hook you up with my agent. There, now you know someone and have no excuse. I've successfully hooked up 4 people I knew from communities I'm in, or something like that, not because they're my family members. I have said "come back when your query and/or experience are better" to 3 people, and 2 people didn't get the deal despite having good pitches and my recommendation, it just wasn't a match.)

Unfortunately, I think some aspiring authors are looking for an excuse, as many of these people don't often tend their writing craft. That is a much bigger indicator as to whether you'll get a deal, even if the trad world still isn't a perfect meritocracy.

Remember, I LOVE social media and have over 300,000 followers across platforms. I mostly do recommend that writers and journalists should use it! I find it sad, even, that there are so many writers with no audiences, when there are huge social audiences who would love to hear what these writers have to say! (But there are downsides too, so it's not ideal for all. Check out the pros and cons for science journalists being on TikTok.)

If you’d like to share your experience with trad publishing and social media (or lack of social media!), I still look at the survey results, so feel free to fill it out here and I may share the results in the future. Some questions are optional and of course I redact the (optional, anyway) emails:

[taechaos]

Social Media

from Textbook Love drabbles

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble(?), smut, college au

synopsis: “She’s too sweet,” Taehyung begins, “too kind, too nice, everything you’re not. You wouldn’t be trying to keep me away from her if you didn’t know that. Are you afraid she’ll like me better?”

warnings: slight angst, arguing, dubcon, mild violence

word count: 4.7k

a/n: ima need yall to submit jk gifs cuz it is taking me TOO long to find a good one 👺 not proofread.

The weekend is fun: students’ two days of temporary rest and catching up on their assignments. Jungkook doesn’t concern himself with the latter, but he does enjoy waking up later in the day and lying down on the grass with his arms crossed under his head, bathing in the sun without any worries. It’s peaceful, thinking thoughts of you with dimmed eyes while the breeze gently wafts past him.

But of course, Taehyung wouldn’t let him just enjoy his day without a hint of irritation. Good things never last anyway. He’s sitting in the middle of the field, a hot spot for relaxation, and feels the soil under his palms while observing his surroundings. Yoongi is with them, munching on a few snacks while scrolling through his phone as it quietly plays music.

“The girl at the party,” Taehyung begins before glancing at Jungkook through his sunglasses, “she was alone when I came back. You weren’t around either; did you cum too soon or something? I saw you two kiss.”

“I left,” Jungkook mumbles without opening his eyes.

“Why?”

“I was bored.”

“And where did you go?” he pries.

“None of your business.”

Taehyung scoffs at his dismissal before averting his gaze elsewhere. “I do have a guess.”

“Don’t start,” Yoongi warns him without looking up. The two best friends usually get into arguments in a matter of seconds daily, and Yoongi just wants to spend his day without having to break up a fight. Just this once, he hopes… but hope doesn’t save him.

“I’m just wondering if you actually went all the way back to campus to fuck another girl, who coincidentally also does your homework.” His tone is cool and collected, but it borders on mocking that usually goes unnoticed. He’s been around these two too long for them to miss, however. Yoongi sighs, dreading the response already.

Jungkook sits up on his elbows with a glare directed towards Taehyung. “How’s your ex holding up, Tae? You think she cheated on another guy yet?”

Neither of the two friends have a filter around them, no consideration for their words as they apathetically insult one another; but Jungkook can go too far, especially by bringing up old wounds. 

Taehyung was in a toxic relationship with his first girlfriend of two years, which took a huge toll on his mindset. Constant infidelity, endless forgiving, make up sex and catching her with another man after: a cycle that went on for over 24 months. The concept of love became tainted in his eyes, no longer interacting with the opposite gender if not to get laid, and Jungkook’s commensalistic - rather parasitic - relationship doesn’t disprove his hateful ideology. Love only consists of two people: a host who provides, and the parasite that selfishly takes it all. 

But he isn’t over the pain that lasted a year after the break up, which was shamelessly executed by the parasite: his former girlfriend. It took a lot of trust to open up about it to his friends, and it lifted a heavy weight off of his chest. Only this year did he stop thinking about her, until Jungkook asked about her so casually. It stings his heart only for a second, and he scoffs as Yoongi intervenes, “Both of you need to shut the fuck up.”

“If you guys want to talk about my relationships, then don’t get all whiny when I talk about yours.”

Taehyung swallows his pride and confidently answers, “I don’t know, Jungkook. I hear she’s doing well, but no information on her boyfriends. Your turn: what’s going on with that nerd?”

“Elaborate.”

“Are you two dating?” Yoongi asks exhaustedly. They just keep taking every opportunity to annoy each other, and it’s even overwhelming him at this point. 

Rolling his neck side to side in thought, Jungkook takes a moment to answer, “No.”

“Bullshit,” Taehyung spits. “You know what? Let’s just move on. I’m sure I could get proper answers from someone else.”

“If you have a death wish, that is,” he warns with a slight seethe before lying back down.

He doesn’t respond and hides a smirk, a couple having a romantic picnic ahead of him from a distance. He watches them for a few seconds before muttering to himself, “It’s not going to be my death.”

Yoongi and Jungkook chill on their own after Taehyung leaves. He’s roaming the campus in hopes of finding that one girl who is always wearing some school skirt and working 24/7 to find out what is so special about her. Jungkook might think he doesn’t notice them interacting, but behind that airhead facade, he’s observant. It’s not that big of a fucking secret either, they’re not deliberately hiding their strangely beneficial friendship or whatever. You stick out like a sore thumb in the yard, though there’s not many people to tell you apart from anyway.

He approaches you rather slowly, inspecting your figure first before meeting you. Your posture is straight and composed, fingers quickly typing away on your keyboard without even looking at them. You look so serious to him, a contrast to the radiant butterflies flying past you in such a bright environment. He wonders if you ever procrastinate or take breaks, and most importantly, how someone that appears so smart has fallen into such an obvious trap set by his best friend of all people. 

His hands are in his pockets as he speaks his first words to you. “Hi, I’m Taehyung.”

Your reaction is instant: a quick look at him and you’re already frowning. “I’m Jungkook’s best friend,” he adds in case you’ve seen him around before. 

“I don’t know you.” And with that distant reply, you return to your essay. If meeting Jimin has taught you anything, it’s that you can’t trust anyone who claims to know your lover. They are just using it against you… 

“Well, shit,” he laughs, “I didn’t realize you were so cold.” Your eyes don’t waver from your screen, so he tries another approach: “Are you the girl Jungkook left the party a few days back for?”

Your ears perk up in his direction, but you don’t show it. But he notices the pause in your taps before you continue typing, and he holds that against you. He takes a seat across from you, and your laptop covers your face from him. “I just wanted to meet the person that’s got him whipped enough to get high and run off to them.” You bite down on a smile and prolong your silence. “I guess I’ll talk to you when you’re not busy.” 

He stands up just as you tell him, “Wait, no, I’m not busy.” You close your laptop mid-way before hesitating, but slam it shut nonetheless. “Sorry.”

“You’re good.” He sits back down and clasps his hands on the table. “So what’s going on between you and him? He refuses to tell me, as if you’re his little secret.”

You shyly look down at your flats and twiddle your fingers on your lap. “We’re together… but he is very mysterious.”

It’s a good thing you don’t glance at him to hide your blush, because he’s a little skeptical. He puckers his lips and furrows his brows but controls his expression when you look up. He mentally curses for taking longer than a few seconds to respond; it’s suspicious. “I know right? I don’t know why he’s so reluctant to talk about you. You’re a total sweetheart.”

Approval from Jungkook’s friend: check. Will he like you more if you get along with his friends? The thought excites you, because at least this is someone he likes, unlike Jimin. “Thank you,” you shy a smile. “Um…”

You’re awkward: not Jungkook’s type, Taehyung notes. You’re obviously the host... “So is this a fling, or are you two serious?”

“We’re serious!” you immediately answer. “I love him, and he recently told me he loves me too. He used to kiss me for doing his homework, but now he does it out of nowhere.”

Wow… romantic. He suppresses a chuckle because he doesn’t want to laugh in your face, not when you’re so cute when you talk about him. Your eyes light up with a gleam, a lovesick smile gracing your face and now desperate to befriend him. You look like him when he was supposedly in love. You’re serious about Jungkook, but for how long? Especially when the other side of the relationship is not so committed. It should be mutual: with two hosts.

“Yeah?” he acts interested and raises his sunglasses up to his hair. “How does he act around you?”

“Well,” you start gushing, “he is a little closed off with his emotions.” True. “He doesn’t like me talking to other guys.” Ooh, interesting. “He can’t stand being ignored,” you chuckle. Can he now? “And… he is so cute when he’s jealous. He has this glare whenever I don’t give him enough attention, but he would never admit it. He likes being intimate with me, likes it when I reassure him. He never says it out loud though, I can just tell by looking at him. I’ve never felt this way for anyone, never fell in love with someone until I met Jungkook. I just want to make him happy because he used to look so sad when I watched him from afar.” A hopeless romantic.

Maybe if you didn’t sound so genuine and innocent, he would’ve made fun of you. But he just feels pity for someone who is so giving to someone who gives back so little. You don’t deserve it; don’t deserve to stay up working on so many assignments; don’t deserve to not have any hobbies; don’t deserve to be so unloved. You are pathetic, but it doesn’t turn him off.

Taehyung is a host too.

He clears his throat at the unexpected stirring emotions in his heart, “What do you love about him? Do you like being treated like shit or something?”

“He doesn’t treat me badly! He is like a light switch, you know? He doesn’t know how to act, sometimes sweet and sometimes… a little mean. I love him for his pure heart, and I believe that we are similar in a lot of ways.”

Taehyung can’t contain his snort. Similar? You are opposites. You are similar to him, not Jungkook. He feels… jealous. The pairing is just so ridiculous and flawed, but you’re neither of the two; you are just good. Taehyung can be good too. “So, what’s your Instagram user?”

The lack of commentary and escalation of the topic catches you off guard. It’s a distraction. “I don’t have an account,” you reply in confusion.

“Wow, I’d expect you to cyberstalk Jungkook on there,” he jokes with a laugh.

“He has an Instagram?”

He purses his lips, his grin faltering as he nods. He takes out his phone from his pocket to show you the account, and holds it in your face. Your lips part as you gently take it from him, curiously inspecting the collage of images. 

“He plays the guitar?” you ask in awe. You click on each picture to zoom in on them, and your heart jumps upon seeing his selfies while Taehyung hums. He is gorgeous in your eyes, and you want to keep up with his posts in hopes of seeing another selfie. These are hidden gems that Taehyung had the courtesy of providing to you.

“He’s learning,” Taehyung says, “you should sign up and post some pictures as well. You’re really cute.” His cheeky compliment makes you happy; he is basically giving you his blessing! 

“Thank you, and you’re right,” you chirp, “I will make an account after I finish this essay. Want to take a picture with me?”

It’s safe to assume that Jungkook wouldn’t mind you talking to his best friend, so why not expand your social circle? You’ll be more involved with his life this way. Taehyung stammers slightly before agreeing. He switches benches to sit next to you while you rummage through your backpack to find your phone. He finds it strangely endearing how you hold it, using your index finger to swipe between apps to find the camera. It almost stings his heart that you’re so old-schooled in a cute way. Once you angle it above you with your arm stretched out to your left, Taehyung appears to be behind you as he lowers his glasses. You smile brightly into the lens while he cutely puckers his lips. 

Click.

“Are you wearing perfume?” he asks before he can stop himself. Your scent tickles his nostrils sweetly, and he doesn’t know why he’s noticing so much about you or holding a conversation with a woman without being naked. It’s been a hot minute since Taehyung’s had such a platonic interaction, and it shouldn’t feel this nice. He shouldn’t want to continue it through social media either.

“Yes! Do you smell strawberries? I noticed Jungkook eating them before, so I use just about anything strawberry scented. Lotion, shampoo, shower gel…”

He tunes you out as you gush and focuses on the smooth movement of your lips. You’re too good, and Taehyung knows he isn’t the best person but at least he’s not as bad as Jungkook. I shouldn’t think like this… but am I wrong? He will break your heart. What if it’s the right time to intervene to save you from that misery, and be a friend to both of you? He doesn’t want you to fall apart and be completely crushed right in front of his eyes, not when he just witnessed how childishly happy and naive you are. It wouldn’t be fair to you, nor to the life lesson he was taught years ago.

And he then notices that you're wearing strawberry lip balm. 

“Jungkook kis-” -sed someone else before coming to you. You hum and tilt your head at his interruption, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “Jungkook… does love strawberries.”

Though your work ethics are questionable for how exhausting they are, it gets the job done sooner. The moment you’re assigned a task, you do it, regardless of if it’s yours or Jungkook's. Saturday evening and Sunday are free for you, so you spend your time outside after leaving your backpack in your dorm. You think you look silly, taking pictures of anything you find interesting to post on Instagram. You made an account, but it appears like a bot with its empty feed. Jungkook enjoys doing this, so you want to try it as well. 

You don’t stray far from campus because you’d easily get lost, and your gallery looks boring to you. The only decent photo you have is with Taehyung, but you want to post a picture with Jungkook before anyone else. You grumble under your breath while walking back to the dormitory building. You look through Jungkook’s posts again as you do so with a smile. 

A heavy arm slings over your shoulder and hitches your breath just as the culprit says, “What’s the rush?” He doesn’t even look at you, and you wonder if he recognized you from your clothes after coming up from behind you. 

“Jungkookie!” you cheer excitedly. He glances at you and quirks a brow at the nickname. His eyes then trail to your lit up phone and snatches it from you, which you don’t fight against.

“You’re stalking me?” He scrolls through his profile from your phone and smirks before stating, “I didn’t know you had an Insta.” The both of you enter the building with his arm still wrapped around you, which flutters your heart.

“I made one today, since you use it.” He exits his profile to look at yours. You’re in the elevator as you inform, “Taehyung told me.”

A pause, then a click. Jungkook snapped a photo of you when you pressed the button of your floor. “Pretty,” he comments while looking at your candid shot. You’re flattered and also happy that he’s joining your trip to your dorm. He hasn’t said a word of protest and takes the lead in going to your room. “What else?”

“Hm?”

“What else did he tell you?”

You rack your brain to remember anything significant to tell him. It was a long conversation: getting to know each other and more about Jungkook. “He told me you have an Instagram, then asked for my perfume, and then we talked about your love for strawberries-”

“Your perfume? Why was Instagram even brought up?” he presses, stopping in front of your door. 

You take out your keycard and shrug while swiping, “He asked for mine.”

The dorm is empty when you enter and sit on the edge of your bed. It’s very hard to not grin when you’re around Jungkook, but he doesn’t seem to care as he looks through your gallery. “Can we take a picture together?” you peep hopefully. 

“Of course,” he murmurs absentmindedly, intently staring at your phone. “We’ll take many pictures,” he looks up at you before leveling with the camera, “pose.”

You aren’t very educated on the art of posing per se, so you imitate the peace sign you saw him do with a wide smile and a hand on the bed. He is neutral when he snaps a picture with a shutter. 

“I want you to be in it.”

He drags his eyes away from the screen and his blank expression intimidates you. “Whose idea was it for you to make an account?”

“Um… Taehyung, why?” You lay your hands on your lap at the growing tension.

Taehyung went to this extent to get a reaction out of him? Is it possible that he’s this obnoxious? Or perhaps another motive…?

“I-Is he not your friend?”

Jungkook breaks his silence of thoughts with a scoff, “Oh, only the best.” You sigh in relief, though he says it with menace. Taehyung was curious about his relationship, not about your social media. He forcefully pushes you down on the bed and you hold back a gasp as he wraps his finger around your neck in a light chokehold with a thumb on your nether lip. Click. He then lowers his hand to your thigh, hiding half of it under your skirt with a gentle grap. Click.

Your cheeks flush at the compromising photos he’s taking and you nervously ask, “A-Am I going to post these?”

“Shut up.”

You seal your lips shut and he flips you on your stomach, palming your covered ass with your side profile in the frame, and another shutter resounds in the room. “Sit up.” You follow his command and turn around to face him. He pushes your hair to your back and his mouth latches onto your neck. He’s biting you while sucking on your flesh, and you release a breathy moan at the feeling of his tongue swirling on the sensitive skin. It hurts, but you don’t complain and try to make sense of the growing arousal in your lower region. He only pulls away after half a minute and you’re confused by the satisfied smirk on his face while eyeing the result. He angles your jaw to expose your neck better and snaps another photo. “These are all going on your account.”

At your nod of submission, he starts unbuttoning your shirt. “You’re prettier with a mark. My mark.” Your body tingles at the compliment and you help him undress yourself by unbuttoning the ends. “Take off your skirt,” he demands as he slips off his shirt with ease. All of your clothes go off one by one as he does the same, and you don’t have the time to feel shy as his lips collide so roughly with yours that you’re pressed down against the mattress again. You still haven’t gotten the hang of making out, but it doesn’t matter with Jungkook because although it flows naturally, he also takes complete control over you. He’s not gentle, not with the way his teeth clash against yours and tongue leaving trails of saliva all over your mouth. Your toes curl with desire and anticipation, and you tug at his briefs that outline his erection. The feeling of his warm breath on you silences all your thoughts and you can only react on primal instincts. 

His crotch brushes against your bare folds, slick with your leaking wetness. Kissing him this passionately always leaves you feeling needy, and it embarrasses you that you get turned on so easily. But you don’t realize that is his intention as he glides his fingers all over your labia, making sure you’re ready to take all of him. 

Kissing you this passionately always leaves him feeling horny, and it’s apparent with his cock begging to be taken out of the restraints of his underwear. You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing, but your lips are numb when he pulls away to position himself in your entrance. He doesn’t prepare you, but he doesn’t rush himself either as he painfully slowly enters you. You hold your breath and gawn on your swollen lip, moans catching in your throat and leaving as high-pitched hums. He sighs at the feeling of your pulsating walls. “God… always so tight. Don’t you ever touch yourself?”

He bottoms out and you whimper shakily at how full you are. The fact that he fits you like a puzzle piece convinces you that he’s your forever, your meant to be. Even with your lack of experience with other men, you believe no one can make you feel this dreamy. And to think he’s all yours now… “I-I don’t. I only want to do it with you.”

The atmosphere is so fragile, so romantic. It’s not your delusion this time, because he feels it too and it makes his heartbeat sync with yours: unsteady and rapid. And in the heat of the moment, he reveals, “I think I’m in love with you.”

A whine leaves you, so loud that it can’t be achieved with touch but with his words. It’s the utmost pleasure, and when he realizes what he said, he sets a rushed pace to distract himself from the embarrassment of pouring his feelings. You don’t allow him to forget as you echo, “I’m in love with you too.”

“No, no,” he denies with a shake of his head and it emits more love confessions out of you in a chain of ‘I love you’s, and he grunts, “Stop. Shut up!” He pins your forearms on either side of your head in a bruisening grip and thrusts into you harder. You have no choice but to scream in pleasure, unable to form coherent words when he’s practically fucking your brains out. 

His feelings of humiliation translate to his actions: he pushes himself down to the hilt, throbbing with lust but doesn’t chase his high. He doesn’t want you to talk, not when he’s blushing for more than one reason, so he ignores the contraction of his muscles and just fucks you until he can’t anymore, hypnotized by the bounce of your tits.

Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s so desperate, hitting your most sensitive spot with every thrust and making your eyes screw back. Neither of you can think, so loud and reckless until you reach your climax. It’s core shaking, as you cry out his name and tremble with stimulation. He’s never seen this expression on your face, one so twisted in pleasure and looking so erotic. It comes as a surprise and in the form of a punch in the gut as he savours your appearance before cumming inside you with a groan. A slip-up, a mistake, but he doesn’t care as he paints your walls in white, his load filling you up.

And he can’t regret it when he pulls out, because the drizzle of his cum spilling out of your pussy easily becomes his favorite sight. “Shit,” he whispers as more and more drips while you twitch and spasm from your orgasm. You don’t even realize what he’s done, and that makes his chest swell with pride; the most level-headed woman he knows is leaking with his release and stupidly doesn’t spare it a thought. And with that hickey on your neck? “You look fucking gorgeous,” he exhales. A bashful smile stretches across your face with eyes still tightly shut, and you don’t notice him grab your phone on the other side of the bed to take a picture of your stained pussy. 

“This one is for me,” he mutters to himself. Click.

After posting the softcore photos on your account and tagging himself in them, as well as a note of a pharmacy’s address across campus with a label written for you to get two separate contraceptives as an emergency and for your next creampie, he leaves your dorm. You fell asleep on him, and though he had wanted to join you, he decided to collect his scrambled thoughts and go to Taehyung’s dorm first. He isn’t livid, but he has a few questions to ask.

He’s playing cards with Yoongi, Taehyung’s roommate, as he patiently waits for his arrival. “What’s wrong about asking for her Instagram, though?” Yoongi asks before drawing out a card of ace. “Isn’t she our friend by association anyway?”

“It’s suspicious,” Jungkook murmurs while inspecting his deck. “Have you ever seen Taehyung with a girl before? As friends? He’s clearly trying to fuck her.”

Yoongi stifles a laugh, “That’s a reach. Besides, you two have shared a girl before. Are you actually dating her?”

Shuffling is heard behind the door until it swings open as Taehyung enters. “Kookie! What are you doing here?” He throws his keycard on his bed before hopping on Yoongi’s to watch their game.

It’s strained, Jungkook notices. His excitement is forced; why? “I came here for you,” he states bluntly. “A little birdie told me you’ve been talking to someone who belongs to me.”

“I didn’t realize she was your diary,” he tries to lighten the mood with a joke. “What’s the deal anyway? You said you weren’t dating her.”

Yoongi collects the deck of cards after Jungkook drops them, and shuffles them while eavesdropping. He’s sitting cross-legged across from Jungkook, and Taehyung is sitting on the edge of the bed next to him with his body turned sideways.

“I also said that unless you have a death wish, don’t talk to her,” he grits. “And asking for her social media? Are you into her now?”

Taehyung merely shrugs. “I thought she was pretty chill. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“She obviously means something to him, so I think you should just respect that, Taehyung,” Yoongi voices his thoughts while leafing the cards. Jungkook looks to the side and pokes the inner cheek of his mouth with his tongue but doesn’t argue.

“I think he’s just using her.” Jungkook’s reaction is instant as Taehyung’s nose instantly starts to bleed from the impact of his fist. Yoongi doesn’t look up. He holds a hand over his injury with a hiss and continues, “Really, Kook? A little too much, don’t you think?”

“Less than enough,” Jungkook fumes, “I like her, and she likes me. Just fucking leave it at that.”

“Couple of the year,” Taehyung chuckles mockingly, “I give it two days.” He stands up before Jungkook can hit him again. “Can’t wait to console her after your break-up, maybe she’ll fall in love with me next.”

Jungkook starts chasing him around the room as Taehyung runs without stopping his provocation. “Why so upset Jungkook? Do you see it happening too? I’m already imagining how tight-”

“You should leave, Jungkook.” Neither of them listen to Yoongi, so he yells, “Jungkook, leave!”

A moment of deafening silence passes as both of them pause to catch their breaths. “She’s too sweet,” Taehyung begins, “too kind, too nice, everything you’re not. You wouldn’t be trying to keep me away from her if you didn’t know that. Are you afraid she’ll like me better?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jungkook spits with a heaving chest. “She’s loyal to me, but I’m sure you’re not familiar with that concept. No wonder your relationships only last one night.” With a final glare, he leaves as told to return to you. The only thing he needs right now is one more ‘I love you’ from you, as much as he hates it. Maybe he’s cruel, but he doesn’t know anyone who isn’t aside from you. 

Maybe Taehyung is just as cruel, fantasizing about all the ways he could be better for you before drifting off to sleep with a bandage over his wounded nose. He can just be a friend to both of you… he can be good too… 

[blueeyedgeorgie]

Safety-Dreamwastaken

A/N: This is IF Tommy and Dream escaped together 

Word count: 2.4k+

Pronouns: They/Them _________

"What?"

Their breath was shaky as they spoke. At this point, Y/n was frozen in place. It had been such a normal day, Y/n had gone deep in the forests with Callahan to collect materials for some building. But when they returned, havoc was among them. People were running around in a panic, the prison was destroyed. Destroyed-Just the sight of the prison put Y/n in panic. All they could do was run, they needed to find someone, anyone who would explain what happened. It had taken minutes, but felt like hours. Finally, they had located someone-Tubbo.

"Y/n!"

"Tubbo!" They pulled one another into a hug, both were exhausted. They treated one another as family, Y/n being Tubbo's older sibling figure. "What happened?!" "I'm sorry Y/n, but Dream escaped prison."

It felt like a slap in the face to receive this news. The color in their face disappeared. This was bad news. "No... no, this can't be true.... I... how?"

"Something to do with Ranboo. Tommy and Ranboo are gone too. No one knows where they are."

Y/n took a step back, feeling their breath shorten. This couldn't be happening. Everything had gotten good,  they were safe. They were safe from Dream. It felt so amazing, but now... everything was going to hell. If Dream was out of Prison, what were the chances he'd come after Y/n? They had known each other since the very beginning, they were friends, but soon it had turned into something toxic. He had manipulated them so much, to the point Y/n was broken down and suffering from a bit of PTSD from everything.

They could still remember the night before Dream planned to capture Tommy and kill Tubbo. They were hiding away in Dream's lair, where he planned to keep future items and belongings of members.

“Please don't do this, Dream.” They were on the brink of tears, “this isn't going to end well.” “This isn't going to end well for Tommy, Y/n.” Dream turned away from the portal, looking at his friend. “Why are you crying? We're friends, aren't we? I said you'd be safe.”

“I'm not crying over my safety,” Y/n stepped closer to Dream, looking up at him. “I'm crying over yours, I don't want you to get hurt.”

The blonde man made a 'tsk' noise, his hand shot up to Y/n's face, grabbing their chin. His green eyes stared down into their e/c ones. A look of disproval was on his face. “Crying is a weakness, Y/n. I thought I taught you better than that.” He wasn't wearing his mask, Y/n was one of the few people to see his face. The only reason they had seen his face was a way to get Y/n to trust him. “Everything's going to end well. Tommy will end up in prison and Tubbo... he'll most likely be dead by sun rise.”

“What?” Y/n froze at the mention of Tubbo. Dream could tell he had just struck fear in them. “Please, not Tubbo. Please, Dream.”

“I'm sorry Y/n...” He now cupped their face with both of his calloused hands, dragging his thumbs under their eyes to wipe away a few fallen tears. “It has to happen.”

“No,” their voice cracked as their eyes watered more. “Please no.” They pulled away from his grasp, tumbling a few steps back. “I've done everything for you. I put the TNT in the community house, I helped you build this hellsite, I did everything. Why? Why can't you do this one thing for me?” Tears were falling as Y/n raised their voice. “Why? Why do you need to kill Tubbo, my brother!" Y/n froze, that was the first time they had called Tubbo their brother, it felt good to say it.

his face showed no emotion as he watched Y/n. His lips parted, only mumbling a few words coldly; "Go home, Y/n. You're tired. You need rest."

“No! You don't get to push me away or order me to do something when we talk about something I want or that I care about! You can't do this to me!”

His gaze grew cold, his eyes beginning to glare, "Go home, Y/n."

"No."

"Fine," In one motion, he unsheathed his sword, beginning to walk towards the portal behind him. "If Tubbo is such a problem, I'll get rid of him now."

"No!" Y/n practically threw themself at Dream, grabbing onto his arm to stop him. "I'm going, I'm going. Please, I'll leave. i'll go home and sleep."

Dream smirked down at his friend, putting his weapon away. "Good. Get a good night's rest, you'll need it."

Y/n nodded, keeping their head down in embarrassment. It was cruel to think he could control them so easily. Right as they got to the portal, Dream had called for them one more time. "Oh and Y/n... If you think about spoiling my plans for tomorrow, I promise you I'll make sure Tubbo is dead before I go for Tommy. You know I always keep my promises."

Y/n winced at the thought, barely nodding. This was humiliating.

With Dream out of prison, there was only one thing Y/n planned to do; protect Tubbo. For the rest of the day, the pair walked around with Y/n holding a grip on their sword, constantly looking over their shoulder. Dream was a good fighter, better than Y/n no doubt, but they still needed to at least try and keep Tubbo safe.

When the day had come to an end, Y/n was still on their toes. Of course, Tubbo could tell, so he did the one thing he could think of. He took them up the highest hill, just to watch the sunset. It was one of their favorite things to bond over, they were both busy people, just being able to sit and catch up with each other was something nice.

"You know..." Tubbo picked at his pants as he spoke, he was a bit nervous to bring up the next topic in mind, but it had to be done. "You've never really talked about what was going on between you and Dream. Before he was in prison and everything. Tommy and I would see you and him together, but we understood why."

"You wanna know something, Tubbo?" Y/n sucked in a breath of air, they knew they had to talk about this eventually. "My role was to serve, that's all he needed me for. Yet..." they paused, looking into the sunset. Was it going to be a smart idea to say the next few words in their mind? "I still love him."

"What?" Tubbo's mouth fell agape. he felt something in his stomach lurch, his older sibling had fallen in love with his enemy. "I... I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to," Y/n could look Tubbo in the face, not right now. "I don't really understand it. I fear that man with half of my heart, the other half lives for that rush when I see him. He's like a drug, I'm willing to do almost anything for him. I live for his approval, I love when he says I've done good or tells me I deserve a reward, stuff like that."

"Y/n..."

"God, I'm so sorry, Tubbo. I really am. I... I don't know what's wrong with me." Y/n shook their head, realizing what they just said. "That... that was fucked up, I shouldn't have said that. Especially to you, you're just a kid, you've gone through enough trauma already. You don't need your sibling scaring you like this."

"No, it's... it's not okay, but it's whatever. I'm just happy you feel okay opening up to me about this. I'm gonna be honest here, Y/n... I'm not really sure what to say to any of this. It feels kind of like you've fallen in love with the enemy here."

A moment of silence followed, neither knew what to say. An unusual tension summoned, it felt strange. Normally, both Tubbo and Y/n were very comfortable around each other, but after Y/n's confession... it all seemed so strange.

Instead of breaking the silence, they sat there. Both kept their focus on the sun, watching it disappear from sight, the sky changing colors as the light left the sky. It had taken a while, but the sun had finally disappeared from sight. The pair sat there, staring off in different directions. The sky was filled with stars, it'd be impossible to see if they were closer to town than they already were.

"I... " Y/n paused, they didn't know what to say. There was so much they could say. "I think I'm gonna go to bed." Standing they muttered a brief 'good night'.  They could hear Tubbo say 'night' to them as they walked away.

This would be the first time Y/n would be alone since they heard of Dream's escape. Honestly, it was going to be hard for Y/n to fall asleep tonight. They already knew they wouldn't feel safe in their own home. As they walked, they could still remember the time when Dream had convinced them to tell him all of the secrets of their house. He knew every passage, every hidden item, any secret entrances.

"This is where I keep my iron and armor," They opened a chest, revealed stacks of iron bars sitting by two chest plates. Dream loomed over them from behind, he glanced into the chest for a brief moment before turning to walk somewhere else.

For the past hour it had been like this; Y/n showing everything there is to show in their home while Dream inspected. Y/n wasn't too sure why they were doing this, but Dream found it important. Whatever seemed necessary in his eyes, Y/n had to comply; it was just the rules.

"Don't you think I've shown you enough?" Y/n chewed on their bottom lip as they spoke, they were a bit anxious to hear his response. It wasn't a good idea to go against him, but at this point, it felt like Y/n had shown him enough.

The dirty blonde paused, turning on his feet to face his friend. "Are you trying to tell me I'm wrong for trying to protect you?"

"What, I-... no..." "I'm only trying to protect you, Y/n. There's going to be people who will want to hurt you, I can keep you safe if I know where your belongings and materials are. I can keep you protected if I know where all the entrances are to your home. Don't you want me to keep you safe?"

Y/n muttered a sheepish; "yeah," as they kept their head down. Moments like these always made them feel so weak.

"And just remember..." Y/n could feel their gaze point upward, Dream had placed a hand under their chin, forcing them to look him in the eye. "I'm never wrong, I know what's good for you."

Their house would no longer be known as a safe space for Y/n. As soon as Dream was imprisoned, Y/n had changed a lot about their house-but there was still a good chance of Dream finding a way to break in. When their home came into view, Y/n picked up their pace. Even if their home wasn't technically safe any longer, it'd still be better than standing out and alone in the dark.

With the door closing behind them, Y/n let out a sigh. Hopefully, they'd be able to find some way to get their mind off of Dream. They made their way through their home, putting away items and even turning on a bit of music as they did. The music was loud enough for Y/n's footsteps to drown out as they walked, loud enough to even drown out the sound of opening and closing chests, putting their belongings away.

Something seemed off, it looked like a few items were missing. A few pieces of armor, enchanted items, and even weapons. Y/n shook it off, they were just overthinking. It was normal for them to accidentally overcount in their stock.

Y/n had placed a few more items down into the last chest, a few apples and carrots they had collected earlier that day. It seemed like everything was going to be okay... until it wasn't.

Just as Y/n closed the chest, the music stopped. They froze. Y/n was supposed to be the only one here, the music shouldn't have stopped by itself. But it did.

There wasn't much they could do, they could run and hide-he'd find them. They could escape-He'd catch them. They could fight-he'd overpower them. What was the best option? Running would make him mad, fighting would make his blood boil-hide. Y/n would just have to try and hide.

Quickly they scanned over the room, chests filled with items were stacked. The room was like a maze, there had to be some chest they could slide into. As they moved, they stayed quiet, one little noise could ruin their chance of safety. The room was big, if they weren't careful they would get lost. Step by step, row by row, they passed by the chests. Every few seconds, they would glance over their shoulder-looking for him.

Just as they went to look over their shoulder for the hundredth time, they froze. Y/n's blood turned cold-the door opened. Heavy footsteps echoed through the room, the sound f metal dragged on the floor. He had a weapon.

"Y/n. I know you're in here..."

Should they run? Should they hide? Should they scream for help and pray someone will hear them?

Holding their breath, Y/n listened to the steps. One wrong move and it was all over for them. Sooner or later, they began to move, trying to stay silent as they listened for Dream's footsteps.

"Come out, this can be so much easier. If only you didn't act like this."

Y/n held their breath as they kept their pace up.

"You know I would never do anything to hurt you. You make me happy; and even more happy to you feel the same, right?"

They could feel their heartbeat rise.

"I know you better than yourself. I know you're in here."

Their pace quickened, listening to him.

"Luckily, it's only going to be me and you soon."

Faster-they were almost there.

"And before you know it-"

Their pace quickened, at this point Y/n was sprinting. Within seconds, they launched themself forward... only to land into someone's arms. An ax clattered to the ground as a pair of arms enveloped Y/n. Dream grinned, looking down at the person in his arms. Everything was going to plan.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Taglist: @ivory-raptor @behzynga​ @snowcones404 @delsinhunter @kiritokunuwu @part-of-too-many-fandoms29​

[ghirahimbo]

beginnings

a non-specific take on how the Link and Ghirahim master/sword AU might come about. I probably won't post this one to ao3 yet in case I decide to use it in a story someday, but I liked it enough to put it here, at least :)

--

In the Sealed Grounds where the demon hordes had trampled the earth so recently in their violent rampage, the transition to silence was complete. The whistling chirp of birds, the buzz of insects… even the wind through the trees had gone deathly still, all caught up in breathless waiting. Only the pool of inky darkness at the center of Demise's broken prison seemed to breathe, pulsing slowly in and out with uneasy life. Small though it was compared to the spiraling pit containing it, the darkness pulled at the cloud-covered twilight as if its strength alone might dim it. Consume it.

At last, the dark pool recoiled in agitation, and from its churning depths emerged a boy in a green knight’s tunic that had certainly known more pristine days. Bloodied and bruised, yet swaying triumphantly as if standing itself was a triumph, Link stumbled out of the pit’s embrace, adjusting his wet hat to fit more firmly over the mess of hair still dripping from his watery battlefield. The sky above seemed to captivate him, and he craned his head back to stare at the darkened clouds, half in wonder, half in disbelief. Then the hilt of his sword flashed, and a shimmering blue woman emerged to float in front of him.

“Master,” she said, catching his attention. “With the defeat of the demon king Demise, there is a 95% chance that your friend Zelda has already regained consciousness.” Her voice softened almost imperceptibly. “I believe I can say with 100% certainty that she would like to know you are well.”

Link stared at her for another moment, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Of course,” he murmured, and for the first time, he grinned. “Let’s go.”

Strengthened by his anticipation, Link broke into a limping run, eager to put the forsaken pit behind him—but before he could take more than a few steps, a new voice froze him in his tracks.

“Wait.”

Heart sinking like a rock, Link whirled around, one hand hovering warily over the hilt of his sword as a new figure emerged from the retreating darkness. Ghirahim’s skin glimmered like polished obsidian in the fading light, smooth and unmarred except for where fiery cracks split his chest, and a glowing diamond at its center pulsed an erratic, angry red. Cradled against his shattered core was an enormous black sword, its sharp edge not even scratching the skin where it rested against Ghirahim’s hardened arms.

Milky white eyes met tired blue in a silent clash, as if neither had the strength necessary to put words to their feud. Then, without warning, Ghirahim hefted his sword, driving it point first into the softened earth and falling to one knee before it.

“Take it.”

Link blinked, and took a wary step back.

“…What?”

“Take it.” Despite his clear exhaustion, Ghirahim’s voice had that same teasing bite to it as always, coupled now with impatience as he gestured towards the sword. “You defeated my old master Demise, which means his sword is yours to claim. Take it.”

Link stared at him, dumbfounded, and a slow smile curved across Ghirahim’s thin dark lips.

“Let me put it this way,” he said pleasantly. “This sword belongs to you whether you wish it so or not, but things will go much more… smoothly… if you take it now.”

Link shook his head as if to dismiss the notion, fixing Ghirahim with a glare.

“I already have a sword,” he said coldly, starting to turn aside, but this time a light chime from Fi made him stop.

“Master Link,” she said, her cool voice strangely gentle. “I’m afraid that I was not created to remain by your side forever. The demon king’s remaining essence is now sealed within my sword, to be carefully guarded until it is eradicated. The time of our parting will be soon.” She hesitated, and added, “Very soon.”

The first drops of rain began to fall, scattered and sparse. Link stared at Fi incredulously.

“You’re not saying I should trust him,” he said, not really a question, and Fi shook her head.

“Such judgments are not mine to make. I can only report that I sense no immediate intent to do harm from Lord Ghirahim, though whether he hopes to deceive you is less clear. Any further statements would be mere conjecture on my part.”

“Would you mind conjecting then?” Link asked, pursing his lips. After a moment, Fi nodded.

“Master Link…” Her words came with slow reluctance now. “Despite the foreordination of our partnership, I was still given the privilege of choosing you as my master. If what Ghirahim says is true and his sword has passed ownership from the demon king to you, I must surmise that he was not granted that same privilege of choosing Demise.”

“If what he says is true,” Link repeated, sparing another glare for the still-kneeling demon lord. Ghirahim had so far watched their exchange in enigmatic silence, not quite smiling, though he half raised an eyebrow at Link’s scowl. The steadily increasing rain slithered unnoticed in rivulets down his face, striking against his arms with short, metallic plinks.

“I stated that I could not discern whether he hopes to deceive you in some way, and this is true. However…” She paused in consideration. “I do sense a newfound connection between you and that sword, as well as between you and Lord Ghirahim himself. My opinion is that he is telling the truth, in this regard, at least.”

Link stared at her in dismay, and Ghirahim laughed softly.

“Your robotic guide is right, I’m afraid," he murmured. "I’ll have you know that you were not my first choice either, but I think we both know better than most how little control we have over the whims of destiny. Never in this sword’s history has it passed to a human, but it appears our thread of fate has some twists that even I could not predict.”

“There is no thread—“ Link started to say hotly, but let it go with a sigh. Even he could see how pointless finishing that sentence would be. “I suppose you come with the sword, then?”

“I am the sword,” Ghirahim said, his pale eyes glittering. Link paused only a second before nodding. After bearing Fi for so long, he understood how that worked, at least.

“If…” Link took a deep breath, glancing again at Fi. “If I take you with me… what’s to stop you from trying to kill me still?”

“I am physically incapable now of even harming you,” he said, and Link’s eyebrows shot up. A possibility much easier to disprove than prove, but…

“What about Zelda?” he demanded, and Ghirahim’s grin widened.

“On your orders, I would go so far as to guard her from harm, and catch her each time she stumbles,” he said smoothly. Link’s face darkened.

“What about—“

“Master, must we really go through every order that I will or will not obey?” Ghirahim cut him off irritably. “I will obey them all, insofar as I am able. Was it not the same with…?”

He gestured vaguely towards Fi, who looked at him.

“Fi is the designation I was given,” she said, prompting a tight grin.

“Wonderful! I didn’t need or desire to know that.”

“Wait,” Link interjected, his mind spinning slightly. “...You called me master.”

“Is he this slow all the time?” Ghirahim asked Fi incredulously. “How do you put up with it?”

Link let the insult slide, still reeling as he tried to gather his thoughts. Would Ghirahim really debase himself so far just for a chance at revenge? There were other, easier ways to go about it if that was his aim, ways involving less personal humiliation. Fi thought he was telling the truth—about some things, at least—which maybe meant…

“What am I supposed to do with that sword, anyway?” Link said abruptly. “It’s too big for me to even…”

The protest died in Link’s throat as for the first time he really looked at the sword, and licked his lips. Without his noticing, the sword had shrunk in size, though it managed to appear no less menacing despite that. If Link were to hold up his Master Sword in comparison, he doubted that there would be a hair’s difference in length.

“I told you,” Ghirahim said, and Link had to fight down a shiver that he told himself was from the rain. “My sword belongs to you now, Link. Take it.”

Once more he looked at Fi, silently questioning, but if she had an opinion on the matter her blank face gave no voice to it.

“Zelda is waiting for you,” was all she said… and somehow, that was enough.

“Fine,” Link sighed reluctantly. He didn't want to find out at that moment how Ghirahim might try to force him if he refused, and Fi was right. It was time to go. “I accept your sword.”

Trudging forward, Link grabbed it by the hilt, thinking that if worse came to worst, he could still throw it off a cliff somewhere—and felt a terribly familiar warmth surge through his palms as he pulled it free, traveling up his arms to settle somewhere in his chest. A tightness fell from Ghirahim’s face that Link hadn’t noticed until that moment, and he bowed his head forward, pressing a hand delicately against his mangled chest.

“The bonding process is now complete, master,” he said, and despite the formality of his words he had a mocking twist to his lips. “Link… my master.”

Thunder boomed overhead as lightning forked viciously across the sky, the rain falling down in sheets. Link, staring at his own black sword, noticed none of it.

[my-least-favorite-savior]

“My ambitions and the path laid before me are not always congruent, Bren.” -Astrid Beck, c2e110.

Let’s talk about Astrid and Eadwulf, what they were doing in Nicodranas, and why I have a theory that they are in immediate danger and neither they nor Caleb have realized it yet.

There have been implications sprinkled throughout their episodes that Astrid and Eadwulf have been slowly getting things in place to eliminate Ikithon since before Caleb/Bren was even officially back in the picture.

First, I want to draw attention to the fact that Astrid did not seem to expect Caleb/Bren to return. She expressed surprise that Caleb/Bren has recovered as fully as he has; that seems to have been beyond what she hoped for while he was in the sanitarium. Whatever plans she was making prior to receiving that letter, she was making them under the assumption that Bren was gone for good.

She says something in that meeting that makes Caleb assume she is planning to take Trent’s seat. If I had to guess, the comment that tipped him off to that was “I understand your anger. And as much as he’s been our teacher, he’s not infallible. He’s just an old man, with the right connections, who will one day pass, like they all do.”

Now, these are very carefully chosen words. Astrid is not the sort of person who is going to come right out and admit to plotting against her mentor. But Caleb heard something more in them...

In c2e110, Caleb asks Astrid and Eadwulf if they support “mangl[ing] more children to feed the fields of Wynandir.” He is speaking directly to Wulf when he asks his question. He is looking at Wulf when he asks this question.

Wulf says nothing and looks to Astrid to answer for them both. I find that extremely revealing about the power dynamic between them, and it’s an indication that Wulf is already envisioning a future where he’d be following Astrid’s lead on these things.

Astrid’s initial response is that if Caleb were to supplant Trent, they would, of course, follow Caleb’s lead. This is a safe answer. Ikithon expects Caleb to plot to kill him. He may even want that.

But Caleb pushes, and says that when he last spoke to Astrid, she seemed to be preparing to take over Trent’s seat on the Assembly. Astrid gives several indications that he needs to Stop Talking About That, which imo is as good as a confession. If you don’t agree, her actual confession is in bold above.

Trent laughs it off, there at the dinner table, and basically says that he assumes that everyone close to him is plotting to kill him. The implication is supposed to be that Astrid is off the hook.

But come on, people. Come on. Astrid was never off the hook. If Trent wasn’t [uniquely] suspicious of her before that, he certainly was afterwards. It should have been extremely obvious to Trent as of c2e110 that Astrid was plotting against him. Based on what Caleb said about Astrid reminding Trent of himself, I doubt this realization surprised him.

“I struggle with trust and I want very much to trust you. I think we both know that’s not entirely possible.” -Caleb Widogast, c2e126.

When Caleb meets Astrid at the dance hall, he immediately asks her if everything has been okay since he left. Her response is “They’ve been interesting,” which I’m pretty sure means “Bad,” in coded spy language. I bring that up because I think it helps account for her crying after she left the dance hall. She didn’t go back to her house on Ikithon’s estate to cry, even though my general experience is that most people would prefer to cry in their own homes rather than in public; she headed down a random alleyway and collapsed just long enough to pull herself back together. It wasn’t just Bren she was hiding those tears from. Obviously, she was hiding them from one group to avoid arousing suspicion and from the other group to save face. But there were two groups she was hiding from.

Let’s assume positive intent from Astrid. Astrid had nothing to gain from leading the Nein into a trap. She’s made it clear that she sees Caleb as a competitor, but right now, Caleb is more of an ally than a threat to her, even before we touch on her personal feelings for Bren. The only circumstance where it makes sense for Astrid to be knowingly leading the Nein into a trap is if Trent was behind it, and Astrid was simply the bait.

That doesn’t make sense. How could Trent possibly have known that the Nein were going to end up in the situation they ended up in with Lucien and reach out to Astrid for help? Trent could not possibly have planned this plan, because it depends on things that are completely out of Trent’s control and that Trent could not possibly have known about. Trent cannot be involved at this stage, therefore it is just Astrid. Astrid has nothing to gain from handing Caleb over to Trent. (She does have a great deal to gain from Caleb killing Trent, though, which would explain why she encouraged him to do so.)

So Astrid gets them the maps and the location of the amulets in good faith. She tells them Trent won’t be there in good faith. Maybe Trent showing up is a coincidence, or maybe Trent was already watching Astrid very closely and he knew something was up.

Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise to see Bren standing there. Maybe he chuckles about the tragic love story these two must think they live in.

Trent is in an interesting position, now. He knows what Astrid has done, but Astrid doesn’t know he knows. Astrid might be his most promising lead on Bren. Why show his hand now just because Astrid and Bren have shown theirs?

Trent is concerned too, about Eadwulf. How could he not be? If 2/3 are plotting against you, you put the third through at least a basic loyalty test. Like sending him to hunt his old friend.

Astrid has to go too, of course. This is Trent’s plot, and this time, Astrid is the bait.

It’s not Caleb, but Eadwulf, who takes the bait, hook and all. Eadwulf fails his loyalty test. Astrid failed hers before they left. They run to warn Bren. Astrid admits to her involvement in the Vergessen break-in right in front of Eadwulf. It should be very clear to the audience whose side Eadwulf is on, at this point. (It isn’t Trent’s.) It is almost certainly clear to Trent as well.

It doesn’t make sense for Trent to have sent them to the Chateau. Trent gained nothing from that. If their orders were to get Bren to talk, they would not have left without speaking directly to Bren. If their orders were to capture or kill the Nein, they could easily have picked them off one-by-one, rather than… speaking to them calmly and leaving without doing that. Telling the Nein that the Vollstruckers are there and that the Nein and their families should leave immediately is also an interesting move if they were there on Trent’s orders. Giving up the element of surprise and inviting your prey to escape is... an odd choice, unless you actually want them to escape. So is allowing them to escape.

Now, let’s talk about Trent showing up.

One of two things happened: Either Astrid and Eadwulf lied to the Nein, or Trent lied to Astrid and Eadwulf. It does not make sense for Astrid and Eadwulf to have lied. Neither they nor Trent had anything to gain from them telling that lie to Bren. They had already given up the element of surprise.

So Trent lied to Astrid and Eadwulf. Which brings us back to my theory that this was a loyalty test, which Eadwulf failed and Astrid pre-failed.

Why bring them to Yussa’s tower? Because the alternative was to call them out then and there, which would guarantee that at least one of them got away. He couldn’t possibly go after Bren and contain Astrid and Eadwulf at the same time. It was much easier to chase the one who was running and let the other two follow along willingly, for now. If Bren got away, well, there were ways of luring him back, especially while he still had Astrid and Eadwulf.

Astrid and Eadwulf don’t want to fight Trent right now. There are too many pieces that aren’t where Astrid would like them. They can’t out-right attack Trent, either. Even in their world, that’s a felony. I think in all the talk of assassinating an Archmage of the Cerberus Assembly, we’ve forgotten that you can’t just assassinate an Archmage of the Cerberus Assembly. It is both extremely difficult and you are not allowed. You can’t just--

I think Astrid and Eadwulf are in more danger than they realize.

Disclaimer: Analysis of an evolving story is always a difficult thing, because one is necessarily looking at an incomplete puzzle. This is a THEORY, and it is possible that, as often happens to theories, new evidence will arise later and disprove it.

[jaylamcd68]

The Rookie 4x01 Episode Summary

Spoilers Ahead

Opens up with the team approaching a warehouse asking for permission to breach.. then it flashes back to immediately after the wedding and they watch video surveillance of Angela and Jackson being taken.. West was killed 😭😭 It flashes back to Grey giving them permission to breach. They find the getaway car but no Lopez. The car is wired with C4 so they leave and discover plane tracks on the road.

Lopez is tied on a plane with La Fiera. She informs Angela she isn’t going to kill her .. yet.. La Fiera tells Angela she needs her to “safely deliver my baby” first😭

Grey and Wesley speak with the DEA and the feds tell them they have no proof that Lopez was even on that plane so they can’t help them. Grey is livid because he just “lost a someone who was like a son to me”😭😭😭

Guatemala: La Fiera shows Angela her new room and introduces her to her doctor. Angela tells her not to touch her and La Fiera says she needs to play nice because she can either be treated like a surrogate or an incubator.

Los Angeles: Nolan and Chen are at the station, rightfully upset about Jackson’s death. Tim and Nyla come in and they discuss why La Fiera wouldn’t have just killed her there too, Lucy comes up with the correct suspicion that she wants to steal Angela’s baby. Grey comes in with Detective whatshisface (Angela’s new boss) and they say Jackson scratched his killer in the struggle - helping to solve his own murder 😭😭😭😭

Chenford moment alert: Lucy doesn’t think she can go back to their apartment and see Jackson’s empty room. Tim invites her to stay with him!!!!

Wesley goes to speak with a former client in hopes to get info on Angela’s. Wesley tells him he would do anything to get Angela back including becoming crooked.

Guatemala: Angela wakes up in the middle of the night and speaks with her security guard.

Los Angeles: Tim is setting up the couch for him to sleep on planning on giving Lucy his bed and she’s like no I can’t kick you out. Tim asks Lucy if there is anything she needs and Lucy says, the past 24 hours back 😭😭😭 but then they hug and they have that moment from the trailer .. and THEN THEY BOTH ARE CONTEMPLATING GOING BACK OUT TO EACH OTHER.. chenford is happening this season I CAN FEEL IT. But Tim gets a call that Wesley knows where they are keeping Angela.

The team gathers in (I think) Wopez’s living room discussing how they will get Angela back. They are going to get in contact with Max, the leader of the black ops fed team that they did the deal with over the counterfeit money/homeless guy murder last season to see if they could get them into Guatemala and perhaps lend tactical support. Grey informs Nolan that today actually marks the end of his time in the FTO program. John is officially a P2😢 Grey and Lucy are going to work Jackson’s murder case, while the rest head to Guatemala 😭 At the station they all have the black bands over their badges for Jackson😭 Head Detective dude says that he wants this guy dead or alive, and deadly force is authorized from the get go but Grey insists that this is not a revenge mission.

Nyla and Tim are with John at his house. Nolan wants to get the blueprints to La Fiera’s compound because the satellite pictures they have are trash. They get a knock on the door and it’s someone from the Black Ops team. They can get them in and out with gear but no personnel and if anything goes wrong they are on their own.

Guatemala: the trio arrive in Guatemala. They have 10 hours to go get Angela and get back. Wesley arrives by public plane. He tells the military personnel that he has an offer for la Fiera that she would kill to hear as a way to get them to take him to her. Nyla and Tim set up an overwatch on the compound. Nolan goes to meet the architect of the compound in an attempt to get the blueprints. He is pretended to be a contractor for a millionaire wanting to build his own compound. The office manager seems suspicious so Nolan goes and sets of the fire alarm so he can go steal the blueprints. He gets them but then leaves the drawer open!??

Wesley arrives and tells la Fiera that he could get a US senator to cut import terrifs for the legitimate companies that she uses to smuggle her drugs in. She tells him she will maybe consider it but really it’s not about the money.

LA: Grey gives Lucy a pep talk about being able to do the job even when it hurts. They see the suspect and he runs into a nearby apartment building. Grey finds the suspect holding him at gun point and when Lucy asks for his position he turns off his radio. Grey tells the suspect about Jackson and that he is tempted to get revenge and pull the trigger on him just like he pulled it on Jackson, but he doesn’t.

Guatemala: Wesley hugs Angela and tries to tell her they have a plan and the security guard flips out. Nolan arrives and says there is really only one way into the place based on the blueprints only for them to realize that there are now bars there. Tim says they need to move to plan B which Nyla disproves of.

In LA Lucy arrives home and looks into Jackson’s room 😭😭😭😭 Tim calls Lucy and tells her they are moving to Plan B which Lucy also doesn’t like but tells Tim to give her a bit to get ready. Before she hangs up Lucy tells Tim to be safe 😭❤️. Tim calls Max and says they have a new pick up point. They set off fireworks to inform Wesley they are moving to plan B. Wesley tells Angela that he has to inject her with a drug to induce contractions and that Harper has a drug to counteract the effects. They need to go to the hospital since she is only 6 months pregnant. La Fiera suspects something is up and tells her guards to take Wesley to be killed in the orchard and then meet them at the hospital.

John sees this happening. He tells Tim and Nyla that he has to go save him or he would never be able to look Angela in the eyes again. They tell Nolan they only have one chance to get on the chopper out of here so it’s basically a suicide mission. Lucy is tracking La Fiera’s car from LA via highway cameras. She has a police escort.

John is chasing Wesley’s captors. Meanwhile arriving at the hospital Nyla comes out with a wheelchair which has a gun on it that she pushes to Angela. Tim slams into the police car with a ambulance. They are chased by la Fiera and the team through the hospital and arrive at the chopper. La Fiera grazes Angela with a bullet and Angela turns around and shoots her dead (we assume). They tell Max they have to make another stop and when he tries to say he told them only one stop, the three of them pull their guns on him and he agrees to get John and Wesley.

At the orchard with the security guard. Wesley is being walked to his death. The security guard asks Wesley if he wants the bullet in the face or the back of the head and he says neither and John sets off a tractor and then attacks them from behind. There is a struggle but they make it out alive and to the chopper. Everyone is on their way home safe and sound 😭❤️

Then they time jump to three months later. Baby Wopez is a boy😭 Lucy gives a basket from her “and Nyla” of a whole bunch of natural homemade treats to which, after Lucy leaves, Nyla says she wouldn’t eat any of, but that it was something that made Lucy happy to make so she just went with it. Angela goes to Jackson’s grave to give him an update on her life. They named the baby Jackson😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Man there were SO many tears this episode 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[helion-ism]

let’s talk about elucien

there are so many reasons why I love elain x lucien and why I think these two would not only be amazing together, but also why they belong together. one of those reasons is lucien’s sassy personality, which we already got a glimpse of in acotar (and that I miss terribly btw), and which is, in my opinion, exactly what elain needs in her life. we’re talking about lucien “your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold” vanserra. we know he’s got quite a big mouth, that’s how we got to know him, but we also know that mouth is exactly what’s gotten him into trouble before. case in point: the eye incident. lucien doesn’t mince his words and yes, that is one of the reasons why elain really needs to spend some more time with him. 

she has been coddled by not only her father, nesta, feyre, but also the entire inner circle, which has allowed her to live her life passively. yes, she killed the king of hybern, and good for her, but she did it because nobody else could have done it at that point in time. ever since the war ended, elain has not actively contributed to any plot matters, whether by choice or because someone else took the choice from her. azriel said in acosf, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that elain should not be exposed to.” even amren pointed out that elain is capable of defending herself, but for some reason, nobody let her even though elain said she would try to find it: “then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” and yet,  by the end of the book, elain’s been barely in it and has not contributed at all. (I know some people claim there’s certain things already happening in the background, but honestly, I’m not satisfied with that development happening off page, so I can’t wait to finally go on her journey and actually see her do stuff)

this moment is crucial:

does it look like she is happy with the way the others treat her? not really. when nesta snapped at her, elain started laughing. that signals relief to me because nesta, the one who has always tried to protect elain the most (nesta baby Ilysm), is the one who suddenly lost her patience. elain needs somebody like lucien, somebody with a big mouth and sassy attitude, who can coax her out of that paralysis she’s been stuck in, a bit like nesta in this scene. additionally, the banter would be top tier. I want another “if I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?” moment, please. god please. (elain blinks. “and where would you like that kiss?” — and lucien just loses his mind.)

another thing that lives in my head rent free is the fact that lucien has travelled almost everywhere and could introduce elain, who wishes to see more of the world (see: “elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers”), to the different courts and the continent. I refuse to accept that we will not get to learn more about the other courts, for my sake, but also for elain’s sake. I want her to see the spring court at least once. I want her to go and see those tulips she’s dreamt of. I want her and lucien to discover the day court as a new home, which brings me to the next point. 

elain has been craving sunshine for some time now. there’s several quotes that emphasise her connection to sunshine/light, here are a few of my favourites: 

I marveled at it, actually — that those years of poverty hadn‘t stripped away that light from elain.

the suite was filled with sunlight. every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent.

she had been always so full of light. perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. to fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. and now nothing remained.

what can I get you, elain? — sunshine.

elain doesn’t belong into the night court. feyre has found her family there, with rhys and the inner circle. nesta has found (or should I say accepted) cassian and found gwyn and emerie, her chosen sisters. but elain?

elain is somewhere in the background hiding with the twins and tending to gardens of the citizens of velaris. you can’t tell me that is satisfactory to you. she is currently ignoring her seer abilities, and the members of the inner circle are basically encouraging her to do so. the only time she’s been confronted lately was during that conversation with nesta and her reaction was not exactly what any of us readers would have expected, was it? that tells me there’s much more about her we don’t know yet, and I’m convinced we won’t know until she finally leaves and finds her own people, finds herself again and start dealing with everything that happened to her. elain must leave the night court, i.e. the darkness, behind in order to grow.

the same goes to lucien: he’s not at a place where he can just jump into a relationship or mating bond. he’s got so much stuff going on. lucien was forced to abandon his home and his abusive family, his “father” killed the fae he loved in front of his eyes, his best friend is an abusive pos who never appreciated him anyway, and neither has anyone in the night court. lucien is used because of his connections and because of the mating bond that ties him to elain, whether he wanted it or not. feyre knows he would never turn away from elain unless she explicitly wishes him to, and so she and rhys and the others use that to their advantage. it is smart, of course, but at the same time, they also keep important information about his own life from him that could change many, many things. so he’s spending his time with mortals in the human lands — a place where he as a fae really does not belong. 

lucien being the heir to the day court, well, to me, it feels like sjm is practically screaming it into our face: how could he find a home in the night court, the literal opposite to the day? darkness vs. light. and what about elain “he’d never once in the two years he’d known her found elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … it sucked the life from her” archeron? just looking at the symbolism, not only do the quotes from above indicate that the night court cannot possibly be her home, but also very recent quotes from the latest book. elain is a side character in the night court. and so is lucien. they both need to leave in order to become main characters — and it doesn’t even matter that both are already crucial to the further plot of the series because how can they possibly contribute to it in a place where they are both kept down? 

mor said in acofas: “stay out of it. she’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.” and “let him figure out where he wants to be. who he wants to be. the same goes with her.” mor’s power is “truth”, whatever that means. but there you have it. they’re not ready to be with each other yet, and that’s okay. 

[elain and lucien are also connected not only because of the mating bond, but also because of the plot. lucien must know quite a lot about her and her sisters simply because of all the time he spent with their father. the father who made a bargain with koschei. koschei who put a spell on vassa. lucien is therefore tied to both papa archeron as well as koschei and vassa. elain, we know, is a seer, despite her not using her abilities (or is she, and we simply don’t know?). elain is (obviously) connected to her father, but also to koschei and vassa (remember those visions she had).]

now let’s get to the mating bond stuff, and I need to say this loud and clear: elain has always had and will always have one (1) true mate. there’s no such thing as “false mate” or even multiple mates. there has been no indication whatsoever. lucien is the mate the cauldron had given her when she was born. and elain is the mate the cauldron had given him when he was born. even when she was still human, they already belonged together — tied together by strings of fate. absolutely nothing will change this fact. should elain reject the bond, lucien will remain a part of her life/her soul forever. should lucien reject the bond, elain will remain a part of his life/his soul forever.

when she was still human, lucien had already felt a pull between them and tried to save and protect her from hybern. when elain was already fae, when it came to protecting her, azriel clapped cassian’s shoulder and left (is this the true mate they’re all talking about?). it’s unfair to lucien, elain, AND azriel and this comparison alone is enough to disprove this theory.

the thing is, lucien has been nothing but respectful, kind and caring towards elain. when he arrived in velaris in acowar, he could immediately sense what she needed and said, “she needs fresh air” (vs. the response “we’ll judge what she needs”) and “take her to the sea. take her to some garden. but get her out of this house for an hour or two.” (I’m gonna make another post about this because I have a few thoughts on this)

of course, she doesn’t owe him anything, but elain herself doesn’t wish to be treated like a child, she maybe she should start acting like an adult because although she doesn’t owe lucien an apology or explanation, she has to have a conversation with him, like two responsible adults. there is no way feyre or anyone in the inner circle hasn’t told her that she can reject the bond and move on with her life. but just like her powers, this is another thing she chooses to ignore. I’m not blaming her because I know she has to work through her trauma first and heal, but by the end of the series, she has to acknowledge that at least.

in acosf, elain says “I am not a child to be fought over” when they discuss the dread trove. I wonder what she would say about the fact azriel threatens to challenge lucien to the blood duel because of her? based on literally everything we know about lucien, I can say with certainty that he would not physically fight over elain. if she only had a conversation with him and told him to move on and leave her alone, lucien would do just that. he would leave her alone and try to move on as best as he could (which we know is difficult for males). but he would never act as entitled to her as to demand a blood duel and fight to death. it goes against his principles. 

to finish this off, sjm summing up everything I just said:

[lepusrufus]

Lil' Mia and Miranda thing since I dragged you guys down the rarepair hell with me~

---

Lab equipment was really not meant to blend well within a lived-in home. And it didn't. The plush carpet on top of wooden floors giving way to the smooth lab flooring that squeaked under boots not appropriate for the setting created an odd contrast. Not that that was uncharacteristic for Miranda, any of her workspaces falling perfectly under the description of an organized mess, with particular emphasis on mess.

With Rose sleeping peacefully in the room generously, suspiciously so, provided by Miranda, Mia decided to stretch her legs by walking around the manor, the baby monitor connected to her phone. The building was relatively big, albeit quite old, tucked in the woods somewhere between the Beneviento house and the factory, with a tunnel conveniently connecting it to the labs running under the town. It had close to no spatial organization, bedrooms and labs and storage rooms alternating by patterns known only by the so-called goddess, or most likely not even by her.

Mia did not trust the woman. Not with the memories of the prison cell and the kidnapping of her daughter for experiments still fresh in her mind. But, the tiredness of motherhood and the odd loneliness that came with being the only two inhabitants of the house that were capable of coherent speech as of now, had her longing for some company.

It was an easy task finding Miranda, the soft cries of Eva guiding her down a short hallway to a lab door left ajar. Inside, the woman was sat at a desk, a laptop with half written reports and notes in front of her, pushed out of the grasp of the fussing infant in her arms. Miranda was far too busy trying to calm her daughter down enough to fall asleep to notice Mia leaning on the doorframe, curiously observing the scene. Oddly human, in her failing attempt to get her child to stop crying, when at any given time she could get anyone to kneel before her and bend over backwards to her every whim. Yet a small infant was giving her so much trouble.

"Need a hand?" Mia offered with a small chuckle. Should she even offer her help?

"I am fine thank you." But a slightly louder wail from Eva came with perfect timing to disprove her words.

Miranda's shoulders seemed to slump ever so slightly as her eyes closed slowly, the usual makeup replaced by dark circles, testimony to the long hours spent going through decades of research and reports while also caring for her newly reborn daughter. It was oddly bittersweet, to see a woman so dignified otherwise all but beg the small child to go to sleep so she could finish her work.

Work, Mia concluded, that was rather essential for the whole place, and also her home for now, to continue existing the way it was. With a sigh she walked up to the desk and gently stoked Eva's short brunette hair. "Here, let me hold her. At least until you finish typing whatever it is you're doing," she said waving a hand in the direction of the forgotten computer, who's screen had turned black by now.

There were a few long seconds of hesitation, but a weary glance at the mountain of files on the other side of the desk that she was yet to go through convinced Miranda to finally allow her daughter slip into Mia's arms. It took maybe five minutes of cooing and a one sided conversation made in silly voices to turn the cries into giggles, small hands trying to grasp at Mia's finger that was ticklishly caressing puffy cheeks. Exhausted from crying, Eva's eyes slowly fluttered shut and she was gingerly lowered into a crib set by the desk, one of the many scattered around the house.

Miranda watched the scene unfold with uncharacteristic softness slipping by the icy mask of her steely eyes. Even goddesses can be caught by surprise it seemed, and whether it was due to the apparent skills that Mia had with calming Eva down or at how she was willing to help despite their precarious position was up to debate.

"Shouldn't you be better at this," Mia asked, pulling one of the chairs closer to sit in. "I know it's been, what, two or three centuries or something but haven't you done this before?"

Her question was obviously poking fun for the most part, but Miranda couldn't help the tired sigh that crawled its way from the depths of her now useless lungs.

"No, actually. I haven't," she responded curtly as she grabbed one of the files and opened it in order to transcribe its contents in a digital file. "At least not on my own," she added upon remembering the numerous subjects she helped raise during her time working with The Connections.

"Oh? Did you have a sweet loving husband once upon a time? Do tell me more," Mia said leaning her chin on her palms as if she were a teenager at a sleepover talking about crushes, although the memory of Ethan clawing its way to the forefront of her thoughts made her grimace slightly, until she pushed it back down in the depths of her mind.

It was foolish perhaps, acting like that around a woman that could, and would with the right motivation, kill her in the blink of an eye. Truth be told though, Mia was bored out of her mind, so what better way to pass the time than push Miranda's buttons, especially when she seemed too tired to retaliate.

The so-called goddess grimaced, at least ten different reasons to find the thought outrageous flashing through her mind and, settling on the most obvious one, looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "I was a nun."

Mia leaned back in her chair, looking at the black head covering hanging from a hook behind the door, together with black robes. She had to wonder if they were the same ancient ones or if she replaced them every once in a while.

"Yeah, I couldn't tell," she chuckled. "A nun turned goddess. How ironic don't you think."

"Worshipping was never quite up my alley. And neither were men," she replied flatly, turning the pages in front of her and typing the relevant information in the file she had open on the screen.

Mia's eyes widened slightly with an amused oh. "So was she raised by the convent then?"

Was this information really to be given out? Mirada did not like talking about her past, or personal information in general. Gods did not need backstories, they simply were.

She sighed. "No, no. Her parents died when she was four and with nobody else to look for her, she was brought to us." Miranda gave a small shrug, pausing to type up decades old results on lycans. "I was the newest there, so the nuns dumped her on me. I was so mad at first, but she's always been such a brilliant little girl, even back then. She would ask for a bedtime story and did not complain when I'd start reading from one of the medical books I stole from the merchant. There was just something about her that made her grow on me."

With the paragraph done, she pushed her chair back, quietly so as to not have its legs scratch against the linoleum floor, and walked to another, smaller desk pushed against a wall. From there, she walked back to the crib where the small infant was sleeping peacefully, a small doll in hand. Doll that Mia recognized immediately, as an identical one was by her own daughter's sleeping form, back in their room. It was a small replica of Angie, plush and soft to the touch, unlike its real life wooden counterpart, the white dress made of delicate silk. Both toys had been made by Donna herself as gifts.

"But as you can guess, she was well past a toddler when she was placed in my care," Miranda finished, leaving the doll just by her sleeping daughter's side.

"So you suck with babies," Mia concluded with a grin. She would have laughed, but had enough clarity of mind to be quiet.

Miranda simply gave her a tired glare before rolling her eyes. She went back to her desk and opened a new file to be transcribed, this one on the reservoir's structure.

"I can care for them," she started, an odd almost imperceptible strain in her voice. "It just gets trickier when it's my own daughter and not an act."

Mia nodded absent mindedly, eyes darting to Eva. To see a woman with such power and ruthlessness, who could level the whole town to the ground if she so pleased, show such raw genuine affection towards the child made some of the notions in her brain crumble to the ground. Miranda was still the same woman who, ironically enough, experimented on more children than she cared to count, but then again Mia was also a willing participant in said experiments so was she really that much better?

She definitely was, Mia concluded, choosing to ignore a small pang at her heart when she watched all the ice in those gray eyes melt into tenderness while looking at her daughter. Instead, she started toying with one of the many pens scattered on the desk.

"Since I'm staying here, I don't mind helping you out with her," Mia said quietly, keeping her eyes on the small giraffe doodle she was doing on a napkin.

It wasn't for Miranda's sake really. She simply wanted the best for Eva, the child completely innocent unlike the atrocities committed by her mother throughout the last few centuries. Besides, it would be nice for Rose to have a friend not unlike herself, given the yet to be understood power both girls possessed.

"There's no need-"

"Consider it a thank you for letting us stay here, without a sniper pointing at my daughter's head at all times," Mia finished, a slither of ire slipping into her tone on the last words, the memory of a rookie agent panicking and pointing his gun to Rose for the unforgivable crime of being a hungry crying child seared behind her eyelids.

Miranda sighed, an odd sense of relief washing over her. After centuries of trying to bring her back, you'd think the she would do anything to spend each and every second with Eva, not letting anyone else care for her in any capacity, but truth be told, the prospect of not facing motherhood completely alone, even if Mia was helping her solely out of some sense of obligation, did not sound half bad.

"As you wish," she finally said, going back to the half written paragraph her mind drifted away from minutes earlier.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Without a Path - Chapter 2 - ao3

Warnings: adult content - please mind the other tags on Ao3!

-

Morning came far sooner than Lan Qiren would have liked.

Unsurprisingly, he woke first, the habit long ingrained by his sect’s rules. Instead of rising, he twisted to look at Nie Mingjue, who had at some point wrapped himself around him like an especially warm blanket, his chin tucked in against his neck.

In the pale light of predawn, he looked calm and undisturbed. He looked young, and vulnerable, and like he shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that.

Lan Qiren let out a shuddering breath and wondered how he would ever justify this to – anyone.

Lan Xichen, for one. Himself, for another.

Nie Mingjue.

A moment later, far too soon, Nie Mingjue started stirring. Lan Qiren suppressed a moment of panic; he’d only had enough time to briefly clean himself, nothing else – for some reason he’d thought he would have more time to collect himself, to make a plan for their next steps. They would need to arrange an engagement, even if they didn’t go through with the actual marriage – Wen Ruohan hadn’t seemed like he would publicize what had happened in order to force them into a corner, since he was clearly still angling to get Nie Mingjue himself, but having something prepared would put them in a better situation, reduce anxiety…

“Teacher Lan?”

Lan Qiren flinched.

“Sect Leader Lan,” Nie Mingjue corrected himself quickly. He sat up, the blanket Lan Qiren had tugged over the two of them falling off to reveal the fact that he was still naked. “Thank you.”

Somehow, that was the thing that went too far.

“Don’t thank me,” Lan Qiren said, voice harsher than he meant it to be, unwelcoming and unfriendly. Nie Mingjue’s cultivation was high enough that he’d healed away most of the marks from the day before, but his lips were still red and Lan Qiren couldn’t stop seeing Wen Ruohan’s fingers slipping between them, violating him despite Nie Mingjue’s specific request that it not be allowed. Couldn’t stop hearing Wen Ruohan’s offer to share him, his suggestion that he would’ve invited Lan Qiren to join in, his expectation that he would have accepted.

He’d promised to help Nie Mingjue, and what had he done? He’d failed him. He hadn’t been able to think of another way out of their dilemma, which he should have – instead he’d used his former student’s body for his own pleasure, taken advantage of his youth and desperation, had him submit to him, had him call him teacher…

He might as well have been Jin Guangshan.

“There’s no need for you to thank me for what I’ve done to you,” he said, averting his eyes, hating himself.

“There is,” Nie Mingjue said. “Don’t get some stupid idea into your head or anything. You saved my life. You made it –”

He choked, and Lan Qiren turned to look at him again. Nie Mingjue’s cheeks were flushed, but he was looking straight at him, fierce and determined to say his thoughts no matter what.

“You made it better than it might have otherwise been,” he finally said. “It was – good.”

“That would be the drug,” Lan Qiren said, feeling his own cheeks burning. “Two drugs, in fact; you were right about that. Wen Ruohan admitted it.”

“I know,” Nie Mingjue said, and rubbed his nose when Lan Qiren looked at him sharply. “I remember some of it. I was…supposed to, I think. You drove him away.”

He had. Through sheer bravado, but he’d managed it.

At least he’d done that much.

“You’ll need to be careful of him in the future,” he warned, and Nie Mingjue nodded, his expression grim. “He won’t give up easily.”

“I’ll be careful,” Nie Mingjue promised, but then his eyes narrowed. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject. It wasn’t just – because of the drug. You…” He flailed a bit. “You made it good. I liked – when you –”

He shook his head.

Lan Qiren cleared his throat, embarrassed and unsure of why Nie Mingjue continued to dwell on the point. He appreciated the younger man’s attempt to comfort him – another failing on his part, as he was the elder, the experienced one, and he had chosen freely, while Nie Mingjue had been coerced – but they really ought to focus on the more practical realities of –

“Can we do it again?”

Lan Qiren choked on air.

“Just – once more,” Nie Mingjue said. He was staring at the bedding. “I know I’m not – what you would want. You’re a Lan, you only want to be with your ‘one’, and I’m not…well, anyway, it’s not a situation where I can exactly let people know, is it? But since we’re both here already, we might as well. Right?”

If Lan Qiren had been Jin Guangshan, Nie Mingjue would already be pressed down, Lan Qiren reflected, and he couldn’t deny that certain parts of him were interested in that. But a lifetime of restraint gave him the discipline he needed to think the request through and see that it was not so clear as all that.

“What’s driving this?” Lan Qiren asked, crossing his arms. “You are not a man who succumbs so easily to lust.”

“I’m not,” Nie Mingjue acknowledged, meeting his eyes. “But I want there to be no mistake about what occurred between us.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “I should think it was quite clear.”

“It is, to me. I was in desperation, and you aided me, and it was good. The circumstances were not what either of us would have chosen, and perhaps not the partner, either, but I will not have you going home and torturing yourself into seclusion because you think that you took advantage of me. Xichen would never forgive me!”

Lan Qiren’s jaw dropped. “I would not!” he squawked, thinking to himself that he didn’t need the reminder that he’d bedded a man who was friends with his nephew.

Besides, Nie Mingjue was wrong: yes, he’d been feeling guilty, even agonizingly guilty, but there were limits to such things. Lan Qiren still had two nephews and a sect to run; he couldn’t follow his brother’s example and abandon all his responsibilities no matter how badly he felt.

Nie Mingjue did not appear convinced.

“Even if I did have such an inclination, you don’t have to have sex with me to disprove it,” Lan Qiren insisted.

“Maybe I want to,” Nie Mingjue said stubbornly. “Maybe I’d like to know what sex is like when I’m not drugged to the gills, and this is my only opportunity.”

“But it isn’t,” Lan Qiren argued. “Sect Leader Wen made it clear that he wouldn’t press for a marriage, and no one else knows – you’ll be able to return to your sect, continue as Sect Leader. You could take another lover –”

“Oh, because that’ll work,” Nie Mingjue said, and now he was the one with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed in a glare. “Even if Wen Ruohan won’t press the matter now, he’s only doing it because he still thinks he can do better. If I were to go to bed with someone else, someone neither you nor him, you really think he’d hesitate? And then I’d be an adulterer as well.”

That was – a very good point.

“It was my first time, Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said, pressing his advantage the moment he saw that he was gaining some ground. He was a fearsome opponent, whether in battle or out. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that maybe I had some ideas of my own, things I wanted to try out…”

“Like what?” Lan Qiren asked, cutting him off with an arched eyebrow. He didn’t actually think Nie Mingjue was pushing this idea for his own purposes, even he was making a solid argument; this was all a roundabout means of ensuring that Lan Qiren wouldn’t go into seclusion over his guilt.

Sure enough, Nie Mingjue spluttered a little, and Lan Qiren smiled, intending on pointing out that neither of them were in any state to be having this discussion – that surely after some time and sober reflection they would be able to come up with a better way to deal with the threat of Wen Ruohan and societal expectations both – except he never got the chance to say it before Nie Mingjue blurted out, “I want to suck your cock.”

Lan Qiren stared.

Nie Mingjue looked back at him, defiant. “Well?” he said, challenge clear in his voice. “You’re not going to let the only memory I have on my tongue be Wen Ruohan, are you, Teacher Lan?”

Lan Qiren should refuse him. He should insist on them both pulling back – on Nie Mingjue getting dressed, he was still without a stitch of clothing on him – on taking some time to think before doing anything he couldn’t get back.

He shouldn’t be leaning back against the wall and waving his hand in implied permission.

He definitely shouldn’t do that, which is why he was so surprised to find that he was, in fact, doing it.

Nie Mingjue rose up on his knees and bent down with the recklessness aggression that was more characteristic of him than the hesitation of the day before, pushing aside Lan Qiren’s robes, and Lan Qiren was struck by a sudden, visceral memory of the day before, his cock shining with traces of Nie Mingjue’s own slick on it.

He didn’t have time to think about that too long, though, before his cock, already hard enough to ache, was disappearing into Nie Mingjue’s eager mouth.

It took Nie Mingjue a few tries to figure out what exactly to do – at first he let Lan Qiren’s cock into his cheek, and then to his throat, nearly choking when he did, and finally helped himself with his hand to Lan Qiren’s balls as if to steady himself, and he seemed uncertain as to whether he ought to be sucking or using his tongue or simply letting Lan Qiren’s cock sit on his tongue, trying one after the other without much distinction.

It was awful.

It was amazing.

Nie Mingjue’s hair was entirely loose now, falling over his face and onto Lan Qiren’s thighs, his expression intent and focused as if he were training his saber, his mouth full of Lan Qiren’s cock.

Lan Qiren found his hands drifting up and over towards him and restrained himself, forcing them back to his sides, but Nie Mingjue saw him and pulled up, wiping the drool off the corner of his mouth with the back of his palm.

“Teacher Lan,” he said. “This unlearned student humbly requests his teacher’s guidance.”

It was a lot harder to hide his interest when his cock was twitching in Nie Mingjue’s grip, Lan Qiren thought. He reached out and ran his fingers through Nie Mingjue’s hair, making the other man shiver.

“Students should not be impertinent,” he said, and Nie Mingjue swallowed hard. “If I agree to teach you, will you be obedient?”

“Yes, Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Qiren guided his mouth back to his cock.

Nie Mingjue was, as always, a fast learner, even if the subject Lan Qiren was instructing him in was something he himself had little experience in beyond his fantasies. He avoided using teeth, cleverly applied his tongue, and sucked him enthusiastically, eagerly taking more into his mouth as soon as he could, tears springing into the corners of his eyes. He even obeyed Lan Qiren’s order to put his hands behind his back, hands clasping onto wrists, and allowed Lan Qiren to fuck his face, his fingers dug into his hair and scalp as his hips set a bruising pace.

“Do you want me to come in your mouth?” Lan Qiren asked when the possibility seemed close by, releasing him enough to pull off.

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, and his voice was a little hoarse. Hoarse from the use Lan Qiren had made of his throat, Lan Qiren thought, and noted that it was his cock that was shiny with spit this time, not Wen Ruohan’s fingers. A much better mental image. Perhaps there was something to Nie Mingjue’s idea of moving past yesterday’s events after all, though that might just be Lan Qiren’s libido making retroactive justifications. “Can I…on top?”

“You want to ride me?” Lan Qiren asked, and Nie Mingjue nodded, looking shamefaced. “You may.”

He said it as if he were granting Nie Mingjue a favor, but he watched avidly as Nie Mingjue clambered over to him, straddling him and kneeling above him, and swallowed when he realized that Nie Mingjue had yet to release his hands from behind his back – he hadn’t been given permission, so he hadn’t.

“Good boy,” Lan Qiren praised, and Nie Mingjue bit his lip. “You may use your hands to guide me inside.”

Nie Mingjue ended up having to finger himself open first to get him in there, grumbling about his healing speed, but Lan Qiren didn’t object to the delay – not when it gave him the front row seat to such an appealing show. Not when Nie Mingjue grunted as if struck when he finally pressed down in just the right way and Lan Qiren’s cock slipped inside of him.

“You’re so fucking big,” Nie Mingjue hissed, clearly not meaning it as a compliment as he put one arm on Lan Qiren’s shoulder to brace himself. “This is ridiculous. Other people aren’t like this.”

Lan Qiren was aware that he was above average in that particular regard, although not monstrously so. “Have you seen others?” he asked, curious, and was surprised when Nie Mingjue nodded.

“The Unclean Realm has common baths,” he reminded him. “Hot springs.”

Lan Qiren had known that, of course – had even taken advantage of them several times when visiting on discussion conferences or otherwise – but somehow he hadn’t expected that Nie Mingjue would have shared the baths with other men. He supposed that was his own failure of imagination and his unfamiliarity with the whole notion of misalignment, despite having disciplined his thoughts to accept it - after all, Nie Mingjue might be misaligned, might have the body of a woman, but he was a man of the Qinghe Nie, and the penalties for sexual misconduct in that sect were even stricter than the Lan sect’s. If he was recognized as a man, then surely he was a man, with all that entailed, and of course it would presumably have been even more inappropriate for him to go to the women’s baths…

He lost the train of thought entirely a moment later when, apparently impatient to get to it, Nie Mingjue proceeded to shove himself halfway down, impaling himself open on his cock. Lan Qiren caught his hips before he did himself any damage. “Slowly,” he snapped, then reined himself in. “Please recall that it is also a sensitive area for me.”

“Right,” Nie Mingjue said, flushing. “Of course. Slowly?”

“Slowly.”

Nie Mingjue gingerly settled himself the rest of the way down, sliding until he was fully seated, his cunt stretched wide across Lan Qiren’s cock. In the light of dawn, hair a mess and body still sticky with yesterday’s sweat, he looked beautiful as he started slowly working his hips up and down, his hand sliding in between his legs to rub at his clit as he started riding Lan Qiren in earnest.

“You’re doing so well,” Lan Qiren said. “Taking me so well. Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue panted. “Yes – yes. Like this. Like yesterday. It’s good.”

Lan Qiren brushed his hair back and touched him, ran his hands over his cheeks, his swollen lips, over his shoulders and down his sides, put his hands on his thighs and his hips, slid them back to cup his ass.

“Good,” he said, rocking his hips up to meet him. “I want you to feel good.”

“Can I –” Nie Mingjue started, and then hesitated.

Lan Qiren couldn’t help feeling a stab of humor. “Is there really something you’re afraid to ask me?” he inquired sternly. “Now?”

He squeezed Nie Mingjue’s ass with his hands, fingers kneading the firm flesh, one even slipping back to rub across his hole, and Nie Mingjue flushed.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted out, and Lan Qiren stilled.

Had they not…? No, he supposed they hadn’t. They’d fucked several times in several positions, Nie Mingjue had even gotten on his knees and put his cock into his mouth, and Lan Qiren hadn’t once kissed him.

“You may,” he said, his voice softening, and Nie Mingjue surged forward to press their lips together. It was a bad kiss by any objective criteria, too hard and noses bumping into each other, and Nie Mingjue had no idea what he was supposed to do with his tongue, whether to stick it into Lan Qiren’s mouth or simply jab it at him; after a moment he tried to pull back, looking embarrassed.

Lan Qiren caught him by the chin and drew him back in, trying to show him with his own lips what to do.

They kissed for a while, long, wet, slow kisses in the light of the morning dawn, Nie Mingjue in Lan Qiren’s lap with Lan Qiren’s cock seated firmly in his cunt, their hands in each other’s hair.

Lan Qiren felt something a little strange, a pulling sensation and then something falling, and then a moment later Nie Mingjue pulled back with a small exclamation of surprise: he’d accidentally tugged Lan Qiren’s forehead ribbon free. While it was bound tightly, its position reinforced with magic, Lan Qiren hadn’t rearranged it since the evening before, when it had undoubtedly become loose during their activities.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Nie Mingjue said, watching as the ribbon fluttered down, twining with his fingers. “I didn’t mean to –”

Lan Qiren rose up in a sudden movement and pushed him back onto the bed.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he announced, suddenly giddy – like any good Lan, his ribbon was his self-restraint, and must never be touched by any but his parents, his children, or his lover. It belatedly occured to him that per that last exception, Nie Mingjue was at the moment unquestionably permitted. “Put your hands above your head.”

Nie Mingjue looked confused, but obeyed at once – such a good student – and gaped when Lan Qiren looped his forehead ribbon around his wrists, tying him to the bed.

“You can hold onto it if you like,” Lan Qiren told him kindly, and then set about fucking him as enthusiastically as he might have ever imagined doing to a lover. Nie Mingjue did end up clutching at the ribbon as if for balance, yielding completely to Lan Qiren’s whims as he fucked him in multiple positions, pushing his body around as if it was his own personal doll.

They ended up side by side, with Lan Qiren penetrating Nie Mingjue from behind and Nie Mingjue having freed one hand – with Lan Qiren’s permission, of course – to frantically touch himself as Lan Qiren fucked him. He came first, body shuddering, and Lan Qiren took advantage of his suddenly slack body to curl up against him and use him mercilessly before he, too, reached completion, spilling into that warm, wet heat.

“Fuck,” Nie Mingjue said, panting as Lan Qiren pulled out and sat up. He sounded impressed. “I see why you keep those on.”

Lan Qiren retrieved his forehead ribbon from where it was still looped around Nie Mingjue’s other hand and settled it back in place on his forehead before starting to gather up the rest of his clothing, discarded at some point in the morning’s proceedings as it had not been the evening before. “You did too well in my classes for me to think that you don’t know that that is not how that works,” he said primly, and was rewarded with Nie Mingjue’s smile.

Truly a handsome young man.

His lover. Apparently.

The last few days had been full of terrible decisions, this morning’s almost certainly among them, but he was suddenly having trouble feeling regret. It was difficult to think of himself as another Jin Guangshan, careless and ruthless with the bodies of others, when his own lover looked pleased as a smug cat and just as satisfied. When only moments before he’d been whimpering out pleas for more amidst moans of pleasure that Lan Qiren had himself wrung from his body.

Perhaps Nie Mingjue had had a point, about the seclusion. He would not have actually retreated from the world as his brother did, but he might have tried to punish himself in other ways, withdrawing from the things he liked best – teaching, for one – without considering that Nie Mingjue was, unlike his actual students, an adult capable of making his own decisions, having his own calculus of what was acceptable and what was not.

“I’ll call for baths to be prepared,” he decided. They really did have to discuss their next steps, even if his own forward thinking was currently restricted to his intense need to clean himself thoroughly.

“Excellent idea,” Nie Mingjue said, sitting up himself and rubbing his wrists. “I feel absolutely filthy – sticky all over. I’ve ended night-hunts, good ones, and still been less sweaty than this…”

Lan Qiren made the mistake of looking at Nie Mingjue as he stretched himself and swallowed abruptly when he saw the place between his thighs, still reddened from their joining, and the trickle of fluid that slowly seeped down and dripped onto his thigh.

His first reaction was a smug feeling of pride and possession.

His second –

“I shouldn’t have finished inside of you,” he abruptly realized. He’d been thinking of Nie Mingjue as a man, and one could sow seeds all one liked with a man without concern that one of them might take root - but even if Nie Mingjue was a man in his mind and soul, his body was not. “The storm has passed, but the hill is likely to be still impassible for some time yet. I don’t know if there will be appropriate medicine available…”

Nie Mingjue stared at him briefly, then abruptly sniggered. “You’re worrying about that now?” he asked, eyes curved up into crescents. “Teacher, how many times did you come inside of me yesterday?”

It had in fact been rather a lot.

He resisted defending himself by arguing that even if it might not have been strictly necessary as a technical matter, it was surely unavoidable because they wouldn’t have been able to tolerate a few more rounds; Nie Mingjue wasn’t even accusing him of anything.

“Aren’t you concerned?” Lan Qiren asked hesitantly. “About the possibility of a –” He choked a little. “Of a child?”

“I’d resigned myself to the risk from the start,” Nie Mingjue said with a shrug that was, in Lan Qiren’s view, taking things far too casually. “Medicine taken after the fact is notoriously unreliable – there are plenty of children in the world that owe their births to that! There’s nothing to be done about it, so don’t panic unnecessarily. It’ll be what it is, and at least the child, if there is one, won’t be surnamed Wen.”

It would serve Wen Ruohan’s purposes very well to ensure that Nie Mingjue was impregnated, Lan Qiren thought, panicking a perfectly reasonable amount in his opinion. What better way to show off his power and dominion over the powerful Nie sect than to force their sect leader to bear him a child? There were medicines to increase fertility as well, even if most doctors recommended against them, and of course Wen Ruohan wouldn’t care about the increased risk, even though even the strongest female cultivators often died in the birthing bed…

Even putting aside the risks, he’d never really thought too closely about having a child of his own. What would his nephews think of all this? They were still young, especially little Wangji – would they think he was seeking to replace them? Would they –

“– teacher? Sect Leader Lan?”

Lan Qiren blinked and forced himself to pay attention to Nie Mingjue, who was now fully dressed and standing in front of him. He looked much as he always did, tall and powerful, indominable – it was far too early for there to be any signs if he was pregnant, of course, but Lan Qiren couldn’t help but examine him with his eyes, wondering. Was it possible that even now…?

“Did I break you?” Nie Mingjue asked, and waved his hand in front of Lan Qiren’s eyes.

“You did not,” Lan Qiren said, finally recovering some of his dignity. “I was merely distracted. The baths –”

“I’ve already asked for them,” Nie Mingjue said, smirking. “You may need to have a conversation with your attendants regarding discretion – I doubt they missed the smell – but baths will be ready soon. We rose early enough that we’ll be able to bathe, change clothing, and still make it to the first meeting of the day, though I expect that will be cancelled on account of crisis.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “Crisis? Are you planning…”

He trailed off, abruptly disappointed in himself. He’d been about to ask if Nie Mingjue were planning on confronting Wen Ruohan for what he’d done, and to counsel against it – they could not afford to start a war, his sect would never support a war – but then he hadn’t been the target of Wen Ruohan’s scheme, even if he’d been involuntarily pulled into the mire. Who was he to tell Nie Mingjue that he couldn’t even vent his frustration?

“Oh, not me,” Nie Mingjue said, his thoughts clearly not following Lan Qiren’s at all from the faint smirk on his face. “Collateral damage only.”

“…oh?”

“Your attendants brought gossip as well as breakfast,” Nie Mingjue said, looking positively smug. “And I had time to send my own attendants to do the same for Sect Leader Jiang.”

Now Lan Qiren was truly lost. Nie Mingjue looked like a cat that had just brought home some murdered prey and wanted to be praised for it, but he couldn’t figure out what it was that he’d done. “Sect Leader Jiang?” he asked, bemused and deciding to put aside his attendants’ behavior for the moment. “You sent him – breakfast and news?”

“Breakfast, and a tonic to help ease any side-effects of the drug he, like the two of us, was dosed with,” Nie Mingjue said. “I imagine he’ll be very relieved to know he has something to blame for his conduct last night.”

“His – oh no,” Lan Qiren said. “One of the dancers?”

“One of the dancers,” Nie Mingjue confirmed.

“Yu Ziyuan –” Is going to cut off his balls and wear them as earrings. “– will not be pleased.”

“No, I imagine not.”

Lan Qiren studied Nie Mingjue. “Did you, by chance, happen to mention who was responsible for putting the drugs in his food?”

“Naturally. I even mentioned that the bottle I found in the kitchens appeared to be stamped with the mark of a Lanling glassmaker.”

Lan Qiren pinched the brow of his nose. Jiang Fengmian was a very easy-going man, most of the time, but his extremely vicious wife was his bottom line – he would undoubtedly kick up his version of a fuss with both Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan, and his version of a fuss, while not violent, was extremely time-consuming. The morning and, very likely, the afternoon, were almost certain to be a complete waste of everyone’s time.

“A bath first,” Lan Qiren said, deciding not to think about it. “And then we should discuss out next steps.”

“A bath for sure,” Nie Mingjue said, and scrubbed his face, satisfaction at sending a disaster to his enemies’ doorstep fading in favor of his habitual scowl. “As for next steps…I don’t think there’s anything to be done. We’re not prepared for a war and I can’t beat Wen Ruohan in a duel, so there’s no point in calling him out, especially as most of the cultivation world would say that nothing actually bad came of it.”

They would, too, and probably imply that Nie Mingjue had brought his fate upon himself by being born the way he was born and then not conforming himself to the accepted behaviors of the sex of his birth.

They would also then proceed to congratulate Lan Qiren and he would be forced to murder them to make them stop (and then he would need to retreat to seclusion), so it was probably all for the best that Nie Mingjue wasn’t being reckless.

“If he’s not going to press for a marriage, then we write up an engagement contract and sit on it,” Nie Mingjue concluded. “We carry on as we always have, each of us in our own sects, and, with luck, no one finds out that it exists except for the two of us.”

“For how long?”

“Until Wen Ruohan is defeated,” Nie Mingjue said, then amended, “Or until you find someone else you wish to marry, of course. I would not stand between you and your ‘one’.”

Lan Qiren had his nephews and his sect to care for; he had precious few opportunities to leave his sect to meet new people, and even fewer people would be interested in him, knowing that he was only a stand-in with all the responsibilities and none of the privileges. He had already resigned himself to not even thinking of marriage until his nephews were old enough to inherit the role of sect leader.

“I do not expect that to be an issue,” he said briefly, then glanced at Nie Mingjue’s midsection. “What if…?”

“We’ll find out in a month or so,” Nie Mingjue said, shrugging. “No point in worrying about it until then, is there?”

It was times like this that Lan Qiren appreciated and also despised the brutal practicality of the Nie sect.

“Very well,” he said, and tried not to wonder if the child would be surnamed Nie or Lan, assuming it even existed. Though perhaps it was a cruelty of him to think of it, given… “How old are you?”

Nie Mingjue gave him a strange look, which Lan Qiren supposed he deserved, knowing as he did that the Qinghe Nie did not share that information.

“Just – you’re of age?” he tried. “An adult?”

“I’m old enough,” Nie Mingjue assured him. “There are younger than me that have been mothers safely.”

That wasn’t entirely what Lan Qiren was asking, but he knew he wouldn’t get a better response, and in all truth he wasn’t really sure he wanted to know, either. Knowing wouldn’t change what he’d done – what they’d done together – and shamefully it probably wouldn’t make his desire to do it again any less.

He vaguely heard a distant crash.

“Oh, good!” Nie Mingjue said. “Sect Leader Jiang woke up.”

Lan Qiren grimaced and went to bathe. He would deal with this – with all of this, up to and including his emotional reaction to everything that had happened in the past day – later.

For now, he would carry on.

Everything else could wait.

It did.

Years later, when the war they had tried so hard to prevent was won – when Lan Qiren had been nearly crippled by Wen Xu, who Nie Mingjue later beheaded – when Nie Mingjue was the war god of the cultivation world, and Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren’s nephew who had once been so young, was now renowned as a heaven-sent bringer of mercy, when the two of them had sworn brotherhood along with the man who had (finally) killed Wen Ruohan and brought an end to the cultivation world’s long nightmare – Nie Mingjue came to the Cloud Recesses on foot through the mountain path.

This was, of course, the most irritating way to get to the Cloud Recesses, so it was no surprise that Lan Xichen was waiting patiently for him by the gate, an expression of curiosity writ large all over his face to those who knew him well enough to read it.

“Is something the matter?” he asked the moment Nie Mingjue made it to the gate. “Is Baxia…?”

“Baxia’s fine, I’m fine,” Nie Mingjue said. “Also, I may be thinking something terribly rude about your ancestors in relation to that last hill, but I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

He wouldn’t be the first, or the last, to think such things. There was a reason some of their more reasonable ancestors had invested in stairs for the main entrance, strong cultivators or not.

“Can we speak in private?” he added. “In your study, perhaps – and you should invite your uncle.”

Lan Xichen looked even more intrigued. “Of course, da-ge. At once.”

It was a little presumptuous of him to promise such a thing, given that Lan Qiren might have been busy, but he wasn’t. He certainly wasn’t skulking around the entrance gate along with far too many others in his sect, wondering why Nie Mingjue hadn’t ridden a horse or taken the easy way up along the stairs that had been put in place for just that reason, although one might be forgiven for thinking that that was what he was doing – at any rate, there was no conflict, and so they all three of them went to Lan Xichen’s rooms.

The sect leader’s rooms, now. It was still a little strange.

“I’ll have someone fetch us tea,” Lan Xichen said, but Nie Mingjue shook his head. “No?”

“Don’t preempt me,” Nie Mingjue said, and pulled a qiankun pouch out of his sleeve. “Tea is part of the gifts I brought.”

“Gifts,” Lan Xichen repeated, his eyes going wide and a little worried. He knew, and Lan Qiren knew, what that might mean. “You brought gifts?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “Walk on a road with no path, bearing gifts,” he recited, and Lan Qiren felt his heart try to stop in his chest at the confirmation of Nie Mingjue’s intention. “That’s how proper wedding proposals are done in the Lan sect, aren’t they?”

“Under…certain circumstances,” Lan Xichen admitted. He put his hands behind his back to hide his anxiety. “Da-ge…you’ve always been a – very good friend –”

“Of many years running,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “I’m not going to lie; I’m hoping to capitalize on that to get your approval.”

“My…approval?” Lan Xichen asked, astonished, and rightfully so: he was no one’s father, so his approval would only be required for those whose parents had already died – a function of his role as sect leader. Yet, sect leader or not, no one could grant their approval over their own marriage, and that meant that Nie Mingjue was not, as Lan Xichen had so clearly feared, here to propose to him – poor Lan Xichen, who was exclusively interested in women and who had on account of that already needed to subtly turn down the advances of his other sworn brother. “You want my approval?”

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue said. “I’m here for your uncle.”

“My – shufu?!”

“We’re already engaged, so that should make it easier to get it through your sect elders,” Nie Mingjue said. “I still wanted to do it right, though.”

Lan Qiren covered his eyes with his hands as Lan Xichen exclaimed, far too loudly, “You’re engaged?! To shufu? Since when?!”

There were several audible thunk sounds from outside the hanshi. Several people would need to be punished for eavesdropping, and by morning they would probably need to discipline the entire sect for breaching the prohibition against gossip.

“Oh, ages,” Nie Mingjue said blithely, and Lan Qiren resisted the urge to try to wring his neck. “I think you were something like fifteen? It was something of a matter of circumstance at the time, though I like to think we’ve reached an understanding in the ensuing years.”

Lan Xichen’s mouth kept moving, but no sound was coming out.

“Are you intending on me marrying into your sect?” Lan Qiren asked, deciding to move onto the practicalities while his nephew processed his shock.

Nie Mingjue nodded. “Obviously you can come to the Cloud Recesses as much as required to assist Xichen with his responsibilities, but your reputation as a teacher is such that I’m sure you would be able to teach just as well from the Unclean Realm.”

“Statements like that may lead my sect elders to think that you’re trying to poach me.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on starting my pitch to them by pointing out that the Unclean Realm has more surfaces we can fuck against, was I?”

Lan Xichen made an extremely high-pitched sound from the back of his throat.

“I would advise against making that argument, yes,” Lan Qiren said with a sigh. “However, it would be more helpful to point out how this would mitigate their concern regarding additional collateral branches in the main lineage of the Lan clan.”

“I’ll take your advice,” Nie Mingjue said. “I’ll also read your agreement to the entire concept into it. Well, Xichen? You going to let me steal your uncle away or what?”

“I would hardly term it as stealing –”

“You had sex?!” Lan Xichen shouted. “With my uncle?! And – uncle! You! With Mingjue-xiong?!”

“This may take a while,” Lan Qiren said to Nie Mingjue, maintaining his dignity.

“I’m going to tell Wangji!”

“Possibly a long while,” he revised.

“I’ll go wait in your quarters then, shall I?”

“You will,” Lan Qiren said testily, “wait in the guest quarters to which you will be assigned, as is appropriate.”

Nie Mingjue grinned at him. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Maybe I’ll go to the library and read up on interpretations regarding your sect’s rules on promiscuity between engaged couples.”

“Da-ge!”

“Sect Leader Nie, don’t make this worse. Go already.”

“I’m going, I’m going…”

Lan Qiren would not start his married life by strangling his intended, no matter how much of a troublemaker he was being. Though he might put him over his knee later on.

Something to think about.

[leighistired]

Out Loud

A Martin character study AO3 Link

“G’night mum, love you.”

“Make sure you put the trash out, don’t want it stinking up the house.”

At 12 it occurs to Martin, he can’t recall the last time his mother said “I love you” to him. She must have. He knows she loves him, so why can’t he remember her saying it? Was it before dad left? It can’t have been that long ago. He knows if he brings it up she’ll just tell him off for being silly so he just decides to not say it unless she says it first. She doesn’t say it.

“Look how nice our neighbor’s garden is,” she says instead. “If only we could have such a nice garden.”

“The neighbors hire a man-” Martin tries to explain. He had just done law maintenance over the weekend; he would have to bring up memory issues next time they saw a doctor.

“Aren’t you happy with how I provide for you?” She snaps. “Ever since your lousy father left us I have done my best even with my health and all you can talk about is getting a bloody gardener.”

“Sorry, mum,” he says. It’s better not to argue when she gets like this.

“Forget it. Just get me my tea.”

He goes and brews her a cup of Oolong tea. It’s far too bitter for his tastes but it’s all he buys when he does the shopping. Perhaps that was it, instead of saying she loved him she just provided for him.

Martin tells himself that until she gets too sick to work and begins needling him to get a job at 14. Suddenly he’s providing for her on top of school and everything else but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She was just sick and the medication she was on made her tired most of the time so it wasn’t like he could expect her to be excited to see him; especially not when he’s the one bringing it to her.

“Is soup the only thing you buy?” She asks one evening when he brings her dinner.

“You didn’t have soup last night,” he reminds her patiently after a long day of school and work.

“Oh, so you think I’m ungrateful? I am your mother! I gave birth to you! You should be happy to take care of me!”

“It would be nice if you acted like a mum for once!” Martin snaps back. He regrets it as soon as he says it and doesn’t wait to hear her response. He leaves the house and sits in the park near his house for a long time and cries. Of course she loves him. It must be so hard on her to be stuck at home all day with no one to talk to and there he went snapping at her. She’s asleep by the time he comes home and neither of them mentions it in the morning.

Martin doesn’t know what he expects when he starts to transition. He hadn’t even called it a transition at first, he just likes how he looks with short hair, baggy clothes, and a sports bra. His mother disagrees. There are days she won’t even look at him and when she does it’s usually even worse.

“You cut your hair again,” she mentions one morning over breakfast. “Just when you were starting to look like a girl.”

“Yup,” Martin replies tight-lipped. He had been thinking it over for a while and he’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a girl. The way she says it hits him sharply. If she was never going to say “I love you” to a daughter, why would she say it to a son? He doesn’t bother coming out to her properly because he can already see the disgust on her face when he gets a proper binder.

When she decides to move into a full-time care facility, it’s almost a relief. He feels foolish for expecting her to say it when she leaves. He feels even more foolish when he says it in goodbye. The receptionist gives him a sympathetic look when she doesn’t say it back but the receptionist probably assumes his mother has memory issues and forgot who he was. She doesn’t. Still, he appreciates the gesture.

Dating is nearly impossible for most of his life. It’s easiest to blame his busy schedule; he doesn’t even have time for friends outside of school. The fact that no one even asks him out isn’t something he wants to think about. After he drops out of school and his mother leaves, dating and friendship don’t get any easier. He can’t let anyone he works with get close enough or they’ll find out his real age and utter lack of qualifications. Online dating is also out of the question for similar reasons. If one of his coworkers saw him with the age 19 in his profile they would either know he wasn’t actually 25 or they would think he was a creep and he didn’t exactly feel comfortable lying about his age to potential dates. Meeting people organically isn’t the worst thing in the world but it’s difficult. He makes a few passing friends at a local trans support group but even then, he can’t get close to anyone without risking someone discovering his falsified CV.

He doesn’t have his first real boyfriend until he’s 23 years old. They meet at a Holloween party thrown by a mutual acquaintance and date for almost five months before Martin ruins it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dominick, I love you,” Martin says as he serves dinner.

“Oh, uh, it’s a little fast to say that, don’t you think?” Dominick had stammered awkwardly. Was it? It didn’t seem like it to Martin and even if it was, it was true. He loved Dominick.

“I-I don’t think so,” Martin replies nervously. Some distant part of himself starts to berate him for being so needy.

“It kind of is. Let’s just pretend you never said it and we’ll see how we feel in a few more months, ok?”

“You mean we’ll see how you feel,” Martin says a little bitterly.

“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the holiday?”

Martin had sighed in resignation and picked at the rest of his plate. They broke up a week later because Dominick felt like they were “looking for different things.”

Martin doesn’t have another serious boyfriend after that. He goes on a few more dates over the years but nothing that lasts longer than five months. Nothing that lasts long enough to say “I love you.” In some deep dark part of him, he wonders if he was ever meant for love. His father hadn’t loved him enough to stay, his mother hadn’t said she loved him in over a decade, and he’s not even sure he was in love with Dominick. He gets crushes, sure, but he just throws himself into his work at the Magnus Institute instead.

Working in the library isn’t bad. He gets along with his coworkers well enough but he can never get close to them. Not close enough to love them as friends or be loved in return.

Then he gets transferred to the Archives.

Jonathan Sims is not the first asshole boss Martin has ever had. He doesn’t understand why Mr. Bouchard sent him down to work in the Archive in the first place and his first impression with his new boss is less than stellar when a dog follows him into the building. It doesn’t help that Jon is good-looking and every once in a while Martin catches glimpses of a version of the Archivist without a stick up his ass. Like when he spends Martin’s ice cream birthday talking about emulsifiers. If only he would be clearer about what he actually wants from Martin. No report or follow-up seems to be good enough, even with the help of Tim and Sasha.

Martin works hard for Jon’s approval. He doesn’t know why he wants the recognition but it’s either this or quit and he really, really can’t quit. So he spends three full days looking for every woman named Angela over fifty in Bexley only to be berated for actually talking to one of them and then he offers to look into a case about spiders that clearly upsets Jon only to get trapped in his flat by a zombie worm woman.

When he finally escapes, he takes a few worm corpses with him and he dumps them on Jon’s desk while he’s in the middle of a statement. Let Jon try and disprove that When he gives his own statement he makes special emphasis on reminding Jon how hard he worked to meet his exacting standards. He refuses to be yelled at for this.

Except Jon believes him. More than believes him, in fact. He offers Martin a place to stay. Of course that would be enough to ignite a crush in Martin.

As soon as they get to document storage Martin sits on the cot and begins to cry with exhaustion. He expects Jon to leave but again he surprises him.

“I-it’s alright, Martin,” he says awkwardly as he pats Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe here and I’m certain Elias will respond promptly to my request for extra security.”

“Thanks,” Martin sniffs. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person.

“Would...would you like me to stay until you fall asleep? If- if you think it will help.”

“Oh, er...no...I’ll be fine, thank you. You should be getting home, anyway. It’s Saturday, Jon.”

Martin blacks out as soon as Jon shuts the door to document storage. When he wakes up he finds his crush on Jon stubbornly still in place.

He can’t help himself after that. He starts taking special care of Jon in hopes of encouraging the kind man he saw that night into emerging. At the very least Jon doesn’t yell at him as much and he even thanks Martin for the tea he brings. It’s then that he notices other things about Jon, like how rattled he gets by certain statements and how he’ll often go an entire day without eating or drinking anything unless someone brings him something. That someone being Martin. He also notices how late Jon leaves, if he leaves at all.

It’s on one such night of Jon still being in his office at 11 o’clock that Martin knocks on Jon’s office door.

“Jon?” He calls gently.

“Hzzmt! Martin?” Jon responds, having been startled awake from dozing at his desk. “You should be asleep.”

“And you should be home.”

“I see your point,” Jon sighs. “I’ll finish up here and head home. Unless you need something?”

“Actually….I-I was thinking,” Martin beings. “Since I sort of kicked you off your cot...D’you want to come back to document storage with me? You know, get some sleep?”

“What?”

“Er...forget I-”

“The cot would be rather cramped with both of us,” Jon warns as he gets up from his desk. “If...if you’re sure you want me to join you.”

“Yeah...I thought you had work to do?”

“It can wait until morning, no use keeping you up longer than necessary.”

Martin only half regrets offering to share a bed with his crush. Jon was right, the only way to fit both of them on the cot is for both of them to sleep on their sides (or for Jon to sleep on top of Martin but even the thought has his face burning) and it’s difficult for him to fall asleep with Jon’s back pressed against his. It’s good to hear Jon fall asleep, though, and as time wears on it’s easier for Martin to goad Jon away from work to sleep a few hours.

The more of himself Jon reveals the harder Martin falls for him. Especially after Jon accuses him of being a ghost during the Prentiss attack. Even with the guilt Martin feels every time he looks at Jon mummified in bandages. That was Martin’s fault. If he had just paid more attention then he wouldn’t have lost Jon and Tim in the tunnels. He does everything he can to try and make up for it; despite Jon becoming more and more closed off by the day. Intellectually, Martin knows that Jon has gotten like that with everyone, but something deep down makes Martin feel like it’s his fault Jon’s gotten so cold. It doesn’t help that Jon seems to have gotten friendly with the policewoman investigating the murder of the previous Archivist. Tim even seems to think they’re having an affair which does wonders for Martin’s self-esteem. Jon wouldn’t be the first straight man Martin has ever had a crush on but Martin was pretty sure Jon wasn’t straight. Again, he wonders if he’s done something wrong to push Jon away.

After Jon stumbles out of his office covered in blood claiming to have had an accident with a bread knife Martin finds all the excuse he needs to regularly drag Jon to the canteen to make sure he eats something. The silences during those lunches are hard. They had eaten together before but now Jon wasn’t talking to him. The most Martin could get out of him were a few one-word answers. He tries not to think about how it reminds him of his mum.

“So,” he tries for the millionth time while Jon picks at his sandwich. “Did I tell you what happened while you were at physical therapy the other day?”

Jon doesn’t say anything but he looks up with a gaze that bores into Martin.

“Uh...A little girl came in alone with a statement, she must’ve only been eight years old,” Martin says. Jon looks at him with an expression that almost seems afraid. “Don’t worry, it recorded fine on digital. She walked right down into the Archive, walked up to my desk, and said ‘Excuse me. My name is Beatrice Walker and I’d like to make a statement about a supernatural occurrence.’ She sounded so grown up and she refused to leave until I had recorded her statement. Turns out her dad was using the library for research and she had just wandered off.”

“What was her statement about?” Jon asks to Martin’s surprise.

“Oh, a hamster with mysteriously changing spots.”

“Ah,” Jon replies thoughtfully. “Not much need for follow-up there, I suppose.”

“Not unless you really need me to track down the shop where her parents picked up the new hamster.”

He catches the briefest of smirks from Jon before the conversation dies again.

After that Jon’s coldness and paranoia comes out in the form of a screaming accusation over letters Jon found in the trash. Martin barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he bursts into tears after coming clean about his CV. Tim thankfully doesn’t check on him while he silently curses his taste in men. Jon doesn’t meet his eye for the next week in what he bitterly hopes is guilt. He does seem slightly more willing to talk with Martin at lunch, though.

Then Jon goes missing. After trying to get Martin and Tim to go home early because Jon was feeling under the weather; he disappears. Not before apparently bludgeoning someone with a pipe and isn’t that exactly what he and Tim need to see as soon as they get back from a two-week kidnapping by a spooky door monster?

With Sasha gone, Jon missing, and Melanie King being suddenly hired by Elias, whatever’s left of Martin’s relationship with Tim deteriorates. More so when Martin becomes the only one in the world to believe Jon could be innocent. It’s probably that that makes the police detective “investigating” Jon so actively hostile toward him. Apparently, people say he and Jon are “close” and that probably only means the lunch thing but he wants to imagine it’s something more. Like people are somehow picking up that Jon likes him back.

When Jon comes back to confront Elias it’s all Martin can think to do to fall back on his tea-making. He ducks into Jon’s office with a piping cup of the overly sweet tea he spent months perfecting to Jon’s taste and finds him with his face buried in his one non-bandaged hand.

“Jon?” He calls as gently as he can while he closes the door behind him. “I brought you some tea.”

It’s when Jon looks up that Martin notices the bloody mess down the front of his shirt.

“You’re hurt. Let me go get the first aid-”

“No!” Jon interrupts frantically. “Just...Could you just stay with me for a moment?”

Martin acquiesces and they sit side by side on the sofa in Jon’s office in silence until Jon starts sniffling into his tea. He offers Jon a hug and Jon all but dives into his chest to cry. It’s the saddest most broken thing Martin has ever heard and it’s all he can do not to pull Jon into his lap and curl around him protectively.

“Martin...I-I...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For everything. For Sasha and Prentiss and...and for the way I treated you. You didn’t….no one deserves that.”

“None of that was your fault and I sort of deserved it. I didn’t actually know what I was doing.”

“You didn’t deserve it,” Jon insists before going back to quietly crying into Martin’s jumper. Martin doesn’t respond. He can’t recall the last time someone’s apologized to him. At least not like that. He’d been told off most of his life for not doing things up to people’s standards. A few people over the years had told him he didn’t deserve it but Jon was the first person to apologize. No wonder Martin was falling in love with him.

Damn it.

Cuddling doesn’t become a regular occurrence for them by any means but Jon begins doing more to seek Martin out after that. They eat lunch together more often and Martin stays up late to talk to Jon while he’s abroad. It drives home how deeply buried into Martin’s heart Jon has become. Especially after he comes back after going missing for a month and has the audacity to joke about being moisturized by a clown mannequin for a month.

He wonders if Jon feels the same way. Sometimes Jon will smile shyly at him, and he can almost believe that Jon would be interested in a relationship if the world wasn’t ending. The last time they speak before the Unknowing they’re in document storage.

“Are you ready?” Jon asks as he shifts nervously.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Martin signs. He heard what happened to Melanie. He knows what’s likely to happen to him. Some small part of him is screaming to just tell Jon his feelings like it’s the climax of an action movie.

“Stay safe,” Jon says.

“Come back,” Martin replies. Jon offers him a hug. It’s no movie kiss but it allows Martin to hold Jon as close as possible. Jon himself is hanging off of Martin’s neck and it feels like a final goodbye.

Then Elias confirms what Martin has always suspected deep down. That his mother never loved him or if there was a time when she did, she stopped when his father left. Even after everything. After he spent years taking care of her. After he had to quit school to care for her. All she ever saw was his father. All his transition did was to remind her further of how much he looked like his father’s son. At least it was worth it. To distract Elias so Melanie could find evidence to arrest him.

Then Peter Lukas shows up and reveals that Elias planned to get arrested. Worse than that, he offers Martin a promotion of sorts.

Then they get the news from Yarmouth. Tim’s body is found in a charred heap, Daisy is missing, and Jon is dead in all but brain activity. At least Basira is physically alive.

Martin spends as much time as he can next to Jon. He’s used to loving someone who can’t love him back. Maybe this is all he’s destined for. Love unrequited. He talks to Jon’s dreaming corpse. Tells him about his day, reads him poetry, even a statement, but nothing draws Jon out of his coma.

Then his mother dies. He barely has the emotional strength to mourn her. Instead, he scatters her ashes and mourns his childhood lost to trying impossibly to earn her love.

After the Flesh attacks, Martin makes a decision. He’ll join Lukas. It’ll probably lead to his death but what did that matter? His mother was gone and didn’t care about him anyway. Tim and Sasha were gone. Jon was basically gone. Basira and Melanie were the only people left that he vaguely cared about and by doing this he could at least protect them.

He visits Jon one last time in the hospital. He’s still covered in wires and his eyes still flit around violently behind his lids as Martin sits down next to him and takes his hand.

“Hey Jon,” he says quietly. “I...This is the last time I’m going to see you...Probably ever. I know, I know old dramatic Martin surely he’s exaggerating. I’m not. The Institute is in danger and...I have a way to keep Melanie and Basira a little safer, so I’m doing it. I just came by one last time to say...Jon, I...I love you. Goodbye.”

He gets up and presses a kiss on a part of Jon’s forehead not covered in wires before leaving. It’s alright that he doesn’t say it back. No one ever says it back to Martin.

When Jon wakes up everything becomes that much harder. Suddenly he had a reason to live and the way Jon pursues him makes him almost believe...No, even completing the thought would be dangerous for all of them. Jon trusts him enough not to be constantly badgering and that makes it worse. When Jon is there the Lonely makes Martin resent his presence and when Jon’s gone Martin resents his absence.

The final, most excruciating pain is when Jon comes after him in the Lonely. He’s excepted his fate in the chilling numbness of the Lonely. Maybe that’s why he says it. The certain, inevitable rejection would be numbed utterly. So he says it.

“I really loved you, you know?”

And Jon looks broken. Even after he rips Peter’s statement from him. Even when he reaches for Martin’s face with hands that seem far too warm and makes him See. Knowing Jon loves him isn’t like “knowing” his mother loves him. Instead of a lie born in Martin’s mind to stamp down the fear of rejection, it’s a reality pouring from Jon’s mind mingled with Jon’s fears of rejection.

Jon’s hands still feel too warm compared to the icy chill of the Lonely as he leads Martin out. Still, he refuses to let go all the way through the tunnels, the Institute, talking to Basira, packing at each other’s flats, and on to the train. The way to Daisy’s safe house feels like a blur and when they finally arrive it’s all Martin can do to remember to take off his binder before collapsing into bed with Jon’s warm arms around him.

He wakes to Jon’s quiet crying. The awful, stifled thing that breaks Martin’s heart.

“Jon,” he whispers.

“Martin? Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“It’s alright, Jon,” he assures as he swaps their positions so Jon is tucked firmly against him. Jon makes another broken noise and Martin can’t stop himself from crying, too.

“I-I’m here, Martin. You aren’t on your own,” Jon soothes and Martin almost has to laugh. They lay crying and comforting each other until they both fall back asleep.

When they wake up properly they take stock of the safe house’s pantry and make a list of things to pick up in the village after breakfast. Martin gives in to the temptation to buy a new notebook to try and write poetry in. They have enough canned food to survive to the next ice age so they pick up perishable items like milk, bread, butter, and eggs. Jon also picks up fresh peaches and a box of Martin’s preferred tea. It’s easy to pretend like they going on a normal shopping trip as they walk up and down the aisles to check things off their list.

They return to the cabin and settle in. Martin sits on the sofa and tries to write out a poem while Jon tries to read a book from Daisy’s personal collection. After a while, Martin beings to feel Jon’s gaze on him.

“Is there something on my face?” He tries casually as he’s met with an expression he’s never been on the receiving end of.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Jon sighs. Martin can’t stop the noise that comes out of him. All his life trying to earn love and Jon just says it while Martin’s thinking of a synonym for ‘yellow.’

“I-I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” Jon says quickly, his soft expression suddenly turning worried.

“But I do.”

“Oh…Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Jon starts giggling and it’s impossible for Martin not to follow suit until happy tears stream down both of their faces.

[chaztalk]

Hello! If you could answer this privately or in a separate post, I'd appreciate it! As a Harmione fan myself, I wanted to share with you that I also think the "sibling" argument myself is stupid and untrue as I see nothing of my relationship with my sibling echoed in H & Hr's interactions. & I hate that ppl claim Harmione fans are devaluing a strong friendship, when it's not true. As an ace person, both those arguments to me are steeped in the mind of sex normality and uses sex to define and distinguish relationships, as "sex should not happen for it to be this," when in truth it's very natural for romantic relationships to evolve from very strong friendships. The "practically incest" argument as well as the other are are just ways to try and invalidate what's otherwise a very natural progression in human relationships by stamping a kind of moral abnormality to it when literally Cedrellla Black married a Weasley & Dorea Black a Potter, making the Weasley's and Harry relations of unknown distance rather than Hermione & Harry who are actually unlikely to be related at all. It's just so hypocritical.

Hi! Yeah, when you actually think of some of the interactions Harry and Hermione have, it’s not sibling-like. I have siblings too and feel as though neither of them resembles Harry and Hermione’s “sibling-like bond”. I feel like people that think that they are like sibling, don’t actually have any siblings themselves. But I’ve seen someone say that Harry and Hermione’s relationship is like her relationship with her little brother, and inwardly ask “really? You’d call your bro the equivalent of sexually attractive?” And I know not all siblings act the same, but that entire scene disproves them as siblings.

How does one come to the conclusion that Harmione shippers devalue their friendship? We just uplift it into something more because their relationship so strong.

You bring up a good point about the Potter/Weasley relations. Harry and Ginny are 3rd cousins, but nobody finds that it’s a big deal since all wizards and witches are all related somehow, but we are somehow mocked because we ship “incest”. That’s pretty rich.

[youneedasoultraveller]

Is the popular headcanon that Nicky was illiterate, stupid and barbaric fitting in the stereotypes about Southern Europeans / Mediterraneans ? I’m guessing it’s from the American part of the fandom that’s choosing to not respectfully write Nicky since he is white while being virulent towards anybody that doesn’t perfected and accurately write Joe because he is MENA.

Hello!

Mind you, I am neither a psychologist, a sociologist nor a historian, so of course be aware these are my own views on the whole drama.

But to answer your question, yes, I personally think so. It definitely comes from the American side, but I have seen Northern Europeans do that too, often just parroting the same type of discourse that Anglos whip out every other day.

There is an abysmal ignorance of Medieval history – even more so when it concerns countries that are not England: there is this common misconception that Europe in the Middle Ages was this cultural backwater full of semi-barbaric people that stems unfortunately not only from trying to (correctly) reframe colonialist approaches to the historiographies of non-European populations (that is, showing the Golden Age of Islamic culture, for instance, as opposed to what were indeed less culturally advanced neighbours), but also from distortions operated by European themselves from the Renaissance onwards, culminating in the 18th century Enlightenment philosophes categorising the Middle Ages as the Dark Ages.

Now this approach has been time and time again proven to be a made-up myth. I will not go into detail to disprove each and every single one misconception about the Medieval era because entire books have been written, but just to give you an example: there was no such a thing as a ius primae noctis/droit du seigneur; people were aware that the Earth was not flat (emperors, kings, saints, etc, they were depicted holding a globe in their hands); people were taking care of their hygiene, either through the Roman baths, or natural springs, or private tubs that the wealthier strata of the population (and especially the aristocracy) owned. The Church was not super happy about them not because it wanted people to remain dirty, but because often these baths were for both men and women, and it was not that in favour of them showing off their bodies to one another. Which, you know, we also don’t do now unless you go to nudist spas. It was only during the Black Death in the 14th century that baths were slowly abandoned because they became a place of contagion, and they went into disuse (or better, they changed purpose and became something like bordellos). And, lastly, there was certainly a big chunk of the population that was illiterate, but certainly it was not the clergy, which was THE erudite class of the time. It was in monasteries and abbeys that knowledge was passed and preserved (as well as lost unfortunately often, such as the case for the largest part of classical literature).

So what does this mean? According to canon, Nicolò was an ex priest who fought in the First Crusade. This arguably means that at the very least he was a cadet son of a minor noble family (or a wealthy merchant one) who was part of the clergy. As such, historically he could have been neither illiterate nor a dirty garbage cat in his daily life.

Let’s then talk geography. Southern Europe (and France) was far, far more advanced than the North at the time and Italy remained the cultural powerhouse of the continent until the mid-17th century. Al Andalus in the Iberian Peninsula, the Italian States,  the Byzantine Empire (which called itself simply Roman Empire, whose population defined itself as Roman and cultural heirs of the Latin and Greek civilisations): these places have nothing to do with popular depictions of Medieval Europe that you mainly see from the Anglos. Like @lucyclairedelune rightfully pointed out: not everyone was England during the plague.

Also the Middle Ages lasted one thousand years. As a historical age, it’s way longer than anything we had after that. So of course habits varied, there was a clear collapse right after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, but then things develop, you know?

Anyway, back to the point in question. Everything I whipped up is not arcane knowledge: it’s simply having studied history at school and spending a few hours reading scientific articles on the internet which are not “random post written by random Anglo on Tumblr who can hardly find Genoa on a map”.

Nicolò stems from that culture. The most advanced area in Europe, possibly a high social class, certainly educated, from Genoa, THE maritime superpower of the age (with…Venice). It makes absolutely no sense that he would not be able to speak anything past Ligurian: certainly Latin (the ecclesiastical one), maybe the koine Greek spoken in Constantinople, or Sabir, or even the several Arabic languages from the Med basin stretching from al Andalus to the Levant. Because Genoa was a port, and people travel, bring languages with them, use languages to barter.

And now I am back to your question. Does this obstinacy in writing him as an illiterate beast (basically) feed into stereotypes of Mediterranean people (either from the northern or the southern shore)? It does.

It is a typically Anglo-Germanic perspective that of describing Southern (Catholic) Europeans are hot-headed, illiterate bumpinks mindlessly driven by blind anger, lusts and passions, as opposed to the rational, law-abiding smart Northern Protestants. You see it on media. I see it in my own personal life, as a Southern Italian living in Northern Europe for 10 years.

Does it sound familiar? Yes, it’s the same harmful stereotype of Yusuf as the Angry Brown Man. But done to Nicolò as the Angry Italian Man (not to mention the fact that, depending on the time of day and the daily agenda of the Anglo SJW Tumblrite, Italians can be considered either white or non-white).

Now, the times where Nicolò is shown as feral are basically when he is fighting (either in a bloody war or against Merrick’s men) or when Yusuf is in danger. Because, guess what, the man he loves is being hurt. What a fucking surprise.

Nicolò is simply being reduced to a one dimensional stereotype of the dirty dumb angry Italian, and people are simply doing this because they do not seem to accept the fact that both he and Yusuf are two wonderfully complex, flawed, fully-fledged multidimensional characters.

So I am mainly concentrating on Nicolò here because as an Italian I feel more entitled to speak about the way I see the Anglo fandom treating him and using stereotypes on him that have been consistently applied to us by the Protestant Northerners. I keep adding the religious aspect because, although I am an atheist who got debaptised from the Catholic Church, a big part of the historical treatment towards Southern has to do with religion and the contempt towards Catholic rituals and traditions (considered, once again, a sign of cultural backwardness by the enlightened North).

I do not want to impose my view of Yusuf because there are wonderful Tumblr users from MENA countries who have already written wonderful metas of the way Yusuf is being depicted by non-MENA people (in particular Americans), especially (again) @lucyclairedelune and @nizarnizarblr.

However, I just want to underline that, by only ever writing Yusuf as essentially a monodimensional character without a single flaw, this takes away Yusuf’s canon multidimensionality, the right he has to feel both positive but also negative feelings (he was hurt and angry at Booker’s betrayal, allegedly his best friend, AND HE HAD EVERY RIGHT TO BE – and I say this as a Booker fan as well).

I have not been the first to say these things, it is nothing revolutionary, and it exactly complements what the MENA tumblr users in the TOG fandom have also been trying to say. Both of us as own voices people who finally have the chance to have two characters that are fully formed and honest representations of our own cultures, without stereotypes or Anglogermanic distortions.

And the frustration mounting among all of us comes from the fact that the Anglos are, once again, not listening to us, even telling us we are wrong about our own cultures (see what has happened to Lucy and Nazir).

What is even more frustrating is that everything in this cursed fandom – unless it was in the film or comics – is just a bloody headcanon. But these people are imposing their HCs as if it were the Word of God, and attacking others – including own voices MENA and Italians – for daring to think otherwise.

I honestly don’t expect this post will make any difference because this is just a small reflection of what Americans do in real life on grander scale, which is thinking they are the centre of the world and ignoring that the rest of the world even exists regardless of their own opinions on it.

But still, sorry for the length, hope I answered your question.