#come for thousands of words about adult children of alcoholics

[mswyrr]

Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: The Bear (TV 2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto & Natalie "Sugar" Berzatto, Natalie "Sugar" Berzatto/Pete, Sydney Adamu/Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto Characters: Natalie "Sugar" Berzatto, Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto, Pete (The Bear TV 2022), Sydney Adamu Additional Tags: Mental Health Issues, Recovery, adult children of alcoholics, Dysfunctional Family Series: Part 2 of sydcarmy s3 au Summary:

Sideways sequel to "Before the Dawn," Nat POV.

Nat's brother comes to her for help and everything changes.

[oddaodd]

can you make one where the reader is the youngest maid in Tommy's house and she's helping serve the dinner for christmas and taking care of the kids and in some point Finn gets closer to her and try to flirt with her (she's just a few years older than him) and the reader don't know how to react but Tommy comes and help her (because he already likes the reader but don't get too close because she's too young for him) and by the end of the night when everybody is sleeping and they have sex

· A Whimsical Tale · 

Author’s note: I know we are no longer near Christmas but I love living a dangerous life so I’m just going to post this now.  

 Anddd I loved writing this story so thanks for requesting! and as always, I hope everyone has a lovely day. ❤️

Warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol and a drunken Finn. 

·

Christmas Day was a heavy day on Arrow House and despite the numerous staff, there was always something to be done. Y/n was one of the youngest maids so she was never the one in charge of cooking and preparing dinner, instead she helped pour drinks and look over the children, which Y/n was thankful for since it didn’t require as much elbow grease as cooking for an abundance of people.  

“More wine Tomm...” she caught her mistake and made it up clearing her throat “Mr. Shelby?”

“Thank you, Y/n” He politely answered pretending he hadn’t heard her almost call him Tommy.

Y/n poured the wine with shaky hands hoping that nobody  had noticed her mistake and blushing cheeks. She knew Tommy didn’t mind her calling him by his name when they were alone, but she wasn’t sure if he would still be as lax on the topic if there were other people present.

As she poured some for Ada, Polly gave her nephew a knowing stare that indicated she had noticed and knew what it implied, which triggered complex emotions in Tommy.

He enjoyed Y/n’s company when she served him breakfast and lit the chimney in his office and when sometimes she engaged in conversation with him. She told him everything about her life, whimsical tales of mundane occurrences that sounded worthy of a novel. He wondered what kind of character he played in it.

He would be lying if he were to say that he only enjoyed having her around because she was good at her job. Truth was, Tommy felt infatuated with her and her bubbly smile and occasional kind words when he was feeling the world closing in, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it because she was much younger than him.

Y/n threw occasional smiles at Tommy through the night. She helped entertain the children while the other adults drank and enjoyed the evening. As the night progressed the alcohol began taking tolls, calling some to bed and inciting some others to questionable actions.

“Do you maybe want to go out sometime? Came Finn’s voice while Y/n tidied up around the kitchen.  

“Excuse me?” She asked even though she had heard him loud and clear.

“We should go out sometime” Finn spoke again in boozy confidence

“Um...” she began with an amused smile that disguised her discomfort for she wished the one asking were a different Shelby.

As if summoned by mention in a passing thought,  Tommy’s deep voice interrupted whatever excuse she was  machinating.

“Leave her be, Finn”

“But I’m not doing anything, Tom” he complained in a slur.

“You’re making a fool of yourself Finn” interrupted Arthur before dragging Finn away and out of the kitchen.

She didn’t miss the way Tommy’s eyes lingered on her figure before he left the room after his brothers.

After a while everybody including all the maids had gone to bed, Y/n stayed behind to have a cup of tea in the kitchen so she could mull over her feelings for Tommy in peace.

She had been attracted to him since her arrival to arrow house, but what began like a stupid crush soon turned into more complex feelings. She was always looking forward to seeing him and talking to him at late hours of the night at his office when he couldn’t sleep. She had tried not to think too much into his stares and considerate actions, but her infatuation with him had reached a point in which she couldn’t pretend not to notice.

She wanted his actions to hide a deeper meaning and she believed they did, but she felt her reasoning was tainted by her own wants. Tommy was significantly older than her and she felt immature in comparison.

“I knew you’d still be here”

She knew he would come.

She looked up from her teacup to the kitchen door to see Tommy strolling in. She forced a smile and shoved all her thoughts about him aside.

“Want a cup?” She signaled to the teapot as Tommy leaned against a cupboard.

“Alright” he said and Yn poured him a cup. His eyes following her every move. Her features seemed to be highlighted by the moonlight flowing in through the window making her look more divine than ever despite the tiredness hiding in her movements.

She felt an old wave of nerves creeping up her spine, making her heart beat faster and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t the first time Tommy and her were alone together, but that night’s air weighed differently.  

“Im sorry about Finn” he commented while she poured the tea.

“Its alright” she spoke softly walking towards him “Thanks for coming to my rescue”

Tommy’s mouth curved into a small smile, the way it did whenever she was around.

“Anytime” he said

“You are staring” she commented when she handed him the cup, noticing his gaze.

Tommy hummed taking a sip of his tea before placing it on the counter behind him, not even attempting to deny her accusation. “You look beautiful”

Her cheeks turned a soft shade of scarlet and her heartbeat quickened at his words. She wasn’t expecting him to say that. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at his honest complement.

Feeling comforted by the intimacy that the kitchen late at night provided, he cupped her face as leaned close to her lips. Y/n  did the same in a heartbeat and when their lips came together she felt a thousand matches lighting up inside her body.

She melted into the kiss as it turned more passionate, Tommy’s hands went to her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“Tell me to stop” he murmured against her lips.

“God no” she murmured back.

Tommy felt reassured knowing that she had wanted this just as badly as him and let himself get lost in the  soft moans and blissful sighs he coaxed from her with his wandering tongue and expert hands.  

Y/N hadn’t noticed Tommy began leading her to the table until she felt the cold surface against her lower back. Tommy prompted her up on it and smoothly hitched up her skirt. He ran his index finger teasingly along her clothed folds earning a whine from her pretty lips.

“Take them off Tommy” she pleaded.

Tommy complied and slid her underwear off her legs, his mind clouding at the sight of her, needy and wet in front of him. He kneeled in front of her and spread her legs open with his hands sending shivers through her body. Y/n felt her stomach drop in expectation at the sight of his handsome face close to her cunt.

“Tommy, ple..” Her place came short at the feeling of warm tongue on her sex. A teasing lick first that soon developed into passionate wet strokes and kisses  lapping against her folds and teasing at her entrance.

Her fingers tangled on his dark hair as she became a withering mess, submissive to Tommys experienced tongue. she felt her arousal building up, bringing her closer and close to the edge with each lick. She couldn’t get enough of him but she was eager to have him in her so bad.

“I need you inside me”

Tommy looked up at her with teasing eyes, her juices glistering on his chin and lips and when she felt the absence of his tongue on her she almost regretted being so impatient. But Tommy didn’t give her time to dwell on that regret when he went to passionately kiss her again and she felt his bulge through his trousers against her bare entrance.

Her impatient hands went to fumble with the buttons that held the basted trousers in place and Tommys went to assist her moments after, never breaking apart from the searing kiss, Y/n got a glimpse of Tommy’s cock and she felt like gasping when she felt Tommy guiding his head to tease at her entrance.

She moaned at the feeling and gasped when he pushed into her.

“So fucking tight” he whispered to her ear.

She sighed lewdly at his sinful praise and when he was fully inside her she felt so sinfully full she wondered how she could have lived for so long without this feeling.

She held onto his broad shoulders as he started pumping in and out of her, teasingly slow at first and speeding up deliciously with each thrust.

The table started creaking under her and the teacup and cup she had put there earlier fell off at their movements, loudly crashing onto the floor. She felt a twinge of concern about the noise, trying to break through the dense cloud of pleasure Tommy had summoned around her. However, Said concern became less and less concerning with each thrust of Tommy’s. It was the stuff of dreams.

He felt her clenching around his cock telling her that she was close. He wanted to make her cum, he needed to make her cum.  

He began rubbing circles on her sensitive bundle of nerves and soon after she came beautifully. Her legs tightened around his waist wanting to keep him close, still reeling in the aftershock of her orgasm as Tommy chased his own, which came not long after with a groan of her name. The expression of his face as he came into her was one Y/n knew would never leave her mind.

“What if somebody heard us?” She whispered as she collected her discarded garments with a smile.

“I hope they heard. Maybe that way Finn will know better next time”

·

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz

[wolvesandpetals]

Loki x Sylvie Post-Finale Fanfiction (Angst, Rated Teen) Part 2 of 2

Part 1 is here:

She never knew it would hurt this much when the person she loves is right in front of her, but she can't reach out and touch him; when she is still her, he is still him, but everything else has changed, like an invisible lever in an old theatre changing the scenery in the background, bringing them both to the part of the play where they are hopelessly lost.

[[MORE]]

All it took was one single moment, one single decision, and everything feels irrevocably broken now. It makes her contemplate on the true nature of relationships, how fragile they are, and how easy it is to shatter them- and her.

The smoke is slowly clearing, and all that seems to be left is a man who is doing his best to keep his distance from her, physically and emotionally.

She can tell from the way he stands with his arms crossed, or his fists clenced when his hands are by his side, that he really doesn't want to hold her hand. How can something so simple as the touch of his fingers be so vital to her existence that it feels like something has been ripped out from inside her?

She wants to reach out and touch him, but she is scared that if he pulls away outright, any hope of reconciliation that she still has left will shatter into pieces.

And she really needs this hope. It's the only thing she still has left. It's the only thing that keeps her going.

---

He looks like a man with a mission.

They spent quite a long time together, running from the TVA, running towards the citadel at the end of time, hoping to achieve their goal of bringing down the one behind the curtains.

But that was her mission, and he was there for her. She was the one behind the wheels, he was the one keeping the sails afloat.

Now it's different. Now he has a defined goal, a glorious purpose.

She's seeing him in a whole new light now, and not just because he has switched to Asgardian leather and metal armors.

As far as she is concerned, she is better off doing it all alone. One woman army, nobody to get in her way, nobody to screw up her plans. Nobody to blame her if it all goes to shit.

Or so it was, until two months ago, when Mobius decided to enlist her help in fixing the multiversal madness.

She has never really worked with people before, and it's weird, to say the least. She never considered herself a team player, but she is finding herself hating the idea less and less lately.

And she swears it has nothing to do with him. Not the fact that they are working together, and seeing his face first thing in the morning brings her a sense of calm that she quite can't explain. Or the fact that their rooms are next to each other and it makes her feel secure enough to finally get some rest at nights. Or that this whole arrangement has kept them on talking terms, when they had gone their own separate ways otherwise.

Nothing to do with that at all.

---

Humans are stupid, and the biggest evidence of this is how they decided that two extremely powerful Gods skilled at magic, enchantment, and defeating an evil extra dimensional cloud that swallows everything it touches, should be delegated to the role of research. "You're clever. You're good at reading people. You can put yourselves in the shoes of the bad guys, no offense", they said, but really, what they meant was, "We can't trust you out in the field much." She knows it, he knows it. She just doesn't know why he's complying.

That's how they find themselves researching every single day.

She likes to think he's not the only reason why she's studying in the library instead of in the comfort of her room, but that'd be a lie.

At first, he chooses to sit at a separate table. But she keeps going over to his to "get his opinion" on something in the file she's reading, and finally, he gives in. Their current arrangement consists of him sitting in the chair in front of her, to the left, prim and proper, while she hoists her feet up on the table.

He falls asleep on the desk one night, face smacked against a file, the tiniest bit of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. It would be a hilarious sight, if her heart wasn't feeling what she can only describe as longing.

They should probably talk about it, like mature adults, but neither of them know how to do that.

All she can do right now is gather the courage to run her fingers through his hair. The touch is hesitant at first, as if one wrong move would make him wake up and push her back to square one. Slowly, she relaxes, letting her fingers dance on his scalp.

He stirs in his sleep. "Please Sif. I'm sorry. Don't cut off my glorious locks, please."

Now this is a story she must hear when things are better.

If things are better.

---

Doctor Strange joins them very briefly, very rarely, but the tension between him and Loki is hard to miss. It's worse than the current situation with her, and that's saying something.

"You don't really like Stephen, do you?"

Something inside him seems to shift, but he masks it behind a non-chalant look immediately and just arches an eyebrow at her. "He's Stephen now, is he?"

"Well, that is his name." She shrugs. "What do you call him?"

"Strange", he spits the word out with an amount of irritation that indicates there definitely is a story there. "That is his name", he mimics.

She can't help the smirk that spreads across her lips. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing", he lies, ignoring the horrifying flashbacks of thirty minutes of endless falling. Not a single soul must ever know a mere human got the best of him. "What can he do to me? I'm a God among those mortals. He just irks me because he is so pompous, and arrogant, and he ceaselessly uses magic to toy with others."

She pretends to think deeply. "Now where have I seen that before?"

He scoffs. "You mock me, but I am nothing like him. For one, I am not rude."

"He seems fine to me", she declares decisively.

It's the first time in months that he gives her a cheeky grin. "That's because you're rude too."

---

They are still just containing the threats to their world, instead of finding a way to fortify the barriers between worlds and stop the threats from coming.

"Shouldn't we have a plan to seal off the other worlds from ours?" She asks him one day.

"They are working on it." He tells her, and then with a look of worry, adds, "I hope."

There are debates on what to do at the Avengers tower and at the TVA. Nobody seems to agree on what the best course of action is, but everyone seems to be following the general instructions of Doctor Strange.

During one such meeting, a Minuteman makes the mistake of voicing out loud how she wondered if things would be better if they were running according to their old boss's plans.

Sylvie feels the guilt wash over her once more.

"No", Loki tells them all firmly. The determination in his voice takes her completely by surprise. "Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary. The definition’s blurred." She catches him steal a glance at her direction. "We couldn't have left a dictator in charge just because it's convenient. Listen, I'm the bad guy. I've done horrible, unspeakable things. I thought humans needed to be ruled. I wanted to rule. But even I know that it's not right to take away a person's life completely. These are innocent people. You are innocent people. You have families back home, parents, children", a pause and a softening of his features, "-love. A whole past, a whole future. That man had no right to take it away from you."

His powers of persuasion are foreign to her, and it's mesmerizing to watch. Her enchantments cannot hold a candle to how he is able to just talk people into doing what he wants, thinking what he thinks, seeing what he sees.

"He who remains had a plan. One, singular plan, from one, singular man." There is absolute conviction in his voice. "It's not the only way. We'll find another way. A better way."

She has never known what it is like to have someone see you for who you are- broken and flawed, and defend you- even your well-intentioned actions that yielded different results than what you expected and hurt them in the process. She suspects it has been the same for him, a lifetime of not having anyone have his back.

The warm feeling inside her is brand new. What is the name of this? Comfort? Relief?

Happiness?

---

This will be their first time out in the field in a long time, and she feels a little sick to the stomach.

He notices. "Are you alright?"

The concern in his voice tugs at her heartstrings. She nods. She has faced way worse, she shouldn't be so nervous about this, but she is. "I've never done this before."

"We can always just kill him and blame it on the Chitauris", he suggests with a serious face.

"I heard that", Peter yells from the other room, where he is doing whatever it is that teenagers do to prepare for battle.

She shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe we're babysitting."

"I've done this before", he assures her, and it surprises her to picture him being entrusted with such a serious task. "The trick is to conjure up illusions that keep them distracted enough to not cry."

She laughs. "You're thinking of infants. This one is a little older."

"I'm over a thousand years old, Sylvie. They're all infants to me."

Peter joins them, mask covering his face so that he doesn't reveal his identity. "So what do I call you? Loki and Loki? That's confusing. How about Loki and Lady Loki? Or is that offensive? I'm not suggesting women are inferior, because they're absolutely not..."

"Does he come with an off switch?" She whispers in horror as Peter rambles on.

Loki grins. With one wave of his hand and a flash of green, Peter's own webbing shoots out and seals his mouth shut.

---

Things are fine but not fine at the same time. He's right there beside her, but not there at all. They have their banters, they have their stolen glances, but they haven't had a meaningful conversation since that first day when she got back. She's been putting it off for a long time, but she knows they really do need to have the talk.

She corners him in his room one evening while he's tinkering with a temporal collar. She takes a seat in the chair next to his bed and rests her hand on the table, leaning her head against her palm, before switching position and crossing her arms and legs. Everything about her posture screams uneasiness. If he notices- he probably does- he doesn't say anything.

"You defended me that day."

He briefly looks up from the task at hand and gives her a soft smile. "Of course."

She blinks. "I don't understand." Her hands involuntary rise up to rub her temples. "If you can justify my actions to them, then how can you still be mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you", he says without missing a beat.

"Rubbish", her words come out angrier than she intended. This frustration is the result of the months of status quo they have had. She has to know now, one way or the other. "You're distant. You're guarded", she accuses. Then her voice breaks, as she feels a part of her break all over again with her next words. "You don't hold my hand. Why? Tell me."

He abandons the collar and focuses his full attention on her. Staring straight into her eyes, he answers her. "You know why."

"I wouldn't be asking if I did. Look, if it's because I chose the mission over you-"

"-Of course it's not that." He says decisively. Then a sad smile clouds his face. It's the same look he had when she accused him of conning her to gain the throne. "Do you think I'm the type of man who would want a woman to abandon her life-long ambitions just because she has met someone?"

She knows he isn't. But it still doesn't answer why he is so cross with her. "What is it then?"

He pauses for a moment, trying to decide whether he wants to bare his soul out to her once more or not. There are two ways he can go from here- choose to not let her in again and save himself from the hurt, or trust her again and open himself up to potential pain.

Who is he kidding? Pushing her away- keeping her away- doesn't hurt any less.

There were a thousand things that had to go wrong to bring two Lokis from two universes together. A connection like that, it doesn't just happen.

And it doesn't just go away. The pain is constant, it's a part of him, pounding like a second heart every second he has to stop himself from reaching out for her hand.

This has to come to an end.

He takes in a deep breath, bracing himself. "You didn't have to send me away, Sylvie. I wanted to stop you from making the same mistakes I did. But in the end, I didn't care what you chose. I just wanted us to do it together."

She never even imagined this could be the reason for his hurt. All these months spent thinking he hates her for her choices, and now it turns out he is hurt simply because she chose to do it alone? "I'm sorry." She says sincerely. "I just wanted you to be safe."

"And I just wanted to be there with you till the end." He confesses. His eyes shimmer with the emotions he has kept bottled in for so long. "You go, I go."

She doesn't know what to say to that. She has never been good at articulating her feelings. Tears stream down her cheeks at the realisation that even after everything, he is still there for her.

She didn't cry even back at Lamentis when they thought they were going to die. She doesn't let anyone see her cry when she is sad or scared. That's all she has known her whole life. She's used to it by now.

This is new. These are tears of relief. Comfort.

Happiness.

Tentatively, she crosses over to the bed and sits by his side.

It's quiet for a few minutes. But unlike the months of tension so thick she could cut it into splices with her daggers, this is comfortable silence. The kind they had before it all went wrong.

"Did you even miss me?" He whispers.

"What kind of silly question is that? Of course I did." Her shaking hands grab his, and oh how she missed this.

He intertwines their fingers. His eyes draw closed. Bliss. That's the only word for this feeling.

He opens his eyes again and studies her. She's staring back at him, teary-eyed, but with a hopeful smile. "Really? Because you have a really unique way of showing it. You didn't even come looking for me."

"I didn't know how to face you", she tells him honestly. No tricks, no enchantment, no treachery. Not with him. "I didn't know if you even wanted to see me." Her voice grows quieter, dropping to a timbre that perfectly encapsulates her deepest fear. "I thought you hated me."

"Hate you?" He is shocked that she thinks that is even possible, specially after seeing him these last few months. "Sylvie, I'm working with the Avengers. The Avengers. Do you know how much I hate them? They are my nemesis. They're self-righteous, condescending, and so completely dull. Every second with them makes me want to rip their hearts out. Why do you think I'm here with them?"

She thinks she knows. But she needs to hear it anyway.

"It's because of you." He lays it all out on the table. All cards on deck, win or lose. "You've been running away. I have been the one who has been here, trying to hold down the fort, working to fix everything. Because that is what one does when one loves-"

Shit. The word slips out before he realises it.

Their eyes go wide in unison.

"Sylvie, I-"

"-Don't you dare take it back now." She warns him. "I-" She doesn't know how to say it either. They make such a great pair, both equally daft at saying how they feel, like they are teenagers, not Gods who have lived for centuries. "I've been running because I didn't think I could bear the burden of knowing I found you and then I lost you. I don't want to lose you. Not now, not ever."

He kisses the back of her hand, before letting it go. He cups her face, gently caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. "I don't want to lose you either."

She leans in closer, until their foreheads touch. She can feel his breath on her face, warm and soft. That is exactly how she feels inside. "You won't", she promises. "You go, I go."

---

(Quote on Lesser Evil from The Witcher. Thanks for reading!!)

[criminalmindzjunkie]

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Prologue)

Summary: When your college roommate asks you to be a bridesmaid at her wedding, you pack your bags and jump on a flight to Montana. What was supposed to be a relaxing week on the husband-to-be’s ranch is turned upside down when an old flame decides to make an appearance. Mix in lingering feelings, a meddling bride, and the mother of all misunderstandings, and your week out west turns out to be a whole lot more than you bargained for.

series masterlist

playlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.5k

           Spencer gets the email on a Tuesday.

           He’s fresh off of a quick trip to a nearby café that sells the most delectable scones, and he’s eagerly unwrapping one and lifting it to his mouth when he gets the notification. The quiet ping is enough to make him pause with the scone midway to its destination.

Because the thing is, Spencer Reid doesn’t get a lot of emails. In fact, there are approximately ten people that even know his email address, and seven of them are currently in the same room as him. Spencer peers over the top of his monitor and scans the room. No one is doing anything indicative of having sent Spencer yet another prank email (thanks a lot, Luke), so he deems it safe and clicks on the email icon.

           As it boots up, Spencer takes a bite of his scone. The warm, sugary dough tastes like heaven in his mouth, once again proving to Spencer that the fifteen-minute walk there is more than worth his time. He’s mid-swallow when his inbox pops up on the screen, and when he sees the all too familiar name on the sender’s address, he inhales a sharp breath that leaves him choking on his pastry.

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Melville

Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Sewell

Joyfully request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their children

Cassidy and Mason

Saturday, the twenty-seventh of May

Two thousand nine-teen

           His choking fit garners the attention of every one of his colleagues, but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. All he can focus on is sucking in as much air as possible in between coughs. It doesn’t help that his oxygen deprived brain is currently reeling. Long suppressed memories are fighting their way to the surface, and now it’s not only his lungs that are engulfed in a searing heat, but his heart, too.

           Cassidy Sewell. A fiery, opinionated redhead that Spencer hasn’t thought of in nearly fifteen years. But Cassidy isn’t the reason that he feels like a knife has been thrust into his ribcage, nor is she the reason he is currently aspirating his scone. The basis of his distress is another woman entirely.

           Spencer eventually regains control of his windpipe and when he does, he rereads the email several times. It’s wonderful news - really, it is. And he’s happy for Cassidy. His memories of her are plentiful and he thinks back on them fondly. The only problem is that he knows wherever Cassidy is, you’ll be there, too.

           He really should just delete the email and go on about his business - that would be the smart thing to do. But Spencer’s never really been smart when it comes to you, so he does the worst thing possible and clicks on the ‘view recipients’ button.

           And sure enough, your name falls just above his on the list.

           Which brings up another issue entirely; why is he receiving this email? And, more importantly, do you know that he’s been invited? Spencer can only come up with two possible answers to that question, and both are equally heartbreaking. Either you know he’s been invited and you’re indifferent to the fact, or you haven’t a clue and his showing up would be entirely inappropriate.

           He briefly entertains the possibility of a third option; one in which you knew he’d received an invitation and were hopeful that he might show up. Spencer allows this possibility to live in his mind for approximately two seconds before he’s stomping it out and killing it. That’s just… unlikely.

           “Ooh! Who’s getting married?”

           Spencer quickly exits out of his email and spins around in his chair to find Penelope pouting her lip out at him.

           “No one. Just a spam email,” Spencer lies. His efforts are in vain, however, because Penelope fixes him with an unimpressed glare.

           “I’m going to save you and I both the trouble of me hacking into your computer and offer you the opportunity to try that again.”

           Spencer visibly deflates and mentally curses the creators of the interconnected computer networks. He weighs his options. He could be completely honest and be subjected Penelope’s endearing, yet suffocating enthusiasm, or he could skim a little bit off the top and hope she doesn’t pump him for information.

           Spencer decides on the latter.

           “An old friend.”

           Penelope narrows her eyes at him and he shrinks under her gaze. She might not be a profiler, but she damn sure could be.

           “Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?”

           “No reason.”

           They’ve reached a stalemate, and Spencer isn’t quite sure what to do with that. Usually, if this were a chest match, Spencer would already have the upper hand. He’s not used to being backed into a corner. At first, Spencer’s sure that he can outlast Penelope’s inquisition, but the longer those seemingly omniscient eyes of hers bore into his own, he can feel his resolve crumbling into nothing. All it takes is her lifting one perfectly plucked eyebrow in challenge for him to break.

           “An ex-girlfriend of mine will be in attendance.”

           Spencer knows he’s fucked from the way Penelope’s entire face lights up upon hearing that little tidbit of information. In a flash Penelope’s dragging over an empty chair and seating herself directly in front of Spencer, eyes shining excitedly.

           “Tell me everything.”

           So, he does.

           And an hour later, Penelope is booking him a flight to Montana.

--

           “I cannot believe you did this to me,” you murmur into the receiver as you stare at your computer screen. Your eyes are zeroed in on the email, but all the words are blurring together into an intelligible mess. All except two.

           Spencer Reid

           “Correction; I did this for you,” Cassidy replies, sounding awfully pleased with herself. If you could see her, you were certain she’d be grinning ear to ear. “You can’t tell me that you’re not the least bit excited at the possibility of seeing him again.”

           “That is exactly what I’m telling you!” you groan as you throw your head against the back of your chair. “Fifteen years is a long time, Cass. I’ve moved on, and I’m sure he has, too. That door is closed.”

           Cassidy snorts, “Well open that sucker back up, because I just got an RSVP from one Doctor Spencer Reid who, and I quote, ‘cannot wait to see everyone.’ This RSVP came without a plus one, might I add.”

           You jolt up in your seat and instantly regret it when your stomach churns painfully as a result. Suddenly, your decision to place your waste basket on the opposite side of the room seems awfully ill advised. The only thing keeping you from lunging for it and expelling the contents of your stomach is the fact that he isn’t bringing anyone with him, which is… something.

           “He’s coming?” you squeak out. “Why would he do that?”

           Another laugh from Cassidy floats out through the speaker.

           “Well, I’d like to think he might be going to see one of his oldest and dearest friends get married, but I think we both know that this has nothing to do with me, and a whole lot to do with you.”

           You’re just about to open your mouth to protest when a head of long, blonde hair peeks through the crack of your door. You only know one man with a head of hair like that, and that man just so happens to be the only other person in your life that lives for taking the piss at your expense. You can’t help but think that you must’ve done something terrible in a past life to be subjected to all of this before noon on a Tuesday morning.

           You wave Damien in, because why the hell not? He’d be hearing about it over one or several bottles of wine this evening, anyways. What was one more spectator to the worst moment of your entire adult life?

           As he takes his seat in a chair in front of your desk, you flash him a tight smile and turn your attention back to Cassidy.

           “You’re reading way too much into this. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

           “You know that boy does not forget anything,” Cassidy points out.

           Yeah, you think, and that’s what makes not hearing from him for fifteen years even worse. That means the radio silence was a choice.

           “Doesn’t matter. You need to uninvite him. I’m being so serious right now.”

           “I absolutely will not. That’d be terribly rude of me,” Cassidy sniffs. “And you obviously have no choice but to attend, Miss Maid of Honor, so consider this your warning. I was going to keep this a secret, but Mason said that would be cruel. So.”

           You want to argue that the entire thing is cruel, but Cassidy’s indifference to your plight leads you to believe that your protest would fall on deaf ears. To make matters worse, Damien looks positively delighted at the prospect of something exciting happening. He’s literally sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning forward in an attempt to hear Cassidy’s end of the conversation.

           You really needed to pick more sympathetic friends.

           “I’m going to hang up now, because I physically cannot handle being a part of this conversation any longer.”

           “That’s the spirit!” Cassidy trills. “Trust me, you’re going to thank me for this later. Oh, and do yourself a favor and Google search him. You will not be disappointed!”

           At that, the line goes dead. You don’t even have the chance to say something embarrassing like too late, I already do that like twice a year, which is probably a good thing.

           You slam down the phone and let your head fall into your hands, adding in a dramatic groan for good measure. Usually, you like to think you’re a little more level headed, but the Spencer Reid sized hole in your heart that you’d been trying to mend for the last decade and a half was just ripped wide open, so you figure you deserve a moment to panic.

           Damien, however, doesn’t share that same belief.

           “I get that you’re trying to have a moment, and I respect that, but you know how impatient I get and I haven’t seen you this upset since One Direction split up. Color me intrigued. What did dear Cassidy do to get your knickers in such a twist?”

           You lift your head and fix him with a withering look.

           “She invited Spencer.”

           That wipes the smile right off of Damien’s face.

           “Oh, fuck,” Damien swears. Finally, someone understands how extremely not okay this situation is. You let out another despairing groan. “What are the chances he’s actually going to show up?”

           You chuckle bitterly, “Pretty fucking high, if you consider the fact that he already RSVP’d any indication.” You push away from your desk and begin to pace around the room, all while fanning your shirt out because holy hell did it get hot in here, or is it just you? “I mean, I could always back out. It’s Cassidy’s fault anyways. It’s not like she could hold that against me. She’s the one who did this, after all.”

           “Oh, she most certainly would. And you’re not going to going to skip out on the wedding - quit being so dramatic.”

            You snap your head to where he sits and narrow your eyes at him.

           “Oh, I’m not? Who’s gonna stop me?” you challenge.

           You can practically see the light bulb go on inside that blonde head of his. Damien gives you a saccharine smile and claps his hands together.

           “I am. Because I’m going to go with you,” he announces excitedly. You’d think he just came up with a way to end world hunger from the pride that’s practically radiating off of him in waves. 

           You raise an eyebrow at him, “You’re going to come with me? To Montana? Have you ever even been outside of New York?”

            Damien shrugs his shoulders.

           “No, but that’s about to change. Plus, weddings are fun,” Damien pauses, before tacking on, “-bridesmaids are fun.”

           If he weren’t such a damn good friend, you’d throw him out of your office.

           His proposition was tempting. Being in close proximity with Spencer for almost an entire week was going to be harrowing as it was, but add to that the inevitable sight of Spencer in a suit and harrowing graduates to fucking excruciating. Having Damien in your corner to keep you sane was more of a necessity than a want.

           But still, you hesitate, because the idea of both Cassidy and Damien conspiring against you for an entire week sounds like the undiscovered tenth circle of hell.

           Damien apparently senses your apprehension. He lets out an exasperated sigh and pushes up from his seat, walking over to where you stand and placing his hands on your shoulders.

           “I solemnly swear to be on my best behavior. You have my permission to fire me if I act up, Boss Lady.”

           Your shoulders slump under the weight of his hands.

           “You know I can’t fire you,” you grumble, pouting out your lip for dramatic effect. “If I fire you, then I’m stuck with fucking Brenda. And I doubt she’d be as agreeable a drinking partner as you.”

           Damien lets out a loud laugh and pulls you into his arms. You melt into his embrace, sighing in resignation. Might as well bring him along for the ride. It’s not like the situation could get any worse than it already is, right?

           “Brenda is the worst,” Damien agrees as he places a kiss to the top of your head. After basking in his warm embrace for several moments, you pull away and run a hand through your hair.

           “Okay. Okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Damien. “I can do this. Worst comes to worst; I can just avoid him. Five days isn’t that long. I can do five days.”

           Damien leans up against your desk and nods in agreeance.

           “Exactly. Five days, in and out – no big deal,” he breezes. Like the absolute bastard he is, he waits until you’re taking a sip from your travel mug before continuing. “And who knows? Maybe the two of you will pick up where you left off and have some slutty wedding sex.”

           Now, there’s coffee all over your white blouse and Damien’s laughing obnoxiously at your expense.

           “You did not just quote One Tree Hill at me,” you choke out between ragged breaths.

           Damien doesn’t waver under the weight of your death glare.

           “I so did. Best show of our time, truly. Chase hit the nail on the head with that one. Weddings are always an absolute bone fest - trust me. Something about all the proclamations of love and eternal commitment gets everyone all hot and bothered.”

           “There will be no slutty wedding sex,” you mutter as you dab at the coffee stain.

           “There will be if I’m going,” Damien trills as he pushes off of your desk and saunters to the door. “Don’t rule it out, babe. No need to miss out on all the fun!”

           You roll your eyes and toss the wadded-up paper towel at him. Damien is quick to shut the door, resulting in the paper towel hitting it with a wet plop.

           Damien’s absence leaves the room uncomfortably silent, save for the sound of your heart nearly beating out of your chest. You hesitantly lift your eyes back to your computer screen, and as irrational as it is, you pray that you’ll see that something has changed in the past ten minutes. Unsurprisingly, his name is still there, just below your own.

           You silently curse the tiny twinge of excitement you feel from seeing his name and exit out of the email.

           Five days, in and out. No big deal.

-

-

-

taglist: @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck​ @m0rce1ddd​ @bauhousewife​ @whxt-to-write​ @spencerwaltergubler​ @lovesicksofi​ @idgafayiowf​ @shadyladyperfection​ @mercy-burning​ @sapphic-prentiss​

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

[vera-dauriac]

Tell me about Joe Abercrombie? (I was going to PM you this but I figured if you're like me you'll have a really long answer to this question and might be better suited to it being a proper ask!) - I'm curious and need a decent new (to me) fantasy author with some right long series to get into. What's he like? Where would be a good place to start? Sell me him! (if you don't mind of course, no hurry and if you would!)

Eek! I am both ridiculously excited, and sweating, because I want people to read Abercrombie because he’s amazing and omg I love him so much.

*deep breath*

(Telling people about books and why they might appeal to them is literally my job I can do this. Right? Right.)

OK. So. What you should actually know about Abercrombie. First off, he has embraced the moniker Lord Grimdark, and while he thinks it’s hilarious, it’s also entirely accurate. Which means…

He’s not for the queasy. The books are violent and graphic, with plenty of blood and torture and whatnot. If you don’t have a strong constitution, he’s not for you. Also, there’s not a lot of sex, but almost none of it is sexy. The word “squelch” gets used a lot.

The overall outlook can be bleak. “Truly, life is the misery we endure between disappointments.” One of the characters says this, and I feel it could be a mission statement for the entire world of The First Law.

And yet…

The humor. Abercrombie is one of the funniest writers I’ve ever read. The humor is dark, I mean, pitch black, but truly hilarious.

The characters. If there is fantasy out there being written with better characters, I haven’t read it. It’s not just his ability to make otherwise unsympathetic characters interesting and likable, but that they feel so distinct and lived in.

So what are his book actually about?

Let’s get this out of the way. He wrote a YA trilogy that opens with Half a King. I really like that book, but the rest of the series didn’t click with me. Others feel different.

I’m just here to talk about his adult books, which are all set in the same universe, often referred to as The First Law world. The books are the original First Law trilogy: The Blade Itself, Before They Are Hanged, and The Last Argument of Kings. This series was followed by three standalone books: Best Served Cold, The Heroes, and Red Country. After that came the new The Age of Madness Trilogy: A Little Hatred, The Trouble with Peace, and The Wisdom of Crowds (coming in September!). This is also the internal chronology of the ‘verse. (There’s also a short story collection, Sharp Ends.) It covers several decades, and there are still characters from the original trilogy who survived the standalones and are kicking around the latest trilogy, but the focus is now on their adult children.

Anyhow, The First Law world is secondary world fantasy with really good, but not watch-me-showoff, overwhelming worldbuilding. (In other worlds, the kind of worldbuilding that really appeals to me. I feel immersed, but I don’t feel like the world is the point. The characters are always the point in Abercrombie.) It’s swords and chainmail to start with. Lots of battles and fights, light on magic. But there is a Magus many of thousands of years old who is clearly fucking with everything and has his own agenda, and there are a few other magical types floating around. Slowly, canon begin to emerge in the world, and The Age of Madness is full on Industrial Revolution.

The original trilogy is good and where I started, but the books have gotten stronger. My favorite book is probably the first standalone, Best Served Cold, which I think makes a solid entry point. One of the most remarkable women in fantasy, and someone who occasionally eats my brain, Monzcarro Murcatto, is the general of the best mercenary army company in her corner of the world, and she gets fucked over and builds a team of killers to go get her revenge. She is also part of my very favorite ships in the 'verse. (Aside—Abercrombie is not necessarily an intentionally shippy author, especially early on, but you can definitely set sail.) In a world of great characters, I think BSC has my favorite cast, including the world’s funniest alcoholic general, an incel poisoner, and the start of a character arc that’s still happening in the latest books that owns my soul.

For what it’s worth, if I had to speak on behalf of the fandom, I’d say The Heroes is probably the favorite book. It’s a three-day battle, and fairly self-contained, and probably not a bad place to start. I think of it as fantasy The Killer Angels. It’s really very good.

On top of this, all of the books have really fantastic prose. The man knows how to turn a phrase and find just the right words. (Seriously, when I’m drafting new stuff, I have a hard time reading Abercrombie because I feel so inadequate compared to his use of language.) Just, every word choice sinks you a little deeper into the characters and the world. It’s a genuine feat.

I could go on. Talk more about specific characters and plots. But I wouldn’t know when to stop, and I want to leave you something to discover on your own. 😉

[athenamikaelson]

I like your writing a lot it’s all super creative and you write dean very well! I was hoping I could request a Dean x reader where after Sam went to hell you moved into the Same town as Lisa and dean. You continued to be close with him and it makes Lisa uncomfortable and basically she tells the reader she has to leave if she wants dean to move on from his past life.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Request-I like your writing a lot. It's all super creative and you write dean very well! I was hoping I could request a Dean x reader where after Sam went to hell you moved into the Same town as Lisa and dean. You continued to be close with him and it makes Lisa uncomfortable and basically she tells the reader she has to leave if she wants Dean to move on from his past life.

Warnings- Alcohol, Lisa being a b*tch, angst

Word Count- 1520

“SAM!!!!” Dean’s cries are heard over my own as I hold Bobby’s lifeless body to my own. Tears streaming down my face. I look up to see the ground close up and Sam gone along with the gaping hole. My eyes divert to Dean as he falls to his knees, a lifeless look on his face. Oh no.

2 months later…

“Ben no that’s not how you hold a wrench. Didn’t your father teach you this already?” I stopped talking as soon as I heard what I said. Ben looks up at me with a confused glare.

“I’ve never had a dad.” I quickly pat him on the back and walk off not trying to get yelled at by Lisa again by my so called, “sociopathic tendencies.” It’s not my fault I don’t understand children.

I quickly made my way over to Dean who was laying under his never family car that he bought after putting the Impala in storage. 

“You and the kid become friends yet?” Dean’s gruff voice calls out under the small van. A fucking van. Never in a thousand years would I have ever thought I’d see the Dean Winchester drive a minivan with his own free will. But, Lisa wanted a van so they got a van.

“Nope. Doubt it’ll happen. Kids as bland as your cooking.” I take a beer from the cooler next to the toolbox. Dean slides out from under the van and gives me a disapproving look. He stands and takes the beer away from my lips and takes it for himself. 

“Hey! What the hell man. That was mine.” He rolls his eyes as he uses a rag to wipe his hands. Veins prominent as he stretches his fingers out. Oh how I’d love to-

“Kid you listening.” Dean knocks me out of my gross fantasizing.

“Stop calling me that. I’m only 3 years younger than you. The same as Lisa, and I don’t see you calling her that.” 

“Calling me what?” And in comes the Devil. Oops. Sorry Sammy. 

Lisa walks through the garage door and beams at Dean. The smile falters for a moment when she sees me. Dean wraps his arm around her waist bringing her in so he can place a kiss to his head. They stay like that. Wrapping each other in each other’s normality. I stand up not wanting to watch this for another moment longer. 

“Well, um. I’m going to head home. Long day and whatever.” I start to walk off. Making it another foot before Dean calls out behind me.

“Y/n, you good?” He has a questioning look on his face. No Dean I’m not. The man I’m in love with his wrapping his entire essence around a she-demon.

“Ya. I’m fine. Bye Deany,” I look over to see Lisa glaring at me, Dean is obviously oblivious, “Lisa.” 

Dean looks down at her, which makes her quickly plaster a fake smile on her lips and beam at me. 

“Night Y/n. See you later!” Ya if I don’t send you down to be bunk buddies with Sammy first.

5 Hours later. 

A rerun of The Golden Girls as I sip my beer, sleep not finding me tonight so I decide that alcohol will fix said problem. My head full of thoughts from the horrid day when Sammy left us. Dean’s screams never leave my dreams. So here is to another night of Golden Girls.

When I just about to grab another beer a knock sounds at the door. Wondering why Dean would be coming this late I quickly make my way to the door. I obviously don’t expect any of my neighbors because well. Let’s just say I haven’t been as welcoming in the neighborhood as Dean. Much to his complaints. 

“Dean what are you-” Oh her. Lisa smiles back at me. A devilish look in her eyes.

“Hello Y/n. Not Dean by the way. Can I come in?” Without getting an answer she brushes by me and walks in the living room. 

“Ya. Make yourself at home Lisa.” I follow behind and she picks up an empty bottle of beer and gives me a disapproving look.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Y/n. Drinking alone, how sad are you.” Oh God if she wasn’t Dean’s girlfriend I swear to God I’d-

“Well enough of the small talk. I need to address something to you.” Ugh. What now?

“Please Lisa. Make yourself comfortable. Or you know get out of my house?” Sarcasm dripped from my lips.

“Well Y/n you’d like that wouldn’t you? You’d like if I wasn’t ever around you or Dean anymore wouldn’t you?” She raises an eyebrow as mine go up in surprise. I go to the object before she stops me.

“Don’t act like it’s a lie. I know you love him. A blind man would be able to tell. And I’m not blind. I mean you really think Dean doesn’t know either? I mean what the hell Y/n. He calls you,” She smirks, “kid. And that’s all you’ll ever be to him. A sad little puppy that follows him everywhere. I mean you followed him to his girlfriend's house after his kid brother died. Do you not see how you’re suffocating him. God Damn, you're pathetic.” I freeze, my fists clenching behind my back. I step a foot forward in anger.

“You bitch!” Lise holds up a hand stopping me from getting in her face. 

“Sweetheart think this out. Fighting Dean’s girlfriend. Come on, even you are smart enough to realize that would be a stupid idea.” I step back. She’s not wrong. 

“Did you just come here to gloat about your relationship Lisa? Because if so you made your point and can let the door smack you on the way out.” Lisa steps forward.

“Y/n that’s not the reason I came. I’m really trying to be a good friend here and give you some much needed advice.” I laugh in her face.

“Oh ya? And what exactly would that be?” Her face dead pans.

“Get the hell out of this town.” My face scrunches at her threat.

“Are you threatening me? In my own house!” She holds up her hands. “No of course not Y/n. Don’t you see it? You’re holding Dean back. Everytime he sees you he thinks of his past life, hunting, Sam. That bad life. It’s holding him back from having what he truly wants. A family. And you’re just a bad reminder of his loss of his past one.” She pats me on my back and leans into my ear.

“If you truly love him, you’ll leave him and let him be happy.”

She tightens her grip for a moment before walking to the door and opens it, about to step out before turning over her shoulder.

“Goodbye Y/n.”

Loading my last bag into the cab of my truck I step back to place the keys of the house into the mailbox for the ease of the realtor. Taking one final look at the overgrown grass that I never cut, the vines wrapping around the white exterior of the house and my last name scrawled horribly into the mailbox I moved to get into my truck.

Good bye apple pie life. I hated every second of you.

Making my way towards Dean and Lisa’s house I passed all of our neighbors houses, all the neighbors I never made the time to interact with because of a moment like this. This life would never truly be mine so why lie to myself.

Pulling up on the side of the street across from Dean’s I get out of the truck and stop in front of the house to prepare myself for what lie I’m going to tell Dean on why I’m leaving. 1. Would be that I have a friend in Montana that needs help on a hunt or 2. I’ve loved him since the moment he laughed at my stupid joke about bikers 4 years ago and if I truly love him I have to let him go so he can be happy. Even if it is with She-Devil. Ok. So definitely going with choice 1. 

I’m brought out of my thoughts by the sound of deep laughter. Dean. 

I look to the dining room window to see Dean wrapping his arms around Lisa, his head thrown back and laughter spilling out from the half opened window. A smile wraps on his face before he wraps his lips around hers. Both pulling away after a second with such love in their eyes. Ben walks into the kitchen rubbing his eyes from sleep and looks at the 2 adults in confusion before Dean grabs him into a hug pulling Lisa along with him. They stand there laughing as if nothing matters in the world. Just them. Like a family. Oh.

Turning my back on him as I make my way to my truck. Tears prick the edges of my eyes as I pull away and make it to the end of the road without turning back.

“Good bye Dean.”

Taglist- @akshi8278

[solaris-writing]

Title: In the Lanterns Glow

Character: Xiao

Word Count: 1,501

A/N: Listen to “Cosmic Love” by Florence and the Machine (it’s a lovely song). This is also my first real post, so be kind!

The lanterns engulfed the harbor, hundreds upon hundreds of little golden stars lighting up the indigo sky. Liyue had faithfully performed the tradition for centuries. Longer than I was alive (or remembered at least) or as long as Paimon could remember. The townspeople flooded the squares and the docks, lighting more lanterns to release into the sky. Some had crowded upon boats and ships to let off their own. Food stalls had been set up, games for the children to play and alcohol for the adults.

I didn’t take part in the festivities though. I felt like I would be invading some kind of ancient ritual. Even then, I was leaving for Mondstadt in the morning. Jean had a few things she wanted to go over in order for me to become a full Knight of Favonius, not just an honorary one. After the whole incident with Dvalin and Barbatos, it wasn’t the first time that the idea had come up. Even Kaeya had campaigned for it.

So I stood above the harbor, sitting on one of the hills overlooking the city. For the first time in a long time, I was at peace. Not fighting hilichurls, not on the road for my next commission, or searching for work at the Adventurers’ Guild.

Paimon had fluttered away, searching for a food stall that had grilled chicken and mushrooms (she heard a townsfolk raving about it earlier and she just had to try it out). So I was left alone.

I saw a flash of aqua, a short burst of color in the night. Several yards ahead of me stood Liyue’s Adeptus. He looked over his city, weapon at his side. Xiao almost looked mournful, amber eyes alight with a burning melancholy.

“Xiao?” I gently called out, jumping down from my post to join him. He didn’t respond, but I knew he was paying attention.

We descended into a peaceful, relaxed silence as the lanterns continued to float into the endless horizon. Even though the opening act was over, more lanterns were being lit and the party had just begun.

“I’ve seen this sight many times.” He mumbled, “Yet, it still amazes me.”

It felt strange sometimes. I was standing next to an ancient being. A being that had seen so much bloodshed and battle. A being that had seen the seasons change time and time over, seen the generations pass by and celestial creatures wither into nothingness. It made me feel so small and yet so significant.

When I first met Xiao, he didn’t speak a word to me. I barely got a nod. Now, he felt comfortable enough to let me stand by him and watch the lanterns.

I feel like being immortal is the greatest curse of all.

Yet, I felt special. He could have been anywhere else in Teyvat at that moment, yet he chose to spend it with me in Liyue, watching the celebrations.

“I’ve never seen these before. It makes Mondstant look bland.” I said, eyes flitting about over the festivities. “I wouldn’t mind seeing this again.” The red of the buildings was turned blood red and the golden of the streetlights was nearly blinding. It was much different than the stone and wooden buildings that predominated in Mondstat.

“Speaking of Mondstat, Paimon and I are heading back tomorrow morning. First thing. The Acting Master wants to have a meeting with me. I have no business here anymore.” I said, fiddling with my hands just to give me something to do.

I felt the change in his demeanor. It was a small and subtle one, but I knew it was there.

“Ah.” That was all he said, but I knew he wanted to say more.

“You don’t have to hold your tongue around me.” I explained, turning to glance at him.

“I’m not, mortal.”

That stung as if he just struck me. He hadn’t called me mortal in a while. He did when he first met me, when he was still scared and thought that I would just be another human passing by in his eons of life. He never thought that I would stick around for long. His tone of voice was much different than his previous. He had returned back to his cold, distant personality when we first met.

Gods.

He was right though. I was just a mortal, while he was something that my mind couldn’t even comprehend.

Xiao was brash and careless and selfish and had a superiority complex that had built for thousands of years. He was rude and prideful and needed to get knocked down a few pegs, even if he was an Adeptus and a Yaksha. But he was also surprisingly kind, protective, and made it his eternal life’s mission to deliver justice and guard those who could not protect themselves. To protect Liyue.

He was hauntingly beautiful.

And I loved him for it.

And that’s why I had to leave.

Mondstat was the furthest place from him, as far as I could go in terms of civilization. I’d become a Knight of Favonius and continue working up north with the rest of them. I’d have to leave behind the handsome man that I had come to admire. I’d pick up the pieces of myself and move on. That was best for the both of us.

I sighed deeply, fingers clenching around my satchel like a lifeline as I turned to leave. I needed to find Paimon anyway. It would give me something to think about other than my breaking heart.

“Don’t leave,” I heard a soft plea, his voice raspy and croaky and wet with tears. I looked over, heart clenching with a pain much greater than any physical wound I’d had before.

Even tearful and yearning, Xiao still looked like a dream. His amber eyes were brimming with tears, cheeks a little flushed with pink, and a quavering voice. He stared up at me, tears threatening to brim over his lids and onto his cheeks made of porcelain. This man called himself a monster, an animal that was undeserving of love and didn’t know how to love. This man had killed and destroyed and ruined. Yet he turned into a puddle in my hands.

“Please don’t leave me too.”

I couldn’t take it anymore and I lurched forward when the first tears came down. I wiped them away as quickly as I could, hands moving over his face as if I couldn’t find a place to put them. He reached up to touch them, like he was surprised at his own tears and my willingness.

Xiao’s eyes were red now as I pulled him into my chest. “I won’t go. I won’t.”

I felt the first signs of a sob building in his throat, so I held him closer. Tighter.

Holding his head to my chest, I enveloped him in a crushing hug that I hoped conveyed all that I felt. I was overflowing with emotion. It was burning a hole in the middle of my chest and if I spoke, I felt as if they were going to pour out of my mouth like water. That I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

Gods, this man was going to be the death of me.

“I won’t. I’ll never leave. Never.” I cooed, sighing as he curled up to me.

“I love you.”

All I could hear was my pulse in my ears. My heart wanted to leap from its cavity. My hands shook and I felt like my entire body was just going to drift away. I didn’t know how long it had been since he said those three words, but I was shocked out of my reverie. It all came flooding back to me, like I had been jerked out of a restful sleep.

Xiao had gone still, breathing uneasily against my shoulder.

“I love you too.” I murmured, “Oh my gods, Xiao, I love you too.”

It was all out in the open now.

Never in my wildest dreams that I thought that I would be standing here with him, covering his blushing face with milk and honey kisses. I even managed to get a little giggle out of him. At least it's a start.

So I stood over Liyue, lit up with the love from its citizens and the lanterns’ glow. Watching the children run in the streets and the adults celebrate their freedom and their guardians. My heart was full, my mind was at peace, and my arms were occupied by holding my still sniffling Adeptus.

All those weeks of pining, now that I look back on it as I glance at the silver ring on my hand, was all worth it. As long as I was with my man made of memories.

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

Footnotes:

So, that was a trip, but there is it.

[stardustdates]

The lonely angel and the beast - Douma x reader

Scarstardust’s comment 1: aah I am so obsessed with Douma currently TwT I wish I had been here for him :( this is more of a fic than anything so I used she/her instead of you! Tho it’s very sad- please proceed with caution. Douma isn’t the villain in this btw!

Stardust’s comment 2: Honestly I even think this is the most fucked up pieces I’ve ever written. 

Stardust’s comment 3: Just finished writing. I feel terrible, but I’m proud  of my writing, I promise I’ll offer you all Douma fluff after that-

TW: dark topics, c//lt, s//lf h//rm, violence, mentions and detail of human s//crifice, ab//se of minor and adult. Reader discretion is advised. This is purely fiction and should not be romanticized or seen in a positive light.

Let the date the sacrifice begin.

A lonely angel. That’s what the leader of the Scarlet church was defined as. While the world saw her as a symbol of purity she could only notice her own tainted soul. 

The members of the church often wondered why so much of her time was spent in the bathroom. Perhaps she really cared for her appearance or just craved the tranquility that she barely ever had. None of it. She was purely trying to scrub away her follower’s sins from her body. scrubbing her skin over and over again as she reopened the scars on her arm.

 She was a symbol of purity thus humans wanted to cleanse themselves through her blood and that’s how her mentor started the habit of the ceremony drinks. Each follower would be graced with a cup of wine mixed to a few drops of the young girl’s blood.

Yet once again she was called to hear more of the sins committed by followers. Expected to reply to all of them with kindness. She was escorted to her confessional room where she found herself hidden away by thick curtains, a way to give the confessing sinner a sense of anonymity.

As she heard shuffling in the room she was waiting for another adult to alter her innocent child mind with a gruesome story for she was the messiah and god would speak to her. But she was met with the soft, monotone voice of a child.

“-Is anyone here? No emotion was carried in the kid’s tone.

-I am, dear lamb. She muttered, hearing a soft sigh on the other side of the crimson curtain.

-Hello. -The voice started again- I come to you today to confide in you sins I could not forget, for you see my parents have died, I lead followers equal to yours, yet I feel but void. I am much scared of becoming a beast.”

The slow breath of the boy could be heard through the curtain. Oh Lord knew (Y/N) wanted a peak through the curtain. The voice seemed about her age, if not just a bit older. A few minutes seemed to pass before the girl crawled to the curtain, extending her hand through them, abstaining from looking, knowing she would be harshly punished if she did.

“-Child -she started calmly- please let me hold your hand. -A break was given as the boy did as told.- I pray for your family, may they join the scarlet heavens. You will not turn into a beast for you shall miss them.

-Oh but. I simply could not bring myself to regret them. He stated bluntly.

-Then I will pray for mercy to be given on your soul, My ch-

-Douma. I’m Douma. She was cut by the boy, before finishing”

her hands moved on the other side of the curtain, reaching for the child’s face, feeling him flinch at the cold skin.

“-Then please, Douma. Come to me tomorrow. I will wait.” On these words her hands went back in her velvet cage.

And come back Douma did. days after days, months after months, year after years. Every day he’d reserve an hour to the other leader. Never to see each other’s face yet knowing the last of each other’s secret. Until he was invited to an event.

“Come to the velvet moon, Douma. It’s the day I will access the ultimate heavens.”

These were the words spoken to him. The last words he heard without a face on them.

For during a week he could not see the leader. Oh how he lounged for her presence. As time went by he had came to notice how she made his empty heart fill with butterflies he never expected to be alive. A glimmer of possessiveness. He wanted her to himself

But they were both now 18 for the girl and 20 for the boy. Four years had past since their meeting. Yet Douma had lost his humanity on the way. A sin he did not reveal to the woman he saw as an angel, too scare to scare her away. He didn’t know why this woman made him feel or how she did. He only knew tonight was her ascending, yet he doubted nothing unknowing of the nature of this ascension.

What horror he felt, what pure despair he met as he arrived. Finally seeing his angel’s face as she was tied by her arms to two pillars, suspended in the air by ropes, a white kimono around her weakened form. Shaking in anger as a knife was wielded by the man considered her mentor, by the awful smell of the glasses everyone were holding, this smell of blood and alcohol mixing. It was truly infuriating. He could not take it. 

He looked at her once more noticing how she was nervously looking around, mumbling prayers and hopes of being saved. That until her so called mentor spoke up.

“feedeth yourselves mine own children f'r tonight thy presence shall summon our l'rd, drinketh the blood of the angel hath sent from above. Connecteth with the heavens of h'r purity.  F'r tonight is h'r lasteth in this painful vessel the lady inhabits.“ the old man spoke an old dialect Douma could not fully understand but from key words. It filled him with more rage, as the man delt a violent stab to the newly adult lady. Striking her thigh as the blood pooled in a bucket placed under her. The rage to kill a thousand men. He felt enough rage to feel invincible. In his own mind he could have killed Lord Kibutsuji himself may he have been the one threatening the angel. His angel. Which received a stab to her other leg. The older man using the dagger to rip through her skin and muscles as a sharp scream got out of her.

But alas he could only watch as her body relax through the pain, giving up the moment she noticed the lost boy for he was the only one she didn’t know in the ceremony room. She knew from that moment that it was Douma. Her face turned peaceful at his sight. 

She could very well see him walking toward the elevated space of the room. Watching as the considered mentor yelled at him to back away from the leader. Douma did none of that. It all went so quick. Quicker than the humans could see. All that they could register was the birch color haired man holding the old man’s head, his body a few feet away. He quickly dropped it hurrying to the barely conscious girl as he heard her followers all running away, screaming from the scene they had witnessed.

 He was as fast as he could to untie her, trying to mush her thighs back together. The blood was too much. He wanted to eat her, his instincts screaming at him. The girl weakly laced her arms around him, muttering her thanks. He knew she’d pass out soon. He knew it would be over. They wouldn’t get a happy ending. There was no way lord Kibutsuji could appear and turn her into a demon, for alas Douma as himself was still too weak, hadn’t consumed enough to gain the power to change her himself. Seeing her struggle at staying awake he was like hit by lightning. Sudden realization of their memories flashing to him. For the first time in years he felt something. Immense regret filled him as he hugged (Y/N) tight, crying as he screamed and exclaimed his love for the angel.

“Angel. You can’t leave me. You’re mine. You made my cold heart work again, angel I love you. Don’t leave me. Angel. My angel. I love you. I love you. Please. I loved you. It’s true.”

He felt her hands on his face, like the very first time they had met. 

“Douma, oh Douma... Come to me again tomorrow, I’ll wait.”

But her hands dropped away. For his angel had shed all of her feathers.

And as he sunk his fangs in her soft throat, taken over by his instincts, Douma promised himself never to love again.

[northisnotup]

Benzaiten or Vespa pls!

Why not both? 😈

How I feel about this character

Benzaiten: my beloved. My dead comfort character. My kin. I had Benzaiten Steel for 3 episodes and they are my favourite episodes of s2 for a multitude of reasons.

Vespa: I like her, I don’t love her. But I also think Shadows on the Ship was hands down the most important episode of s3 and consequently, that Vespa is the most important character we’ve met. She’s amazing! But I’m never going to love her BECAUSE of the reasons I like her. *

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Benzaiten: I don’t! I tend to think of Benten as hypersexual and aromantic. Because of Reasons.** That being said, I think he would make a great sugar baby for Julian. 

Vespa: Buddy. She’s wife-centric baybey!

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Benzaiten: in a brotp sense it’s Juno. They’re not just brothers, they’re best friends. In a qpp sense, I feel like Benten would have a LOT of fun with Jet. In like, the same sort of opposites attract way that Jet gets along with Rita, only Benten is catty about it. 

Vespa: God I want a million words about Vespa and Jet developing a relationship. Do their senses of humor match up? Do they find each other funny? Do they just enjoy one another’s company or is it a ‘i trust you because Buddy trusts you.’ kind of thing. Or like, ‘I care for you because Buddy cares for you. You’ve cared for her for so long, I can’t help but feel the same fondness for you that she does.’ 

My unpopular opinion about this character

Benzaiten: Sadly, anyone who has interacted with me in this fandom knows that I have Very Specific Benzaiten Steel headcanons and they all boil down to Loud Luxury’s ‘I’m not alright.’  Benzaiten Steel? Well adjusted? No in this house!

** North: [trips and drops her copies of The Adult Children of Alcoholics and Recovery for the Adult Children of Alcoholics] "Shit! Sorry! Those are mine, just let me-" [Drops pictures of Juno and Benzaiten Steel] "Those are...unrelated. Sorry! Just -" [And thousands of words of meta] "I can explain."

Vespa: * She’s a huge jerk. And I LIKE that she is a huge jerk, but she is one! She’s rude and mean and often chooses to be rude and mean when she doesn’t have to be and I don’t like that! I didn’t like it when Juno did it and I don’t like when Vespa does it. I understand where it comes from and the reasons behind it, which is why I say Shadow’s was the most important episode of s3, but I don’t have to love it. She’s getting better, she’s doing better, but she would still rather threaten you with bodily harm than just say ‘keep it down I’m on the phone’ and that sucks. 

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

Benzaiten: gosh I hope we get a flashback that isn’t a Juno dreamscape. Because the thing is, a lot of Monster’s Reflection was Juno’s interpretation. Coloured by his own bias. It was memory. It was Benten as Juno remembered him, because that is the last place Benzaiten exists anymore. He both was, and wasn’t Benzaiten Steel. And I want to see what he’s like without being driven by Juno’s grief and guilt. 

Vespa: GIVE! ME! MORE! OF! VESPA! AND! JUNO! Give me those cracked mirrors of pain wincing from the reflection of their worst selves that they see in each other! And also please - Idk if I want her to know about Brahma and who Nureyev was, I don’t know if I want her to recognize the name, but I want to see her realize she was wrong. Not because she was wrong and I want her to feel bad about it, but because I want that same moment she had at the end of Shadows where it’s the moment the trust clicks in. That moment of ‘I know Steel would never call me crazy.’ 

Because the thing was, on the very basest level, Vespa was right. Nureyev did betray them, he was hiding something and it did cost them. So, I need to see that against the idea that yes, he did that, but he did it for A Good Reason. That even after doing that, he is a good man and she can trust her family to him. 

[cuntwrap--supreme]

My mom has gotten so bad with alcohol that I don't know what to do. I knew she was drinking a lot from my siblings that still live there, but my adult sister just called me at nearly 5am crying her eyes out because she got into the airport only a few hours ago and my mom picked her up drunk as fuck, insisting my sister not drive because she's been awake for over 24 hours right now. And there's no arguing with my mom that doesn't result in her actively trying to kill herself, so my sister had to just fucking go along with it and hope she didn't die. And now that they're home and have been for a few hours, it's so bad my mom can barely talk. I heard her calling to my sister (because she was just screaming for no good reason), and it sounded more like baby babble than noises an adult human should be making. I'm so fucking upset by this. She'd promised me she'd been getting better, but I guess it's been like this every night and my sister has just been dealing with it. Or my kid siblings, and they're 13 and 15 and that's so fucking unfair to them. And I told her this when we talked much earlier in the night and her words were, and I quote, "I'm getting so fucking tired of people telling me to think about my children - what about me?" As if this is some new thought that's crossed her brain and every single action I've seen her make since two-thousand-fucking-four wasn't for her. She let her ex abuse me for like ten years because smoking crack with him was more fun than protecting her kid (and this started when I was 7). The guy she's currently upset over (they broke up 10 fucking months ago!!!!!!!!!!!!!) repeatedly grabbed my now 15 year old sister's boobs - when she was 12!!!!! - and my mom let that slide. She lets my brother do nothing but play on his computer and he's failed both 6th and 7th grade, but she lets him continue on to the next grade because it's easier - the kid has literally no idea what's going on in his classes because all he does is play video games to help him avoid how fucked up my mom is. And I would gladly take custody of my kid siblings, but my mom told me that, if I ever took them from her, she'd "open up her veins in front of me," because I'd taken all she has left. Do you know how fucking hard that is to hear? I can't help my mom because she'll kill herself if I make her lose her job for a mental health break, and she'll kill herself if I try to take away the children she still needs to be caring for. I'm fucking over it. As bad as this might sound, I don't even really care any more. I don't. Except for when she's endangering my siblings, and I'm at the point where I'm about to say fuck all the advice you can find on how to deal with alcoholics, I'm about to come at her with so much rage that she'll want to stay in the mental hospital for good. Get her out of my goddamn hair and let me try to salvage what's left of the kids' psyches. Get them in therapy or something so they have a chance at not being fucked up as adults like my sister and I are. She acts like no one notices she's doing this, too, but my sister said everyone at the airport (where my mom works) was staring tonight and we're giving my sister looks as if to say "do you need help?" So her whole family knows, the people she works with know, and I'm about to call my grandma (who I'm not on speaking terms with because she said we need to push my youngest sister's sexual assault under the rug) and have her try to talk some sense into my mom, because if there's one thing my grandma is good at it's bullying people into doing what she wants.

I don't know what the fuck to do, but I have a feeling it's going to have to be violent and will result in my mom never letting me see my siblings again. I have a feeling I'm going to have to call some sort of emergency services on her, where hopefully they can force her to get help because she clearly doesn't want help. She'll say she doesn't want to die, then try to kill herself ten seconds later. She's not ok, but she won't admit that to herself for long enough to get help that isn't from a bottle of liquor. I also work with a bunch of girls who live in a halfway house, and I know a couple of them are recovering alcoholics, so I might ask them how they got to the stable places they're in now. I can't handle this any more, though. So I'll drive all the way to her house tomorrow for the sole purpose of what I anticipate will be a verbal bitch slapping. I can't see it going any other way, because she's only ever responded to kindness by taking advantage of it or manipulating the person being nice to her.

[piracytheorist]

A Kiss for Good Luck (6/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: This is one of my favourite chapters that I’ve written for this fic. Hence why it’s the longest so far, and the second longest overall.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)

Word count for this chapter: 5.4k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

~

Chapter 6: Killian Jones, October 31st 2000 – October 19th 2011

The girl pulls back when someone whistles at them.

“Nice catch, Captain,” Cruella tells him.

Killian just shakes his head. She's not drunk enough yet. He turns to the girl. “Ignore her. She's just pissed that there's too many adults around.” He throws a glare at Cruella, hoping she'll get the message. Luckily, she does and walks away without any further comments.

Looking back at the zombie princess in his arms, he's only now noticing how detailed her costume is; he was too stuck looking at her eyes before.

The girl opens her mouth to say something, but her gaze suddenly focuses on something behind him and her face falls. She tells him she'll be right back, but she never comes back.

Apparently, she and her mother were renting the villa across the street, and it has caught on fire.

Cruella grabs him and takes him to the car before any fire trucks or police officers arrive and find them and their very stolen car. They leave the car where they first found it and sneak back inside Silver's house without getting detected at all.

However, it's not their sneakiness that Killian considers the first luck he's had in years. It's the sudden visit from a social worker the next morning, the very first he's seen in his whole time in Silver's house – and he would swear that even in the short periods of time he wasn't there, no social worker ever made an unexpected visit. It shows.

They're all taken away, and for the first time Killian truly feels relieved to leave that house. It's only one year until he ages out of the system, and wherever he spends that year will be better than that place.

His next foster home is in Brighton; it's the first time he's moved that far away from London, but he's too disillusioned to hope it will be any different.

Yet it feels so, from the first moment; the guy is outside, waiting for them despite the chilly weather. It's the first time Killian has felt that a foster parent has been waiting for him. There's another teenager with him, and Killian can see a girl peeking at them through a window.

When the social worker takes Killian to them, the man offers his hand.

"Welcome, lad,” he says. “My name is Nemo."

Killian swallows hard, looking at the man's hand. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea was his mama's favourite book. She'd tried reading it to him some times, but all he can remember now is the protagonist's name, Nemo, and his submarine the Nautilus.

"Of all fucking names," he whispers and walks past him into the house. He can hear the social worker blabber some excuse in his favour to Nemo, but he couldn't care less.

He goes upstairs, throws an angry glare at the girl from before who's now peeking from a door, and he gets inside the first open door he finds. Sure enough, it's a bedroom. The blue on the walls, curtains and bed sheets are a nice touch. He throws the plastic bag with his few clothes and possessions on the floor and he flops on the bed.

Oh. It's soft, and the sheets smell nice and fresh. At least his sleep will be a bit easier here.

He feels a knot in his throat when he considers that that guy, Nemo, apparently made sure to provide a warm welcome for him.

He grunts when he hears a knock on the door.

"May I come in?" Nemo says.

"Whatever," Killian says and sits up on the bed, bringing his knees closer. As Nemo comes inside, Killian kicks his shoes off. Maybe he can help keep the sheets smelling nice as long as he can.

"I see you've made yourself at home already."

Killian sighs, ready to mock him for his patronizing words, but Nemo says,

"I hope you like blue. I've got sheets and curtains in a few more colours, if you want to pick something else."

Killian looks up at him. When was the last time that someone cared what colours he liked?

"May I ask what's wrong with my name?" Nemo says, sounding a bit amused.

"Nothing."

After a short pause, Nemo asks, "You've read Jules Verne's book?"

Damn it.

Killian stays silent, dropping his eyes.

"Okay," Nemo says and takes the chair from the desk, swinging it to face the bed and sitting down. "Killian, right?"

He just scoffs.

"Come on, lad. I saw your papers. It doesn't mean I know a thing about you."

"Really? Didn't you see the time I was taken in for alcohol possession?"

"I saw it. What should that say about you?"

Nemo is talking so casually that Killian can't help looking up again. Nemo's expression is soft.

"What did you want me to figure from that information?" Nemo says.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm getting to know you. I'm trying, at least."

Killian's chest feels heavy. No other foster parent ever tried to do that with him. They just let him in, put out a plate of food for him, and shouted at him whenever he was restless. They never tried to start a conversation with him.

And Nemo's effort is overwhelming him.

"Okay," Nemo says calmly, standing up. "I'll set up the table, but you can eat whenever you feel like it. There's warm water for a shower, and, if you do want to talk at some point, I'll be here." He then leaves, closing the door behind him.

Killian brings his knees closer to his chest and starts sobbing softly. Nemo is... he's nice. And he's trying. And Killian is a fucking mess and he'll ruin it, and Nemo will send him back...

He pulls himself together, wipes his tears and opens the door quietly. He can hear three voices from downstairs; Nemo's, and he guesses, the other two belong to the boy in the porch and the girl who was watching him. He walks down the stairs, careful to not make any noise, and sits on the floor right next to the opening to the kitchen.

He doesn't remember the last time he sat with someone for dinner. At least, sitting down and chat and feeling comfortable. Both children sound very comfortable with Nemo. The girl, in fact, while she seemed shy at first glance, is the most talkative of the three.

Killian's heart drops when he realizes he probably scared her. How would she react if he joined them at the table? Can he join them?

He stands up and goes back to his room. He's gonna ruin it anyway, what's the point of building anything there?

He only comes out the next morning, assuming he'll be told to go to school.

Nemo is in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. "Oh,” he tells Killian as soon as he sees him. “Good morning. Are you hungry?"

He's starving. He just shrugs.

"The eggs will be ready soon. I didn't expect you to wake up that early. You can have anything that's on the table."

There's quite a lot on the table. Jam and bread, honey, cake, tea, a small cheese assortment, even bacon.

Killian just sits down and starts nibbling on some bread, watching Nemo. He's making scrambled eggs, and Killian's mouth waters at how good it smells. He looks down, trying to hide his teary eyes.

It's just food that smells nice. Why is he reacting like this?

"Did you sleep well?" Nemo asks.

"I guess," Killian mutters.

"If you need anything for school, notebooks, pens, let me know and I'll get you some. When you come back you can let me know if you're missing any books."

"Okay."

"Hey." He turns around, facing him. Killian doesn't dare look at his undeniably soft expression. "I mean it."

"I know."

Nemo doesn't say anything else. He finishes the eggs, then the other two kids join them and introduce themselves to him as Will and Tink. Tink seems a bit wary of Killian, but the two kids talk with Nemo as Killian sits with them, even though he's finished eating. He can't find it in him to isolate himself again. He will ruin this, but perhaps he can let himself feel some warmth before he loses all of it.

The first day of school goes surprisingly well. From the first recess even, a boy in his class approaches him.

"Hey, you live with Will, right? Will Scarlet, from eleventh grade? I'm Robin, he told me there would be a new kid at his house."

Killian feels like he's in preschool, as if students will be approaching him and asking him to be friends. But Robin and Will are fun, his professors are nice and he even finds himself paying attention to some of the classes.

He's not used to any of it. When school is over and he follows Will and Tink home, he fears he'll wake up in Silver's house and realize it was all a dream. Just next to the fence gate of Nemo's place, he finds a ten pound note on the ground and he wants to scream.

Someone is clearly toying with him.

He walks in briskly, ignoring Will telling him that there's lunch ready and he locks himself in his room.

He doesn't know what to do, what to feel; it's all too good to be true. Can he really trust it will stay that way? He's lost everyone he loved. If he tries to see Nemo as anything more, if he sees Will as a friend...

It's gone dark by the time Nemo knocks on his door.

"Killian? Will told me that you haven't eaten. Are you feeling alright?"

Good, now he's worried about him.

"You don't have to tell me anything. I just want to know if you're okay."

Killian feels his eyes fill with tears again.

"I may not look like it, but I can break this door. I don't want to invade your space, but if something happened to you-"

Killian runs to the door and opens it wide. Nemo's face falls; there's no doubt he sees Killian's reddened eyes.

"Oh, my boy," he says.

Killian bursts out in sobs and wraps his arms around Nemo. He doesn't care if it's a dream, or if he'll fuck it up eventually. He will take what he can, what he needs, for now.

Nemo is calm, he holds Killian and doesn't ask for an explanation.

"If you ever want to talk to me, I'm here. But I'm not pressuring you. Only if you want," is all he says.

"You can't," Killian says between sobs. "I'm cursed."

"There's no such thing."

"No, I am. My family... they all died. My father- left me. If you care for me you'll- you'll die too."

"I don't believe that. You shouldn't believe that either. You were just unlucky."

It's all too easy, to blame it on bad luck. To think it's just gone away and he can sit back and relax and things will be good for him now.

And he's not used to easy.

"Do you want me to bring you some food? You'll feel better."

He shakes his head, keeping Nemo close. When was the last time he was held like this? He's forgotten how good it feels. And he's not ready to let go, to hope that things will stay like this.

It takes three months. Nemo is patient, and Killian's urge to sneak out fades away. Will and Robin are good company, and he starts focusing on homework again. Tink starts trusting him, and Nemo's place slowly feels like a home. For the first time, there's a wall where he can hang his drawings on, a frame to put his family photo in and a surface to place it on. While he was staying at Silver's place, the only reason he wasn't dropping out of school was his fear of the reaction Silver would certainly have. Now he genuinely believes he can graduate – even if he'll have to repeat his last year.

Nemo believes in him too. Killian is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but as time passes he starts thinking that maybe the proverbial neighbor is one-legged.

It's what helps Killian agree to Nemo's suggestion that he start talking to a therapist. If he's looking for a bright future, he wants to be emotionally stable enough to really live it.

One month before his finals, Killian feels more stressed than he'd anticipated. Five months ago he wouldn't have cared if he'd failed completely. Now he wants to succeed, if anything, to make Nemo proud. He didn't expect that. But he's known better than to hope that high, and on the first day he tries to study, all he thinks is how he's going to flunk and ruin the second chance he was granted.

That same evening, Nemo knocks on his door, which he's been leaving open more and more often.

“Can I talk to you for a bit?” he says.

Nemo sounds happy. Probably completely oblivious to how all his efforts with Killian were in vain. Not that it will matter much, will it? Killian is just a visitor- no, more like a parasite. At least, in a few months he'll be able to work and have his own income, so he can have a job and rent his own place as he retakes his last year.

But he's constructed an exterior neutral enough to not allow Nemo any inkling of his worries. The man's tried hard enough, there's no reason for him to carry Killian's burden too.

But Nemo also looks a bit nervous. “Look,” he says. “You may say it's a bit too fast; Will and Tink have been living here longer, not that I think of them any higher or lower than I think of you. And, maybe not the best timing, what with your finals coming up and all.”

Killian's heart sinks to his stomach; Nemo has already predicted the outcome and he's sending him away. He feels his exterior start to crumble, so he lowers his eyes. Nemo will give him the ceremonious speech, then Killian will start packing his stuff.

At least, Nemo was kind enough to buy him a decent rucksack to replace the garbage bag Killian had for keeping his stuff in, and a frame for his family photo, and Silver wouldn't be eligible for fostering yet. Few places could be worse than that one, and Killian only has a few months before aging out. He'd have to face-

“Killian, are you alright?”

He realizes tears are running down his cheeks. Oh, no.

“It's nothing.” He quickly wipes the tears away.

“Son, I'm adopting you.”

Killian freezes. He looks up to see Nemo smile.

“I don't know what you thought this would be, but I'm really doing it. I'll be adopting Will and Tink soon, but I don't want to risk it being too late for you. I already see you as family, and I want to make it official. Papers don't mean much to me, but they are a way to provide for you later on.”

Tears are flowing freely now.

“But I have to ask you, do you want me to adopt you? You can say no-”

“Yes,” Killian says in such a low voice he's not sure if Nemo heard it. He doesn't dare say it again, because he feels a shout bubbling up in his throat, and it's very likely that if he shouts that loud, he'll be shaken awake, back in Silver's cursed place.

But how lucky is he, that while still staying with Silver, he's had such a wonderful dream? What happy thoughts that he never had in that place could have created such a grand illusion of happiness?

“It's okay, my boy.” Nemo's voice is steady. He's smiling, but there's a note of sadness on his face. “I've already done most of the procedure; I just wanted to know if you wanted me before I completed it. But it's okay.”

“What is?” Killian manages to keep his voice a whisper.

“I know it's a lot to process. I also know you're happy, but it's okay if you can't show it now.”

Is that what this is? The therapist did mention something about Killian's emotional responses, and how especially his stay with Silver has... blocked them? He can't remember, it's too much right now.

“It's alright. Do you want to be alone?”

Killian's response is just a small nod.

Nemo nods back. “Don't feel pressured. I don't expect you to say anything at all. I just want you to feel at home. For real.”

As if Nemo can predict Killian's exact reaction, he walks out and closes the door just as Killian bursts into sobs. He grabs his pillow and buries his face in it, trying to muffle the sound.

Five months – and a half; that's all he had before aging out. And it's there, just a bit before that grim finishing line, that Nemo came and took him in as a son.

A son.

He has a father. He'll probably never call him that, though. Nemo deserves something more than the word Killian used for the man who left him and his brother. Nemo is more than that.

He is everything. And that's exactly what Nemo deserves. More than a... a son who can't express himself properly, even if Nemo is apparently willing to deal with that.

He looks at the book he's been trying to focus on for the past hour. There's no chance he'll manage to focus now, after such a bomb.

But, maybe, the best late reaction he can have is to put his life in order. Not just for Nemo's sake, but for his own most of all.

His finals are extremely easy; he misses a ton of information, but every single test asks the exact things he did manage to learn that past year.

Six months ago he wasn't expecting to graduate; what he expected even less was to have someone be proud of him for that.

And not just Nemo; Will and Tink too are happy for him.

To celebrate, Nemo rents a boat from a friend and they all spend two weeks in the summer sailing across the south coast.

Killian is entranced by captain John Shakespeare, Nemo's friend and the boat's owner. One day, he asks him to teach him how to steer the boat.

"I think I'm in love," he tells Nemo when Shakespeare leaves him on the helm to go adjust a sail. "Can you ask Shakespeare something?"

Nemo seems to freeze, his mouth falling open. "What do you mean?"

"The boat! I want my own boat! Or... work in one! I don't know! Anything!"

He smiles wide at him, and Nemo's confused expression turns into a mirror of Killian's. "Actually..." Nemo says, "he might have mentioned he's looking for some help."

Killian has the best summer in six years – since the summer he went in Boston, that is. Maybe it is, finally, the time to embrace it. He gets a sailing license before even starting to – officially – learn how to drive a car.

He loves his job, and Shakespeare is a great boss; after just one year of Killian working with him, he jokes that he wouldn't mind leaving Killian in his place when he retires.

Killian is happy; he has a family, a job he loves, and finally, hope. For better things to come.

Killian has been thinking of Nemo as a father, even though he never used the word to him. Just two years after being adopted by him, Killian gets a second father; Nemo marries Shakespeare, his boss, of all people. But it doesn't feel weird. They're all as happy as ever.

He takes himself out; Will moves to London to study, but Killian and Robin stay friends and when Will visits, they all go out together.

He has a few flings; they're all short-lived but ending smoothly, and he slowly gets used to attracting people's attention – of the good kind. He had more pressuring issues during his teenage years than worrying about his appearance, so he's now coming to the conclusion that he's grown into a quite handsome look.

It's a rare occasion, but still common enough for him to wonder whether there's a pattern, that his eyes stay stuck to his drink instead of looking around, as he remembers that girl dressed as a zombie princess. God, he was a goner with her. He's too old now for the butterflies and carefree crushes of adolescence, but still, through his dates and flings, he has never felt the same.

Would it have been any different, if he had gotten that girl's name?

He's twenty-four when things start to change. A woman with black curly hair and a presence that makes his knees feel weak comes on a Sunday and rents a boat for a day-long trip along the coast. His knees feel even weaker, but with a different purpose now, when he spots the wedding band on her finger.

He allows himself some fantasies; it's hard for his mind to not wander at the sight of her on the bow of the ship, her hair flowing behind her. She looks like a bird who has finally been let out of a cage, free to roam the world.

The sea has meant freedom to him for a long time now, and he can't help feeling it means the same to her.

Her name is Milah, and that night he dreams of her.

He actually has to restrain himself from looking at the few information she gave to Shakespeare before hiring the boat; he's better than this. She's married, she has her life, and he owes to respect her privacy.

He's successfully accepted that he'll never see her again, when the next Sunday she's renting his boat again. And the next. And the next.

He's now twenty-five and for the first time he decides to push his luck. He's known Milah for nearly a year, and on her part, she always initiated a discussion; the more she talked, the more he got to know about her, the more he fell in love with her. And she didn't miss one single Sunday cruise.

On their last cruise they got tipsy together and she confessed that if it were only for her deadbeat husband and not the son they have together, she'd ask Killian to take her away and never bring her back. With a quick glance, he noticed that she'd taken her wedding band off.

The very next time she buys a cruise, right before they prepare to head for the port, he kisses her. She doesn't even seem surprised; neither is he when she leads him to the cabin below deck, then starts undressing both herself and him.

Three months into their secret relationship, her husband, Gold, finds out. It's a few very difficult trials for their divorce, and Nemo and Shakespeare are disappointed in Killian.

"A married woman," Shakespeare says pointedly.

"I love her." Killian retorts. "You should know that the law means nothing."

"You want to compare?” Nemo says. It's the first time Killian has seen him upset. “Do you realize how much we had to hide? And why? I couldn't be married to the man I loved and keep you. I couldn't even tell you anything! And so we waited. It hurt, but we waited. Because otherwise, lives could be ruined."

"Nothing was ruined. Her husband was an ass to her already."

"But he'll get full custody of the child, and the child will hate you," Shakespeare says. "That's what both of us were thinking. The children. You."

He's too proud to let their words shake him; and what's done is done, anyway. Milah gets only one day a week of seeing her son, and her husband makes it clear that he doesn't want Killian anywhere near the boy.

Before the divorce, it was Sundays he had with her. Now it's Sundays he doesn't, but he's happy she gets some time with her son. And for the kid, too; he knows all too well what it feels like to have one parent leave.

He is happy, but it's costing Milah a lot.

"I wish you two could meet," she says one Sunday night as they hold each other in bed. "You're the two most important people in my life, and it really sucks to only have to be with one of you at a time."

"Maybe it will get better. Maybe Gold will change his mind." He pauses. "Or maybe he can go fuck himself and I'll be with you next Sunday anyway."

Her lips twitch. "It's not just him. Jack, he... he's..."

Killian's heart falls. "He doesn't want to see me."

She looks at him, but before she can say anything to comfort him, he says,

"It's alright. I'm not the best role model anyway."

"Don't say that. He's just too young. I wish I could make him understand that me and his father would have broken up anyway."

"Maybe it's better how it is now."

"What? Why?"

"He's got an outsider to blame. Not his own family." He squeezes her hand. "Few things are worse for the psyche than thinking a monster of a parent."

"You think he doesn't think that of me already? His cheating mother?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope he thinks of me as the one who seduced you away."

Milah had a relatively normal childhood, so it's not easy for her to get that sentiment. In truth, Killian wants few things more than getting to know her kid, the most important person in her life. To make the situation clear and rid him of the burden of having to spend his childhood blaming and hating someone. But it's all too complicated, and Jack is still young.

"There's no need to rush into it. There's time," he says. A smile creeps up his lips at the thought that they will stay together at least until Jack is old enough to understand.

The smile spreading on her lips tells him she thinks the same.

Milah never hides how happy she is to be with him, despite what getting with him cost her in the first place.

Nemo does a good job trying not to judge Milah, but Shakespeare isn't as willing.

"What are we comparing here? Being discriminated against for daring to love a person of the same gender with having poor communication skills and not breaking out of a bad marriage you were privileged enough to have without any bumps along the way?"

"John," Nemo says.

"I know, I know, I'm judging without knowing. You're very lucky Milah's ex was kind enough to let her spend Christmas with them. I wouldn't be shutting up if she were here either."

Lucky. Of course he is.

Shakespeare doesn't argue with Nemo suggesting he should spend New Year's Eve with his brother and his family, so Killian has the chance to bring Milah to meet Nemo.

Despite the work Killian has done on himself and his self-image, there are still times he thinks he doesn't deserve Nemo.

When the year changes, Killian feels indebted to him for sacrificing his New Year's kiss with Shakespeare so that Killian and Milah can have their first one together.

But still, lucky overall.

Nearly three years have gone by since Milah's divorce – since they found each other – and still her ex has only changed how often Milah can see her son, not the conditions under which she can.

"You know, I've been thinking," Killian says, "Gold won't like me no matter what, and I don't care. But what do you think Jack will think if I take his mother somewhere amazing, and bring him some really cool gifts back?"

"Buying my son's love? How progressive," she teases him.

"They would be some super amazing gifts if they could buy someone's love," he says in mock deep thinking. "I was only thinking about him seeing that I give a damn."

"What are you planning?"

"I've... set aside some money for a trip. A nice trip. I have some great memories from a trip to the States, but not the best after that. And I was hoping, and, my therapist told me it's not a bad idea, that a second trip there may, you know..."

"The United States?" She smiles. "Where?"

"Wherever you want. Probably not something overly expensive-"

"New York City." Her smile grows wider.

"It does happen to have cheaper plane tickets than, say, the west coast-"

"Yes," she says with a finality as if she's the one leading the trip.

Perhaps she is, Killian thinks with a smile. He would let her lead him anywhere.

Killian convinces Milah to break the rules, just once; it's not that hard when she herself wishes she can have Killian and Jack meet.

Jack is still reserved with Killian, but he's open about wanting an iPhone, a baseball with the New York Yankees logo, and a figurine of the Statue of Liberty. Killian promises him he'll do his best to find them.

"No phone, Killian. He's only eleven," Milah tells him later, when they're alone.

"I 'will' do my best. But customs is a good excuse to not buy it, and it's not like he cannot pester you about buying him one from here," he says, smiling.

The time for their trip comes, and as they settle into their tight seats right in the middle of a four-set seat, Killian recognizes a flight attendant as an old classmate, and as his luck would have it, she recognizes him as well.

After the boarding is completed but before lift-off, the flight attendant comes and carefully lets them know that there are two side-by-side seats on first class whose holders didn't get aboard, and if they get them now they can keep them for the rest of the flight.

"Wow," Milah says as she stares out her window now, holding Killian's hand tight in excitement. "My first trip abroad and immediately getting a free update. Though it's our first together," she smiles at him, "and I wouldn't mind staying cooped up in the other seats with you. But it is fucking awesome."

His idea proves to be excellent. He knows that, no matter what happens, he will never forget how happy she was to explore the city, to see the view from the Top of the Rock, to watch the sun set while sailing over the Hudson River on Clipper City... okay, not that that wasn't big for him too.

They decide to top off their trip by going out clubbing on their last night. It's a bit hectic, but the drinks are great, and the music is good, and the mood brings them into further dancing, and drinking, on Killian's part.

"Don't worry, baby," Milah says, a bit tipsy herself, "I'll take care of you even if I have to carry your sorry ass to the hotel."

He ends up so drunk he can't even stay standing up while waiting for his turn in the single bathroom. The queue disperses soon after a woman comes to sit next to him, apparently as drunk as he is. It's his turn, but he hates to leave her waiting. He gestures with his hand towards the bathroom door.

"Go ahead."

"No, it's okay," she says, her words slurred together. "I can wait."

"Go, please. I'm not one to leave a lady waiting."

"Oh, how a gentleman... what gentleman..."

He shakes his head a little. What has she had? Not much worse than what he's had, he manages to think as his brain seems to slosh inside his skull from just that last movement.

"Can I kiss you?" she says, finally.

What the hell. It's just a kiss, right? He shrugs.

He sees her come forward, then her lips touch his and start pulling them apart.

~

(A/N: Since Milah's son and the man who betrayed Emma had to be two separate people, I called Milah's son Jack; in the show, the original casting call for Neal's character called him “Jack”, so my choice is an allusion to that.

Also, I am shamelessly borrowing the idea of pairing Nemo with Captain Shakespeare from the movie Stardust, as inspired by some very creative people on tumblr, though I cannot remember which of those lovely people first created the idea. His first name here is borrowed and anglicized from the character Captain Johannes Alberic, the character from the book Stardust that Shakespeare in the film was recreated from.)

[nightglider124]

RobStar Week 2020: Day 1

Tis RobStar Week, guysss! Ugh. Yas. That means content for the week of my two disgustingly adorable children. We love to see it. 

I do believe it runs from 5th July - 11th July so check the robstarweek tag each day for some robstar joy :3

So, I haven’t written anything really for a while. Especially not based in the TTA universe. But, I’m mildly happy with this one. In theory, it doesn’t actually have much of the kids but it has Robin talking bout his crush with Wally. 

Confession... I don’t love the prompt of destiny/fate/star-aligned... all of that. Idk why cos like in essence I believe it. My babies are destined for each other. Buuut, as a prompt, I just never am a fan. So, I tried my best, I swear! XD

This oneshot is set after ‘Titans Together’ but before the movie, ‘Trouble In Tokyo’.

Uh, I know Robin talks about when Starfire kissed him and I know that he doesn’t discover that she learns languages through lip contact until the movie but like... c’mon. Robin is a smart guy and would have thought about it in the time since they first met. I don’t think he would bring it up cos he awks but I think he would put two and two together. So, when it’s mentioned, he is just kinda speculating and then it’s confirmed in the movie. That’s how I’m viewing it anyway. XD

Hope you like it. Happy RobStar week! ^.^

________________________

Star-Aligned/Destiny

The upbeat music drifted and pounded around the whole tower, with the epicentre of the noise coming from the main room, which was fairly packed with Titans from all across the globe, enjoying their Friday night. 

It had been about a week since they’d taken down the Brotherhood of Evil and put all the criminals that had been affiliated back in their rightful places within penitentiaries across the world. The ordeal had been difficult on each and every one of the Titans and it had taken a lot of time and energy to ensure that the threat was dealt with and the Brotherhood were dismantled for good. 

So, when Beast Boy and Cyborg had approached him about having a party to relax and say thanks to the whole Titans Network for their help in defeating the long standing villains, Robin had been reluctant to say no. He felt that a little fun was well deserved and decided it wasn’t often that they all let loose and just got to act like normal young adults, even if it was only for one night.

He felt good as he sat at the counter, dressed in civvies for the first time in a long time, with a glass of cold soda tantalizing his lips. He knew that some of the boys had snuck in a bit of alcohol and since all of the Titans were technically 18 and over, they were legally allowed to drink in private locations, according to Jump City law. So, he was letting it slide, but that didn’t mean he was about to consume it himself. Robin was all for unwinding but… he still had his wits about him, just in case any alerts came through.

Of course, in the morning, there were a few individuals who he wanted a word with regarding how they purchased the alcohol but he resigned himself to waiting until tomorrow, rather than putting his leader head on right now.

Robin cocked a small smile as he scanned the room from behind the safety net of his mask. He may well have been in casual clothing but the mask always stayed put; an unkickable habit of his, he mused.

Cyborg was over by the sound system, setting up playlists upon playlists with Bumblebee at his side, helping to sort through the music. He could see from where he was perched, every time she saw a song that she clearly didn’t like, she would delete it from the playlist when Cyborg wasn’t looking. It’d provided Robin a good few laughs throughout the night to see his cybernetic friend become confused, scratching his head and wondering if he had had too much to drink, despite only really having about one beer.

Beast Boy was lounging on the sofa, game station controller in hand; his gleeful chuckle echoing every now and then as he challenged those around him to a racing game that he’d practically lived on for the better part of the past year. Herald, Hot Spot and Killowat were huddled around him, each trying to gain the upper hand on the changeling who had won the 4 games prior to the current round. 

Robin turned his head, noticing Red Star was talking with Aqualad, Pantha and Argent over near the windows with all of them holding a beverage each and laughing, getting to know one another better since they were all teammates and they’d never really had a chance to interact with one another until now. Robin saw tonight as a good opportunity for the Titans Network to get a little more acquainted with one another so that they had a good roster of friends and colleagues for future events and missions, if necessary.

Directly ahead of him, Gnarrk and Wildebeest were sat at the table, conducting an arm wrestle to see who had the superior strength with smirks so smug that Robin could feel the bravado permeating the air around them. Kole was standing by her best friend’s side, offering quiet encouragement; believing in his abilities wholeheartedly. She smiled as Jericho turned to her, seemingly signing to her, his faith in Gnarrk to win as well; a gesture that made Kole turn a rosy pink and Robin couldn’t help but wonder if there was a bit of a connection brewing between the two.

Behind Wildebeest, Thunder and Lightning were cheering loudly, waving their hands and hooting in favour of the humanoid chimera who simply grunted in acknowledgement of their vocal support. 

Robin chuckled quietly to himself and took a sip of his drink, minutely shaking his head as he inwardly wagered on who he thought was more likely to come out on top of said arm wrestle. 

In the right hand corner of the room, Robin could see Jinx who looked less than thrilled as she was effectively sandwiched between Kid Flash and Mas Y Menos who were, by the looks of it, having a lengthy debate about who had the faster abilities. 

Scrunching his face up, Robin took a moment to consider how that conversation was going considering he knew for a fact Wally didn’t know much Spanish, if any at all. 

He shook his head and his eyes travelled over Speedy and Bushido who seemed to be talking and sharing fighting tips, with Speedy making gestures with his hands to explain the types of arrows he used when he battled.

Robin sighed in content, happy for the warm atmosphere surrounding them all. When he’d first started recruiting the people in the room to be a part of their hero network, he hadn’t even considered what it would mean for them to gel together but every single Titan in the tower had proved that they could work effectively with one another, without really even knowing much about those around them.

He was proud of his teammates and friends and he felt confident that if more threats on a larger scale were to ever crop up in the near future, then they would be prepared and ready with a strong force in place. 

Tapping his fingertips against the side of his glass, a lingering silver laugh caused him to pause; a tingle descending down his spine with a simultaneous heat prickling his skin. He lifted his head and his gaze inadvertently fell upon Starfire who was sitting on the back of the sofa, her long legs dangling down with her ankles crossed over one another. 

Her hands were clasped and in her lap as she talked animatedly with Raven, who in turn, was responding in her usual way of nods and small smiles, only speaking here and there. 

Robin gripped his glass a little tighter as he watched the alien Princess shrug her gorgeous mane of ruby hair over her shoulder, pooling down the length of her back. 

It had been futile to try and ignore how she looked tonight with Robin deciding how well Earth clothing suited her. She wore a lilac playsuit with a white floral pattern printed all over the fabric. The spaghetti straps of the garment fell perfectly on her shoulders with the rest of it hugging her body comfortably without being too tight or loose enough not to flatter her.

Although, Robin rebuffed that thought immediately. She could wear a trash bag and she’d still make it look amazing.

It was a short faux dress outfit but it was far from distasteful considering it was longer than her day to day uniform. The light frills at the hem were a nice touch, giving the illusion of it being a dress when in fact it wasn’t.

All in all, Robin had a tough time keeping his eyes off of her and it had been that way since the party started earlier in the evening.

He exhaled quietly to himself as he lost in himself in a momentary trance, with Starfire being the pinnacle of it all. Every single thing she did was endearing and he finally understood what people meant whenever they would compare a person to that of sunlight.

Starfire was the epitome of a ray of sunshine; constantly smiling and being her bubbly self, no matter who she was around. She could be around the grouchiest person in the universe and she’d still be able to coax a grin from them, without so much as even trying to. 

She was just so naturally inviting; like moths to a flame, Starfire was a friend to all and he could honestly admit that he had never met someone as kind and carefree as her which in his eyes was what made her so unique within their world of heroes. 

Robin stared after her, watching the way her jade eyes would shimmer whenever Raven said something remotely funny or something that Starfire could relate to. Her orange skin seemed to glow with every thousand watt smile that found its way onto her cupid bow lips. 

Just beneath his rib cage, Robin felt his heart rate start to increase; a quiet thumping of his chest, the longer he stared after her. 

Swallowing heavily, Robin averted his eyes, instead choosing to stare down at his bubbling soda. Despite this, his mind remained rooted on the one thing in the room he took the most interest in. He couldn’t help but inwardly dwell on his feelings for the Tamaranean girl, no matter how hard he had tried over the years to refuse and deny what his heart had been singing all along, since she first crash landed on the planet they called home.

It was a constant struggle for him; trying to figure out if it would be worth the risk or if he should remain stoic and unfeeling like another vigilante he was familiar with.

A sudden gust of wind enveloped him, causing his hair to rapidly fly out of place. Staying still, Robin merely sighed and blinked in annoyance, already aware of who was now leaning against the counter beside him.

“Wally…” Robin muttered, reaching a hand up to sort his hair out, casting a scowl in the speedster’s direction.

Kid Flash chuckled and pulled up a seat beside him and nudged his shoulder, “Hey Dick.” 

“Do you have to do that every single time?” 

“Duh. Think of it as… a privilege of being best friends.” 

“Pretty lousy privilege.”

He made a ‘psh’ sound and gave him another shove, “You get what ya get.” 

“Uh huh.” Robin replied, leaning forward to take a swig of his drink, feeling the cold liquid slither down his throat. Despite his best efforts to stay inconspicuous, he was unable to stop himself from stealing another glance at Starfire who had moved from her spot on the back of the couch with Raven.

She was giggling with Bumblebee and Argent, swaying her hips and dancing to the music that was swirling in the air; a catchy beat that seemed to be luring quite a few Titans into dancing now.

He could feel his face heating up as he registered that Wally was staring at him with a teasing smirk laced upon his lips. He cut him a scathing look and attempted his best batglare, making Wally snort.

“C’mon. When has that look ever worked to make me stop?” He laughed, taking a gulp of the beer he was holding,

Robin took a deep breath, awaiting the onslaught of jabs. He’d known Wally for most of his life, ever since he’d gotten adopted by Bruce on account of his links with the league.

It’d taken just one encounter with the redhead on a visit to the watchtower and they’d been inseparable. 

Of course, that changed somewhat after he left Gotham; the communication dropping with Robin being more so to blame, after effectively shutting those around him out. 

It picked up again though, once he had become more established with the Titans, going as far to offer him a spot on the team. Wally had declined at first, unsure how he felt about being with a team but after a while, he came around. 

It helped that he happened to run into Jinx whilst he was still mulling over the decision.

Robin sighed and half turned his body towards him, “What are you doing over here?” 

“Just wanting to catch up with my bud… obviously.” Wally replied, trying to appear aloof but failing miserably,

Leaning back, Robin spied Jinx still standing where Wally had been beforehand, staring at the twins in bewilderment as they babbled to her in Spanish.

“You know, you’ve basically abandoned Jinx.” Robin muttered,

There was a mischievous glint in his lime eyes as he waved a dismissive hand, “Bah, she’s fine. She needs to socialise with good guys more anyway. Needs to build on her newfound hero ways.” 

Robin shrugged and tilted his chin downwards, eyes on the counter top to avoid any more fleeting glances at anyone in particular. 

“So…” Wally drawled, in that tone.

Sighing heavily, Robin looked up at him, “What?”

“Star’s looking hot tonight.” He taunted and it took everything Robin had not to react in the way Wally clearly wanted him to,

“Mhm. She looks great.” Robin mumbled, not really in the mood for this kind of conversation. He had been feeling pretty mellow but he could sense that slipping away and being sent spiralling into the mess of emotions he experienced from time to time where Starfire was concerned.

“Dick… c’mon.” Wally persisted, levelling with him, “Your crush on her isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Well… she doesn’t know so it seems to be working so far.” 

Wally snorted, “To practically everyone else, it’s obvious that something is going on.” 

Dick took a deep inhale and gripped his glass with both hands, preparing himself for more of Wally’s insistence, “Well, there’s not. Sorry to disappoint.” 

“Dude.” He paused and leaned into him, his tone shifting into a more sincere one, “Maybe there would be something if… y’know… you made a move on the ol’ Princess?” 

Whilst it was in his nature to deflect anything to do with feelings; especially romantic ones, at all costs, there was something gnawing at him; encouraging him to open up a bit. It was Wally, after all.

“I can’t.” Dick sighed, loosening the grip of his fingers around the glass,

“Sure you can. Just get up, go over there and ask her to dance or… I don’t know, smooth talk her.” Wally suggested,

“No… I mean… I can’t. I’m the leader of the Titans… Bruce always taught me not to get involved that way with a teammate. It causes rifts in team dynamics and-”

Wally cut him off with a scoff, “Who cares? If you feel that way about her, which you obviously do, you deal with those kinds of things and work it out as you go along.” 

Dick sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the past 10 minutes, “It doesn’t matter.”

Sensing that he was retreating into himself again, Wally tried an alternate route, “You know… with all the doe eyes you make at her, you never told me how you actually met.” 

Without really even being aware of it, a soft smile graced Dick’s lips, “Uh… I’d just got to Jump and was dealing with this thief and saw this… streak of green across the sky. I went to check it out and turns out, she’d quite literally crash landed to Earth.” 

“That must’ve been so cool, man.” Wally laughed,

Dick inclined his head a little, “It was… different to anything I’d had in Gotham.”

“Yeah, but Starfire is… sweetness and joy.”

The ebony haired hero chuckled to himself, “Uh… not at first. She…” He paused and glanced at her, gauging just how much he should leave out about where she came from on that day, “She was… being held prisoner by these aliens… Gordanians are what they were called. Long running warfare between them and Tamaran and… a few other planets.”

“Prisoner?” Wally queried, clearly vying for more information,

“Let’s just say… she was forced from her world and it… wasn’t because of any crimes.” 

Wally stared at him for a long moment before something softened in his expression and he nodded, “So… what was she like?” 

“As you can imagine… she didn’t trust any of us. Hissing and seething and blowing shit up.” 

“Badass.” Wally grinned,

Dick chuckled, “Yeah… she didn’t know English either so… couldn’t exactly explain to her that we just wanted her to stop.”

“How’d she get so fluent in the language then?” 

His cheeks turned red almost instantly and he cleared his throat, willing the blush to dim until it vanished, “Her people can learn languages instantaneously through uh… lip contact. I think.”

“You think?”

“Well… after she… did it… um… she spoke English… so I just assume…”

Wally blinked in surprise, “Wow. That’s a useful trait-” He cut himself short as he recognized the discomfort on his best friend’s face, “Oh my god. She learned it from you, didn’t she? You got a kiss from her on the first day you met her!” 

Dick snapped his head in Wally’s direction, “Can you shut up, please? We’ve… never talked about it. Kissing isn’t a thing on her world… and I never brought it up.”

“She knows what ‘lip contact’ means on Earth though, right?”

“She knows now… I mean she must know, considering how many romance movies we’ve sat through on movie nights.” Dick shook his head, “Like I said… we’ve never talked about it so… I don’t know what she thinks on that front.”

Wally chuckled, “No wonder you’ve been smitten with her since day one. I would be too if a hot space girl kissed me in the middle of telling her to stop ripping a city apart.” 

Dick was about to protest, but relaxed and smirked, “Yeah… well… she made an impression, to say the least.”

“Sounds like… Mm… I don’t know.”

“What?” Dick prompted,

“You’ll just wave it off but… I mean… maybe it was meant to be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“People who are meant to be in your life don’t just fall out of the sky on a day to day basis, Dick.” Wally droned, looking at him like he was an idiot,

The Boy Wonder chewed on the inside of his cheek; his mind a bubble of thought, “It’s… not the craziest thing.” He paused and looked at her again, still dancing around without a care in the world, “She brought us together… we know for a fact… she’s the glue that keeps us together; the heart of our team… without her… we wouldn’t last.”

“See? That, my friend, is fate.” Wally surmised,

“I don’t know about that, Wally. It… just so happened we were all in the area at the same time.” Dick rebuffed,

“Listen… whether you want to admit it or not… don’t you think it seems a little too coincidental that you all met Starfire on this one day and it basically set out your futures for the next few years at the least?” Wally asked, raising an eyebrow at him,

“Okay, fine. Let’s say that it is… fate or whatever… are you saying that the same applies to how I feel about her?” He challenged,

Wally scoffed and flailed his hands around slightly, “Duh! I’m telling you, there is no way that you ‘just so happened’ to meet Starfire and your team, start a network of teenage heroes that extends across the world and end up falling for the one who caused this… cataclysm… just by chance. It just doesn’t happen.”

Remaining silent, Dick felt the urge to mock him ebbing away, the more he tried to reason with him.

He was probably the furthest thing from a believer when it came to things such as fate and destiny, having turned cynical shortly after his parents were murdered.

By Wally’s logic, everything in life happened for a reason, with the goal of eventually fulfilling the path set out in stone for you when you’re first brought into existence.

“Wally…”

“The universe didn’t exactly have you meet her to just be ‘best friends’ for your whole life. You wouldn’t stare at her or think about her or want her the way you do, if it wasn’t supposed to happen dude.” 

Dick blinked, “This is the most philosophical way of telling me to make a move that you have ever used.”

Bursting into laughter, Wally lifted his shoulders and smiled, “Yeah, you’re probably right. But you know what I’m saying, at least on some level, makes sense.”

The Titans leader evaded admitting something like that, “Mm… what I know is that you’re only spewing destiny related stuff because of one beer too many.”

Wally looked scandalised for a long moment before he shrugged, “Okay, I might be a tad tipsy but it’s still relevant, Dick.” He sighed and threw an arm haphazardly around his best friend’s shoulders, “I’m trying to push you… for you. Whether you wanna believe me when I say it’s some kinda fate or not, the fact is… you can’t expect her to wait forever.”

Tugging himself away, Dick pulled a sour expression and turned to him, “And what if I do and it blows up in my face, huh? What if I go over there and ask her out and she says no?” He deflated and looked down at the counter top, “I doubt she sees me that way anyway so what’s the point?” 

Chuckling almost instantly, Wally rolled his eyes and looked at Dick with a raised brow, “Seriously? Dude, I’m not even on your immediate team and I can see that she likes you just as much as you like her.”

Dick cleared his throat, his cheeks turning pink on their own accord, “You don’t know that for sure.”

“Okay well, it comes across pretty clearly except to you, apparently.” Wally paused, “Besides, aren’t you basically our biggest risk taker? You love that whole thrill of not knowing.” 

Dick grunted, “Not on this kind of thing.” 

“Right, right because it makes you all vulnerable and junk.” Wally drawled, earning another glare from the masked hero but choosing to ignore it, “Dick… I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to. I don’t think anyone can since you’re stubborn as hell. But… just remember… Starfire is beautiful and super sweet. You’re not the only guy in this hero network that thinks so… and if you don’t move your ass and at least make it known to her you’re interested… you might lose your chance altogether.” 

Opening his mouth to protest, Dick was cut short from doing so as Wally lightly nudged his shoulder and stared pointedly across the room, waiting for Dick to follow his line of sight as well.

Over near the large glass window panels, Starfire was standing, looking happily flushed from all the activity buzzing around her; something she constantly thrived on whenever parties were in full swing. Her smile was soft and patient as she bobbed her head, laughing at what was being said to her. 

Dick felt his stomach lurch and his heart started pounding painfully  within his chest as he noticed who was standing alongside her. Speedy was grinning at her, talking and making jokes about god knows what. He watched as the archer took a step towards her and gently touched her arm. 

Starfire appeared unbothered by the gestures but it greatly unnerved Dick, considering he could tell from Speedy’s posture that he was attempting to ‘woo’ her.

He bolted up from the stool he’d been sitting on at the counter, his fingertips pressing against the surface of it so hard, they were turning white. He could feel his chest constricting as his breathing turned harsh, an odd type of panic overtaking him.

“Hm… strange reaction for someone who doesn’t have feelings for her…” Wally murmured sarcastically before taking a long sip of his beer,

Narrowing his eyes, Dick turned to scowl at him, “How long has he been talking to her?” 

“Only about 2 minutes. Though… he sure looks like he’s getting comfy with your girl there…” 

Taking a deep breath, Dick let his hand slide off of the counter and he cleared his throat. He felt nervous but there was a knee jerk reaction in him that was yelling to get over there and interrupt Speedy’s attempts at romancing his best friend.

His gaze fell on Starfire who seemed oblivious to the obvious signals Speedy was sending towards her. Dick cocked a half smile, glad that she wasn’t playing into it. It gave him a rise of hope that maybe she wasn’t responding like a typical girl because she already had feelings for another guy that was possibly him. Maybe.

“What… what should I do when I get over there?” Dick queried, suddenly feeling the confidence drain from him,

“I don’t know. Ask her to dance?” Wally smiled sympathetically at him, “Dick… it’s Starfire. Isn’t she like… the one who makes you feel the most at ease?”

Dick swiveled his head back towards the auburn haired beauty, “She is.”

“Then it’ll be fine once you get over there.” Wally encouraged, tipping his beer bottle in his direction,

Nodding, Dick offered him a slight smile, “Thanks… Wally.”

“You know me, man. I’m a man of loveee.” 

Dick sighed, “And there’s the idiot.”

With that, he picked up his soda and made his way through the strings of Titans as casually as he could, without appearing as though he was desperately wanting to get between that tiny space that was still between Speedy and Starfire.

Watching through bright eyes, Wally smiled to himself as Dick reached the two. Speedy looked to be quite put out about his appearance but the speedster wasn’t paying much attention to him.

Rather, all he could see was the way Starfire lit up at Robin’s emergence. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, her emerald eyes shining with joy as she clasped her hands around his upper arm in an exuberant greeting. 

In return, Dick grinned back at her, talking with ease and a relaxed aura about him. Speedy looked effectively closed off and shut down, which if it were any other girl, Wally would feel pretty bad for him.

But, he knew how long Dick had had a thing for the alien Princess. He just hoped he would actually get it together and do something about it before it was too late.

“Well done, Grayson.” Wally chuckled to himself, before taking another sip of his drink and scanning the room for a certain pink haired sorceress.

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

secret son

A/N: this was requested by anonymous, I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think. I might make a part two with Richie and Eddie’s son getting to know each other a bit better if anyone wants to read that? How’s everyone doing during this time? 

Summary: Could you write a fic post it chapter 2 where months after the fight with Pennywise eddie shows up at richie's house with the ten year old son he didn't mention he had?

warning: some  homophobia (like really really brief though) 

Richie is nursing his third whiskey when a harsh knock on his door catches his attention. The scotch, a real one from Scotland with an earthy and smoky flavor that Richie only drinks when he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself, sways dangerously over the edge before stilling with only a drop off spillage when Richie hurries to steady the glass. 

The reason his emotion threaten to bury him tonight more than usual, is the texts he has received from Bill. It wasn’t a bad text, but he asked if Richie had any idea why Eddie  hadn’t answered his phone for a few days, and now Richie can’t stop his thoughts from spiraling. After reliving the same trauma twice, panic is the automated response when someone forgets to check in with them.

He’s being ridiculous, Richie tells himself, especially since he himself hasn’t texted Eddie in, well not since he left Derry. He packed his bags faster than Eddie had started walking again, choosing to run when he confessed the extent of his love for Eddie, and it was met with pure utter silence. His phone had started buzzing as soon as he crossed state lines, Eddie’s adult face pinched in annoyance gracing his cellphone screen, the photo he had taken during dinner the very first night after he won the game of arm wrestle, seemingly laughing at his expense. He didn’t pick up.

Of course he kept up with Eddie’s progress through the other losers, but he refrained from reaching out to Eddie on his own. Ever the coward, his traitorous mind provided with a hiss, the dark part of his mind growing a little everyday he wasn’t in contact with his best friend. Cause that was the place that Eddie still inhibited in his heart. He might have turned away from Richie’s feelings, but Richie still considered Eddie his closest friend, even if the opposite was true vise versa.

It’s his own fault anyway, if only he had some self-control, so he could stop the words from overflowing and his darkest secrets from tainting the perfect facade he had built around himself. When Bill texted that Eddie didn’t answer any calls or texts, Richie swallowed his pride and his embarrassment, sending a quick and short message Eddie’s way.

The white hotshame burned brighter than it had since Eddie turned Richie down when the former  went radio silent. Richie supposes that he had that one coming, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. Another insistent knock caused the pounding in Richie’s brain that to intensify, by whoever is knocking gets what they want, Richie downing the rest of the scotch in on go, slamming the glass against the counter and getting up. He has no clue who it could be.

The last person to drop by his apartment was his manager, after Richie had neglected his duties as a comedian once more, to rouse him from an alcohol induced slumber and get him ready from him show. Today is Richie’s off day though, so he knows that it can’t be him. The only person that Richie can think off is his neighbor asking to borrow something, but that doesn’t appear to be likely.  Whoever he was expecting to see, the man he left in a Derry hospital bed before said man was fit enough to leave was not it.

‘Eddie?’ Surprise crosses Richie’s face as soon as he makes eye contact with him, blinking dumbly behind his giant glasses who are sitting askew on his face. He looks good, a lot better than he did when Richie last saw him, white as a sheet and trembling from head to toe.

It hurts physically to see him up close again, while Richie wants nothing more than to reach forward and touch him, to hug him even in just a friendly way, but Richie figures that that is off limits. He can’t shake the look in Eddie’s eyes when he told him he loved him as more than friends, the look of pure and other fear, of him. Not Pennywise, but Richie, like not even being attacked by a killer clown was a terrifying as someone having a gay crush on you. He tries to focus on the now rather than reliving the moment that has haunted his dreams more than Pennywise.

‘What are you doing here Eds?’

Eddie’s face is doing that thing again where he can’t complete hide the fact that he is worried, but he’s trying his best to stay calm for someone else. It’s a sight that was thrown Richie’s way one too many times, often when he did something stupid and Eddie had to fix him up, but now Richie is unsure what could be the reason he’s sporting the look, until he lays on the little boy standing next to him.

With furrowed eyebrows, he stares at the kid who is clasping Eddie’s hand in his tightly. He can’t be more than six years old, his legs yattering with what Richie assumes is impatience, and he’s shamelessly staring at Richie. Kids don’t know any better he supposes.

The eyes strike recognition in a deep part Richie can’t name for himself, and suddenly, without any second guessing, he knows that the child is Eddie’s. A dead give away are the eyes, but also his general presence reminds him of a younger Eddie.

Something in his face must give him away, for when his gaze turn back to Eddie, all he does is nod. There are a thousand question Richie wants to ask him, for example why he never brought him up when they first reunited, or what they’re doing at his doorstep, but he notices how exhausted they look, and so he gestures with his head, giving them permission to enter the house.

‘Thanks Rich.’ At the sound of Eddie’s voice his body jolts, more aware than ever that a part of him went missing and he has no idea how to get it back or what to do about it.

Richie rushes back towards his kitchen, pushing past both Eddie and his kid, to hide the bottle of booze still out in the open. He’s not very subtle about it, and he can see on the judgment on Eddie’s face before it is carefully concealed.

‘So, what are you doing here Eds.’ Richie struggles to appear indifferent, but he is confused and dying to know why Eddie and his son where here, so he imagines that he’s not pulling it off very well.

Eddie glances at his son, still holding his hand and resisting the urge to pick him up. When he doesn’t respond straight away, Richie turns towards the boy, who is looking hesitantly up at him. His personality clearly mirrors Eddie’s,  his wariness having transfer onto the next generation.

‘What’s your name bud?’ Ever since he was little, Richie has this gift when it comes to children, being able to communicate with them, and understand them when adults write their quirks off as annoyances.

He used to have a bond with Georgie back when he was still alive, and despite the usual horror stories off siblings, he got along great with his sister once she was born. He’s hoping that whatever charm helped him do that, will help him form a band here.

‘My name’s Matthew, but everyone calls me Matt.’ He seemed to be shy, toying with the hem of his shirt.

‘Are you my dad’s best friend?’ Richie blushed a bright red, since he not really knew what the answer was supposed to be. He assumes he still is, but he’s unclear about what Eddie might have told matt.

Thankfully, Eddie answers for him. ‘Yeah he is Matt.’ For a moment it’s quiet again, and the room fills with an awkward tension, neither Eddie nor Richie knowing where to go from here.

‘Is there somewhere Matt can explore?’ Eddie inquires eventually, the extra meaning behind his words crystal clear to him.

We need to talk, but not with my son in the room.

The apartment is not nearly big and all composing enough for a child to be able to go exploring, there’s only really 5 rooms in total, a kitchen, living room, the main bedroom and a guest bedroom and bathroom, none of which are necessarily child proof.  

He does have a PlayStation attached to the tv in the guest bedroom however, even though he rarely uses it, and so he figures that’s the best place to direct Matt too.

‘You wanna go play a game buddy?’

Matt peers up at his dad, who nods reassuringly, giving him a gently push Richie’s way.

He waits for Matts affirmative nod before leading the way.  It’s a miracle the thing works, as it’s been for three years completely unattended, but as soon as it starts Matthew jumps up and down excitedly when he sees the Mario kart logo pop up.

Richie leaves him with the door open just an inch, so that Eddie can still see him from the living room. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

‘No thank you I’m good.’  

The awkwardness lays heavy on Richie. Things have never been uncomfortable with Eddie before, and he knows that it’s his fault that it is now. He wants to make a joke, or steer the conversation into safe waters with light topics to talk about, but he’s also aware that there has to be a reason why Eddie would show up to talk to him this late, without a phone call or any sort of notice. Because Richie’s brain is still muffled by the alcohol and he can’t think of a joke to make, he decides to ask the obvious first.

‘You didn’t text me back, Eds.’ It’s a stupid thing to stay, Richie knows considering  he didn’t call Eddie back for months, but the question is out in the open and there’s no taking it back anymore.

‘My phone died on the way here.’

‘You fucking drove here? If you wanted to see me that bad you could have boarded a plane.’ Richie cringes when he hears himself speak. That was a quip he was used to making, but one that no doubt  caused internal disgust in the other man.  

‘I left Myra, and I need a place to crash.’ Eddie opts to say, despite it not being an answer to the question. For a moment Richie fears he might pass out, stumbling backwards but managing to keep upright thanks to the chair behind him. Out of all the possible explanations he was prepared for, this was not it.

‘Wh- why did you do that?’ Richie’s voice is shaking, his attempt to steady only being futile. He’s thrown for a loop so bad, that he forgets to conceal his shocked reaction. It’s out in the open, how Richie longs for him, but the least he could do was have the decency to cover it up.

‘Because,’ Eddie peeks past Richie to see Matt, who is fully focused and engaged in the game, before gaining enough courage to say what comes next.

‘Because I’m gay.’ He manages to spit out, his hands shaking by his side while he stares intently at Richie.

Richie has never been hit before. He’s been punched before and even kicked, yet never hit, but he imagines it feels somewhat like the words Eddie just breathed to life.

It’s strange since kid Richie would have done anything in the world to hear those words coming from Eddie, to the point where at night in his bed he would imagine scenarios in which he would utter them, but the situation at hand is very different than the one he fantasized about.

The fact of the matter is, that Eddie is not homophobic like Richie suspected him to be after his reaction, he just reacted disgusted because it was Richie, and that hurt even worse. He knows his not a catch. He woke up one day in college and saw himself for what he really was, a below average looking guy whose only talent was making jokes that would annoy others, with a ridiculous loud voice. And as he got older he only got worse, but he hadn’t expected that Eddie would use that against him.

He thought that Eddie might have let him down easier, but he guesses he just has that effect on people. His first instinct is to snap back in his hurt, to reply somewhat cruelly so that his feeling don’t show, but then he comes to the conclusion that he was just in Eddie shoes a few months ago, and he can recall exactly how scared and how disheartened he had been when he received negative comments, and he can’t do that to Eddie. Maybe to someone else, but not to Eddie.

Instead he replies with; ‘Oh well congrats for coming out. Welcome to the team Spagheds.’

Apparently, it’s not the reaction Eddie expected, for his face falls and his eyebrows furrow, confusion written all over his face.

‘Rich. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, it’s just that -.’ Richie interrupts him before he can say something else.

‘Hey, it’s fine. I get it. I wouldn’t tell the guy that made me uncomfortable either.’

Eddie blinks rapidly, opening his mouth but Richie intercepts, trying desperately to keep his feeling at bay.

‘Do you want to crash here for tonight? We can order pizza and watch a movie. Or whatever Matthew likes to eat is fine by me. I’ll get some extra sheets because I know you’d be disgusted if you found out what kind of action I’ve been getting. Not like I’m still hung up about a rejection, can you imagine?’ He laughs uneasily, scrambling to get together an extra sleeping kit, ignoring Eddie as best he can.

‘Rich’, he calls his attention, and despite being embarrassed, Richie would follow Eddie into anything, so he stops dead in his tracks and turns towards him.

‘I have a son.’

‘Yeah, I kind of figured that out Eds. I have eyes, he looks a lot like you.’

Eddie rolls his eyes in annoyance, huffing to convey how stupid Richie acts sometimes.

‘When you told me you liked me,’ Richie shrinks down, his shoulder turning in on themselves to make himself as small as possible, ‘I was worried you might feel different about me, because I am a dad.’

‘I could never, Eds. I just don’t understand why you didn’t mention him before.’

A sigh leaves Eddie’s lips, a sad smile gracing his lips. ‘I was worried IT might find out and use it against me. Besides, I didn’t even remember you guys all that well in the beginning. I was just scared.’

Richie gets it a little bit. When he was younger he was terrified IT might take his sister, and he would have done anything to prevent that. So he understands why Eddie wouldn’t say anything back in Derry, but why not after? Why didn’t he say anything when they left. Then again, it’s not like they talked a lot post clown fight two.

A thought suddenly downs on Richie then. ‘Wait, did Myra just like you take Matt with you?’

Eddie’s face turns bright red, a guilty look crossing over his features. Richie eyes turn wide as saucers.

‘Eddie, do not tell me you kidnapped your son’, Richie whispers screams, panic taking over as he thinks things through. It’s Myra, and from what he heard about her, she’s pretty much the same as Sonia, which means that she has no problem calling the police.

‘You could get arrested.’

‘Only if she calls the cops,’ Eddie hisses back, his body locked in anger, like he’s a bomb that is very dangerously close to exploding, quitting down when he sees Matt’s head peeking through the crack in the door. He waits until Matt is turned back towards his game to continue.

‘Look, I told her that I was gay, and she told me to get everything that’s mine out of her house immediately, anything that I had ‘infected with your homosexuality’. So I took me son with me. I wasn’t going to leave him there.’

All at once, the fight leaves him, and he crouches down on the couch, his head in his hands while he begins to sob. It produces back a memory, from a time where he had to go over to Richie’s house to tell him he was leaving Derry and not coming back, and Richie hurries to ban the thought out of his head before he joins in.

‘Two days ago, Matt fell of his bike in our backyard, and when he did he started practically screaming. I’m sure it hurt a little, but he was crying hysterically, and he begged me not to tell his mom, because she would freak out.’ Eddie’s eyes filled with tears focus on Richie’s, who is slowly making his way over to sit next to him. ‘Then he asked me if he would get really sick now because of the dirt on the ground that must have gotten into his wound.’

Eddie laughs humorlessly. ‘I though that by staying with Myra I would do him a favor.  I was just trying to protect him. I can’t believe I was convinced staying with Myra would be good for him. She’s exactly like my mother Rich, and I didn’t protect him.’

Despite better judgment, Richie puts his arm around Eddie, shuffling closer so that their knees are touching, and Eddie gracefully accepts, leaning further into Richie so he’s practically a pillow, a sob wrenching from his throat.

‘You did protect him Eds, you moved with him right? He’s gonna know that his dad did that for him, because you loved him.’ Placing his chin on the top of Eddie’s head, Richie breathes in deeply, forcing himself to stop from being overly affectionate, even when he’s clearly failing.

‘When Myra told me she was pregnant, I freaked out. I love my son, I would do anything for him and I wouldn’t give him up for anything in this whole wide world, but when I saw the pregnancy tests, all I could think was ‘oh god please no’. I’m a terrible father.’

Richie shakes his head determinately. ‘Eds, look at me. That’s normal, we went through some tough shit when we were kids, even if we didn’t remember it. You love him, and you look after him, and trust me, none of those are attributes to being a bad parent like you claim you are.

Eddie sniffles, placing one of his hands against Richie’s cheek, who embarrassingly enough nuzzles against it like a wounded dog would to a loving touch.

‘I’m sorry Richie. I really am. I love you. I think I somehow always have, even when I forgot, but I was so fucking scared when you told me, that I turned you away. As soon as I did I regretted it though, but I didn’t want to scare you off, and I didn’t want to put Matt through that change. Can we start over? I just really want to try this again.’

Richie is almost scared to believe the words coming from Eddie, but hope blossoms in his chest anyway. The piece that had cracked when he was turned away seem to magically fix itself, making his heart feel whole again.

‘You want me to confess my love for you again? Jees demanding much? You know your mom was the exact same way, always needing reassurance that our night together felt as good to me as it did to her.’

‘I changed my mind. And to think I was about to thank you for being serious for the entire conversation.’

Despite the meaning of the words, Richie can’t help but laugh when he sees the face Eddie is pulling, cheeringly outwardly when Eddie breaks and laughs alongside him.

Matt comes out of the room to check out what the commotion is about, a childlike glee all over his face when he sees his dad happier then he had ever been. ‘Can we order Pizza please?’ He begs Eddie with the same puppy dog eyes Eddie used to own when they were young themselves.

Richie grins at the boy, and while Eddie is pretending to contain plate it Richie nods excitedly, causing him to giggle with glee.

‘Alright’, Eddie eventually pretends to give in, watching as Matt jumps up and down in pure joy. He looks like the kind of child that has an endless supply of energy, and Richie can’t wait to find out more about him. This is the son of the man he loves, and if Matthew is even half the person Eddie is, than Richie loves him already.

‘Hey Matt, we’re going to stay with Richie for a while longer okay? If you don’t have anything against that?’

Matt just shrugs, eager to get back to the game and get some eat some food. ‘Sure.’

‘oh, we can’t tell mom though, she’ll freak knowing I ate pizza.’

‘Shit’, Eddie curses as soon as Myra’s name comes back up. Matt glares at him, placing a finger on his lips as an indication to be silent, and Richie can’t help but titter.

‘We’ll figure it out Eds, we always do.’

And if Richie spend the next few weeks looking for a new house for them to move into, well then that is just them figuring it out.

[snortyport]

Trapped- JJK Chapter 1

Summary- A regular morning commute gets interrupted with tragedy

Rating- PG

Word count- 1274

Pairing- Jungkook x reader

Warnings- none

A/N- This is the first fic I’m posting on here. I’m super nervous about it so I hope you like it! Please don’t be too harsh if it sucks lol. 

Masterlist | Next

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Your head bounces against the school bus window as it travels down the old, windy dirt road. You quickly straighten up, rubbing the side of your head. Why is that such a popular thing to do in movies and music videos? It really hurts.

The bus was quiet, which you liked. Early morning bus duty was the worst in your opinion but as a second-year teacher you didn’t feel comfortable complaining about doing it. So here you were at 7:48 am, trying to stay awake, wishing you hadn’t slept in and missed your morning coffee. It was either brush your teeth or make coffee and right now you weren’t sure if you made the right choice.

You got on the bus right at 7, picked up the nine students from the surrounding areas of the little town you moved to, and were currently going to pick up the last two kids from the farthest house. When you graduated from university you had hoped to find a school near your hometown to stay near your family and friends or another city but as luck would have it there were no openings. Nor were there any offers close to your home either. No, the only place that had contacted you for an interview was this tiny little town of 800 people and hundreds of kilometers away from the next town. And there was no way you were going to pass up a job even if it is thousands of kilometers away from your home.

You couldn’t really complain though. It was a cute and charming little town. One where the main road is littered with old timey lamp posts. The side walks are cobblestones and the store fronts haven’t been updated since they were built. It looks like you’ve stepped into a time machine and gone back about a hundred years.

You were worried about being an outsider and having no one treat you nicely here. You’ve read enough books and watched enough horror movies to know that an outsider is never welcome. But you were pleasantly surprised. They welcomed you with open arms, inviting you to house parties and the such. During holidays someone always has extra room at their dinner table for you. When the town has celebrations in the town square you’ve always had people inviting you along. You feel like part of their community and you couldn’t be happier.

The bus comes to a stop and the driver, Tom, opens the door. Jeannie, a tiny kindergartener in the cutest pigtails, climbs up the big steps, almost falling over because of her oversized backpack. Her older brother, Jamie, a third grader, steadies her as he follows her up.

“Morning, Tom,” Jeannie greets sweetly. Tom grunts in response. “Morning, Miss YLN,” her voice twinkles as she walks by your seat.

“Good morning Jeannie, good morning Jamie,” you smile and nod as they each pass you. They both find their seats, three rows behind you, and the bus starts moving again. Tom turns the bus around using Jeannie and Jamie’s driveway.

“I don’t know how you drive this thing Tom, I really don’t,” you tell him. He grunts back at you. Tom has been like this since the first time you met him two years ago. He’s a big, tall man with a beard down to his chest, tattoos displayed up his arms and down to his fingers. He’s apparently been driving the school bus for forty years. You’ve always wondered if he was always this grumpy or if dealing with children for so long has turned him into the mean, old grump he is. Getting a chuckle out of him at last years Christmas party was a huge accomplishment you didn’t know you wanted. It was probably the alcohol.

Now that you’re on the way back to school you turn in your seat the check on everyone and make sure you didn’t miss count. There’s Jeannie and Jamie three seats behind you, Jeannie is quietly talking her brothers ear off. Tanner, another grade three student and Jamie’s best friend, sits on the opposite seat across the aisle, joining in on the siblings conversation. You like these kids but you much prefer teaching the high school kids.

Lilly and Marissa, two eighth graders, sit together two seats behind them, giggling at Marissa’s phone. They’re sweet girls. Makes you miss your best friend.

Noah, an eleventh grader, sits by himself, silently looking out the window as you drive along, seemingly in a trance. Not a morning person either I guess. He’s a good kid, you wish the other kids wouldn’t pick on him.

Your eyes drift past Noah to the back of the bus where the last five students occupy the last four seats. Hayley and Will sit together in the corner seat, heads bent close together. Are they together again? They’re constantly on and off. She’s a smart girl and can definitely do better. While Will is the macho, jockey jock who if you’re not in his group, you’re treated like trash. He’s 6’4”, bulky, and intimidating as hell. He easily towers over everyone at school. He scares you a little even though you’re the teacher.

The last three boys sit in the other three seats, throwing things at each other. Maybe this is why Tom is so grumpy. Kyle, Graham, and Adam, Will’s beefy lackeys. You’re not supposed to hate any of your students but they make it very hard not to. You see how they manipulate the younger kids to do their dirty work. They also torment anyone who stands up to them. You hated kids like this in high school and you hate them even more now that you’re an adult.

You turn back around in your seat, turning all the way around to fully face the window, as the bus idly makes it way down the gravel road. As much as you don’t like mornings this part of the drive always relaxes you. The morning rays shine between the tree tops, and the world is still quiet.

You wish you had been paying more attention because if you did you would have noticed Tom slump forward on the steering wheel. You could have braced yourself, told the kids to prepare for a crash. That means you don’t notice the bus getting faster or the curve in the road and that the bus is heading straight for the cluster of small trees on the other side.

The bus hits quick, sending you flying into the seat ahead of you. Your head hits the metal handrail making everything go fuzzy. The sound of screeching metal echoes throughout the bus, mingling with screams of terror from the kids behind you. The front corner of the bus knocks into a big spruce tree, swinging the back of the bus around. The bus ping pongs against two more sturdy spruces. The momentum from the back and forth causes it to tip over onto it’s side where it continues to slide until it makes its last crash against a tall pine tree.

You have never felt more weightless and fragile as you do now. When the bus tipped you were flung into the seat on the opposite side and down onto the window. Your entire body aches, your vision is blurry, and your ears are ringing. You notice that even though there is so much ringing in your ears, its quiet in the bus.

You lay there, breaths coming out in fast, heavy puffs, for what feels like hours with no screams, no crying, nothing. Your heart stops. Please let everyone ok. Please let anyone be ok.

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I hope you guys liked it! Thank you for reading!! This is a Jungkook fic but he won’t show up for a few chapters so bare with me! 

[first-son-of-finwe]

So this is my “leaving the fold” essay, which I mentioned some time ago. I wrote this mostly for myself because writing things down always helps me make sense of them, but quite a few people expressed interest in it, so here it is. 

I was raised as quite a strict Orthodox Christian, and the religion is a huge part of my mum’s life. This is mostly my experience of its ideas and processes, and how and why I ultimately decided to leave. It’s a bit rambling, all over the place and very long, but I kinda wanted to post it somewhere, so 🤷

TW for mentions of abortion, alcoholism and general conflict.

When I was twelve or thirteen, my parents and I set off on one of our regular trips to Russia. We used to do this every year before time and money became restricted, and one of our compulsory stops was always a large, sprawling monastery on the outskirts of the city of Nizhny Novgorod.

It’s a place of smiling nuns but very strict rules, where God forms a part of every sentence and church is mandatory for both mornings and evenings. It’s a place of communal meals, harvesting vegetables and milking cows, ringing bells, and lots and lots of praying. For me, it was a taste of pure rural life. I loved running through the fields, swimming in the pond and helping out with the manual tasks of running a communal settlement. I gasped in delight when I saw the lone horse in the field. Deep down I was never meant to be a city kid, and being at the monastery fuelled my dream of living the simple life.

But the fact that we were there purely for religious reasons? That was only an afterthought. An obligatory thing I had to go along with, because the adults expected it. Perhaps I tried to feel the same spirituality they seemed to experience, but I never quite got there.

I put on the headscarf, held the candle, wrote the names of my loved ones on prayer notes for the living. I bowed to the icons, made the sign of the cross when everyone else did. But I never truly connected.

One year on the day of a particularly significant celebration, a huge icon was carried over a horde of kneeling worshippers, and my mum told me to kneel down and pray for my dad to recover from his alcoholism. And so I did.

This is something I’d been praying for for a long time. It’s something I was told to pray for at every holy site, and before every relic. And no, he’s never quit drinking.

But I already knew that he wouldn’t, even as I knelt, closed my eyes and begged whichever saint was on that icon to help my dad quit drinking. I simply knew that it didn’t work that way.

I knew it the same way I knew that Santa wasn’t real. Every child seems to have experienced a shock-horror moment upon learning that they’d been deceived, but I recognised him for what he was right from the start - a story. For someone who’s always thrown themselves wholeheartedly into stories and fantasy, I’ve always had a very clear distinction between fact and fiction - though I’ve also not been so close-minded as to think that there isn’t a grey area in between.

No matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I don’t think I ever truly believed in their version of what was supposed to be happening.

But I think my moving away from Orthodoxy truly began the day I heard my mum on the phone to her friend, who was at the beginning of a difficult pregnancy and was considering an abortion. She and her husband were on different pages with regards to this, though I don’t quite remember who wanted what. My mother’s advice was this: “Well you should really listen to your husband, because you know that a husband’s word is God’s word.”

Even being the believer that I was then, my immediate reaction was complete shock, followed by a thought process that went something like “Are you joking?? SERIOUSLY?”

And of course, it was hard not to think of my own father in his worst moments of drunkenness. So it seems “God’s word” is actually a whole lot of slurred, barely comprehensible nonsense occasionally sprinkled with some insults. That’s really the logic we’re going with here? And beyond that, how can you hand such a deeply personal decision to someone else??

When I went away to university for three years and spent considerable chunks of time away from my mother’s influence, my skepticism only deepened with every day. I couldn’t reconcile the science-driven environment I saw around me with the ideas being propounded in church. Sincerely believing in the Adam and Eve story, in this day and age? It didn’t compute.

Having said that, I would certainly not call myself an atheist even now. I think it is just as presumptuous to assume your absolute knowledge of the infinite universe and declare it contains nothing, as it is to declare that your religion is the only correct one. I find many things about the Christian God to be extremely convenient (just so happens to be an old white bearded man, oh fancy that), but I am certainly not convinced that there are no intelligent forces in the world, whatever shape they take. We are simply not in a position to know these things, and I’m okay with that. 

In turn, I treat anyone who claims to know them with intense suspicion.

Ultimately, leaving Orthodox Christianity was a long and painful process (I say ‘was’ in the past tense, but the truth is that it is still ongoing) filled with guilt, second-guessing, deliberate habit breaking and an extremely distressed and persistent mother. But my reasons for it boil down to four key things.

Their ideas did not match my ideas. I will never believe that women are obliged to be submissive to men. I will never believe that being gay (or in any way not straight) is a sin. I will never believe that Eastern Orthodoxy is the one true faith among all the other hundreds and thousands of faiths that exist on this planet. Living with your partner without being married is not a sin. Eating some chicken on a lent day is not a sin. A woman on her period is not “unclean.” Their ideas of good and bad, right and wrong seemed so incredibly outdated and arbitrary that it became hard to take anything they said seriously. And I felt so uncomfortable standing there, surrounded by people who I knew believed in all of this wholeheartedly.

Despite the religion branding itself as ‘Christian’, I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of the priests or worshippers talk about helping others. It is not on the agenda. People walk into church and think that because they’ve said their prayers, abstained from meat and dairy and then said their prayers some more, they’re now good people. But what have they done to make anyone’s life better? Who have they helped? Who have they listened to, cared for, understood? It’s not about that. It’s about making yourself feel good because you recited the Lord’s Prayer before eating your lunch.

The process of participating is extremely rigid, and trying to remember all those rules and traditions is honestly just stressful. Which hand do I kiss? How many times do I have to make the sign of the cross before approaching that super special icon? Do I have to touch the floor, or is that optional? Oh, everyone is kneeling...I guess I should kneel too. Once, I accidentally addressed the Archbishop as ‘Father’ and got a slew of disapproving looks from everyone around me. I think perhaps people find a certain kind of comfort and stability in routine, but having one imposed on you when you’re constantly unsure of the rules is not a pleasant experience.

Sometimes there is a very thin line between a religion and a cult, and Orthodoxy is toeing it a little too closely for comfort. I’ve seen it overpower people’s rational thinking and tap into their most powerful emotions in a way that’s honestly quite frightening.

The first step to leaving was progressively going to church less and less. I’d only ever really gone because my mum demanded it, but now, I put up a bit more resistance. I got screamed and yelled and cried at, and at first, of course I gave in. But little by little, I began to get the message across that I was simply not interested anymore.

Then, I deliberately made the choice to break certain habits. We always faced a row of icons on the wall and made a sign of the cross before leaving the house, and coming back in. It was such an ingrained habit that I did it automatically, and for the first few months, I had to physically catch myself in order to stop. That came with its own sense of guilt and hesitancy, and with the feeling that hey, now God is mad at you - hope a brick doesn’t fall on your head when you’re out there without his blessing.

The next step was removing the cross I’d worn around my neck ever since I’d been christened as a baby. Even now I can’t not wear something around my neck, so I have a little key necklace there in its place. Having a bare neck just looks too weird to me.

That cross came off and went back on at least three times. Each time I’d be persuaded, guilted, given the simple but effective phrase of “just do it for me.” I’ve removed it for what I hope will be the last time, and “just do it for me” won’t cut it anymore. If I converted to Islam tomorrow, would it be okay for me to ask someone to wear a hijab “for me”, even though they don’t share my faith? No, it wouldn’t. Religion and expression of religion is a personal choice, and not something you can strong-arm your adult children into.

Now, I’m in a fairly comfortable place where I’ve shed most of that initial guilt and am happy with my choices. I’ve even been back into church a couple of times just to meet a family member, only catching the end of the service - and even then, I’ve been reminded of exactly why I left. My mindset is simply too far removed to find any spiritual value in Orthodoxy.

Does my mother still try to get me into church? Yes. Are the attempts extremely mild and infrequent, compared to what they used to be? Yes. On one hand, I’d like to have a deep conversation with her and explain all the reasons why I have no interest in the religion anymore, but on the other hand, I know it’ll likely make her extremely upset.

Perhaps it’s better to just let it be.