#core mistaken for an egg

[arachnesbich]

Ghost cores being mistaken for something like an egg is a niche in this fandom that makes me so feral, I have so many fic prompt ideas.

One thought that keeps going through my head is Danny gets hurt some how (Escaping GIW? The Fentons vivisection?) and ends up in the care of a hero. There isn’t enough ectoplasm around him to heal his wounds and keep him alive at the same time, so in order to preserve energy and focus on healing he needs to retreat into his core and go into a sort of ghost coma.

Deciding to put his trust this hero, Danny tries to explain that his injuries are too severe to heal in his current state, he ‘can’t stay’, but doesn’t have anywhere to keep his core safe. He cannot stress enough just how important his core is, how fragile it is, about how he didn’t have anyone he could trust to properly take care of it, and just begging them to keep GIW away from his core.

The hero agrees to take care of their core and not turn it over to the government, if only to calm him down so they could attempt to treat his injuries to the best of their abilities. Hearing them promise to take care of him until he’s well enough to take care of himself gives Danny enough relief to just disappear. He literally fades from existence, leaving behind a bright green orb the size of a crystal ball.

In a mix of adrenaline, panic, and blood loss, Danny gives the hero the impression that he’s an meta/alien that escaped from government experimentation, begged them to take care of his ‘core’ and keep it safe from the government that was experimenting on him, died on their couch, and left behind a fucking egg the color of the Lazarus pit/Kryptonite.

After some time Danny heals enough to be semi-conscious and, feeling a little guilty/embarrassed about making this random hero responsible for him, tries to force his reforming before he has enough ectoplasm to return to his original teenage/adult form. He ends up reforming way younger than he really is (maybe he has just enough ectoplasm to form as a toddler/baby instead of a teenager, maybe he reforms at his ghost age, maybe his mind is so focused on the embarrassment of being cradled and cared for like a baby that his ectoplasm is like: “Oh, OK. So we’re a baby now :D ”), giving more credence to the thought of it being an egg that just hatched.

Just shenanigans with the hero trying to take care of an egg then a meta baby, while said meta baby tries to figure out how to get back to his original state.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 13)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

You could just tell him. 

You consider it at least once a day, particularly in the mornings when John sits up on his side of the bed and hesitates briefly before rising to his feet and going downstairs to start breakfast. You can feel the way he wants to lean over and touch you, and the way he holds himself back. The way he pulls his hand back at the last second from where it hovers over your prone body.

He leaves you in bed with an ache in your stomach so deep that you swear it’ll swallow you whole. But you have no choice but to sigh and sit up as he shuffles around downstairs, the morning well on its way in. There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The atmosphere in the house is tense. You walk on eggshells around each other, unsure of how to bridge the divide. The eggs jump in the pan and brown at the edges, and outside the feather reed sways in the breeze. You’re weary of each other and yet hardly capable of being apart.

Maybe that’s just on your end. 

You’ve taken to watching him from afar in recent days. In the absence of his physical touch, which comes sparingly now, his hands always curled into fists like he’s holding himself back from reaching out and touching you, you’ve resorted to the only thing left to you: the visual realm. That’s what you glut yourself on now, and while it doesn’t fill the hole in you, it soothes the ache. 

You watch him with the horses in the paddock, always confident and sure-footed with them. Suspenders straining against the muscle of his back and his shoulders, sweat running in rivulets down his back, the sun golden on his face. At dinner, he collapses into his chair, exhaustion written into every corner of his being, and you drag your eyes over the jut of his stomach, the layer of fat over his muscled core. Hairy forearms braced against the table while he eats (no manners, that one). 

Any thought of bolting in the night now seems unwise. Your previous aspirations of freedom seem foolhardy in the light of day. You give it some consideration. Say you had succeeded in escaping—now where would you be? Alone wandering the mountains, parched and starving? Drinking from the ravine? Eating poisonous berries and hawthorn leaves in desperation to have something in your belly? Or hogtied in some bandit’s tent, enduring a fate worse than starvation or death? 

You shudder to think of it. 

In the days since John brought you home, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of Graves, nor anyone else in pursuit of a woman from back east. No bounty hunters, no officers of the law, no rogue agents. It’s as if they came, found nothing, and simply wandered on through.

You should’ve just waited them out. It’s clear now, what you should’ve done, but who can argue with the past? You’re sick of telling yourself that there might’ve been another way. It doesn’t change the way things are now. 

There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The routine is the same. You head into town every morning and try to say as few words to each other as possible. You glance at each other when the other isn’t looking. The glances grow longer with the days, the stubborn sun refusing to set until well into the evening hours, and your own eyes refusing to part from his form. When you catch him watching you in turn, his eyes are always heady, filled with something like longing.

Outside, the sky is cornflower blue; clouds bulge and drift away. 

Life returns to some degree of normalcy, despite the sense of something unresolved hovering in the air. John’s deputies come over again for supper, and with them they bring better table manners this time. At least Soap doesn’t belch at the dinner table and Kyle leaves his hat at the door. Simon is taciturn as always, but that comes now as a comfort.

The men play cards in the living room until even the fireflies go to sleep, until the night is a thin paste spread over the world, the sharp edge of the knife scraping over the craggy limestone peaks and ridges and spreading it evenly. You go to bed alone, the bedroom door cracked open enough to see the flicker of lamplight against the wall, their shadows weaving in and out of it. 

He must come to bed at some point because his side of the bed is warm when you wake up the next morning. You put your hand there to soak up his warmth until you can’t excuse lying in bed any longer. Breakfast is, again, quiet, but you feel the compulsion to break the silence bubbling up in your chest. You think if he stares at you even a moment longer, you’ll have no choice but to belt it out. 

The brittle morning is interrupted by the arrival of one of John’s deputies. When Simon rips open the door and barges into the house, you nearly scream, watching with wide eyes as he charges towards the back, looking for John. You flit over to the window to watch him go. He finds John out back mucking the stalls in the stable and there’s a brief moment of intense conversation before you watch as John throws the pitchfork against the wall and hurriedly shuts the stables up, following Simon back towards the house. 

It’s a flurry of motion after that, John throwing on his clothes haphazardly, not even bothering to properly button up his shirt. You unconsciously follow him up the stairs to the bedroom.

“John?” you ask, uncertainly. 

He doesn’t answer you right away. The tension creeps up the length of your back the longer he goes without responding, his mouth set in a flat line. 

“John?” you repeat, more force behind your words this time. “What’s wrong?” 

“Passenger train up east is about to be robbed,” John finally grunts out in reply, checking his rifle to see if it’s loaded. “Simon got word.”

“How’d he know before it even happened?” you ask, stuck on conversation because you unconsciously want to delay the inevitable. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, images of gunfire and bloodbaths searing the backs of your eyelids. 

“Informant. He’s got ‘em all over the county.”

Not once does he slow down or pause to take a breath. You follow him back downstairs and through the house, watching anxiously as he loads his gun and tightens the belt of bullets around his waist. He plucks his hat from where it sits hung up beside the door and then exits out of the house, you trailing along helplessly behind him. The porch creaks ominously under his feet as he makes his way down the stairs towards the horses, where Simon already has John’s other horse saddled up and ready to go.

“When will you—” You can’t finish it. It hangs uselessly in your mouth. He doesn’t answer you. 

You follow him to the horses but stumble to a halt when he reaches them first, taking over from Simon and fixing the straps in place. Simon gives you a curt nod when your eyes meet before turning to his horse and heaving himself up onto it briskly, obviously in a rush to get going. 

John turns to you when the straps are fixed in place and he has one foot in the stirrups, brows furrowed deep enough to accentuate all the lines in his forehead. He gestures warningly at you with a finger. “You stay here, you hear me?”

Your brows furrow, affronted at the command. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t fancy havin’ to chase after you for a second time, but I will if you try anything funny while I’m gone.”

“Well, you just see here now—”

“You heard me, darlin’—”

“Price,” Simon growls, cutting him off, and it takes you by surprise to see his usual phlegmatic disposition traded in for something choleric. He’s never been one to talk back or act insubordinately, more of a guard dog than a deputy sometimes. His mouth is set in a hard line though, betraying the tension coiled in his bones. 

John nods and hauls himself up onto his horse.

“You be good while I’m gone,” John says, casting you one last parting glance.

You screw your lips into a scowl. “Don’t you dare die out there.”

That somehow gets a laugh out of him, as jagged as it is. It makes your stomach twist, the goodbye stagnant on your lips. You refuse to say it.

John’s horse whinnies when he pulls on the reins. He gives a sharp whistle, jolting it into motion, and you watch as he circles around and follows Simon down the path, their horses kicking up dust behind them. 

You stand there until their horses disappear over the horizon. Then you linger a little longer.

It dawns on you that John hadn’t said goodbye either. That has to count for something.

Still, you dwell on it over the next hour, hardly able to keep your breakfast down. Any lingering frustration melts away into dread the longer you think about John confronting a train full of armed robbers, his deputies accompanying him or not. The shotguns loaded and strapped to their backs told you enough about what they expected to encounter. The thought makes you shudder.

You try to distract yourself with chores, but that hardly helps. All you can think about when scrubbing the floors is whether someone will have to do the same on the train. You know how hard it is to clean up blood.  

Kate comes over later that morning while you’re still pinning the bed sheets and linens to the clothesline. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt elicits your attention first, and when you look down the dirt path leading into town, you see her riding towards you on horseback. A dapple grey gelding, bigger than Buttercup but leaner than the horse that John had chased you down on.

“Morning!” she shouts, still far enough away for it to be necessary. Your hand goes up slowly in a wave, half-shielding your eyes from the sun.

She comes up the path quickly, dismounting before her horse has even come to a standstill. It speaks to an element of comfort on a horse that you haven't acquired yet. Jealousy licks a hot tongue up your innards. 

“Morning,” you greet tentatively. “Not that I don’t appreciate spending time with you, but don’t you have a store to run?”

Kate shrugs her shoulders, sauntering up the walkway. “Folks chip in when they have to—I’ve got plenty of people in town willing to watch the shop for me. Besides, what’s the point of owning a business if you can’t take a day off every now and then?”

You frown, looking at Kate a bit suspiciously. “Did he tell you to come babysit me?” 

You don’t specify who, but it’s obvious enough.

Her lips flatten. “I offered.”

All that does is stoke the flames of your ire. “They seemed in a hurry to leave. Didn’t think John would have time to stop by and ask you to watch his wayward wife.” 

“John didn’t do anything. Simon mentioned that he was coming here to get your man.”

“My man,” you mumble a bit sardonically. Still, her words make you let go of some of your anger. “So he didn’t ask you to come?”

Kate shakes her head, lips finally curling up into a half-grin. “No, ma’am. Thought I’d just get Miles to mind the shop and come give you some company.”

Your frown keeps getting deeper. “Don’t ma’am me, Kate. And I don’t need your company if you’ve just come to make fun of me.”

“Hand to heart—I came only to make sure you were alright.” Her smile grows directly inverse to your frown. “Give me a minute to put the horses in the paddock and I’ll be right back.”

You could almost kiss her for that though. You’d been dreading the thought of having to bring Buttercup out into the paddock on your own, but the thought of leaving her in the stables all day had also felt immeasurably cruel. Since getting lost with her in the mountains, you haven’t felt confident enough to be around her on your own. At least Kate’s presence takes some of that stress away. 

Not all of it though. Stress eats away at you as the day goes on. You can’t seem to go long without returning to the thought of John being shot or stabbed by one of the bandits on the train. Your mind keeps turning to the image of him lying lifeless on the floor, blood seeping out of a wound in his chest, eyes glazed over and far away. 

You chew on your nails until they tear. Kate smacks your hands when she notices.

It’s well past dark by the time John comes home. You notice his arrival first as a flicker of light when you happen to glance out the window. You’d long ago pulled up a chair to settle down beside the window and wait, Kate in a chair on the other side of the room near the oil lamp, flicking through her book, and with the waiting had come a knot in your chest tighter than a fist. A cancerous lump metastasising in your belly, spreading out into every corner of you. 

And then someone riding up the path towards the house holds up a lamp that swings with the rhythm of their approach. Your heart all but stops in your chest, fingers halting in the middle of knitting. It beats a furious frenzy now, alert again, alive in your chest. The needles clatter to the floor when you rise to your feet, dashing over to the door to swing it wide open.

“I suppose he’s—” Kate says, but you don’t hear the rest, already gathering up your skirt to hustle down the porch steps and meet him halfway, heart lodged in your throat. 

When he notices you hurrying out the door and down the path towards him, John brings his horse to a standstill. 

Shadows engulf his form until you get close enough for the lamplight to slash across John’s face, illuminating the deep, sunken troughs under his eyes. He looks exhausted. The top button of his shirt is missing, perhaps ripped out in whatever altercation he’d gone to stop. Your eyes flit over him, looking for any sign of blood or injury, and you find it along the grooves of his knuckles, the skin there torn and bloodied. He hadn’t even bothered to wrap his hands in gauze before coming home. 

John smiles down at you. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

That’s almost enough to make you sway on your feet, lightheaded. You hadn’t realized the toll his sudden absence had taken on you, or the worry that’d been festering in your belly, but as it drains out of you, it almost brings you to your knees. 

“Are you well?” you ask, throat tight. 

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he shifts his weight and swings his leg over his horse to dismount, eyes on you the whole time. You can hardly pull your eyes off him, not even for a second. His horse, well-trained enough to not wander off without its rider astride it, huffs out a breath but otherwise remains in place while John walks towards you. 

Your heart jumps in your chest when he lifts a hand to cup your cheek and drops a firm kiss to the center of your forehead, the heat of his kiss suffusing through you. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck lift. Your arms erupt in gooseflesh.

“Never better,” he says when he pulls back. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your forehead when he speaks. It makes everything from your collarbone up go hot.

You hear the door open again. “Hi John,” Kate calls from the door.

“Hi Laswell,” John calls back to her, but his eyes never leave yours.

A heavy silence pregnant with meaning passes. You’re not sure what to read into it, but reading’s never been your strong suit. 

“I’ll see myself out then,” Kate says. “Leave you two lovebirds to it.” Her words make you bristle, but even that isn’t enough to pull your eyes off your husband. 

“Don’t look so put out—Soap’s just down the path waiting to take you home,” John scoffs. Sure enough, when you peek around him, you notice the slight flicker of light that burns at about the height of a man sitting astride a horse.

Kate rolls her eyes. “So chivalry’s not dead. Thank the Lord for small mercies.”

You don’t hear her go around the side of the house, but she must because she comes back a few minutes later with her horse, lead in hand. Her goodbye goes unnoticed by you or John, barely audible over the sound of the crickets in the bushes. You come back to yourself only when her horse takes off down the path towards Soap, and by then your voice is too faint, the words evaporating off your tongue. 

The moment finally bursts when John shifts his weight and winces. You frown. “You’re hurt.”

He huffs. “Just a sore rib. Nothing worth fussin’ over.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Your eyes flick down to his bloodied knuckles. “Your hands need tending to anyway. We should get inside.”

John nods. “I’ll put Chiron away and then come in.”

“Chiron?”

“This boy here.” His horse chuffs when John pats his neck lightly, smoothing a hand down the length. It slots into your mind—another piece of this place assimilated into your being. Another name you’ll never be able to shake. 

You hurry back inside while he takes Chiron around the side of the house towards the stables, the lamp still swinging from his hand. It’s how you track him from the window. It’s too late now for them, but you remember staring off into the distance earlier, watching the fireflies flicker in and out of view, gold will-o-wisps hovering over the fields. Now it’s quiet, and nothing outside moves. Even the moon hides behind dark clouds. 

You wait by the window until you see John come out of the stables, headed back towards the house. Only then do you exhale. 

He sits at a chair in the living room and spreads his legs, forcing you to step between them to get close enough to treat him. You bandage his torn knuckles under the light of the oil lamp in the corner of the room. John doesn’t so much as flinch when you clean them, gently inspecting the wounds to remove any debris that might’ve gotten in. He’s a good patient; hardly makes a sound as you wrap the gauze around his knuckles. 

“Do you want me to call the doctor in the morning?” you ask, then start a bit at the sound of your own voice, inexplicably loud in the relative silence of the room. 

John shakes his head. “Don’t bother. Wasn’t anything too serious.”

You frown. “Are you sure? I don’t want to risk it getting infected—”

He turns his hands over in your loose hold, curling his fingers around yours. You blink at the stark contrast between his and your hands. His fingers are thicker than yours, swollen at the joints, and the skin of his palms is calloused, rough to the touch. You’ve felt them over every part of you—loose at your waist, gripping the nape of your neck, prying your thighs apart. Holding your hand. Sunk deep into your quim. 

You can recall the feel of his touch from memory now. 

“It’s not that bad, darlin’,” he rasps, dragging his thumb back and forth over your fingers. “Y’did a good job fixin’ me up. You’re a good little nurse.”

“I’m no substitute for proper medical care,” you snip, still frowning. 

“Ah, if I die, I die.”

“That’s not funny,” you snap, abruptly incensed, and the joking twist of his lips unfurls at that, the creases around his eyes smoothing out. He looks at you like there’s something new writ large on your face.

There’s a tremble in your lower lip and a tremor in your hands that you hadn’t noticed until now. Once you notice it, it’s impossible to shake; your lip wobbles when you have to pinch back your tears. A stubborn one nearly leaks out until you sniff and blink it away. 

“Now where’s this all coming from?” John asks, voice pitched low and intimate, just for the two of you. 

His voice laps over your bones like bourbon on the rocks, glistening amber in the setting sun. Except it’s dark now and there’s not a drink in the world that could dilute the emotions welling up in you. You’d be a blubbery drunk anyway; you’ve always been something of a sad sack. 

“I thought you might come back hurt,” you whisper. “And you did.” 

His thumb strokes over your unblemished knuckles and he lifts your hands to his mouth to kiss the very same spot he just brushed. “I’m sorry to make you worry, darlin’. I meant nothing by my words. We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.”

The bur of his beard tickles the back of your hand. His acquiescence brings some of your candor back. “Well, only if you want to.”

“Don’t get smart with me, wife—”

He stops short when you giggle, his eyes widening infinitesimally. You wonder if it’s the first time he’s ever heard you laugh. It’s not something you can help though. The joy spills up from you unbidden. 

John sighs. “We’ve been making a right mess of things, haven’t we?”

You go to say something, but all that comes out is a soft hum of agreement. 

It’s in front of you again. An opportunity to tell him everything, to make things right. To land in the soft sediment of truth and come out unscathed and better for it. All you need do is open your mouth and say it; say that there was a man back east that tried something untoward and you did what you had to in order to protect yourself. You think on some level John would understand that. 

Again you open your mouth. Again nothing comes out.

There’s love and then there’s thinness, words preserved in amber. He takes your whole world in his hands and you want to say, is it safe here? Can I call this a home?

There's love and then there's a heaving mass of recollection. It is an ancient thought: to love and be loved in verity, in one's own sphere of understanding. You don’t yet know if that’s possible for you, but you’re starting to think that maybe here is something close to that. Something gentle like wildflowers springing up from beside train tracks, the sprawling emptiness of the plains on either side. 

Still, it is not enough to make you tell the truth. Maybe now the consequences are different. You think less of a jail cell and more of being deprived of this man that holds your hands tenderly and looks up at you with such clear affection. 

If love has a way of speaking, it is marbles in the mouth; it masticates its own words. It chokes them back out of fear, out of longing to keep things right. 

So instead, you ask, “Can we just put it behind us and move on?”

John lifts a hand and slides it around the back of your neck, drawing you in for a kiss that makes your heart melt in your chest, caramel-rich. You moan into his mouth when his tongue traces over your lips, hands dropping to sink into the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer to you.

When he pulls back, the folds around his eyes are crinkled, lips pulled up into a fond smile. “Already forgotten.” 

You exhale. This is reconciliation. It comes home limping and bruised, but it comes home to you. 

[tourettesdog]

DPxDC fanfic recs part 2! (Part 1)

It's a Small World by halfagone

Sometimes you just need a goofy, fun one shot that throws the characters you like into a theme park and this is exactly that. I love it.

Security Guard? Nah, Blackmailed. by Olive_of_Vanders

Oli has a lot of fantastic oneshots, but I think this one might be one of my favorites. I just really love the premise lol; it's great crack.

A Little Overshadowing Never Hurt Anyone by Playedcrowdd5610

I absolutely adore the premise of this one. Overshadowing shenanigans are so much fun, and the specific way it's happening in this fic has all of my attention.

Knitting Connections by Aibhilin

This is such a soft, neat little oneshot. I love the POV for it and just the quiet scenes it paints.

30 Days of Kidnappings by Hyperintrovert

This one's just plain fun and funny, with some nice emotions and angst mixed in. There are so many kidnappings, as the name implies. Shenanigans abound.

Bat Ghost by Megaerakles

Twin fics have a special place in my heart and this is no exception. I love how focused in Amity Park this one is, and the background Superbat is a treat.

Queen Regent by Elizabehta_Beilschmidt

Gil writes a lot of great Jazz (and Hardcover ship) fics, and this one in particular is one of my faves. I might be biased based on the prompt, but I just love how this one is written and how much of a badass Jazz gets to be.

Wait a Second by Toriieffic

Mistaken identities mixed with sibling bonding-- such a great mix always. I love the setup for this fic and how it plays out, especially with Jazz and Damian's situation in particular.

Robin's Egg by Calix

Wonderfully written, adorable, precious-- with lots of emotions and angst along for the ride. I love fics with core shenanigans a lot.

Oh Northstar of Mine by Milaley

This one is so very sweet and tender. Dead tired ship has a special place in my heart and I love the relationship here with it.

Spelunking by SummersSixEcho

This is the first in a series and I think it might've been the first series I read from Summers (or at least the first DPxDC one). I love Danny's interactions with the batfam in this series, the shenanigans, the puns-- it's all so good.

Coffee Trip of Love by EyesOfCrows

This fic is just plain cute and fun. I love all of the pet names throughout it. I need to reread it pronto lol

Blooming Death, Please Love Me by Gremlin_bot

Hanahaki and blood blossoms? Yes please. I love blood blossom fics-- like a lot-- and mixing them with hanahaki trope... yes.

Another Duckin' Day by TheStarfishAlien

A lot of these on this recommend are dead tired ship, but like-- I love them, your honor. This one is just a ton of fun. Love some good pranks.

Wayne's Haunted Mansion by Tathartiel

This is such a sweet deaged/young Danny fic. I love the progression with Danny and the family with this, with the slow build of them earning his trust and figuring out more about him.

Danny Fenton's Guide to Scoring a Boyfriend by DisillusionedDanny

I just love the shenanigans and ship with this one. Enemies to lovers shenanigans abound. Dis has a Ton of great DPxDC fics, and while I haven't had the spoons to read most of their longer ones just yet, I love their stories and everything I have read.

[torturingpeople]

Something Lost in the Zee

The King-In-Coral regards him with a brief incline of the head, zeeweed tipping over his forehead in a crude imitation of sickly green hair. Something curls within the suffocating jacket he wears, as he leans forward to peer at the Counsellor.

"I... er, present to you, um... this." Nervously, the Soothing Counsellor rummages in the travel-bag at his hip, and draws out with caution a spiny, almost zee urchin-like piece of coral, trying to avoid pricking himself with the thin needles protruding from its core.

Taking the gift from his hands with an ultimate gentleness, the King-In-Coral gazes upon it like a sweet creature, tilting his head to take it in from all angles. It splits down the middle as he presses his thumbs in, much like the careful motion one uses to peel an orange, and he opens it with the same giddiness young boys open presents with, on Christmas Day. Coral shards fall away like wrapping-paper, but the King-In-Coral frowns at what is inside. He does not seem disappointed, in any fashion, merely... surprised. The limbs within his coat do not jolt with excitement; he is entirely still.

"I remember," he starts.

The Soothing Counsellor's eyebrows twitch, as does his heart with anxiety. He wishes to enquire what, but the King-In-Coral does not withhold that from him.

"When this fell," he holds the locket out by its thin golden chain, "it was you who dropped it into the Zee, was it not?"

Again, there is a flurry of emotion that passes the Counsellor's face, like rippling thunder in a storm. "It couldn't— possibly be— you must be— mistaken—" his voice comes out in a melancholic staccato, and he disregards all social norms, pushing past attendant Drownies to reach the King-In-Coral.

Once the locket is lowered into his hands, he undoes the little latch closing it (just the way he remembers) and looks upon the weathering and scratches (painfully familiar) and he is met with the face of Julie (dearest Julie, his darling Julie) and that little boy, eyes brimming with innocence, with the hallmark buck front teeth and crooked canines of youth, his little Percy.

The Soothing Counsellor's mouth opens and closes and opens and closes and he looks very at-home in that little cove, among the beings of the Zee, fitting in perfectly well with the fish that gulp down water in the same manner. "How—? How did you—?" The corners of his mouth twitch downward, and his bottom lip shivers with woe. The Counsellor shakes his head, closes his eyes, lets tears fall into the sand below. "Where could you— I— I—"

"I saw it fall from a zubmarine, if I recall correctly," the King-In-Coral leans forward, and places a hand on the Counsellor's shoulder, leaving an imprint of salty dust on his deep navy-blue blazer. "I had the inclination that, perhaps, you would like to have it returned, in the condition you left it in." He retreats into his litter again. "I will admit to you that I had the little thing monitored — you were rather steadfast in seeking out coral, and it made me wonder if it was this," his finger falls to the locket, "that you sought."

Muted by tears, the Counsellor cannot think past looking down at the tiny thing in his hands, tiny and fragile like a hatched chick, yet as old as the hen that laid the egg. He lets one thumb wipe away some salt and dirt, to get a better look at Percy (his little Percy, that little boy, that round face, those misshapen teeth, that lopsided smile, the imperfections that made him so irrevocably perfect — Hell, he could almost hear him crying 'Papa! Papa!' through the daguerrotype), tears curling along the curve of his cheeks, forming paths down to his chin and ultimately dripping into the zee-soaked ground below.

"Thank you," whispers the Counsellor dolefully. He pushes a thumb to the locket's front and lets the latch snap shut, then tucks it into his breast pocket and turns out of the cove, heart sundered in twain, as raw as when he first left his Julie and his Percy.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

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1. I remember that fic — lwg accidentally killed wwx and then raise Wen Yuan. JYL live in it. Sorry for mistakes — english is't my first language. Also it first time when I use tumblr too 😅 @derrenaissance​

FOUND? A Little Fall of Rain by Just_a_Girl_in_a_Crystal (T, 47k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Grief/Mourning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, Protective LXC, Protective LQR)

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2. A friend and I are hoping you can help find a fic for the next fic finder. It's a modern AU and LWJ is on the autism spectrum but wasn't tested until he was an adult because LQR either didn't want him tested or was in denial about it when LWJ was a child. There was possibly an aunt that was on the spectrum too. We can't remember anything else about it and have gone through the autistic lwj tag and our bookmarks on ao3 but none that we found sounded right. Thanks in advance!

FOUND! together, we’re just enough  by lulu_kitty (E, 134k, wangxian, past WWX/OFC, modern, younger LWJ,   bartender LWJ, older WWX, rich WWX, fluff, yearning, smut, bottom LWJ,   LWJ has scoliosis, slow burn)  

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3. Good day to all! There is a twitter fic that I wanted to read again but I forgot to save it (or like it). Can you help me find it?

Its about foxxian who goes into heat and he spend his heat with dragonji. Foxxian got pregnant and the jiang keep asking who is the father. Apparently, foxxian doesn’t know who is it. Then, when he gave birth, 3 eggs came out. The jiangs are shock. And when the eggs were hatch, all of them are dragons. So the jiangs knew now that the one who impregnant foxxian is a dragon from Lan Clan.

Thank you so much!

FOUND! Foxxian/Dragonji thread by @/cerbykerby (wangxian, cw: dubcon, mpreg, memory loss)    

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4. Hi! I wanted to know if anyone remembers that wangxian time travel fic where lan xicheng goes in this little sidequest where he adopts Xue Yang and Meng Yao??? I think??? And helped them have decent childhoods while wwx fixed everything else

FOUND? And Time Is But a Paper Moon  by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone  Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together) Lan Xichen is shown the future by Wwx via empathy. He finds XY and MY when they are still kids and brings them to Cloud Recesses.

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5. hi!! Thank you for all the hard work you are putting! I'm looking for fic where wwx is in the hospital after a car accident. When he wakes up he doesn't remember lwj because he has a six years memory loss and the two of them met five years prior to the accident. They were also about to get married. Lwj played the violin for a living and composed music for Disney if I'm not mistaken. Wwx was an engineer for prosthetic parts and he was working with wq. That's all I remember. If you have the time, I would love if you looked for it!

FOUND? High On Information by Latigra (M, 110k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, Established Relationship, Injury Recovery, Family Drama, Set in USA, Shitty US Healthcare System is Good for Fictional Drama, Modern AU, mild body horror, Traumatic Brain Injury, Warnings at End Notes, Past Drug Use, ADHD, Jealousy, Dom/sub Undertones)

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6. Hello! im looking for this wangxian fic that ive been missing for awhile now. I dont remember much but it was modern and everyone was a hitman or assassin (?) all i remember is that people were involved in the killing business. the only scene i remember is that JGS or JGY dies in the bathtub by being shot by LWJ or LXC. Oh thats another thing im pretty sure the way LWJ killed was by clean shots to the head. I know there's smut in it. It frustrates me so much that i cant remember more this was one of the first wangxian fics i remember reading

FOUND! 🧡 modus operandi by synonemous (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, Serial killer WangXian, Eventual happy ending, WangXian's Canon Kinks, Smut) Not everything fits - they are serial killers and jgy dies in a bathtub, but he wasn't shot / I think #6 is modus operandi too! HGJ kills with headshots, but JGY gets taken out by ZWJ, who comes out of retirement just for that one personal hit.

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7. i have been remembering a fic where at the start wwx is engaged to jzx and lwj is engaged to jyl and obviously in the end they switched partners 😂 but idk the title or author, does this ring a bell for anyone? thanks in advance!!!!

FOUND? Neatly Arranged by thunderwear (T, 45k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, lwj’s mother is here but only briefly, RIP, Shenanigans, Fix-It, of sorts, Canonical Character Death, but not all, did i forget to tag pining, because this fic is like 90 percent pining, Hurt/Comfort)

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8. Hi i’m looking for a fic that I read a while ago but can’t find. Wei wuxian gets sent back in time after his death to the cloud recesses lectures. He ends up in the middle of a lecture and starts crying. He can’t handle it and attempts suicide by jumping off a cliff at cloud recesses but he is found and saved. I think he gets sanctuary or something but i’m not sure. Thank you your page is a life savor!! @st3wartladle​

FOUND? Without end by barisan (M, 70k, wangxian, major character death, time travel, suicide attempt, hurt/comfort, depressed WWX, protective LWJ, good uncle LQR, bad parents JFM & YZY, not YZY & JFM & Jiang friendly, implied/referenced child abuse & self harm, BAMF WWX, WIP) The scene you mention is right in the beginning of the fic.

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9. Looking for a vampire WWX/Hunter LWJ fic, that started with LWJ kneeling for the marriage ceremony and being bit, then the rest after that involved LWJ trying to keep away from WWX for his own good before they both get together. LWJ stays human. I think I found it on AO3? @bcaugust

It's not the right one(though it is one of my favorites and really close to the same vibe.) I also remember that the vampire bite would scar to indicate a spouse, if that helps anyone.

Not FOUND I Think Sunshine Would Treat Me Kind by vassal101 (T, 24k, WangXian, Exorcist LWJ, Vampire WWX, Human/Vampire Relationship, Fantasy, Vampire Bites, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Protective LWJ, Pining LWJ, Jealous LWJ, Pining WWX, POV LWJ, First Kiss, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Assassination Plot(s), Undercover Missions, Breaking Up & Making Up, Blood Drinking, Consensual Blood Drinking, horny vampire drinks from equally horny human, Falling In Love, i would say this is more angst than fluff, but it's not too too sad dw, Happy Ending, POV Third Person) reminded me of this one? Doesn't start with a wedding though, lwj simply arrives as a peace offering

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10. Hi!

So I'm looking for a fic that I can't find where I can't remember what exactly happened, but it goes something like this;

Lwj and Wwx are sleeping, Lwj gets a nightmare, and he doesn't tell Wwx about it, but he figures it out anyway and then Wwx waits to see whether Lwj will go back to sleep or have sex. They have rough sex in which Wwx specifically requests that he doesn't want to come. And then they talk (I think it was just outside on a porch or something?) And then Lwj fingers him and gets him off.

I'm sorry I don't remember more, I think it was one chapter and I'm really desperately trying to find this fic. If you could find it it would be much appreciated!!

Thank you!

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11. Heya mods, I'd really appreciate it if you could find this fic. It was about God Lan Wanji and him trying to find fellow god Wei Wuxian after he went missing. LWJ found him with the Dafan Wens and was living happily as a mortal with them. He wondered why WWX wasn't leaving or even thinking about his position as a god, but then it's revealed that his robes (which all gods need) were torn apart by the bad Wens. WWX also gives the robe to a'Yuan iirc. Read it on ao3, might've been a oneshot. @yetusagi

FOUND? Three Worlds, One Life by limedumplr (T, 9k, WangXian, Angels & Demons, Heaven & Hell, fairytale AU, Eternal Love Spinoff, Pining, happy ending I promise, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage)

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12. Hi! I’m looking for a fic where the jiang and wwx test their blood relation (not modern btw). I remember the rumor about sect leader jiang and wwx being father-son are just really just rumors because it shows that they are not related. However, when they test out madam yu and wwx blood, apparently they are related to each other. It turns out CSR’s parent is a sibling of Madam Yu’s parent (I dunno if they are really siblings but I know they a family) making it CSR related to Madam Yu (counsin ig)

Hi! I’m the #12 requester in the recent fic finder. Thank you but unfortunately it is not the one I’m looking for. I think the revelation of the blood related thing happened early chapter because as much as I can remember, madam yu treats wwx better after knowing they are related. She actually treats him as her nephew.

NOT FOUND! All Things Belong by kuroi_atropos (M, 64k, WIP, WRH & WWX, WangXian, WWX is a Wēn, Abuse, Whipping, Manipulations, Warning: WRH, Smart WWX, Possessive Behavior, Warning: JGS, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con) it turns out in the later chapter that wwx is somehow related tu mdm yu via his grandmother (who was cssr's mother). And said grandmother was a distant cousin or just from yu

Unstoppbble by Immortal WangXian (Mr_Pervert) (M, 47k, wangxian, JC/LXC, JYL/JZX, immortal WWX, immortal LWJ, good parent YZY, good parent JFM, good uncle LQR, good XY, evil JGY, yin & yang cultivation, time travel fix-it, WN lives, MXY lives, WQ lives, supportive NMJ, YLLZ WWX, possessive LWJ, protective LWJ, fluff & smut, crack, action/adventure, mpreg, WIP)

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13. Hello, first I want to thank you for your service! I am looking for a fic where there's a scene where Lan Xichen sets up a dinner date to introduce Lan Wangji to his boyfriend Nie Mingjue. However, Nie Huaisang came to the restaurant because he lost his apartment keys and he was looking for his brother for help. NHS brought his bestie Wei Wuxian with him so LWJ mistook WWX as LXC's boyfriend. @ksoostrauma

FOUND? Man on My Mind by brooklinegirl (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sex Cam Worker WWX, Identity Porn)

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14. just wanted to find a specific fic. It is one where wangxian time travel, and everyone is suspicious of them in the sunshot campaign. Jin guangshan suggests using a magic ball to spy on them, but it turns out they just end up combing each other's hair of something intimate but not shameless?

FOUND? lan xichen is very concerned (and confused) by theninjacat (T, 3k, WangXian, POV Outsider, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Sunshot Campaign) I just read it, and the hair brushing spying thing was fresh on my mind and in my AO3 history!

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15. Hi! Please help. I lost some of the fics I was reading, and cannot remember where I first saw them (was using incognito at work, but there was an update and pcs got restarted). It's about the cultivation world punishing ppl, especially Wens, at the BM. During war, they see only Yiling is not attacked, and the guardian, who wears a mask and talks through WQ, accepts to help them if he gets married to a clan heir, as a warranty they won't turn on him. There's a scene where an assasain gets to the camp and is about to kill JYL, but Yllz saves her. Do you know it? @allthoselhb

FOUND? Tumblr post by ShanaStoryteller I think this is 15

15 sounds very familiar but I can't find the fic. If it helps, I think it's the one where YLLZ is walking around with a swirling mask of resentful energy all the time and never speaks, and Wen Qing is his voice. Everyone thinks WWX is dead

For 15, I don't THINK it's these, but have similar elements, so maybe, or at least interesting? I forget the name, but there's one fic where wwx and lz never met before the war, and wwx and the lans insist on an arranged marriage between him and a main clan member after the war (they live on burial mounds, not quite a sect kinda big household vibes) to kinda legitimize themselves to protect their people, thinking anyone sent by the clans to the "evil" yllz must be abused/not valued, so they'd actually be saving someone from a bad situation and into a married in name only respected guest situation. Only they get lz instead. Lxc is very worried for awhile thinking lz must be getting abused meanwhile yllz is a masked but perfect gentleman who proves to be a kind dedicated family leader/lord of the area and lz becomes sympathetic/supportive and ends up falling HARD for him and adores ayuan

there's also another one. Idk about a mask, but in it I think jgs? Tricks both wwx (backed by the bm wens) and the lans into thinking that each other are insisting on some sort of forced political marriage with each other, with the Jin being a "neutral party mediators" when actually the Jin are threatening and pressuring both sides into it/lying. Wwx lz and Co find out when they meet for first time on Jin grounds and unite against the jin.

there's also another fic featuring masks, where the yllz is more spooky unknown who always shows up wearing a full face? Silver mask, with the designs changing every now and then. You later find out that the identity of yllz is being shared between wwx, the wen siblings, and I think mxy? And this is during sunshot campaign after the sects asked for their help (tho they might of also offered it as a strategic move for themselves?)

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16. ive been looking for a fic where for some reason wwx stays with the nie after the ssc. nmj threatens to cut off wwx's tongue if he does demonic cultivation but wwx just depresses his life away instead. jgy blocks letters from everyone so hes really isolated. eventually nhs brings him out of his shell and hes eventually allowed outside his rooms. Later, lxc comes to play clarity/rest, and in the training grounds wwx has a panic attack after being accused of cursing jyl and her second pregnancy whoch he hadnt even known about. Now that i think about it, it probably actually takes place after qiongqi pass.

follow up for the imprisoned in the nie fic, im fairly sure that in the summary, nhs is like "you used to be so confident and happy..."

FOUND! Always walked a very thin line by tucuxi (T, 22k, WangXian)

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17. Hi, can you help me find these fics? I've been going crazy! They were on ao3; I hope they haven't been deleted!

A) I think wwx was a ghost, & found himself at the Cloud Recesses in the aftermath of lwj's punishment. Lwj was in bad condition and almost died (a couple of times?) Eventually there was some sort of ritual to bring wwx back into a physical body, & he was in the adjoining room bc he was also very weak. (NB: this is not the fic where wwx is actually astral projecting from Baoshan Sanren's mountain, it's a different one).

B) Lwj stayed at the Burial Mounds, & his health was very poor, he kept getting very sick quite often. At one point there was an epidemic in Yiling; some of the Wens died, and then they went to go help in the town bc of their medical knowledge. Lwj had to stay separate bc of his fragile health; he had to tend the fields alone and he couldn't attend the funerals.

Hi, I messaged recently for help finding 2 fics, so naturally I finally find one of them again not 24 hours later 🙈 The one with Lan Zhan in poor health at the Burial Mounds/the epidemic situation is Over the Rotted Bridge by vailkagami! I can't believe I forgot about the necromancy or Lan Zhan being mute!! I would still love your assistance with finding the other one 🙏🙏 Thank you!

17B)

FOUND! Over the Rotted Bridge by vailkagami (T, 314k, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ dies, Wei Wuxian doesn’t die, neither do (most of) the  wens, JYL also lives, Original Character(s), outside pov, YLLZ WWX,  Canon Divergence, CQL Verse, Illustrated, Grief/Mourning, Non-Consensual  Resurrection, mute LWJ, Hurt LWJ, Slow Burn, canonical death of a child  (mentioned), Survivor Guilt, PTSD)

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18. hi!! for the next fic finder, i have been looking for a fic for a few weeks but since it's been some time ive read it, its lost in my history. it was a time travel fic, where wangxian get back into their bodies during the wen indoctrination. the pov was actually jc's if im not mistaken, but i remember clearly that in the end he accuses lwj of seducing wwx into demonic cultivation, after wx kill the wens there and wwx raises an army. thank you <3

FOUND! I’m pretty sure this one is ❤️ Wen Chao’s Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day by Shializaro (T, 2k, wangxian, time travel, BAMF wangxian, outsider POV, Mojo’s post)

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19. Hello! For the next fic finder, can you help find this fic? It's a sickly WWX because of his live in the street before. I dont remember much but there was a horse riding lesson, he learn about strategy, and when he make a journey alone to make his sword. In his journey he met with imperial soldiers that patroled around capital and befriend them. I think he calmed a resentful mother cat too i think. It's a WIP story. I read that recently in this year but i think it was a fic from around 2019-2020? Thank you @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! A Burning Cold by MountainRose (G, 29k, Chronic Illness, Pre-Canon, Nirvana in Fire Fusion, Character Study, Wen Bullshit, Snow Beetle Poison) is a sort of Nirvana in Fire fusion called A Burning Cold by MountainRose locked to archive here / but it's restricted for logged users;

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20. Looking for a fic where the focus iirc was more on LWJ teaching/raising lan juniors to express their emotions healthily.

Sorry, I don't think it's To be of use, I remember it being something shorter. Also WWX came back towards the later part of it.

not FOUND To be of use by Erisette (Not Rated, 53k, LSZ & LWJ, Found Family, Accidental Baby Acquisition, (kinda), Father-Son Relationship, Missing Scene, Good Teacher LWJ, Seclusion Lite(TM), Fluff, Worldbuilding)

FOUND? Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Not Rated, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, dad wangji, LWJ’s Questionable Parenting Skills, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence)

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[riskyalt]

ORDEM IN QSMP THE SAGA CONTINUES PART 4 YEEHOO

I did my studying and i do sincerely hope this is accurate boy oh boy

q!Jaiden chose Energy for her element, and that's also something that's been sitting in my mind for a while. I've had to struggle a bit to connect the dots for this one as well, but ultimately I think it does actually make sense.

Energy is the intangible - the transformation and chaos, the anarchy and constant antithesis. It's the unexplainable and the unexpected, the arbitrary and impulsive. q!Jaiden is chaotic, in her jokes and references its most apparent, but theres something else in there that I think needs to be looked at following that train of thought.

I think Bobby's death led largely to q!Jaiden being Energy. That torrent of inner anarchy and conflict, that chaos and transformation was part of q! Jaiden's struggle after witnessing the Federation take her son from her. It's the intangible grief and complete retraction from all the other islanders that makes sense for the intensity of Energy to me.

That being said it is important to mention that q!Jaiden is NOT pro-Federation please lads. She believes that it's for the greater good that she makes the Feds trust her, and is actively aware that she might be manipulated.

Energy overloads the effects of Death, removing that detached apathy towards cessation and replacing it with the arbitrary and anarchy instead. Energy doesn't loose time in spirals, it lives each moment for better or worse.

q!Jaiden did have denial about the death at some points. It was just so hard to believe - her son. Bobby. Was dead. She accepts the tasks from Cucurucho because she wants to protect all the other eggs so fiercely that it could be mistaken for something like Blood.

Though I don't think Blood fits someone like q!Jaiden. She experiences powerful emotions don't get me wrong - yet it's never been her core to me. I've never seen that as a central aspect to q!Jaiden's character as we see in, for example, q!Roier. I don't think Knowledge fits either, q!Jaiden doesn't strive information as much as someone like q!Cellbit who makes it a key detail of himself - rather q!Jaiden would be the type to live in a hopeful delusion until being forced out of it. That doesn't go to say that q!Jaiden is naive or overly optimistic, I think she always had the undercurrent subconscious telling her that it's wrong, but she didn't see point in listening to it.

I don't see her as Death either. As I previously mentioned, she has no apathy towards death. She is constantly grieving and caring and worrying over the prospect of loosing someone or something, far too often to be Death.

So that leaves us with Energy. And I fully agree with that choice.

I hope I'm writing this not OOC please prayge 🙏

[fcukfodmap]

Low-FODMAP Gluten-Free Zucchini Fritters

My cousin gave me this ridiculous three pound zucchini recently, so I've been working to use it up somehow. First, I made a really lovely gluten-free zucchini bread, but I still had some left over. I still have the waffle iron out from various waffle experiments, so it was fritter time! To the recipe!

1 lb zucchini (about 2 medium), trimmed

8 ounces feta cheese, crumbled (about 2 cups)

2 scallions, the green parts minced and white discarded

2 tbsp minced fresh dill, or 1 tbsp dried

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

1/4 tsp ground black pepper

1/4 c gluten-free flour

cooking spray

Shred the zucchini on the large holes of a box grater. If it's a really big zucchini, core it before shredding; the center is where a lot of the water is. Let the zucchini drain in a fine-mesh strainer set over a bowl for 10 minutes, pushing out the excess with the flat of a spatula. Roll up the zucchini in a clean cotton towel and squeeze out any excess liquid.

Turn the waffle iron on medium and spray with cooking spray. Combine the dried zucchini, feta, scallions, dill, eggs, and pepper together in a medium bowl. Fold in the gluten-free flour until well mixed.

Divide half of the batter into the four squares of the waffle iron, lock the lid, and cook until the fritters are a nice deep brown. The batter is really wet, so you want a nice crisp on it so the center isn't soggy. Remove from the waffle iron, spray the iron again, and divide the remaining batter into the four squares.

So, first off, zucchini is one of those things, like tomatoes, that is only low-FODMAP under a certain serving size. That's about 1/3 c. When I made this, there were less than 2 cups in the whole recipe, which means you could eat about 1 1/2 fritters and stay below the threshold. I used Bob's Red Mill Gluten-Free All Purpose Flour, but you could probably use anything from almond flour to rice flour. There's so little flour, it's mostly filler.

These ended up being really good. They're nice and salty due to the feta, though the dill flavor wasn't very pronounced. I used dry dill, so maybe that was the issue. You could probably faff around with other herbs and spices too. Per usual, I would put maybe a 1/8 tsp of cayenne into the batter just to add a little heat. These were super handy when I was late for work and needed something that wouldn't drip down my shirt while I ate it in the car.

Obligatory disclaimer: I am no dietician. I'm doing my best to minimize FODMAPs in my diet, but it's possible for me to be misinformed or mistaken about various ingredients.

[destinyc1020]

I mean we can’t completely blame lily since Z was in the same exact situation. They are grown. They had a choice. They’ve made their bed and now they will lie in it. It is what it is.

I'm not blaming her....I just wish maybe her parents (who ARE in the industry), or even just someone older, would kinda like pull her off to the side and say: "Look... you don't HAVE to do this...." 👀

Plus, Z wasn't doing any nudity in her roles on EU. Z has a "no nudity" clause in her contract if I'm not mistaken. So it's not the same as Lily at all. With her character, she's simulating getting raped, and they were trying to figure out how to film a scene with an egg up her hoo-ha in a way that does NOT actually have her having an egg up there. 🥴 I'm sorry, but just not that same at all imo. 😳

Maybe she's hoping this will be her great role that will get her awards and more roles. Idk. I just feel like there are OTHER ways to go about it, and Sam Levinson is NOT it. 🥴Sounds like what he's filming is soft-core PORN. 🥴 TORTURE porn at that!

But hey, like you said, she's a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. 🤷🏾‍♀️

[bloomshroomz]

[Image ID: A screenshot of a post by Stetson Barnhouse, which says:

As a polyamorous human, I'm always amused by the look on monogamous folks' faces when they ask "What's to stop your partner from finding someone else they like better?" and I respond "Absolutely nothing that doesn't apply to a closed, monogamous partnership."

The things that end polyam relationships are, at their core, the same as those that end monogamous ones. They're things that will end any relationship - romantic, sexual or platonic:

Incompatible needs, priorities & interests.

Failure or refusal to grow, or growth in mutually-exclusive directions.

Lack of or inequitable investment.

Withdrawn, withheld, withered or misaligned affection.

Poor communication & conflict resolution skills.

Boundary issues.

Dishonesty.

Abuse.

Etc.

If you think having all your emotional eggs in one basket is some sort of automatic hedge against heartbreak or abandonment, you're deeply mistaken. The same is true of having them in several.

No matter what your relationships look like, invest in yourself and the people you love. Practice and seek out honest communication, ethical behavior, consistency between words and actions (where it counts), and reciprocity. It won't guarantee anything, but it'll sure increase the odds."

End ID.]

[susantaylor01]

How to Remove Back Fat

Introduction 

Getting rid of back fat requires a combination of targeted exercise, overall fat reduction, and a balanced diet. To effectively manage this area, it’s important to understand that wrinkle reduction—especially fat loss from one area—is often bogus. Instead, focus on a comprehensive approach that includes cardiovascular exercise, strength training, and a healthy diet. This introductory article will teach you techniques and strategies to help reduce visceral fat and improve overall fitness.

What Causes Back Fat?

Back fat can accumulate for a variety of reasons :

Genetics: Your genes play an important role in determining how and where fat is stored in your body. Some people tend to store a lot of fat under the body.

Hormonal imbalance: Hormones like oestrogen and cortisol can affect fat distribution. For example, high levels of oestrogen can cause fat to accumulate in the hips and thighs.

Diet: Eating more calories than your body needs can lead to fat accumulation, especially from unhealthy foods high in sugar and fat.

Lack of exercise: A sedentary lifestyle contributes to weight gain and fat accumulation. Regular exercise helps balance calorie intake and expenditure.

Age: As people age, their metabolism tends to slow down, which can lead to fat gain regardless of changes in diet and activity

Stress: Chronic stress can raise cortisol levels, which can lead to fat storage, especially in the back.

Exercises Helpful To Remove Back Fat 

To reduce Back fat, focus on exercises that combine cardiovascular workouts with strength training. Here are some effective exercises:

Cardio Exercises:

Running or Jogging: Burns calories and improves overall fitness.

Cycling: Great for the thighs and glutes.

Jump Rope: Engages your back  and boosts cardiovascular health.

2. Strength Training Exercises:

Squats: Targets the quads, hamstrings, and glutes.

Lunges: Works the legs and glutes while improving balance.

Deadlifts: Strengthens the entire lower body and core.Leg Press: Focuses on the quadriceps, hamstrings, and glutes.

3. High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT):Combine short bursts of intense exercise (like sprinting or jumping) with rest or low-intensity periods.

4. Bodyweight Exercises:

Mountain Climbers: Engages the back and core.

Step-Ups: Strengthens legs and glutes.

Diet Helpful To Remove Back fat 

To help lose subcutaneous fat, focus on a well-balanced, nutrient-dense diet. Here are some basic food tricks:

Increases protein intake:builds muscle and increases metabolism.Include sources such as lean meat, fish, eggs, beans and legumes.

Include healthy fats:Healthy fats can improve overall health and help you feel full.Choose avocados, nuts, seeds and olive oil.

Eat complex carbohydrates:Choose whole grains, vegetables and fruits for sustainable energy and fiber.Avoid processed carbs and sugary foods.

Focus on fibre:Foods high in fibre aid digestion and can make you feel full longer.Include vegetables, fruits, whole grains and fruits.

Stay Hydrated:Drink plenty of water to support your metabolism and overall health.Thirst is sometimes mistaken for hunger.

Control portion sizes:Focus on portion sizes to avoid overeating.Use small plates and listen to your appetite cues.

Reduce processed foods and sugar:Reduce your intake of high-calorie, low-calorie foods.Reduce your intake of sugary drinks, snacks and processed foods.

Eat mindfully:Be aware of what you are eating and how it makes you feel.Eating slowly can help prevent overeating.

Lifestyle Changes Helpful To Remove Back Fat 

Making lifestyle changes can have a big impact on fat loss and overall health. Here are some effective ways:

Increase physical activity:

Regular exercise: Include cardiovascular exercise (such as running or cycling) and strength training (such as weight lifting or bodyweight exercises). -correction) mixed with.

2. Daily Movement: Include more activities in your daily routine, such as walking or climbing stairs.

3. Essential sleep:Aim for 7-9 hours of quality sleep per night.Poor sleep can disrupt hormones associated with appetite and metabolism.

4. Manage stress:High levels of stress can lead to emotional eating and fat storage.Use stress reduction techniques such as meditation, yoga, or deep breathing.

5. Stay hydrated:Drink plenty of water throughout the day to support metabolism and overall health.Avoid sugary drinks and excess caffeine.

6. Monitor food intake:Monitor what you eat to identify eating habits and healthy options.Use apps or journals to record meals and snacks.

7. Develop Healthy Habits:Establish a consistent eating routine to avoid overeating or skipping meals.Develop a balanced routine that includes time for meal preparation and rest.

Ancient “Mountain Tea” activates 24/7 fat-burning

Conclusion 

A comprehensive approach that combines exercise, diet and lifestyle changes is essential to successfully reduce subcutaneous back fat. Focus on exercise Incorporate cardiovascular and strength training exercises to burn calories and build muscle. Activities include running, cycling, squats, lunges, and high-intensity interval training (HIIT). Use a balanced diet of protein, healthy fats and complex carbohydrates. Increase your fibre intake, stay hydrated, and avoid processed foods and excess sugar. Set healthy sleep priorities, manage stress, be active throughout the day, and establish healthy eating habits. Avoid late night snacks and heavy drinking.

[djeesperate]

Such a silly man

Word count: 1252

TW: None

He was such a cheerful kid growing up; full of smiles and adoration for his family in his eyes. It was obvious, you know? The love he has for others is solely by the way he looks at them, his entire world. The way he subconsciously orbits around his parents - his heroes.

It’s been so long since he smiled like that. Maybe it was just him maturing over time, maybe it was the hardships he faced throughout his life after the loss. It’s a little hard to pinpoint the exact time it started, but it was evident that he became much more closed off throughout the following years. A part of her misses the old Gawain, but it couldn't be helped. He's now 30 years old, grown into his own person; it wasn't her place to tell him how to act.

Which was why Florence stood there at the doorway of the kitchen with wide eyes, looking as if Vyrn suddenly turned green. As much as she wanted to make her presence known, she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt the scene she was witnessing in front of her from the slightly ajar door.

Gawain, her beloved younger brother. How life has hardened him into the man he became… a true knight, full of strength and discipline, the mighty saviour of Dalmore as they call him now. That very same person stood silently beside the busy captain, watching them as they clumsily whisk the bowl in their arm, rambling about whatever shenanigans the crew pulled earlier that day. When was the last time she saw him smile like that? He looks so peaceful standing next to them. It would seem Glane's hotheaded nephew was present as well - listlessly slapping the bag of flour with a wooden spoon with narrowed eyes, glaring at the two.

A loving smile grew on her face, one that matched her brother's. Such a silly man… even the boy can see it.

He may not be as bubbly as he was all those years back, but Florence would be mistaken if she thought that the warmth in his heart disappeared forever. Especially when he has his beloved captain by his side, his entire world - just like when their parents were still around.

“Well, I think I’m doing a fair job!”, she hears the captain pout. Oh my, it would seem they've gotten cake mix all over their sleeves and cheek! Such a mess.

“Fair job? It’s fairing as well as when that dragon scorched the kitchen making chocolates! Give me that.” Gawain yanked the bowl out of the captain's arms and started whisking hurriedly.

“Since when did Dalmore’s hero bake? How lame. What else can you do? Knit?” Bertilak taunts from across the table, clearly bored out of his mind.

“Must you always have something rude to say? Be useful and get me two eggs before I break yours.“

“[Gasp] Gawain!” The captain slapped his arm at the crude threat.

“What?” His mouth slightly curled upwards as he suppressed his urge to laugh at their reaction.

Florence shook her head, soft chuckles escaped her as she left for her quarters. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing this whole while. As much as he seems different, Gawain will always be Gawain at his core.

Besides, it was already cute seeing her brother completely smitten for the captain; young Bertilak wedging himself in the mix makes it all the more adorable. It’s almost as if looking at a married couple with their rebellious son.

Perhaps Florence should contact Glane; tell him to take Bertilak off their plates for a day or two… maybe for fishing? Surely that's what uncles do with their nephews (although Bertilak might tip over the boat and fall in the water immediately).

Florence will be busy. Very busy. Now, where was that map of Dalmore? There’s always time for a vaguely-worded full-day mission coincidentally being in every romantic spot around the country that may or may not help set the mood…

Such a silly man, her brother… Since they were young, he had always tried to hide snacks and trinkets from her. Yet with every single attempt, Florence always knows. She's the ever-so-attentive big sister, after all!

So he shouldn't be surprised to find out that Florence knows what he acquired from their wonderful friend Sierokarte last week.

A beautiful and intricate little box… with an even more beautiful ring tucked nicely within for a special someone.

──────────────────

Bonus story

"Here's your two damn eggs, ya lame ass old man!" 

Splat!

Before Gawain could react in time, the back of his head was covered in eggs, dripping down to the wooden floor of the Grandcypher.

"Ugh! Have you gone mad?! You better mop this floor up or I'm sending you back to your uncle!"

"The only thing I'm mopping the floor with is you!" The redhead balled his fists and got into a fighting position.

"Oh?" Gawain took a step towards him, a warning; one that made Bertilak take a step back out of reflex.

"Oi! Knock it off, you two!"

The doors flung open, revealing the one person the chaotic trio were trying to avoid all day. To say that the two men weren't profusely sweating out of fear would be a bold-faced lie.

"Haha! I see you mortals are preparing customary delicacies! As I am free for the rest of today, I shall be of assistance to you three!"

"No, Wilnas, stay away!"

But alas, it was too late.

.

"Bruh, stop the cap. Ain't no way I'm seein' what I'm seein'." Lowain slumped to the ground in disbelief.

"Naw, bro, we seein' it too..." Tomoi wiped his eyes to make sure. Elsam's ears and shoulders drooped, "Who let him cook, bro."

The cake that the dear captain was trying to bake for Lyria was charred… along with the rest of the nearby cooking ingredients.

Lowain and his brothers had to clean the kitchen from burnt ingredients before making dinner for the crew that night. For the second time. The chocolate incident happened literally yesterday.

And while the captain was cleaning themselves up in the corner of the washroom, Bertilak was howling, bent over slapping his knee. The entire ship could practically hear him. Why? It would seem that the egg he threw at Gawain's head cooked into an omelette with Wilnas' help. To be fair, they were trying their best not to laugh along, considering the scowl on the man's face (No one but Gawain himself knows this, but the captain's laughter soothes his soul. He'll never get angry at them if they did decide to laugh along. It wasn't them that egged him, anyway).

Yes, perhaps Glane should take him back for a few days. Though now, the boat tipping over may be intentionally done… Actually, Glane isn't needed, Bertilak was going to kiss the showerhead and fall backwards into the tub if he didn't run away fast enough.

.

.

.

See, Siete would usually soak in the tub for an hour in the evening, before dinner's ready. It's a bit of an odd habit, but hey, he wasn't a normal guy in the first place. He wasn't expecting a redhead covered in soot to bolt out of the washroom in a towel, though… huh, strange.

The next thing Siete knew, he got mistakenly hit with the showerhead, falling into the bath unconscious. The last thing he saw was… eggs? Am I that hungry right now?

At least he got to soak as intended.

[atiyasnake]

Batty ghosts Masterlist

I've been responding to some prompts and posts with little bits of writing and tbh sometimes I lose track of them in the chaos so here is a sort of 'masterlist' I guess of the different posts I've responded to. (make sure to give the OPs some love!!). List below

Clone at the grave AU Bats find lookalike of Jason (danny) at his grave.

Dinner is Served Alfred beings home a young man (danny) for dinner after seeing him protect someone on the street.

What Protects from the Shadows a response to tourettes dog of the fenton fam going to Gotham and thinking bats is a ghost. Danny decides to protect the bat. I made a fic on ao3.

Getting eggs at 2:52am Jason in civies comes across the meta? Bats has been annoyed about at a cornershop/bodega The kid is getting eggs and is spooky

Polite Overshadowing Jason gets overshadowed in a polite way by a fed up ghost king.

Beast boy smells Death beast boy follows a boy that smells like death (Danny) and who tries to shoot a thermos at him. What the kid says is only more confusing.

The Franken Core au a response to someone's prompt/au where the GIW messed with the core of a halfa and an eldritch horror was the result. And jazz runs away with EldritchThermos Danny.

Rude Interruptions a cult summons the ghost king when he was on a date. He is not amused.

Wrong ghost kid Sleep deprivations result in Danny supposedly scruffing Dani, who was threatening some ppl with a sword and calming him down. Except he def had the wrong kid.

Arkham Internship Jazz is the interning at Arkham and a unphased badass about it.

Danny's Arkham Vaca Danny portals into arkham and isn't allowed to leave, so he decides to take a break along with making some new changes in the asylum's structure

Ghostly Retribution Danny decides to employ some petty yet unsettling revenge against one Joker while in gotham.

Smash the plate Danny is so very confident that he is not Bruce Wayne's kid, but a dna test proves him wrong.

No biggie Danny is a chill af manner calms down a pit enraged red hood leaving confusion in his wake

Pop goes the lazarus creature Danny pops out of pools of extoplasm when too much damage happens. One time it happens to be a pool right in the middle of a ninja and bat fight. And apparently this pool of extoplasm is sentient and very angry.

Accidental Kidnapping bat kids take home someone they presumed to be Tim, no one realizes this until 3 days later

Uncle Connie  Jack was disowned or cut off his family that were in the ghost/spirit field and somehow is related to John Constantine. It’s a surprise to find out that your somehow nephew is the ghost king.

Roofhopping Fenton Fam moved to Gotham and Danny decides that roof hopping is the best thing to do with the stress of it, even if he’s doing his best to avoid certain bat and bird-themed vigilantes. 

Concussions and mistaken identities  P.2   P.3 Danny is dragged somewhere by Jack while concussed and ends up mistaking Bruce as his dad. Bruce mistakes him for tim.

Summoning an overwhelmed teenager danny is stressed to the max and being summoned to deal with a ghost problem he didn’t even know about is the last straw, cue crying. 

The Kid There is a kid that keeps fighting Joker like a rabid animal in Gotham. it’s always on sight. including in Arkham.

Clockwork's Chosen: Danny gives prophecies and answers questions he shouldn’t know the answer to. It’s a normal occurrence at Casper High, but after graduation, Gotham better prepare itself.

Accidental Crime Lord    Ao3

Feral clown senses activate Danny goes feral mode when a clown is near, even in the middle of a conversation. Sam and Tucker have a routine for when this happened, despite how everyone else is so so very confused (including vigilantes). 

Just a hole in the wall  Kon gets hit by a spell from Klarion and ends up punching an interdimensional hole to one ghost boi trynna sleep

Cadmus Clones Somehow Ellie and Danny were frozen for study by Cadmus and then found by the JL who think they are clones. 

Sleepy thermos kid Danny due to circumstances falls asleep in the worst/best times/locations. Including one point just on top of Red Hood after helping him out by wacking the enemies with his thermos. 

Skeleton Key Tired danny used the skeleton key and ended up at Wayne manor

Put a gun to my head Immortal Danny living in Gotham got caught up as a hostage and shot in front of the bat. but low and behold, he’s not just gonna let that pass

Reaper’s Dance Danny does an ancient ghosty dance to ease the lost/forgotten/dammed souls in Gotham after being taken by the Wayne’s after his family died

Powerpoint Intervention Danny was taken by the JL under the assumption of being a clone of Tim, and when he finds out it was because they thought he was a clone, he decides to hold an intervention consisting of a very long powerpoint presentation.

Star the Clown Danny actually ended up liking clowns when dealing with his feelings about the freakshow incident, so much that he absolutely hated the Joker who gave clowns a bad name. and what better way to make him pay then be a clown who interferes with his plans. 

You lied  P.2 Danny finds out the Waynes are the bat and feels betrayed because now it feels like a lie (or so he thinks)

What came after the King  Pariah Dark is still the Ghost King and can be summoned, but what is more concerning is the creature that follows. 

Ripped from the core  Danny was ripped from his core and in some small shadow eldritch form stuck in Gotham. Instead of trying his luck with the bats and birds, he decided to try it with a scaly guy underground. 

Hit da bricks  After years of captivity and essentially torture from the GIW Danny lets himself slip into a fake world to escape the pain, he wakes up in the body of R-13, a clone of the robins from Cadmus, and then makes his escape. Except it isn’t actually a dream but real.  (I made three parts so far in response to Omni’s initial response to the prompt. they named the au and actually have their own branch of the story that you should def checkout!!)

Danny created the Infinte Realms

Stolen core Vlad took away Danny's core leaving Danny half of who he is, feeling hollow. Certain ppl at thr wayne gala notice.

You dare to touch the stars? Danny has been captive of GIW but what makes him snap and finally break free is when they dare to bring in the Martian Manhunter.

Here some smaller ones

Museums kind of suck possible idea of Danny returning items to their rightful owners

Pissed teens of Amity the JL doesn't respond so the Fenton teens decide to contact one Rhas al Ghul

Is Hood food? Three ways that the hood is lowkey food trope for one very hungry halfa kid could go.

Sup batty-yo Danny just keeps popping up where bat is on patrol, effectively concerning the man by the life tidbits he drops amidst just gossip. 

A few of them I am def planning to write more and eventually post fics of on ao3. My user is Atiya_Blackcharm.

Anyways hope you enjoy 💚

P.2 masterlist

[goblinofthesun]

(For context, right before we start, I am going to be earning my doctorate in clinical psychology at the end of this month and I specialize in developmental trauma and its consequences.)

The idea that "mental illness is just wonky brain chemistry" is a fairly new one, and the way it was developed is pretty backwards. It comes from studies looking at how antidepressant medications impact brain functioning. When these studies were first done, researchers noticed that after taking an SSRI, the patient's brain had way more available serotonin in it (this is a way simplification) and so they concluded that their findings must mean that depression is just a lack of serotonin. But this logic makes absolutely no sense. Like if a researcher sat me down and fed me cereal to see if they can fix my hunger, and after I ate the cereal I no longer felt hungry, so they would conclude that my hunger must be because I don't have enough cereal in my body. It is so infuriating because not only is it bad science, but it's also probably not true!

Sure, there are mental health conditions that are largely based on brain chemistry and/or structure like bipolar or schizophrenia, but there is also no way to know which came first. For example, in the brains of people with schizophrenia, the ventricles (cavities in the middle of your brain designed to hold cerebral spinal fluid, again an oversimplification) are enlarged. But is schizophrenia a result of enlarged ventricles, or are enlarged ventricles a consequence of schizophrenia? In other words, which came first, the chicken or the egg?

(As a side note, different theories for the development of psychotic/schizospec disorders is really interesting. A theory that I'm particularly drawn to is that in the childhood homes of people who later develop schizospec disorders, there's a lot of "crazy-making" happening. By that I mean that parents of these children will just outright deny reality, as in something will happen and the parents will gaslight their children and basically say "no it didn't." The theory is that this is really confusing for a child and they have no way to differentiate fantasy (their parent's report) from reality (what actually happened) and this pattern of cognition is what snowballs and leads to the development of schizospec disorders. Even here, we can see the influence of developmental trauma.)

As a clinical psychologist, I am trained to look at mental health and people through a theoretical lens. The one I use is Adlerian, the branch of psychodynamic psychotherapy led by Alfred Adler. One of the core tenets of Adlerian psychology is that of teleology, basically that every behavior happens for a reason, that behavior is purposeful and is an attempt to move us toward our goal of superiority (moving from a "felt minus to a felt plus") and perfection. (Adlerian psychology could be its own post, but, again, I'm simplifying it for the purposes of this reply). Mental health is no exception. Going back to my depression example, in an Adlerian lens, depression is used as a way to withdraw and, in essence, take a break. The person's subjective world is so overwhelming, they often feel they have no ability to decrease their load or stress, things just keep piling up and spiral out of control. In order to feel better, move away from feelings of inferiority, they have the mistaken goal that if they withdraw, if they self-isolate, their demands will decrease and they'll be less overwhelmed. I said "mistaken goal" here on purpose because while depression does achieve the end of lessening their demands, it creates other problems and will probably not move them toward a "felt plus." In therapy with a client like this, I would work on recognizing limits, setting boundaries, increasing encouragement and self-confidence, and engaging with community in ways that are manageable and not so overwhelming.

But to get back to the original question, I do think that you're right. Separating out mental illness from "physical" illness is a form of Cartesian dualism and it's a more polite way to say "it's all in your head." I read a really interesting article this morning that pointed out the dangers of Cartesian dualism.

"What is so destructive about Cartesian dualism of mind and body is that it abstracts subjective life from the objective conditions of its existence, obscures how the socio/economic forces infiltrate and infect subjectivity, and tends to lead us to other forms of dualistic separations: rich vs. poor, first-world vs. third-world, women vs. men, Caucasians vs. all other ethnicities, in which one side of the dualism is valued for their exceptional minds (they are the subjects of modern society), and the other side is reduced to their bodies--they are the physical laborers or have bodies men desire (they are reduced to objects to be used by the subjects)" (Riker, 2020, p. 232).

Cartesian dualism is an artificial separation of our Self from our physical existence. The "mental illness is just bad brain chemicals" is one outward representation of this concept. If we can just "fix the problem" (i.e., change one's brain chemistry), then we don't have to think about the ways in which our capitalist society is creating the problem in the first place.

"Economic society needs such masterful, bounded, empty persons, for they keep insatiably consuming the disposable, non-essential goods of capitalist production in an attempt to fill up the emptiness they experience at their cores. And, in order to keep insatiably consuming, they have to keep ceaslessly working. That is, capitalist society is creating just the kind of human beings it needs in order to sustain its feverish productivity and lifestyles" (Riker, 2020, p. 231).

The brain-chemistry theory of mental illness is a distraction and is a tool used to distance us from our Selves, from those around us, and from the real problem, capitalism.

As someone who has studied and works a lot with developmental trauma, I honestly don't think that anyone can grow up in our current society without incurring some level of developmental trauma. Most of the time, the trauma I see in my office comes from parents, but I've also seen schools, peers, medical professionals, teachers, politicians, random strangers as perpetrators of developmental trauma. Capitalism is inherently traumatizing. Kyriarchy is inherently traumatizing. School is inherently traumatizing! There is no way to escape from it and I see the consequences of it every single day. Even someone without "trauma" and "simple" mental health problems like depression or generalized anxiety, I can usually find some traumatizing instance during their developmental years, even if they do not recognize it as being traumatizing. (Another side note: a trauma does not have to be traumatizing. A trauma becomes traumatizing when it overwhelms your ability to cope, but that doesn't mean it has no effect on the individual experiencing it. It just doesn't rise to meet the level of posttraumatic stress.)

There's this idea in trauma-centered therapy spaces that you cannot heal in the environment that traumatized you. But what if the world is what traumatized you? What then? What do you do? It feels so hopeless and the individual feels so helpless so it's better to just not acknowledge the actual problem and focus on something we can "fix" like brain chemistry. (And there's not even great evidence that psychiatric medication helps all that much! Most studies looking at the effects of, particularly, antidepressants show that they don't work better than placebo! Which is just more evidence that the "brain chemistry" theory of mental illness is inaccurate.)

This is just my own musing and I’m sure someone else who knows about the social history of psychiatry/psychology has an actual answer but the more I learn about developmental and relational trauma the more the idea of “mental illness is just weird brain chemicals for no reason 👀” feels like a devil’s bargain we made as a culture. Like, stigma around common mental health issues can start to lift as long as we can agree to look at it in a vacuum and don’t poke around too much.

And that’s parts of that agreement that are very limiting and slows systemic change but at the same time it feels protective and in a way I’m glad I can hide under it? “A lot of people are anxious / depressed just because ” allows for privacy and selective disclosure.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

The way Emma Thompson made Brandon resemble Benwick was by having him win a bride by sitting by the sickbed of a a semi-jilted girl who had suffered an injury. Brandon doesn't do that in the book.

This is a bit humorous because Brandon does not sit by Marianne's bedside in 95. But I know what you mean. I do think you need some context though.

One thing that is unavoidable is that the text itself of the novels does present similarities between Marianne and Louisa, but they are superficial at best.

First is the personalities. Louisa is not a bad person, but she's also not bright and not sensible in the very least. She's enthusiastic and has little personality of her own, so she morphs into whatever the man she is attracted to wants: Wentworth wants a determined girl, she turns stubborn and reckless. Benwick is passionately melancholy and romantic and addicted to poetry, and so she follows him there.

Louisa is not jilted or semi jilted. If anything it is she that pseudo jilted Wentworth by accepting Benwick.

Marianne has good sense and intelligence: we are told this at the beginning, and her reflection upon Willoughby's character and final judgement about the what ifs and her own conduct in the affair prove what was told. Marianne is not Louisa.

What I think is the core of your point (correct me if I am mistaken) is that Brandon shows no love or inclination for poetry in the novel, like Benwick does. Which is true. But I don't think it is in any way an attempt at transforming Brandon into Benwick.

In Sense and Sensibility both Marianne and Brandon are characters that embody/reference romanticism as an aesthetic/literary trend/style, which had at the time its most extensive representation and power in poetry (mainly due to the accessibility of the format). That's why Marianne loves poetry and why it makes sense to use poetry in an adaptation to convey that shared element of romanticism present in the novel.

So much so that it occurred before Emma Thompson to the script writers of the previous adaptations (1972, 1982). 1995 has several small Easter egg sort of references to S&S 81: Fanny wearing a garishly green dress in the scene where she discovers the engagement, Elinor and Marianne wearing contrasting blue-pink in the earlier part of the novel, Elinor and Edward meeting outside over a bridge for the proposal (this was a deleted scene in the movie).

Once Marianne gets sick, the novel tells us that A) Brandon worries himself sick about her and is haunted by the idea that he will never see her again B) Runs to bring Mrs Dashwood to Cleveland C) Marianne asks for his visit to thank him. D) He doesn't go to Barton until Edward has proposed to Elinor.

So far 1995 keeps A) and B) pretty close to the novel, switches C to a Barton visit, omits D and adds the dramatic rain scene. There isn't a "Brandon keeps by Marianne's bedside to win her as bride thing".

What is there is something you need to consider by putting yourself in the shoes of an adaptation script writer; you need to convey all that Austen hints that passed between Marianne and Brandon after Elinor and Edward married, and place it somewhere *before* that wedding. The visit to a convalescent Marianne seems like the best way to do it without doing much violence to the text (granted, what the text means for that scene, IMO, is really just a short exchange where Marianne says thank you and they make some warm and friendly chit chat), and so they do it. In both 72 and 82, they have a conversation about poets and poetry; Marianne "discovers" his romanticism that way, and they bond over it, and he promises to lend books to her (in the novel she means to borrow books from him). 1995 just runs with this idea, but for reasons of accessibility (not mentioning a bunch of poets the audience may have never heard of) and time economy (the story must be told in two hours) conveys it through Brandon reading a Shakespeare sonnet to a convalescent Marianne, achieving both the romanticism connection and a callback to the scene where Willoughby and Marianne also bond over a Shakespeare sonnet.

With all that, I don't think the intention was to Benwick Brandon, and considering how the movie cast and characterized the latter as this, precisely, reserved and stoic man that he isn't in the novel, I think I have solid reason to think I'm right.

[lambden]

My latest flash fic got revealed! Here's some modern AU Yengilla with a healthy serving of pining rivals to enemies to lovers, MILF Yennefer and her collection of sex toys, domestic fluff, Ciri running a lemonade stand, and some background Geralt/Jaskier. I really loved writing this one for the prompt (this image of some lemons) and I hope you enjoy reading it!

technically a lime M, Fringilla/Yennefer, 5.2K words, no content warnings Also on AO3

Last comes the master bedroom, and the size of the house is modest enough that Fringilla briefly expects mediocrity. A queen mattress on a wobbling old frame shoved against the wall opposite the door, clutter gathering in the corners of the room like dust. A nightstand vanishing under a stack of envelopes— bills that would humble Fringilla’s nosiness.

But Yennefer’s bedroom is just as ostentatious as the woman herself. The bed is the core of the room’s design, wide enough to easily fit three. Fringilla steps over the threshold before she has the conscious thought to enter, socks dragging a storm of static as she approaches Yennefer’s bed. It’s nothing like their rinky-dink campus housing mattresses. She isn’t sure why she expected, or hoped, for disarray to linger in this secret part of Yennefer’s life.

Fringilla drags her fingertips over the cold, clean bedspread and watches the grey and violet pattern dip under her touch. There are more pillows than she’d know what to do with— if she were to sleep here she thinks she’d toss it all on the floor. The duvet, the satin throw pillows, everything. Let Yennefer’s quarters reflect the chaos festering inside the woman.

Then her gaze lands on the adjacent master bathroom and another, better idea strikes her. Granted, the idea is unimaginably childish. She would reprimand anyone else for entertaining such a petty fantasy, but. Now that she’s already here. Fringilla figures that she might as well use the bathroom as a very special fuck-you to her old rival.

Without hesitating she twists the knob and enters Yennefer’s bathroom, which is infected with all the same opulence the bedroom possesses. But Fringilla doesn’t notice the bay window, nor does she drift towards the futuristic shower. Instead she stares, as though enchanted, at the assortment of bizarre objects on the counter.

Not ‘bizarre objects’, Fringilla mentally corrects. She’s sure that somewhere she can hear Sabrina Glevissig mocking her puritanism. On its own, the small white Daliesque cage might be an interesting paperweight. The slender metal bar could be a swizzle stick missing from Yennefer’s cocktail toolkit downstairs. The handcuffs could be mistaken for part of a Halloween costume, or a gag gift.

There’s no decent excuse for the robin’s egg blue vibrator, nor the massive dildo cheerfully propped up beside it in the drying rack. Fringilla wants to recoil. She knows she should. She hasn’t yet, and she doesn’t now. Her fingers drag along the edge of the drying rack, keeping clear of touching any of the actual toys, and her mind races. Does Yennefer use these regularly or is this a scheduled cleaning for everything? Is this everything or is she hiding away more secrets?

Fringilla can’t take her eyes off the long canary-yellow dildo, colours still bright even after a wash. She’s tried smaller, more discreet toys at home, and none of them have surpassed what her hand could do on its own. Inserting a long, heavy object has never been her thing either, but the toy transfixes her now. It’s obscenely large. She bets it wouldn’t even fit in both her palms.

Sparing a nervous glance at the slightly open door, Fringilla wipes her palms off on her thighs before reaching for the toy. “Shameless,” she mutters, wrapping her hands around it and marvelling at the width. It’s easy to imagine Yennefer bearing down onto the toy, shoving it into herself with two perfectly manicured fingers. It’s harder to stop imagining it.

Fringilla catches sight of herself in the bathroom mirror and realizes that her jaw has gone slack, and her eyes dark. Her mouth snaps shut but whether she’s drooling or not, she’s more affected than she wants to be. Fringilla bolsters herself on the edge of the sink as her other hand snakes down, palm gliding over her hips and down to cover the junction of her legs. She rubs herself through her pants, quick and urgent— not to get off, just to quell the itch. Her fingers crook against her clit and even through all the layers of fabric it feels good, so she does it again despite her better judgement. Now who’s fucking shameless?

The dildo trembles in her hand, the strange base making an odd clacking noise as it taps against the sink bowl. But before Fringilla can properly assess the materials and make of Yennefer’s largest sex toy, the noise is replaced by another, far more worrisome sound as someone begins to ascend the stairs.

There isn’t enough time to replace the toy on the rack and slam the bathroom door shut so Fringilla just does the first, figuring that snooping around is definitely the lesser faux pas. She wastes a second wiping her fingers off on her pants, and then in a rush of embarrassed amusement she remembers that they aren’t wet. She still feels secretly dirty and secretly thrilled, and then the source of the footsteps pushes her way into the bathroom and Fringilla shoves all those other secrets aside in favour of nearly howling at Yennefer. “Do you mind?! I’m using the bathroom!”

As always, the look that Yennefer fixes her with is deeply unimpressed. “Yes,” she replies evenly, immune to Fringilla’s panic. “My bathroom. Did you find anything you like?”

Fringilla’s jaw drops, this time brought on by flustered fury. Between the women, the tall yellow dildo in the dish rack wobbles perilously. Yennefer’s eyebrows shoot up, and Fringilla bleats, “I just need to use the bathroom, honestly, Yennefer! Have you no shame at all? Have you ever even heard of the word privacy?”

Yennefer would be well within her rights to remind Fringilla exactly whose house this is. Infuriatingly she doesn’t, nodding as though this is an entirely normal discussion between the best of friends. “Go ahead,” Yennefer says, sweet as her lemonade. “I’ll give you your space.”

“Thank you,” Fringilla says, as haughty as she can manage. When the door shuts, she very nearly collapses.

-

Twenty-five minutes before Fringilla lays her eyes on Yennefer’s massive dildo, she exits from the highway early by accident. She realizes her mistake nearly immediately, slamming her palm against the steering wheel and cursing, but there isn’t much she can do now except try to navigate home from this neighbourhood instead. This is just the icing on top of an already horrendous day at the end of an equally difficult week. She heads into the unfamiliar suburb, her tiny and beloved lemon of a car rattling over a speed bump in the already uneven road. Then Fringilla sees something on the sidewalk and her foot presses against the brake pedal.

The sign propped up against the back of a chair is adorable. The little girl behind the table hardly perks up as Fringilla’s car slows, busy counting out her earnings from the day. With a price as low as 25 cents per cup, she can’t have made much of a profit. Fringilla fumbles around her purse for a quarter and only finds a dollar.

Working a high-end business job means that she doesn’t get to see kids very often; her office is too fast-paced for any workplace bonding activities like bringing in children, and she can’t imagine half of her coworkers as parents anyway. Fringilla travels too much for work to develop any personal connections, so having kids of her own is out of the question. She wouldn’t want to be a mother anyway— she got a plant as a White Elephant gift last year and that had been too much responsibility.

But when she parks in the shade of a tall willow and opens the door, the little girl at the lemonade stand notices her immediately and starts craning her neck to get a better look. Fringilla waves awkwardly and the child beams, waving back. “Hello! I like your jacket!”

What a brilliant saleswoman. Fringilla loves her immediately. She smiles, crossing the sidewalk and carefully stepping over the chalk art. “Thank you,” she replies, adjusting the lapels of her pearl blazer. Fringilla is fond of this jacket too, especially since it’s helped her close more deals this past quarter than many of her coworkers. “Can I buy some lemonade?”

“Of course,” the kid says, grabbing a cup from the stack and reaching for the pitcher. The cups are water cooler sized but in the lemonade, slices of real lemons float around with the ice. It must be homemade. The girl lifts the pitcher with both hands and carefully sieves the juice out, pouring a cup for Fringilla. “That’ll be twenty five cents, please!”

“I only have this, so please take it. Consider it a tip.” If Fringilla’s mannerisms sound as awkward as she feels, the child doesn’t let on, graciously accepting the money and slipping it into a grey lockbox. Fringilla accepts the proffered cup of lemonade and drinks gladly, draining it in two sips. Maybe she’s just had an exceptionally long day but this is the most refreshing drink she’s ever had.

“Do you like it? I helped my mom make it,” presses the girl. Usually that idea would make Fringilla cringe, bringing to mind sticky fingers and food safety violations.

But looking at this beaming kid, there’s no way she could do anything except bask in the domesticity. “It’s very good,” Fringilla tells her, smiling wider than usual. “You know… From one businesswoman to another, I believe you could stand to raise your prices. I’d gladly pay a dollar for another cup.”

“Okay!” The girl jumps on the opportunity and reaches to pour another cup, surprising Fringilla so much she laughs. She can’t recall the last time she laughed like this; maybe last weekend when Cahir had come over and they’d watched that old sci-fi movie together. Does she only ever laugh on the weekends now?

As Fringilla is wheezing and shaking with giggles, the front door behind the lemonade stand opens to reveal the kid’s mother, coming outside to check on her and her customer. At first Fringilla doesn’t even recognize the beautiful woman with her hair tied back in a loose French braid. She’s wearing a low-cut dark dress with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and over it a light blue apron. There’s a wooden spoon sticking out of the apron pocket, and it shifts to the side when the woman leans against the doorframe, watching Fringilla keenly with sharp, violet eyes.

Fringilla nearly gasps. She can feel her eyes bulging out of her head but she can’t wipe the shellshocked look from her face, blinking rapidly to try to make sense of the vision before her. “Yennefer,” she more mouths than says, the shape of the name she’d tried hard to forget leaving her lips parted.

The beautiful woman is just as surprised to see her. She narrows her eyes, glancing between Fringilla and her daughter. Fringilla, embarrassed, crunches the paper cup in her fist. Yennefer steps onto the porch without glancing away, gaze still searing into Fringilla’s soul. “What a surprise,” she declares. She sounds the same as ever, even if she looks wildly different from the young woman Fringilla remembers.

“That’ll be another dollar, please,” says the girl— Yennefer’s daughter— and it breaks the silence. Fringilla fumbles around her purse as Yennefer descends the steps from the house, gaze never leaving her for even a second.

Fringilla slides over another dollar but she doesn’t touch the new cup of lemonade, the first one still crumpled in her hand. Yennefer comes up behind her daughter, an odd light in her eyes. “Would you like to come inside?”

“Uh,” Fringilla bleats, turning to glance at her still unlocked car. She reaches for the key fob and locks it, and when she looks back at the family in front of her, the little blonde girl is smiling sweetly and Yennefer is watching her, one eyebrow quirked. Is this a challenge, just like how everything else used to be with her? “I could come in for a few minutes!”

-

The girl, whose name is apparently Cirilla-Ciri-for-short, quickly retreats to the living room, leaving Fringilla and Yennefer alone in the kitchen with no buffer. It sets Fringilla’s nerves on edge but the intimate privacy seems to have no effect whatsoever on Yennefer. The woman indicates a seat for Fringilla at the kitchen island and then goes to wash her hands, bending slightly over the sink. Her dress is shorter than the apron and the tight fit around her hips and ass leaves nothing to the imagination. Fringilla politely averts her gaze.

“So,” Yennefer says, twisting around and commanding her attention once more. “How did you find me? And more importantly, what brings you here?”

“Serendipity,” Fringilla blurts out. “I had no idea you lived here, really. I’m as shocked as you!” Yennefer just hums thoughtfully, and Fringilla adds, “I’m more shocked, really. You’ve changed so much.”

“You too,” Yennefer replies, indicating Fringilla’s hand. As if the faded burns on her hands are anything compared to Yennefer’s full-body transformation. The jaw and back that had caused her such agony are perfectly straight and slender now— not a bone out of place. But Fringilla never remembers Yennefer like this anyway, her memories of the woman tending to shy away from the dramatic reveal at their graduation ceremony. She thinks of Yennefer standing tall despite her insecurities, and how the strict cut of their school uniform should have done her no favours but instead she shone through. She had great tits back then too, although Fringilla would sooner have disemboweled herself than admit it.

“That isn’t what I meant, it’s…” Fringilla points helplessly at the pitcher on the counter, and the juicer, still sticky with pulp. “I never imagined you settling down like this.”

“I didn’t imagine it either,” admits the woman. She picks up the juicer again, turning it in her grip; then she reaches for half of a lemon. Fringilla can’t tear her eyes away from the process, watching the juice and seeds gush out from the fruit as Yennefer pushes the handles together. All the while, she talks; “I also didn’t expect it to happen this soon but I met someone, and then Ciri sort of… came to us. Like destiny.”

Fringilla’s stomach turns. She fights the urge to roll her eyes against the corny sweetness, and instead ends up drumming her nails against the counter and drinking her lemonade. Now that she knows Yennefer made it by hand, she’s annoyed about how good it tastes.

Perhaps sensing her bitterness Yennefer changes the subject, giving the pitcher a stir and then leaving it. She leans forward against the island between them, resting her elbows against the countertop. Like this, Fringilla has a perfect view of her cleavage. She doesn’t break eye contact with Yennefer, even when the woman’s tone drops down into something softer and she says, “God, it’s been years. I haven’t seen you since… grad, right?”

She should nod and smile and make polite small talk. Suddenly, Fringilla discovers that she can’t. The bitterness churning in her gut makes her spit out, “It’s a wonder that you saw me at all that night. You barely said hello.”

She remembers it like it happened yesterday. Yennefer had swept into the hall, newly transformed by dangerous and invasive surgeries, and every head in the room turned. In an instant Fringilla had lost what she considered at the time her greatest career option, as her prospective employer flocked to Yennefer like a moth to a light. But that hadn’t bothered her, not as much as losing a friend had.

Sounding nearly awed, Yennefer mumbles, “How can you remember any of that? That feels like another life for me.”

Blood pulsing hot with irritation, Fringilla snaps, “I think about it all the time.”

It’s more than she meant to say and she immediately regrets it, especially when Yennefer’s immediate reaction is to fix her with another one of those quizzical fucking faces of puzzlement, perfectly sculpted eyebrow rising. Yennefer looks so intrigued by the frisson of Fringilla’s rage, and yet when she replies, her tone is icy. “I haven’t thought about you in years.”

“Incredible.” Fringilla is powerless to stop herself from bristling as she rises from her seat. “You’re even more of a bitch than I remember. I need to go.”

She’s glad that she spared Yennefer one last selfish look as she sees the woman’s mouth twist into a sorrowful frown. Good— let her regret this encounter. Maybe in the years to come Fringilla will haunt Yennefer’s mind instead of the other way around.

But then as she moves to leave the kitchen, a knock on the front door interrupts. Ciri scrambles to her feet and dashes out of the living room, sprinting past Yennefer and Fringilla as she hurries to open the door. Yennefer moves too, taking Fringilla’s hands in hers and imploring her, “He can’t know you’re here,” which sends a chill down Fringilla’s spine. “Please, you have to go upstairs. Please, Fringilla.”

From the entranceway Ciri squeals, presumably hugging whoever ‘he’ might be. “Jaskier! I’m just taking a break but did you want some lemonade?!”

Two distinct strangers laugh in response, then a gruff, low voice teases, “It’s all about Jaskier these days, hm?”

“Hello, Geralt,” Ciri deadpans. Fringilla can hear her eyes rolling from here. Yennefer releases only one of Fringilla’s hands and begins pulling the woman along after her, apparently taking Fringilla’s curious silence as agreement to the insane, stupid plan.

She should break free of Yennefer’s light grip and storm out the front door, shoving Geralt and Jaskier (whoever the hell they are) out of the way. But Fringilla has always been weak to Yennefer’s dangerous schemes, caving to her faster than any of the others in their class— even if she would often pretend to protest just for show.

So she lets Yennefer bring her to the staircase, which leads her upstairs. In Yennefer’s home. Alone. The house is not particularly large but it’s obviously well-loved, with paintings and photographs and odd memorabilia scattered around the walls. Fringilla never imagined Yennefer in a place like this; when she had considered it, she had always imagined Yennefer living in circumstances similar to her own. Maybe they could have met on a business trip after accidentally booking with the same foreign hotel. Maybe they could have lived in the same apartment building, missing each other by minutes for years. Fringilla thinks about it more than she’d like to admit.

Except, of course, she just admitted it to Yennefer’s fucking face.

From upstairs Fringilla can hardly hear the noise of the guests so she busies herself by snooping around. It is a mostly fruitless adventure. Ciri’s door is closed so Fringilla doesn’t intrude, and the bathroom, linens closet, and Yennefer’s office don’t hold any items of particular interest. Nothing piques her curiosity at all— not until the master bathroom. Then, because fate has it out for her, Yennefer finds her there.

-

Fringilla exits the bathroom smelling of Yennefer’s hand lotion, because after washing her hands she had put some on and immediately regretted doing so. The scent is oddly specific to Yennefer and it clouds her mind; she rubs her soft palms together idly, thinking of Yennefer. Then she looks up and sees the very woman who has plagued her thoughts so much the entire time they’ve known each other, and Fringilla stops thinking about lotion or lavender or anything other than legs.

Yennefer still wears the same dress as earlier, although the apron has been discarded. Thanks to how she’s perched on the edge of her mattress, her calves are practically on display, and the dress hugs her thighs tightly. It would take almost no effort at all to slide the dress up and reveal the rest of her. Fringilla’s gaze snaps up to meet Yennefer’s as she fights embarrassment and arousal, and she knows that Yennefer knows exactly what she’s thinking of.

The woman rolls a glass of rosé around her palm, wine rippling before she raises it to her mouth and sips. All the apologetic sorrow from downstairs has faded, replaced by cool, sexy indifference. Fringilla, stilted and awkward as always, tells her, “You look like the rectoress.”

“God,” Yennefer laughs quietly, swirling the wine in her hand again. “I forgot we all used to call Tissaia that!”

Something about the familiarity of Tissaia rubs Fringilla the wrong way. She knows that Yennefer always felt differently about their rectoress than anyone else, because Yennefer had not been selected for Aretuza under the careful supervision of a loving family. Tissaia de Vries had plucked her from a terrible situation. Suddenly curious once more and ready to snoop, Fringilla demands, “Do you still keep in touch with her?”

But Yennefer quickly replies, “I don’t keep in touch with anyone from those days.” The unspoken ‘I have a new life’ hangs between them until Yennefer sets her glass down on the nightstand beside a bottle that Fringilla hadn’t noticed earlier. It clinks quietly against the wood, and Fringilla’s shoulders sag down. Yennefer must notice, as she returns politely, “And what about you?”

Better not to share a single thing, when Yennefer had been so obviously against forming any connection. Fringilla scowls, wanting to shake Yennefer silly and demand to know why she isn’t downstairs with her husband and company. Wanting to shove the rest of that gorgeous dress up over Yennefer’s hips and prove how she’s grown. Instead, she hisses, “You don’t get to know about me.”

“You’re blowing things a little out of proportion,” Yennefer says, condescension souring her words. “We were friends for a long time.”

“I never wanted to be your friend,” says Fringilla, face heating. It’s the closest she’s come to ever confessing the true depths of her feelings for Yennefer, and even if the words are shallow and cruel on paper their meaning must be unmistakable.

Instead of addressing her confession directly, Yennefer has the hall to beam and bat her eyelashes. “That’s so cute,” she coos. Reaching for the bottle of wine she holds it out to Fringilla, who declines the offer with a sharp shake of her head. “Surely the lemonade wasn’t enough for you.”

Yennefer is teasing, and it’s enough to twist Fringilla’s nerves into a frenzied mess. “I don’t really drink much.”

“Fuck. You’re just perpetually stuck in school, aren’t you?” She doesn’t grace that with a response, and Yennefer scoffs. “Liven up, Fringilla!”

“Some of us have modesty, Yennefer,” snaps Fringilla. “We don’t run around and drink during the day, or leave our… intimate lifestyle products out on the bathroom counter!”

“Well, I can hardly put them in the dishwasher, can I?”

“Show some manners! I’m admonishing you and you’re hardly listening.”

“You’re going to lecture me about my manners after I caught you snooping around my room?” Yennefer rises slightly, straightening up in her spot on the bed. Her fury is beautiful and it stokes Fringilla’s own. “I didn’t invite you to go rooting through my belongings.”

“No,” Fringilla replies, curt but livid. “You shoved me up here so that your husband wouldn’t see me!”

That draws a quick and angry laugh out of Yennefer. Leaning forward, she squints up at Fringilla and demands, “Does the idea of me having a husband bother you that much?”

“No,” Fringilla repeats.

“You’re all nervous,” teases Yennefer.

Fringilla starts to worry that she might be losing this argument. “I can assure you, I don’t care what you do with your life.”

“You do care,” the woman presses. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have scolded me about the sex toys.”

“I don’t!”

“Yes, you do.” Pleased with herself, Yennefer leans back and relaxes once more. The sight makes Fringilla furious but she doesn’t move from where she’s rooted to the ground. She watches in angry silence as Yennefer reclines, lying back onto the bed, bare legs still hanging off the edge. “You’ve always judged me. But to judge someone, you have to watch them— and you’re not the type for snap judgements. You’ve been watching me very closely for a very long time.”

Fringilla glares, setting her jaw in place. Then her fury boils over into desire as Yennefer lifts just her head, staring at Fringilla— and parting her legs ever so slightly.

“Why stop now?” asks Yennefer, sultry voice still teasing and dark eyes still staring. Fringilla spares only the briefest glance to the closed door before finally, finally giving in to what she wants.

-

Jaskier has slid off the couch onto the carpet of Yennefer’s living room, seemingly without realizing that he’s done so. Geralt watches him fondly, eyes trailing over the soft hair at the back of his neck that he’s let grow a bit too long to be stylish. He’ll likely go for a trim soon but for now Geralt gets to enjoy the sight of Jaskier letting loose.

He reaches forward to card his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and his efforts are rewarded with a soft look thrown back over the man’s shoulder. Geralt would kiss him but he doesn’t want to interrupt; Jaskier has been poring over Ciri’s homework with her for nearly an hour as they wait for Yen to return from her shower. So he resigns himself to watching, and occasionally snorting with amusement when Ciri and Jaskier squabble over elementary grammar.

Then someone descends the staircase and Geralt lifts his head, only to be surprised by the sight of a woman who is definitely not Yennefer. She’s dressed to the nines in a white and blue blazer over dress pants and a high-cut blouse; she looks like she should be attending a business meeting, not making a house visit to a single mother. Geralt supposes she could have been here for business— it wouldn’t be unlike Yen to invite someone up to meet in her office without informing anyone else. And it’s not like Geralt or Jaskier live here after all.

But then the woman meets his questioning gaze and something about her strikes a chord of recognition in Geralt. He’s only seen her in photographs, and her hair is braided finely instead of hanging down in tight curls. But the soft brown eyes that sharply behold the room are exactly the same, even if ten or fifteen years have passed. And Geralt is hardly likely to forget the woman that Yennefer tends to fawn over after every bottle of wine.

Jaskier and Ciri notice the stranger and both turn to greet her kindly. “Oh, I didn’t know Yen had company,” says Jaskier, causing Geralt to smile. He remembers when his friend would sooner call Yen a slew of insults than her actual name, and now he’s adopted the same nickname Geralt has for her. It’s sweet. “Pleased to meet you!”

“Thanks for coming by the stand,” says Ciri, who seems very unfazed by the woman’s appearance. She must have arrived earlier, then, while Ciri was still running her lemonade stand. Geralt would be able to dismiss this as a business meeting that ran late if it weren’t for the slight dishevelment around the woman’s waistline, as if she’d hastily tucked her blouse back into her pants. From everything he knows about her, Fringilla Vigo does not seem the kind of woman to walk around with wrinkled clothing. Then Geralt catches a whiff of Yennefer’s perfume, and his eyes widen.

Fringilla, unaware of his realization, replies to Ciri, “How much did you make?” Ciri quickly shoves her homework aside and reaches for the lockbox to count her money again, and Fringilla smiles, small and amused. “Are you still open for a late order?”

“Yes, of course!” Practically singing, Ciri jumps to her feet and sprints out of the room to retrieve more juice. Fringilla watches her go, still wearing the same amused smile.

As Jaskier starts organizing Ciri’s homework into a neat pile, Geralt is unable to restrain himself. “I recognize you from Yennefer’s old yearbooks,” he blurts out. Fringilla and Jaskier both whirl to look at him, but he doesn’t walk it back. “Fringilla, right?”

Fringilla’s eyes widen with surprise but she nods, folding her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t aware there were any pictures of us together.”

“No, there weren’t,” Geralt tells her. He can practically hear Yennefer screaming at him from upstairs but it doesn’t dissuade him. “But she’s shown me pictures of you before. Many, many pictures.”

Obviously charmed, Fringilla moves to stand behind one of the armchairs. Geralt wants to tell her she’s welcome to sit and stay, but he isn’t aware of Yennefer’s policy on mid-day hook-ups staying to hang out. Then again, this might be different— this is, of course, Fringilla they’re talking about here. In a softer tone, Fringilla begins, “So… Yennefer did mention me then…?”

“Only a thousand times,” scoffs Geralt. “All these years later and she still never shuts up about her schoolgirl rival from Aretuza.”

“Ah.” Fringilla curls her fingers over the back of the chair, wincing in slight embarrassment. “My friends have similar complaints.”

Before Geralt can tell Fringilla that she doesn’t need to worry and Yen thinks the world of her (and is, in fact, slightly obsessed), footsteps thunder above their heads as Yennefer runs downstairs. Her usual cool attitude has been shoved aside in favour of glorious, embarrassed anger. She looks downright flustered as she skids to a stop in the living room, looking quickly between Jaskier and Geralt and Fringilla. “What did he say,” she demands, breathless. “Geralt, what did you say? Don’t think I’m above homicide just because you’re the father of my child.”

But Fringilla steps away from the chair and places a gentle hand on Yennefer’s upper arm, speaking quietly and calmly. “We were just discussing Ciri’s spoils for the day.”

Geralt and Jaskier watch, dumbfounded, as Yennefer softens in an instant. Geralt has never seen anyone with this sort of effect on her. He scoops Jaskier up from the floor, hands curling under his arms to bring the man up onto the couch beside him to watch. Jaskier instantly leans into his side, just as transfixed and bewildered as Geralt. Both of them gape as Yennefer says, staring deeply into Fringilla’s eyes, “Thank you for buying some lemonade. I know it means a lot to her!”

Nodding so soberly that there’s no way she’s only discussing lemonade, Fringilla replies, “I’m glad I stopped by. Very glad.”

And with that Yen pulls her into a tight hug right there, in front of everyone. Yen hadn’t hugged Jaskier for the first six years of knowing him, but… Geralt does suppose she’s known Fringilla for much longer. Fringilla returns the embrace readily, hugging her tightly back, and they stay wrapped around each other until Ciri returns with a wobbly tray and five glasses of homemade lemonade.

“Come and set it down over here,” Jaskier pipes up, which knocks the women out of whatever haze they’d entered together. They still cling to each other as they move out of Ciri’s way, and even as they settle into separate armchairs, they lean together as though magnetically pulled to do so. Geralt catches himself smiling when Yennefer meets his eyes across the room, but she’s smiling too. It seems she’s finally reconciled with her old rival.

[fcukfodmap]

Low-FODMAP Gluten-Free Cardamon Zucchini Bread

I went on vacation and messed up my daily posting, but I'm back now and ready to document my ridiculous dietary restrictions. My cousin who lives down the street planted a decent-sized garden this year. Now that it's mid-August, that means he's positively swimming in zucchini. (I just read somewhere that harvesting zucchini just makes the plant produce MOAR zucchini, so lol.)

Anyway, he gave me this ridiculous three pound zucchini, so it was time to make zucchini bread. Absolutely all of this recipe is YOLO, because I really haven't had the best luck with gluten-free flours. I'm honestly surprised at how well it turned out: soft and moist without being undercooked or crumbly. Without further ado:

Low-FODMAP Gluten-Free Cardamon Zucchini Bread

1 1/2 pounds zucchini, shredded

3/4 turbinado sugar, plus extra for sprinkling

1/4 c vegetable oil

2 large eggs

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

2 c gluten-free flour

1/2 c almond flour

2 tsp ground cardamom

2 tsp xanthan gum

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp salt

Preheat the oven to 350F and grease a bread pan. Shred the zucchini into a strainer and press out the liquid. Lay the shredded zucchini onto a clean cotton towel, and roll up to take out as much water as possible. (Coring the zucchini before shredding keeps down the water content too.)

In large bowl, whisk together turbinado sugar, oil, eggs, and vanilla. Stir in zucchini until combined. Mix in the rest of the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients -- most recipes recommend mixing them in a separate bowl, but I hate to dirty a dish for no reason -- until batter is well mixed and smooth.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan, smooth the top, and sprinkle with turbinado sugar. Bake for an hour to an hour and a quarter, turning once during baking. Let cool in the pan for a bit, and then turn out on a wire rack.

Couple few notes: I used Bob's Red Mill Gluten-Free All-Purpose Baking Flour, which does not include xanthan gum in whatever unholy mix of flours are in the package. I believe some commercially available gluten-free flour mixes do include xanthan gum, so adjust the recipe accordingly.

Turbinado sugar is marketed as Sugar in the Raw, but if you didn't want to mess around with a specific product, a mix of brown and white sugar would work just as well. I'd use more white than brown -- maybe 1/2 c to 1/4 c -- but whatever floats your boat.

I meant to put in nutmeg too -- 1/4 tsp -- but I totally forgot. You could play around with ginger, cloves, even full on pumpkin pie spice. Zucchini doesn't taste like anything, so use whatever pleases you. I like the cardamon & cinnamon mix because it reminds me of the baked goods my Scandinavian grandmother made.

Anyway! I'm pretty fcuking excited about how well this turned out. So far my gluten-free baking experiences have ranged from decent to disastrous. It's nice to get a win.

Disclaimer: I am no dietician. I'm doing my best to minimize FODMAPs in my diet, but it's possible for me to be misinformed or mistaken about various ingredients.