#corrections and counter arguments welcome

[ping1n]

meridia is homophobic. clavicus puts rainbow flags on his shrines during pride month and takes them down immediately after. sanguine is basically the patron god of being gay - this is known to the wise. now controversial take but i think azura would deadname you. she does this regularly to the nerevarine. malacath loves all his children, but especially the bears. hircine heard the word "bear" and they're a little confused but they've got the spirit. if you make a post about cannibalism as a metaphor for intimacy that is a prayer to namira. nocturnal. mephala... not actually homophobic but would out you just to mess with you. we are not discussing molag bal today. boethia is a genderfluid icon. peryite doesnt know what gay means but if you're spreading diseases its all good. sheogorath still considers gay people his children from when homosexuality was considered a mental illness. he's also happily married to haskill. i wanna say jyggalag is homophobic in contrast but hes actually very pro-homo. he wants everything to be homogeneous. mehrunes dagon... on the one hand he nearly destroyed the empire (based). on the other he tortured all those people. mildly problematic but he did make all those demons shirtless so

yeah thats all the princes right - oh wait fuck. ithelia is a terf.

edit: i literally had a list open on uesp when i was making this how did i miss TWO. this series has too many fucking daedra. anyway. remember that post about the extremely large drive filled with gay porn reviews on a charity shop computer? hermaeus mora has that now. originally i confused vaermina with namira (my bad, please no nightmares) but lets just say. she's a friend of nocturnal.

[pucksandpower]

Crash Course Correction

Lando Norris x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: the Austrian Grand Prix left your boyfriends less than pleased with each other, so you decide to do something about it

The tension in the air is palpable as you stride into the living room, your eyes darting between Max and Lando. They’re seated on opposite ends of the couch, arms crossed, deliberately avoiding each other’s gaze.

The aftermath of their crash at the Austrian Grand Prix still lingers, a cloud of unresolved anger and frustration hanging over them.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come. “Alright, boys,” you announce, your voice firm but tinged with exasperation. “This ends now.”

Max’s head snaps up, his blue eyes narrowing. “What are you on about?”

Lando, unable to resist, chimes in with a snort. “Probably about how you can’t drive for shit.”

“Me?” Max’s voice rises an octave. “You’re the one who-”

“Enough!” You cut them off, hands on your hips. “I’ve had it with this childish bickering. You two are going to sit here and work this out, or so help me, you’ll both be sleeping on this couch until you do.”

The threat hangs in the air for a moment before Lando breaks the silence. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you reply, your tone leaving no room for argument. “I love you both, but I’m not dealing with this anymore. Sort it out.”

Max leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Y/N, come on. It’s not that simple. He-”

“No excuses,” you interrupt. “Talk to each other, not to me. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” With that, you turn on your heel and march out of the room, leaving the two drivers to face each other.

For a long moment, neither speaks. The ticking of the clock on the wall seems to grow louder with each passing second.

Finally, Lando breaks. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Max grunts in agreement. “Yeah, well, welcome to life with Y/N. Stubborn as hell.”

“You’re one to talk,” Lando retorts, but there’s less heat in his words now.

Max sighs, leaning back into the couch. “Look, about the race ...”

Lando tenses. “What about it?”

“I ... I might have been a bit aggressive in that turn,” Max admits grudgingly.

Lando’s eyebrows shoot up. “A bit?”

“Hey, you weren’t exactly backing off either,” Max counters, but his tone is more defensive than accusatory.

Lando opens his mouth to argue, then closes it, considering. “Fair point,” he concedes after a moment. “I guess we were both pushing pretty hard.”

The admission seems to ease some of the tension in the room. Max nods, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s what we do, isn’t it? Push to the limit.”

“Yeah,” Lando agrees, a matching smile forming. “Sometimes we just ... overstep that limit.”

There’s another pause, but this one feels less strained. Max breaks it, his voice softer now. “I am sorry, you know. For how it ended up. It wasn’t what I wanted.”

Lando’s expression softens. “I know. Me too. It’s just ... frustrating, you know? We both lost out on a podium.”

Max nods emphatically. “Tell me about it. The team was not happy.”

“Christian give you an earful?” Lando asks, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

Max groans. “Like you wouldn’t believe. You?”

“Zak was ... not thrilled,” Lando admits with a grimace. “But I think Andrea was even worse.”

They share a look of mutual understanding, the shared experience of team disappointment bridging the gap between them.

“You know,” Max says slowly, “maybe we should ... I don’t know, talk more? In the paddock, I mean. Try to avoid these situations.”

Lando tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, that could help. Better communication, less ... assuming the other will back off.”

“Exactly,” Max agrees, warming to the idea. “We’re both competitive as hell, but maybe we can find a way to race hard without ... well, this.”

Lando nods, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’d like that. It’s more fun when we’re both actually finishing the race.”

Max chuckles. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

The atmosphere in the room has shifted dramatically, the earlier tension replaced by a tentative camaraderie. They’re both quiet for a moment, processing the change.

“So,” Lando ventures, “think this counts as making up? Because I really don’t fancy sleeping on this couch. It’s not exactly built for comfort.”

Max laughs outright at that. “God, no. My back would never forgive me.” He pauses, then calls out, “Schatje? You can come back now. We’ve sorted it.”

You poke your head around the corner, eyeing them suspiciously. “Have you really? Or are you just saying that to get out of couch duty?”

Lando holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Cross my heart. We’ve had a proper talk and everything.”

You step fully into the room, your gaze moving between them. “And? What did you decide?”

Max and Lando exchange a glance before Max speaks. “We’re going to work on communicating better about what happens on the track. Try to avoid these ... incidents.”

“And off track?” You prompt, not quite satisfied.

Lando jumps in. “We’re good, love. Really. Water under the bridge and all that.”

You study them for a moment longer before your posture relaxes. “Alright, I believe you. But if I hear one more word about that crash ...”

“You won’t,” Max assures you quickly. “Promise.”

You nod, finally allowing yourself to smile. “Good. Now, who wants dinner? I’m starving.”

As you turn to head back to the kitchen, Lando calls out, “Hey, Y/N?”

You pause, looking back. “Yeah?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Just for the record, if we had to sleep on the couch ... would it have been together, or ...”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the laugh that escapes. “In your dreams, Norris.”

Max snorts. “As if I’d share a couch with you anyway. You kick in your sleep.”

“Oi!” Lando protests. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfect sleeping companion.”

“Sure you are,” Max teases. “That’s why Y/N always complains about your snoring.”

You decide to intervene before they can start bickering again, albeit more playfully this time. “Alright, children. Less arguing, more helping with dinner.”

They both groan dramatically but get up to follow you into the kitchen. As you start pulling out ingredients, you can’t help but smile at the easy banter now flowing between them.

“So,” Max says, leaning against the counter, “what’s for dinner?”

You shrug. “I was thinking pasta. Simple and quick.”

Lando perks up. “Ooh, can we have garlic bread too?”

“Only if you make it,” you counter, tossing him a loaf of Italian bread.

He catches it with a grin. “Challenge accepted.”

As Lando busies himself with the garlic bread and you start on the pasta sauce, Max hovers nearby, looking slightly lost.

“Don’t just stand there,” you chide gently. “Make yourself useful. Chop some vegetables or something.”

Max grimaces. “You know I’m useless in the kitchen.”

Lando laughs. “Come on, Max. Even you can’t mess up chopping vegetables. Here, I’ll show you.”

To your surprise, Max allows Lando to guide him through the process, their earlier animosity completely forgotten. You watch them with a warm feeling in your chest, grateful that your plan worked out better than you could have hoped.

As the kitchen fills with the aroma of garlic and herbs, the conversation flows easily between the three of you. Racing stories blend with personal anecdotes, punctuated by laughter and the occasional playful jab.

“Remember that time in Monaco,” Lando says between giggles, “when Daniel thought it’d be a good idea to-”

“Oh God,” Max groans, but he’s smiling. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t look at inflatable flamingos the same way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”

They exchange a look before answering in unison, “Probably not.”

The pasta is almost done when Max suddenly says, “You know, I’m glad we sorted this out.”

Lando nods, his expression sincere. “Me too. It’s ... nice, this. Being able to just be together without the pressure.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees softly. “Sometimes I forget we’re not just rivals, you know? We’re ... partners.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighted with meaning. You hold your breath, waiting to see how Lando will respond.

A slow smile spreads across Lando’s face. “Yeah, we are. Even if you are a pain in the arse sometimes.”

Max laughs, the sound full and genuine. “Right back at you, mate.”

You can’t help but join in their laughter, relief and happiness bubbling up inside you. This is what you’d hoped for — not just a truce, but a real reconnection.

As you all sit down to eat, the conversation continues to flow. You find yourself content to just listen, watching the way Max and Lando interact. There’s a new ease between them, a understanding that goes beyond their shared profession.

“You know,” you say during a lull in the conversation, “I’m proud of you both. For working this out.”

They both look slightly embarrassed at the praise, but pleased nonetheless.

“Well,” Lando says, a teasing lilt to his voice, “we couldn’t very well let you win, could we? Threatening us with the couch, honestly.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

Max chuckles. “She’s got us there.”

As the evening winds down, you find yourself curled up on the couch between them, a movie playing on the TV. It’s some action flick that none of you are really paying attention to, too content in each other’s company.

“Hey,” Max says softly, his arm draped around your shoulders. “Thanks for this. For ... pushing us to talk.”

Lando hums in agreement from your other side. “Yeah, we can be right idiots sometimes. It’s good to have someone to knock some sense into us.”

You smile, warmth spreading through you. “That’s what I’m here for. Someone has to keep you two in line.”

They both laugh at that, the sound harmonizing in a way that makes your heart swell.

As the credits roll on the forgotten movie, you realize that this — this moment of peace and companionship — is exactly what you’d been hoping for.

It’s not always easy loving two Formula 1 drivers. The competition, the pressure, the constant travel ... it can all take its toll.

But moments like this? They make it all worthwhile.

You snuggle deeper into the couch, surrounded by the warmth of the two men you love. “So,” you say, unable to resist one last tease, “I guess you’ve both earned your bed privileges back, huh?”

Max and Lando exchange a look over your head before Max speaks. “Actually ... I was thinking maybe we could all just stay here for a bit longer. This is ... nice.”

Lando nods in agreement. “Yeah, no rush to move. Unless you want to, of course,” he adds quickly.

You smile, touched by their reluctance to end the moment. “Here is perfect,” you assure them.

As you settle in for another movie, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, that crash was a blessing in disguise. It forced a confrontation that needed to happen, cleared the air in a way that casual interaction never could.

And now, curled up between Max and Lando, their earlier rivalry forgotten in favor of shared laughter and warm companionship, you know that whatever challenges come next, you’ll face them together.

As a team.

As a family.

[anyca786]

"WE SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THIS."

Daemon Targaryen x sister!Targaryen

WARNINGS: Canon typical incest/ targcest (brother and sister), ( Rhaenyra x aunt!Targaryen) kissing, cuddles between Rhaenyra and Daenys) Daemon being Daemon.

Series

"Welcome to Dragonstone, Otto," greeted Prince Daemon with a smirk as the Hand approached.

Otto ascended the tedious steps with a simmering anger, his frustration mounting as he laid eyes upon Prince Daemon and his loyal Gold Cloaks. Mysaria, dressed in resplendent white, stood poised behind the Rogue Prince radiating confidence.

Daemon toyed with the dragon's egg in his hand, tauntingly tossing it back and forth before fixing his gaze mischievously upon the Hand,

"You're to relinquish the dragon's egg, disband your army, banish your whore, and leave Dragonstone by order of His Grace, King Viserys," Otto demanded firmly, his voice laced with authority.

Daemon's eyes flitted to Mysaria, a flicker of curiosity dancing in his gaze, before he surveyed the scene.

The Prince scoffed, 'Where is the King? I don't see him."

"His Grace would never lower himself to entertain such a mummer's farce," Otto retorted with a slightly annoying smile.

Daemon merely smirked before turning his attention to the knight. "Ser Crispin, was it?"

Ser Criston's expression soured slightly, unimpressed by the Rogue Prince's words. "Ser Criston, my Prince,"' he corrected firmly.

"Ahh, yes, my apologies. I couldn't recall,' Daemon replied dismissively.

Ser Criston's jaw clenched slightly before he retorted, "Perhaps, my Prince, you can recall the moment I unhorsed you."

"Or perhaps, Princess Daenys remembers me," Criston added.

Daemon chuckled," Very well," though his amusement didn't quite reach his eyes.

He despised Ser Criston, mainly because the knight seemed to captivate the attention of Daenys and Rhaenyra.

Otto interjected sternly this time, addressing the Prince with a firm tone. "Are you so desperate for the King's attention that you've resorted to skulking about like a common cutpurse?"

'I'm simply upholding the traditions of my house, just as my brother did for his heir,' Daemon defended himself.

"Those traditions are reserved for the legitimate children of royalty, not for bastards sired on a common whore, Otto retorted, casting a disgusted glance toward Mysaria and sneering in Daemon's direction,

"Lady Mysaria is to be my wife,"' Daemon announced boldly.

Otto stepped forward, his eyes blazing with outrage. "This is an abomination! With every breath, you tarnish your name, your house, and your brother's reign."

"Our love knows no titles or traditions," Daemon countered defianty.

The Hand tilted his head, his expression incredulous. "And what of you, Men of the City Watch, aiding the Prince in his treason?" he demanded, addressing the Gold Cloaks behind the Rogue Prince.

"The King appointed me their commander. Their loyalty lies with me, Daemon asserted confidently. "If you've come for the egg, here it is." He dared the Hand to make a move stretching his arm out toward Otto tauntingly.

"Are you mad? You will never survive this,"Otto warned, his voice tinged with concern.

"Neither will you," Daemon replied calmly.

'To choose violence here is to declare war against your King,' Otto warned sternly.

"Wonderful," Daemon remarked with a smirk, undeterred. "Even if it endangers your unborn child and its mother," Otto added, trying to appeal to Daemon's sense of reason.

But Daemon drew his sword, followed by the Gold Cloaks and the King's guards, ready for confrontation. Suddenly, a deafening growl pierced the air, freezing everyone in place except for Daemon. A peculiar sound that could only belong to one dragon.

Caraxes soared over the castle, unleashing a mighty screech that reverberated through the air. He had come to protect his rider, and Daemon couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

"Lower your weapons, all of you!" Daemon commanded, his tone brooding with no place for argument.

Reluctantly, the guards sheathed their blades.

The sky darkened as Nyx's wings almost cut the sunlight. Nyx sensed her rider's fury as she descended through the clouds, letting out a thunderous roar that echoed across the bridge, alerting those nearby.

Rhaenyra followed behind Syrax, navigating through the thick fog and keeping pace with the much larger dragon.

As Nyx landed a few feet away from Otto, the guards bristled with aggression, but Caraxes 's presence stoked their fears. The two dragons seemed poised for battle until Syrax intervened with a commanding roar, quelling the tension but remaining on edge.

Daemon watched as Rhaenyra and Daenys gracefully dismounted their dragons and strode confidently through the men, making their way toward him and Otto.

Daenys looked irresistible in your tight armour dress.

"What are you doing here, Princesses?" Otto inquired softly, directing his question to Rhaenyra and Daenys, His eyes stayed on Daenys a bit too long. He reaches to grab her arm.

At the sight of this, Daemon narrowed this eyes, feeling a strange pang of possessiveness.

'We're here to prevent bloodshed. There's already enough of it, and drastic measures needn't be taken," Daenys retorted sharply, her gaze strong and calculating, removing the hand of the Hand from her arm.

Otto bowed his head, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Yes, Your Grace," he conceded through gritted teeth.

Daemon wore a small smirk, amused by Otto's discomfort at being rejected by Daenys.

"Ser Criston, please escort Princess Daenys and Princess Rhaenyra back to safety," Otto commanded, attempting to regain control of the situation.

Daenys exchanged a glance with Rhaenyra, bemused by Otto's oversight regarding their dragons

'Take care not to startle Syrax, my lords. She's rather protective of me." Rhaenyra said. "Nyx is known to be highly possessive of Princess Daenys. Do you wish to lay a hand on the Princess and be burned alive?" Rhaenyra interjected calmly, her tone matter-of-fact, as she passed by Otto and the knights coming face to face with Daemon.

Daenys mirrored Rhaenyra's stance, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she cast a wary eye over the men prepared to intervene if necessary and then to Daemon's, casting a challenging look.

'My father named me the Princess of Dragonstone. That is my castle you're living in, Uncle," Rhaenyra asserted firmly.

"Not until you come of age," Daemon countered dismissively, a smirk played on his face when Daenys rolled her eye.

"You have angered your King," Rhaenyra interjected, her fury evident in her tone.

Daenys stepped forward, her arms folded across her chest. "Indeed, He's quite angry," she added pointedly.

"Hm," Daemon responded nonchalantly.

Daenys's gaze then drifted to Mysaria, who stood nearby. The raven-haired woman exuded a captivating beauty, and Daenys found herself strangely insecure that Daemon chose Mysaria over her.

Caraxes roared happily when he sensed the presence of Daenys and Nyx, and in return, Nyx roared back at him.

Daemon concealed his smirk, thinking about how his dragon has a special bond with Daenys as well.

"Rhaenyra shared a cradle with a dragon. Rhaenyra's hatched.. although yours and mine did not. I want the same for my child to have an egg when he is born,"

Daemon stated, causing Daenys to step forward and address him sternly. "So, are you to have a child?" Daenys inquired in High Valyrian, her tone laced with jealousy.

Daemon looked at her, his gaze softening as if he were envisioning his future. His future was standing right in front of him. The only person he had always wanted to spend the rest of his life with was someone he couldn't have, not just yet.

"One day," he replied cryptically. Mysaria walked away and disappeared back into the castle.

'I'm right here, uncle. The object of your ire, the reason you were disinherited. If you wish to be restored as heir, you'll have to kill me. So do it, and be done with all this bother,' Rhaenyra spat defiantly at her uncle, her words laden with bitterness, but that intrigued Daemon.

Daemon's shoulders slumped, and he tossed the egg toward Rhaenyra, who caught it before storming back inside the castle, shooting one last glance at Daenys.

The two princesses shared a knowing smile before eventually placing the egg in the care of the Dragon Keeper.

They mounted on their dragons and made their way back to King's Landing.

🥀

'I've decided to take a new wife,' he continued, glancing at Rhaenyra, who offered him an encouraging smile. However, the next words that left his lips sent shockwaves through Daenys, causing her to nearly lose her balance, with Rhaenyra hastily grabbing onto her for support.

"l intend to marry the Lady Alicent Hightower before spring's end." Viserys declared.

Rhaenyra snapped her head toward Alicent, who attempted to feign shock, but Daenys could see through her facade.

As Rhaenyra's gaze shifted to Daenys, she could see the shock mirrored in her aunt's expression, though it was quickly replaced by a tight mask of anger.

Daenys seethed, her eyes shooting daggers at Otto. The Hand's lips twisted into a barely noticeable upward grin.

Rhaenyra wasn't sure who to direct her anger towards, but when Alicent stared at her whilst Otto stared at Daenys with wavering emotions.

Rhaenyra's rage kicked in, prompting her to grab Daenys arm firmly. "Excuse both of us," she declared, her voice strained with anger and hurt.

"Rhaenyra! Daenys"' Viserys protested, while Corlys stood up from his chair, his voice rising in frustration.

Daenys stormed out of the room, with Rhaenyra following closely behind. Hot tears streamed down Rhaenyra's cheeks as she seethed with anger. Daenys attempted to calm the dragon princess as she gently wiped her eyes.

"Rhaenyra," she murmured, "Sweetheart, I didn't know any of this would happen," her voice filled with sadness for her niece.

"| know, you never lied to me. You're the only one in this fucking family who tells me the truth and cares about me" Rhaenyra spat, she was so angry.

Rhaenyra hugged Daenys, whilst Daenys placed a kiss on top of her head.

After confronting Alicent, Rhaenyra went straight to Daenys's bedchamber.

Rhaenyra entered Daenys' bedchamber, the dim candle light casting long shadows. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, feeling the weight of the day's stresses lift from her shoulders. The room was quiet, the only illumination coming from the soft glow of the candles.

She took a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of the home, the scent of Daenys.

Daenys stirred from her sleep. "Daemon?" Her voice was incredibly low, barely audible. "Who's that?" Her voice now louder.

"It's me," Rhaenyra replied.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Daenys' voice softened, laced with concern.

Rhaenyra walked towards her and sat on the bed, Daenys sitting up. Her gorgeous long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her thin nightgown barely covered anything beneath.

Rhaenyra's expression turned into lust as she eyed Daenys.

"What happened with Alicent?" Daenys inquired softly, pulling Rhaenyra out of her trance.

"I hate her," Rhaenyra replied simply, seeking comfort in Daenys' arms. Daenys welcomed her in, wrapping her arms around her.

"It's okay," Daenys whispered, stroking Rhaenyra's hair. "I'm here for you."

They sat in silence for a few moments, simply enjoying each other's company. Then,Rhaenyra perked up and kissed Daenys softly on the cheek.

Her heart raced as she turned to face Daenys and leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Daenys as she closed her eyes, letting herself be swept away by the moment.

Their kiss deepened, and Rhaenyra's hands began to explore Daenys's body, pushing her nightgown off the shoulder, exposing her heavy breast.

"Nyra..." Daenys whispered, her voice barely audible.

Rhaenyra deepened their kiss, a wave of warmth spread through Daenys body as Rhaenyra massages her breast, slightly tugging her pink nipples.

Daenys felt a sense of connection with Rhaenyra that she had never experienced before.

Their hands moved instinctively, exploring each other's bodies. Daenys ran her fingers through Rhaenyra's hair while Rhaenyra traced circles on Daenys's bare back.

Their passion grew, and their kisses became more intense and sloppier.

When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless. They looked into each other's eyes, their hearts racing.

But then, a wave of doubt washed over Daenys. She had acted impulsively, and she wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. She pulled away from Rhaenyra, her expression filled with regret.

"Nyra.. I'm sorry," she said. "We shouldn't have done this."

Rhaenyra's smile faded, replaced by a look of hurt. "Why not?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Daenys hesitated, searching for the right words. "I... I don't know. It's not right. You're a child, Rhaenyra"

Rhaenyra's heart ached,"We can talk about it later." She said as she reached out and wrapped her arms around Daenys.

Daenys stiffened at first, but then she slowly relaxed. Rhaenyra snuggled deeper into Daeny's embrace, feeling a sense of comfort wash over her.

They lay together for a long time, their bodies pressed close. Slowly, the tension began to melt away. Rhaenyra felt a sense of peace wash over her, a sense that everything was going to be okay. Eventually, both fell asleep.

A/N: Talk about having a bad week. I broke my glasses, my phone screen got damaged, and my charger exploded :((

Anyways, Daemon x Daenys x Rhaenyra?! I mean, Aegon the conqueror, had 2 wives 😏

Send ideas, having a writers block.

[love4agesss]

bleach. george daniel x reader

synopsis: your life is changing rapidly, all good things— yet you’re feeling behind and lost in life. in an effort to cope, you bleach your hair, with the help of your boyfriend george.

word count: 1,488

warnings: angst?-(not really?) general feelings of feeling lost! perhaps a bit self indulgent!

a/n: this is my first published writing! yay! it’s maybe a bit too wordy but I had too much fun. i saw @bayleequits post that there’s a lack of george fics and angst/fluff and i have to agree! so I’m attempting to rectify that:)

anyway! enjoy! <33333

——————————————————————————

You were being unfair. 

Blaming your own ineptness to cope with change on everything around you, including George, was only making matters worse. What made everything far more confusing and complicated was that these changes were all good. You had just taken a new job offer, one that pays far more than your last job and has flexible hours, and you’ve finally moved in with your boyfriend of two years. Things are looking up, yet you’re feeling lower than you have in months.

After a domestic discussion about your now shared finances turned into an avoidable argument; here you are in the bathroom of your shared house with tears drying down your cheeks. You feel emotional, embarrassed of yourself, and guilty— achingly so.

George has done nothing but love you and welcome you into his home, he has done nothing but share in your success and joy with your new job. It isn’t his fault you’re feeling this way; you just feel off, distant, the changes all overwhelming and hitting at once.

Yet, you still feel the same— like you’re standing still as your life keeps moving around you.

You take in your appearance in the mirror across from you, the light bouncing off of the pale gray bathroom walls making it seem unbearably bright. Your eyes are puffy, your cheeks flushed and tear-stained, your hair a mess.

Your hair, the same length it’s been since you first started at the job you just left— 5 years ago; the hair that’s been through two break ups and the beginnings of your time with George. Never really having changed it, you decide that your hair is one of the small things you could do to change yourself, no matter how surface level that difference really is. 

Ducking down and opening a drawer under the sink, you see a box of cheap hair bleach, unopened and likely being saved for George’s next touch up. He’s always been adamant about doing it himself, using a single gloved hand to smother his scalp with bleach. Lacking sleep and the correct parameters to make a sensible decision, you grab the box and begin to open it, all the while attempting to remember where the hair scissors are. 

You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you don’t notice George’s head peeking in through the bathroom door, his deep eyes thoughtful as they watch your hands deftly working to inbox the hair kit.

“D’you want some help?” His tone rumbles this softly, not questioning your actions as he allows you to notice his presence. 

All current thoughts and feelings are replaced by love and guilt as he nears you. You want to apologize for your stubbornness and fighting words, yet all you can do is nod wordlessly and hand him the box. George grants you a soft smile, patting the counter of the sink with his palm as he sets the contents of the box on the closed toilet lid. You watch his sure movements as he mixes the contents into the bowl.

“Where d’you want it?” His eyes rove over your features as he speaks, taking in the emotions staining the face he loves so dearly.

You hadn’t thought about it and you don’t want to commit to your whole head, “Just a strip in the front, could look cool,” the smile you shoot him is weak, barely able to be held up by the weight you feel.

George steps closer, your legs widening instinctively to allow him between; his tall, broad build shadowing over you. The silence between you two is achingly tense as he sections off your hair, tucking what is to be untouched by the bleach behind your ear.

Neither of you know how to approach this, as neither of you can put a name to what is so wrong.

His willingness to aid you after you had been so harsh says a lot about who George is as a person, as a partner. Forgiving, comforting, empathetic, and warm. All traits you continually fall in love with; over and over and over.

Pulling a glove over his hand, he holds the strip of your hair, his right hand using the bleach coated brush to slowly apply it. In languid streaks, he coats the desired section. His sharp features are focused as he gnaws at his bottom lip, careful to not brush anything outside of the given parameters. Silently, he clasps the bleach-drenched hair back, starting a timer on his phone to allow for the chemicals to set in.

Slowly but surely, he looks up from his phone, gaze latching onto your own. Tenderly, he reaches a hand out, the pads of his fingers brushing the apple of your cheek before cupping your face in his large, calloused palm. Brows furrowing, creating a crease in the skin between them, George's eyes fill with concern and with words he’s unsure of speaking aloud.

“What’s going on in this head of yours?” He questions softly, his deep rumble of a voice strained with worry.

You feel a jolt in your chest at his feather light touch, reserved for you; only you. “I– ” you pause, still unsure of how to put this into words, you just don’t know, “I don’t know.” It comes out as a weak croak, reverberating in the small bathroom space. 

“Love, there has to be something. You’ve been on edge all week,” he says with concern brushing across his features, his thumb tracing the dried tear streaks on your cheek. “Is it– are you regretting moving in?” George’s tone is marred with worry, his brows furrowing impossibly further, “I never wanted to push you to move too fast with us, I just– ” 

“God, no. Of course not,” you whisper, cutting him off. “It’s just– I– I feel stuck,” you attempt to explain, “Everything around me is changing so rapidly and life is moving on, but I feel the same. Like my mind is unwilling to adjust to any of this.” 

His hand slips from your cheek to rest upon the crook of your neck, his calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles across your collarbone. It’s one of his favorite places to inhabit; with his face, tender kisses, the point of his nose, or the tip of a finger. 

“D’you need to go back to therapy?” George asks gently, almost with an air of hesitance, as he takes the glove off of his left hand. He knows therapy’s not something that anyone necessarily enjoys; though it has potential to help. 

You’re quick to say no, your head shaking weakly.

“The last thing I want to do is feel like I regressed, George. I’m so tired of feeling like I can't get better. I should be over the moon about moving in and getting a new job– and I am, but it’s like everything I knew is gone for good. The only constant is you, and I keep being an asshole,” you groan into your hand, wiping at your irritated eyes. 

“Darling, stop that, please” George pleads softly, his warm palms engulfing your shoulders in a loving attempt to keep you upright, “I can’t say it’s been easy. I know life hasn’t been as of lately, regardless of how good it’s appearing to be.” 

He’s always been an anchor for you, in all aspects of life. Somehow his warm brown eyes soften even further as he looks to you, to your overwhelming feelings that seem to seep out of every aspect of how you exist lately. You’ve been trudging through the past week, hoping your pathetic attempts at getting better will aid you in escaping your feelings. 

Unfortunately they chase right behind you, biting and gnawing at you. “I know I should go,” you admit in a nearly inaudible breath, “I know I should,” you repeat, more to yourself now as if to convince you that therapy might help. 

“It can only help, yeah?” He murmurs softly, careful to not touch your bleach soaked hair as he pulls you to his chest, “I can drive you, take you for dinner after.” 

You can’t help but smile against his broad chest, your load lightening ever so slightly as you breathe him in, feel his heart beating beneath your cheek. Every steady tap of its rhythm seems to reassure you; ‘it’ll be okay.’ 

“You wanna help me touch mine up?” George asks as he pulls away, hands grazing the side of your arms tenderly. 

“You must really pity me, to let me bleach that special hair of yours,” you tease, sniffing up the last of your emotions. 

“Take it or leave it,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes as a soft smile tugs at his lips. 

You’re quick to take it; quick to grab the bowl of bleach, just as he’s quick to kiss your lips, quick to bend down to your height; always and forever attempting to make life just a bit easier for you.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Part 2 of Adamsapple + Cain angst

Adam and Lucifer weren’t on speaking terms after the argument. Adam kept true to his words; he wouldn’t allow Cain to go out with Lucifer. Lucifer tried everything to make it up to Adam and Cain but the lamb demon wasn’t letting him go by. It been three weeks and four days since Adam last talked to Lucifer face-to-face. The king of Hell could forced the first man to talk, but unfortunately, Adam was very stubborn when upset. Hell, the only way to get Adam from talking in Eden is when he was upset and Lucifer doesn’t remember the ruby blood flow like a waterfall from under Adam’s right chest.

So, he went to the person who knew Adam the best.

The Root of Evil, herself

Eve, the mother of humanity.

———————-

In an Inn, there was a long-haired sheep dinner at the table. His hair was fluffy and curly like a sheep’s fur and he wore neat, clean clothing. There was a name tag on the sinner.

It read as “HELLO my name is ABEL”.

He was busy talking to a distressed sinner with a forced smile on his face, “Oho! I wouldn’t know why you’re in Hell. I mean, who’s knows? Here just take a key and relax yourself, Mister. You have all of eternity to find out! Like me.” The sinner took the key and went down the hall. Abel looked around the—finally—empty lobby before signing and taking a drink of some fancy wine or vodka that Luluwa’s husband got for her that he stole.

“Long day?”

“Yeah,” Abel took another drink of the alcohol. For a moment, he thought the voice was Awan, his older sister who finally came back.

But it wasn’t the burnt up swan demon.

It was the King of Hell, himself. How boring to Abel?

The sheep demon stared daggers at the devil before placing the bottle down on the counter. It wasn’t his fault he looked down at the fallen angel. He was very short.

Abel: “What the fuck do you want?”

Lucifer, chuckling nervously: “I know we got off the wrong foot… but I—“

Abel, buried his face in some type of magazine: “Ma is in here room, Seth in the kitchen, Seth’s wife in the garden, and Luluwa and her husband are busy.”

Lucifer quickly nodded his head before speaking up but the first victim flipped him off, “Father like son,” Lucifer thought before creating a portal and stepping through it.

After the fallen angel closed the portal, the room he was in was dark and red filled with eyes of all different shades staring at him. It was quiet at first. The curtains were closed. The only light source was coming from the ceiling. “Abel did say she was here… was he wrong?” The devil thought before looking up at the ceiling. More eyes and a falling candle with bright flame burning from it. Lucifer caught the candle, “Odd,” he thought, he turned his head around before hitting his head against something. He stumbled backward before looking up to see a head. The head was attached to a body that was standing on the ceiling. The fallen angel heard a snapping sound as the head made a 180 degree turn to face him. The body and the head were pitched black and covered in eyes. “Eve always know how to make someone feels welcome.” Lucifer rolled his eyes as the mother of humanity spines her head upward so she wasn’t getting a blood rush to her head, after all, she was still human.

Somehow.

Eve: “How the in unpleasure of Heaven’s wrath do the king of duck want?”

Lucifer took a breath before sighing, “This is about Cain and—“

Eve: “You want to know why I didn’t tell about Cain! Isn’t that correct?”

Lucifer: “Uh—well… That’s partly so…”

Eve clapped her hands as her smile grew wider, “Because we didn’t trust you~!” She sang.

Lucifer: “Didn’t… trust me?”

Eve: “Well, you did gave him false hope and promises, Lilith was his wife, you didn’t even notice Adam was bleeding, you stole his heart and shattered it so many fucking time, and after you tricked me, we didn’t trust you, Lucifer. Why would we trust you with a half human if you didn’t treat a full human good?”

The archangel gulped, “Adam… was bleeding?”

Eve: “You don’t remember? It would be very funny if Adam learned you didn’t even notice there was a hole under his right chest and the blood.” Eve remembered it as if it was yesterday. It was the day she was created. It was a sunny day, everything was still wet from there being a rain storm just happened. She first thing she saw was the wet grass before looking up and seeing Adam. His face was covered in tears. The mother of humanity looked down from the first man’s face and her eyes just stared at his chest. There was blood flowing down like a waterfall from a wound under Adam’s right chest. There was a giant being beside Adam, God. God told her that she was created from Adam’s right rib and he was her husband. The first man helped the second woman to get up. He smiled as if there was no pain in Eden. But there is pain in Eden. God left. Eve was on Adam’s left side as she held him close. Soon, she saw the archangel, Lucifer, and the first woman, Lilith. Lucifer greeted her with a big smile as his eyes were only on her not Adam. Not his wound. Not the blood. Her. How was she supposed to feel? She wished she didn’t fall for a moment in love with Lucifer. But she did. And Cain was born because of it.

Lucifer: “… I want to make it up to them.”

Eve: “Hm?”

Lucifer: “I want to make it up to Adam and Cain. I know this family isn’t the greatest… but I do love them both.”

Eve: “Adam said the same thing about you and Lilith in Eden. But Adam pissed this time. No how much flowers, apologies, anything will make it up to him. Words and little actions won’t make it up for Cain tears.”

Lucifer thought for a moment, “What does Cain like?”

Eve smiled grew larger as she walked backwards towards Lucifer and whispered in his ears what her firstborn son liked. After whispering, Eve and Lucifer were inches apart. “You know, Abel and Cain were once very close on Earth. And you know Abel was the first sinner correct?”

Lucifer: “Yes?”

Eve: “Good. But we never told you why he died, did we?”

The devil shook his head.

Eve: “Well… Abel was Cain’s new favourite brother after Awan was a girl. Cain would hold onto Abel like a koala bear! It was quite adorable to see it. Cain… I couldn’t give much attention to him when he was alive… but Adam did. He did his best. But so many our children did before adulthood… Adam give more attention to children than Cain. He knew they were important… it didn’t help. After Abel reached adulthood, me and Adam decided after so many death to not have children. Adam wasn’t in the best place after the triplets’s death. Since Abel was the youngest, he gave more him more attention. One day, Cain couldn’t help himself. He was filled with anger and jealousy and so… when Abel and he were together and alone. Cain killed Abel. Abel did forgive Cain after his died. But we still don’t know what happened to Awan and Abel blame Cain.”

Lucifer: “I thought Seth was the youngest.”

Eve: “He’s not important right now.”

Outside of the room, there was a hooded sinner walked by with a food tray in hands. The figure wore a name tag.

It said “HELLO my name is SETH”.

Seth: “I feel so loved in this family,” he grumbled as he continued walking down the hallway.

Lucifer: “Why did you tell me this?”

Eve: “I know you’re dating Adam. Adam loves his children more than anything. More than you, Lucifer. If you want Cain to see you as a father, you have to get all of Adam’s children to see you as a father.”

Lucifer: “How do I—“

Eve: “Get yourself, Adam, Charlie, Lilith, Abel, Cain, and Seth in therapy.”

Lucifer: “What about Awan?”

Eve: “If I cannot find her. What make you able to find her?”

Lucifer: “… What about Luluwa?”

Eve: “She already did her time.”

Lucifer: “That sound like she went to jail.”

Eve started to crawling away on the ceiling.

Lucifer, shouting: “What about you?!? Don’t you need therapy, Roo?!?”

Eve, fading into the darkness in the ceiling: “I BEAT THERAPY!”

Lucifer, confused: “What is that supposed to mean?!?”

When Lucifer was walking back to the hotel, he felt Eve’s presence behind him.

Lucifer: “Need something?”

Eve: “Promise me something, Lucifer. Promise me, that you won’t break his heart again.”

Lucifer: “I promise, Eve.”

Eve: “If you do break this promise like all of your other promises to Adam, I will find a way to kill an archangel. After all, you lost some power down here, don’t you?”

-

If wondering, Lilith was super freaked out when she saw blood just poured out of Adam’s wound. She just left him for an hour and he got a new wife and a mysterious wound under his right chest.

(No one knows, beside Adam and Eve, how Eve was created)

God is not a surgeon (and He’s a giant compared to Adam and Sera) and He fucked on taking Adam’s rib.

That was so sad! Oh Eve! Wow this was a lot but very good!

Thank you!

[ltash]

Piss Poor Tea

Ghost has to drive you to the city and he is not happy about it so he has something on his mind.

Ghost! I need you to take her to the city. She needs to get her belongings from her apartment." Laswell said.

"Why Me? Soap can drive her." He countered.

"Because I said so, Lieutenant," Laswell replied firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Besides, you have your car here. It's more convenient."

A heavy sigh escaped Ghost's lips, his reluctance evident in the way he shifted his weight. "Fine, I'll take her," he relented, though the frustration lingered in his voice.

"Soap will accompany you too." Laswell said.

"Ok! When do we leave?" Ghost inquired, his voice tinged with a hint of reluctance.

"As soon as possible," Laswell replied briskly. "I am giving you a day off. Try to make it quick. Tomorrow we will be finalizing our next mission." With that, she declared, "Meeting is dismissed."

Ghost turned to me, his gaze lingering for a moment before he stated, "Meet me in an hour. Get ready." Then, without waiting for a response, he left the room.

The journey stretched on for two long hours, with Soap's incessant chatter filling the car.

"Aye LT! Why was strawberry crying?" Soap quipped, unable to contain his own laughter. "Because it was in a jam."

"Put on some music, please. I'm getting bored," I interjected, hoping to drown out Soap's jokes.

Throughout the ride, I noticed Ghost's gaze fixed on me in the rearview mirror, his eyes unwavering. "LT! You have a staring problem?" I teased, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Look ahead, or we'll be in big trouble."

Ghost finally tore his eyes away from me in the mirror and refocused on the road ahead, his expression unreadable.

After a long journey, we finally arrived at my home in the afternoon. I turned the key in the lock and swung the door open, inviting Ghost and Soap inside.

"Welcome to my abode boys where I only got to spend 2 hours of my life. Make yourself at home." I joked around.

"Nice home lass." Soap added. Do you have a car too? He asked.

"Yes. They shipped my car beforehand. Its a Tesla. Its in the underground parking." I said. "And speaking of that I remembered it wasn't charged."

Soap replied. "A Tesla, huh? Fancy choice." He chuckled.

"Yeah, but not very practical if it's not charged," Ghost remarked.

"Don't worry, we can take care of that later," Soap said with a grin. "First, let's get your stuff."

"Do you drink?" Ghost asked.

"Yes I drink but only coffee. Sorry you won't find any Bourbon here." I chuckled.

"Good enough for me," Ghost said with a smirk. "But I drink tea."

Soap chimed in, "I could use a cup too, if you don't mind.

"Tea it is then," I corrected myself with a smile. "I'll put the kettle on."

I remembeed there was milk in the fridge which I hadn't even opened. Thankfully it wasn't gone bad.

As I was making tea Ghost came to stand against the counter. Soap was busy watching TV.

I added milk, sugar and tea altogether and put it on the stove.

Ghost was watching me closely and he intervened.

"You have to mix tea and water first and bring it to a boil then add a dash of milk and sugar according to taste. You are doing it wrong." He added.

"My mother used to make tea like that. I like it that way more." I said and gave him a smile.

"Its not English tea then." Ghost came closer and said very softly.

It gave me chills down my spine hearing him so close to me.

"You have to try it. Trust me." I replied.

"Jesus! Trying this tea will be more difficult than our Al Qatala mission." He scoffed.

He then went back to the couch to sit Soap.

After making tea I served it with biscuits and chips.

"Here you go gentlemen." I said placing the tray on the table.

"Thankyou Lass, for your hospitability." Soap chuckled.

Feeling the need for a change of clothes, I excused myself and made my way to the bathroom.

"Piss poor tea." I heard Ghost saying.

My blood started to boil at his remarks. Why does he have to be such a jerk?

My bags were already packed, untouched since my arrival. Retrieving my belongings, I selected a black, high-waisted leather skirt that hugged my curves, complemented by a velvet, noodle-strap blouse. Tossing on a leather jacket for good measure, I emerged from the room feeling refreshed and ready.

Returning to the common area, I found Ghost once again staring at me with his intense gaze. It was like his eyes were boring into my soul, igniting a fire within me that I struggled to contain. Sitting down on the couch opposite him, I tried to focus on anything but the way his eyes seemed to strip me bare with their intensity.

"Maybe we should hang out for a bit," I suggested, breaking the silence that lingered between us.

"I need to get something from my apartment too," Ghost muttered, his voice low and somewhat hesitant.

"Alright, let's go to a club then. You can get what you're looking for from your home, and then we'll head back," I replied, trying to keep the mood light.

"Fine," he agreed, his tone begrudging.

Soap, always eager to join in on the fun, chimed in, "I'M COMING TOO!"

"Of course you are! We won't leave you here," I laughed lightly, grateful for the opportunity to break the tension.

We arrived at the club, and Ghost ordered his usual bourbon while Soap opted for whiskey. As for me, I stuck to my usual coke, preferring to stay sober.

Soap indulged in drink after drink, quickly downing several, while Ghost kept a more measured pace. By the time we decided to call it a night, Soap was already passed out in the car, leaving Ghost and me to handle the situation.

"It's getting late. We need to get Soap home," I urged Ghost as we made our way to the car.

He drove to his apartment.

"We don't have much time Ghost. We need to leave. Make it quick please." I said.

Ghost glanced at me, his expression serious. "I can't drive a long distance properly after drinking. It's not safe. We'll have to spend the night here," he explained.

Concerned about Soap's well-being, I hesitated. "What about Soap?" I asked.

Ghost shrugged, unfazed. "Leave him in the car. Come with me if you want to. I won't take long," he suggested.

Despite my reservations, I knew he had a point.

Trusting him as my lieutenant, I reluctantly agreed. "Fine. Let's go," I said, steeling myself for what lay ahead.

The car came to a halt in front of a nondescript building, and I glanced over at Soap, who was sound asleep in the backseat.

Ghost opened the door, and I followed him inside the building, the weight of the night's events hanging heavy on my mind.

We rode the elevator up to the second floor, and I followed Ghost down the hall to his apartment, his confident stride unwavering.

As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, I followed suit, feeling a sense of unease settle over me.

He kicked off his shoes, leaving them neatly by the door, I saw him barefoot the first time.

I couldn't help but steal a glance at his feet, his toes were perfectly aligned, even this man's feet were perfect.

He opened his bedroom door and entered. My glance darting on his back, his cargo pants were tight around his thighs.

He looked so good in those.

Taking in my surroundings, I noted the simplicity of his apartment, the sparse furnishings lending an air of minimalism to the space.

"Come inside. I won't bite." His thick British voice echoed from his bedroom.

Reluctantly, I stepped into his bedroom, feeling a wave of apprehension wash over me. Ghost was perched on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on me as I entered.

I hesitated, unsure of what to say or do in this unexpected situation. But his reassuring tone eased some of my tension, and I took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance between us.

"What do you need from here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside me.

Ghost got up from his bed and walked over to a table in the corner of the room. There was a laptop and some files on the table. He picked up one of the files and started looking through it carefully.

He seemed focused on what he was doing, flipping through the pages with care.

"I need to give these papers to Capt. Price," he said.

I stood beside him, observing as he flipped through the pages. "What is this?" I asked, curious about the contents.

He remained silent for a moment before responding. "Forget it," he finally said dismissively.

But then he looked at me, and suddenly, a sharp piece of paper cut his thumb. He cursed softly, shaking his hand in pain. I did not know he took off his gloves.

"Show me," I said, taking hold of his hand and bringing his thumb to my lips, sucking away the blood from the paper cut.

The sweet and metallic taste of his blood touched my lips.

He stood there in total shock, his expression caught between surprise and confusion. A small groan escaped from his lips, his eyes narrowing at me with a mix of emotions.

I let go of his thumb, breaking the silence that had settled between us. "It should be fine now," I said softly, trying to ease the tension in the air.

He placed his hand on my cheek, the warmth of his touch radiating to my face, sending a shiver down my spine. "What have you just done to me, Angela?" he asked softly, rolling his balaclava up to his nose, his eyes locked on mine.

I struggled to find the words, but before I could respond, his lips crashed into mine, silencing any further conversation.

[yourcherrywriteslove]

The Bakery

༺ Pairings: Jisung Centric ༺ Rating: E for Everyone! ༺ Genre:  Fantasy ༺ Word Count: 726 ༺ Warnings: None? ༺ Based on this prompt

The first time it happened Jisung thought it was a prank considering the cosplay convention that happened earlier that day. Which, was one of the reasons why he had decided to have a near 24 hour business time. The bakery was in the heart of downtown, and there was a constant revolving door of customers. And to be expected, he had his fair share of the weirdos that came in at 1AM asking for the most random of pastries. It was all par for the course.

So when the Elf entered one night around 3AM to order, Jisung only batted an eye for a second and that was when the other insisted on paying with silver coins. And it was too early in the morning for Jisung to actually put up a fair argument about using the correct currency and he just figured he could pawn the silver coins later and earn probably double of what the hot chocolate and lemon scone actually cost.

But when the following Friday rolled around and the clock struck 3AM, Jisung was graced with the appearance of a Centaur - a quite handsome one at that. “Welcome… in. Oh good lord.”

“Good evening! I’ve heard tale that your fine establishment sells the best hot chocolate and I would like to purchase a mug.”

A mug? Of hot chocolate?

Jisung was no genius but even he knew that someone didn’t need to be lactose intolerant to have a stomach ache after drinking a whole mug of hot chocolate. “Good sir?”

“Uh…” Jisung was at a loss for words, eyes scanning over the creature before him as he tried to debate if this was all a dream or some sort of hallucination. His internal struggle was paused only briefly when the door to the bakery opened once more, the tiny bell ringing out as another figure walked in. They wore a dark pair of sunglasses which Jisung found odd, but not nearly as odd as the slithering snakes on top of their head.

Was that Medusa?

He had to be hallucinating now. This couldn’t be real!

“Oh! Chan! What a surprise to see you here. Did you hear about the hot chocolate, too?”

“I did indeed but I’m afraid our server is having a bit of an issue.” The centaur - Chan - spoke, eyes trained on Jisung who stood prone behind the counter. “I’m sorry, is it too late to purchase hot chocolate?”

Looking from one creature to the next, Jisung truly couldn’t make sense of the situation and in the end, just gave up because fuck it. A customer was a customer.

“No you’re fine. I just don’t have any mugs. But I can give you an extra large.” Jisung said as he pulled one of the said cups loose from its stack to show off the size. “Would this work or is that too big?”

“It’s perfect!”

“Great. And Chan is the name on the order?” He asked, getting a hum of approval before he started writing on the cup. “Perfect, and for you, what size hot chocolate?” He asked, looking to the Medusa like creature because surely it wasn’t the Gorgon herself.

Or was it?

“A regular would be fine.” Nodding, Jisung grabbed the cup before taking a deep breath.

“And how will you both be paying?” He dreaded this, afraid that he was going to end up being cursed or given a strange liquid in a vial.

“I’ll pay for both.” Chan said and reached for the small sack tied around his waist. From within, he pulled out a handful of precious stones - emeralds, rubies and sapphires from what Jisung could make out. Chan ruffled through them for a moment before carrying laying out three emeralds, two rubies and a sapphire. “I think this should cover it.” And it should. If they were true gemstones, Jisung could make a small fortune off of them. Okay, well maybe not a fortune but he would definitely make back the cost of the two drinks easily.

“It’s perfect. Just have a seat and I’ll get your drinks out to you shortly.” Swiping the gems off the counter, he placed them in the small safe under the counter be set to work. No longer than three minutes later the two creatures were walking out with their drinks, leaving Jisung to contemplate his life choices. 

[countrymusiclover]

21 - Shamy Visit Texas

Part 22

The Texas Tire Family

Tags just ask - @supernaturalgirl31 @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @patriciaplictisita @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley

Aurora, Evelyn and Montana were sitting down at the kitchen table trying to finish the homework they got from school on Friday. Georgie and I were trying to clean the house since Sheldon and Amy were taking a visit to Texas. Tossing some new clothes into the washing machine I closed the lid seeing Georgie drinking a beer running a hand through his curls. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, honey. It’s just your brother coming over, not the president of the United States.”

“Yeah I just know he’s going to try and talk about how smarter his kid probably is.” He slumped his shoulders sitting his beer bottle on the counter top, sending me a look.

Shutting the laundry room door behind me I wrapped my arms around his neck smiling up at him. “Georgie, our kids may not have nobel prizes but they are just as smart as we are. And they are going to do whatever they want to in life.”

“I hope you’re right. Which you usually are so I’m not that worried.” He smiled leaning forward kissing me gently where I leaned forward and kissed him back until we heard the doorbell ring meaning they were here.

Evelyn rushed towards it, flinging the door opened revealing her aunt Amy and uncle Sheldon. She squealed, running down the hallway looking in search of us. “Mom, dad. They’re here!”

Georgie and I separated from one another but kept holding the other's hand when we went to welcome the other Cooper family. "Hey guys, how was the trip. I know it's a long flight from where you live." I asked to see Sheldon sit the bags down by the front entrance.

"Oh it was fine. Thankfully little Leonard here wasn't fussy on the flight." Amy said, holding their son in her arms with a grin.

I put the pieces together when she handed him over so I could hold him. "Awe after Sheldon's best friend that's cute."

“I wanted to name him Leonard Nimoy Cooper. But Amy wouldn’t let me.” Sheldon sat down in the same spot he had on his couch back where he lived and Amy sat beside him.

“Be happy I let you name him Leonard.” She scolded him.

He slumped his shoulders. “Okay.”

“I love you.” She smiled happily.

He sent her back a smile. “Love you too.”

Aurora and Evelyn both intertwined hands making heart eyes at them. “Awe.”

Yet Montana scowled in disgust. “Ewww gross.”

“Does he know how he was conceived?” Sheldon leaned toward his older brother whispering in his ear, making me blush since we were not ready to have that conversation with him that young.

Tucking hair behind my ear I slumped my shoulders changing the conversation before it got awkward. “So uh - I’ve been meaning to ask how did you two start dating. We haven’t really talked since the kids got back into the school.”

“We met at a coffee shop. My mother and I had an argument that I would date once a year. I got on this dating site and it found me a match.” Amy explained putting her hands in her lap after she handed Leonard over to Georgie.

Sheldon sent me a half smile. “I didn’t believe that those websites could work for anyone. The only reason I agreed to meet her was because Howard and Raj bribed me with a dirty sock hidden in my apartment at the time.”

“He suggested buying me a beverage and through texts we found we had a lot in common and now here we are.” She finished the story shifting her gaze between me and Geoegie. “So how did you two meet?”

Sheldon shifted to face his wife. “Somehow my sister and her were friends while she was in high school and my twin was only about to go to middle school. Honestly it still baffles my brain on how that even happened.”

“Sheldon, you’re forgetting how sweet your sister was when you were kids. How sweet she still is in my opinion.” I held a hand up correcting his statement about his sister before I started telling her the story. “Basically since Missy and I were spending time at the Cooper house I was pretty much living with them all the time. And I couldn’t help but fall for Georgie.”

He sends me a grin bouncing Leonard on his lap. “I already secretly liked her cause she didn’t think I was dumb as rock’s like most people in our town. So when meemaw agreed she’d give me Firecrackers if I got her a pack of cigarettes. I saw my opening.”

“Wait so he asked you out while you were throwing Firecrackers around?” Amy leaned forward rather interested, ignoring that our kids were running around the living room trying to play.

I chuckled at her feeling Georgie nudged me where I saw him smirking at me. “Well that was the night we kissed and said we liked each other. But me asking you out was pretty sweet.”

Waiting inside the school for my mom to pick me up I opened my locker reaching for one of my books until something else fell off the top shelf. Bending down on a knee I picked up the small black box shutting my locker and waiting in the school parking lot. “What is this…I had fun last night even though I'm grounded from playing football. I hope we can do it again sometime if you accept this.”

After reading the note taped to the box I slowly opened the box lid seeing a candy necklace inside of it. I couldn’t help but smile brightly at the sweet gift, getting caught by surprise when I heard Georgie’s voice. “I’m gonna take the smile as a yes.”

“Georgie…you didn’t have to buy me anything.” I chuckled seeing him walking out of the school carrying his backpack over his shoulder. He was wearing a blue shirt, jeans and a belt since he wasn’t allowed to go to practice today by his dad who was the coach.

He shrugs his shoulders when he finally reaches me, eyeing the box in my hand with a cheeky smile. “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to get you something as sweet as you are.”

“Awe Georgie stop it.” I blushed, dropping my gaze away from his soft brown eyes.

He smiled gesturing to the candy necklace. “Can I put it on ya, darling. And you can pick where we go for the date. I ain’t picky when it comes to you.”

“I’ll come up with something. Oh uh here.” I grabbed my hair moving it over to the side making it easier for him. Georgie stepped closer to me taking the candy out of the box, moving it over my head and letting it slip down around my neck and we were both thankful that the thin rope string didn’t snap.

Spinning around back to face him I smiled once more closing the distance after he spoke. “And the great thing is you can eat it or wear it. That’s up to you.” Kissing him lightly he put one hand on my hip pulling me closer where we kept kissing until someone honked their horn.

“You two are so adorable.” My mother said when we broke apart seeing that she was there in my dad’s black truck. She waved to Georgie with her other hand on the steering wheel. “Hi Georgie.”

He waved back to her, draping an arm around my waist with a grin. “Hi Mrs. L/n.”

“Hey mom, could you drop me and Georgie at Dairy Queen. Cause this guy finally asked me out with this.” I pointed my index finger over my shoulder knowing that he was smiling at me while I held up the candy necklace with my other hand.

She nodded at us tilting her head inside the truck. “Sure it's not a problem. Get in you two.” Georgie and I threw out backpacks on the floorboard of the truck bed climbing in the seat since we didn’t have a backseat and she drove us there. “I’ll pick you guys up in an hour. Have fun but not too much fun.”

“One chocolate and one strawberry please.” Georgie gave the cashier some money that he had gotten from selling candy at the school instead of having kids give it to the vending machines. The woman each handed us our ice cream and some spoons since we got cups.

Bending my spoon backwards I couldn’t resist but fling some ice cream at Georgie that landed right on his forehead. “I’m so going to marry you one day, Y/n L/n.” He chuckled wiping off the dearest with a napkin.

“I’ll believe that when I see it - ah Georgie!” I felt some ice cream hit me on the nose making us both chuckle at how young we were being.

Amy clasped her hands together smiling at me. “Awe, that's so cute.”

“And I was right that I’d put a ring on your finger someday, darling.” Georgie leaned forward to kiss me and I leaned forward until we had Montana jump in our laps.

Aurora and Evelyn landed on top of Sheldon with Amy now holding her son again. “The floor is lava!” That just caused all of us to start bursting out into laughter at their little games.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday Niri! For DADWC, how about #31 from Artifacts of Thedas, for Cullen and Dorian (heh heh): A Satinalia mask

HI DEMA thank you!! This deliciously fit right into my ongoing masquerade side quest fic set in Pravinquisition AU, previous installation here

Also I was an absolute maniac and managed (I hope) to shove five Cullen & Dorian prompts into one scene, so thank you @zenstrike, @rosella-writes, @kiastirling, and @liza011 for these additional prompts:

overdramatic arguments about non-important subjects

All I Do is Wear Cool Outfits, Tell Jokes and Hide My Depression

doing things in sync

'Rule one: Don’t get caught.'

Madness. But perfect for them and I think I got them all

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1350

---

Cullen stood sentry in the corner of a marble-pillared room, watching the revelry with distaste. A pair of inebriated Orlesians had taken it upon themselves to climb upon a makeshift stage and butcher the Fereldan tavern song Andraste’s Mabari. He was nominally glad the panther-shaped mask he wore hid his grimace, though the rest of him wanted to wrench the damn thing off his face. It made his forehead itch something awful. 

He was grateful to see Dorian stroll into the room and make eye contact. The Tevinter mage looked far more comfortable at this soiree than Cullen knew he would be in a million years. Dorian cut a sharp figure in blues and greens. He wore a black half-mask; it was adorned with feathers and sparkled even in the dim light.

“I hope you’re not grinding your teeth too hard in there, Commander,” Dorian said jovially, sidling up with a goblet of wine in one hand. “You’re like to give yourself a headache.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, only to realize how correct the mage was. He worked his jaw, trying to loosen it up. “I didn’t think I’d have to suffer attacks on my homeland when I agreed to come here, that’s all.”

Dorian tilted his head, caught wind of the lyrics, and took a stiff sip of his drink. “I see your point. Perhaps we ought to go somewhere a touch, ah, quieter?”

“Please.” 

They ducked down a hallway that spilled out onto a small courtyard. The chill night was a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the Comte de Valette’s estate. The place seemed deserted, so Cullen removed the mask to the feel the relief of open air on his face. Any moment an angry Orlesian noble would probably materialize and command he put it back on — the allure of secrecy and all that — but for the moment he could think unburdened. 

“Tut, tut, Commander,” Dorian chided, smirking at his clear hatred of the mask and all it signified, “do you also remove your helm mid-battle?” 

“This farce of a party is hardly the battlefield,” Cullen grumbled. “And perhaps if I hadn’t let Fidencio design my entire outfit I’d feel less like a made-up doll.” The whole ensemble had been the bard’s idea. Cullen stood all in black, with a paisley patterned in velvet on his jerkin, gold trim on the sleeves, and a black overcoat. He already felt like a mummer’s idea of a pirate, but then Fidencio had insisted upon the damn mask to complete the look. Because a lion — Cullen’s suggestion — was the official sigil of Orlais and would send the wrong message. “Did the bard pick out your costume as well?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Commander, but I’d never need a theatre man to dress me properly.” Dorian smirked into his wine goblet. “I happen to dress this sharply on the regular, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Why, this was just my Satinalia mask from last year.” 

“I bet.” Cullen paid the boasting no mind. “Anything to report?”

“Sadly not. The Inquisitor and I spoke to all the premiere nobles of the Orlesian court — you think they’d want to hide their identities better, but I found them quite easy to identify. They had little and less to say. Nothing but praise for the Comte, but curiously no one can find the man.” 

“Strange, do you think?” Cullen asked. “That the Comte should be so aloof?” 

“Ah, who knows?” Dorian countered. “I’ve been to galas in Tevinter thrown while the host wasn’t even in the country. He’d do it just to remind everyone he still had more money than the Maker.” 

“And Lady Thalia?” Cullen asked, scanning the windows facing the courtyard. In the orange glow of the rooms, the revelers cut ghastly, demon-like shadows. Or maybe that was just how it seemed. The mind could play tricks, and Cullen hadn’t wanted Thalia to accept the Comte’s invitation even before he learned that de Valette was rumored to be some dark mage. 

“She was with Fidencio, last I checked. In that room with the enchanted butterflies.” 

“Maybe I should check on her. No offense to Fidencio, but I’ve seen him in the sparring ring. He’s more of a lover than a fighter.” 

Dorian snorted. “That he is, for certain.” 

Cullen waited for a snide remark about Fidencio’s swordplay in alternative arenas, but Dorian merely smirked. It seemed he was too polite to grasp for the low-hanging fruit. That was fine with Cullen, who had uncovered a strange sense of foreboding he couldn’t shake. He replaced the asinine mask on his face and headed back inside with Dorian matching his stride.

Dorian led the way to the butterfly room, which was full of the flitting insect lanterns and simpering party guests, but no Inquisitor or the headwear-loving bard. Cullen’s bad feeling worsened. 

“Well, they were just here,” Dorian added unhelpfully. 

Cullen walked brusquely from room to room, checking with his stationed soldiers along the way, but none had seen the Lady Thalia. Even Blackwall confessed they’d only crossed paths before she’d met up with Fidencio. 

Dorian kept pace, cracking bad jokes along the way, until Cullen finally snapped, “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously?” 

Dorian sobered. “Ah, yes, the humor is just my dominant coping mechanism, I’m afraid. I’m actually a bit nervous myself.” 

Cullen let out a slow breath. “Any idea where they could have gone?” 

“No, but I think we must employ process of elimination here, Commander.” He leaned against the wall in a small, winding corridor and crossed his arms. “Thus far the masquerade has been confined to the ground floor of the chateau and surrounding environs. As Inquisition soldiers have been stationed in both places, I think it’s safe to assume they’re not there.” 

“So that leaves, what, upstairs? In the guest chambers? ” Cullen did not like to think about what might be transpiring up there. One heard tell of what transpired at certain Orlesian parties. “I hope Fidencio would not be fool enough to let Thalia near any sort of—” Could he even say it?

“I think it’s unlikely Fidencio would have led her to an orgy,” Dorian said blithely. “Unless she asked to go— which is also unlikely,” he added before Cullen’s pulse could spike too much. “Goodness, you have met the girl, haven’t you? She can barely handle one man, let alone a whole gaggle.” 

Cullen chose not to dignify any of that with a response. “So then, where else?” 

A silent beat passed between the two men, and they spoke in unison: “The cellar.” 

“There must be one,” Dorian said. “This is a castle. What’s a castle without a wine cellar?” 

“And a dungeon,” Cullen said darkly. What if the Comte de Valette had made an appearance after all, and now Thalia was his captive? 

“Commander, your imagination is at times alarming,” Dorian said lightly. 

“I’m in charge of an army. I’m paid to think about the worst case scenario.”

“Be that as it may.” Dorian paced back and forth in the corridor, and raised a finger in the air. “I think I might know a way in.” 

“Oh?” Cullen asked. 

“A little staircase I came across when I took a wrong turn earlier in the evening. A pageboy assured me it was just the servant stairwell and steered me back to the party.” 

Cullen drew the mask from his face, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “Do you think you can find it again?”

Dorian stroked the end of his mustache. “I’m fairly certain, yes.” 

“Though I suppose we’ll have to think of a fine excuse, to allow ourselves entry,” Cullen mused. “Unless we want the entire chateau alerted to our movements.” 

“Spoken like someone who never snuck around much in his youth.” Dorian flashed him a mischievous grin.

Cullen sighed. “What do you want me to say? The Templar barracks were well-monitored.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me; that was not meant to be a slight. I only mean, Commander, you’ve not yet learned rule number one in subterfuge: don’t get caught.”

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Okay, time for another Ask Boundary point!!

If you send me an ask telling me I'm Overthinking a thing, without any other goal than to inform me that I Overthought, I don't want to read it and I don't care.

I'll always welcome actual counter-arguments, I'll always welcome polite disagreements, as long as they're willing to engage on why they think what they think, and I'm willing to expand on my perspective when I have the time and energy. I won't run after people if they still disagree afterward; the more diversity of perspectives, the better! That's what a fandom in good health looks like! (EDIT: And I'm also of course always willing to stand corrected if I went too far or based my assumptions on flawed premises. I think it's important to mention too!)

But... "you're thinking too much" is not a thing you can defend yourself against. Who gets to decide the proper boundaries on critical thought? What is "thinking the correct amount", and who gets to enforce that? Like... What's the point of saying that to anyone, if not to shut them down because you didn't resonate with something they said, and want to make them feel like they crossed some sort of shameful and undefinable boundary?

You don't have to think about stuff too hard if you don't want to, and that's entirely within your right! But you don't get to impose that conclusion onto other people. You can scroll past what feels like a reach, which... navigating fandom spaces is a lot scrolling past stuff that doesn't resonate with you, and you are more than welcome to use your own space in any way you so please, so everyone gets to have a good time!

[transactinides]

hello local math-knower—

this is my first time hearing about the mathematical concept of a random walk, so I gotta ask (and sorry in advance if this is a stupid question, I’m not a math person)— is this concept able to be used as a counter for the concept of laplace’s demon? Because if something is truly random it shouldn’t be calculable

(I also don’t know much about laplace’s demon. I don’t know much about anything, I just go around asking dumb question)

if I called myself a math-knower my math tutor would probably have a heart attack o7 but I will do my best to answer. Warning English is not my native language 👍👍👍 Also, there are no dumb questions ever and I love you lots :3

P.S. if there are any people seeing this who can offer corrections you are welcome to! I am talking out of my ass here!

[there was an unnecessary long rant about second law of thermodynamics being used as a counter for Laplace's demon which I got too into before realizing that it's not actually relevant to your question specifically but. do tell me if u want that too]

I don't think random walks specifically can be applied to Laplace's demon, because random walks are a mathematical complex used to, if we are being specific, create models for objects with unpredictable states/behaviors. Going back to my Ranpo post, let's take a path of a molecule moving through gas. Said molecule will move in a ways that are impossible for us to predict, so a random walk is used to describe it, but in reality the reason for it's unpredictability is not randomness - in fact, it does still operate under a dynamical system (since we are talking about movement), which is deterministic, so nothing random is going on, - it's actually things like high 'sensitivity' to conditions and variables, which there are a lot of, so it would be more correct to say that the movement of our molecule (in the same system as Laplace's demon, aka in material world and not theoretically) would be covered by chaos theory! The closest thing we have to true randomness irl are quantum mechanical processes which are considered completely random, but there is no way of telling for sure if there are any hidden variables at play or no (at least, for now). So no random paths for Laplace's demon :(

Now that we have established that, let's try answering a slightly different question - can chaos theory be used as a counter to Laplace's demon? Unfortunately, no. There were attempts at presenting chaos theory as a counter argument, but, as I have stated, chaos theory still follows determinism, the sensitivity towards the initial conditions is just Super High (the butterfly effect is a good way of explaining it), which will not be a problem for our demon, who knows every detail with infinite precision and can, therefore, make predictions even for chaotic complex systems.

I really hope I wrote this in a way that makes sense T_T

[ralliepets]

The Great Debate: Should Cats Be Allowed on Countertops?

Ah, the timeless struggle between cats and countertops – a source of many debates among pet owners. On one side, we have the camp that firmly believes that cats should be kept off counters, viewing it as a matter of hygiene and discipline. On the other side, we have those who argue that it’s a losing battle, considering a cat’s natural tendencies and the futility of trying to change them.

If you’re a cat owner or just curious about the topic, you’ve probably wondered where the line should be drawn. Should cats be allowed on countertops, or is this behavior something we need to correct?

Let’s dive into both sides of the debate and explore the reasoning behind each, so you can make an informed decision for yourself.

Why Cats Love Countertops

Before we dive into the pros and cons, it’s essential to understand why cats are drawn to countertops in the first place. Cats are natural climbers and explorers. In the wild, they seek high ground to survey their surroundings, avoid threats, and even hunt for prey. Y

our kitchen counter or dining table is simply an elevated spot where they can do what comes naturally – observe their “territory” from above. They’re curious creatures, and countertops usually have a treasure trove of scents and objects to investigate, from food to shiny utensils.

In short, for many cats, countertops are the ultimate vantage point.

The Case Against Allowing Cats on Countertops

Hygiene Concerns

One of the most common arguments against allowing cats on countertops is cleanliness. Kitchens are where we prepare food, and many people worry about cat paws spreading dirt, bacteria, or even litter box debris onto surfaces where meals are made.

This is a valid concern, as cats do walk through various places throughout the day, and their paws could indeed track bacteria or other contaminants onto surfaces meant for food preparation.

Food Safety Issues

Cats are notoriously curious, especially when it comes to food. Allowing them on countertops might lead to them sampling ingredients, knocking over kitchen items, or even sneaking a bite of something they shouldn’t have. This isn’t just annoying; it can also be unsafe.

Some foods are toxic to cats, such as onions, garlic, and certain seasonings. Allowing cats free reign in the kitchen could unintentionally expose them to these hazards.

Reinforcing Unwanted Behavior

Another argument is that allowing cats on countertops reinforces bad habits. If your cat gets used to being on the counter, they may also begin jumping onto other high surfaces where they aren’t welcome, such as dining tables, bookshelves, or even precarious spots like the top of the fridge.

Some pet owners believe that maintaining boundaries by keeping cats off countertops establishes a sense of discipline and structure.

Potential for Accidents

Kitchens, in particular, can be dangerous places for pets. A cat jumping onto a hot stove, knocking over sharp utensils, or tipping over pots and pans could lead to serious injuries. By keeping cats off countertops, you eliminate the risk of these potential accidents.

The Case for Allowing Cats on Countertops

Cats Will Be Cats

On the other side of the debate, many people argue that trying to keep a cat off the counter is a losing battle. Cats are natural climbers and, as mentioned earlier, love high spaces. No matter how hard you try to train them, they’ll find a way to get up there when you’re not looking.

After all, have you ever met a cat that obeys 100% of the time? By accepting this behavior, some pet owners believe you can avoid the frustration of constantly battling your cat’s instincts.

The Need for Vertical Spaces

Some experts suggest that allowing cats access to high places is beneficial to their well-being. Providing vertical spaces, like cat trees, shelves, or countertops, allows them to feel secure, reduce anxiety, and stay entertained.

For indoor cats that lack outdoor stimulation, climbing onto countertops may be one way they satisfy their need for exploration. If there aren’t alternative spaces, they’ll likely turn to counters for their climbing fix.

Building Trust and Reducing Stress

Another perspective is that cats respond better to positive reinforcement rather than constant restrictions. By letting cats have access to countertops (or other high places), you’re creating an environment where they don’t feel constantly policed. This can reduce stress for both you and your pet.

Some cat owners choose to embrace this behavior, believing that the battle isn’t worth the stress on their relationship with their cat.

Cleaner Counters Can Mitigate Concerns

Many proponents of allowing cats on countertops argue that hygiene concerns can be mitigated with proper cleaning. Keeping countertops clean and sanitized regularly can address worries about bacteria or dirt.

It’s also possible to make some concessions, such as designating certain surfaces off-limits while allowing others as cat-friendly zones.

Neutral Ground: Finding a Middle Way

If you find yourself torn between both sides, there’s good news – there’s a middle ground. It’s possible to allow your cat to express their natural climbing instincts without compromising your kitchen’s cleanliness or safety.

____________

Here are a few suggestions:

Provide Alternatives

One of the best ways to deter cats from jumping on countertops is to offer them alternative vertical spaces. Cat trees, shelves, or window perches can give them the height they crave while keeping them off the kitchen counter. By placing these structures near their favorite climbing spots, you can redirect their behavior to more appropriate areas.

Train with Positive Reinforcement

Training a cat may seem like an uphill battle, but it’s not impossible. Using positive reinforcement techniques, such as rewarding your cat with treats or toys when they stay off the counter, can help curb the behavior. Consistency is key here – make sure everyone in the household follows the same rules to avoid confusing the cat.

Limit Access to the Kitchen

Some cat owners choose to limit their feline’s access to the kitchen entirely, especially during food preparation times. Closing doors, installing baby gates, or using motion-detecting sprays can help keep your kitchen a cat-free zone when necessary. This allows you to maintain cleanliness and safety without constantly worrying about where your cat is.

Regular Cleaning and Sanitation

If you decide to allow your cat on the counter, make cleaning a top priority. Wipe down countertops before and after preparing food, and keep your kitchen organized to avoid temptations like food left out in the open. A good cleaning routine can go a long way in addressing hygiene concerns.

____________

So, should cats be allowed on countertops? The answer depends on your personal preferences and your relationship with your cat. Both sides of the debate have valid points – some prioritize cleanliness and safety, while others emphasize the importance of allowing cats to express their natural behaviors. Ultimately, finding a balance that works for both you and your feline friend is key.

If you’re firmly in the “no countertops” camp, providing alternatives and using positive reinforcement can help deter the behavior. But if you’re more relaxed and don’t mind your cat’s exploration, regular cleaning and setting boundaries when necessary can ensure a happy coexistence.

Whether your cat reigns supreme over the countertops or sticks to the ground, what matters most is that they’re healthy, happy, and safe.

FAQs

1. Can you train a cat to stay off the countertops? Yes, with consistent positive reinforcement, it’s possible to train a cat to stay off countertops. Providing alternative high spaces, like cat trees, can also help redirect the behavior.

2. Why are cats drawn to countertops? Cats love countertops because they offer a high vantage point, which is in line with their natural instincts to climb and observe their surroundings.

3. Is it unhygienic to let a cat on the counter? It can be, but regular cleaning and sanitizing can reduce the risk of bacteria or dirt being spread by a cat's paws.

4. What’s the best way to keep cats off the kitchen counter? Providing alternative climbing spaces, using positive reinforcement, and limiting kitchen access during food preparation times are effective strategies.

5. Are there any health risks for cats on countertops? Yes, the kitchen can pose dangers such as hot stoves, sharp utensils, or toxic foods. It's important to ensure your kitchen is a safe space for your pet.

____________

 Related Articles:

Feline Fears: How to Spot and Manage Separation Anxiety in Cats

Do Cat Colors Affect Personality? Exploring the Myths and Realities

[dustedmagazine]

VR Sex — Hard Copy (Dais)

Listeners and readers of a certain age (ahem) will remember Hard Copy, the tabloid-style entertainment news show that made its bones on broadcasting salacious, titillating and graphically violent images through the 1990s. VR Sex, a post-punk outfit from LA, trades in related semiotics, at least on the surface of this new record — and Hard Copy was nothing but surface. Does VR Sex have greater depth? The jury is out on that one, and the band will likely welcome the deferred verdict. They seem to like toeing the lines of morbidly libidinal transgressions, pushing various hot buttons, provoking the squares. See the partially deflated sex doll on the album’s cover, or song titles like “Hush Money Millionaire” and “Space Invasion,” enjoying the ironies of which may require at least minimal critical activity on the part of the consumer. Sure. But “Hard Copy” is a rock record, so maybe we should be asking: Is the music any good?

It is — but it’s also complicated by the formal ironies that have marked (or plagued) postpunk music from the jump. See “Inanimate Love” for a relevant example. The tune’s opening minute channels the dissonance of Sonic Youth, c. 1986. The signature riff and melody kick in, and you are projected toward the UK, especially the Jesus and Mary Chain in their Darklands-period of struggle with sudden fame. When Andrew Clinco (whose name some will recognize from his high-concept work as Drab Majesty) starts to sing, things get decidedly more louche. A particular strain of West Hollywood freak — hairdo as important as guitar tone, sunglasses worn on stage — creeps toward the music’s center, ghosts of Christian Death and Tomata du Plenty flit in and out like punk rock poltergeists. The song has come home.

None of those names is particularly problematic, but their combination and the sense that the band wants you to summon at least some of them are less straightforward matters. It’s an old saw, the extent to which anything post- is necessarily pastiche, and the resulting arguments that used to feel intrinsically political are all but exhausted. Or maybe we are just too tired. If that second supposition is correct, then songs like “Jenny Killer Glue” and “In Great Detail” seem poised for our pleasure. Flashy and cool, cynical and sexy, they have that rock’n’roll quality of cultural noise that is calculated and dangerous in equal measure.

Here’s another way of putting that: How do you reinvest a half-deflated sex doll with erotic energy? Pay attention to the terms there: they assume that the sex doll was full of erotic investments in the first place. And of course it was. The fact that the commodity form exists (the doll in its original packaging, behind the counter of the porn shop, or these days available on Amazon, for your convenience) means that culture has already distributed the investment, whatever your intent or surface-level interest might be.

So, listen to VR Sex’s “Real Doll Time.” The song’s upbeat energies evoke Wire in a sassy mood, but the vocals are pure West Hollywood. The tune sweeps you along, danceable and rockin. Dig it. But what’s “real doll time,” and what’s a real doll? Mostly: what’s “real” here? Think too hard about those questions and you’ll miss the gag: Clinco’s repeated enunciations of the title phrase become indistinguishable from a different read. It starts to sound like “real dull time.” That’s funny—the gag is on us, always has been. But meanwhile the song churns away, and it closes with 90 seconds of a terrific, slightly mournful and sorta sweet new melody, expertly clad in postpunk textures. Another band would have made a whole song out of it. VR Sex poses it as a throwaway, and it’s exactly the right gesture. Like a smoke, lit, dragged on once or twice, and tossed from the stage. Did you get burned? Good. At least you felt something.

Jonathan Shaw

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter VIII

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 5.3K

A/N. Just a friendly reminder to revisit the general fic warnings. 

20 Helona

Days turned into weeks and the former tension in the house loosened. 

Hints of mistrust remained, noticeable in the small moments: Kazi insisting on analyzing all of the intel rather than splitting it to save time, as Wolffe wanted; Wolffe questioning her analyses and forcing her to defend her conclusions until he was satisfied. 

However, a friendlier current ran through the house.

Morning arguments lacked hostility and developed into welcomed conversations. Kazi found herself vocally agreeing with some of Wolffe’s opinions while listening and considering opinions she didn’t outright support. 

The four men spent more time on the main level and in the backyard. Bound card sets found home on near-empty shelves. A ceramic bowl filled with easily-accessible chocolates found permanency atop the kitchen counter. Typically, the bowl required daily refills. (The men seemed to share in a common, insatiable sweet tooth.)

The fridge and cabinets flowed with more food. A meat drawer was added to the fridge. 

On Ceaia, land-meat imports were expensive and rarely reached the harbors, so a pescetarian diet dominated its culture. Daria and Neyti subscribed to the diet; Kazi didn’t. Ever since the fish debacle, she had avoided all meat, to her mother’s frustrations. 

From what she knew, Daria hadn’t bothered to expand her culinary tastes beyond seafood, though she had seen Neyti eyeing the men’s frozen chops. Both disdainfully and curiously.

Over all, Neyti lacked her usual disparagement. However, her reservations remained palpable. The moment one of the men tried to help her—usually with reaching a dish from one of the upper cabinets—she glowered and ignored them. But she was still curious about them. 

One evening, Kazi found Neyti hidden among the shadows of the mezzanine, scrutinizing Cody as he painted at the kitchen table. 

“You know,” Kazi said, startling Neyti so badly the little girl gasped, “you could always go downstairs and watch him. I bet he’d love to show you his painting.”

Chagrined, Neyti scrunched her nose and spent the next hour in her room playing with her stuffed animals. Kazi admired her obstinance. 

Eventually, though, Neyti wandered downstairs, and while she took a position on the couch to sketch, Kazi noticed her sneaking surreptitious glances at Cody. The slight curve of Cody’s mouth was the only tell that he knew Neyti was watching him.

Other than Nova, who kept his distance, the commanders seemed invested in earning Neyti’s trust. Cody tried to find commonality through painting. Fox reverted to teasing remarks and shared winks. It was Wolffe, though, who was the sneakiest. 

Each morning, before Neyti arrived for breakfast, he filled a cup with Neyti’s favorite drink—lemon juice—and set it on the kitchen table at her placemat. Neyti drank her juice happily, unaware it was Wolffe who prepared her drink. 

Kazi wondered how Neyti would react to the truth. She decided it best to keep Wolffe’s secret.

Most evenings, when Kazi returned to the house, she found Wolffe working on a new house project. From fixing the broken shades in the sunroom, to oiling the squeaky drawers and correcting loose-hinged cabinets in the kitchen, he kept himself busy. Much to her frustration. 

One evening he was lying on his back, head and shoulders lost to the space beneath the kitchen sink, screwing metal pieces together. Kazi eyed him, tugging on a disheveled braid. 

“I was going to have a mechanic fix that,” she said, frowning at the tools Wolffe had set aside on the floor. She didn’t know what was broken in the sink, but she didn’t want Wolffe fixing it. 

The house was her responsibility, and she didn’t like being indebted to him. 

Wolffe lifted his head from the floor. Black grease and a sheen of sweat smudged his forehead. He threw her a bored look and returned to his project. 

Kazi gritted her teeth. “I was going to fix it—” 

“Fuck off, Ennari.”

Her huff of annoyance earned her a patronizing smirk in return. She glared at him for a handful of seconds, berating herself for not calling the mechanic, and then rolled her eyes, leaving the kitchen. 

Dynamics had changed and it left her reeling. She was simultaneously relieved of her former tension while also feeling uneasy. More vigilant. Born from her fear the current situation would revert, and the need to be prepared for the fallout. 

It was a survival tactic she had honed over the years—to maintain her guard, even during the good times. Especially during the good times.

Brush strokes of light pinks and pale oranges caressed the canvas of the morning sky. Streaks of white, like a painter’s unintentional flick, watered the sunrise. 

Kazi sat at her desk, finishing a report for Fehr, the silk robe she wore loosely tied. Menstrual cramps had kept her from swimming this morning and her body temperature was still uncomfortably warm after her shower, hence the robe. Its airy material kept her cooler than regular clothes.

Switching off her heat pad, Kazi slid the datastick with her report into her bag and then made her way downstairs. An aroma of darkly-roasted beans sweetened the air. Wolffe sat at the bar, freshly brewed caf steaming before him. 

“Morning,” she murmured.

Wolffe nodded his greeting. He was absorbed in something on his ‘pad, like he was most mornings, and he sipped from his caf distractedly. Kazi went about preparing breakfast.

Lumina berries chunked and sliced. Porridge steaming on the stove. Eggs for Neyti, scrambled and seasoned, set aside in the stasis box. Baked bread buttered.

It wasn’t until she was cleaning a pan, her thoughts focused on the intel Fehr had sent her, that she noticed Wolffe’s attention. A sidelong glance in his direction and she caught him scowling. At her.

Not an outright scowl. Rather one he was unsuccessfully trying to hide. 

Nonplussed, Kazi soaped the clean pan and repeated her washing, her movements slower. Distracted. 

Wolffe shifted in his stool. Eyes flicked from his datapad to where she stood. His brow furrowed further. As quick as it happened, his eyes returned to his ‘pad. 

Bubbles popped from the stove and Kazi returned to her porridge, trying to ignore the strange behavior. 

The problem: When she noticed something, she couldn’t stop.

One of the reasons she excelled at analytics was her penchant for noticing patterns. Seemingly randomized time stamps. Familiar names. Repeated behaviors. Once uncovered, patterns were obvious, and nearly impossible to ignore. 

With a subtle eye on Wolffe, Kazi landed her pattern.

Unblinking stare at his datapad.

A scroll and his gaze slid in her direction. 

A clench of his jaw and return to his ‘pad.

A sip of caf. 

Repeat.

Kazi noted two deviations. Either he shifted in his stool and rolled his shoulders back; or, he shook his head slightly. 

Topping her porridge with honey and lumina berries, Kazi leaned against the opposite counter and stirred her breakfast. “What are you reading?”

Conflicting eye colors were slow to meet hers. “A report.”

“Descriptive.” She took a bite of her porridge, chewed, and swallowed. “What’s it about?”

“Decommissioning of clone soldiers.” Wolffe leaned back in his stool, rubbing the back of his neck.

She searched his face. “Is the Empire going to actually do it?”

His eyes bounced between hers, as if he was concentrating on keeping his gaze on her face. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve been reading that report for the last”—she glanced at the chrono on the wall—“twenty minutes.”

He scowled. “It’s a long report.”

Snorting, she turned her attention to the brightening sky outside the kitchen windows. Though the jungle enshrouded the house in shadows, weak sunlight had filtered through the flora and glistened on the kitchen’s polished amenities. 

A few minutes later and a rumpled Neyti trudged down the stairs. Bunny slippers cheery, Neyti accepted her plate from Kazi with a toothless smile, blinked inquisitively at Wolffe, and took her seat at the kitchen table. She started with a sip from the lemon juice Wolffe had prepared and then moved to her eggs—

“Do you need something?” Kazi approached Wolffe, keeping her voice low.

Wolffe straightened in his stool, his hand flexing on his mug. The flick of his gaze was quick: from her face to her feet and back up.  

He gave her a flat look. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” 

“Then stop looking at me.” 

“I’m not.”

“You were too—”

“You didn’t swim this morning.”

Kazi blinked her surprise. “I…didn’t.”

He studied her. “Why not?”

“I don’t have to swim every morning,” she said defensively. “It’s something I enjoy doing. Not a necessity.”

“And yet you do it every day. Unless there’s a complication.” Wolffe appraised her with a critical eye. “Did something happen at work?”

She scoffed. “No.”

He leaned forward, forearms braced on the bar. “You would tell me if your work became dangerous. Correct?”

The look on his face was too intense, too…serious. Discomfited, Kazi shrugged and focused on drying her bowl. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is—”

“It’s not.” Setting aside her bowl, she levelled an unapologetic look at him. “I know how to take care of myself. I don’t need your pestering.”

Wolffe started to speak but she ignored him, joining Neyti at the table. 

A funeral was in demand when Kazi returned to the house later that evening.

Schoolwork complete for the day, Neyti had decided to spend her time sketching in the sunroom’s comfort. While engrossed in her artwork, a bird flew into the windows. Hard.

According to multiple sources, the bird didn’t die on impact. Its wings were broken; it was struggling to breathe. It wouldn’t make it. Wolffe, apparently, took it upon himself to ease the bird of its suffering. 

“You killed it?” Kazi demanded hoarsely. “In front of Neyti?” 

Teary-eyed and morose, Neyti was curled on the couch in the sunroom, her head buried in her hands. Beside her, Daria stroked her hair, soft words of comfort quieting Neyti’s sniffles. At the kitchen table, Cody, Fox, and Nova whispered among themselves, their card game a pretense.

Wolffe rolled his eyes. “I didn’t. Your sister took her inside and then I shot it—”

“You shot it?” she hissed. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” Wolffe lowered his voice, forcing Kazi closer. “It could barely breathe. And Neyti looked on the verge of a breakdown.”

Kazi rubbed her temple. “She probably heard the shot.”

Grimacing, Wolffe palmed the back of his neck. “It’s a bird. It wasn’t a pet.”

“Neyti’s a kid. It was probably distressing.” She blew out a breath. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Tension hardened his face and Wolffe eyed her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A twinge of defensive anger roughened his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kazi said. “I only meant that death is hard for her. She’s already lost so much and a bird may seem insignificant to you, but to her—”

The appearance of Neyti, with Daria close behind, interrupted. Both Kazi and Wolffe stilled. Neyti wandered forward, her tiny fingers playing with the pendant of her new necklace: a dark green dragon mid-flight. 

Kazi bought the dragon pendant after Neyti’s field trip, on a whim, and gifted it to the little girl at dinner a few nights later. Neyti had frowned at the blue-papered gift, fiddling with its silvered ribbon, but eventually, she unwrapped the paper. Realization dawned on her face the same moment Daria shot Kazi a shocked look. 

Seconds passed in stilted silence as Neyti observed the necklace, her gaze unblinking and lips slightly parted. Suddenly, Neyti pushed away from her chair, hurrying toward Kazi, her intent clear. 

Once Kazi secured the necklace around her neck, Neyti smiled. A toothy, dimpled smile she immediately hid in her chest. But for that brief moment, Kazi reveled in Neyti’s unguarded excitement. It brought a genuine smile to her own face and even to Daria’s. 

“Do you know which dragon that is?” Daria asked, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. 

Neyti shook her head, and Kazi leaned back in her seat, content to listen to Daria tell the old story. 

“That is Vaeloria,” Daria said. Neyti stared at her with childlike wonder, listening intently. “Vaeloria was the first dragon to walk on Ceaia’s surface. It was her tears that watered and brought forth life from Ceaia’s lands. Most sailors carry tokens depicting Vaeloria, as a reminder of home.”

Kazi ignored the probing look her sister threw in her direction. A look of assessment and intrigue. Her decision to gift Neyti a depiction of Vaeloria was purely sentimental—a way to secure Neyti a physical connection to their home world, even if it was as small and insignificant as a dragon pendant.

The determination on Neyti’s face brought Kazi back to the present and her problem with the dead bird. 

Neyti trudged toward the entry hall and into the garage. Half a minute later and she returned with a gardening trowel. 

Sharing a confused look with Daria, Kazi and her sister followed Neyti through the sunroom and outside onto the wraparound porch.

A spacious clearing filled with knee-high ferns, the backyard was a half-circle, the wild jungle creeping along its edges. A handful of thick elder trees interrupted the clearing, offering leafy shade and adventurous climbs. 

It was one of the trees—most likely the oldest based on the size of its trunk (wider than an aircar)—that Neyti approached, searching the knobbly ground. A spot of dark soil, softened by rain and bereft of tree roots, earned her attention. She knelt in the dirt. 

“Is she digging a hole?” Fox whispered from behind.

Kazi pinched the bridge of her nose. “She wants to bury the bird.”

The former commander choked on a laugh. Kazi shot him a glare. He shrugged, failing to hide his amusement, and took a seat at the wooden table. Leaning back in his chair, he arched a brow at her confused look, explaining, “With a shovel that small and arms too weak to dig, we’re gonna be here awhile.”

Evidently the other adults agreed with Fox’s assessment because they gathered around the wooden table. Nova kicked back in his chair, closing his eyes. Cody pulled out a chair for Daria. Kazi didn’t miss the blush dusting her sister’s cheeks. 

Ignoring her intrigue for the moment, Kazi went back inside the house, grabbed a shovel from the garage, and returned. She joined Neyti. The little girl scrutinized their two tools, comparing the shovel to her trowel. 

Kazi gestured to the upturned soil. “Mind if I help?” 

Sheepishly, Neyti nodded and sat back on her knees, wiping sweat from her forehead. Kazi leaned the shovel against the tree, tugging on a pair of gloves to protect from the wooden handle. But, when she went to grab the shovel, it was missing. 

Dumbfounded, Kazi watched as Wolffe hefted the shovel, and with an ease too casual, he plunged it into the soil and scooped. He wasn’t even wearing gloves.

Kazi cleared her throat. “I was going to do that.”

Wolffe ignored her. He fucking ignored her.

“Commander Wolffe.” The man paused his shoveling and levelled an unimpressed frown in her direction. She glanced at Neyti, who was regarding them curiously, and then lowered her voice, forcing a pleasant tone. Her tight smile was anything but. “I can do that.”

A chuckle carried from the table near the house. Kazi refused to look over her shoulder to identify the culprit.

Wolffe scooped another pile of soil. “You don’t have to do everything on your own, Ennari.”

An offended flush heated her face and Kazi gritted her teeth. She was more than capable—

Her attention snagged on the little girl beside her. The little girl who was nodding in agreement with Wolffe. 

Wolffe chuckled, the sound low and unused, and he winked at Neyti. A bashful grin brightened Neyti’s countenance. Her eyes widened and she swiftly ducked her face between her knees. 

Wolffe returned to shoveling but Kazi saw his expression before he looked away. She saw his soft smile.

Half an hour later, the remains of the black bird buried and covered, Daria invited the four men to dinner. The invitation shocked Kazi, and she schooled her features, swallowing her uncertainty.  

Dinner remained one of the few moments of the day the men didn’t interrupt. It was another change, and Kazi didn’t know what to make of it. But the men agreed—Cody accepting the invitation first—and soon the sisters, Neyti, and the four men were crammed at a table meant for five. 

Conversation flowed. Kazi mostly listened. Her sister nudged her knee, a silent demand to engage more. 

Pettily opting for silence, Kazi kept an eye on Neyti, looking for signs of potential distress or apprehension. Neyti ate her dinner in slow bouts. Her attention shifted between the men, her concentration intense as she studied them. Sometimes her fork missed her mouth and she blushed, refocusing on her food. 

At some point during the meal, the three men to Kazi’s left argued the environmental consequences and energy benefits of a new dam. Either uncaring of the subject or disinterested in his brothers, Cody leaned toward Neyti, quietly asking, “How do you like your paints?”

Fork halfway to her mouth, Neyti froze. Pickled beans fell to her plate and she scowled, setting aside her utensil. Her eyes darted around the table. Kazi set down her own fork, placing a gentle hand on Neyti’s shoulder, but Neyti pushed away from the table and rushed upstairs. 

Arguments about dam construction quieted.

Grimacing, Cody sat back in his seat, shoulders tensed.

“It’s not your fault,” Kazi said, glancing at the mezzanine and the tiny shadow racing to her room. “I think she’s overwhelmed, and since your question wasn’t ‘Yes’ or ‘No’, she didn’t know how to reply—”

Padded footsteps creaked down the staircase and Neyti reemerged. 

Face hidden behind an amassed collection of canvasses, she stumbled around the table and collapsed in her chair with a huff that had Fox chuckling. She shot him an unamused glare. He winked—the gesture a tease that had Kazi rolling her eyes—and Neyti sniffed her disdain, hefting one of the larger canvasses.

A showcase ensued. 

The first painting was a simple rendering of an orange sunset and Eluca’s rolling hills. Another painting depicted a raging ocean. 

The paint strokes of the first paintings were uncertain and messy, but as Neyti progressed, they grew sharper. More confident.  

Neyti shuffled the canvasses to display the final one. 

Kazi stilled. The voices around her fell silent. 

The artwork was in its beginning stages. Charcoal sketches lined the white canvas, splotches of pinks and blue and grays interspersing the image of two laughing girls. Two little girls, hands clasped together, dancing and stomping through rain puddles. Behind them rose an old lighthouse. 

“Oh, Neyti.” Daria smiled kindly. “It’s going to look wonderful.”

Swallowing, Kazi glanced from the painting to Neyti’s face. “Why did you—”

“I asked her to paint it,” Daria said. Her voice sharpened imperceptibly so that only Kazi recognized her sister’s warning. “I think she captured the photo splendidly.”

Irritation itched her skin and Kazi leaned back in her seat, fisting her hands between her legs. Daria had stolen her adventure book, again, and shown it to Neyti. Without her permission. 

A part of her wanted to confront Daria. To demand she never enter her bedroom again. 

It was the pride in Neyti’s expression—the smallest smile of satisfaction as she straightened in her seat—that convinced Kazi to hold her tongue. Anyway, she was overreacting. But the likeness of the image to her memory, the utter joy in her and Daria’s faces, was too real. Too painful to see.

The meal continued and Kazi stared at her mostly full bowl. Their dinner was simple, a hearty curry with roasted vegetables, steamed rice, and charred bread. Cody had baked some type of meat the men added to their dish. All but Wolffe. He never ate meat—as far as she knew—and when Cody was preparing tonight’s raw poultry, he had even left the kitchen. 

She wanted to know why, but she refused to ask. It seemed too personal. 

A large thigh pressed against hers and Kazi shot Wolffe an unamused scowl. 

“Small table,” he said, unapologetic. The others were lost to their own conversations and he leaned closer to her, voice quiet and casual as he asked, “Do you paint?”

The question was so ridiculous she scoffed. Wolffe blinked, seemingly offended by her reaction.

“Artistry was always Daria’s specialty,” she explained. Fork toying with a clump of rice, she lifted her gaze to his. “I always wanted to be an artist but I wasn’t very good at it. I was in classes until my mother claimed it was a waste of time—” 

Tension tautened the muscles in her legs and Kazi stumbled to a halt. Wolffe was considering her, bemused interest furrowing his brows, and she cleared her throat, forcing her hands beneath her thighs to prevent herself from squeezing them.

“What about you?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you into the arts?”

Unimpressed by her attempted diversion, Wolffe lounged back, his thigh hard against hers. “I’m more skilled at other things.”

“Like what?”

“Fighting.” A blasé shrug succeeded her eye roll. The corner of his lip twitched. “Strategizing. Decision making. And…other things.”

She blamed the heat from too many bodies crammed at a small table for her blushing. Wolffe’s gaze lowered to her cheeks and he smirked. Her skin burned hotter. 

Flustered, Kazi looked away. 

Intimacy was a private thing for her. 

Her first and only partner was patient. He was nice and he respected her; he wasn’t overbearing and he didn’t objectify her like other males she had encountered. It didn’t matter he was nearly two decades older. Her twenty-one-year-old self appreciated being told she was mature for her age.

But the relationship didn’t last long. Sex was uncomfortable and painful: Oral sex lacked comfort and pleasure, her body took too long to prepare; penetration hurt, and her sole relief was that her partner never lasted long. 

Pride kept her quiet, and foolish hope it would get better kept her invested for those two months. Foolish hope and fear.

Over the years, her mother convinced her marriage was a necessity. Convinced her that growing old alone was difficult and scary, and a partner could alleviate the struggles of aging. 

Even though her relationship lacked love and affection, she stayed with her partner. Initially, it didn’t affect her. She knew she would never marry for love. 

Eventually, though, she realized the relationship wasn’t worth it—she preferred solitude to fake love and painful sex. Her partner was furious. The night she left, his parting words were bitter and accusatory. 

He told her she would never find someone because she was heartless and physically broken. He argued she was making a mistake, that she should have stayed with him, since he was good to her.

Five years later and his words never left her. 

Kazi gripped her wooden seat harder. And she ignored the questioning stare from the man to her left.

21 Helona

The magistrate’s office at the Security Institute of Eluca was as clinically bare as ever. Lack of morning sunlight kept the room unnaturally cool. The dark wooden desk and the extravagant bar behind were the sole semblance of warmth. 

Spotless and devoid of emotion, the office paired well with Magistrate Aro’s personality. Paranoid charisma; manipulative empathy. 

Kazi stood before the magistrate’s desk, hands clasped behind her back. Apprehension thrummed beneath her skin, like a poked bee hive. 

She told herself she was being paranoid. She told herself a surprise meeting with the magistrate could mean an array of possibilities and not necessarily a condemnation. But she couldn’t entirely quiet her fear—the fear someone had uncovered her. The fear she wasn’t careful enough when stealing codes to the government fund a week ago. 

Behind the desk, Magistrate Aro was finishing a report, a tight-lipped expression replacing the good-natured smile he had worn during their first meeting. 

“Have you met Moff Harpy?”

After fifteen minutes in silence, the magistrate’s sudden question surprised her so much she nearly flinched.

“I have not.” Kazi scanned his face, searching for an explanation to the random meeting this morning. Her computer had only just woken when the message appeared, demanding her immediate presence. 

“Moff Harpy is a megalomaniac.” The magistrate’s voice was contemplative, and yet beneath it hid indignant hatred. “I suppose one must be to serve as a Moff.”

Kazi found it ironic the magistrate scorned the Moff’s megalomania, but she kept her features polite and neutral.

The magistrate steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “We have a vision for the future, Ms. Lucien.” 

Silver eyes, restless and malicious, trailed from her face lower, and lower. A shiver crawled down her spine. She ignored it, refusing to react. Barely breathing. 

“We see Eluca’s potential. We see it, and yet the powers that be refuse to acknowledge it.” Magistrate Aro slammed a fist against his desk. The loud crack and sudden movement made Kazi jump. Her heart thumped against her chest. A warning. 

“These Moffs sit behind their fancy desks and look down on us all,” the magistrate hissed. “They think we are nothing. They think I am nothing.” 

Gaining his feet, the magistrate stalked around the desk. Self-righteous fury contorted the planes of his face until he looked like a rabid skeleton.

Kazi stiffened at his approach. At his barely controlled fury. Sweat slickened her palms and her hands tightened behind her back.

“They dismiss my proposals. They ridicule me,” the magistrate spat. “I am the leader of a planet with great potential. I deserve to be respected!”

Tensing, Kazi squared her shoulders, the muscles in her legs tautening. She wanted to run. To leave the too-white, too-barren office and return to her desk and pretend she hadn’t seen anything. But she was frozen. 

The magistrate inhaled sharply and steadied himself. A solemn gaze met hers. “I thought we wanted the same thing, Kazi.”  

“We do,” she answered hastily. “We have a vision for Eluca’s future—”

He lunged. She flinched. A strong hand gripped her neck. 

“We have a spy amongst us,” Magistrate Aro murmured. 

Fingers tightened. 

Gasping, she clung to the hand squeezing her throat. Tried to pry it away. 

“Someone tried to undermine me.” Her fingernails dug into his skin but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t loosen his hold. “An analyst was feeding intel to Moff Harpy. Intel about me.”

Her heart pounded against her chest, a fist pleading for release.

Her lungs throbbed. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t fucking breathe. 

A manic gleam beaded the magistrate’s eyes and he loomed over her. “How could a member of our own security institute betray us?”

His fingers squeezed harder. 

She tried to kick him. She tried to claw at his hand. 

His hold was too strong, and her muscles were too tight.

She thought of her sister and how she wished things were different—wished she had humbled her pride and mended their relationships.

She thought of Neyti—the little girl who deserved so much more than the galaxy had given her, and whom she had failed so pathetically. 

Black spots darkened the corners of her vision. 

“I don’t know who to trust anymore.” The magistrate leaned closer, his breath hot on her face. “Are you a spy?”

Her mind was dead silent. Like it had already given up. 

But she forced herself to shake her head. Struggled against his unbreakable grip.

“Are you?” the magistrate snarled. His fingers loosened infinitesimally. 

“No.” The word was choked. Quiet and broken and small. 

A maniacal glare bored against hers, and then she was crashing to the ground. 

Bent over her hands, Kazi heaved for air. She was shaking, harsh enough she could barely keep herself from crumbling upon the floor. 

Her vision was blurred. Her ragged pants were loud in the quiet. Mind-numbing pain throbbed in her neck. 

Black boots entered her periphery and she flinched. The magistrate squatted before her. Two fingers brushed her cheek, collecting her tears. The magistrate wiped them on her shoulder. 

Pride burnt the fear churning in her stomach, and Kazi pushed herself to her knees, forcing herself to meet the magistrate’s somber look. 

She wouldn’t cower before him. She would not.

“It pains me to do this to you,” the magistrate murmured, reaching a hand forward. 

Instinctively, she recoiled. He dragged his thumb down the column of her neck and then released a heavy sigh. 

“We have a vision, Ms. Lucien.” Soulless eyes laughed at her. “Never betray me.”

The moons were cresting the horizon by the time Kazi returned to the house. 

Most of the day passed in a dazed blur of fresh reports and new intel. She kept her head down, her focus on her projects. Anytime her coworkers mentioned the magistrate her heart skittered. Even now, as she staggered up the porch steps, her hands shook.

Her body ached. Her soul felt cold and empty, like the blackest pits of the ocean’s floor.

A holofilm was playing when she entered the house. Neyti, Daria, and Cody sat on the couch. Scattered around the living area were two additional chairs, taken from the sunroom. Fox sat beneath the sole light, his countenance serious as he scribbled in a thick book.

In an armchair beside the couch, Nova worked on a blanket he was quilting, occasionally watching the film. He’d told her, one early morning when she came across him in the sunroom, that he took up the hobby because of his medic background. He had steady hands. And he didn’t mind using them.  

“He’s patient,” Wolffe explained an hour later at breakfast. Her curiosity got the best of her. “He has to be to deal with all of us.”

Lamps, dimmed for the film—an animated story about a dragon who lost its mother—cast the main level in semi-darkness. It was too early for the moons’ brightness to peek through the skylights, which Kazi appreciated. The darkness provided a curtain for her to hide behind. 

The film was nearing its conclusion and Kazi wandered toward Neyti. The little girl was nearly asleep, her eyelids fluttering, oblivious to Kazi’s presence. 

A sketch pad rested on the floor, displaying an uncompleted sketch of a dragon with a female rider. Kazi scooped it up, along with Neyti’s colored stylus’, and placed them on the kitchen table, noticing Wolffe for the first time. He was studying a three-dimensional projection of what she assumed to be a military base. Or maybe an outpost. A deep line cut between his brows. 

Wolffe glanced at her and then returned to his studies. He did a double take. His eyes narrowed and he leaned across the table, muscles along his shoulders and arms bunching. 

“Ennari,” he said, his voice too low. Too casual. “What’s on your neck?”

Exhaustion and dulled pain slowed her mind and she frowned at him, bemused by his question. But realization was quick to follow, chilling her bones. She retreated a step. 

“Nothing,” she said. 

Wolffe was already on his feet. But she was quicker. She climbed the stairs to the upper level and locked herself in her room. For extra measure, she locked herself in her refresher, wanting—needing—to avoid all contact. Needing to collect herself. To compose herself. 

She stripped out of her clothes and started the shower.

Fog steamed the glass of her mirror as she observed her naked body. A purple handprint marred her neck. The skin was sore to touch. She dropped her gaze, losing herself in the shower, but even the heat of the water was unbearable after a few minutes. 

Kazi applied a bruise salve her sister kept in the upstairs medkit. The pain relief did nothing to alleviate the cold in her chest.

Shivering, she slid into bed.

A few minutes later, three soft knocks sounded on her door. 

She ignored them.

Another round of three followed. Quiet yet insistent. 

Once again, she ignored them. 

Masterlist | Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

A/N: Now that we’re entering Part 2 of this fic, I want to clear the air: I started writing this fic after TBB S2 released. Because I was unsure how things would play out—with a possible clone rebellion, the experiments on Mt. Tantiss, and the Empire’s interest in Omega—I decided there were too many unanswered questions for me to explore that storyline in my fic. I also want to emphasize that this was always a character-driven, romance-centered story exploring themes of love, sisterhood, and survival under Imperial rule—hence why this fic was inspired by both A Thousand Splendid Suns and The Book Thief. There is no Mt Tantiss in this story. There is no Hemlock. There is no clone rebellion. And the men’s missions were always intended to be in the background. I apologize if this wasn’t clear from the beginning and I have misled you. 

[freelosophy]

some more first things

Hello again, stranger.

As you might have read in my previous post, I'm not happy. I am. But.. not with what "free speech" means nowadays.

There are topics (politics, religion, fitness, the environment, parts of history, gender, equality, to name just a few of the big ones) that you just cannot talk about UNLESS you have the "right" opinion. Sometimes.. a lot of the times, actually.. that "right" opinion is not even based on facts, or is in fact in direct opposition to what the truth in that matter is. This is, however, irrelevant, as once you've said something contrary to the "right" opinion, you are a rasist. A body-shamer. A far-right radical. A insert label.

I don't care for this. I want to say what I think and I think everybody should be allowed to do the same. Already in school, you are taught that you can only learn when you make mistakes. When you're wrong. But you must first learn that you are wrong. You must say what it is that you think (if it is wrong) for you to be able to correct it. And being punished just for stating your opinion, no matter how wrong or outrageous it is, seems to me the most egregious thing.

People have different backgrounds, you know? For people advocating diversity, today's activists, and other funny people like that, act as if they'd forgotten that not everyone grew up with the same parents, the same social background, in the same social circle, etc. These things can have great influence over what you consider right or wrong, and the nicest, most-well-meaningest person can spout amazing nonsense if they grow up in a nonsensical environment. It is not their fault. Not entirely. Nobody is just.. right. So maybe listen. Learn. And help others learn. Don't punish people for expressing what is in their head anyway.

Nonetheless, that's a rant for later, I suppose. I know there are many like me, writing and speaking about injustices or just putting their opinion forth, but that's just what this is. Putting my opinion forth. And noone can do that for me. Sometimes, I might share something you find cotroversial, maybe something that you feel is offensive (don't hang on to that feeling strongly for your own sake). And sometimes, I will just share a random thought, be it on one of the subjects I named above, or on like philosophy or physics or whatever because none of my peers want to discuss it.

I am not a native English speaker so if you fidn any mistakes in my grandma, feel free to correct me in a comment. What I would appreciate even more, however, would be comments sharing your thoughts on the subject in question, and/or counter-arguments to an argument I've laid out in my post.

That said, once again, welcome.

[searidings]

this is what happens when @ekingston and i get our hands on the prompt “that's my wife!” and agree that she'll draw my idea for it and i'll write hers (aka hearing kara call it out as she watches lena being wheeled down a hospital corridor)

“Excuse me, you can't go through there!”

Kara growls. The woman blocking her path is short and gently rounded, the kind lines of her face drooping in disapproval above her nurse's scrubs. “No visitor access beyond this point, dear. Immediate family only.”

“Immediate— you're joking, right?” Kara cranes her head, peering through the closing doors to catch a last glimpse of Lena's gurney as it rounds the corner at the end of the hall. “That's my wife!”

The nurse gapes at her. “Your—?”

Kara growls again, louder. It's a good thing she'd blown out her powers twenty minutes ago, or she would not be held responsible for the Kryptonian-shaped hole in NC Memorial Hospital's expensive surgery doors. “Yes, my wi—”

Her snarl is cut off by a hand clamping down firmly over her mouth from behind. Kara's first instinct is to bite it. She resists, narrowly, as the familiar scent of shea butter moisturiser registers in her adrenaline-fogged brain.

“You sure about that?” Alex squeaks around a nervous laugh, voice pitched a half-octave too high. She removes her hand from Kara's mouth, wiping her damp palm on her pants with a wrinkled nose. “Get hit on the head during that fight, did you?”

Kara whirls on her sister, eyes blazing. “Am I sure?” she parrots incredulously. Alex cowers a little beneath the force of her stare. “Unless you're trying to tell me I hallucinated my entire wedding—”

“Supergirl isn't married,” Alex stage-whispers loud enough to be heard in Florida, glancing pointedly down at Kara's ash-caked body and oh yeah, she's still wearing her supersuit.

Right, right.

The nurse – Rosemary, her badge reads – finally picks her jaw up off the floor long enough to speak. Her eyes are wide, sparkling with sudden glee. “So Lena Luthor and Su—”

Kara's hackles rise at the suggestion in her tone. “Lena Luthor and Kara Danvers are happily married,” she interrupts sternly. “You might have seen the wedding photos in last month's Vogue.”

The nurse smirks. At her elbow, Alex drops her head into her hands.

“Kara Danvers, hm? Amazing what a pair of glasses do for you, dear.” Rosemary's brow quirks with impish satisfaction and, oh. Whoops. It would appear that in her haste to quash any potential rumours of Lena's infidelity behind the back of her very recent, very publicly human wife, she'd forgotten about the other delicate matter at hand.

Alex sighs so long and so heavy Kara legitimately marvels that she doesn't pass out from the strain. “I knew keeping a spare NDA in my back pocket would pay off,” her sister groans, thrusting an official-looking, if crumpled, contract beneath the nurse's nose.

“Sorry,” Kara murmurs sheepishly as Rosemary signs away page after page of her right to ever disclose Supergirl's identity in any capacity. “I wasn't thinking, I can't— Alex, it's Lena.”  

“I know, I know,” her sister soothes, frustration dissipating as she reaches out to pull Kara into her side, ignoring the soot and grit that smear across her jacket at the contact. “She's gonna be okay.”

“But what if she's not?” Kara asks and the sobs arrive then, the last remnants of the fight or flight response that had propelled her this far dissipating beneath the weight of her terror. “She stepped right in front of that bullet, Alex! Of all the stupid, reckless—”

“If I recall, she was pushing you back after you shoved her out of the way in the first place,” Alex hums thoughtfully. Kara's tear-filled eyes snap to her face, incredulous, and her sister grimaces. “Right, right. Not the time.”

“She has to be okay,” she gasps, clutching hard at her sister's jacket as her knees threaten to give out beneath her. “She has to, I can't— I feel like I can't breathe. Like my heart's been ripped out.”

Alex clicks her tongue in sympathy, wrapping a firm arm round Kara's waist and guiding her to a nearby row of chairs. Rosemary deposits the signed NDA wordlessly on the hard plastic beside them, reaching into her scrubs to produce a pack of tissues.

Alex accepts, extracting one to dab at Kara's snotty, tear-stained face with her free hand. “Welcome to married life, kid,” she chuckles, pressing a kiss to Kara's matted hair. “It can be a real bitch.”

-

It's a long night.  

It's a long night, a night of anxious waiting and barely-restrained nausea and vending machine coffee so bad even Nia won't drink it. Her family, their family, crowd the waiting room, dozing across the rows of seats as the hours drag on and on.

Alex tries her best, at varying intervals, to force her back to the Tower for a stint under the sun lamps. Every time without fail, Kara sets her jaw, then sets her feet in the middle of the surgical wing waiting room and refuses to budge.

This leads to several arguments, and a lot of impassioned shoving.  

“What if she needs me?” Kara laments tearily, pout activated and puppy dog eyes firmly in place. Alex, mid-football tackle with her arms and right shoulder braced against Kara's torso as she attempts to use her entire bodyweight to force her sister toward the exit, only grunts with exertion. Behind them, J’onn dozes in the corner. Brainy and Kelly and Nia continue their conversation without batting an eyelid.

“No, scratch that, she does need me,” Kara corrects, unaffected by her sister's NFL-worthy body slam. “She's been shot. I'm not going anywhere.”

Alex, perhaps finally sensing defeat after her fourth unsuccessful attempt, gives one final shove with all her strength. Kara doesn't so much as wobble, and her sister releases her with a huff. “Fine. But for the love of God, change your clothes before you start shouting about your wife again,” she pants, red-faced and sweating as she collapses into a nearby chair. “That was my last NDA.”

That's a compromise she can make. Kara accepts the bundle of clothes Nia presents her with, stripping out of her dirt-caked suit and re-donning her glasses. Thankfully, the only person around to witness Kara entering the bathroom as a superhero and re-emerging as a Catco reporter is Rosemary.  

The updates on Lena's condition are sporadic at best. By the time the first surgeon emerges to say the bullet has been removed from Lena's chest cavity Kara's accidentally cracked three plastic chairs, advanced all the way to Lollipop Land on Alex's Candy Crush, and worn a groove into the waiting room linoleum with her nervous pacing.

When another doctor emerges three hours later to tell them Lena had developed a tension pneumothorax and needs additional treatment, Kara's made it to Rainbow Reef and chewed her bottom lip bloody.

When, at five in the morning, yet another doctor appears to inform them that Lena is being placed on anti-radiation medication to counter the Kryptonite that had coated the bullet, Kara's finished all nine thousand nine hundred and thirty-five levels of the damn game. The doctor leaves, promising to be back with more news soon, and Kara squeezes her sister's hand so hard poor Nurse Rosemary has to be called to administer an ice pack for the bruising, solar flare be damned.

Dawn breaks to find Kara scratchy-eyed and grumpy, worn ragged with worry. The waiting room begins to fill up around them, new patients and their relatives coming and going, and still there's nothing new on Lena. Every time another scrub-clad surgeon pushes through the doors Kara's heart skips a beat, all of them sitting up straighter in their seats, but every time the doctor passes them by.

Kara's just wolfed down six cold breakfast sandwiches procured by Brainy on his sojourn to the hospital cafeteria and is debating the relative merits of starting Candy Crush over from scratch when another young doctor appears. Her scrub cap has avocados on it. Kara likes her already.

“Family of Ms Luthor?” she calls, looking around, and Kara pushes up hard from her chair to the resounding snap of cracking plastic. Whoops.

“It's Luthor-Danvers,” she gabbles as she bounds over to the surgeon, palms sweating. No matter how many times she hears it, it never loses its thrill. “I'm, I'm her wife.”

The young doctor's features soften. “Of course. I've come to let you know that it looks like Ms Luthor-Danvers is out of the woods. She's sedated and still on an anti-radiation drip, but she's through the worst of it.” She appraises Kara, gaze lingering on her chewed-raw lips and clenching fingers, then leans closer conspiratorially. “It's not general visiting hours yet, but you can see her, if you'd like.”

“Yes!” Kara's shouting almost before the surgeon has finished speaking. “Yes, please, yes.”

She hugs them all, Alex and Brainy and Nia and Kelly and J’onn, and leaves them in the waiting room as she follows the doctor's sunshine-yellow crocs down the hall.

They round corner after corner, an interminable maze. Powerless as she is, she can't hear Lena’s heartbeat, and the absence of the steady beat that has become the soundtrack to her existence sets her even more on edge.  

But at last they turn a corner, and there she is. She's pale and bandaged and her eyes are closed, creamy skin streaked with dirt and bruises, but she's there, she's alive, she's Lena.  

The surgeon holds the door open for her with a smile and Kara's across the room in a heartbeat, smoothing a hand over Lena's warm cheek and pressing kiss after kiss to her forehead and hair.  

“I love you, I love you,” she whisper-cries against Lena's temple, tucking her matted curls behind her ears. The smell of blood and dirt and antiseptic is almost overwhelming, but beneath the dust and debris caught up in her hair Lena's scalp smells the same as always. Kara presses her face to the crown of her head and inhales deeply, soaking it in.  

“Why'd you have to be so damn brave?” she whispers, nuzzling her cheek against silky softness. “I love you so much. Please don't step in front of any more bullets. Please learn to be a coward, occasionally.”

The singular relief of having Lena living and breathing and in her arms again is so complete, so compounded by the fear and the adrenaline and the sleepless night and the solar flare, that she feels suddenly that she may crumple to the ground from the force of it all.

Unwilling to relinquish her hold for even a second she appraises the bandages covering Lena's right side, then crawls onto the hospital bed on her left, careful to avoid her many wires and monitors. She tucks herself in beside her on the wide mattress, chin hooked over Lena's shoulder and face pressed to the side of her neck, and lets the tears that haven't really stopped falling since that bullet had left its chamber fall for just a little longer.

Nothing matters outside of the two of them, outside of the warmth of Lena's body and the softness of her skin beneath Kara's lips and the steady thud of her heart beneath Kara's palm. Nothing else in the world exists, so when an unfamiliar male voice sounds from the doorway it takes her a moment to register the intrusion.

“Excuse me, ma’am, you really can't be on the bed with her,” the strange, disembodied voice calls from behind her and Kara frowns tiredly, unable and unwilling to acknowledge anything outside of the woman in her arms.

But before she's even managed to raise her head another voice sounds, the soft tones of a young surgeon in an avocado scrub cap.  

“Oh, honestly, Peter,” the kindly doctor says with gentle reproach, a quiet calm washing over the room as the door is pulled closed and she and Lena are left alone. “Leave them be. That's her wife.”