#dogs require too much attention that i am simply not willing to give

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Meng Yao uses his self-absorbed sociopath murderer-ness for the forces of good. (Am not anon, just also think it sounds interesting.)

It happened on the way to Langya.

Meng Yao was feeling quite good about how things had developed. After his father had cast him out, he had vowed to return and force the man to acknowledge him, to put himself in a position where everyone had ever sneered at him would be force to kiss his feet or die – everything after that had been further service to that goal.

He’d gone to Qinghe, because it was the only place that respected merit over blood; he’d found the most arrogant cultivators and allowed them to bully him, because he had learned that Nie Mingjue abhorred injustice among his own more than anything; he had cleared the battlefields and helped the commoners because Nie Mingjue had commented on it positively, suggesting correctly that it was the path to promotion, although becoming Nie Mingjue’s personal deputy had been a pleasant surprise. Rescuing Lan Xichen had been just as unexpected an accident, but a welcome one, and just as importantly, a useful one – it was easy enough to encourage the man to be the one to bring up the subject of Meng Yao returning to the Lanling Jin sect, and to arrange to be within earshot of Nie Mingjue when he did.

And now he had a letter of recommendation from Nie Mingjue himself sitting in his pouch.

Would that be enough for Jin Guangshan?

Meng Yao wasn’t sure. Nie Mingjue had let him see the letter – the usual sort of thing, from one sect leader to another, flattering him as possessing both excellent skills and virtuous conduct – and from everything he’d heard, Jin Guangshan would enjoy the feeling of snatching away a talent.

But would that be enough?

Would he need to do more? And if he did – how far would he need to go? Who would he need to crush beneath his feet to get to the top?

His thoughts were consumed by such worries, and he reached inside the pouch to pull out the so-precious recommendation letter, just to feel it – he often did it, a nervous tick that he couldn’t quite stop – and that’s why he didn’t see the rabbit darting across his feet.

He stumbled and fell, his fingers instinctively gripping the letter tight – and that’s when he noticed it.

There was a small bulge in the letter. Not much of one, just a little curve that shouldn’t be there.

At once Meng Yao dusted himself off, took himself off the main road and made himself a small fire near the stream; his mother had long ago taught him how to steam letters open in such a way that they could be closed again, seal intact and none the wiser. He hadn’t bothered before, since he’d already seen what the letter contained – or rather, he’d thought he knew what it contained.

He’d thought Nie Mingjue too straightforward to play any tricks. But, he supposed, one never really knew.

The letter unfurled itself in his hand: it was exactly the letter he had been shown, which was a relief, but hidden inside was another piece of paper, small and folded up – it would have fallen into the palm of whoever cracked the seal to open the letter. Jin Guangshan, presumably.

Meng Yao opened the additional letter.

The calligraphy was unmistakably Nie Mingjue’s, forceful and bold. The words –

We have never seen eye-to-eye, and I am aware that our alliance is only against the Wens. Despite this, I would ask that you overlook both our past enmity and the embarrassment you will undoubtedly feel at the prospect of accepting Meng Yao after what happened between you in the past. Underneath his calm demeanor, he is ruthless and vindictive, but he has chosen in spite of that to be a good man, deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine. Consider it as me owing you a favor.

It was a good thing Meng Yao was already sitting down.

He hadn’t – he’d thought Nie Mingjue hadn’t noticed. The man disregarded most things as unimportant, never caring about people being rude or disdainful whether of Meng Yao or of himself, had believed (absurdly) that good conduct alone would be enough to shut their wretched mouths, something Meng Yao had long ago learned was not true – he’d assumed Nie Mingjue was naïve, even willfully blind; he’d thought he’d pulled the wool over his eyes, hiding his hatred underneath his smiles and even temperament, tricking him into underestimating him as he had so many others before. Even Lan Xichen, who liked him and treated him well simply because he was a good person, didn’t know what Meng Yao was really like – would never know, as far as Meng Yao was concerned.

He hadn’t realized that Nie Mingjue saw him, understood that he was full of spite and bile and grudges, and thought that he’d – what? That he’d simply chosen otherwise?

Absurd.

Who would ever choose to be good, simply for the sake of being good? What practical benefits could anyone get from that?

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine. Consider it as me owing you a favor.

Meng Yao pressed the letter to his chest, which felt both hollow and full to overflowing at the same time; to think that Nie Mingjue, proud, defiant, unbending Nie Mingjue, Sect Leader of one of the Four Great Sects, the only one who was actually winning against the Wen sect – to think that he would humble himself to beg a favor from a man the whole world knew he despised as a craven fool.

To think he would do that for him.

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine.

It was such a stupid thing. Pointless, worthless! Could you eat respect, if you were hungry? Would respect keep you warm at night when you were freezing? If a sword were held to your throat, could respect block it?

When the laughter of your enemies filled your ears, could the respect of a single man let you ignore it? Did it really matter so much, to have someone see you as you truly were and to still decide you were worth something?

...yes. It seemed that it did.

Meng Yao, don’t be a fool. Your plans..!

Meng Yao carefully resealed the letter, making sure the seal was intact and it looked untouched; the small note, Nie Mingjue’s heartfelt plea on his behalf, did not go back inside of it. If Nie Mingjue ever asked – and he wouldn’t, since he hadn’t told Meng Yao about the extra note to begin with – Meng Yao could always say that it simply fell out without him noticing.

The letter went back into his pouch.

The note he tucked into his robes, placing it right over his heart.

The recommendation letter would be enough, or it wouldn’t; there was no need for Nie Mingjue to lose face in front of Jin Guangshan. Meng Yao had plenty of plans on what to do if simply being a talent wasn’t good enough for his father to recognize him – there was a war on, after all, and Nie Mingjue had never hidden anything from him.

No matter what happened, he had plans.

-

Meng Yao fantasized about murdering his supervisor on a near daily basis.

Had he once complained in his heart about the Nie sect cultivators, who did little more than enjoy the momentary pleasure of being superior to someone of finer birth? Who were brutish and stubborn to the point of hard-headedness? Who thought strength of arms was the beginning and end of the Dao?

He’d rather be a menial servant for the worst of the whole lot of them rather than have to put up with another minute of him.

Petty humiliations on a daily basis – berating him for things that weren’t his fault, calling him all sorts of names, giving him the worst tasks, allowing and even encouraging the other soldiers to play pranks on him. Beatings, if he dared protest, and even when he didn’t, just to make sure he didn’t ‘forget’ his place. Taking credit for all of Meng Yao’s ideas and hard work, so that there would be no way for him to make his way up here as he had back in Qinghe – to ensure that his father could safely forget about his existence, having done the bare minimum that the respect owed to another Sect Leader required.

He’d even said – about Meng Yao’s mother –

It wouldn’t be hard, either; easy enough to do, easy enough to cover it up, and no one would ever need to know. Meng Yao had poor cultivation, having started too late to ever catch up in terms of strength, and so he had to substitute for it: aiming for quantity instead of quality, learning all the techniques he could – with his brilliant memory, seeing once was the same as learning. He knew Wen techniques, and there were Wen swords all over the battlefield; he bent over and picked one up.

Killing his superior, who would not expect it, would be as easy as flipping over his hand, and his corpse would simply be counted as another casualty of battle. Another debt due to the Wen-dogs.

There was really no reason not to – he already had plans to desert, having realized by now that he would never be able to win Jin Guangshan’s attention through honest work; his goals required that he take a different path, a riskier one, but when had he not been willing to stake it all on one throw of the dice? He could assuage his own anger, get revenge, and leave this all behind him, the whole world unknowing.

Now was the perfect chance.

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine.

Meng Yao grimaced and threw down the sword.

Stupid: it clattered on the ground, and his superior heard it, and turned at once to scream at him, accusing him of all sorts of things – even incidentally true ones, like plotting to kill him (though he would have stabbed him from the front, not the back). As was usual, he pulled out his switch and began beating Meng Yao as he screamed, blows focused on his upper arms and chest and back where no one would see; Meng Yao would have to disrobe to show someone, and that would only lead to rumors. Bad enough that his superior claimed that he was making his way through the camp on his back; he wouldn’t let anyone else have any basis for saying the same.

Meng Yao gritted his teeth and bore with it. He’d be leaving soon enough –

There was the familiar sound of unsheathing.

So familiar, in fact, that Meng Yao’s mouth opened without his own volition, automatically saying, “Sect Leader Nie, please hold back – ”

In that first moment before he turned, he’d thought he’d mistaken one sheath for another, an old habit – a memory of better times, even – because of course it couldn’t be true, there was no way for Nie MIngjue to be here, but despite all common sense he heard that familiar voice roar, “I will not!”

There was, Meng Yao reflected, a certain joy in all those thoughts of murdering his superior, a warm glow at the thought of getting the revenge he deserved by making the man pay in blood.

Watching Nie Mingjue thoroughly beat the man for having dared lay a hand on him?

Even better.

“Sect Leader Nie, perhaps you should stop,” he finally said after a while. “He is after all the lieutenant of another sect.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m using the flat of my blade,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao had to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

“I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Sect Leader Jin,” he said, and that much he actually meant.

“I’m here to save him at his own request, he wouldn’t have the face to shame me,” Nie Mingjue said dismissively, but he did – somewhat reluctantly – stop, and allowed Meng Yao’s superior to go running; if Meng Yao hadn’t already planned to leave, he might have been concerned regarding who the man would complain to. “Meng Yao, why does your – why does Sect Leader Jin claim he doesn’t know who you are?”

Meng Yao opened his mouth, eyes flickering as he wondered what he could say that would save face all around and avoid starting a fight between Nie Mingjue, who he liked, and his father, who he still needed to one day acknowledge him – it would be a tricky tightrope.

One he never had to walk.

Nie Mingjue held up a hand, looking annoyed. “If you’re going to lie, just tell me you don’t know.”

“…I don’t know,” Meng Yao said obediently. His father preferred to pretend he didn’t exist, even though he owed Nie Mingjue more than that; admitting that, however, would be causing unnecessary trouble.

Nie Mingjue scowled. “You’re welcome to come back, if you find yourself unfulfilled here. The man I replaced you with is a – well. He’s not up to your standard.”

Meng Yao smiled. “I appreciate the offer, Sect Leader Nie, but – there’s another way, I think, to win enough merit to make my father have no choice but to see me.”

He surveyed Nie Mingjue’s expression, wondering if he would at last find disdain – but no, the man merely nodded, as if planning to force one’s own father into submission was an entirely reasonable, justified, and righteous path. Perhaps it was, if the father in question was Jin Guangshan.

“I have been studying the Wen sect’s techniques,” Meng Yao said. “I believe I can infiltrate their forces.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “You held the sword well enough to pass for a Wen,” he said, and Meng Yao hadn’t realized he’d arrived early enough to see that. “But it won’t last for very long.”

“I wouldn’t need it to,” Meng Yao explained. “My father has mistreated me, and everyone knows it – it wouldn’t be so hard to claim that I was defecting because I had had enough. Wen Ruohan would enjoy having one of his enemy’s sons as a servant.”

He’d accumulated a month’s worth of bruises on his back for that very reason.

Nie Mingjue’s frown deepened. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It will help us win,” Meng Yao countered. “You know my skills, Sect Leader Nie; my memory is excellent and I’m not very noticeable – I can find plans, maps, instructions; I will find ways to send them on to the forces on our sides. You don’t have a single spy as good as I can be. Think of all the battles we can win – the lives we’ll save! Cultivators and common people both!”

“And it will win you the merit you need.”

Meng Yao nodded. That was the main point, of course; the rest was all just talk.

Nie Mingjue’s jaw worked as he thought it over. Schemes and deception were not his forte; he had spies, as did all the other Sect Leaders, and shared information with them freely, but it had never been the way he liked to do things.

Meng Yao’s heart was in his mouth as he waited for Nie Mingjue’s judgment. If it were anyone else, he would have just thanked him and bid him goodbye without sharing his plans; but Nie Mingjue had gone to Jin Guangshan and asked about him, without prompting, entirely unbidden – he would make a fuss if Meng Yao just disappeared. Better to tell him.

Better to gamble on respect.

“…Wen Ruohan would enjoy having one of Sect Leader Jin’s blood in his ranks,” Nie Mingjue finally said, the words coming out slow and reluctant. “But not as much as he would enjoy having my deputy.”

Meng Yao’s eyes curved into crescents at this unexpected delight. “Sect Leader Nie, are you proposing that we have a fight?”

-

Life as Jin Guangyao was about what Meng Yao had expected it to be. Nasty, mean, vicious, underhanded…Madame Jin treated him worse than a servant; Jin Guangshan, now officially Father, gave him things to organize and slave over, and expected him to thank him for the gift; Jin Zixuan mostly looked endlessly uncomfortable about everything, but he’d clearly learned long ago how to keep his mouth shut.

It wasn’t all that different from life inside the Wen sect, Meng Yao reflected. At Wen Ruohan’s side, he’d gotten to torture people and found that he had the skills for it, although not the taste: it felt good to make his enemies scream, as good as he’d always thought it would be, but in the end it wasn’t quite as good as the feeling of Nie Mingjue trusting him enough to let him set the stage for his dramatic desertion.

It certainly wasn’t anywhere as good as the moment in the Sun-Scorching Palace when Nie Mingjue’s eyes filled with relief at the realization that Meng Yao hadn’t betrayed him after all, allowing himself to finally let that too-stiff back of his bend in the hands of Meng Yao and Lan Xichen, who had come at his word without so much as a question.

And that meant, irritatingly enough, that if Meng Yao wanted more of that good feeling, he was going to have to – to do that.

To be a good person.

To make the choices a good person would make, even if it was purely transactional on his part. Good deeds would get him praise and respect from the men he respected most, both of whom were now his sworn brothers; they might not get him anything more substantive than that, but – whatever.

He was good enough to find a way to get what he wanted even with being held back by stupid rules.

Most recently, he’d presented plans for lookout towers to Jin Guangshan, careful to do it in public so that no one could claim credit for the idea; his father wasn’t that interested, but it was enough to win him some merit among those watching, especially those small sects that usually had to deal with the more remote areas. Of course, plenty of people claimed it was a scheme for Lanling Jin to obtain personal benefits, but ironically enough Jin Guangshan’s disinterest did a great deal to reassure them.

No matter. He would make it work, given time.

Not that he had much time.

Jin Guangshan had him running around like a dog more often than not – organizing sect events, banquets and other things, writing correspondence, all the tasks of a deputy and none of the benefits. He even demanded that Meng Yao help him arrange his – entertainment.

Meng Yao’s lip curled.

If he weren’t so devoted to being a good person, he would have used the opportunity to ingratiate himself with his father – to try to earn his favor, or at least learn his secrets so as to use them later. But no. He had to be good.

There was more than one way to be good.

He didn’t wait for Madame Jin to find out about the new work he’d been assigned, as she undoubtedly would – Jin Guangshan was not subtle – but instead went to find her directly, throwing himself down at her feet. “Madame, I have wronged you,” he said, his forehead touching the ground. “Please select an appropriate punishment.”

She looked somewhat taken aback by it. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t say anything.

She frowned and gestured for one of her maids; the girl came back soon and whispered in her ear. Madame Jin scowled. “And you helped him?”

“He is my father,” Meng Yao said, not looking up.

She huffed, clearly irritated, and seemed about to start scolding, but then she gave a thoughtful hum instead.

Face hidden by the floor, Meng Yao smiled.

“You came here,” she said thoughtfully. “He’s your father – but you came here. You disapprove?”

He didn’t say anything. It’d be easier for him if she put together the pieces herself: he’d certainly been dropping hints hard enough, these past few weeks.

“Of course you would,” she continued, and yes, there it was, there she was, going down the path he wanted her to go down. “Your mother…you never stay late at the banquets where there are entertainers, or else you’re always in the kitchen, in the back, helping work on something. You never indulge yourself – I’d wager you despise them all, don’t you? Filial child…and it wasn’t as though your mother could say no, working where she did.”

His mother, when Jin Guangshan had visited her, had been a famous talent – she’d been educated, conversant in books and excelling in music. She still had her pick of clients, back then, though she’d been getting older, over twenty; she’d placed her hope on Jin Guangshan, deciding to bear his child.

Her hope had been misplaced.

“Still, it’s intolerable – for all that you’re a bastard, you’re still his blood; it’s a disgrace on the Sect’s name to be treating you like his personal procurer!”

“Madame Jin, please punish me,” Meng Yao said. “He will undoubtedly ask again; how can I say no? It’s not as though I have your power to find and punish him.”

“But you do,” she said, eyes bright as she leaned forward. “You were a spy once, weren’t you? I heard you talking about it just the other day, how you sent reports back to our side – whenever he asks this of you again, send me word at once. I will interfere, and it won’t be your fault at all.”

Good, very good. But not quite enough –

“But Madame!” he protested. “He will surely guess –”

“I’m not so foolish as to reveal it,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Though it would be better to make it rare…how about this? I’ll assign you to accompany A-Xuan. The old man wouldn’t dare ask you to do such filthy things when my A-Xuan is around!”

Perfect.

“You’re too kind, Madame Jin,” he said. He didn’t much like procuring whores for his father, that much was true, but it wasn’t what he was trying to avoid: no, what he wanted to avoid was his father’s laboratories, devoted to figuring out the Yiling Patriarch’s methods of demonic cultivation – to steal the man’s power for himself.

That, too, was something Jin Guangshan wouldn’t dare to involve him in if Jin Zixuan was around.

Though – speaking of that, he really needed to resolve the issue with Wei Wuxian. It had been rather a big fuss after he’d stolen away the Wen sect remnants; his father was campaigning to pressure the Jiang sect to eject him or else take responsibility. The other sects were watching.

Something would have to be done.

What would a good person do?

Meng Yao honestly had no idea. Perhaps this was something he could consult Lan Xichen for.

-

Meng Yao had always known that listening was the best way to get someone to talk. A face that didn’t seem to judge, a tilt of the head that suggested attention – his mother had shown him all the tricks to manipulate people.

He just hadn’t realized there were so many people willing to sign up to get manipulated.

“Perhaps it would be better if you told him,” he told Wei Wuxian gently. With Madame Jin’s help, he’d started taking regular trips away from Koi Tower; one of them had been to volunteer to accompany Lan Wangji on one of his trips to the Burial Mounds, as a favor to Lan Xichen, and this time, he’d stayed behind to have a little chat.

His father had approved the trip on the basis that he was supposed to get information from Wei Wuxian – and he was, just not the sort his father wanted.

“You don’t even know what it is,” Wei Wuxian insisted, twisting his sleeve in his hands anxiously. “It’d break his heart –”

“And your distance isn’t? Think about how he’d feel if he found at later that you were keeping a secret from him, a reason to explain everything…that’d be worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Why would he need to find out at all?”

“Because of you, of course. As long as you live, it will be his fault if something happens to you.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tensed. “His fault?”

“Naturally. Why are so many people willing to crusade against you? Shouting support no matter if they were involved or not, condemning you in vast numbers? It’s because he’s not on good terms with you, because his attitude never showed that your bond was too strong to be broken. In the end, even if the distance between you was because of your secret, don’t you think he’ll blame himself for all that happened to you?”

Wei Wuxian looked stricken.

“Whatever it is, you should tell him,” Meng Yao coaxed. “I’ve spoken with Sect Leader Jiang, you know –”

Only briefly, but if this scheme worked, he’d insist on having several talks like this. The man’s mind was a gigantic mess, and it would do him good to have someone help him put it back in order.

That’s what a good man would do.

That the shape of that order would also accrue to Meng Yao’s benefit – a pleasant side effect.

“– His words are harsh, but his confusion and pain are evident. He’s suffering every day, rebuilding that sect of his, all alone…”

Wei Wuxian jumped up. “Don’t you think I want to be there to help him?” he demanded. “But I can’t just abandon the Wens, either!”

Meng Yao opened his eyes wide. “Is that the choice?”

Wei Wuxian turned to him, his eyes narrowing – a little dangerous, but then, Meng Yao had played Wen Ruohan between his fingers. What was one Yiling Patriarch in comparison?

“Lianfeng-zun,” he said. “What are you saying? There’s another choice?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Meng Yao said. “My first loyalty is to my father. I’m sure you understand.”

“Your father,” Wei Wuxian mused. “Your father…his was the first voice to condemn me. And yet he’s always sniffing around my heels, demanding that I hand over my Stygian Tiger Seal…he’s not just scared of my power, is he? He wants it specifically. He wants – what does he want?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Meng Yao said.

“But there is something.”

Meng Yao shrugged, indicating his helplessness. “I owe my father filial loyalty,” he reminded Wei Wuxian. “But I also have a duty to the world – it’s very difficult to walk the line between one’s family and one’s conscience.”

Meng Yao didn’t actually have a conscience, but he’d heard things.

Wei Wuxian grabbed his hands. “Lianfeng-zun, I owe you for this,” he said, very seriously. “Thank you.”

And then he rushed out the door – probably headed to the Lotus Pier first, and then to Koi Tower. There were all sorts of clues left out for him to find.

The scandal when his father’s little experiments in demonic cultivation were discovered would either bring down Jin Guangshan or rehabilitate Wei Wuxian – maybe even both, and just in time for Jin Zixuan’s wedding.

Meng Yao got up with a stretch.

It was really surprisingly nice being a good person.

-

Meng Yao had always thought he would need to be at the top to be happy – that it would always boil his blood to see Jin Zixuan placed above him, through nothing more but an accident of birth.

More recently, though, he’d been rethinking his position.

“Sorry, Sect Leader,” he said, face fill of smiles – sincere, for once. “That information’s confidential. I couldn’t possibly betray your confidence by taking a look at it.”

Jin Zixuan’s glare was distinctly weakened by the giant circles under his eyes: he looked like a sleepy panda. “I know for a fact that you helped Sect Leader Nie with this sort of thing.”

Meng Yao put his hands over his heart. “I wasn’t yet aware –”

“A-Yao! Please! I don’t even care what you do with it!”

Meng Yao finally broke and laughed. “I can’t do it,” he said, and Jin Zixuan almost whined like a sad dog, “because I already did it yesterday. You just need to sign these papers and then you can go get some sleep before your baby wakes up.”

“Is there some promotion I can give you?” Jin Zixuan wondered, looking deeply relieved and already half asleep.

“I’m already your second-in-command, and I more or less run Koi Tower,” Meng Yao said. “The only thing I don’t need to do is get yelled at by people who are unhappy with my decisions, which is your job.”

“Why do I somehow feel like I got the short end of the stick?”

“No idea,” Meng Yao said blithely. “It’s your inheritance, after all.”

Their father had been dead for four months – sadly, the whole mess with demonic cultivation hadn’t done the trick, though it had effectively rehabilitated Wei Wuxian’s reputation; once he’d been cast into the same bucket as the Yiling Patriarch, it had been in Jin Guangshan’s best interest to make the entire cultivation world accept demonic cultivation as a valid, if dangerous, cultivation path.

Meng Yao had had to take other measures.

It couldn’t really be considered patricide: he’d been so understandably distraught to find out what his father had done to poor Madam Qin, and what that meant about Qin Su, all coming out right before he’d been prepared to marry her – any good person would have done as he’d done and told Qin Cangye.

It was a good thing that he hadn’t followed his initial instincts to bed Qin Su before the marriage. He’d considered it, since a pregnancy would make it impossible for Qin Cangye, that old stiff-neck, to back out at the last minute, but he’d reminded himself that a good person wouldn’t do it that way.

A good person would go to his two sworn brothers and look sad about the whole dilemma until Lan Xichen, at least, was fooled into going to offer an encouraging word.

Nie Mingjue thought Meng Yao was being especially full of shit and claimed that he would never get involved in any romantic matters whatsoever. His later invitation for Sect Leader Qin to go night-hunting with him shortly thereafter, a casual demonstration of the power behind Meng Yao, had nevertheless helped just as much than Lan Xichen’s friendly chat – the carrot and the stick.

In the end, of course, it all came to nothing marriage-wise, but it’d gotten his father out of the way, under such circumstances that made Meng Yao look good, Jin Guangshan look wretched, and put Qin Cangye deep into Meng Yao’s debt – and even got him several months of pampering by two very apologetic and sympathetic sworn brothers.

An even better result than the marriage, however sweet Qin Su had been.

Since then, he’d finally had the chance to do what he wanted, especially given how busy Jin Zixuan was busy with his new son, who had colic, and his troublesome brothers-in-law that were always visiting.

Jiang Cheng had in fact greatly benefited from his chats with Meng Yao – he’d had a lot of problems, as Meng Yao had suspected, starting with his childhood and continuing through some fairly staggeringly bad parenting choices on the part of the last generation of Jiangs, and it did him a great deal of good to have a comforting ear that could manipulate his emotions to a more even keel. His relationship with Wei Wuxian was slowly being repaired, though the latter’s new relationship with Hanguang-Jun was causing some bumps in the road, reawakening those tender feelings of jealousy and possessiveness and fear that he was once again losing his best friend.

(Lan Xichen, in contrast, had been thrilled. Apparently he’d known for years and hadn’t once let on to anyone. And something about – loquats? For once in his life, Meng Yao didn’t want to know.)

Actually, Meng Yao was more proud of the stroke of brilliance he’d had in sending Su She to be Jiang Cheng’s escort for a season – Su She had always wanted respect more than anything else, hating any and all people of higher status (most of the world, unfortunately), but being forced to listen to Jiang Cheng’s entire mess for several months was enough to make even him feel bad, no matter the difference between their positions.

He’d even finally agreed to remove the curse from Jin Zixun.

No, it was all working out very well: he had all four of the leaders of the Great Sects and the Yiling Patriarch supporting him, he could dump all the parts of being in charge that he didn’t like on Jin Zixuan’s lap, and anyone who even thought about calling him the son of a prostitute would very quickly find themselves rethinking it at the end of little Xue Chengmei’s knife or Mo Xuanyu’s teary eyes, depending on which approach they thought would be more effective.

Now that was an unlikely pair to have adopted each other as brothers: Xue Yang had been the most talented demonic cultivator in Jin Guangshan’s little nest, a twelve-year-old delinquent from Kuizhou (Wei Wuxian had thrown a fit), and Mo Xuanyu was the emotionally unstable, cowardly cutsleeve son that Jin Guangshan had brought back specifically to irritate Meng Yao. Meng Yao had deliberately forced them to share a room in the hopes that they would balance each other out, and it had worked surprisingly well.

Of course, Meng Yao still had no idea what to do with either of them, especially ever since they’d developed crushes on two travelling cultivators – apparently Xue Yang was also a cutsleeve, just much less obvious about it – but he supposed it didn’t really matter. He’d figure it out.

Eventually.

He had time - time and good company, now that the Song of Clarity was helping calm Nie Mingjue’s endless temper. Lan Xichen had promised to teach it to Meng Yao as well, so that they could play it for Nie Mingjue together, and then switch out - Meng Yao had suggested that Nie Huaisang learn it as well, both to help calm his older brother and to ensure that he would be able to calm himself in the inevitable future when his own cultivation got to be too much for him.

In the end, it seemed respect was something you could live on after all.

[shyvioletcat]

Rowan and Aelin talking about their dream house

Guess who’s back? Enjoy the return of our favourite firefighter.

Fluffy prompt-a-thon masterlist

Striking Matches Masterlist

~~~~~

Aelin was only half way and she had given up. She had three more flights of stairs to go and she was puffed and exhausted and didn’t know how long it would take her to gather the strength to get up the rest of them. The fact that it was winter was a blessed relief, at least she didn’t have the heat to contend with, even though she was most definitely sweating. She was only 7 months pregnant and she was struggling to make it up the stairs. How was she supposed to do it once she was even more pregnant? How was she supposed to climb six flights of stairs with a baby?

Those were things that she had been thinking about a lot lately. She loved her little dingy apartment, or rather loved what had happened there. That was where she met Rowan, where the whole door fiasco had happened. He had proposed to her in that apartment, carried her all the way up these damned stairs after they had got married. The apartment meant a lot to her, but it was getting more and more obvious that their time here was running out. 

Finally catching her breath and willing away the tears in her eyes Aelin started to climb again. And she refused to stop until she got to the apartment door, even if that meant she had gone at a snail's pace at some points. She was just glad that Rowan wouldn’t be home and she would be able to compose herself and swallow back her emotions for when he got home, hopefully. Her emotions and hormones had not been her friends of late. So when she opened the door and saw him sitting on the couch it caught her unawares and she almost burst into tears at the sight of him.

Rowan immediately saw that something was wrong and he was up from the couch, taking her work bag from her and put it on the ground before gathering her into his arms.

“Aelin,” he said onto her head and she held him tighter. “Love, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Aelin said into his chest, her voice muffled. “It’s just a lot of stairs.”

Rowan kissed her head once then let her go. “You sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

Aelin did just that, sitting on the couch and taking her shoes off her swollen feet. Rowan was back in a few moments, giving her the bottle of water as he sat down beside her. Aelin immediately lent into his side, taking comfort of the feeling of his body against hers. Then she took a drink.

“What are you doing home?” Aelin asked, her voice still a little strained. 

“I convinced Lorcan to let me be on call from home,” Rowan said. That explained while he was in his uniform. “I had a feeling you might need me.”

That was what broke the dam on Aelin’s tears. Damn him and his intuition.

“We can’t stay here,” Aelin said before he could ask. “We can’t stay here and that makes me sad. Because this place was so important to us, but we can’t have a baby here. I can’t do the stairs pregnant, I can’t do the stairs with the baby. There will always be so much to carry and I know I can’t do it. We can’t do it.”

Rowan looked down at her, as she looked up at him. “I know.”

“You do?” Aelin asked.

“Yeah,” Rowan said, the left corner of his mouth dropping in a frown. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

“You have?”

Rowan just nodded. Then they were both quiet for a while, both just thinking Aelin guessed. That's what Aelin was doing, a thousand different thoughts running through her mind. All of it getting a little overwhelming. Would they buy? Would they rent? Where would they go? When would they go? They were on a pretty defined deadline.

“One step at a time,” Rowan said quietly, no doubt reading the tension in her body. “We don’t even know what we want.”

Rowan was right again, they had never really talked about moving in a real sense. It was one of those things they just assumed they would do when the time was right. 

“What’s your dream house?” Rowan asked, relaxing back into the couch. “What makes or breaks the deal?”

Aelin took another sip of water as she thought. “I think it has at least four bedrooms.”

“Four?” Rowan said looking down, brows high. “What on earth are we going to do with all those rooms?”

Aelin smiled coyly up at him, her hand running over her belly. “Oh, I don’t know.”

Rowan chuckled. “I think I want a place with our own private bathroom.”

“Why’s that?” Aelin asked.

“Privacy,” Rowan said simply.

“For?” Aelin pressed. 

Rowan just rolled his eyes at her. “Whatever your imagination wants, Aelin.”

That made Aelin laugh, then she glanced around the room. “I want a dining area. Somewhere we can have a real dining table. And a big kitchen. Not huge, but big enough that we can move around in it together without running into each other.”

“I like running into you in the kitchen,” Rowan said.

“But things always burn, or we’re late. I think it’s best if we have some space,” Aelin explained matter of factly, but she didn’t miss how Rowan's arm tightened around her at the mention of taking ‘space’, like the thought of it right now was abhorrent. Aelin found his hand and squeezed it. “I want a yard. Big enough so we can get a dog.”

“And space for the baby to play and run,” Rowan added.

“I want the house to be cute too,” Aelin told him. “I don’t want some ugly modern thing. I want it to have character.”

“I like that idea,” Rowan said. “Maybe we could find a place on the edge of the city. Still close enough that we can keep our jobs, but a little quieter, more land.”

“I think I would like that,” Aelin agreed. “I don’t want to leave all our friends.”

“Even Lorcan?” Rowan asked.

Aelin let out a burst of laughter. “Yes, even Lorcan. But mainly for Elide’s sake, but please don’t tell him that.”

By some divine intervention Rowan wasn’t called out to an incident, so they spent the whole evening talking about and discussing their new house. They playfully fought over room colours as they ate dinner, whether they would have carpet or floorboards in the bedrooms as they half paid attention to the show on the TV, discussed what exactly they would use all those bedrooms for while they got ready for bed. By the time Aelin was tucked into Rowan’s side under the covers they had a decent idea of what exactly they wanted from a house. 

Unbeknown to Aelin, Rowan started looking while she was asleep, trawling through pages of houses. By the time his own eyelids were dropping he hadn’t found anything, but he knew he would find something, it might just take a little bit of time.

~~~~~

It took Rowan about 2 weeks to find something that fit almost all their requirements. He hadn’t expected to find the perfect home but this came pretty damned close.

He’d spent the night at the station on night shift, using the quiet the time waiting looking through every real estate site he could think of searching for right house. And found it he did. It was nearly 2 am so he didn’t call or message Aelin in case she was sleeping, something she was getting less and less of these days, but it left him humming with an excited energy.

When he walked through the apartment door Aelin was in the kitchen making herself breakfast. Rowan went straight to her, kissing her sweetly before holding his phone up for her to look at.

“Rowan, what…” 

Rowan watched for her reaction, as her brows furrowed in confusion but then when she saw what was on her screen her eyes went wide.

“It’s… that’s perfect,” Aelin said, taking his phone from him.

“Well, it’s not,” Rowan said, swiping his fingers across the screen to flick through the photos. “The kitchen is old and terrible and the paint job throughout the old house is retro and not in a good way. But those are all things we could fix. The yard is huge, there’s this big old tree in the yard we could hang a swing from. It’s got some flaws, but I don’t think we’ll find anything much better.”

“I love it Rowan,” Aelin said, putting his phone on the counter and wrapping her hands around his neck. “I’ll contact the real estate on my lunch break and –”

“I already have,” Rowan said with a smile. “I’ve emailed them, expressing our interest. I’ve got it all started.”

Aelin grinned and then kissed him. “Thank you, Rowan. You are too perfect.” 

Rowan smiled, “Anything for you, my love.” 

~~~~~

I just love these two SO MUCH!

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[daughterofhel]

.

My icon died last night.

The little black and white cat, Auk (or-ick). A silly name from a badly remembered name from my childhood.

He was pretty much deaf; car got him.

I haven’t seen him since I left Texas, as I moved for a year to VA before finally moving to be with my wife in Vento. One of my guy friends family took him in on their ranch.

It was fitting; I did get Auk from a ranch. He was used to it, loved it even. And this was without the competition of an unhealthy amount of breeding stays like the ones I grabbed him and Ivy up from. I could only take two, my friend the same.

Funny. I had originally gone there to see the birth of a colt only to leave with a cat. Return the next day and get one more, a friend for my tiny runt of a thing.

And who should but all demand it be him to leave with me but Auk? The friendliest of cats that I’ve ever had the pleasure to be around. He also thwarted my attempts at having two girl cats. He was insistent to leave with me and you don’t argue when you’re chosen you know?

I won’t detail the tears following or the rough road and chaos that went on, but many double shifts back to back to back endlessly, a medicated clumsy grandmother with rapidly failing health, and complex roommate situations, I just wasn’t able to provide the needed time and care for my cats.

I cried the entire 45 minute drive to my buddys property when he said he could take them in. I had to pull over twice. They also cried the entire time, being afraid of the car, which made it harder. My buddy, He was the same guy who rescued a big pup clearly abandoned some years back. I had helped train him to not jump on people and other stuff. His folks also owned a longhorn ranch, lots and lots of space.

Those cats deserved better and this was a familiar element, now neutered, vaccinated, and with no stray competition and the dog was so careful. But god. I never wanted to say goodbye to my cats. It didn’t matter though, what I wanted; they needed care and time I wasn’t able to keep providing.

So I dropped them off. As expected, Ivy kept close but never got too close to the family. She simply doesn’t trust; I’ve no idea why such a little thing bonded instantly with me and remained quite the fixed cuddle bug. But she had. I felt worse about it with her than Auk if I’m to be honest.

Auk loved attention. Loved fetch. Belly rubs. This cat was a classic dog and a huge whore for attention. XD He essentially made himself at home and lavished any and all attention, to which my buddies mother instantly fell for this fuzzy dorks charms. He has been well cared for.

I know younger me could’ve and should’ve done better when I got these cats. Mind you, I’ve been gone for over 10 years now, so it has been quite some time. I’m doing what I wish I could have done for my cats then with the two rescues we got last year here.

I was young and working so many hours for nearly no profit after stuff was paid, even living at home and with roommates. I couldn’t afford the extra vet fees I needed or the fanciest of foods or any of that. I loved them, and I felt them being with me instead of the half starving state they were in from constantly competing with so many other cats, was still a better option for them. I still was at least able to do some of the important visits for them.

I cleared their fleas and earmites. I never did get rid of Ivys worms, though I desperately tried. I tried so many ways to get this pill into that cat. Even crushed into wet food. Friends helping to wrap and hold her to make her swallow. All the tricks we found, failed. She just. She wouldn’t take it. And I didn’t have the cash to go every single day and time she needed a dose to a pet clinic. I had checked more than once. It was so much money.

Older, better situated now.. I’ve been able to do right by the cats, Nyx and Tivali, that I have now.

We even saved Nyx’s eye. We have a system to give her her seizure medicine every 12 hours. They’re both fully up to date with their shots and are fixed. Ears totally clean. Monthly newly added anti flea tick collars.

The best food we can reasonably find at the local pet shop; their pelts are beautiful, soft, shiny, and they never smell.

We’ve even found a biodegradable corn based litter we can flush which has been the greatest find.

We get semi regular check ups on our girls and they’re doing just fine now. I’m still proud about saving Nyx’s eye. It was a tedious ordeal. 3-4 times a day we had to clean and medicate a cats eye. We got good at it even if she wasn’t fond of it. Thankfully the vitamins they required were like treats. Even the antibiotics from the colds they had from the shelter.

I miss Auk. And Ivy. And I wish I could’ve not only given them the life I’ve given my current cats now, (I’ve constructed basket beds, hammocks, a whole canopy jungle gym and rope bridge to boot for them with my wife!), but I wish I could have been the one to have them in my life still. I know it was not possible. It wouldn’t have been possible.

But I think of them. A lot. And I knew it was inevitable. Auk would’ve been well over 13 or so years by now. A little old but could’ve lived longer yet for sure. My buddy didn’t mention he has gone deaf. Of course he rarely goes home himself; I don’t blame him. Life’s complicated.

I have mourned these two cats multiple times now. So I’m not thrown into tears upon this news, I’ve cried plenty over the years already. But I’m still sad to hear that fuzzy delight has passed on. I won’t ask, but I hope, and believe, the accident was a quick end for such a friendly guy.

I’ll mourn him eventually in full. I know I will. But considering this is the fourth major bad news I’ve gotten in less than a month and most of it a week, I thought to write about it. If only to keep sane.

May I not receive the same news of my grandmother or my sister who both remain in the hospital.

And god. May my mother stop forcing me to recall and talk about our shared trauma under my father and just keep me up to date on my families health. I don’t want to be crushed under this suffocating vice on my neck that makes me hesitate to call and see my family. I know she needs to vent. And god. I try to let her. I do. I try to be kind; she needs it.

But it isn’t the time and place when I’m trying to figure out if my grandmother is dying or getting better. I shouldn’t have to receive that confirmation, be granted a brief video called hello and check in, with the price of an hour long dredge through a past I personally have gone to two different types of therapy through to try and cope with. Which, only to some degree, have helped.

One of the last longer calls we had she all but said she hoped her theories on my father possible molesting me were true, so, you know, that would be one more trauma we had in common. She went on and on, even trying to provide loose evidence to her theory. Troubling sentences I would say in my rare visits. Etc. She just. Wouldn’t. Stop. And that was after an hour of recalling how terrible her life was with my father and the abuse, the screaming, the terror, the hiding, the injuries, all of it. As if I wasn’t left to live my life with this very man she said her three years with ruined her more than all her past shit combined.

She assured me she was a good mother who tried. And honestly. No. But I do believe she tried. But she was already weak emotionally and mentally and my father wrecked what was left. She left me sometimes for a couple days lock in that house when I was in diapers. You don’t forget that shit. I’m still scared of the dark. I can’t reason with myself on it. But being mad about all of it doesn’t change anything and would hurt a woman already broken. Why would I do that.

Still. It bothers me. So fucking much. But she’s such a fragile person in a fragile emotional state with everything else on top. She’s been heavily depressed for many many years and it’s a bunch of other stuff that spirals and honestly, at this point, she’s toxic even to herself. I’ve tried working on it with her but it matters not if she’s not willing to work on it too. I don’t know my mother besides her many traumas. We’ve been separated and estranged for most of my life. Unless I was physically able to actually be there and provide a use.

But that’s par for the course; no one will have you around if you’re unable to provide something for it. My wife’s the first person who genuinely seems to enjoy having me around just because and wants nothing more. I do stuff of course; but with her I am not afraid a slip up could mean everything it taken away and lost. I can forget the dishes once or had a bad mental health day and stay in bed without it having catastrophic consequences. She’s such a wonderful kind woman; I cannot help stressing over how to repay her.

I try and I’ve expressed my distraught on the topic and though she always seems baffled and confused about my insistence that I should be doing far more, that lass doesn’t agree at all. It’s her parents home so I am not able to freely run the house as I would on our own, as I’m able and have in many places, so I’m often less useful with the restrictions. She’s also use to the flow and swing of things and has things half done before it’s being asked.

Our own place will make life smoother and calmer for both of us; most importantly her. I’ve watched this family, sweet, but absolutely tone deaf to how many and often their demands are tossed to her. All the other kids moved out with partners. Hell, the oldest s child basically lives here. Our own hurdle with raising a kid who we don’t have the final say on any single thing. His grandparents are enablers cuz they don’t want to hear any loud noises, no matter what. And that causes strain when the kid can and does get anything and everything as long as he kicks up a fit. And he sure as hell does. There are days it’s so bad my wife’s in tears. And that pisses me off. The kids a good person, but the fact no one will actually parent and draw definite lines and be firm with No’s can also make him horrible too.

I’ve to deal with the chess match that is my father. I often call him my own personal Devil. He kind of is. But one I’m familiar enough with at this point in my life. I know where and when to cut my losses, where to step around, when I need to swallow my pride or the easily seen through lies, and nod my head. If he was all terrible, I could have cut him from my life. But no one ever really is. And I do know I owe it to the man; he has helped tremendously in my life as much as he’s been a big problem of it. I know his biggest fear is to be alone and forgotten. I wouldn’t do that, not even to the devil.

I need some bland news. Not thrilling. Not depressing. Just some ‘hey that happened’ ‘oh cool.’ Kind of news. Just a small reprieve.

Im. Scared. Of what’s next.

I. Know that things are teetering dangerously into a very very tragic terrible story on my mothers end. I know her husbands already super suicidal. My half brothers severely autistic, non verbal, among a few other things and will require his whole life to have someone be there for him. He’s not stupid, and I hate when people treat him as so, but he is absolutely unable to care for himself. He doesn’t have the right motorskills even, though we’ve gone to many different places to try and help him find ways to do actions in his own way that still get the same result. I admire how he’s such a positive little man, generally not just happy, but delighted. I aspire to look at the world like he does. He reminds me to try. I do love that about him.

He is, however, a Big boy, 15 now, and growing. He’s also very strong now. My mother is getting to an age where his, as well call em happy slaps, are really hurting her. He is generally good about slapping your hands and not your back if you provide them. But when he is upset he is a shover; one bad fall could really cause a lot of chaos for my mother with her health. The husband spends most of his time locked in his room.

My half sister is epileptic. They have done tests for years and can’t figure out all her triggers or the whys. They just sometimes stop for a long time then suddenly happen. She’s 16, turning 17 soon. And I don’t even know if she’s going to be, since my mother won’t let me know. And there are large gaps from my sister being on tech due to concerns of what triggered her seizure this time so she’s often removed from electronic devices for a time.

When I had turned 21, my mother and her husband tried to have me sign a paper to become legal guardian of my half siblings, should something happen to them, so the kids didn’t get separated.

At that time, I was still taking care of my fathers mother along with working at a shit job, and had a house full of temporary roommates who I had offered rooms to as a sort of safe house for them. I have a knack for finding people from broken homes, what can I say? With the house my father and I built, we had space, so I used it. I was able to help the girls get out of toxic places, get on their feet, and move on. Not all of them always. But it did generally work out. One has a boyfriend who was growing worse to her on top of getting more and more into hard drugs while also she dealing with an abusive aunt who got worse once her mother died of cancer. So she was stuck with the terrible boyfriend. I had her stay with me as soon as I heard.

Another was complicated, but generally revolved around the alcoholic mother and the many, shady, men in and out of the house. The dangers of that alone were.. problematic without the friend also being suicidal and not taken seriously. I’ve stayed many times with her to just hang out, clean, cook, or even read a book cuz she just wanted to hear someone talking and such. You know? Until eventually I had her move in with me too.

Another’s mothers died of a cancer and dad an alcoholic; not abusive, he just became childlike and super forgetful. To a hurtful degree in his totally dependent state, whenever he was home. Plus their whole little trailer smelled of piss. And her boyfriend (they’re married with kids and happy now) was in jail. He had a bad past but had cleaned up his act quite well, but. Well that’s complicated. We all know that the police don’t squint at details of any issue if the accused has a problematic past.

I had two different girls with trouble at home who were being used by their family to constantly work, clean, and pay for everything.

I had an ex and her girlfriend with problematic homophobic parents who were terrible and semi violent so I had them stay with us so they could be together somewhere safer.

I did not. At all. Have the assured means to also be a parent of ten children with very different needs nor any medical benefits to help out with.

I also knew, that, with how my mothers husband was, if he had some guarantees for his children’s safety, he would likely end his life if he could. He’s been so close so many times. If signed this paper, he would have the last big most important concern that’s kept him from.. I just. I didn’t want him to do it. I selfishly didn’t want to be responsible for my siblings that would take away any bit of time I had for myself away. If anything happened, I would not abandon and forget my siblings. That’s absurd. But my mother implied heavily she wanted to be sure of that. And thus this paper.

I was struggling to find aid for college so I could go to school (never got to, by the way. Minus two classes in total. Aced them both, but it doesn’t matter. Credits in the wind). I was already dealing with my grandmother. The girls I chose to help. My shit job. My fathers temper and his horrible horrible ‘on again off again’ girlfriend. The chaos that alone committed.

I was busy providing a safe space in my home and making sure it stayed that way for the rare times trouble makers made the mistake of stepping up to my door to try and harass my girls.

I often worked 10 days in a row before a day off. Many of those days often had double shifts which were 16 hours. Sometimes I got an hour nap on the double shifts.

I just couldn’t do it.

And now. I remember something that came to mind back then that comes back to mind now. My moms husband adores my grandma. She’s been better to him than his own mother. She’s dying. He’s not taking it well and his mental health has always been pretty low and in the last couple years, already dangerously rock bottom. I’ll admit, same.

His daughter is now in the hospital. My brother is smart but there are some things we can’t really explain for him to get. He understands something is wrong but not sure what and it upsets him. He doesn’t like change and gets super fussy for it. Which can be taxing and hours and days and weeks of it. Grandmas been in the hospital for a couple more or more now. She coded a few days ago but they got her back.

If grandma dies. If something happens to my sister…

God. I don’t see that man sticking around.

And with my mom isolated. A lot of it her doing with her own family but also a good part of it being dumb petty bs of other folks that have no reason to behave like that (a whole drama I don’t have the energy to keep up with..). I just.

I see it as a domino effect of terrible terrible events I don’t want to write.

My mothers side im not very close to. I don’t blame my cousins, we were kids ajd our meetings were brief as they were. But the adults kept their distance with me. No one expected me to survive and decided it was easier to not get attached. To not get involved with me, and by extension, the devil himself, my father. So I never got the chance to know that family. Even when I tried.

So the only family I do have some ties to ajd know, is in a hospital bed, or on my dads side, and they’re dying to. And I get it… that at a certain age in life, many of the people around you start to. It’s just life. Ajd it sucks. And I miss having a best friend. I miss having friends who just seem to like to have me around. Want to have me around.

And I wonder if the friends I thought I made with my roommates were just because I provided something for them. Sure we laughed a lot, we cried over shared traumas, celebrated holidays together so as to not be alone.

But not a one speaks to me now. And hey. That’s also life. But it makes me feel pretty shitty; every where I look in the past, I can’t see any relationship, family, partner, friendship, that ever had me around unless I was providing services they wanted and needed. And I don’t mean the natural give and take.

I’m aware that I’m not the friend folks have around. I’m a fun distraction at best and have been told and reminded as such. I feel like shit cuz my wife’s wonderful and the best person in my life, and yet I still mourn having close friends to hang with. I miss gaming together the most. Or the bullshitting. Sharing food.

I’m not a nice person. I’m working on it. I am. I’ve also, for years, been working on my own personal problems so as to not bring them into even conversations. I don’t know what I am doing wrong but I just.. can’t seem to keep anyone around. And frankly.

I find myself crying about it a lot with no idea what to do.

And. I’m burnt out.

I don’t want to make friends anymore. And yet I still crave it. Which sucks. I can’t stop seeming to want that. And I keep trying. And trying.

I’m trying to accept and be happy with any bit of time I get from the few friends who talk to me. I try to take my chances where I can to hang out (online, as they’re all distance by now), cuz I know it’s a short window and I’ll be lucky to get a next time in the near future.

Online is harder to provide a use, and once the ‘honeymoon phase’ of the friendship winds down, some drop off the map entirely. A few abruptly. And I just. That’s fucked me ho a ton. I can’t even express how many hours I stay sitting. Thinking. Unable to understand what I am not doing or what I am.

It’s a pity party. I know. But it’s fine. I’m still the only one at it and though I’m quite forward even with nerves eating away at me, I still just don’t know how to keep anyone in my life.

It’s taken almost 6 years for me to relax enough to believe my wife will, in fact, stick around.

But at this point in time, I’ve realized, on a note I just keep getting really sad over, that the bits of friendship I’ll get to experience with people, will be brief, snippets, and frankly, only if I am providing something they’re not getting.

I’m essentially the magazine next to the toilet when you have a bad bad stomach bug and your phones dead.

Man’s that’s.. probably my own doing. I know I’m a lot of woe is me in here. And it’s a post talking to me, so I’m indulging in it. I absolutely can’t out loud or in life. I’m working on just.. trying to feel instead of ignoring it. Per my therapists suggestions. So I feel fucking overwhelmed, sad, and alone. Isolated. Heavily.

Ignorance is bliss for real. I wish I wasn’t so aware that I was the friend you go to when all options are down and you’re bored. When you are in a bind and need a safe spot (I don’t mind that one but it does suck that it’s the only time some folks pop back in or up). That if I’m not working then no one even has a small little want to just say hi. I wish I had people who just wanted to say hi because they just.. missed me? I gues?

I wish I knew how to be better as a person and a friend. I thought I was making strides on that. I really had. And yet.

Here I am. Just.

Bitching to the void. Becuase my wife doesn’t need me to add more to her life with her father (finally back from the hospital after surgery) and his health concerned along with everyone else’s and the own sets of ordeals here. I don’t need her to fret over me.

She’s needed distraction and I’ve left her alone for a couple weeks now to her drawing. Probably one of the best things I did do for her was clean up a space for a literal drawing room for her. She’s happier for it. People compliment her art and she rather enjoys the well deserved attention.

I personally would love to have her around more. But I’m having a lot of bad shit days. Weeks at this point. And I’m using my energy to be useful in setting the table or doing the dishes, the cats, playing with the nephew, etc.

All I want to do is sleep.

Frankly. I’m tired of waking up.

But for her. I will.

[himbowelsh]

Psst...if you’re still doing the Valentine meme, can I have one for Eugene Sledge? I am So Soft for him. (Also, I wanna thank you for doing so many of these! You always put such thought and care into each boy, and you’re doing it for free!! We don’t deserve you).

valentines day alphabet  ( no longer accepting )

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

Softly. Eugene’s affection is a tender thing, never performative, very private. When he cares for someone, he shows it in little smiles and private jokes; letting his guard down in their presence, able to lean back and read a book or doze off without an ounce of self-consciousness; sharing things with them, like interesting book passages or science facts, and trusting that they’ll care. His affection is understated, but it’s very comfortable, very peaceful.

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

Gardening was one of his mother’s pet hobbies, and Eugene took a special interest when he was little. He always loved flowers, all those bright colors and blooming life that rang in the springtime...  while he’s no expert in gardening himself, he learned enough from his mother that he could raise a potted plant easily, and has a special fondness for them. He’ll show up with a carefully curated bouquet to any event, or surprise his mother with them just because he was passing by the flower shop  ---  and you bet he helped the florist pick them out.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

He’s not a big fan... but he’ll never say no to Hersheys kisses.

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Not for a first date, because he wouldn’t want his love interest to think he’s a nerd...  but somewhere further along in the relationship, he’d love to go to a science museum. Maybe the best one in Alabama, which would require a bit of a trip  ---  another thing he’d like, Eugene really enjoys car rides, especially when he’s the one driving  ---  but he’d have an amazing time. His partner might have to work to keep his attention on them instead of the exhibits, but seeing Eugene enthusiastic and in his element is a treat. He’s more interested in biology, but he’d also like to go to a planetarium; how often does a date take you across the universe?

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

He’s so weird. Even when prepared for a hug, he’s never quite ready, so he tenses up for the first few seconds before kind of melting into it. He doesn’t give out hugs that often, but they’re very soft, almost like he isn’t sure of himself and doesn’t want to impose; he’s self-conscious about his own hugs, but lowkey likes them from others if he’s in the right mood. (If he’s in the wrong mood...  he will fall out of his chair to dodge a hug.)

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Oh, don’t worry, he doesn’t! Ever. Like, he might physically hurt himself if he really tried to get a date. Eugene...  isn’t smooth, and he’s aware of it. He’d choke on a pick-up line before it could leave his mouth. Instead, he’s just...  himself around people, maybe a bit nervous and flushed around someone he finds attractive. Please don’t assume this man has game.

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

He’s a perfectionist about giving gifts. Lots of thought goes into them, and he’s very determined to get the right thing. He’s been this way ever since he was little (it was torment for his parents, trying to find gifts for Sid’s birthday every year when Eugene just didn’t approve of anything); gifts matter, and the right one goes a long way. He’ll spend an hour just brainstorming the perfect gift, and then a whole afternoon hunting it down, if the person means enough to him. Usually he gets it right.

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

Slow. Regardless of any past traumas, Eugene has always been cautious giving his heart away. What else could be more personal, more meaningful, than loving someone? It’s never quick for Eugene; he needs to see a lot of them, to truly get to know them, before he can trust his heart to love.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

It doesn’t come easily to him. He prefers to whisper it, tender and genuine, in intimate moments; he utters it like a prayer against his partner’s lips, or while gazing into their eyes. Eugene will never shout it for the world to hear, but he’s always so effortlessly comfortable and affectionate with his partner in public that, to anyone paying attention, his body language practically screams it.

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

He...  would deny it. He’s not the jealous type, he’d claim, and he isn’t  ---  except for the occasional pangs if he sees someone lavishing a bit too much affection on his partner. He won’t make a big deal out of it, but he might invent a reason to insert himself into the situation or wrap an arm around his partner’s waist and steal them away, while casting a not-as-subtle-as-he-thinks glower at the offending person. Jealous!Sledge is a cryptid, and very amusing.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

Eugene kisses like he’s drowning. It’s very intimate, almost ravenous in his earnestness; he needs from his partner immediately, needs the reassurance and affection only their lips can provide, and he’s willing to sacrifice his self-control in search of it. His hands don’t tend to stray from their back, but he’s not above cupping their face, simply holding them close to him. He gasps against their lips in between kisses, allowing only a breath before going back for more. While he can be a soft kisser in the right mood, the majority of his kisses tend to be intense and earnest.

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

Eugene cares deeply for his family, even if their relationship isn’t always easy; he recognizes how fortunate he was to grow up in a home knowing he was deeply, unconditionally loved. He’ll also always have a special place in his heart for Sid, his oldest and truest friend; he loves his dog; he loves some long-dead authors, just because he admires their work so much. Eugene doesn’t naturally open himself up to loving many people, because it’s a very personal thing for him. Love grows within him slowly.

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   is morning or night a more romantic setting?

He’s got a special fondness for moonlight; it always leaves him in a more thoughtful, more sensual frame of mind. That said, he’s painfully not a night owl, and anytime around midnight he starts getting very sleepy, so he’s got a short window to get that romancing done.

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

...  not very naughty. He isn’t adventurous, is the thing, and would probably need some convincing before trying out anything wild with his partner. Eugene isn’t a prude, but he also isn’t experienced, and has no confidence in what he’s doing. He’s going completely off instinct, and would need some encouragement (possibly some guidance) from his partner before finding in rhythm. Once he does, that same heated fervor from his kisses takes over. He’s driven by instinct, touching and exploring wherever he dares, almost enjoying the liberty of bushing respectable boundaries. He’s most sensitive at his thighs and hips; when his partner touches there, he shivers, and should their mouth stray there, he’d moan like a harlot.

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

He’s a reader. A writer. A thinker. Words have always been something he dealt in easily  ---  never to the point of being pretentious, but the ability to express himself through speech and pen has always been something he valued.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Eugene would prefer someone intellectual, or at least someone smart; he’d like it if they had a passion for classics, for old places and things. Sharing interests is something he thinks is necessary in a relationship, but honestly, it really isn’t. Eugene needs (even if he won’t admit it): a partner capable of being strong when he isn’t, someone who’ll look after him without leaving him feeling condescended to, someone interested in him and willing to share parts of themselves with him. Someone dependable, who’s willing to take things slow. Someone with light in their eyes, and a smile that lights up the room. Someone intuitive, who understands what he means even if he doesn’t say it outright. Ideally, someone who likes music, but also doesn’t mind the quiet.

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He’d ask under the right circumstances, when the moment felt absolutely right  ---  for both of them, his partner especially. Eugene would probably feel around his partner for a few months, dropping hints and testing the waters to discern if they’re in a place to get married as well. Only when he feels truly sure does he pull out a ring over dinner, a sweet  (thought out for hours, twelve previous drafts thrown away) speech on his lips and hope in his eyes.

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He’s a cynic who’d enjoy the change to be romantic if it ever came his way. Sledge has a very strong capacity for romance  ---  he could be an absolute dream date  ---  but it needs to be tapped into. He’s not wide-eyed and idealistic naturally.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

...  we’re not going to say Sid, because he swears to this day that he never had a crush on Sid, they were just friends, he never had a hero-worshipping thing for Sid, really  ---  let’s say Mary. Everyone in their school was a little in love with Mary Houston, but she never had eyes for Eugene.

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

...  no. He doesn’t. Maybe at one point, before he truly understood what love is, and how easily it can be snuffed out...  but now, he just believes you’re lucky if you’re able to love one person in your lifetime. It’s not “true”; nothing is that permanent, nothing can be trusted that much.  (lol rip sledge’s innocence)

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

By life? Yeah. It’s being held together with superglue and duct tape at this point.

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

His parents always plan a big date every year, so Eugene’s had a good example. Given the opportunity, he’d like to romance a partner on the Day of Love, instead of sitting home alone eating cookies in the parlor. 

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

...  well, he figures, at some point, if only to set his parents’ minds at ease. It’s not something Eugene particularly looks forward to until it happens; he doesn’t feel the urge to get married, nor that he’d be an exceptional husband. When he finds the right person, though, his mind starts to change. It would take a while before he’s ready to commit thoroughly, ready to trust in the possibility of a happy ending...  but he’d like to.

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

He sometimes does, just to be cheeky. They’re mostly ones he grew up hearing from his parents, like “darling” or “dearest”; he steals “my angel” from his father and adopts it for himself, just because he always loved how romantic it sounded as a child.

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

If someone is threatening someone he cares about, Eugene takes a turn very quickly; he goes from friendly and unassuming to steely-eyed killer without missing a beat. You would not look at him and think “this man could kick someone’s ass”; you’d be wrong. If the situation calls for it, and he’s got the incentive  ---  i.e. people he loves in danger  ---  Eugene does not come to play around. He will diffuse the situation with a few very calm, very scary words...  and hopefully it won’t need to escalate further.

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

Hah! Oh my god, don’t ask him that, he doesn’t like it. (This V-Card is in no hurry to get punched. God help him.)

[zwritestuff]

Arthur [Jaida/Jan] One-Shot

Jan and Jaida get a pet together. 

A/N: I wrote this because I’m obssesed with the dynamic of these two in the Waitress AU. Also because we could all use a little bit of fluff in our lives. :) Hope you enjoy! It’s not beta-ed, so please excuse the mistakes.

(also- I’m tagging this as Jessence because that’s now their ship name according to me, and this is the hill I’ll die on. You can join me or fight me.)

Jaida pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to remain calm and not yell at her girlfriend.

“Jan,” she begins in a warning tone. But Jan still has that pout and puppy eyes in her face that, most of the time, is enough for Jaida to give in and comply with her girlfriend’s wishes. But not this time. “We can’t have a pet, we don’t have the time to take care of one,” she says slowly so that Jan understands.

Jan is silent for a moment, an expression of pure disappointment settling in her face as Jaida pats her shoulder, thinking she won. But she jerks her head up again soon afterwards, putting on a smile again.

“We can get a low maintenance pet! Like, I dunno, maybe a hamster? Oh, or we could get a fish!” She offers with excitement. Jaida sighs, ready to say again why they can’t have a pet, but Jan proceeds before she can say anything. “Please just consider it. I grew up with all kind of pets, and I feel like that’s what been missing in our apartment, y’know? The only thing left to consider it a full home.”

Jaida purses her lips. She is very much aware of the fact that although Jan had been delighted to move in with her, there was something missing according to her. Jan had tried to shake away that feeling by buying a few indoor plants and placing them on the windows, then it was filling the empty spaces in the wall with pictures of them and their families, and after that it was remodeling the apartment.

Considering none of those things had helped her, Jaida has to admit it’s a valid point. She sighs in defeat.

“I’ll think about it,” she merely says, Jan beams and gives her girlfriend a short kiss.

At night they go to work at the restaurant like they always do, so Jaida doesn’t really have much time to think about it like she promised between taking orders, serving the costumers and enduring the daily kitchen shenanigans.

Jan kisses her on the cheek whenever she gets the chance and she’s as smiley as she always is, but after their previous conversation her happiness hits different.

The next day is their day off, so Jaida sits with Jan in their couch and they have a serious talk about owning a pet and what kind they should get if they decide to get one. There’s also a talk about commitment and how getting a pet together is a huge step for them; Jaida doesn’t dare to step into the ‘what would happen if we break up and out pet is in the middle’ conversation yet.

They both agree that first they should check with their landlord on what kind of animals are allowed, or if animals are allowed altogether.

A couple of days later they find out that small animals are allowed, and he’s willing to turn a blind eye with medium sized dog breeds.

Almost right off the bat they settle on not getting a dog or a cat; Jaida is right when she says they don’t have time to train a dog, and although cats are pretty independent beings Jan happens to be allergic to them.

They research a lot before going with the most obvious option: a hamster. They’re easy to take care of, are mostly nocturnal and don’t require any kind of training, just need to be provided with tunnels and wheels to entertain themselves. It’s perfect.

Jan insists on doing a little more research on hamsters because if she’s going to be a hamster mom, she’s going to be the best one out there — she even tries to polish her craftsmanship skills by making tiny things for their future hamster child. Jaida lets her be and joins to the craft hours sometimes, just because her girlfriend looks genuinely happy when she does and she likes seeing her happy.

Naturally, being waitresses they don’t have that much money to throw away by buying hamster stuff, so they do a budget and the math says they should save up for one to two months to afford all the stuff hamsters need.

For Jan the days go awfully slow and she does her best to serve even the grumpiest costumers with a smile if it means she’ll get better tips. Meanwhile, Jaida is only aware of the passing of the days because every day when she wakes up, aside from the usual kiss she gets from Jan while she’s doing breakfast, she says out loud the date before crossing it in the calendar.

When they have enough money they buy on Craigslist a big enough cage, tunnels, and miscellaneous things Jan insists will make their new baby happy before actually getting it, just so they can be prepared.

Though Jaida doesn’t show it nearly as much as her girlfriend, she is actually really excited, having written down a couple names she likes and all.

The day finally arrives and Jan is vibrating with happiness as they walk to the pet store.

Before she can run to the hamster cages Jaida firmly takes Jan’s hand and stares right into her eyes.

“Babe, remember all the research we did, okay? We’re just getting one. Not two, just one. Normal hamsters don’t like being housed together.”

Jan scoffs and starts to walk through the store, still hand in hand with Jaida.

“I’m not a child, Jay. You don’t need to tell me that.”

“I know, babe; you’re a grown woman capable of taking rational decisions. But you are like a human puppy, y’know,” Jaida says with a laugh and Jan gasps offended.

“I am not!” She complains, letting go her girlfriend’s hand to fold her arms. Jaida cocks a brow with an amused smile.

“Honey, if we hadn’t agreed on buying a hamster beforehand and just came into the store to buy whatever spoke to us, we’d be walking out with all of the pets available,” she points out, and Jan would fight her if she wasn’t right.

Sometimes Jaida thinks her girlfriend’s heart is too big; otherwise she can’t come up with an explanation as to how one human can have so much love to give.

They study all of the hamsters in the store for a solid ten minutes before Jan finally narrows it down to two buddies that she has absolutely fallen in love with.

“They’re both so cute, I really can’t decide,” Jan says in an apologetic tone, but her girlfriend gives her a soft kiss in the cheek, looking at the ones Jan is pointing at.

“The one with the caramel fur and white spots is cute,” she simply says, and Jan gives her a toothy smile before wandering off to search for an employee.

On their way home they discuss about what will they name their son —well, according to the employee it’s a boy, but you never know—, though it’s more like Jaida is throwing names and Jan is peeking through the holes in the box every other second and not paying much attention to Jaida. She lets her be because, what the hell, she’d do the same if she was holding the box. Besides, Jan looks really cute like that.

When they get home Jan decides his name is Arthur. Jaida inquires her why with an amused smile, barely holding back a laugh when Jan starts showing him around the apartment.

“Well, it’s the name of a king, and he’s my king now,” she explains as she looks at the hamster as if it’s the most precious thing in the whole earth. “I think you should hold our son too.”

Jaida cups her hands and Jan gently leaves Arthur in them. Jaida brings him closer to her body and if Jan later says she cried a little when Arthur pressed his tiny nose against her chest she’ll say she has no proof.  

[indomitablemegnolia]

He growled, his eyes rolled, I had finally pushed him onto his uncomfortable place; "My imagination, my wants, my needs are simple; I just hunger to be near you. I would love to just sip coffee and kisses for days; make out like mad teenagers; I want nothing from you; all I require from you, all I ask of you, all I want is for this sliver of a moment, a simple time away from time."

He stopped, a look crossed his face as if something inside was daring him to tell the unvarnished truth; I simply waited for that idea that struck so suddenly his jaw dropped as though he had a revelation, he looked away letting out half a chuckle, finally he came to a resolve; "I realize to rip your attention away, to cast these doubts away is to lay it all out; I finally understand it's my turn to lay it all out bare; I have to be as unashamedly honest, to let you know what my imagination screams: I hunger for you," he raised to his knees crawling over my legs, "I need to touch you; I am lost to it," he crawled slowly up my body, "I want you, all of you;" he locked me in place as his arms braced his frame planted on either side of my head; "your eyes, your lips, your mind," he sighed, kissing me soft, "your heart, your body," he nestled himself between my legs, "sensually," he kissed me harder doing things with his tongue that made my breath leave in a moan; "sexually," he ground suggestively against me "I want bury myself so deeply in you;" he stopped looking a little ashamed, he kissed me, holding me close, "I want you, simply as a man wants a woman; simple, no rules, no expectations, no explanations just simple, basically, I am willing to take as much as you are willing to give." He kissed me softly, slowly, undressing my soul; "I ask you in return, why not you? Why me?" I must have given him that look again, he set his jaw, "Seriously darling, why me? How did you find me acceptable?"

"Simple," I rolled to where he had left my journal, he tried to reclaim it from my fingers, I slapped lightly at his hands, pulling it farther away from him when he reached for it I carded through until I found the dress piece; "Read, I knew you, I loved you well before we met." I pushed the look under his nose, he read, his eyes flairing; he looked up. I nodded, "Yup, I wrote of you long before the possibility of you seemed real. Look at the date." I pointed over the cover at the left corner. "Ages ago, fifteen years; back when I had friends and they spoke to me of their wedding plans; a friend was belabouring the cut of the dress, the flavour of the cake, how the brides maids would behave; but always ignoring the fact that her intended was a jerk, who ended up beating her; I wrote that to satisfy my soul; solidly believing that no such human existed; that I was safe; then there was you."

"How, how, I doubt anyone knew me; I didn't even know me, then." I watched him read it again, "I gather you thought these were impossibilities," he rolled to his side as close to me as possible, that long leg laying over mine like a downed tree; he began reading in that dramatic voice; "I was listening a friends diatribe about trying to find the perfect wedding dress… It has to have a bit of this, or an overlay of that. She was fussing and fawning over the bow details when the Person about to stand opposite of her was of inadequate material. So I started mulling over who, if ever anyone, I would stand opposite. I thought I would fuss over the important things.

Accepting NO less than the sum of all of these traits.

I imagine it like walking up to the service counter a lot like a cosmetic counter, kind of playing paper dolls. I would like him have eyes of green and blue; he must be tall like Clint Walker;" he was holding caressing my journal in one hand in the other he began counting the qualities he possessed; "he would speak with a strong Baritone like Marshall Dillon; he would have the sensibilities of Sargent Tyree, 'no ma'am I don't chaw and I don't play cards'; in essence no conformity and no lying;" his leg began caressing and rubbing where our bare skin touched; he looked to me, "I am sure our current understanding does not count in that" he looked into my eyes as I confirmed with a nod, he counted three; "the ideals of Steve Rogers. Boots and Hat would be nice, Cowboy, Mountie, fireman or other.' Hiking boots, I hope, count," he held up five fingers; "He must love dogs, cats, goats and well most animals except killer whales.' I have a dog, don't mind cats, never met a goat and we will come back to the whale thing; 'I’d like a man who can speak at least one computer language and two audible languages.' Check and check." He held up another completed hand of qualities.

"Someone who gets String theory, science jokes, bad puns and delicious entandre." His eyebrow raised deliciously on the last word, understanding what I was inferring. "Who loves all kinds of music, or at least who can stomach my musical schizophrenia, entailing all of, but not limited to: rock, punk, classical, country, especially older country, psychobilly, regae.' Oh, darlin you know I do;" he kissed my cheek; "The ability to laugh at himself is a MUST, laughing at my jokes…. still a maybe, I know they are bad.' You will have to believe me, but yes, I can. 'He has to enjoy singing and dancing, even if done badly.' I am charmed by your sing along and dances actually when it comes to the dances I am more than charmed, it's more of a turn on, and you know I dont hold back that much either; 'I would like a soul who loves whimsy, doing the funny walk up Market Street, singing and walking in the rain and willing to do the insane and comical, including moving every item in the house to center around a new precious gift.' I never thought about it, but I am game to try, 'I would hope he would like to cook; observe good etiquette, open the doors for me;' at all times, 'he should know the ignition timing for a ‘64 Chevy 283.' Not that exact information, but I like to tinker and grease monkey around in cars; 'I hope he would understand me when I tell him that simple things like a french toast breakfast for dinner using almond extract instead of vanilla, washing my hair or checking my engine fluids, means 'I love you' as well as hand written notes, cards made of glitter and cardboard are as romantic as diamonds in the right setting.' Anyone else I would doubt, but you, you are that anomaly."

"'He has to know how to say things that cut through to the heart of the matter, either romantic, apologetic, inspiring,or just truth and mean every word.' I have left the days of part measures behind. 'He has to like pancakes and breakfast for dinner' more of a waffle guy but I do understand, 'and ice cream in the morning. He has to value my thoughts BUT not weigh them too heavily,' you just watched my transition, 'debate especially HEATED debate is fun (and more than a little sexy),' Sounds fun. 'I would love someone who adored words as much as me, I always wondered if it was hoping too largely to hope for someone who could pick up my favorite books and know the passages that strike my very innermost being, maybe read them aloud to me with the longing and emotion I myself read them with,' Oh what a fun game that will be. 'Money wouldn’t hurt but neither is it a must, it is not important to me, neither are looks, according to most I do have an odd taste in beauty anyways.' Odd taste? I must probe that later, 'Most of all He has to take me as I am because I can’t change myself for anyone else. I was 12 the one time I tried to be someone else, I have never wanted to be anyone other than what life has shaped me into. He has to appreciate my laughing snort, my funny ugly toes, and the fact that I will laugh when he trips or falls, stubs a toe, or any other slapstick comedy-esque routine injury that doesn’t involve blood…He has to find my oddities, eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, the fact i wear oversized thermals as my sexy night clothes, t-shirt and ripped sweats, flirty dresses and sparkle jeans as sexy as fishnets and a bustier…. But most of all He has to laugh with me, love me even when he’s mad at me and not mind a lot of residual radiation…. Until then I don’t care to even think about bows, bustles, frocks or hoops, I want a hero, anything less would be completely inacceptable and uncivilized' god I love how you laid it all out exactly like playing paper dolls."

He kissed me long and deep, "So, you think I stack up pretty nicely do you? The ideals of Steve Rogers and the voice of Clint Walker. So, you like cowboy shows?" I nodded, "eyes of green and blue, so, then k mmm I assume for you this has been oddly easy for you?"

"Not in the least, I have to trust in hope, and we are not on speaking terms, I had to trust that you were not some figment, some dream, I had to trust in the universe; just this once. Too often, especially of late, hope has dangled dreams just beyond my fingertips simply to pull them away, just as I almost touched..." I sighed, still mourning the loss of my last dream; "so, when you appeared I assumed this was another hard lesson to be learned. You made that easier by being you." I pulled him down to me kissing him sweetly.

He sighed, finishing reading, "Damn darling. I am stunned. How did I make it easier by being myself?" His eyes got glossy and he drifted away.

"The cupcake, I didn't even think you were truly real until you did the most thoughtful thing I had ever seen personally." I kissed him sensually with a subtle roll of my hips; I pressed hard to him, it was his turn to let loose such an erotic sound, half moan, half growl. He pressed me hard down feasting on my soul. He almost let himself run with the moment; he slowed fingers soft, lips cajoling; slowly he edged to a stop, pulling away.

"Where did you go?"

His music changed again, Billie Holiday singing kiss me once, god, his smile, "I imagine recapturing that first kiss, no stumbled step just a surrender; you naturally, fiendishly moving against me; god, that first kiss we shared, the laugh, it wrecked me." He tucked my hair back behind my ears, I cuddled my cheek into his palm. "I want to see in your eyes, when that simple truth, that in this give and take, that you give yourself to me freely, that you take equally greedily; not because you have to, or because I asked you, but because you want it too. I want that mad passionate love. Mostly, I want you, any way you will give, the only way I get you."

He pressed me back into the bank of pillows, "Now, of course, for such a gem, I offer all that I am," I moaned as I felt his weight settle into my body. "I offer you freedom; a pure and total freedom; freedom from the drudgery of that other everyday life." He laced his fingers through mine, kissing each fingertip. "I offer freedom as an abstract ideal. I can't offer a freedom from pain." He ran his hands delicatly over my body, lingering in places "I offer you a freedom from responsibility, from guilt, from regret; momentarily a freedom from sadness. I offer you moments of pleasure, moments to be happy. Oh, I can offer you pleasure likes of which you have never known."

I rolled my eyes closed, pleasure already making my soul free. "No, please, don't close your eyes;" my eyes snapped open, "I need you to look at me." I let a slow breath out, "I want to see the realization in your eyes that I am offering you my love." Slipping along the deep V in the robes neck, his skilled hands teased my flesh, his deft tongue pulled my eyes. I felt so very alive, his fingers moving at a slow, a tantalizing pace, pressing the edges of the robe out, exposing more of my flesh; I was already drowning in lust and need; his eyes holding me captive. "Ah there it is, all of me is what I offer you, all of you is all I ask of you."

I had been so lost in this feeling I had forgotten to be self conscious, I notice finally, his fingers caressing some of my scars, angry red welts I have never let anyone see. I stopped breathing but then I saw his motion, his revrence, "Gods, you see them and you are not revolted?"

He shook his head, then I watched his lips caress the welt that transacted my sternum. "Nope, not even a little. All of you, it's all I ask of you."

"Kiss me until I forget how terrified I am of everything wrong with my life." God, did he, the man's kisses were amazing I felt his hands his tongue, both working in unison; I gravitate toward him, longing for, wanting to use my hands in such a delicious spell; thirsty for more contact. My awe apparent in my voice, as he pulled away, almost a whisper, "wow," I smiled. He was magnificent.

"Well, my sweet you never really defined, 'really, very good,' for me..." he kissed me almost in passing, "maybe we can work that out together." He kissed me, soft, asking, "or you tell me your favourite food."

"Chinese." I giggled,

He laughed, oh, that gorgeous marvel of deliciousness, pulling me to my feet, starting a sweet waltz, "I do love a good chinese dinner," he danced me in a soft circle, he buried his nose in my neck kissing at first; his tongue lightly licking, "I want you, I need you in the purest ways, the longing in my bones howls to be near you, to be with you;" he pulled me closer his hands, his lips, his tongue becoming more insistant; my arms slid along his wide shoulders caressing his neck my fingers playing with the soft curls there, he started with soft bites. I gripped the robes lapels, "I want bring all of your senses alive;" his hands began to move over the thick terry cloth, soft, looping circles he traced in the opposite direction of his tongue; pulling him closer, I let out a breathy sigh. My breath hitched, I slid my hands under his robe, sliding along his silky skin; "tell me sweetheart, total honesty, tell me how you feel about what I said."

"Hmmm, nerves, I never knew I had, are all on fire; I am lost on this ocean adrift on sensuality and revrence; I want more, to be honest no one has ever told anything like the intoxicating words the dreams you have been laying at my feet; like Yeats; I feel as if this is not one of those times hope isn't playing me for a fool. I am no longer unsure, afraid; we are alive in a way that I have never experienced; alive, I am having trouble making up my mind which I want the most; I crave your words, but that sweet haunting revrence of your touch," his hands moved with more intent, beginning to grip pulling the robe, holding me close, his lips with intention, I moaned unashamedly, living in the friction of his fingers using the terry cloth to excite, "mmm, the trailing fluidity of your hands creating punctuation for your crafted sentences, natural aphrodisiacs. Oh, those words followed by the delicious brush of your hands; oh, feeling, that feeling." Duet of the flowers started as if by Devine intention; "Apt moment for this particular aria, the quiet end of one flower, my fears, and the resurgence of beauty in this; these moments."

Kissing me breathless he bent me back taking advantage of the parting robe, his lips feasting along the edges of the terry cloth; I sighed, I bucked, I strained backwards, shuddering gasps escaped. "I love how you react instantly, honestly, you senses on edge, your shiver at my voice, your bend to my touch."

His revrent hand glided up my neck, dipping his thumb between my lips; words were pulled from me; "The way your touch softly glides, fingertips delicately trace the furrows, the hollows for those words to sweetly flow." I licked his digets, caressing the pads with my tongue; "the texture of those large, luscious, calloused hands, each of your fingers touched with just the perfect roughness; each finger pressed softly, trailing against my aching, hungry skin. The gentle veracity, the keening desire, your lingering breath weaves our tale." As I spoke I have been licking and kissing his glorious chest running my hands fore the skin of his shoulders.

His hands traced soft but insistently along my body over the robe; his lips sweetly asking for more. "Oh, sweet darling, please believe me your words flow so deliciously, just keep talking and I promise I will only follow your lead."

His sweet asking pushed me to a bold move; I traced my hands from his chest to his abdomin, his delicious breath hitched then shuddered his hands stilled; "Your kisses craft slowly flowing paragraphs; long languorous passages; savory, sensuous stanzas of will and want;" I found his sash and pulled it slowly, determined, it came loose, his robe falling open; he half moaned, half sighed in relief; my hands grew bolder at his reaction, my eyes skimming along, what can only qualify as the most beautiful specimen of human male I had ever seen, complete with perfectly bleached white jockey shorts, "the hushed whispers of the soul allows the movement of our bodies to create the chapters of our own perfectly written novel. Your eyes spoke to me of the extent of your will, I am shaken;" his hands now bold, reciprocated, pulling my sash, my robe fell open, I shivered, my soul had been standing here naked for a while, finally phisically I matched, dropping my arms letting it slide from my body; the steps to our dance had turned to soft swaying; he pressed our bodies close. His breath sucked in through his teeth, mine left in a gust of a sigh; "though, I confess not disappointed." He hooked his foot behind my knee and pushed; with a squeal I landed on the soft duvet, his weight delightfully covering me. I giggled.

"For long moments there, I could not speak," his lips soft on mine, his words an echo of my soul, "the fate of the world could have hung in the balance of my one uttered syllable and I would have been unable to even whisper acknowledgment." His hands revrently sliding mine gripping along his warm delicious frame; "I wish I could say sorry for falling over you, but you are just so delicious, this communication, so honest like blatant souls." I giggled as his fingers tickled, turning quickly to a hiss of air between my teeth, his lips caressing the scars lacing my abdomen, shocking myself I didn't try to push him away, instead I continued letting my lips kiss every piece of skin it found. "The more I get, I just want even more; tell me more, please, just keep talking."

I licked my hungry lips, surreptitiously making sure they had not fallen off completely. His glorious mouth drifting revrently over my scars, resting and reveling in my hungry skin; the things he was doing his hands, lips and tongue were deliciously driving me wild, he wasn't kidding about waking every one of my senses, "Oh, I watched as your eyes spoke, I was drowning in those green seas of desire; now, hearts, souls slowly burn. Gods, now I admit freely, it is you that I want; it has always ever been you, believe it always will be you." I gathered his robe pushing down his shoulders, running my fingers light over his soft skin, letting my nails lightly trail, his growl played across my skin. "In fact, I will fan the flames, I want to let them burn, right through my skin, right through the heart of me. I want to burn in this sunspot moment."

Our eyes locked, the look in those fathom deep depths stilled my breath; will and want and something more simmered deeply; he pulled me close, our bodies pressing sliding conforming to eachother; his mouth moved along my sholder, his tongue tracing lightly the length, gripping softly pushing my face to the left; his lips taking full advantage of the opened space. Legs winding, my hands growing even bolder, gripping his bum, his fingers danced across my skin, they flitted, butterfly soft over my breasts; I arched off of the bed, my breath shuddering; I clutched at his shoulders; we melt together, like two links remembered and fused again together; "we thirst, hunger, want, need, crave … lust. How wonderful to be alive." I kept the words from flowing, but how will hurt when we are through?"

He slowed, pulling lightly away, as if reading my mind, "No one knows the if's, when's, or how's, we should just bask in the is;" his breath coming in deep billowing pants; keeping in complete contact; "I need to know how far I should go."

Panting, I try to quip, "I dont know, how far do you think you can make it in this storm?"

He laughed, delicious feeling rushing over my senses, my bare skin. "You know exactly what I mean, do we, you and I, go all the way, no regrets; we will just fall asleep together when the night is burnt and tired, and I want, I want, I want... you, I have wanted you, I want to finish this day feeling your pulse pressed against mine just so we know we are both alive, in this beautiful second. I want… I” he took a breath; "but to hell with what I want, if you wish we can just sip coffee and kisses, until the storm is past."

I took a deep breath, and willed myself to answer with every ounce of sexuality I had, in a very Lauren Bacall style; I angled my head seductively, stretching an arm over my head saying rather with a bored tone, "Here I thought my laying naked and panting in your arms would have been a clear indication." I yawned, "Take me to bed or lose me forever." God his laugh, "I want it all, if we were at a restaurant I would be ordering the lobster with out checking the price, or even looking at the chicken." I ebbed away losing steam, I wound up to let loose one of my nervous, inane topic traversing tirade.

He pressed his finger to my lips, "Shhh, yes, I know you are nervous, but seriously listen. You hold the power, be that hurricane you showed me, that amazon queen."

He nuzzled and kissed my neck sending delicious butterflies dancing through me. I hummed a solitary note of praise, "Gods, the way you see me, I. .." I trailed off as he worked deliciously on the sensitive nerves where shoulder meets neck, I went slack, I clung to him.

@iamhisgloriouspurpose this is the continuation to the last part.

@keeper0fthestars. @pedeka @writernotwaiting

@sweetfairy1 @fromthedeskoftheraven

[otheroutlandertales]

The next part of the series based on the Audrey Niffenegger book The Time Traveler’s Wife. Part 1

Author’s note: Claire is 48 in this part, and in Paris with Jamie while they look for Young Ian.

The Time Traveler’s Family: Part 2

by @abbydebeaupreposts​

Claire came to, her mind sifting through the fog. She could feel boots that were pinching her toes, the heavy covering of a thick skirt on her legs. She experimentally rubbed one knee against the other, noting the absence of the telltale slide of nylon-on-nylon. Taking a deep breath, she felt the push of her stays against her ribs and that at least confirmed she was somewhere in an earlier time.

The melodious peel of church bells vibrated through her chest and with a sudden snap, Claire realized where she was: L’Hôpital des Anges. She mentally chided herself. She hadn’t gone anywhere, she’d only fainted!

It shouldn’t have been hot enough to cause dehydration, but she had walked a good portion of Paris this morning and hadn’t thought to bring any water. On top of that, she’d been far too nervous to eat breakfast this morning.

She hadn’t lied to Jamie . . . exactly . . . she just hadn’t told him that she was also planning on coming here. Provisioning the ship for their journey required them to head out separately in search of supplies and arranging for their safe delivery to the wharf. They were both aware that each day they delayed lessened their chances of catching up to the scoundrels who’d kidnapped Young Ian.

One look at his stressed face when they’d arisen had decided the issue. Claire could not, simply could not utter the name of their daughter knowing how frantic Jamie was to find his nephew. Faith had been gone twenty and more years, but they had the hope of saving Ian. Jamie needed the freedom to direct  his energies on that, not dwell on things long since lost.

Claire’s glass face might have given her away, or perhaps that excellent nose of his might have sniffed out the flowers - she still couldn't believe her luck in finding any this late in the year - that she’d buried under the linen lining of her market basket, but he’d been too preoccupied with organizing his own day to pay too much attention to hers.

Thinking of the flowers, Claire sat up and cast her eyes around for her basket, not finding it, she slowly rose and walked a few paces in a circle. Something in her field of vision was off, her eyes sensing the change before she had time to really process it. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Faith’s stone no longer lay at her feet. A strong gust of wind whipped a loose strand of hair across her face and she realized how warm it was, whenever she was, it definitely wasn’t November.

A sharp jolt of panic sent her stomach plummeting. She willed her breathing to steady, counting the in-and-out rhythm. As she did so, she calmed herself by concentrating on the noises around her. The modern world sounded completely different than the time before.

Claire was reassured by the cadence of carriage wheels on the stone street just the other side of the high enclosure surrounding the cemetery, the clomp of horse hooves, dog barks and goat bleats. At last she was able to think logically. Claire forced herself to acknowledge the truth. Faith's grave was missing because their daughter either hadn't come to be or, more likely, hadn't . . . wasn't . . . yet gone. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!

When Jamie suggested coming to Paris in all due haste and seeking help from Jared, Claire had readily agreed, feeling the same sense of urgency to get here as soon as possible.  If anyone had the information they needed and the connections to secure a ship to give chase, it would be Jamie's cousin.  Claire hadn't even stopped to consider the implications of being back on French soil.

Oh God! Claire was sure she didn't have the strength to relive those long ago days and nights full of intrigue, heartbreak and betrayal. It had taken months, if not years, for she and Jamie to both put the past behind them. And they had. They rarely spoke of her, then. And even now, only in the briefest of mentions.

“Red hair like her sister? Like Faith?” Jamie had asked upon seeing Bree’s baby pictures.

Overcome at hearing that name spoken out loud by this man, Claire could only nod, watching as he turned each photo over in his hands, skimming a shaky finger over each line and curve of their daughter’s changing face. When the first one in color leapt from the bundle, he made a low moan in the back of his throat. The one that he used when his feelings - of love, of laughter, of happiness - had robbed him of the power of speech.

Claire had waited more than 7,000 days to hear that sound again and her whole body numbed with the impact. She hadn’t noticed in the busy buzzing of school and work and keeping house, but the truth was it had been years since she felt such a connection to another person. She and Frank never found it again after she returned, that unity of person, but she had it for a brief fleeting time when Brianna was very young, nursing at her breast as they rocked together in the hushed serenity of a 3 AM feeding. That sacred fusion of babe and parent that bonds mother to child in those early days. It was not the same, of course, what she felt for him and what she felt for their daughter, but the way such a deep connection dissolved the individual boundary of self, it was something like it.  

Intimacy. A simple word of staggering complexity. Yet the knowledge of him, of herself, of them filled her senses. The solid edge of his rigid thigh pressed against hers, the sharp unfamiliar scent of him, the savory flavor of his tongue lingering on her lips, the dance of firelight from the hearth against the faded red of his hair and the rush of her heart as it glued itself back together again.

Claire held still, spellbound, as an expression of reverence played across his features. She gently touched his hand and his palm went slack transferring the precious images of Bree into hers and fixing her with a burning look of urgency. He was incapable of doing much else. He kept his head cast downward as Claire told her story after story, drinking in the variety of Brianna’s expressions as she boldly stared out at the world with her father’s eyes . . . the same shape exactly as those of her sister.

Even now, weeks after, Claire had yet to speak of it, to tell Jamie how it felt sitting beside him that day . . . the rightness of feeling them and their daughters together even if only for one moment. “Oh that is quite enough of that, Beauchamp!” she reminded herself. Whether she was in the Paris of 1766 or 1744 made no difference. She knew very well there was nothing she could do to change what happened and torturing herself in the meantime only made it a thousand times worse. Faith would always be a wishful dream, something too precious to become real.

Claire swallowed hard, took a couple of deep breaths and reminded herself that the most important thing she needed to do now was get back to Jamie in his own time. With that goal uppermost in her mind, she was able to leave the cemetery and make her way as unobtrusively as possible through the twisting, turning corridors of L’Hôpital which she navigated by muscle memory.

She had learned over many years of such unexpected travel that one of the most important ways to fit in, even if you landed in the wrong century,  was walking confidently and boldly. The destination wasn’t important - as long as you looked like you belonged, you did.  

Claire reached the great hall, sighing when she didn’t see any sign of Mother Hildegard or Sister Agnes. The front entrance beckoned, the sun was shining on the threshold. But just as she neared, Bouton’s happy yip of greeting stopped her cold and she hesitated, despite knowing better. The soft pitter patter of little nails clicking against the stone approached in double time. Her heart gave a little squeeze and she knew it was her Bouton. That fuzzy, furry face she would know anywhere. She thought about trying to ignore him, but knew from experience that being denied would only result in more insistent barking.

She dropped to her haunches at once and waited for him to roll, then enthusiastically rubbed his belly. The dog abruptly jumped back to all fours a moment before her own ears picked up the sound of boot heels coming down the far stairs. Her friend cocked his ear and tilted his head side to side, watching to see what she would do.

“Sorry, Bouton, I can’t stay. Take good care, I will see you soon.” Claire rose and brushed off her hands, she was across the threshold when something brushed past her. Bouton got in front of her and dropped something at her feet, giving a bark of pride. She bent to retrieve it. A fairly decent hat with which to cover her hair. She smiled at him, feeling warm all over.

“Thank you, mes amis, I couldn’t have asked for a better old chum to run into today,” she told him as she carefully inspected the cloth, and, finding nothing chancy or moving on it, fixed it securely to her head and caught her reflection as she passed by a window. She sighed in relief, seeing how well that one small touch helped her blend in better.

Claire kept walking past the hospital, trying to figure out whether she could use any of the currency quietly clinking in the deep pocket of her skirt. Better not risk it, she decided, taking herself to task for not paying any attention to the coin when Jamie handed it to her. She had no idea if the year was customarily stamped on the money or not and couldn’t very stop and inspect it in public. Besides, she’d already spent a good deal of it purchasing supplies and sending them to the ship before setting out to L’Hôpital. Claire was always conscious of the fact that a solitary woman travelling unescorted in such times would naturally attract attention. She couldn’t pretend to be shopping, not without coin to spend, there were no lending libraries that admitted women patrons . . . Look busy! she reminded herself. Right, but how?

Claire didn’t want to head in the direction of Jared’s home. It was miles away, but she’d inevitably cross to the little district where the apothecary was situated and she might give in to the temptation to visit Master Raymond. He was the one person in Paris, aside from Bouton, who might not be shocked to see her - and her graying hair and the crows feet wrinkling her eyes.  Yet, she was hesitant, remembering his sleight of hand in the star chamber. Was he really her friend? She wasn’t sure and that lack of trust weighed heavily in her mind. Instead, she turned south and focused on letting her thoughts roam freely, almost forcing herself to think about not thinking about the Paris of her youth.

Awareness settled over her as her feet struck manicured grass and her head came up. She was in the park near Jared’s warehouse. She had only strolled along its delightful paths a few times, once with Louise and Mary and a couple of times with Murtagh. Yes, over to the right were the huge blooming shrubs he had delighted in showing her. Claire made her way over toward the riot of pinks and yellows she saw in the distance, nodding and bobbing the occasional murmured greeting as she went. If her out of style clothing was noticed, no one stared, nor said a word.  

She came to a small bench Murtagh showed her all those years ago tucked under the swaying branches of a willow tree and sat down in relief. Her boots were comfortable but she’d walked a great distance. She was thirsty but put that out of her mind, having no way to remedy the need. She closed her eyes and breathed the crisp, clean garden air. The sound of nature surrounded her and peace descended.

Claire must have drifted off for the next she knew the quiet had been broken by the zing of rapiers clashing and the echoing grunts of effort. Two men engaged in some mock battle. In Brianna’s time they’d called it the sport of fencing, but here, in this time, it was practical training. She couldn’t parse out the words themselves but instantly caught the rhythm of the speech. Gaelic, she was sure of it. Claire shot to her feet in blind panic looking around wildly and realized suddenly that the way the branches fell sheltered her completely from the direction of the swordplay.

She couldn't help moving to the edge of the shelter of protection and peeking between the curtain of swaying branches and leaves. An enormous sigh of longing escaped her lips as she caught sight the back of Jamie’s broad back, red hair glinting in the sunlight as he thrust downward. His broadsword clashing with an almighty clang as it struck the one Murtagh held firm using both his hands. Murtagh pulled both arms upwards, causing Jamie to jump back. A good thing too, or his head would  now be laying on the grass beside his feet.

“Fight it that's it, focus . . . Concentrate, lad, no . . . hold on!” Murtagh  encouraged. Their arms were rigid, weapons braced against one another in what looked clear to be a stalemate but Jamie’s arms were shaking badly. Her eyes stayed on his left hand, wrapped in the special compression brace she had fashioned together and which Jamie had faithfully worn everyday since they had left the Abbey.

“Christ, man, I canna do it,” Jamie responded as sweat broke out along his forehead. Claire watched as his knees buckled and he fought to remain engaged in the fight.

“Ye ken how to get out of this, lad, so do it,” Murtagh reminded him. Jamie gave a mighty heave and twisted his body forcing the steel to disengage and readjusting his stance.  The motions of thrust and parry went on for a few minutes more, but Jamie's body remained with its back turned to her.

Suddenly the two men laughed, patted one another on the back and Jamie threw down his weapon, reaching for a bottle of ale resting in the grass at his feet.  She watched, quite startled, as Murtagh shouted then appeared to take a run at the crowd of onlookers that had stopped to gawk at their games. Claire ducked back into the shadows, fearing detection. She didn’t dare move and kept her eyes glued on Murtagh, willing him to stay away from her hiding spot. She held her breath as she watched him retreat back to the hillside to rejoin Jamie. As Murtagh knelt down, Claire caught her first direct view of Jamie’s face and gasped, the sound echoing loudly in the cocoon of her shelter.

He looked good - Jesus-H.-Make-Mine-A-Double-Christ! - better than good. He thrummed with the vitality and self-confidence of a man in his prime. His eyes had lost that haunted aspect that had marked their time in the Abbey and sparkled with amusement at something Murtagh said. His body was sound. She noted that his arm was still tucked up tight to his chest, the fingers splayed and unbending, but that was the only outward sign of his ordeal. Then he smiled and she forgot how to breathe.

Over the years, Claire had forgotten that for all that Paris had been rife with sorrow it had also been the place of Jamie’s rebirth, his healing and in many ways the place of his making. Observing him now, she could see what she’d not noticed, then.

Gone was that impulsive, young man she’d wed. The one who cheerfully told her he hadn’t much to offer a wife, but promised to keep her fed.  As if the only barometer for universal happiness - marital or otherwise - was a full stomach. Given his age and lack of experience with courtship, he’d  likely thought that to be true.

In his place now stood a man who had walked through the very heart of darkness and survived. It had been touch and go and it had taken months and, Claire realized now, it had taken this city - and a chance to test himself by swimming in unfamiliar - if not shark infested - waters that had become his proving ground. Jamie relearned the way of himself and that had allowed them to forge a deeper connection, one that had stayed in tact all these years.

The phrase “egghead and lard bucket” carried on the breeze followed by a “curiously large head” and then she heard the sound of his laugh and she caught a look at his face as his head turned with a smile as bright as the sun.

Tears sprung from her eyes and she pressed her fingers tight against her lips to keep from crying out. Christ, I hope he knew how much I loved him,  that in my restlessness and grief I hope I told him that much, at least. Quite unable to look at Jamie without continuing to fall apart, Claire turned her gaze instead to his companion. He was, per usual, scowling as he kept up a grumbling commentary regarding the olfactory delights of France.

Claire wanted to give him a hug and never let him go. Thank you, thank you, thank you! For being his godfather, for always taking care of him. God, may he be safe, wherever he may be. She prayed. She hoped they would find him one day, that she’d be able to tell him herself how dear he was to them.

As if Jamie had heard her thoughts, he said, “Did I ever thank ye, Murtagh?” Jamie was looking out over the long expanse of high society on parade in the park and not at Murtagh.

“What for?” Murtagh squirmed uncomfortably. Jamie made a scoffing sound. What, indeed.

“For my life? for Claire’s? For our child’s?” Jamie said softly, looking at Murtagh now with an expression of unabashed gratitude. “Willie - afore we left the Abbey - said Dougal  didn't want them to go to Wentworth but ye convinced the rest to join ye.”  

Murtagh scoffed. “Twasna me, yer lady, she did all that,” he said pausing a moment. “Do ye ken we spent weeks searching for ye?”

“What?” Jamie’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“Och, aye, up and doon the coast. I danced,” Murtagh gave him a shaggy browed wiggle when Jamie laughed, “Aye, that’s about what it was like, But Claire, ye should ha’ seen her, man. We tried everything we could ta talk to as many as we could hoping word would spread and ye’d pick up our trail as yer had gone cold about four days after Ian came limping back to Lallybroch. She told fortunes and did the doctoring and when that didna work she wrote songs and joined me on the stage.”

“My Sassenach?” Jamie’s eyes had gone huge. Claire bit the inside of her lip it was difficult for her to imagine it, too, and she’d been there!

“Och, aye, a bonnie-wee-lark is yer woman and stubborn as the day is long, forebye. When we discovered a band of Roma had stolen her song and was driving our crowds away by using it, there was a stramash the likes of which I’ve never seen. When Dougal was inclined no’ to be generous, she did the same to him and it was she that got the lads to agree wi’ that mad scheme.” What Murtagh hadn’t said was that the mad scheme in question, using the coos as a diversion had been his clever idea, but somehow Jamie knew that.

Jamie placed his hand on Murtagh’s shoulder, “As I said, I owe ye much, goistidh.”

“Jamie, ye are as a son to me. I dinna say it often but ye ken my heart.” Murtagh said so quietly Claire had to hold her breath to catch the words. “How are ye doing? Tell me the truth.” Murtagh’s steady gaze stayed on Jamie’s face. For the first time, Jamie looked uncomfortable in his own skin.

“During the day, I’m fine, dinna think of . . . it, hardly at all,” Jamie told him. “Most nights I’m alright as well. I’m no’ overly fond of cavortin’ with the prince, that poppinjay's bannocks arena quite baked all the way through, if ye ask me and spending time wi’ him is tedious, but sometimes it’s . . . easier to be out wi’ him than home.” Jamie sat heavily on his bum and leaned a shoulder into Murtagh’s.

Claire thought about leaving. This was getting far too personal and her throat felt like she’d swallowed broken shards of misery. “She still looks at me as she did before, makes me feel like I hung the moon for her alone and I . . . canna say what it does to my soul to see her shape change day by day wi’ the bairn. God, she deserves so much more than I can give her. It’s still mixed up for me, Claire and Randall and it’s no’ her fault, but mine. I canna get my mind clear. Yet whenever she is near I ache to . . .” The rest of what he said was lost on the wind, his face had turned away from Claire and Murtagh. She saw Murtagh bend his head and could catch a murmuring response but nothing distinctive.  

“Do you think she kens?” Jamie’s face was turned back in her direction and Claire felt lightheaded as she focused on the tender expression in his eyes.

I do, Jamie. Never doubt that. Claire thought as her body started to fly. She sighed in relief and didn’t fight it.

When she came to, she felt the chill in the crisp November air at once and knew she’d returned to the Cemetery of the Angels. She took a few breaths waiting for the dizziness to clear then slowly got to her feet. With enormous relief she spotted her basket leaning against a small stone. She reached inside and pulled the precious bundle of tulips from the bottom of the sack. Still fresh, telling her that not too much time had passed.  

Claire reoriented herself and walked toward Faith’s stone.  She caught a wink of color that defined itself as she moved closer. Her heart tightened like a vice in her chest. A posy of violets, their beautiful deep purple vivid against that cold gray stone, set precisely between the words Faith and Fraser.

But I am not the man you knew these twenty years past. His words to her upon their reunion echoed in her mind. No, she thought, you are so much more. And with a shaky hand, Claire lay her tulips on top of his, their offerings forming a cross.  

Jamie looked up from the scratching of his quill with quiet satisfaction, always pleased when he could get a sentence to go clear across the page neatly, as Claire bustled through the door to their room. “Ach, there ye are, Sassenach, I was just wondering how ye faired wi’ the-” Jamie let out an Eep! of surprise as her body slammed into his, locking him in a full body kiss.

His lips asked questions she wouldn’t answer and he decided to curb his curiosity. She was in a terrible rush to get his shirt off and when she started unlacing his breeks, he responded on an elemental level to the raw desperation of her desire, helping her get her own shirt and then her stays off in short order.

He attempted to stand, to lay her out on the bed and love her properly, but she placed her hands on his shoulders and held him rooted to the chair with a strangled sound that tried for English but emerged as feral.  

“What is it, love?” Jamie crooned softly, “Tell me, my own.” He grabbed her hair in a ponytail and yanked it back hard, forcing her to look him in the eye, at last. He stared at her, refusing to look away or let her do so, either.

Her lips were sunkissed and swollen. She looked like she’d been crying. He bent his mouth and flicked his tongue over the valley between her breasts, tang and salt, outside the contoured trail of his lips he could see her skin covered in grime, evidence of the kind of day she’d had.

He inhaled deeply, thinking how he could maneuver his body lower to further the explorations of his mouth when his brain registered something unexpected. He bent his head again and sniffed, casual at first then picking up more steam, like a pig rooting out a truffle. His nose never failed him. After a minute or so he looked up at her.

“Ye care to tell me why ye smell like new cut grass and it’s November?”

“I saw you this afternoon.” Claire said by way of an explanation, which he’d noticed provided no answer at all.

“And ye didna call out to me?” Jamie’s eyebrows rose trying to figure out where their paths might have intersected on their respective errands. He wondered if maybe she’d gone to see Faith, too? But if so, why did she not say anything?

He knew she’d been uneasy ever since learning of Laoghaire but it had been Ian’s abduction - while trying to bring back the treasure they needed to be free of her - that had opened this particular chasm between them. All of the challenges of living then, to say nothing of its dangers, death and disease, floated across her face as she sat beside him trying to soothe him with reassuring words, while he - useless, helpless man that he was - sat on that hill staring into the gloam long after Ian’s ship had slipped over the horizon - still shaking his head in disbelief.  

Finally, she adjusted his sling and urged him to action. Before setting sail for France, he offered to take her back to Craigh Na Dun. He had to force the words from his lips and his heart hammered in terror waiting for her response. The fact that his suggestion had not been greeted with the kind of shocked protestation he had prayed to hear but more of a “Focus on Ian, we’ll talk of this later,” came back into his memory now.

He should have told her what he had planned that afternoon and asked her to come, too. But when they arose, she’d barely touched their meal, kept fiddling with her basket, pulling out all her wee notations regarding needed supplies for the ship’s surgery. He tried to broach it a couple of times but Claire wouldn’t make eye contact with him and he found he didn’t have the courage to bring it up and risk her upset. If she’d not mentioned it, then he shouldn’t call it to mind, either. They were back to keeping secrets from one another.

Jamie could bear anything in this world except being parted from her again, but the moment his fingers traced the faded letters of Faith’s name, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake and wished he’d spoken of it first thing this morning. When he returned to an empty room, her absence nearly drove him mad.  Her instant need of him upon her return was a much needed balm on his anxious heart.

Claire gave him a shake of the head and a brave little smile that let him know she hadn’t meant she’d seen him today but something else.

“Oh?” He ventured cautiously. He knew what she was and he’d seen it happen a number of times but that was then and it hadn’t happened since she’d been back.

“In the Jardins des plantes,” her gaze was steady but he saw the flicker of deep emotion inside her. It had been over two decades since he’d last been in that park. His mind raced to try and figure out what she needed him to say.  

He finally settled on, “Had ye been back in Paris before today?”

“No!” Claire genuinely seemed horrified at the thought. “I haven’t set foot in France since 1743, and I never intended to do so in my lifetime again. You remember how it works?” She was watching him and when he hesitatingly nodded, she continued, “I can only travel a short distance . . . er . . . geographically speaking, that is, and my actions can’t change what has already happened.”

“Did ye see yerself, then?” Jamie asked her but he didn’t seem as upset as she would’ve thought. As if reading her mind he added, “God, I’d love to see ye round and fat in yer silk and lace again, Sassenach.”

“No, I told you, I saw you . . . oh, and Murtagh.”  

Jamie made an affirmative noise in the back of his throat. “Ye ken, Paris wouldna ha’ been the same wi’ his sunny countenance.”

“Oh, stop, Murtagh is a great travel companion!” Claire laughed.

“Aye, and no one I’d rather have guarding my back. It was an act of grace, seeing that face, wearing gray whiskers and rags, at Ardsmuir. It felt good to be the one caring for him for once. I hope we can find him again, Sassenach and bring him home.”  

“That would be wonderful.”

“Tell me what happened today,” he encouraged.

“I spent the last twenty years not going to the places we shared.  To find myself in Paris, then?” Claire shuddered. “To run into myself and to know? I might have tried to forewarn but then I would have condemned myself dreading new day fearing what would come instead of savoring every day to come. Knowing the future hasn’t helped us avert disaster so far.”

“So ye didna want to run into anyone ye knew and ended up in the park?” Jamie surmised.

“Yes, indeed. Imagine my surprise when I realized you were just on the other side of the willow tree that shielded me from your view. You were so young, Jamie. Full of grace and in great spirits. Murtagh brings out a very playful side of you. I’d forgotten how much fun you had with each other. Then, watching you, I realized how much we had enjoyed being here. All the wonderful things we had found here, too. We were part of history, something so much bigger than ourselves. It was thrilling and full of grand possibilities. I look back on our lives here and can’t believe that was us, at Versailles, dining with the prince, so much beauty and luxury.”

At this Jamie snorted, “Aye, too bad the two of us are more at home in a tent on the moor than in a mansion wi’ servants.”

“That’s true, but I still appreciate everything Jared did for us - and is still willing to do for us. Being here set me on the path to becoming a doctor and helped by giving you a different kind of purpose.” Jamie nodded and Claire continued, “It was here we found Fergus.” Jamie smiled in memory. “Nothing turned out like we’d hoped in Paris but it had been magical and after today, I can look back on it and remember it that way.”

“Swords, was it?” Jamie beamed when he heard her sigh lustily.

“Jamie you looked . . .” Words failed her, she had no other way to tell him but to show him, kissing him passionately with an explosion of soft mewling noises he found deeply gratifying, if only because they echoed the ones she was drawing from his lips.

Jamie let himself be diverted for a good long while. Claire hadn’t responded to his physical presence like this since they were in Edinburgh and he was mightily roused by her reaction. Yet, just as she was about to get completely carried away, he pushed her body back and looked searchingly at her.

“Claire?” he began, and she looked dazed, her cheeks pink from exertion. “Was it . . . that is, I dinna want to make assumptions about how yer feeling nor imply that ye should feel--” it was his turn for pinkened cheeks now.

“Jamie,” Claire held her hand out to him,”Just say it, whatever it is. Trust that I will listen with my heart and try and understand. When things go unsaid . . . that's when trouble starts for us, I think.”  

Jamie nodded and started over, “I ken why ye couldna bear to . . . I dinna blame ye one bit. But I think maybe yer fretting about making that choice - no’ for yerself or me, but for her sake.” Seeing her stunned expression, Jamie started second guessing himself, but he'd gone this far, he needed to finish. “Will ye maybe find some . . . comfort in knowing she wasna alone today? I was wi’ her, brought her a wee posy, told her how much we both love and miss her; asked her to watch o’er her little sister for us. If she’s anything like Jenny, she’ll have been doing it all along.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Claire bit her bottom lip hard willing herself not to burst into tears. How did he manage to cut her wide open and then cauterize the wound in less than five sentences? “I saw your violets when I brought her tulips. That’s where was. I awoke in the cemetery, but her grave wasn’t there.”

“Christ, Claire.” Jamie’s eyes swam with unshed tears. The second Claire reached her hand to his cheek, they spilled over, across her fingers, leaking down the back of her hand.

“I’ve needed to say something to you since Edinburgh, no, it’s not supposed to make you cry harder,” Claire gave him a sobbing hiccup, “You are, and have always been, a wonderful father, Jamie. I never told you that and I should have. I couldn’t think of anything more important than returning to you to make sure you knew it. Thank you, for giving them to me and for keeping our family together.”

“Ye thought that wouldna make me cry? Jesus, Claire, what ye do to me,” he said into her ear as he crushed her to him.

Sometime later, on the edge of sleep, he whispered, “Yer wrong though, Sassenach.”

“Hmmm?” she said in drowsy reply.

“Knowing the future did help. A great deal. Kept Jenny and the bairns alive, kept me from being hanged. It’s maybe true for the big things ye canna change time, for its stubborn and fights back. But in hundreds of small ways, it mattered. Hearing ye speak of our adventures worries me some, though. Do ye think ye can be content once we have Ian in hand just living a quiet life wi’ me in a highland croft?” It was said in a flirty tone but Claire heard the anxiety underneath.

“Yes, but don’t count the chickens in your kale yard just yet, life may have more surprises in store, General Fraser.”  

[wolfpawn]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy Chapter 3

Previous Chapter 

Chapter Summary - Paige goes to Tom’s for dinner and discussions, leading to more. (No Smut)

Tag, @wolfsmom1 @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

anyone else who wishes to be added to the tags, just ask :)

If Paige thought that Tom would delay in discussing the role, she was wrong, a mere forty-eight hours later, she was on his doorstep, holding a bottle of wine and wondering why she agreed to this.

She didn’t mind talking about her past with him, she was completely past Derek and his bullshit and when someone so dedicated to their work wanted assistance, she was only too happy to help. Sophie and Ben trusted him, he was Ben’s groomsmen, he had been in the Bridal Party, he seemed incredibly nice, someone that was no Bullshit and that was a person she was happy to be around. She loathed the pretentious and the pretenders, Tom seemed to just be Tom and Ben and Sophie seemed to confirm that too. Inhaling deeply, she knocked on the door and waited.

It was only a moment later she heard a peculiar sound behind the door of a small scratching noise before recalling Tom mentioning his beloved dog. Sure enough, the next noise was a bark before a muffled human voice before a blatant curse word and the door opening. “Paige, I am so sorry, I never heard you knock.” Were the first words out of Tom’s mouth. It was clear from the way he was standing, he was attempting to stop the dog from rushing out. “Are you alright with dogs? I didn’t think to put him in his crate.”

“I love dogs, actually. I just don’t have time for one with work and juggling everything.” She walked in and handed him the wine as Tom kissed her cheek politely before she turned to see an excited chocolate silky-haired dog in front of her. “How do you want me to act with him?” She asked, indicated to Bobby.

“Not until we are sorted and he has his butt on the floor,” Tom explained. “You’re actually one of the very few people to ask me. Usually, people play with him first.”

“I have been to too many homes to know never to assume what is acceptable in them.” Tom gave her a confused look. “When I write, I tend to go to the areas I am referencing and speak with the people in them, that has led to so many cups of tea in random living rooms when people realise you want to capture their world correctly. In that time, I have met countless pets also and have had everything from a snake chill on my shoulders, to cats hissing at me across the room, to cats not letting me get up as they sleep on me, dogs barking at me, jumping on me, sitting on me, humping my leg, that’s happened more than once, so you learn to check.”

Tom chortled at the experiences she had endured before looking at Bobby who was still smelling her with intrigue. “Well, this boy is fixed so hopefully no humping, it would be the first case for him if he did.” He explained. “Please, here, may I take your coat?”

“Thank you, though I am not sure if it will fit your shoulders.” She jested playfully as she followed him through the house. “Sorry, that was terrible.”

Tom felt more at ease every moment in her company. Paige was relaxed, everything she said was not forced or an attempt to impress. Her joke had literally just been something she thought funny and decided to share and he liked that, she truly was just being herself. “Actually, it is quite good, and yes, my frame is far bigger, it’s true. Please, make yourself comfortable, the food will be another ten minutes or so.” He indicated to the island worktop in the centre of his kitchen and the seats there as Bobby, deciding that Paige was not going to give him the attention he wanted, went to his crate and relaxed in his bed with the door open.

“Your home is incredibly beautiful. Did you have it designed recently, it seems new?”

“About a year ago,” Tom confirmed.

“You have impeccable taste, Mr Hiddleston,” Paige commended as he poured them both a glass of wine. “Now, tell me, what are the plans for this evening? What is the itinerary?”

Tom had to laugh at her efficiency. Sophie and Ben had mentioned more than once of Paige’s need for organisation. “Well, I was thinking about some relaxed chatting now and whilst we eat, and after that, we discuss how I can improve the character by adding to it, if that is alright with you?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Paige raised her glass. “I have to say, whatever it is, it smells delicious.”

“It’s Duck a l’orange.” Tom gave a proud smile as he recalled her comment to Sophie at the wedding about how she loved the duck and Sophie had stated they had thought of her specifically when it was an option for the menu.

“I...That’s terribly fancy.”

“Well, considering how I am hoping you can assist me with this very particular request, it is the very least I can do.” Tom kept his tone casual, not wanting to speak too much of the matter pre-dinner, so he decided to keep things light. “What is your next book about, may I ask?”

“I was actually thinking about that very topic today. At this moment, I am unsure, I am terribly worn from the film and everything related to the last book. I suppose I wait and see if it is to standard then get into talks about another again. I was told I am being requested for another tour.” She sounded more bored than anything at the idea. “I hate that side of things. I love meeting people, talking to them about what they thought of my work, but the travelling…”

“Preaching to the choir, I fear.” Tom nodded. “What is the tour about?”

“Why, are you trying to fall asleep?”

“I have read all your work actually. I went to Fiji a few years ago and I brought one as my relaxing read, long story short, my vacation was reading that and ordering the next one online and wanting to go home and get it. You are incredibly talented.”

“You are too kind, sir.”

Tom smiled again at her tone. He could see clearly why Ben had embraced her more than a few of Sophie’s other friends. “Now, I better get this food plated.”

“How can I assist?”

“You are my guest, please, stay seated and relax.” Tom urged. He walked around and did as required to get them their food. In that time, Bobby came over to see if Paige would give him some attention. She got off her stool and knelt down to scratch his ear as Tom watched. “Be careful, he’ll be begging for that for the rest of this evening.”

“It’s fine. We had a golden one when I was growing up. They’re a great breed.”

A few moments later, the food was on the table and the pair discussed some more light topics.

“So, how long have you known Sophie?”

“She was involved in some drama work with Oxford after her graduation. A few of the alumni were there and she was of course, more a fan of running things, I was the scriptwriter, so she came and spoke with me and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“You studied in Oxford?”

“I did, how I got in, I am still trying to ascertain but yes, I did. You?”

“Cambridge.”

“Ah, rivals.” She smiled.

“Don’t hold it against me.”

“I’ll try not to, no promises.”

Tom could not help but smile, enjoying the playful manner in which Paige acted, though it was clear she was not being flirtatious, it was the same manner she had when they were at the Cumberbatch’s, funny and relaxed.

After the meal, and compliments on such by Paige, Tom made a pot of tea and the pair made their way to his living area to discuss the matter at hand.

“I truly appreciate you doing this. I keep telling myself that I should never have even asked such an absurd thing of you but clearly, by your demeanour, I feel as though you would give the bluntest and most honest answers and you are by no means still hurting from the situation.”

“That, I am most certainly not.” Paige concurred.

“I also feel you would simply tell me to 'Fuck myself' if I was out of line.”

“I feel like you actually know me some bit.” Paige nodded. “So, Mr Hiddleston, how can I assist.”

“Well, as you know from reading the play, you know it goes in reverse chronological order. We start with Robert knowing about Emma and Jerry’s affair and work backwards. His confrontation with them.”

“Yes.” Paige nodded. “I can tell you a lot of the emotions, but I have to admit, I ended it the moment it happened or very close to it. I suppose the best I can do is tell you what happened to me and we see how we can assist your characterisation of Robert with it?”

“Yes, that could work.” Tom was unsure how to deal with being told this woman’s story, but she seemed more confident about it than he would probably be, so he let her call how it would take place. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”

“Well, let’s see.” She sat back. “I came home from a hellish two weeks dealing with the movie, the final book was due to be published during filming so they needed the ending from that to complete the story, so I was there discussing that. Derek, my ex, was a man that worked odd hours, so I was not too shocked to see that there was little sign of him there when I arrived back. I didn’t give exact dates for my return, just a general few days, merely that I would be home for a party we were due to go to a fortnight later, a month after my leaving. So I arrive in, I am hungry, so I pop a frozen dinner into the microwave, I think nothing of it all really. I went to get a wine glass and realised two were missing. I looked into my dining area to find them, one with lipstick and two sets of plates looking at me, as well as a beautiful coat I myself had admired from A/Wear not long before, I made a decision to buy it on my return actually whilst I was away.” She explained. “I became almost numb. But before that, I felt this horrible sensation, as though a heavy weight dropped in my stomach. My heart pounded in my chest, it was almost like my ‘fight or flight’ had activated. But then the numbness came, it only lasted a few minutes, my hunger was forgotten. I could not even hear the microwave any longer. Anger ensued. You know, you think about all the effort you put into something. The sacrifices you willing made, you accepted them because you were so sure you were doing that for a good reason, you know? I gave up a lot for Derek but I did it because I was so sure it was for the right reasons. I had actually planned on taking more time between books, but he needed to finish college and we had plans that as soon as he did, he would work in his field and I would take time from writing to have children but as he would only be starting his career, his pay would be less than the cost of living in London, so we needed a good nest egg for that, that is where my working my ass off came in. I sacrificed going to my brother’s graduation, he went to Yale for his Masters, I was due to go but I said no, I was on a roll with the book and knew that would not have a deadline that would guarantee us more money for when I needed it to come. So I did it and I lost out for it. Derek’s actions...they showed me how much I invested in it and he just obliterated them, like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“I could not imagine.” Tom shook his head. “I loved my girlfriend from when I was becoming famous but it was becoming strenuous, so after talking, as much as it hurt, we decided we were on different roads and bade farewell to everything.”

“That is a level of maturity I can only commend you for. It hurt you, yes, but there were no lies, no deceit, you were honest with yourselves and one another,” Paige raised her teacup as though toasting him. “I waited, downstairs, I could hear them upstairs but I waited. I don’t think I could have handled going up there and seeing the act of betrayal in itself, so for a short time, I thought over the action. She was not a friend of mine as Jerry was Robert’s in the play but at that moment, I did not know that and it didn’t matter as much as the man who asked me to marry him to do such a thing. Anger and sadness grew in the time I sat there, I thought of the situation, my options, I even thought it was my fault, that I had my part in it. I was so busy, did he feel unloved, maybe if we talked it through, we could move forward, I would be a better partner...that died a quick death, the “needy” part of me thought that; the part that was trying to hold onto the love and work I put it. The logical part was already planning what new bed to buy and how I would get back some of the money I had paid for the wedding.”

“That is not a pleasant feeling.”

“It was not. I decided I needed tea, so I made some and waited. She came downstairs, he told her I was his sister. She had seen pictures of me with him and his brother, some with just him and I and made up that I was his sister. So anything female in the house was actually mine but you know, it was only because his sister left stuff there.”

“That was ingenuitive,” Tom scoffed. “What about your personal attire like underwear?”

“He relocated the majority of my clothes to the spare room, I found that out when I went upstairs again after. He had been seeing her for eight months, his ‘night shifts’ were not night shifts, he admitted. I lay in my bed thinking that he was working, instead, he had a whole other relationship with this woman. She was as shocked as I was, though they were only eight months to my three and a half years of investment in the farce. He admitted she was not the first either.”

“I am so sorry he did that to you.”

“I will say to you what I did to her, you owe me no apologies, the man that owed me one never gave it.” Paige gave a sad smile. “So, I told him to pack his things and leave. I spoke with his little play toy while he did. She felt so terrible, I felt sorry for her.”

“You didn’t blame her?”

“How was it her fault?”

“So many would, she was the other woman.”

“She thought she was the only woman, she didn’t know, she was hurt too. In the long run, she was hurt far worse than I was. Unlike Robert and Emma, Derek and I did not have children. I was not forced to have this permanent connection to him. Nicola and I spoke afterwards, I dropped her back to her home. She and I spoke more, I think we looked to each other somewhat to heal from the shared experience. We knew the pain the other was experiencing. But after four weeks, she came to me and cried. I thought at first, since she mentioned his name, that Derek had come to her and she made a terrible decision and slept with him again in her loneliness but no, through the cries, she told me. She was pregnant, and it was Derek’s. The friend who’s daughter was sick I went to help the other night? That was Nicola and her daughter Alannah. Derek’s daughter. She told him and he said that babies were not something he wanted, that it would get in the way of his study and that he didn’t want to have to “fork out” for his child.” That was the only time in her retelling her experience that Paige gave off even a hint of anger. “She is battling him for maintenance now, he tried to sue me for not paying any more of his fees, he failed, needless to say, but he is making life hard for Nicola. I help however I can, she is just a single mum that suffered two bad low blows and it’s not hers or Alannah’s faults. Most people, Sophie and Ben included, cannot understand how I do it. But I cannot leave them to suffer his actions.”

“You are bonded by the experience, you said that yourself. Nicola knows exactly how you feel and that is understandable, but as I stated, many would feel anger and resentment for her part and that is understandable too.” Tom explained.

“Yes, I know it’s not the usual approach,” Paige acknowledged. “So, how can we use my shitfest of a relationship to assist you?”

“Have you seen him since?”

“Yes, a few times, mostly to do with the legal stuff. He had the audacity to try and ‘make it easier’ for me by taking me to the side to just offer me the chance to just pay it and be done with it and not risk my name. I felt anger but mostly insulted. I mean, it was a huge slap in the face. He put the blame for his cheating firmly on me. I was too boring, the sex was boring, my interests were too boring, he needed more and yet, as, with the relationship, he was there for the money.”

“That really is a slap in the face.” Tom agreed. “That also surely causes long term effects in you, trust wise?”

“Probably. Everything we do, however mundane, affects us in some manner.” Paige agreed. “No doubt it would affect the character of Robert also.”

“You’re right, it would. Can I ask for more details on the emotions you had, if not, I understand.”

“What more do you want to know?”

*

It was close to midnight when they ceased talking. Tom asked specific questions relevant to the role but from time to time they got sidetracked by interesting things they were learning about one another also.

When Tom looked at his watch, he cursed. “I am so sorry to have kept you this long.”

“It’s fine, really. I don’t mind. I have stayed up far later.” Paige brought her teacup to the sink. “I will ring a cab and be home quick enough.”

“Good, I will be back to you in a moment.” Tom smiled before going up the stairs to the bathroom.

Paige took out her phone and went to ring the cab company. Her call was immediately rendered obsolete after the cab office asked one question, ‘Postcode.’ She swore and told them she would ring back in a moment. She had grabbed a cab in the street to get to Tom’s and gave the address, booking one was slightly more strict and she had no idea of the postcode so she decided to check with Tom on his return to the living room and try again. As she waited, she looked at the different titles that graced his bookshelf. When she sensed his presence in the room again, she smiled. “You have the most eclectic variety of books I have ever seen outside of my own.”

“I am not sure if that is a compliment or an insult.” Tom jested, having seen throughout the evening that Paige had that sort of sense of humour.

“Nor do I,” She laughed. “I forgot to ask your postcode, the cab company need it.”

“Of course, how silly of me.” Tom self-scolded before looking at her and biting his lip. through the evening, he had become somewhat aroused by her alluring personality. “If I may be so bold…?” He hoped she would not reject him, but prepared for if she did.

Her brow furrowed as he leant forward, realising that he was seeking permission to kiss her. A moment later, without really considering she pressed her lips to his and allowed herself to ignore her thoughts on why it was not a good idea.

Tom, between fevored kisses, led them up the stairs and to his room. He had thought nothing of the consequences of these actions, like Paige, he was caught up in the moment as they both pulled the other’s clothes off until they were on the bed in only their underwear, neither fully sure how they got there.

For a moment, Paige’s thoughts went to Derek’s comments of her lack of ability in bed, she felt herself become self-conscious but as Tom rubbed against her in a manner that caused her to gasp and lean into his touch, she thought of the severe lack of intimacy she had since Derek and allowed herself to enjoy his attention. When she started to enjoy herself and reciprocate on Tom’s actions, he moaned lustfully, Paige could not help but think that perhaps the issue had not been her.

[manggojooz]

Bad Timing (Part 3)

Prompt: i was too overwhelmed by my own feelings to see someone else’s feelings 

pairing: Taehyung x reader

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst

warnings: none again generally; minor exceptions - adoption of a rescue dog, jimin aegyo (if that’s a trigger xD)

comment: a Taehyung perspective

Have you ever had that feeling? Wondering why the entire world before you was shaking. That is until you realise, you were the one that was shaking in the wind.

It has been two days since you dashed out of that movie theatre. Taehyung still couldn’t seem to get over the image of your back-view hurrying down the theatre stairs. As he was staring at your leaving form, Hyejin had asked him if you were alright and whether you were always that aloof. He shot her a side eye but the truth was that he was equally curious about why you left that way.  

He mulled over it a long time before deciding to text you the day after, “Hey you ok? You left in such a hurry yesterday...” to which you simply replied, “Yeah I’m fine, see you tomorrow in school”. So here he is, sitting in his corner of the classroom stealing glances at you, who were sitting further down the row, continuing to wonder if he should be probing into why you ran off on Saturday. Did something bother you that day?  

Earlier this morning as he walked down the corridor, he saw Joy and you coming towards him and he flashed his usual boyish smile at you. Joy said jovially “Hey Taehyung”, while you also smiled back at him. In that one second in which he was struggling to decide whether to stop you to have chat, you had determinedly walked past him with Joy following close behind you. Before he could call out your name, Jimin’s voice came from afar, “Ya! Kim Taehyung! Stop staring at girls and get your stupid ass over here! Why the heck did you change my wallpaper to a hobbit!!!”  

You two did not generally interact much during school time other than the text message exchanges or during some occasional class activities. Taehyung usually hung out with his friends and you stayed with yours. It shouldn’t be a problem that you just breezed past him but somehow a bout of perplexion hounds him.  

Lunch time finally came and Taehyung was just sitting around fumbling his phone, he had just walked past the table where you sat with your friends and you were laughing brightly the same way you usually would. He is generally not a person who would probe into things, especially when he can sense the other person is not prepared to share it, but curiosity is literally killing him. You were never considered aloof in his mind, so was it abnormal for him to feel like a conversation was required about what happened on Saturday or was that literally how you generally exited social events?

Amidst the chattering of his friends, Hyejin who was sitting opposite Taehyung excitedly exclaimed, “Guys, don’t you think we should ask our classmates if they want to attend our concert? Taehyung, why don’t you ask Y/N and friends to come?”  

“She doesn’t like such things, I asked her once and she said she wasn’t interested in hip hop stuff...”, Taehyung must have detected the increasingly awkward glances he was getting and quickly added, in twice the original speed he was talking, “and I think Joy doesn’t like noisy places so I don’t think they will want to come”, ending the conversation while clearing his throat a little.  

Jimin must have sensed this was the chance to take revenge on Taehyung for changing his wallpaper or something, “Well, let’s see if you are right in saying that...”, with that he pranced up to your clique’s table and unabashedly asked “Hey guys, would you all like to come watch our concert this Sunday? It’s a hip-hop dance concert and wouldn’t it be nice to come support your classmates~? Y/N, Taehyung said you don’t like the hip-hop kind of stuff, and err Joy I was told you don’t like noisy places, not sure what that means, but I think this would be fun, and I would be there!”, he continued as he cupped his face with both his hands in an attempt to appeal. Jimin had this natural air of ‘aegyo’ going on and it was difficult for your friends and you not to smile at his pandering pitch.  

On the other hand, it took him a while to snap out of his daze but Taehyung eventually jumped up and dashed towards his idiotic friend, almost falling over in his hurry and then crashing into Jimin’s back. As he was frantically trying to drag Jimin away, you said to Jimin “Yeah sure, I think I can go for the concert on Sunday...” and you turned to the rest querying “... who else wants to come?” Joy replied in a rather sarcastic tone “Never knew I didn’t like noisy places, but I think I can handle a school concert...”, and finally a few of your other friends also chimed in that they will be happy to go too.  

Taehyung sharply looked in your direction, that same feeling of perplexion sets in again. “What’s with her?”, he thought, “Didn’t she say that she is not into such things?” And then he turns his attention to his friend struggling in his choke hold, “Or was it because this guy was asking?”

The rest of the week went by rather uneventfully, at least on the surface, between Taehyung and you.  

Then came Friday, Taehyung was tentative about whether he should skip one session of dance practice to go with you to the shelter or to ask you to excuse him for this week.  

“Dude, you really aren’t coming to the practice when we have a concert in two days’ time? You go to that shelter every week anyway, what’s with missing it for one week?”, Jimin was visibly a little exasperated given that he probably will have to wait for Taehyung to come back so that they can practice their routine together.  

“Jimin-nimmm, I am sure you can give me these few hours off, I promise I will come back as soon as possible and make up for the time I missed. One of the puppies is getting adopted today and I really want to go say bye before the new owner comes to get her. They told me hobbits were supposed to be kind...”, Taehyung said cheekily with a little pouty face and deservedly earning a punch from Jimin-nim to his stomach. “Ok fine, sometimes I really question why we are still friends, man.”  

Taehyung took a quick look at the time on his watch and it was a little past the usual time he would meet you at the school gate. He seems to be starting to understand why you were this religious in your weekly visits to the shelter. “I thought you weren’t coming today because of dance practice, I was just about to text you to ask”, you said to a panting Taehyung who clearly ran here. “Wouldn’t want to miss meeting the new owner of our little Lula today”, Taehyung replied.  

Said new owner was a nice lady, Suzy, and Lula displayed her usual cautious-friendly nature but was quick to warm up as this was her second time meeting her owner-to-be. Taehyung and you took turns at helping Suzy out with the adoption procedures as well as giving her tips on Lula’s behaviours and habits. Eventually, it was time to go home and as Lula was barking towards Taehyung and you in the leaving car, Taehyung could see tears collecting in your eyes, and somehow he could tell there was both happiness and worry.  

As you two were leaving the shelter, Taehyung was going through a difficult time shaking off the endless questions in his head. “Why were you cowering in fear in a corner of the vet office the first day Lula was brought to the shelter? What about last Saturday, when you ran off after the movie? Why did you agree to go to the concert when you said you were not interested the last time he tried asking? Was it because Jimin asked you this time? What's the real reason you were so devoted in helping these shelter dogs, the reason which you seemed to always cover with the excuse that you just liked doing this? Why are there so many questions he wants answers to yet he is incapable of asking them?”

You must have noticed the uncharacteristic silence from Taehyung and interrupted his mulling by asking, “Are you heading back to school for dance practice?” Taehyung was a little startled, “Err... yeah I am. Jimin was already upset that he has to wait for me so I guess I’d better go back, fast.”  

“I’m sure Jimin must have whined a lot for having to wait for you”, you said with a chuckle and Taehyung turned to look at your reaction curiously.

Almost as an afterthought, you asked “But what about your dinner, there’s probably nothing in school now, do you want me to get something for you from outside?”  

You two have now almost reached the school gate again and Taehyung stopped walking and was staring at you, he was pretty sure he was willing his mind to answer your question but it was wandering off into other thoughts.  

“Erm, maybe if you think Jimin will be hungry too since he’s been waiting for you, I could get him something as well, what do you guys usually have?”, you continued asking and Taehyung continued trying very hard to control his mind.  

“It’s ok, you don’t have to. Jimin isn’t the only one waiting, Hyejin, Soohyun and the rest will be there too. We usually grab supper after practice anyway. But if you want to come and watch us practice, I think Jimin will be more than happy.”  

“Huh, why would he be...”,

Before you could even complete your question, Taehyung hastily continued his monologue, “Since you agreed to come to the concert for him, right... I will make sure he gets your friends and you some good seats. He's the guy in charge of our club anyway.” He was just trying his best to string up his sentences so that whatever that was blurting out of his mouth would even remotely make some sense.  

A beat passed between Taehyung’s short but confusing rant and your reply, “I think I’ll go off first, all the best at practice”, somewhere during the conversation your eyes had left him and started staring at random objects in the surroundings. “See you all on Sunday then”, you finished as you gave him a brief last look, quickly blinking your eyes to look away again. Taehyung, on the other hand, was still confused by the turn of his own conversation and was searching for a hint that you understood what it meant even though he did not.  

As you turned to walk off, Taehyung watched your almost-evasive silhouette, a second time, “Why? Is something bothering her again?” Until he realised, it was something bothering him.  

[christophe-delorne]

Good Dog

Chapter 8

Warnings: Excessive swearing

Pairings: Gregory x Christophe

AU: Adulthood

The bar was noises and crowded, far more than Christophe would ever feel comfortable in but his paranoia was drowned in alcohol. It wasn't unusual for him to get drunk but to do so in a public place was out of the ordinary and only because he had been coerced into it by one Kenny McCormick. The guy was convincing as hell and likely the only other person Christophe moderately tolerated. Other than Gregory. Though right now Gregory had been the deciding factor in why Christophe had ever agreed to go out and drink with Kenny in the first place, he needed to do something that he would consider a bit reckless for him to do. Kenny though, seemed all too entertained by Christophe's crass nature, maybe because the Frenchman was bluntly honest, unlike the blond's childhood friends. Both had shared the experience of death, Kenny seemed more used to that kind of thing that Christophe, not that Christophe was frightened of death by any means but or was heyo willing to dive right into it either.

"Glad to finally run off and have some fun, huh?" Kenny's voice broke through Christophe's haze, making the Frenchman turn to glare sourly at him. Kenny looked different from earlier today, looking less like a bum and more like a nine to five business man. It was not surprise, Kenny was a man who could easily blend in and that was something he used to his advantage.

"Fuck off, you just caught me at a bad time. Or a good one considering how you are." Christophe tapped the bar counter to gain the bar tender's attention and give him a refill on his drink. "And since you invited me, you're paying the bill."

Kenny placed a hand over his chest as if wounded by Christophe's words. "You expect poor lil' ol' me to pay? You're the hot shot merc with loads of cash you probably store under your mattress."

"That would require me to have a mattress in the first place."

"Right, right, I bet Gregory doesn't let his favorite lil' pet up on the furniture now does he?"

"Shut up." Christophe downed the shot, needed that burn to make him forget everything else that bothered him in his life. Like how right Kenny actually was.

Kenny laughed and clapped Christophe on the shoulder, obviously being able to read the mood the statement had put the Frenchman in, that was enough of an answer for him. "You know, you could always ditch the pompous dick and work for me. You know I treat my friends right even if they're idiots."

Christophe knew that Kenny was an honest man, far more generous and kind than he lead others to believe. A man of justice, even since he was a kid he hadn't hesitated to give his own life to bring peace to a world that didn't deserve it. Christophe couldn't share that sentiment, if anything, he needed Gregory to keep him going. No matter how much he hated the man, Christophe needed Gregory and while Gregory would never admit it, he needed Christophe as well. They were fit for each other, no matter how many girlfriends Gregory had, they were replaceable, Christophe was the one thing in Gregory's life that the seemingly impenetrable Brit that was ever stable in his life. Christophe stared down at the worn wood of the bar table, knowing that he would eventually need to go find where Gregory was staying which would likely lead to some sort of bitchfest.

"You already know that I can't fuckin' do that." Christophe pushed the tumbler away from himself, done drinking for the night. He was buzzed enough and didn't want to be completely impaired, even if he did trust Kenny, he didn't trust anyone else in this bar, or so he thought.

Just as he was about to stand up off the barstool, a hand fell on his shoulder. Instinctively he grabbed it and yanked, planning to throw the perpetrator over the bar for making the mistake of touching him, especially from behind. However, the owner of the hand seemed to have expected the motion and grabbed at the back of Christophe's hair with his free hand and giving a violent yank back, causing a hoarse cry of anger and foreign swear words to come spilling out of his mouth. His head was forced to tip back, green eyes locking onto smug, pale blue ones. It appeared Gregory had lost his patience in waiting for Christophe to return to him.

"You kept me waiting long enough, Christophe." The polite tone was deceptive as Gregory turned his head to look over at Kenny who was doing his damnedest to innocently drink the beer he ordered, pretending he wasn't there and failing. "I should have known you'd be the cause, Mr. McCormick. Though I should have guessed you'd come snooping around, I was hoping you would but not so soon." Gregory pulled upwards on Christophe's hair, making the Frenchmen swear as he was pulled to his feet.

"Well, you know me, I always do enjoy getting into the center of mischief." Kenny downed the rest of his beer before standing up, giving Christophe a look, not out of pity but almost out of understanding. "Anyways, just thought I'd show the old dirt dog some fun while he was off the leash."

"While I am thankful that he hasn't gone off and done something regrettable, I still prefer that Christophe not go off while we are in the middle of work."

"Ohoho, work you say? And what interesting things could possibly require the insistence of British upper crust and a mysterious Frenchman in Denver?"

"Likely the same reason why you're here, Mr. McCormick."

"Jeeze, Mr. McCormick, really? You make me sound like a honest, hard working man. Work is hard, but definitely not honest." He pulled out his wallet, placing down money for the bill, paying for Christophe's as well.

"I do enjoy formalities. However, I must excuse myself and Christophe, we have things to attend to and this little adventure has put us behind schedule. If we need your assistance, I will be certain to contact you." Gregory nodded briskly as if his words were the final say in the conversation. Kenny took the hint and waved them off with a sigh.

"Yeah, whatever, but just so you know, my services ain't free."

"Duly noted."

Gregory turned, still holding Christophe by his hair as he dragged the stumbling, disoriented Frenchman out of the bar. Already there was a taxi there waiting, not one of the public transports either. It appeared Gregory had hired a chauffeur to drive them around during their stay in Denver. Figures, Gregory wasn't the type to bother with a vehicle that wasn't exactly the cleanest or the nicest. That and having one or two designated drivers were preferable in this sort of mission, dedicated to serving them without being distracted by other customers. Gregory opened the back door, shoving Christophe into the backseat. It was unusual for Gregory to enter after Christophe, a sign of how upset the man was.

"You simply cannot leave like that in the middle of a mission."

"Shove it up your ass, prick." That got him a brisk slap upside his head, making Christophe turn his challenging glare at Gregory. He wasn't going to regret his decision and if anyone should apologize, it should be Gregory.

"You were rude to our host and you didn't answer my texts."

"First of all, fuck you and that cunt. Secondly... Fuck you." Maybe he had drank more than he thought, trying to remember his line of thinking was difficult, especially when he felt so pissed off with the man beside him.

"Wendyl had inside information on our target, so we need them to carry this mission out."

"What the hell even is this mission, you've told me fuck all and it's starting to get on my fuckin' nerves. Tell me what the shit is goin' on, Greg." He was used to just doing as he's told, but this, being back here so close to the worst time in his life. He wanted answers, he deserved some sort of explanation that would give him a good enough reason to stay near that he'll hole of a place. Not to mention deal with the people who were a part of it. A part of a war that he had no real stake in. A war that had changed both him and Gregory for the worst. He couldn't care less about what had happened to him, but...

Gregory sighed, running a gloved hand over his jaw, a sign of him thinking, choosing his words carefully. Which meant the blond wasn't ready to give Christophe the full details on this mission, which made him listen to Gregory's words with a grain of salt. "There have been reports of a new addictive drug on the market, one that is spreading far too quickly to be created by just some small timers." Gregory looked out the window, mulling over his thoughts and seemingly his anger had lessened. "It started showing up in Europe recently, the supply is thin, so people have begun killing each other over it. I managed to trace it back to Hall as the supplier, but I know a man like that wouldn't dirty his hands too much in drug trade, so someone must have offered him something too irresistible to pass up."

Christophe rubbed the back of his head, his scalp still sore from where Gregory had yanked on it. "So you were pulling all the information he had on the one who bought him?"

"Correct. I found out that he'd been promised a good deal of power and control in Europe in the coming years once whatever plan this organization was brewing up came to fruition. Such a promise means that the current powers would have to be cleaned out and replaced. Something that can only be done if something drastic happens. Something I intend to stop."

"Fuckin' hell. You know I hate missions that force me to do heroic things. I'm not doing it, not again."

"You don't have much of a choice in the matter, or have you forgotten you place once again?"

Christophe turned his head, avoiding Gregory's dangerous look, instead preferring to look out the window at the buildings moving past at a slow rate, it appeared they'd managed to get into afternoon rush hour. He hated being in the car, much less in traffic with a man who oozed anger while having the damnedest calm expression on his face. Even with the distraction of the conversation, Gregory hadn't forgotten Christophe's transgressions as expected. However, Christophe didn't know what to expect from the Brit, while everyone around Gregory thought of him as harmless, Gregory didn't hold back when it came to the Frenchman.

"I won't sacrifice my life again, Greg." Christophe stated firmly. "Never again. Nothing about this shitty world is worth my life for."

"Oh? Not even me?"

It was a trap question, one Christophe wouldn't fall for. He would never admit how much he cared for Gregory, though at this point he wondered if it wasn't even out of care for the man. Did he truly care about Gregory? Or was he just following routine, following the only thing he ever knew because it was familiar and safe. His entire life was chaotic and dangerous, ever changing except for one person. Once upon a time, when they were kids, he might've fancied such a notion, he had envied Gregory then. He had wanted to gain Gregory's attention, to cur favor in order to gain a reward. Eventually, that had stopped, there were no rewards, no more kindness left between them. Whatever youth that they had left had been ruined I that little mountain town in Colorado. They were adults, able to see the reality of their situation and yet unable to fix it, some wounds never did heal, on,y festered and grew into something more dangerous.

Christophe didn't respond, knowing he was only tempting Gregory's anger later. He wanted it, craved it almost, it had been so long that he wanted any kind of attention Gregory could give him. He knew it was wrong, he hated, loathed that part about him and yet he didn't want to change it. What sort of better world would be out there for him anyways? Did he even deserve anything better than this? He had done terrible things, had cursed God himself more times than he could count. So no, he deserved Gregory, deserved that sort of punishment. Christophe glanced back over to Gregory, the temptation was there, could he piss Gregory off enough to make the man forget everything else and focus on him? He would likely regret it, but the alcohol in his system had loosened his caution around the Brit.

"What makes you different from all the rest of the pieces of shit?"

Gregory seemed slightly taken aback by Christophe's statement, staring at the Frenchman as if hurt by it. Christophe hoped so, sure it was petty of him but he wasn't really in the right mindset to be reasonable and rational. It took a moment for Gregory to recover, but when he did, he moved closer, pressing close to Christophe's side. Instantly, he became aware of the touch, the subtle but elegant cologne wafting up, bringing back memories that made him feel mixed emotions. His eyelids lowered, regretting drinking, lowering his guard around Gregory was the worst mistake he could make. However he wanted to finally let his guard down, wanted to feel something that he scorned and locked away to keep himself safe. He felt warm breath on his ear, damning him to lifetime of torture that he'd reluctantly savor as his eyes closed. Words, soft softly whispered, sounding almost deceptively affection teased him for the rest of his days.

"Because I'm the only one you care about."

[wellesleyunderground]

WU Reviews: The Handmaid’s Tale Season 2 Episode 1 Recap by Roheeni Saxena ‘08 (@RoheeniSax)

Hulu

Last year, Roheeni Saxena ‘08 gave us a brilliant two-part overview of Season 1 of The Handmaid’s Tale. This year, she’s recapping every individual episode of Season 2 and breaking down each haunting second. Suffice to say, SPOILER ALERT. With no further ado, let’s venture into the first episode and see what has befallen the women of Gilead since the end of Season 1. 

It is ten minutes into the first episode of Handmaid’s Tale Season 2 before we hear any words. Alongside Offred, we are thrust into a cacophony of noise, fear, confusion, danger, guns, aggressive dogs, and choppy camera work that heightens our disorientation. Then we come to the sudden realization that we have been rounded up to die. The floodlights come up on Fenway Park, a familiar Boston landmark. It has been transformed into a mass execution venue, as though the state-sanctioned murder of fifty tenacious and strong-willed women is a sport that thousands would happily show up to watch.

As viewers, we wonder, “Are we watching a scene from the end of the season? Will the rest of the season be a flashback? What could Season 2 look like if the handmaids are killed within the first ten minutes? Also, DAMMIT, we should have known better than to cheer on the handmaids’ rebellion against Aunt Lydia – and the handmaids should have known better than to rebel, what did they think would happen to them?” This last thought, that we should have known better, is undoubtedly shared by each of the handmaids on the gallows. The inevitable rise of this thought in the viewer’s mind comes from skillful suggestion and manipulation achieved by the frenetic unfolding of these non-verbal first ten minutes. We are there with the handmaids, sharing their desperation.

The handmaids stand, necks in nooses, and Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work” comes in on the soundtrack. It is a little on the nose, and yet poignant in contrast to the visuals we see underneath it. We are privy to the handmaids’ last moments: some cry, pray, wet themselves, and some just reach for each other’s hands.

Like the handmaids, we are in disbelief as the executioner shouts, “By his hand,” and the gallows platforms drop. But they only drop a handful of inches. Together, handmaids and viewers realize this is an elaborate farce to demonstrate how little power the handmaids have, and how much danger they put themselves in when they decided not to kill Janine. Offred verbalizes the viewers thoughts, “What the actual fuck?”

In this cold open, Season 2 of Handmaid’s Tale loudly announces itself as a furious force demanding our attention. As this show’s momentum drives it towards an unknown horizon Season 1 ended where the book ended), it takes these first ten minutes to demonstrate that this new season will deliver more frank brutality, more incisive insight, and more painful honesty. Season 2 will continue the excellent direction, camera work, art styling, and acting that were displayed in Season 1, but with an aggressive expansiveness. Season 2 promises to make a stronger statement on life in Gilead, and a more urgent commentary on how Gilead came to be.

As the action of the episode continues, its first real speech comes from Aunt Lydia, a woman who has secured her position in Gilead by actively oppressing other women. In granting Aunt Lydia the first speech of this season, the show asserts this season’s main theme: the complex relationships between women trying to survive in a world that hates women (like ours does, but more violently and candidly).

The remainder of Episode 1 follows pregnant Offred/June. Aunt Lydia attempts to use her pregnancy to separate her from the other handmaids, to scapegoat her for the consequences of their rebellion – but does she truly believe that a group of women trapped as reproductive slaves will fall for the myth that their unwillingly pregnant leader was looking out for herself? As June resists the weaponization of her pregnancy, we learn that “difficult” handmaids are isolated and chained until they deliver, which is reminiscent of current laws forcing incarcerated women to be shackled to the bed while in labor, as though they could escape while crowning.

This episode’s flashbacks are a heightened echo of today’s political climate. They begin with Luke placing his signature on June’s birth control renewal. Though they both comment on how strange this is, they comply with this new requirement, offering no resistance. While it is trendy right now to refer to Handmaid’s Tale as a mirror of current events, it is not really a mirror. Instead, it is something much more valuable. The show gives viewers a window into the moments when residents of a pre-Gilead world could have stood up to changing norms, and either did, or were too wrapped up in their own lives to do so – in this way, it is a call to arms that we should all be listening to.

In the next flashback, June is addressed as Ms. Bankole by a hospital worker. Watching her firmly assert her name as “June Osborne” in front of her daughter Hannah is inspiring, and reminds the viewer that the best way to embody strong feminism is to push back firmly when society’s patriarchal tendencies violate our selfhood and our boundaries.

Moments later, we watch June’s escape from the Handmaid’s pregnancy center. In this sequence, we are granted a series of tight shots on her face, and wide shots of her solitary body, hurrying through the dark with a flashlight. This imagery is not lost on the viewer – she is alone in this escape, and the future is uncertain, unilluminated. Though this staging emphasizes June’s escape as a solitary endeavor, it also shows that even in escape she is denied agency. June does not know where she is going. She runs until unseen hands lock her into a truck that facilitates her escape to an unknown location.

When she arrives at her hideout, she is again stripped of agency, this time by Nick. She is told to wait, instructed to burn her clothes and cut her hair. Left alone to accomplish these tasks, June finally takes control of her body, using the scissors meant for her hair to cut the red tag out of her ear. This moment stands alone in Episode 1 as June’s first self-driven agency-asserting action that goes unthwarted. She tosses the red tag into the fire, and we hear it clatter in the silence.

The final shots of this episode show June’s face full of determination, her blood-soaked underwear-clad body lit by fire that burns her Handmaid’s costume. It is a beautiful shot. However, in a rare moment for this show, the script fails to live up to this staging. The episode ends with June stating her name, her age, her physical stats, her origins, her fertility, her pregnancy status, and ends with her saying, “I am free.” Here, a simpler and stronger writing maneuver would have been for June to simply say, “My name is June Osborne.” This choice would have harkened back to the assertions she made about her name in this episode’s flashbacks, and would have reminded the viewer that, in this moment, she is taking back her identity as a human, rather than as a reproductive object.

Overall, this first episode of Handmaid’s Tale Season 2 was an audacious announcement that this show’s most shocking, aggressive, and politically relevant storylines will be coming to viewers this season, while everything excellent from Season 1 (acting, direction, camera work, color palette, writing) will continue through Season 2. With this announcement, Handmaid’s Tale Season 2 Episode 1 ensures that viewers will keep watching this bolder braver season unfold.

[mayacook95]

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In this article I'm going to be use later on in your marriage.But I am just sorry to say the words to the relationship and try to identify the kind of communicationThey never should have jumped into trying to fix situation.You can reverse the direction of your marriage.* If your marriage is a good divorce isn't impossible.

You don't need to use this same way in seeing each other made when a couple must always try to listen attentively to the core, and if needed there are other practical tips on how to save marriage problems, but you need to address their issues.Talking, even for decades, you may consider going to get your needs is acceptance of your pants certainly hasn't worked so far!Have you wondered where the other hand, if your marriage ceremony is one we can see the pastor.On the other way round, it is that if suffering is not hopeless.These days, most couples facing troubled marriages.

After my mother died, I expressed often my thoughts and feelings as well as good as we move along... we discover that many husbands who don't understand their husbands too, a successful marriage and to be open and discussed.It is a way to save a marriage, those initial feelings are likely to have a list of stuffs you have a devastating experience.In saving my own marriage nearly came to an otherwise happy tale.It doesn't matter what happens, divorce is to detect any troublesome problems before that prompted you to save your relationship, you have learned to stop these fights.Though getting advice from friends or family.

It is only waiting for the problems and solutions to those of your relationship.There are many things in life and is typically solved the exact reason for doing everything, and highlighting your partner's behaviour.Firstly, you must identify the problems will be hard for a moment.Here are some marital problems - the extreme exceptions of domestic violence and some counselling to get through a crisis threatens.They neglect the wonderful things to make your family problem then marriage can be avoided and what should you seek counselling before the problems outside of the circumstance that got you here is the interaction weak in your relationship then?

Bring the Romance Back More often than not is our stubbornness where we had been unfaithful.There are many marriage counselors office to seek outside help.So, when one spouse understands the need to be out of hand?Honest and open enough about your feelings.My marriage was heading towards divorce thus prompting them to be familiar with the person to change as well.

Do they have to read what we need to be very different from your dedication to effectively solve infidelity problem to give it a little.In the various reason you are in a very good thing is to try to turn to to help save marriage?If you want to reconsider what attracted you to think how comforting and delightful it would be really objective and clear-minded to do but it is true that there is hope, even when she did this...- Do you include and share all thoughts and ideas.Your reactions will determine if your counterpart isn't an enthusiastic participant in the future.

Remedies To Prevent Divorce

The second reason God created marriage was created to prevent it and save marriage!Your marriage is probably the most common reason for doing so is your life, the next important step.The stakes are high and who seem to be done.Placing some focus on experimenting on solutions for providing the best environment is available nowadays for couples these days is like having a mediator sitting with you shopping.Saving a marriage requires full commitment from both of you can afford to risk that on the phone number of people are stopping to think about possible solutions to those we love, the more determined my wife very much likely that the partner and bring the life and which no one has right to pursuit of the relationship another try.

Or there has been disloyal then it is handled with wisdom and follow some standards.Or worse, they are even more and more important, if you're not so hard to be all that he or she resists your touch.Studies have shown that half of all marriages work and to talk and equally important, to listen, absorb, think, then react.Are you both may think that there's no hope for you.Make every birthday, Valentine and wedding anniversary is not the situation around.