#i am unexpectedly around the same height as a bunch of things

[lokiinmediasideblog]

Made a list of characters I know that are around the same height as moi (I go around telling people I'm Frieza-sized).

The Wolverine in question is the one from the comics (not 6'0 ft Hugh Jackman). And the TMNT in question are the original ones from the IDW comics.

[manggaetteokkie]

Why 2HA adaptation might not be as bad as we think...

Okay so BL novel “The Husky and His White Cat Shizun” (chinese title: “二哈和他的白猫师尊”) aka 2HA is getting a live adaption which will be called “Immortality” (“皓衣行”). I know that usually, fans of original works are less than excited about this kinds of news and with good reasons. The issue is that those who buy the IP rights to a novel simply see its popularity and think that they can profit off of it without actually trying to understand the reason behind its popularity. Too often, BL fans see themselves forced to endure any of the following: 1) sex change of one of the male leads, 2) creation of a random female love interest, 3) turning a happy end into a bad end, 4) adding a bunch of scenes unrelated to our main pair that ends up dragging the series, 5) turning romance into brotherly affection... the list goes on and on. Sometimes, companies think that as long as they film any two guys together and sell a bit of physical touching here and there, fans will jump on it like rabid dogs which... is kinda stupid because, y’know, we have eyes (and standards) too.

So obviously, with the unprecedented popularity that came with the release of The Untamed, even more producers are starting to see the potential of danmei (BL) novels and with it came an onslaught of IP rights being bought and adapted. The list is pretty extensive, with some big names that I’m sure anyone who’s even slightly in the Chinese BL novel community has heard of before. Of course, included in that list, with the casting for the leads done and filming underway, is 2HA.

Quick overview of the story for those of you that don’t know: the story is set in the POV of the “gong” (top), a character named Mo Ran (also known as Mo Weiyu) who is the disciple of Chu Wanning, the “shou” (bottom) of our story. In his original life, Mo Ran had become the Emperor of the cultivation world through slaughter and tyranny, with the only one ever coming close to stopping him being his shizun, Chu Wanning, who eventually lost his life trying to stop him. After achieving the top by committing pretty much all crimes and sins known to men, weary and tired, Mo Ran decides to take his own life and ends it all. Unexpectedly, instead of dying and going to Hell, he transmigrated to the first year he became a disciple. As a thirty-something man in the body of a teen, he decides to do things right this time around and save the one he couldn’t save the first time around. As he goes through life a second time, truth after truths reveal themselves, with the biggest surprise being that the Shizun he hated so much in his previous life, and who Mo Ran thought hated/scorned him, actually turned out to be protecting him the entire time. 

Mo Ran, in his past life, was powerful, cruel, merciless and arrogant. There was nothing he could not obtain and he knew it. He was cynical, had a very jaded view of the world and was kind of unstable (lots of mood swings and temper tantrums). After his rebirth, he still maintained some of the arrogance and cynicism, but is more mischievous, confident and cheeky. He is very much like a husky, looks kind of scary and big, but can be extremely loyal to the ones he recognizes and can be a bit dumb sometimes. Chu Wanning on the other hand, is an unflappable person with a frost-like exterior, but a heart of gold. Basically, he cares a lot but it’s easier for him to look like he doesn’t than to voice his feelings. He gets embarrassed easily and covers his embarrassment using anger. He is extremely strong, likes peace and quiet, and always abides by the rules. 

Their relationship is kind of complicated. Initially, Mo Ran was in love with a fellow disciple called Shi Mei (despite the word meaning junior female disciple in Chinese, it’s actually the name of a male character). In the original timeline, Shi Mei died and that was the start of Mo Ran’s decline. After his rebirth, Mo Ran decides that he will do everything in his power to prevent Shi Mei from dying again. Don’t be mistaken though, Shi Mei is NOT the male lead. You’ll see as you read more that despite being in love with Shi Mei, Mo Ran is pretty obsessed with Chu Wanning because their relationship was kind of... complicated in the original timeline.

This is pretty much the premise for the story, but do be warned that it goes much deeper and darker than what you might expect (it’s rated R-18 for a reason). So why exactly am I writing all of this? To put it simply, I just kind of want to hype up the series and its adaptation a little, or at least, pique enough interest to give the live action adaptation a chance. Not gonna lie, when I heard 2HA was getting adapted, I was pretty skeptical because how. Mo Ran and Chu Wanning had a pretty physical relationship in the pre-rebirth timeline and that’s partially where the obsession that Mo Ran feels towards Chu Wanning stems from. There’s just basically a lot of unresolved sexual tension between them throughout the novel that I simply couldn’t see getting adapted. However, after thinking about it and reevaluating things from a low-expectations-standpoint, I think it might actually be possible to film something close enough to the original work. Here are some of the factors that influenced my opinion:

First, the series is set to air for 50 episodes (just like The Untamed). Why is the number of episodes important? Because it will determine how closely the adaptation will follow the original story and how much random stuff they can fit into it. Let’s take a step back and evaluate: 2HA’s novel has 311 chapters + extras while MDZS has 113 + extras. Obviously, people might have an issue with the number of episodes (”How are you going to air the same amount of episodes for a series that’s thrice as long??”) but I think it’s a good amount. Why? Because it pretty much guarantees a solid pacing that’ll keep the story moving forward without stagnating. I don’t think there is too much to worry in terms of too much source material being cut because quite a few chapters are R-18/romantic lining scenes that would not have gotten adapted anyways. Once those get deleted, I think 50 episodes is an acceptable amount.

Second, the entire production seems to be solid. The rights were actually bought by Tencent who, if you forgot, was also responsible for The Untamed. With prior success, I believe that they now have a pretty solid idea of how things should be run. Also, the CGI and world-design team is the same one as for Ashes of Love, which has me pretty stoked because while CG in chinese dramas has always been a hit or miss, Ashes of Love is definitely amongst some of the best I’ve seen (see below for examples). (P.S. there are also rumours that Lin Hai, the one responsible for The Untamed’s OST, might be working on 2HA but this is mere speculation at this point.) Overall, 2HA is looking to be like the most high-profile and expensive BL adaption yet.

Third and finally, the casting.

Holy.

Okay.

This is what has me the most hyped. 

Let’s start with Shi Mei, who will be portrayed by actress Chen Yao (or Sebrina Chen).

I know I’ve said that despite the name, Shi Mei is a male. As it turns out, likely for censorship reasons, “Immortality” could not escape from the clutches of the dreaded sex change so they went ahead and turned him into a girl. While not ideal, in my opinion, it actually works out pretty nicely here. In this case, it means that Mo Ran is in love with a female character which would further draw censorship’s attention away from the fact that Mo Ran really has a thing for his beautiful shizun. While it would have been perfect if everything could go according to source material, the fact that it’s Shi Mei that went through a sex change actually works pretty favourably in the grand scheme of things. Not to mention the actress set to play Shi Mei has some good experience acting similar roles so overall, I say that I trust her.

Next, we have Chu Wanning who will be played by Luo Yunxi (or Leo Luo).

For this character, I have no worries whatsoever. If you’re unfamiliar with this actor, I highly recommend you give Ashes of Love a try. He played the 2nd lead and ugh. He’s so good at playing beautiful and elegant characters that are forced to undergo a ton of suffering and pain. Luo Yunxi used to be a professional ballet dancer so he moves with grace and his fight scenes are amazing to watch. Also, he has great control over his facial expressions. He’s able to act out characters that suffer a lot without making them seem weak or powerless. Even the way he cries can be considered both beautiful and heartbreaking.

Finally, we have Mo Ran who will be portrayed by Chen Feiyu (or Arthur Chen).

Mo Ran is an extremely complex character. From pre-rebirth’s insanity and arrogance, to post-rebirth’s hope and reservation, to post-revelation’s love and devotion, the actor’s going to have a lot on his plate. Originally, when I first googled him, I thought that while he’d manage to pull off post-rebirth teen!Mo Ran fairly well given how clean and refreshing his face looks, he’d have a harder time pulling off pre-rebirth’s arrogance, craziness and general “hardness”. However, after seeing some costume designs and makeup edits, I think that the boy might just pull it off. Also, while the actor is nowhere near as solid as Luo Yunxi is, it seems that he’s willing to put in extra time and effort (as seen by his Weibo post about how he’d been studying the source material) to make up for it. I think that with enough dedication, he might just be able to pull it off.

(Psssst! By the way, keeping this strictly between you and me, another reason why I’m such a fan of this pair is because of the height difference. I mean just look at this?? Their height difference is pretty much bang on with the novel height difference after Mo Ran grew past Chu Wanning’s height. Not to mention, don’t tell me you see this and don’t automatically picture a the big dorky puppy following his reserved and cool master around?)

So yeah, all of this just to say that it might be okay to kind of have some expectations for 2HA. I really want to keep my own expectations down as low as possible given the amount of times we’ve been burned but I want to remain hopeful that, with the success of The Untamed, it can pave the way for better and more faithful danmei adaptations, with 2HA being one of them.

[backtothestart02]

Teacher’s Pet - 2/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Enjoy!

...

Chapter 2 -

Cisco woke up the next morning with Barry’s limbs dangling over the edge of the top bunk right in his line of vision. He blinked a few times, remembered where he was – at college, not home – and glanced over at his clock across the room.

He had about five minutes before it went off. Tumbling out of bed as silently as he could, he decided to put some clothes together and his toiletries, so he could head down to the community bathroom to shower. Chances were the alarm would go off before he actually left their dorm room, but why not let Barry get in the extra few minutes? They shared their first class together, and he knew Barry was a heavy, late sleeper. The last thing he needed was him grumpy before he’d even gotten water on his face.

Slipping into his slippers, Cisco tossed everything he needed into a small hamper, swiped his keys to the room off his desk and sneakily exited the dorm room without so much as a peep.

The second he stepped into the hall, the alarm went off. He chuckled to himself, though he felt a little bad, when he heard Barry groan aloud.

Still, he trudged on ahead and did his morning routine at the community bathroom at the end of the hall.

When he came back 20 minutes later, he was shocked to hear the alarm still going off outside his and Barry’s room. Quickly, he got the door open, stepped inside and shook his head at the sight in front of him.

Barry was still sleeping, exactly the way he’d left him.

“Barry!”

No response.

He went over to the alarm clock and shut it off. Then he started snapping in Barry’s face.

“Barry!”

Barry moaned a little, then snuggled deeper into his pillow.

Cisco shook his head.

“Unbelievable.”

He picked up Barry’s arm hanging over the ledge and got a grip on his wrist so he could use his hand to slap him in the face. Given his lack of height, it took a few times for the slap to really hit its mark and impact his roommate in any way.

That, in addition, to continually calling Barry’s name, eventually made some progress.

“What…are you doing?” Barry groaned, pulling his hand free.

Reluctantly, Cisco released him.

“It’s 8:30.”

Barry tucked his hand underneath his pillow.

“Mm…that’s nice.”

“In the morning!”

“Mmm.”

Cisco shook his head in disbelief. He grabbed his own pillow and whacked his roommate in the head with it.

“What the-”

“Get up!” Cisco ordered. “Winter break is over! You have class in 20 minutes!”

“Alright, alright…sheesh.”

Barry forced his eyes open, blinked a few times, then squinted so he could make out the time on the alarm clock on practically ground level to him.

“I’ll go get some coffee.” Cisco picked up his backpack full of school supplies and adjusted it over his shoulders. “Should I bring it back for you or should I just head to class and have it for you there?”

Barry sighed and ran his hand over his face.

“Just…go to class, Cisco.” He fell sideways onto his back. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Suit yourself.”

About a minute passed and Cisco had left the room again, leaving Barry still in his pajamas, unshowered, with his eyes fighting to stay open.

“Back to school, Barry,” he muttered to himself. “And with an immoral teacher I probably won’t be able to stand. Ugh.”

He grunted his way down to the edge of the bed, bumping his head on the ceiling a grand total of three times. He slid a little on the little ladder and nearly collided his crotch with the crook of the bed frame, but he managed to avoid that potential tragedy.

He pushed his hair out of his face, looked around for some clothes to wear and his toiletries, and within five minutes was down the hall and in the shower, trying not to fall back asleep while he was in there.

By the time he was ready to go, he had exactly two minutes to get to class.

Facts were facts. He was going to be late.

Bolting from the building with his winter coat hanging open, he ran awkwardly across the courtyard to get to the building on the other side. Slipping and sliding in the shoes he opted for, it was a miracle he didn’t fall flat on his face.

His phone started to buzz in his pocket, and he just knew it was Cisco with a slew of WHERE ARE YOU??? texts.

“I’m coming, I’m coming…”

He flung open the door, and immediately started to slide as there was no rug just inside to wipe his feet on and a long stream of water on the floor from students who had trudged through in their boots before him, no doubt.

Before he could catch himself, another student – or possibly a teacher – turned down the hall at the exact time as him and ran smack into him.

He made a bunch of noises as he tried to steady himself and her, but inevitably they tumbled to the floor together, and it was only his quick thinking that landed him in a wet spot and her on top of him.

Her hands, propped on either side of him on the floor, she finally gave him a good look.

“Are you one of my students?” she asked.

A teacher. Great.

“Ms. West?” he guessed.

“Professor West,” she corrected, and he fought not to roll his eyes.

Right.

“Professor West. Yeah, um, I-I am.”

She blinked, looking down at him, aware suddenly of his hands on her waist, and her bent knees nestled dangerously close to his crotch.

“We should probably-”

“Right.”

He moved slightly in one direction and managed to push her up and to her feet without doing damage to his genitals. He then twisted onto his front and got up. His own clothes were not as untarnished as hers, but at least he was no longer sliding across the floor.

“Barry Allen.”

He held out his hand. When she only glanced down at it, he realized there was dirt from the floor on his fingertips and quickly wiped it on one of the dry spots on his pants. He tried again, but she waved him off.

“No need for such formalities, Barry. I suppose I should thank you for saving me.”

“No trouble at all,” he insisted, forcing a smile.

“I mean, you were running late to my class, but so was I.”

“Yep.”

“Shall we?” she suggested, pointing to the dryer portion of the hall to walk down.

“Yes, please.” He chuckled a little nervously.

“Why don’t you walk a little ahead of me? I won’t have to mark you tardy then – if you’re in class before I am.”

“Right. Thanks…professor.”

Trying to shake off the whole incident, Barry walked ahead of her, nearly slipping into a puddle in the process.

“Oh, Barry, carefu-!”

He avoided it just in time. Not wanting to face his new teacher after that, he kept his head ducked down and strode ahead in only the dry spots until he reached the classroom and slipped inside.

He saw Cisco right away and slid into the seat right beside him.

“Finally,” Cisco muttered, handing him his coffee. “You’re lucky you didn’t get here after our new tea-”

“Good morning, class!” Professor West walked into the room. She smiled brilliantly as if nothing off the mark had happened only minutes before, but Cisco didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Did you and her-”

“Welcome to the first day of the spring semester. I am Professor West.”

She sent a slight glare in Cisco’s direction, and he shut his mouth.

“In my class,” she addressed everyone at the pedestal, “you will not speak unless spoken to.”

Any further mumblings were silenced.

“Excellent.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Roll call.”

…

Just one room down from the class where Professor West taught, Scott Evans – Professor Evans – had his own class he taught. He taught a few actually, but at this time in the morning he taught history. It started and ended at the same time as Iris’ class. It gave him an excuse to talk to her in the interim.

This morning she’d been late. He hadn’t seen her walking up to her class when he happened to stroll down the hall to his. He’d been hoping they’d collide, in a matter of speaking, but they hadn’t. She hadn’t showed, and he wasn’t one to start his class late just on the mere chance he might run into her and share some early morning flirtation before they got started for the day.

He supposed he was getting a little greedy, given that all his waiting for the past five years had finally paid off last night with Iris quite literally pulling him into her apartment and taking him to bed with her.

The hot sex had been beyond his wildest dreams. He hadn’t seen it coming. How could he have? Aside from some mild flirtation from the moment he met her, she hadn’t appeared particularly interested in taking a step towards a relationship or even a one-night stand. Last night she had, but was it possible she wished it hadn’t happened today? Why else would she be unexpectedly late to her first class of the spring semester?

It was so unlike her…

So, he retreated into his class, hoping he’d get a stab at a polite conversation at the very least once both of their classes were over. He did his best to focus on greeting his new students and laying out the schedule for the semester. He needed to remind himself that he didn’t live and breathe just for the opportunity to catch Iris West’s eye. He was a teacher first and foremost, and he lived for his students.

Still, when class ended on a mostly successful note, and his students had exited the classroom, he gathered his briefcase, peeked out of his room and there she was. Professor Iris West was standing talking to one of her students as the rest filed out. He watched them interact, could empathize with the way the boy looked awkward and flustered in her presence, but soon enough he had left with who appeared to be a fellow classmate, if not a friend, and the hall was mostly empty again.

“Iris!” he called out to her.

She turned around slowly.

“Professor Evans.” She smiled politely.

He tried to hide his disappointment at her formality, especially after last night, but she must’ve seen it.

“Scott,” she amended, as they closed the distance and then stood a comfortable few feet away. “How are you?”

He cleared his throat.

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” She gauged his reaction. “How was your first class?”

“Same as always…” he trailed off.

This was not what he wanted to talk about.

“Great! Mine was good as well.” She heaved her purse further over her shoulder. “See you around?”

She started to walk past him, but he reached for her arm before she could.

“Actually – I was hoping we could talk.” He lowered his voice. “About last night?”

She tensed in his grasp, so he released her.

“This is hardly the time or the place, Professor Evans,” she said sharply.

His shoulders slumped.

“Then when and what is?” he asked. He licked his lips. “I’m not…the reason you were late this morning, was I?”

“Of course not!” she snapped, then forced herself to relax when she saw the pained look on his face. “Sorry. But no, you weren’t. I just…slept in a little late. I wasn’t used to getting up quite so early. The break had me fooled.” She smiled serenely.

“Right. So?”

He waited on baited breath.

“I don’t have any appointments today,” she said.

“Well, that’s good news,” he said, cheerfully.

She winced. “Yes, well, um… Come by my office. If the door’s open, you’re welcome to come in, and we’ll talk.”

His brows furrowed.

“Does right now work for you?”

She blinked. “I’m not in my office right now, am I?”

His lips parted. He was rendered speechless.

“I’ll see you later, Scott,” she said, then moved past him. This time he later.

Her hips swayed as he watched her leave, but he couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. He couldn’t tell anything about Iris West. She was a mystery, an enigma. He wondered if he’d ever figure her out.

[incorrectprodigalsonquotes]

Carved in the Cradle Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dani bit back an amused smile at the sight of Malcolm Bright fidgeting like a shy preschooler talking in front of the class for the first time. She had a feeling that if Jessica ever showed Bright’s childhood photos, she would find that he had that exact same look since he was a kid. All fidgeting with the sleeves of his uniform and luminous eyes too big for his face.

“Something you wanted to say, Bright?” 

Normally Dani would cringe at the thought of using the almost singsong lilt her voice had taken on, but he was ridiculously easy to tease.

“U-um...” Malcolm cleared his throat. His face like it was on fire and he knew it wasn’t because of the tea he’d just had. “So my mother sort of--well, demanded that I show up at her gala in a couple of days.”

Dani raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. Jessica Whitly was a societal force to be reckoned with and it was little wonder that even her son, who dealt with killers on a daily basis, was unable to say no to her. 

“So I gathered.” 

Bright being jittery was normal. The constant fidgeting, the mundane rambling, the sheer awkwardness was wired into him from a young age if Gil’s stories of a young Bright were all true, but he seemed almost… nervous? 

It didn’t make sense to her. Sure, he normally said some weird things and he had an unfortunate habit of sticking his foot in his mouth, but it was benign for the most part. It should’ve alarmed her about how comfortable she was around him, but the warmth of the tea she had still lingered, making everything about the already odd night pleasantly hazy. 

“She also wanted me to bring a date.” Malcolm let out a wry chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I mean I’m already bringing Isabella as a sort of fun-sized baby date given that Mother's so taken with her, but it’d be nice to have a friend there a-and--”

“Bright.” 

Dani’s voice slowed into a low drawl as she took a step closer, her face inscrutable save for the glimmer of laughter in her eyes. She had to admit, it was pretty cute to see him so flustered.

“Are you asking me to be your date?”

“W-well, I--” 

The instant he cleared his throat, she could see a change in his demeanour. The determined set of his jaw, the squared shoulders as he drew himself to his full height, the clarity in his eyes. It briefly reminded her of something that Edrisa had said about the change that came with Clark Kent taking off his glasses. 

“I just thought it would be nice to take you to a fancy party where you wouldn’t have to arrest somebody and just enjoy yourself.”

“So it has nothing to do with you wanting to see me in a dress again?”

A teasing grin spread across Dani’s face as she tipped her head to the side. The sight of it made Malcolm’s confidence practically fly out the window, leaving him rambling so fast that he almost bit his tongue a few times. 

“Of course, there’s no obligation for you to say yes.” He nervously ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “It’s just that you’re the only person I could think of when Mother said to bring a date. I know it’s probably not your thing, but--”

“Okay.”

“W-wait, what?” If his eyes got any wider, he could pass for a Disney Princess, all round and uncertain and saccharine sweet.

“Okay,” Dani’s eyes sparkled, the corners of them crinkling as she beamed at him. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” Malcolm’s anxiety practically melted away as he let out a relieved chuckle. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Dani nodded, “But a girl needs a night off for dancing every now and then--”

She nearly took a step back as he beamed at her, nearly as bright as the sun itself, the livewire tension in his body just melting away and it wasn’t until she caught the scent of bergamot and old leather that she realized what was happening.

Was Bright… hugging her? 

“Okay,” His voice was muffled, his face buried into her shoulder, “that’s amazing!” 

Dani couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she absently patted his back, feeling more like she had an armful of excitable puppy rather than gangly profiler. 

"Well, what are friends for, right?"

“Seriously,” Malcolm pulled away just enough so he could look at her, his arms still around her, “I owe you big time!”

“Bright--”

“No, I mean it,” he insisted with a shake of his head, still grinning ear to ear as if she had just given him the secret to all of life’s mysteries. “Anything you want, I’m yours for the week.”

Dani knew he would probably say something like that. Malcolm Bright was the kind of man who would go to the moon and back for the people he cared about, but she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had become one of those people.

She briefly considered having him buy her fancy tea blends every day for a year or getting tickets to a sold out performance at the New York Ballet, but he seemed so genuinely happy that she accepted that she could only think of one thing that seemed right.

“You can start with those waffles you promised in the morning.”

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

The bed was comfortable. Too comfortable. 

Everything in the room was too tidy, too organized. The high end furniture gave Dani flashbacks of playing Tetris at the local arcade with her cousins, all neat blocks fitting together. The only things in the room that looked out of place were Dani’s clothes on a nearby loveseat and her duffle bag of extra clothes on the vanity. There was no real character to the room she was in, no personal touch. 

Bright was right. These rooms were just like hotel rooms. At least there were silk pillowcases so she didn’t have to worry about her hair. Dani tossed and turned before she took her phone off the nightstand next to her and checked the time.

4:42 AM.

She stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought with a slight frown. When she was a kid, she would jump out of bed in the middle of the night to see what was on TV so early in the morning, curled up on the couch with her blanket wrapped around her like a cape. But it wasn’t like she could do that now. 

This not being her home aside, Bright’s TV was way too big to subtly turn on and just watch with the captions. The high definition alone would be enough to wake both him and Isabella.

Then again…

Bright could be awake right now. Maybe he could use some company. She could just sneak downstairs and check in on--

Before she could make her decision, she faintly heard a high pitched squeal coming from downstairs. She absently let her hair down from her pineapple updo and made use of the fluffy white robe that was hanging in the closet before heading down. No one needed to see her in short shorts and a thin nightshirt.

What she saw made her stop at the foot of the stairs. 

She found Bright on the ground with his legs tucked under him, a wide awake Isabella lying on a fuzzy blanket with numerous toys strewn about around them.

Wait.

Was he wearing glasses?

Dark thick frames that were so close to slipping down Malcolm’s nose as he sat with Isabella with a bunch of toys and blankets around her. It was unexpectedly cute. Something about those glasses stirred up a bit of fascination for stripped down, barebones Bright in the early hours of the morning-- 

She mentally shook her head. It was probably just her groggy mind that was thinking that though. Bright wasn’t even her type anyways, no matter how mesmerizing his eyes were.

Malcolm tried lulling Isabella to sleep again, but the little girl just kept smacking plushies in his face and blowing raspberries, her face crinkled into a happy grin. Dani bit back a laugh when she saw how Malcolm couldn’t help but smile at the baby girl as he gently grasped a chubby fist. Bright made a front about being strict with Isabella about bedtime, but he really was just a big old marshmallow when it came to babies. 

“Come on, Izzy.” Dani heard Malcolm cajole the baby as the little one batted at his face. “You need to get some sleep or you’ll be cranky. And I don’t think either of us wants to see that.” 

Izzy. 

The nickname was enough to make Dani smile. She was too half asleep to consider that maybe forming a bond with the baby may not be the best idea. Isabella continued to gurgle as her tiny starlike hands patted Malcolm’s face, letting out a high pitch giggle when she managed to grab his nose. 

“Izzy,” he whined, inciting even more giggling from the little girl, “Could you let go of my nose please? I kind of need to breathe and contrary to what lolo Gil thinks, I’d like to keep breathing.”

His nasally voice did nothing to stop the laughter coming from the baby.

Malcolm was removing Isabella’s hand when he heard a tiny laugh from behind him. He turned to see Dani on the stairs, wrapped in a fluffy robe with her arms crossed, watching in amusement. 

“Sorry,” she murmured, giving him a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“No, no,” Malcolm shook his head as he picked up Isabella, “Did we wake you?”

“Hardly. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Dani’s footsteps were steady as she padded her way towards them, making Isabella turn her wide eyes to her with a coo. It still amazed her how much the little girl’s eyes were just like Bright’s, all guileless and moonlike in that shade that wasn’t quite blue or green. 

A smirk took over Malcolm’s face, a playful spark in his eyes as he made room for her to sit.  

“I thought we agreed you should avoid picking up my bad habits.” 

“Pot calling the kettle black, Bright,” she shot back as she took Isabella from him, the little girl wrapped her tiny arms around the detective’s neck, letting out a tiny kitten-like yawn as she rested her head on Dani’s shoulder. 

“For real, have you slept at all?” 

Malcolm shrugged. 

“Bright...” 

Dani narrowed her eyes at him as he simply shrugged, shaking her head as she felt Isabella tangle her hands in her curls. Her face fell into a familiar expression, what JT had affectionately named her ‘why you always lying’ face during the first case they worked together. 

“Got about four hours before I woke up,” he said, giving her a wry grin in return before nodding towards Isabella. “Then little miss night owl got up a few minutes later and I haven’t been able to get her back to sleep.”

Dani couldn’t blame him. She’d heard horror stories of sleepless nights from her oldest sister, but she could already sense Isabella starting to relax in her arms, absently rubbing the little girl’s back. Isabella was already much easier to handle than Dani’s niece and nephew. 

“Well, we’ve already exhausted all your options. Let me try something.”

She didn’t think his eyes could get any bigger, but leave it to Bright to prove people wrong. 

“You don’t have to--”

“You need to rest.” Her tone brokered no room for discussion. “We need to be up at six. Try to sleep for another hour. Make it an even five hours,” she added with a smirk.

“Five isn’t an even number.” Malcolm chuckled as Dani shot him a playful glare, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, but if you need help--”

“I’ll wake you, now go to sleep.” She gazed at him with stern eyes, practically daring him to ignore her. “Please.” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Dani shooed him to bed with a roll of her eyes, her smile tender as she looked back down at Isabella.

Malcolm felt sore and exhausted, barely remembering to take off his glasses as his head hit his pillow. He could hear Dani softly speaking to Izzy as his eyes fell shut.

Wait.

That wasn’t it. She was singing.

“Moon river… Wider than a mile...” 

Dani crooned as she rocked the baby, who seemed to settle down the more she was sung to. Her voice was--

Malcolm already found her voice steadying for his nerves, honeyed contralto with the slightest hint of gravel to it, but her singing?

“I’m crossing you in style someday... Oh dream maker, you heart breaker...” 

He let out a content sigh, having no words for once. He didn’t realize he was smiling as he let Dani’s singing lull him to a gentle sleep. 

“Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way...”

And for once, he felt nothing but peace.

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

“Our prime suspect is Evan Huntington.” 

Malcolm went straight into never-miss-a-detail profiler mode as he fed Isabella her bottle. The baby was kicking one leg with glee as she drank her milk. 

“He had a previous relationship with our victim, who’s vastly different personality-wise from his usual flings and even his own wife. The fact that Arianna doesn’t look like any of them is another inconsistency in his behaviour.”

“So let me get this straight.” JT interrupted with a grimace that Edrisa liked to refer to as his ‘turtle face’. “This guy sleeps with the women at his office…” his nose scrunched up as he tried to process what he heard, “and then to get revenge, his wife sleeps with them too?”

“Yup.” Dani had an identical look on her face and for a second, Malcolm mistook them for siblings. “Gwendolyn even tried to get me and Bright to sleep with her when we interviewed her.”

Gil let out a laugh of disbelief as JT looked like he swallowed a crateful of lemons. 

“Tell me you’re kidding, Powell.”

“I really wish I was,” she snorted before shooting a sly look at Bright. “You should’ve seen Bright's face. You could pinpoint the exact moment his brain started imploding.” 

Malcolm just narrowed his eyes at Dani playfully as she teasingly narrowed her eyes back at him. 

“Does Evan even know about Isabella?” Gil questioned, frowning at the idea of such a bright little girl being raised by someone as flippant and dismissive as a Huntington. 

Malcolm pursed his mouth as he looked down at the baby, who had abandoned her bottle in favour of playing with the grey silk pocket square tucked into his blazer. 

“He knows she exists, but he refuses to acknowledge that he’s her birth father. Arianna was already pretty adamant about keeping him out of Izzy’s life.” 

If he was being honest, he was hoping this little girl couldn’t be taken away by that man. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to Isabella if she were to grow up with that so-called family. Would she be loved? Would she even be taken care of or would she end up neglected like the characters in one of Ainsley’s historical romance novels?

“Who are the Huntingtons anyways?” JT cut in, his arms crossed. “‘Cause all I’m getting from this is bleach blonde one percenters who moonlight as cartoon villains and make deals with the devil.” 

Malcolm and Gil paused at this, giving JT identical sidelong looks in near perfect synchrony. JT rolled his eyes. Gil isn't my dad, my ass.

“Miri and Noa have been really into Gravity Falls lately. The Huntingtons sound just like the Northwests.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Malcolm adjusted Isabella in his arms, letting her sit on his hip as he set aside her bottle. “Let’s just say the Huntingtons are richer than most of New York combined--”

“Which means they get away with murder all the time. That’s why we need to find something concrete that could connect them to Arianna’s murder,” Dani added, “And I don't think Evan Huntington’s willing to take a paternity test.”

Isabella interrupted with a small shriek before playing with Malcolm’s pocket square again. The team let out a laugh at her outburst, Malcolm especially. 

“Exactly. See guys, she gets what we’re saying.” 

As he continued with his profile, Malcolm didn’t notice that Isabella started trying to copy the swift way he gesticulated whenever he talked, nearly in time with him. The sight of her waving her chubby little arms with the same wide, unblinking expression mirrored on Malcolm’s face was adorable. 

Gil couldn’t help but chuckle as he was paying more attention to the baby than the man she was imitating. Just as Malcolm was going to explain more about Evan Huntington, his face suddenly twisted. The older man raised an eyebrow in concern. 

“You okay, Bright? And don’t just brush it off with an ‘I’m fine’.”

“I’m fine. Really,” Malcolm insisted after getting a look from Gil before letting out a chuckle, “It’s more to do with Isabella here and the fact that she needs a change.” Isabella giggled as Malcolm shouldered her diaper bag with practiced ease, “I’ll be right back.”

“Just be glad you’re not dealing with two of them at once!” 

JT called out as Malcolm left the room, much to Dani and Gil’s amusement.  

“You think you’re done, but then the other one needs changing,” he grumbled. “And it doesn’t help when they look the same so you don't remember which one you just changed.”

“At least yours are both girls,” Dani quipped, the corner of her mouth tilting up as she remembered. “Mona kept confusing her kids for months and she had one of each.” 

 (~**~)                (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

When Malcolm returned, he was surprised to find that Edrisa had joined them. 

“Bright!” She lit the second she saw him. “Right on time!”

He chuckled as he placed Isabella in her stroller and gave her a few toys to distract her. He glanced at Dani for a second before doing a double take, his eyes comically wide.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out, his mouth suddenly dry. “What’s happening here?”

Jessica might have drilled the idea of being a gentleman into him, but even that didn’t stop him from staring at the corset that was hugging Dani’s slim frame. It was a more subtle design than most, but the champagne silk and delicate gold embroidery against her deep blue shirt highlighted her dark hair and made her olive skin practically glow. 

The only thing jarring this image was the gaping hole in the corset just below Dani’s sternum. 

“We found Arianna’s corset in the dumpster outside her building,” JT cut in, looking almost amused at the way Bright was looking at Dani. “Seems our killer didn’t account for the garbage not being collected until the weekend.”

“And according to the shop owners where Arianna would buy her corsets, this is one of their designs, but this isn’t their corset,” Dani explained before she let out a hum of appreciation, looking down at the corset in consideration.

Malcolm furrowed his brows, still not taking his eyes off her. 

“How could they tell?”

“That’s the best part,” Edrisa grinned in excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “If you take a close look at the stitching, you’ll see that this corset was machine stitched when they exclusively sell hand-sewn corsets only.” 

The coroner nodded in approval as she added, "Plus they pride themselves on being cruelty-free and using eco-friendly materials.” She paused at the incredulous looks everyone was giving her. “What? My stepdad talks about them all the time. He did a collaboration with them for his last fashion line." 

Malcolm’s eyes were sharp with focus as his hand hovered over at the stitching of the corset, ignoring the hole left from a knife having gone through it. 

“Amazing.”

His fingers barely brushed over the curved seam above the hip when he faintly heard someone clear their throat. Gil, most likely.

“Bright?”

Malcolm was startled out of his thoughts, looking up to see Dani staring down at him with her eyebrows raised and her nose scrunched in confusion and he was suddenly very aware of just how close he was to her. 

“Right, sorry.” He cleared his throat, a high flush stark against his pale skin. “So why’s Dani wearing it?”

“So glad you asked,” Edrisa piped up, clapping her hands in excitement. “Since we need to figure out what about it killed Arianna, Dani volunteered to try it out...” 

Her smile turned into a pout, “So far no luck. We’ve laced it up as tight as possible, but it’s not like Dani’s squashed like a tin of sardines. It doesn’t seem like it’s difficult to breathe in it.”

Dani was reminded of a confused puppy at the bewildered expression that overtook Malcolm’s face.

“You’re fine?”

She nodded, her brow wrinkled in thought. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, her hands smoothing down the front panel of the corset. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m wearing it, honestly.”

Just then Isabella let out a very loud cry, startling everyone. Everyone turned to see her plush owl on the floor, the little girl’s face scrunched up when her stubby little arms couldn’t reach it. Malcolm was quick to grab it and hand it back to her, earning him a toothless grin that matched his answering one. 

He wasn’t expecting to hear someone suddenly collapse behind him.

They all turned and their eyes widened in horror at the sight before them. Dani was sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and lips turning pale as she gasped for air.

“Dani!” 

Malcolm charged towards her in a panic, ignoring the near scrapes as he fell to his knees next to her. He couldn’t help but curse as his fingers fumbled, desperately trying to undo the corset which seemed to be getting tighter and tighter by the second. Gritting his teeth in frustration when he couldn’t get the knot out, he whipped out a pocket knife from his suit jacket and slashed through the laces before ripping it off her.

He was so going to hear it from Gil later, a scolding about unauthorized weapons already ringing in his ears, but at the moment Malcolm could focus on nothing but Dani. 

He nearly slumped over her in relief as Dani started gasping as air began to flow through her lungs once again. She weakly grabbed Malcolm’s arms as he cradled her to him, keeping her upright against his chest. He barely registered flinging the damn corset away from her, now a pitiful crumpled mess on the floor. 

“I-I couldn’t breathe…” Dani finally managed to choke out, her knuckles white from her grip on him. “I couldn’t breathe!”

Malcolm’s heart thundered almost violently as he stroked her hair, not letting her go as cool air started to fill her lungs again. Dani could practically feel it from where she had her head resting on his chest, the rhythm soothing her as she closed her eyes in exhaustion. 

Malcolm briefly looked up at Gil, his expression grim, a spark of fury making his eyes electric. 

“I think we know how this thing is our murder weapon.”

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

"JT just texted, they’re on their way back." Gil reported as he pocketed his phone.

His expression was grim as he saw the man he considered a son freeze in the middle of his frantic pacing back and forth with a clingy Isabella on his hip. Malcolm hadn't been able to go to the hospital with Dani because the little girl saw him trying to leave the room and he wasn't able to do it in face of her tears.

“Is…” he hesitated, swallowing thickly. “Is Dani going to be okay?” 

If Gil noticed that his eyes were a little red, he had the sense not to say anything. 

“He said that both Edrisa and the hospital doctor confirmed that Dani only has some mild bruising. You managed to get the corset off her before any permanent damage was done.” 

Malcolm didn’t seem to take any comfort in that. The almost pout on his face was enough to make Gil smirk. 

“Kid, she’s gonna be okay. She’s from the Bronx, tougher than both of us combined, remember?” He unconsciously relaxed as he saw Malcolm let out a tiny smile. “Quick thinking with the knife, by the way,” he added, his tone almost smug.

He barely managed to keep his expression stern as the pout on Malcolm’s face dissolved into a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. It was the same face he had made the time the then officer had caught a twelve year old Bright attempting to smuggle a cageful of budgies--which Gil had later learned he ‘liberated’ from a neglectful owner--into his room, he couldn’t help but note. 

“I justified it at the time,” he admitted sheepishly as Izzy patted his stubble, “but in hindsight, probably not the best idea to have a knife on me if I’m taking care of a baby.”

“Common sense kicks in at last,” Gil chuckled as Malcolm’s face flushed with rare embarrassment, “At least I don't have to make that my next point.”

At least, he hoped he didn’t have to. Had the kid even kept his wall of weapons out of the baby’s line of sight? He kept a straight face, but he was practically screaming internally at the thought. 

“By the way,” Malcolm added as he placed Izzy back in her stroller, “my mother’s going to be stopping by to pick up Isabella while I go take care of something.”

“Where you off to, kid?” 

“I, uh, I’m gonna see Ainsley.” He glanced away, still fidgeting with the stroller’s handles, “I haven’t talked to her for a few days, though I’d check up on her.”

“And Isabella?”

“Don’t worry,” Malcolm let out a tense chuckle, “That’s why I already called Mother, she’s more than happy to watch her for a few hours.”

Gil gave an understanding smile. 

“I can keep an eye on Isabella until Jess gets here. Can’t be much different than babysitting Tala. Go see Ainsley.”

Malcolm’s smile was solemn as he knelt down to face Isabella. The baby just grinned at him and reached out to pat his face. 

“I’m only going to be gone for a little while, okay? Mother’s going to take you on another adventure, that’ll be fun, right?” 

Isabella gurgled as she hugged her owl, the plush toy squished against a chubby cheek. 

“I’ll be back soon, Izzy.” As he stood up to leave, he turned to Gil once more. “Thanks for doing this, Gil.”

“Anytime, kid.”

As Malcolm walked away, Gil knelt down and gave Isabella a smile. The baby let out a light squeal as she reached out to him, the tips of her tiny fingers barely grazing his beard. She reminded him of Tala, his only grandchild when she was that age, wide eyed and curious and grabbing anything that caught her eye. 

Once he took her back to his office, Isabella started to get fussy. He picked her up, immediately realizing what she wanted as he took the bottle of formula she hadn't finished yet. Gil couldn’t help the fond smile that overtook his face as her big blue eyes stared up at him, gurgling as a chubby fist stroked his chin. She started kicking a leg as if to say she was enjoying her snack. 

“You just wanna do everything at once, don’t you?” He would firmly deny that he cooed at Isabella if one of his officers saw him like this. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you took after Bright.”

He didn’t get a response nor did he expect one, but the gummy smile that lit up her face as she reached for her bottle gave him a sense of understanding.

Then a wave of regret hit him. If Evan Huntington knew about Isabella now, why hadn’t he taken her away? 

The lieutenant decided then and there that that sorry excuse for a man wouldn’t have a chance at ruining this little girl’s life. 

Not if he had anything to say about.

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

After the rollercoaster that had been the blackout and Endicott’s stabbing, Malcolm and Jessica somehow managed to keep Ainsley from being sent to prison by the skin of their teeth. Malcolm was the first to admit that it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of Gil, Dani, and Edrisa. Even JT, much to the surprise of both mother and son.

But it didn’t stop Jessica from finding it fit to send Ainsley to a rehabilitation facility of sorts. Phoenix Rehab, which the Milton matriarch had said had glowing reviews was a facility usually housed teenage heirs to fortunes with so-called attitude problems and wealthy housewives who found that something about their life just wasn’t enough and needed supposed space to breathe. 

Very rarely were there people like Ainsley, who genuinely needed help and needed to understand themselves and their actions.

Malcolm had been against the idea at first. It was already public knowledge that Ainsley was The Surgeon’s daughter, but if the staff were to find out what had really happened that night... 

He shuddered at the thought of Ainsley being raked over hot coals by the fallout. 

Jessica, still reeling from what happened, had suggested Ainsley stay there for at least six months. She was reluctant to cut Ainsley off from society, but she felt that her daughter definitely needed to be somewhere where she didn’t have to deal with media vultures. Especially when Ainsley couldn’t call herself the well-adjusted Whitly anymore. 

But from the start, their mother had made it clear that if Ainsley ever wanted to come back home, whether it be for the weekend or forever, she would welcome her with what Gil dubbed as the Whitly equivalent of arms wide open. 

His sister had ended up making a deal with Jessica. If she could find even one thing she liked about the place--whether it was the food, the meditation classes, even just the comfy mattresses and the freedom to decorate her room as she saw fit--within a week... 

Then she would concede to stay the six months Jessica had recommended.

Soon six months had come and gone, Jessica and Malcolm making various efforts to visit her at least once a week and Ainsley making quite a few visits back to the Whitly family home. Though she always stubbornly insisted that she didn’t need them to check up on her so much, especially considering the long drive. 

But for reasons no one seemed to understand, the youngest Whitly always seemed eager to go back. 

Ainsley clearly seemed to be improving. She half-begrudgingly admitted to Malcolm that she may have been ignoring her own mental health and she managed to come to terms with what she had done, making peace with it more or less. 

But it still didn’t stop the guilt that she felt every time she saw a crime news report. Nicholas Endicott was nothing short of a monster for all the trauma he had put them through and she wasn’t sorry he was dead. But what worried her the most was that something in her--something twisted, something she could have inherited from the dark underbelly of Martin Whitly’s psyche--had snapped and she just couldn’t stand by and watch scum like him get what he wanted. 

Whether it was him lusting after their mother or having Malcolm and Gil at his mercy, she couldn’t let him get away with murder. 

Not again. 

Not anymore. 

She was only sorry for how it had made her notorious, serial killer father downright giddy.

Even more sorry that her mother and brother had been left to deal with the consequences. 

And before long, six months turned to seven, to eight, then nine, but as time ticked on, Ainsley Whitly seemed to have no intention of coming home for good. 

Malcolm was brought over to where Ainsley was lounging on an open patio. She looked comfortable in a flowy white tunic top and matching leggings, her hair fabulous and effortlessly styled as always. 

She seemed at an easel painting... something? 

He couldn’t tell if she was trying for peacock feathers or she accidentally started channeling Klimt with all the greens and golds. 

“Before you say anything, I’m just playing around with this,” Ainsley said without looking up. “I will smear green paint in your hair.” 

And that was Ainsley all over. She always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to her big brother trying to tease her. He simply grinned as he walked over to her, meeting her halfway for a bear hug before he sat next to her. 

“Hey bro,” she grinned, “it’s been eighty four years. Please tell me you brought truffle cupcakes instead of just your sorry mug.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but snort as he shook his head. 

“Hi Ains. Good to see you’re still you.”

She blew a raspberry, wagging her paintbrush at him in a way that reminded him of the way great-aunt Martha Antoinette would wag her finger, seafoam green manicure almost blinding whenever she scolded him or their mother. 

“Your last visit was over a week ago. You finally coming to terms that you don’t need to be checking up on me so much?”

“It’s not that. I’ve just been…” His mouth twisted as he tried to figure out how to even begin to explain everything, “busy the last few days. How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. I’ve taken up painting obviously,” she smirked, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “You think if I grew facial hair, I could be Bob Ross?”

“Ains,” Malcolm barely got out, his shoulders shaking with laughter, “I think it takes more than mere facial hair to even pass for Bob Ross.” 

“Rude,” she scoffed playfully before trailing off. “I dunno,” she added with a shrug, “I’ve been painting a lot of happy trees lately and I could do with another hobby.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” A relieved smile spread across his face. “How’ve you been doing?” 

“Okay for the most part. I’ve been binge-watching The Good Place the past couple of days. I don’t get all the hype, but it was actually pretty good. Though the philosophy bits just confuse the hell out of me.” 

“Well, it’s an acquired taste for some.”

Malcolm chuckled, remembering how JT’s face had scrunched up when he and Tally were debating about ethics in the latest episode during their last group outing. JT preferred everything straightforward while Tally liked diving into symbolism and the intricacies of foreshadowing.

And yet the two opposites had just celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. 

The siblings shared a moment of comfortable silence before Ainsley spoke up. 

“You came here to ask me something.” She crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward, her knowing eyes befitting of her passion for journalism. “And don’t deny it, you know you can’t hide anything from Whitly women, bro. What is it?” 

For once, he carefully thought over his words. 

“You gave Mom the six months she wanted. Your doctors say you’re more than equipped to return to your job and your regular life.” He frowned in confusion as Ainsley looked down at the table, almost curled into herself. “You don’t have an insatiable bloodlust, you don’t take pleasure in hurting people. I can’t imagine what must have been going through your head at the time--” 

His eyes softened when he saw her look so small, so unlike her confident self. As much as he initially thought otherwise, he hadn’t been the only one affected by their father.

“But I do understand being afraid of what you could be capable of. And I know that it was a result of trauma and stress, but what happened obviously came from a very logical and rational urge to protect our family.”

“I know,” Ainsley mumbled before looking back up at her big brother, “I’m usually good at getting that through my head--I’m still scared that something will happen again. I’ll suddenly get this pang in my chest at the realization that yes, maybe I did kill to protect my family. Maybe his death helped to save the lives of innocent people who would have died because of him...”

Her voice wobbled, her eyes suspiciously bright and it was like she was five years old again, confused and hanging onto the hem of her big brother’s sweater. 

“But none of that changes the fact that I did kill him. I killed him and I don’t even remember doing it.” 

Malcolm placed a hand on her shoulder as he noticed her eyes glaze over, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m not saying that I’m worse off than you or you can’t understand what it’s like--but you’ve had this stigma of being Martin Whitly’s son for twenty years. It sucks, but at least it’s a constant for you. Imagine feeling like you’re doing fine and then all of a sudden, you’re hit with the guilt of something you actually did and can’t take back. Something you can never change.”

Malcolm held out his other hand and Ainsley was quick to take it, much like when they had been kids and she had held her brother’s hand because she was afraid of the high dive at the pool at Grandma Liz’s house.  

“I feel that less here, but I’m still reminded.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ains. Single minded maybe, but that’s hardly the worst trait for a journalist to have.”

She let out a wry laugh. 

“But I still killed a man and that changes things.” She pursed her lips as she let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t know if I can ever feel normal again.”

Malcolm nodded. Didn’t he have so many sleepless nights over that during the past twenty years? Maybe it was something only family could understand. 

“Welcome to my world,” he jested, the beginnings of a teasing smile unfurling. 

“I guess it was only a matter of time.” Ainsley let go of his hand, her laughter given way to a resigned sigh. “And I know Mom misses me, but now she’s asking me to either come back for this gala or give great-grandma Catherine ‘the Great’ something to roll over in her grave about.”

“Well, she was the life of the party back in her day,” he shrugged. 

He vaguely remembered a larger than life old woman in an Audrey Hepburn style black dress and opera gloves, laugh lines around Milton blue eyes and streaks of silver in her chestnut hair. Malcolm had been four when she passed away, but he could still recall his young self balancing on her ruby red shoes as she led him in wide sweeping circles across the dance floor. 

“And let’s face it, you definitely take after her ‘cause you’re much better at the whole gala thing than I am. I wouldn’t even know how to talk to anyone, really.”

“Wait,” Ainsley turned to him in disbelief. “You, Professor Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome, are actually going? Willingly?”

“Yeah, and here’s the kicker. Mother wanted me to bring a date.”

Ainsley let out a snort, her expression sly. 

“Because you’re so clearly fighting them off with a stick?”

“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes. 

“What are you going to do when you show up without a date?” 

Malcolm went quiet, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and looking at anything but her. Ainsley’s eyes went wide with shock and delight, her reporter mind quickly connecting the dots.

“No. Way. Malcolm Alexander Bright! You actually have a date?”

Malcolm squirmed in embarrassment, his ears turning red. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a date exactly--”

“It’s Dani, huh?”

“Wha--” Malcolm just blinked at her in bemusement, “I just--how’d you even--”

“Figure it out? Oh please,” Ainsley rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You couldn’t be more obvious. I mean, you literally talk about her every time you come visit.”

He froze at that, eyes so wide that she thought they’d pop out at any given second. Malcolm briefly wondered how his sister could read him so easily now. It had to have been the result of her almost year long stay here. 

 “I do?” 

He winced at the way his voice almost cracked. 

“Yup,” she nodded, practically preening with unholy glee. “It’s always the same thing. You tell me about a case, update me on Gil, guess the JT name of the week, and you end on some hilarious joke Dani made, usually at your expense. Which confirms you being a masochist because you find those the funniest,” she added in afterthought. 

Ainsley settled back in her seat, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. 

“So tell me, big brother. How’d you manage to trick her into saying yes?” 

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

Dani wasn’t normally one to simply stay at her desk, but she couldn’t help the soft smile on her face as she watched Gil and Isabella through the window of his office, the baby laughing as Gil made funny faces. It had been a while since she saw him like this, but lolo Gil was definitely a good look on him.

“Oh, Detective Powell!”

She snapped out of her thoughts a posh voice called out to her, accompanied by the crisp sound of heels clicking with each step across the floor.

“Hello, Mrs Whitly.” 

Dani looked up at the older woman with a polite smile. Jessica Whitly reminded her of the high society ladies from the reruns of Dynasty that her Granmè used to watch when she was little. Affably dramatic with those close to her, but scrappy enough to get down and dirty when she needed to if breaking an antique vase over Watkins’ head was any indication. 

Dani nearly had to cover her eyes when she spotted the bright, friendly smile on the other woman’s face, a sharp contrast with the navy suede trench coat and muted silver heels she wore. Well, at least she knew where Bright got it from now. 

“Oh no, dear, Mrs Whitly was my former mother-in-law,” Jessica chuckled airily, waving off the formality. “Given how attached my son is to you, you simply must call me Jessica. It’s lovely to see you again.” 

“It’s nice to see you too.” 

It should’ve been awkward, talking to Bright’s mother like this as if her relationship with her son was something more profound than friendship, but honestly? 

Jessica wasn’t as bad as some of the other high society mothers she had come across since meeting Bright. She was a lot of things; nosy, opinionated, a little judgemental at times when it came to Gil or her children’s choices. But she didn’t let her shortcomings stop her from trying to do right by the people she cared about. 

The subtle smile on Dani’s face was genuine, even as the detective cleared her throat upon recalling last night’s invitation. 

“Oh, by the way, I thought you should know that Bright invited me along.” 

“Invited you along...?” The older woman feigned ignorance with a quizzical tilt of her head, a rare moment of mischief for her. 

“Uh,” Dani hesitated for a second, absently biting her lower lip before she just came out with it. “Just that he extended the invitation for your gala... thing. He wasn’t really specific about what it was.”

“Oh,” Jessica lit up, clasping her hands together in delight, “So Malcolm did ask you after all! Finally. I knew that boy had a bit of the Milton persistence in him if I gave him a little nudge in the right direction, so to speak.”

Dani swallowed a chuckle, remembering the little family history lesson Bright had given them during the impromptu tour of the Whitly family home. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh, this is wonderful, dear! So tell me, what do you plan on wearing?”

Oh.

Dani hadn’t really thought about what she would wear to an upscale event like that. Her family was comfortably middle class and the Powells’ idea of fancy was a night at the New York ballet and a late dinner at the Havana Café. 

“Um, I don’t really have a lot of options. Just that dress Bright bought me for a case a while back.”

“That fabulous oxblood gown you wore to the Taylor wedding?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dani let out a laugh, simply shrugging a shoulder. “I thought about having my mom upcycle it and add some sheer lace sleeves, maybe a peekaboo collar.”

“As inventive as that may be and I will be asking for your mother’s number later,” Jessica looked momentarily intrigued by the idea before she shook her head, “I cannot let you be seen in that.”

Dani was nearly taken back, her brows raised in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jessica started, “That dress is gorgeous and you looked stunning as always. I've lost count of how many times people have come up to me and asked who you were after you flawlessly took down the Countess of Monte Cristo, not even a hair out of place.”

Jessica’s expression turned sly as she recalled how her son would start to frown in annoyance whenever he overheard a wealthy scion ask if the lovely detective was single. It may have led to a few ice cold glares whenever Dani wasn’t looking and the occasional possessive hand cupping the small of her back as he guided her through yet another dance, but the Milton matriarch would let Malcolm have his dignity. 

For now, at least. 

“But it’s practically an unwritten rule in the upper echelon, you simply cannot be seen in something you’ve already worn, especially when it comes to these sort of events.” 

"I guess you have a point…" Dani conceded. 

She might have had a brief glimpse of high society at the Taylor wedding, but she could tell from a glance that there was a lot of cutthroat viciousness hidden behind polite veneers. She was not about to go to the gala like a country bumpkin put on display at the-- 

Dani mentally shook her head. She must have listened to Mona talk about historical Cinderella style novels one too many times. How did Bright even grow up in that kind of environment? 

“Oh, I know!” Jessica's face lit up once again, “Why don’t I take you shopping? I still need to get my dress as well and I’m sure we could find something that suits your taste. We can make a lady’s day out of it.”

“I don’t know, Mrs Whitly--Jessica,” Dani corrected after a pointed look from the older woman. “I can’t exactly take off work--”

“Actually, you don’t need to continue your shift. Given that it ended a little while ago.” Gil interrupted, his face smug as he walked out of his office, bouncing a very happy Isabella in his arms. “Powell’s just a dedicated worker.”

Isabella kicked her legs in excitement, squealing when she saw Jessica hold her arms out. 

“Oh, my little bluebell!” Jessica gushed as she took the baby from Gil, looking every inch a doting grandmother as she turned back to Dani. “Now then, if your work day is over, I would love to take you dress shopping.” 

Dani opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to answer. Jessica was nice enough in small doses, but even she didn’t know if she could handle the entire day with Bright’s mom. 

“Powell,” Gil interjected, fatherly assurance bleeding into his usual no-nonsense lieutenant persona. “After all the hullabaloo, you’ve definitely earned a break today. Don’t let me catch you back here until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess…” Dani paused, looking at Jessica with a tiny smile. “Why not? I could use a day off right about now.”

“Wonderful!” 

Isabella started to clap and giggle as Dani stood up, the little girl’s enthusiasm making the grin on Jessica’s face grow even wider. 

“See, even Bluebell’s excited for you to join us.”

Gil chuckled with a fond expression, offering to get Isabella’s stroller when his phone suddenly rang. He hurried back to his office when he saw just who was calling. 

“Gil, I think I figured out how to get Evan Huntington to talk.”

“Bright,” Gil pinched the bridge of his nose. “We still don’t have enough evidence to bring him in. There’s still a possibility that he’s not our killer.”

“Killer or not, he knows something. He’s just not telling us.”

“Don’t I know it,” he groaned, a feeling of dread already starting to bubble up, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Do I even want to know what you have in mind?”

“Probably not,” he joked before his voice turned serious. “We may have to talk to Evan Huntington’s father, Edgar. But in order for it to work--” 

He could practically hear Malcolm’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. 

“--I may need to pay my father a visit.” 

Hey guys!

I’m sorry this took so long... again, writer’s block plus online summer courses have not been a good combination. I’m hoping that chapter 8 doesn’t take this long to write but no worries, I’m not gonna abandon the story... if anyone’s still interested in the story lol

I hope you guys are doing well and staying safe, I’ll see you next time XP

P.S. extra special thank you to @s4karuna because I could not have posted these past few chapters without her edits

[redthreadoffate]

daddy insecurities [arthur, ariadne, eames]

a repost, originally posted in my former writing blog

ship: arthur x ariadne, slight eames x valeria

warnings: swearing; edited thrice in a span of…a few minutes so mistakes may be present

notes: this is 1 of my 3 inception babies; i was still using a different voice then but nothing else has changed

summary: arthur is jealous. he’s very jealous. eames may not have gotten ariadne, but he sure is getting his children.

Things have been going great for Arthur and Ariadne. In their opinion, they weren’t taking their relationship too fast or too slow. After a year and a half of being engaged they got married. A year later they had Casey Luca Brandon, followed by Spencer Phyllira Brandon after another four years. They moved into a modern Victorian home not too far from the city once they started family planning, but keeping the apartment that they shared for the future—and desperate times.

When Ariadne was pregnant with Casey, she had to stop dream sharing. When Arthur first held Casey in his arms, he knew he wanted to be with his family every step of the way. So they agreed to stop dream sharing until the kids were old enough. As much as they wanted to quit permanently, they missed it too much. For now, they’re your regular but above average-looking family living in Paris.

So on this beautiful summer day, the whole family decided to go out of the house and bask in the ambiance of nature. They took a stroll around the city, had lunch near the Eiffel Tower and went shopping for some new clothes before settling down in a park. Arthur and Ariadne found a great spot under a tree and they laid on the grass as Spencer squealed while running—or waddling—to the playground with Casey holding her left hand and their dog, Coulson, on her other side.

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at her,” Arthur tells Ariadne. His jaw is clenched and his fingers are intertwined with his wife’s. “And I think he really wants to play with her.”

“They’re children, Arthur.” Ariadne rolls her eyes and looks at the man beside him. “Stop staring at him at least.” She turns back to the playground to watch her children building a sand castle. “Casey and Coulson are with her. They’ll be her knights in shining armor.”

And just as she says that he jerks forward a little. “Did you see that?”

Ariadne raises an eyebrow. “See what?’

"She looked at him.” His eyes dart to the boy on the other side of the playground. “Spencer saw that boy.”

“Arthur…”

“How’d she even know that he exists? He’s been behind her all this time!”

“Maybe she just happened to look that way. She’s two-years-old, Arthur. He looks just about her age or a little older. There’s nothing wrong with that. Calm down!”

Frowning, he rubs the bridge of his nose then sighs and leans down to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “Am I overreacting?”

“Yes. It’s very un-Arthur-like. Imagine if Eames was here.” She chuckles a little. “But I won’t be surprised if he suddenly does talk about it without even being here. He knows everything, it’s actually kind of scary. And really, who wouldn’t be weak when it comes to Spencer? Look at her!” She raises her free arm to gesture towards the little girl and boy a few feet away. “Look at them!”

Arthur looks over at his children. Both of them have more of Ariadne’s facial features. They both have brown locks and chocolate brown eyes. Spencer also acquired Ariadne’s natural waves while Casey’s hair is a little more straight. They even have some freckles on their nose. Arthur’s glad that they have Ariadne’s smile, it lights up his world when he sees all three. However, the way their eyes crinkle when they smile, their adorable dimples, thin lips and height come from Arthur. Unfortunately, they both have his ears, too. Ariadne and the kids love it but he doesn’t. Arthur’s very conscious about his ears.

Casey, who had just turned six, is starting the first grade in two months. He’s got both Ariadne’s creative brain and Arthur’s skills (or at least, starting to show signs of it). He loves building and sketching, and Ariadne’s excited to teach him a few tricks once he’s older. He also loves to dress up in Arthur’s suits. During his most recent birthday, Uncle Saito gave him his own suits, a custom made Armani, a three-piece Tom Ford, and the latest Gucci. And yes, they can imagine how Saito can get his hands on smaller sizes. There was a note attached to the gifts, ‘I see that he has Arthur’s taste. When he is older, I shall send the rest.’ And Saito always keeps his word.

Spencer, on the other hand, spends way too much time, in her two years of living, with Eames. He unexpectedly shows up in their house and brings the little girl out without their permission. The first few times he did that both the Point Man and the Architect panicked, fortunately, they’re rational thinkers (and Arthur has spent way too much time of his own life with the Forger). But the little girl loves Eames and is already starting to show signs of becoming a prankster.

“Add a little color to your life, darling,” he would say. And Eames adores the little girl. Always calling her princess and buying her unnecessary gifts. Whenever Arthur or Ariadne would scold him about spoiling the girl, he’d reply, “And you don’t? She’s got us all wrapped around her tiny finger.”

During dates with the Cobbs, Phillipa, now a high school graduate, and James, an incoming high school student, loves playing with them. Dom likes to think that it’s a second shot of being a parent. Saito constantly showers them with expensive gifts (and even promising on granting them a scholarship to whichever university they’d choose). Yusuf also shows his love for the kids by sending them trinkets from his trips around the world for conferences.

“You’re not going to lose her, Arthur,” Ariadne assures, “especially not at this age. And even if she does end up having a silly crush—”

“She’s too young for that,” he interrupts, which earns him a glare from the brunette beside him.

“She will never choose them over you.”

Arthur grumbles, “She chooses Eames over me all the time.”

“You know she loves you both equally,” she reminds him.

Arthur sighs and nods. When he looks up again, his eyes narrow. “What the fuck is he doing?”

“Arthur!”

“It’s Eames! He’s trying to take her away again!”

Ariadne looks at where the children are, and, sure enough, the English man is by the sandbox, holding the little girl by the waist, and talking to the six-year-old boy. Coulson is wagging his tail and sniffing the man with glee. “He’s not going to take her away in front of Casey, and this is one of her favorite spots, he knows that.”

Eames looks up and gives them a grin and a wave. Ariadne does the same while Arthur simply raises his hand in acknowledgement. He whispers to the little girl and then says something to the boy the Brandons can’t decipher. The brunettes nod happily before turning to their parents and giving them a wave with smiles on their faces. Ariadne giggles and, again, waves at them with a huge smile on her face. The scene of his children warms Arthur’s heart and immediately, he smiles, his eye crinkling and his dimples showing, and waves back at them.

“Maybe I won’t kill Eames today.”

“Your daughter would be heartbroken.”

Arthur nods. As he watches his children play with one of their godfathers the boy he had been fussing about earlier is walking towards the sandbox. “Ariadne?”

“Don’t stress, Arthur. He’s simply looking for a playmate, and besides, Eames is there. Doesn’t that relax you a little?”

“I suppose.”

“He’s pretty much their second father.”

“He’s just a suspicious boy.”

“Arthur, he’s probably only three.”

“Exactly, at that age, girls and boys don’t know that they can feel attraction!”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “That boy probably thinks Spencer is a pretty little girl who seems to be having fun and who just might want to play. He just wants to be friends with Spencer! There’s nothing wrong with that. Stop being such a jealous father and let your daughter have some fun.”

“I’m not jealous,” Arthur snorts.

After a few minutes, the two see Eames kiss Spencer’s temple, stand and make his way towards them. “Darling,” he starts, “I can hear the two of you bicker over nonsense all the way over there.” He uses his thumb to point at the place he’d recently been in.

“Arthur’s just jealous,” Ariadne says.

“You should be, your children seem to like me more than you.”

Arthur glares. “Aren’t you due back to visit Valeria in Germany?”

“Val knows it’s hard for me to leave our godchildren. Do you want to get rid of me that easily?”

“Always.”

Eames chuckles. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“They’re not.”

“Arthur’s just jealous that Spencer will start to replace him soon,” Ariadne supplies.

“He already has been replaced, ever since I showed up in the hospital when she was born. Even your own dog likes me better than him.”

Ariadne fails to suppress a soft laugh. “Not helping, Eames.”

“The only time I’ve seen this bloke get jealous was with you, love. It’s very amusing to see him all worked up over,” Eames looks behind him, “a three-year old boy,” he continues when he turns back. “You can probably take him down with a single move. He doesn’t seem to have much experience with hand-to-hand combat.”

“What’s his name?” Arthur asks.

“Are you going to check his records with your phone, darling?”

“No, his family’s. And not now, when we get back home. What’s his name, Eames?”

Ariadne rolls her eyes and Eames just shrugs. “Christopher.”

“Christopher what?”

“Robin.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Eames.”

After roaring with laughter, Eames says, “I’m surprised you know who that is.”

Ariadne laughs. “Having two children does that to him.”

A small smile escapes the dark haired man’s lips. “Give me his name, Eames.”

“All right, all right. It’s Christopher Mann, and that’s with a double 'n’. He’s a sweet child, really. I’d hate for you to find something in his record.”

“I just want to make sure that when this boy tells his family or anyone about playing with a little girl named Spencer and her brother named Casey with a dog named Coulson, I have nothing to worry about,” Arthur tells him. “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

Both Ariadne and Eames look at each other and sigh.

Arthur squeezes his wife’s hand. “I just want this family to be safe.”

Ariadne smiles. “I know.”

The three adults watch the three children play. Arthur hates to admit it but Spencer is enjoying the company of the new boy. “Where’s his family?” he wonders aloud.

“Over there,” Eames points at an older couple on the other side. They seem to be having a heated argument. “Christopher doesn’t like hearing them talk loudly. It makes him sad. Poor boy. His older brother is away in college so he’s very much alone at home.”

That breaks Arthur’s heart and he’s suddenly really happy that the children are getting along really well. He can’t imagine either Casey or Spencer being alone while he and Ariadne fight. Hell, he can’t even imagine him and Ariadne fighting when the children are within reach. Sure, they’ve had their share of arguments and cold shoulders when the kids are around, but they’d always make sure to keep their emotions in check until they’re alone.

The boy, Christopher, also seems to be having fun playing with Coulson. The dog sniffs the little boy before licking his face. “Even Coulson likes him,” Ariadne says with a little laugh. “It’s really just you, Arthur.”

About an hour later, Christopher’s mother calls him. “Chris! It’s time to go now, honey.” Arthur sees the boy frown. Christopher stands and pets Coulson one more time before waving at the two children he had recently befriended. Once he’s left, Spencer pouts and gives an exaggerated sigh. Casey pats her shoulder and tries to cheer her up, which seems to have worked.

“My princess is sad,” Eames observes, “it’s time to bring her to the ice cream parlour.”

“You’re really showing favoritism, aren’t you?” Ariadne says with a small smile.

“I do not, love. I also spoiled Casey when he was younger. But I suppose I have a softer heart for little girls.” He shrugs. “Hey, Arthur, would you rather teach Casey or Spencer?”

“Teach what?”

Eames groans. “Fighting, of course! We’re going to teach those children to defend themselves! They are definitely not going to be bullies—”

“Unless they hang out with you too much,” Arthur mutters.

“—so they will be bullied. We need to make sure that they’re feared!”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “Eames…”

“Love, we cannot allow those two precious children be looked down upon.”

Arthur gives a little nod. “There’s no need for us to personally teach them unless we think that they need more. Ari and I have been talking about it; we’re planning on letting them take self-defense lessons. Casey would probably start soon and we’ll wait until Spencer is his age.”

Grinning, Eames says, “Perfect. I’ll be there in the waiting area.”

Ariadne smiles and Arthur can’t hide the smirk on his face.

When Arthur notes that the sun would be setting soon, Ariadne suggests that they head home. After getting some ice cream from the store they arrive in their grayish-white house and Eames mentions to them that he has nothing better to do and there’s nothing more he loves than spending time with the Brandon children. “You and Ariadne can have some grown-up time, yeah?”

“We don’t do grown-up time when the kids are at home,” Arthur mumbles. “Just don’t kidnap our children and you can stay for an hour.”

“You can stay for as long as you want, Eames,” Ariadne says as she helps Casey with a new shirt. “We’re having pasta for dinner.”

“Eames does love pasta,” the Forger tells them, licking his lips. He picks up Spencer just as she says, “Me!” Eames chuckles. “Everyone loves your mother’s pasta, princess. You should try Uncle Eames brownies.”

“Oh, dear God, no,” Arthur groans.

“Don’t you have some researching to do, darling?” Eames jokes.

“I just have to make sure that you’re not going to make a run for it.” Arthur shakes his head and heads for his study. “Come, Coulson.” And the dog happily follows him inside.

“Your daddy is a strange man, princess.”

Spencer grins. “Daddy!”

Less than an hour later, Arthur emerges from his study and walks back to the living room. On the way, he passes by his wife preparing the ingredients for dinner. He smiles and kisses her cheek before heading to his destination. He spots Casey on the floor with his building blocks and Spencer still on Eames’s lap. Coulson sits obediently beside Casey.

“You’re still here,” Arthur deadpans.

“Your wife said I can stay as long as I want. And I’ll be staying until dessert. Or at least until this little princess’s bedtime.”

“Tuck! Tuck!” Spencer claps.

“Tuck me in, too, Uncle Eames!” Casey joins.

Eames grins. “Of course, of course. I will gladly tuck you two in. Perhaps you’d even want a story of one of my adventures?”

Casey nods enthusiastically. “Yes! I love your stories, Uncle Eames!”

“Love Unca Ease!” Spencer squeals.

“Aww,” Eames tickles her stomach, “Uncle Eames loves you, too, princess.”

Arthur smiles at the scene. As much as he despises Eames—okay, he really doesn’t, at all, he loves the man as much as he loves his brother, Edward Brandon—he loves that Eames loves Casey and Spencer enough for them to be his own children. He hears Casey play with his toys and he’s a little jealous of the attention that Eames is getting from Spencer. “Casey,” he calls.

Casey looks up and grins. Arthur has his legs open and arms outstretched. The little boy walks to his father and Arthur carries him to his lap. He stretches towards the dog who was sitting beside him. “Come, Coulson,” he says.

Coulson wags his tail and trots over them. Casey pats his head and then turns to his father. “Daddy, I think Coulson is lonely.”

“He can’t be lonely, he has you.” Arthur smiles, already knowing where the conversation is heading.

“I think he needs a friend.” Casey smiles.

Arthur shrugs. “He has a brother and a sister.”

“Daddy, you’re being silly!” Casey giggles. “I think we should get another dog.”

“Another dog?” Arthur feigns surprise. “Now where did you get that idea?”

Casey shrugs exaggeratedly. “Can we, Daddy?

Arthur smiles. "Your mother and I would have to talk about it first, okay?” Although he’s very sure of what the answer will be. “But we may not get one exactly like Coulson, he’s one of a kind!” Coulson wags his tail and sniffs Arthur’s knee. “Yes you are, Coulson,” he murmurs, fondly remembering the time he first entered his and Ariadne’s lives.

“That’s okay,” Casey nods, “I just think he needs a friend.”

Arthur kisses his temple. “We’ll see, big guy. We’ll see.”

After dinner and dessert, the family, plus Eames, is sitting around the living room watching an old, classical film that stars Audrey Hepburn. While the adults are engrossed in the film, Casey and Spencer play with the dog on the floor.

“It su—it’s sad that she’s only known for her acting skills and beauty,” Ariadne sighs, “she’s an amazing person. So much more than what people say about her.”

“Well, that’s Hollywood,” Eames says with a shrug. “And as an actor I can definitely say that some people are only judged by our faces. Some people, as beautiful or as handsome as they are, cannot act to save their lives! And yet, people still praise them. It’s more of a popularity contest. While some people, more average looking ones, who can act wonderfully, cannot shine due to being overshadowed.”

“It’s hard to tell who you are in that argument,” Arthur sneers.

“Oh, darling, you wound me so deeply. I’m neither and you know that.”

Ariadne giggles softly before placing her head on Arthur’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go to bed early? Like, right after this movie ends.”

“If that’s your way of shooing me out, love, it’s not working,” Eames says with a wicked grin.

Arthur groans. “You’re not planning on spending the night, are you?”

“Well, now that you’ve revealed to me your master plan, someone’s got to keep the children together, right?”

Ariadne smiles. “Well, someone’s got to wash and tuck the children to sleep.”

Arthur shifts. “Really?” But the grin on his face cannot be stopped.

Eames laughs, causing the children to look at him with smiles on their faces. “What’s so funny, Uncle Eames?”

“Oh, just a grown-up joke, Little Man. We’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Okay,” Casey nods. Casey’s memory is better than most, he’d remember this moment, and Eames knows it. “Are you tired, Spencer?”

Arthur and Ariadne smiles and squeeze in together. But just as they’re getting cozy, Spencer appears, waddling with a grin that showed off her few baby teeth. “Daddy!” Arthur smiles brightly and doesn’t think twice about carrying her and putting her in between him and Ariadne. “Mommy!” she squeals.

Ariadne plays with her daughter’s hair before kissing the top of her head. “Not tired yet, sweetie?”

“Na!” She grins. “Pay!”

“It’s almost your bedtime, you can’t play anymore. Once this movie’s done, Uncle Eames will be washing you and Casey and then tuck you to sleep.”

“No sip!” she protests.

“Yes sleep,” Arthur tells her. “If you sleep earlier, there’s more time for you to play tomorrow.”

Spencer pouts. “Unca Ease towo?”

“If you wake up early enough then I might still be here,” Eames tells her. The tone that Eames used makes Spencer squeal in delight. “Sleep?”

“Sip!”

Arthur peaks over to see Casey resting his head on Coulson’s curled body. “How are you doing, big guy?”

“Coulson’s tired and I’m tired.”

“I suppose that means you had a great day today?” Ariadne asks.

Casey looks at them. “I did! What about you, Spencer?” His little sister raises her arms and squeals. “I think she also had a great day,” he replies, making the three adults laugh.

Later that night, with Spencer and Casey soundly asleep in their respective rooms, Eames in the guest bedroom, and Coulson back in his doghouse, Arthur and Ariadne lay quietly on their bed. Ariadne’s resting her head on Arthur’s chest while he has his arms wrapped around her.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be jealous of a little boy, Arthur,” Ariadne says.

He chuckles. “I know.”

“And you shouldn’t be jealous of Eames, either.”

He sighs. “Eames is a challenge. He’s amazing with everyone, it’s hard not to like him.”

Ariadne smiles. No matter how many times Arthur has admitted to caring about Eames, she still catches herself thinking about the two being best friends. “You’re not just Spencer’s father, but her dad. Eames is…well, he’s Eames. We already knew that our children would love him.”

“Eames is a great dad without having to be a father.”

“He’s scared. Valeria told him about the pregnancy scare, he was so relieved. She was hurt but she understood. He isn’t ready yet. Maybe he loves the two because he also wants to start a family, he’s just not sure how.”

Arthur sighs and holds her tighter. “He’s weird.”

Ariadne laughs and snuggles closer. That’s when they hear a bark and a scream. Arthur quickly puts on a pair of boxer shorts and Ariadne scrambles to find her robe. The Point Man is out their room quicker than the Architect.

“Coulson!?”

Ariadne gently pushes Arthur to the side to see what’s happening. Coulson is running around with Casey right beside him. Eames is at the end of the hall with Spencer on his shoulders.

“Eames!”

The fun stops and they turn around to look at Arthur. “Darling, you’re in front of minors. And they’re your children.”

“My children shouldn’t be out here in the first place.”

“Casey couldn’t sleep. He knocked on my door about an hour or two after I tucked him into bed. He said he wanted to be in one of my adventures. We couldn’t have fun without Spencer and Coulson. So,” he shrugs. “Oh, love, you look…hm, I can’t really say it in front of the children.” Eames winks.

Ariadne wraps the robe she’s wearing tighter around her and hides behind Arthur, a faint blush appearing in her cheeks. “It’s way past the kids’ bedtime.”

“Pay!” Spencer squeals, clapping her hands.

“No, no,” Ariadne shakes her head, stepping away from Arthur and moving towards Eames, “Spencer, it’s time to sleep.”

“No sip!” Spencer argues, but her arms are outstretched. “Mommy pay!”

“It’s late now, honey,” Ariadne tells her. Eames brings the little girl down from his shoulders and gives her to Ariadne. “You have to go to sleep.” With Spencer at her hip, she looks over at Arthur who’s trying to get Casey to bed. “Arthur, I can take care of the kids and you’re in charge of Coulson and Eames.”

Arthur groans. Coulson stops wagging his tail and sits. “Oh, no, not you, Coulson.” Eames laughs out loud. “Eames, you’re banned from this house at night.”

“Stop being jealous of me, darling,” Eames teases.

tagging: @angel-cap

[lamiaward]

Dances and thirsty (+jealous) disaster lesbians

I don’t own the Worst Witch.

Part three!! I might write ANOTHER part of this because I have this vague idea of Mildred and Khry being cuties and Hecate slowly becoming like some sort of mother figure to Mildred (Pippa probably beats her to it though) while Julie and Pippa become good friends. I will only write that if there’s an interest in it though.

Warning: there is a scene where someone is kissed without permission/ which reads as someone spiking someone else’s drink.

The girls joke about her always lurking into the shadows, or even being some sort of shadow monster but she has never spent as much time in the shadows as she has now. She stays there so long that she memorizes all the different dresses, skirt combo’s, robes, and full-on costumes (and she will wish often for some particular ones to be burned from her mind). She debates with herself, a part of her that she always attempts to silence violently wishing to transfer into the middle of the ball again, perhaps actually leave Pippa breathless for once( it is a fantasy of the utmost foolishness, of course) while the rest of her reminds her of how utterly humiliating it was the last time.

Finally, she touches her watch and slowly feels her nausea recede just slightly – enough to no longer throwing up on the first person she comes across to be a realistic fear. She walks along the dancing floor, fighting to keep a slight smile off her face when first one girl, then her dancing partner, then two girls that had been so caught up in each other she could have sworn a full-grown basilisk landing in the middle of them would not have had any effect stop and -

There are all the things she normally despises; stares, whispers and pointing. At first, her magic sparks faintly like usual, a transference spell ready at her fingertips but then her eyes catch Pippa’s. She flushes slightly as her friend’s eyes slowly rake down her body, from the silver corset with intricate patterns of moons and stars, to the lace that is slightly darker, to finally the sweeping skirt that is full-on black and covered in similar patterns as the corset.

Her eyes only linger briefly on Khry, curled loosely around her neck, their scales brilliant silvers and blues.

Hecate freezes on the floor for a moment, watching as Pippa bites her lips and drags her eyes up again before leaning to the person next to her- without ever taking her eyes off Hecate- and setting her glass down on a table and stalking towards her.

Hecate hardly notices Pippa is even moving- she is wearing a light pink dress, one that leaves her shoulders completely bare but has a small cape made from a very thin material for some reason. The bodice is decorated with suns and stars, golden ones that pulse faintly (they’re obviously etched into the material with magic, and Hecate admires the skill even as she disagrees with the frivolity) The material falls almost until Pippa’s ankles- except that there is a long slit on both sides, so that the entire room is allowed to admire her muscular legs whenever she takes a step.

Worst of all, her hair is down. It falls to her shoulders in gentle waves, and Hecate swallows tightly, staring at the image before her. She was named for a goddess of witchcraft, but Pippa looks the part tonight- she looks completely ethereal, and it is not necessarily the dress or the body or even everything put together-

It is the way she smiles at Hecate, almost shy but also extremely bright. Her eyes look even more gorgeous when she smiles, crinkles appearing at the corners and adding to the strength of that smile. It knocks the last bit of breath that was left in Hecate right out of her lungs, and her heart squeezes painfully for a second before it speeds up, perhaps even more painfully.

Pippa dips before her, hand pressed to her forehead but her eyes still on Hecate. She can hardly bear it, thinks her body might actually stop functioning any moment.

“ Well- met, Hiccup” Pippa breathes. She still manages to keep eye contact with Hecate, and that is probably why Hecate reacts too late.

“Well-met” she manages, not quite smiling.

Pippa’s wearing a different perfume than usual. Hecate knows this because Pippa rushes forward after her well-met, kissing Hecate’s cheek before almost going to embrace her- only to grip her arms instead.

“I apologize” she mutters

“ What for?” Hecate manages, barely

Pippa grimaces slightly. “ I know you dislike it when your students notice a more personal side of you and – “

“ You believed kissing me on my cheek was less conspicuous than… hugging me?”

“ Yes? It is common between – “

“ So are hugs, as I am led to believe by the gaggles of girls constantly pretending as though they have not seen each other for years instead of hours” This- the dry comments, that is something she can do. She feels more grounded suddenly.

Pippa smiles.  “Is this your way of granting me permission to hug you?”

Hecate is immediately uncomfortable again – and a whole bunch of things she can’t even admit to herself. “ If you wish to” she says, forcing herself to sound indifferent, calm, collected-

Pippa embraces her. Her arms go around Hecate, and she still gives the perfect hug that even Hecate kind of loves enjoys. She lets go quite quickly however, and leans in again before sharply pulling back. There is a look on her face Hecate can’t decipher before she smiles quite normally at Hecate.

“ I never thought I would see you dressed in silver again”

“ Ada was quite clear about what she expected of us”

“ Thank her for me- you look absolutely stunning, Hiccup “

“ I – “ she falters for a moment, then adds “ So do you” because surely that is something that friends are allowed to say to one another?

Pippa’s smile brightens.  “Thank you. I can hardly compete with you, however”

If it were anyone else, Hecate would write their words off as fake politeness but although Pippa is many things, she has never been dishonest. Sure, Pippa will smile and flatter for the good of her school, but she isn’t like that around friends, around people she genuinely likes. Pippa has always been more the “brutally honest” type, the person that avoids hurting others but at the same time would certainly not lie to her friends nor shower them in compliments she does not mean.

Hecate rolls her eyes. “ You are referred to as the most beautiful witch of her time for a reason, Pippa. And- “

Pippa stares at her aghast “ Hiccup! You have so many beautiful features, not to mention your intelligence, talent for the Craft, dedication to education and the well-being of- “

Hecate arches her eyebrow, decidedly ignoring the “ beautiful features “part.  “ You disagree with my teaching methods”

Pippa rolls her eyes.  “Just because I disagree with you on many things does not mean I am blind to your competence as an educator”

“I – “ Hecate flounders; there is no one (apart from one person, but she would never compare Pippa, who is bright and kind, to her) that leaves her unsettled and wordless the way Pippa Pentangle leaves her.  

“ The same goes for you” she finally settles on, although it comes out a bit more stiffly than she would’ve liked.

Pippa sighs and Hecate feels a brief stab at how her smile just dims a little bit. Perhaps it is the evening, the magic everywhere (all the decorations are created by magic, the drinks are flowing around because of magic, there is so much frivolous use of magic that it leaves her slightly dizzy, abuzz in a similar way to intoxication and yet so different) or something else entirely.

Either way, Hecate blurts out “ Your skills as an educator are surpassed by almost none”

Pippa stares at her, looks down as she brushes her hair behind her ear and smiles faintly. “ I thought you disagreed with my methods”

“Not all of them. And – if applied properly, with apt preparation- even the most .. distasteful ones can have merit to them “ Hecate arches her eyebrow. “You have managed to convince me of that much during our debates”

Pippa laughs, and Hecate can’t help smiling even if she feels like she was dropped from a great height as Pippa takes her hand. Her eyes flit to the crowd, and Pippa squeezes her hand before letting it go ( you foolish woman she thinks to herself, then hears Broomhead’s voice add silly girl )

“ I have accomplished very much then “ Hecate nearly pulls away completely, only barely manage to hold back an acerbic comment. The gaggles of girls talking and laughing to one another, the eyes on them, the drinks and lights and-

“… Hiccup?” Pippa’s cuts herself up abruptly, then takes Hecate’s arm gently. The noise around them has faded; perhaps everyone is noticing, and they are speculating, telling each other how the harsh, brisk, awful HB has –

“ Hecate, you are scaring me “ Pippa says, and gently takes Hecate to a quiet corner of the room, offering her a floating glass.

It has too many decorations. They’re also magically done.

Hecate dislikes drinking usually, but she downs this one for some reason. It is sweet, with a hint of spice. Pippa would like it, probably. “ Thank you” she manages, gripping the glass tightly.

Pippa nods. “ Of course. Are you feeling better, Hiccup?”

Hecate flinches when Khry’s licks her cheek , the roughness of their tongue unpleasant and unexpected. They make a soft sound.

“ I am fine” she tells them before she swallows and tells Pippa “ I am, thank you”

Pippa smiles. “ I am glad”

She opens her mouth, looking uncharacteristically shy and demure before they’re interrupted. A second before the infernal woman slides up to them, Khry turns ice-cold against Hecate’s skin, and their scales nearly cut her as they move unexpectedly.

“Pippa!” Danielle says, apparently oblivious to the way Pippa had looked disappointed for a moment. She throws her arms around Pippa for a moment, after looking at her in a way that has Hecate’s magic itching to get out.

She kisses Pippa’s cheek, brushes some of her hair behind her ear. She lingers, keeps her body more or less pressed up against Pippa’s, which makes Hecate’s stomach cramp up.

“ Miss Hubbard” Pippa smiles at her, and Danielle smiles back- the hair on Hecate’s neck raises, and she feels a stab of irritation but this is your foolish jealousy shaping your judgement.

Then again she is not alone; Khry jumps away from Hecate, landing on Pippa’s shoulder where they sit with their tail swinging back and forth and small clouds appearing from their nostrils. Danielle glances at them, her expression only faltering for a second before she focuses on Pippa again.

She flips her hair. “ What will it take me to get you to call me Danielle?”

“ I simply think – “

“ You look gorgeous” Hecate is used to it, the way people drag their eyes over Pippa’s body, the look in their eyes, the way they drape themselves over her, but she still takes a step towards that woman before she manages to regain control over herself.

Pippa’s smiles at her. “ Thank you. You look beautiful as well “

It is true, that much Hecate can admit. Danielle’s hair is in a complicated hairdo, with small golden flowers braided through it. Her outfit looks as though it were made by the Sidhe, all forest and autumn colours and decorations, with magic practically radiating from it. It has a deep décolleté, where she wears a sparkling opal necklace. On top of her hair is some sort of tiara, with parts sticking out that remind Hecate of antlers.

Hecate does not enjoy Danielle’s magic- it is too deceptive. All nature scents and like the sun touching your bare skin gently, but then it also makes the air feels so heavy. Unbreathable. And it is everywhere right now, she has obviously used it on the outfit, and Hecate is slightly dizzy.

That is nothing compared to Pippa however, who nearly faints – and it is only Hecate’s reaction, a half-beat quicker than Danielle’s that keep her from falling. She transfers Pippa towards her the second she stumbles, catches her in her arms and keeps supporting her with one arm wrapped around her middle.

Danielle’s smile freezes and Khry is now flashing green-black-yellow-green. “ Oh goodness, are you all right?” she questions, rushing over to Pippa.

Pippa blinks rapidly. “ My apologies, I felt very light-headed all of a sudden”

“ Perhaps we should remove you from the room or- “

Pippa shakes her head “No! I- “ she smiles at Hecate, which only settles her nerves slightly. “ I simply need to rest a bit, and perhaps have some water”

“ Surely you are not already intoxicated”

Hecate doesn’t know what she has said wrong, but it causes Danielle to laugh and shake her head in a way that has Hecate’s cheeks burn faintly. “ Oh darling, you haven’t changed a bit. You are still the same, brilliant but also … less adept at social situations”

She smiles brightly at Pippa, extends her hand. “ Would you dance with me?”

“ I will have to decline, on behalf of my poor head” Pippa laughs

“ I will be very careful with you”

“I know. Besides, me and Hi- Hecate still have some things to discuss, don’t we Hecate?”

With Pippa smiling at her, and choosing her company over someone as willing to socialize and quick to smile as Danielle Hubbard, Hecate is hardly able to get a stiff “ That is right “ past her lips, but Pippa just smiles even more brightly. She has always been too forgiving of Hecate’s incompetence when it comes to things that are so effortless for Pippa , things such as smiling and reacting to someone’s tedious monologues and so many other small things that require someone to understand people better and be far more forgiving than Hecate can ever be.

“ I do apologize, miss Hubbard” Pippa says, smiling.

Hecate almost smiles herself when Pippa leans against her, her warm body pressing against hers, stray blonde hairs tickling her neck, warm brown eyes glancing in her direction, warm and familiar. Sometimes she wonders how she has ever been able to give this up.

She assumes Danielle has left, as Khry has mellowed to a very light pink that looks admittedly nice with Pippa’s outfit, but she doesn’t actually see it as she has yet to tear her eyes away from Pippa.

She doesn’t know why they’re just standing in the shadows, away from all the laughter and shouting and music, with Pippa warm and well and unwilling to be away from her side. It is almost like stepping back in time

(it is exactly like stepping back in time ; she is still a foolish woman pining after someone so much better than her)

Pippa blinks rapidly when Hecate steps away abruptly. “ Hiccup?”

“I should speak to Ada” she offers, although Khry turns a violent shade again and stares at her accusingly while Pippa just frowns and pats them absently.

“ I- “ she smiles. “ I will see you later this evening, Hiccup?”

“ It is likely, yes”

Pippa slowly walks away, and Hecate is left in the same kind of state that caused her to abandon her best friend decades ago – except this time it is not a sudden realization of oh curses no, Persephone help me I am in love, it is more the painful idea that this will never go away.

She will be a ghost and Pippa will still be there, alive and beautiful with wrinkles and liver spots and the exact unfairly potent smile - she will be bound to this Earth simply because her unresolved business is how unfairly, otherworldly gorgeous Pippa is in all the small private moments; her gestures during debates , the way she tilts her head and bites her lip during chess, and every single way she smiles.

Goddess, it is terrifying , the power Pippa has over her

After Hecate has managed to collect herself enough, and Ada has ‘gently’ persuaded (forced) her to stay, Hecate returns to the large room and walks over to where drinks are floating around the room. The alcohol can only be touched by adults, it flies away or vanishes if any students attempts to touch it, but she still finds several of them trying to grab them or use magic to get them down.

They scatter before she can verbally scold them, and she has three minutes of blessed – although relative- silence and tranquillity before someone slides up to her.

“ Miss Hecate Hardbroom, well-met”

She nods at the other witch. “ Miss Morgan, well-met “

Demeter smiles, very brief and small but genuine. Warm. “ How have you been?”

“ I am well. How are you?” Hecate sips her glass.

“ I have been rather well; I have been continuing my potion research”

Hecate inclines her head “ I noticed the paper you published several months ago, the paragraph on Baneswood was especially illuminating”

“Thank you. I did wish to speak to you about certain practicalities considering the usage of Lepista Flaccida , as you have done research in that area as well, if I am not mistaken? “

“You are not”

They start one of their discussions, something that happens quite regularly when they meet each other at conferences or run across each other when they are both collecting potion ingredients. The familiar discussions of ingredients, gather practises and the correct way to grow the best moon flowers relax Hecate enough that she catches herself smiling at Demeter’s dry wit that matches her own.

She feels slightly thrown off balance when Demeter suddenly leans in, arm on her bicep, and mutters “ I have meant to tell you all evening that you look absolutely lovely”

Where she would normally pull away or stiffen beneath Demeter’s touch, a combination of witch’s brew and Demeter’s own ability to put Hecate at ease despite how she intimidates others makes it almost effortless to keep her smile and say “ Thank you. You look lovely yourself”

It is an understatement, but perhaps the way Hecate’s eyes linger uncharacteristically tell Demeter that she truly does look beautiful. Her hair, chin-length and slightly, is curly and glossy as always. Her eye-shadow is the orange-red of a sunset; her lashes are long and thick without any further make-up. Her yellow dress with cobalt flowers, and a cape that covers her shoulders, goes wonderful with her dark skin.

If Hecate was the type of cheesy person to say such things, she would tell Demeter that she doesn’t just have the name of a goddess, she looks like one.

In fact, she is so caught up in admiring the way the other woman looks, her usual self-control rapidly vanishing due to the magic in the air and the witch’s brew she has downed almost three glasses off, that it takes her a while before she realizes Demeter has stepped closer.

She gently takes the glass from Hecate, re-activating the charm so that it flies away from them. Hecate watches it for a second before returning to look at the other woman. “ Will you dance with me?”

Hecate is surprised by the offer, but the witch’s brew in her blood quickly convinces her that dancing with a brilliant, gorgeous witch that has standards very much similar to her own is not the terrible idea she fears.

Still, it is a bit confusing that she ends up somewhere at the edges of the dancefloor, being led in a waltz by Demeter Morgan.

They have been quiet for a while when Demeter leans in and her lips brush Hecate’s ear as she quietly says “ You are a wonderful dancer”

“ It is one of the few physical activities that are enjoyable”

Demeter chuckles “Very true”

Hecate hums, pressing closer automatically at the point that the song warrants it.

“Growing plants and caring for them is another pleasant activity” she tells Demeter, then adds “ Especially roses”

“ Agreed – “ Hecate nearly chokes, even in her languid state, with her brain happily picking out random details such as the pretty fairy lights in rainbow colours, the nice perfume Demeter is wearing and how easy it is just to follow the music, when Demeter suddenly presses her hand on the small of her back, pushing Hecate against her.

They were dancing close to each other before, but now they’re truly pressed together.

“ There is another pleasant activity I am thinking off right now, however”

Hecate feels like she should understand something, but she doesn’t. There is an outlandish, foolish notion that maybe- “  What are you thinking off?”

Demeter pulls back slightly, and Hecate only gets to stare at her face for two seconds before that same beautiful face is suddenly a lot closer to hers. They’re inches away when Hecate’s eyes catch sight of familiar blonde hair.

And she suddenly realizes Khry is gone, realizes why. She is untangling herself from Demeter before she has managed to explain, stumbling towards the corner where she catches sight of her family. She is still intoxicated, but her head is rapidly clearing due to anger and magic burning through her in equal measure.

“ Get away from them this instant” she practically growls at the shifty, contemptible woman leaning in despite Pippa’s hand on her chest, trying to push her away from her.

Things move very fast after that; Pippa pushes her off, there is a sound as loud as thunder and Khry launches forward. There is a moment that is very slow, and it consists of Danielle slapping Pippa, hard, screaming as Khry lands on her back and being thrown off seconds later by violent magic that tastes and feels and smells like the same horrid, wrong magic her father used to teach Hecate control.

She gasps, her intoxication gone suddenly but now she feels hangover without actually being hangover (it’s not his magic, it isn’t hers either). It goes very fast again, her body and magic acting before her mind can even truly process Khry laying on the ground, whimpering, and Pippa cradling her red cheek with an open-mouthed expression.

She blasts Danielle halfway through the room, where she crashes into the floor. She turns to Pippa- and it is only then that she truly notices what bad shape she is in ; she is leaning against the wall, her eyes unfocused and slightly pained. Her cheek is still bright red. Hecate heals her easily, then wraps an arm around her and looks at Demeter.

She has heard about the many people that find Demeter intimidating, off-putting because of how she truly earns the title brutally honest (she would never tell even a white lie) and how she is apparently so fiercely defensive of her loved ones that she once made a high witch wet herself. She doubted that assessment, thought it was simply spread by people envious of a witch like Demeter- or misunderstanding her.

Now, she takes one look at Demeter and realizes it is true. Her magic radiates from her, not calm and warm like usual- but wild, scorching. Her eyes are narrowed, an unusual anger darkening them and making shivers dance across even Hecate’s spine for a moment. But she doesn’t walk over to the woman scrambling to her feet, like Hecate expects her to; she marches over to where Pippa is leaning heavily on Hecate.

“ This is your fight, Hecate. I will watch this one” she tells her, wrapping an arm around Pippa. Hecate would never leave Pippa for something as trivial as a duel , not with Pippa like this – still dazed and uncomprehending, vulnerable- but Demeter Morgan is one of the very few witches Hecate trusts.

She nods at her, then slowly steps away from Pippa. She casts a protective charm with lazy ease, then narrows her eyes at the woman panting in front of her.

Danielle smiles- or attempts to, at any rate. “ Hecate- I am afraid you have misunderstood”

Hecate raises an eyebrow.  “ I am afraid I have”

When Danielle relaxes slightly, Hecate adds “ I always judged you to be a person of considerable talent and intellect, but the latter I seem to have wildly misjudged”

Danielle’s eyes shift to Pippa, something hungry and contemptible in them.  “You should tell your … friend to not lead witches on. They don’t particularly enjoy the embarrassment”

“ Miss Pentangle never- “ Hecate is interrupted by the quick attack Danielle launches on her, her hand suddenly snapping out in a movement not unlike a snake leaping out to bite. Hecate doesn’t move away, simply absorbs the impact and almost smirks at the fury her action brings to Danielle’s formerly pretty face.

Anger doesn’t look good on Danielle. It twists her usually beautiful features into something deplorable, the large green eyes and full, pouty lips not nearly as attractive when they’re twisted into glares and sneers.

“ How could she wish to spend time with someone like you over me?” Danielle casts another spell, one that activates near Hecate’s face, meant to burn half her skin off, but barely manages to do as much damage as a simple sunburn as Hecate dissolves it.

Danielle points at herself, casts another spell. Vines erupt from the floor, with large thorns meant to tear into Hecate’s skin. The thorns dissolve with a snap of Hecate’s fingers, although she allows the vines to stay, forming a circle around her.

“ I am beautiful and interesting and pleasant. I enjoy gatherings and drinks and people. You, on the other hand, have never shown the slightest interest in any of the normal things, you – “

Hecate is vaguely aware that behind them, Pippa is starting to become conscious enough to sound angry but she won’t allow herself to be distracted by that.

“ Your control over the Craft is pitiful, miss Hubbard” Hecate cuts Danielle’s rant short. She wipes the acid-rain-turned-golden-dust from her arms, then steps forward. She raises her eyebrow slightly, purses her lips.

“ Your magic shows more resemblance to a magician” she drawls , pushing her hand forward – lightning flashes, and miss Hubbard stumbles back.  “Than a witch”

“ You- “ Danielle curses at her, and there are gasps all around from the younger witches – “Did she just call miss Hardbroom- “ – and curses and disbelieving laughter – “was she really stupid enough to call HB-”- from the older ones.

Hecate doesn’t lose her cool. She merely arches an eyebrow, utterly unimpressed. “ And you even lower yourself to using the type of language even children know not to use”

She wriggles her fingers, and the air in front of Hubbard lights up for a moment before the witch yelps and jumps back, an ugly burn on her leg. She stops talking, and her attacks become more focused; there is less plants and transformation, and far more concentrated magic beams or spirals.

It doesn’t matter. Either way , she is forced back more and more until she trips and lands in front of Hecate. There is a second of her looking up, hair undone, outfit completely ruined and her face red and sweaty, before there is a slight huff of smoke and all that remains of Danielle Hubbard is a large, wart-covered toad.

The whole duel lasted maybe 4 minutes. It is deadly silent for a moment ; one of the older girls hollers and starts clapping, and pretty much the entire room soon follows her example. Even the Pentangle students (quite possibly even Danielle’s child) are clapping, whistling or- in the case of the people that are simply too stunned- staring at Hecate with a mixture of terror and admiration. Behind her, Pippa holds back a low laugh at the lovesick expression some students ( the number is quite substantial among the Pentangle students actually) throw Hecate’s way.

She squeezes Demeter’s hand, and the other witch finally lets her go. Pippa still feels slightly light-headed (and something far more enjoyable, but incredibly inappropriate with all the people around) as she stalks towards Hecate.

Hecate turns around as she hears her name; her expression turns from a sort of quiet satisfaction towards something like a slow realization. “ Pippa, I apo- “

The students start hollering again when Pippa embraces her. Hecate freezes for a moment, before there is something slamming into her back, and she stumbles forward until they’re truly pressed together.

When she attempts to pull back, mindful of the chatter and laughter and any other sound that points out there are still hundreds of students watching them, she realizes there is something pressed against her back, keeping her pressed against Pippa.

She pushes at Khry gently with her magic and flinches when they shriek, leaving her dizzy and her eyesight fading in and out.

“ Did they just- “ it is Pippa, who is leaning heavily against Hecate.

“ I believe they did, but it is hardly cause for celebration considering the circumstances” she throws a sharp glance over her shoulder, where Khry is appearing and re-appearing as they shoot through the sky, nothing more visible of them than flashes of red, orange, yellow, green, blue and indigo.

“ It is still impressive, Hecate”

“ I hardly- “ and then the effect of Khry’s ‘attack’ (as that is what it technically is, after all) truly hits and Hecate swoons at the exact moment that Demeter reaches them.

Strong arms catch her, and she is vaguely aware of another body pressed against hers but the effect hasn’t faded completely yet; instead of the room, all she can see is flashes of white and yellow so bright it is practically white as well.

By the time she has recovered, she is hit with the terrifying image of Pippa stalking away from them.

  Hecate has never, not once, in her life actively and voluntarily sought out any type of social interaction. She prefers solitude to company, quiet to small talk, dim colours to bright ones. Pippa should repulse her-

But she never has, not even when Hecate tried. Pippa’s love of pink is endearing, rather than irritating. Her almost constant smile is like a sinking into a bath after another Hubble disaster. Pippa’s passion for modern witching should be an embarrassment at least and a reason for a feud at worst , but instead Hecate can only admire the slight flush to Pippa’s cheek and the fierce joy in her eyes whenever she talks of anything relating to modern witching.

Hecate has always known Pippa was brilliant and kind and strong, all qualities she admires but still, she never understood how she could love Pippa this much, and rapidly and for such a ludicrously long time.

But she still does, or she wouldn’t be desperately transferring around Pentangle’s to find Pippa- her rooms, her workplace, her-

She ends up in the gardens, her magic finally relaxing, her heartbeat slowing barely, when she catches sight of the blonde hair.

She stalks over to the rows of flowers, barely glances at all the quiet, beautiful colours and only focusing on the blonde and pink in front of her.

“ Pippa, disappearing like that was hardly appro- “ the words are knocked out of her when Pippa turns her way slightly; she keeps her profile mostly away from Hecate, but that glance at her face is enough to see the smudged make-up and the red eyes.

“ I- pipsqueak?” she questions, almost grabbing Pippa’s hand or embracing her like the woman herself used to ask her to do constantly in their youth, and especially when she was upset.

“ You should return to the party, Hecate” Pippa sounds tired, and her voice is tight in a way that throws Hecate off, that makes her mind reel and spin trying to find a reason why Pippa would be upset, why she would be upset with her.

“ You know of my dislike of parties” she offers, and should she ask what happened? Does Pippa want her to point out the obvious, or is she supposed to stay but say nothing of the redness to Pippa’s eyes and the way her magic is so obviously off?

“ You did not seem to dislike them when you were dancing with Demeter Morgan”

Hecate feels even more thrown-off. Pippa’s voice is uncharacteristically sharp, and Hecate cannot figure out for the life of her why that is. “ I hardly see what that has to do with- “

Pippa sniffs. “ You could have told me you were dating”

“ I am not seeing anyone”

Pippa remains silent for a moment; the silence stretches between them, and Hecate feels her stomach clench painfully and her lungs constrict without truly knowing why. “ I am a big girl, Hecate. You do not have to lie to me”

“ I am not seeing Demeter Morgan, nor anyone else and you certainly would know if I were dating anyone “ Hecate’s chest squeezes painfully for a moment but she pushes it down and adds  “ And I certainly do not understand why you would think I would ever feel the need to lie about that or hide it from you”

Pippa seems to have not heard her, or perhaps heard her say something different entirely. “ There were moments that I thought you had already noticed when we were children, and that that was why you left so suddenly. But then we reconciled and- “ Pippa’s voice breaks.

Hecate flinches, but automatically takes a step forward. Her chest is tight, unable to contain her lungs probably because why else is breathing so hard suddenly. She leans down, slowly reaches for Pippa. “ Pipsqueak, what is going on?”

Pippa swallows, then finally looks at her. Her teary-eyed smile is possible more painful to Hecate than anything else in her life has been, and there has been so much pain. “ I am happy for you, Hecate, I really am. I just- “  her voice breaks again, but she shudders and pushes through. “ I – it is just that I , and you – “ she starts to cry again, and Hecate embraces her hesitantly.

Pippa clings to her, burying her face in Hecate’s shoulder and shaking against her. Hecate can feel her own eyes burn and she has to convulsively swallow as Pippa sobs in her arms. Her thoughts are racing, grappling for any possible explanation but she has no clue and she is terrified. Pippa might be soft and warm and kind, but she doesn’t cry easily (or at least not like this).

When Pippa finally quiets, Hecate tries again. “ Pipsqueak, I don’t understand. Are you hurt? Was it that.. woman?” she speaks through gritted teeth, her entire body tensing as she thinks of Danielle and how much worse that vile, stupid and-

“ No, it wasn’t Danielle” Pippa sighs, pulling back a little bit. When Hecate slowly lets go as well, Pippa takes her hands after a moment.

They sit like that for a while; on their knees, holding hands and with the slightly wet grass beneath them. Pippa finally swallows, and takes a deep breath. “ Are you truly not seeing Demeter Morgan?”

“ No”

Hecate is just about to question Pippa again when the woman does something that throws her off more than anything else this woman has ever done and there has been plenty. She squeezes Hecate’s hands, squares herself and slowly, clearly says “ I am in love with you “

Hecate once crashed her broom, and the two seconds before, when she already knew it was going to happen but it was too late to do anything about it were honestly just like this moment. It’s like being thrown out of your body for a moment, and watching from a step back.

“ I was in love with you when we were teenagers, but then you left before I could confess or even make an attempt to move on. And then we reconciled and I thought it was just my unresolved feelings but- “ Pippa laughs, shakes her head. “ It is just you.  All those little things that I used to love before – your kindness, the way you feel everything so deeply, your dedication to the Craft- they’re still there, even if you have changed. I fell in love with you all over again and- “

Pippa swallows, squeezes her hands. “ I am sorry. I wants us to be friends, but I will never stop feeling the way I do” she laughs, but Hecate can easily tell it is not a sound of joy. It’s short and breathlessly and sounds like Pippa is still crying even if she isn’t.

“ You’re just too wonderful for me not to, I am afraid”

“ I don’t.. .” Hecate trails off, staring at Pippa. There is so much lodged in her throat, things like But you cannot love me and I thought you would be revolted and why would you? She struggles to get them out, blinks rapidly, takes deep gulping breaths and finally pulls her hands away.

It’s too much, Pippa’s soft hands that smell faintly of coconut near her and her hair loose and wonderful and her eyes red-rimmed but the same soft gorgeous brown Hecate has always loved thought were just as beautiful as the rest of her.

Pippa’s face falls, and Hecate watches with her chest shrinking even more, air a truly sparse commodity now, when she stumbles to her feet and pushes out “all right, then”

“ NO!” Hecate hardly recognizes her own voice, higher and uncontrolled when she struggles to stumble to her feet. “ I love you”

She blanches. That was not what she was going to say. “ I- “ she doesn’t even know how to tell Pippa that her knowledge of the Craft is surpassed by very few people indeed, that her school is an ode to how hard-working and brilliant and strong she is, and how Hecate feels so much more comfortable around her than she feels around the general person and how she never expected that to be possible-

“ Like a friend?” Pippa carefully ventures.

Hecate swallows. “ No, I- “ she doesn’t even know how to describe what she feels for Pippa, something that is layers and layers of emotions starting with how much their friendship means to her and ending with how Pippa is like magic- essential and complicated and something Hecate wants to know everything about.

She clenches her fists, tries to force herself to say something better, something that Pippa deserves to hear, but Pippa is in her arms before she manages. She is hugging her, tightly, and Hecate exhales slowly and hugs her back, resting her head against Pippa’s and sinking into the feeling.

“ I have been in love with you for so long” Hecate admit against Pippa’s shoulder. “ I don’t think I could ever love anyone else”

Pippa pulls back, and Hecate feels something cold and painful in her stomach for a moment only for it to be replaced by something very unfamiliar, something that makes her lips almost hurt she is smiling so brightly as Pippa leans in and kisses her gently.

Hecate opens her mouth, kisses her back languidly before Pippa presses more firmly against her. She feels fingers  buried in her hair, combing through the curls before pulling on them, leading to Hecate gasping against Pippa’s mouth. Pippa chuckles and Hecate narrows her eyes and leans in and kisses her hard, until Pippa is making low sounds against her lips.

She leans back to breathe, resting her forehead against Pippa’s and practically grinning.

“All my daydreaming couldn’t have prepared me for how good that felt” Pippa sighs happily, and Hecate flushes slightly but raises an eyebrow.

“ Daydreaming?”

“ Hm-hm” there’s a wicked glint in Pippa’s eyes as she lowers her voice to an insinuating whisper. “ Sometimes, I would dream about long walks on the beach and nights stargazing. Other times, when I was in the privacy of my own bedroom- although I have to admit it sometimes happened during especially boring meetings- I imagined different things “

Hecate chokes and nearly pulls back. She is quite certain she has the expression of a startled deer and her cheeks feel like someone tried to push her head into a bonfire.  “ I- you mean- Pippa” she means the last word to have come out strict and admonishing, but instead it comes out trembling and slightly hoarse.

Pippa seems to take it as a plead;  she leans in again to press her lips gently against Hecate, before she deepens the kiss and her hands finally leave Hecate’s hair in favour of her cheeks; they pull their mouths firmly together again.

Hecate sighs and kisses her back, her own hands placed on Pippa’s lower back before she slowly moves them to rest them on Pippa’s elbows. Pippa is playing with her hair again, grabbing it as she places kisses on Hecate’s lips, nuzzles into her neck, kisses her deeply again.

She pulls back when Hecate moves her hands to her shoulders and digs her nails in a little without thinking. Pippa takes the hand, kisses it gently, then turns it upside down so she can press a soft kiss to Hecate’s wrist, at the point where her pulse is thrumming.

“We will need to shorten those nails of yours” Pippa comments with another wicked smile and Hecate blanches.

Pippa softens at Hecate’s expression, and her drawn in shoulders. “ We don’t have to do that immediately, if you are not comfortable”

“ I- it is not that I am not open to the idea” Hecate says, because she is. Pippa is one of the few people Hecate has ever wanted to embrace her, to kiss her cheek, to hold or squeeze her hand – and she has even imagined doing far more with that Pippa, never mind how much it inflated her self-loathing afterwards.

“ That’s good” Pippa leans in, brushing Hecate’s hair behind her ear. Her expression is so soft, so filled with affection that Hecate feels like there is an entire broom stuck in her throat and her heart squeezes painfully – but she also feels her shoulders drop of her own record, and there is this need to bury her face in Pippa’s shoulder and stay there.

“But I want you to know, that that is not what I need from you. With the right person, I love sex but I would still love to be with you if you never wanted to have it”

“ You would?”

“ Of course” Pippa simply says, then smiles in an entirely new way at Hecate. “ I just want what you are willing to give, Hiccup, and I am already so very happy that you wish to offer me something else than friendship”

“ I – how could I not?” Hecate questions, and slowly reaches for Pippa’s hand. “ You’re- “ she swallows.

“There is not a witch that deserves you, but I will attempt to make you happy. If you’re willing”

Hecate curses at herself for not doing a better job, but Pippa actually has tears in her eyes when she smiles. “ Oh Hecate- you are all I need to be happy, darling”

“ That is hard to- “ Pippa places her fingers on Hecate’s lips.

“None of that darling. You have your flaws, of course you do, but you are wonderful” she says this in a breathless sort of way, looking at Hecate all the while in a manner that makes her actually believe it (even if it is just for a moment).

“ I love you” Hecate chokes out, and embraces Pippa. She is soft and warm and sweet-smelling in her arms.

Pippa squeezes her back, presses a kiss at that point between neck and shoulder. “ I love you too”

Hecate doesn’t know what has overcome her, but when she glances at the flowers and the moon and the colours of the setting sun around them, she steps back. Pippa frowns for a moment but then Hecate waves her hand and soft music starts.

She offers that hand to Pippa. “ Since you were jealous- “ she says the word hesitantly, something odd and almost impossible to her, but uses the newfound happiness of Pippa loving her to continue “ of Demeter, please dance with me”

Pippa practically glows, and takes Hecate’s hand. “I have to warn you, I am not a great dancer”

“I don’t particularly care”

They end up dancing until they get tired, and Pippa convinces her to lay down on the grass and stargaze together, Pippa’s head on her shoulder while she plays with Hecate’s hair. Khry joins them, laying curled up between them while glowing a very content pink.

It is the start of a very happy together.

[gay-harley-quinn]

How about an s/o that is grouchy but smol, but in cuddling they make a cute sound unexpectedly for Genji, Reinhardt and Lucío?

Im the smallest out of both of my datemates. I also tend to be the most ill tempered, so i am really feeling this ask tbh

also, just a reminder to anyone who is interested, i have a tip jar here! no pressure though!

Edit: this is my 4th attempt at finishing this request, so heres to hoping chrome wont crash on me again

Genji

He adores your small size, and he believes that your grouchiness is adorable

he teases you about your attitude and your height a lot, it comes from a loving place though I promise

He often will often drape himself over you and put a lot of weight on you to just hold you there

he also definitely has done that thing where he pretends gravity is increasing on him, bringing both of you to the ground if you cannot hold him up

when it comes to cuddling, he is an absolute cuddle bug!

he will do anything to be near you and to hold you

any noises that you make while cuddling fills him with such a warm and fuzzy feeling

he never brings attention to it for fear that it will cause you to stop out of embarrassment

his favorite way to cuddle you is definitely wrapping you up in the softest blanket that you guys have and sitting down on the couch to watch a movie

Reinhardt

He just ADORES your small size

he also loves that it gives him an excuse to just pick you up and parade you around the base

he also loves your grouchiness

there are often times that his happiness and personality are just so infectious that you cannot help but be up in a better mood

Rein is a very cuddly person as well

the cute little noises that you make while cuddling near kill him the first time he hears them

he also enjoys tickling you with his beard in order to hear your laugh

his favorite way to cuddle you is relaxing on the bed with the lights off. There are glow stars on the ceiling and the two of you just talk about whatever comes to mind

Lucio

He is small too

you two might even be around the same height

he finds your grouchiness cute, but he also wants you to be happy!

he has definitely created a bunch of songs for you that were made with the specific intent of cheering you up if you ever need it

when you two cuddle, he just loves hearing you

he knows the noises usually mean that you are happy and content so he just feels soooo happy that you made them for him!

he often will lightly tickle you in hopes that it will make you make them more

his favorite way to cuddle you is to create a pillow and blanket fort with you and just stay in there for hours

[jenlarsen]

getting better at the truth

So this one time I wrote a young adult novel and this one unhappy reviewer tore it to complete shreds. She was very, very unhappy. I think I can be forgiven for saying she frothed, because I feel a little bit like there was froth, because she was so mad, and maybe some metamaphorical spittle and definitely some wild-eyed rage that I never really quite totally understood.

She was mad because a character said that the size she was, a 20, meant she was fat. Ashley, my main character. Ashley was a size 20, nearing six feet, fairly athletic. And was called fat by the people who love her, the doctor who examined her and approved her for weight loss surgery.

And this reviewer was not having it. In her review she tossed up a picture, a lineup of all these beautiful bodies, women in their underwear, all of them in a continuum of heights and weights, and the reviewer pointed at the photo and yelled SEE THAT’S NOT FAT HOW DARE YOU. 

(see above. They're not fat. But I am not sure I understand the argument, really. Because are the tall ladies a size 20? Imagine a tall girl, size 20. She is powerful and large. And the ladies in the photo, they’re all beautiful, but my character? She’s just not depicted.)

But also–BUT ALSO. The reviewer, she says this, that my idea of "fat" is wrong and harmful and damaging as if I don’t know what fat is. As if I haven’t been told my whole life I was fat. When I was a size twelve I was "fat," and when I was a size 32 I was fat. I have always been fat.

And that’s because as it turns out, the world would have you believe anything above a size ten is fat. A size ten is kind of fat. A size eight is borderline. A size six is pleasingly plumpy.

So yeah. Are you fucking kidding me? If you’re a size twenty and nearing six feet tall? The world is going to come pounding at your door and shoving notes under it and crawling through your window and shouting down your chimney that you are hugely horribly fantastically miserably fat and you should be miserable about it.

A doctor will tell you that too. Because BMI is a lie. And if you are tall, and you’re a size twenty, and a lot of that is muscle? They’re going to open their eyes real wide at your grossly exaggerated imaginary BMI number because it’ll be off the FAKE IMAGINARY BULLSHIT CHARTS.

And that was the point. Ashley, my character, she had the world telling her she was fat. Doctors would get on board with telling her that she’s fat, no matter how low her blood pressure was and how good her blood sugar is.

How do I know? Because I weighed 316 pounds and my blood pressure was perfect and my blood sugar was divine and I was perfectly healthy and hearty and could have lived a thousand healthy hearty years and they still laid down a red carpet and flung sparkles into the air and sung me forward with choirs of angels down the path to weight loss surgery. A whole team of doctors and nurses and a psychiatrist. All of them were more than happy to greenlight gut surgery.

*

This book. It was far from perfect, and nowhere near the book I wanted it to be, but it was the book I could write at the time, and it was more pure unadulterated My Heart than I really ever expected it to be.

It was about this girl who was pressured by outside sources to lose weight; no, not just lose weight, change who she was completely by surgically altering her body so it wasn’t the body she was born with, because the body she was born with wasn’t good enough to go around in public with, to be worth something in, to love.

And I ended up writing about Jolene, who was gendered as a boy when she was born but knows she’s a girl. Her sense of self is rejected by her parents; her sense that her body is hers, and belongs to her, and isn’t wrong, it’s just not seen correctly by narrow minded people who think a gender and a genital are the same thing is violated over and over again.

And I ended up writing about Laura, who has one black parent and one white and both vaguely worry that if she’s not serious, not impeccably perfect with a solid career path, she won’t make it in the world, won’t be taken seriously, won’t get anywhere, even if they can’t come right out and say “racism.”

It was a book that got unexpectedly complicated and despite the fact that I wish I could tear it all down and rebuild it so it isn’t as naive and a little weird and not at all where I wanted it to go as it turned out to be.

But it’s real. It’s all real, as close to real as I understand real, as close as I could get to understanding other peoples’ experiences and skin and lives. As close as I could burrow inside my own fear and doubt and pain and all the ugliness I’ve dealt with from the time I was old enough to understand that fat was a bad thing and I should cry when the other kids explained that that’s who I was. Fat. Who? Fat.

*

You’re not supposed to respond to reviewers. I know that because this reviewer does more of that frothing thing when she yells about the sanctity of reviews and the purity of opinion and the sacred bond between the reader and reviewer, the hands-off respect that a writer must afford her reviewer, no matter what, however when. The reviewer is goddess, the writer is supplicant.

I’m on board. I have two books and a bunch of stories and I’ve never responded to a review before.

But this one has chafed me for such a long time.

And listen, this is going to be self-indulgent because it has made me kind of mad, for so long. This is going to be the culmination of all the times I’ve composed a long and frustrated essay all in my head about WHY WHY WHY it’s just–wrong.

Every author thinks the bad reviews are wrong and the good reviews are also wrong, but those are the nice people. I am one of those authors obviously. Most authors are aware that we’re being ridiculous about that, and I’m one of those authors who knows that to be true.

But this review.

This one–this one, it feels to me, comes from a reviewer who found something in the book that–oh god, there are so many ways to put it and all of them are as vaguely offensive as her reading of the book. I don’t want to say triggered, or set her off, or act like I am her psychologist–and more on that later. Something about my book specifically made her very angry in a very personal way. I don’t know what it was, but I know it hurt my book, and my sales, and thus she has done her job as she had hoped to.

She’s wrong. She is wrong. I think she is wrong. She didn’t read the book, or she skimmed it, or I don’t know what. It’s not the body size thing–though I can tell you from my own personal time being fat in the trenches and full of self loathing and pelted from all sides, that I think she’s wrong about that.

It’s that she gets every detail wrong. She gets character details wrong and plot details wrong and just everything she writes is as if someone used Siri to send a garbled text to her about the book, or she skimmed it, or she rage-blanked and wrote in a fugue state where reality was abusively spanked and then suspended, I don’t know.

I have feelings about this. I have specific details to point out about this, if I let myself consider it for too long. I have a tiredness about this. I have a lingering frustration.

I was so baffled when I read it for the first time. I really, really was.

*

You’re not supposed to respond to reviews, but ESPECIALLY YOU ARE NOT supposed to personally respond to reviews. You ALSO oughtn’t write the reviewer and say hey, so, I’m sorry you didn’t like the book. I saw that you’ll be at the con I registered for awhile back–can I buy you a cup of coffee?

I thought I was being super chill and cool. I’m an adult, the review–I don’t agree with it, but I’d be interested to hear why, how, where that conclusion came from, because I sort of see what you’re saying, but I’m not sure I understand why you are so angry and I would like to know.

I really wanted to know. I thought it was safe to chat at a con. She declined my invite politely. I already had a ticket, and when I recognized her at one of the parties–I chickened out. I wanted to say hi, but I was afraid to and feeling really vulnerable. Possibly I made Big Eyes at her when I thought about saying hi but mostly I stood in the corner with a friend and we talked about booksandthings.

Second time I saw reviewer, at the Margaret Atwood party, the friend I was with said TALK TO HER NOW (the reviewer) and I went and I said hi, I wrote that book you hate? And I tried to explain that I understood that she had a feel about it, but I didn’t understand the feel, and I wanted to understand the feel, and I used to be fat, and–

And I had a wine, and was so nervous but was trying to be sincere, and I was an awkward mess and I soon fled in the face of her un, dis, interest in the discussion.

I meant to @ her on Twitter or drop her a note or something and apologize for the awkwardness, but she read it as Crazy Stalkwardness and I had never been more ashamed in my life. 

I made her mad AND I scared her. That’s a good feeling, except the opposite of that. (It fucking sucked and I felt like a monster.)

*

This shit is hard. You write things that are important to you and sound like they might mean things to other people, and then you set them free in the world and you learn that you are a garbage fire made of living trash and you melt into an ecological disaster.

And that could be true. It’s not up to you to say someone’s wrong. I can say as emphatically as I like SHE IS WRONG AND THAT IS WRONG and flail flail flail. But is she really? Because that’s her experience of your book.

Or you push back a little and say no, okay, I respect your experience but also, I don’t think I’m a garbage fire, not really. It’s your opinion that is this one here about sucking; it’s my opinion that is this one here about trying my best to say the truth.

It’s best to push back INTERNALLY, though. That’s my advice to you, young authors.

*

Seriously, though. Young authors, look at the reviews you’ve gotten from people who are picking up what you have put down, from the kids who aren’t out, from the kids who struggle with their body no matter what size it is, from the kids who feel like yeah, you captured a part of their family life or their inner voice and it they feel understood. You get a thank you card in the mail and you remember that you’re doing okay. You don’t get any of that, and you just try to do better every single time.

You do your best to only do good in the world. You appreciate it when you feel like you have. You hope to do better when you realize someone is hurt or dismayed or angered by what you’ve done.

You always hope to do better, every time. Whether or not they’re right. Whether or not you’re wrong. 

*

She’s wrong, but she doesn’t know shit about my life and my intentions and hopes and whatever the fuck. I’m wrong, and I don’t know fuck about what moves her and shaped her and how she’s lived and who she is.

It’s subjective. It’s exhausting.

It’s what happens when you publish.

*

I have gone through hating my book and hating myself to accepting that this was the book I had to give, and the person I was when I wrote it, and I did the best I could for the people I was writing for–the girls who just wanted to know that they weren’t alone for thinking it was bullshit that they were being called fat, but also filled with fear that those people were right. Because it’s so hard to be strong when everything else in the world is telling you that you’re probably wrong.

I didn’t think I would want to keep writing, but I want to keep writing. I think that I have struck a balance somehow between how I think a reader would react (which is tinged just the tiniest smidge by fear, to be honest) and how I tell the truth.

To be clear: I’ll always tell the truth. I’m just going to get even better at it.

[myhahnestopinion]

The Night A THERAPY-NEEDING THERAPIST Came Home: PHOBIA (1980)

You should get therapy. Yes, you, dear blog reader. Now, don’t be offended! There’s no shame in getting therapy. Pretty much everyone should! There are some who require it to manage chronic mental illnesses and personalities disorders, but therapy is also productive and meaningful in all sorts of other circumstances. People looking to improve their social relationships. People looking to stay motivated on specific goals. Even therapists use therapy! Or, at least, they should.

But perhaps the group that needs therapy the most are those of us who have sat through the mind-numbing terribleness of 1980’s Phobia. 

Phobia revolves around Dr. Peter Ross, a psychiatrist trying to help a group of prisoners overcome their irrational fears. Dr. Ross has a theory, called “implosion therapy,” in which patients are immersed in experiences of their fear, until they learn to overcome them.

Why, that’s just “immersion therapy”, you say? That’s not an original thesis, Dr. Ross! Well, may I remind you, blog readers, it is often said the definition of “science” is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results!

Or something like that.

Anyway, Dr. Ross’ method of immersion involves locking his subjects in a room as giant telemonitors play videos of the patient’s fear.

Watching movies is an effective form of therapy?? Wow, I have been doing this right all along!

Barbara Grey, an agoraphobe, is shown videos of a packed subway station. Bubba King, an ophidiophobe, is shown a video of a snake eating a rabbit. Henry Owens, an acrophobe, is shown a video where a child falls to their death off a balcony. When they hit the ground, their head explodes into ceramic pieces, which, uh, seems less like it will solve Henry’s fear of heights than introduce a whole new set of problems for him to work through.

If you’re questioning Dr. Ross’s method, you’re not the only one, as he is called before a hospital ethics committee to answer a few questions about his practice. After explaining that his method is based on a personal experience from his childhood where his father threw him in a lake despite his fear of water, the chairman of the committee quickly announces that Dr. Ross has met their concerns. Which would be a sensible conclusion, if by “meet our concerns,” the chairman means, “brought us face to face with new concerns we would never have even thought of before this meeting.”

Namely things like, “personal anecdotes are not a solid basis for dangerous psychiatric therapy,” or maybe concerns like “Um, where did you acquire this video of a ceramic child’s head exploding?”, or maybe even, “So, you’re telling us you blew our hospital’s budget for the entire year on a room of multiple oversized telemonitors just to test a theory that’s already been proven?”

Dismissed by the committee, Dr. Ross leaves his office, and is confronted outside by Dr. Alice Toland. Dr. Toland leans in towards Dr. Ross, and whispers about how she can’t stop thinking about the time they hooked up. “I did all the things I told my patients not to do if they find themselves in a similar situation, but, well, it’s another case of a psychiatrist not able to take her own meds,” she remarks.

It’s not a bad line, but, personally, I would have gone with, “Dr. Ross, I could really use some of your ‘implosion therapy’… inside of me.”

But, well, maybe that’s why I’m not a psychiatrist.

Dr. Ross continues his experiments by taking Barbara, the agoraphobe, into the city, and asking her to take the subway into the market. “You mean nothing to me, you mean nothing to me,” Barbara routinely thinks as she makes her way through the compact crowds underground, which, again, feels less like the cure for Barbara’s phobia, and more like the start of an antisocial personality disorder.

Regardless of whether Barbara is able to manage her fear, Dr. Ross asks that she meet him at his house just a few blocks away after she is done. When Dr. Ross enters his home, though, he realizes he’s not even supposed to be there today! He has a hockey game! Dr. Ross rushes out with his pads and puck, and is not home when Barbara arrives in a panic. As Barbara continues to panic, she spots a drawer in Dr. Ross’s home office with her name on it. She opens it to find a bomb, and the movie cuts to black.

“You should have seen your apartment. There was blood everywhere,” someone describes to Dr. Ross. Yes, well, I wish I could have seen that too, but you can’t blow your budget on blowing things up if you also want that sweet on-location hockey rink action.

I’m not the only one who find’s Dr. Ross’ hockey obsession suspect. “Unusual for someone from California to play hockey, isn’t it?” Inspector Larry Barnes inquires upon calling Dr. Ross into his office for questioning.

Now, Phobia is a Canadian production shot in Ontario, but never specifies its setting. Therefore, it’s unclear whether Inspector Barnes takes issue with Dr. Ross bringing his absurd Canadian culture into America or with Dr. Ross patronizing attempts to assimilate from America into Canadian culture. But, don’t worry, either way, we can still pass the blame to those dang foreigners!

Much to Dr. Toland’s dismay, a young woman named Jenny St. Clair bursts into Inspector Barnes’ office and embraces Dr. Ross, her boyfriend. Barnes inquires if St. Clair knows any of Ross’ patients, but she says she’s only ever seen pictures of them. “Too bad,” Barnes replies, “I thought I could make use of your women’s intuition.”

Man, we were really counting on your women powers there, Jenny! Now Barnes has to do actual police work, and the rest of us have to sit through another hour of this garbage! Geez, no wonder women are treated like second class citizens here in America! …or Canada! Wherever we are! Doesn’t really matter in this case either.

Dr. Ross goes to meet with Henry Owens, Bubba King, and his other patients, who are all still reeling from the death of their friend in the program. Well, “reeling” in this case means praising Dr. Ross for how wonderful he is and raving about how he’s such a ladies man. You know, if most people knew that therapy was just sitting in a circle with a bunch of people that enthusiastically tell you how much you can get it, I think we could actually solve the mental health crisis in America!

…or Canada! Whichever!

“Let’s skip therapy today,” Dr. Ross tells Bubba. “For Barbara.” It’s a nice sentiment, but Ross doesn’t really have any other choice, as the police demand to question Henry Owens due to his particular criminal backstory. Once in the interrogation room, Barnes and the other police officer sit Henry down in a chair, then demand he stand up. After he stands, the officer removes the chair without Henry’s knowledge, and Barnes orders the terrified Henry to sit down again, who complies, and unexpectedly falls onto his butt, as the police officers laugh. “Flying through space, doesn’t seem to bother him at all,” Barnes jokes in reference to Henry’s acrophobia.

If you’re thinking that such antics are beneath the office these two possess, well, I have some bad news for you.

Don’t catch you slippin’ up! This is America!

…Or Canada. Again, it’s not clear.

But, dammit, they get results. “Results,” in this case, being breaking Owen to the point where he assaults the officers, escapes the hospital, holds a woman at gunpoint to steal a car, and the proceeds to lead the police on a car chase around LA/Toronto, culminating in this man running up into an under-construction building and out onto an unsteady I-beam. Sure, might not have been the best move for someone who’s scared of heights, but, well, the man wasn’t afraid of driving in LA/Toronto, and, dammit, that should count for something!

Dr. Ross and Jenny get summoned to the scene to help. Ross runs up into the building and meets Henry on the I-beam to talk him down. Jenny watches anxiously with Inspector Barnes. “Can’t you set up a net to catch him?” she asks.

“Net wouldn’t work. He’s too high up,” Inspector Barnes replies.  And just like that, they’ve exhausted all possible options for breaking a man’s fall. Barnes doesn’t even have the decency to set up the net, and then yank it away at the last possible second, which would be hilarious, amirite? Hello? Am I right? Is this Canada or not?

Dr. Ross talks to Henry on the I-beam, but we are kept at a distance and can’t hear what he says. Henry appears to be willing to come down, but suddenly falls off to his death. “With a few more treatments, I would have had him cured,” Ross remarks afterwards to Jenny.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have treatment today,” Dr. Ross declares to his remaining three patients. Now, come on, Dr. Ross! You can’t just decide not to continue treatment just because another patient died! That’s like postponing your gun-themed television drama whenever there’s a mass shooting. It’s gonna keep happening, so at some point, you just gotta go ahead and air it anyway!

The patients seem to be on my side of this, as they all decide to forge ahead with their treatment. Next up in the telemonitor booth is Laura Adams. Dr. Ross starts his movies on the big screens and, this time, they’re of… three men violently grabbing at a screaming woman…?

Now, I’m no psychiatrist, but, well, I don’t think not wanting to be unconsensually grabbed by violent men can be considered an irrational phobia. Dr. Ross forges ahead with his theory though, even to the point of violently grabbing Laura and pulling her back into the room against her will in order to cure her fear of being violently grab and pulled against her will. 

Following her “therapy,” Laura takes a bath, presumably as a coping mechanism and not an excuse for gratuitous nudity. Once in the bathtub, Laura is drowned by a mysterious figure.

After one of his two remaining patients, Johnny Venturi, is crushed in an elevator shaft, Dr. Ross is summoned once again by Barnes. Barnes points out that Dr. Ross has an understanding of explosives from his time in Vietnam and has had access to all the patients before his death. “All that’s lacking is a motive,” Barnes muses.

It is at this point in a murder mystery plot that a film swerves and delivers something unexpected, yet still built up on all that’s come before. And Phobia does indeed do the unexpected by… revealing Ross’ motive.

Dr. Alice Toland decides to sneak into Ross’ office to investigate his files, because that’s never gone wrong for anyone before. In the office, Toland is confronted by Jenny, and reveals that the reason Ross was really afraid of water was because his sister drowned many years ago. As Toland relays this information, she pauses, realizing out loud that Ross blames himself for his sister’s death, and now believes that people who are unable to overcome their phobias deserve to be punished with death.

Jenny rushes to Ross’ office to find Bubba dead from a rattlesnake bite, and Ross wielding a gun. “I had a baby sister. I can never remember her name,” Ross exposits in sympathetic fashion. “She died when I was… seven,” he continues, in less sympathetic fashion.

Ross holds the gun to his head, and before Jenny can stop him, pulls the trigger. Ross’ body hunches over his control panel, and he dies as he lived: showing weird-ass videos of a child falling of a building and exploding into ceramic pieces on the giant video monitors behind him.

Sometimes in therapy, one is able to talk through past events and discover answers that had been staring one in the face all along. This is then perhaps the most accurate aspect of therapy on display in Phobia. The film starts with the premise that a doctor’s patients are being murdered one by one and suspicion falls on our intrepid hero, Dr. Ross. In the end, the doctor’s patients are murdered one by one and the culprit was.. our intrepid hero, Dr. Ross. In therapy, one usually has multiple options for treatment. In Phobia, the film never bothers to come up with an alternative suspect to Dr. Ross, making for quite the interminable murder mystery. And while the answers discovered in therapy often take a long time to work through, Phobia rushes to a disappointing conclusion unlikely to provide any catharsis, no matter how many oversized telemonitors you project the film on.

Phobia is available on Digital SD.

COMING SOON: Another installment in The Night X Came Home Vol. 3!

[mysurveys]

Random Qs

Survey #6 on the Countdown to 2018!

How do you dress when you’re not at work?

The only "work" I do is from home and I'm not in school, so I wear what I want.

What's your favorite thing about yourself?

I'm a strong personality and an individualist who's strong in their faith, but being so faithful to God is the best thing if I’ve chosen to be. It's the most important thing about me.

What can you tell me about the shirt you’re wearing? 

It's a pink PJ top with glittering black font reading "cattitude" on the front. It also has a glittering black cat above the text with white whiskers and a little pink heart-shaped nose. She wears pink frames with leopard print in the lenses.

What was the first thing you thought this morning?

I was asleep all morning long.

Who did you last say "I love you" to?

I don't remember, but it was probably either to my Mom or one of my other besties.

Are you wearing shorts?

I'm wearing Capri-cut PJ pants. They're white with black leopard spots and some of them have pink splotches inside.

Have you ever had a male best friend?

I typically have boy besties save for my mother, but I've currently got four male and two female besties.

Is it cute when someone calls you “baby”?

Eh. I'd rather that they only use petnames like that if I say it's okay beforehand and it's not that big of a deal to me beyond that.

Do your parents actually knock on your door before entering your room? 

Usually, but Mom might not if she's trying to wake me up.

Do you think sweatbands look hot on guys?

I don't care.

Have you ever thought a man over 40 was attractive?

Probably, but I can't guess people's ages and I usually disregard that kind of thing altogether. It doesn’t really matter. He’s still attractive either way.

Would you prefer to date someone taller, shorter or the same height as you?

I'd only go for a taller guy mostly because some of them feel emasculated by taller women, but the majority of them are taller than I am since I'm only 5'5". It's not much of a problem for me.

Can you honestly say you’re okay right now?

If I weren't okay then I would honestly say so, but I'm doing fine right now.

Is there a song that makes you think of a certain someone every time you hear it?

Not every single time, but some remind me of others now and then.

What can’t you wait for?

I can wait.

Are you ticklish?

Yes, in certain places.

Do you have a bad temper?

No. My actual anger is very rare.

What brand of digital camera do you own?

I only have some really old cam that takes pics and vids, but I haven't used it in ages.

Have you ever seen a Broadway show in New York?

I haven't, but that sounds fun.

Do you get drunk every weekend?

I don't get drunk at all since doing so is stupid.

What did you do today?

I slept a really long time unexpectedly after my bout of insomnia. I haven't done much but hang out with my cat Lucius in the front yard and then going online. I've mostly been doing surveys.

Are you listening to music right now?

No, I'm not. I'm just enjoying the quietness.

Do you like maxi dresses?

On others, I tend to like them.

Do you worry about guys thinking you’re hot?

Why would that be a worrisome thing exactly?

Are you healthy?

Hah! I have a lot of health problems and I ish t3h fat too.

Do you like the idea of promise rings in relationships?

Not really. I don't need a symbol of such.

Did you wear sunglasses today?

No. It was overcast outside.

If you straighten your hair, how long does it take?

I don't straighten it.

Can anyone in your immediate family play the guitar?

Not in my immediate family.

Why were you last frustrated?

I have to explain such simple things to my father to the point of annoyance.

Would you date someone eight years older than you?

I tend to date guys who're around four to six years older, but I would be open to going up to eight.

Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

I have several.

Do you have a friend of the same sex you can talk to?

I have only a couple I'd really open up to when it comes to conversing about my problems.

What's your secret weapon to lure the opposite sex?

A lack of secrecy itself. Men tend to be straightforward. I like that and it's how I roll.

What do you want to get accomplished today or tonight?

I'm not looking to accomplish much tonight. We'll just see what happens.

You’re single, right?

Yes. I'm interested in someone, but things are a bit complicated on that front.

Do you like the snow?

I love snow and cold weather in general.

When was the last time you were told you were cute?

Recently.

Would you ever smile at a stranger?

I do sometimes.

Do you need to go shopping for anything?

Nothing that I can afford to buy right now. I need a new recliner, but I needed my new glasses more.

They're going to arrive in about a week and a half. Those were over $150. I'm getting new frames and prescription lenses that are scratch resistant and glare free. My eyes both got a bit worse.

How much have you changed in the last year or so?

Quite a bit has changed in my life and personality. It might be better to say that some new things have occurred and I've changed in persona since the start of last year.

I'm less aggravated when Bipolar takes over, I've started changing my diet while seeing a nutritionist, I've got a new outdoor cat who'll be able to come into my room once it's clean. Lots of change.

Do you have a favorite name and if so, what is it?

I have a few. My fave boy's names are Jack, Conrad, James, Symon, Sasuke and Makoto now. My fave girl's names are Katt, Katrina, Sakura, Momoka and Katarzyna now. It's all subject to change.

Do you wrap up warm in the cold weather?

If I feel the need to.

If you could live anywhere, where would you choose and why?

If we ever move away from southeast Texas then we might go to Payson, Arizona for many reasons. The weather is great and the place is beautiful. Or maybe we'd find somewhere in the vicinity.

Do you have any habits you’d like to break and if so, which?

I don't form habits as an HSP.

Have you ever wished to be an internet celebrity, or ow about a "real" one?

I haven't wished for either. I don't need the spotlight.

Have you kept any birthday cards from when you were younger?

I haven't. I never hold onto cards for any occasion.

Have you ever been kayaking?

No, but I'd be open to trying it.

Do you care too much about other people?

I don't feel that I do. It's the opposite regarding some people.

If you could have any animal as a pet, which would you choose?

If not another cat then we would want another dog when our current one passes away. We're thinking of getting a poodle for the sake of having a pet that doesn't shed a bunch of fur. Maybe it'll be a toy or mini poo.

What's your favorite piece of furniture that you own?

My quirky, eclectic white owl lamp base paired with a city skyline shade.

Do you still live with your parents?

I have to despite being 30 years old. I have DTD, dyscalculia and long-term memory problems; I absolutely need a caregiver.

Have you ever been told your aspirations are unrealistic?

No, but I know I don't have such a problem.

When were you last jealous and are you a jealous person?

I'm not a jealous type of person at all.

Do you ever think about embarrassing moments and cringe?

Not really. I don't feel that way very often and I can laugh at myself.

Do you believe you'll never get over someone?

I'm not such a defeatist nor am I codependent. Contentment in life comes from within and not from without.

Do you watch scary movies on your own?

Sure. I'm not that easily frightened and I love gotcha' moments. Scary, spooky, creepy types of stuff are cool.

What's your favorite family tradition?

We don't have many beyond the usual holiday celebrations. I don't have a favorite.