#i can see why people get drawn in by sunday's plan like genuinely

[sadkachow]

And Then It Is Monday - Why Sunday's plan did not (and could not) work

So normally I don't really make longer analysis posts, but I kept seeing people on social media outright supporting Sunday's actions in 2.2, and I wrote something out about why I personally think that Sunday's plan is wrong. I don't know if this is an issue with tumblr as well, given that the people I saw supporting him were on different forms of social media, but regardless.

Before I begin, I'd like to pose a reminder that the opinions in this are mine and mine alone. If you agree, awesome! If not, I'd love to hear your thoughts on it, so long as you're respectful! I have no idea if this is well written or will make any logical sense, but here we go!

(Spoilers for the 2.2 Trailblazer quest under the cut, if that wasn't already obvious)

So the first thing to get off the table: I feel Sunday is a very sympathetic villain, but a villain nonetheless. I understand the people that sympathize with him. I do too, to an extent. He was raised on unhealthy ideals and the belief that he was a "religious figure," one that people looked up to. Other people were allowed to just be, but Sunday always had to be better. He loved his sister, and the people around him, and he wanted to make a better world for them.

But that does not excuse what he did. Making a 'better world' can never come at the cost of taking away people's free will, because that world will never be "better". That's where Sunday's plan falls apart.

Because, yes, there are shitty people in the world, and yes bad things happen. Would it be amazing if we could stop all the bad things from happening ever again, and make the world a much better place? Yes! It would! I would love to live in a world where I don't have to fear for my life and my freedom for an assortment of reasons! But that world doesn't exist--in real life or on Penacony--, and getting it to exist shouldn't be the result of subjugating and controlling other people, because that in and of itself is violence. Albeit a different kind of violence, but violence nonetheless.

Not to mention that things like Sunday's plan and the concept of forcing everyone to act a certain way just to fit this "better world" to me almost serves as a condemnation of human nature and of the very act of choice itself. Your better world starts by saying that some choices are bad, so those choices get taken away, but where does it end? What if someone in charge views a harmless choice as a bad one, and takes away that one in return? Does it stop there, or does it continue, until no one at all is allowed to make any decisions, except those in charge? Who, really, does that benefit?

Consequences for certain choices exist. Generally, society says murder is bad (except for specific circumstances such as self-defense, which technically at that point is no longer even considered murder (at least where I live, it may be different in other areas, but I'm basing this off of my own experience)), so there is a concrete consequence to people murdering people--assuming that they don't get away with it. It doesn't stop people from murdering people, because the liberty of choice is still there, but it shows that just because you can do something doesn't mean you should or that you will escape without consequence.

People are going to do bad things. That is, unfortunately, how humans are. But our responsibility lies in holding ourselves accountable and in promoting growth and healing. That is how you build a better world. Not trapping everyone inside a dream world without any care for their feelings or beliefs, but in getting people the help they need, in fostering a society of positive change and human connection.

And that is why, as "golden" as Sunday's dream may have seemed, it was never going to work. In the end, as the story quest shows, human will and the desire for freedom wins out in the end. When there's a will, there's a way.

[fanfictionstuff]

Gingerbread Houses

Amaimon x Reader

I promise I'm working on the Rin and Mephisto fics.

SFW but NSFW is implied a couple times.

This is going to be 1/? I wanted to write something cute with Amaimon and Reader for Christmas. So, I have a couple ideas, and if you want to suggest something, feel free.

I don't know if you've seen Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964), but it is mentioned. If you haven't seen it, a quick Google search of the name and add the year you can see the animation style.

I can't wait for Sunday! He was so cute last week; I just wanted to hug him. This is the wallpaper for my computer and phone lmao

Sitting in class, you can hardly contain your excitement as you eagerly await your boyfriend's arrival. Just last night, the realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: Christmas is just a week away! After a quick moment of panic about finding the perfect gift for Amaimon, you remembered one crucial thing—he’s never truly experienced a modern Christmas here in Assiah.

The door swings open, and in strides the demon king himself. Your excitement bubbles over as you leap to your feet, rushing towards him with outstretched arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, your heart racing with joy. "Do you know what next week is?” you exclaim, a wide grin spreading across your face, unable to contain your thrill any longer.

“Winter break?”

“No, well, yes, next week is Christmas!”

Amaimon nods as he places his hands on your hips. Christmas decorations have been popping up all over town for the past few weeks, making them hard to overlook. Mephisto also mentioned that Amaimon needed to find a gift for you earlier this morning.

“So, do you have plans?” You question him.

“My plans always revolve around you," he replies flatly. Ever since Mephisto granted Amaimon a taste of freedom, you’ve somehow woven a spell that ensnares the demon king. But oddly enough, he doesn't seem bothered by it at all.

You nod enthusiastically, a smile spreading across your face. “I was thinking we could make gingerbread men and houses tonight?” As the words spill out, you reach into your pocket with your right hand, your left arm comfortably wrapping around Amaimon. “Look,” you eagerly turn your phone toward Amaimon, showcasing a vibrant Google image search filled with enchanting gingerbread houses is displayed. “I found a recipe that’s perfect for making gingerbread houses!"

Amaimon stares silently at the screen, absorbing the assortment of miniature, edible homes before him. A slight crease forms on his forehead, revealing that he's lost in thought, perhaps even a bit perplexed. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand, pulls out a piece of candy, and pops it into his mouth. His sharp gaze shifts from the phone back to you before he ultimately decides to speak. 

"Why? It seems pointless," he asks, tilting his head curiously to the side. His tone is not mocking or dismissive; instead, it conveys genuine curiosity. 

You respond with an amused glance before quickly explaining, "It's a tradition for some people during Christmas to create and decorate gingerbread houses. They're fun to build, and you get to eat them afterward." You gesture toward the images on your phone again, smiling at the thought of making one with Amaimon. 

He hums in response, seeming content with your explanation yet still looking a bit baffled. "I saw that in a shop; we could just buy one," he drawls lazily, searching for loopholes in this tradition you've drawn him into. 

"Yes, but making it ourselves is part of the fun," you counter, firmly tightening your hold on him. Now that the idea of making gingerbread houses together is on the table, you can't imagine spending the weekend any other way. Seeing your unwavering resolve, he simply shrugs and presses his lips to yours. “Okay.”

As soon as school lets out, you nearly drag Amaimon off the school grounds, your excitement bubbling over, making it difficult to contain yourself. Realizing that you don’t have most of the ingredients you need, you lead Amaimon to a grocery store not far from your apartment. His curiosity, combined with a hint of skepticism, causes you to chuckle every now and then.

Although Amaimon may not fully understand your excitement, he can’t help but enjoy observing your enthusiasm. He often wonders how humans find joy in such ordinary activities.

As you begin shopping for the ingredients, Amaimon wanders around the store, casually holding the basket. He occasionally adds snacks that catch his eye, mostly sweets and junk food. It seems he is more interested in the edible aspect of the project than in the building process itself. 

After gathering all the necessary ingredients—flour, baking powder, ginger, cinnamon, molasses, brown sugar, butter, and eggs—you lead Amaimon to the checkout counter. As you wait in line, he curiously examines the vibrant Christmas decorations near the register and, without much thought, adds a box of candy canes to the basket. 

"Are we going to use these also?" He asks, sounding perhaps just a smidgen interested. 

"Well," you say, glancing at the candy canes before redirecting your gaze back to Amaimon with a slight smile. "They’re often used to decorate gingerbread houses. We could insert them like little poles or something similar." 

Amaimon raises an eyebrow, contemplating this new information briefly before dismissing it with a casual shrug. He doesn't understand why people invest so much effort into such a fleeting celebration, but if it makes you happy, he supposes he could tolerate this strange human tradition. 

As you finish paying for the groceries and step outside, Amaimon casually slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His fingers idly play with your hair as he considers what you’ve persuaded him to join in on. He pops a lollipop into his mouth, then grabs the bag of groceries. You raise an eyebrow at him, but seeing him enjoy the candy makes you smile. “Amaimon?” 

“Yes?” 

“I love you.” 

Amaimon hums softly in response, his lips curling into a subtle smirk as his burgundy nails playfully tug at your hair. 

"Me too," he mumbles, the words muffled by the stick of candy he's lazily rolling in his mouth. There's an unmistakable ease in his voice as he speaks. No blushing, no stuttering, no overly dramatic declarations—just a simple, nonchalant confession that feels entirely natural coming from him, as though he were merely sharing an everyday fact rather than unveiling an emotion that poets have written sonnets about.

As soon as you stepped into the apartment, Amaimon set the bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter with a satisfied thud. You stepped into the kitchen, excitement bubbling up as you skillfully gathered the bowls needed for the task ahead. “This recipe says the dough needs to chill,” you explain with a grin. “Since tomorrow is Saturday, we can make the dough tonight, and then tomorrow, we can bake and assemble the houses. You’re spending the night, right?”

With these words, you cast a sideways glance at Amaimon, eyebrow raised in anticipation of his response. Amaimon made a show of considering your question before answering. “Yeah, but I wasn’t planning on us getting much sleep.” He gives you a knowing look. 

With a playful smack on his arm, you chuckle at his less than innocent implications. "You should learn to control yourself, demon king," you tease. 

"It’s difficult when my queen is present," Amaimon replies with evident amusement, popping another candy into his mouth. He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he attentively reviews the recipe on your phone. As he glances through its contents, a contemplative expression crosses his face, as if he’s genuinely contemplating the instructions. 

You gently pull away from his hold to gather the ingredients. You direct Amaimon throughout the process though he rather quickly gets the gist of it. 

“Here, you mix the dry ingredients while I prepare the wet ones.” You slide the dry ingredients to the end of the bar, gently guiding your touchy demon king towards the ingredients. 

With his eyes still fixed on the recipe, Amaimon casually reaches for the bowl of dry ingredients and starts to stir. In line with your earlier instruction, he maintains a careful watch over his work, breaking from his usual carefree approach to most activities. Watching this unfold causes your heart to swell—you're certain this is a moment you'll cherish for years to come. 

You carefully measure out your wet ingredients, ensuring you have just enough for a large batch of cookies. However, as you go to set the jar of molasses down on the counter, your grip falters, and it slips from your hands, shattering on impact. Molasses and shards of glass scatter across the kitchen floor. You glance at your hands, then at the broken glass, and finally at Amaimon. You want to avoid cutting yourself on the sharp fragments, but the sticky mess makes it difficult to see clearly. 

Without missing a beat or uttering a word, Amaimon kneels down on one knee, carefully picking up the shards of glass. He’s fast, unfazed by the potential danger of the shards cutting into his skin. 

“Did it break into a lot of tiny pieces?” It’s nearly impossible for you to tell from your position. 

Amaimon shakes his head as he stands with a handful of broken glass, “No, it’s fine now.”

You nod and quickly dampen a cloth before bending down to try to clean up the molasses. It’s not easy; it’s thick and sticky. Clean-up takes a lot longer than you would’ve liked. “Well, this will make for a fun story to share with our future kids about our first Christmas together, spending half an hour cleaning up molasses," you joke.

“Tell our future kids how clumsy you are?” Amaimon questions, a memory of you dropping another item a few days ago crosses his mind. You claim you’re not clumsy but just a month with you has hinted otherwise. 

“It has only happened twice before; the second time was because you were making me laugh.” You had been holding something fragile when Amaimon discovered that you were ticklish and found your reaction interesting. 

Amaimon raises an eyebrow and pointedly glances at your knees, aware of the bruise on your left knee, but you didn’t see the ice when you were walking up the steps. “Whatever, just mix everything now. Let’s get it done and wrapped up. We can roll it out tomorrow morning.” With the demon king and his annoying sleep schedule, sleeping in on weekends is no longer an option for you. He wakes you up in the mornings when he starts to get bored. You’ve established a rule that he has to wait until sunrise. 

Once the cookie dough is put away, you try to think about what to do next. “Next year, I’ll have to get a Christmas tree.” You sigh, feeling a bit disappointed in yourself for not considering getting one this year. “Let’s watch Christmas movies.” 

Amaimon winces at the high-pitched sound coming from the TV. You’re watching the 1964 classic, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and, for some reason, when Rudolph's nose lights up, a jarring noise disrupts the scene. He turns to you with an unimpressed expression, clearly not a fan. The movie not only seems strange to him, but the animation is awful. “You like this?” 

Do you like it? Who knows—it’s a classic, and not watching it just seems strange. However, considering how Amaimon is looking at you, you feel he won’t agree with the other older movies. “It’s nostalgic..." 

The demon king shows no interest, but fortunately for him, he knows how to draw your focus to him and him alone. That’s how you find yourself pressed against the sofa, his warm lips on yours.

As always, his kisses are full of a boldness that sends warmth curling down to your toes. And, as always, you reciprocate with just as much fervor.

Amaimon pulls away first, just enough for you to catch your breath. His golden eyes shine intensely in the dim light of the room, still holding that same playful spark. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear—words woven with tender adoration and veiled promises. The sensation of his voice dancing across your skin sends shivers down your spine, leaving you yearning for more.

"Let's call it a night," Amaimon purrs, yet there’s an invitation in those simple words that implies sleep isn’t his intention at all.

“______, wake up.” You groan as Amaimon softly nibbles on your ear, coaxing you to rise. His arms encircle your waist, and his tail lightly caresses your thigh. “What time is it?” 

“Does it really matter?” he whispers, planting gentle kisses over the bite marks he left the night before. “We’re supposed to bake the cookies today.” 

“Amaimon, what time is it.”

“Just after six.”

You groan in annoyance at being awoken so early. "Couldn’t you wait at least another hour before waking me up?” Feeling Amaimon shake his head in disagreement, he replies, "I’ve been watching you sleep for hours now." You can’t help but comment, "You know that’s a bit creepy, right?”

He shrugs. “I took some pictures, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I had to remove the blankets, but that’s okay, right?”

You jump up at that, holding the blanket to your chest, and glare down at him. “I’m naked.”

“I know.”

“Amaimon, did you really take photos.”

“No, but you’re awake now.”

Amaimon reaches out to tug the blanket away from you. You let out a startled yelp, yanking it back protectively. “You can be such an asshole sometimes.” However, your indignant tone only seems to amuse him further.

Your scowl deepens as you glare at the demon king lounging lazily across the bed, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. The urge to punch him is overwhelming, but you know better than to provoke Amaimon. Engaging him would be a battle you’re destined to lose before it even begins.

With a defeated sigh, you slump back on the bed, pulling the blankets snugly up to your chin. "Fine," you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You grumble under your breath as you roll out of bed and reach for a nearby robe. It's far too early for this level of mischief from Amaimon, but fortunately for him, you’re also easily tempted by sweet treats. “You’re lucky I love you.” From the corner of your eye, you can see Amaimon nodding in agreement,

“Let’s get started then; grab the baking sheets, and I’ll get the cookie cutters and dough.” Once everything is set up, you stare at the dough; you know how to make gingerbread men and women. That’s what the cookie cutters are for. But what about the houses? Do you simply cook a sheet pan of cookie dough and then cut it out? Or should you cut out the houses first and then bake them? After contemplating for a moment, you decide to do both. 

The process is quick and seamless, and you can't help but feel impressed by how swiftly everything gets done. However, as you place the cookies on the rack to cool, something catches your attention. “What are you doing?!" You notice that Amaimon, who was supposed to be placing the cookies meant for the house on the rack, has instead managed to make half of them disappear. "Eating cookies," he replies casually.

“How are we supposed to make gingerbread houses when you are eating the cookies that build the houses?”

“Oh.” 

You narrow your eyes and walk toward the cabinets holding the ingredients to make more cookie dough. “While these cool, you can prepare another batch of dough.” As soon as all the necessary ingredients are laid out in front of him, you hand him the phone with the recipe.

As he concentrates on his task, you seize his phone from the counter and unlock it, checking to ensure that the idiot didn’t take a photo of you. Your eyebrows lift in surprise as you discover his gallery filled with pictures of you luckily, you’re fully clothed in all of them. “Did you seriously have to use this photo of me as your wallpaper?” 

“I like it.” 

It’s a photo of you, eyes wide and looking embarrassed. He had whispered something to you just before taking the picture. 

“It’s the face you make before we-“ 

“Focus on the cookie dough!” You snap, cutting him off. “Wait, are you seriously eating the cookie dough now? Amaimon, why don’t you eat some candy?” 

Instead of answering, Amaimon retrieves the wrap to cover the cookie dough and places it in the fridge. “Amaimon, why aren’t you eating the candy we bought?” You question, stepping closer to the demon king.

“It’s gone.” 

“…all of it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Some of that was for the gingerbread men and houses!” 

“Sorry.” 

[not-oliwolly]

While i know @wisdom-devotee‘s 31 days of Hellenic Polytheism was supposed to be done in December..i ended up finding it late, so i’ve decided to do it in January instead! so..here’s days 1 through 10!

DAY ONE QUESTION: Who was the first deity you began worshipping? Do you still worship them now?

DAY ONE ANSWER: Lord Apollo!! He was the first deity to ever reach out to me, and has been with me since the beginning of my practice. I’m also very proud to say that i still worship him!! He’s probably the biggest influence in my practice (Next to Queen Persephone, lol) and has helped me get through a lot.

DAY TWO QUESTION: Which deity did you most recently start worshipping? Were you called to them or did you reach out first? Do you think there were specific reasons behind why you were drawn to them?

DAY TWO ANSWER: I recently ended up getting back in contact with Lord Hypnos! I used to worship him, however ended up taking a break for personal reasons, and recently decided to worship him again. I’m glad i did, considering i’ve finally gotten my sleep schedule back in shape ever since i did!

DAY THREE QUESTION: How long ago did you start Hellenic Polytheism?

DAY THREE ANSWER: I personally wouldn’t consider myself a hellenic polythiest, but rather a pagan polytheist as a whole since i currently do find interest in gods from other pantheons (Lord Cernnunos, spesifically) and have worshipped gods from other pantheons in the past like Lord Loki. However, most of the deities in my practice and worship are Greek.

DAY FOUR QUESTION: Are there any deities you don't currently worship but want to learn about?

DAY FOUR ANSWER: Definetly Lord Ares. I’m highkey debating on reaching out to worship him..mostly because i think he’s just super interesting!! i don’t see alot of people talk about him despite him being an olympian. Also Lord Aristaeus! He’s a minor god, which explains why i he also dosnet have a lot of information circling about him..however he’s a pretty minor god, so finding said information as a whole is a hassle.

DAY FIVE QUESTION: How much have you bonded with your deities?

DAY FIVE ANSWER: Unfortunately, i’m very forgetful, so remembering to do things like pray and meditate are hard for me..so i’m honestly unsure about how much i’ve bonded with my deities. Ofcourse, there are some i feel much closer to then others..yet i still almost feel like a stranger to some of them, which is super disappointing. This year, i really plan to crack down on meditation, journaling, even writing them letters! i really want to have a good and close relationship to the gods i worship, and hopefully end up working with them 1 on 1 once i start getting more into genuine witchcraft and learn from them.

DAY SIX QUESTION: What's one way you incorporate Hellenic Polytheism into your routine (daily, weekly, monthly, etc?)

DAY SIX ANSWER: I usually will do weekly offerings, having a set day for each deity. Wednesdays for Hermes, Thursdays for both Thanatos and Hypnos, Fridays for Dionysus, Saturdays for Persephone, and Sundays for Apollo. I also say goodmorning/goodnight when i remeber to!

DAY SEVEN QUESTION: Are you openly a Hellenic Polytheist offline? How does being open/not being open effect your worship?

DAY SEVEN ANSWER: I guess it depends. Obviously i’m not going to tell everyone i practice witchcraft and worship deities, however i do often talk about it to people i trust and are comfortable with. However…if people can’t tell im a witch by the pentacles and crystals, im not sure how else i can make that clear😅 And honestly it dosent really effect my worship. I mean, i usually dont share things like alters online, and if i have a friend over they’re going to see said alters since they’re in my room…but like, it dosent exactly directly effect my worship.

DAY EIGHT QUESTION: Do you have altar(s)? If you do, how do you use it? If you don't have one, do you want one?

DAY EIGHT ANSWER: yes! I have one alter for each deity i worship, aswell as one for myself to practice my general witchcraft.

DAY NINE QUESTION: Is there a practice that's common among other Hellenic Polytheists that you're skeptical about?

DAY NINE ANSWER: Not that i can personally think of.

DAY TEN QUESTION: What's something you've learned about Hellenic Polytheism that you wish you knew sooner?

DAY TEN ANSWER: Myths aren’t supposed to be taken literally!! I was so afraid to be reached out to by certain gods cough cough zeus cough cough because of common myths surrounding them, mostly because i was raised heavily christian, so stories where supposed to be taken literally and not metaphorically.

[hacash]

season 3 predictions

(all of which are likely to be made completely redundant by 2x12 but HEY HO LET’S GO)

Sam. I think the opportunity offered to him by Edwin is too great to pass up but I just can’t imagine the show and the Richmond team without Toheeb Jimoh. Given that the writers have said they’ve planned these arcs in advance I don’t think he’d be written out for the sake of a new acting gig. Therefore because I’m selfish and desperately hoping he stars in season 3 (and could hardly pop back as a recurring character while on Edwin’s team) I could see him doing a Leslie Knope from Parks and Rec: ‘I want to leave Richmond better than when I joined it’. After what I hope will be a promotion for the team I could potentially see him asking Edwin for a year’s grace to help Richmond win the Premier League, and then he’ll happily take him up on his offer.

I’m also hoping like hell that this would be the push Rebecca needs to see there’s not going to be a future in the relationship with Sam. It’s interesting that although Bill Lawrence has openly agreed that the employee/age difference is concerning, there’s been little acknowledgement of that in the show, so I wonder if there’s going to be fallout in episode 12 in some fashion. Regardless, I think it’s time to say goodbye to Sambecca.

Keeley and Roy. I am firmly of the opinion that they ain’t breaking up any time soon. There’s no way in hell Roy has knelt down in front of Keeley so many times without it meaning something, so I am certain that next season will be the planning of the Kent-Jones wedding. 

I also have a sneaking suspicion that Keeley might end up being the next opening-shot of the season. After episode after episode of her working as Roy/Rebecca/Jamie’s emotional support, we got a tantalising glimpse into her psyche last episode: both with her uncertainties around being featured in Vanity Fair and her ambitions being shaped by her mother’s history. I love Keeley but quite frankly we haven’t had enough of her as plot - I really think/hope she might come to the fore next season.

Nate. I fully believe there’s no way in hell Nate will still be working at Richmond come the end of the season, though I can imagine him walking away in a fit of pique rather than Rebecca firing him. (Frankly, I can’t see Ted letting Rebecca do that.) I think he’ll end up joining another team - possibly with or without Darth Mannion’s help - and, although a lot of people here want this to be a devastatingly humiliating/humbling experience for Nate, I’d love to see this as an opportunity for him to genuinely grow outside the confines of Richmond (which forms way too much of his identity - and let’s be honest, can’t always hold good memories for Nate when he was literally asking his teammates not to physically harass him on a daily basis). I can definitely see someone - HigginsHigginsHiggins - giving him Sharon’s number to call before he leaves, and I like the idea that in the season break Nate could be dealing with some of his issues and returning to the Nate the Great we know and love.

However, I then think Nate will somehow end up back at Richmond. While you could argue that it would be better for Nate to make a clean break, it would honestly be a waste of Nick Mohammed’s bloody sterling acting talents to keep him away from Nelson Road for too long in season 3. I have no idea how a redemption arc here might look, but it would have to be good, and if there’s forgiveness to be offered, it should take more than the space of an episode - although I hope they don’t stretch it out too long. Rebecca and Jamie were forgiven relatively quickly; it would be a shame and a bad look if Nate’s own forgiveness journey was too disproportionately drawn out.

I’d also love to see Jamie, Colin and Isaac apologise for their season 1 bullying of Nate. Much as the bullying Nate suffered doesn’t excuse his shoddy behaviour, Nate’s own bullshit doesn’t excuse what our beloved trio pulled in season 1 - and crucially, we never saw them apologise to Nate or try to make amends. I really love apology scenes and I’d love to see Nate with some friends beyond Ted and Keeley - and that li’l scene in the Liverpool karaoke bar with Isaac, Colin and Nate doing shots together means I want more of this friendship.

Some sort of Jamie/Nate commiseration over shit dads and over-compensating for the emotional wounds they give us? Please?

More Higgins. In many ways Higgins is the emotional rock for our beloved Richmond: he’s the only one not suffering from some sort of untold trauma or struggles, and is able to live with a relationship with an imperfect father and yet be a fantastic father himself. I’d love to see a storyline where Higgins isn’t on the periphery but straight in the heart of the action, potentially adopting a Richmond boy or two along the way. 

By saying this, I mean Jamie. If we get a scene where Jamie is invited around to the Higginses for Sunday lunch I will cry. Much like Nate needs space apart from Richmond to grow and heal, Jamie needs close relationships with people who aren’t Keeley for security - mature familial relationships, and quite frankly the Higginses are the stable family dynamic Jamie needs right now. 

Why the fuck does Colin feel the need to remind himself he is not a piece of shit? Enquiring minds need to know. We’ve had episode storylines that focus on Dani, Sam, Jamie and Isaac; I just want one with Colin where I’m not emotionally devastated by the end of it, thank you Headspace.

This isn’t so much a prediction as a plea, but an entire episode where the Richmond boys are the focus. A night out in Richmond, that long-promised pillow fight, them finally taking Colin to go clothes shopping for something that isn’t a  button-up polo shirt - I honestly don’t care, I just need as much of their antics as Apple TV allows.

On a slightly more realistic note, the Himbos Greyhounds content rose significantly from season 1 to season 2, so I can see the writers carrying on with that arc. 

Ted. Fuck knows. At this point I can’t trust myself to predict Ted’s actions - I do think Nate’s going to be leaving Richmond, and so I can’t see Ted leaving as well. It would be amazing if Ted used the dubiously-written expose (c’mon Trent, you couldn’t have given Ted a head’s up or asked for a quote before the article was put online? forget dubious journalism ethics that just...seems inefficient not to approach him for a comment while you were writing the piece) as an excuse to talk more about mental health in sport. I definitely think episode 12 is going to have Richmond rally around Ted, and so I do hope the article isn’t going to drive Ted further into hiding and that he’ll be at Richmond by the time season 3 comes around.

Ted and Rebecca. I can’t have been the only one that caught that little look by Ted when Rebecca left his office in 2x11, right? Certainly the show has set up a whopper of a truth bomb for season 3, when there’s another heart to heart in Ted’s office, and though it could be anything, my little shipper heart is screaming  some sort of romantic confession of love. I don’t know, it just feels like there is a...a something between Ted and Rebecca that’s going to happen in 2x12, and I can’t help but think it’s going to lay the foundations for whatever happens in season 3 big time.

[softtransbf]

Fresh Blood, Old Scars Part 1

You'd disappeared 15 years ago without a trace- what's Yancy supposed to do when you walk into Happy Trails Penitentiary and don't recognize him, because he's transitioned? canon compliant trans!yancy/reader

Reader: he/him trans man, no physical description

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of violence, canonical and parental. deadnaming and misgendering before either of you came out (none by anyone who knows the correct name/pronouns)

Word Count: 2,690

“Hey Yancy, I heard there’s fresh blood comin’ in today for some sorta museum heist.”

“Oh? Know anything else about these guys, so we can give ‘em a proper welcome, Bambam?”

“I know some. The first guy, Mark Iplier, claimed to have been in charge of the whole thing, but from what my sources said, it’s the partner that ran the show- just real quiet-like. I’ve been told that he don’t say a word.”

“Got a name for this, uh, silent partner?” He chuckled at his joke.

“Y/N L/N.” Yancy’s stomach dropped the way it always did when he heard that last name, your last name. Get your shit together. Wrong first name, and Bambam said he and his. Bambam don’t use pronouns other than they/them unless they’re sure. It’s just some guy with the same last name.

“Yance, you okay?” Tiny waved his hand in front of Yancy’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, just, uh, thinkin about how best to greet dese guys. The usual, wit Don’t Wanna Be Free ready just in case?”

“Right off the bat? You really think they’re that high of a flight risk?” Sparkles finally spoke up.

“I, uh, I don’t trust dem silent-types. They’s always schemin’, got somethin goin ahn in their heads.” And if he's anything like- yeah. Gone before you know it.

“Okay, if you say so. I’ll go let the others know.” Yancy didn’t even register who was speaking; he was too lost in memories.

- 15 years earlier-

Yancy knew it wasn’t cool to be excited for the first day of school when you’re a senior in high school, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need or even want to be cool- all he needed was to be your friend. Well, maybe not just friend. You’d been gone for almost the entire summer, and he’d spent the whole time figuring out how to both ask you out and tell you that he’s a guy.

He practically skipped across the street to your house so you can walk to school together, like you had every day since middle school. He knocked- nothing. Rang the doorbell- still nothing. He checked the back door and the spots where you had hidden spare keys over the years- nothing. All the curtains were drawn, too, so he couldn’t see inside. He kept trying as long as he possibly could before he had to sprint to make it to class just barely in time. All day, he kept an eye on the door, waiting for you- the two of you made sure to sign up for the exact same schedule before you went on your vacation. At lunch, he went to the office to see what he could find out.

“Y/DN isn’t a student here anymore- Mr L/N just told us last week.”

“What? Do you know where they went?”

“I’m sorry, hon, I don’t. All I know is that Y/DN is no longer a student here.”

He’d never ditched a class in his life, but that was the last thing on his mind as he ran home, crying. He didn’t stop crying for weeks.

-Present -

He’d never wanted to be wrong more in his life, but there you were. Looking better than he’d ever dreamed, following Mark around silently as he blabbered on about wanting to rally the other inmates to try to break out. No. I lost you once, and it cost me everything. I’m not about to lose you again. He quickly spread the word to skip pleasantries with the new guys and prepare for the song. As he was, you made eye contact with him from across the room. His heart dropped; you didn’t recognize him. You looked right through him, with the same calculating expression you gave everyone else. Of course he wasn’t gonna recognize you, dumbass. You’ve been on hormones for years and have had top surgery. Usually Yancy loved that he couldn’t see anything of the person he used to be in the mirror, but today he hated it more than anything in the world. Stick to the plan, Yance. He doesn’t recognize me, but it might be better this way. This way, I can get him to stay and get to know me as I am now, and he won’t be disappointed that I haven’t become anything like what we dreamed of so long ago.

Yancy couldn’t have planned it better, Mark practically begging Jimmy to punch him through the wall right before the show started, leaving you alone.

The number went great, as always, but then you showed him a picture of your parents. He knew that picture; you took it when the four of you went on a vacation together before you started your freshman year of high school. He also knew that he had once been in the picture, but you’d cut him out. The tape and staples that had been holding his heart together since you left fell away.

He stuck with his usual response to people citing family for wanting to leave, for the most part. No one at Happy Trails knew about you, and he’d killed his parents before they could leave him, so he’d kept his true abandonment issues to himself. Face to face with you after all these years, though, he couldn’t stop himself from adding “they’re always just gonna leave you behind” and a warning about trifling with the past. You flinched a little at both of those, and a spark of hope ignited in his chest- maybe you hadn’t forgotten about him, even if you didn’t recognize him now.

Then you still chose to leave. The rest of the rather single-sided conversation was a blur to him. Later, as he was tending to his injuries in solitary, he remembered calling you handsome and/or beautiful and your blush when he did. And, of course, you knocking him flat on his ass. He’d challenged you to a fight, because he’d always been able to beat you before. The part that truly left him confused, though, was why he offered to help you break out.

All he’d wanted for the last fifteen years was to go back to the day you left and beg you to stay. He’d told himself dozens, maybe hundreds, of times that if he ever saw you again, he’d do everything in his power to keep you with him. On his darker and angrier days, he truly meant everything. But here you are, and he offered to help you leave. This is what you get for even hoping someone might stick around. Let’s just do this. I gotta stop in with the warden first, though…

“Me? Out there? With you?” He chuckled. You had no idea that, with that simple gesture, you offered him everything he’d wanted for so long. Fuck, I don’t deserve him. I still love him, but he deserves someone better than the angry, selfish man I am. The fragments of his heart splintered even more. “I, um. I done a lotta bad things. And, uh.” He made himself brighten up. “This is home! For now, anyway. Maybe next time parole comes up, I’ll, uh” take it and go find you like I should have fifteen years ago. And I’ll spend every minute until then trying to become the kind of man you deserve. “Anyway, I gotta get back to it. You take care now, you hear? And, hey, visitation! Every third Sunday!” You looked down at the box you’d brought with you, and he ran. When he got back to his cell, he cried genuine tears for the first time since that August day when his world turned upside down.

- 2 weeks later, visitation day -

He knew hoping you’d come was a waste of time, and that he was just setting himself up for more pain. He’d learned the hard way that when you were gone, that was that. But still, there he was, looking up every time a guard walked into the room. As expected, they never called his name. The rest of the inmates gave him a wide berth as he went back to his cell for the night, and they were right to. He was itching for an excuse to fight. No one gave him one, though, so he told himself he’d find one tomorrow and got ready for bed.

When he got to his cell, it took him just one second to realize there was someone on his bed, pull them off, and shove them against the wall. It took him three more to process that it was you, and then another five to step back and let you go.

“Sorry for scaring you, Yancy. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… it’s visitation day, but I’m still wanted for the escape you helped me pull off, and I haven’t decided if I want to come back for good or not.” He stood there, frozen. You chuckled nervously. “I get it, your turn to be the quiet one. I’m sorry about that, by the way. There was a lot to process all at once, and I just kinda shut down when I get overwhelmed.”

I know. I remember that you didn’t say a single word our first day of high school, Yancy wanted to say. He wanted to say something, anything, but you being there and so close was just too much.

“Okay, so, honesty time; there’s a specific reason I came back.” You took a deep breath. “I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that I know you, somehow. But I know I’d remember meeting you- no way I’d forget someone like you. Anyway, I'm probably way off base and ridiculous. I guess I just wanted to tell you?” You ran your hand through your hair. “God, that sounds even flimsier than it felt in my head. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It, uh. It means a lot that you came back to say that.”

“Uh, Yancy? What happened to your accent?”

“Shit. Um. C’mere.” He muttered, as he sat down on his bed and pulled you down next to him. He prayed that you couldn’t hear how his heart started racing when he noticed your knees were touching. “No one here knows that the accent isn’t how I always speak. Not even the warden. I’ve been here five years and haven’t dropped it once. Anyone learns about this, and you’re dead, understand?” He knew that the threat was empty, but you seemed to believe it.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I gotta ask, though- why fake it? It seems like a lot of effort. You don’t owe me an explanation, of course, but since you’re heart-on-your-sleeve about your parents, it must be one hell of a reason. I bet it’d feel good to let it off your chest. I can promise to leave and never come back if you do- a burden shared is a burden halved, and if I’m gone, you can be 100% sure no one here will know.”

He took a deep breath. “Something flipped my world on its head, and I needed to distance myself from who I was before. That’s an odd phrase, though- ‘a burden shared is a burden halved’. Where’d you pick that up?”

“Oh, um. The mom of someone I loved a long time ago used to say it a lot. It just kinda stuck, I guess.”

“Loved, huh? You break their heart, or did they break yours?” Yancy was surprised he got the words out without his voice shaking or cracking. You were silent for a long time, and Yancy was sure he’d pushed too hard and you would completely shut down or, worse, leave altogether.

“Sorry, I haven’t talked about this… ever." Your voice shook. "I’ve never talked to anyone about this. I don’t know if I was loved back, but if so, I was the heartbreaker. I didn’t mean to be- I couldn’t control having to leave, and I didn’t know I wasn’t coming back until it was too late. I couldn’t say goodbye. I’ve hoped every day for the last fifteen years that my feelings were unrequited, though. I’m happy to have the pain of an unrequited first love if it means she wasn’t heartbroken.” The incorrect pronoun stung a bit, but you didn’t know, and you’d loved him back all those years ago. He was invincible.

“Have you tried reaching out? Even if your feelings were one-sided, I think you owe it to both of you to say them, at least once.” He reached out and took your hands without thinking. You didn't stop him, and he felt like he could fly.

“I tried, actually. About eight years ago, I'd, uh, escaped and was finally an actual person again after everything that was done to and taken from me, so I started looking for her. But it’s like she vanished off the face of the earth five years to the day after we were separated. It’s actually how I met Mark- I got into some deep and shady shit looking. I only gave up last year. Nothing turned up in seven years of searching, so I have to figure that she did something incredibly stupid a decade ago and got herself killed.”

“I didn’t die. Just the name did.” Yancy breathed. A half second later, he realized he’d said it out loud, and his heart stopped. You took your hands out of his and scooted away.

“Yancy. Are you trying to tell me that you’re- that we- oh my god. It is you. I knew I knew you. Everything else is different, but I should have recognized your eyes. I guess some part of me did. But you- I- I thought you were dead.”

“As you can see, I’m not dead, Brain. And for the record, your feelings were definitely not one-sided.” He reached out and cupped your cheek with one hand.

“Shit, Pinky, it really is you.”

Yancy had dreamed about how seeing you again would go in a million different ways. Not a single one of those included you practically jumping into his lap and kissing him with a lifetime's worth of love and want.

He let out an undignified whine when you broke the kiss. “Wait, wait. You knew from the second I walked in here who I was, didn’t you? You tried so hard to stop me from leaving… but then you helped me do just that. You chose to stay here when I asked you to come with me. Then I came back, and you got me to say all those things… And we’re both trans and wound up here? This is all just. So much. I can’t- I can’t do this.” You got off his lap and scooted to the far end of the bed.

“What are you saying, Y/N? That you’re leaving? Again?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

You stood up and faced him. “You do not get to play that card. You don’t know how much I went through trying to find a way to tell you I was sorry, that I didn’t know that the trip was a permanent one until we were on the other side of the country. Dad said that I'd never see mom again, and he’d kill me if I tried to get in touch with you or anyone else from back home. He broke my arm to prove he meant it. I can’t stay here to unpack all of this. I have to go. But you can come with me. I mean it even more now than I did last time. I’m not leaving you, I’m leaving here.”

You walked to the cell door and looked back at him with a sigh. “But I know you, and you have a family here. I’ll get you my address- it’s your turn to come to me, when you’re ready. I’ve waited 15 years to be with you again, what’s a little bit longer?” Without giving him a chance to respond, you kissed him again and were gone.

[collecting-stories]

I Feel it all Over - t. 04 - JJ Maybank

Summary: Kiara surprises you at church and you spend the day with her, JJ, and Pope.

A/N: If you haven't ever listened to them...can I just highly recommended listening to The Maine (whose album You Are Ok this is based on)? They’re music is amazing...You Are Ok, American Candy, and Pioneer are probably my favorite albums of theirs. Plus they did an incredible cover of Watermelon Sugar...if you’re a fan of Harry Styles. 

You Are Ok Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

✞ I swear to every god I feel everything tonight with you ✞

New patrons to the church were usually whole families that came to services, whose fathers or mothers agreed your father’s lesson and felt drawn to the “community” of the Baptist denomination. They responded to the clickbait phrases and did feel lost in their everyday life. It was very rare that any new member, or anyone testing the church out for the first time, would be a single person, a teenager far removed from the beliefs and traditions of the church. But there was Kiara, walking up the few steps into the vestibule. She wasn’t here because of any lost feelings; she was here because she wanted to get to know you more. What JJ had told her, and what she had seen for herself on Friday, was someone that she definitely wanted to be friends with.  

She had no bet to dictate how or when she became friends with you. She slipped into the line of people entering the church, catching sight of you standing by the door handing out pamphlets for that morning’s service. Making sure she was at the end of the line, she waved as she approached, happy to see you.  

“What are you doing here?” You asked, glancing into the church before giving her a quick hug. If your parents or any other family saw they would ask how you knew this complete stranger and why you seemed so friendly with someone who had never been to the church before.  

“JJ stole you on Friday,” she shrugged, “thought maybe we could hang out after church?”  

“Yeah,” you nodded, a story already formulating in your head to tell your parents. Your mother always said that a lie was the devil on your tongue and the first time she’d said it you were convinced that the devil had taken out real estate because you lied constantly, and with ease. Sometimes just to see if you could get away with it. “That would be amazing.”

As far as friends went, you had very few. Your main source of companionship had come from your brothers and sisters, other friends were just acquaintances from youth group or church retreats that you never really felt any deeper connection with. The further away from the fold you felt, the less you found a community for yourself. You had been doubting for so long now that anything within the church felt like a show you were putting on for other people’s amusement, the emotions weren’t real and niether were you.  

JJ wasn’t the first boy you had ever let yourself like but he was the first person you had ever felt comfortable being yourself around. There was no fear of judgement or rejection with him, nothing you said was turned into a weapon to make you feel guilty or unworthy, you didn’t have to pretend to be someone you weren’t. You had been nervous to meet his friends, feeling so different from them, but Kiara and Pope had been nice, welcoming, and all you felt was ease. Even now, seeing Kiara had put a more genuine smile on your face than seeing your family visiting for church.

“I wore my best ‘church’ outfit,” Kiara said, gesturing to the maxi dress and sweater she was wearing. The dress was backless and strappy but it was the only thing she owned that wasn’t short. She’d thrown a sweater overtop, hoping she could play off the dress better.

“You blend right in,” you laughed, “I’m relegated to sit up front...I don’t know if you wanna sit with me up there?”

“Lead the way.”

The “peace be with you’s” weren’t too bad and you lied to your mom when she asked how you knew Kiara, telling her that you had met at Heyward's and invited Kiara to church because she was interested in the tract you had. Your mother’s love for testimony and her conviction that people really did want to be approached on the street and harassed about their faith were enough to convince her that your story was solid. It was enough, even, to give you permission to go to lunch with Kiara after service was over.  

Kiara hadn’t been to church since she was thirteen and her mom decided that she was old enough to choose whether or not she actually wanted to be there. That sort of power and responsibility had been all Kiara needed to ditch Sunday service altogether and spend her mornings out on the waves with the pogues, worshipping a different sort of force. She was a lot less religious and a lot more spiritual now though she listened intently to your father preaching. The opinions were hogwash, nothing to bat an eye at, but the actual teachings were interesting. You seemed relatively invested in those parts too, your notes, Kiara realized, looked a lot more like a theology lesson than a preacher’s condemnation of society.  

“You know a lot about the bible,” Kiara mentioned once you were out of church and back at her house, changing into jeans and a shirt of hers.  

“I like studying religion, theology,” you clarified, “my grandfather knew a lot about the texts. Not like my dad, he’s just...got his own ideas. My grandfather knew the Greek and Hebrew translations and spent years studying other religions as well. It was so cool to talk to him about it. I like that part, the history, the context, more than the ‘fundamentalist/evangelical crap’ my dad touts.”

“Is that something you’d study?” She asked, pulling a tank top on over her bathing suit, “like in college?”

“My parents won’t let me go to college.” You replied.  

“That’s so crazy, my parents would kill me if I didn’t go.”

You spent the drive to Kiara’s dad’s restaurant explaining your parents future plan for your life, including telling her about the boy that your parents wanted you to marry. When she asked if JJ knew you admitted that he did and that you weren’t really sure what was going to happen when you turned eighteen. You knew what your parents wanted, for you to get engaged and then quickly married, but that wasn’t what you wanted at all.  

“If I say that though...there’s a good chance I’d be ex-communicated. Not just from the church but from my family. One of my cousins defected and no one speaks to her anymore.” You said, “it’s like a massive stain on her family’s reputation.”

“Yeah but if she’s happy, does it matter?”

“It’s...it’s not just that I haven’t worn jeans or drank a soda,” you said, following Kiara out onto the back deck to eat, “it’s that I don’t have anyone outside my family. It’s not just being sheltered, it’s being isolated. And I know that, and I hate it but...it’s all I know.”  

“None of your siblings have done it differently?”  

“No.” You shook your head, “I think I would’ve been fine coasting too...I was pretty much set that this was it ya know? But then...JJ asked me out.” You admitted.

Kiara frowned, “yeah but you don’t know what’s gonna happen with JJ in the future.”

You shrugged, “it’s not just about him...it’s me, feeling happier and more confident.”  

“Talking about me?” JJ’s voice came from behind you and you turned around, watching him and Pope walk up to the railing of the deck. He put his hands on the railing, pulling himself up so he could lean over and kiss your cheek.

“I should’ve known you guys would crash.” Kiara said, rolling her eyes as JJ climbed the rest of the way up, hopping over the railing onto the deck.  

“What’re you guys up to?” Pope asked, staying on the other side.

“Kie mentioned taking the ferry to Chapel Hill.” You replied, “I have to be back before dark though.”

“So what’re we waiting for?” JJ said, grabbing your soda and taking a sip.  

-

The four of you rode the ferry over to Chapel Hill, standing on the back deck the whole time talking. Kiara suggested shopping the moment you got off the ferry, telling you that all she wanted was to see you pick out an actual outfit.  

“Nothing hand-me-down or borrowed, just like a real, honest outfit that you pick out.” Kiara said, taking your hand in hers as she pushed open the door to one of the small stores along the main road.  

JJ followed you to the back of the store where the sale racks were, skimming through clothes, holding up different things that were still a little too far out of your comfort zone. You shook your head at a spaghetti strapped mini dress, pulling a crossover out to show him, “I like this one.”

“Try it on.” He shrugged.  

“Where’s the changing area?” You asked, looking around the small area.  

JJ grabbed your hand, “over here.” He led you to the curtained off stalls, pulling you into one of them and hanging the dress up.  

“I have a very strong feeling that if anyone caught us we would be in massive trouble.” You whispered, biting your lip to stop from laughing as JJ moved so that you were looking in the mirror and he was behind you, hands on your hips. He rested his head on your shoulder, nudging his face into the space between your shirt and your neck, kissing the exposed skin.  

“Yeah but you’ve never been shopping so what do you know?” JJ replied, as if it was obvious and he wasn’t just bullshitting you to stay in the changing room.  

You turned in his arms, putting your hands over his, “I’m not changing with you in here.”

“Fine,” he groaned, “If I leave will you try on something for me?”

“Fine.” You mimicked. You kissed him, initiating it for yourself this time, before pushing him into the curtain. He gave another exasperated sigh as he swept the curtain out of the way and left you to change.

Alone in the dressing room, you changed out of your clothes and tried on the floral wrap dress. It tied off at the waist, cutting a deep V and a slit up to your thigh. It was a dress but not like any you had ever worn before. You pushed the curtain enough that you could peek out to see JJ. He was slouched in the chair, texting, while he waited for you.

“I thought you were picking something out?” You said, looking over at him.

He shrugged, “I’d rather see what you like then pick something out for you.”  

“Thanks,” you nodded.  

JJ watched you as you pushed the curtain back and stepped out of the changing room. “Holy shit,” he mouthed. “Wait, don’t move!”

“What? Why?” You asked as he lifted his phone in front of his face.  

“I wanna picture of this.” He replied. Sure, he had seen you in a dress before but he had never seen you in a dress like this, one that actually fit you well, that wasn’t trying to hide your figure but accentuate it. One that you looked so incredibly happy in.  

“So I take it I don’t look half bad?” You joked, stepping further out when he had stashed his phone and stood up.  

“Half bad? You look...incredible.” JJ replied. Deciding it was worth mentioning, he added, “you look really happy.”

“I really like this dress. I’ve never really...liked anything I’ve worn before. Like, it’s just always felt like, clothes. This is different.” You admitted.

Your clothes were just whatever hand-me-downs fit you. From siblings, relatives, church members, it was never your stuff, you never chose it, never got to say what you liked or disliked.  

“Oh my god!” Kiara exclaimed, coming over and interrupting your moment with JJ, “you look so pretty.”  

“Thanks.” You nodded, smiling at her, “I think I’m gonna get it.”  

“Let me.” JJ piped up and you looked over at him.  

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He insisted.  

There was little further discussion to be had about it, JJ purchasing the dress for you and the four of you wandering around the rest of Chapel Hill, heading in and out of a few different shops. Pope talked to you about his future college plans and you listened intently. Being with JJ was amazing but being able to be friends with a guy, just sitting with Pope and not having to consider anything other that friendship, was so underrated in your life. You had never been friends with a boy either.  

-

Kiara drove you back to your house after you changed, just getting inside as your sister Praise was setting the table. “Hi! I’m so sorry I’m late!” You apologized, “Kie and I were just chatting and I lost track of time.”

“That’s okay Ace, mom was just telling us about Timothy’s visit. Are you excited?” Praise asked, wrapping her arms around you in a hug.  

You hugged her back, “I’m very excited.” You lied.  

Robert gave you a hug as you walked further into the house, handing off a baby and soon you were outside, supervising kids while your other siblings sat and chatted with your parents around the table. You were only two years younger than Robert but he was married with a kid and another on the way and that automatically made you still a kid. Though you felt less and less like a kid every day.  

Your parents talked about Timothy’s visit and their own upcoming trip, ignoring anything that actually had to do with you or your interests. Even Praise, in talking about your upcoming nuptials, mentioned that her dress was still in good condition if you needed one.  

“Oh, wouldn’t that be amazing Ace? You could wear Praise’s dress?” Your mother mentioned from across the table, smiling at you as if all her dreams were being realized right there at the table.

“Amazing.”  

-

The sound of tapping at your window startled you as you sat on the bed, reading before sleep. You walked over, lifting the blinds to see JJ standing there. He waved as you opened the window for him.  

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you, I wanted to see you.” He replied, leaning into the window space.  

“You just saw me earlier.” You pointed out.  

“I also wanted to know if you wanted to go for a ‘midnight swim’ with me, Kie, and Pope?” JJ said, “we’re taking the HMS out. John B and Sarah don’t feel like going out and I figured you might.”

“I’m lucky no one caught me last time JJ,” you replied, “I don’t know if I can risk it.”

“That’s fine,” he said, “you don’t have to.”

You bit your bottom lip, glancing back over at your door. Your parents were asleep for the night and the thought of getting to spend more time with JJ was just too tempting for you to say no too. You were sure your dad had some bible verse to offer for you as proof that this was an evil infatuation but you could care less, agreeing to go and grabbing the swimsuit that JJ had given you. “Just let me change.”

“Can do.” JJ turned around, back to the window, and you almost laughed.  

You changed quickly before climbing out the window, “I better not get in trouble for this.”

JJ led you through the woods to John B’s house, just like the night of the kegger, taking you down to the jetty. Kiara waved when she saw you and Pope helped you onto the HMS.  

“I can’t believe you let him sneak you out.” Pope joked as JJ boarded the boat.  

He drove you out on the marsh, parking in an open area where they couldn’t be seen by lights at the edge of anyone’s yard. The HMS didn’t have lights itself and they banked on that to keep themselves mostly out of trouble. Kiara lit a lantern in the middle of the boat but otherwise it was dark as they jumped in, JJ hanging back with you.  

The two of you sat on the bench together, in your own little world seemingly. “Can I try a sip?” You asked, holding your hand out for the beer he was drinking.  

“You sure?” He asked.

“Yeah, positive.”  

He passed the beer over, laughing when you took a big gulp and then practically spit in out. “Oh my god, that’s horrible!” You cried, sticking your tongue out.  

“I warned you.” He laughed.

“Not enough,” you replied, “that’s really gross.”  

“Sorry babe,” he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him and kissing your cheeks and then your lips. “We’ll stick to soda for now.”  

“Yes please.” You replied, kissing him back.

“Quit macking on each other and get in the water!” Pope shouted, grabbing on to the side of the boat and pushing himself up so that the HMS would rock slightly.  

You grabbed onto JJ more, laughing as the boat swayed.  

“What the fuck Pope, we’re coming.” He grumbled. “I’m trying to spend time with my girlfriend.”

-

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[hopelikethemoon]

Weed (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Weed Rating: PG-13 Length: 4600 Warnings: Potential triggers if you have toxic family members and/or triggers difficult child hoods. Also recreational marijuana use and fluff!  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set November 2nd 1998.  Summary: Reader goes to therapy and Javier tries something new.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico​ @readsalot73 @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​ @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale​  @roxypeanut​ @snivellusim​ @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited​ @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy​ @cable-kenobi​ @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes​ @findhimfives​ @pedrosdoll​ @frietiemeloen​ @arrowswithwifi​ @random066​ @uncomicalhumour​ @heather-lynn​ @domino-oh-damn​ @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx​ @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps

“I was quite surprised to hear from you again.” Nancy remarked as she shuffled papers in her notebook, peering up at you from the rim of her eyeglasses. “When last we met, you seemed to be well on your way.” She took her glasses off and sat them on her desk, “Have we had a setback?”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you stared across the room at her, “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a setback.” 

“What would you call it?”

“I was doing really well. After everything with the articles, Javier and I went on vacation together and things felt…” You sighed. “I felt like I had finally hit my stride. You know?”

“Perhaps you should elaborate.”

You and Javier had already decided that Nancy was a safe space to discuss your elopement. It wasn’t like she could tell anyone about your sessions. Not to mention the fact that you had discussed your aversion to the whole concept at length in previous sessions.

But it still felt wrong to tell her. 

“Well,” You drew in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Javier and I got married.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, picking a piece of fuzz off your leg. “It was perfect. I finally realized I had reached this point in my life where I wanted that. I wanted this thing that was just ours.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I mean, you know that Javier and I are private people. Having our lives splashed across newspapers was daunting. Which… that’s actually why I’m here.”

“Your marriage?”

“No. My mother.”

Nancy’s brows rose upwards and for the first time she seemed shocked by something you had to say. “Your mother?”

You rubbed your lips together and nodded a little. “She showed up this weekend. Halloween.” You laughed quietly, staring at a spot on the floor. “Seeing her again… it brought up. A lot.”

“Would you like to discuss what it brought up?”

“That’s why I’m here,” You retorted, before you sank back against the sofa, raking your fingers through your hair. “For a few fleeting seconds I let myself actually believe that maybe she had changed. That maybe rehab had cured her. Finally. But… then I was thirteen again. I felt so small and… scared.”

“Scared?”

“I’ve worked very hard to make sure my girls have a safe, loving, harmonious life. I even came here. I recognized I had a problem after Sofía and I… handled it. That’s what I do. I handle things.” You swallowed thickly, feeling a knot form in the pit of your stomach. “This isn’t new. We’ve talked about her before.”

Nancy flipped through the pages of her notebook, “Yes. I recall our lengthy conversation about her addiction. You made a lot of progress, grappling with those difficult emotions that grew from a difficult situation. How did this encounter make you feel?”

“I don’t think I’ve slept since Friday night.” You shrugged a shoulder, “Javier’s been great. He’s… always been understanding.”

“But you’ve never fully discussed the details with him, have you?”

You bit down on your bottom lip and shook your head. 

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because it’s a lot. We used to talk about it… before we were together. It’s come up before.”

“You once referred to her as a shadow on your life. Does it feel like that shadow returned?”

“Yes.” You rubbed your hands together, leaning forward on the edge of the sofa. “That’s exactly how it feels. She’s gone — I hope she’s gone — but I still feel…”

“Small?”

“She pulled all the same tricks. She tried to make Javi think I was crazy. She pulled the tears and the blaming and… I genuinely don’t think she realizes how traumatized I was as a child.”

“What stands out?”

You laughed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “God, I don’t even know. There was so much.” 

“I would like to try something, if you’re open.” Nancy suggested, “Would you be comfortable laying down?”

“Sure.” You kicked off your shoes and stretched out lengthwise on the sofa. “Is this the whole… introspective breathing exercise?”

“Yes.”

You dragged your hands over your face, trying to will yourself to relax. “Alright. I’m ready.” 

“Focus on your breath. In and out. As you feel the air rushing into your lungs, I want you to think back to your childhood.” Nancy advised you. “Pinpoint a moment. Just one.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing just as she had told you to. You pictured your lungs filling with air and deflating as you exhaled. How many times had you used breathing exercises to manage anxiety?

You let your mind wander back — at first you thought of Javier. Those were easy memories to reflect on. Safe memories. The way he’d held you this morning, the way he tried to chase away all of the bad memories that had returned with your mother. But you weren’t sitting on Nancy’s sofa to think about Javi.

“What do you see?”

“The house I grew up in,” You answered, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you settled into that memory. “We lived in one of those one-level post-War houses. It was identical to the one next to us, except… we had a blue front door. She painted it when she was high, it was… It was poorly painted.”

“Who painted it?”

“My mother.”

“How does that blue door make you feel?”

“I used to dread it. Every time my dad would bring me back after a weekend with him…” You sighed heavily. “It wasn’t a welcome sight.”

“And what was beyond that door?”

“The place I lived. It was never home. It was just the place I lived.” You weren’t sure if you’d ever really had a home before Javier and the girls. They felt like what home had always looked like in books and movies. 

“If I was coming back from dad’s house, I knew I was going to be met with hostility. She treated me like a traitor every time I came back to the house. If she had gotten high while I was gone, she was usually passed out on the sofa — that was the best time to come back.”

“Tell me about your room.”

“There was a mural on one of the walls. A butterfly.” You shook your head slowly as you pictured the poorly drawn butterfly. “I used to pretend I was the butterfly, that I could just fly out the window and never look back.”

“Did you feel trapped?”

“Always.” You shifted on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I never felt safe.”

“Why?”

“There were always people in our house. Strangers — a lot of strange men.” 

“Were you ever harmed?”

“No. I’m certain I’m lucky in that regard. I slept with a chair in front of my door. My dad told me to do that. Even though he wasn’t there, he tried to protect me.”

“Do you think these experiences have played a part in how you approach your life?”

You laughed bitterly, “Every day. Not even consciously. These things are so hard wired into who I am.”

“How so?”

“Before Javier and I were together, I was terrified that my daughter would be brought up into a life like my own. Torn between two people who couldn’t get along. I knew Javier was a good man, but I still feared that. It makes life very confusing for a child.” 

“Let’s touch on those fears. It’s very common in adults who have suffered from upbringings like your own — they fear repeating the cycle. Is that something you find yourself faced with?”

“All the time. Everything that happened with Sofía’s birth brought up a lot of those emotions. I was afraid it would be the trigger. I had never felt that way before. I felt like a stranger in my own body.” You focused on your breathing again, trying to push aside the panic you felt. “Seeing her again this weekend, definitely brought those emotions back to the surface. Javier tried to reassure me. He was great — so great.”

“What emotions?”

“She got under my skin.” You admitted. “I have worked so hard to provide everything for my family. We have a home, we love each other, the girls are safe and loved.”

“How did your interaction with your mother go?”

“She showed up Saturday night. We had plans for Josie — a school Halloween party. I let Javier handle it because I just didn’t have the emotional bandwidth. I guess she said some shitty things to him, I’m not surprised. She skirted around it with me on Sunday.”

“Why did you speak to her on Sunday?”

“Javier had to reason with her. To get her to leave, you know?” You swallowed thickly. “So she came back on Sunday and we talked. She made excuses, she blamed me, she lashed out. I was thirteen again.”

“Why thirteen?”

You opened your eyes, turning to look at Nancy. “What?”

“You mentioned thirteen twice. What happened when you were twelve?”

“Oh,” You rubbed at the spot between your brows. “My mother and her boyfriend — I think it was Greg… there were a few at the time — but, they had this party…” You closed your eyes again. “Drugs everywhere. My mother was drunk, on top of whatever she’d snorted… she hadn’t even bothered to make dinner for me. So I was in the kitchen, it was in the back of the house, and I was trying to make something to eat. There was this woman who was there and I guess she had wandered away from the rest of the party—” 

“Take your time.”

You covered your face, “She was nice. Obviously very high, but she liked my shirt. It had a butterfly on it.” You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. “She sat down at the kitchen table and she… nodded out and then she made this sound.” You sat up slowly then, pushing your fingers through your hair. “It was like a death rattle.”

“Did she die?”

You nodded, “Right in front of me. I tried to call 911, but…” You looked at a point somewhere beyond Nancy. “My mother threatened me. She said if I told anyone what happened, she’d make sure I never saw my father again. I couldn’t sleep for weeks.”

“You have gone through a considerable amount of trauma at a very young age,” Nancy surmised, closing her notebook as she leaned against her desk. “Yet you have overcome it. You have a healthy relationship with your partner, you put tremendous consideration into your relationship with your daughters. But I do think there is more work to be done. You are not an island. You are no longer isolated.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded slowly as you weighed her words. “I know I’m not. And I do talk about these things with Javier. I always have.” 

“It is okay to let go of the past. You don’t have to carry that baggage with you.” Nancy smiled at you kindly, “This is a minor setback, that you cannot let affect the progress you’ve made.”

You chewed on your thumbnail nervously, “I know. And I am aware that I’m a work in progress. We all are.”

Nancy nodded, “Exactly. Focus on today, on the here and now. Don’t let yourself get trapped in this moment. Your mother has no control over your future.”

“I tell everyone that it’s okay to cut toxic people out of their lives, but when it came to my own mother I hesitated.” 

“We all want to believe the best in someone. But some people aren’t wired to be their best. There’s no shame in disconnecting. Focus on your own family.”

You smiled back at her, “Thank you. I do think I’m going to start having sessions again. I want to get through this—“ You gestured to your chest. “I have a lot of pain that I’m still carrying. I would like to work through it with you.”

“I’m here for you. And, of course, Javier if he decides he’d like to join us.”

“I’m sure he will,” You laughed softly. “He was willing to come today if I needed support.”

“Our regular appointment time is still open. Feel free to call and get yourself back on my books.”

“Thank you.”

 ——

 Talking about your past hadn’t necessarily managed to cure your mild malaise, but it has helped to an extent. You felt lighter. You didn’t feel afraid that you’d see Rebecca standing outside of your house when you got home. 

Maybe a few more weeks of talking with Nancy — before you packed up the car to head to Laredo for Thanksgiving — would do you good. 

You peeled off your coat as you walked through the front door, hanging it on the hook. “Should I be afraid? It’s awfully quiet.” You called out, glancing around the empty family room. 

“In the kitchen!” Javier called out and you followed his voice. “You got home sooner than I expected.”

Your brows rose upwards as you looked at the bags of chips sitting on the counter. “Are we having a party I was unaware of?”

“No,” Javier grinned at you, shaking his head. “Connie’s keeping the girls another night. She’s off today.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head to the side. “Bags of chips, no kids…” 

He sat a familiar box down on the counter between the two of you, “I’m finally ready to bite the bullet, baby.”

You couldn’t help but cover your mouth and laugh, “Javier!” You moved around the counter, wrapping your arms around him as you continued to laugh. “You really don’t have to try weed, just because I’m having a shitty couple of days.”

“But I want to,” Javier ran his hand down your back. “You said before that it helps with stress and… I think we’re both pretty stressed right now.”

“I agree with that, but you really don’t have to try something you don’t want to. I know how you feel about it.”

“I had a really long conversation with Nadia about it at the party Saturday night. She laid it all out pretty clearly,” He rocked his jaw as you pulled back to look at him. “I can see the merits of smoking occasionally.”

You smiled up at him adoringly, “And here I thought I couldn’t love you anymore than I already do.” You rose up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Better watch out,” You teased, cupping his jaw. “I might have to marry you.”

“Did you tell her?”

“I’ve never seen her so surprised.” You told him as you ran your thumb over his bottom lip. “It was a good session. I think I’m going to start going again.”

“Good.”

You ran your hands over his shoulders as you leaned against him, “I can’t believe you’re willing to smoke. Finally. God, I hope you love it.” 

“I like the prospect of being pain free for an evening.” Javier leaned down and rested his forehead against yours. “How are you doing?”

“I’m here.” You curled a hand around the back of his neck, playing with the hair there. “A lot of bad memories got dredged up.”

“I know you didn’t sleep last night.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, giving your hip a squeeze. “You gonna fall asleep on me if we smoke?”

You snorted, “Probably.” You watched him as he moved back to the grab the box off the counter. “Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

“I’ve assigned it a research day. They’ll be working on the proposals.” He answered smoothly. “They need the time to work anyways.”

“I’m touched that you did all of this, Javi.” 

He shrugged, “I wanted to do something that would cheer you up, baby. You were pretty out of it last night.”

“Last night was rough,” You admitted as you took the box from him, “Grab the chips.” 

Javier followed you into the bedroom, sitting the chips down on the foot of the bed as he watched you open the windows to let some fresh air in. 

“What should I expect?”

You paused, hands on your hips as you turned back towards him. “It’s different for everyone, but for the most part… You’ll feel like you’re drunk, without feeling drunk. Warm and fuzzy.” You shrugged. “I just know it makes me feel really calm.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he nodded, “This can never get out. They won’t let either of us teach.”

“Marriage, pegging, and weed. Our three dirty secrets.” You wiggled your brows at him as you moved to join him at the foot of the bed. 

You sat the box on your legs, opening it and pulling out the neatly rolled joint from the last time you’d taken a hit. “It’s a lot like smoking. Same in and out.” You explained, sitting the box aside and holding the lighter out to him. “The key is that you have to let go and enjoy it.”

Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and nodded, “I think after the year we’ve had, I can let go and have fun.”

“And that’s growth.” You laughed, before tucking the joint between your lips. He flicked the lighter on, bringing it to the end of the joint and lighting it for you. 

You pinched it between your fingers, drawing in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. This was exactly what you needed. You could already feel the first tingles as it settled. 

“Ready?” You questioned, holding the joint out between you. “You don’t have to, Javi. I don’t mind smoking if you just want to lay here with me.”

He shook his head, taking the joint from you. “I’m willing to try it, baby. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you do.”

Javier brought it to his lips, tagging a drag off of it before passing it back to you. “What am I supposed to feel?”

You snatched it from him and took another breath, “Just let it happen. Don’t overthink it.” You held the joint up, smirking as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around it. 

He had really nice lips. 

Javier rubbed his lips together thoughtfully, “I feel a little tingle.” He admitted, taking it back from you after you took another hit. 

“Just sink into it,” You advised him as you took the little ashtray out of the box, leaving it on the bed as you rose to your feet. 

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” You gave him a look as you sat the box down on your nightstand, before returning to him to take another drag off it. “I’m just making more room.”

Javier laughed as he exhaled. “More room for what?”

You shrugged, “I was thinking a pillow fight.”

“Oh really?” He laughed again, watching you as you picked up the bag of sour cream and onion chips and sat them on the nightstand too. “Why a pillow fight?”

“Because it sounds fun.” You plopped back down beside him, taking the joint from him and take another hit off it, “Javier Peña is smoking weed.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ve been corrupted.”

“Corruption looks good on you,” You told him, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. “I miss the hair.

Javier grinned around the joint tucked between his lips, “I didn’t let it go until you got your wish.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek, ruffling your fingers through his hair. “You look good when you’re getting fucked.”

“So I’ve been told,” He said as he exhaled a puff of smoke between you, before passing it back to you. “I haven’t got a bad word to say about it.”

“Good.” You scrunched up your nose and laughed. “You’re so good to me.”

Javier beamed, “Have you met you?”

“I don’t know if I have.” You tucked your leg beneath you as you angled yourself towards him. “Tell me more.”

“Well,” He offered you the joint again. “I do feel tingly!” Javier snorted, “Is this what it feels like?”

“I don’t know. How do you feel?” You questioned, toying with the third button of his shirt. “I feel warm.”

“I feel warm too!” He clasped his hands together, looking towards the open windows. “I feel good.”

“That’s all I want,” You admitted to him, sitting the smoldering joint in the ashtray. “You know what?”

“What?”

“You’re hot.”

He laughed loudly, sinking back against the bed, his legs still draped over the edge. “Yeah?”

You nodded emphatically. “I remember… my first day.” You swept your hands through the air dramatically. “I walked into the office and saw you and just thought — hot!”

“Oh, was that your first thought?” 

You laid back in the bed, settling into the crook of his arm, “Mhm.” You sighed happily. “And then I quickly realized what a dick you were.” You pressed close to him, nuzzling at his neck. “That’s how I knew I was screwed.”

Javier laughed, rubbing his hand down your arm, “We were both screwed.” He hummed, his lips still drawn into a smile as he stared up at the ceiling. “Do you remember New Years?”

“Like eleven months ago?”

He shook his head, “Before Josie was born.”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to focus on the specific moment he was referencing, “I broke my wine glass.”

“Yeah!” He nodded, tilting his head to look at you. “Steve’s a funny guy.”

You shoved him playfully, “Are you going to rhapsodize about Steve now?”

“No! No.” Javier made a sound that very nearly sounded like a giggle. “He swears he didn’t know that we were orbiting each other.”

“Orbiting each other.” You mocked, sitting up to grab the joint, taking another hit as you laid back on the bed. 

“He swears he didn’t really know just how bad we had it for each other—“

“Bullshit!” You called out dramatically and you both started laughing. 

“He knew. Of course he knew. That jackass.” He took the joint from you and took two puffs off it. “But that night — son of a bitch — he told me I was holding you back. That as long as I acted like I had feelings for you, you weren’t going to ever look for someone.”

You frowned, “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Made me feel like an asshole, baby.” He rubbed his hand over his chest, like he’d been injured. “It's why, I…”

“Was that’s why you wanted to drive me home?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, “He made it sound like I needed to set you free and…”

You dropped the joint back into the ashtray and cut him off before he could finish. You planted your hand over his mouth and scrambled to straddle him. “No. We’re not doing sad.” You warned him. “Wanna know a secret?”

He licked the palm of your hand. 

“Javier.”

He nodded. 

“I wanted to go home with you.” You confessed, leaning forward so your nose brushed against his. “I got myself off thinking of you.” You slowly pulled your hand away, “I was so certain 1992 was going to be a shit year. They were thinking about leaving and everything was falling apart but, I thought — I didn’t fuck it up with Javier, I’ve still got him.”

His hands went to your hips, “And you do. I could never up and leave you, baby.”

You leaned in and kissed him, “If we weren’t married, I’d marry you all over again.”

“Yeah?” Javier grabbed at your hips and you shivered, you loved how much more every little touch felt like. “I can’t wait to tell pops.”

You grinned as you laughed, “He’s gonna be so fucking excited.” You nipped at his bottom lip. “I hope we run into Lorraine at the toy store again.”

“Jesus Christ.” Javier groaned, “Why bring up her? I’m feeling good baby.”

You bumped your nose against his, “Because I’m vindictive.” You grinned down at him. “And I love proving people wrong.” You traced your finger down his nose. “But I know the Javier that no one can see.”

“You do.” He parted his lips as you ran your finger over his lips. “We both know the real us.”

“I really like us.” You mused, “I think we’ve done really well for ourselves.”

Javier nodded his head, “I do too.” He played with the hem of your sweater, “Didn’t you say you were warm, baby?”

“Trying to get me undressed?” You questioned, giggling as you let him peel the sweater off your body.

“Maybe.”

“Turnabout, babe.” You quipped as you wrestled with the buttons of his shirt until it fell open. 

“You know… my knees aren’t hurting.” He pointed out, running his hand over your bare arms as he looked up at you. “But I can’t tell if I want to fuck your or just hold you.” Javier laughed and you couldn’t help but join in on the pure joy that was in his laughter. 

“It’s funny isn’t it?” You questioned, playing with the hair that fell against his forehead. “Am I horny? Or do I just want to be held?”

“What do you want?” Javier questioned, running his hands over your skin anywhere he could reach. Which you definitely enjoyed. 

“As tempted as I am to take advantage of your very exuberant self,” You leaned down to kiss him, playing your tongue over his bottom lip. “I just want to be held. Right now, at least.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Javier promised you, leaning up to meet your lips again. 

Somehow he managed to maneuver both of you up the bed with you still on his lap, while you clutched at the ashtray so you could stick on the nightstand. 

You rolled onto the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling as you sank into the warmth of the high buzzing through you. Your eyes felt heavy, but you ignored it — you really did need to sleep tonight. But it wasn’t tonight yet. 

“Do you like it?”

“It’s different.” He held his hands up in front of his face. “I feel like there’s this… space in between me and me.”

“Weird, right?”

“And my pops does this?”

You nodded, “Your body gets used to it after awhile. You’re still high just not quite as… tingly.”

“It’s nice though.”

You rolled onto your side and draped your arm over his chest. “I want you to feel good.”

“I do.” He brushed his fingers over your hair. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” You grinned, meeting his gaze before you both descended into laughter. “You’re so dorky.”

“Who me?”

“Yes. You’ve got this dorky face thing going on.” You gestured to his face. “You’ve taken five years off. At least.”

“Mmm, that could work in our favor.”

You swatted his chest and snorted, “Please. No. I can’t believe she even insinuated that! What a bitch.”

“You were incredible yesterday.” He told you warmly, stroking his fingers through your hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” You sank into his side. “I’m just… if I rest my eyes for five minutes will you still hold me?”

“I’ll hold you until the end of time, baby.”

“That sounds like a long time.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s forever.” He kissed your temple. “Relax, baby. Just sleep. And then we can… I’m a little tired too. Hungry and tired.”

“That’s nice.” You mumbled, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, before two sleepless nights got the better of you. 

[pocketfulofrogers]

Cover Me Up

Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary:  Steve is still mesmerized by you, but while you’re juggling the lie and his life, you begin to question everything you’re doing. 

Steve decides that after that night, he’ll take every opportunity he can to talk to you.

The first is when he finds you watching TV. Laid back in sweats with your hair piled on top of your head, chewing absentmindedly on a straw. For an hour he racks his brain for the best way to break the silence, too caught up in his own head to even start a conversation.

He wastes the opportunity on an offhand joke about an informercial you weren’t even paying attention to. Bucky bursts into laughter when you leave the room not long after and whispers his poor attempt at a joke low in his ear each time you walk past them for two days.

Later in the week, he bumps into you at breakfast, nearly knocking your cup of coffee right out of your hand. For a moment he wants to kick himself for making a fool of himself again, but then he notices the slight blush that tints your cheeks when you make your way around him.

The surge of confidence he gets is short lived, snuffed out by the sight of a light blue SHIELD file in your hand. He tries to hold it in, but the stir-crazy Avenger inside gets the best of him and he begins to hound you for details.

You laugh as he reaches almost longingly for it. “Just adding some fine details to a merc case Nat is working.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “I thought she finished that, well, them?”

Coolly, you smile and slide into another lie. “Almost, turns out there’s a little underground action, nothing major. But if it’s entertainment you’re looking for, I’ve got a story that involves me, a polar bear, and a bed sheet.”

Steve tries to be casual about it, about you, but Sam is relentless as he teases him for following you around like a puppy. You find it endearing in a way, find yourself growing fond of this friendship, but Natasha leaves you with some form a warning.

“Careful.” It’s low, whispered in passing with no context, not even a look.

**

Bucky rests his head, and his eyes, back against the wall he was leaning on. Sunday morning briefs were always a drag, but this particular one had been less enjoyable than usual. All he wanted was a burrito and a nap, but Steve had somehow managed to drag him into a conversation just around the corner from the kitchen.

“You can never have too much backup.” Bucky repeats the last thing he remembers Steve saying and hopes it fits the question.

When he opens his eyes, he sees you and your knitted brows turning a corner. Only a few moments pass before you come back, turning a different corner. It isn’t until he sees you pass the same corner twice that he flags you down.

Quickly, you slide the file in your hand behind your back and into the side pocket of your duffle. He flashes a lopsided grin your way as he jogs up.

“You lost?” He asks.

You hold your hands out and shrug. “Nat was supposed to give me a real tour but she got pulled into a briefing. I heard there’s some crazy high-tech gym here.” You tilt your head to the duffle on your hip.

“You’re close, but not quite.” Bucky throws a wink over his shoulder. “You know who gives great tours? Steve. Steve!” He bellows.

Steve takes a moment, caught between wishing he was on a month-long mission in the middle of the mountains and wanting to drag his friend through a few rounds. Instead, he smiles.

He leads you around, pointing out a few of the more notable places on the way. Not so casually, he mentions his room is only down the hall from yours and you’re surprised at how easy he had been making this.

In all honesty, however, the longer you spoke with him, the more days that went by, the louder the whisper of guilt got. It nipped at the back of your mind each time he genuinely seemed to care, screaming that he didn’t deserve to be played like this.

It’s not long before it becomes about more than the spaces within these walls. He tells you about the team, speaks of them so fondly, with so much respect, all you can do is listen. There are a few stories he offers up. A dented wall from Sam wrestling Bucky just a little too hard, a passive aggressive sign about cleaning the fridge still hanging from when Natasha found an old container of something Clint had forgotten about.

There’s so much laughter that you begin to feel your heart ache. All your life you had looked for something like this and now here you were. Expected to get the job done and head back onto the road.

You imagine Natasha will try to convince you to stay, but you can’t build a home off a foundation made entirely of lies.

“What brought you here?” He asks breaking your small shame spiral.

“Sorry?”

“All I heard was that you’ve known Nat for a while and she’s trying to get you to stay?”

“Oh, yeah. We ran into each other on a few ops when I was in the CIA. We seemed to work well together, so I kept her number. After I left, she got me started on doing my own thing. That’s how I generally prefer it now, working alone.”

“Why the Avengers then?”

You stop a smile at him. “She thinks I’m meant for bigger things.” He nods as you continue walking, contemplating the very vague amount of information he’s been able to get from you. “Is this it?” You ask pointing to a wall of glass. “Doesn’t look too fancy.”

Steve chuckles. “The equipment is pretty standard. Stark wrote some kind of program that will analyze your workouts and techniques and tell you everything you’re doing wrong.”

“Lovely.” You mutter.

He leaves you there with nothing more than a smile, a nod, and a promise to give you something more in-depth later. You’re grateful, as what you were actually looking for was Fury’s office, but it’s not like you can ask without raising any questions. Heading back the way Steve took you, you discover a new corridor with an elevator that looks promising.

It’s another hour before you’ve stumbled into his office. Fury looks up from his desk, eyebrow raised.

“You know,” You huff. “Would be a lot easier to find you if I knew where I was going.” Wordlessly he hands you a map and gives you a ‘is that all’ look. Digging into your duffle you pull out the thick file and plop it on his desk.

This piques his interest. “What’s this?”

“A full report on the 98 names I cleared this week.”

“On top of the 63 at the gala? How?”

You cock your hip to the side, the only evidence of your irritation besides your tone. “Yes. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you know how to talk to people.” He doesn’t find the humor in your joke. “I used the gala to drop a few comments about money troubles and the bounty on Steve’s head so it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me.”

“No one seemed skeptical?”

“Listen, I know Nat pushed you into this, but I promise I’m very good. I put an image out there of an outsider in over her head looking for what she thinks will be easy money. It’s when he underestimates me that I’ll be able to take him out with ease.”

He keeps his features emotionless except for the slightest twitch of one brow. “Impressive.”

**

“I Just don’t see why I need to get that close to get the job done.”

Natasha groans. “It is too soon for you to be falling in love with a mark, it hasn’t even been two weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not in love with him, and he’s not a mark. I just think it’s a little messed up.”

“Sure, messed up for you, but not for the girl taking advantage of a friendship to gain the trust of a man worth $500 million so you can slit his throat easier.”

You look up at the ceiling. “I get where you’re coming from, but I’m telling you I can do this without the manipulation.”

“When did you get soft?” She asks the question and you react as if it were a slap to the face.

“Do not call me soft.” You spit. “I’m trying to save your friend without breaking his heart. Maybe show a little gratitude.”

Natasha recoils. She had never seen you like this. Emotional and defiant. Sure, she’s had to spend some time reeling you back in, but this was different. For a moment she considers how loyal she knows you to be, but that kind of loyalty took time for you. More time than you had spent here. This was as if you had drawn a line in the sand, for the first time declaring something you won’t do.

“What is it about him?”

You shake your head. “This isn’t about him, Nat. Maybe I’m just a little tired of always having to be the bad guy just to do the right thing.”

**

You had planned on just taking the rest of the night to shift through personnel files, but the moment you turned the corner to the hall that housed your room, you bumped into Tony startling yourself.

He quickly reaches out to steady you. “Sorry, I just wanted to catch you earlier rather than later. You may have heard, but there’s a wedding next week.”

You laugh. “I don’t think there’s a soul with decent internet connection that doesn’t know about your wedding.”

You could be mistaken, but you swear you see a blush rise on his cheeks. “Right. Since we’re supposedly trying to get you on the team, I figured leaving you out of that would look bad. I talked with Pepper and she’s added you to the guest list.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, thank you.” There’s genuine appreciation in your voice.

He disappears quickly as he had only a few minutes to track you down before some experiment he was working on finished it’s first phase. Natasha would be happy to hear that she won’t have to bribe an invitation out of Pepper for reasons she can’t disclose.

You reach down to your doorknob, turning it slightly, aching for today to just be over. The door has barely cracked open when you hear the unmistakable click of a trigger.  

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday Reissue: The Heart Attack

Note: This is a repost of an older Stay Golden Sunday that had to be redone for housekeeping reasons.

Sophia becomes very ill one night and is convinced she’s going to die. The Girls confront the idea of mortality.

Picture It…

The Girls bid farewell to their guests as a storm rages outside. They praise Sophia for the meal she cooked for everyone, and Blanche says it was even better than the food she ate in Italy. The Girls tell Sophia to take a load off in the living room. They start the dishes in the kitchen, while Rose talks about her family’s Scandinavian cooking.

Back in the living room, Sophia says she’s got a “bubble” of pressure in her chest. Rose thinks it might be gas, but Dorothy says her mother isn’t looking so good. Blanche goes to call the doctor. Sophia clutches her chest as the bubble turns to pain. Dorothy lays her down, while Sophia worries she could be having a heart attack. Blanche says the doctor was out, so she called the paramedics.

DOROTHY: Ma, you know, you don’t look good. SOPHIA: I’m short and I’m old. What did you expect, Princess Di?

The two discuss their family’s deaths – which include a fall from a donkey and misfiring a gun while taking out the garbage – to rule out the possibility of heart disease. Blanche and Rose talk about how death should come without pain or illness, getting sidetracked until Dorothy shuts them up. They go to make coffee, while Sophia begins to worry she’ll die. She starts giving Dorothy instructions on what to do after she’s dead, and says Dorothy was always her favorite, even if she never showed it.

In the kitchen, Rose and Blanche discuss death. Rose says her family members live to their 90s and 100s, which Blanche attributes to the Minnesota cold slowing down the aging process. They also discuss cremation vs burial: Rose wants to be buried with all her sentimental items, while Blanche wants to be buried in Arlington Cemetery because it’s full of men. Sophia tells Dorothy she loves her. When Rose and Blanche return with the coffee, she thanks them for keeping her company. She decides to rest while Blanche goes to call the paramedics again.

BLANCHE: Do you want to be buried or cremated? ROSE: Neither! BLANCHE: What do you want to be, flushed down the toilet like a goldfish?

Rose tells Dorothy it’s probably not a heart attack, as she’s seen one and they’re bigger. She recounts Charlie’s heart attack to Dorothy, which happened while they were making love (she told Arnie this back in Episode 3, but this is the first time she’s told one of the other Girls). She dressed him before emergency services arrived, and his last words were that he loved her. Blanche returns and says the paramedics are held up by the storm, and they’ll just have to wait… and pray, as Rose adds.

The Girls crowd Sophia, who wakes up and tells them she had a near-death experience and saw Heaven. She describes seeing her husband and asks Dorothy to get her rosary. Blanche’s main interest is if there are lots of men in Heaven (which… why wouldn’t there be?), and eventually goes to help Dorothy. Left alone with Sophia, Rose bugs the crap out of her by recounting farm stories.

BLANCHE: What about men? Are there lots of men in Heaven? ROSE: Oh Blanche, come on! BLANCHE: Well you asked her about God and Jesus!

In Sophia’s room, Dorothy’s going through Sophia’s things, looking for the rosary. She tells Blanche that she’s not ready for Sophia to die, and that she’ll still feel like an orphan at her age. She breaks down in tears at the thought, and Blanche comforts her by saying Blanche and Rose are her family too, and they’re there for her.

In comes Dr. Harris, presumably Elliott’s replacement as their house-call doctor. He inspects Sophia and finds her side is sensitive, so he asks her what she ate recently. The girls list a truly disgusting amount of food, including scungilli, fried mozzarella, and two boxes of Milk Duds. Dr. Harris says it’s not a heart attack, but more likely a gallbladder attack from overeating. Sophia is instantly relieved, but takes back what she said about Dorothy being her favorite now that she’s not dying.

Later that evening, the Girls minus Sophia (who’s presumably resting) talk about mortality in the kitchen. They question the reason they worry about things like dieting when they’re going to die eventually – a thinly veiled excuse to eat some chocolate cake and ice cream. They do eventually get turned off of the dessert when they realize that, while they are going to die eventually, they’ll feel the negative effects of overeating immediately, like Sophia did. They decide to go out for a walk (one hopes the storm is not still raging), and Blanche brings it back around to her favorite topic:

BLANCHE: Let’s go for a walk. ROSE: Right, burn it off! DOROTHY: Are you kidding? After what we ate, we’d have to walk to Canada. BLANCHE: Oh, Mounties! I love Canadian men!

“You couldn’t say ‘belch?’ What is it, a Viking curse?”

This is the first episode that centers around Sophia, and given the multiple references to her age and health in the preceding nine episodes, it’s fitting that it’s about a health scare. Estelle Getty, who has mostly played comic relief up to this point in the series, gets her shot at carrying the dramatic half of an episode – and she definitely delivers.

To be a little real with you, this episode has been hard for me to watch the last few years, ever since my mother died. She was the one who introduced me to Golden Girls, and episodes like this hurt both because I know now she and I will never have that Dorothy-and-Sophia rapport in old age like I always assumed – my mom was not even 60 when she died – and because I was basically in Dorothy’s position at the time. If I could have chosen a quote to describe the months of my life after my mother died, it’d probably be this one:

DOROTHY: It doesn’t matter. You lose a parent, you might as well be six. It’s scary. And it pushes you right up to the head of the line.

I appreciate that, when confronted with the possibility that she might die, Sophia’s not accepting or serene even though she’s very old. I think there’s a perception that, when you get old, you just have to accept that you might die soon and be okay with it because you’ve “lived a full life” or some such nonsense. Instead, Sophia outright says “I’m not ready” and that she’d take even one more day of life.

I leave it to other shows to try and teach people to accept death with grace. I prefer Golden Girls’s way, which is to say “Screw that,” and portray the octogenarian matriarch as not wanting to die. There’s something very real in Sophia saying she never really thought she would die.

SOPHIA: 80 years old, and it would come as a complete surprise.

There’s quite a bit of real-world backstory to this one, too. Originally, it was intended to be broadcast live, which is why it’s the first episode since the pilot to take place entirely within the confines of the Girls’ home. According to Golden Girls Forever (quite a treasure trove), NBC had done a live episode of Gimme a Break and attempted to replicate its success with a night of live shows, ostensibly to promote Saturday Night Live. Golden Girls would have been one of about five shows to air its episodes live.

At first all the other shows were onboard, but then showrunners protested the final offering of the night, a detective show called Hunter, couldn’t be filmed live. So the live plan was scrapped. Director Jim Drake remembered it as being for the best, since the actresses weren’t really equipped to do the show in a single live, continuous taping. While their shows were filmed in front of a live studio audience, they still had the option of doing multiple takes. Somewhat relevant, but here’s a video of Golden Girls bloopers:

The other real-world issue that influenced the filming of this episode was one that also cast a pall over the previous episode – the death of Bea Arthur’s and Betty White’s mothers. But while it seemed to throw off the chemistry of the previous episode to a certain extent, if anything it helps this one. There are differing accounts as to whether Rose’s monologue about Charlie’s death was drawn from the deaths of White’s mother or her husband, Allen Ludden. I suspect it’s a combination of both, but you can see she’s genuinely crying while talking about it.

My only real criticism of this episode is that the final scene doesn’t really seem like it’s attached the rest of the story. The Girls talk about their own mortality, and how the fact of dying makes things seem trivial. They don’t even mention Sophia, despite the rest of the episode revolving around her. It feels like a discussion they might have after a friend died – or, more accurately, a scene inserted by a writer who wanted to opine about death for five minutes.

That’s not even mentioning the fact that the way the Girls behave in this scene is very at odds with the rest of the episode. It’s just strange to me that they’d come to the conclusion that, since they’re going to die, they might as well gorge themselves on rich food, when doing so is the exact reason Sophia had a gallbladder attack – and they just heard a doctor tell her that.

Regardless, this is another great Susan Harris episode, and the first episode that puts Sophia front and center. While it’s a bit melancholy there are enough jokes interspersed throughout to keep it from being a downer.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰🍰 (four cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

The Girls crowd around a sleeping Sophia (see the image at the top of the article), and she wakes with a shout, scaring them all. When Dorothy asks her what’s wrong, she says:

SOPHIA: What? You’re sitting on top of me. I open my eyes, I see pores like that, I think I’m on the moon!

[starlightbuck]

It took me far too long to decide, wow but I shall request #23 please!

23. Happening to sit next to each other on a park bench, reading the same book. 

you gotta read between the lines || read on AO3

“Here, take this.”

Eddie looks down at the book that May has thrust into his hands. The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin - he’s never heard of it. “What-”

“I overheard you telling Bobby that you want to read more so I figured I’d let you borrow one of my favorites.”

Eddie’s confusion gives way to understanding and is followed shortly thereafter by a burst of affection that he’s sure May would much rather he not put on display while surrounded by their family. And that’s what this, the 118, has become for him - a family. 

It’s something his parents swore up and down he’d never have after he told them about his decision to leave Texas. He might find better job opportunities, but he’d never find anything better than the family he was leaving behind. 

How wrong they were. 

“Thanks, May. I’m looking forward to reading it.” 

It’s a statement he means wholeheartedly. After a few months, Eddie has finally found a way to balance his work and home life, but he’s still lacking in any hobbies that he can call his own. Maybe that’s what reading can become for him - a moment of peace in his otherwise hectic day-to-day schedule.

May tilts her head to the side and stares at him for a moment before holding her hand out to him. “Give me your phone.”

He does as he’s told without asking, even if he doesn’t know what she’s planning to do. 

Her fingers move across his screen with a speed that Eddie finds a little intimidating. In no time at all, she hands him back his phone. “I put my number in so you can text me your thoughts on the book.”

Eddie shouldn’t make a big deal out of this exchange, but there’s a small part of him that wants to. He’s an adult, May’s a teenager, and she just willingly gave him her phone number.  And told him to text her. Does this make him cool now? 

He’ll consult Hen later to find out. 

“I can do that.”

Eddie starts the book while at work and regrets that decision immediately.

The first interruption comes from Bobby.

“Put that book down, Eddie. You’re helping me cook lunch.”

The next one is from Chim. 

“Hey, Eight-Pack! Help me clean the truck!” 

And then Hen.

“Eddie, please come and explain to Chim why I’m the superior video gamer.”

Then the alarm goes off and Eddie leaves the book behind in his locker. It remains untouched for the rest of his shift. 

Eddie (9:42pm): i’m not sure who i’d want to be paired up with if i was in this game

May (10:01pm): you JUST got to that part??

May (10:02pm): i’m disappointed

Eddie (10:07pm): i’ll try to read faster

May (10:15pm): good

“Daddy, what are you doing?” 

“Reading a book.” 

Chris takes a seat beside his dad on the sofa and leans heavily against Eddie’s arm. “I’m bored. Can we do something?”

“I thought you were having fun drawing,” Eddie answers, eyes still skimming the words on the page in front of him. He’s managed to make some leeway with the book and now that he’s gotten into it, it’s been harder for him to put it down. 

“I was but now I’m not. Please can we do something?”

“Chris.”

“I said please.”

Chris peers up at his dad from under golden eyelashes with a pout firmly in place. He’s only doing it to sway Eddie’s decision and not because he’s genuinely upset but that doesn’t stop the sight from tugging uncomfortably at Eddie’s chest. If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to hurt Eddie, it’s his son’s unhappiness. The reaction can easily be traced back to not being around when Chris was growing up. 

That guilt that will haunt him forever. 

It’s what pushes him to mark the page he’s on before closing the book. “What do you think about having a movie night?”

Chris’s eyes light up at the suggestion. It’s the best thing Eddie’s seen all day. 

“Really?”

“Of course. How about you pick out a couple of movies and I’ll order us some pizza?”

Chris nods enthusiastically and is about to get up from the sofa when he stops. Eddie is going to ask what’s wrong, but the words get lodged in his throat when his son crawls into Eddie’s lap. He wraps his arms around his dad’s neck and plants a loud kiss on his cheek. 

“I love you, daddy.”

The show of affection is almost second nature for Chris, but Eddie knows a time will come when that stops being the case. It’s as depressing a thought as it is unavoidable. Chris will get older and doing things like cuddling with Eddie and randomly saying ‘I love you’ will become nothing more than a rare occurrence.

Until then, he plans to cherish every single one of these moments and then lock them away for safekeeping. 

Eddie wraps his arms around Chris, holding him as close as he can and kisses his son’s forehead. “I love you too.”

Eddie (5:45pm): ANOTHER bomb? How many are there?

May (8:32pm): keep reading and you’ll find out 

With Christopher at Abuela’s and no shifts scheduled for the day, Eddie decides to take advantage of the cool Sunday weather and go to the park to get some reading done. By the time he gets there, the park is bustling with energy from children and adults alike. It takes Eddie almost ten minutes to find an empty bench but it’s worth it when he settles into his spot. It’s far enough away from the playground that the sound of yelling is nothing but background noise and close enough to a tree that protects him from the sun in case it decides to peek out from behind the clouds. 

He leans back in the seat, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. Then he takes the book out of the bag he brought it in, always cautious of how he carries it since it’s a loaner, and dives in. 

Eddie’s eyes follow the words with anticipation, drinking in every sentence as he reads them, not wanting to miss a single detail. He’s nearing the end and is desperate to see how the author is planning to wrap everything up. He has a couple of guesses, but the only way to determine if they’re correct is to finish the book. 

“Excuse me?”

Eddie flips to the next page. 

A throat clears and then, “uhm, hello?”

Eddie barely refrains from growling at the intrusion. The point of coming to the park to read was being able to do so  without any interruptions. 

He is nothing if not polite though, a trait that he attributes to his abuela. His parents might’ve taught him how to behave himself, but it was Abuela who taught him how to go out into the world and greet people with a smile.

“Yes?” Eddie says, grin locking in place when he looks up and finds a man with bright blue eyes staring back at him with a hopeful smile of his own. The sun is only just making a home for itself in the sky and the glow from its rays reflects off of the man’s hair and gives him an angelic glow. It’s almost too much for Eddie to handle.

Almost.

“I was just wondering if I could sit with you?” He gestures to the small part of the bench that’s empty. It’s possible that Eddie spread his things out when he first sat down so that no one would be tempted to join him. “I’ve done two laps around the park, but there are no other open seats.” 

Eddie might’ve preemptively tried to keep strangers from intruding in his space, but he figures he can make an exception for this guy. That decision has nothing to do with how attractive he finds him and everything to do with the manners he picked up from Abuela. It’s what she would do as well, he’s sure.

“Yeah, of course.” 

He grabs his jacket and backpack and slides over to the left end of the bench instead of staying in the middle. The man sits on the opposite end. 

“I really appreciate this, thanks.”

The words have the potential to sound insincere or sarcastic, but coming from this man’s lips, they’re anything but. 

“You’re welcome.”

Eddie wants to say more, find a way to continue a conversation with this beautiful stranger, but he doesn’t know how. He’s very out of practice when it comes to conversing with anyone outside of his family. It’s not something that he thinks about until it inconveniences him, and this is definitely one of those times. It also acts as a reminder that he should try his hand at putting himself out there again. It might be scary, but he owes himself that much.

Next time. 

Next time he’ll be ready to actually engage in a conversation with someone who piques his interest. 

Until then, he’ll cut his losses for today and jump back into his book. Maybe if he finds the courage to do so, Eddie can sneak a couple of sideways glances at the guy. That’s not creepy, right? 

“Are you reading The Westing Game?”

The question catches Eddie off guard as he fumbles to hold up the book. “Yeah, I am.”

“Me too,” the blond says as he turns towards Eddie and pulls out a worn copy of the book out of his back pocket.

Eddie’s eyes are temporarily drawn to a red bookmark sticking out at the end of the book, before settling on the cover itself. The cover is different from his, but the title is the same. 

Eddie has no clue what the odds are of this happening, but he’s more thankful than ever to May. Not only has the book been the perfect option for him to turn to occupy his free time, it’s also acting as a way for him to continue talking to this guy. 

“How do you feel about it so far?”

It’s the perfect conversation starter and Eddie latches onto it right away. 

“I’m really enjoying it,” he begins before diving into a more in-depth explanation of his thoughts. 

He talks about everything from the characters to the storylines that took him by surprise to the theories he has for how the book will end. It all comes rushing out of him in a way that words usually don’t and he’s proud of himself up until the guy sitting across from him laughs.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, using his free hand to cover a smile. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”

Seeing as though there’s no one else around, it really  feels like Eddie is being laughed at. It picks and prods at a deep-seated sense of inadequacy that he’d really rather not be experiencing on his day off. 

“Was I rambling?” 

“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I never said how far into the book I was.”

Mortification seeps into Eddie’s veins in an instant, coursing through his body and making him warm all over. “I saw your bookmark placement and assumed...”

“I just put it in a random spot of the book so I wouldn’t forget it.”

“Oh.” 

This is what Eddie gets for assuming, isn’t it? How does that saying go again? When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you and me?

It’s safe to say that he has definitely made an ass out of himself.

“So, I just spoiled the entire book for you?” The guy doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The answer is written all over his face. “Shit, I am  so sorry. You came here to enjoy your book and instead you got stuck next to an idiot who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.” 

“Hey, no it’s okay. Really. I liked hearing what your thoughts on the book are. Gives me a better idea of what I have in store for me when I start reading it myself.” 

The smile on the blond’s face makes it seem as though he’s not annoyed but Eddie’s not convinced. Had someone done the same thing to him, he would be less than impressed. It’s why he starts packing up his things to go, making sure to put his book away first. The guy has reserved the right to enjoy some quiet time without Eddie there to disturb him anymore.

“I still can’t believe I did that.” Eddie stands up, slings his backpack over his shoulder and twists the fabric of his jacket in his hands. He’ll finish his book at home. “I’ll leave you to it.” 

He gives an awkward wave and sets off in the direction of the car, all the while internally chastising himself for the foolish mistake.  

“Wait!” 

Eddie is tempted to ignore the command, but his still deeply ingrained army training makes it hard to do so. He stops walking and the guy is there, standing in front of him, only seconds later. He’s holding his book in his hands and Eddie tries not to cringe.

“You don’t have to leave.” Eddie is about to argue otherwise when the stranger adds, “I know you feel bad about the book. But what if you make it up to me another way instead?”

“And how would I do that?”

“You can take me out for coffee.”

Eddie can’t keep his jaw from falling open. Out of everything he was expecting the guy to say, this was the last thing he had in mind. “Huh?”

“Take me out for coffee,” he repeats, scratching the back of his neck. “Only if you want to.”

“I do,” Eddie answers, perhaps a little too quickly. “I’m Eddie by the way.”

“Buck.” It’s an odd name, but it’s something Eddie intends to comment on. “Now c’mon, that bench is big enough for the both of us and I know you’re dying to finish your book.” 

Eddie (3:42pm): met a cute guy at the park and accidentally spoiled the book for him

Eddie (3:43pm): and then he asked me out for coffee 

Eddie (3:43pm): also, i finished the book

May (5:02pm): we’re going out for lunch this weekend and you’re telling me everything (your thoughts about the book and this cute guy) 

Eddie (6:00pm): you got it

Eddie is half-asleep on the sofa when the front door opens. He shifts at the sound, body too heavy to move into a sitting position. 

“Eddie?”

“Hm?” 

Feet move carefully across the hardwood floor and then there’s a body sliding into the space right in front of Eddie’s. It’s a tight squeeze, but Eddie wouldn’t want it any other way.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Buck murmurs, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and kissing his forehead. 

Eddie melts into his boyfriend’s arms the way that he always does. Even after two years together, the novelty of being held by Buck has yet to wear off.

“I wanted to.”

Eddie nuzzles against Buck’s neck, drawing a small laugh out of the younger man. 

“Someone’s extra cuddly today.”

There was a time when a comment like that would’ve been enough to shame Eddie into pulling away and apologizing. This, being open with how much he craves affection, is something he’s worked hard towards since him and Buck officially became a couple though. Now that he’s allowed himself to have it, there’s no way he’s ever turning back. “I missed you.”

Another laugh. “I was only gone for a few hours.”

“A few hours too long.”

Buck starts running his hand up and down the length of Eddie’s back and that plus the silence around them lulls Eddie right back onto the verge of sleep. 

“I have a confession to make.”

“Mhm?”

“I lied to you.”

The words are like a bucket of cold water, effectively waking Eddie up. He presses his back against the couch, earning himself an inch or two of space away from Buck. He tilts his head up, sees the guilt in Buck’s eyes, and feels his breath hitch.

“About what?” Eddie asks, hating how his voice cracks.

He trusts Buck implicitly and knows he’d never do anything to hurt Eddie, but that can’t stop fear from making a home in his heart. 

Buck has to be able to feel how tense Eddie is but he stills his hand, keeping it pressed against Eddie’s back. It’s the anchor that grounds him, the only thing keeping him from running away from whatever it is Buck has to say like Eddie so desperately wants to.

“Remember that first day we met?”

Of course Eddie does. How can he forget the day that changed the course of his life forevermore? “Yes.” 

“And how you thought you spoiled The Westing Game for me?”

“Yes.” 

Years later, Eddie can still remember how mortified he was on that day when he realized what he had done. They’ve told the story many times whenever people ask them how they first met, and the story usually ends with a lot of laughter and Eddie hiding his face in his hands. 

“It’s maybe possible that I withheld the truth just a little that day.”

“Withheld it how?” 

Buck’s hand curls into a fist at Eddie’s back, a surefire sign that he’s nervous.

“You didn’t actually spoil it for me.”

Eddie must still be a little sleepy, that’s why Buck’s words don’t make sense. “What do you mean?”

“That wasn’t my first time reading The Westing Game.”

The admission takes a minute to register but, once it does, Eddie is left reeling. “Do you-does that-you mean I didn’t spoil it for you?” 

“Technically no.” 

“Technically?”

“That was my first time reading it in a couple of years, so I had forgotten a lot of the details you mentioned, but I did remember the way it ended.”

Eddie blames the late hour for his lack of filter and for saying what he does next.

“I want a divorce.”

Buck reels back like he’s been slapped and maybe, in a way, he has been. There’s hurt written in the lines of his face, but also understanding. It’s almost as if he was expecting this reaction. He opens his mouth to respond, to say what, Eddie isn’t sure. Because realization dawns on Buck and he says, “we’re not married.”

“Yeah I know.”

Buck uses the arm that is still slung over Eddie’s waist to do away with the small space between them and tuck Eddie against his chest. “You scared me for a second there.”

“You scared me too.”

“I’m sorry I lied.”

Eddie rests his hand right over Buck’s heart, feeling his accelerated heartbeat thrumming under his fingers. He closes his eyes again and lets it lull him back to sleep. “It’s fine. You can be the one to tell our family that you were so desperate to date me that you lied so you could ask me out.”

“I hate you.”

Eddie tilts his head up just enough to kiss Buck’s neck. “Love you too.” 

Eddie (1:02am): buck’s been lying to me this whole time 

May (10:02am): did he finally tell you about the westing game?

Eddie (10:55am): you knew??

May (11:02am): yeah he told me a year and a half ago

May (11:03am): i think it makes your meet cute even cuter

Eddie (12:02pm): i cannot believe this. deceived by my boyfriend and my pseudo-niece on the same day.

May (12:15pm): don’t be so dramatic

May (12:19pm): you, me, chris and maddie still going ring shopping this weekend?

May (12:20pm): i better not have interrogated your boyfriend about his taste in jewelry for nothing

Eddie (2:03pm): yeah, we’re still on for this weekend. I’ll see you then.

[amysubmits]

What areas of life would you say are out of the purview of a Dom? I remember a while back you responded to a post about a Dom telling their sub to vote for a particular political party and you seemed very against that. I would also assume any life-altering decisions (ie. moving, having a child) must be made by both partners, not merely decided by the Dom. Where do you set these boundaries in your relationship and where do you think is a reasonable place for others to set them?

Well, I try to be open-minded about the reality that all submissives are different and all relationships are different. So I think where those lines should be drawn can vary really dramatically depending on the people, the relationship, and other factors. I think if a submissive doesn’t feel assured that if they let go of an area of control, that their needs will still be met, and that the responsibility will be handled well, then that is ‘too far’ for them. But it’s also just possible that something may not be ‘too far’ in an unhealthy way exactly, but may just not be a way that the sub or the couple wants to do D/s. 

I think what you may be trying to get at is, what things are *always* too far? This is just my opinion that is largely based on my own instincts, which I think is all any of us can go on because we don’t have definitive answers on what may or maynot be damaging in D/s. But in my mind, D/s shouldn’t be used to change who someone is, to try to control their addiction or mental health. Those are the two main things that come to mind, I guess.

I think it’s great for D/s couples to support each other's mental health, but not to try to control it or take responsibility for it. I don’t think rules or punishments or rewards should be used to try to require a sub to avoid addictive behaviors or mental health behaviors. I just think it’s messy and potentially dangerous, and is kind of trying to ‘play’ psychologist. I also think it’s bad to see it as your responsibility even. I don’t think it’s good for partners to feel like ‘well they’re having a bad day so it’s my job to figure out how to make them happy’ or whatever it may be. You can’t take responsibility for someone else's wellbeing on that level. Try to support how and when you can, but don’t feel like it’s your job to fix their mood, cure their addiction, correct their mental health issue,etc. 

With identity or not changing who you are...that’s pretty subjective. But I don’t think it’s good to feel like you’re being asked to let go of a piece of what makes you, you. Or I don’t think it’s good if a sub feels like they’re having to become something or someone that just isn’t natural to who they are. In my mind, red flags related to identity and D/s would be things like trying to force a “tomboy” sub to wear dresses, or trying to cut off contact with the subs friends or family, or saying crap like ‘what you want doesn’t matter, you should find all your pleasure in pleasing me.” or “You don’t need to think for yourself.” or “Daddy is always right.” in genuine ways. As roleplay, pretend, dirty talk, that is no big deal. But genuinely thinking that a sub shouldn’t have needs and desires of their own outside of pleasing their dom, genuinely thinking a sub doesn’t need to think for themselves, genuinely thinking that a sub should always pretend their dom is right...those things all suggest to me that the submissives identity is being ignored and I don’t see that as okay. 

The identity reason is why I agreed with that ask about voting. I see voting as a way that we express our moral values and/or our moral priorities. And our personal values are just such a big piece of what makes us who we are. That the idea of a dom trying to tell a sub they have to vote the way the dom wants them to...that just tells me that the dom doesn’t value the submissives values/beliefs. Which to me is quite dehumanizing, really.

I agree with you that big decisions like moving or having children shouldn’t be solely decided by a dom. In my mind that falls into the ‘identity’ category. I think adults need a say in major decisions in their lives for their own mental wellbeing and sense of importance, respect, etc. However, in general, I don’t think that allowing an area of your life to be controlled by your Dom has to *at all* mean that it’s solely his decision. Even in the areas where CD has explicit control, I still get to share my opinion and preferences as much as I want. It’s just that he gets the final say, or like 51% of the vote. Which for me is really important. Even on insignificant issues, if I wasn’t allowed to express my preferences on something, I wouldn’t feel respected in the way I need to feel respected in order to have a loving relationship and to feel like a true partnership. I can feel respected if he hears what I want and tells me no. I can feel respected if I tell him how I think something would be best handled, but he decides to handle it another way. I can’t feel respected if he doesn’t even want to hear my preferences and opinions. That’s not to say that he specifically asks my opinion all the time, particularly on ‘smaller’ issues he might just tell me what he plans to do. But, I always know I can speak up and share my opinion whenever. And for bigger issues he always makes things a conversation and explicitly invites my input. He doesn’t want to decide big things entirely on his own as that wouldn’t feel good to him either. 

As far as where we draw our lines? Well, some of the ‘kinda farther out there’ things that CD gets the final say on would be where we live/move, big financial decisions, health care decisions for our dogs, health insurance decisions, our work/life balance, we practice sexual availability, etc. As far as what's too far for me? None of these are things CD would want to control but...when we have kids, what I eat, how I speak, and I just generally need to not feel micro-managed. For example, I wouldn’t be okay with a D/s style where he gave me a scheduled that mapped out every 30 minutes of my life all day long. I wouldn't be okay with having to ask to go to the bathroom. I wouldn’t be okay with being given ‘busy work’. I wouldn’t be okay with him wanting to do “too much” for me, like in general I wouldn’t want to feel like he was treating me like child. I’m sure there are others. It’s kinda hard to really think about because we’ve never really sat down and created boundaries, we’ve just always kinda naturally felt things out. Most of our D/s is based around domestic stuff and letting him lead our relationship. So if he wanted me to start mopping the floor on Sundays he knows he could just give me that rule pretty much without even asking. But he also knows things that are more emotional or sensitive for me that might be harder for me to let go of, so if he wanted to encourage me to work on something we’d talk about it and he’d ask in a case like that. So overstepping just isn’t an issue we’ve had, even though we don’t have a formal list of what is off-limits. I think we’re also just kinda lucky that our natural inclinations for what we both like him to control are pretty similar. But anyway, most of these things I that I say would be ‘too far’ for me, aren’t about being ‘too far’ for D/s in general they are just things that aren’t right for the type of submissive I am personally. 

[raendown]

Shout-out to you-know-who-you-are for reminding me to post this because I honestly didn’t even realize it was Sunday. Whoops!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4088 Chapter: 14/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 14

“I’m not sure why you’re so worried about solving the problem right this second.” Touka examined her fried squid with a little too much interest to be genuine before delicately catching a piece between her teeth and nibbling it away from the stick. Her apparent disinvestment in their conversation did not fool him for a moment.

“They’re brothers, closer maybe than Hashirama and I.”

“Doesn’t take much,” Touka interrupted with a scoff, her words muffle around the mouthful of squid.

Tobirama ignored her. “Izuna means a lot to Madara and having a wedge like this between the brother he loves and the husband he’s contractually stuck with, it’s got him in knots. He’s moping. But you didn’t hear me say that because every time I use the word moping he gets prissy and starts yelling about the difference between moping and thoughtful silences.”

Pausing to let an older couple pass in front of them in the busy marketplace, he shared a secret look with his favorite cousin.

“Does he get that squinty look? The really hot one where he starts puffing his chest out?”

“Every time,” Tobirama answered.

Touka laughed as she pulled the last of her squid off its stick, popping the morsel in her mouth and tossing the stick in a public trash bin when they passed one. “Shame he’s so mouthy, really. You got lucky in the looks department but he’s too loud for my tastes.”

“I kind of like him the way he is.” Sensing her eyes drilling in to the side of his head, Tobirama huffed. “Yes, I know. Don’t bother saying it. This is supposed to happen in a marriage but – and I never thought I would have to say this about myself – getting attached like this probably isn’t really the best idea.” Knuckles brushing against his own was Touka’s way of expressing sympathy out here where so many strangers could see them.

“Be careful,” was all she said, simple words that carried a depth of meaning very few would be able to discern.

“No promises,” Tobirama shot back. She rolled her eyes at him but let the subject drop.

When they turned the next corner they were treated to the sight of the afternoon sunlight laying a golden crown around the tower that made the center of their village. After getting caught up in a meeting with the Sanitation Committee about why burying their garbage right next to a residential area wasn’t a great solution such a vision was more than welcome, reminding him of the few reasons he did think this village was a good idea. He had missed his usual lunch hour before of the meeting and so ended up taking a late break with Touka as she came off patrol. Now that they were done eating he would have to go back to the drone of paperwork.

Sometimes he really missed risking his life on missions. At least it was never boring.

He had planned to part ways with Touka after she saw him back to his office but they never made it that far, stopped in the hallway by a large crowd of people and immediately drawn by the same curiosity as everyone else had been: raised voices. Both of the shouting voices were unfortunately quite familiar. It wasn’t the first time that Tajima and Butsuma had argued in public, something that had been growing more and more common since the first time after Tajima caught Butsuma yelling at one of his sons, and the only reason Tobirama hadn’t made any attempts to rein his father in was the fact that it didn’t seem to be affecting how well the rest of their clans worked together.

From what he could understand of their yelling it didn’t appear that Tajima had gotten the message on that. It seemed like the longer they worked together and the more people joined this venture they had pioneered the more paranoid he grew about everything that went on around him. Tobirama wished he could say that Butsuma balanced him out with level-headed responses but unfortunately much the opposite was true.

“He is my son, not your own! It should not be for you to say where he goes and when!” Tajima’s voice sounded livid and his face, when they finally fought their way through the crowd, was red with anger. Not an unfamiliar sight.

“This mission requires a certain skill set and Izuna matches that perfectly. Should I pretend the entirety of the Uchiha clan does not exist when assigning teams for each mission?” Butsuma’s face was hardly faring any better and his body language was just as aggressive, much to Tobirama’s tired irritation.

“You do as much whenever it pleases you from what I can tell!”

“I beg your pardon?” Butsuma’s eyes narrowed. Tajima did not take the warning.

Stepping forward almost threateningly, he made wide gestures to match his accusations. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often my clan members get sent away and pushed to the side while you keep your own children close and pair them with the Hyuga.”

“Are you trying to say something about my administrative choices?”

“I think you understand what I’m trying to say,” Tajima snarled. “You and the head of the Hyuga clan have been getting a little too close for me to ignore it any longer.”

“There is nothing for you to ignore. It isn’t my fault if you choose to jump at shadows and secret plots that don’t exist. I stand by my decision. Your son Izuna was chosen for this mission because he is well equipped for it and Tobirama has been assigned to the land expansion project for the same reasons. That this project happens to work closely with the Hyuga has nothing to do with you!” Unlike his counterpart, Butsuma did not bull his way forward but rather settled his legs in to a firmer stance and stubbornly crossed his arms.

Across the room Tobirama lifted his eyebrows. This was the first he had heard of being assigned to any new projects. Sure he was good with numbers and had a knack for thinking of things in long term views, something that coming up with budgets for future expansions would need, but he was hardly the only person with a head for arithmetic in the whole village. Plenty of other people could take his place crunching these particular numbers.

Clearly Tajima seemed to think so as well, although his issue didn’t seem to be with Tobirama’s placement but more with the other people working on the expansion plans. The red covering his face deepened another shade as he clenched his fists with rage.

“Lies! Do not lie to me! You have the nerve to send my son away on a mission to risk his life while keeping your own safe at home and oh! What a coincidence! Working closely with the Hyuga!”

“What exactly do you imagine is happening that has not already been covered in our very public meetings?” Butsuma demanded, clearly tiring of this argument.

“You are undermining me and my clan! Have you forgotten that this village was only made possible by my clan’s equal contribution? You did not build this empire alone and it is not for you to rule by yourself! I refuse to sit idly by while you replace us with an inferior clan just because you think you can control them better!”

“Be careful what you say to me, Uchiha.” Drawing himself up a little taller, Butsuma at least made a good impression of a man insulted.

Tobirama was contemplating the pros and cons of hiding under a rock for the rest of his life when he heard Touka sigh to his left. When he looked over her face was drawn in to an expression that practically dripped with exasperation, body language screaming her desire to call both of the men before them six kinds of idiots. Pretty much her usual reaction to any sort of interaction with either of their two founders.

“Do you think they know how stupid they look?” she murmured under her breath.

“Hmph.” Tobirama leaned closer to murmur back. “Do you think they realize what a poor image they make of themselves every time they do this in public? What a terrible example to follow.” To make such fools of themselves or to insult another prominent clan so brazenly, he wasn’t sure which was stupider but he did know the answer to his own question. Neither man probably realized how badly the people in the room were judging them.

“So? Do something about it then.”

“What, and solve all their problems for them? They’re going to have to grow up some time.” Tobirama sniffed haughtily like he had no idea what she was talking about and Touka snickered. She tried to swat his arm for being cheeky but he dodged easily, moving as little as possible as in an effort not to draw his father’s eye yet.

There was no escaping her pointed look however.

“Fine, alright. I’m leaving my administrative duties to you, I hope you know. Enjoy covering my paperwork.” She groaned but, amazingly, didn’t fight him on it.

Saying he would do it and actually forcing himself to step forward to interrupt the stupid measuring contest going on between the pair in front of him were two different matters, though. It was hard to find a place to insert himself without screaming over top of them to get their attention, something he was quite sure would only get him in more trouble than it would solve. His opportunity came in the form of another dig from Tajima.

“How are the people meant to trust the man who leads them if that man will send their children away to die while his own sit safe at home?”

“It is the nature of shinobi to die,” Butsuma retorted in a cold voice. The blankness of his voice, a brief reappearance of the typical Senju control over their emotions, was enough to shock Tajima in to silence and give Tobirama a moment to make himself heard.

“Rather than make a spectacle of ourselves,” he stepped in with a mildly reprimanding tone, “I have a solution if you would both hear it. There are several of the Nara I can list off the top of my head who would be more than capable of taking my place on the land expansion project if I accompany Izuna on his mission. Father, I agree with you that Izuna’s skill set is particularly well suited for this task but Tajima-sama does also have a point. He should have back up. Allow me to go with him; it will make a good show of unity.”

Both of them stared at him with matching expressions of shock. Now a step behind him, Touka turned aside to hide her amusement. It took effort to hide his own exasperation at two grown adults who couldn’t make themselves behave like civilized humans until they were handed a perfectly obvious solution by someone more than twenty years their junior.

“That would be acceptable,” Tajima admitted gruffly, the first to shake himself out of his stupor. Not to be outdone, Butsuma cleared his throat and nodded, visibly ashamed of allowing himself to get dragged in to such a public display.

“Agreed,” was all he said but to anyone who knew him well there were entire layers of embarrassment and resentment buried in that one word.

Nodding back to them, Tobirama very carefully did not sigh. “Excellent. I will find Izuna and have him relay the details of the mission to me. Might I recommend Nara Shikou as my replacement? He displays excellent attention to detail each time I have worked with him.”

Without waiting for an answer Tobirama dismissed himself by turning on his heel and striding forward as though entirely unaware of the large crowd that had gathered to watch the altercation play out. People scrambled to dodge out of his path but he kept his eyes forward, continuing down the hall until he was alone with only Touka’s chakra trailing along at his heels like a small cloud of contained laughter. She followed him until he was just around the corner from Izuna’s office and then stopped him before he could go on.

“Good luck cousin,” she said. “Try not to let him smother you in your sleep.”

“Thanks,” he told her dryly.

She left with a wave and Tobirama took a deep breath before approaching Izuna’s door and waiting until his knock was answered with a curt “Enter.” He wasn’t surprised to be met with a glare or to discover that he had interrupted some sort of meeting, probably instructions for filling in while he was gone. The two women Izuna was speaking to took one look between them and bolted without waiting for permission to leave.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I’ve been consigned to accompany you when you leave for the capitol so I’ll need you to catch me up on the details of the assignment.” To his absolute lack of surprise, the irritation of Izuna’s face slipped down in to outright distaste.

“Are you serious? For fuck’s sake. I don’t need a babysitter – and I don’t need help! Especially not from you!” His entire face pinched in a sour look.

Tobirama watched the other man throw up his hands and mutter darkly to himself, questioning for a moment why he had bothered to do this. A brief but well-timed flare of chakra from the floor above them was all it took to reminded him of why. Madara, whatever he was doing, was apparently having a bad day. Hopefully the news that his husband and his brother would be spending some ‘quality time’ together might help improve his mood and clear the dark little cloud that had been hanging over his head lately.

Drawing the length of his ponytail forward over his shoulder and tugging fitfully at the end, Izuna gave vent to a deep sigh of defeat. “I can’t get out of this?”

“Both of our fathers agreed on it.” And he would not be the one to mention that it had been his own idea.

“Ugh. I seriously do not need your help! I can do this on my own!”

“I am sure you are more than capable. For the purposes of this mission you may consider me an emergency exit strategy and an extra pair of eyes.”

“Hmph.” Izuna glared at him. “That’s about all you’re good for, I’ll bet.”

Really it wasn’t worth letting him start a fight over something so petty. Tobirama refused to rise to the bait. Instead he sidestepped the insult and tried to steer the conversation back to business.

“Do tell me if I’ve missed any details but as it stands what I know of the mission is that we are going to the capital to escort the Daimyo’s niece as she travels in secret. To be honest I didn’t look too hard at that request since I didn’t think I was being assigned to it.” He shrugged, pleased to see even Izuna couldn’t find anything wrong with that. At least he wasn’t sticking his nose in everyone else’s business.

“That’s close but not really it. Apparently the Daimyo’s niece has been travelling to a secret location several times a week and won’t speak about where she’s going. He wants us to tail her and stay completely out of sight. If she’s in trouble he wants us to take out whoever might be hurting her. If she’s colluding with his enemies he wants us to gather as much information as possible and bring him evidence of her crimes.” For a moment he looked up to the ceiling as though running through his memories to check if he missed anything. “Anyway, we’re supposed to keep a low profile on our way to the capital and meet with his representative in the market district, at the Red Dog Tavern. They’ll tell us where she leaves town and when to wait for her. We can’t be seen.”

“Nothing too complicated,” Tobirama murmured. Stealth missions weren’t his favorite, he usually found them quite boring even if he did have the patience of a rock when it was necessary to get that all important paycheck.

Izuna leaned towards the window to check the position of the sun. “I was just giving my assistants a few last minute instructions and then I meant to head out. Don’t suppose you’re all ready to go?”

“Give me half an hour.”

“Fine. Meet at the north gate in thirty minutes. If you’re not there – well, you’re a sensor aren’t you? I’m sure you can find me and catch up.”

Tobirama held his tongue and turned for the door. Thirty minutes was more than enough time for him to make it home and grab the mission pack he still kept ready at all times even though he hadn’t found much time for anything other than paperwork since moving here. But there was something else he needed to do before leaving.

Out in the hallway people appeared to be returning to work and a quick scan for their chakra signatures showed that Butsuma and Tajima had ended their fight in one manner or another, now heading in opposite directions. He could only assume to cool off after embarrassing themselves so thoroughly. With so many people in his way it took a minute or two longer than expected for Tobirama to make it up to the next floor and poke his head in to an office he hadn’t actually spent much time in, both despite and because of who was inside.

Hashirama looked up with a big smile when he entered and Tobirama nodded in return, flicking his eyes over in Madara's direction.

“Could you give us a few minutes?” he asked. His brother stared.

“Like, alone?”

“Yes, you idiot, I would like a few minutes alone with my husband if that isn’t too much trouble.”

“So cute!” Hashirama was up out of his chair in a flash and shoving his way out the door. “Maybe I’ll nip down and visit Mito! Oh this is fun!”

He was gone almost before he was finished speaking and Tobirama was shaking his head as he stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. Madara watched him curiously with a hint of trepidation that he entirely understood. ‘We need to talk’ wasn’t usually the sort of conversation opener that implied anything positive was about to come.  

“It’s not anything bad,” he hurried to say when it looked like Madara was starting to brace himself. “I just didn’t want to leave without saying anything to you.”

“Leave?”

“After this conversation, yes. I’m being sent along with Izuna on his mission.”

Madara rocked back in his seat, eyes wide with surprise. “Kami save us all.” His response startled Tobirama in to a wide eyed expression of his own.

“I…thought that would please you.”

“Sending you both off alone and unsupervised? If neither one of you kills the other I will be greatly surprised.” With a low groan he ran a hand through his hair. “You two don’t exactly have a great track record for getting along so far.”

Tobirama scrunched his nose. He deserved that. “Regardless, we’ll need to make at least some sort of effort. I’m not certain how long this should take, hopefully no more than a week all told even with complications, but I wanted to let you know where I was going before I disappeared without warning.”

“I appreciate that,” Madara told him quietly.

“Right.” His message delivered, Tobirama wasn’t really sure what else to say. Yet strangely he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave yet either. He did ask for a half hour and if he wanted to waste chakra on a body flicker it would take less than a minute to flash home, retrieve his kit, and reappear at the meeting point.

“You’ll be careful?”

“I- yes?” The question threw him a little. He couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him to be careful on a mission. Usually it was just implied.

“Good.” Madara cleared his throat and valiantly strove to maintain eye contact. “I’m too young to be a widower so neither one of you are allowed to actually die, understood? A little maiming at most if you absolutely can’t control yourselves.”

Not bothering to fight the sudden smile, Tobirama nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

He hovered for a few another minutes, unsure of what to say and almost hoping Madara would ask him something else, but the moment was made awkward by neither of them quite knowing how to handle it. This was the first time since they were bonded that they would be separated for longer than a day or two and of course it came now that neither of them laid awake at night wishing for a way to escape from the other.

Eventually Tobirama decided that there was little point in standing around staring at each other and he murmured his goodbyes. Madara's gaze burned hot on his back as he let himself out of the room. Their conversation hadn’t lasted very long so he still had quite a bit of time; he used it to walk home at a leisurely pace and take in the sights of the village for no other reason than it pleased him to do so. It truly was amazing what all these clans had accomplished together, the peace that they had built and maintained after so many years of warring senselessly against each other.

Once he had his things he set off again for the north gate at the same easy speed. He could have used his time to say goodbye to Hashirama but surely Madara would mention where he had gone and it likely would have taken longer than the thirty minute time frame to remove himself from his brother’s clutches. Hashirama’s goodbyes had never been quick.

When he arrived at the gates he still had several minutes to spare but he found Izuna already waiting with impatience stamped across his face. He took one look at Tobirama, huffed, and turned away to set off down the path without so much as a word of greeting. It didn’t surprise him, really. That was probably the sort of behavior he had to look forward to for most of their journey – but he had chosen this for himself so he could hardly complain. If not a chance to make friends or make peace this could at least be a chance to come to some sort of agreement. Even if that agreement was simply not to argue too much in front of Madara.

They both cared for the same man and wanted him to be happy and so they would both need a plan to work towards that goal. If Tobirama could find nothing in Izuna not to hate then he would do his best to find something tolerable in the man and focus his attention on those qualities. Or maybe he would just drag them out to the sparring fields so they could beat on each other without fear of worrying anyone else or causing undue offense.

Actually that was a decent idea. He would need to keep that option in mind should this venture prove a complete failure.

Several long steps brought him up to walk at Izuna’s side where his brother-in-law gave him an evil look most people would save for a particularly disgusting piece of garbage or an enemy that had haunted them for years gone by.

“Just don’t get in my way, Senju,” he growled.

“Let’s talk exit strategies,” Tobirama deflected. Talking about the mission was probably a lot safer than giving voice to any of the several responses that leapt to mind.

Thankfully Izuna allowed the change in subject, though he contributed only begrudgingly and continued to make himself as difficult to work with as possible. It took everything Tobirama had not to snap at him before they had traded a dozen sentences back and forth but he held on to his temper with a white knuckle grip and told himself that if he could just make it through this one mission, if he could just prove to Izuna that they could live with each other in some way, the rest of his life would be a lot more peaceful.

And Madara would be a lot more happy.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Driving Lessons

Hey guys, I’m back to writing! haven’t had the motivation for a while but now I do! And here’s a suggestion from a while ago, where reader teaches Arthur to drive!

Warnings: None! A little bit of fluff.

“Now press on the pedal slowly and easily.”

The car lurched forward, promptly slamming your back to the seat. With the wind knocked out of you, you breathlessly huffed, “Arthur!”

He immediately eased up, taking his foot off completely as the car slowed to a crawl. “Sorry.” He murmured sheepishly.

You sighed. “That’s alright, just remember it’s sensitive.”

He nodded, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he turned his attention forward. The car sped up again, this time a little more slowly.

“Good,” you praised. “Now test out the brakes. Just like before, ease your foot onto it.”

He shifted, and you felt the car slow down, although the initial stop was hard. You braced yourself with your hands on the dashboard to keep yourself upright, the seat belt cutting uncomfortably in your torso.

He looked at you, the apology clear in his eyes. “This is harder than it looks.”

“You’ll get used to it,” you assured him. “It takes everyone a while.”

Although you weren’t sure how often you’d let him drive in the first place. He asked you out of the blue one day to teach him. And after some thought, you decided to do so. He’d never be able to obtain a license, however. And it’s not like a horse and buggy were a common sight these days. You couldn’t afford a horse, anyway.

So you found yourself in an empty parking lot on a Sunday afternoon, thankful that the accompanying store was closed that day.

Maybe one day he’ll find use in this world, especially if he was never going to return to his own life. Automobiles weren’t an occurrence in his time yet, even in sophisticated civilization like Saint Denis still relied on horses and trains. He never saw a car until he was warped to your time period.

“Ridin’ horses is a lot easier.” He grumbled.

“You’re the one who asked,” you reminded him. “Just be glad this isn’t a stick shift.”

He stared at you blankly. “A what?”

A giggle escaped you. “That’s a whole different matter altogether,” you pointed to the gear shift. “Now this stays until you want to park or reverse. This car is an automatic. But with a stick shift, you have to move it in a pattern constantly while you’re driving, or it stops working.”

His blue eyes widened in surprise. “Now why would someone get a contraption like that?”

You shrugged. “Some people just prefer it.”

He exhaled in disbelief. “Okay, what next?”

“Practice steering.” You said.

After ten minutes and a couple of near heart attacks, Arthur had managed to understand pedal pressure and steering to a relative science. He was smarter than he gave himself credit for, and you were silently thankful that he was able to grasp it fairly quickly. He kept his hands on ten and two on the wheel, and you could see his blue eyes dart from between the rear and side view mirrors. Although his entire torso stood stiff against the seat, and no matter how many times you’d told him to relax, he didn’t.

It took him a little longer to grasp the concept of the gear shift. Trying to explain reversing was more difficult than you imagined, and had to coach him multiple times, many narrowly avoiding a light pole. Eventually he’d figured it out, although you kept him driving forward from that point on.

“Can I try on the road?” he asked as the two of you sat idly in a parking space. The sun had since disappeared; the sky a gradient of blues and purples as the last light of the day were fading.

“Probably not the best idea…” you sighed, your gaze traveling toward the street.

“Why not? You said I learned quickly.”

Looking at him again, you smiled. “You did,” he rubbed his arm lightly. “But with our luck, some cop would pull us over, then it’s both our asses for letting you drive without a license.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched slightly in disdain from the mention of the law. “This world o’ yours…so many rules,” he murmured. “But can’t I try? At least for a few minutes?”

“You’re that determined, huh?”

Arthur let out a soft sigh. “S’not so much the determination as it is the freedom, I guess,” he explained. “I miss being able to ride out whenever I wanted to. But horses ain’t the main method of transportation no more. Now y’all got cars, and need special training to use ‘em.”

You listened to him speak, staying silent.

“So it’s just my way of gettin’ some sort o’ freedom,” he continued, his eyes soft. “Even if I can’t drive by myself, it’s just a little reminder.”

Freedom. “Aw, Arthur,” you cooed, running your hand along his arm to intertwine your fingers with his. “Do you honestly feel trapped?”

He squeezed your hand and shook his head. “You’ve been great to me, Y/N. Even if ya had to keep me inside for a while. I just gotta get used to modern times still.”

If only, you thought to yourself, If only you could give him what he wanted. After a moment, you gave him a small nod. “You can drive on the street, but only for a few minutes.”

He smiled widely. “Thanks. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

With a smile as genuine as that, you didn’t have to say that you believed him. He’s been careful so far. Slowly, he drove out of the parking space and approached the exit of the lot. You didn’t have to remind him to look both ways, or which lane to slide into. It was almost as if he’d been driving for much longer. Then again, you’ve watched this man drive a train and take control of horse drawn carriages no problem.

He progressed down the street at a near crawl, and you kept your eyes out for any other drivers or police cars hidden around any corners. Thankfully, it was fairly empty. You’d never been more relieved to live in such a small town.

You alerted him to keep track of his speed. Coming up to a stop sign, you reminded him to brake. He did, softer than last time. He kept his eyes out, briefly acknowledging the other car as it passed by.

With a dead end coming up, you indicated him to turn down another street. He did so, using the blinker and easing around the corner. The movement was slightly jerky, yet much better than you anticipated. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the smile on his face remaining still. You wondered if he was imaging himself on horseback instead.

“Hey.”

He glanced at you.

“Wanna drive home?” you asked.

He blinked. “Really? You ain’t worried about cops?”

You shrugged. “Not many people out today, so we’re probably good.”

A wide grin crossed his face. “Alright, well… show me the way.”

And from that moment, Arthur proved he was a wonderful driver.

The ride was only ten minutes, yet you’d almost forgotten that he’d just gotten behind the wheel the first time earlier that evening. Neither of you spoke much, although the atmosphere was relaxing. You didn’t have to remind him of anything, he kept himself in check pretty easily. You had to wonder if he ever did drive before, yet you highly doubted it.

The last light of the day had long since disappeared when he pulled into your driveway, expertly putting the car into park and killing the engine. As you unbuckled your seatbelt and clutched the door handle, you realized Arthur hadn’t moved. “Arthur?”

He looked at you again. Silent, although the happiness etched in his face didn’t seem to dim. He reached for you, his hands gingerly on your cheeks, pulling you closer. Your lips met, tender and warm. He held you for a moment before pulling back. “Thank you for that.” He murmured.

You smiled at him. “You’re welcome,” you answered with an equal softness in your voice. “Maybe next time, I’ll let you drive to the park.”

He nodded once, the expression not changing. “Sounds like a plan.”

[kattheninjalibrarian]

What it Feels Like to be Single in the Modern Christian Church

I was recently discussing singleness in the church with a friend, and it made me realize I have a lot of thoughts that I just want to get out about the subject.  I have so much more to say about this, but it’s a start.  I felt like maybe there might be other people who feel the same way about it that I do. Maybe if we all know we feel the same way, we won’t feel as alone anymore.  Take it or leave it as you wish, this is just an opinion of an older single christian woman drawn from my personal experiences.

Being single is hard.  Being 34 and single is even harder.  But being 34 and single in the modern day christian church?  Without trying to sound dramatic, it feels like your life is over.  Let me tell you what walking into church every Sunday feels like for me.  I feel like a leper.  Like I have some horrible disease that everyone is afraid of catching.  Like if someone gets caught talking to me, something bad will happen to them.  I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve tried to shake people’s hand and say good morning during greeting time and been ignored.  You know the time I’m talking about.  The time where the pastor says “say good morning to your neighbor!” and you hope that someone will just notice and say hello to you.  I also can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve been on the other end of a dirty look from a wife whose husband turned around to greet me and say hello.  No, I am not trying to steal your husband from you just because he said hi.  You could say hello to me and introduce yourself though and see that I’m not.  Maybe we could be friends.  I would like some friends.   

You see, I feel the modern church today has lost its way.  What is supposed to be a group of people coming together to encourage each other, build each other up, worship our Lord, learn about Jesus, do life together, and bring other people in to show them His love has turned into a married person’s social club.  People are more concerned with their cliques and their social status within the church than they are the reason we all supposedly go to church in the first place.  Jesus.  And if you want to be in the group, to be accepted and to be thought of as an equal....well you better have a spouse at your side.  Married couples only hang out with other married couples.  And if you’re single?  Trying to navigate your way in the midst of a sea of couple cliques to any real friendships feels nearly impossible.

It’s hard enough to be single in church at a young age, but as you get older, things really change.  The amount of times people have looked at me with great concern because I’m not married at “my age” is quite disheartening.  It seems that in the church if you aren’t married by the age of 25, something is gravely wrong with you.  And if you make it past 30, well you better accept your fate that you are going to be alone forever.  You’re thought of as left overs; not good enough for anybody to want.  If someone was going to marry you, they would’ve done it long ago.  But the thing is, it seems people don’t take into account your life story.  Maybe you weren’t a christian in your 20′s.  Maybe you don’t want to get married and you like being single.  Maybe you were married and something happened - your spouse left you or you’re a widow/widower.  Maybe you just aren’t ready.  Maybe your person just hasn’t shown up yet.  Maybe you were abused and are still healing.  

I spent two years at a church, attending every Sunday, hoping that somehow, someday I wouldn’t be sitting alone every week.  I loved the sermons.  The preaching was quite honestly the realest, most genuine and Bible based I have ever heard.  There are things that were talked about I had never heard preached from the pulpit in my entire life.  I would cry almost every week, learning more and more about what true relationship with Christ actually looked like.  I looked forward to each week eagerly.  But I was always alone.  After discussing my dilemma of feeling alone every week, someone told me that I should be the one to be proactive.  Instead of showing up every Sunday and expecting someone to come to me, I needed to go to them.  So that’s what I decided to do.  I jumped in wholeheartedly trying to find a team to serve on and a community group to join.  What I learned, though, is that sometimes that’s not enough.  As I went through the 4 week class to be able to join a team to serve on, I realized each week that I was the only single person there.  At the end of the class, I was put on a team to help out with.  I was so excited! I finally had my chance to get connected with people, to help serve and to use my gifts that God had given me.  However, after 3 weeks of helping, I never heard from the team leader again, and still haven’t to this day.  I also joined a class to be put into a community group.  Every week for 6 weeks, I was there.  I was determined to finally get involved and meet people.  I was also, again, the only single woman in the entire class full of married couples.  Every week I thought to myself, ‘Where are the single people? Where are the single women I can be friends with? And where are the single men? Are there even single men my age in this church?’  I had a very clear realization the last week of the class that being single in church makes you invisible to others when a married couple came up to me and asked me if I had been there the entire course.  When I said yes, they told me that they had never even noticed me.  At the end of the 6 weeks, I was told by the pastor there wasn’t really a place for me.  There wasn’t really a small group for me that I could join like I was looking for.  Imagine being told that there isn’t a place for you in the midst of a church body of about 1,000 people. Thankfully I did find a nice group of awesome women to hang out with eventually.

Every week at church we were given announcements about family reading plans, family park days, family retreats, marriage classes, marriage counseling, marriage sermons...you name it.  But what I noticed was the lack of resources for single people.  If we don’t get our resources, sermons and info from the church, where do you think we will turn to? The world, of course.  If we aren’t accepted and given the chance to be a part of a body at church, where do you think we will turn to?  The world.  If we don’t find our spouses and friends at church, where do you think we will turn to?  The world.  Is it right? No.  Is it what happens?  Unfortunately, yes.  And where are the single people in church anyway?  More importantly, where are the single men?  Why is there such a wide gap in the ratio of single women to single men in the church?  I suppose that question is for another day entirely, as it seems single people in church all across the United States are asking the same question.  I feel the answer is a complicated one.

I do remember a brief time where I finally did have someone to sit next to in church.  I was so happy that I was no longer sitting alone, that I had someone to share in this time with.  And I also remember that the people who I was once invisible to now wanted to have full conversations with me.  They wanted to talk to me.  I was no longer invisible.  As happy as that made me, it made me realize that we as a church really do our single people dirty.  I was the same person.  Nothing about me was different.  I hadn’t changed.  But what had changed was the fact that I was no longer sitting alone.  I was with someone.  

I suppose all this is to say....if you are feeling alone in church, feeling down on yourself, and feeling less than because you’re single, I’m here.  It doesn’t matter what you’ve gone through and why you’re single.  I am here with you, and we aren’t alone.  I want to be here for you.  I don’t want anyone else to feel the way I have.  There are people who do care about you, and who want to have friendships and relationships with you.  I know it’s difficult to find in church, but we’re out here.  Don’t give up hope.  Don’t give up on gathering together with other christians and hearing the Word of God every week.  It’s so important.  When all this is over, and we can all be in church together again, I will come find you and introduce myself.  Maybe we can sit together. 

[amandajoyce118]

Sunday Seven AKA A Better Late Than Never Friday Five

Okay, so last week was very busy for me, so I accidentally didn’t write out a Friday Five during the week, and Friday, I worked on an article and watched the second season of Derry Girls for the third time instead of remembering that I hadn’t scheduled anything. So, since this is a Friday Five two days late, we’ll call it Sunday Seven. There’s no theme this week. Just have seven random things from the last week of my life.

Seven: I Am Over A Month Behind On Comics

So, I subscribe to several series, and I often pick up random books that interest me from my local shop. This local shop holds my subscriptions for me until I pick them up. The last two months, they’ve called me at the end of the month to check and make sure I’m okay because I’m going four weeks before picking up my books. I picked up my books, but have yet to read them. So, no one ask me any comic book questions for the foreseeable future because who knows when I’ll catch up? hahaha

Six: Margot Robbie Is Great

For an upcoming listicle, I’ve been watching a lot of Margot Robbie movies. I’ve mainly been letting movies play while working on other things, but seeing the differences in the roles she’s played is pretty amazing. I know a lot of people base their opinions of her on her Harley Quinn role, but she’s been in such a huge variety of things, mostly in smaller roles. Her command of accents is actually really impressive. I’m curious to see some of the projects she’s working on next.

Five: When Does Fall TV Come Back?

Seriously, I’m lost without a TV schedule to follow. I often plan a lot of my pop culture writing around what I’m watching. Knowing that Agents Of SHIELD and The 100 are ending next season, and that both won’t return until 2020, makes me realize that I watch a lot less serial television than I used to. And I love serial television. Clearly, I need some show recs for the fall, or I need to catch up on the shows I fell behind on.

Four: Watch Derry Girls

Speaking of television, Derry Girls is great if you aren’t already watching it. I think I’ve already watched both seasons three times each. I’m relieved their doing a season three. Honestly, I could probably watch about ten seasons of this show and not get bored. I’m not usually big on comedies anymore for some reason, but I genuinely love this show.

Three: I’m Reference Worthy

I’ve had a few coworkers ask me if they can use me as a reference lately, and I can’t figure out why? Do I seem like I would give good references? I mean, I’m good at my job, but I can’t figure out why suddenly I’m the person people want to give them a reference. (To be fair, I’ve been asked in the past, and no potential employer has ever called me to get information about someone, so, really, do companies even check references anymore? Who knows?)

Two: I Hate Seafood

For some reason, everyone around me lately has also been really into seafood. I just want you all to know I hate seafood. I can eat shrimp every once in a while, but other than that, nope. I wish people would believe me when I say I hate it and stop trying to convince that I just haven’t had the right fish. Not everyone likes the same things. It’s okay, guys.

One: Miraculous Ladybug

If you’re a comic book fan, or a superhero fan in general, and you’re not ashamed to watch a kid’s show, this one is for you. I find the Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir adorable. The mythology developed in the show is fun, it’s got a serialized story, but plenty of episodes stand on their own, and it’s, like I said, adorable. I would watch a live action movie version of this show in a heartbeat. (BTW, so many Ladybug gifs are actually hand drawn animations by fans. That fandom is a talented bunch.)

That’s it for now. Hopefully, you’ll have a new Five on Friday.

[birdiethebibliophile]

{fic} Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed (part 6)

Fandom:  A Court of Thorns and Roses Rating:  M Chapter Warnings:  References to abuse Relationship:  Lucien/Cassian Word Count:  1,664

Here on AO3. 

Read the rest:  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Holy shit, I can’t believe I finally updated this. Here it is: the chapter I started almost seven months ago, for the fic I haven’t updated since September. (I told you I hadn’t abandoned it.) Thank you so much for the love this fic has gotten. I honestly can’t believe it.

__________________

It wasn’t that Cassian needed an excuse to see Lucien. It was just that his copy of Rosemary for Remembrance was due back, and he didn’t want to give Nesta a reason to stop speaking to him again. And it was mere coincidence that he happened to show up during one of Lucien’s shifts.

“He’s in the stacks,” Nesta told him before he’d even opened his mouth to ask.

“Hi, Nesta. How are you?” he responded blithely. “I’m well, thanks.”

“If you’re trying to pretend you’re not here to see Lucien, you’re failing utterly,” Nesta said, not looking up from her book. “Elain mentioned the cookies. Sweet of him.”

Cassian deflated. “Yeah, it… it was. How’s he been doing?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s in the biographies.”

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry. I’ll…” Cassian nodded at the shelves, then headed off (rather sheepishly) to the northwest corner of the main floor.

It only took him a minute of searching to find Lucien. He was reshelving a truly obscene number of books on Benjamin Franklin. Cassian felt himself relax as he took in the scene. Lucien was humming absently, lining the spines up as he slid each book onto the shelf. His hair was braided down his back, and his eye was clear. It was a good day.

Lightly, Cassian tapped on the side of a shelf. “Hey.”

Lucien turned towards him, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Hey, Cass. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I’d drop by. Had to, uh, return a book, and I know you work on Wednesday afternoons, so…” Cassian trailed off, feeling his face heat. “Anyways. I wanted to say thanks for the cookies. They were delicious.”

Lucien laughed – really laughed, not the quick, bitter things Cassian was used to hearing from him. The laughter reminded Cassian of a drink of champagne, bubbling and light and sweet, and it made his head spin. “I’ll tell Nesta to tell Elain you said so. She said she usually makes sugar cookies, but I thought you’d like chocolate chip better.”

“I do,” Cassian admitted.

Lucien pushed a last Franklin biography into place, then turned fully to face Cassian. “I think her exact words were, ‘Could seduce a man with cookies like that,’” he said.

Cassian had to take a moment to remember how to breathe. One of Lucien’s dark eyebrows quirked up, like he was asking a question.

“Certainly could,” Cassian finally said.

A smile flitted over Lucien’s mouth, and he turned back to the shelves. “I saw you teaching that class,” he went on. “The kids’ taekwondo one.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Cute.”

“I – uh, I just like teaching,” Cassian said. “It’s fun. They learn fast.”

“Bet you don’t get kicked in the balls as much when you’re teaching adults, though.” Lucien shot him a grin.

Cassian groaned. “You saw that?”

“Absolutely. And documented it for posterity,” Lucien added, tapping his pocket where his phone must be. “Or blackmail, I guess, whichever comes up first.”

“You do, and I’ll get Azriel to hack your phone,” Cassian threatened. “Do you want your ringtone to be the Spongebob theme song? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Joke’s on you – I love Spongebob.”

Cassian’s heart swelled for a moment with something he didn’t want to put a name to – something that matched to Lucien’s heart, quickened when he smiled, ached when he was hurting. Seeing Lucien here, so obviously – well, if not happy, perhaps, then content – made that part of him expand to engulf his whole chest.

“Really, though,” he said softly. “How are you?”

Lucien’s teasing smile faded. “Better,” he admitted. “Nesta was pretty cool about me missing work.”

“Yeah, I thought she might be.” Cassian leaned back against the shelves. “You look… good.”

“Don’t I always?” was Lucien’s lighthearted reply. He didn’t look as faded and drawn as he had a few days ago. They’d texted a few times since then, but Cassian felt better with a visual confirmation of what Lucien had told him.

“You do,” Cassian said anyways, and was gratified – if a bit surprised – to see twin spots of color appear high on Lucien’s brown cheekbones.

“So,” Lucien said after a moment of flustered silence, “did you just come over to compliment me? Because I don’t know if Nesta would approve.”

“I told you – I had a book to return.” Cassian hesitated. “I did, uh, have an ulterior motive, though.”

“Yeah? I figured you must.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his head, running nervous fingers through his hair. “Rhys is throwing a party? Gala, whatever. Something business-y. He invited me, and I thought you… might wanna come with, as my plus-one.”

He’d been tossing the idea around for weeks, wondering whether to go through with it. He’d never been the biggest fan of parties, but Rhys had widened his ridiculous eyes and managed to persuade him it would be fun, Cassian, come on, loosen up a little! Cassian hadn’t been able to tell his brother no.

“I dunno, Cass,” Lucien said. “Who all’s going to be there?”

“Bunch of big shots, probably. CEO’s like Rhys. Why – oh.” It hit Cassian suddenly. “God, sorry, Lu, I didn’t even think about that.”

Tamlin.

Cassian kicked himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that? No wonder Lucien wasn’t sure if he wanted to risk it.

“I mean, I know he doesn’t have any power over me now,” Lucien said, the words sounding recited and rote. “But –”

“No, I got it,” Cassian said quickly. “Forget I said anything. I promised Rhys I’d go, but you wanna come over, like, that Sunday? The day after? I owe you a cooking lesson.”

Lucien’s expression relaxed again. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Maybe we could make chocolate chip cookies so I don’t have to rely on Elain’s good humor when I want to be nice.”

“Are you asking me to give you a cooking lesson?”

“Baking. Yes,” Lucien said. “Maybe. Would you… be okay with that?”

“More than okay. Lucien, I’d l- I’d really enjoy baking cookies with you.”

“It’s a date.” Lucien smiled, and Cassian couldn’t help smiling back. Lucien’s smile was intoxicating – contagious. It was a weapon handmade to take Cassian down with a single blow.

“Oh, is it?” Cassian said, raising his eyebrows.

“If you’d like it to be,” Lucien said, and he reached up and tucked a stray curl behind Cassian’s ear. “Can you blame me? After all you’ve been doing for me?”

Cassian’s hand caught Lucien’s barely an inch away from his cheek, gently, so as not to startle him. “I don’t – Lu, I don’t want it to feel like you’re paying me back for anything,” he said. “I know there’ve been… people in your life before who feel like you owe them. I’m not one of those people. You know that, right?”

“’Course, Cass.” Lucien’s thin hand flexed under Cassian’s, and Cassian could feel the tendons move just under his thin skin, could practically feel the blood rushing through his veins, a hummingbird rhythm beneath his fingers. Careful not to squeeze too hard, Cassian, you’ll crush it. “Friends… don’t owe each other. And you know I trust you, right?” he said, the edge his voice usually carried smoothed under a strain of genuine concern Cassian hadn’t heard from him before. “I know you’d never – you’re not like him.”

Before Cassian could respond, Lucien yanked his hand back. “I mean, obviously,” he went on, his free hand running over the shelf of books in front of him, pushing them into place even though they were already lined up perfectly. (Nesta would be proud.) “You’re way better-looking.”

“Oh, really?” Cassian asked, slipping back into teasing. “That’s a comfort, at least. By the way – you admitted we’re friends.”

Lucien scowled. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did! You said friends don’t owe each other.” Cassian grinned, leaning on the wooden shelves. “Admit it. We’re friends.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of me.” But Lucien gave him a small, sideways smile. “I should get back to work, but… I’ll ask Rhys to drive me over on Sunday. I’ll bring the chocolate chips.”

“Come over for dinner.” Cassian caught Lucien’s hand as it rested on the now-empty library cart. “Stay over for the evening. Okay? I want…”

Cassian paused, and it felt like the air around them held its breath. Lucien’s eyes, the warm brown and lifeless gold, were still fixed sideways on him.

I want you to be happy, and I know I can’t do that, but I can do this.

“I want to spend time with you,” Cassian finished. “No obligations. No Feysand talking business over us. Just cookies and conversation. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lucien said. “Yeah, okay. I can’t…” His eyes dropped. “You know I can’t promise what Sunday’s going to be like.”

“I know, Lu. It’s okay if Sunday turns out to be a shitty day. Let’s plan on it, though. Dinner. Baking. Sunday.”

Lucien nodded. “I’ll expect to hear all about the party. Hours of shit-talking. You better take notes.”

“I’ll keep track of every terrible rich straight person and their terrible fashion choices,” Cassian promised. “I’ll even take pictures. You can pop some popcorn and open up Snapchat and watch them roll in.” And then, because he could tell where Lucien was going to worry, he added, “Trust me, it’ll be really nice to have someone to talk to. That party’s going to be a nightmare, they always are, and Rhys and the others will be schmoozing CEOs.”

“You came here to invite me to a nightmare?” Lucien teased.

“Wouldn’t be a nightmare if you were there,” Cassian said with a grin, “but Snapchat is the next best thing.”

“Better be.” Lucien shoved Cassian backwards with the tips of his fingers. “Go on, get out of here. I have a job to do. I can kick you out now, you know.”

Cassian laughed. “All right, all right, I’m going! But I’ll see you on Sunday?”

“Yeah,” Lucien said, and he smiled. “Sunday.”