#i think all of my problems would be solved if humans also did co-lying

[themesopelagiczone]

earth fact time. there's a play behaviour in birds that a paper calls co-lying, which is essentially where they lay side by side on the ground together. australian magpies do it, and there's been some evidence to suggest ravens do it, too.

researchgate

photos from: twitter | blogspot

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Lol I decided to be brave and not to hide using the anon mask. 🌝🤡

Have you ever thought about this NSFW/Explicit possessive Zhongli pounding reader in front of their stalkers? Like, there are these weird stalkers who always take a peek at reader whenever they got the chance. Zhongli finally had enough of it and decided to show them who owns this puss—🤐

"Pity. A mere human cannot touch what's mine. You see this seal on her abdomen? Yes, it means my seed is there to take place."

🥵💦 water pls

Thank you for waiting! ╰(￣ω￣ｏ)

Also you're tougher than all of the U.S. Marine for going non-anon lmao mad respect (≧∀≦)ゞ From the moment I saw your asked I knew it would awaken something in me and it did lmao it took me so long since I had to make sure I'd have enough horny vocab for this lmao and so let me water and quench your thirst now lmao.

Thanks for the first ever womb tattoo ask. Photo of the womb tattoo included.

CW: Public Sex, Mind Break, Dub-con

Marking You Gently

Summary: Zhongli appreciated how you were honest with him by revealing how your past lovers were run off by the amount of stalkers you had and he was pleased with how dependent you were on him to get rid of them, he just never thought he'd have to resort to drastic measure to stake his claim not that he was complaining.

--

Zhongli was keenly aware of your innate ability to attract stalkers. This much you had admitted to him when he had been on the receiving end of a particularly foolish one. Of course, this had not deterred him from courting you at all, if any, he had enjoyed the challenge of keeping you safe and staking his claim on you to your stalkers.

And you were so cooperative too, you had let him gift you accessories in his colors and wore it proudly on a day to day basis. That you spent most nights in his bed and company only made his win sweeter. Zhongli strived to ensure that you would be happy and content in a relationship with him and if that meant curbing his own stalkerish tendencies...well...it was a small price to pay.

It was this confidence that led him to not properly pay attention when one of your stalkers had gotten particularly...courageous.

“Zhongli~” you whined at him, worry and annoyance in your eyes, as you clung to his arm. Your soft breasts and erect nipples were a welcome sensation to his arm, “I can’t find some of my panties~”

Zhongli thought for a moment, trying to remember if he had forgotten to return some of your panties he had used to fap with, “Have you checked the laundry?”

“I did!” You were tearing up, voice about to cry “I-I think some of them got it again…” You clutched at his arm tightly shivering at the thought of your stalkers being able to easily invade Zhongli’s tightly warded home.

At your words, all thought of fingering your bare pussy fell out of Zhongli’s mind, he didn’t like seeing you scared and teary eyed. He kissed your forehead, removing his arm from the tender clutches of your soft breasts and enticing nipples to give you a tender hug of comfort.

“Why don’t you accompany me for a while? Until I catch those disgusting vermin?” Zhongli offered, soft smile on his face as he gently rubbed your back.

“Will Hu Tao be fine with that?” You asked, uneasy at inconveniencing the first boyfriend to ever care about you this much.

“Of course” Zhongli replied, kissing you sweetly on your lips.

It was easy then to use sex to calm your frightened self, Zhongli’s kiss grew heated and lascivious as his hands drew teasing circles on your ass and thighs, squeezing it in intervals before teasingly grazing on the folds of your pussy. He squeezes your ass cheeks, spreading it apart before he firmly places his hand below your ass to grab you up.

You cooperate with him, moving your legs to firmly hug his waist, your wet pussy rubbing against his erect cock. You moaned into his kisses, body shivering with delight as you clung to his body.

“Mn~” You moaned as your tongue entwined with his.

The wet sound of kissing seemed loud in Zhongli’s quiet apartment, the panting noises coming from the two of you could be heard clearly. As Zhongli placed you on top of his dining table, hands going under your shirt to fondle your soft breasts and play with your erect nipples.

“Haaa~” You panted as your body arched with pleasure, Zhongli’s long and thick cock was rubbing against your clit.

“Just leave everything to me” He said, as he laid reverent kisses on top of your stomach. Leaving a trail of hickeys that led to your throat. He had already ripped your shirt off your body, exposing your breasts that still carried last night’s marks and your erect nipples which still had his teeth marks surrounding it.

“Forget about all those unpleasant things, my love” He crooned as he kissed you on the pulse beside your neck. His free hand was teasing your wet pussy, fingering it until he knew that you would be able to take all of him all the way in.

“Zhong-” You moaned “-please! Put it in!” You begged brokenly as his masterful ministrations on your body left you a panting and moaning mess.

Zhongli hummed in satisfaction, “And what do we say?”

“Plea-please” You began shakily, “put your co-cock in my slutty pushy!”

You fumbled on the last word, moaning it out as Zhongli thrusted his thick cock inside you in one strong move, not bothering to wait until you finished speaking. He moved his hips back and forth, the head of his cock hitting your g-spot again and again until you could only moan and call out his cock with a loving voice.

You were oblivious to the predatory grin in Zhongli’s face or the way his eyes glinted dangerously as his mind thought of a solution to your ability to attract stalkers. He licked his lips, growing aware of the change in his teeth to fangs.

He bent over to suck on your nipples, his hands preoccupied with keeping your legs spread apart as he thrusted his cock against your wall.

You keened, your body arching and pussy clenching on his dick as you came, Zhongli moaned as he came with you, spilling his seed inside your clenching pussy and uterus, he spilled so much cum, as if he had not just creampied you last night until the early hours of the morning.

He collapsed on top of you as you lay limply on the table, panting and pussy twitching from the earth shattering orgasm you had.

“Have you heard of womb tattoos?” Zhongli asked as he lovingly and gently cradled your face, kissing you on your cheek.

You blushed, “No, I haven’t.”

He hummed, not bothering to unseathe himself from your warm and comfortable pussy, “It is typically used for lewd purposes,” Zhongli explained as he let his hand drop from your face, gently tracing a line from your neck, passing through your left tit, playfully rubbing your nipple, before he ultimately ends it on the area above your crotch “But it can also be used as a way to repel...shall we say your disgusting stalkers?”

You let out a soft “oh!”

“Would it be painful?” You asked, worried that tattooing it on that area would be too much for your pain tolerance.

“It wouldn’t” Zhongli assured you “I would never let you feel any pain.”

He smiled at you with so much affection that you easily agreed to his solution, you didn’t bother to give any input to what Zhongli was going to do, you had so much trust in him that you simply waited for the day he’d marked you and solved your most annoying and hated problem.

You hadn’t thought to ask what it would do, believing that Zhongli would make the tattoo a repellent against your stalkers. Which wasn’t wrong per se, it wasn’t until the tattoo was put into use did you register what it would actually do.

--

For Zhongli, it was normal blissful week of having you in his arms, regaling you with Liyue’s rich history and flirting with you as a gentleman would. It was his day off, and thus he had brought you to Wangshu Inn for a short staycation for the weekend. His strong presence at your side had deterred even your most courageous and stubborn stalkers, not that it had stopped them from trying to take a peek at you when you bathed or changed clothes.

A quick petrification to some of the most vile ones was an easy way to scare off the rest of them. By the time he was done turning some of them into stone, you were finished with your business and happily ensconced yourself into his arms. Purposefully not paying attention to the new additions on the inn’s decoration.

“Shall I take you to solve some geo puzzles?” He offered, his hand resting lowly on your hip, just above your crotch, firmly gripping you at the sides.

“Okay~!” You happily complied, leaning even closer to him much to his visible satisfaction.

While you were happily clinging into Zhongli, listening to his engaging explanation of how the mechanism worked and its purpose, you were unaware of the group of stalkers that were watching you from behind. They were lying on the ground, using the natural reflective surface of the water to take a peek at your crotch that was exposed due to the crotchless panties Zhongli had you wear underneath your clothes.

From their binoculars, they could see how wet you were, cum dribbling slowly out of your pussy that had them salivating and achingly hard. They were imagining that it was their cock being shoved to your exquisite pussy, that it was their cum that was dribbling down the folds of your thoroughly used cunt.

They were so immersed in their fantasy that they had not noticed Zhongli’s murderous glare as he sealed them together as if they were Azhdaha.

“It seems that none of you had learned the lesson” He spoke coldly, glaring with complete and uncharacteristic derision in his eyes as he watched them visibly turn pale.

You stood behind Zhongli, trembling with fear, you had never seen him quite this mad. It wasn’t until he had pulled you to the front, your dress shoved up to your waist and exposing your wet cunt and glowing tattoo did your heart start beating faster.

“Zho-zhongli?” You called out to your lover, trembling in his arms, as your legs shookt from the lecherous looks of your stalkers.

“Don’t worry my love, it’s about time for them to know who owns you” He whispered in your ear, making your pussy visibly throb and grow wetter.

You could feel your mind slowly turning hazy as your body heated up. The tattoo glowed brightly as Zhongli began fingering you. You were helpless and growing weaker, only capable of leaning on his chest, weakly grasping on the sleeves of his clothes as you began to moan.

Your legs automatically spread themselves, exposing the pink and cum-filled inside of your pussy, letting your stalkers know that Zhongli had thoroughly fucked and came inside your pussy earlier.

“Zhong-nnn!” You tried to call his attention, wanting to put a stop at his action but as his fingers curled inside your cunt, you let out a seductive moan that went straight to the cocks of every male in your vicinity.

“Good girl,” Zhongli praised as he watched your hand reach for the zipper of his pants, “Show them how much you want my cock.”

You nodded, eyes hazy, as you turned around and shakily knelt on the ground, your hands fumbled to get his cock out. You happily mouthed through the fabric of his pants as you tried to get his thick and long cock out of its constraints. Zhongli’s large hand was a comforting weight on your head, petting you as praises flowed out of his mouth.

“Such a good slut, not needing more instructions on her master’s part” He praised “Look at you happily fucking your mouth to my cock the moment you see it.”

You senselessly blowed his dick, tongue swirling on its tip and swallowing all of length until it hit the back of your throat again and again. You had long since forgotten about your stalkers or the fact that you were giving them a show.

Your mind was filled only with the thought of Zhongli’s cock and his cum. You whined when you felt him pull away, crying at the lost of the warm and comforting weight of his cock on your tongue.

“Shhhh” He appeased you, “turn around love, put your hands on the wall of the seal.”

You did as he said, body automatically positioning itself to a lewd pose, your tits were pressed on the wall of the seal, making your stalkers gulp and try to reach for it only to be electrified by the seal’s wall.

Zhongli smirked at their audaciousness.

“Cock~! I want your want cock~!” You cried out as you bent your body further, until your ass was pushed up to the air, shaking your hips to entice Zhongli. Your legs were spread apart to show him the pussy he loved and owned.

“Good girl” Zhongli purred as he took his cock and guided it to the folds of your pussy. He teased your cunt, sliding the head of his cock up and down the wet folds of your pussy making you whine and try to push your pussy towards his cock.

He slapped your ass, “Behave.”

You did as you were told, there was no autonomy in your mind anymore, the glowing symbol on your abdomen had thoroughly wiped out any sense in your brain. Zhongli had reduced you to walking, talking flesh light.

With a look of superiority, Zhongli thrusted his cock inside your waiting pussy, he maintained eye contact with your stalkers as he fucked you from behind. He mercilessly plunged his cock in your abused pussy, ramming it again and again against your cervix, the pain turning into pleasure. Each thrust of his had the tattoo glowing drawing attention to it as you moaned and drooled from the pleasure. You were no longer the proper and energetic lady that was known in Liyue.

Zhongli’s cock and womb tattoo had reduced you to this lewd slut that craved his cock and cum. Your mind was filled with sex and pleasure, begging him for more,

“Please! Give me your seed!” You cried “Breed me! Ahn~!”

Zhongli watched as some of your stalkers threw away their dignity and started fapping to your lewdness.

He pulled you away from the wall, hoisting you up and fucking you as your arms automatically wrapped itself backwards on his neck. He made out with you sloppily while his cock fucked your pussy, bulge visible on your stomach and slightly deforming the glowing tattoo.

You came from the immense pleasure but Zhongli didn’t bother stopping even as you lay limp and unconscious in his arms. He kept on fucking you, hands groping your wildly bouncing chest as your stalkers started pumping their cocks faster.

He turned to them and taunted, “Pity. A mere human cannot touch what's mine.” He placed a kissed to the side of your throat as his eyes grew darker and his voice dripped with possessiveness that belonged to a dragon, “You see this seal on her abdomen?”

He smiled darkly as he saw recognition on their eyes, it was only natural for them to know what it was considering that they all had the same thoughts towards you. The difference was that he had won and they were losers, pitiful humans who would never have you nor have you sire their spawn.

With great delight, Zhongli crushed all of their dreams as he confirmed the worst of their thoughts, “Yes, it means my seed is there to take place."

And then he spilled all of his cum inside your pussy, spilling it all the way through your uterus as the mark glowed brightly before slowly dimming and sinking back beneath your skin.

It was a clear sign that Zhongli had successfully impregnated you.

“Don’t ever step foot in Liyue again” He ordered, eyes glowing bright as he cursed them out of the land.

He left with you in tow, fixing your clothes and pushing back the cum that dripped on the inside of your thighs back to your pussy. Zhongli smiled at your sleeping form, content and pleased with the knowledge that none of your stalkers would ever bother you again.

“I wonder how you would act with other variations of this tattoo?”

[boldlyvoid]

ain't it fun? | part 3

summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

warnings: season 4 episode 7 plot but spencer doesn't have to go through it all alone. mentions of child molestation and murder

word count: 2K

P1 P2

Spencer calls from Vegas of all places, he’s staying an extra few days after a case and he won’t be home. “Actually, if I buy you a ticket would you fly out here for me?”

“Are you crazy?” She laughs, “what’s really going on babe?”

She doesn’t call him babe very often but when she does she can always hear him blush, he’s so giddy and cute he smiles wide and licks his lips a few times, but he doesn't this time.

“I’m not doing the best.”

“Do you need your girlfriend or do you need a meeting?” She asks because she knows there is a huge difference.

“I need my best friend.”

When she arrives in Vegas, she takes a taxi to his hotel and sits in his room all alone until he’s done whatever he was up to. There’s an envelope on the floor, “you’ve got the wrong guy” written on the front in a hasty black chicken scratch.

She hides along the wall, making sure no one can see her under the crack of the door. She manages to keep one foot on either side of the door frame as she looks out the peephole to see an older white man walking away from the door. He’s in a work uniform, on the phone, he’s whispering.

Once she’s sure he’s off the floor, she grabs her things and leaves the room. Leaving the envelope on the floor, she calls Spencer from the stairwell.

“Hey, I’m on my way back now,” Spencer answers.

“Someone dropped an envelope off in your room. I didn’t touch anything I just walked out after the guy left… can I meet you in the bar instead?”

“Yeah! Of course,” he encourages her safety protocols, “I’ll make sure the envelope is safe first, thank you for being smart.”

“No problem," she laughs, he was the genius and he was still calling her smart for following her gut.

"I’m just walking down the stairs cause he took the elevator. He was white, 5’8 ish and older; balding with grey hair so I’m guessing he was in his 60s, and he was on the phone with someone,” she gives his description quickly before she could forget it. “And the envelope says you got the wrong guy on the outside.”

“I know who that is, thank you. I love you,” each phrase got quieter and quieter and she knew he was in the car with his co-workers.

“I love you too, see you soon.”

—

It’s midnight in Virginia, it’s only 9pm in Vegas and Spencer’s been losing his mind trying to solve a case for his own sanity. He was getting nowhere, he’s even tried hypnosis to take him back to when he was 4. But nothing was working.

He’s in the middle of begging his mother to remember, “mom, this isn’t about me. This is about Riley Jenkins.”

“It was always about you…” Diana whispers.

“Please, mom—“

“Spencer,” Y/N’s eyes shoot open.

She’s just been sitting there, barely getting to know Diana as Spencer explained what he remembers. It was very intimate, but she already knew about the dream. She knew one day he’d want to learn more, and now he was.

“Listen to what she just said, it was always about you,” she repeats the words and Spencer looks more confused.

She steps forward and takes Diana’s hands in hers, sitting her down on the edge of her bed as she looks at her carefully. “This is hard, I know you’re really trying and I know how hard it is to talk to Spencer when he’s like this. But how about you tell me the story? Why was the Riley Jenkins case more about Spencer to you?”

Diana clues in then, her eyes zoning out as she remembers everything and Spencer sits quietly in the corner. “Riley was a real boy, poor boy…”

He’s amazed by the fact she’s so calm and good with his mother. “Yes he was, mom, how did I know him?”

“Your father was the t-ball coach, you were really more interested in chess and so eventually he let you go from the team, and you ended up playing in the park with this older man; who was also watching Riley before he died,” Diana explained softly. “It could have been you.”

Spencer gets closer and closer, eventually, he’s kneeling in front of his mother like a little boy at storytime. “What was his name mom?

“Gary Michaels.”

—

David and Derek are really nice guys. She’s sitting with them in the bar while Spencer has a heart-to-heart with his parents at the police station. It’s been a long day, he’s learned a lot and she couldn’t wait to unpack it all with him.

“How come you don’t come out with him more often?” Derek asks, unsure of how to broach the subject, but he wants to know.

“What do you know about me, first of all? Because it’ll tell me everything I need to fill you in on,” she asks in a question in response to his.

“I know you met at a support group, I know he loves you, and I know you live with him now.”

She smiles, “I have a rare disability that many people don't believe in, I work from home and I make little art pieces for the different seasons to make money, I don’t really like going outside. much”

“But you flew all the way to Vegas for him?” Derek smiles knowingly.

She nods gently, “he’s still my best friend in the whole world, Derek.”

“Thank you,” is all he says, “you’ve helped him be the same Spencer I met when he started. You’ve brought the joy back to his life, it’s nice to get to know you more.”

He asks to get her a drink then, to make up for everything she’s been through that day. All she wants is ginger ale and Derek gives her a strange look, he really has no idea that she’s a recovering drug addict. Spencer has kept all her secrets nice and safe in his big and beautiful mind.

“I’m allergic to most alcohol,” she isn't lying but it works. “Especially dark tequila and all vodkas, it’s because they’re made from potatoes and I have a potato starch intolerance... you know actually sometimes even hand sanitizers that are made in alcohol facilities give me an allergic reaction as well.”

“Okay, that right there,” he teases, “that’s why he keeps you all to himself.”

She laughs, “that was a bit of a Reid ramble, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Derek’s smile is so soft. “It really was.”

When she finally sees him again, it’s been almost a full day since he called her and asked for her to fly into Vegas. He needed her moral support while dealing with his parents, and he knew she was the only person who knew the extent of what he felt for them. He tried his hardest to be the best kid in the world for both of them, and yet sometimes he feels like both a disappointment and an unwanted mistake.

They hug for so long when he finally enters the bar, that Derek gets up from the table and goes to find someone to occupy his time with. It’s Vegas and he’s Derek after all… it wasn’t going to be hard for him to have a woman hanging off of him soon, too.

Back in his hotel room, he passes out from exhaustion and she just stares at him. He’s been through so much that even his eidetic memory didn’t want to think about it anymore. normally he would recount his day to her with a smile, now he just sleeps peacefully for the first time in days.

He was so soft and sweet even after being through the most terrifying things the human mind and body can go through.

—

They take a few days off, his co-worker has a baby and it’s the perfect time for him to take her to meet them all. They won't be focused on her at all, and thus she will have fewer questions to answer.

Penelope Garcia is a blessing on this earth. The second Y/N lays eyes on her, she knows that they are going to be friends. She’s a hugger, and they’re good hugs, and she was already making plans to hang out and keep Y/N company when Spencer and the team were out of town.

JJ looked beautiful for just giving birth, Emily was intimidatingly smart and beautiful and she didn’t know how to really make eye contact with her without developing a crush on Spencer’s co-worker. Derek was kind as always, and Aaron gives a firm handshake.

JJ asks Spencer to be Henry’s godfather and it’s all a little too much for Spencer to handle after everything from the day before. He’s been through so much that Y/N can see the panic roaring through his veins as he tries to keep his cool in front of his friends.

But when they’re back in their own bed; in the safe space, they’ve created for one another. She’s running her hands along his back as he snuggles into her chest. Normally she’d tease him for being this close to her boobs, but they were comfortable and he likes to hear her heartbeat.

“I thought for a while they were going to tell me I was molested,” he whispers. “I was more relieved to know my mom witnessed a murder… and I hate myself for thinking that.”

“I was,” she whispers into his hair. “More than once by different men.”

He sits up to look at her, she shrugs, “my friend's dad tried to teach me how to drive by sitting me in his lap so that I’d have to bounce on him over the rocky back road. And a scout leader drove me home and kept his hand way too close to my parts and then a teacher-“

“How are you okay?” he stares at her like she's got 3 heads or something as he shakes his head lightly in disbelief.

She laughs, “I’m not. But I am at the same time? I can’t really explain it... it sucks and I hate it but I’m safe with you so I’m fine... but I’m not okay?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I’m fine with you but not okay, too.”

They're quiet for a bit, tilting their heads as they stare at each other with soft little smiles. She loves him and he loves her and all she can think about is forever.

“Can I ask you something?” She’s really serious now, looking at him carefully as his eyes light up.

“Anything!”

“Do you think you’ll want kids one day? Even after everything with your dad?” She’s careful, not wanting to hurt him to push him or make him think he’s letting her down if he says no.

“I want kids, even if it’s just one. I want to be a dad and do what my dad couldn’t. I want to love them and help them grow and teach them how to ride a bike and how to do Pythagorean theory,” his words are full of passion, he’s speaking from his gut.

“I want 3 kids,” she smiles. “With you.”

His eyes go wide, “why?”

She smiles because of course, he convinced himself she wouldn't want his kids, he was a worrier.

“My dad was okay, he was pretty distant and cold until I got sick and then he became one of my best friends. Your dad sucked. Together all that love that we craved will go into our little person and they’ll be so happy and wonderful and loved with us."

Spencer nods in agreement, it's soft and sweet and she makes a last-minute decision. "I don’t think I want kids if I can’t have them with you.”

“What’s your 5-year plan look like?” he asks abruptly like he wants to start having kids tomorrow.

“I don’t have one. But I’ve always dreamed of just being a stay-at-home mom and making art on the side. Maybe even babysitting a few other kids during the days… I don’t know. It always felt like a pipe dream before...”

“Before me?” He asks with a smile, proud and believing it. He really knows she loves him and it’s changed him for the better.

She nods, “you wouldn’t mind if I didn’t ever have a real job?”

“I think we’d be okay as a single income family, I make enough to support the apartment bills as well as groceries, then your income can for things you and the kids want. I’m good paying for everything else.”

She smiles, “you just said the kids.”

He’s giddy with excitement as he nods, “I want forever with you.”

“Okay,” she whispers, leaning in to press her lips against his gently like he could break.

He was so special and perfect to her. Even with the scratches and dings in his paint, he was a collector's item, a one-of-a-kind, never-made again, kind of man who she was really happy she found.

taglist: @g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor

[amythecinnabunny]

Space AU and Time Travel for Juke 👀 <33

Holy shit holy shit holy shit ok ok ok ok first of all AKDBJSJSJJEJE YES

Okay okay so let me try to iron out the mess in my head skxbjsjjd I hereby apologize if things get out of order or whatever but I am literally vibrating with excitement someone please write this I'll love you forever

Ok so I'm thinking also an aged up au for ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* reasons *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ sjsnnsn

Also, I've done this before and I'm gonna do it again, but Bobby and Trevor are two different people for the sake of the timeline here.

Time frame for this would be WAY into the future. Humanity has gone galactic. We also had our asses handed to us by several alien planets but we probably deserved it. Anyway, after we got rid of Elon Musk, we eventually made peace with the aliens and now roam the galaxy freely. 20-30yo generally try to get into a different fleet, just to learn about other races. Think all those alien ships adopts a human posts.

Julie, Carrie and Flynn are my three girl geniuses. They're like,,, the smartest people in every room. They've been like this since freshman year of college. Julie, Carrie and Flynn also all want to get into the student exchange program, which is exactly what you think it is. Alien races (and this now includes humanity) swaps out older students with each other so they get a feel of what the other race is like. It's fun, educational, and! You get to make super long distance pen pals!

I'd also have so much fun making up new memes???? It would be so fucking stupid tho but I love it.

Anyway, so after a few years of jumping through the exchange programme, hoping from planet to planet, unfortunately, without their bestfriends :<, the three of them qualify to board research ships!!!

So at like 23-25, my girls come back together on the same ship!! Its a massive thing and so they've hired so many interns from so many different races. It's like a landing hub for several smaller ships. They have like 10 interns per species and that's only because there are laws against having too many of one kind after they put 50 humans on a space station and the humans tried to take over. Also, humans multiply faster than the others. This terrifies some races.

Anyway, the ship's really just a bunch of college kids from different planets trying to avoid exam season by submitting research papers from their ship. They all bond over deadlines, breakups and coffee (or the alien equivalent thereof)

Flynn dated an alien girl for a while. They were cute. Flynn: as a lesbian, it's my duty to date all the women in space

This is also where they run into Willie!!! Yay, Willie!!!

Nick Danforth-Evans and Kayla Evans-McKessie are around ... somewhere ... in bunk beds like the little toddlers they wish they were, crying about the 15 page essay on why Xjsbsjdjd is a very intelligent race that we could learn a lot from (yes, that is a keysmash I'm too buzzed to be creating alien species names sjdjjdjd)

Carrie and Nick do date for a while but then Carrie hooked up with Kayla. Bisexual queen who?

Julie met Willie that time she didn't sleep for over 48 hours because she had a research paper due within a week and she hadn't started yet and it was 10 000 words on her experiences with the Psjxjjdkeiwj race. Luckily for her, the kid she bumped into and spilled an energy drink all over had the same paper and helped her finish it. Willie sometimes goes by the nickname Lifesaver, thanks to Julie. This confuses the metaphor-less people because Willie's never saved anyone's life?? So why is he a lifesaver??

ANYWAY ON TO THE TIME TRAVEL BIT

On their own, Julie, Carrie and Flynn are professional smart people who know what they're saying and are clever enough not to do things with too many risks. In the same room, however, they turn into dumb geniuses who can and possibly may blow up the entire ship. It's a good thing they have Willie, Nick and Kayla to babysit them, right? WRONG. Willie Kayla and Nick egg them on.

They decide there going to gather all the information there is on time travel and they're going to decipher it and make it work! Yay!

When they find stuff in alien languages they start calling up their alien pen pals "hello what's this word mean in this context? What, haha oh no, it's a research paper on why time travel projects were abandoned before completion. Okay, thank you!"

Before long, they have a working time machine. I mean,, they hope so. And so they enter a random date from the past and prepare to pop their heads through just to see what the world looked like approximately 200ish years ago

2020s, post covid because that exists for joke reasons later, Sunset Curve is performing live for one of their biggest audiences yet when mid-song, the floor just opens them up and swallows them whole before vanishing. The crowd things it's a stunt but Sunset Curve's managers are flipping their shit

Back on the ship, the machine starts sparking and with a soft boom and a hiss, the power in that quadrant goes out -- not before Willie's is pelted in the face with a pair of drumsticks and then a whole person.

It's a miracle the drums survived the trip, pet alone everything else.

So now these sleep deprived geniuses and co. have to hide three people and several musical artifacts, plus the smoking remains of a time machine, from their Supervising Officer, who is regrettably, a human too.

And none of them are very good at lying.

Luke and Bobby are though, and after piecing together bits and pieces from the frenzied rambling around them, Luke and Bobby save the group.

Shenanigans ensue as they try to rebuild the time machine under the watchful eye of the SO, while trying to mantainbfake credentials for the boys and trying to explain their very dated clothing. (Yes, Sunset Curve STILL rocks the 90s vibe. In the 2020s. It's their thing.)

Willex happens in the background -- and I mean that very literally. (Jukebox having a tension moment, Willex making out in the background.)

Honestly I'm not sure yet how theyd solve the problems, whether they'd send the boys back or not or what, but I do know that they will all cause a BUNCH of problems in between.

Sometimes they play music just because they still can. Sunset Curve becomes a house band for the ship. They get broadcasted to neighbouring or passing ships like "hey, losers, we have live music, SUCK IT!"

Focusing on the jukebox aspect of this whole fic, that's gonna be a fucking hilarious slow burn.

It will definitely contain the lines "Oh my god, I have a crush on Julie." "Congratulations, you're officially the last to know." "What? Even [SO's Name] knows??" "Dude. The ship's navigation crew knows." "Does ... Julie know?" "No, you're both morons."

Julie is having the exact same conversation four hallways away.

They'd talk a lot about sending the boys back home and it'd be really quiet conversations when everyone else is asleep.

Julie and Luke write music together and after a while, Julie performs a few of them too. Thanks to the concerts, they meet the other human interns that were on the other end of the ship and Carrie and Kayla form Dirty Candy.

The ship becomes known as the party bus.

A thing that will happen: Luke helps Julie write one of her history papers that she gets an A+ for and a comment about how dedicated she was to have delved so far back in the history records to get authentic insight.

Julie and Luke speak in memes but they don't speak the same memes and it drives them both up the wall.

Luke says yeet one day and Julie's soul leaves her body because she hasn't heard anyone say yeet since she was a toddler back on Earth.

Julie: odd display, but acceptable.

Luke, physically experiencing a record scratch: what the fuck did you just say

That is all I have to offer because I'm afraid of plotting further and causing angst somehow.

oh one more thing, someone gets to bang an alien and it's probably Flynn.

Oh oh oh another one more thing. Reggie says "this is just like in Star Wars" for literally anything. The band goes along with it for shits and giggles. The rest of them are very interested in this ancient tale called Star Wars. Reggie sees a picture of Flynn and her green gf and says "hey, you dated photoshopped Yoda" and Bobby just loses his shit.

[andersonsbiceps]

Here’s an unfortunate confession - the 20k Shepard/Saren epic (i looked over it and i ached on AO3) was not my assignment for the gift exchange for which it was written. In fact, it actually got in the way of writing the thing I was supposed to, because I wanted to write it so badly and spent so much time daydreaming about how to put it together. 

This post exists because I put like, twelve layers of meaning into that fic that no one is going to notice or comment on because this ship is a teeny little tugboat and I get the sense that most other people are not on it for complex, fucked up relationships that pretty much demand I write Shepard as the sort of character no one wants to project on. So like, if no one’s going to write the comments that I want, I’m going to sit down and do the analysis myself. Be the change you want to see in the world.

So, as far as meaning goes, I figure I’ll start with the characters. Everyone who’s got a POV in this fic is an unreliable narrator in their own special way. 

(Carolina) Shepard’s got a very clear idea of what’s going on in her own head, but she’s prone to making snap judgements about other people and then not changing them until it becomes stupidly obvious that she’s wrong. She doesn’t clock that Saren likes her (even as a friend or a colleague!) for literal years after that becomes a thing, and assumes he’s experiencing mental health issues for the same reasons she might in his shoes and not, you know, reaper mind control.

An example of this that didn’t make it into the story was Shepard worrying about Saren isolating himself from his family and friends. That’s not something she’s wrong to worry about, it IS a direct result of reaper mind control, but Shepard notices it mostly because self-isolation is a very bad thing for her for very different reasons. She’s naturally a more social creature than Saren is, so her mental health is much more dependent on having people she can talk to.

Back to POVs, Anderson is a lot more levelheaded and generally honest than the other two, but he’s got his own problems. Namely, he’s biased. Anderson likes Shepard, because he’s pretty obviously her favorite person (if you want evidence of that, look at how she responds to criticism from Anderson vs criticism from Saren), and who doesn’t like being favored? That means he tends to see her as a better person than she actually is, and often gives her more credit than she deserves. On the flipside, he does not like Saren, because Saren is pretty much constantly a dick to both him and Shepard, so he tends to be more cynical about his motivations and capabilities.

An example of THIS that didn’t make it into the story was the outright confirmation that Anderson doesn’t approve of Shepard/Saren because he thinks Shepard (a certified dumpster fire in reality) is way too good for that evil turian man. Anderson would definitely have given Saren a shovel talk if the two of them had ever made it that far!

And speaking of Saren, he’s definitely the worst narrator of the bunch. Almost every other line in his internal monologue is a straight up lie. I tried to highlight this by having him outright contradict himself several times, but who knows if that came through. I’m pretty sure his self-deceptions in canon are meant to be a result of Sovereign messing with him, but he’s doing a lot of stuff here (i.e. getting significantly attached to a human, attempting to destroy the galaxy) that contradicts his self-image. He’s not really got the resources to properly cope with this, so he lies to himself about it. It’s easier, you know. 

Saren doesn’t have a whole lot of cut content, for the same reason he doesn’t have a lot of POVs - as much fun as it is to write a character that’s lying to themself, it’s kind of a pain to get across an accurate picture of what’s going on when they do that, and also the kind of POV you don’t want to write when they’re not doing something they would lie about. Saren doesn’t lie to himself about what brand of broccoli he’s buying at the corner store, but I don’t want to give the reader the impression they can trust the stuff he says, so if he did get groceries in this fic, he wouldn’t get to narrate it.

I very much wanted the central couple of the fic to stand on even footing (which is most of the reason behind the Shepard+Anderson roleswap - I’m not a huge fan of age gaps). That means that I put a fair bit of effort into establishing that they’re roughly the same level of fucked up. Saren lies to himself pretty much constantly, Shepard lies to everyone else whenever she’s not making a conscious effort to be sincere. Saren is paranoid and hostile (especially to people who are trying to help him!), Shepard likes to provoke people and has no compunctions about manipulating them. Saren thinks the ends justify the means, no matter how many lives those means cost, and Shepard just straight up defaults to murder whenever she’s not sure how to solve a problem (I think she contemplates killing someone three times in this fic, something no other narrator does).

Ironically, this means that without reaper interference, Saren would actually be the more mentally stable of the two of them. Shepard would probably still deal with indoctrination better though - she’s self aware enough to notice when something’s messing with her head, and she wouldn’t rest until either the reaper was dead or she was.

On a less depressing interpersonal note, I had a lot of fun with the pseudo-nuclear family dynamic of Shepard, Saren, Anderson, and Nihlus. Like, obviously everyone here is a grown adult and Anderson and Nihlus both have actual parents, but I had a fun time sort of evoking the idea that Shepard and Saren were co-parenting (co-mentoring?) their respective protegees. Saren is absolutely Anderson’s evil stepdad (step-mentor?)!

I also liked writing Anderson’s major relationships. I wanted to give the impression that he was the Commander Shepard character - the universe revolves around him, even if the story is about someone else. His feelings about Shepard, Saren, and Nihlus are as much the focal relationship of the story as the Shepard/Saren stuff - even though the narrative does hinge more on the latter one. 

Stuff I didn’t like so much - you’ll notice that there’s a lot of stuff that didn’t make it into the story. That’s because I didn’t really start this fic until my assignment was done, which means I wrote all 20,000 words in roughly two weeks (about 40% of it was written in two eight hour car rides). I didn’t really have a chance to go back over the story and revise the plot to align with my original ideas for the story.  Nihlus is really more a conversation device than a character a lot of the time, and if I ever did go back over and rewrite this that would be the first thing I fix. I didn’t have time to get this thing betaed either, since it was scraping so many deadlines, and man would I have loved to have someone else to bounce this story off of before I posted it.

Still, I’m glad I got it done. I’m not kidding in the author’s note when I mention that I’ve been wanting to write the Shepard/Saren tragedy fic for years and years.

[melodious-madrigals]

we should just kiss (like real people do)

hi @misha-winchester, i am your wondertrev secret santa! i hope you had a lovely christmas season/whatever holidays you may celebrate, and i hope you have a very happy new year.

Pairing: Diana Prince/Steve Trevor Words: 8′609 Rating: T (swearing) AO3 tags: Modern Setting/No Powers, co-workers, Fake Dating, ‘and there was only one bed’, Hallmark-movie-esque midsunderstandings, Happy Ending Summary: Etta just invited Steve’s significant other along on their group holiday vacation. The only problem? He made said significant other up to get out of a series of set-ups six months ago, and forgot to set the record straight. Enter Diana, his newest co-worker and real-life crush, who doesn’t have any holiday plans and is somehow offering to help him out.

i have been derelict for too long, but no more! i’m so sorry that it took me so long, and i hope you enjoy this trope-packed fic, because i couldn’t decide on just one, and then it sort of ballooned!

Read it on [AO3] or below the cut.

***

“Shit.” Steve’s head thunks against his desk.

“Problem?”

He looks up to find Diana Prince, the newest legal consultant at their NGO standing in his office door. She’s intimidating and smart and beautiful and possibly also the kindest person he’s ever met, and even though they’re friendly, she’s the last person to whom he wants to admit what’s wrong. But she’s also looking at him with such genuine concern that he spills his guts anyways.

“The last time my friend Etta tried to set me up with someone, I told her I was already dating someone, and now she wants me to bring them on our annual holiday trip to one of our friend’s cabin.” Steve kneads the space between his eyebrows, trying to get rid of the tension headache that’s starting to form.

Diana tilts her head, confused. “That’s kind of her.”

“I’m not actually dating anyone,” Steve clarifies. “I just said it to get her off my back. And now I have to either say I lied—which will not go over well for obvious reasons—or say that I broke up with the person and get all sorts of ‘holiday pity’.”

Diana leans elegantly against his doorframe. “People go their separate ways all the time, no? Besides, maybe it’s a bit soon for a weekend away with friends.”

Steve winces. “It’s possible that I told her this almost six months ago and never corrected the record.”

“Ah,” says Diana, taking the liberty of moving into his office and sitting down across from him. “So it’s rather a large deception then.”

“I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand? It was just so nice to not have my friends nagging me about my dating life. They’re well intentioned but a little too insistent sometimes.”

“Okay, so telling them is out of the question,” Diana says, very seriously. And—uh-oh, she’s going into problem-solving mode. He’s absolutely mortified that his very capable and very attractive co-worker is taking time to talk with him about this when she’s a literal international human rights lawyer and university lecturer with plenty of other things to be doing. “Hmm. Isn’t that what Craigslist is for?”

“Ha,” says Steve. “I’m never going to be able to get someone to come with me over Christmas on such short notice.”

“Not everyone has plans on Christmas,” Diana argues.

“Yeah, I get that; I’m not even Christian,” says Steve. “But a lot of people still go home because it’s a long holiday.”

“I’m not Christian either and I don’t have any family here in the States. We exist,” Diana jokes.

“Want to be my fake date, then?” The words leave Steve’s mouth before his brain can catch up and tell him what a massively stupid idea that would be, to fake date his real crush, for lack of a better word.

“Yes, alright: if you can’t find someone on Craigslist, I’ll do it,” says Diana, and then before Steve can process: “Anyways, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time. I just dropped by to give you a hard copy of my revisions. She hands him the legal brief, shoots him a quick smile, and saunters out of his office, apparently unaware of the dazed state she’s left him in.

I’ll do it? Is she serious? For a second, Steve’s mind runs away from him before he shuts it down. She was just being polite; he’s certain of it. There’s no way she wants to give up her days off to go to a cabin in the middle of nowhere with people she doesn’t even know.

Steve reluctantly writes up a quick wanted ad on Craigslist and hits post before he can overthink it. He can definitely do a fake date for the holidays, right? That’s something normal people do.

**

Three days later, he’s gotten a dozen responses to the Craigslist ad, but most of them are variants of either “is this some weird sex thing?” or “can you please post this story on reddit’s r/relationships with an update on how it went because i’m 2000 miles away but very invested in this”. None of them are a real live person that he can take on the trip to meet his friends.

His brain has also been playing Diana’s I’ll do it on repeat pretty much constantly, so on Tuesday evening, after most people have already gone home for the night, he steals himself and wanders down to Diana’s office. If she’s in, he’ll ask. If she’s gone, it’s a sign, and he won’t bring it up.

She’s still there, illuminated only by the glow of her computer and a small desk lamp—the overhead light is turned off and her coat is on, like maybe she was in the process of leaving and then went back to her desk to dash off one email that turned into several.

He taps on the doorframe.

“Steve!” she says, smiling when she sees him. “What a pleasant surprise! Have a seat, I’m just finishing something up. It’ll only be a moment.”  

He smiles nervously and takes one of the chairs opposite her desk, patiently silent as she taps away at her computer.

Three minutes later, she folds her laptop closed and turns the weight of her attention to him.

“Thank you for being patient. What can I do for you?”

“I just—were you serious?”

“Hmm?”

“The other day—were you serious about being my fake date if I couldn’t find someone on Craigslist?”

“I—yes, I was.”

“Wait, really?”  

She shrugs elegantly. “I have no holiday plans.”

“You’re sure.”

She tosses him an amused expression. “I am. It’ll be nice to meet some new people.”

“Right. Well. Can I, uh, buy you dinner or something while we go over the details?”

Diana considers him for a moment. “How does Thai takeout at my place sound?”

“Like a fantastic idea.”

**

On Friday, Steve is extremely antsy. He’s taken a half day, and he and Diana are driving up to Charlie’s cabin after her lecture lets out.

She’s in a good mood when he picks her up, and the ensuing discussion crosses a half a dozen different topics. He doesn’t think they’ve ever had a boring conversation, and they’re more than halfway there before Steve remembers that he wanted to run through the basics of their fake-dating mandate again.

“I’ve never really been much for PDA,” he says, “so they won’t be surprised if we’re not particularly demonstrative. A little hand-holding and casual touching here and there and we’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” replies Diana, amused rather than annoyed. “You mentioned this the other day.”

“Did I? I guess I’m just nervous.” He’s already feeling a little guilty about lying to his friends (again), and he’s suddenly wondering if he’s capable of pulling it off.

“They asked me to invite you—er, my significant other—to a dinner in October. I don’t think it’ll come up, but—”

“I spent a week of October in Europe, and have plenty of university functions to attend,” Diana reassures him. “Saying I was busy that night probably isn’t even a lie, and besides, that was months ago. Take a breath; this will be okay.”

“I’m just rethinking this,” huffs Steve.

“You’re welcome to tell them I’m just a friend that needed a place to stay for the holidays,” Diana offers calmly.

“No. No, I’m committed to the lie now.”

“Okay. Then let’s do this. I’m here for you, you know.”

“Yeah,” says Steve, glancing over at her in the passenger seat before turning his attention back to the road. “Thanks.”

**

They’re the last ones to arrive to the cabin, because everyone else was able to take the full day off, so they walk into a full house.

“Oh, it’s so lovely to finally meet you!” exclaims Etta, pulling Diana into a hug before they’ve barely gotten in the door.

“You must be Etta,” Diana says, once she’s been let go. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hey, Etta,” Steve says, pulling her in for his own hug.

“Everyone else is in the living room.”

They make their way down the hall, towards the sound of all the voices.

“Steve!” yells Sameer from across the room when they round the corner. A cheer goes up—it’s possible that some of them have already had a glass or two of wine—and Steve pulls Diana forward to introduce her.

“Everyone, this is Diana. Diana, this is Napi, Charlie, Etta’s wife Adrienne, Sameer, and Sameer’s fiancée Noor.”

“It’s so lovely to meet all of you,” says Diana, moving forward to shake hands and give hugs, along with Steve.

“You’ll want to drop off your luggage in your room, I’m sure,” Etta declares forcefully, shooing them back out of the room once they’re done with the greetings.

“Alright, alright, we’re going,” acquiesces Steve.

“Well, dinner will be done shortly, and I’m sure you’re hungry. Best get settled in before you go into a food coma.”

“Stop making sense,” he snarks, but they all know he’s joking.

“Second door on the left!” calls Etta after him, as they traipse up the stairs. There’s a niggling in his brain about this room, because he’s been in it once and it’s—

“Shit,” says Steve under his breath upon entering the room, because it’s one of the rooms with a single queen bed instead of two twins.

“Is there something wrong with the room?” asks Diana, a step behind him. “I’m sure we can fix it, whatever it is.”

“No, it’s just—I didn’t even think about this,” says Steve, gesturing at the bed. “Usually when I come, I’m in a different room with Charlie or Napi.”

Diana surveys the space in front of them. “You mean the bed?” Her nose wrinkles. “Are you really that uncomfortable sharing?”

“I—no, of course I’m not. I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Well then, that’s settled. I am not uncomfortable. Which side do you prefer?”

Of course it’s not a big deal. Right. He’s making too much out of this because he might—possibly—have feelings. But for Diana, it’s just two adults sharing a bed, which is perfectly natural. But now she’s looking at him expectantly, which makes him realize—“Uh, left, I guess.”

The way she smiles, he gets the distinct impression that his answer has pleased her, that he’s chosen correctly, if such a thing is possible. (He thinks, stupidly, that he would do quite a lot to chase that smile.)

Meanwhile, Diana drops her duffel on the right side of the bed.

“Do you mind if I change quickly before dinner?”

“Yeah, no, of course. I’ll just be downstairs.”

Steve heads back downstairs and pauses in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.

He can definitely share a bed with Diana. They’re adults. It’s not strange, and it’s not romantic. It’s just two people sharing a sleeping space because there are not enough beds.

He reenters the living room to find Charlie and Sameer in the middle of an argument about who’s the better cross-country skier while Noor, Adrienne, and Etta chat over a cup of tea and Napi watches over several pots in the kitchen.

“The answer, of course, is neither of you. Noor is the best skier here.”

Charlie squawks indignantly, and Sameer laughs. “That she is.”

“Can someone set the table?” asks Napi. “Dinner is about to be ready.”

Steve, as the closest one to the kitchen, pulls out the plates and silverware and starts setting up the table, while the others slowly drift towards the dining area.

And then there’s a gentle pressure on his elbow. “Can I help with anything?” asks Diana, softly, and when he turns, he feels the air knocked out of him.

Diana is all comfort, in simple black leggings and a chunky winter sweater instead of her usual pristine business wear, but she’s all the more beautiful for the casualness. Her face, too, is wiped clean of standard makeup and her hair is down, and he realizes that she has freckles. They’re faint, just the slightest smattering over her nose and cheeks, but Steve is close enough to see them, and for a second he wants to touch them, trace them into constellations.

Then he realizes he’s staring and jumps a little, moving to rearrange the plate in front of him.  

“You could, uh, fold the napkins, I guess? There isn’t really a whole lot to do.”

They work in tandem as the rest of the crew files in, loud and boisterous as they dish out their meals.

“So, Diana,” says Etta, once everyone is settled in their seats, “tell us all about yourself! Steve’s been so tight-lipped about you that I was starting to think you didn’t exist.”

Steve almost chokes on his wine, but Diana doesn’t so much as flinch, simply smiling at Etta and saying, “Well, I’m not sure what you’d like to know, but I’m originally from one of the Grecian islands and I completed my studies in the UK. Right now, I’m splitting my time between the US and the Netherlands.”

“Oh, what part of the Netherlands?” asks Noor. “Sameer and I both lived there, at different points!”

“Just the Hague, I’m afraid,” says Diana ruefully, because it’s not known for its charms.

“Diana’s on a prosecutorial team at the International Criminal Court,” Steve clarifies, which prompts a number of impressed looks all around the table.

“We’re in between cases right now,” Diana says, “and we’re only just starting to file some pre-trial motions for the next thing on our docket, so I took a position as a guest lecturer here in the States. A friend of mine convinced me to take the consulting position at the ARGUS Foundation since it’s not full-time.” When Diana pauses, she notices a number of raised eyebrows around the table. “I think the expression in English is ‘I wear a lot of hats’,” she jokes.

“She’s a wonder,” interjects Steve easily, and he doesn’t even have to work at the soft look that he gives her. (He’ll interrogate the fact that it’s just how he looks at her later, when he’s alone and can have a nice little panic about it.)

“I just like to have purpose,” says Diana, and then Noor asks her about her last case, and the conversation takes on a life of its own.

Diana, as he suspected, gets on well with his friends, fitting in as though she’s known them years instead of hours, and they migrate into the living room after dinner, talking and laughing into the late hours of the evening.

“They are all lovely,” Diana tells him the moment the door to their room has closed behind them.

“They’re okay,” says Steve, but his face is pulled up in a smile, and Diana just laughs. He’s spent all evening getting to look at her whenever he wants, and even though they’re alone, even though there’s no need for his eyes to keep finding her, he doesn’t want to pull them away.

“They’re all so interesting!” Diana exclaims. “Sameer and I talked about linguistics for a full half an hour, and Etta and Adrienne’s stories are incredible!”

That makes him laugh. “Yeah, Etta’s something else.”

They talk a little more as they get ready for bed, and finally there’s nothing more to do but turn out the light and get under the covers. Steve’s tired enough that he thinks he has a decent shot at falling asleep, but he feels a little awkward as they both shift carefully on their respective sides.

“Hey,” he whispers into the deepness of the silky black night. “Thank you again for being here.”

“It is my pleasure.”

He listens to Diana’s breathing quickly even out, and though it takes him a little longer, he too falls asleep without too much trouble, despite her nearness.

**

To his great relief, or maybe to his great disappointment, they wake up in almost the exact same positions that they fell asleep in, on completely opposite sides of the bed.

“Good morning,” says Diana softly, hair slightly mussed and eyes still a little heavy with sleep, and frankly Steve’s not sure how he’s going to make it through the rest of the trip, because he likes her so much and also doesn’t want to impose his feelings.

“Good morning. I hope you’re ready for another insane day.”

“Once I’ve had some coffee, absolutely.”

“Well then,” says Steve, “let’s get you some coffee.”

Coffee is followed by breakfast, which is chaotic because everyone is up at slightly different times and traditionally, they fend for themselves for breakfast which means in practice that half a dozen people end up doing things in the kitchen at the same time.

The rest of the day is no calmer, as they all pack themselves up and spill outside for a snowy hike that lasts most of the afternoon. Diana, Etta, and Napi establish themselves as the fastest hikers early on, and they sort of naturally split into two groups. The whole group meets back up at one of the lookout points, where the faster group has lingered to let the rest catch up.

Steve uses the viewpoint to check in with Diana. “You doing okay?”

When she turns to him, her cheeks are rosy with exertion, her breath is coming out in silvery puffs in the cold air, and her eyes are dancing. “Excellent, you?”

“Really good.” They take in the snowy view in front of them. “Hey, I didn’t mean to leave you on your own,” Steve says, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

Diana snorts. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I was the one that walked ahead of you. If I’d been bothered, I wouldn’t have split off with Napi and Etta.”

“Right, of course.” He feels a bit stupid; she’s never struck him as the type to do something she really didn’t want to.

“We should probably walk back together though. For appearances.” She winks at him, and before he can respond, Noor is at his elbow.

“Can I take a picture for you two?”

“That would be great,” says Diana, handing Noor her phone as she slips her arm around his waist.

Pictures are snapped, and then they’re headed back down the trail. Steve ends up so engrossed in his conversation with Diana that the rest of the group fades away, and on the last straightway after they’ve descended, Diana reaches out and casually links their hands. Even through their gloves, it’s a giddy feeling.

**

That night after dinner, Steve steps outside for a moment of respite from the noisiness of the cabin. He breathes deeply, and stares at the patch of sky not covered in clouds, picking out a familiar constellation.

“Diana’s wonderful.”

Steve looks up from where he was leaning against the balcony railing to find that Etta has joined him outside.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” Steve agrees.

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable introducing us earlier,” says Etta so sincerely that Steve feels a squirming guilt welling up. “But if this was the pace you needed to go to be sure of your relationship, to make it solid and lasting, I’m glad you took the space to do so.”

“Right,” Steve echoes.

“Seriously, Steve,” says Etta, touching his arm, so that he’s almost forced to look at her. “You and Diana are so well-suited, and she’s good for you—I’ve never seen you like this.”

“What’s this?”

Etta contemplates him a moment. “You’re happy,” she says simply, and Steve rolls his eyes, because if Etta thinks just being in a relationship equates to—“but it’s not just that. You’re…still. Calm. You’ve usually got this frenetic, discontented energy, and with Diana it’s quieted.”  

It makes Steve pause, but before he can say anything—refute her or maybe, heaven forbid, agree with her—Diana herself is bursting onto the balcony.

“There you are!” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around him from the back, and fuck, maybe it is his instinct to relax in the split second before he remembers that this is all an act. “Charlie says we’re roasting marshmallows over the fire, and I’m told that you have the technique perfected,” she says, with all the exuberant glee of a child.

Steve pointedly ignores the knowing, indulgent look on Etta’s face as he turns in Diana’s arms to face her, a small but unquashable smile on his face. “That’s a classic holiday tradition for us—I was wondering when Charlie was going to break them out. Have you ever had a s’more?”

“No, but I’m looking forward to it!”

“Well, then we can’t let Sameer or Etta roast yours; they always burn them.”

“It’s meant to be eaten with a little char,” says Etta.

“Absolutely not!” Steve doesn’t have time to say any more, because Diana has laced her hand in his and his gently tugging him toward the interior.

“Right. This is an American classic and you’re gonna love it.”

After making her the perfect marshmallow—gold and toasty, and soft all the way through without being burned—the rest of the night is spent roasting increasingly silly things over the coals and drinking copious amounts of hot chocolate and eggnog that are optionally spiked, utterly warm and cozy.

“Tell me something about yourself,” requests Diana, when they’re tucked into bed later, still on their own sides but far closer together than they were the night before.

“Like what?”

“Something—well, not something secret, if you don’t want to. But something that most people probably don’t know.”

Steve considers her for a moment, shifting so that he’s facing her, the moon providing just enough light that he can see the contours of her face. “I wanted to be a pilot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I wanted to be a fighter pilot.”

Diana grins. “I can see that. What stopped you?”

“I decided I wouldn’t really be helping people, and helping people is what I wanted to do. What about you?”  

“What did I want to be?”

“No, just—anything.”

“Hmm,” says Diana. “My favorite childhood memories are those of my aunt, Antiope.”

“Was she the cool aunt who spoiled you rotten?”

“She was the aunt that got me up at six in the morning every day to train.”

“Wow, that’s neat, I guess,” Steve deadpans, and Diana laughs in the darkness, rolling onto her side so that she’s facing him, so that they’re almost nose to nose.

“She was also more indulgent than my mother, yes.”

“I think we have very different definitions of indulgent,” says Steve.

“Perhaps,” says Diana, and despite how late it is, they spend another hour or two trading secrets in the darkness before falling asleep. Steve learns, among other things, that she loves cherries more than any other fruit, that she’d rather take the metro than a cab any day of the week, that she played the harp for a while and misses playing music but not playing the instrument itself. When they finally drift off to sleep, it’s still facing each other, fingers inches apart.

**

Steve wakes up feeling incredibly comfortable and very cozy. It’s only when he stretches a little that he realizes that the warm weight against his chest is not his blanket, but Diana. During the night, they must have migrated into each other, because now that his brain is coming back online, Steve realizes that not only is Diana tucked into his chest, but their legs are twined together. His shifting causes her to stir a little, but only to nuzzle against him a little before settling.

This is fine; he’s not freaking out. Not about how they’re accidentally pressed together, or about how much he likes her, or about what any of this means. Not about lines blurring and becoming harder to make out, not about lying to his friends. He’s fine.

Taking a breath, he weighs his options. He can wait for Diana to wake up and pretend he’s still asleep, and let her figure out how to react, or he can try to extricate himself now. Although it might wake her up, and then it would be doubly awkward, and—

And he’s waited too long in deciding, because Diana stretches a little sleepily and then blinks her eyes open, looking up at him.

“Good morning,” she says, apparently unbothered by their position. It’s making him spiral in confusion, and want, because it would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her, but neither has she directly expressed interest in him romantically, so he’s not about to actually do it.

“Did you sleep well?” asks Diana, gently untangling herself and sitting up.

Now that Steve thinks about it, he realizes that he’s slept better than he has in ages.

“Yeah,” he affirms a little hoarsely. “You?”

“Very well.” He’s considering saying something else—anything else, maybe apologizing for how closely they slept or, alternatively, telling her he adores her—when she continues, “How do you think everyone would feel about quiche?”

“Quiche?”

“One of the few reliable things I can cook,” says Diana, “but I have a good recipe, and I’m quite certain we have everything I’d need.”

Steve blinks. “I think it’d go over well.”

“Perfect!” Diana slips out of bed, sliding across the room with more of her infectious energy as she gathers her clothing for the day.

By the time Steve gets downstairs post-shower, Diana’s got the crust rolled out and blind-baking and has a number of veggies sautéing.

“Oh, good, you’re here! Can you pass me the mushrooms?” she asks, and he obliges, then takes it upon himself to crumble the cheese for her.

“Do you cook a lot?” he asks, and then curses himself, glancing around to make sure they’re alone and that nobody heard what was clearly a question that he, by all rights, should know the answer to. Blessedly, the only other person up is Napi, and he’s out on the porch.

“Not if I can help it,” says Diana. “You?”

“I enjoy it,” says Steve.

“Enjoy what?” asks Sameer, who’s just come down the stairs.

“Passing me ingredients when I tell him to,” teases Diana, successfully covering up what may have been a slip-up, because Sameer just rolls his eyes.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“More like adorable,” says Etta, who has apparently also been summoned by the smell of brewing coffee. “By the way—how did you two start dating? I’ve been meaning to ask since I never heard the story from this one”—she gestures at Steve—“and I’m sure it’s equally adorable.”

Steve can’t believe they’ve come this far without being asked, and that they didn’t do a better job of anticipating this question. He’s about to bumble his way through a response, but Diana, who is now pouring the egg mixture into the pan, has it covered.

“It’s sweet to me because it is ours, but I think you’ll otherwise find it quite boring. My third day of work, I came to his office by accident, looking for another colleague, and we traded a couple of jokes. Two days later, a bunch of people from the office went out for drinks after work, and I ran into Steve again. We spent a lot of the evening chatting, and when we left for the evening, he walked me to my train, and as we were waiting on the platform, he asked me out. He was kind and funny and handsome; there was no reason not to say yes.”

For a moment, Steve feels like he’s been hit by a train, because that’s actually how they met. They did spend an evening chatting, and he did wait on the platform with her. The only bit that didn’t happen was the asking out, and now he wonders what might have happened if he had. Then he reminds himself that it’s all an act, and she’s supposed to be acting like she likes him. He’s getting reality confused with the little mirage they’ve created.

“—it is sweet though,” Etta is saying when he snaps back to attention, unsure of just how much he’s missed.

“Yes, Steve is very thoughtful,” says Diana fondly.

He doesn’t really get a chance to ask her about it, because soon everyone is crowded around the table for breakfast, and that quickly turns into a card game, where they get separated by a few seats. It all somehow blends into lunch, as people swap in and out, Sameer and Noor doing the cooking, this meal, with Adrienne flitting in and out to help as she puts up a few extra lights for tonight’s Christmas eve celebration. He tries not to think about it too much, because Diana looks like she’s having a good time, and he is too, and eventually he gets swept up in the game, focusing on counting trump and keeping track of tricks and arguing genially with Charlie about who may or may not be cheating.

**

“Steve.” Diana pulls him aside after lunch, tugging him into their room.

“What’s up?” She looks entirely too serious, and it worries him. Is this about their story? Is something wrong?

“First kisses are always a bit awkward,” she says bluntly.

It’s so out of the blue that Steve’s brain doesn’t even short-circuit. He just blinks. “Yeah, usually.”

“Well, I just saw Adrienne putting mistletoe up. Your friends are wonderful people, but if we don’t get caught under it naturally, they’ll make sure we do.”

She’s got his friends pegged; that’s absolutely how they operate.

“They’ll recognize something is off if we’ve never kissed. I think we need to practice.”

Now Steve’s brain short-circuits.

“Practice.”

“It’s the only way to make sure it’s not during an ambush.” Her eyes are wide and she’s very close, so close that one of them could erase the distance without even taking a step, but she’s paused, waiting.

Waiting to see if it’s okay, if she has his consent.

His thoughts flick back, inexplicably, to this morning. (Was it really just this morning that they woke up tangled together? It seems a week ago already.) Knowing what it’s like to kiss her will probably explode his brain, but not knowing is worse. He nods, just a fraction, words caught in his throat, and then she’s closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

Fireworks are for dramatic novels, but the world still shifts on its axis. It’s soft and slow, exploratory, but the pressure is somehow just right, and it consumes him. It’s everything he never let himself imagine it would be, and more. When she eventually pulls away—seconds, minutes, hours later, he’s not sure—he chases her lips for a moment before remembering himself, marshalling his reaction and pulling away in equal measure.

“Right, so. No mistletoe first kiss,” he manages, because seriously, what the fuck, he’s never had a first kiss feel that natural, that right.

“Mission accomplished,” says Diana faintly. “I think we’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” Steve echoes, and he thinks he sees Diana’s gaze flick back to his lips, dark and heavy, but then there’s the pounding of feet on the stairs and shouts outside their room.

“Steve! Diana! Are you in for another round of cards before we start the movie marathon?”

Diana startles, and takes three steps back, smoothing down her hair, her shirt, before opening the door to find Adrienne there, looking at them expectantly.

“Yes, of course,” says Diana.

“Oh,” smirks Adrienne, giving them a once over. “I can come back.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll come down now; I want to get a cup of tea before we start up again. Steve?”

“I—yeah, a cup of tea would be great. Black tea—”

“—with a dash of honey, I know,” she says fondly, as if this is old news and not something she’s clearly picked up in the last day and a half.

“Thanks.”

When he collects himself and comes downstairs a few minutes later, he spots Diana across the room, head thrown back in laughter as she chats with Napi over the kettle.

She fits, he thinks. He’s seen her in professional settings, being diplomatic even when she doesn’t want to be, but here, she’s relaxed, and from everything she’s said, she likes his friends as much as they like her. Isn’t it sort of everyone’s dream that the person they like gets along with their friends?      

He takes another second to try to untangle his thoughts before he gets ushered back into the fold and has to pretend that everything is uncomplicated.

**

Christmas day dawns bright and cold, and sees, for the second day in a row, Diana snuggled into Steve. Despite another meandering conversation in the dark—in which he absolutely chickened out of asking her about the backstory she created for them, or the kiss—and starting the night on different sides of the bed, they seem to have rolled together in their sleep, and if he didn’t wake up with an absolutely parched throat, Steve would’ve probably gone right back to sleep, enjoying the warmth. Instead, he extricates himself gently, and by the time he gets back to the room a few minutes later, Diana is up and dressed, dashing any plans he might’ve been entertaining for a bit of a lie-in.

As with most things on their holiday trips, the day is centered around food. There’s a huge brunch, and then a little foray outside—nothing like the hike the day before yesterday, just a little walk that turns into a snow angel contest—and then it’s back inside to start cooking Christmas dinner. It’s Etta and Charlie taking point, because, as Steve explains to Diana, the group rule for any and all holidays is that those who observe do the traditional cooking, and everybody else takes care of the clean-up.

At one point in the afternoon, a trivia game gets pulled out, and in a classic showdown of boys (Steve, Sameer, Napi) vs. girls (Diana, Noor, Adrienne), the ladies trounce them thoroughly. There’re plenty of mimosas and someone starts a Christmas playlist, and honestly, Steve can’t think of a better Christmas in a long, long time.

They don’t really exchange ‘real’ gifts, but they do have a long-standing tradition of an intense game of White Elephant, which happens after dinner.

No less than 4 items (a succulent in a corgi-shaped pot, a coffee mug with some gratuitously dirty language on it, a pair of wool socks with Munch’s The Scream emblazoned on them, and an umbrella patterned with cartoon gentleman amongst the raindrops so that it’s always raining men) get stolen so many times that they hit the limit. (Diana walks away the proud owner of the socks, thanks to a strategic steal by Steve, which sets her up to steal them for the last time.)

The mood is so light that Steve has almost forgotten that this isn’t quite real, that he’s lying to his friends and sort of lying to Diana, too. That comes crashing down when they bump into each other coming back into the living room.

See, Steve and Diana had managed to casually avoid the newly strung up mistletoe all of Christmas Eve and most of Christmas day—at least together, that is; at one point Steve finds himself under the mistletoe with Sameer, and they both dramatically grip each other for a theatre kiss—by sheer luck, but their luck runs out after White Elephant. Steve has gone into the kitchen to deposit an empty tray of food, and Diana is on her way back from the bathroom, and they collide in the doorframe.

Instinctively, Steve puts a hand out, touching the small of her back lightly to anchor himself and steady her. It’s just a casual touch, but he lingers a second too long.

“Oooh, look! Steve and Diana are under the mistletoe!” sings Adrienne, pointing from across the room.

Steve glances up automatically, as though maybe Adrienne might be wrong, even though he knows damn well that there’s mistletoe hanging there.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” chants Etta, clearly a little tipsy, and the rest of his asshole friends join in the chant.

Steve’s eyes flick to Diana’s, and she raises an eyebrow, inclines her head almost imperceptibly. It’s permission, so he leans in and gives her a quick kiss, their lips barely touching. He’s not sure he can handle more in front of his friends right now, not with all of the emotions pooling in his stomach.

“Boo!” yells Charlie. “You and Sameer had a better kiss than that!”

There’s general clamoring of assent, and Diana reaches out and cups a hand to his cheek, to a great whoop from someone in their little peanut gallery. “If you are uncomfortable, we do not have to do this,” Diana murmurs, low and close enough that only he can hear it.

The real problem is that Steve wants little more than to kiss her again, but he feels guilty about it.

“It’s okay.”

She searches his eyes for a moment, and then closes the rest of the distance, kissing him properly. He sinks into it, and relishes in the little gasp he elicits when he deepens the kiss just a little. It’s the catcalling that splits them apart, and he’s sure he looks a little shell-shocked.

“That’s a kiss!” hollers Adrienne.

To his surprise, Diana doesn’t immediately move away from him, but stays tucked into his side, blushing a little.

“You’re all just a little too invested in our love life,” she admonishes lightly, but the point is missed as Etta launches into a bit of a ramble about how Steve introduced her to Adrienne by accident and how she’s been looking to return the favor, but that she’s glad Diana is here.

Steve watches Diana go a bit pink again, and wants to pull her aside, try to clear some things up, but then there’s another round of mulled wine, and they settle in for one last Christmas movie before the day ends.

Diana goes to bed before Steve does, while he stays back to have another round with Charlie, and by the time he realizes that he wanted to talk to her alone, she’s fast asleep.

**

The morning of the twenty-sixth is chaotic from the start; Diana’s up and out of bed before Steve wakes up, and then everyone is scrambling to pack up before they all drive back to the city. This time, Diana and Steve have got Sameer and Noor with them, because they came with Napi, who’s leaving directly to visit some extended family, and Etta and Adrienne don’t have enough room because they’re Charlie’s ride. It’s a pleasant ride, and Noor, Sameer, and Diana spend a solid half hour swapping in and out of Arabic to tease Steve, who does speak three languages himself, but doesn’t count darija as one of them.

They drop Noor and Sameer off with promises of seeing them at Etta’s party on New Year’s Eve, at the very latest, and suddenly they’re alone again.

“Thank you again for doing this,” says Steve. “You were the best fake date I could’ve asked for.”

“It was my pleasure,” says Diana. “I had a really good time, and a fun holiday.”

“And you really don’t mind putting in an appearance at the New Year’s Eve party?”

“Not at all. I’m actually looking forward to it.”

“Good; I think everyone is looking forward to having you there.”

They’re quiet as they pull up to Diana’s building.

Before Diana can move to get out of the car, Steve takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, anything.” Her wide eyes are trained on him, and he almost loses his nerve.

But it’s now or never; he has to know if this is just him or if she feels something too. “If I had asked you out, that night on the platform, would you have said yes?” It feels like the safest version of the question he wants to ask.

Diana doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

It knocks the wind out of him and is simultaneously one of the best things he’s ever heard, because maybe that means there’s still time to make a proper go of it.

“Do you—”

He’s cut off by Diana leaning forward and kissing him sweetly, and he instinctively pulls her a little closer, deepens the kiss without consciously thinking about it.

“Sorry, I interrupted you,” says Diana, biting back a smile when they eventually pull apart, breathless. It makes Steve laugh, and he can’t fight the grin that’s also building. There’s no one around to fool, no one around even to prepare for; this is just them.

“Do you want to come to mine for dinner tonight?” Steve asks, bubbling with a profound sort of happiness. “For a real date this time?”

“I would love that,” says Diana, grinning. “No tricks, no fake backstories. Just us.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Just give me a couple of hours to shower and change and answer a couple of emails?” Diana says.

“How does seven sound? I’ll cook.”

“I can’t wait.”

He watches her go, almost floating from how giddy he feels. As he drives home, he mentally goes over what he’ll need to get for the meal he wants to make. Truly, it was the best fake date ever; he might, he thinks, even consider posting the story of it to the r/relationships thread like one of the Craigslist messages asked, because it’s so wonderfully peculiar.

**

“Right on time!” says Steve with a grin when Diana knocks on his door that evening for their date.

His smile falls when he notices her face, tired and serious, despite how light it had been only hours ago.

“Steve, I have to go,” she says without preamble.

“What?”

“I’m flying back to the Netherlands tonight.” What? That can’t be right; she’s not due back for several months, and even that’s only a trip. Steve’s brain lags a second and then realizes she’s still talking, dark eyes all apologies. “—straight to the airport from here, actually. I just came by to say goodbye. It seemed like the sort of thing that should be done in person.”

“But what—”

“You know who Patrick Morgan is, yes?”

Of course he knows who Patrick Morgan is; he’s a war criminal who was only caught and extradited recently. It made waves when jurisdiction was given over to the ICC, at least among the relevant international communities.

“The war criminal?” he asks, just to confirm.

Diana nods. “That’s the one. Look, I’m not really meant to be talking about my cases, but I’m on the prosecutorial team and his lawyers are good. They’re trying to file a pre-trial motion that would—well, let’s just say it would be bad if the judge ruled in their favor. We’re scrambling and I’m needed back at the office, in person.”

“Shit.” There’s nothing else to say, really. She’s the one who can make sure Patrick Morgan doesn’t hurt anyone else, and that’s that.

“It’s awful timing,” whispers Diana, and there’s true regret in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. You’re doing what has to be done.”

“I wish it didn’t,” says Diana. “I wanted to—I don’t know, go on a proper date and go to your friends’ New Year’s party with you, and this has just—it’s mucked it all up, hasn’t it?”

“An understatement,” says Steve, laughing wetly. Maybe—

“I have to call the ARGUS Foundation from the car, get everything squared away in regards to my commitments there. Gods, this is such a nightmare.” Diana’s pacing now, and Steve can see all their possibilities slipping away, now that she’s returning to the Netherlands. It’s not the most important thing, this casualty of what could have been, but it still breaks a little piece of Steve’s heart all the same.

“I wish we had more time,” says Steve, a little bittersweet, because there’s not much else to say. Diana sends him a sad smile and nods.

“I really have to go. I might even miss my flight as it is.”

“Right, of course.”

She looks at him hesitantly for a moment, like she’s going to say something more, and then pulls him into a hug. As she pulls back, she kisses him softly. It feels like goodbye more than any words could.

Then her phone rings, and she looks at him apologetically one more time, a quick, “I’m sorry,” before taking her leave and answering it. He hears her frustrated Dutch echoing down the hall as she walks away.

After she leaves, he feels a little aimless, and a little numb. It doesn’t quite sink in that Diana is gone, but he does think, absently, that something bad was bound to happen, because nothing catastrophic happened over the holidays—no real fights, no disastrous weather; it all went too smoothly.

**

The next few days are a slog: he’s back in the office, technically, but everything has slowed down substantially in between the holidays, just enough to not really keep him occupied.

It scares him a little how much he misses Diana. They were sort-of friends before the fake-dating charade, more friendly-coworkers than anything, but he got used to her being a part of his daily life absurdly quickly and is having a hard time adjusting back. They could have been something spectacular, he knows, if circumstances hadn’t made it impossible.

She texts him when she lands, and he’s glad to know she’s made it safely, but it ignites a fresh wave of ache such that he’s almost glad she doesn’t answer his text back, or text again. He ends up ignoring his phone, mostly, trying to distract himself from thinking about what wasn’t meant to be. (It’s bad luck with fate: if they’d had more time, if they were something real, he might consider moving, but it’s too soon, too early, even if he thinks he might already love her.)

On New Year’s Eve, he spends most of the day cooking, Netflix on in the background, whiling away time before the party Etta and Adrienne are throwing.

“Where’s Diana?” asks Etta, when she opens the door and finds Steve there, alone, carrying three tiers of Tupperware and a bottle of champagne, because of course she does. All his friends adore Diana too.

“She had to fly back to the Netherlands for a case,” says Steve morosely, unable to say anymore because he might choke up, and crying is fine but not during a New Year’s Eve party.

“Oh, what a shame she’ll miss New Year’s! When is she coming back?”

The fresh, stricken look on Steve’s face tells Etta everything she needs to know. “Oh, luv, I’m so sorry. I know long distance isn’t easy.”

It’s the perfect excuse presenting itself, really. In a month, Steve can say that the distance was too much, and Etta will understand, and that will be that. He’ll be out of this lie, too, with no one the wiser that it started as a fake thing. But right now, Steve is still mourning the fact that it never got to be anything real in the first place.

“It is what it is,” says Steve, trying for a smile.

“Well,” says Etta, also going for something resembling cheery. “We’ve got plenty of alcohol and a place for you to crash tonight, if you want it.”

“Thanks, Etta.”

He whiles away the night nursing a glass of wine and floating amongst friends and acquaintances, trying to enjoy the merriment. Etta, bless her, must spread the word that Diana had to leave for work, because only Noor asks after her, right after he gets inside. After that, he doesn’t have to answer any further questions, and instead focuses on the laughter and brightness radiating from his friends.

At a few minutes to midnight, he slips off to a quiet corner, not quite ready to face the rowdy, kissing couples.

Somewhere behind him, the apartment door slams, and there’s something of a commotion, but he doesn’t bother to investigate until—

“Did I make it in time?” asks a breathless voice.

Steve turns, and there, standing in front of him, a vision in a bright red coat, is Diana.

“But how—?” She’s meant to be in Europe, but she’s very much not. She’s here.

She’s here.

“We finished a little early and I got the first flight out. I took a cab from the airport to get here as fast as I could.”

“You hate cabs,” says Steve helplessly, fixating on something that’s very much not the point because it’s one of the many strange things they talked about, and because it’s somehow easier to focus on than any other part of it.  

“I wanted to be here.” Her eyes are twinkling, and Steve can’t quite believe she’s here, on New Year’s Eve, and—shit.

“But what about the case?”

“We got the motion thrown out,” she exclaims, delight lacing her words. “We’re proceeding as scheduled. I’ll have to go back for a bit starting in May, but—”

That phrasing catches Steve’s attention. “Wait, you’re not moving back to the Netherlands permanently?”

“What?” asks Diana, looking genuinely perplexed. “No! It was just a business trip, inconveniently timed. I was never moving back. Did you think—”  

“I thought—” says Steve, at the exact same time.  

There’s a look of recognition on Diana’s face, as if she’s doing the maths, going back over the conversations they had once more in her head. She bites her lip, shakes her head. Laughs.

“We are both a bit stupid, I think,” she says. “I was never going to be gone more than a week or two, but I suppose I didn’t make that clear enough. I thought it was just bad timing, since we were starting something, but you—”

Steve shakes his head, incredulous. “I thought I might never see you again, but you’re really here.”

Diana reaches out and ever so softly touches his cheek. “Yes. So, did I miss the countdown?”

Steve stops fighting the smile that’s building. “Nope. And you know, they say whatever you’re doing at midnight you’ll be doing for the rest of the year.”

“Do they? You’d best choose wisely, then.”

“I’ve got an idea.” The countdown hasn’t started yet, but he leans in slowly anyways, because he figures they’ve wasted enough time. She meets his lips eagerly, and in the background, Steve can hear Etta’s whoop of excitement, but really, the only thing that matters is Diana, and the feel of her lips underneath his.

It’s just as earth-shaking as it was the first few times, but they break apart momentarily as the countdown actually begins from the other room. When midnight hits, they kiss again, a little shorter this time, their smiles too wide to make it a proper kiss.

“Happy New Year, Steve,” whispers Diana, forehead pressed to his.

“Happy New Year,” he echoes. An endless plurality of shifting possibilities stretch before them, elastic and hopeful, and very real once more. From the other room, the chords of a piano start, a telltale sign that Charlie has started his traditional rendition of Auld Lang Syne.

“You know, eventually people are going to realize our anniversary isn’t in July.”

That elicits another giddy laugh, because somehow, he’s gotten lucky enough that this is his reality. “Yeah, but that’s a pretty good problem to have, all things considered. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“No,” says Diana thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t either.”

***

[inspirationdivine]

Threads  That Bind || Lydia and Nell

Timing: Current Parties: @nelllraiser @inspirationdivine Summary: Lydia and Nell get to know each other much more than intended Triggers: Head trauma mention,   stalking

Her wings were entirely free. Under a glamour so that none might see, but Lydia revelled in the feeling of the wind cutting around them, ruffling the fresh wing. Everything was heightened under the new nerves, freshly learning what to feel and what to ignore. It was beautiful and disconcerting, but as Lydia walked along Amity road with pain for the first time in six weeks, Lydia could enjoy herself. Even as she saw a woman struggling with something on her hand, Lydia thought nothing of it, beginning to sidestep around her automatically.

Was it Nell’s fault that she hadn’t gotten around to trying out the prize she’d gotten for entering the pie contest until this moment? Probably. But was it also her fault that her finger was now seemingly and hopelessly stuck into one side of the chinese finger trap, rendering her halfway useless? Most definitely. Muttering to herself under her breath with frustration pouring over her lips, she didn’t hesitate to call out when someone came a little too close to her. They’d have to be the one to help her get this thing off, and free her from the child's toy’s obviously nefarious clutches. “Hey! You!” She abruptly pointed at the woman with the hand that was still held prisoner by the woven contraption. “Help me out of this thing! It won’t let me go.” The witch waved her hand around in vain, making another attempt at releasing herself.

Lydia frowned, turning on her heel as someone addressed her, pointing right at her like Lydia was some carnival spectacle. “It’s a child’s toy, isn’t it? You need to compress it to get yourself out.” She stepped forward anyway, a nervous, jittery energy to her movements - she was energetic and jittery, mushroom spores thick in the air. “Look, like this,” She said, fully intending to push it so that it would open around the girl’s finger. That wasn’t what she ended up doing. Whether it was that both their hands moved in the wrong way at the wrong moment, or fate intervened, or just the mushroom spores messing with her actions, all of a sudden, Lydia’s finger had sunk right into the hole, trapping her as much as Nell.

Nell blinked cluelessly as the woman’s finger soon joined in on the not-so-fun of being trapped. “A child’s toy, huh?” she commented dryly. “Of course I already tried pushing it. I know how it works,” Nell said stubbornly. “This isn’t working obviously so just...take your finger out, I guess. Maybe I can cut it off or something.” It hadn’t yet occurred to Nell that the other women might also be stuck, apparently doomed to a life of being prisoner to a Chinese finger trap. What the hell was wrong with this thing, anyway? She should have known anything she won from the pie contest would be some sort of cursed shit.

Lydia frowned, looking up at Nell, as if it was the girl’s fault rather than her own. It should be simple, shouldn’t it? She pushed her finger into Nell, and then pulled it back, but where it should have slid off easily, it remained stuck, trapping them in place. “Not again,” Lydia muttered to herself, trying to get her finger out the normal way again. “Scissors might not be a bad idea. Oh come on, this isn’t funny. Where on earth did you get this thing?”

Nell’s own frown deepened as the woman’s continued attempts proved fruitless. “What’s wrong with this thing?” she growled in frustration, jerking on the trap perhaps a little too hard, as if she could force her finger out of it. “I have a knife,” Nell said without explanation before trying to jimmy one of said blades from its hiding spot with her single free hand. It was a bit more difficult to coerce it out when her mobility was limited by their connection. “Here we go-” she said before laying the dagger against the trap, beginning to move it in a sawing motion. Instead...the metal of it promptly began to spark, as if it had met another metal it couldn’t cut through. “What the hell? This is bullshit!” It seemed her usual method of powering through wasn’t working. “I got it from that stuid pie contest! It was a prize!”

Lydia’s eyes widened in surprise as Nell just whipped out a knife. She flinched, cringing away as Nell tried to hack away the band, risking their fingers in the process. Lydia was almost relieved it didn’t work. “You won it in the pie contest? Why on earth would you ever put yourself in a situation to risk such danger? I don’t know anyone who was truly completely happy with their prize, everything came with a double edge. Oh well. We will just have to solve this. Did it come with any instructions? I know someone with invisible scissors that we could try, for the last time something happened.”

Nell growled with frustration as the thing held true on their fingers, leaving them still connected. “Well I didn’t know the prizes were faulty to begin with,” she replied defensively. “Why would I have any reason to think so?” But when Lydia mentioned instructions, Nell pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket, and handed it to the other woman. “I thought it was like a fortune or something when I read it. It was in with the packaging, though.” On the paper was a simple, singular sentence of ‘Release can be found in many unexpected places, but working together to solve problems will yield unmeasurable strength.’ The woman’s last words were quick to catch Nell’s attention. “Invisibile scissors?”

“What does that mean? We already tried the working together thing, pushing our fingers together and all that, that was co-operation.” Lydia tapped her fingers. There was almost a smile on her lips as she thought about it. This might be a riddle, and while the mushroom spores were thick in her mind, Lydia did love a word game. “Oh, oh! I was in a similar situation to this before, an invisible bond that could be broken with invisible scissors. I suspect it wouldn’t be the solution here, because this bond is… rather visible and rather an eyesore, I must admit.” She tapped her lip. “Unmeasurable strength. Do you have more strength than one might expect? Working together…. I wonder if this is not the problem we need to solve, necessarily. Solving problems implies more than one, while this little trap is only one. Do you know anyone with problems worth solving?”

The woman seemed to be almost enjoying this a little too much, and Nell wasn’t quite sure she was as keen for a riddle as her trapped partner was. “Who are you?” she asked in some bewilderment, still not sure what to make of the other woman. “A similar situation? What do you mean?” This woman grew more confusing by the moment, and even bigger of a mystery. As for unsuspected strength… “I mean- maybe. Do you?” Did magic count as unsuspected power? Probably, right? But parts of what was being said made sense in a way, even if Nell wouldn’t have thought of it herself. Unfortunately she seemed to have too many problems worth solving. None of which were ones she was happy to share with a complete stranger. “Yeah but- what about you? What are your problems?”

“I was stuck to standing near a man for a couple of weeks. It was no toy, but highly inconvenient.” Maybe. Lydia relaxed slightly. At least she wasn’t dealing with a human. “I wouldn’t call it unmeasurable, but something like that.” Not that she could promise bind a toy into doing anything. Fae magic required the capacity for thinking. “A lost friendship, a cruel stalker, a head injury that refuses to heal as it should, and complete weariness,” Lydia replied offhandedly, as if she was just reading a list off a menu, rather than the acheful thoughts that kept her up deep into the night. “None that seem the sort of thing that can be solved for a toy like this, nothing that requires unmeasurable strength.”

“How were you stuck next to a man? What does that even mean?” Nell continued to press, being her generally nosy self. “And you didn’t even tell me who you are, still.” The mention of the woman possibly having her own hidden strength was intriguing, only bringing more questions to the forefront of the young witch’s mind. She could think how each of the problems she had might relate to one of the ones Lydia had listed. Which...what exactly did that say about what her life had become? But it was also worrisome if this random woman also had such deep-seated problems. Was this just White Crest as a whole? Shaking that thought away, Nell decided to go on the offensive rather than wait to see if the other woman asked after Nell’s personal life. “Okay...which of those is easiest to solve?”

“It’s a rather long story, which I’d prefer not to go into.” That was another friend she’d lost, after all. Lydia shook her head. “It was likely some errant spellcaster leaving magic lying around where it shouldn’t have been, unlike this situation here.” Well, it really depended on who had made the finger trap, didn’t it? Lydia had a horrible thought for a second that spilled ice down her spine. Were there mime spell casters? Had they been responsible for this? “None of them, particularly. Certainly not anything that can be resolved by a stranger. I cannot undo the loss of that friendship, I don’t even know where the stalker is at this time, and nothing can done about my head that hasn’t already been done. Time is supposedly the answer to all ails, so I will just have to wait, which is hardly appropriate here. What about you?”

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Nell insisted, wondering whether the dodging of her question twice in a row had been intentional or not. The mention of a spellcaster had her interest piquing, somewhat surprised that the woman would mention the supernatural so freely. “Sometimes magic just has a mind of its own.” She wouldn’t expect someone who hadn’t wielded it to understand. “Well- we have to resolve something.” Nell’s impatience was getting the better of her, also growing restless of standing in one place for so long. “I’m good at tracking,” she said absently at the mention of the stalker. “My mom’s a healer, but she’s sort of out of business right now.” Temporarily losing your magic via fext tended to do that to a person. “And the loss of friendship doesn’t have to be permanent like you said, right?” A frown was quick to grace her lips as Lydia turned the question back to her. Reluctantly, she answered in the vaguest terms she could manage. “I’m probably also coming up on a lost friendship, my family had a stalker but we’re working on that. A threat to them was actually recently resolved. Change will be coming that I’m not welcoming of.”

“You’re right, I have not,” Lydia agreed, if only because she was exhausted by magic forcing her to make acquaintanceships she’d rather not. Lydia frowned at Nell as she got frustrated, trying not to be frustrated herself. “I’m not sure my stalker is one I want tracked. The only reason I’m alive is that he changed his mind half way through murdering me and resuscitated me mid drowning.” Her mouth tasted sour. “I can’t control other people’s feelings, that isn’t one I can work on. At all.” Admitting that stung more than anything else. None of the other woman’s issues sounded particularly easy to solve either. Perhaps a random stranger’s would have to suffice. If the resonance between their problems  Lydia sighed. “I’m Lydia Griffin,” she said eventually. Lydia looked down at her finger. “Oh! Thank goodness!” She exclaimed, jerking her finger back. But what had previously appeared as looseness and space to remove her finger and had tightened back to the point of cutting off her circulation in her finger, pinching painfully. “Drat. I should have never let you get that thing near me.”

“But if you don’t find him first, isn’t he gonna find you?” Nell questioned. “Wouldn’t it be best to just take care of the stalker before they get their chance?” At least, that had been her primary philosophy ever since the entire Montgomery situation. “Strike first and maybe then they won’t even have a chance to strike back. Sometimes stalkers just change their minds partway through, I guess. Or something else gets in their way.” Like your sister’s head. “Ah- sorry about almost dying though.” The name took Nell a moment to process, but she found it mixed in with the darker days of Bea’s death and capturing August, realization striking her. “You kept something for my family,” she began cryptically, an appreciative tone in her voice. “Wait- wait- how’d you do that? Get it to loosen? It liked your name or something?” Nell bent to look closely at the finger trap before giving it her own name. “Nell Vural? Penelope Vural. Penelope Nisa Vural.” Each attempt became more impassioned, thought nothing seemed to happen when she continued tugging her finger.

“He has found me. He knows where I live, where I work, who my friends are. He can turn himself to mist, he has a gaze that can freeze anyone on sight. Striking first is easier said than done.” Lydia shuddered. “It’s not a simple solve, is what I’m saying.” She pushed away the comment about her near death, and the finger trap grew tighter again. There was an impulse to share, but Lydia had never been the sort. She’d rather her features were a mirror than a window into her own feelings. When Nell talked about her keeping something, Lydia tilted her head in concern, with no idea what Nell was talking about. Or at least, not until Nell tried to unlock the puzzle with her name. 

 Lydia pursed her lips. A Vural. She had met the tempest in a crystal bottle that was Lucinda Vural, aggressive with a sword with a vicious streak that had only barely left Lydia unscathed. And then there was Beatrice, who was apparently special enough to have caught a Fae’s attention, but was also rotten in every conceivable way, right down to how she had been dead and still ought to be. The Vural name left a rather terrible taste in her mouth. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Our names are hardly problems to be solved, are they? It’s something else.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m just saying maybe it’s something that should be looked into rather than waiting. I didn’t mean it was simple- I just meant it might be worth trying it out. I mean if he’s come after you again won’t you just be waiting for him, then?” But it seemed Nell’s views on the matter weren’t meant to align with Lydia’s. As for Lydia’s apparent disdain after the witch’s mentioning of the favor Luce had taken from the woman, Nell wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. It could very well have been Luce being her usual person-phobic self that made Lydia react the way she did. At least the other woman hadn’t said anything distasteful about the family. That would have been a quick path into sprouting even more tension with Nell. Offhandedly, Nell huffed with frustration, getting more antsy to be free by the second. “I don’t know they could be problems to be solved when your middle name is your mom’s name.” It hadn’t been meant as any heartfelt admission, and had been more meant as a joke than anything, but it seemed good enough for the finger trap as it loosened in the slightest, and Nell reflexively tried to pull her finger out to no avail. “It did it again! What the hell does it want?”

“He can’t reach me anymore,” Lydia said pointedly, shutting down that conversation with the chill of her tone. Similarly, the toy tightened around her finger. Lydia glanced around, as people walked past them. Some were not hesitant to show their stares at the two frustrated women, but quickly backed down under Lydia’s glare. Vural or not, she would have to get along with this spellcaster. “Perhaps we ought to go somewhere else. People are staring.” She said, beginning to shift them towards a cafe where they might sit in a booth while they discussed their… entanglement. “Oh, this loathsome little thing,” Lydia sighed, and tested her hypothesis. She dug into the rawest part of her, pouring salt over this fresh wound and could hardly hide the ache in her voice to this particular stranger. “I knew better than befriending someone who would never be able to fully accept my species, and it hurts bitterly that I let myself love that person anyway. Would you look at that, every therapist in the world has just been validated.” While the toy had loosened at her comments about Remmy, it zipped back up as she made herself sound cynical, an easy defense mechanism for the tears she always felt on the brink of. Unmeasurable strength, her ass.

Nell could have dug her heels in and refused to budge, but was there a point to doing that at a time like this? As it were- they were attached almost literally at the hip, and she was a little hungry… Maybe she could order something in the cafe. “Your species?” Nell echoed, trying to remember if she knew exactly what Lydia was. She wasn’t quite as good at distinguishing fae. They were many and far in between, varied in their natures and appearances. “I mean I know that you’re-” she hesitated, not wanting to say the word ‘fae’ aloud when others were anywhere nearby. “I know the broader term of your species.” That would have to do. “I think it’s...difficult,” Nell began, thinking of her own struggles that had come from growing up as a spellcaster. “If people aren’t a part of it— they can’t ever truly understand. Witches are almost in between and kinda isolated because of it. The normies are afraid of us cause we’re different and unknown and confusing- but we’re also not a part of the non-human supernaturals. I guess what matters is...if they try to understand it or just accept it for how it is, right?” The finger trap loosened just in time for Nell to continue on with her words. “I don’t think it’s your fault for caring, though. Even if it bites us in the ass too much of the time,” she finished with a sardonic chuckle as the toy tightened again. She groaned. “I don’t know what this thing wants us to say. Are we supposed to start braiding each other’s hair and talking about boys or something?”

Lydia nodded half heartedly as Nell compared her experience to spellcasters, not believing it at all, so while Nell’s end of the toy loosened, Lydia’s became tighter. For pity’s sake. Lydia grit her teeth together and tried to care more earnestly. Perhaps she could learn something about Felix here. “No, but that doesn’t make here easier now,” Lydia acquiesced, as the toy loosened more and more. Perhaps this was the right way to go.  “I don’t see the point in talking about boys. Surely we’re both more interesting than any adjacent men,” Lydia’s eyes glittered teasingly, trying to find one light note in a miserable situation. “Clearly, it wants us to share emotional intimacy. Unmeasurable strength indeed. It wants us to be empathetic to each other despite our differences.” Which meant Lydia would have to show this human as much empathy as she might normally show Deirdre. It was going to be a stretch. “I suppose I could tell you about how my father decided to be absent during my teens which resulted in my failure to learn control over my abilities and while our relationship is good now, I still resent that, or how it felt when my sister was reported murdered twelve years ago, but it’s absurd.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Nell agreed readily with a shrug, knowing all too well how true it was that logic generally never eased the pain of a lost friend. Despite her better judgement, Lydia’s comment on boys managed to tug an amused half-smirk to her lips. Unfortunately the expression was quickly wiped away by a grimace, instantly wary of anything that included the words ‘emotional’ and ‘intimacy’, especially when paired with one another and a relative stranger. But if that was the only way out...what choice did they have? “But you learned after?” Nell asked. It was easy to be curious when she was naturally nosy, and the questions weren’t yet geared towards herself. Nell breathed an annoyed sigh, realizing that she’d have to return the favor of admitting something. “My dad was mostly good- but he never stood up for us. My sisters and me. He just let our mom blame me for everything, let her ignore Luce, and make Bea into her mini-me with an Olympic schedule. You said your relationship is good with your dad now, though? How’d you do that?” Surprise flitted over Nell’s features, not expecting the news of a dead sister on Lydia’s part. “Do you know who did it? We just- we finally got the man who killed Bea. And I know they say revenge is never good but- this felt good. You could have that, if you know who it was.”

“I learned eventually, when he was reminded how important it was.” When he had come home to find a cold corpse and Lydia crying in the bathroom. She grit her teeth. There were things she could discuss with humans, but her father really wasn’t one of them. How could they understand when they would put themselves in the shoes of her weak mother, rather than anyone else’s. They would see it as a sin rather than a natural consequence. “I think my father likes the idea of children more than the practicalities, which he forgets every couple decades. He became more interested in spending time with me when I was approaching adulthood. It took a lot of communication, and time, but now we talk several times a month.” Lydia didn’t quite look at Nell as she said that. “Do you resent your mother for her choices?” When the talk turned to dead siblings, Lydia frowned, swallowing as she recalled her recent conversation with Felix, about Bea and necromancy and Lydia’s responses to it. That was another topic she was desperate to steer from.  “Unfortunately, no. The issue with wardens is that they are perfectly crafted for killing us. I’m not a violent person, no one in my family is. We’re all artists. Revenge isn’t something we would normally seek. We wouldn’t stand a chance against a warden, even if they hadn’t destroyed anything that could lead back to them.”

“But you had to forgive him or something, didn’t you? To make it work?” Nell asked, uncertain how the fae had managed to make it work when it came to her family relationships. Had she managed to forget years of resentment? Or did it still live in her- bottled up and pushed aside for the sake of having a father? “Are you glad you talk?” Normally she might not have been so interested in a relative stranger’s emotional state, but if this was what the stupid toy wanted them to do, it’s what they’d have to entertain. Now it was Nell’s turn to look away as mention of her mother surfaced again. She didn’t answer the question directly, perhaps because she wasn’t as sure of the answer as she’d been some months ago. “She took our family from us. Kicked us out of the coven. We can’t even talk to any of them just because we wanted our sister back. And before that it felt like she made it her life’s mission to make me know I was a disappointment.” Nell paused, half-angry and half-sad that she couldn’t simply let her mother go. “But now she said it was to protect us. That she’s done everything for us.” The witch didn’t know how to reconcile those two concepts, nor how to figure out whether or not one outweighed the other. The mention of wardens and violence a conversation Nell was more familiar with, and her shoulders straightened as she spoke again. “But do you want it? The revenge? There are other ways- you could find someone to help.” Nell might even offer to do it herself for the sake of a lost sister. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be too late.”

“I suppose so. He had to forgive me for some things too,” Lydia continued, her jaw tightening for every micrometer of give that the toy gave her. “I’m so glad we’re still talking. We live so long, it can be lonely without family. I do love him, and he loves me.” Lydia forced herself to listen as Nell explained about her own mother, and felt the tiniest sinking feeling of empathy, despite knowing better. Nell’s life was worth less, her issues worth less. She still felt that twinge. “That’s awful. No matter your transgressions, family is family. You can’t just kick each other out because you disagree with their choices.” Her own family hadn’t, but Remmy had. “Sometimes people lie to themselves about their impact. That’s awful. Do you want her back?” Lydia said, rubbing her face in frustration. “How would I find anyone to help for a murder committed twelve years ago?” Lydia sighed, staring at the toy. “I want it more than anything, but deaths from wardens in my family are not rare. We’re not built… others of my species are better at protecting themselves.” She spoke the last bit quietly, looking around the cafe. 

“That makes sense,” Nell nodded as Lydia spoke of their longevity. “I guess family’s really one of the only things that can be constant when you live longer.” But it was still a mystery as to how exactly Lydia had gotten to that point of forgiveness. It would be foolish to think that Nell might find a guide of sorts within them, anyway. Family is family. Lydia’s words caused another prickle of uncertainty to surface in Nell. Did that wisdom go both ways? It was obvious that Lydia meant the words to condemn Nell’s mother, but couldn’t they also be turned around to imply that Nell should forgive her mother? “I don’t know if she even realizes the impact. I don’t know.” That was the only answer she could come up with, uncertainty being the only thing she was sure of when it came to Nisa Vural. “She still won’t talk to us. Not actually. But she did heal me one time when I asked since then.” Nell didn’t know why she was looking for glimmers of hope in a shattered relationship, trying to remind herself that she’d made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t let her mother hurt her again after the coven had been taken from them. And yet...she couldn’t deny the child that still lived on deep within her, longing for her mother’s love and approval despite refusing to acknowledge it. “I just…I’m tired of it all.” She was tired of the way her mother treated her while also being tired of wondering if things could be different. But mostly she was tired of not knowing the answer. Nell only paused a beat before speaking of the warden and their murder once again, thinking the answer to Lydia’s situation obvious. “You know I’m a bounty hunter. A regular one as well as a supernatural one. And with that comes being a pretty good tracker and stuff like that. I could help find them.” A twinge of sympathy made its way through Nell at Lydia’s hunting lamentations, knowing she’d never know what it was to be hunted as thoroughly as someone like the fae were. 

“That’s even harder. At least my father knew what he did and the consequences of it,” Lydia replied, who kept talking about her father even though it was patently not what she wanted to do. “I’m sorry. Parents should have more introspection than their children. It’s her duty to make amends,” Lydia said softly. Nell’s grief resonated too uncomfortably once again. Empathy she didn’t want to feel as strongly as she did. “Certainly an interesting choice of profession,” Lydia saw the opportunity to get a promise. She felt every spore in her lungs tumbling over themselves to get that promise, latch onto it, and watch how it unfolded. As simple as taking candy from a baby. There were just two problems. The first? Lydia did not want any more trouble with the Vurals ever, she had had enough of them for a lifetime. The second was that using this intensely personal moment for personal gain, confessing secrets neither of them wanted to, felt wrong, fundamentally twisting up inside her right next to the uncomfortable empathy she felt for Nell. “I might or might not take you up on that,” she said softly, and the toy popped right off her finger, and Nell’s too. “Oh!” Lydia gasped with relief.

Nell’s own pleasantly surprised sound was drawn from her as the finger trap released them, and the witch instantly flexed her finger, bending it a few times in delight now that it had been released from its prison. “Oh, hell yeah!” It seemed like the more delicate topic of parents and disappointment was quick to melt away now that there was no obligation to speak of them. “Fuck this little toy- I’m burning the damn thing when I get home.” It took another moment for Nell to realize that Lydia had offered a response when it came to searching for her sister’s killer, and the witch’s head tilted curiously to the side. “It doesn’t have to be a favor or anything like that either if you wanted me to help look for the killer. I’m usually good for my word all on its own. Especially for things like this.” But now that she was free and remembering the all too personal things she’d shared with Lydia— Nell was eager to depart. “Just message me or whatever if you have questions about it.”

“That would be wise,” Lydia said, picking up her bag with an awkward closed mouth smile, at first assuming that the moment the trap was gone, their little agreements would be over. Buut Nell made the offer again, clearly enough that Lydia paused, looking the spellcaster over again. She considered it, which surprised Lydia even more. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Lydia said with a smile, pulling her coat close herself. She acted as if she was still unsure, but already, the threads of an idea were beginning to form in her mind. A possibility she had thrown away years ago. She’d play it cool, maybe wait a week, but the temptation was there. If Nell Vural could defy death, what else might she do? “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

[aliciameade]

Je Suis Désolée

Title: Je Suis Désolée Author: aliciameade Rating: *** E *** Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: I’ve had the following prompt in my inbox for two years. Whoever sent it: I hope it’s worth the wait?

“I have a prompt if you are willing '-Friends can help friends have orgasms, Beca'. Oneshot, twoshot, whatever you feel like. Basically 'friends with benefits' trope?”

Also on AO3

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Whoops!” Chloe stoops to pick up the pile of mail Beca knocked off the kitchen counter with her elbow when she’d leaned on it to dramatically drop her face to her hands. It’s the fifth (sixth?) thing she’s picked up for Beca this week under similar circumstances: a dropped phone (twice), the television remote, her eyeliner while they did their makeup side-by-side, and an entire basket of laundry which had tumbled down the stairs to the basement along with a string of Beca’s finest curse words. “What’s going on with you lately?”

“Nothing,” Beca huffs behind her hands.

Chloe’s eyes survey the room in the hope of getting more insight than that from one of the other girls hanging out waiting for the stack of pizzas they ordered to arrive.

“Her well is dry,” Stacie offers while she drinks from a cup Chloe knows contains more than only Diet Coke.

Chloe laughs in amused confusion. “What?” 

Beca groans and drops her head onto crossed arms. “Stace.”

“There’s no meat in her taco.”

Chloe’s confusion evaporates and she twists to look at Beca again to see the tips of her ears already turning red. She knows Beca and Jesse broke up recently, though no one’s been able to ascertain exactly when as Beca is rarely forthcoming about personal things. One day she had a boyfriend, one day she, without any formal announcement, implied she no longer had a boyfriend, and nothing further was spoken about the matter.

“You mean she’s all clumsy because—”

Beca’s voice is muffled. “I’m just stressed out about Nationals.”

“Because she needs to get laid,” Stacie finishes, steamrolling right over Beca’s excuse and resulting in cautious giggles from Jessica and Ashley. “And she doesn’t believe in masturbation.”

“Stacie! Seriously?” Beca sits up and she’s sporting a full blush. Chloe finds it adorable. “I told you that in confidence! And that isn’t even what I said!”

“Oh, no!” Chloe empathizes; it’s been several months since she’s slept with anyone, partly due to focusing so much on the Bellas and mostly due to being in love with her co-captain. She’s also some combination of elated and intrigued that Beca has, apparently, not had sex in some length of time and that she has, apparently, disclosed her state of unfulfilled arousal to Stacie. Part of her feels sad that Beca hadn’t come to her with such a thing, but then again, if there was anyone in the house to go to for any kind of sexual advice, Stacie would be the best choice.

“Shut up.”

“You’re jittery because you’re horny?” Chloe’s not an idiot; she knows that’s exactly what Beca’s problem is, but it’s too tantalizing to let it go so quickly. Beca’s fun to rile up.

Beca’s palms connect with the counter and her back straightens, chin held high. “You know what? I’m a red-blooded woman with biological needs and I’m not going to let you guys harass me for it.”

“No one’s harassing you, Bec,” Chloe says even though she’s laughing.

“We just forget you’re human sometimes,” Ashley pipes up from across the room and the boldness earns a gasp from Jessica.

“You know how I get if I go more than a few days without it,” Stacie says with a shrug and another sip from her cup. “No judgment here.”

Beca pushes her barstool away from the counter with a deafening screech and leaves. “Screw you guys; text me when the pizza’s here.”

“I mean, you could, and you’d solve your problem right now.”

“Fuck you!” echoes back from the stairs. 

Chloe turns to stare at Stacie who’s already looking at her with a knowing smile.

Because, again, if there’s one person in the house to go to for sex advice, it’s Stacie. Chloe’s confided in her the past three years. Specifically, about her suffocating attraction to Beca.

“I set that up perfectly for you. What are you waiting for?”

Chloe gives Jessica and Ashley a furtive glance but they’re the least gossip-prone girls of the house. “Right now?!” she whispers harshly anyway. It feels weird to speak about any potential anything between Beca and her in front of other people.

“Why not?” Stacie shrugs and looks past Chloe as if Beca’s right there, but Chloe knows she isn’t. She heard her stomp up the steps a few seconds ago. “Now she’s horny and mad. What could be better?”

“Shush,” Chloe says and ignores the look Stacie gives her when she takes a step backward. Backward in the direction of Beca. “I’m going to go apologize. I think we went too far.”

“Apologize with your tongue.”

Chloe thinks she might actually blush from Stacie’s comment, which is a feat, and turns to walk away before it sets in. “That’s usually how speaking works; thanks!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chloe doesn’t go directly to Beca’s attic room. She doesn’t really have any expectations but if she knows one thing about herself, it’s that she tends to be impulsive and has been known to blow up even her best-laid plans.

And maybe if she blows up her plan to apologize to Beca for making her uncomfortable and offering to be an ear if she wants to talk about her break-up and somehow ends up…

She chastises herself even as she changes out of boring beige cotton briefs in favor of black lace. She has no expectations, none whatsoever. But if she does do something to surprise herself, she’d prefer to be in peak form to keep her confidence high. Something tells her that if she does do something and Beca actually agrees to it, Beca might not be the most relaxed, comfortable person in such a scenario and Chloe will have to compensate.

Beca’s door is predictably closed when she arrives, so she knocks.

“I said text me when the pizza’s here.” Beca’s voice grows louder as crosses the room to throw open the door with palpable irritation. “Oh.”

Chloe smiles. “Hi.”

“Here to mock me some more?” Beca sighs as she turns around and climbs the steps to return to her bed, though she doesn’t tell Chloe to leave.

“No,” Chloe says as she enters and closes the door. “I came to apologize.” Apologize with your tongue. She tries to push Stacie’s comment out of her mind.

Beca’s lying on her bed staring at the ceiling when Chloe reaches the landing. She doesn’t offer a further greeting so Chloe assumes her silence is indicative that she does need to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” she says when she gets to the side of Beca’s bed. When Beca glances at her and sighs (again), she accepts the unspoken invitation to sit. “What you’re dealing with is perfectly natural and I shouldn’t have let Stacie tease you about it. And I shouldn’t have joined in. Or laughed.”

Beca huffs and folds her hands over her stomach. Chloe can’t help but watch the way they interlock, can’t help her mind reminding her how soft Beca’s hands are, how often she’s felt them, though never in the places or ways she aches for. “What do you know, anyway?” Beca asks bitterly. “I always see you hooking up with people when we go out.”

Chloe wonders if it’s jealousy she hears lacing Beca’s tone but tries not to get hung up on it. “Bec,” she says with a gentle nudge to Beca’s side with her finger to make her squirm, “I don’t sleep with them.”

Beca’s eyes slide to the side to land on her but she doesn’t say anything.

“We just make out. It’s fun. I haven’t slept with anyone since Thanksgiving.” It had been a high school friend while she was home for the holiday and it had been more awkward than anything. She’s not sure why she feels the need to tell Beca she isn’t sleeping with the people she kisses in bars and at parties, but she does sense Beca’s tension beginning to ease.

They’re both quiet for a long moment until she sees Beca start to smile. “Dude, you haven’t gotten laid in six months?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Hush. It’s not for lack of prospects.”

“And I thought my three was bad. I need to get my shit together.”

Chloe laughs and makes note of the three months. It gives her a rough time frame of when Beca’s relationship may have ended.

“You know,” Chloe starts.

She intends to finish with, “if you want to talk about what happened with Jesse, I’m here for you.” 

Instead, what comes out is, “we could help each other out.”

Good ol’ Chloe Marie Beale. Impulse and instinct in the driver’s seat instead of reason.

“What?” Beca asks and lifts her head.

She bites her lip for a second, trying and failing to get a read on the look Beca’s giving her. “You’re so wound up that you can’t get through the day without breaking something.”

Beca sits up until she’s supporting herself with her arms behind her. She doesn’t say anything, though.

“Let me help you.” She chooses to remove the proposition of mutual relief from the table. It feels like a much smaller mountain to scale.

“Help me…?” Beca squints at her as though she’s confused but Chloe can tell she knows exactly what Chloe means.

“With your jitters.” She smiles as she says it and hopes she doesn’t look as nervous as she feels.

“Dude,” Beca laughs. “What?”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

Chloe shuts up, but just for a second. “I want to. But only if you want me to. Obviously.”

Beca’s face is unreadable again, some combination of astonishment and amusement. “You’re literally saying you want to fuck me.”

Chloe imagines herself looking like a cartoon character, one whose eyes bug out several feet and neck stretches so long their heads hit the ceiling as they react. “That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“No, Beca,” she’s not sure why she’s saying ‘no.’ “I didn’t mean—why do you have to say it that way? It sounds so vulgar.”

“You’re sitting on my bed propositioning me for sex and I’m vulgar?” Beca’s definitely bewildered; her tone tells Chloe that. She’s also blushing.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s just pretend this never happened; I’ll go.” Chloe stands to leave but feels Beca’s hand graze her knee as she does so.

She freezes and glances back. Beca’s on her side now, and she’s looking at her own hand as if it betrayed her and withdraws it.

“Do you want me to go?” she asks quietly.

Beca shifts and Chloe’s not quite sure what her ultimate goal is until she’s moved far enough toward the wall in her small twin-sized bed to leave half the bed empty. “You can stay,” she answers, though doesn’t quite meet Chloe’s eyes. She gestures at her bed. “Maybe we can talk about it?”

“Okay,” Chloe says with a smile as she sinks into the space Beca’s made for her to settle onto her side, face to face with Beca only a few inches away. This close, she can see how nervous Beca is and that she’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it. Beca always likes to act like she’s cool as a cucumber in any situation, but Chloe knows better. “We can talk about it.”

“So,” Beca starts. She pauses, but Chloe waits for her. “You, uh…” she pauses once more and then finds her footing. “Do you make it a habit to proposition all your friends?”

Chloe giggles and shakes her head. “No. Of course not.”

“Of course not?”

There’s a further unspoken question there; Chloe hears it. “You’ve been kind of a walking catastrophe lately. Someone needs to intervene.”

Beca smiles and it’s genuine and warms Chloe’s heart like it always does. “So it’s an act of charity.”

Chloe squints. “More like self-preservation. Or homeowner’s insurance?”

“Fuck you,” Beca laughs.

Chloe’s quick. “Is that an offer? Because this was supposed to be about you.”

Beca’s cheeks flush again but she doesn’t try to hide it. “I’ve never slept with a friend before. And don’t say we sleep together all the time; you know that’s not what I mean.”

Chloe bites her tongue; they know each other so well by now. It’s one of the many, many things she’s come to love about her relationship with Beca. “I don’t really make it a habit, either, you know,” she says gently instead. “I don’t like knowing you’re—”

“Horny?”

“—in need of relief, is how I was going to finish that,” Chloe says with a laugh. “But yes.”

“Stacie’s horny, like, all the time.”

“You’re different.” Chloe maybe says those words too quickly to not raise some kind of suspicion that they hold more meaning than they seem to at face value.

If Beca interprets them that way, she doesn’t let on. She’s quiet for a moment and Chloe lets her study her; she can see Beca thinking about it, considering all possibilities whether good or bad. Beca’s always been the level-headed one of the group and now is no different.

“I don’t want anything to be weird,” Beca eventually says. “And don’t say, ‘It will only be weird if we let it be weird’ because that’s what everyone always says.”

“Have you been propositioned like this often?” Chloe winks.

“I meant, like, on TV and in books and stuff.”

Chloe smirks just to tease her and she notices Beca start to blush again despite no suggestive exchange of words. She wonders if Beca’s imagining it. What it would be like to kiss each other, to slowly undress, to let fingertips dance over skin and draw one another to the peak of pleasure.

Beca shifts infinitesimally closer and Chloe swears her heart stops beating.

“Can I say, ‘maybe’?”

“You can say whatever you want.”

Beca’s eyes drift to Chloe’s lips as she speaks and Chloe has to remind herself to breathe. “Okay. Maybe.”

Chloe’s glad she’s already lying down; her knees would have surely given out otherwise upon hearing Beca taking it under consideration. “It’s totally up to you. It was a no-pressure, no-strings-attached offer.”

Beca’s smile is so gentle it’s barely there. But it’s there. “I know.” Then she starts smiling for real. “I feel like we should throw back tequila shots first or something.”

The suggestion makes butterflies explode in Chloe’s stomach. Because it sounded like Beca was actually ready to go for it. “Amy has a bar cart—” Chloe moves to get up again to help herself to Fat Amy’s extensive liquor collection proudly on display in a corner in her half of the room but Beca’s touch stops her again.

They don’t leave when Chloe stops and she holds her breath, watching Beca watch her own fingers as they twitch where they rest on the inside of Chloe’s right wrist.

“Have you thought about this?” Beca’s voice is the tiniest bit lower than usual, or maybe it’s just her quiet tone, but it makes Chloe dizzy.

“I wouldn’t have offered without thinking about it first.”

Beca’s lips curve for a second. “Good to know, but—” she pauses to take a breath “—I meant have you thought about this...before.”

The question jumpstarts Chloe’s previously stalled heart. It’s an unexpected question that points down the path she’s wanted to take for a very long time and she knows her answer wields much power.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Oh.” Beca’s reply is little more than an exhale.

Chloe itches to ask Beca the same question or to be asked to expand on her answer, but Beca’s silent for a long moment until she wets her lips and Chloe’s heart stops again.

“Maybe we just kiss and see what it’s like?”

Chloe’s pretty sure all major bodily functions are beginning to fail her: first her heart, then her stomach, now her ears, because she cannot believe them. Maybe her nervous system, too, because her skin won’t stop tingling where Beca’s fingers rest on it. Her instinct still works, though, and she has to fight to keep from pointing out that they have kissed before, many times in fact.

However, those were kisses in the most basic definition. Their lips touched to show affection. But they were platonic, casual, sometimes just someone (usually Chloe) being playful. They weren’t laden with meaning or meant for physical pleasure. And she knows that’s exactly what kind of kiss Beca’s suggesting tonight.

“Yeah, we can try that.” Chloe’s voice is what fails her this time, breaking mid-word and quivering and despite her intent to keep herself together because Beca would surely be nervous, and here they are, Beca being the one to push the timeline forward while Chloe tries to calm down.

“You’re nervous,” Beca says with another soft smile. “It’s okay; I’m nervous, too.”

And that’s another part of what she loves about Beca so much: even in this strange situation she’s found herself in that Chloe knows is making Beca squirm inside, she’s able to default into the caretaker role that she’s always had once she had settled in with the Bellas. “Chloe’s nervous? I’ll reassure her.”

“It’s not like we’ve never kissed before,” Beca continues with a more comfortable smile, and of course: of course she’s pushing her own nerves aside in this odd and monumental moment between them to echo Chloe’s own thoughts. “No pressure, right?”

“Right,” Chloe says with a heavy exhale and a smile. She so wants to be confident and self-assured right now but Beca has always been able to rattle her and tonight is no different.

“I’m just going to…” Beca doesn’t finish her sentence. She contorts herself to reach back and turn off her bedside lamp. It’s not completely dark; the single light bulb in the walk-in closet is on and swirling colors emanate from Beca’s MacBook screensaver sitting on her desk at the foot of the bed.

The darkness seems to bolster Chloe’s faltering boldness and she levers herself onto an elbow to be ready for Beca to turn back and when she does they’re much closer. Beca starts at the unexpected proximity.

“Oh,” is all she says, though.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Chloe says after a steadying breath. She’s impressed that Beca can’t hear the frantic beating of all the butterfly wings in Chloe’s stomach. “If that’s okay.”

Beca’s eyelashes flutter so quickly Chloe’s not sure if she’s even blinking. When she nods, Chloe feels hers do the same and she thinks she understands.

Nerves. 

Excitement.

She leans forward and Beca’s eyes fall closed when she’s close enough to catch the apple scent from Beca’s shampoo. It’s so familiar to Chloe, one that’s come to trigger feelings of comfort and contentment because those things are synonymous with being close to Beca.

She catches herself hesitating when Beca moves. It’s small, barely noticeable if not for Chloe’s state of hyperawareness. Just a twitch of her right hand where it lays on the bed in the narrow space between them such that it grazes Chloe’s shirt. Just a quiet, slow breath as though she’s preparing.

“Hurry up, then,” Beca finally mumbles and Chloe wonders how long she’s been hovering. Too long, it would seem, according to Beca.

She considers apologizing but decides to take Stacie’s advice.

She leans forward and kisses Beca.

It’s silent for a long moment. Lips touching, unmoving. Several seconds pass until Beca pulls back.

“That’s it?”

Her comment—criticism?—is unexpected and it startles Chloe. “I wasn’t sure how to—”

“I already said ‘yes,’ so don’t overthink because then I’ll overthink. Now, come on.” Beca’s fingers, the ones that have been resting between them, curl into Chloe’s shirt to give it a small tug and though it doesn’t actually pull Chloe at all, its intent does and, heart pounding, Chloe leans in again.

Beca meets her halfway.

Beca doesn’t let her be hesitant about it.

This kiss isn’t like the dozens of pecks they’ve shared. It feels like the kiss you excitedly wait for at the end of an awesome date because you know it’s coming and you can sense you’re both waiting for it.

There’s a thoughtful sound from Beca as their lips touch, then separate briefly only to reconnect again at a different angle, and Chloe wonders what she’s thinking about. If she’s thinking that it’s weird that they’re kissing. Or if, like Chloe, she’s thinking that it shouldn’t be this easy to start making out with your friend, especially when free from inebriation. Or if, like Chloe, she’s thinking that it’s a pretty damn great first “real” kiss.

She’s still considering the thoughts Beca could be having when a purposeful change of angle and the graze of a tongue floors Chloe.

In every hypothetical, dreamlike scenario she’s imagined, Beca is shy. Beca is reserved. Beca is nervous. Beca is quiet. Beca is awkward.

Every hypothetical, dreamlike scenario but one, that is. And it has long been Chloe’s favorite. The source of as much heartache as private, impassioned release, it centers around Beca knowing what she wants, being bold, being demanding and confident. Even if she wanted to, Chloe wouldn’t be able to tally how many peaks of pleasure the fantasy has brought her.

Now, potential realities make themselves known as Beca is the one to ask for a bigger, better kiss, as Beca is the first to escalate it from a gentle touch to a French kiss as Chloe’s lips part so her tongue can meet Beca’s.

It makes her shiver and, if it didn’t mean removing her hand from where it has come to rest on Beca’s waist, she’d pinch herself to make sure this was real. She sighs into it and tries to keep still. Her body itches to move closer, to touch more of Beca, but she roots herself in place to make sure this experience lasts as long as possible. She can feel Beca move, though. She feels her arm leave where it’s rested against her own side and lightly atop Chloe’s hand and she keeps her eyes closed to let Beca surprise her.

She fails to control the whimper that escapes when Beca’s hand finds her cheek and grazes over it until fingers—the soft fingers Chloe thinks about so much—slide through Chloe’s hair and Chloe’s wholly unsure what she expected but for some reason, that wasn’t it, and her body reacts on instinct.

She mirrors the action and marvels (not for the first time) at how smooth Beca’s hair is. She moves closer than she previously deemed safe and when her knee bumps Beca’s, breathtakingly, Beca’s shift to let Chloe’s fit between her own.

It’s real, now. Chloe can feel herself slipping into the moment driven by a desire that’s only growing the longer they trade kisses. The longer they take turns playing with the other’s tongue, seeing if they can coax a sound from the other.

It’s that thought flits through her, that Beca’s actively trying to pull reactions from Chloe, that breathes oxygen to the flame burning inside Chloe.

She moans when Beca’s teeth catch her bottom lip and she can hear Beca react to it in the way her breathing changes. She moves, hand drawing from Beca’s hair to run down her arm and side until it’s on her hip, pressing gently to suggest Beca turn onto her back.

“Not enough room,” Beca mumbles against Chloe’s lips and Chloe has to pull back with a laugh.

“I’ll move,” Chloe says as she does so, sliding backward until she’s the one on the edge of the narrow bed and watches in disbelief as Beca scoots forward and lies back.

She must take too long, even though only a second or two passes, because Beca pats the tops of her thighs like she’s calling a pet to her lap. “Well?”

She moves to straddle Beca’s hips and she sits back on her knees, still in awe that she’s in this position. Literally and figuratively. “Well?” Chloe echoes.

“Well, what?” Beca’s hands rest low on her stomach where they fidget, eyes unable to hold Chloe’s gaze for more than a second or two before they’re skipping around, Chloe thinks, to not be obvious about her desire to take in the way they look together right now. Beca’s not uncomfortable, Chloe notes, but she is nervous.

“You well’d me first,” Chloe sasses. Her own hands struggle to find a place to rest that doesn’t feel like it looks aggressive, passive, or defensive and they finally settle atop Beca’s, which immediately stop fidgeting. “But I’m well’ing you back.” She softens her tone and squeezes Beca’s hands. “You okay?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Beca.”

Beca’s eyes fall again, maybe to their hands, maybe to some part of Chloe. “I’m cool.”

Chloe squeezes her hands again. “Hey. Look at me.”

Beca meets her eyes and Chloe can see how hard Beca has to work to not look away again. 

“We don’t have to keep going,” she says earnestly.

Beca’s eyes do stop moving then and hold steady on Chloe’s. “Did I say I didn’t want to?”

Chloe has to swallow in order to get her voice to work. “No; I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Are you comfortable?” Beca asks in return.

She nods.

“I make a pretty good seat, huh?” Beca smiles as she says it. Even lifts her hips to give Chloe a bump and though it’s likely not the intended effect, it makes Chloe gasp. “Oh,” Beca says, hearing it. “You don’t want to stop, do you.” She says it like it’s a factual conclusion. And she’s not wrong.

“This isn’t about me,” Chloe says with a shake of her head and a small smile.

“You already told me you think about it.”

“I said I’ve thought about it,” she corrects, even though Beca’s already correct.

“Liar,” Beca says, seeing right through her. Like usual. And Beca is starting to smile, which, in this particular situation, feels dangerous. “How many times have you thought about it?”

Chloe is very much trapped even though Beca’s the one pinned by a person sitting astride her. “It’s not like I keep count.”

“Keep count?” Beca’s smile grows. “Present tense. So, this is like, a recent thing.” Chloe starts to reply but Beca keeps going. “If you don’t keep count, then how often?”

“Beca,” she says with a laugh, shy and aroused and excited and nervous all at once. She really didn’t expect her evening to unfold this way. Her lack of answer seems to satisfy Beca, though, because her friend’s smile turns unfairly attractive in its smugness.

“That is really fucking hot.” Beca slides her hands from beneath Chloe’s to place them on Chloe’s thighs and Chloe, thoroughly losing her senses again, rocks her hips forward at the contact. “Oh, wow,” Beca says as soon as it happens and Chloe can see the intrigue on Beca’s face from her higher vantage point. “So is that.” Beca’s own hips shift between Chloe’s thighs and while it could be as much out of general shifting for comfort, the fact that it could be driven by arousal—Beca’s arousal that Chloe has contributed to—makes Chloe bite her lip so she doesn’t say something wildly inappropriate.

“I’ve thought about it, too.”

It’s an unexpected and unprompted confession that makes Chloe’s heart want to leap out of her chest. “Oh?” she manages to ask though it sounds entirely too airy to come across as anything but turned on. It also isn’t helping that Beca’s hands are very, very slowly but steadily moving higher up Chloe’s thighs and it’s all Chloe can do to sit still and keep her hands to herself.

Beca shrugs one shoulder and her eyes remain focused on her own hands, seemingly transfixed as they reach Chloe’s hips and keep moving toward her waist where they stop. “I really don’t want to ruin anything.” She looks up and meets Chloe’s eyes.

“I think we’re bigger than that,” Chloe says as she lets her hands rest on Beca’s stomach. The contact moves the hem of Beca’s shirt and Chloe’s right thumb grazes bare skin. She doesn’t stop to think before she goes with it, letting her hand push the T-shirt up a few inches until her hand rests fully on the warm skin of Beca’s stomach. It turns concave beneath her palm and she hears Beca inhale. “Don’t you?”

Beca’s answer is delayed and Chloe watches with interest as Beca tries to school her face into something other than the surprise that came from Chloe’s direct contact. “It’s just sex, right?” Beca eventually says. Her hands are hot where they hold Chloe, like they could burn through her blouse and sear her skin. 

It’s just sex, right? Chloe believes it’s a lot more than that. If it was with anyone else—literally, anyone else—it would be “just sex.” But it’s not. It’s Beca, and nothing is “just” anything when it comes to Beca for Chloe. 

“Right,” Chloe says with a nod and lets her left hand join her right under the edge of Beca’s shirt. She wonders if they feel as hot to Beca as Beca’s do to her; she doesn’t think they could possibly be cold, but Beca shivers at the touch.

“Come down here.” Beca tugs at Chloe’s shirt again. It’s the second time she’s asked—demanded—Chloe to kiss her and Chloe bends at the waist to do exactly that.

Her hands have to abandon their comfortable, warm spot on Beca’s stomach with the change so she can support herself, but she doesn’t really mind. Not when Beca’s hands seem to be venturing into similar territory. Fingertips glide down Chloe’s sides and curve to catch the edge of her blouse where they graze along Chloe’s skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of Beca’s touch and Chloe dares to kiss Beca a little harder to encourage her to keep going.

It works.

Beca’s hands skate under the hem of Chloe’s blouse and brush over her stomach and she can’t help it: she flexes her abs and she hears Beca react immediately with a huff against her lips.

“Show-off,” is mumbled next and Chloe’s about to laugh when Beca seems to want to make a point of some kind because she kisses Chloe so thoroughly, so aggressively, that Chloe’s left elbow actually gives out for a second.

Beca makes a noise that Chloe thinks is probably born of smugness that she can’t help but think is deserved. Beca’s kissing her like she’s trying to prove something or make a point and what either of those things could be, Chloe doesn’t know or care as long as Beca doesn’t stop.

Beca’s hands move higher, over Chloe’s ribs until she’s following them toward the center of Chloe’s chest where fingertips nick the band of Chloe’s bra.

Chloe tries to lock her mindset, to stay present, focused, even as her biceps burn and her tongue gets worked overtime because she knows what’s coming next and she’s wholly unprepared for a reality where Beca touches her breasts for any reasons beyond accident or retaliatory injury. Her hands hesitate for an ungodly length of time, though, tracing back and forth along the lower edge of Chloe’s bra as though unable to commit to crossing the line even as she literally sucks on the tip of Chloe’s tongue.

“Beca,” she says when she’s able to pull her tongue away from her to sit back again. She has to; her arms are tired and she can’t afford them to be, not if things are going to keep escalating. Beca’s hands naturally slide down with the change of angle until she’s holding Chloe’s waist again. “Do you want me to take off my shirt?”

She watches Beca swallow, eyes somewhat fixated on Chloe’s torso until they finally lift and Chloe almost whimpers from how dark they’ve become. “Yeah, okay,” Beca says and her voice is noticeably huskier, too, and she nearly whimpers again. “If you want to.”

Her top, a loose-fitting V-neck, is easily lifted and tossed aside and she doesn’t let herself get caught up in the fact that she’s straddling Beca in bed, topless, and reaches for Beca’s hands to start dragging them up her body again.

She stops when she’s drawn Beca’s hands back to where they’d stalled and she releases them to wait for Beca to decide to move farther. She distracts herself by putting on a little bit of a show for Beca, stretching until her back arches and her head drops back. She weaves her fingers through her own hair to scratch at her scalp and fluff it as she sits up again, back straight, and watches Beca watch her own hands slide up to cover Chloe’s breasts through her bra.

She flashes a smile at Beca when she looks up for reassurance and then Chloe closes her eyes and sighs as Beca’s fingers gently explore. It’s a torturous pace but Chloe has no complaints despite her body’s demands for quick relief. She can’t quite stop her hips from beginning to slip into a slow rolling rhythm, though, and she feels Beca’s shift beneath hers after a few seconds. She thinks it might have been an accident until they start following Chloe’s rhythm.

It’s a rash decision, she would think later, but feeling Beca moving like that beneath her is doing things to Chloe’s brain she never thought possible. She reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra to take it off and drop it to the floor because she needs Beca’s hands on her breasts like she needs air.

She can see the surprise on Beca’s face but it’s laced with excitement and she does everything but grab Beca’s hands again and place them where she wants them. She waits, impatiently, as Beca considers, and then moans quietly when she decides and drags short fingernails lightly along the sides of her bare breasts until they’re fully in Beca’s hands.

Chloe curses under her breath and she reaches for the hem of Beca’s shirt, intent on removing it, but Beca chooses that second to squeeze and Chloe has to stop and experience it. She needs to close her eyes and pay attention to how it feels for her hard nipples to press into Beca’s soft palms. For her fingers to draw invisible lines across her skin, over her nipples once, twice, and again until they pinch slightly and give a subtle tug and Chloe curses more loudly.

A deep breath helps ground her as she opens her eyes to glance down and take in what it looks like to have Beca’s hands on her this way. She takes it in for a moment before she pushes at Beca’s shirt again. “You, too?” she asks.

Beca looks up at her and there’s a definite blush to her cheeks that Chloe thinks might be permanent by this point. She can see the question pass through her mind and then she’s nodding. Her hands drop and reach for her shirt to pull it up and off herself and she whips it somewhere, a move that wholly steals Chloe’s breath. 

She doesn’t stop there, though. Chloe watches, awestruck, as Beca arches her back enough to reach under herself and a second later, her bra is gone as well and just like that, they’re topless together.

“You’re so hot,” Chloe says as her hands move to touch Beca but stop short. “Can I—”

“Yes,” Beca says before she can even finish, eyes closing and head pressing into her pillow preemptively as Chloe’s hands settle over her breasts. Her lips part but no sound escapes and it’s somehow more erotic than if she had moaned.

There’s no subtlety in Chloe’s hips’ movement now; they’re rocking solidly and Beca’s moving beneath her just as purposely. She’s aching and as much as she knows she could drive herself to a release in this position, this entire event is supposed to be about Beca and her needs, not Chloe’s.

She lets her thumbs graze over the hard peaks of Beca’s breasts, something she previously experienced only in her fantasies and daydreams, and memorizes the way Beca’s breathing changes each time, especially when she slows down to draw lazy circles around them, and the way her neck strains and twists with her restless movements.

It draws Chloe in like a magnet and she leans down, having to relinquish Beca’s left breast to support herself again and she presses wet, open-mouthed kisses along Beca’s neck.

Beca arches beneath her again, this time an airy whimper escaping as she tilts her head in a request for more, which Chloe readily gives by sucking a mark into Beca’s skin and soothing it with her tongue.

Apologize with your tongue.

She almost laughs when she hears Stacie’s suggestion again; it had seemed ludicrous not even an hour ago and now Beca’s moaning in her ear while Chloe plays with her nipple.

She scoots backward, only an inch or two at first, when she can’t continue kissing down Beca’s neck. She kisses down now, over her left collar bone and across the expanse of warm skin below it until she’s moving back again, lips beginning to travel up the gentle swell of the top of Beca’s breast. She’s ready to pause and ask if it’s okay when fingers tangle into her hair, not to pull her away but to urge her closer.

Beca’s breathing heavily above her; she can hear it as much as she can feel it with how quickly her chest rises and falls beneath her lips until her lips find the peak. She kisses it gently and Beca stops breathing entirely for a long moment. She kisses it again and lets her tongue flick over it and Beca moans, loudly, to restart her breathing.

“Fuck,” Beca pants, body restless under Chloe. While her left hand clings to the back of Chloe’s head to keep her where she is, the right rakes along her back until it follows her ribs again to find Chloe’s left breast. Her grip isn’t gentle or tentative; Beca grabs Chloe roughly like she means it, like she’s desperate, and it makes Chloe close her lips over Beca’s nipple to suck on it. “Fuck,” Beca repeats, voice strained, and Chloe looks up to see her head thrown back. She’s tense and Chloe has the sudden realization that Beca’s close and she has to first process that before she can decide if she’s going to see it through right now or interrupt the crescendo because she hasn’t even gotten Beca’s pants off yet.

She lets go of Beca’s nipple and receives a groan of frustration in response and she immediately slides back until she’s kneeling between Beca’s ankles and her fingers curl into the waist of the sweatpants Beca’s wearing. She doesn’t pull, not without knowing Beca’s sure, and her confirmation comes by way of Beca lifting her hips to let her take them off.

Beca’s eyes are on her as she does it. And so are her own: she watches as her hands guide Beca’s pants down her legs until she’s bending her knees to help Chloe navigate them off her ankles. She watches as Beca immediately hooks her thumbs into her own underwear to slip them down her hips and out from under her to let Chloe remove them, as well, and she watches as Beca, nude and in bed, parts her legs so they again settle on either side of Chloe, feet flat and knees bent. 

There’s not a specific intent behind that move, Chloe thinks. Just one of necessity because Chloe’s in the way of Beca being able to straighten her legs.  But it’s a move nonetheless and though Beca turned off the lamp, it’s not dark and Chloe can see Beca. All of her. And she watches how quickly she’s still breathing, how she’s still yet every muscle seems to be restless.

Chloe’s hands follow the soft lines of Beca’s legs from her ankles, along her calves to her knees until they get to her thighs and slow their ascent.

“How do you want me to…?” she asks. She doesn’t want to have to ask; what she wants is to flip them both over and beg Beca to ride her face.

She hopes that desire isn’t too obvious when she glances at the darkness between Beca’s legs and her tongue wets her lips.

“I don’t care,” Beca quickly responds. Her eyes are fixated on Chloe like her life or death hinges on tracking every minuscule movement Chloe makes.

Chloe begins to ask if she’s sure but the desire she feels rolling off Beca and the way she’s looking at her answers her before she can speak. It makes her hands start moving again, centimeter by centimeter up Beca’s thighs until she feels heat. She can almost feel Beca but she hasn’t quite moved far enough before she stops, needing a moment of her own because she’s breathing so shallowly it’s making her light-headed.

“Please.” It’s scarcely a whisper but it gets Chloe’s attention. It’s all Beca says and it’s all Chloe needs to move her hand higher until it can go no farther. Until her thumb is nestled in the warm crease at Beca’s thigh. Not only is it warm, it’s wet and for the shortest of moments, her brain short-circuits.

“God, Beca,” she says as she stops thinking and starts feeling. She lifts her thumb and turns her wrist and with that small motion, she and Beca cross a heavy line. Her thumb finds Beca’s clit; it’s easy. It’s swollen. And it’s wet as her thumb glides over it.

Beca inhales so sharply she thinks she might have hurt her but then Beca’s hips are lifting and she’s moaning. “Wow, okay,” she says with a near laugh after the moan and Chloe looks up from her focus between Beca’s legs assuming Beca’s going to open her eyes and say something else, but she doesn’t. She parts her legs wider and lifts her hips again.

It makes Chloe want to melt into the bed and she thinks she just might do that soon. She slouches so her lips can touch Beca’s right knee, biting at it gently as she turns her hand to touch Beca more directly, pads of her fingers moving over her.

She wishes she’d had a chance to move up before this, to be able to kiss Beca while she touches her. She doesn’t want Beca to feel like she’s on display so Chloe makes it a point to keep her eyes off her face, but Beca doesn’t seem self-conscious. Especially when she swears and moves her left hand to toy with her own nipple.

Chloe’s mesmerized by it until she’s driven by it. Her lips travel down Beca’s thigh, moving back and lying down as she goes. She can hear Beca above her breathing harder. She watches her thighs part wider. Feels how warm she is as her shoulders press under the backs of Beca’s thighs. Tastes how wet she is as her tongue draws a smooth line up between Beca’s legs.

“Oh, my God,” Beca groans. Chloe commits it all to memory because she wants to remember how it sounded, how she tasted the first time Chloe put her tongue on Beca. “Oh, my God, you’re really doing that. Okay.” The words are rushed and almost a moan themselves.

“Mhmm,” Chloe hums as she does just that again, this time moving her tongue downward. It completes her tongue’s first journey before it repeats it, slowly up and down, slipping over and alongside Beca’s clit.

Beca’s hips jerk when she travels across it a certain way and she avoids that; it’s too intense for Beca and she wants her to love every second of this and not be overwhelmed. Chloe licks at her slowly, fingers gently parting Beca to reach more of her. She’s wet. Wetter. Chloe can literally taste and feel how turned on Beca is right now and she moans, starting to lose herself.

Beca moans a second later like an answer or an echo. Her hips roll, pushing off the mattress and against Chloe’s tongue. Again and again as Chloe pleasures her. Fucks her. Eats her. 

Chloe’s so aroused she knows she could come if she thinks about it too hard. She doesn’t know if Beca will return the favor after this. She hopes she will. And if she will, Chloe is willing to wait to let her do that. She wants Beca to summon her up after she comes, cheeks and chin still wet, to unbutton the jeans Chloe hates that she’s wearing right now, and put her hand down them to push her fingers into Chloe and let her ride them.

She has a distinct desire for them to ride each other, she notes at the second such thought of the night.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” Beca whines as she rolls her hips more quickly.

Chloe knows she’s there; she doesn’t really need to do anything else other than hold her rhythm steady, which she does. She gives Beca her tongue and lets her grind against it. 

She moans when Beca’s hand is in her hair again, grabbing and pulling enough to sting as her breaths become disjointed, as her thighs press against Chloe’s ears, as Beca’s moan joins hers, only louder and longer, as she comes.

Chloe can’t stop moaning with her. Her own body quivers in empathy though she doesn’t quite orgasm. She can’t believe it.

She can’t believe that really happened.

She finds and gives a quick suckle to Beca’s clit and Beca’s entire body jolts. She releases it immediately; Beca’s too sensitive but she couldn’t help herself. She kisses it instead and Beca’s thighs finally relax and fall open.

“Jesus, fuck,” Chloe hears. “Oh, my God.”

She smiles to herself and licks at Beca again before a soft pull on her hair asks her to stop. She shifts to Beca’s thigh instead, kissing it for a moment before shifting up to kiss her abdomen, low and just above her neatly trimmed hairline. 

“That was fucking amazing.” Beca heaves a sigh as she says it and Chloe feels how soft and malleable she is now; moments ago, she was tense, rigid with the need for release and now she’s pliable and still.

Chloe looks up at the compliment, resting her chin on Beca. “Thank you.” She smiles.

“You look ridiculously hot down there.” Beca covers her face as soon as she says it and Chloe finds it adorable. Bashful even in this moment of intimacy.

Chloe laughs and moves to kiss Beca’s stomach again. “I’m going to sit up in a second if you want one last look.”

She expects Beca to shake her head and say, “I’m good, thanks,” but instead her hands drop and she looks right at Chloe who, as soon as that happens, makes it a point to move down to tease her tongue against Beca, just for good measure, because she knows Beca’s watching her.

Beca’s hands turn into fists and she presses them to her mouth with a hum. She clearly wants to say something and is fighting it.

“What?” Chloe asks, amused. She rests her cheek against Beca’s leg and lets her hands wander, tracing light patterns along the tops of Beca’s thighs.

“I want to ask you to do it again but I don’t know if that’s okay.” 

Chloe raises her eyebrows at the direct and clear honesty. It’s surprising but welcome. “I can do it again.”

“No,” Beca says but then quickly shakes her head. “I mean, not yet. Just...come up here? I want to kiss you.”

Beca just said she wants to kiss Chloe. Said she wants Chloe to use her tongue to bring her to orgasm. Again. But not before Chloe kisses her. Again.

She moves up, less concerned about supporting her weight now that she can lie between Beca’s legs and rest against her. She kisses her and Beca moans softly. She wonders if it’s just from the kiss or because Beca can taste herself on Chloe’s mouth. Either is hot and Chloe’s still on fire and Beca’s moan fuels it. She kisses her more deeply and feels Beca’s arms rest against her back, feels hands push into her hair to keep it out of the way. 

“Bec,” she breathes before kissing Beca again. “I really need to—to—just…” She tries to move off Beca; her intent is to leave the room, return to her own, glance in the general direction of her pussy, and come. “I only need a minute.” She somehow makes it off the bed and to her feet even though Beca’s arms try to hold onto her.

Beca sits up as soon as Chloe’s off the bed. “Where are you going?”

“I will absolutely go down on you again, but I’m going to go insane if I don’t get off first,” she says perhaps too directly in her heightened state of arousal. Beca doesn’t flinch.

“Then why are you leaving?”

She closes her eyes and takes a breath. Now’s not the time to be dense, Beca. “I need to go touch myself.”

“But I’m right here.”

Chloe’s about to say, “That’s why I need to leave,” when she realizes what Beca‘s implying. She gapes. “What?”

“I mean,” Beca says as she hypnotically turns onto her knees and moves to be in front of Chloe, “it’s the least I can do.” Her hands reach for the button on Chloe’s jeans and undo it without waiting for a response. 

Chloe watches Beca unbutton her jeans, pull the zipper down, and push them over her hips to the ground. “Oh,” she says, dumbfounded, as Beca reaches for the black lace she so carefully chose in case she found herself in this very position.

“You...wow,” Beca says as Chloe steps out of the last pieces of clothing to push them aside with her foot. “Can I touch you?”

“Please, Beca,” Chloe says a little too desperately and need pushes her forward until she’s on her knees on Beca’s bed again and Beca’s moved all the way back to sit up against her headboard.

With Chloe naked astride her naked lap.

“Please,” Chloe repeats as she leans down to kiss her. She feels Beca’s hands on her back, on her waist, on her thighs until, with precious little warning, one of them presses between her legs.

She almost combusts but bites her lip to stop it. She wants to enjoy this even for a minute or two before it’s over. Beca’s touching her. Moving her fingers between Chloe’s legs, back and forth slowly and paying particular attention to where so much wetness has gathered before drawing it up higher so her fingers can easily slide against Chloe’s clit.

The position makes it easy for Chloe to rock herself with Beca’s touch so she does. She kisses her, plunders Beca’s mouth with her tongue as she quickly loses herself in riding Beca’s fingers just like she’d hoped to. Beca moans with her, almost in harmony which feels appropriate. The hand not working furiously between Chloe’s legs presses against Chloe’s lower back, pulling her in again and again.

There’s no hint that Beca’s about to do what she’s about to do, so Chloe forgets how to breathe when two fingers slip inside her with ease, deep until she’s rubbing against the palm of Beca’s hand.

“Holy shit, you feel amazing,” Beca says with a gasp. She doesn’t move right back to kissing Chloe; instead, she moves down to suck at her neck briefly before she drops her forehead to Chloe’s shoulder.

It’s too much for them to kiss during; Chloe can barely breathe as it is. She squeezes Beca’s shoulders, then moves to grip the back of her neck for closeness, her other hand grasping the headboard that’s starting to bang against the wall with Chloe’s thrusts.

“Beca,” she gasps. She says it more for herself than anyone; she’s moaned it in fantasy so many times, she needs to do it for real. To hear what she sounds like when it’s really Beca fucking her and not herself longing to know what it could be like. She’s wild, frantic, on the edge and deliberately holding off because it’s already euphoric. She’s almost scared that she won’t be able to withstand the intensity of the orgasm that she’s desperately trying to deny for the sake of more pleasure. “Beca, oh, my God, baby,” she moans again and cries out when Beca’s hand is actually forceful against her. She’s fucking Chloe—hard. Sweating from the exertion. Fucking her like she wants to be doing it, not like she has to. It makes Chloe’s hips rise, to hold herself up, to almost stop her frantic thrusting completely because Beca is fucking her so well it almost hurts. “Oh, shit, you’re gonna make me come,” she whines in Beca’s ear before moving so she can look down between them to watch Beca do just that.

“Fuck,” Beca mutters. “Fuck,” again. “Fuck. Come for me.”

Chloe’s world shatters.

Three words is all it takes.

She can hear Beca moaning with her. Swearing with her. Feels her arm wrap around Chloe’s waist to pull her down and keep her close as her hips buck wildly. Lips move across her chest with hot breaths until Beca’s head is tilting so her mouth can reach Chloe’s breast.

She’s gentle as first her lips, then her tongue touch Chloe’s nipple and Chloe is grateful. She clings to Beca as she starts to come back to herself. Beca’s touches don’t falter even as Chloe sighs to signal her return to full consciousness. They change, though, and Beca does lift her head to rest it against the headboard that Chloe’s still clinging to and looks up at her.

“That was...insanely hot,” Beca says with a deep sigh. She’s still inside Chloe and if she’s forgotten, Chloe doesn’t want her to remember and withdraw. It takes everything Chloe has to not squeeze her fingers lest she reminds her where she is. “Like, I’ve never had sex that hot before.”

Beca’s chatty after sex? Not something Chloe had considered, but she likes it. “No?” Chloe says, still hoping to keep Beca from realizing she hasn’t pulled out yet. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Beca smiles and angles her wrist so her thumb glides across Chloe’s still-swollen clit. It makes Chloe sag and whimper and Beca’s smile grows. “Seriously. So hot.”

Chloe has to hum for a few seconds because Beca doesn’t exactly stop playing with her, though she’s doing it so slowly it’s almost absentminded. The precision, however, tells Chloe she’s very aware of what she’s doing and how she’s doing it. “Maybe now you’ll stop breaking everything,” she manages after gathering herself.

Beca squints up at her. A mock glare. Then her look changes to something else. “I don’t know.” Something suspiciously innocent. “I still feel a little clumsy.”

When Chloe realizes how far her jaw dropped at Beca’s shamelessness she snaps it closed with a click and gets a knowing smirk as a result. “I already said I’ll do it again.”

“I mean, I kind of have, like, months to undo, right? And you have twice that.” Beca removes her fingers then and Chloe whimpers at the loss. She feels them a moment later resting warm and wet against her thigh.

Chloe has to process Beca’s sly comment. She has to take in her suggestion that they do this again, and not just tonight but for months to come.

It sounds a lot like Beca’s asking Chloe to be in a relationship, or, at the very least, to continue this arrangement of tending to one another’s sexual needs for the foreseeable future.

Unsure which of those it is and afraid to ask in case it’s a proposition to be ongoing friends with benefits, she just nods and leans in to kiss Beca again. Because that’s something she can do now, at least in this particular setting: she can kiss Beca, and trail her fingertips down her neck and over her breasts to her stomach where they have to stop because their position won’t let them go any farther.

A loud knock on Beca’s door interrupts them with a scare; if it wasn’t for Chloe not caring if people see her naked—present company excluded, as she cares very much about that—and sitting in Beca’s lap unhurried to retrieve clothing, she’s sure Beca would be diving for cover if the look of panic on her face is anything to go by.

But when the door doesn’t open, her panic turns to irritation. “Seriously?” Beca says, almost whining, and Chloe makes sure to appreciate her disappointment.

“Shh,” Chloe smiles before kissing her. “Don’t be mean. Whoever it is is your friend.”

Beca grunts in annoyance but turns her head so she can shout toward the door, “What!”

“Is Chloe finished apologizing yet?” It’s Stacie. “Pizza’s here.”

The look Beca shoots Chloe makes her want to wither and hide. “I can explain.”

Beca starts to speak, stops, then says, “You know what? I don’t even want to know. Tonight’s ending on a high note and I’m gonna take that. Thanks, Stace!”

Relief washes over Chloe; not that she thought Beca would be mad, not really, but she didn’t want her to be upset that Chloe confided in Stacie about something personal that could be considered conspiratorial if one wanted to look at it through that lens.

“So, do you want to go have pizza with the girls?” she asks, hitching her thumb toward Beca’s door. There’s a long pause, much too long for such a basic question, and Beca’s hands squeeze where they still sit on Chloe’s thighs. “Or do you want me to go down on you again?”

Beca’s eyes snap to hers as if she’s about to protest in offense but instead, she sighs and says, “I really didn’t want to have to ask.”

Chloe laughs; it’s far too effortless to be this way with Beca. It’s their first time together but she feels so at ease with her and can’t help but think Beca must feel the same to be this comfortable with each other. “You can ask me anytime you want.” She kisses Beca again, this time with more intent, more tongue, before she’s moving off Beca’s lap so they can both shift to let Beca lie down.

“Is now a good time? Do I need to ask you right now?” It’s banter, Chloe knows. It’s cute, this side of Beca. Cute and sexy as she takes no shame in making herself comfortable, even sliding one of her extra pillows beneath her hips to make it easier for Chloe. Chloe’s always found Beca unfairly hot when her confidence shows it she can sense it coming to the surface more the longer they’re cooped up in Beca’s room and stripped bare together.

Chloe settles between Beca’s legs, chin on her thigh as she looks up at her. “No, but you could say, ‘please.’” She winks and then laughs when Beca rolls her eyes. Even now, in this position, they’re still friends. It’s not weird. It’s not going to be weird. She’s sure of that now and she hopes Beca’s realizing that as well.

“Will you get me off, please?” Beca says and Chloe knows she’s joking with her choice of words even if she’s serious with the request.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Chloe smiles and moves to kiss between Beca’s thighs once again but Beca stops her with a hand to her head.

“Hey, this isn’t weird, right?” 

Chloe laughs and pushes herself onto her elbows so it’s easier to see each other. “So creepy. I was literally just thinking that.”

“What, that it’s weird?” Beca says quickly and worry crosses her features.

“No,” Chloe smiles. “That it doesn’t feel weird at all. Do you think it does?”

Beca gives a shake of her head. “No. It feels...pretty fucking good.”

“Well, that’s kind of the point,” Chloe teases. “But maybe you didn’t realize it since you’ve never had sex this good before.”

“Don’t mock me,” Beca says as defiantly as she can given her prone and quite vulnerable position.

Chloe pouts her lips. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Then she smiles. “Wait, I take that back. I know a better way to apologize.”

Beca’s brow furrows in confusion for a second until Chloe’s leaning down to tease her tongue against Beca, still hot and wet, maybe even more so than before.

“Yeah, okay,” Beca exhales as her head drops back to her pillow and her fingers comb through Chloe’s hair. “I forgive you.”

The end

[disappearinginq]

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works? 13. First fandom you ever wrote for? 16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)? 34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

3. At the risk of sounding vain...I tend not to write completely self indulgent fics, like, something that would take the character completely out of their established canon-behavior. Do I want my favorite characters to be the center of a hurt/comfort recovery fic? Yes. Yes, I do. But I also really don’t like the tendency for the genre to get into “woobie-fying” (or however it’s spelled) the main characters.  In Lucifer, I still wrote Lucifer as a narcissist with daddy issues. When I wrote for the 100, I tried to pull as much as I could from canon to justify the direction the story took. When I write in Magnum, I really try to take into account the back story they’ve given the characters - that they were Taliban POW’s, they’re elite military members, etc. So while I like that fandom is freedom of expression, and AU’s and fix-its and all the other genres exist and people can use them, my most cherished feedback is from readers who say “I can see this happening” or “this makes so much more sense, I never considered this”. 

13. Uuuuuhhhhhmmmm, I think the Secret Adventures of Jules Verne, though if we want to get technical, when I was like...10 or 9, I had probably close to a thousand pages typed of what would be considered an OC spin on Sliders in an epic multi-fandom crossover fic, which included Sliders, Star Trek, Star Wars, Magnificent Seven, and Hudson Hawk amongst other things. I really wish I knew what happened to it, because I guarantee it’s terrible by my own standards today, but 10 year old me was living. 

16. The Bourne Identity Trope - amnesiac who turns out to be a lethal assassin; government experiment escaped, a la Pretender style; secretly most powerful character but they either 1) can’t control it, or 2) choose not to use it for another reason; co-dependent besties (see: “There ain’t no me, if there ain’t no you”); and I have no idea what you would call it, but when the protagonist has fought with everything they have and they face the ‘final problem’ and they just sort of...sink? Jensen Ackles did it really well.; and final one “rage solves everything” - see the entire final fight sequence of Serenity. 

34. From “Damnatio Memoriae” of the Lucifer fandom: 

“The moment you laid eyes on these wings, when you first realized that they were real and all that that knowledge entailed, you wanted some of it for yourself, didn’t you?” he whispered, soothing. “You knew there were such things in creation deserving of worship, and you wanted to be one of them.”

The woman shook, but she finally raised her head, finally meeting his gaze.

Strength of madness in the face of Death.

He almost liked her.

“Your crusade was a foolish one,” Samael said, voice just loud enough for her to hear and no one else in the congregation. “It was an act of vanity and personal pride. And worse, you thought you could lie to me about it. Perhaps you repeated it so often you actually believed it but I can see, Delilah. I know what’s in your heart. I know how you feel when you command and others obey. I know the way your heart beats at the sight of blood. How powerful you feel watching someone else’s life fade away because of you. You thought yourself a god.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and cupping his hands to either side of her face.

“Allow me to show you what happens to false gods,” he whispered. He touched his lips to her forehead, his fingers sliding along her neck.

In one quick movement, he pressed his fingers down and snapped her axis vertebrae, severing her spinal cord.

Her entire body went limp, but he didn’t allow her to fall. He kept his bruising grip around her neck, holding her up like a ragdoll.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said pleasantly. “Though perhaps I should – it would be a mercy, gratitude for all that you’ve done. But you, Delilah Rogers…are deserving of no such consideration. You can live, bound as I was, reminded of the power you once had and are now deprived of. Your lying tongue cannot poison anyone else’s mind.”

He released her, and she dropped in a boneless heap to the floor, unable to do anything more than blink and breathe.

“I’m going to give you one last gift, Delilah,” Samael said, turning his back on her and facing the congregation that stood with bated breath in the shadows.

“I’m going to give you the perspective of God,” he said as he paused at the front of the church, moonlight casting onto his beautiful wings and making them shine. “By letting you watch as I make your beloved flock destroy themselves.”

And with that, Samael allowed all of his hate, all of his anger and rage and desire to flood the congregation. The roiling black sickness seeped in through their skin, into their bones and into their hearts as their eyes flashed black as night.

“Tell me humans,” he shouted above the crowd. “What is it you most desire?”

And the sea of people turned on one another like the animals he knew they were. Nails tore through skin, teeth clamped down on muscle and sinew and bones snapped like brittle twigs as the humans literally consumed one another.

Samael smiled to himself, inhaling deeply and savoring the taste of blood in the air. He supposed he should be grateful that so few mentions of him remained. Eliciting desire was such a bland term for what he did.

He controlled hunger. The darkest part of the human soul was his domain and he knew what to pull and what to push and how to make them bend and snap and tear themselves apart. Death was a mercy he bestowed upon the masses. His ability to take a life was not what earned him a place in the Pit.

It was the ability to make them destroy themselves in their pursuit of desire. He hardly needed to lift a finger – all he had to do was whisper in their ears, and they ripped each other apart.

Desire was a fluid thing. People often confused it with lust. But it was so much more than that. Power. Love. Hate. Hurt. It was the human spirit unconstrained.

It was what he loved about them. They were so eager to destroy each other, they happily destroyed themselves.

He stepped off the crossing, uncaring of the blood that pooled beneath his feet, ignoring the bodies as the fell to the floor.

No one touched him.

No one even noticed him.

With a spin on his heel, he pushed open the doors of the church, stepping out into the cool California desert night.

The skies were clear. Stars twinkled in the velvet darkness, barely visible with the full moon out in all its glory. The entirety of his Father’s beloved creation lay before him, bathed in silvery moonlight bright as the sun. He could hear the beat of its corrupted, festering heart beneath his feet, hear the whispers of dark desire on the air.

“So much work to do,” he muttered to himself, smiling happily. He stretched his arms, his wings expanding behind him as he unfurled them in their entirety for the first time in what felt like centuries.

He spared a glance skyward. “Dearest Father, have you no words for your beloved Fallen Star? Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

The heavens reverberated in silence. Not a sound from the Silver City.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “You and I always did have an understanding.”

And with a flap of his magnificent wings, he vanished into the night.

[sakuwriteshere]

The Apple Pie in My Life - Chapter 6

Summary: What happened between two best friends when someone messes with their lives? Can the past changes the future or can the future changes the past?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Female!Reader, OC Abbigail, OC James, OC Alex, OC Purson, Castiel

Words count: 5891 (sorry)

Warnings: Slight angst, mention of injury, mention of blood, characters deaths mentioned, violence (same rating as the show), slight smut (blink and you’ll miss it)

A/N: As per usual, this is unbetated and I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes or error spelling. Comments are loved! Sorry for the wait. The next chapters are already written so, expect an update next week :D

Chapter 6 : It’s a terrible Life.

You ran and sneaked into the elevator just in time before the doors closed behind you. A breathy sigh passed your lips as you checked yourself in the huge mirror that covered the back of the elevator. Even if you were late and had to run to catch the elevator, your clothes were almost perfect, the grey pencil skirt slightly wrinkled, but the pale pink blouse and grey balser were still perfect. A few strands of hair had escaped the tight bun you made this morning, but nothing too much so you still could pretend it was made on purpose. You had a reputation to uphold after all, you were the new PA of the Director of the Human Resources department, you wanted to show them what you were made of. You’ve been working hard for this.

You took a deep breath, calming your hard beating heart, running when you’re wearing a pair of high heels wasn’t easy. As you checked the few rebel strands of hair in the mirror, you noticed you weren’t alone in the elevator. That was just your luck! You’ve been running late and you had Dean Smith, Director of Sales and Marketing at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc, as a witness.You bit your bottom lip to prevent any whining sound escaping your mouth, acting as if nothing was wrong. He didn’t seem to notice you, that was a good thing. Maybe you’ll be able to pretend that you weren’t late after all.

As you reached your floor, the double doors opened and Mr. Smith stepped to the side, leaving room for you to walk out. As you passed the double doors, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Huh Miss?”

“Yes?” You asked as you turned around.

That’s when you saw them, two beautiful green eyes staring at you, as if they were looking into your soul. You’ve been working for this company for three weeks, and of course you’ve heard of Mr. Smith. Every woman in the building was talking about him, saying how his looks were as great as his hard work. The man was very good in this job, and you believed it, he was already in such a high position despite his young age. Handsome and talented.

You realized that you’ve been zoning out when you felt something brushing your hand; your purse.

“Being late is always stressful, right?” He said, amusement clear in his voice, forcing you to focus on the reality again and you grabbed the purse he was handing you.

“T-thanks. I wasn’t- I’m not-”

Mr. Smith chuckled a bit, “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” He added in a whisper as the double doors closed again, separating the both of you.

You blinked a few times, wondering what happened to you. Granted the man was good looking, but you’ve never been in such a daze. How old were you? Come on girl, get a grip!

As you turned around, deciding to forget what had just happened, someone stepped on you, the force of it almost making you fall.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” A male voice said as two big, firm hands grabbed your shoulders, preventing your fall.

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t stand in front of the elevator.” You excused yourself, looking up at the man.

He was tall, and kind of cute.Judging by the yellow polo he was wearing, the guy might be from the Tech Support department. Both of you were silent for a moment, and soon you felt uncomfortable as he kept his hands around your shoulders and looked at you strangely.

“Do I-” he started to ask but once you glanced at your watch you remembered that you were late.

“Oh shit! I’m sooo late now! Thank you. Bye.” You said in a hurry as you started to dash for your office.

The rest of the day wasn’t as bad as you started it. Your boss wasn’t there once you reached your office, and you could act as if everything was normal once he came in. Of course, him being late, meant that your day would be longer than normal. He always had a last, important task for you, forcing you to wait for him to call it a night for the both of you. 

As you waited for the elevator, you saw from the corner of your eyes that your boss was patting his vest and his pants, searching for something.

“Ah damn it! Forgot my phone. Don’t wait for me, Y/N. Good night.” He said as he walked back into his office.

“Good night, sir.” You told him, as the sound of the elevator dinged. 

Two men were already in it, and they moved slightly on the sides to give you room to get in. Once the double doors closed again, the elevator was silent. As usual, when several people are standing in an elevator, the common sense asked for them to be silent and pretend nothing was awkward. You clutched your purse with your hands in front of you and looked at the floor. From the corner of your eyes, you glanced at Mr. Smith who was deeply concentrating on his phone. On the other side, there was the tech man from this morning. You shifted slightly on your feet as you felt his gaze on you.

“Do I know you?” The tech man asked, staring at you as you lifted your face and looked back at him.

You remained silent, feeling more and more uncomfortable, you looked away. Quickly your gaze fell on Mr. Smith.

“I don’t think so.” He said, and you thanked him silently he was the one to answer the tech man for the both of you.

“I’m sorry. You just look familiar.” The man kept the conversation going, you could feel his eyes on you. Never lifting your head, you glanced at him and you felt a funny feeling in your chest. The pleading look the tech man was giving you, as if he was silently asking you to confirm his doubts. You had to admit that he kind of looked familiar but maybe was it because you’ve seen him earlier this morning?

Your lips parted slightly as you were going to answer him but the double doors opened suddenly and Mr. Smith was quick to exit the elevator.

“Save it for the health club, pal.” Mr. Smith added before leaving. You glanced at the tech man and cleared your throat as you walked through the double doors.

“Huh, good night.” You told him quietly and left.

As you climbed into your car, you allowed yourself to think calmly about the strange incident in the elevator. You were a bit worried, contrary to what Mr. Smith implied you didn’t think the tech man was flirting. At first you did, but when he said that you looked familiar you couldn’t shake the strange feeling. He looked familiar, indeed, especially the pleading look. You jumped slightly in your seat and gasped when you heard someone knocking against the driver window. A trembling hand pressed against your beating heart as you calmed down and realized that the intruder was simply Mr. Smith.

“You alright?” He asked as you opened your window a bit.

You nodded, swallowing dryly. “Yeah, I’m a bit tired that’s all. Long day.” You reassured him, forcing a tight, little smile. Judging by the concerned look he was giving you, you knew he wasn’t buying it.

“Good night, Mr. Smith.” You said as you started to close the window. You watched him stepping back as you started your car. Once he was at a safe distance you drove away.

***

This week has been a living hell! 

It started with a strange encounter, the tech man- whose name was Sam Wesson you learned the next day- was more present than you’d liked in your path. There wasn’t a day without seeing him, was it at the corner of a corridor, during a painfully tensed and silent ride in the elevator, or just like now, watching you from the other side of the room, as the medical team left with the corpse of Ian, another tech support worker. A man you barely knew before being the witness of his suicide.

It was the second suicide this week. First Paul, who also worked in the tech support department. The way he chose to end his life was rather disturbing and must have been painful. You were so glad you weren’t the one to find him that morning, a few coworkers affirmed that the smell of burned flesh was still there. Now it was Ian turn, another disturbing suicide. The image of Ian lying on the floor, his blood pooling around him quickly. You knew the human body had a lot of blood but seeing it on the floor was very frightening. Mr. Smith's voice screaming for help was still ringing in your head. Apparently he was the one who tried to stop him but it had been in vain.

As you were living the deadly moment again in your head you felt fingers wrapped around your wrist. Looking up, your eyes stared at the pair of green, worried eyes in front of you. You hadn’t realized the cops have left.

“Come on.” Mr. Smith whispered gently, pulling you with him as he headed for his office.

Once the both of you were inside, he closed the door and brought you towards the comfy couch in the corner of his room. Two strong hands wrapped around your shoulders and pushed gently on it, forcing you to sit. It was like you weren’t controlling your own body and needed someone to guide you. As you sat there, you kept thinking about the suicides. Two within a few days, both from the tech support department. After his death, you learned that Paul’s retirement date was just a few weeks later. Why would he commit suicide? And what about Ian? Since you worked for the HR department, you knew a bit about Ian. He was a hot topic among your co-workers. The man never accepted to wear the tech support uniform, spent most of his time drinking coffee rather than solving computer problems, and a few of your co-workers suspected he stole office supplies. Ian wasn’t the type of man to commit suicide because of his work.

“Hey,” A gentle voice brought you back to the present, and you saw a white shirt in front you. Your fingers curled around the soft material and looking up you noticed that Mr. Smith had changed his clothes. When you remembered the blood covering his shirt, you realized that you were in the same state as him. Mr. Smith turned around, giving you some privacy to change and with trembling fingers you started to unbutton your blue blouse. You didn’t even care that it was one of your favorites and that it was just good for the trash now that it was drenched in blood.

“Thank you.” You said softly once the new shirt was covering your body, signaling Mr. Smith that it was clear. He gave you a glass of water that you accepted quickly, you hadn’t realized how dry your throat was.

“Are you alright?” He asked while you drank the whole thing without stopping.

You nodded once and inhaled sharply. “Seems like that’s all you’re asking me recently.” You said as you tried to bring another topic to discuss, you weren’t ready to talk about what you’ve both seen.

Mr. Smith knelt at your feet and chuckled at your words but quickly became serious again. 

“Miss Colt, what happened down there…” He started, but you really didn’t want to think about it right now.

“You know my name?” You asked, a bit surprised but also knowing it would change the topic again.

Mr. Smith was taken aback by your question for a second, then lowered his gaze and bit the corner of his bottom lip.

“Well, of course,” He said as he stared at you again, the former discomfort he felt, totally vanished. “You’re from the HR department, very efficient apparently. Mr. Adler thinks very highly of you.” He smiled.

It was your turn to be surprised. Never would you think that your work was recognized so much that Mr. Adler himself would talk about it. You didn’t have time to think about it as warm fingertips brushed against your skin, your mind going blank at the feeling. Mr. Smith was pushing back a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes.

“Miss Colt,” Mr. Smith whispered, your eyes trailing the tip of his tongue that ran across his lovingly pink lips. “You can feel it too, right?” He asked in a breath, his tone unsure.

“W-what?” You stuttered, not daring to speak louder than him. 

“This, this feeling.” He added, as if you would understand what he was talking about.

“I- I don’t know.” You told him, breaking eye contact, your heart jumping in your chest. Was he flirting? True, deep down you felt something, but the man was an eye candy, it wouldn’t be difficult for you to be attracted to him. Why would he bring this right now? The time wasn’t right, you’ve both witnessed a suicide and he was bringing this? You’ve seen enough rom com and read a lot of romantic novels to know that a shocking experience would let the heroes of the story realize the feelings they share, but living it was another story.

“I think so but,” you started to say, unsure of what you were going to say. It wasn’t right to confess something right now.

“I knew it.” Mr. Smith smiled, comforted by your answer. “Those suicides, something’s wrong.” he added as he stood up and walked towards his desk and grabbed his phone.

“Huh?” You blinked several times, blushing furiously as you watched Mr. Smith called someone and asked for them to come into his office. Once the call was over, he rested in front of his desk, his back pressed against the wood, one ankle crossed over the other, his head low as he was lost in his thoughts. 

After a moment someone knocked at the door and if you were honest, you weren’t so much surprised when Sam Wesson entered. Quickly, the previous embarrassment you felt vanished and the three of you talked about the strange things that were going on in this building. Then you brought the fact that Paul and Ian, both received an email asking for them to come to HR room n°1444. Strange fact, the HR department was on the seventh floor. Both men looked at you strangely.

“What? I’m from HR, I just used my natural resources.” You told them, looking through the huge window behind Mr. Smith’s desk.

“Truly efficient.” Mr. Smith smiled, his praising tone giving you goosebumps.

“So, you’re suggesting to take a look at this room?” Mr. Wesson asked.

“I have to admit that I’m a bit curious, Mr. Wesson.” You nodded, never saying the words. You weren’t noisy. Being noisy was bad in your line of work. But curiosity was always a quality your bosses valued.

“Please, call me Sam.” He smiled at you.

“Alright Sam.” You smiled back. You couldn’t help the strange feeling you had when his name came out. Like it wasn’t the first time you said it.

Someone cleared his throat, Sam and you looking at Dean who headed for the door. “Alright, let’s go check, then.” He said in a gruffy tone.

You gave Sam a questioning look as you were still into the office, the tall man just shrugged his shoulders.

***

Something was really wrong with you. One would think that discovering that ghosts were real, you would scream and run far, far away. You on the contrary, you were excited. And you weren’t the only one. 

As the three of you entered Dean's apartment -while you went to check the room n°1444, Mr Smith said it would be easier to be less formal-, Dean couldn’t help himself and exclaimed his own excitement. You grabbed the bottle of water Dean gave you and Sam. As you drank half of the water in one go, you listened to what the men were saying.

“It’s like...we’ve done this before.” Sam said, and you nodded slightly, sharing the same feeling.

You didn’t know why but once the ghost stood in front of you, after a few seconds of shock, your body moved as if you were used to it. You didn’t know why or how, and certainly you would never have thought that ghosts were scared of wrenches, but you grabbed it nonetheless and used it against the monster.

“I can’t explain this. It’s just like...something in my blood.” He tried to explain, and you couldn’t help but understand him perfectly.

You weren’t like what Sam said, you didn’t dislike your name or your job, not really, but you weren’t happy either. You needed more than just this happy apple pie life. The blood rush and excitement you felt when you fought with the ghost, that’s what you were missing. When Sam asked what it was like for you and Dean, your lips parted, ready to share your thoughts with them but Dean spoke first.

“I don’t believe in destiny.” That sentence prevented you from saying more.

After a few seconds, they decided to do some research. You needed to take care of this ghost problem. However you needed some serious change of clothes if you were gonna fight it. You told the men you needed to go back to your own apartment and promised you would be quick.

When you came back, the boys had found a video from some sort of experts: the GhostFacers. They also have identified the ghost and were learning how to kill it. You came closer, standing next to Dean’s side who were totally focused on the video. You bend slightly over his shoulder, listening carefully. He glanced towards you, then took a double take, looking at your change of clothes.

“That’s quite different.” He whispered as his eyes roamed over you.

You looked at yourself, checking if something was wrong but when you saw nothing in particular you shrugged. You were simply wearing a pair of jeans, a black tee shirt and a pair of sneakers. Something comfy and useful.

“What? You were expecting me to fight this ghost in a pair of heels and a tight skirt?” You chuckled.

The amused smile on your face disappeared when you saw him licking his lips, then shook his head.

“Would have been a hell of a sight but you’re right, this is better.” 

You felt your cheeks heating and chose to ignore the feeling, now was not the time. You cringed when you heard the GhostFacers say that you needed to burn the remains, which means the corpse. You really weren’t looking forward to digging a hole in the middle of the night and having the smell of burning flesh surrounding you. Goosebumps awoke on your skin as you remembered what your co-worker said about Paul. Sam seemed to notice your discomfort and tried to soothe you by rubbing his warm hand against your arm. You smiled at him, thanking him silently for the kind gesture. He smiled back and both of you didn’t notice how Dean reacted at the gentle and friendly gesture. If looks could kill…

When they discovered that Sanders had been cremated, you let out a short breath, happy that you weren’t going to do something illegal. The guys in the video told you that you still have a chance, you simply needed to find and burn some genetic remains, like some hair or piece of skin. That you could bear with.

Once everything was ready, the three of you headed for the building again and reached the 14th floor quickly. You checked the room again, looking for some personal belongings where you could find some human remains. Your heart stopped when an unknown voice asked you what you were doing here. You turned around and saw a security man standing in front of you and Sam, Dean nowhere in sight.

Both of you tried to explain that you were working for the company but the security man didn’t have any of it and escorted you to the elevator. Panic rising within your body when he spoke about the cops. You glanced at Sam as the double doors closed. What were you going to do ?

Your fingers wrapped tightly around Sam’s forearm when you noticed the screen of the elevator acting funny. When you noticed the white smoke coming out from Sam’s mouth, your eyes widened but you didn’t have time to understand what was going on as the elevator started to shake strongly before everything stopped. Without thinking, Sam wrapped your frame with his arms, in a vain attempt to protect you. You watched silently as the security man tried to open the doors. When he asked you to follow him out, you shook your head slightly as you fisted your hands into Sam’s shirt. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that it was a very bad idea.

The man didn’t listen to you and climbed out, with difficulty if you were honest, the guy wasn’t as fit as you thought. The sound of metal cracking around you wasn’t reassuring and you looked at Sam, feeling uneasy.

“Sam…” You called, fear rising in your voice, as the security man was finally out and looked at you, expecting you to follow him.

“Seriously, we’ll wait.” 

“Look, I won’t wait the rest of my life here,” he started to say angrily, coming forward.

The elevator shook some more and before you had time to realize what was going on, the metal box went down suddenly. You closed your eyes and gasped as you felt something warm splashing all over your face and top body.

“You’re okay?” Dean’s voice came out from your and Sam’s phones. While you stared at half of the body lying at your feet, your body trembling from the shock, you heard Sam saying you were calling him back.

***

Sam was already waiting for you when you exited the lady restroom, your face cleared of the blood, well more or less. You looked down and swallowed with difficulty when you saw all the blood on your clothes, they were good for the trash bin as well.

“Dean’s waiting for us on floor 22.”

“We’ll take the stairs.” You told him as you followed him. The bitch face he gave you would have made you laugh, if you weren’t in this situation. 

Finally you reached the 22th floor, Sam already far ahead.

“Wow. That’s a lot of blood.” You heard Dean said, if only he knew.

“Yeah, I know.” Sam replied, both men looking at each other, not really knowing what to say.

As you entered the room and stood behind them, you heard Dean’s panicked voice.

“Wait… Where’s Y/N?”

“I’m here.” You said quickly, no need to scare him more than what he was already.

He turned around in a swift motion, relief covering his face as he heard your voice, telling him you were still alive. But the smile fell quickly when he saw you covered in blood. In two big steps he had already reached you and his hands gripped your shoulders, his eyes running all over your body as if he was inspecting for any injury.

“Not mine.” You whispered.

You swore you saw his body moving slightly towards you, the movement so inconspicuous, as if he wanted to hug you but stopped himself as soon as he thought about it. He nodded his head a few times, still watching you and making sure you were safe.

“I’m fine.” You said softly, your right hand curling around his arm and caressing him in a soothing manner.

“Right,” he cleared his throat and looked at Sam. The three of you stood in front of a small glass box that contained a pair of old gloves. According to the little board next to it, it was Sander’s gloves, the one he used when he builded the bridge. At last, you’ve found some remains to burn.

When Dean broke the glass window, you stayed behind the boys, making sure no more security guy would come while you took care of the ghost. You couldn’t wait for this to be over. However when you sighed to calm your nerves, you noticed the white smoke coming out. Your eyes widened in fear and you didn’t have the time to warn the boys before you saw Sandover behind them, pushing them violently in opposite directions.

As the old man’s ghost walked towards Sam, you grabbed the bottle of salt that had rolled at your feet and threw it in the ghost’s direction, making it disappear. You didn’t have time to be delighted as Sandover’s ghost appeared again behind Dean. Sam threw him an iron poker to defend himself. The ghost kept appearing and disappearing between the guys, at some point they hit him at the same time and you couldn’t help but be amazed at their team work. Then all Hell broke loose as the ghost sent you flying against a wall, then the boys. The three of you were laying down the floor or against a wall, a bit dizzy. As you shook your head, your vision troubled, you saw the ghost flying just in front of you, the movement so quick it scared you. With your back pressed against the wall, you didn’t know what to do. Your heart beating hard in your chest as your eyes focused on Sandover’s hand. Little electric arcs came out from his fingers as he brought his hand towards your face. This was it. Your end. You shut your eyes tight and turned your face slightly on the side as you waited for the painful touch. But something warm and heavy covered most of your body, a hard chest protecting your face.

The sound of something burning startled you and after a few seconds of total silence you heard Sam’s voice from the other side of the room. The old Sandover was nowhere in sight.

“That was amazing!”

Slowly Dean and you parted, his hands still on your hips as he checked if you were alright. You nodded slightly, breathing deeply as you tried to calm down your heart. But what Dean did a few seconds later was ruining all your efforts. You felt his arms wrap around your shoulders and bring you against him in a tight hug, then soft lips kissing the top of your head before his body went rigid at the sweet and unexpected gesture.

“S-sorry, I” Dean stuttered letting go of you rapidly as if you had burned him.

“S’alright.” You shook your head and smiled sheepishly. You had to admit that you missed the contact that felt for no reason, somewhat familiar.

***

You entered Dean's office and stopped at the door, watching the boys walking around. Dean picked out a first aid kit from his desk and you went for it, pushing his hands away and opening the box yourself, looking for the medical stuff. You gave Sam some gauze and pushed on Dean’s chest gently, forcing him to sit next to Sam on his desk. You took more gauze and put on some disinfectant on it and cleaned the wound on the top of Dean’s forehead. He watched you intently and you gave him a small smile and shrugged, as if you were telling him ‘Hey! You protected me, that’s the least I could do.’

The boys started to talk together, telling how cool the events of the night were and how you should continue doing it. You agreed with Sam, even though you were scared as hell, the adrenaline coursing through your veins felt so good. However, Dean wasn’t sharing your opinion. He explained how crazy your life would be and more importantly how dangerous it could be.

Then Sam told you about his dreams and how he dreamt of him and Dean fighting monsters together. You could help but ask him if you were in his dreams too. A shake of his head was his silent negative answer. Well, this one hurt. You weren’t fighting with them. Oh how hard you wanted it to be real. You stepped on the side as Dean stood up, getting angrier the more Sam tried to explain what his dreams and feelings were. 

“You should go.” He told Sam, the poor man watching him with a pleading look. He glanced at you, asking for some help, he knew you were like him, you were feeling it too. This need to fight and protect innocent people. Your hands curled into fists and you faced the other way, breaking eye contact with Sam. You couldn’t help him, after all you weren’t in his dreams. This was not your life, no matter how much you wanted it to be.

Sam left, and the silence in the room was unbearable. You started to clean the desk of the medical supplies, throwing the used gauzes in the trash bin and closing the first aid kit. Dean stayed silent the whole time, watching you walking around him. His hard face softened when you came closer and stopped in front of him, a few centimeters between your bodies. It pained you to see him so lost, debating inside his head what was the right thing to do. Gently, you cupped the side of his face and he leaned in right away. The touch, soft and comforting. As your thumb caressed his cheekbone you pressed your lips on his other cheek.

“I should go too.” You breathed against his skin before you stepped back and broke the contact.

“Wait.” Dean pleaded, grabbing your wrist.

You gave him a sad smile and pushed his hand away slowly.

“Good night, Mr. Smith.”

***

The next day, you were walking into the building, determined. The lack of sleep should wear you out but the decision you made in the early hours gave you all the energy you needed. You ignored the strange stares from the people around you and walked steadily towards a certain office.

Dean jumped in his seat as his door opened suddenly, his eyes widening as he saw you standing at the door.

“Y/N? I mean, Miss Colt, what are you doing here? Everything is alright?” He asked, standing up and walking around his desk as you closed the door, giving you some privacy.

“I’ve been thinking the whole night and I came to the decision that I don’t want to have any regrets.” You said, looking him in the eyes. You didn’t let him speak as you kept on talking. 

“Sam’s right. I can feel it too. This...this need to fight the monsters, make the world a bit more liveable, the need to protect innocent people. I don’t like my life, it doesn’t even feel like my life to be honest.” Dean lowered his head, looking at the floor.

You took a deep breath. “I quit. I don’t know what’s going to happen but I know that I’ve never felt so alive as far as I can remember.”

Dean’s head snapped in your direction, the worry clearly visible on his face. “Okay, but why are you here? I’m not your superior.”

You smirked. “As I said, I don’t want to have any regrets.” Then you walked towards him, your hand outstretched and acting on its own. You grabbed the back of his neck and pressed your lips against his.

Dean froze at the contact, wide-eyed. Soon you felt two arms wrapped around your waist and pulling your body against him as he kissed back. His lips felt exactly as you’ve imagined, even better to be honest. His hot, warm mouth felt like heaven, with a tiny taste of lemon. A soft whimper came out from Dean’s throat as your fingers grabbed at his hair, ruining his perfectly styled hair as he deepened the kiss.

“I don’t like regrets.” He panted against your lips as you broke the kiss, both of you breathless. You gasped when you felt his hands on your ass, pushing your body against his a bit more and feeling his growing erection. Your pencil skirt rising up slightly as you lifted one of your legs to wrap around him, Dean choosing to give your throat some attention.

Two strong knocks on the door startled you, and you jumped from each other right away, trying to calm down and rearranging your clothes as someone entered the office.

“Mr. Adler.” You said, out of breath, your fingers pulling on your skirt discreetly. 

“Ah, Miss Colt! I wasn’t expecting you here.” The man smiled, but you didn't know why it felt fake.

You cleared your throat. “I’ll… leave you two alone.”

“No, no, no.” Mr. Adler said before you have the time to move. “In fact, I needed to talk to the both of you.” He explained as he sat on the couch in the corner.

Dean and you shared a questioning look but your boss kept on talking. He explained how he was satisfied with your work and how big the company could be with the both of you. Soon, he handed you a paper and did the same with Dean. The air left your lungs when you saw the numbers written on it.

“This is not a PA’s salary, sir.” You said, your eyes still running over the numbers.

“Because it isn’t.” He smirked.

You were lost for words. It was just your luck! You had a very interesting job offer right when you’d decided to quit.

“Thank you, sir. It’s very generous, but hum...I’m giving you my notice.” Your head snapped in Dean’s direction when you heard him.

“This is a joke. You’re kidding me, right?” Mr Adler laughed, looking from Dean to you.

You shook your head no. “Actually, I was noticing Mr Smith that I was leaving.” You said, a small blush covering your cheeks as you remembered what you were really doing before Mr Adler’s appearance. 

Mr. Adler tried to make you change your mind and Dean told him you have another work to do, something more important. You smiled softly at each other and felt his hand wrapped around yours. Mr Adler didn’t miss the sweet gesture.

“Dean, Dean, Dean…” He smiled, standing up and stopping in front of you. “Finally.” He sighed before lifting his hands and pressed two fingers against your forehead, doing the same with Dean.

You blinked and you felt nauseous for a few seconds as you tried to remember where you were.

“What the hell?” You whispered, warmth against your palm disturbing you. You watched your hand and your eyes trailed up towards the one who held your hand. When you saw a pair of green eyes and the end of the trail, your body went rigid, just like him. You let go of each other as if the contact suddenly burned your skin.

“Welcome back.” The man in front of you said, watching you like a hawk.

TAPiML tags:  @fandomoverdose666​ , @eternaleviee , @slytherinrising​ , @vicmc624​ , @music-is-all-i-need​ ,

[funkymbtifiction]

how to find enneagram fixes?

hi funky, thanks for your reply to the “hey here’s how I found it” ask! I’m the same infp anon here. so I’ve been trawling the blog for a while as to my enneagram fixes and I’m sure of the 6w5 part and partially sure of the 1 fix, but how do I determine my last heart fix (it could be anything and confirm the 1 fix (make sure it’s not 9)? thanks so much for all your resources so far, but maybe if you could please tell me how the fixes in this order relate to the 6 core and how to figure them out. (not asking for one size forcefits all answer ofc) (oh, and sorry for the long and rambling message the other time. :P)

What helped me was a variety of things, but it mostly came down to thinking about how I handled various things in my life as relates to the different centers of the Enneagram. You need to look for proof in your life of those centers.

Centers are as follows – head fixes deal with fear (how do you cope, what do you do?); image fixes deal with how you relate to other people (what do you want from them?); gut fixes are what you do with anger and what angers you.

It’s sometimes helpful to compare with others you know, but also to think about what people observe of you and have said about you in the past. What about you fits the stereotype for your type, or does not fit the stereotype?

IMAGE CENTERS:

I felt a pull toward 4, but after reading Enneagramer’s 4 and thinking about it, and my own interactions with 4s who are exactly like that, I realized I am not a 4, because my problems never defeat me. I never wear them as a badge of honor, and I am never so devastated by them that I can’t keep producing until I have dealt with those feelings. My 4 friend told me, “When you speak about the bad things that have happened to you, you downplay them / make no big deal out of them. I know they must have hurt you terribly at the time, but you have healed the wound and moved on in a way I can’t.”

My image fix was the toughest to figure out – turns out that is because it was 3; they become what they need to be, and focus on finishing things, because they are “goal-oriented.”

A couple of things helped me realize this – the comment a friend made once that I do nothing by half, it’s “as if you are getting paid to do your hobbies, because you have to be the best at them, and you work hard to ensure you ARE the best.” I also thought about the fact that people in real life are shocked that I identify as a 6. Why would that be? Because the confident persona I put on in front of them all doesn’t lend itself to projecting anxiety. 6 is blending into 3’s self-confidence and making me project confidence, even if I do not have it.

Then too, I am incredibly aware of what “others may think.” I am always thinking about presentation, about how this will be perceived, about what people may say. Once, when a girl attacked me on the internet, I backed off and thought, “She is going to make a fool of herself. I meanwhile will look like the powerful, sensible, reasonable, and in-control one, since I refuse to react in public.”

I am quite good at blending into an unnatural environment despite being a Fi. (I find it impossible to write anything I disagree with, but I find ways around it, so people think I am “one of them” without me lying about it.) I do not relate to any of the soc-first 3 chapters or profiles I read, because they are all too arrogant and care about social climbing techniques, which I don’t give a fig about – what I DO relate to is the tendency to put my self-worth into my writing; I am what I “produce.” What I “create.” If one of my beta readers finds a mistake, I am mortified. Because even my beta is supposed to think it’s 99% amazing! ;) And it’s damn near impossible for me to take two days off, or even an afternoon off, unless I’ve worked myself into exhaustion, without feeling like I am being a slacker. I NEED A PROJECT AT ALL TIMES. I have literally not gone for more than a week without working on a novel for over 17 years. Because in doing nothing, in producing nothing, I am nothing.

(I decided I am a 631 for obvious reasons; co-mod said my sp3 is so strong I could be a core 3, but I’ve always known I’m a 6. :P)

Comparison to people in my life with the other image fixes:

2s: care way less than I do about presentation, about looking the best, about having their stuff perfect, because to them, what they create is not reflective of their worth as a human being. They will extend themselves more to help people, and feel good about it, while I will do it out of duty and then gripe about it later.

4s: dwell in their negative feelings way more often and almost never want to solve their problem (which is problematic for me, since I’m here to fix you ;). What most shocked me once was when a 4 said they can’t create unless they are “in the mood.” I just kind of stared at them, like “What’s the mood got to do with it? You show up and write!” I believe diligence and daily working at it gets things done, which is how the 3 operates: it’s not about whether I “feel” like it today, I’m doing it!

Think about it. Which do you do? Which can you prove you do? Which have people commented on, that you do? If it’s 2, I expect you to have a list of times you selflessly helped others. With 3, I expect to see a list of accomplishments and things to show for your hard work. With 4, I expect to see an emphasis on being “in the mood” and needing it to have your own personal stamp on it for it to be good.

GUT CENTERS:

The evidence for my 1 fix is right in front of you. I lecture people all the livelong day about finding out their type and its weaknesses and blind spots SO YOU CAN ALL BECOME BETTER PEOPLE, AND GET ALONG BETTER. That is the 1. I see how you could improve yourselves, how the world can be a better place, with the 1’s idealistic zeal, because right now, IT IS IMPERFECT. This is why 1’s write de-cluttering books, and teach you how to get your finances in shape, and tell you to stop wasting your money, and teach the Enneagram, so you can all fix yourselves! Proof? I have been called judgmental more times than I can count. I’m not proud of it, sometimes I’m ashamed of it and wish I could be less hard on people, but sometimes what someone else is doing is WRONG and HURTING OTHER PEOPLE.

In comparison to the other fixes:

9s: are far less judgmental and want to get along way more. The only reason I don’t tell people off more often is my 6 is afraid of the fall-out and hates fights. That does not change the fact that my 1 wants to, and will on occasion, assert itself and point out what is wrong / inaccurate / imperfect / immoral / bad about whatever you just did. 9s are also less focused and more easily distracted than my 1 fix. I am tapping my foot impatiently and irritated with the 9 who is “always late” while they are happily going about their comfy morning routine.

8s: are far more inclined to blow up and not apologize for their anger or feel bad about it, unless someone they cared about got upset. 1s tend to sit on their anger, repress it, and try not to show it, because that represents a loss of control, and GOOD PEOPLE (what a 1 wants to be) only get angry over righteous causes. 8s do not care whether leaving a pop can in a parking lot and running over it for fun on their way out is littering or not. 8s do not think about the right / wrong about encouraging someone to lie on a warranty claim, since “it only expired 48 hours ago!” A 1 would never even ask; warranty’s expired. Too bad, but that’s the rules. Breaking the rules makes you “bad.”

Head types:

Not that you need to figure out your head type, but I’m forever being told that I need to “trust myself more,” “trust my gut more,” “go with my first hunch,” and “stop letting other people pollute my clear-headed thinking,” the bane of a 6 who is reliant on and swayed by others unless she’s careful (or in a stubborn mood that day; the plus side is, I’ll never become so arrogant that I won’t consider an opposing argument). The minute I read that 6s feel like they missed out when God was handing out an internal guidance system made me go “YES.” Why is it other people can just know what to do? And move forward confident, even arrogant, that they can do it? Can I get some of that, please?

In comparison to the other head types I know:

5s: are way more secretive, private, paranoid, and unrealistic in some ways, also far more argumentative and certain of being right. They are much less emotional and far more removed from their own feelings. They are more able to be objective, but also more rigid in their refusal to change their mind, because you are wrong and they are right.

7s: are far more flighty, irresponsible, and not inclined to see things through. 6’s show up and put in the long hours; 7s get bored after a week and skip on down the road. They are also more optimistic, funnier, and a ball to be around, but that comes with a dose of “I don’t want to talk about anything negative” and a lot of refusal to look at the bad side of life or admit to their mistakes.

Does that help? I hope so.

Also TAKE YOUR TIME. This is about internal reflection and is not a race.

- ENFP Mod

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: “A Night Off”

So RWBY has this weird thing going on in Volume 7 where it’ll give me a truly horrendous episode and then manage to turn things around just enough so that, despite my frustrations, I quite like parts of the next week’s stuff. That proceeds to get my hopes up, only for them to turn around mess it all up again in the following episode.

What I’m saying is, I should expect next week to be a pretty rough ride.

First, let me chuck out the details I personally loved in this episode that fit better together than spread out across a recap. Namely, treating Oscar like an actual human being. Thank you, Rooster Teeth, for:

Having him continually be involved by monitoring Jaune’s aura levels. (It likewise hasn’t escaped my notice how much he’s been paired with JNR lately. The fandom might get their new ‘P’ after all.)

Giving Oscar some thoughts and feelings beyond just the Ozpin situation. He’s worried about not having his semblance yet. Hark! A characterization!

Nora very kindly firing back with, “Well, I bet we’ll all be jealous when you do.”

Yang using Oscar as a convenient armrest. Granted, Yang hasn’t exactly treated him well enough lately to have earned that kind of casual buddy-buddy-ness, but if the writing is never going to call the group out on their Volume 6 behavior then I’ll take unearned kindness over continued indifference or cruelty

Jaune going out to the movies with Oscar and them both inviting Weiss. I mean, same issue here. Why is Oscar so comfortable and eager to hang out with the guy who attacked him? I wish that we had some acknowledgment that these kinds of things don’t just disappear once someone apologizes. Jaune still hurt Oscar, badly enough to leave him flinching against a wall... and none of that even takes into account Oscar’s supposed hesitation about lying to Ironwood. He should be acting more like Ren, involved with the group yet wary at the same time.

In addition, keep in mind that Oscar is currently living in this happy bubble where everyone has chosen to forget that Ozpin exists. I’m still highly suspicious of how they’ll treat him once Ozpin is out in the open again and Oscar is the convenient scapegoat for their anger. As said though, for now I’ll take it. I mean, look at that smile.

Right. Onto the actual plot.

We open on the aftermath of the Mantle riots, which is somewhat disappointing. I had hoped the group would actually be involved in that, giving them the chance to tackle a situation where brute force can’t be the go-to answer. You can’t punch out desperate citizens or run them through with your scythe. Instead, Ironwood’s men are handling it and we reconvene with the group the next day, election day. For the record, we know it has only been a day---and not longer rioting as I initially assumed---because Weiss comments that her father dropped that bombshell “the day before the election.” Which for me just speaks to how much time must have passed during those training montages. The political parts of this volume couldn’t have happened in any short amount of time. 

We’re shown an interview with Hill wherein she quite firmly doesn’t condone the rioting, but admits that there are good reasons for it as well. Her body guard stands very awkwardly in the background in a way I don’t think the shot really needs.

We then segue back into the group training and, like I mentioned above with Oscar, there are a lot of details here that I really enjoyed. Two of which are Weiss creating a mini version of her knight to sneak up on Winter---yes, please show us this kind of creativity in the actual fights---and Nora and Jaune practicing with a rubber ball. Ren is also deep in meditation while all this going on, which raises some questions about how aware of the world he is in this state. Is he able to simply ignore all the commotion, even Ruby flying straight at him? Is he so deep down that he’s entirely disconnected until he resurfaces? If so, does he only meditate like this when he’s 100% sure he’s in a safe place? Would the group be able to wake him if something were to happen?

As you can see, I’m obviously a little too invested in details and world building lol.

Speaking of world building though, we learn a little bit more about semblances here. Namely that, like hinted at in Volume Five and recently with Harriet, all their semblances are “evolving.” Jaune can apparently regenerate his own aura now, much more quickly than he could before. And Ruby...

Okay, real talk. Did I miss something here? It’s entirely possible I did, but if not what even was that conversation between Ruby and Oscar? She flies at the pillar Ren is seated under, divides into three rose petal clusters to get around it, and recombines on the other side. You know, the thing we’ve known she can do for a long while now. Since Volume Four I believe. Except then we get this exchange:

Oscar: Have you always been able to do that?

Ruby: I don’t know. I don’t normally think it through that much.

What are you talking about? Of course you know, Ruby! This isn’t a new technique. And what do you mean by, “I don’t normally think it through that much”? Is the writing trying to imply that she’s done the split thing so instinctively in the past she didn’t even notice she was doing it? I’m just massively confused by this moment. Others have pointed out that the writing tends to make up easy to solve “problems” for the cast to deal with so it looks like they’re achieving some kind of growth. The most egregious example being Ruby’s lack of hand-to-hand in Volume 5, culminating in a single headbutt against Mercury. Notably, this supposed flaw hasn’t resurfaced at all since then. Not even, say, when she’s at a party without her weapon and Tyrian attacks...

This feels like another moment where they just threw out something random to make it look like Ruby is improving alongside with the other, actual developments they’ve managed to think through, such as Jaune’s aura. Which is particularly strange considering Ruby was set up as the one to evolve her semblance. Which will probably still happen... but why paint an old skill as new along the way? It’s just all very strange.

Anyway, we get a nice shot of Ren coming out of his meditation where the whole world is gray like when he activates his semblance. Excellent visual cue as to his emotional state. This continues as Ironwood arrives and the group lays into him about needing to trust Hill. Which is hilarious considering that none of them are currently trusting Ironwood. He points out that common ground can only exist “if she’s open too”---unlikely given the second half of the episode---and Nora is about to challenge that when Ren interrupts, asking about mission assignments. Ironwood announces that they’re getting the night off instead.

Note though how guilty Ruby looks after all that talk of trusting others.

We cut to the girls later that night in their room, listening to the election news and getting ready to go out. It’s all very cute, but I think Nora is onto something regarding how Blake and Yang are always together. It’s so blatantly obvious they’re falling for one another, especially after this episode, and I’m honestly thrilled we’re finally getting some queer rep beyond former villains and minor characters. However, I hope that as Blake and Yang’s relationship develops that the writers don’t completely lose track of their co-dependency issues as well. Meaning, Yang totally wrote Blake off because she “ran away,” AKA went home precisely like Yang did, warping a natural and understandable choice into a personal betrayal. Blake in turn broke down sobbing and promised Yang to never ever leave her again. Separation is not a new issue for them. Their desire to spend every waking moment together is definitely cast as romantic now, but it’s also tied up in their inability to function well without each other. As we saw recently, a throwaway comment about fighting with someone else generates legitimate anger in both of them. Couples have to be able to spend time apart, so I hope the writing eventually lets the girls work through all that as well. 

For now though, they’re going dancing with FNKI. Very bad dancing based on what little we see. It’s enough to convince Weiss that the movies are her best choice here. Especially since she’s clearly not interested in Hill’s preemptive victory party. We see a tiny bit of that tension between Weiss’ views and Nora’s, but nothing with any substance. We just keep getting tiny glimpses that Nora is potentially passionate about the people of Mantle before it’s all quickly overshadowed by her romance drama with Ren. More on that in a moment.

The two of them plus Ruby make their way out into the streets where Ren admits that, “We spent so much time worrying about how Ironwood would react to the truth about [Salem], but have any of us even considered how we’re going to beat her if we work past that?”

Ruby reminds them that Jinn told Ozpin he couldn’t destroy her. Nora: “Maybe someone else could?”

It only took you weeks to figure that out! Though I love how this still---still---apparently has no bearing on how they view Ozpin. This was another perfect, quiet moment where three characters, notably three of the least angry characters, could have acknowledged how terrifying this information is. How they still can’t bring themselves to tell Ironwood, a man who thus far has done nothing but support them. Wow, I totally get why Ozpin would have trouble telling us. Oh also, we just realized that maybe Jinn’s information was specific to him. Maybe someone else can destroy Salem. That’s a pretty big revelation. I wonder if Ozpin himself realizes that? We should probably try to talk to him at some point.

It’s while they’re talking about the heavy stuff that Ren mutters about how they should still be training. Nora counters that they deserve a night off and the two of them clash enough to walk off angry. We see now at least part of what’s been bothering Ren lately. Nora is a very bubbly, silly, go-with-the-flow sort of person, whereas he is hyper focused on becoming as strong as possible in the hopes of finding a way out of this Salem mess. He doesn’t want to hear compliments while searching for a geist, or have her playing with his hair while on patrol, or turn training into a conversation about their relationship, or waste time on frivolous parties. There’s obviously a happy medium between Ren’s work ethic and Nora’s relaxed attitude, though they haven’t worked through that at all because they’re too busy kissing. Again, more on that in a second.

They reach the party, Penny is there, Nora and Ren dive into another fight that serves to canonize both them and Blake/Yang. Nora comments about how they’re spending so much time together, Ren observes that they’re at least friends again, and the response is,

Nora: “Friends, huh? Just friends?” Ren: “What else would they be? Nora: “Two people who have gone through so much? I think there’s more going on...”

It’s clear at this point that Nora is talking about them rather than Yang/Blake, but the initial comparison holds. Though she uses them as an in to discuss her own relationship, I doubt she was lying here. She clearly views them as a parallel to her and Ren: two partners who have been through a great deal together and, as a result, have grown to love each other as more than just friends. Those who insist that Rooster Teeth isn’t heading in a Blake/Yang direction don’t have much of a leg to stand on anymore. That ship (ha) has long since sailed. 

Ruby sneaks away from their fight though nothing terribly exciting happens. She adorably clings to Penny’s arm. They adorably fist-bump (ouch). Marrow and Hill get into a conversation about making change and whether or not she’ll accomplish that within the bounds of the law. Funny... I thought we saw that very same theme last volume. If only the writing acknowledged that there’s a connection between this conversation and our protagonists. We’re supposed to see both sides of the situation here: Hill’s need to bend the rules once in a while and Marrow’s desire to keep the peace; how the law is a man-mad construct that’s far from perfect and the importance of making change in a way that will stick---namely, legally. Here is a complex look at a morally difficult question and notably both Marrow and Hill are minor characters. It’s only when RWBYJNR is involved that the message moves from ‘Each side has a point’ to ‘Teens are 100% justified in breaking the law and anyone trying to stop them is an evil, crazy racist.’

It honestly astounds me that Rooster Teeth can give us that subtly here but never when it comes to our heroes.

When Ruby finally returns she finds Ren and Nora still fighting. As she snuck off we heard Ren admitting---in the round-about way of theirs, pretending that they’re talking about other people---that he’s worried, there’s a lot going on right now, and basically implying that he doesn’t know how (or doesn’t want) to balance a new relationship on top of all the horrific Salem business. Which, fair. The problem is that they don’t discuss this. Hill’s speech about how they’re always stronger together resonates with Nora and she tries to initiate a conversation, asking Ren to explain more fully what’s bothering him. To talk about it. He admits that talking has never been his strong suit.

I expected this to segue into a cliche, “Well try” moment and we’d finally get Ren and Nora bonding outside of their jokes and silent communication. Sadly, that didn’t happen. Look, I’m all for a renora kiss, but we have got to stop portraying sexual assault as romantic. Because that’s what Nora does here. It doesn’t matter how sure she (or we as the audience) are that Ren will like this kiss in the end. Grabbing someone and kissing them without their consent is sexual assault. Ren has not agreed to kiss her. He hasn’t expressed any desire here to kiss here. He’s completely blindsided by it and is flailing before he gives in.

People will justify this because, again, we all “know” that Ren secretly wants it and will be grateful that Nora got him past his fear. But that’s a terrible message to perpetuate in a world where others insist they also “know” when someone “really” wants them (they don’t) and where kissing or sex is seen as an easy way to supposedly solve problems between a couple. How many times have we seen an angry woman in media essentially told to shut up by a guy kissing her? The message is that her thoughts and grievances aren’t important here. The man knows her better than she knows herself and the second her forces her to start kissing him she realizes that’s really all she needed all along. That trope isn’t redeemed by changing the gender dynamic. Ren clearly has problems with their relationship that he’s struggling to work through. Nora clearly recognizes as much. Yet instead of acknowledging them and overcoming them, she erases any potential development by forcing him into a kiss. I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter how much Ren enjoys it a few seconds in. The continued message that forcing sexual intimacy on someone will fix both their hesitation and your relationship problems has go to stop. Kissing Nora doesn’t magically solve whatever it is Ren has been grappling with for the last six episodes. You know, the stuff they were just arguing about.

Once again, RWBY succeeded in giving me something I wanted, but in a way that severely downplays that enjoyment. I wanted a renora kiss, but not without consent and as a way of ignoring their issues. I wanted more focus on Ren and Nora as a whole this volume, but it would be nice if their characters could exits outside of each other some. Like the criticisms against Blake and Yang, Ren and Nora seem to be a package deal. They don’t fight with anyone else. They don’t go to different activities (why can’t Ren continue training if he’s that focused on it? Let Nora vent her feelings to a friend while he’s gone). They don’t interact with Ruby when they’re out with her. Their arc, it seems, doesn’t exist outside of each other. Which I suppose is better than no development at all, but still.

From then on things devolve rather quickly. While Hill continues her speech---and we see the ever closing gap between her and Jacques---Ruby gets a quick look at Tyrian’s tail before Watts turns out the lights. From there Tyrian proceeds to murder so many people, including attacking Fiona and going after Hill. All the while Ruby and Penny struggle to attack, despite the fact that Penny clearly has night vision and hangs back too long, obviously for plot purposes. It’s when she finally gets him away from Hill that Watts turns the lights back on, making it look like Penny had attacked the crowd and Hill was defending herself from her. I’ll admit, making Penny suitably creepy during the battle helps sell it.

Man do I hate framing plot-lines though. Not in a ‘Rooster Teeth shouldn’t have done this’ sense, just that it hurts to watch people react so badly based on a misunderstanding. This setup works best when there’s no one to refute the assumption. Yet here we have Ruby who absolutely saw Tyrian there, Penny who absolutely saw him with her night vision, Marrow who just made a connection with Hill and took the time to insist, “This wasn’t us, I swear,” etc. We’ve even got really basic stuff like, does Penny have blood all over her blades? Yet based on Hill’s look, all the evidence against Penny being the attacker isn’t going to do much good. Which makes for a more frustrating experience than a sad, yet understandable one.

We end with Jacques thanking everyone for his victory, rigged by Watts. Watts uploads the video of the attack, which has presumably either been altered in some way or just shows Penny in that damning position with her weapons out. If the former, that would at least go a long way towards explaining the inevitable backlash against her. An angry mob in the heat of the moment is one thing, but if Watts is looking to convince the entirety of Atlas that Ironwood is using his robot---a robot the people seem to currently love---to take out his competition, a doctored video of Penny attacking innocent people is far more persuasive. For both them and us the audience, wondering why everyone is this gullible. So far we’ve gotten some truly excellent villainy this year. Let’s continue that with them thinking ahead. 

At the very least this should (should) provide us with some excellent development for Penny. She’s long struggled with her status as a robot and being the defender of Atlas seems to have helped her come into herself. Having others accept her differences as a boon will do that. Now that she’s labeled as nothing more than a dangerous weapons again? We should see some inner conflict. The writing didn’t let her or anyone else grapple with her death. For the love of everything, at least let Penny grapple with this. 

Finally, Ruby and the others are forced to spend the night defending the city from a ton of grimm. Seriously, take in how many grimm showed up because of an election. Now think about what will happen if Ironwood announces Salem’s existence... I don’t think the cast is admitting to themselves precisely how many lives they’d be sacrificing by pulling that stunt. Ironwood at least (as far as we know) truly thinks he has a shot at winning the war. Ruby has no excuse at this point, with the exception that telling people about Salem is just plain hard.

Insert standard ‘Ozpin was right and they’re being hypocrites’ meta here.

And that’s it, folks! Issues aside, an all around better episode than some of the others we’ve gotten this season. Based off of experience it’ll be a small miracle if RWBY manages to keep that up next week.

Until then 💜

Minor Things of Note

All the people who were arrested the day of the election... do they get to vote? I know Watts rigged things, but potentially keeping everyone that furious with Ironwood from deciding who will oppose him on the council won’t exactly look good... especially combined with the Penny situation. Not that I think RWBY would actually introduce that as a complication. Just a thought.

Another extremely nit-picky thing, but it’s hilarious to me how bare the girls’ room is. Obviously there’s little time or inclination to animate personal items, even the few they have, but it kind of looks ridiculous to have this sterile space with one mirror and one tube of mascara. Here are the exact things we need for this scene and nothing more! I do like that shot in the mirror though.

Fiona getting teary-eyed over Hill being on the council was beautiful. I barely know them, but I like these two.

I’m just gonna post this again... 

[salvatoreschool]

'Legacies' EP Brett Matthews Teases How Characters Face Their Demons in Film Noir Episode (Exclusive)

It's an episode you do not want to miss!

Titled "There's a Place Where the Lost Things Go," Thursday's Legacies sees Hope (Danielle Rose Russell), Josie (Kaylee Bryant), Lizzie (Jenny Boyd), MG (Quincy Fouse) and Rafael (Peyton Alex Smith) transported to a fabulous film noir world.

In order to deal with all their recent traumas -- including Kai Parker's return and a black magic-filled Josie -- Emma (Karen David) makes them participate in a group simulation where they confront their conflicts head-on or risk the game's consequences. However, like most situations, things don't go as planned and the students come face-to-face with something they never imagined.

ET caught up with executive producer Brett Matthews, who also co-wrote the episode with Mark Ryan Walberg, where he shared the inspiration for the episode, why Professor Vardemus (Alexis Denisof) has returned and teased if there could ever be something more between Hope and Rafael.

ET: What was the inspiration for this episode?

Brett Matthews: It really goes back to a class I took in college at Wesleyan University... Film noir is a genre that will stay with me forever and is something very near and dear to my heart that I never really thought the right opportunity would present itself in this way to explore. I'm really glad it did. It's like an itch I had since I graduated college that I finally got to scratch.

What will surprise fans most about it? Is this a one-off episode or how will this push the narrative forward?

We don't really do one-offs. We do a lot of format break episodes, but we only do them when it's really the best way to explore the characters' journeys and the things that all of our characters are going through as they come to a head. A format break episode or a special episode will do that better than a conventional one. That's when the time's right. So absolutely we are telling this episode because it's where our characters are at coming off of [episode] 12 and 13, and really traumatic events. It's a group therapy exercise that kind of goes awry. It always starts and ends with the characters and they got us into it and the discoveries and revelations that they experience in the film noir world will come to influence them on the other side, when we're back to our normally scheduled program.

Is there a reason everyone has their distinct characters in this episode? Is there more than meets the eye with their film noir roles?

Yeah, everybody is sort of at a point in their emotional journey for the season, where they have some things they have to face, and the therapy sort of puts them in a role which allows them to make the discovery that their, sort of, person needs to learn from, move on and process. Film noir is a really good fit because it has all these tropes and archetypes and it was really fun. Mark Walberg and I, who I wrote the episode with, who's our script coordinator here, really got those characters into those different types based on where they are coming from and where they were headed for the rest of the season. That's really the "why" of who's the movie starlet, who's the gumshoe and who's this. I got to say, it was really fun to put Quincy Fouse's MJ sort of front and center in an episode. That was a really neat opportunity. We really enjoyed to be able to do that.

We see Alexis Denisof's Professor Vardemus back, I thought he was gone? Am I wrong? What's his role in this?

[Ryan] Clark took Vardemus' identity at the beginning of the season and [this episode] sort of gives us the answer to where Vardemus has been this whole season, which is his mind has been locked in the therapy box and his body has been stowed in the school. And inadvertently, the kids end up setting him free and we finally look forward to getting to know the character of Vardemus as Vardemus, and not someone pretending to be him. [We will learn] who he actually is, a scholar with a bit of an edge, who's lived a really interesting life, but has a really great amount of knowledge to share with Alaric and other educators at the Salvatore School. We just really love Alexis and what he did with the character, so we're excited to begin exploring this new facet and get to know the actual Rupert Vardemus.

So he will be sticking around for more episodes?

Yeah, we hope so. We obviously have a lot of characters to service and that's always the hard part about running a television show, there's never enough time. But Vardemus is just a character [we love], and Alexis is one of the kindest, most professional actors you hope to work with in this business. [Creator] Julie [Plec] and I really love what he's doing and he is a character you will see pop up here and there, and we would love to explore more in the future.

Landon is not in this episode, but we see Rafael and Hope together. How much tension is there between them and is this foreshadowing them getting closer in the future?

I think that Raf's takeaway from this episode is that he is part of a very deep mystery that disturbs him and that he needs to get to the bottom of, and obviously feels uncomfortable enough about it that he is lying to people about it. And so, that is sort of what's forefront in Rafael's mind, but he does have this deep relationship with Hope and a super neat and profound relationship with Landon. Both of those characters will help him unwrap and get to the bottom of, and hopefully solve, the situation he's found himself in.

We've seen Josie, Kaylee Bryant, just come out of her shell this season, from a sweet, kind and shy girl to this badass, evil villain. How has it been working with and getting that dynamic range from her?

Kaylee is a wonderful actress and it's not real hard. Dark Josie really makes a lot of sense because it's just that repressed part of the character she usually plays. Josie is a selfless character and puts others above herself, and I think it's a very human thing to have that part that says, "What about me?" or somebody always putting off their own wants and desires, and that often comes to a head and people often snap. That's a little bit of what she's going through. So I think for her it's probably a little more hand and glove than it would be for somebody coming from the outside in because our actors really do inhabit their characters and live in their skin year-round in a way another person doesn't. I think it made a lot of sense to her and then to translate that to the physicality and the surface menace of it all. I think she's doing a great job with it.

How was the cast's reaction when they saw this script for this episode and started getting into their wardrobe?

I think they always enjoy the format break episodes because they allow them to really just do something fun and exciting, and I feel like the whole crew feels that way about it as well. Like Julie said, when I gave her the script, she's like, "They're not going to know what film noir is," and I said, "Well, I don't know if it's that large of a problem." But we did pull a couple landmark film noir episodes that we thought really encapsulated the genre and everybody watched them and did their homework and very quickly, whether they had prior experience with the genre or not, understood what it was and really gave it 110 percent, as did our director Mike Karasick. But the cast, like they usually do, gave it their all and made it shine. I'm sure it was fun for them because of wardrobe and they got to be in another world for an episode and those are always fun for everybody.

Will fans get to see another themed episode like this in the future?

We'll have another one or two over the course of the season. We're doing a really big, exciting musical episode this year, as we try to do one every year. So we're working on that one now and that's something that sort of revisits our history as a franchise. We're very excited about that. So you can definitely look forward to that one and seeing all your favorite characters singing and dancing and all that good stuff.

Last question, both Ian Somerhalder and Michael Malarkey told ET that they would love to work on Legacies. Ian wanted to direct an episode, while Michael wouldn't mind reprising his role as Enzo. What are your thoughts?

I love both of those guys! They are part of our family and like we say to all our members of our family, the door on Legacies is always open. All they gotta do is give me a call and I will certainly, always take that call. I'll always be interested. In terms of characters, you want to make sure that you have enough, you know, like, Vampire Diaries and The Originals, they had their own endings. So just on a character level, it's always a case-by-case basis to make sure that they're respecting the integrity of our cast, but god, if there's a way to do any of those things, we're always inclined to do them. It's just the people you know and the relationships you form and that makes up for the long hours and all these things. We're very lucky people to have worked with so many wonderful, talented artists and we would love to work with them all again in the future.

Legacies airs Thursdays at 9 p.m. on The CW.

[gluupor]

Andreil. A Knight and Day AU, please!

So, uh, I have no idea what this is. I’ve never seen Knight and Day and only have the vaguest idea what it’s about (spies, maybe???). Instead of doing the logical thing, and admitting that and turning down the request or looking into the movie, instead I wrote this: which is definitely not what you wanted or asked for. Oh, but @annawrites it has a fake relationship! But again, probably not what you wanted. Sorry anon! Enjoy anyway, I guess?

Whenever anyone asked Neil what he did for a living, he responded by saying he was a spy. This always was met with impressed faces and probing questions about his job. Was it like being James Bond? everyone always wanted to know. Was he out there, taking names and kicking ass? Neil always tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially and said that he couldn’t talk about it, that it was classified.

He wasn’t lying. He was a spy. What he didn’t mention was that he didn’t work for the CIA or the FBI or the NSA. No, he worked for the IRS. He was an accountant spy.

His job consisted of going undercover at suspect companies and looking for evidence that they were committing tax fraud or other white collar crime. He suspected that all the people who were so impressed with his profession would be less so if they knew the particulars.

Luckily, there weren’t all that many people who asked. He socialized mainly with his coworkers at the IRS (who, obviously, were aware of what he did for a living) or with his coworkers when he was undercover (and it’s not like he could tell them that he was spying on them).

In general, he liked his work. It brought together his two biggest talents: math and lying about his identity. He knew that some of his coworkers, like Dan and Matt, had lofty goals and ideals about making the world a better place by punishing the rich, but Neil was in it for the money.

As good as he was (and he was very good) every so often he made mistakes. Like today.

“Come on, pick up,” he muttered into his phone. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

“Foxes’ Dry Cleaning,” answered Dan’s cheerful voice. “We clean up your messes.”

“Hey, babe,” said Neil.

“‘Babe’?” repeated Dan. “Our relationship seems to have gotten a lot more serious without my knowledge.”

“How are you? Still free tonight?”

“I’m pretty sure that your current identity doesn’t have a significant other,” sighed Dan. “What happened?”

“Well, you know how I wasn’t planning on being out at work?” asked Neil.

“Neil,” groaned Dan.

“I know, but I was caught off guard, Chad,” said Neil, testily. “So I need to know if you’re free to come to the office party tonight?”

“Everyone’s busy.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” said Neil. “I know that, but I would really appreciate—”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Everyone wants to meet my husband.”

“You’re usually better at obfuscating,” grumbled Dan. “Someone will be there by five.”

“Great,” said Neil in relief. “It means a lot to me. Love you.”

“I’m going to tell Andrew you said that.”

“Okay, bye.” Neil hung up and rubbed a hand through his hair. Goddamn Barbara. This was all her fault.

She was one of those well-meaning busybody types with her nose in everyone’s business, telling them how to live their lives. Neil did not feel guilty at all that he was probably going to be arresting her for tax evasion in the near future.

He’d been doing pretty well at brushing her off when she asked about his personal life, sharing only little bits about his fake background. He’d also been successful so far at shutting down her attempts to set him up. All it had taken was one momentary lapse when he hadn’t had his guard up.

“I invited someone to the office party tonight that I really think you should meet,” Barbara had said.

“Mmm,” said Neil, completely noncommittally, focused on his calculations. He was missing something, somewhere. It wasn’t adding up properly.

“I really think you’ll like her, she’s super great.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You need someone to take care of you.”

“I’m married,” Neil had muttered, his mouth saying the words without permission from his brain. “Uh,” he said, catching himself and looking up. “I mean…”

Her eyes had narrowed at his left ring finger which was completely bare. She raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Really? How come you never mentioned it before?”

“Look,” said Neil, checking around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure how people here would react to… him.”

“Oh!” said Barbara, suddenly flustered. “I didn’t know you were— not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she hastily tacked on.

“If you could keep it to yourself?” he asked. “I’m not ready to be, you know, out here.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding a lot and watching him with newfound interest. “Of course I won’t tell anybody.”

Neil had not had high hopes and his lack of trust in her discretion had been proven correct less than an hour later when Evelyn, a very professional HR rep, had stiffly stood next to his desk.

“I am sorry,” she’d said, “Mr. Jacobs, that you have felt the need to hide your sexuality.”

“Oh, please don’t—” started Neil.

“This company is very accepting of a variety of different lifestyles and I want to ensure you that we will swiftly deal with any person that is making you feel uncomfortable.”

“Uh,” said Neil, stupidly.

“As such, we request that you invite your… partner to the office party tonight. He will be welcomed with open arms.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, Neil, you have to,” said Barbara, popping up from god-knew-where. “We feel simply horrible that you’ve felt the need to keep this from us!”

Neil opened his mouth and closed it, feeling like a fish. He turned back to Evelyn. “This whole conversation is making me feel uncomfortable,” he tried.

“We look forward to meeting your partner tonight,” Evelyn replied.

“Husband,” Neil said grumpily. He hated the term ‘partner’.

“I can’t wait!” said Barbara.

Which was when Neil had given up arguing and decided to call Dan for help. There was only one thing that could solve this problem: a fake husband.

He’d teamed up with several of his co-workers before, pretending to be married. It was easier to work with a supporting partner and having a spouse that came to visit him at work was a good cover. But he didn’t need a normal husband for this. He needed Chad.

It was originally Erik who had made up the persona. He’d been working with Dan at the time and she needed him to pretend to be her boyfriend at a party at the company she was investigating. She told him to be as distracting as possible but to remain above suspicion.

Erik had taken these directions and created Chad: a golden retriever of a human being. He was a personal trainer/masseur/underwear model, who had a smile like sunshine and absolutely nothing going on below the surface. He was so pretty and dumb that everyone instantly understood that he was arm candy. He’d smiled beguilingly and let Dan’s middle aged female coworkers pinch his biceps. He’d been so distracting that Dan had successfully planted several bugs in executives’ offices while everyone was looking at her perfect boyfriend. After that, Chad had been a tool that all of them used from time to time.

Nicky, Jeremy, and Matt were all very good at being Chad (Erik was still the master), Kevin and Neil were passable, and no one asked the twins to do it after Andrew had tried once and made everyone incredibly uncomfortable with his wide grin.

There was also a female version of Chad, called Candi (with an i) that Allison always had too much fun pretending to be, although she was better at being a bored, bitter trophy wife.

Neil knew that they were swamped right now; there was a reason that he didn’t already have a backup fake significant other. He felt bad for his slip up, but having a Chad at the party tonight would be useful. He’d found quite a few irregularities in his accounting and he wanted to bug his boss’ office to get an idea of how widespread and intentional the tax fraud was. He hoped that Matt was available to come, although Kevin would be fine, too. Those were the two he worked with most often.

He spent the rest of the afternoon half-focused on his work and half-worrying about the party that evening.

It wasn’t until Barbara was standing by his desk, rocking excitedly on the balls of her feet that Neil was made aware of the time.

“Jameson,” she said, addressing him by his undercover name. He was pretending to be a trust fund douchebag and he had a name to match. “Is he on his way?” Her excitement was palpable, although Neil had no idea why.

“I’m sure he is,” answered Neil. He actually had no clue who was coming or how to contact them, but he trusted Dan not to let him down.

“What’s he like?”

“Uh,” stuttered Neil, desperately trying to come up with the most generic description ever that didn’t include any hints to Chad’s physical appearance. “Nice.”

Barbara gave him an unimpressed look, but he was saved by his office phone ringing. He pointed at it and she sighed happily.

“Mr. Jacobs?” said the gruff voice of the building’s security guard. “I have a Chad Jacobs here to see you.”

“I’ll be right down,” said Neil, heading to the elevators. Barbara was still watching him with heart eyes as the elevator doors closed between them.

He spent the trip down wordlessly thanking Dan for sending someone to save him. Once he arrived, he smiled in relief at the familiar blond head. He always felt best with Andrew at his back, even though Andrew made a poor Chad. It wasn’t until he’d taken a couple steps out of the elevator that he realized his mistake.

Aaron looked like he was on the way to the executioner’s block as opposed to an office party where he’d have to pretend to be his real-life brother-in-law’s fake husband for the evening. Although, Neil was in agreement that there wasn’t a lot of difference between the two.

“Babe,” he made himself say, reaching out a hand. “Come upstairs.”

Aaron pushed past him into the elevator without acknowledging him.

“Ground rules,” he said as soon as they were alone. “I’ve decided that Chad is uncomfortable with PDA.”

“Remember that Chad is gay and shouldn’t be caught staring at women’s breasts,” Neil said snippily in return.

“Maybe Chad is bisexual and is considering leaving you.”

“You’re here to back me up, not to make this harder,” grumbled Neil. “Could you try to pretend to like me?”

“It’s not like you like me.”

“You are not even in the top three people who I hate most in the world right now.”

“Really?” said Aaron with interest. “I thought I was usually number one. Who’s beating me?”

“Well, Dan, obviously, for sending you.” Aaron nodded in agreement. “Andrew, for not being available to come himself. And Kevin.”

“Kevin? Kevin didn’t do anything.”

“Everything is at least partially Kevin’s fault.”

“Fair,” Aaron paused. “What do they know about me?”

“That your name is Chad, that we are married, and that you’re nice.”

Aaron glared. “Fine,” he muttered, and took Neil’s hand. His palm with warm and clammy and Neil resisted the urge to snatch his hand away and wipe it on his pants.

“I’m going to murder Dan,” he muttered, as the elevator arrived at his floor. “Smile!” he added. “We’re in love.”

“Great,” sighed Aaron, pasting an unconvincing smile on his face.

As soon as they got back to headquarters, a raucous cheer greeted them. Matt popped the cork out of a bottle of champagne.

“Mazel tov to the happy couple!” he shouted.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious,” muttered Aaron. “Give me some of that so I can forget this ever happened.”

“Aw, did your husband not treat you well?” chortled Nicky.

Aaron set his jaw and didn’t answer.

“Did you get the bugs placed?” Dan asked.

“Yes,” said Neil, giving a full-body shudder.

“What?” said Dan, noting his reaction. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” replied Neil. Dan was not impressed, her expression demanding. “I almost got caught. It’s okay, it worked out.”

“How did it work out?” asked Allison, sounding completely delighted.

“Give me the alcohol,” said Aaron sharply.

“Come on, tell us!” cajoled Erik.

“I hate all of you,” said Aaron.

“It’s all in good fun,” said Renee.

“Yes,” said Neil dryly. “Hopefully one day we’ll find it just as funny as the rest of you already do.”

“Tell us! Tell us what you’re hiding!” said Katelyn.

Aaron sighed heavily. “He dragged me into a closet and got on his knees. Then I had to make fake sex noises until one of his coworkers caught us. It was the worst moment of my life. I would appreciate the oblivion of alcohol now.”

Everybody laughed heartily and looked to Andrew for his reaction.

He shook his head at Neil. “I don’t answer your call once and you elope with my brother?”

“Serves you right,” replied Neil.

Andrew stepped closer to him, lips twitching.

Neil glared at him. “Not you, too.”

“I always wanted the two of you to get along better, but this is not what I meant.”

“You’re going to regret making jokes when I leave you for him.”

“You’re not going to do that,” said Andrew seriously, although his hazel eyes were still amused.

“You know how petty I can be.”

“You won’t,” reiterated Andrew with confidence. “You only swing for me.” He pulled Neil into a kiss and he immediately melted. He didn’t know how Andrew could affect him like this, after seven years of marriage and over a decade together.

Still. He wasn’t going to let this go that easily. “Mmm,” he moaned. “Aaron.”

Andrew pinched his waist in retaliation.

Nearby, Aaron whimpered unhappily into his champagne.

[teamoliv-archive]

I don’t have much for unpopular opinions, but I’ll try this instead: what’s your take on the whole situation regarding RWBY and their recent decisions in the latest season? (Frcstbxte)

send me controversial or unpopular opinions and I’ll tell you if I agree or disagree 🐸 ☕️

Hoo boy. People are going to unfollow me for this one guaranteed due to how may super strong opinions people have about this. This one’s getting a cut to avoid drama.

I do want to stress that I don’t want to devalue or invalidate anyone’s complaints regarding the show. Enjoyment is a highly personal thing and if you’re frustrated, upset, disappointed, or otherwise had negative feelings don’t let this convince you that you’re not allowed to feel the way you do about the volume.. My gripes are more on the mechanical and storytelling aspects of things and with the arguments used to criticize the volume. I only hope I can make my case on why the commonly complained about parts of the show don’t warrant the vitriol in my opinion. I likely won’t convince too many people, but I’d like to make my case here anyway.

I honestly believe a lot of the complaints about the latest season from a writing standpoint are short-sighted, lack scope, and/or just miss the point of what we’re looking at. From an overall storytelling perspective this was definitely the most well put together season the show has had so far and a lot of the complaints only address individual concerns that some fans had regarding things not happening the way they wanted to without a regard for the overall plot. This is why I think a lot of the complaints don’t measure up and where my actual gripes with the part lie.

1. Theme

You cannot consider yourself to have analyzed a work without first looking at its overall theme. RWBY’s structure doubles up on this as not only does the show as a whole have its overarching themes and plot, but each individual volume has their own to deal with as well. Here the theme is trust, as directly stated in the opening lyrics and it’s a common source of problems and solutions throughout the the show. 

From an overarching standpoint, we have Salem doing her darnedest to break apart any alliances that could be formed against her. I do not believe this is because she fears humanity in terms of tactical numbers. This simply isn’t that kind of show. The writers have said in interviews that they take most of their story and theme cues from the magical girl genre. You know, the same “love and friendship conquers all” magical girl genre that all those shows not named Madoka Magicka use as the basis for their protagonists. The silver eye power seems fueled by that exact sentiment and I think that’s going to be a huge factor close to the end. This is not a setting where pragmatism and strategic thinking will carry the day- keep that in mind.

2. RWBY vs. Ironwood

This is the part everyone’s been talking about and I think a lot of the hard-line side-taking in either direction is missing the point entirely. This conflict was always going to happen and both sides have fault to bear.

The two sides can be seen as having their own character arcs on a macro scale. Individual character motivations weren’t nearly as important as they were in previous volumes and it helps to see them mostly through the lens of Ruby and Ironwood. The basic core of the problem throughout the series is this, Team RWBY has decided to go along with Ironwood’s plan for lack of one themselves, but don’t trust him with the whole truth until they know how he’ll react to it. This is a man with an army and a paranoid streak after all. This, of course, is a decision that winds up instrumental in triggering Ironwood’s paranoid shitstorm later in the volume.

That said, I don’t believe the problem is Ruby’s decision making- It’s the narrative. The whole reason this comes across as weird and contrived is that we are never told the reason Ruby and co. don’t trust Ironwood with the information from the lamp. By all accounts up until this point there was no visible reason for them to do so and we’re simply never told WHY. Answering this simple question would have made the entire rest of the narrative make a lot more sense were she just given a believable reason to hold the info back, let alone any reason at all.

Now let’s bounce back to Ironwood. I’m going to just go out and say I grew tired of the “Ironwood did no wrong.” discourse pretty quickly because, again, people are missing the point. For this one, we have to look back into the theme- trust. When Ironwood has his breakdown, he not only turns his back on Ruby and her team for lying to him, but he goes right into his martial law plan also betraying the trust of the council, Robyn, and the people of Mantle who are now going to be sacrificed for the sake of salvaging his original plan. Despite Ruby and co’s actions making the situation worse, we aren’t meant to see Ironwood’s new solution as a better alternative purely on the moral cost of what he’s doing. This is what is called in screenwriting the “Moral Line” defined as a vision of right and wrong as told through the protagonists. We’re meant to sympathize with Ruby owning up to lying to Ironwood and trying to move forward despite the setbacks, not cheer for Ironwood calling them out and forcing out a more pragmatic path.

To me, I think this stems from a common sentiment shared in a lot of popular media and deconstruction of tropes that idealism is a naive and childish flaw and that proper strategic logic is what solves problems. Again, I predict that due to the genre inspirations of this story, this won’t be the case at all. Ironwood is going to fail because he turned his back on moral idealism, trust, and friendship in favor of planning and decisive action no matter the cost, not despite it. Harriet summarized the entire philosophy well during her fight with Ruby:

“It’s not excessive if it’s necessary!”

This line feels, to me, like a reflection of everything that Team RWBY is now fighting against and we should be able to understand as an audience from a moral standpoint why this is the way it is.

As a small aside, let’s cap this off with the RWBY vs. ACE-Ops fight. A lot of people called foul because the ACE-Ops lost and I just don’t understand why. The moment the fight started, I knew what the outcome was going to be purely because the story as it was set up simply couldn’t progress otherwise. Much like Mercury and Emerald in volume 5, RWBY matching and defeating the ACE-Ops shows the progression of the main characters. Them choosing to fight also shows RWBY the final stakes moving forward and symbolically shows them that the might of the entire Atlas army is now their enemy moving forward. 

With this in mind, I want to go back to Ironwood’s martial law plan and defend some aspects of his character that should be. Up until the point of Ironwood’s breakdown it was seriously and soberly treated as a last resort option with a clear understanding by Ironwood, Winter, and the ACE-Ops that they knew exactly what was it was going to imply. This does not make them evil and it’s important to understand that. However the Tin Man needs a heart and this brings us to Ironwood’s fatal flaw. The real bad decision was that the martial law plan was enacted despite already having the unity of the people of Mantle behind them. He lost far more than the stands to gain with his decision, thinking only from a tactical and strategic standpoint regardless of what he has to sacrifice to get there. Those sacrifices have already all but left him facing Salem alone. If he survives next volume, I’ll be surprised.

3. Qrow and Clover

For a few moments, I do want to discuss Clover and Qrow’s dynamic because it’s very important to Qrow’s story throughout the part. Regardless of how you choose to interpret their exchanges, the important takeaway here is that for the first time in possibly decades Qrow had a friend he can talk to as an equal and not have Ozpin’s plans or a generational gap in the way. 

Ever since we were introduced to Qrow, he’s shown himself to be a dysfunctional loner who is only just recently trying to seriously pick himself back up off his feet. I believe the fact that he was finally shown that he can actually have friends is a huge factor in this. His life has always been dominated by his feelings and doomsaying. He spends every interaction waiting for the other shoe to drop and uses his own semblance as an excuse to perpetuate that worldview.

And this is why I think Qrow’s fight with Clover makes total sense to have happened. He’s one of Oz’s main team and also has a fatal flaw.

The cowardly lion needed courage and he died for his cowardice.

The tin man needs a heart and lost all his allies in the pursuit of his goals.

The scarecrow needs a brain and his emotional decision-making cost him his friend’s life.

This is a genuine tragedy, literary-speaking in fact. Qrow’s awful situation was one of his own making and he knows it, but I can’t imagine him doing anything else. One thing that I’ve seen throughout the show about Qrow is that he’s never given up trying to stop Salem- he’s an idealist like Ruby and in my opinion has been subverting the mentor archetype beautifully. However, every time he’s made a major decision in the series, he’s done it on an emotional or practical level. No real thinking ever goes into what he does. When Clover calmly announces to Qrow what was just ordered and Robyn summarily attacks him, his first instinct is to try and stop the fight.

I’m going to break here to discuss Robyn’s actions at this moment- another common complaint. Would we really expect someone like her to have done anything different with the news that the city she’s worked so hard to work with all those years was just cast aside? This would have been seen to anyone in her position as nothing less than a double-cross given how just a few hours ago everything for the evacuation was moving apace. From a characters standpoint, I don’t get why anyone would fault Robyn for being furious at this aside from “It’s not the smart thing to do right now.” No, it’s not, but I’m also very tired of seeing people complain about characters making non-optimal decisions. Not everyone things with perfect logic, strategy, or sense at every given moment. This is a perfectly human response to finding out your loved ones were just given a death sentence. She lashed out at Clover over lack of Ironwood face to punch.

With this in mind, Qrow’s decision to fight Clover is a bit more personal. He’s treating it more or less the same way that he treated Raven joining with Cinder a few parts ago. Qrow is clearly very much against the idea of leaving what’s left of Mantle to die and now has a lot of aggression to take out seeing how calmly and without complaint Clover takes the order. The only friend Qrow’s had in a long time chose his duty over him and he doesn’t know how to take that- so they fight. It’s safe to assume that Qrow is likely in a highly emotional state and, as we’ve established before, not thinking about what he’s doing. Robyn is passed out in the wreckage, Tyrian is left unattended, and they’re miles away from any real contact from anyone. Bluntly, he screwed up, he screwed up big time, but his character leads me to believe he wouldn’t really have done anything else.

Then we see Qrow in engage in a little something we in the literary community call “seriously fucking up.” In the heat of the moment, he decides to trust Tyrian at his word and it ends about as well as to be expected. Qrow made a mistake, one of the biggest mistakes in the entire series and one that looks plainly obvious and avoidable to the audience, but only when you consider it through the lens of someone who’s making calm and rational decisions. Yes, Qrow fucked up, I’m not defending his decision making; I’m defending the scene and why that faulty decision making was the only thing that could really happen. 

4. Winter and Penny

The biggest complaint regarding these two is Penny leaving Winter behind at the end of the part. Frankly, for this one I’ve got nothing so I’m not going to pretend I have an answer to the complaints. Much like Ruby early on, the show just outright refuses to give us the reason she left. Winter getting the maiden powers might have been part of the plan, but I don’t think Ironwood would be so inflexible as to not settle for Penny getting it instead. The only thing I can imagine that could be going through her head is that she still wants to try and save Mantle and live up to her title, trusting Winter can handle herself. However, again like with Ruby, I don’t believe that the character is to blame here, but the narrative just refusing to give us an explanation and leaving us to sit there in frustrated confusion. We might get it next part, but I don’t like that...

5. Can I Talk About Watts Now?

With that out of the way, I do have one really bizarre complaint regarding the part that no one else seems to talk talk about.

I am very disappointed with Watts. This is mostly just be griping about lost potential so bear with a small rant.

There was a lot of setup regarding Watts as a threat and when he got the codes. We’re told that given time he could control literally all of Atlas (because apparently two-factor authentication and dead man’s switches don’t exist but that’s a logical gripe for another day). My question is why this wasn’t capitalized on. I wanted a repeat of the mechanical soldiers turning on the Vale citizens. We could have had automated vehicles wreaking havoc, fights between people and robots, and all sorts of fun stuff. You can argue that Watts was distracted by Ironwood’s trap and didn’t have the time to really cut loose and I’ll accept that, but I just wish we could have seen more. Any Watts RPers out there who want some ideas, you’re free to steal this one.

[spacecharr]

Why I’m Not Threatened By Old Men

A (high) treatise on why young women shouldn't be afraid of all old men.

Written by a (high) young bi woman of colour.

---

Lemme start by saying I wrote that title because I thought it would be clickbaity. And I wrote the subtitle like that because I'm being "funny" and I anticipate it will generate trolling. My popcorn is getting cold, and I want a show.

And incidentally, it's all true.

Because this is SpaceCharr pontificating on #authenticity and weed, son!

My local Starbucks is small, has a tiny little patio, limited seating and serves a wildly diverse customer base. From your Basic Skinny Pumpkin Spice Latte Bitch(TM) to uniformed police, from sharply dressed businessmen to soccer moms with three kids and a Burberry purse, from punk-rock loud and proud visibly LGBTQ folks to button-down sweater-vest old-schoolers, and from local college kids to retired old men.

It’s fascinating to see the crazy range of people and it makes for eavesdropping lazily on some hilarious (and sometimes very serious) conversations ranging all over the place.

And for some reason, I have a really really easy time getting old white men to talk to me. 

Lemme lay some context: I’m a friendly gal. I’m sociable, (I’ve been told) charming, easy going, and very casual. I remember in elementary being given feedback by my teachers that I was “unapproachable”, and they were worried I would have difficulty making friends. From junior high on, I purposefully (after much coaching from my parents and my mom especially) sought out opportunities to learn better social skills. As an only kid, I didn’t have any siblings to be guaranteed friends with, and my relationship with my extended family was spotty at best. 

So if I wanted friends, I knew I’d have to get them on my own. (Troll Note: I know some dipshit’s gonna be all “omg sure #thathappened. Like a grade schooler can know that” - and you’re right! Grade like, 3-6 me had no fuckin’ clue. But 20s me? Who’s gone through a bunch of psychotherapy? Now she knows a bit more)

I learned interpersonal skills. I did drama, I joined clubs, I did Toastmasters (fuckin’ fantastic, btw, look for your local chapter), and I even did the Dale Carnegie Interpersonal Skills course that’s based off How to Win Friends and Influence People (1000% recommend, A+ on how to be a decent human despite its manipulative-sounding title which is brilliant). I learned how to be a more approachable person - and I learned why people find it approachable.

I saw the difference in how people received me when I spoke formally versus when I spoke in a very familiar tone (”hello” vs “hey, hey!”). I noticed that I could easily put the people I was dealing with off-balance in a good way (relieved surprise) with humour and well-meant self-deprecation. I learned through trial and error what body language and touch cues elicited in terms of responses across various types of people. It became second nature for me to analyse and act on these, and my knowledge of these techniques helps me daily in my work as a consultant.

So now, after several years in the workforce, multiple significant life events (aka I’m relatively old), and more overall life experience, I’m often described by my coworkers and friends as “very friendly and often happy”. Of course, according my sibling-like co-scoundrels in my cube farm, I am “disgustingly upbeat” - but they say it with love because they know I’ll tease them relentlessly, too.

I have found over the years that I have actually changed down to the core of that grade school girl. I’ve gone from a kid who struggled to make friends and who was seen as unapproachable, to a person who can very quickly establish good rapport. 

(side note: holy fuck I just realized I went from Dandere to Deredere... I’m a fuckin’ anime side character, shit)

Kind of the best example of what I mean is an interaction I had with a new massage therapist at this place I had a gift card for. That is to say, a complete and total stranger whom I had never interacted with or seen in the past. The shop I was at had you wait in the reception area with the receptionist until the RMT came to get you. So this dude came out to meet me, introduced himself and we chatted easily for a bit. After not even a minute of us chatting, he and I were laughing together and shared an easy chemistry. The receptionist - remember, who’d been there when the RMT and I introduced ourselves for the first time - then asked me “oh, are you two old friends?” to which he and I laughed and said “no, we’re just friendly”.

Anyways - that’s the context.

I’m a friendly gal. Sociable, a bit charming, easy going, and easily able to manipulate her own behaviours in order to make the other person feel more comfortable.

In Harry Potter-code: I’m a Slytherin who can play a Hufflepuff, but only because it gets me what I want - your cooperation and rapport - more easily. However, I also do genuinely mean those nice Hufflepuff-like actions - just, there’s an ulterior motive attached.

I’m also young, and obviously with South Pacific Islander blood in me (exotic features - I’ve been told I’d be cast in Miss Saigon if they ever did a musical in my city - I took it as as compliment, since I’m friends with the old white dude who told me that and he did mean it as a compliment).

Let’s put this together:

Exotic, tan-skinned young woman

Chatty, friendly, skilled at making people feel comfortable

Can make someone feel like an old friend

Easily self-deprecating and humourous

In a Starbucks with chatty retired old dudes and a lot of shared seating

Can anyone else see why my title makes more sense? (Legit, I am high, so if it doesn’t make sense, that makes sense)

Lemme spell it out for you bois: I’m an old perverted white man’s wet dream.

(yes, I’ve been told such to my face; yes, I believe from experience that most of the people who won’t believe me are straight young men - not out of malice, I think, but out of a belief that people aren’t that bad [not that old men finding young women attractive is bad - acting on it in certain ways however, can be]).

I’ve worked out of the Starbucks I mentioned several times in the past. As a consultant, I have a measure of flexibility in my schedule and I find I work best on some of my problem solving and documentation work when I’m out of the office. The change of scenery and the need to shut out the environment to “see” my work helps me - plus I don’t get drawn into the co-scoundrel shenanigans.

And I’m not kidding you - 8/10 times that I go there, I make a new old white man friend. Even the bi dude I met (srsly, it feels like since I made the decision to be openly out, I’m meeting more and more bi people everywhere when before there was nobody) was an old white dude.

I fuckin’ love it.

I am a young, bi woman of colour who loves having old white man friends. 

Because they’re just as chill, non-judgemental, self-deprecating, sociable, and easy-going as I am. And they appreciate my dad jokes and bi puns. Seriously. Dads everywhere - we all secretly love your jokes.

And, y’know what? I think more young women - LGBTQ or not, PoC or not - should want to have old white dudes as friends. 

INB4 tumblrinas: I don’t mean resurrect Hitler and be his gal pal. I mean don’t dismiss a possible friend just because they’re old, white, and have a dick. Use your brain - not every human is good, but likewise, not every human is bad. We come in shades in all ways.

I won’t tell you what to do, because I don’t know. What I want to share with you is why I feel the way I do. And let you do what you will with it - because I’m not interested in changing your mind. I’m interesting in trading stories and adventures - and understanding more about each other through that exchange.

Here’s why I love being open to talking to old white dudes:

Dad jokes. I’m not kidding. I love Dad Jokes.

They’re often past the point of giving a shit about society, so if you have a genuine, good-natured conversation about your point of view, chances as they won’t give a shit as long as you’re happy and no one’s dying.

They have amazing stories. I can’t tell you the number of times a new friend of mine has launched into crazy tales of things they got up to when they were younger.

They have great advice. Often, they’ve made some pretty bad mistakes. And they’re all too happy to share their lessons and spare someone else the trouble.

They often just want a chat. They don’t need a new friend, they don’t want your number, they just want a lively conversation with someone who isn’t gonna call the cops on them.

It’s so freakin’ easy to make their day and make them smile. And the genuine surprise when they find a young chickie they’ve no doubt had to weigh the pros-and-cons of talking to, who is easy-going and as happy to make their acquaintance as they are hers? It’s so cute. Old man smiles are so cute.

They respect you for being unapologetically who you are. They know that they’ve invited themselves into a talk with you - and they’re willing to carry and/or exit that talk if they find you being openly yourself. (which means if “yourself” is a fuckwit, they’ll just drop you if they know what’s good for ‘em; but then you’re just a fuckwit in Starbucks)

I guess for more location context, I should add that I live in Canada; it’s not an uncommon occurrence here for spontaneous conversations to happen. It might be more rare in other places, though. My city is also quite progressive and has a fairly active and supported LGBTQ scene.

All this said, it’s just a really nice experience in my mind to have good relationships (passing conversations, spontaneous coffee clubs, casual friendships, or more serious friendships) with old dudes as a young woman.

It’s like having a legion of second father figures, or uncles, more accurately fun drunkles, and older brothers. 

I enjoy several significant friendships with old dudes:

I go for coffee almost every week with two white old dudes and a dudette (I’d say “old” but she’d punch me out): our conversations range from politics to wood relationships to name calling to sibling-like teasing.

I have three co-scoundrels at work that I’m close friends with, all are old men. None are in a position to help me with anything at work, but damn are they hilarious and they’re a ready Friday-afternoon morale boost with their antics.

I have a very close old Japanese-Canadian friend. We have a complicated and somewhat tense relationship, but ultimately I think it can be said that we have a certain platonic love for each other. Though we don’t speak frequently, we’re both very significant to the other. He was my taiko instructor.

I have another very close relationship with one of my long-standing old dude friends. He’s known me since I was 9. A single hug from this man can stop an anxiety attack in its tracks. We kiss each other on the cheek and like to weird out the ladies at Starbucks when we go there with each other by holding hands - we’re both Slytherin trolls.

Don’t forget the OG Old Guy: my proper Old Man. My papa. Our relationship was strained by my mother’s unhealthy approach to all her familial relations during my early years. But as I’ve moved out, gotten older, and gained more life experience, it feels like my dad is finally realizing I’m not a little girl anymore - that I’m a woman, with woman needs, woman wants, and woman expectations and behaviours. We don’t talk about all things, naturally, he’s still my dad. But I can’t tell you how great it feels to have a dad who I know has my back no matter what.

I feel like there’s a certain conditioning for young women to “fear” the “old white man”. Certainly for me in particular it feels like there’s lots of factors in play: my “tropical” ethnicity, my youth, my LGBTQ nature (still haven’t been asked for a threesome as a bi woman - I’m impressed with my city), and, naturally, my gender.

While I do know that those are all things that certainly do warrant a certain amount of wariness around strangers (old in my neighborhoods usually means highly conservative about, depending on the age of said person, “the immigrants” or “the non-whites”. Age from young-old to old-ass-old. They’re a product of their time.), I also think it’s vital not to let that wariness get in the way of making a possible new friend.

Anyways, I need to wrap this up.

How does this loop back into #authenticity and weed? Well, it’s been my experience that the old (white + some Asians, in my case) dude friends that I’ve made are some of the best people to help you be yourself.

They have anecdotes to illustrate benefits, cons, risks, and rewards; they have dad jokes and puns to bring some much-needed levity; they don’t give a fuck about the other Starbucks goers - for better or for worse; and they - just like you - just wanna have a good day and be able to be themselves.

Does this apply to every old man? No. Does it not apply to every old man? No.

If you’ve read this far, you have the brain capacity necessary to give someone a chance. Now, you’ll wanna do some preparation if this is nearing your max capacity, because you wanna make sure you’re not letting the wrong old man come talk to you all friendly-like. 

But once you find one who’s just a swell dude? Cut ‘im some slack, maybe remember that he’s struggling to speak your vocabulary as much as you’re struggling to understand his. 

Sit back, drink some coffee, smoke a joint, and share a story once in a while.

Anyways. That’s been SpaceCharr Pontificating.

Cheers, buds.

Stoner note:  My hand rolling’s gotten so much better. And the weed I have doesn’t seem to smell as strongly as the pre-roll I had that one time, so I might sesh in the park at some point. I have my inaugural shroom trip this weekend - bestie agreed to tripsit! Yay! And she’s bringing the whole Planet Earth HD collection! - so it might not be for a while. I want to give the experience the attention it deserves, plus I need to establish a clean baseline to experiment accurately with microdosing.