#if they feel the adults have to much baggage let the next generation take over

[xkeyon]

Hope or Despair for the Inhumans

So on Twitter someone messaged to Rainbow Rowell that she would do good writing Medusa.  Well she responded that she actually had wanted to use her in her She-Hulk, but wasn’t allowed and that the editors didn’t go into detail why she couldn’t. So what does this mean for the Inhumans, is it that they are going to be used in a big enough way soon, or is it editors really are not letting them be used even as big enough guest stars in other books.  Keep in mind I actually don’t know what Medusa’s role was to be, but I figure a major enough to have an important enough arc, she and Jennifer have enough history together.  Now Moongirl has an on going mini and Ms. Marvel is a supporting character in Spider-man (plus got a Dark-Web tie-in) so is it just Inhumans are really just associated with the Inhumans brand (forgetting some of them were main characters in other books) can’t be used, I do wonder.  Does this mean Luna Maximoff won’t be in the current Scarlet Witch book? Thoughts on this? 

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Sixteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n:

***

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

In Cassian’s arms, Nesta is shocked for all of a second before melting into his heat, kissing him back with just as much tenderness and joy as he gives her.

Fireworks go off, illuminating the scene around them, but he doesn’t hear or see any of it. Confetti poppers are popped, sending glitter and paper flying everywhere, and still he kisses Nesta.

It’s not until the fireworks show hits its crashing climax that Nesta flinches, breaking away from his lips.

She hates loud noises, Cassian remembers. He stupidly considers covering her ears against the noise for her, but then her shoulders relax, and she comes in again for a deeper kiss. His hands tangle in her bronze hair, and when they next break apart, he remembers the words he’s been holding in for so long. “I love you,” he says against her mouth, imprinting the shape of the words onto her lips. Her answering grin is bright enough to match the moon.

For a single moment, they are a perfect couple. No secrets, no baggage, no outsiders to judge them. And then the fireworks die out and the confetti falls to the floor, and the lights seem to turn bright enough to burn the eyes. The party returns to normal, and so do they.

Nesta is clutching Cassian’s wrist, looking like she has something she needs to say, but then her gaze drifts past his shoulder. To where her sisters and his friends are. She looks up at Cassian nervously. “Can you—”

“Deal with that?” he finishes for her, referring to the friends who had surely seen everything. “Yes.�� It’s his responsibility to bear in the first place. Nesta doesn’t owe anybody except her sisters an answer.

Nesta looks torn between feeling guilty and grateful. “I should be there with you.”

Cassian can’t help but be awed. Nesta, who can’t have dinner without knowing what’s on the menu at least two hours ahead, has no idea what to expect from his friends. And still she’s offering to face them with him.

He takes her hand and runs a soothing thumb down her racing pulse, then her sweaty palm. “Go back inside,” he tells her, placing a kiss on her fingers. “I’ll find you when I’m done.” He might put a little sensual promise into his words to ease the nerves lacing her body, but he doesn’t know if it helps. She nods and stalks off.

Cassian stays where he is and leans his arms against the wooden balcony railing, staring into the clear night while the rest of the guests slowly trail back into the warmth of the cabin. He and Nesta will have to clean up this whole mess of confetti and streamers tomorrow, and they’ll have to do something about the new wine stain he spotted earlier on the couch—

Feyre storms up to him first. “How long?” she demands.

He looks sidelong at her. “How long, what?”

“How long have you had feelings for my sister?” Her cheeks are flushed red, either from the cold or rage Cassian can’t tell. This isn’t the question he expected from her.

“Since the day you told me to pick her up from the middle of the woods,” he answers honestly.

Feyre turns impossibly redder. “And how long have you been together?”

“Since Thanksgiving.”

Feyre looks seconds away from attacking him. “I trusted you—”

“Darling.” Rhys has come up behind her, Mor and Elain trailing him. Azriel watches coolly from the door, likely only there to see the drama unfold.

Rhys puts a hand on Feyre’s back, and she ignores it. “I trusted you to take care of her, to live with her, because I knew you would never take advantage of her like that. Because I believed you wouldn’t do exactly what you’ve just done,” she seethes at him.

Cassian stares in disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about right now?”

“I’m talking about how you’ve had a hard-on for Nesta this whole time, in close quarters with her, and never thought it was worth mentioning to me.”

“I share one kiss with my girlfriend and that’s what you jump to? That I preyed on your adult sister? You really have no other questions for me?” His voice raises with every sentence, and a few guests lingering on the ground below glance up toward the balcony.

“What else am I supposed to believe?” She’s nearly shouting at him. “You didn’t tell me anything. You lied to me, knowing that Nesta is—Nesta.”

“For good fucking reason, I’m starting to see.”

“Cassian,” Rhysand says warningly.

Cassian didn’t hear him. “What is your real problem with Nesta, Feyre? Where is the problem in me loving her and her loving me? Do you think she’s incapable of making decisions for herself, or is this another thing where you’re jealous she has a life outside of you?”

“That is not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” he demands.

“You know!” She stabs a finger at his chest, chin quivering. “You know how she is, how she feels and sees things differently than most people, and how her history with men isn’t great. And you still thought it was okay to drag her into a relationship. Why else wouldn’t you tell anyone about it, if you didn’t feel it was wrong?”

Cassian’s face turns colder than the frozen air around them. “I don’t know who you’re talking about right now, but it isn’t your sister,” he says. “It’s not my fault if you don’t know her the way you thought you did. Take that up with her, not me.”

Feyre’s breath steams in the air before her. “I will,” she fumes. She spins on her heel to leave, but Cassian catches her by the wrist.

“After you cool down,” he demands. “You’re not ruining her night.”

Feyre stares him down for a long moment, and eventually shakes his hand off her wrist. She walks back inside, waving Rhys away when he tries to follow. Elain, who Cassian forgot was there, stares at him before going inside as well.

Rhysand turns back to Cassian with ice in his violet eyes.

“Don’t start,” Cassian says, tired. “She doesn’t need you fighting her battles for her.”

“That’s not what I was going to talk about,” he says. “You lied to us.”

Mor bundles deeper into her white coat. “You really love her?” she says quietly.

Azriel steps into their little circle beside Cassian without saying a word. Supporting Cassian in silence.

“I liked having something I didn’t have to share with everyone,” Cassian says, the admission feeling heavy on his tongue. “And I don’t regret it. It was nice while it lasted.”

“I think I’m losing my mind,” Mor mutters.

“So,” Rhys gestures at the spot where Cassian and Nesta kissed, “that’s it? You’re dating Feyre’s sister now, with nothing else to say?”

“This isn’t a damn group decision,” Cassian grits.

“That’s not what we meant,” says Mor. “But you’ve been hiding an entire girlfriend up here for months. We have questions.”

“Then I’ll hold a Q&A session later,” he says sardonically. “But since we’re on the topic of Nesta, I do have something to say.”

Mor and Rhys look taken aback.

Cassian straightens up. “You don’t have to like her. You definitely don’t have to be friends with her. But I expect all of you to respect her, even Amren. If it’s not something you would say out loud about Feyre or Elain, then it won’t be something you say about Nesta. You will be on your best behavior around her, and you will not upset or scare her away. Is that clear?”

Az snorts. “Yes, General.”

Cassian cuts a sharp look in his direction. “That applies to you, too. Don’t toy around with her.”

Az grows solemn and nods.

“Is that it?” Mor raises a brow.

“You might find it harder than you think.”

She scoffs. “Well, if I had known I was bitching about your girlfriend this entire time…”

“You wouldn’t have changed,” Azriel interjects. “You’d be even worse.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever. I can play nice.”

Cassian looks to Rhys.

“I haven’t spoken a word to her in years,” Rhys grumbles.

“You will respect her, even when she’s not in the room.” He doubts Nesta will be happy to have shit talked about her when she isn’t in a sex-driven haze.

Rhys looks away. “I can’t believe you even have to ask me such a thing,” he mutters. “She’s with you now, of course I’ll lay off her.”

“And you’ll stay out of the sisters’ issues,” Cassian adds.

Rhys smiles wryly. “When did we switch jobs? You want to be boss now or something?”

“If we’re done here, can we go the fuck inside?” Mor groans. “I’m freezing. And I’m holding you to that Q&A session.” She points a finger at Cassian.

He allows himself to grin, feeling truly light for the first time in months. It isn’t a band-aid solution to everything, but it’s better than lying to his family for the rest of his life. Mor and Az head back inside, and Cassian and Rhys trail them. It’s not until Cassian reaches the door that he remembers—

“What was it you wanted to tell me earlier?” He turns to Rhys.

Rhys looks startled, then uncomfortable. “I don’t think it’s the right time for it anymore. You might not want to hear it at all.”

Well, now Cassian’s curious. “Just tell me. I want to know.”

Rhys holds in a sigh. “Fine. Let’s talk inside.”

***

It’s almost two in the morning when the last guest goes home, and Feyre has no excuse left to idle around.

She finds Nesta in the kitchen doing dishes, her back turned to Feyre. Her heels have been discarded, her hair is tied up out of her face, and her sequined dress sleeves are pushed up her arms so they don’t get wet. She looks so… at home. Like this kitchen and the rest of the cabin is undeniably hers.

It reminds Feyre that it wasn’t Cassian kissing Nesta that felt like a punch to the throat. It was when Feyre saw Nesta break away, smile brightly, and kiss him back.

Feyre carefully approaches the island and clears her throat. Nesta doesn’t hear her over the sound of running water. Feyre tries again harder, but swallows the wrong way and ends up in a coughing fit.

That gets Nesta’s attention. She spins around to find Feyre hacking like an idiot, and shuts the tap off. “What’s wrong with you?” she says.

Feyre coughs one final time, her throat scratchy now. “Water. I need water.”

Nesta’s eyes nearly roll out of her head, but she grabs a clean glass and fills it up, handing it to Feyre.

Feyre chugs half the glass and sets it down with an exhale. “I was trying to say,” she starts after an awkward moment, “that you look very settled here.”

“I am,” Nesta says without pause.

“And you’ve probably heard about my—argument with Cassian by now.” Cassian, who is no longer just Feyre’s friend, but Nesta’s boyfriend. Someone Nesta loves, if Feyre heard correctly in her fury.

“Unfortunately, wooden walls carry sound pretty far.” That’s all Nesta bothers to say before turning the sink on again, resuming her dishwashing.

Feyre used to think Nesta’s lack of words meant she had nothing to say. Now she suspects there’s a storm of words raging in Nesta’s head. Too many words to even try to string together coherently, so she stays silent instead.

“I wanted to ask for your side of the story,” Feyre says. “I didn’t even think to consider your feelings before I went off at Cassian, and I might have made—some assumptions.”

“You implied that I was too weak-minded to make decisions for myself and that Cassian took advantage of my weaknesses to get me into his bed.” Nesta’s tone is flat, her eyes on the plate she’s scrubbing.

Feyre winces when she hears it out loud. “Yes, I did that.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” Nesta says. “You clearly have no problem believing what you already believe.”

“I can’t know how you feel about things if you never tell me, Nesta,” Feyre tries to defend. “I’ve been going off my assumptions for years because you don’t share anything about yourself. If I had misconceptions about you, you never corrected them.”

“And that’s an excuse to not ask me about my feelings? To not come to me when you have concerns about my life?”

“I’m coming to you now,” Feyre says. “That’s the whole point.”

When Nesta doesn’t respond, Feyre adds, “I know that we don’t know how to communicate without offending each other. So for five minutes can we just put the defensiveness aside and talk about this?”

“I don’t know what there is to talk about.” Nesta rinses the last glass and shuts the water off, going to dry her hands on a towel.

“I’ll start then: Why didn’t you tell me about you and Cassian?”

Nesta stares at the countertop. “If I answer that question honestly, you’ll call me cruel.”

Feyre hides her flinch, and decides she doesn’t need to hear the answer. Deep down, she probably already knows it. “Alright. When did you start liking him as more than a friend?”

“October. Do you want cake?” Nesta turns toward the fridge in search of dessert.

“I’m good,” Feyre says. “How did you—fall for him?” She’s had all night to think about these questions, but it still sounds impossible saying it out loud. Like two worlds colliding in the weirdest way.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Feyre repeated for the third time that night, sequestered with Elain touching up her makeup in one of the bathrooms. “Does it make sense to you?”

“I can see it,” Elain said flatly. “Nesta’s emotional, and Cassian’s emotionally intelligent. If anyone could put in the work to understand her, it’s him.”

Elain didn’t show a hint of feeling since she watched Cassian sweep Nesta into his arms and kiss her like a hero from a romance novel. When Feyre later asked Elain if she wanted to talk to Nesta with her, she curtly refused and proceeded to leave the party early.

Now, Nesta busies herself by digging through the fridge. “He’s kind. He’s unfaltering. He’s easy to talk to. It doesn’t hurt that he’s hot.”

“Is that it?”

Nesta shuts the fridge, cake in hand. “Why don’t you ask what you really want to ask, Feyre?” She yanks a drawer open with a little too much force and grabs a fork.

This, Feyre hasn’t practiced for. But she needs to find a way to voice it. “I never knew… after Tomas, I didn’t think you would trust a man again. I didn’t trust a man with you again.”

Nesta whips her head to glare at Feyre, and Feyre shrinks away from her near-feral stare. She spoke too much. She fucked it up already.

“What do you know about Tomas?” Nesta says lowly.

“It doesn’t take a genius to know that Tomas was shit. I never liked him. I was so happy when you left him.”

“And what?” Nesta drops the cake onto the island with a thump. “You thought he broke me? You thought I’d never find love again?”

Feyre looks down, playing with her nails. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe, Nesta,” she says quietly.

“And I’m trying to tell you I don’t need your protection. I never did. You do not get to assume what I’m fit for and what I’m not. You do not get to pretend to know me when you’ve never made an effort to understand me.”

“Made an effort?” Feyre can’t believe Nesta’s words. “All I’ve ever done my whole life is make an effort—to talk to you, to be close with you.”

“No,” she says firmly. “You only ever tried to make me do things your way. You wanted me to be more like you. I always came over to your place, I always participated in your parties, I always did the things you wanted to do even when I hated it, because that was me making an effort for you.”

The words take a long time to sink in. Feyre finally swallows. “Do you always have to be so cruel?”

“I’m not being cruel. This is just me. The person you see is the person Cassian fell in love with, and he likes me just fine. You’re the one who’s never liked me.” Nesta’s chest is heaving. “Yes, I am well aware of my flaws, and yes, I’m putting in the work to get past them. That’s what therapy is for. But until you look at your own issues instead of being personally offended by mine all the time, I can’t speak to you without wanting to scream.” She’s trembling as if she’s holding in a shriek right now. “I can’t keep bearing the weight of it—of our past, of everything you want that I can’t give. You won’t let me move away from it.”

Her words ring in the silence.

Feyre’s face is cold, and she touches it to find tears on her cheeks. “I didn’t know…” She blinks, looking away. She suddenly wants to be anywhere else but here, where all she’s good for is torturing her sister. But Feyre is twenty-one years old and she’s getting too old to keep this hateful thing between her and Nesta alive. She reaches for the cake and takes off the lid. “Get me another fork,” she sniffs through tears.

Nesta stares at her for a long moment, then does what she asked. Feyre wipes her eyes.

They sit across from each other at the island and dig in without bothering to get plates. Feyre takes a bite and makes a face at the sour taste, nearly spitting it out. “What is this, lemon?”

“Yes,” Nesta says, stabbing her fork into the cake. “Lemon is for guests.”

“Implying you have different types of cake lying around?” She points to the fridge.

“Chocolate is for Cassian. You can’t have it.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Shared cake, Feyre thinks. How long until they sign up for coinsurance?

They eat in silence for a few minutes, but Feyre’s mind whirls the entire time. She has to speak first, but she doesn’t know where to start.

The beginning might be good.

“I…” she speaks hesitantly, “didn’t mean to make you feel responsible for the past. That wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

Nesta doesn’t look comforted by her words. “You think Dad wouldn’t have let us all die in our pile of bills if you hadn’t stepped up?”

True. Feyre used to drown in bitterness over it: working forty hours a week and then some just to keep the family alive, and receiving nothing in return. While Nesta escaped to the woods to read all day and Elain flirted with boys in mall parking lots, Feyre carried the brunt of reality on her shoulders. It wasn’t until their father died and she got out of that town that she realized—if it was anybody’s fault, it was his.

“I think we all did our best to survive,” Feyre says. “Especially you. But if it’s moving away from me and Elain that you want, I can’t give it to you.”

Nesta looks unsurprised. Before she can argue, Feyre states firmly, “I can do things your way. I can come to you. We can learn to meet each other halfway.”

“Then you’ll be disappointed when, even after all that work, I still find you annoying as fuck.”

Feyre actually laughs. The sentiment still stings, but… “We’ll just have to see how it goes.” But what if Nesta never does like her? The thought nags. What will she do then?

Nesta narrows her eyes at Feyre. “And what about Elain?”

Her absence in the kitchen suddenly feels pointed. Feyre twirls her fork. “We’re not as close as you think, you know. I don’t always know what she’s feeling. You might have to figure her out on your own.”

Nesta looks like she would rather die.

A knock sounds at one of the kitchen entryways. Feyre turns to see Cassian leaning against the wall, looking warily between the two sisters. “I hate to interrupt,” he says, “but can I see Nesta now?”

It still startles Feyre: he’s here for Nesta, not her. That’ll definitely take some time to get used to.

“For sure,” Feyre says, getting up from her seat. She looks back at Nesta, wondering about how much more they need to say to each other…

From the look on Nesta’s face, they’ve done enough for tonight. “I’ll be calling, then,” Feyre says.

“Can’t promise I’ll answer,” Nesta replies.

Of course. Feyre turns on her heel to leave, but stops before Cassian for a brief moment. “I’m so sorry.” The words flow a lot more easier with him than they would with Nesta. “I said some terrible things outside—please forgive me.” She’s genuinely terrified at the idea of losing Cassian over her battle with her sister.

Cassian smiles down at her, not his usual grin but something gentler, more understanding. “There’s nothing to worry about.” His eyes dart to Nesta for confirmation of this, and he must like whatever he sees, because he looks back at Feyre and ruffles her hair. “Glad you’re feeling better, kid.”

***

Once Feyre leaves and Cassian can hear her and Rhys getting ready for the limo drive back home, he finally allows himself to approach Nesta at the island. Rounding the counter to where she sits, he wraps her into a hug.

For once, Nesta doesn’t question his unsolicited affection. She leans in and wraps her own arms around his torso, resting her head against his stomach. “Where were you this whole time?” Her voice is muffled in his shirt.

“Nowhere,” he plays off easily. “Just talking to Rhys about work stuff.”

The conversation lasted much longer than Cassian would have preferred, but by the end of it Cassian’s stance was firm.

“It’s a year-long project based in Milan. It would technically be a promotion for you, and you would work on-site the whole time. I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to get out of the cabin,” Rhys said.

“By sending me out of the country?” Cassian scoffed.

“With the way you’ve been avoiding us lately—I know now that it was about Nesta, but when I heard about the position, you were the first person to come to mind. Taking time to yourself, traveling on your own, making a mark without having your entire family attached to your hip… It sounded like something you needed, so I recommended you for the job.”

Rhys was scarily accurate, because those were all things that Cassian wanted. He and Nesta made lists about places they wanted to visit all the time. But doing it like this?

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to Italy.”

Rhys looked away. “That’s what I thought you’d say. You’re still in the honeymoon phase with Nesta.”

“Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t go. A year away from home? What are you thinking?”

Rhys raised his hands in defense. “Look, you don’t have to go. I can give the position away to someone else. But you’re the most qualified and deserving person on the team and we both know it.”

Even now, Cassian knows it. Unfortunately for Rhys, that won’t get his answer to change.

He smiles down to where Nesta hides in his arms, visibly exhausted after the night she’s had. “How did your talk with Feyre go?” he has to ask.

“I thought I was being pretty generous. I didn’t even call her a hypocrite for half the things I wanted to.”

“Does that mean it went well?”

Nesta sighs against his chest. “I think we reached some sort of understanding. Though I’m not sure if that makes me a bad person, for giving her hope of a better relationship between us.”

“I think it makes you a strong person,” Cassian says honestly.

“And what if I can’t deliver?”

“You can’t find out until you try.”

Nesta looks up to meet his eyes, and for a short second he’s overwhelmed by need. “Say it again,” he breathes.

Her brows furrow. “Say what?”

“What you said in the truck. I need to hear it again.”

“Oh, that.” She looks embarrassed. “Iloveyou,” she mutters quickly.

He pokes her. “Say it like you mean it, not like you’re announcing you have syphilis.”

She glares, but clears her throat and gets serious. “Cassian. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

His heartbeat stutters at the earnestness on her face. “Since when?” His lips spread into a grin.

Her face drops. “Yeah, this is really putting a damper on my feelings right now.” Nesta starts to squirm out of his arms.

“No, wait—” He tries to stop her.

“I’ll help you clean in the morning, okay?” She yawns, heading for the exit. “Good night, babe.”

“I was kidding—” He starts to follow after her, shouting, “Where are you going?”

***

Nesta wakes late the next morning with a solid warmth pressed against her back. For a second, it disorients her. She never wakes up before Cassian.

But she turns around and there he is, dead asleep while the sun is already high in the sky.

She reaches up on instinct to brush his silken hair out of his face. He’ll be pissed he missed his six a.m. workout, New Year’s Day be damned.

Putting on her glasses from the nightstand, Nesta carefully eases out of bed and crosses the room to pull the curtains shut over the wall of windows. When she’s satisfied that the room is dark enough, she tiptoes out of it.

The downstairs is still a mess from last night. Nesta wrinkles her nose at the sight of it. Discarded champagne glasses scatter the living and dining areas, and whoever snuck in those damn confetti poppers left a mess on the hardwood floors. Platters of long since finished food lie on random surfaces.

“Even the rich and sophisticated party like pigs,” she mutters to herself, stepping over a discarded throw pillow to reach the kitchen. She needs coffee and a hose to scrub this place down—

“Good morning.”

Nesta yelps, spinning toward the figure near the sink she didn’t see while coming in. “Fucking Christ!”

Azriel doesn’t blink, holding an apple in one hand and a paring knife in the other. “We’re out of coffee.” He looks like he just rolled out of bed, sweatpants and all.

“What are you doing here?” Nesta demands. “Where did you come from?”

“Ah, about that,” he says casually. “I never left.”

“You slept here?”

“Do you have breakfast? Because there isn’t even a box of cereal in this place.”

“Azriel,” Nesta forces his name out. “Start answering my questions.”

He has the decency to look sorry and blushes. “I needed some time away from Velaris. I figured the cabin would be empty since you moved out and I brought some of my stuff over last night.”

“So when I found you upstairs…?”

“I was staking out a room to stay in.”

Nesta has so many questions she almost forgets to be upset. But it’s hard not to be upset when she’s standing in front of a near-stranger in only Cassian’s shirt. “Does Cassian know about this?”

Azriel carves out an apple slice and shrugs dismissively. “He will soon.”

Her stomach churns with familiar anxiety. “But you can’t—” She wrings the shirt she’s wearing in her hands. “You can’t do this.”

“Why not? It’s my brother’s place.” His eyes dare her to disagree. “In my defense, I didn’t think you’d be living here when I decided to move in.”

“I don’t live here,” she says. In fact, she’s supposed to return to her apartment tomorrow. “But I spend a lot of time here and I didn’t get to prepare for—” she waves her hands in Azriel’s direction, “you.” It’s a wrench thrown in the gears of Nesta’s carefully calculated life.

Azriel raises a dark brow. “Do you need to prepare for me?” He pushes an apple slice into his mouth.

“Yes!” This is a change she had no say in, and those are the worst kind of changes.

Azriel puts the apple and knife down and leans against the counter. “Prepare for me, then.”

“What?”

“Before Cassian gets up, take the time to get used to the fact that I’m going to be around for the next few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Nesta pales.

“A month, tops,” he promises. When Nesta doesn’t look reassured, he says quietly, “Go on. Do what you need to do to get comfortable.”

“But I barely know you,” she says. Well, Nesta knows Azriel is the pretty brother and the quiet brother, but now she’s starting to think he’s also the weird brother.

That’s three things they have in common, at least.

“Uh...what do you want to know?” He tries to sound nice, inviting. Nesta uses that awkward tone all the time.

It actually brings her some semblance of comfort. She sits down carefully on a barstool and asks, “Why are you really here?”

“I’m avoiding someone,” he answers without hesitation.

“Who?”

“Nobody of interest to you.” They’re doing rapid fire mode, then.

“Do you know how to cook?” she says.

“No. Do you?”

“No.” A loss on both parts. “What are you good at?”

“Minding my business.”

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “Like you were minding your business outside Cassian’s room last night?”

He makes the slightest wince. “That was an unfortunate incident where I toyed with you. It won’t happen again.”

She doesn’t know why, but she believes him.

“What won’t happen again?”

Nesta turns to find Cassian trudging into the kitchen, looking only half-awake. He notices Azriel. “Oh, hey bro.”

Azriel nods. “Hey.”

Cassian is about to drop a kiss onto Nesta’s head when he freezes. “Wait.” The look on his face makes Nesta forget her earlier discomfort; she laughs out loud.

Peering all the way up at him from her seat, she says, “Your brother is moving in. I am reacting to this like a well-adjusted human being.”

He raises his brows. “Are you now?”

“I didn’t freak out one bit,” she says, trying to spare Azriel from her boyfriend’s overprotective wrath. Cassian doesn’t buy it.

He looks at Azriel and tilts his head toward the living room. “You wanna talk?” He leaves before the other man can answer.

Nesta shrugs apologetically at Azriel’s stunned face. “I did my best. He’s going to give you a lecture on boundaries now.”

“No, he’s not,” Azriel grumbles as he starts following after Cassian. “He’s going to beat my ass.”

***

a/n: when in doubt, write a flashback scene in italics

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13

[apparentlyaswarmofbees]

The Obey Me Brothers and Undatables vs An Insect/Arachnid Loving MC

I find it amazing how many people find it disturbing that I just love some insects and arachnids (not more than birds but still, insects can be both cute and cool even when they manage to terrify me so I can't help but love them lmao).

It's so cool how insects are actually the most dominant species in the world even before humanity existed and will most likely still be even after humanity ceases to exist, of course some of them actualy spread disease and such but it's not all of them and the mosquitoes that do spread it are females and they are just sucking your blood to feed their babies and the males like flowers over your blood, I actually don't like all spiders but I love tarantulas with all my heart although I can't say the same for wasps, they are evil but they can be so cool I have so many mixed feelings and cockroaches can be so adorable specially the forest/wild ones, have you ever seen them eat fruits??? They are so cute! And don't even get me started on how a d o r a b l e beetles are-

.

Lucifer vs Ladybug

Taking strolls in the Castle's garden when you are accompaning Lucifer in his work are very common.

Just taking a fresh breath of the Devildom's air in between breaks with you by his side powers him up like crazy.

Now that being said, he doesn't really appreciate losing your attention to a little, colorful, bug crawling on one of the flowers in said garden.

"Lucifer, look! It's a ladybug! It's so different from the human world!"

That is true, ladybugs in hell were brighter in color and had a toxin in their bodies that- Oh wait

"Don't touch it!" Lucifer grabbed your hand in realization "haven't you learned anything about bright colors in nature? The toxin in their bodies can melt your skin off!"

He really didn't expect your eyes to get even more shiny.

"Ladybugs in Devildom are both bright and dangerous??!! I'm so jealous!"

With that, he became both exasperated and more in love with you.

Does this have a relation to the fact that you love him and his brothers even thought they are demons?

He is definetelly giving you a brooch in the shape of a ladybug later

.

Mammon vs Cockroach

If you think this man didn't scream like a plate being scratched with a fork when he saw a cockroach in your bedroom, you are wrong.

I mean, okay, he was on the floor and the thing just decided to crawl up to his head out of nowhere.

He jumped over the table so fast it probably has beaten a world record.

"Aw! It's a baby cockroach!"

It's true, it was very small compared to adult ones, but Mammon didn't care.

"STOP FAWNIN' OVER THOSE CREATURES FOR ONCE AND KILL IT ALREADY!!"

And of course instead of killing it you just raise your eyebrown at him while scooping the thing up with a paper.

And of course you needed to bring it really close to him just to watch him squirm before you decide throw it out of your bedroom's window.

He definetelly will ask you to wash your hands before comforting him even if you didn't even touch the cockroach directly.

.

Leviathan vs Dragonfly

You cannot tell me dragonflies in Devildom are actually very few and actually have the size of a small dragon.

It all happened on the day you and Levi got lost in the forest searching for a raven that stole his just purchased phone charm of a game that he was currently addicted to.

Both of you were looking for a way out when you heard an extremelly loud buzzing noise from somewhere in the woods.

Of course both of you followed the sound because first, you just know that must be one big ass insect since it sounded almost like a helicopter and you had to see it, and second, Levi suddenly forgot all about the charm (and being lost) and started rambling about how 'it couldn't be! Is it really-!'

And that is how you guys found his new Henry.

A giant, navy blue, shiny dragonfly, that was currently eating the Raven you and Levi were searching for.

Let's just say Levi got his charm back and both of you got a free ride to the House of Lamentation.

.

Satan vs Spiders

Where there are old books, there are spider webs, and where there are spider webs, there's at least a 50% chance there are spiders in there.

So you can say Satan was quite familiar with the eight legged creatures, although he never really paid them much attention.

That is until he found they were of your interest.

You will never see someone start to give spider names, treat them with courtesy and have small talks with them faster than with this man.

Getting a book from the House of Lamentation's library and there's a web in the way along with a resident spider? "Excuse me, I will have to disturb you a little, I hope you don't mind a bit of damage to your home"

He is reading and suddenly sees a spider dangling down from a web string right besides him? He is definetelly letting it land on his hand just so that he can show it to you.

One day he even choses to read a book in his berdoom that a tiny spider was standing on. The sight of the tiny thing crawling around the pages as he reads it and explains some things out loud is so precious to see.

.

Asmodeus vs Scorpions

Of course, what would suit the Lust Demon better than his own patron?

That is until you teach him that there are more than just one type of scorpion, and there is one type that has really big claws and a thinner tail that are usually pretty big in size.

Why would learning that be a bad thing, you ask? Instead of stinging its food, it actually grabs it like a crab.

So yes, the day Asmo held one and didn't use his charms, it pinched him.

Needless to say, it was chaotic.

Leaving the fact he is never approaching those kinds of scorpions ever again, he coos a lot at you while you coo at the small scorpions.

If you tell him the fact that they are his patron just makes you love him more, he will be so happy he will be squealing for the next 5 minutes.

He has definetelly taken a few dozens, of pictures for you while holding one or more scorpions.

His followers in the devilgram were surprised at how even while holding that thing, Asmo still looked amazing.

Scorpions definetelly became sensation in Devildom after that.

.

Beelzebub vs Flies

Again, nothing better than his own patron.

If he didn't have to swat them off his food that is.

He has definetelly eaten some accidently.

"Look! I managed to make it crawl up to my finger without scaring it!" you say.

"That is cool. But you should probably wash your hand." He replies.

He's right, wash your hands if you ever grab onto flies.

He finds it really cute that you like insects, and it makes him tingly on the inside when he remembers that his symbolic creature is an insect itself.

Don't hold back on asking him to change into his demon form more often, he is very happy to do it.

He starts paying more attention to insects and flies in general after he finds out how much you love them.

How big their are, their color, where he saw them, what were they doing, if they tasted good.

And then he proceeds to tell you all about it.

He is very cute.

.

Belphegor vs Butterflies

It's not that he attracts butterflies, no. But he actually likes them, finds them cool even.

Did you know some butterflies disguise as another type butterfly because that type is actually not very tasty to eat so the animals stay away from them?

And how many of them have patterns on their wings that look a lot like Owls and again, it makes animals stay away from them?

And the whole symbolism of life, death and rebirth around them? And the fact that the larvae eating everything around them reminds him a lot of Beel?

Belphie definetelly likes butterflies and you cannot tell me otherwise.

So when he finds out you love insects? Oh he is definetelly taking you to the best butterfly watching spot either in the Devildom or the Human World.

It's specially cute when he falls asleep and one lands on his face.

He definetelly had a minor heart attack when he woke up to the sight its wings but he will never admit it.

Also definetelly grabs it and puts it on you instead.

It's counterproductive as you end up looking too cute for him to handle.

.

Solomon vs Beetles

I mean beetle fights.

You thought you liked insects, just wait until you see this man cheering on a beetle like an excited kid.

Also finds it hilarious when one just yeets the other away.

And because now you are there to feed more into his love for beetles, one day he casts a spell on two of them to make them big enough to ride and just showed up outside your window like:

"No time to explain, get in the beetle"

Because of safety measures, no, you guys didn't have a giant beetle fight.

But you did ride them around the Devildom forest at 2am.

You thought it would be an insane ride with lots of adventures

But you guys just ended up star gazing while laying on them.

He forgot to turn them back to their original size and they scared a few of the residents of Devildom.

.

Simeon vs Mantis

Warning: it's a big goreish

When you introduced the praying mantis specifically to Simeon, he was immediatelly in awe.

And then you proceeded to show him how they can have many shapes and forms, be it as leafs, tree branches, and others.

And he was so intrigued!

But then you gave him the more, specific details.

Like how they can feast on their prey while they are still alive.

And how it actually can attack small birds such as humming birds, eating their brain tissue through their eyes.

And how the females practice a cannibalism ritual, feasting on their partners after mating.

That's when his writer self came to light.

What I mean is, he was now both horrified and extremelly inspired.

Simeon can be scary sometimes.

.

Diavolo vs Ants

If you can find ants in every nook and crany around the world, you cannot tell me you can't find them in hell.

If they are able to travel the sea just by being taken along with baggage on accident, they have definetelly come to hell the same way, specially black crazy ants.

So honestly, I wouldn't find it surprising that Diavolo would have at least one big colony of ants he takes care of.

But he didn't have it until you pointed out why ants were awesome to him.

"They don't eat the leafs, they are farmers and what they eat is the other tiny creatures that decompose the leafs" "they can go to extreme lenghts to find their food and they have a real good teamwork, often they don't eat right away but instead bring the food back to the colony to feed the young" "Some ants that live in tropical weather that rains a lot, such as the amazon, can swim! And they do it together in big, ant, nests!"

Needless to say, he was intrigued.

Such tiny creatures are able to eat other insects much bigger than them? And they love sweets?

They actually like their homes clean and throw their trash into the very corner of their enclosure? Their bite can actually hurt a lot even to creatures gigantic copared to their size such as humans??

He had his own personal colony the very next day.

.

Barbatos vs Bees

This man definetelly has his own share of appreciation for bees even before you told him you like insects.

They are very good helpers in the garden, their honey can be used on a extremelly big variety of both food and health products along with their wax, and honestly, they're just so fuzzy and cute.

If you want to get a rare laugh or chuckle out of him, make bee movie references.

He will just stop in his tracks and cover his mouth as he tries not to laugh.

You could almost make him spit his drink if you do it while he is drinking something.

And you can't tell me this man can't make bee related puns with a straight face. It's unbeeliveable

Aight, imma head out

.

(This was basically an insect/arachnid appreciation post and I have no regrets)

[onelastbreath-writes]

I Spy

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales/Fem!Reader (AFAB, no y/n)

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Brief mention of bad(abusive/manipulative) parents, general adult topics, swearing.

Summary: You meet a cute guy at a bar, you date, you fall in love, and oops, it turns out you’ve both been lying about your careers. Classified only stays classified until you get assigned a mission together. (SpecOps&Spies, with Young!Frankie)

A/N: Hey guys, I was bad and started another fic. Whoops. This one is for Triple Frontier because I love that soft boi Francisco. The flavour of this fic, the vibe if you will, is basically the spiderman pointing meme. I’ve vaguely set the timeline to like mid-2000s? so I’ll be trying my best to stay true to technology and aesthetic of the era. There was so much denim. Anyways, that means I’m trying to write for about a 27-33 year old Frankie and a similarly aged reader. I don’t see this series being more than a couple chapters at best, so it’ll be short and sweet. Also, like, very little angst if I can help it; I just want this one to be a good, cute, fun read. Hope y’all enjoy! Xoxo

[AO3][Masterlist]

“So, you’re coming out tonight, right? You’re not busy or anything?”

“Please don’t say it like that, you know how busy work actually is. And I’m a grown woman; if I didn’t want to go to a shady dive bar with you and your very loud friends from the office, I’d say so,” You loved your best friend, and you missed spending time together, but you really couldn’t say the same for her co-workers.

You had nothing against the women she worked with, and you found that they were all perfectly lovely and usually quite fun to be around… it was just that when the alcohol came out, the volume control and verbal filters disappeared.

You wouldn’t say that barhopping was what you’d prefer to be doing tonight, along with more or less babysitting your friend and her friends, but you didn’t know when you’d next be able to squeeze in a night off to just hang out and have fun, so this was happening. You would laugh and smile and keep the drunk secretaries from going home with questionable people, and then you would look back on your ladies’ night with fond memories until you could eventually attend another.

You had known when you picked your career that it would be an around-the-clock, all-day, every-day sort of thing. You never deluded yourself into thinking you would have much of a social life or long-term relationships. Most partners, hell even most friends, would have a problem with you jetting off for weekends, or disappearing for days at a time under mountains of paperwork and appointments.

It just made your best friend that much more important to you. You’d met as kids, went through years of school beside each other, hung out, did stupid teenager things and then stupid young adult things together. You’d cried and laughed and fought and made up a million times, you’d gone to different colleges and still kept in touch, moved away, moved back, and you were still going strong. She was your ride-or-die, your anchor and your parachute and everything in between, so if you could use some of your precious, hoarded, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time off to see her, that’s just what you’d do.

“You should take some of that fire, and direct it at your boss. Tell him no for a change. I’d love to see his face at that!” She meant well, always trying to look out for you and your health when it came to your beyond demanding job. You weren’t even allowed to tell her a fraction of what you were doing in your professional life, and she knew it, but that didn’t stop her from being ready to throw fists at your employer at a moment’s notice.

“One does not simply tell the über-rich that they don’t need to fly to Paris, again. Being a PA is a full-time nannying gig, except your charge is an adult who can argue when you say no, and you cannot put them on timeout when they’re being a brat. Where he goes, I go, and unless something drastic happens, it will probably continue on like that for a while.” She laughed at your jokes, and your heart hurt a little less at her glee. You knew she would never give up on you or blame you for your work being unpredictable, but that didn’t make the sting of last-minute cancels and missed outings hurt any less, for either of you.

“But it must be nice, just getting on a plane and going somewhere amazing at the drop of a hat. Travelling the world like a superstar, meeting people, having amazing adventures with mysterious strangers…”

“Easy there, Mamma Mia, your wanderlust is showing. And I’d take you with me in a heartbeat if I could. You were born to be a jetsetter, not to be stuck in this town with nothing but the office cubicle beside you to stare at. And I still think you should apply for one of those immersive culture grants you keep mooning over. They’d be fools not to fund your writing expedition!” She was an incredible person, three full degrees to her name in the time it took a normal student to get one, and a brain that could run miles around the rest of the professionals in her field. But she was tethered to this quiet backwater town, and she wasn’t free to fly like she deserved.

“You know I can’t just… go, like you can. My mom, it’d just break her heart… I don’t want to leave her alone, not after Dad,” You honestly doubted that you’d ever meet a woman more horrible and undeserving of her own daughter’s kindness. Helen was a parasite full of lies and manipulations and greed, and she had attached herself like a bad rash to your friend after she’d chased away the rest of her family members.

Your friend searched for the good in everyone, but you wished she’d stop looking for it at that home.

“You deserve your own happiness and freedom, and she should be encouraging you to spread your wings if and when you’re ready.” Politicking your friend was never something you enjoyed. She was the last person you wanted to use your negotiating credentials and sly subterfuge tactics against, but you wanted, needed, her safety and health more. You considered it almost bribery; dangling her dream future in front of her in exchange of being rid of the garbage in her life.

“Hey now, we’re getting way too deep into sad-drunk night conversations, and this is strictly a happy-fun-drunk night. Please leave all baggage and woes at the door, thank you!” You admitted your defeat and surrendered your verbal power point on Why Helen Needs to Disappear. You would get her next time for sure, give her the accelerant to burn down that bridge. “Anyways, the reason I called was to remind you of our haunt for the night. One of the girls, Kelly, you remember Kelly, found this adorable little hole in the wall. A total boys’ club apparently: darts, pool, sports games on the TV, but Kelly’s sister’s friend’s brother Tyler said the place was a favourite of the local army guys. So, if nothing else, we’ll at least have some hunks to look at for a while. It’ll be great!”

You jotted down the directions to the bar as she listed them, and the time you were expected to arrive there.

“Oh! And wear that cute little blue number you bought last spring; I know you still have it so don’t you dare lie. It makes your ass and legs look divine, and I think you could stand to make a new acquaintance tonight.” That Little Blue Number was buried in the back of your closet where you had hoped it would remain forever, but luck was not on your side tonight it seemed. But it did make you look, and feel, fantastic.  It was just so… breezy. “And heels! Real ones, not your cute little personal assistant kitten heels. Those black strappy ones would work like a dream!” You just sighed dramatically into the receiver and agreed to her demands.

“I’ll let you go now, and yes, I suppose I can be presentable tonight, dress and all. See-ya later!”

---

Hole in the wall was right. This place was basically underground it was so on the D.L. It was warm inside though, and in the middle of autumn with so much skin on display, you could not be more pleased to get away from the chilled outside air.

You would describe the interior as comfortable with a hint of rustic; lots of warm dark wood and low lights, mixed with the soft Latin music crooning in the background and the few patrons’ conversations adding to the ambience.

All in all, it was probably the nicest dive bar you’d been to in your hometown.

Your party was easy to spot where they had claimed a group of pushed together tables towards the far side of the establishment, and you carefully made your way over to them in your tricky high heels.

You said your hellos to returning faces and introduced yourself to the new additions, and accepted the chair you were pointed to and the drink pressed into your hand.

And so, the hours rolled.

You had enjoyed two fruity cocktails and a flaming shot before you called it quits on the alcohol for the night. You still had a few hours to sober up enough to drive home safely, and you would be able to help the girls get to their rides and ways home too. You appreciated having a social drink or two, but you didn’t care for hangovers and would happily take slightly tipsy over party-hard drunk anytime. Plus, your contract stated you were on-call, always, and you could be required to navigate high-stress negotiations at the drop of a hat. It was just better to cut yourself off, then reap the consequences of your actions later.

You tapped your friend’s shoulder as you walked past and leaned over to talk into her ear. “I’m getting some water for the table; do you want anything else?”

“Mmmm, no I think we’re good for now, thanks!” She was plastered already, but she had a huge grin on her face and was laughing at her co-workers’ stories, so you considered it a win of a night. You gave her a pat goodbye and swayed your way to the bar.

But you just were not accounting for the uneven floorboards, or how much your heels affected your currently less than steady equilibrium, and before you could blink you were teetering over into a nasty fall.

“Whoa there, easy does it, muñequita” Arms wrapped around you and pulled you back into a warm chest. “Careful now, don’t go twisting an ankle in those fancy shoes.”

You certainly did not account for the man you turned around to face. Wow.

His hands glided respectfully from where he had caught you around the waist to your still bent and held out elbows, steadying you as you swayed dangerously again.

Warm brown eyes, soft brown curls, and the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. It felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest, and you knew that it wasn’t left over adrenaline from your near wipeout. He was gorgeous and handling you so gently, and you wanted to spend forever in that moment.

“Hey there, palomita, I’m Frankie, can I buy you a drink?”

[Next Part]

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

So I finally started to write another story...

I will try and post weekly, but can’t promise on account of real life and my inability to actually focus on translating what’s in my head onto paper (or screen!)

Getting the courage to post never gets any easier, but here goes. I hope you enjoy this frothy bit of fun. I will also post on AO3.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for being an excellent beta.

Chapter 1: From Airport to Aggravation

Bank holiday crowds, on the whole, are hell.

And this one is rapidly turning into an even deeper level of purgatory. The hottest May for years in Scotland and I’m stuck at Glasgow airport with a dozen women, collectively known as ‘Geillis’s Hen Party Posse’, each displaying varying degrees of inebriation, hangover or general sleep deprivation, and all aiming for the luggage carousel showing the flight from Barcelona. Which apparently is where several hundred other disembarked passengers are also heading.

Eventually, I manage to get a view of the bags and cases slowly making their way around the belt. They’re pretty picked over by this time, apart from the couple of boxes covered in gaffer tape that always seem to be first off a plane—any plane—and last to be collected. They’re always there, on every flight. Why is that?

I pause from my musings to wave frantically at Geillis, who now has a trolley and is clearing a path straight towards me.

“I got us a trolley.” she informs me, stating the obvious. “I thought it’d be easier. Have ye seen ours yet, Claire? I canna see the others. They must have already gone through.”

“No,” I answer, keeping my eyes firmly on the little hatch, willing our bags to appear. All I want is to go home, put my sleep mask on and try and get some sleep. Three days in Barcelona celebrating Geillis’s forthcoming nuptials have worn me out, and, I glance at my watch, I am due in theatre in approximately seventeen hours time.

"It's there, it's there," Geillis points excitedly at the neon pink and green leopard print bag making its way towards us.

She makes a grab for it as I continue to look for my bag. Predictably, it’s one of the last ones on the carousel. I recognise it immediately from the piece of red gift ribbon tied to the handle of the plain black Samsonite. I load it onto the trolley and Geillis and I head through customs to join the rest of the posse.

We say our goodbyes loudly, with much hugging and kisses. A stranger viewing this scene might imagine we won’t be seeing each other again for weeks or even months. In truth, I’ll be seeing most of them in the next week or so at the hospital as our schedules coincide.

“Shall we two get a taxi, then?” Geillis asks me.

I start to answer as my mobile pings — a text from Frank...very nice, very caring, very predictable.

Darling, it’s been a long three days without you. I am ready to collect you from the airport if you would like. If not, might I see you later this evening? xxx

And that is very clearly Frank. Correct grammar and punctuation, even on his texts. I shake my head as if to drive away my inner bitch and pretend I haven’t read it. I will respond, of course, just later when I’m back at home.

So, I smile at Geillis and agree. “Of course, we can go halves.”

***********

As I walk into my flat, the peace and quiet and sheer bloody calm wraps itself around me like a swaddling cloth. It’s blissfully cool too, with all the shutters closed.

It’s not that I didn’t have a good time in Barcelona. It was actually great. But being in the company of others twenty four hours a day is wearing, much as I love them. And we all had to do everything together. No sneaking off for a solitary walk, or escaping to bed for a little siesta.

I deposit my suitcase by the bedroom door, slip off my converse, pour myself a glass of orange juice, settle down on the sofa and figure out how best to tell Frank not tonight without offending him.

Frank, Sorry but tonight isn’t —

I delete and try again.

Thanks for the offer to pick me up. I was already in the taxi when I got it. Can we give tonight a miss? Theatre in the morning and I’m knackered totally exhausted. You know what Geillis is like. Speak tomorrow, I promise. C

Frank knows what Geillis is like. Frank thinks Geillis is a bad influence on me, with her larger than life personality and wild ideas. I think Frank doesn’t really know me at all if he believes I can be influenced like that. I hang out with Geillis and my friends because they’re fun and we laugh… a lot.

Without realising, I feel my shoulder muscles relax as soon as I’ve sent the message. These are not good signs for my relationship with Frank. He’s investing far more into ‘us’ than I am willing to do. But as long as I’m honest with him…

There are advantages to being with Frank, of course. He’s punctual, very organised and a proficient and considerate lover. He always makes sure I come, even if I sometimes...er… exaggerate my reactions to hurry things along. So much for honesty, then.

I finish my orange juice and plan my evening. Four things to do - unpack, grab some food, shower and sleep. Not even going to wash my hair. That would really be too much effort, struggling with my untameable mane, and it’s going to be stuck under a surgical cap for most of tomorrow anyway.

It takes a bit of effort to actually move from the sofa. I could quite happily fall asleep there. But then I’d wake up in the middle of the night—starving hungry and still smelling of sweaty airports. Reluctantly, I haul myself into a vertical position and head for my bedroom picking up my suitcase en route.

Opening the suitcase, I am not greeted with the expected haphazard mass of sun dresses, t shirts and shorts—all with the evocative aroma of Hawaiian Tropic—but a layer of white dress shirts, immaculately folded and the faint scent of a musky cologne.

Shit, shit, shit!! Some else has walked off with my black samsonite with the red ribbon on the handle. My evening plans are rapidly going awry. I delve into my handbag praying that I kept my boarding pass with the sticky bar code luggage receipt. The relief when I find it lurking in the bottom of my bag is immense. Quickly I google the airline lost baggage number and dial.

After a few bars of some god awful plinky plinky hold music, I hear a recorded message. “Your call is important to us, please hold. Your call is important to us, please hold.”

Good to know, then back to the plinky plinky before another message. “The office you are trying to reach is now closed. Please try again during office hours nine am to five thirty. Thank you.”

“If my call is so important to you, why is no one there at six o’clock?” I yell down the phone, but the plinky plinky ignores me and continues its irritating melody.

I sigh. I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow morning to sort this out. Besides, by nine am tomorrow morning, I will be somewhat unavailable - reshaping the hip bone of a seven year old boy. So, I have no alternative. I will have to have a bit of a dig around this stranger’s suitcase, looking for any clue or contact details.

As I start to have a feel around, it occurs to me that some stranger might, at this very moment, be doing exactly the same thing — having a poke around my suitcase in the hope of finding my details. No doubt judging me based on my choice of holiday attire.  And, I suddenly realise, his judgement may well be coloured by the discovery of some items of a more adult nature.

I say ‘he’, based on the XL white shirts, the pair of battered jeans and faded Scotland rugby shirt, but I could be wrong. I don’t have to dig any further into the case as I spy, in a mesh pocket, a neat rectangle of card with a name — James Fraser — a mobile number and an email address.

Relief sweeps over me. Perhaps we can get this all sorted tonight. Unless this James Fraser lives miles away and was just passing through Glasgow on his way to, say, the Outer Hebrides. That could be a whole other level of problem.

I quickly reach for my phone. Another message from Frank awaits.

Are you sure, darling? I’m looking forward to seeing you. Would tomorrow evening work for you?

I ignore it for the moment. Let me sort my luggage issue out first.

I dial the number on the card and begin to pace around my bedroom as it rings and rings. I am just about to give up when, thankfully, it’s answered.

“Hello?” A female voice asks warily.

I clear my throat and put on my most pleasant phone voice. “Is there a James Fraser there please?”

“Ye’ve the wrong number.”

“Oh, sorry, I must have mis—“ I begin, but find myself apologising to dead air.

I try again, carefully comparing each digit to those written, very neatly, on the card.

“Hello?” The same female voice answers, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but this is the number I have for James Fra—“

“And I already told ye, ye’ve the wrong number. Dinna bother again.”

In the days before mobiles, I’m sure this would have been accompanied by a deafening crash as the receiver hit the cradle. Pressing a soft key doesn’t have the same dramatic effect. But I get the message anyway.

So, new plan needed. All I can do is email this James Fraser and hope he actually has written down the correct email address. If not, I’ll have to sort it out with the airline tomorrow afternoon.

My stomach rumbles and I suddenly realise that I’ve not eaten since breakfast, unless you count the slices of fruit in my jug of sangria. I wander into the kitchen and peruse the contents of my cupboards and fridge. I’m not the most gifted cook, but I’m not too bad and can usually rustle up something edible and fairly tasty. The bread feels a bit on the dry side but will be fine toasted, and I know I have eggs.

I put a knob of butter in a pan and text Frank while I’m waiting for it to sizzle.

Think tomoz will be ok. Talk 2morrow. C

I don’t normally use text speak at all,  but something about Frank’s perfectly formed text messages always makes me want to rebel. I can imagine him wincing right now.  He’s a professor at the university and is forever complaining about the standard of literacy amongst his undergraduates. If he thinks he has problems, he should try dealing with junior doctors.

With my scrambled egg on toast all eaten, I focus my attention on the email to James Fraser. I write it quickly, brief and to the point: I have your suitcase and therefore presume you have mine, can we meet to swap them over and here’s my phone number.

The longing for a shower and then bed is now overwhelming. I strip off and bundle all my clothes into the laundry basket, tie my hair up with a scrunchie and step into my shower. This is undoubtedly one of my favourite places on earth and possibly the reason that I bought this flat. Large enough for two, I suppose. Although none have yet been invited to partake in this heavenly experience. Maybe I’m saving that for someone extra special. It has a huge overhead rainfall shower head and a handheld shower head too.

My indulgences are all in here — a selection of expensive shower gels, scrubs and lotions and an assortment of huge fluffy bath towels. I choose a lavender scented gel and scrub all traces of the day from my skin.

Wrapping myself  in one of my pristine white towels, I slather shea butter lotion on my slightly sun-burnt skin, noticing the uneven red patches where the sun cream hadn’t quite reached but at least it’s not sore.

A quick check of my emails shows there’s no word from James Fraser as yet, so I decide to just settle down to sleep and leave luggage worries until the morning. Fortunately, I had changed the sheets before my weekend away, so I simply unwrap my towel, leaving it in a heap on the floor and slide into bed. The feeling of the cool, crisp bedding against my skin is wonderful. I assume a sort of diagonal starfish position, not having to worry about any other occupants. It crosses my mind whether to reach for the tiny vibrator in my bedside drawer, but I’m too comfortable and drowsy for that, so instead I check my alarm and settle down for sleep.

[eigwayne]

A Little Spoiled (ChengQing fic)

Chapter 2 of 4: Advice from Aunty, and a Date Some advice from one of her aunties and Granny Wen convinces Wen Qing to keep her secret rendez-vous with Jiang Wanyin. He's alternately sweet and domineering and shy and infuriating, and Wen Qing wants him anyway. But first, she tells him some things he needed to hear (just... not about his core...).

Chapter 1 on Tumblr | AO3 links: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Author’s Notes: I forgot to mention on chapter 1: I'm using more romanized titles, like "gongzi", than translations like “Young Master”. If anyone needs a glossary, please check references like this. Also this fic is very closely from Wen Qing's POV, so all we'll see of Jiang Cheng's thoughts for now will be parenthetical inserts. 

I ended up rewriting a lot of the inn scene, which is why this took two weeks to update instead of the two days I originally planned. As a result, I think the chapter quality and length are a bit better, and I touched on a couple more things I think they would need to air between them (no, no golden core reveal in this fic, although it's never that far from Wen Qing's mind and hopefully that will come across at some points before the fic ends). The smut will have to wait until chapter three. I've joked about this porn developing plot on my Tumblr but that's exactly what happened.

The message technique Wen Qing uses to contact Uncle Four from the inn is supposed to be the one she used in the drama to contact Wen Ruohan. I noticed it was three lines of three characters, written in fire in the air, and couldn't get the image/format out of my head (the symmetry was beautiful). No, I have no idea what Jiang Cheng uses and the methodology wasn't relevant to the story, so please imagine what you wish.

Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng butt heads a little in this chapter and there's a couple moments of jealousy from both of them, and Jiang Cheng grabs Wen Qing's arm at one point, if you're sensitive to those sorts of things. This isn't a smooth relationship (there's so much baggage between them!) and I had to get some things out of the way. The rest of the physical contact is welcome, I just wanted to give a heads-up just in case. 

And now for the actual chapter:

“You look worried,” Granny said as she sat next to Wen Qing. Wei Wuxian had left his inventing for a bit and A-Yuan was focused on getting him to dance, which gave his other caretakers a moment of peace.

“Not worried,” Wen Qing clarified. “Just… thinking something over.” Her rendez-vous with Jiang Wanyin was in four days, and she’d found three pieces of silver that definitely weren’t hers in the hair ribbons he’d bought the week before. She couldn’t repay this, and he had strongly hinted that he intended to buy her more when they met again. He’d also strongly hinted that he wanted to continue the passionate kisses they’d shared under the tree, and she should be wary of that as well.

And yet, she’d spent time and spiritual energy the last few days, enlarging her qiankun pouch’s inside despite coming up with all sorts of arguments why she shouldn’t accept anything from him. She thought of the way the furrow between his brow eased when he was being sweet and how his lips parted when he was pleased. She thought of his arms and his kisses and the feel of his chest under her hands, and how those thoughts replaced all her other fantasies when she was alone at night.

But now, in the afternoon under the hazy Burial Mounds sun, Granny just smiled and patted her hand. “I’m sure you’ll come up with a good solution.” She was going to leave it at that. She did that more often now that Wen Qing was an adult. The difference in their status under Wen Ruohan was deeply ingrained; Wen Qing may be younger, but she and Wen Ning were the closest relations to the old leaders of the sect, the strongest cultivators. If not for Wei Wuxian, they would be the leaders of the community in name as well as function.

It was a bit lonely, at times. Wen Qing decided to speak up. “I could use an ear, Granny.”

“Of course, Qing-guniang.”

Wen Qing watched A-Yuan for a moment as he yanked Wei Wuxian around in a circle, playing some sort of spinning game. “That day in Yiling, when I came back with the baozi,” she started, “I was invited out again. I’m not sure I should accept.”

“Whyever not?”

“I’m sure you can guess.”

“I’m sure I could, but, Qing-guniang, I want to know why you’re hesitating.”

“Granny, please. We’re hunted people, living on a cursed mountain. Is that not reason enough?” Wen Qing poked at the radishes she’d been weeding. “You know I’m not the sort to caper around town when there’s work to be done.”

“I know that, Qing-guniang. But it’s all right to be a little spoiled, sometimes.”

Wen Qing blinked at her. “Granny?”

“You work hard for us. We all see it. We’re not going to begrudge you a day in town. And you deserve a chance to step out with a special friend-“

“It’s not like that,” Wen Qing cut her off. “He was kind to me, and invited me out to lunch.”

“Who did?” one of the aunties said as she plunked down next to Granny. “Does our Qing-guniang have a gentleman friend?!”

“Absolutely not! And keep your voice down. The last thing I need is Wei Wuxian to overhear this nonsense.” Wen Qing huffed and yanked up a weed like it offended her personally. Wei Wuxian would certainly remember that she’d seen his sect brother that day, and might connect the dots. She did not want to deal with that at all. He’d pestered her enough already.

“Don’t be like that! We’d be overjoyed if you had a sweetheart,” Aunty assured her. “You’re young and lovely, now’s the time to have a flirtation or three!”

“She’s worried about being spoiled,” Granny said solemnly.

“She should absolutely let herself be spoiled some! Right?” Aunty and Granny nodded at each other. “Who knows, you could make a good connection. If it gets you off this mountain-“

“I’m not getting off the mountain without the rest of you,” Wen Qing snapped. “He was kind enough to buy A-Yuan those baozi and I want to say thank you properly. And I have other friends just two towns over.”

The line about friends was complete falsehood and she felt terrible about it, but the conversation was getting out of hand. How dare they suggest she leave them behind!

“Fine, fine,” Aunty said, waving her hands. “But I still think you could stand to be a little selfish once in a while.”

“We’ll be all right for a day,” Granny assured her. Wen Qing frowned, but Wei Wuxian was looking a bit green from his spinning game with A-Yuan (really! Sometimes it was like having two toddlers), so she had bigger things to worry about.

~*~

And that was how she found herself walking side by side with Jiang Wanyin in the marketplace of trading town on the outskirts of Yunmeng territory. She was wearing an outfit he’d bought her so they would look more like normal people- not in red, but a pastel pink-orange, feminine and flowy and inoffensive. Her clothes from the Burial Mounds were stuffed in her qiankun pouch and she would have to change back into them eventually, but for now, she was enjoying the feel of soft, expensive clothes again, even if she did barely recognize herself in the dainty lady she saw in the mirror.

Jiang Wanyin had dressed down, just a little, and wore more blue than purple. With Sandu and his clarity bell tucked in his qiankun pouch, the only mark of his status was Zidian, which he would not part with.

“I’m not ashamed of who I am, just so we’re clear,” he told her in a low voice. “But I thought I should dress differently, as well.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she said.

“You didn’t have to.”

Despite his sullen words, his posture was as relaxed as she’d ever seen it. He walked close to her, and every once in a while his knuckles would brush her arm. Wen Qing wasn’t used to this closeness. Sure, she hugged A-Yuan and A-Ning as often as she could, although A-Ning was a grown man now so it wasn’t that often. But there was a normal, respectful distance between everyone else and she wasn’t used to hovering.

It was handy, though. When she stopped to admire something in the marketplace, he was right there with the silver to pay for it. All she had to do was indicate if she wanted it enough to buy. She was still frugal, but so far, she had half-filled her qiankun pouch, all of it for her family. Even the single book she got for herself was practical, a light volume on pediatric medicine so she could keep up with her practice and take care of A-Yuan.

“You can get something for yourself, you know,” Jiang Wanyin said at one point. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’re spending my money on.”

“I have to take care of everyone.”

“What about taking care of yourself?”

Wen Qing stopped and looked at him, stopping just short of a glare. “I have never just ‘taken care of myself’,” she said. “There is always someone who relies on me. Many someones. I’m sure a sect leader understands.”

Jiang Wanyin glared back at her and said, “Of course I do. But if you want something for yourself, say it.” And like he did so often during the day, he pressed his lips into a thin line and glanced away from her, as if there was more he wanted to say but didn’t dare.

(He would never tell anyone, but he was thinking that a beautiful lady like Wen Qing should have everything he could give her, like Jin Zixuan gave Jiang Yanli, and he was appalled at himself for taking the Peacock as his role model in romance. Such traitorous thoughts! He would never live it down if Wei Wuxian found out.)

His offer was generous and it made Wen Qing wary of those unsaid words. People who were this giving always wanted something in return, and she already knew he wanted her and only her. But her family needed things and he wasn’t terrible company, overall, sometimes. And she wasn’t completely adverse to his kisses. Just… cautious.

That was why she allowed the hand brushing her arm, and how he came in close when they looked at wares together. She allowed it when he put a hand on her back at the hairpin stall and leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

“You turned down the earrings,” he said with a pout (not that she would call it that to his face). “You could at least take this hairpin.”

“You do know that I won’t keep jewelry? I can’t. The price that would fetch will clothe A-Yuan for the entire winter.”

He scowled, but his expression surprisingly softened when she said A-Yuan’s name. “So be it,” he said. “I want to see you in it now.” And he bought it anyway.

(He was thinking of his sister, four months along at this point and barely showing. He thought of how Wen Yuan had once been that tiny and it really wasn’t so bad if an affectionate kid like him got warm clothes on account of his money. And he thought that if he could love one grown Wen already deemed complicit, he could learn to tolerate one child Wen who was surely innocent. But he said none of this, either, and Wen Qing would never know.)

Jiang Wanyin’s hands were gentle as he exchanged her simple hair ribbon for the silver piece he purchased, as if he was doing something normal and not scandalously romantic. The salesman merely smiled and held up a small mirror for her.

“I think you’ll be pleased, madam,” he said.

“I am,” she admitted. “Thank you, Jia-“ She paused, uncertain of how to address Jiang Wanyin. Was he trying to actively hide his identity? They weren’t in Yunmeng itself but it was still in his territory and ‘Jiang-zongzhu’ would be too telling. But she wasn’t close enough to call him familiarly.

The issue was solved for the moment by Jiang Wanyin taking her arm and walking toward the teahouse, but she would have to find out before they did this again.

‘What am I thinking? When even is this? Is there even any “this” to do again?’ Part of her hoped so.

She let him buy her tea and cakes (again), and Wen Qing bought some sweets that would last to bring home. As they were walking afterwards, she put a hand on Jiang Wanyin’s arm.

“What should I call you, when we’re out like this?” she said, voice low.

“Call me? Why wouldn’t you use my name- Oh. Right.”

She wanted to give him a stern look because it was very foolish to forget about their position, even dangerous. But he was so flustered, so young, that a tiny chuckle slipped out before she could put on her annoyed older sister face.

“Are you laughing?” he hissed.

“Yes.” She wasn’t going to sooth his damaged pride over something so small. If Jiang Wanyin couldn’t take such a tiny joke, she would forget all about his kisses and strong arms, and go back to her radishes.

But while he was annoyed, he wasn’t angry. It was a definite improvement in his temper. “Excuse me if I pretended the world didn’t exist for a few hours. Maybe I wanted to enjoy being on a walk with a beautiful woman before I go back to all the old men trying to tell me how to run my sect.”

“So you’re using me to escape? Zongzhu, I am surprised at you.”

He swallowed roughly when she called him ‘zongzhu’. Interesting. Getting a reaction with a single word  was somehow powerful, and Wen Qing suddenly understood why the young ladies at Nightless City would bat their eyelashes when calling young men ‘gongzi.’ Not that she intended to do so! But the thought that even she could produce results with such a method was fascinating.

She forgot all about being cautious.

He led her to a cloth merchant, barely speaking. There was color in his cheeks, just a hint, and she knew it was from high emotion and not sun exposure. He leaned closer and whispered, “I know you’re going to be practical, but I want you to get something for yourself here, too.”

It was her turn to flush. When he spoke, his lips were close and his breath tickled her ear. She wondered if- hoped that- he would steal a kiss.

So it was only a small surprise when he pressed her against a wall later, just around a corner, barely hidden from view. From the look in his eyes, he had also been thinking about kisses.

“Come back to the inn with me,” he said in a breathy whisper.

His face was close to hers, and she almost closed the distance between them.

It would be so easy to let it happen. But it was much like trading herself for the things he’d bought her and while she had entertained the possibility, entertaining it and doing it were completely different.

He seemed to sense her hesitation. “It doesn’t have to be for… anything in particular,” he said. “But I’m not ready to let you go. I mean, it’s getting late, after all. You might as well stay.”

There he was again, that boy she’d met in Cloud Recesses, who smiled at kindness and looked at her like things were uncomplicated. For a moment, he showed through Jiang-zongzhu’s older, more jaded features.

‘You helped make him into this man,’ she reminded herself. ‘You could stay, and maybe he could be that boy again for a little while.’

It was a foolish thought, and she scolded herself for it, but she still nodded and told him, “Very well.”

~*~

They ate a light meal, back in his single room at the inn. He didn’t get a second room for her; as he told the innkeeper, they only needed one room, thank you, and let the man think what he would about it.

Once they were alone, she sent a message to Uncle Four, the old Wen method that carried her writing in flames. It only held limited characters so she was frugal with her words. “With a Friend, Staying Overnight, Back around Lunch.” Jiang Wanyin likewise sent a message by his own means to his current head disciple, Wei Wuxian’s replacement (a temporary stand-in, if Wen Qing could devise a way to get Wei Wuxian home, but for now, he was a replacement).

It was a nice enough room. Wen Qing sat at a little table, and Jiang Wanyin knelt at the desk.

“Do you have work to take care of?” she asked regarding his seat, just to make conversation.

“What? No, I didn’t bring any. I just…” He glanced at the bed. “It didn’t seem appropriate to sit elsewhere.”

After those kisses ten days before, he couldn’t even look at a piece of furniture without blushing! At least she knew her shy gongzi from Cloud Recesses hadn’t turned into a cad.

(When had he become ‘her’ gongzi? Jiang Wanyin had never been hers, she reminded herself.)

It was Jiang Wanyin’s turn to make stilted conversation. “Did you get enough? Things, I mean. At the market.”

“Wei Wuxian will probably want more paper, but besides that, I think so.” She wouldn’t admit it even if she hadn’t. She was pushing it already, allowing him to buy a few cosmetics for the aunties and that hairpin she still wore. Any other frivolities, and she feared Jiang Wanyin would rightly close his purse despite his earlier prompting.

“Hmph. He would need paper. Still designing useless talismans?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘useless,’ at least with the last batch. He’s started to make some household helpers, to compete with the Yiling Patriarch imitators.”

“I ran into one of those recently. What a bunch of stupidity! Doesn’t he do anything about them?” Jiang Wanyin snapped.

“What can he do? There will always be unscrupulous sorts, trying to cash in on a famous name. Just look at all the questionable hangers-on the sects get when they recruit.”

He scowled, but his rant subsided before it really began. “I’ve managed to weed out any truly unsuitable disciples, but yes. I know what you mean.”

She smiled slightly and came to kneel at his side. “Don’t worry so much,” she said as she laid a hand on his arm. “Wei Wuxian can handle the imitation patriarchs. Hopefully-“ She stopped herself. Did she really want to tell Jiang Wanyin that she wanted to make Wei Wuxian leave someday, to go home to Lotus Pier? He might take it as being ungrateful to his sacrifice. He might think she was politically naïve, which was less important but still galling. Or, worst of all, he might push her to do it before Wei Wuxian was ready.

But Jiang Wanyin didn’t seem to notice. His eyes flicked to her hand. Innocent as it was, he still tensed, his lips parting.

“Wen-guniang, I-“

She started to pull her hand away but he struck, quick as a snake, and grabbed her wrist. “Stay,” he commanded.

They stared at each other. Wen Qing wasn’t sure what he was thinking. She wasn’t even sure what she was thinking, her mind was such a riot. But she didn’t pull away, and after a moment, Jiang Wanyin calmed and loosened his hold on her wrist, shifting his grip. He brought her hand up to his lips until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her fingers. He looked like he wanted to say something, like the words were gathering on his tongue, damming up in a multitude, but all that came out was, “I want you.”

She should be appalled; he said it like a demand, and yes, she had entertained the notion that he would expect physical affections for the easy entry into his purse. She even thought about allowing it, remembering his kisses and aching for more.

Here, with that gentle touch at odds with his commands, his eyes dark with want but tense with- Fear? Hope? Was he waiting for rejection?

“Jiang-zongzhu,” she said, and he deflated. She slipped her hand from his, but before his shoulders could slump any more, she touched his cheek.

He leaned into her touch, hiding his expression with closed eyes. His hands fell to his lap and closed into fists. “I know you’re here for your family and Wei Wuxian,” he said before he opened his eyes again. “I’m not a fool.”

“I never said you were,” she said, tilting his face back toward her. “But I have it on good authority that it’s okay to be a little foolish, sometimes.”

“That’s not what-“

She silenced him with a kiss.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, surprised at her own audacity. But he responded eagerly, putting his hands on her arms, loose and not quite gentle, holding her close without trapping her. She wondered if he was leaving her a way to escape on purpose. And she wondered if he’d kissed someone before her; he tilted his head to keep their noses from bumping and although his kisses were a bit toothy, he didn’t clack their teeth together at all. He never had.

There was something to be said for an experienced lover. If he knew what he was doing, she could trust --well, maybe not trust, trust was dangerous-- but at least ‘allow’ him to take care of her.

Part of her was angry that he knew what he was doing. How dare he indulge himself while her family was scraping together a living from a mountain of bones! How dare he find someone else when he had been so shy with her, when she had nothing but the memory of a promise he shouldn’t have made at all!

“Is it foolish of me to ask for that again?” he said in the silence, and she was snapped back from the building sparks of her anger. Every time she started getting angry with him, he showed her that the young man from Cloud Recesses wasn’t quite gone from inside him. He was merely hiding, hesitant and unsure beneath the façade of the Sect Leader.

She was never going to be free of him, at this rate. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be.

“It’s not,” she said. He let out a small, choked noise- surprise, relief, desire, all warring in him- and swept her into his arms. But instead of kissing her again, he held her in a crushing embrace. She couldn’t reach his lips, couldn’t give him the kiss he just requested. So she laid her head on his shoulder, and waited.

“I want to kiss you,” he finally said, still holding her. “I want to do things that aren’t proper, things I should be ashamed of.”

She ran a hand over his chest. His idea of dressing down was still very fine, and her fingertips glided over the cloth.

“I would let you,” she said after a pause, decision made. “I have no reason to hold onto propriety, and you’ve been good to my family.”

“Not as good as Wei Wuxian.”

Her hand stilled. “Wei Wuxian… I was the one who asked him for help. Don’t blame him, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“My family is dead because of him.” He shifted, pushed her to arms-length, but didn’t let her go.

The mood was, of course, ruined, but Jiang Wanyin needed to hear something about this besides his own festering thoughts. So Wen Qing spoke.

“You don’t really believe that.”

“What I believe is irrelevant-“

She cut him off. “It is relevant. Because it’s not true. The Chief Cultivator was aiming for Yunmeng before Wen Chao ever encountered Wei Wuxian. You know that. At first, because he was looking for the Yin Iron hidden in the south. But also because it was only a matter of time before he went after all the Great Sects.”

“I do know that!”

“Then stop blaming Wei Wuxian! It was no one’s fault except those who organized it and those carried it out. And they are dead. You killed many of them yourself, Sandu Shengshou.”

He grimaced like his title was a curse. Good. She meant it to be.

“I know,” he said. His voice was low and soft, chastised. “But I can’t help but be angry. He ran off, abandoned his promise to me, threw away what little good name he had left. And… he’s helping you but my hands are tied.” The words dragged out of him like they were painful.

“I know,” she echoed.

“I wish the people we were protecting were the same. It would be easier if it were all of us, together.”

“I know.”

“I’m not ungrateful. But I have people depending on me, too.”

“I know,” she said again. She put a hand over his. “I’m also not ungrateful. I know what you’re doing, buying all these things for me.”

He scoffed at himself. “A lackluster effort from a lackluster man.”

“Jiang Wanyin, what do you want from me?” She didn’t bother to keep the frustration from her voice. “Why are we here today? Is it me you want, or do you just want your brother back?”

“Why talk about want?” he scoffed. “What if I want both? What if I want Wei Wuxian to make a damned accounting for himself, and I want you to be my wi- my woman?”

Even though she was so, so frustrated with him, her heart pounded when he stumbled over the words. ‘He wanted to say ‘wife.’ I am still worth something in his heart.’

He met her eyes then, and held them. “I want him back, but I also want you. If you didn’t have all those others, I could protect you.”

“If I didn’t have those others, I wouldn’t want to be protected.” She surprised herself at how true that was. If she lost A-Ning, she would walk up the steps of Carp Tower herself just to end it.

Again, he looked like he was thinking more than he was saying, his lips once more in a tight line.

(It was her loyalty that made him ache, after all. Though it was the reason they were forced apart before they really came together, her devotion to her family was what he admired in her.)

But all he said was, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

She shouldn’t allow it. He thought too much, understood too little, and said the wrong things. He was infuriating. And she had secrets that would hurt him. But he still looked at her like she was precious and lovely, and that was a heady thing.

He pulled her close and followed through with his words, surprisingly light when he had held her so tightly earlier. His hand cupped her cheek as he kissed her again. His lips and palm were warm, but Zidian’s ring was cold. Not sparking, but startlingly chill for something that had been on his hand all day. She shivered against his body. He took it for encouragement and she couldn’t say it wasn’t, not when his kisses were growing more confident and igniting such heat in her.

“Heaven help me, I want you…” He trailed off, his eyes distant. “I’m not sure how I’m going to face my ancestors again. Mother would be disappointed.”

She could understand his distraction. Family was important, after all. Aunty and Granny at least would forgive her an indiscretion or two, if they ever even found out, but she knew hardly anything of the Jiang. She couldn’t help asking, “And your father?”

Jiang Wanyin barked a laugh, and it was the ugliest sound she’d heard him make since he’d screamed at her in Yiling, when his core and heart were both shattered.

“Father would probably tell me Wei Wuxian understood our motto better, and he’d be right. I may be leading the sect but he was the one who lived its principles. I’m just making do with his leavings.”

“I had better not be included in that,” Wen Qing snapped, suddenly perturbed. As if she would let just anyone kiss her like that!

“Are you saying you’re not his?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Wei Wuxian saved us, but I don’t make a habit of offering myself up like this. Did you not listen-“

Her words were lost in another kiss, hungry and possessive, like the fact that Wei Wuxian never touched her made her even more desirable.

‘I definitely should not be doing this,’ she thought. ‘Jiang Wanyin clearly has more issues than any one human should contain.’ But he stood and swept her up in his arms and carried her across the room. It was thrilling- annoying, to be hauled around like a sack of grain, but thrilling to feel his powerful arms holding her aloft. She dug her fingers into the fabric covering his shoulder as he walked, and didn’t loosen her hold when he set her down on the bed.

He wanted her. After everything, he felt helpless that he wasn’t the one to save her, angry that she chose someone else. And those were dangerous things. She had seen the perils of a jealous man before. One didn’t live anywhere near Wen Chao without seeing it. And Jiang Wanyin desired her, which was just as perilous. Knowing she could invoke such feelings, that she was wanted simply for being her... It made her ache to get closer to him. But in the morning, he would have to leave, and who knew if he’d find a way to see her again. She’d be back to furtive might-have-been fantasies in her corner of their rickety shelter on a hill of bones.

She wanted to accept everything he gave her today. ‘I am going to be selfish, Granny. Forgive me.’

“I am not Wei Wuxian’s, but I can’t be yours past tonight,” she told Jiang Wanyin.

“I would take whatever you give me,” he said, and she was struck by how similar that was to her own thoughts. She ran a hand from his shoulder, up his neck, down his jawline, drawing him closer with her touch. He still knelt next to the bed rather than on it, the same spot he’d ended in when he laid her down, and when he kissed her again, the only part that touched were their lips and her fingers on his jaw.

He shifted to sit beside her and kissed her again, his hair spilling over his shoulder and hiding the last bits of sunlight that gleamed golden through the window. She put her arms around him and pulled him close. The sun was no longer for her. She hid behind the curtain of his hair and coaxed him into another of his searing kisses.

This time his hand wandered over her body. His touch was heavy, like he was determined to feel her entire being through her clothes. She found she didn’t mind. She wasn’t delicate; that filmy gown he’d chosen wasn’t her. He moaned against her mouth when he reached her breast and that was very nice. Gratifying, to know that she could pull more pleasant sounds from him after he’d bared some of his ugly side to her just moments earlier.

She wanted to hear more.

Wen Qing fumbled with one hand, catching his wrist before he moved farther away, and brought his hand back to her chest. “A little nicer, Jiang Wanyin,” she said, and oh, his moan at that was sweet! He obediently massaged her breast, pushing aside the top layer of her clothes and exploring the feel of her in his hand.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“It is. Your belt is digging into me, though.”

He hurriedly undid the offending belt and tossed it to the floor. He paused above her, looking down like he was drinking her in.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and leaned over to give her a brief kiss, far more gentle than any of the ones before. “Can I…?” His fingers hovered over her sash.

“Only if you take down my hair, too,” she said. His lips parted, his cheeks pinkened, as if touching her hair was more intimate than her breasts, even though he’d put the hairpin there himself, in public.

‘Ah, but hair is something he would do with a wife, and a wife only,’ she thought, banishing the thought of Jiang Wanyin in a lover’s arms. It made her heart clench painfully. She sat up to give him access to her hair. ‘You were so determined to have him, Wen Qing, that you forgot he knew how to kiss before you,’ she scolded herself as he shifted behind her, his face still bewildered as it had been on Biling Lake. ‘Will you back out now, now that he might know more?’

He took the pin from her hair and set it safely aside. His hands went to her shoulders- and stayed there. He paused for such a long time, she started to turn to check on him, any number of situations running through her head, ranging from frivolous to dire. Was he having second thoughts? Did he notice her hair oil wasn’t as luscious and expensive as before? Was Wei Wuxian’s golden core giving out on him? Did she have something embarrassing like a hairy mole on her neck that she didn’t know about? Were her ears too big and unsexy? Had he finally made the connection between ‘Baoshan Sanren’ and her? Was he thinking about his mother again?!

But just as she was turning, he pressed his lips to the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, shoulderblades to his chest. “I want whatever you will share with me,” he said, and the low hum of his voice sent a shiver through her. “I want you so much, right now. But I arranged for a hot bath and they’ll be up with the supplies any moment now.”

She stopped, tilted her head just a little so she could peek up at him behind her. Something strained and tense in her snapped. Her first laugh was a hard cough, like her body wasn’t used to making the sound. Perhaps it wasn’t- she wasn’t much prone to laughing in the best of times. But the chuckles bubbled up nonetheless, unbidden, a tiny bit hysterical- but freeing. Jiang Wanyin made a gruff noise behind her and she leaned back, setting a hand on his arm.

“A bath,” she tried to get out in her laughter. Her shoulders shook against him and tears welled in her eyes from the abrupt, overwhelming emotion. “You were still, for so long, I worried. But, just a bath!”

There was a short sound from him in her ear as he choked back an involuntary laugh of his own. “That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

“Humans are ridiculous, Jiang Wanyin,” she said “Here I was, worried you didn’t like my ears and were going to leave, and all you did was remember the bath.”

“Your ears are fine,” he snapped, as if insulted by the suggestion he could consider them otherwise. She chuckled again and dabbed at her wet eyes, almost in control of herself, and nestled back against him. And there she stayed, tucked against his chest and his lower dantian and even more of him she ached to touch, until their bath was filled.

Next Chapter

[baradorable]

I have some headcanons for the New X-Men kids’ future jobs. Here’s what I imagine they’d do once they’re older.

Julian: X-Man & Teacher/Headmaster. Julian will always be a fighter, so he’ll be X-Manning for life. But I’d love to see him take up Emma’s role as a teacher and mentor. He’s been let down by the adults in his life, and I see him wanting to make sure that doesn’t happen to the next generation. He’s a leader and really cares about those within his group. He’s incredibly strong, but I’d like to see him take on a more mentoring role.

Noriko: X-Man/Youth Leader. Noriko is great with kids. Even if writers are determined to make her a bitch all the time, she’d never treat kids poorly. She also has a lot of baggage with her family and misses her little brother. I see her staying with the X-Men and leading a team of kids again. Only this time, she gets to fully act as a leader without the weird Emma/Julian/Laura baggage. Since she’s been at at-risk kid and knows a lot of hardship, I can see her getting a “special class” team.

Laura: Snikt. Laura’s trajectory is already spelled out for her: she’s Wolverine, and she’s going to be a hero. She’ll primarily be allied with the X-Men, but will follow her father’s footsteps and also work as a general hero & assist with other teams.

Mark: X-Man & Performer. After getting some advice from Dazzler, he gets more into his own music to see how it affects his powers. He becomes a performer and musician. Mark will get into drugs and get cancelled on Twitter. (Unrelated to the drugs.) I don’t know why he does drugs and gets cancelled, I don’t see him using drugs even with the immortality stipulation. I just get these powerful vibes from him. 

Brian: X-Man (I actually don’t know too much about him despite my digging around, and I didn’t want to rely on my own headcanon personality for him with this one.) Brian’s in a tough spot. I can see him wanting to keep his friend group together, like in the Hellions mini. It might be harder now, since several of them have aged and lived life without him, but maybe that will make him more determined than ever to keep everyone together. As with the Kingmaker scenario, he’ll probably stick to the X-Men and make sure he can back everyone up. He’d be a guest member who bounces from group to group, acting as support or being used whenever his power would be helpful. He’ll have explored his powers and become more versatile in them; he’d be great for distraction and crowd dispersing, allowing the X-Men to pick off enemies or rescue people quickly. 

Brian: Corporate Bigwig/Midwig & X-Man. If I can get into my headcanon stuff about him more, he’d have taken a liking to business after seeing how connections can help others. (He was pretty impressed with Julian’s parents’ connections.) He’d still use his status and powers to help his friends and keep everyone together (one of his first big plays would be to help Sooraya get her mother back), but he’d also be shamelessly ruthless. Think Julian’s parents, only without the prejudice, dirty dealings or abandoning your kids. A lighter shade of gray. Kind of like Warren/Angel, though maybe not as skilled, and he’d frequently sacrifice his work to go on missions and let off some steam.

Sooraya: Solo Hero. Sooraya is right as home on the front lines, though she might not stay with the X-Men or Champions. She has a great sense of justice and is willing to fight for the greater good, but as she gets older, I can see her drifting away from the X-Men to focus on her own sense of justice and priorities. She doesn’t have a lot of resources at her disposal (unless Brian helps her out here), but she has her own agenda and pace she needs to follow. She’s always worked with teams, but maybe she could try going solo for a bit. Regardless, she’d still come to assist the X-Men when they call. She gets closer to Brian, and he’ll sometimes leave work to fight alongside her. 

I also have this weird, super-niche Brian/Sooraya ship, but I also like having them just be good friends and allies. 

Laurie becomes more confident and happy, though she carries a lot of trauma over everything that’s happened. Therapy brings her back to her therapist father, who keeps their connection a secret from her in order to get close. (Spoiler: She finds out and things get messy.) For her, she feels the need to fight, and she can’t turn that (or her trauma and anger) off, even when she wants to start looking into other options. 

Sadly, I don’t see her having a really clean story, even with the support of her friends and having more time to see what she wants in life. I’m not sure where it all goes with her, I found an old quote from her, where she tells her mother that she’s not going to be like her father, but she also won’t be like her mother or hide her emotions. She’s strong, she gets stronger as she gets older. I think she’ll take charge and succeeds despite everything.

Laurie: X-Man. Which brings me to one idea I had with her: being an X-Man. We know she can be a serious threat with her powers, and despite her codename, I don’t see her being content sitting in the back and in not using them. 

So yeah, those are some of my ideas. Julian and Noriko are leaders and will use their skills and experience to give the next generation a better life than they had. Brian keeps close to his friends, but forges his own role in the grand scheme of things. Sooraya and Laura continue what they’re doing now, but different directions. Mark explores his abilities and finds a career. Laurie is right where she needs to be, even if it’ll take time for her to realize it.

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Seen ✓ - 1

REWRITE OF “Can You See The Stars”

Pairing: Sam x Fem!Reader Warnings: fear of being kidnapped Word Count: 2.4k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam.  A/N:This is my second attempt at the story everyone loved, with an actual pllot in mind this time. So, attempt number two, better writing, better story. Have at it kids.

I have tagged the old taglist for this first part. Let me know if you wanna be removed/ added

Beta: The lovely @percywinchester27​ . Thank you so so much hon :) Masterlist

Chapter One: you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night

Y/n   |  Sam

The road to independence is uphill, and Y/n knows this better than anyone. She’s done it all. She’s gone through jobs at a similar speed with which she goes through books, worked two or more of them, while also studying for college… She knows how it works, and it’s really fucking difficult to balance emotional baggage the size of a city, an underage sister and college, while also trying to keep, not only yourself, but another person, alive, under a safe roof with food in your stomachs.

Currently, she’s only working one job, at a dive bar owned by a friend of a friend as a waitress.

It’s a difficult job, and Y/n has struggled with it, but the hardest part is not the endless knowledge one needs to mix drinks –on the nights Joel takes time off and she has to take his spot behind the bar- or the carrying up to twenty pounds of glasses and drinks and delivering them at the right table without soaking herself or anyone else with copious amounts of alcohol. Any minimum wage worker will tell you the same thing- clients of any kind fucking suck. Especially if you’re a young woman at a dive bar after midnight.

Another thing she’s struggled with is not having too much money, which is why she’s needed multiple jobs in the past, so she has to use public transport- buses specifically, to go to and from work. And that is exactly where she finds herself, a couple hours after midnight, at her bus stop, five minutes from the bar, when she finds a phone which, unbeknownst to her, will flip her world upside down.

It sits on the pavement of the bus stop, limp and sad. The screen is cracked a significant amount, and for a second she figures someone got rid of it and was too much of an asshole to throw it in the trash. But the second that thought crosses her mind, the screen lights up with a concerning text.

dude where the fuck are you?!

The contact reads “Sam”, and Y/n stands over the phone staring at it. She’s concerned. What if the phone’s owner is in trouble? The device may have fallen from their pocket on the pavement and cracked because they were running from someone and never made it home, and now whoever is texting them is worried for their well-being. Anxiety grips her heart.

It’s instinct that brings her to kneel down and pick it up. She can’t possibly know when the owner lost it, or how long the phone has been sitting there, but there’s an overwhelming urge to contact this Sam person and let them know what’s going on. Of course, the voice in Y/n’s head tells her that this all could just be a product of her anxiety, but it beats leaving it there and having it be stolen by a passerby.

Whatever, right? Best case scenario, she contacts the owner, who is perfectly safe and sound, and they take their phone back. She’s not really planning to pocket it. It’s fairly damaged anyways. Her own three year old, beat-up, 100$ phone is in better condition.

The bus arrives, and Y/n picks up the phone and boards it.

As she sits in her usual seat in the back, alone in the bus apart from an elderly man asleep with his head on a window and a cap on his head near the front, she starts speculating, eyes glued to the black device in her hands. Who’s the owner? Who is Sam to them? Perhaps a partner? A friend? How did the owner lose their phone? Why would this Sam sound so concerned, and most importantly, is the owner okay?

The heavy weight of dread weighs her chest at the thought of the phone’s owner being in trouble and without a phone. She must contact Sam immediately.

Hey, is this Sam?

As she awaits for a response, her curiosity is killing her. The intrigued part of her, reasons that she should snoop, it’s alright, she’s only looking for more information about the owner. Like whether or not they’re a woman or a man- which, sadly, matters when you’re walking alone in dark streets like the ones around this area- and perhaps their age –because, again, it matters if they are a teenager or a forty-year old adult.

The lack of passcode indicates someone older, with nothing to hide, or perhaps someone less technologically savvy, again, someone who may not be very young. The lockscreen is the most popular Led Zeppelin icon, and she instantly respects their music taste, and the home screen is some generic western movie from the 90s with Clint Eastwood. The chances of this belonging to someone younger further decline.

There’s a grand total of four downloaded apps in the phone. There’s an email app, a scrabble app, a microphone recorder and a dating app, no other sign of social media. Someone over 18 years old, definitely.

Soon, she’s tapping on the dating app, and opening their profile page. Holy shit, she thinks.

A guy, the tall, dark and handsome kind. Spiky hair and a smolder-like smile, sharp edges everywhere on his face apart from his gentle, olive-shaped and colored eyes. His lips are full, his nose straight, and his eyelashes long, dark and thick. He’s a real-life dreamboat, the kind you see in movies and Cosmopolitan articles about sex. He’s sitting on a black muscle car, a Chevrolet, with his thick thighs barely contained in blue jeans.

Dean Winchester, the app writes. 28. Male. Likes: old cars, beer, hard rock, westerns, she figured that much, bacon burgers. Dislikes: pop music, modern horror movies, uncomfortable beds. Not looking for anything serious, just a night of fun ;), and wow, okay, he sounds a bit like a dick. The very Red-blooded American Male kind, that enjoys BBQs and winking at women from across the bar. She’s had enough of those during her line of work; she can recognize them from a mile away.

Whatever the case, her moral compass couldn’t allow her to pass up on the opportunity to possibly help someone in trouble. She ignores her urge to roll her eyes, and scrolls a little, finding other pictures of the same guy, when suddenly two separate notifications appear, the phone itself vibrating. One is from the app, which has now received a picture from this girl, Jamie, one which she certainly doesn’t plan on opening, seeing as it’s followed by a winky face. The second one is from Sam.

jesus dean how drunk are you

yes it’s sam. your brother? remember?

No, this isn’t Dean, uh.

My name is Y/n. Your brother lost his phone at a bus stop, near a bar.

i should’ve figured. dean rarely ever uses punctuation.

nice to meet you i guess

Nice to meet you, too.

So basically, uhm, I thought you might help me return his phone to him? I got worried, because this was dumped on the sidewalk, I thought he may be in trouble or something.

knowing him he probably dropped it while being too shitfaced to function.

gotta admit i’m impressed though. most people would’ve pocketed it by now.

I mean, it’s not much use to me with such a cracked screen haha.

yeah i guess.

i don’t know about getting it back to him though. i’m in kansas right now so i’m not close by. i don’t think i can help you.

he doesn’t use social media either.

Crap.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this phone then?

keep it probably.

You sure there’s no other way I can reach him?

i mean i can give you his email but i’m not sure he’ll respond.

I’ll take it. Thank you :)

no problem :)

As she looks up the bus stops, and she quickly realizes this is her stop. Throwing profanities loudly enough to wake the older man at the front of the bus, she scrambles for her things, haphazardly thrown in the seat next to her, and gets off the bus. She pats herself down, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything as the doors of the bus shut, and starts down the road to her apartment complex.

She could probably navigate this road blind. There are many ways to reach the apartment she’s renting from the bus stop, but her favorite goes through the park. It’s a large area, full of big trees with thick foliage and leaves that brown in the fall. The paths are paved and winded, and the park benches are stained with dark wood stain and curve comfortably. She enjoys coming here in evenings she has off, watching the sun descend behind the top of the trees with a good book.

The air smells like oncoming rain now, and with headphones deep in her ears, she walks taking deep breaths and enjoying the clear atmosphere that seems so unlike the roads that surround the park. As soon as she spots the first raindrop falling from the sky, she pulls her hood over her head and smiles.

It’s minutes later, when single drops have picked up to a drizzle, that she gets a sinking feeling, her hair standing up on edge at the back of her neck, shoulders knotting closer to her ears. Someone is close to her.

With the wire pinched between her thumb and index, she pulls one earbud off and pays attention to the surrounding sounds. Sure enough there’s a second pair of footsteps behind her.

Fuck, if she gets kidnapped or attacked right now, she’s fucked. There are no witnesses, and at this time of night screaming for help would be futile. She checks her bag, but her paper spray is nowhere to be found.

Yeah. Definitely fucked.

Her hands go deep in her pockets, going for her phone, but as she hears the footsteps behind her picking up speed along with hers, she panics and grabs Dean’s instead. She doesn’t look for her own, there’s no time for that, so she does the first thing she thinks of.

She texts Sam.

I think I’m being followed.

what?

Yeah

wait what’s going on? are you okay? who’s following you?

I’m walking home from work. I can’t see who it is, but they’re definitely on my tail.

how are you even typing right now??

is there any buildings around?  somewhere public to get in?

It’s 3 am. Everything is shut and I’m in the middle of a fucking park, Sam.

Fuck, I’m fucked.

what are you doing at 3 am in the middle of a fucking park then?!

A hand falls on her shoulder and she goes to scream, before she’s quickly spun around. Her free hand is curled in a fist, ready to fall on the attacker’s nose, when they speak.

“Y/n! I thought it was you!”

“Connor?!” She squints and pushes her hair away from her forehead, heart just about ready to fail out of the fright she’s gotten. “Fuck’s sake, dude, what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me in the middle of the night like this?!” Rain still falls on her, grounding her to the present, the fact she won’t have to fight for her life and corporeal integrity sinking in slowly.

Her neighbor smiles a crooked smile, watching her place a hand over her heart and taking a deep breath. His fluffy blonde hair is damp under the light rain, light green eyes glowing under the street lights. She’s so angry at him right now, she legitimately thought she was gonna die for a second there.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “I didn’t think to call out to you.” A shrug.

“It’s okay,” it’s really not, but there’s no point in staying angry at him. Besides, she figures she’ll be a little safer with him walking next to her all the way back to their apartment complex.

On the way back, they catch up. Connor is back in town after a long week and a half at his sister’s wedding. He’s in a brand new relationship with the guy he’s been pining over for like 9 months now, and he got a job at the bookstore, close to their building, he’s starting next week. He was out for a drink, he offers as an explanation, and was returning home, when he bumped into her. The park is also his favorite route to take.

The key dangles from her hands and finds a home in the lock and twists, while Y/n waves at her neighbor.

“Have a good night, Connor.”

“You too, Y/n.” It’s delivered with a wink and a bright smile.

The motions of dropping her bag by the kitchen counter, dumping the keys in the small bowl and hanging her coat on the hanger are delivered on autopilot in quick succession. Shoes toed off, hair pulled out of her lazy bun, she falls unceremoniously on her thrifted couch, feet suspended on the hand rest. Emmy must be asleep, the only lights on in the house are the fairy lights over the couch, setting a soft glow over the furniture. Y/n sighs. What a day.

Seconds before she falls asleep on the couch, a phone vibrates and it’s definitely not her own. Her eyes snap wide open, and she curses, fumbling with Dean’s device.

The messages are seven, and they all share the same panicked tone. Upon reading them, Y/n facepalms and curses, guilt weighing her down. Poor guy.

y/n?

what’s going on?

are you okay?

y/n

what the hell is going on.

you’re not replying.

please text me if you’re safe.

My God, Sam, I’m so sorry.

It was a neighbor/friend, he sneaked up on me.

you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night.

I’m genuinely so sorry, Sam, I had no idea it was him.

it’s okay

you were scared.

i am starting to question your choice in friends though.

Y/n grins for the first time that day. It’s wide and full. Sam sounds like a guy she’d hang out with.

Hahahah yeah.

I promise, Connor’s odd, but he means well.

well i have to go

but i’m glad you’re safe

Again, I’m really sorry to make you go through that.

it’s fine really.

Thank you.

Goodnight :)

Night :)

 ---

Part 2

A/N 2: Tell me how you’re liking the rewrite! 

Old Can You See The Stars taglist: @shutupiminlooove​ @sammysgirl1997​ @kymberlytorres​ @bambi95-blog​ @demonic-meatball​ @thekarliwinchester​ @littlekay15​ @li-m-ii​  @thinspo-isuppose​ @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker​ @marichromatic​ @illuminatus42​ @lazy-author​ @mirandaaustin93​ @hauntedsiriel​ @pilaxia​ @devilgirlsarah​ @nobodys-baby-now​ @captiveties​ @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream​

Sam taglist @kymberlytorres @theboykingsam @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes​ @captainmarvelcorps​ @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away​ @nellachain​

[goose-books]

whoa, it sure is about time around here for a post, huh!

today i offer you 1.7k words about cressida and rory simply being soft. that’s all. this is the happiest thing i’ve ever written in the darkling canon and making this moodboard reminded me that it’s because these two are the only kind and friendly people in the entire book.

more details about cressida and rory’s home WIP, darkling, can be found here! (short version: it’s a speculative fiction king lear; there’s magic but it’s weird about being magic; half the characters are gay trans and neurodivergent because i said so.) this takes place about a year before the story starts; the two of them have just turned sixteen and seventeen, respectively!

also, i wrote all of this while listening to “kentucky” by hippo campus on repeat. the lyrics aren’t quite as relevant as the vibe. if you catch me yearning on main mind your own business /j

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

Beside them, Cressida is soaked, long golden hair and long white dress dripping. Rory rocks up onto their toes and back down, anxiety worming along the back of their neck like an itchy coat. This was not the plan. The plan was not “get caught in the rain and run through a storm for two blocks.” The plan was for the two of them to go walk by the river and - who knows, talk about Joan of Arc or the Kennedy assassination or something. Swap special interests. Maybe swap spit. Probably not, though. It’s not a date. It’s not not a date - but, like, Rory still does work for Cressida’s dad, so who knows how awkward things could get. Plus Cressida’s hard to read. She doesn’t really make facial expressions, and that’s usually fine, because Rory can’t really read facial expressions so it’s about the same to them, but in this particular situation -

“I trust you,” Cressida says, squeezing their hand, “but where are we going?”

The rain’s left Rory’s glasses fogged up enough to render them effectively blind. They take their glasses off and squint at the elevator buttons. They are still effectively blind.

“Is that a five or a six?” they say, pointing.

Cressida peers over their shoulder. “Which one do you want?”

“Five.”

Cressida presses the five button with her free hand. The elevator, which is about the size of a broom closet, jerks into unsteady, fitful motion.

The thing is that the apartment building is kind of - well, not a dump. It’s not horrible. There aren’t cockroaches. But Cressida lives in a manor, literally. Stayer Manor. Capital S, capital M. And there was never any sort of plan for today, even in the wildest of circumstances, that involved Rory bringing the city’s golden girl to a building the size of a shoebox. But then it was raining, and Cressida kept saying she didn’t mind the rain despite clearly minding because if she ruins her dress her dad will go rabid-dog on her, and Rory’s cognitive wheels were spinning like they were powered by a well-greased hamster, and none of the restaurants close enough to duck into were appropriate places for them to safely freak out about the thunder, and their apartment was only two blocks away.

So.

Here they are.

“Sorry,” Cressida says. “Where are we going?”

Rory attempts to dry their glasses on their soaked-through sweater, to little avail. “We are going,” they announce, “to a world of pure imagination.”

Outside, thunder cracks the sky. They know Cressida sees them flinch, because she squeezes their hand again.

The apartment is 505. Cressida waits as Rory digs around in their jacket pocket, shuffling past loose coins and two pairs of headphones and four melted Starbursts and way too many scraps of paper until they finally unearth their key. Their lock sticks - their lock always sticks - so once they’ve turned it, they have to drop Cressida’s hand and plant one wet Doc Marten on the wall and yank. The door swings open.

“Voila,” Rory says, performing jazz hands. “Willy Wonka wants what I have.”

Their apartment is purple. Not startlingly purple. Gently purple. Purple like it creeps up on you. Purple like you don’t realize exactly how purple it is until you realize everything - walls, gauzy flower-patterned curtains, plushy armchair, compass-rose-shaped clock, old-fashioned record player on the table - is the same shade of soft lavender.

There is at least one nail sticking up out of the hard-wood floor. Rory snags a sock on it every time they dance around with their headphones in.

Two people have been inside since Rory started renting the place a year ago. And that’s them and the landlord. This is their place, their safe haven, their nook, and it’s the size of Cressida’s bathroom, and rich pretty Cressida Stayer is standing, dripping, in the threshold.

“Don’t touch anything,” Rory says. Cressida draws her hands in like the walls might electrocute her. “That was a joke. You can touch things.”

“This is your apartment,” Cressida says.

“Indeed.”

“You live here.”

“That succeeds the first!” They give her an encouraging smile. “Subsequent statements! How cogently lucid of you!”

Cressida looks down. The hem of her dress is dripping onto the floor. “I don’t suppose you have a vent I could sit on…?”

“In fact I do!” Rory directs her, aircraft-marshall-style, to the heating vent on the floor. They’re jittering. They’re using way too much arm movement. They can’t get their heart to stop skidding around, because normally! They do not! Let people in here!

They stand and drip. Cressida sits and drips. She gazes around, and Rory gazes with her, trying to see it through her eyes.

“Where’s your bed?” she says.

Rory skips over to the closet and pulls the door open, with the grand gestures of a magician presenting a trick. The inside of the tiny closet is lined with a thick downy comforter; there are sheets and pillows scattered around atop it, and there are glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up all over the walls and ceiling.

Cressida gazes at it. “On purpose, right? Not because -”

“On purpose. Yes. I could have bought a bed. I just think it’s cozy.” Oh, Rory is going to lose it right here. Their foot is tapping the floor at about a million miles an hour. Granted, being in their apartment helps the overstimulation a little - just being where it’s safe and everything’s always the same and they control their space. That always helps. But it’s not like they can just curl up in their closet with their headphones in and the door shut, because Cressida is here -

Cressida, for her part, looks a little impressed.

“It’s nice,” she says, wrapping her arms around her knees. “You just live here? By yourself?”

Rory shrugs. “I’m emancipated,” they say, which isn’t strictly true, but they work for the most powerful man in the city, who has their back if anyone actually looks into their files, so it’s as true as it really needs to be - and then thunder roars outside again and Rory skitters sideways and falls over their armchair.

“Oh! Oh my God -” Cressida jumps to her feet.

Rory scrambles up from where they’ve tumbled to the floor. “Sorry sorry sorry!” they say, except really they yell it because they have their shaking hands over their ears. “Sorrysorrysorry, I - I really don’t like loud - I d-don’t -”

“Can I -” All of a sudden Cressida’s in front of them. Rory doesn’t move away, just stands there, chest heaving, and Cressida slides her still-damp hands very gently up both of their arms, and she very gently pulls their hands off their ears.

The thunder, again. Like a cannon blast. This time Rory yelps a little. Cressida pulls them in close to her and sits both of them down on the vent, which, at the very least, is warm and also on the floor, so Rory can’t really trip over anything when they flinch.

“You don’t like loud,” Cressida repeats. She’s a good deal taller than they are - Rory’s exactly five-foot in their Docs - and so it makes logical sense for her to settle down with her chin on their head, probably.

“I don’t. I don’t. I really don’t.” They’ve started fluttering their hands a little; their voice is getting that shaky tilt it gets when they’re in sensory overload. “Fun story, back in high school we went on a field trip to this play where they used gunfire blanks for sound effects and I had a full-on crying-and-screaming public meltdown. I like to tell fun stories from high school like it wasn’t actual purgatory, because I cope through humor!”

“I know,” Cressida says simply, and she wraps her arms around them so they can lean back into her chest. The next thunder crash comes, and she tightens her grip. “Is this helping?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. A lot. Like a weighted blanket.” Rory tilts their head back to give her a shaky upside-down grin.

They don’t like making eye contact, so they don’t, but they are aware that Cressida’s gaze is resting pretty solidly on their face, which is - fine, and normal behavior for friends, and the fact that they’re cuddling on a vent and they can feel her heart beating against their spine is, like, normal also, probably -

“Rory,” Cressida says tentatively, “can I…”

Rory tilts their head. “Can you what?”

Cressida hesitates; then she leans in. It is a very very gentle kiss, almost hesitant; she pulls away after a second or so, to find Rory staring at her dumbfounded.

“Whoa,” they say, face assembling itself into what they’re fully aware is a stupid doofy grin. “Whoa. Hi. Hey. I - yeah! You can do that!”

They both cling to each other’s hands for a second; they both let out a breath that is, Rory thinks, equal parts relief and euphoria.

Then Rory leans in and kisses Cressida again, and this time neither of them pull away, and when the thunder crashes overhead Rory thinks they’ve never felt safer than they do right now.

[allonsy-yesiwill]

Tis The Season : Christmas Miracles

WC: 1600 ish

Pairing:  Dean x Y/N

Warnings: fluffy, you know what it’s so fluffy let’s just call it cotton candy. 

A/N: Well you know that drill by now, all mistakes are mine. Sorry it’s so late but Merry Christmas regardless. 

Get caught up here

“Merry Christmas beautiful,” Dean softly whispered, leaning down kissing Y/N awake. 

“Dean,” she said while stretching out to give him a hug, “What are you doing here and what time is it, ugh.” She sat up and made room on the sofa for him. “Wait did you drive over here in PJ’s, wait do we match. I am so confused.” 

Dean chuckled, “No I didn’t drive here in these and yes we match. It turns out this might be my mom’s thing for us. Lastly, how could I not be here? Aren’t these holiday movies supposed to have a happy ending?”

“Yeah I guess, I know I was a little reckless with the facts and I want you to know I would have told you all that given that right time. I usually don’t just dump it on people, it’s a lot and it complicates things, I know. I wish it didn’t have to but.”

Dean interrupted, “Shh it’s okay and I am sorry you had to go through all of that. I want you to know that if you ever need anything it’s okay to talk to me about that. But right here, right now this is where my best Christmas is with the most awesome person I know.” 

Dean kicked the ottoman closer and encouraged Y/N to put her head on his lap. “It’s still very early sweetheart, why don’t you try to get some sleep.” 

“How are you going to sleep, Dean?”

“Lay down and I will show you,” he said with a wink. Once Y/N was comfortable he arched his body back into the large pillows angling his head just enough to see Y/N and start playing with her hair. It only took moments for them both to fall asleep. 

Both Dean and Y/N woke up Christmas morning to Bobby taking pictures and everyone gushing at how cute they looked. “Alright, there’s nothing to see here,” Dean said, shifting just a bit. 

“Merry Christmas,” Y/N said, stretching awake. 

The morning was simple and quite. Soft Christmas music played in the background while presents were opened and while stories of Christmas pasts were shared. While Benny was talking, Y/N whispered to Dean, “Best Christmas ever, we should just to this next year.”

Dean kissed her forehead, “So you’re gonna stick around.” 

“Of course, I love you.” 

“I know,” Dean laughed while Y/N rolled her eyes. 

Ellen get’s everyone back on point, “All right we all know the drill we have to be at the Winchesters by 10 am. Mary messaged me and let me know dinner will not be a formal affair and this year they will be eating family style. So that we can join them for dinner. Y/N I am pretty sure this is your doing by the way. Dinner is going to be served at 5 pm sharp. Go do what you need to go and Dean your mother is expecting you. You kids should probably go ahead now so you can get dressed.” 

“Ah do we have to mom,” Y/N pretended to whine. 

“Yes, now go,” Ellen smiled. 

Y/N and Dean go into the pool house without anyone noticing and are able to get showed and cleaned up. Since nothing was going to be formal, casual was the name of the day, Dean in jeans and a flannel and Y/N in a maxi skirt and knit sweater. Y/N and Dean spent most of the morning in the kitchen hanging around Dean’s other family. Once Mary found them she pulled them into the living room, where all of the presents sat wrapped. 

“I am so glad you guys are here. We waiting to open gifts till you got here,” Mary said. 

“Where’s dad,” Dean asked. 

“Don’t you worry about him son, he will be around later,” Mary smiled. 

The living room filled with the same energy that Y/N was welcomed with at Bobby’s home, as Y/N softly snuggled in to Dean’s side. They are watching Sam’s boys open their gifts and play with them as they share their excitement about what they have received. The morning turned into early afternoon with Mary finally sending people out to start their day. The family schedule to use the local ice rink for a day of family fun. Since John knew the owner he was more than okay with giving the family a key, especially since Dean and Benny had spent their childhood playing hockey there and Benny worked there though highschool. 

The whole afternoon Y/N was taken back by how sweet and loving Dean was. He was similar to this back in Oregon however there was an added level of happiness. Dean was happy to be himself around his family, the baggage he normally carried. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Jess sat down on next to Y/N taking a break from staking. 

“Nothing really, it’s just nice to see Dean so happy.”

“You know that has everything to do with you. He’s never seemed to, I don’t know peaceful and that says so much. Especially with John, he didn’t like me either. However that was a long time ago, all I really had to do was let him spend all of his time at work. The first year was the hardest. We never saw each other, but I had faith.”

“Yeah I am not really too sure what John thinks about me. I know Mary seems to like me so I have that going for me,” Y/N let out. 

“Mary does more than just like you. I heard them fighting in the study last night. Mary taking a stand for Dean and you. She seems so happy that Dean’s happy.” 

Y/N let out a breathe, “ I don’t want them to fight over me, she doesn’t even really know me.” 

“Y/N you don’t get it, she’s fighting for Dean and his happiness. I don’t think she has ever seen him that happy.” 

“You laddies almost ready to go?” Sam asked while staking over. 

“Ah sure, whenever you are dear.” As Jess stood up to go help her husband and the boys take off their stakes, Dean was coming over to Y/N. 

“Hey babe, let me get those for you,” Dean said leaning over. 

“Wow, how very chivalrous of you,” she winked. 

“Make fun of me all you want. I know this time here has not been easy for you but I am so grateful you are still here. Any and everything I can do to make your life easier I will.” 

Christmas dinner was quite compared to the other meals in the formal dinning room. Mary doing most of the speaking, asking Bobby and Ellen about other family members. John sat silent at the end of the table. After the end of dinner Mary suggest that the adult retire to the living room as there was some family business that needed to be discussed before everyone leaves tomorrow. 

Dean and Y/N are the first to sit down, Dean putting his arm around Y/N and holding her close he whispers, “It doesn’t matter what happens we will still ride off into the sunset, if needed tonight.” 

“Ah well if needed I am going to put John in his place before we do that.” 

“Okay, babe,” he laughs before placing a kiss on her forehead. Once everyone is in the room John begins his speech.

“Over the past few days it has been brought to my attention that perhaps I have been putting the wrong focus on things in this life. As my beautiful wife reminded me, it was that long ago when Samual wanted me far from Mary’s life,” he paused taking a slip from his glass. “I am sorry boys, I only wanted the best for you and sometimes I missed that you already had it. Jessica, I am assuming what Sam shared at the table the other day was true and I am sorry for that I made everything so difficult for you. I want you to know that everytime you and your family comes into our home, I am grateful that Sam has you,” he fished raising his glass in Jessica’s direction. She returned the small action with a smile taking a small sip of her drink.  “Now Y/N, I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If Dean looses you to my stupid actions over this holiday, I am not sure I would be able to forgive myself. I am sorry for everything. Seeing your choices over the past few days has brought light to mine. You put my family first, over yourself when I couldn’t. Even when I was belittling you, you put my son’s feelings before yours. You deserve the family in this room more than I do right now, thank you for showing me the errors of my ways,” John raised his glass in Y/N direction, with them both taking a sip. 

“Alright now that all of the serious items are taken care of, what do you say we get Marry that family photo she’s been bugging us all about before Christmas is over,” John said with a smile. 

There was no planning on who stood where or had what outfits people where in. It was just a family together, different generations, new and old family members. John put his arm around Y/N while giving her a soft smile, before Dean stood behind her, Johns extending his reach to include his son.

“John,” she said in a whisper, “You’re forgiven but if it happens again we will probably be fighting to the death, just an FYI.”  John let out a small laugh, “I would expect nothing else. Merry Christmas Y/N.” 

That’s it for this one if, however if you are bored there is alwasy other stories

TAGS

@akshi8278

[postcards-from-absurdland]

No offence but I totally do not get the frequently described experience of 20-somethings having problems making friends compared to their childhood/school years??? I would really like to know your perspectives on this!

And I want to emphasize that I do not use the term “friend” lightly here, but rather with it’s Polish conotations. And in Polish, it doesn’t only mean “people you’re friendly with”, but rather “these close people who would let you in if you showed at them unannounced in the middle of the night”?

My viewpoint and personal, individual experience with what it’s like making friends in your 20s - below. I guess it only has as much value as individual stories do, but maybe it’ll ring with someone??? Probably not, eh.

Also, lots of spelling/grammar errors, I guess.

Idk, maybe y'all were just super chill and well-developed emotionally as children, but up until turning like 21 I was a Total Trainwreck of a Person when it came to socializing with Anyone. The only social groups I got to experience on the regular were either mandatory like school, or parent-approved (because I was just a goody-two-shoes, and emotionally abused), where I was constantly bullied and depressed,  feeling inadequate in literally everything I did. I got to know some lovely people on conventions or summer camps but I was just too insecure, anxious, neurotic and self-absorbed to truly keep in touch. Every time I wanted to initiate conversations or activities I spend hours agonizing over minor details and possible pitfalls, and then I like, went to sleep because it was already 2 a.m. and I had to start organ practice at 6:30 the next day??? I have like, 4 friends from that period still in my life, and bless them cause honestly, I wouldn't befriend myself at 15.

And now??? Well, now I am still a depressed, anxious mess (though diagnosed and treated!) who runs in stress-circles for weeks or hours, as much time as I get, before any pre-planned outing or social interaction. And I’m still a weirdo who generally prefers not talking to people.

However, provided that I have any energy left in my health bar (rare occurance), a bit of spare time and some dispensable income (and honestly not that much of either of these), I can create so many friend-making opportunities for myself???

I try to befriend my coworkers (though it never worked so far) or people I do evening studies with (they all intimidate me so I really cannot, but it is an opportunity, right?). I could meet people via doing charity work, on joining free classes at community centres, or when possible by attending lectures or meetings at the library or museums? Or I could get back to going to conventions when they reappear?

I have friends among people at my church choir and bible study. I am friends with 2 of my many former roommates. I have a few friends from university, folk dances, Irish dance classes, Lindy-hop classes, board-games testing, traditional singing workshops. I am working on befriending some of my husbands friends (who are all frankly intimidating and so adult that it’s scary). I join communities online, I have friends met via fandom forums, I am active in online groups surrouding my favourite creators, I join local less-waste fb groups, groups or servers about stitching, or baking, or clothes reselling or whatever, and I have started there some friendships that changed into something really close down the line.

Cause now, as opposed to years ago, I can actually get to know someone online and then meet them in person! With the added benefits of having much more experience in sensing rancid vibes, and not ever being ambarassed about taking safety mesures for such meetings if I decide to go, because it is NORMAL! And I do not need anyone's permission to do any of it! 

I have my own (rented) space that I can arrange and use as I see fit (that I share with my husband hence also sharing in it’s use and maintnance), and this includes (when deemed safe) hosting people if I so wish (best to ask husband for input before), or choosing to go into recluse and not open my mouth to anyone for days (sometimes includes husband). I don’t need to instantly write back to someone, and I don’t need to theorize internally on their feelings towards me, I don’t need to feel shame for having life outside of my friendships, and it doesn’t invalidate them. If you showed up at my doorstep at 3 a.m.? No worries, what do you need? If you send me memes at 3 a.m., however? I cannot text back for I am fast asleep, and I am not ashamed of that, as noone should be.

I am not ashamed at all while forming relations, in fact, especially compared with my school-years self. Not about who and how I am, having needs, setting boundaries, having baggage and vices that I'm working on. Not ashamed to decline, to forget, to lose touch. Not afraid of falling off someone’s radar. Not tormented by occasional mistakes. Not scared to apologize. Not mad or self-loathing when it doesn't click or falls through. (I still find enough things to self-lothe over, don’t you worry!)

I also do not need constant contact, constant reassurance, constant validation. I don't need any one of my friends to provide for all my emotional needs. I am not mad or sad or feeling broken for not being a centre of someone's life all the time.

Or at least, I'm working on all this, and more. As I tried to write in asides, I am still not the best-adjusted person you’ll find on this earth, by a long strech - and not the most friendly or people-loving, either. 

And yet, I do have friends, and I make and mend friendships all the time.  Most of my closest adult friendships sort of developed in the background, when I was just busy living my life. Maybe I just matured emotionally, maybe it’s finally getting my meds sorted out, or maybe it’s Maybelline, but I am now surrounded by a world in which there are many souls that I care for, and even more that I simply do not know of yet.

It by no accounts means that “if I can do it, anyone can”. That’s obvious bullshit. But if you want to make friends, there are many ways. Maybe none are objectively accesible to you right now, and if so, my heart goes out to you. But if you see any possible routes, take them. 

On these routes, first off - be yourself, be asserive, take care of your needs, and be safe. You are looking for friends and not emotional first-aid, or real first aid, Lord forbid! You may want friends, you may even NEED friends, but you are still a whole person yourself. 

Secondly, be curious  - people really are interesting by nature, even those that don’t seem so. And even those who you find boring! (I find a lot of people boring, but hey, I am tiresomely boring myself for many lads, so, there’s that!) 

Be persistent in your efforts to befriend the world, but let others set their boundaries too, even if those boundaries sadly exclude you. That’s a fact of life, you can’t form meaningful relationships with everyone. 

Go for kindness where you see no potential for closer friendship, take happiness and pride and sense of safety from this kindness, and go on with your life.

Good luck!

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai 1.05

Read From Start | Read Ahead | Home Site

When she got across the street Linden was standing over a trash can, dusting her hands of ash. The blackened handle of her bat was sticking out of the can, and she looked decidedly more cheerful than she had before.

“I uh, didn’t mean to ruin your bat,” said Nairi by way of apology, lingering next to her.

Linden laughed, stepping away and brushing the rest off of her hands on the front of her jeans. “It was reaching the end of its lifespan anyway. It served me well and went out on a high note, died a warrior’s death. Very noble.”

Nairi glanced through the front window into the restaurant, where the older woman was talking to a hostess. “So, I’m guessing that’s Edith?”

Linden nodded, looping her arm through Nairi’s and smiling at her, whole face relaxed. “Yeah. Didn’t she say hi?”

“Kind of?” said Nairi, letting Linden steer her into the restaurant. “I don’t think she uh… thinks very much of me based on a first impression.”

“Edith doesn’t think much of anyone, try not to let it bother you,” said Linden breezily.

“Linden!” snapped Nicholas from right behind them.

She hadn’t even heard him come up. Linden gave her a confused look, making her realise how badly she’d tensed. She gave Linden a small, hopefully reassuring, smile and tugged her arm free as they approached the table in the middle of the floor, willing herself to relax. It was just a restaurant, it was fine.

A hand descended towards Nairi’s shoulder and she stepped out of the way, turning to face Nicholas. “No, I don’t—don’t touch me, please, I don’t like—” she realised what she sounded like and cut herself off, shifting her weight to her other foot uneasily. “Sorry,” she muttered, taking the seat next to Edith so that he wouldn’t sit next to her.

“Perfectly alright,” said Nicholas to his credit, and he only looked startled for a moment before he sat.

Regrettably both Linden and Edith were watching her with sharp, assessing looks, even as the waitress distributed menus and water and a plate of bread. “Right,” said Edith mildly after a long, awkward pause. “How’s everything been, then?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old,” said Linden, leaning back comfortably in her chair. “Some going out, some hanging out, bit of art, Nick still hates my job—”

“You’re still calling him Nick, then,” said Edith, taking a sip of water.

Linden snorted.

“I haven’t quite been able to make her stop,” said Nicholas with a wealth of tiredness behind the words.

“Then bite the bullet and start using a name that can’t be shortened,” said Linden, grabbing a piece of bread. “Economy of syllables, old man, I like to move quickly.”

“I’m aware,” said Nicholas, and for some reason his eyes flicked over to Nairi.

Edith snorted. “And you’re still making your regular checks with—”

“Oh my god, yes,” said Linden loudly, rolling her eyes as she chewed. “Regular sexual health checks, I pinky promise. Christ, Edie, can you turn off the job for five minutes? I’ve been doing this for how long, now?”

“Long enough to consider a career change?” suggested Nicholas.

Linden ignored him, tearing another piece out of her bread and eating it.

Edith turned her attention to Nairi instead. “Right. I hear you teach martial arts?”

“Yes,” said Nairi, fingers twitching a little where they were clasped on the table in front of her.

Edith was still looking at her, expectant, after she spoke, and Nairi gave her a nonplussed look in return. “What do you teach?” asked Edith eventually, her eyebrows halfway to her hairline by the time she spoke.

“Judo and Krav Maga, and Muay Thai, now,” said Nairi, reaching for a piece of bread to stop her fingers from moving much more.

“Right, thank you,” said Edith as the waitress returned with their drinks. She and Linden had the same drink order, Nairi realised, cheap whiskey and coke. “Do you teach at a school then? Children? Adults?”

Pry much?

“I own a dojo,” she said, swallowing a piece of bread. It was garlic-y. “Adult students. I think you need like, checks and permits to teach kids.” It hadn’t ever really occurred to her to do it, so she’d never checked. She didn’t really think it was a good idea.

“Ah, of course,” said Edith, glancing between her, Linden, and Nicholas. “Aren’t we talkative. How about you, Nicholas? Got your schedule lined up?”

“Yes, I’m all local for the next ten months at least,” said Nicholas, nodding across the table at her. Even sitting down he was at least a foot taller than Linden, hilariously large next to her slim frame. “After that I might be working with a few groups interstate, but we haven’t put anything in concrete.”

“Nick does youth outreach,” said Linden, leaning on the table with one elbow as she addressed Nairi. “Can’t remember if I mentioned that.”

Nairi nodded, looking at Nicholas. “Good work, I take it?”

“Difficult, but worthwhile,” said Nicholas, his expression softening a little as he replied. “And regularly involves travel, it’ll be nice to be working close to home for a while. Linden makes sure to keep me abreast of things, though. She mentioned you two met in a Japanese restaurant?”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, glancing at Linden from the corner of her eye. She hadn’t shifted, totally unfazed by the lie. “Good… conversation. And food.”

Nicholas nodded. “Good. Have you been teaching long?”

“No,” said Nairi, finishing her bread.

Linden slurped on her whiskey loudly and cut across them to address Edith. “So, you finally got sick of the private side of medicine?”

Edith snorted, shaking her head as she took a long drink from her glass. “I was sick of the private system long before I met you,” she said, finally pulling her attention off Nairi and onto Linden. “But yes, while I enjoyed working somewhere I could meet Alison for lunch once a week, it feels fucking good to leave the cesspit behind.”

“‘Cesspit’ is a little harsh for a general practice, isn’t it?” said Nicholas mildly.

Edith rolled her eyes, covering the motion by taking her glasses off and hooking them into the neck of her shirt. “Anything that involves working so closely with the kind of parasites who think that calling themselves ‘providers’ covers—”

“Change of subject!” said Linden loudly, shooting Nairi an amused look over the rim of her glass. “Not that I don’t love your free healthcare rants, but like, I’ve heard them like a thousand times, Nick’s heard them a thousand more, and Nairi doesn’t wanna hear them.”

“Um—” said Nairi, unsure if she should at least pretend at interest, but Nicholas shot her a small, rueful smile and shook his head very slightly.

“Anyway, aren’t you more excited about new things?” continued Linden pertly, gesturing with her glass. “New clinic starting up, hello? You loved the old one.”

“The old one was killing me,” said Edith testily, narrowing her eyes. “Which is part of why I had to shut it down, I’ll thank you to remember.”

“Then why even bother starting it up again!” said Linden, rolling her eyes back at her with a frustrated huff.

“Because it’s not mine, now, is it?” said Edith, leaning in with a wide, condescending, goggle-eyed expression. “One of my colleagues from when I was working emergency got a grant to open one and she reached out. She needed hands on deck, so yes, I took the pay cut and got out of a job I hated.”

“And back into one that was killing you,” finished Linden for her.

“No, Verity has that role, actually. I get to lounge around doing the part of the job that actually fucking matters and telling her I told her so,” said Edith, and the expression she had been fixing Linden with had turned sharp, edging on something else entirely.

“Good to see you’re still the spirit of benevolence,” said Linden, and thankfully, the food arrived, cutting them both off.

It was only for the few moments it took for the waitress to set the plates down and disappear again, however.

Nicholas ate patiently as if the back and forth happening next to him was totally normal dinner table behaviour. Maybe it was, it wasn’t like Nairi had a good measure for that, but he did shoot her a sympathetic look at one point. She did her best to tune it out.

A few minutes after that decision Linden got a pinched expression and drained her glass, climbing to her feet and gripping Nairi’s arm just above her elbow. “Hey, let me buy you another drink,” she said abruptly with a wide, fake smile. “Back in a sec, guys.”

Nairi let herself be steered away from the table and glanced back briefly, unsure if she should excuse herself or offer an apology. She saw Edith turning to address Nicholas with a wry look, caught a fragment of “—now there’s a woman with baggage—” and she drew her focus back to Linden instead.

“Sorry,” said Linden, sounding peeved, her grip loosening as they approached the bar. “Nick complains about me and Edie going off at each other like, all the time, but I never realise how bad it is until we have witnesses.”

Nairi gave her a small, sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. It’s kind of, um, perversely sweet, I guess?”

Linden giggled, bumping her shoulder against Nairi’s with a flash of a goofy grin cutting across her face for an instance. “Okay then, weirdo. What do you wanna drink?”

“Oh, just like, another ginger beer or something? Or fruit juice?” said Nairi, shrugging, as she followed Linden’s gaze across the bar.

“Sure you don’t want a slug of something in it to help you put up with us for the rest of the meal?” asked Linden slyly, glancing sidelong at her. Her usual grin was back in place, looking more like the version of her Nairi had been getting to know over the last few weeks.

Nairi shrugged again. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Really?” said Linden, leaning on the bar, turning her shoulders towards Nairi. “Damn, I was kind of hoping you’d come out with me later this week—there’s this bar, total dump, but I was gonna sell you on it with the cheap and awful booze.”

“Sounds like a real hidden treasure,” said Nairi, twitching another small smile.

Linden’s grin widened. “Yeah, it is. Of course, if you’re not drinking then you don’t have to find out just how awful it is.”

“That is a very compelling argument,” said Nairi, glancing away at the weight of Linden’s gaze, but she didn’t stop smiling. “Being in a bar doesn’t mean I have to drink.”

“Exactly,” said Linden, sounding pleased. “Tomorrow? After you close up for the night?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Nairi, nodding at her. “Do you want to meet me at the dojo? If it’s a hike and you want to drink, I can drive to skip the cab fare.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Nicholas all of a sudden and Nairi had to resist the urge to jump. Did he even make noise? Had she really been that focused on Linden?

“Yeah, I told you she was nice,” said Linden, her smile becoming a little fixed as she addressed Nicholas. “Everything okay?”

“You were taking a while for two drinks, I thought I’d check in,” said Nicholas, implacable. “We’re going to a bar tomorrow night?”

“Uh, I’m going to a bar tomorrow night, I don’t know what you’re doing,” said Linden, folding an arm across her chest.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, considering you told me that you only had time to catch up tomorrow night, I guess I’m going to be meeting you at a bar. Which one, exactly?”

Linden ducked her head, sucking her lip into her mouth and nodding slowly. “…I’ll text you the details. Thanks, Nick, we’re uh, all checked up on.”

“Your food’s going cold,” said Nicholas. “We’re out with Edith, Linden.”

“I know,” said Linden, nodding again and rubbing at her forehead. “Christ, Nick, I just needed a second, okay?”

Nicholas nodded again and gave Nairi a perfunctory smile before turning and heading back over to their table.

Nairi waited a second before speaking, not a hundred percent certain of the exact flavour of chastisement that had just played out. “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” she said slowly.

“You didn’t,” said Linden, looking up at her again and giving her a smile that more closely resembled a grimace. “It’s fine, Nick’s just got his bitchy pants on.”

“Right,” said Nairi as Linden started rifling through her purse and peering down the bar at the bartender. “Uh, kind of a weird question I guess—is Nicholas your dad?”

Linden’s head turned so quickly she nearly dropped her whole purse. “What? No! Why would you even think that?”

Nairi considered it for a moment, her tongue running just along the edge of her teeth. “…No reason.”

[myktchp]

Top 6 Episodes of One Piece

If there's a series that attempts to test the diminishing return hypothesis, it's One Piece. The monstrous epic of Eiichiro Oda is the highest selling manga of all time, but its ridiculous duration still prohibits many people from checking it out, and that hill will only get steeper as we barrel towards its end (eventually).

The One Piece anime, which is a much greater commitment to time and does not boast the brilliant artwork of Oda as a selling point, is even more of a conundrum. Yet, for the first time, so many fans perceive the story this way and fall in love regardless... Over the course of many long binges, there is something special about cuddling up in front of a screen and getting lost in a world, and the powerful spirit that burns just below the surface, even during the not-so-hot days of the anime, still keeps us building up to a new "best" chapter. Everyone has their favorite shows, the ones they feel emotionally attached to, and we would love to share yours in the forums with you. Here are my own 6 best One Piece episodes, in chronological order (but not superlative):

Episode 19 - The Three-Sword Style's Past! Zoro and Kuina's Vow!

In the modern age, where the manga is so informative and comprehensive, it's hard to believe that there was once a period when the anime really successfully expanded on the plot. The anime version of Zoro's flashback is so amazing that it is the "true" version of the story in my heart, which comes a little later than it did in the manga. What once was a fast and blunt page is turned into a wonderful piece of sound, letting us live for an episode in the Japanese countryside as we hear the story of a young Roronoa Zoro and his original opponent, Kuina.

In its obsession with gender, this episode also ends up being easily the most empathic the show has ever gotten. It portrays Kuina, the prodigal swordsman, dissatisfied with the awareness that the gap in intensity between her and Zoro will increase drastically as they become adults. This is a moment for a young Zoro to take seriously his female rival, and in the present day, Tashigi finally takes up whatever thematic baggage is left behind by her death. This is One Piece's tender side at its finest.

Episode 119 - Secret of Powerful Swordplay! Ability to Cut Steel and the Rhythm Things Have!

This is another fantastic episode of Zoro that places us in the middle of the Straw Hats and Baroque Works' climate war. The adversary of Zoro is Mr. 1, who really isn't a swordsman, but a man who can turn his entire body into a weapon. Not only does Dice-Dice Fruit from Mr. 1 allow for some of the anime's imagination, but this episode manages to offer one of the coolest battles in the entire series. It's bloody, it's raw, and Zoro throws a guy into a building.

Towards the end, the episode is at its best, when everything gets quiet and builds up to the final blow. It sells the show with so much conviction that I believe it's cool. I believe this is one of the series's most driven episodes, and a great example of the show's cinematic narrative eye.

Episode 278 - Say You Want to Live! We Are Your Friends!

If 151 was the episode that made me a fan, the episode that made me a lifetime fan is 278. This episode and the one before it are older examples of "one-hour specials" from the series, which are gradually split into two episodes until released on home video and streaming sites. This episode is jam-packed even as just the second half of a special, as we conclude the tragic backstory of Robin and transition into the present where the Straw Hats make their greatest gesture yet to save their friend from the greedy World Government.

One Piece can become astonishingly sad for being such a vibrant and enjoyable series, to the point that it almost competes with itself to see how unhappy it can get. If the highs were not so gosh darn consistent, these lows would become tiresome, and Straw Hats' assault on the government flag, followed by Robin's major "I want to live!" One of the most cathartic moments you'll ever find in literature is the scene. At this point in the plot, the Straw Hats are still underdogs, so their bold "never give up" attitude in the face of their greatest enemy hits particularly hard. This episode illustrates the chasms that One Piece can jump to be the saddest and happiest tale it can be, from baby Robin surviving the genocide of everyone she's ever loved to adult Robin pleading for another chance at life.

Episode 396 - The Fist Explodes! Destroy the Auction!

In One Piece, Luffy punches a Celestial Dragon so hard that he knocks the color off the screen, still one of the most frequently referenced and applauded moments. If there is one thing that One Piece is unbelievably good at, it's payoffs. It sets the pins up so that in the most bombastic way possible it can knock them down. To this day, the Celestial Dragons are the most heinous villains we've seen in One Piece, and the repercussions of (again) defying the World Government are obvious, but Luffy still has to do his thing with Luffy.

The emphasis that the show places on Luffy's pledge to Hatchan not to intervene, no matter what, is what really captures me about this moment. You get the feeling that Luffy is the kind to keep an earnest promise, but watching a hero get pushed beyond that stage is always fascinating.

Episode 574 - Back to the Present! Hordy Makes a Move!

The general opinion, as far as I can tell, is that Fishman Island is the series' worst arc. With this sentiment, I don't agree. I think it's one of the heaviest, most three-dimensional instances I've ever seen of fantasy-world-racism-as-metaphor-for-real-world-racism. Basically, the mid-arc flashback covering the plights of Fisher Tiger and Queen Otohime is a film-length drama, and it's one of the series' best flashbacks, for which there's fierce competition. It's very underestimated.

Aside from being an exceptionally pretty episode, both halves of it are extremely strong, one at the tail end of the flashback and one coming out of it. Neptune mourning the death of his wife, distraught that the difficulty of race relations implies that he can not convey his frustration, is a great scene, as is the forgiveness of Jimbei by Nami for his connection to the pirates of Arlong. The push and pull between hope, cynicism, remorse, rage, and love is what makes this arc perfect. You just ever feel like you're halfway through everything life's going to bring you through, even at its worst. As for its place in the big picture plot, this episode is a significant step in the relationship of Jimbei with the pirates of the Straw Hat, and it establishes the purpose of the Ryugu Kingdom to join the World Government and attend the Reverie, a heavily built-up political event that is due in the manga any day now.

Episode 616 - A Surprising Outcome! White Chase vs. Vergo!

This is a particular stand-out episode in the series for fighting animation, since it's so much more physical than normal. Even with the powers of Smoker and Vergo flying every way, the effect goes down to their good ole fists. The personal investment between two marines duking it out is already very intense, but it's put over the edge by the great choreography and style, and that alone would put such an episode on my radar.

That said, once Smoker vs. Vergo turns over to Vergo vs. Rule, there is a cherry on top, with the real villain of the arc, Doflamingo, listening in from a distance. The rest of the series gives too much consequence to the law defeating Vergo in such an over-the-top manner.

So those are the episodes I feel are worth revisiting the most! Obviously, I'm expected to have skipped a few or omitted incredibly significant episodes in this top six list, with a series that long. If you enjoyed this top list of mine don’t forget to leave a like and share it with your friends. If you have any suggestions for my next top list just mail it to me at ramos.rf.bsmt@gmail.com and i will feature you for my next article. Stay tuned and stay safe everyone!

[adamsvanrhijn]

Hello there! I have been happily working through your incredible wtmy,tbws fic like a duck enthusiastically eating a bowl of peas, and was wondering if I may request a director’s commentary on the "never cared to 'til a minute ago. Always been a delicate bloke." conversation OR whatever scene from that fic that you most enjoyed writing? Thank you!

thank you! i am loving that simile very much.................. a duck enthusiastically eating a bowl of peas. amazing.

under cut because the fic itself is Adult Content haha

& also because this is Absurdly long... doing this meme for other people is really hammering in for me how much i rely on single line dialogue & short paragraphs lol. i’d love to work on that, but, womp womp, it hasn’t really been happening.

there is ... a lot going on in this scene lol. i feel very galaxy brain while writing this fic and it’s very pretentious, but i’m just gonna poke at the relevant bits around that quote instead of quoting The Whole Thing. this is from chapter 5 of when to my soul, the body would say ! 

context -- they’ve had morning sex in front of a mirror, then they went for breakfast at the place they’re staying, where richard is using a persona for Safety Reasons, & now they’re just hanging out and richard has been checking thomas out for the last 5-15 minutes without him noticing... until he comments on thomas smoking, and then thomas...

...lets his eyes wander, himself. 

Richard, fully dressed save for his shoes, is turned from the bureau, arm slung over the top of the chair. He did his hair this morning, because Evelyn Price would not have gotten up to anything in the night that could possibly alter the work of a week's worth of Brilliantine, and Thomas sort of hates it.

Not how it looks.

What it means. Or represents, rather. That they've got people other than each other upon whom they need to make good impressions, be they in service or just in the world at large.

right, so, this is like, the Ground Work Thoughts for thomas here as far as this particular interaction is concerned, because this is Very Much about perception / Being Perceived, and before the conversation even happens he’s paying richard a lot of attention, almost to the point of scrutiny. and richard is put together in a way that is very much not for thomas’s sake, it’s for they-left-the-room’s sake, and so he’s noticing that and that’s his frame of mind as they move on.

side note! hair styling oil & pomades really were worn for multiple days in a row. amazing. i could never. there should really be more in this fic about richard’s hair being all floraly <3 <3 <3 but there isn’t. womp womp. that would have been a Factor in this bit huh lol.

"You ever try it?" asks Thomas. Meaning smoking.

"No," he says. He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Never cared to 'til a minute ago. Always been a delicate bloke."

Thomas coughs impolitely.

"I don't see the harm in saying it, Thomas."

The feeling he can't describe leaves him, and a different one forms, in his gut instead of his lungs, an uncomfortable and unwelcome weight. Knotted.

aaaaand boom. thomas Did Not Sign Up For This. 

richard’s being 100% honest, just speaking casually, but thomas’s reaction is enough to get him on the defensive & he’s not an idiot so he knows why, but this is also not something he has lately put a lot of thought into. he’s Accepted It About Himself (we’ll get into this). thomas meanwhile is not ready to approach the subject of Delicacy for anybody he cares about, because to him it’s not a good description, it’s not something he aspires to be or wants to come across as, but he has many times in his life come across as it anyway. he’s Not Like That. 

so the word alone sticks in the wheels of his rolly suitcase emotional baggage, even though it’s richard using it on himself.

"Well, you clearly haven't got a problem with playing at being normal," Thomas says pointedly. Tough not to be pointed when he feels like this, because he's no stranger to it, is he. "If I didn't know better I'd be asking after your wife and baby like the rest of this place."

Lucky those people were leaving after breakfast; Thomas wouldn't be able to take two full days of it.

He hasn't asked about the photographs in the wallet yet, either, and he's not sure if he will.

normal being heterosexual, in this instance, which is contemporary vocabulary.

and richard is very good at playing straight when he’s not fearing for thomas’s life, so. it’s true! it’s a legitimate opinion. but it’s also a pretty significant logical leap that richard is about to pick up on, because that makes him uncomfortable, given thomas is basically saying.... you seem straight, what are you talking about, which isn’t going to make him feel excellent about the sense of identity he’s settled into. 

the rest of this is an Achievement Thomas Is Yet To Unlock so i won’t say much other than that this is not a significant addition to richard as the reader might know him from ywntmha, but, a lot of the big emotional work & development in that fic happens in 1929, with this meeting as the impetus... so it is very significant for thomas, at this point. we’re still in january and they still have a ways to go both in the next 24 hours and in the rest of the year.

Richard raises his eyebrows. "And what's that got to do with it?"

He shrugs.

It should be obvious. It would be obvious, to anyone who bothered to think about it for more than half a second.

that’s not a good faith question; richard’s goading him into actually saying the underlying thought. on one level thomas knows that, which is why he doesn’t say that part out loud and only thinks it.

"It's pretending, is all it is," Richard continues, a little too gentle.

"Don't call yourself what they call you," Thomas returns, a little too sharp.

and since goading doesn’t work, new tactic on richard’s part here, and though thomas can tell it’s intentional it does work on him, so.

writing this was interesting for several reasons but one of the big ones is, and anybody who’s been following me since Before da will probably know this, i like... have very little patience for discussion about personal identity, especially when it comes to reclamation ? i am way more interested both on a personal and academic level (bc i can’t lie about that lmfao, hashtag english major) in community + external ideas imposed on people.  

and this might seem like a very 2010s conversation for them to be having, but... this period of time was really the Dawn of queer/lgbt identity Concepts: words were being coined, communities were coming together in new ways, in continental europe & the us especially there was a lot of rapid development and transition here owing to various roaring 20s factors, and i think richard given his situation would have been exposed to that, for one, but also just, it’s gonna be in both their environments because it was getting to be a thing from the victorian era w/ the medicalisation of homosexuality and things are only expanding. 

"delicate” is a euphemism, not a slur, but it has hella connotations & they are both fully aware of them.

"Rather it be me saying it than them."

Blasé like it doesn't mean a thing at all.

You should know better, he wants to say, you should know better than anyone.

"Don't see how you can feel that way when it's not true to begin with."

thomas’s Only Gay Friend Is My Boyfriend is showing here lol, this is shining light on a gap in what he knows about richard & what he Thinks he knows about richard, so there’s a dissonance. and he sees richard as Masculine on a conscious or subconscious level, and he’s in a These Are Antonyms place re “delicate”. some black & white thinking going on here.

& i feel like the other part is probably fairly explanatory but, richard gets a sense of control and self-assurance by using a word for himself that might not be kind coming out of other people’s mouths and Being Okay With That.

"Thomas…"

They lock eyes.

A tense moment passes.

It is Richard who breaks first. He turns back to the desk with a small sigh.

"This has very little to do with you," he says carefully.

richard, knowing thomas as he does, is able to tell that he’s taking this personally, because he Is, so that’s that there, but again this is something he’s already settled in himself and so there’s also an element of having to justify again this thing he’s already figured out, which he isn’t exactly fond of.

anyway i said i’d get into this -- there’s a lot of interesting like, Societal / Subcultural / Etc politics with regards to being a male servant in this day and age and Gender In General, and valets especially -- throughout the time period leading up to this but ESPECIALLY in the 1920s when there are fewer men in service than there ever have been and more and more kinds of, say, manufacturing jobs as the automobile industry picks up & labour saving devices start having more complicated parts, and probably yknow most of the boys he went to school with are in that or mining or railways, so he’d have thought about it earlier on in his life probably. or Has rather. ftr his brother was in the carriage works i don’t think that ever comes up but there’s a lot there lol. there’s some family stuff in but level in time that we’ll get to........... someday. ANYWAY. 

the point is.

valeting is an effeminate job.

like, point blank. i’m seeing that idea both in sources specifically about servants & just general of-the-era stuff about great houses. when you’re talking about gay men in service a lot of them are valets, and some of that lines up w stereotypes & common lifestyle habits of gay men in general -- looking after hair shoes and clothing, obvs, attention to detail in physical appearance (note that men who Get Valeted also care about details, but they are not the ones who actually have to think and decide about it; whereas their wives are probably giving their ladies’ maids more directions as to hair styles and dresses etc etc because they’re expected to care about that part of the process in a way that men weren’t), exposure to social mores in a variety of different contexts, being well-connected within both the communities that help him get work done: tailoring, hairdressing, shoemakers, drapers, etc and in General, having softer skills like sewing and whatnot. and you’re unmarried and looking after the presentation of another man so there’s some like, desexualisation stuff there.

and thomas and richard would both know this very, very well. they’d have encountered the idea both as men in service and as gay men and especially as gay men in service.  

this richard has been working at buckingham palace for more than twenty years at this point, minus his war backstory which....... is complex and i haven’t gotten into it very much anywhere but he was getting cosy with some higher ups and having To Do about presentation there too and like, was in the service corps which was non-combat supply lines ....... and apprenticing valeting / actually (non-principally) valeting the Literal King Of England for nine.

he has had a LOT of time to get over his shit.

he not only likes his job* but he’s also very good at his job, literal 2nd highest valet position in frankly The World, which is fucking wild, and that combined with his Childhood of like, being second best to his older brother who was like, a perfect human being so far as he could ever tell and that included being very traditionally like, athletic and Leaderly and having-a-sweetheart-in-your-youth-you-then-marry when he was more interested in, you know, story telling and Arts N Crafts (i’m being tongue in cheek) and just generally not ... especially into the Boys Will Be Boys stuff............................

he’s fine with it! he is Fine with being called delicate, it’s helped him get over a lot of his issues just to decide oh, this actually fits my personality and the trajectory my life has followed, so i’m going to just accept that and move on ! etc. 

but thomas is not anywhere near there for himeslf and therefore he isn’t for other people, too, because one of thomas’s Problems is that he hates seeing other people comfortable and happy when he isn’t... and that even applies to richard, because love does not make us perfect. 

*he wants to leave service and he’s tired of the constant scrutiny of working where he does for whom he does, but he does like his actual duties in a lot of ways.

well here’s a novel. i hope this satisfies you!!! <3 <3 <3

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

In a post about Snape you made a point about people comparing his and Harry’s abuse and personalities- remarking that Harry is an unrealistic standard of “perfect victimhood”. What- in your opinion- would be a more realistic personality/ideals for Harry to have ?

As the Dursleys have proven to be perfectly willing to withhold food, lock him away for extended periods of time, hit him with frying pans, and choke him out physically, we can easily say that they were physically abusive to him.

Just these actions alone, committed without hesitation or remorse/regret, already breed certain behaviors.

Then add on the other kinds of abuse. From Dudley getting the kids to avoid him at school and possibly get them in on bullying him, to Vernon and Petunia having the whole neighborhood believing he’s a delinquent, to lying to him about his parents’ deaths and the kind of people they were, to making him scared of asking questions, to not allowing him to do better than Dudley in school, to letting Marge treat him terribly and sick her dog on him.

So What Should His Issues Be?:

Distrust of adults.

For 10 years, every adult in his life has been rather useless or extremely terrible. Figg isn’t really bad but she’s passive in it all despite being one Dumbles’ minions. And that’s not any better tbh.

We know Harry has issues with authority. Authority has failed him personally. A lot. But he should be a lot more wary of adults imo. Notice how he warmed up to Hagrid pretty quickly, and after learning the truth, warmed up to Sirius. Thing is, Hagrid doesn’t feel like an adult in any way. And Sirius never got a chance to mature as a person. He was still an immature, bullying brat when he was forced into war and then illegally imprisoned to be tortured for over a decade. His mental space is that of a young adult at most. He feels like a kid too. They don’t feel like mature characters in the least. They’re like the cousins around your age who might be a bit older but not enough for you to take them seriously when they order you around.

As someone who’s been treated similar ways by a blood relative who had guardianship over me(Sperm Donor) I look at my issues and how Harry turned out and I’m a bit annoyed. I know that no two experiences are perfectly the same, but still...

His discomfort and dislike of Snape should have been prevalent when facing all adults/authority figures and not just the one he disliked for hating him. There was a time where I questioned the motives of all adults because of how Sperm Donor treated me(similar to the Dursleys but more flowery gaslighting). Harry just kind of goes along with everything and even tries going to an authority figure for help when things get sticky. Being blown off by McGonagall should have been a wake up call. Or watching how she treated Neville in their 3rd Year. The good teacher who isn’t nasty like Snape, still can’t be trusted to do her damn job. Hell, Dumbledore deliberately hiring bad men two years in a row should have been a concern. There is no hope.

His level of obliviousness on certain topics is alarming. Though it could also be an ingrained habit from the ‘don’t ask questions’ bit he learned from the Dursleys. He could have trained himself to ignore reality and his desire for knowledge. If so, that’s concerning af.

Hating Physical Contact

When you’ve been met with nothing but pain or aggression every time someone touches you for 10 years, that leaves a lasting impression. Sperm Donor liked yanking me around the way Vernon does to Harry. And he would hit things near me to scare me. I have an issue now. I generally hate being touched and feel all around revolted if it happens, but I also hate the game “I’m Not Touching You!”. Because Sperm Donor would wave his hands wildly and strike the walls or car seats near my head.

If his hands raised any higher than waist level I became still as stone and sharply observant of what he’d do with them. And now that children’s game bothers me because it’s this internal guessing game that I don’t have the mental energy to handle. I know people who would eventually Poke and others would with Slap at the end. One even Punched. Hands coming at me at any height generally bother me and I panic and try to categorize everything happening, all at once!

Are they mad? Did I do something wrong? Am I about to get hit? Or will it just be a pat on the shoulder? But what if they’re pretending it’s going to be a pat on the shoulder and then they start choking me? What if I did something and now they want to hurt me? OMG I didn’t mean to!

This is for anyone. Even my mom who would never do that to me. Objectively I know this, but the anxiety that has formed will still fuck with me anyway.

Harry Potter is too comfortable around perfect strangers. It’s one thing to not like being stared at, especially since he knows it’s only because his parents died and he didn’t, which is a creepy thing to make someone famous for. It’s another to be fine with people touching him willy nilly. Lockhart should not have been the first example of him being uncomfortable near someone or with someone touching him(Lockhart was too touchy-feely with Harry on a pedo level tbh). 

Maybe we don’t see Harry reach out physically a lot, but he doesn’t stop other people from getting personal with him.

Mental Illness

Stress, Depression, Trauma, PTSD, Anxiety, etc...

He got no help for any of this after 4 school years of near-death experiences and tragedy. A lot of people think his ‘irrational behavior’ in OOTP is just him Overreacting or Voldemort’s Emotions Seeping Through. They don’t want to acknowledge that someone who’s been physically tortured, ostracized multiple times, and nearly killed multiple times, might have loaded baggage they’re carrying around.

And he is frequently made to feel like his emotions and worries don’t matter, especially in OOTP. He was in no way in a healthy situation and authority once again is proven to be useless/detrimental on all sides. The fact that he’s so willing to give people second or third chances in the next book/Year despite how much they fucked him over in OOTP, annoys the piss out of me.

Harry will overlook his own needs to make others happy. And many people attribute this to just him being nice, but that isn’t it. It’s not wanting to lose what he has. It’s fear of being seen as selfish if he concentrates on himself for too long. It’s worry that he’ll lose his friends especially since both have inferiority complexes a mile long but for different reasons. So he never just sits down and thinks, “I need some time for me.”

The People Pleaser aspect is one of the rare issues we actually get shown but most just don’t understand the problems in such an attitude and how quickly that can be abused and is abused.

The Saving-People-Thing and Martyr Complex are also problems viewed as angelic and sweet when they only exist because a manipulative old man orchestrated his life without a right to and lead him to the point where he thinks he has to die for the world and has to save everyone and then beats himself up if he fails. Yeah. Super healthy.

The negative sides of these issues don’t really get explored. It’s obvious they’re there but people don’t like mental health issues being brought up when they aren’t wrapped in a pretty package. It’s called hypocrisy. If Harry displayed the more negative aspects fo these issues they’re turn on him and he’d be treated like Snape.

In some ways Snape’s situation was worse. In other ways Harry’s was worse. As kids/teens both had some traumatic experiences that no one should have to go through. And on Harry’s end he’s tortured and almost dies because of an adult and his minions, multiple times while at school over the years. Snape was bullied/sexually assaulted by his peers(which fucking sucks too. Still, 1 near-death experience & his genitals being exposed, against multiple attacks & near-death experiences?).

So why is it blatantly obvious that Snape is not well when Harry’s school experiences could objectively be termed as Worse? This isn’t the Suffering Olympics or anything, but Harry’s school years from the info we know, sounded more dangerous than those of the Marauder’s Time. Trolls, Basilisks, Dementors, Dragons, disguised Murderers messing with the kids, assumed Murderers getting in and out, torturing of kids, and then war on the grounds.

Danger hadn’t touched Hogwarts in the 70s. It was haven in a dark time. It was all over in the 90s though, coming from various sources.

So it’s weird how Snape can be such a mess but somehow Harry comes across as a darling of purity with no problems and half the fandom will claim that he is what victims should be.

[lizzieparker]

you can count on me; like one, two, three.

tagging: @mattschue @lizzieporter

location: A bar. 

time frame: May 1st. Late afternoon. 

about: Matt and Lizzie talk about some things, million years ago. 

warnings: Some explicit talk, nothing major. 

Matt didn’t know how to go about with what Lizzie asked him earlier on the day because it was a part of his life that he hadn’t forgotten about but it also felt like it belonged to another man. They finished their shift and went down the block that they sometimes hung out at after work. He ordered a pint and picked up whatever she wanted and they found a table off in a corner. “Soooo.” He started and chuckled. “Why are you asking about my ho days, Lizs?”

Lizzie didn't even try to fight going out with Matt after her shift, mostly because she still got happy that any of her friends wanted to spend time with her, even when Matt and her had become family years ago. Stil, she appreciated that he still wanted her around after all this time. Once they arrived to the place they always hang out, she ordered a beer for her own and some french fries so they could share. "You are making such a big deal ouf of this, I swear" She rolled eyes for good measure, as she put her hair in a high ponytail. "I just asked cause it interests me how you, you know, stopped with the hoe life"

“Hey now. It’s not everyday I get you asking this kind of question. And it reminds me of when I asked myself something along the lines because I had reached a place where I knew I needed to change.” He plucked a hot fry from basket and bit into it. “It wasn’t something that stopped like that.” He tried to snap the fingers on his left hand but it wasn’t the same and failed. “I slipped here and there. But I tried to actually date. That was the difference from before when I was getting drunk and fucking around.” He popped the rest of the fry into his mouth and brought his beer over. “I wasn’t happy, Lizs. There were many years I was so damn miserable that drinking and a warm body made me feel better. For a while. Then it was back to this existence. One I had very little purpose in. If it wasn’t for the work we do and the chief giving me a second chance...I don’t know where I’d be.” He sighed. “That question. It’s not one I can just say I fell in love and that was it. Because it’s not. It was a lot of mental shit, too.”

It didn't take more than a couple of minutes to know this was not going to be an easy conversation and, as always that Matt spoke about his Matt 1.0, she gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded along with his words. She felt incredibly lucky that he shared all of this with her, every time. "I think we are all very lucky to have this job, and each other. And I'm very proud of you, of everything you are now. I think it takes a lot of balls" Lizzie reached for a fry, trying her best to buss herself so she did not start getting emotional already. "I don't... I don't know if it feels like that for me" She shrugged lightly, biting her fry. "I just like sex, you know? It's nice and I have fun. And right now Max and I both are in a position where we both trying to ease into something more and it's fine. More than fine, actually" A little smile played on her lips, private and more for herself than anything. "But we are working towards something more and I want to be ready. I don't want to screw it up"

“What’s not to like about sex? It’s fun and you can do all sorts of things. Get kinky or do it quick in the bathroom. It’s a high. A thrill. And it releases all these endorphins. So you feel fucking incredible when you have a good fuck. Hell, even having a fuck buddy has its perks but it’s not the same. Because you know it’s not going to move into a place where you can have a future with that person.” Matt listened to her and smiled because he saw himself as a brother to Lizs and to hear she wanted to try with someone is a big step. “Can I ask why you feel you can with Max but didn’t with Mason?”

At the beginning of Matt's comment, Lizzie made a face, more out of habit than anything else but it didn't mean it didn't got her thinking. It was so easy to imagine a future with Max and they had even talk about it. It was nice to start thinking about them as a unit, because Lizzie didn't had that in a long time, not since Kelsey. She was in the middle of taking a sip of her beer when his questions almost made the glass fall of her hand, making her do some weird moves to catch. "Jesus, Matt! Warn a girl before you bring up the emotional baggage, god!" She took a long sip, letting it on the table. "I... God, I... I don't know? There is a lot of things, I guess. There is no guilt with Max, no pressure to change my life in a second" It was impossible to not feel her heart clench in her chest uncomfortably, a needed reminder that things were not completely over. "I wanted Mason so much that I never realized I had everything I ever wanted, all the easy and the fun and the been supported exactly how you are thing right in front of me" She shook her head, biting the inside of her lip. "It's two very different feelings"

“I’m sorry! But I know you and Mason had this thing and then didn’t have a thing and then had a thing again. So I figured it was worth asking. Don’t get me wrong. I like how happy you looked talking about Max and if this is something you feel you can have something good with. Then explore it with him. Because you know when you’ve found your person. There are good people who come and go in your life but when you meet the one who just gets you. Who gets you when you’re happy and things are going good and who gets you when you feel like shit, and they don’t want to run away. That’s something fucking special.”

"It's off again. Sort of" And now she kinda wanted to cry again. This was just how Artie said, Matt had a way to get everything out of you without trying. "He knows about Mason, you know? About the whole thing. He knows everything that has happened and how much it still hurts everyday. And he just... Holds me until it goes away. I'm sure that if he had the opportunity Mason would have done the same, or maybe not, but right now, whenever I feel sad or upset, the only person I want to hold me is Max."

Matt took a sip from his beer and noticed the way she spoke and how she spoke that the whole Mason thing was a trigger for her. He set his glass down and went around the table and sat next to her. Matt shoulder bumped her and hoped it would help bring her back around from that place he took her to. “Hey.” He said as he peered over at her. “It looks like you found that person you can talk to about what’s going on. That’s major, Lizs.”

Lizzie's eyes widened a bit but didn't offer any resistance to Matt sitting beside her. In fact, she rested her body against his side, enjoying the feeling of him supporting her in more ways than one. "I know. It feels major" She closed her eyes for a second, trying to organize her thoughts. "He also high fives me when I get to sit on a big dick, so there is that" She chuckled weakly, burrowing herself a little more against Matt. "That's why it feels important to not screw it up. Again"

Matt could try to keep this conversation serious and he did wrap his arm around her in a half hug before moving his hand over to playfully mess with her hair. “You do the high five while one the saddle or afterwards?” He laughed at this. “So why come and ask me about how I knew to move past my ho days? You think you’re ready to close the gates to people other than Mighty Max?”

Lizzie giggled as her moved her hair, moving his hand down with a grunt. "Afterwards. There is something really hot about a man who can appreciate a good big dick" She felt herself relax, going back to drinking her beer. "Not right now, he got stuff to get over it as well as I do. And right now it's fun, you know? We are both on the same page and we talk a lot about things, like adults, what is really weird but anyway. I know I'm gonna want that at some point soon and you said it was a process so, I thought I should start doing research"

"Are you saying that about me or about Max appreciating his own cock? Because it sounds like you want me to go over and ask him to show it off to me so I can high five him myself." Matt laughed at this. "It's not research, Lizs. You just...fall into it. B and I knew each other awhile before I asked him out. Not personally but we'd talk and joke. He became the first and last person I want to talk it and I share everything with him. And I mean everything. Bets and I didn't have that and most of the time she tuned me out. B listens. Even to my stupid and crazy. Which, by the way, you're sleeping in a cot at the foot of our bed after the three of us get hitched. Blaine's convinced you need an actual bed so I figure that's a good compromise." He joked. "When do I get to officially meet this guy?" Matt reached over for his beer and brought it over.

"I was saying it like Max appreciates dicks in general but honestly, do you think I would even think in going exclusive with nothing but an outstanding dick? Don't you know me better than that? Please Matt, let's be serious here" Blaine and Matt's love story always made her swoon, no matter how many times she heard, because they both talked about it with some love it filled the entire room. It was amazing. "Wait, why?! I let you use my bodywash!" She playfully punched his arm, but not enough to make him drop his drink. "You want to?" Her cheeks went slightly red, something she tried to hide with her glass, but she couldn't help but grin. "You will see him sometime soon around the station. He and Drew want to come play with the new puppy"

Matt had to give it to Lizzie because she was honest about what it is she wants and makes it clear; clear enough for the table next to them to hear. All he could do was laugh at this, shaking his head at her. “Because the main bed belongs to B and me. Or you can sleep in the guest room with Buster. But then you miss out on the sexy show B and I put on almost every night.” There was no way anyone was actually seeing that but he liked to tease. “Well yeah. This guy with the big dick that has you thinking about being exclusive. I want to meet him. Maybe talk to him. And is Drew his kid?”