#imagine the tender state i was in finishing this just before the episode

[livelaughlovesubs]

I think despite how well he plays himself off all the time, Dazai still has depressive episodes sometimes when he's alone. Imagine coming home early and catching him in such a vulnerable state. Fuck him nice and sweet- show him how much you love him despite everything -🦀

Yk what, this will be the second part of that maid dazai fic. And I’ll make it sweet enough that you get a stomachache. Also- @amo-bsd

Part one!

Dom!reader x sub!dazai - reader is gender neutral

Warning: pegging (can be read as a dick), teasing, praise kink, marking - hickeys, handjob, dacryphilia, role play, lingerie

“You want me to defile you?” A low voice so hypnotising it send shivers down his spine echoed through the room. His gaze showed absolut devotion, legs spread on the couch just the way you wanted. “…yes, please.” The brunette gasped, his left hand helping you hold his skirt up while his right one reached behind him. The way his chest heaved with each breath, lips trembling whenever he had to part them, made you go crazy about him. With a single tug, he opened the tie of his apron, making space for you. You rubbed his entrance again, gently tapping it. That was all it took to make him squirm and shut his eyes due to ecstasy. “Uh-uhHhm..!” Dazai whined through gritted teeth, the blush that was spreading across his cheeks intensified. His puffy hole kept clenching whenever you touched him, and loosening up once your digits leave.

“Look at how sensitive you are,” You commented while leaning closer towards him, face now inches away from his. “Ha-haah.. if you know then stop teasing me.” He tried to stand his ground, noticing you brought the end of his dress near him. Afterwards you uttered a single command, “Bite onto this.” Normally he would have talked back and made a scene, though for now he decided to be obedient. This surprised you a little, yet it wasn’t a bad feeling. Guess your dear lover can be good at times? Carefully, he bit the fabric, after a little while it was soaked with his saliva already. “Good boy.” You cooed when you saw this cute scene, kissing his forehead while your weaker hand slipped to his waist.

His brows were furrowed, eyes half lidded as he watched your demonstrations. Fingers leaving his bottom and now teasing his tip. A milky, sticky liquid stuck to the latex glove. The more you rubbed over his soaked panties, the darker the spot got. Now you were smirking sweetly, whispering playfully “you are getting so wet for me.” After you finished your sentence, you could swear more precum spurt out of his slit. Did that comment embarrass him? His tender and slim body trembled ever so slightly, eyes sparkling and begging you to do more. “How adorable.” You added, before licking his earlobe.

The boy jerked, hands clutching the dress to hold it up higher. Then he closed his eyes, clenching them tightly enough for a single tear to run down his cheek. Mind racing and heart pounding while your hand kept playing with his dick. “Hmm..hngh..” soft whimpers left him, and his eyes became watery, more tears were about to spill. Slowly you changed from his ear to his neck, kissing and sucking on multiple spots. Leaving a trail of marks behind. Only a few minutes later the red spots build, proof of your claim over him. The beautiful hickeys you left behind encouraged you to go further, the hand on his waist now slipped to his thighs. You rubbed his tip a little longer, until your fingers were coated with his precum entirely, then you moved on to his entrance again.

Soft and sweet moan filled the room, all muffled through a thin fabric. Your fingertips tapped his entrance again, the white fluid now stuck to his rim too. He gasped, watching you play with his body as you pleased. Then you said, “you are doing so well for me, my love,” while staring at him with loving eyes. Dazai didn’t know what to do in that situation, so he averted his gaze. You smirked at the sudden shyness from the male, before sticked a finger inside him. “Mhmm! Nghh.” He wines, eyes widening as he let out some more lewd noises. In the meantime you worked him open, a second finger followed soon. “So good for me, my pretty boy.” At the sound of that compliment, he dick twitched inside his panties. Why were your words so addicting? They were so sweet, it made him feel weird and warm. As if he was a small, weak and precious thing that deserved any of this. Though one question lingered in the back of his mind, was he truly deserving of this?

His tears finally spilled, hands quivering while pleasure coursed through him. Suddenly you raised his leg and brought it over your shoulder, grinning the entire time as you did that. The black laced thigh highs he wore were beyond attractive, enough to make you feel butterflies. “Y/n.. nHhh, mh- please..” he managed to breath out through gritted teeth. You just kept smiling while you rubbed your fingers against his soft and warm insides, admiring how beautiful he looked right now. “Ahh! Oh-ohhh..it feels good.” The brunette groaned and stopped biting the dress, but his hands were still holding it up. Instead of punishing him, you just let it be, you loved hearing him talk anyway.

Wet and lewd squelching sounds left whenever you trusted your fingers inside him, followed by a fierce jerk from the male. He’d arch his back and whine about wanting more. “So cute, I love you my dear.” You chuckled, before you took your fingers out. Sticky strings were connecting the glove to his insides. “Really adorable..” this time you muttered under your breath, staring at his vulnerable state with focused eyes. His lips shook, eyes half lidded, brows furrowed while a deep crimson blush spread across his features. Not to mention how perverted this position was. It exposed all of his shameful parts, as well as his most sensitive spots.

The way his thrust his hips indicated how he wanted more, a disappointed whine left him, a plead for more of this bliss he was feeling. His entrance clenched shut immediately, and the sticky liquid dripped down his tender skin. “You look so beautiful right now.” You praised him, and it made his dick twitch. Then you lined your own one up with his hole after finishing preparing everything, and pressed the tip against him. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?” Even though you whispered that into his ear, he couldn’t register most of your words. His eyes were glued to your length, anticipation filling him as he thought about taking you. Lips pressed shut and gaze eagerly waiting for you to fill him up. You also noticed how his rim kept loosening and clenching, as if his body was begging for you.

With a swift motion, you started putting it in. Only the tip alone was enough to make him into a mess, eyes rolling back as a storm of moans escaped his throat. “Ahh!! Ngh hmMM! Oh- y/N~moreee.. hahh, ple-please..!!” Dazai spout, spitting one nonsense after another. His tongue rolled out while you carefully bottomed out inside him. He tried his best to resist the urge to cum right there right now, especially after feeling it hit against his innermost parts. There was no helping it, it was just so deep inside him! You hugged him again, causing his leg to be raised to his chest. A dumbfounded look was on the boy’s face, and so you explained. “Lay back and enjoy this, alright?”

And you bet he did. When you started moving, all he could think about was you. He couldn’t move an inch while your member continued going in and out of him, so gently and slow, but hard enough to make him see stars. Each time you hit it against his sweet spot he’d cry out, panting and whimpering in delight. “Ah.. ah, uhhh, ahh, y/n- master..!” even now he is still calling you that, but you didn’t mind. After all, he was your good boy, your one and only love, your adorable pet. You kissed his lips, all while pounding inside him with a steady rhythm. Why was this so stimulating? Was what dazai thought. You weren’t being really fast or excessively rough, so why did it feel so damn good?

His heart felt like exploding whenever you calling him by some cute pet names, or even his own name. Sensations strong enough to wipe any thoughts off his mind kept gushing inside him, coursing through his veins and taking him to paradise. When you broke the kiss, he didn’t even notice how he chased after your lips. Still sobbing and crying while begging you for more, wanting to feel more of your touch, more of your voice, more of you. It was warm, it felt really hot inside him. There was no way to describe this other than lust, it must be because you are so skilled..! That’s why whenever you call him cute names he feels himself edging closer to the edge, that’s why your touch always ignites a fire within him, that’s why he always feels so happy when with you.

“Ahh.. I love you, y/nn..” he called out to you again, smiling sweetly while being held in your arms. “I really do..”

REBLOGS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED

[legendary-guest]

Thinking about how Monkey Fist and DNAmy got to where they got to in the show. Special thanks to @danglovely's post about the subject for helping connect the dots and turning the gears in my head. More than a professional relationship, as stated. Here's my take. It's long!

The step to alter Monty Fiske's hands and feet was years in the making. Searching for someone who would do something so experimental and insane took a lot of time, all the while hiding his growing obsession and madness from the public and academic colleagues alike. When he finally found Amy, it was a huge relief, and he was overcome with so much joy, with genuine appreciation.

Amy, recently exiled from the scientific community, was greatly flattered by Monty's sheer enthusiasm and willingness to be altered. He knew exactly what he wanted and was so knowledgeable about primates. In fact, he knew a lot about her and her research. Really, it was more of a collaboration. No one at the scientific institutes ever wanted to collaborate with Amy, on her projects and fields of expertise. O, Lord Fiske….

Amy calls the procedure radical genetic mutation in the episode Partners. Aspects of fanon think it's surgery. Just wanted to address this here before continuing. The infamous hobbling scene from the movie Misery (spoilers + grievous, non-bloody violence, if that matters) is how I imagine the preparation for this 'procedure' went. Monty is conscious, he wants to be awake for every step of the transformation, to really feel it, experience it, to remember it. He fairly yells Amy's praises as she does this. (Yes, I would love to think she says, "God, I love you." just as Annie does in the movie. Unaware that she has even said it, perhaps. He doesn't hear it over his screaming).

You know what, Monty might even be the one yelling "I love you!" - that's way funnier. Yes, let's keep that. Yes, you are right to think this is analogous to another activity, dear reader.

Surgery, genetic mutation, whatever happens, he's lucid for it and endures it very well. Amy takes care of him, dotes on him. He's such a good patient, so polite. Always saying please and thank you. He never swears, not even when he's in immense pain. A real, proper gentleman. O, and the way he looks at her with his striking blue eyes and his heavy, British (simian?) brow giving him this air of mystery. Smiling at her all the time, talking about how grateful and happy he is, how she is fulfilling his lifelong dream. The poor woman is about to faint herself! His British accent and eloquence don't help either!

They continue to get to know each other during his recovery. Amy has him do basic physical tests and exercises to get used to his new appendages. She continues to be impressed by his knowledge of primate anatomy. They practically finish each other's sentences on the matter. A lot of bashful turning away and tender smiles between them.

Amy feels comfortable enough to share her Cuddle Buddy collection with him. She's somewhere between shy and enthusiastic when introducing him to it. He's said all these nice things, to her, about her, and he's so educated and goes on so many grand adventures. Her collecting hobby, her passion, seems silly in comparison.

Let's throw this in here - I reckon he holds her hand with his monkey hand. That's sweet. He smiles at her.

Monty calls one of her Cuddle Buddies cute. Amy knows she's in-love with him now. She also knows the way he looks at her isn't just politeness for politeness' sake…

Lord Fiske is utterly elated, on Cloud Nine the entire time he's staying with Amy. Her cooking is good, her abode is well-kept, she is hospitable, she's intelligent and interested in what he has to say and knows so much herself. It's…comfortable, here. Though, he knows, this is all just the icing on the cake. The first step to his ultimate goal has been made. He allows himself to enjoy it wholly, savour it.

Finally, they part, exchanging good-byes. It's a little sad, they've both enjoyed their time together (for different, or perhaps, not all that different, reasons).

Ever the gentleman, Lord Fiske takes one of Amy's hands in his (simian) one, and kisses it gently. A proper good-bye. Amy is stunned. He takes his leave with a smile and a nod.

Amy cannot stop thinking about him. At all. Even when that really handsome teacher came around, with that gangly teen and his pet naked mole rat. And then Kimmie! Ugh, her lab…well. At least she has Monty to think about.

She still can't stop thinking about him when that cute (and charming) Dr. Drakken (though, not a doctor, he is very intelligent, he's definitely been to college, at least) comes along and asks to collaborate. O, he's so sweet. He thinks she can't see him smile when she's not looking directly at him. He should smile more often! Though, that green lady, his not girlfriend, seems to enjoy hovering around him a lot…. When he gets down on one knee and looks the most vulnerable and smitten she's seen him in their short time together, she knows what she must do. He handled it better than she thought he would, even when he screamed his sidekick's name (not girlfriend) as if he were in mortal danger.

Monkey Fist finds his thoughts straying from his destiny, every now and again. Back to Amy Hall. Back to her home. Back to the dinners they shared. Holding her hand, so small in his now…. It wouldn't hurt to incorporate her into some of his ritual praying. No, not at all. And why not? After all, she'd helped him in such a big way! He could have never become Monkey Fist without her. What a curious thing to think about. He finds himself burning a lot of incense and reverently holding her picture (which he printed off of the official Cuddle Buddy Fan Club website; professionally, of course) over the months.

Unable to bear being apart from the one she loves, and who she knows loves her, too, Amy makes contact with him. Probably whilst Monkey Fist is in the middle of some plan, so she is sure to catch him at a terrible time. She didn't call, she didn't send a letter, or even an e-mail, she just showed up.

Monkey Fist doesn't know what to think when she starts blathering on about how much she has missed him (well, it's not like he didn't also - NO, NO HE DIDN'T MISS HER!), and about monkeys, and the surgery, and Cuddle Buddies, and true love - true love? She can't be serious….

"O, Monty!" she cries, before flinging herself into his arms, holding him tight (was she always this strong? She did help him about, but this was ridiculous!), causing him to stumble back. Heck, maybe they even fall to the ground, her on top of him. (Thank you, romance tropes. Hope someone enjoys this).

He doesn't have time for this! He shoves her off, maybe a little more harshly than he intended, but she doesn't seem to be put off by it. In fact, she just keeps smiling at him, and batting her eyelashes! What's gotten into her? She didn't act anything like this when he was staying with her!

More of this nonsense occurs, I reckon. She's even found him in weird places, like in the middle of Cambodia. She's just…there. How did she KNOW? How did she FIND HIM?

She finally tells him, maybe the third time she 'meets' him, that she was sure that he loved her. Why, he even screamed at the top of his lungs that he loved her! Monkey Fist is stunned. No. That didn't happen.

He gets all uppity, maybe even red in the face (blushing. Amy is delighted, she's never seen this side of him before!). That wasn't what he was really thinking, or feeling, for that matter! It was just a side effect of whatever she drugged him up with!

She just continues to smile at him. He starts feeling unease, real unease. She tells him, knowingly, a little coyly, that she didn't give him any medicine for the procedure. He specifically requested no pain killers, or drugs, of any kind. She repeats to him, verbatim, what he'd told her about wanting to experience the entirety of the operation, even its ugliest moments.

Well, Montgomery, you've really done it now, haven't you? Told an incredibly intelligent, persistent, obsessive, and frankly, insane woman you loved her as she was shattering your joints. You wonder how you got yourself into this mess. O, right. Ultimate Monkey Master. Maybe Bates had a point. Or your mother. Okay, not her, but maybe Bates.

And that's that! That's how we get to Gorilla Fist!

[fruitydiaz-archived]

MITSKI, FIRST LOVE / LATE SPRING ➪ and i was so brave when i behaved 25, but now i found i've grown into a tall child (requested by @eddie-diass)

[Image description: six gifs of Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz from 9-1-1 with the lyrics to First Love / Late Spring by Mitski.

ID 1: 3 gifs that fade in one after the other. The first is a black and white gif from season 3 of Buck looking up at Eddie from the other side of the table with a guilty expression, during the lawsuit. The second is a black and white gif of Buck and Eddie in the station during season 3 after Buck returns to work and tries to talk to Eddie. There's a great distance between them and Eddie turns to walk away. The third gif is in color, from season 4, in the firetruck after Eddie gets shot. It's a close-up of Buck's face as he leans over Eddie's body, desperately pleading with him to hang on until they get to the hospital. The text fades in with each gif. First, "please, hurry," then "leave me," then "i can't breathe."

ID 2: Two gifs, one from season 3 after the tsunami, and the second from season 4 when Eddie gets shot. In the first, Eddie reaches out to grab Buck's shoulder, bending to make eye contact with him. In the second, Eddie lies in a pool of his blood on the pavement, reaching his hand towards Buck. The text says, "please don't say you love me."

ID 3: After Buck tells Christopher that Eddie was shot, Bobby texts him to let him know Eddie's surgery went well. Buck drops the phone to the floor and bursts into tears. The text says, "胸がはち切れそうで" which is roughly translated to "my heart seems like it's going to burst" in Japanese.

ID 4: Two gifs that fade in one after the other. In the first, the camera pans to the side to reveal Eddie, unconscious and intubated in the hospital. In the second, Buck pauses to take a couple of deep breathes as he climbs a crane. The text fades in with each gif. First "one word from you" then "and I would jump off of this ledge I'm on, baby."

ID 5: A black and white gif of Eddie from season 4 in the hospital, when he tells Buck that he acts like he's expendable. The text says, "tell me 'don't'."

ID 6: After Eddie says Buck's wrong about acting like he's expendable, Buck turns to face him with a look of awe. The text says, "so I can crawl back in."

/end ID.]

[ashasmonsters]

The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make,  erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity.  You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

[grenade-maid]

Just finished Lain. Watched the last episode twice, which gently removed my heart from my chest and pulped it into a fine paste in a mortar and pestle. This hit much closer to home than I expected.

In my Lain epistemology post I somewhat flippantly made an aside that the series was only tangentially about Lain the actual character. By which I meant that my read on the series up until that point (around episode 8 or 9) was that each episode was teasing apart different aspects of the ambiguity of truth, knowledge, information, and communication, with the events of Lain's life being almost just a sort of example case study for how these concepts can impact someone on an individual level. Lain was framed in a kind of zoomed out way as an abstract avatar moving through these events without a whole lot of expression of her personal thoughts and feelings.

And then we get to the last three episodes.

It's in this space that Lain the 8th grade age girl with thoughts and feelings and wants and needs and fears comes into painfully sharp focus. The beginning of the final episode sums up and contextualizes what all of this has always been about.

Who am I? What is the real me? How can I tell what's real about me if everyone interprets it differently?

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

The flippant bravado that I expressed in that post is the same attitude that Lain has been applying to her own very sense of self throughout the series, as just another arbitrary and moldable piece of information subject to interpretation with no inherent truth.

She effectively commits suicide by removing herself from sight, mind, and memory, of everyone around her. After all, if they have no knowledge of her, then she no longer exists. But what is lurking in the subtext of this finale is that she fails to consider that everyone she is cutting off is equally subject to this process. She imagines that without her meddling they are able to be happy. But that's all it is, imagination.

She doesn't exist to them anymore because she erased their knowledge of her, but it goes both ways. In doing this, they cease to exist to her, too. The image of the happy lives of the people she knew don't come from real observation or fact. It is something that she is imposing upon her memory or imagination of those people, which is only possible because she's removed herself from the possibility of being reminded just how complex and occasionally painful their lives will be with her or without her. In those scenes nobody misses her except in these brief fleeting moments where they remember some fond association with her, before moving on to their happy lives.

But this isn't reality. She isn't seeing these people. This is how she comforts herself, by imagining that everything is for the best without her, and nobody has to feel the pain of missing her. But that's not something she can know or control. The pain they feel upon losing her doesn't exist only because she has removed herself from where she might see it and have to acknowledge it.

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

This phrase is taken to its literal extreme in the finale. But I think it's important to take a step back and really think about what this means on a more human level, especially when it comes to the kinds of struggles that everyone, especially kids that age, are dealing with.

That is to say, even if you literally physically exist and go about the world talking to people going to school eating dinner and so on, if there are parts of you that people don't know about, if there are things inside you that you can't express, you quickly come to the painful realization that to other people, that stuff just doesn't exist. Which means that whole side of you doesn't exist, according to the outside world. And if that side of you encompasses something important about your identity or your experiences, it's hard to not come to the conclusion that the real you, the entirety of your being, doesn't exist to them either. And when you try to tell them about it, or when they notice on their own, but they don't understand or perhaps outright reject it, hasn't some fundamental part of your humanity been erased? In this kind of environment it's easy to start doubting that any of it exists at all. After all, if nobody else will recognize it, you've only got your own word to go on. And that isn't always enough to trust.

And again, keep in mind that this goes both ways. I think Lain's sister is the clearest example which is given by the series. One episode she begins as a character, someone who has thoughts and a personality and so on. By the end of the episode she is reduced to the state that she will stay in for the rest of the series, blank-eyed and senseless. That fully fledged self she had still exists though. Lain just stops being able to see it, so effectively her sister stops existing for her.

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

When you are isolated you can say anything about yourself. You can say you're nobody, or you're God, or perhaps something even wiser and greater than God. It can feel powerful to start writing your own existence and rationalizing your own isolation, the perceptions of others be damned. You can say well, my parents don't understand me and I stopped being able to connect to my sister, but who cares! Family is just arbitrary biology anyway! What if they aren't even my family at all, and are just plants put in place by a secret organization. I'm not lonely, I'm just seeking a greater truth, a conspiracy that only I can see! I don't make social mistakes, I'm not afraid of hurting anyone, that's the fake me running around out there! But it's not sustainable. Eventually life comes crashing down, whether it be in the form of interference in the material world, or if that mental state with all of its attendant self-spun narratives just finally collapses.

As with most things in this series, Lain's interactions with "God" are written in a very abstract symbolic way. But, the pattern that it follows seems very familiar to me as one of a predatory adult grooming a vulnerable minor. He alternates between gassing Lane up as the most powerful and important being who has ever lived, and then in the next breath saying that she's nothing. In peddling his conspiracy theory narrative of humankind merging with The Wired, of Lain simply being a powerful piece of software meant for Grand Purpose, he feeds into her struggle for identity and the need to be seen and understood by at once validating these feelings and how confusing they are, while reinforcing her isolation and his own dominant grip over defining the shape of the world and society.

When Arisu finds Lain living in filth and comforts her, that is one of the rare moments that the raw, vulnerable, material world Lain, weighed down with no pretenses, pokes her head out. That moment of genuine intimacy that she has been so hungry for this whole time is enough to allow her to retaliate against "God" when he shows up in anger upon being doubted. When Arisu reacts poorly to this sight, though, is when Lain makes her final dive back into her own walled off reality. For as much as she wants to be seen and held and comforted by this girl she loves, it is far more painful for her to have to witness and live with the feeling of rejection and guilt that came from Arisu's fear in the aftermath.

The final image of her father finally expressing the real tenderness she has longed for. The imagined future of Arisu dating her former teacher well into adulthood, because it's the only model of a relationship Lain has ever seen someone want, because her parents certainly don't seem happy, and she herself didn't get anything out of the boy who kissed her. The final statement, "I will always be with you". As with everything in the series, these can be interpreted many ways. But to me it reads unmistakably as the final moments before suicide.

In any case though, after all that, it seems fairly starkly clear why Lain resonates so strongly with trans people. Contrary to the old saying that all happy people are happy the same way, but all miserable people suffer uniquely, this path to despondence is depressingly common. It is the way out that is unique to everyone who finds themselves there. I hate to say it, although I feel very lucky to say that I have survived being in that place many times--which I think is proof that it is possible to get to the other side and make a good life, despite everything-- I think if it had ended any more neatly or more positively, it just wouldn't feel as honest. It captures the depth of that state of being. That's just what it's like. And as heavy as it is to sit with, I get a lot from being able to see something painfully familiar to me reflected in such a raw way. After all that, a happy ending would just feel disingenuous. I mean, that's my life, and any happy ending they could have written just isn't how it went.

[padfootagain]

Grumpy

Hi everyone! I'm back with a very cute little drabble for Christmas! We're one week away from Christmas, and I'll try to post a few of those little drabbles before the 25th!

This is a very cute, grumpy Ben with a cold! I hope you like this!

A little comment is greatly appreciated, if you have a second to spare!

Pairing: Ben Barnes x Reader

Word Count : 1672

Ben was grumpy.

It wasn't in his nature, and it wasn't in his character at all. He was a rather shy, goofy and quite adorable man with a mischievous sense of humour most of the time. There were only a few instances that brought him to a more bitter state of mind: the remnants of a hangover in the early morning, being stuck in traffic for a long time, and being sick.

And now, Ben was sick.

Nothing dramatic, but a seasonal cold that would have disappeared in a few days. But for the moment, Ben was in the dark phase of the disease.

A runny nose, a sore throat that was sometimes scratched with a rough cough, fever and a migraine that made him feel like someone was piercing his skull with needles. He had no energy for anything and was stuck in his bed, under a pile of blankets and pillows you had brought for him.

And it would have been bearable, had you been there with him to distract him from his miserable state, give him cuddles and bring him regular doses of his favourite tea. But you were at work, and he had to survive four more hours without you. And the more time he spent on his own, the grumpier he became.

It was snowing outside upon London, large snowflakes brightening the days of children and turning the old city into something a little enchanted, a little magical. Low clouds almost as white as the snowflakes they released hovered lazily above the tall buildings and worn-out stones, businessmen hurrying under the cold weather while the more innocent kinds carved faces for snowmen and threw snowballs at their friends. Cars of those reckless enough to try to drive through the city under this weather honked loudly, punctuating the rhythm of the city that never slowed down, especially at the approach of the holidays. And Ben would have loved the spectacle it offered, had he moved to his window to glimpse at the outside world. He would have dragged a chair by the window, and enjoyed a warm cup of coffee while watching peacefully as the snowflakes fell in his garden. Or perhaps, had you been there, he would have enjoyed looking at strangers running down the slippery street, imagining with you crazy lives for these people he didn't know. You would have found an astronaut in their midst for sure, you always did, for some reason. Ben's theory was that it was because of how much you loved the stars.

But again, you were not there, he was alone in your shared home with a buzzing brain that was slowly turning into jelly, and sore limbs, and a nose that wouldn't allow him to breathe. And now, the snow annoyed him, the cold weather the cause of his pain, after all.

He checked the time again, and heaved a desperate sigh as he counted – with much difficulty – how many more hours he had to survive through without you. He had never cursed your job more than now, as he grumpily mumbled a string of curses under his breath, wrapping himself even more in his blankets until the only part of him still visible was his forehead and messy dark hair.

He counted the minutes till you'd be back to fall back to sleep, and he spent most of his afternoon tossing around, somewhere between sleep and reality, in a daze that wasn't peaceful and didn't bring to his tired frame any rest. He reached for a book after a couple of hours, but the words written on the page required from him way too much concentration and his migraine got worse after only a couple of pages, so he discarded the item once again. He checked the time one more time.

He had two hours left.

He made an almost-unbearable effort to extract himself from the covers and finally head for the shower, figuring that some warm water would help.

And it did. The shower gave him enough energy to carry his set of pillows and blankets to the sofa instead, moving his mess to the living-room so he could watch some stupid things on the TV.

He spent most of the rest of his time alone watching some old episodes of Columbo, keeping an eye on the time while he waited for you, hoping you wouldn't be delayed by the snow on your way home, his mood darkening some more at the mere thought.

And when you finally walked in your shared home, Ben couldn't refrain a relieved sigh.

He waited for the sound of your keys to drop on the little bowl by the door, for the sound of the shuffling of fabric as you took off your scarf, beanie, gloves and coat, and finally the thud sound of your shoes being kicked off. Finally, the muffled thumping of your footsteps on the wooden floor echoed through the hall, and you appeared by his side, your hair a little wet because of the snow, but you still seemed warm and cosy in your warm jumper.

"How are you feeling, baby?" you asked in a soft voice, tilting your head in wonder, and Ben swore that he had never seen anything cuter in his life.

He let out a groan, pouting dramatically.

"I feel awful," he mumbled, letting out a grumpy growl and holding his cover closer to him.

You sat down by his side on the sofa, and rested the back of your hand against his forehead.

"You still have fever, babe," you told him in the softest voice you could muster, your fingers sliding from his forehead to his hair, soothingly travelling through the dark strands. "Have you taken a shower?"

He nodded, before sneezing very loudly, the noise echoing throughout the room, and letting out a frustrated groan.

"I hate being like this," he pouted.

"I know, love. But you need to rest to get better, that's all we can do. I'm gonna make you some tea with honey, it'll help, okay?"

You were about to get up when he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to your seat gently. The quick gesture seemed to exhaust him even more, but he didn't mind, for once.

"No, stay. You'll do that later."

"It would be good for you…"

"No, please. Please stay with me. I've waited for you all day. Just… stay."

His eyes were watery because of his cold, and his nose all red, and his cheeks flushed with fever, and he was poutier than ever, buried under three blankets. There was simply no way for you to say no to him.

And it was unsaid, right now, but it wasn't hard to read in his eyes that he meant to add I love you to his plea.

So, you settled properly in the sofa, opening your arms for him to snuggle into your side.

He heaved a sigh, finally relaxing, as he tucked his head in the crook of your neck.

"I hope you don't get sick holding me like that," Ben mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and barely audible, but you were so used to his voice by now that it wasn't hard for you to decipher what he was whispering.

You smiled a tender smile, that he couldn't see and that you barely noticed yourself as it formed across your lips, but it didn't matter. It wasn't aimed at anyone in particular anyway. It was just how he made you feel all the time.

"Well, if I do catch your cold, you'll have to nurse me back to health too, then," you replied, making him chuckle, his first laughter of the day.

"That's a deal. Besides, I'm gonna be a little selfish here, but I need you too much now to really care if you get sick or not."

It was your time to laugh, and your heart was filled with love as you did so, the bright sound illuminating the whole room.

"Well, you're feeling very bad, so, I won't hold that selfish act against you," you reassured him, and Ben closed his eyes as you started running your fingers in his dishevelled hair again.

"Thanks. Because I really do feel awful."

You hummed, focusing on the TV before you, but only for a moment, as Ben spoke again. He had missed your voice too much during the day, after all. And if having you in his arms was already working wonders on his mood, still, he wanted you all to himself, and you seemed to give way too much interest to the crime show on TV.

"How was your day, baby?" he asked in a hoarse voice, before he would be shaken by a cough.

"It was okay, a bit long," you admitted as Ben settled back into your arms.

"Tell me everything that happened, please?" he asked, looking up at you with puppy eyes, and you could only let out a fond chuckle as you kissed his forehead and proceeded to tell him everything about your day at work.

"Well, Marjorie broke the coffee machine this morning, which was undoubtedly a good odd for the rest of the day!"

You went on for a long time, sometimes slowing down to a stop when Ben's eyes remained closed for a while, and you thought he had fallen asleep, but he kept on asking you to continue then, his eyes still closed, so you did. He did fall asleep though, once you had finished your story and settled back in a comfortable silence with him nestled in your arms. You didn't mind, despite your position growing a little uncomfortable after a while. You watched TV while Ben caught up on some most needed sleep, a soft snore coming out of him once in a while making you smile fondly at him.

Yes, Ben was grumpy when he was sick. But then again, sometimes, he wasn't that grumpy, even if sick, for as long as he had you.

************************************************************

Taglist :  @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi​@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony​@geeksareunique​ @giggleberts​ @sad-orange-thoughts​ @aylinnmaslow @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla​ @madamrogers​ @drinix​ @joelynnp @mxrihollxnd @rockintensse​ @newtstarmander​ @iammadeofstarsandlazyness @shinebrightlikeafanbase​ @wangmangagavroche​@presstocontinue @ilmiopiccolounivers0​

[fichtner-fics]

My Hero (Alex Mahone)

Request: Can you do a Alex mahone x reader where she's his wife, adn he saves her from T-bag something like that?

Warnings: spoilers from 4x21, bad language, abuse, mention of rape, (basically I should mention T-Bag himself as a factor to be warned about), anxiety attack, crying

A/N: Of course I’ve written this based on 4x21, the episode called Rates of Exhange. And, to be honest I’m quite happy with this one. Not exactly the first part (some lines I’ve borrowed in whole from the serie😬), but the ending! I hope you’ll like it too! ✨

Sorry for it took so long (meaning here every request I’m indebted to you with), but I’m so so thankful for your patience and request and feedbacks ofc!! 

[gifs are not mine; I can’t get over how they complete each other😆]

Basically, the whole team minus T-Bag and myself was out on the field, trying to fight against Krantz and Michael’s mother at the same time. It turned out that it wasn’t just a coincidence that we were the ones left alone in our temporary flat. Because what we all had no idea about was me being the bait and the motivation for them to be successful – or at least in Krantz’s opinion and give the Scylla to him.

I was so naïve, believing T-Bag could ever be capable of a complete turnaround. He was so co-operative in the past weeks, so generous, so helpful… of course he had a hidden motivation back then, too, he always had. But it wasn’t at least me dead or the Scylla in Krantz’s hands.

I realized that it’s going to be not so okay, when the General phoned Michael, giving him an ultimate. Of course, it turned out shortly that there weren’t going to happen any bargain at all, and finally Kratz threw me in front of Theodore just like that. He left us alone in the flat, letting him (even urging him) to do anything he liked with me.

I was shaking, trembling all my body while T-Bag pushed me leaning to the door. I couldn’t see any solution what could save my life or get me out of here. I needed Mahone, only him. I truly desired to cry out his name, but I knew I had to stay focused and calm as long as I could. So, I just let him to handcuff me to the handle.

“Theodore, I promise you, if you let me go, I will stand by your side at the court. I’ll tell them you saved my life. Even Alex will be so grateful… just take me back to him” I started pleading desperately, but with a fairly strong voice. I couldn’t help but wincing when he suddenly stepped close in front of me, with his face inches from mine.

“You know, all these past times, I’ve always been so… so jealous! You get what I mean, right? Look at you, precious little girl” his eyes nearly scanned me through as he stopped for a moment, disgustingly licking his lips, “being married to that… dull, fuddy-duddy policeman. Don’t ya really think I won’t have myself a little fun, when it’s only the two of us?”

“I know that you don’t have the best relationship with Alex” I said immediately. I felt I had to talk, unless he would touch me or do even worse things to me. “But if you let me go, if you take me back to him, he won’t be ungrateful, trust me.”

“Oh, I don’t wanna hurt you. I wanna hurt him. And unfortunately, the only thing which can be hurtful for him is you being hurt. But don’t worry. You’ll be returned in one piece. Only in a little… used… piece” he winked at me, and my stomach flipped.

“Please, Teddy” I whispered. All my strengthen flew away in a second. My thoughts were rattling in my head, I was panting, sweating. He decided to walk past me, and as he took a few steps, he sniffed my neck. Cold, disgusted feeling ran down my spine, but I relieved when I couldn’t see him, even if it lasted only for few minutes.

Suddenly I felt the warmth of his body behind myself. He uncuffed me for a brief moment, only to separate my two arms, and cuffing them back to the two sides of the door so I faced him forward. I tried to fight him, but my weakness could do so little against his manly strength.

“We’re gonna finish sooner than you would recognise, my dear” he whispered straight in my ears, before stepping a bit further from me. My panting, heavy breathing echoed in the small room. I tried to detach myself from the situation. I started a mantra inside. Alex will come soon. Alex will save me. I must be strong just until then.

“Oh, look at that” Theodore smirked suddenly. At first, I hadn’t even had any idea, what could he see. I glimpsed at my trembling hand, and realized, just when he spoke again. “Look. At. That. What a beautiful wedding ring. Well, you know, it’s actually so good to see that Mahone has feelings too. But tell me, my dear little bird, has he been man enough to… go there?” he asked in a low voice, husky by the suppressed desire. He moved his hip and if I weren’t lucky enough to be able to back a few inches, our skin would join.

His eyes jumped back and forth between mines and my lips. My stomach was spinning, and I truly fought not to burst in tears. Somehow, I managed to strengthen my voice to retort.

“Alexander’s more a man than you could ever hope to be” I breathed through my teeth, managing myself to look him straight into the eyes.

“That was mean” he said in a pitying voice, backing a step. “I wonder if you’d be so harsh if you knew how long I’ve waited for this. Our little shared private moments. You wouldn’t behave like this, am I right?”

I didn’t answer, only turned my head as sideways as I could.

“What if we… take this off?” he teased. “As I see, this is only distracting you. I’m afraid you won’t enjoy… me… enough if it keeps disturbing you” he said, and after that he truly pulled the thing off.

“You can take my ring, but you never can make me relish anything you do” I said suddenly, even surprising myself with the strength of my voice. “You’re a disgusting human being, and if you’ve ever wondered why nobody loves you, let me enlighten some things. You’re incapable of love, Theodore Bagwell. Not with your body, not in your mind. Every touch of you is filled with brutality, violence, and you’re nothing but a filthy rapist who…”

I could continue, using even stronger and uglier words, but he slapped me so strong I banged my head in the glass, and if it wasn’t for my handcuffs, I would surely fall to the ground. “Listen here carefully” he hissed. I could barely hear him because of the blood rushing through my veins so loudly after the hit. “Now I’m going to show you, how functional and tender I can be.”

I heard the zipper of his pants opening, but I wasn’t strong enough to prepare for the next minutes. I couldn’t even open my eyes, only relying on my hearing. But instead of feeling fingers pressing on my neck or hands ripping my clothes off (as I imagined the next things would be) … I heard a crash. A crash like when you break something wooden. Steps, shouting, skin slaps skin. Alex’s voice. Alex’s voice!

I forced myself to open my eyes. It was Mahone, who searched for something around T-Bag. He was lying on the floor with a closed eye and a ripped eyebrow. Just in the same second, Sucré rushed into the room.

“Get this pig out of my sight” Alex hissed to him just before he could get surprised by the unconscious Theodore Bagwell. Mahone’s voice echoed firmly in the frozen air. Fernando nodded quietly, while Alex stood up and turned all his attention to me. “I’m here, Y/N” he stated, while his shaking hands found the closure of the handcuff, put the key into it and freed me. “Are you hurt? Are you bleeding?” he kept asking.

I couldn’t talk, not yet. When my loved one freed my hands, he immediately pulled me close to him, as I burst in tears. Luckily, he kept me by holding my waist, otherwise I would fall to the ground. All the suppressed tension surfaced, and all I was capable of was crying, unstoppably.

“Can you put your arm around my neck?” Mahone asked me softly. “I’ll take you out of here.”

I did as he asked, simply let him to carry me anywhere he’d like. Honestly, those few minutes are just blind spots in my mind. All I can remember is his strong arms holding me, tears leaving burning trails on my cheeks, the spicy, aromatic and so familiar scent of Alex’s fragrancy, and his soft tone whispering my ears: “I love you. I love you so much, and nobody could hurt you, ever.”

He found a bedroom empty which we could chose as a temporary shelter. Alex carefully placed me on the sheets, then sat in front of me. My sobbing subsided as I slowly realized that he is the one holding my hand, he is the one breathing with me, and if this is so, nothing else matters.

“Y/N, please tell me just one thing” he asked as he wiped the tears under my eyes. “Did he touch you? Even with one finger?”

“No” I breathed so quietly I wasn’t even sure if I said out lout. “No, he was just… playing” I added. Then I realized, what else happened, and the tears which just disappeared a second ago fogged my sight again. “But Alex, he took my ring” I looked into his eyes scared. “He took it off my finger, but I didn’t see his hands and I have no idea what he did with it.”

“It’s okay” he smiled, lifting my chin up. “You’re fine, and I don’t care anything else.”

As I was fighting with guilt and Alex just wanted to pull me close. When I leant to his chest, he placed a long kiss on my forehead.

“Can you forgive me?” he whispered suddenly. I furrowed my brows, but he continued before I could ask what he meant. “I let this monster… to be alone with you, to do anything to you… and if it wasn’t for Michael, he would have done anything.”

“It’s not your fault, Alex” I ensured him, hugging his chest even closely. “You couldn’t have known. It was a part of their sick game” I continued with slightly breaking voice. “You’re my hero. Truly.”

I felt him taking a deep breath, but the silence remained still. Before any of us could speak again, we heard the door opening. I snapped, stood up frightened, but it was just Sucré smiling shyly.

“I bet this is yours” he said and came inside to place some tiny in Mahone’s hand. He nodded happily and wide smile started to form on his lips, but I was too dizzy yet to realize what is that.

When Fernando left us alone, he looked at me and offered his palm for me as he would ask something.

“Show me your hand.”

I did as he asked, placed my hand upon his, realizing what did our friend find. Alex put the not-so-long-lost ringlet on my finger, just as he did back at our wedding.

All kind of feelings were swirling in my head, but there were two eternally sure thing. Alex by my side and his undying love for me.

[dex-xe]

fluff no.50 with the captain and havers??

Captain & Havers Fluff #50: “Stay.”

(I’m super, super, super happy with this one,, v proud fellas!! This is based on my own experiences btw and how shutdowns affect me specifically so I am in now way claiming this to be representative of the whole community but if people have problems with this let me know and I’ll take it down cause even though its personal to me, I don’t want others to feel disrespected. Anyway, again this went up on ao3 like two days ago I think?? so yeh go check out stuff on there too!! Enjoy!!) (even though this one is mad long XD)

Prompt list

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Vision blurred by the night and mind foggy with tiredness, the Captain finally reached the gates of Button House. He hitched his khaki bag up higher on his shoulder and blinked up at the dark windows of the manor house, safe in the knowledge that his soldiers were fast asleep and unable to disturb him further. The driving rain stuck his silver hair to his forehead and made his uniform cling to his skin in a suffocating hold, not exactly helping his vulnerable situation.

He’d spent a week in London with other COs from across the region, sitting through meeting after meeting with a masked expression plastered across his face. His energy had not been focussed on the week’s work but instead on trying to appear calm and normal in front of his superiors. He’d kept it up, much to his own surprise, he’d left the mask in place for a full week; never dropping the facade, never letting the reality of his anxiety-ridden demeanour slip out.

As he ran through the rain to the front door, he couldn’t help but feel some pride in keeping up appearances but the mental energy he had lost over the week was seriously taking it’s toll. The house span in front of him blurring into a swirl of dark colours, he couldn’t think of anything but the intense desire to climb into bed and block out the world for a little while: just a few hours where he could be quiet and still and shut off the lights and sounds, where he didn’t have to speak to a single other soul.

Gripping his bag tightly over his shoulder, the Captain pushed open the heavy wooden door and stumbled into the hallway. Water droplets fell from his hair as he ran a hand through it, wiping his feet on the mat and quietly pushing the door shut behind, being careful not to wake the men.

“You’re back late.”

The Captain jumped a mile as a whisper emanated from the dark house. He started up to see Lieutenant Havers leaning in the hall doorway. The Captain’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Havers in a way he had never seen before: hair mussed up slightly and falling across his forehead, soft white nightshirt flowing over his standard issue army slacks.

“Captain?” Havers ducked his head slightly to meet the Captain’s eye line where it had been fixated on his chest. “Here, dry yourself off.”

Havers held out a towel for the Captain, who took it graciously and began to brush water from his hair. The Captain noticed his hands were shaking a little as he reached out to Havers and worked to try and steady them to maintain his facade.

“You are rather late, sir. We were expecting you back late afternoon; it’s well past midnight?” Havers queried.

“Train,” the Captain said simply, his voice cracked as he reluctantly spoke for the first time in hours.

“Ah, blasted things. Just can’t rely on them,” Havers smiled. “How was your? Did you hear from Colonel Andrews about their progress? Surely they must be close to finishing Operation Coventry by now?”

“Mmhm,” the Captain coughed. “Yes I should think so, Lieutenant. There shall be a full briefing in the morning.”

“Are you feeling quite well, sir?” Havers asked, noting the Captain’s pale complexion, fast, heavy blinking, and fidgeting hands wringing the towel between his fingers.

“Perfectly adequate, thank you Lieutenant,” he stuttered. “Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to shower and turn in for the night.”

The Captain turned to stumble up the stairs after Havers nodded curtly, barely taking in the concern plastered across his lieutenant’s features.

***

The Captain showered quickly before pulling on the nightclothes from his bag and taking up a swift jog to reach his private bedroom without running into any night owls still wandering lonely through the corridors. He slowly and quietly shut the bedroom door, sighing heavily and resting his forehead against the wood. He twisted the key and listened to the satisfying clunk of the lock barring the rest of the world from entering his life for just a few hours.

“Feeling better, sir?”

The Captain jumped at Havers’ voice once again. He spun on his toes to see Havers stoking a fire he had clearly put great effort into lighting.

“Good lord, man!” the Captain started, agitation beginning to rise through his chest. “Must you insist on sneaking up on me?”

“I don’t mean to, sir!” Havers was crouched beside the fire, his gentle smile illuminated by the flames. “There’s cocoa on the side by your bed, and a hot water bottle between the sheets for you. Try to warm you up after your dash through the rain, yes?”

The Captain dropped his bag from his shaking grip and sat on the edge of the bed. The hot cocoa warmed his hands, taking away some of the pain of having to continue the charade of acceptability he had suffered through during the week.

“Our briefing will be at 10:00 hours rather than 8, give you a little time to sleep in,” Havers reasoned. “I’ll keep the men quiet and occupied until then, I’m sure.”

“Quite unnecessary, Lieutenant, 10:00 hours is fine,” the Captain said. With every answer he provided for Havers, the words came out more painfully, more stilted. He could feel the anxiety rising through his chest, his brain coding over with the familiar fog he associated with an incoming ‘episode’ - as he always called them.

He’d suffered from his so-called ‘episodes’ since he was a young child and could easily recognise the warning signs: the creeping nauseous feeling of anxiety and tears, the slowing of his thoughts right down to a trickle, the restless desire to rock himself into a calmer state. He’d always snuck himself off alone, ever since he was young, never wanting those around him to catch on to his discomfort - peers, teachers, even his parents couldn’t see the true nature of his situation.

“Captain?” Havers had shifted away from the fire to stand in front of the Captain to look down at him. “Are you quite sure you’re alright? You’re looking a little peaky.”

The Captain nodded avoiding Havers’ worried gaze entirely. He gripped the sleeves of his nightshirt trying desperately not to embarrass himself with any uncontrollable movements that might inhibit him. His eyes were slammed shut to block out the iridescent glow of the lightbulb but the high pitched humming it produced was still permeating into his brain like sharp rods.

“Sir, you’re really beginning to scare me,” Havers said trying his hardest to stay calm. “Can you talk to me? What can I do? You can’t be well.”

The Captain shook his head being careful not to jostle his tender condition.

“Pen and paper!” Havers scrambled across to the Captain’s small wooden desk to grab supplies before thrusting a pencil into his hand and laying a notebook across his lap. The Captain’s hand faltered as he covered his ears, but then he put pencil to paper and wrote in scratchy, cursive lettering: “Light.”

“Would you like the light off?” Havers barely registered the Captain’s jerky nod before he made a heroic leap across the room to plunge the pair into darkness; the only light in the small bedroom was from the orangey glow of the fire Havers had meticulously built. The Captain was able to peel his eyes open to look at Havers who had taken up a kneeling position in front of him.

“Is that better for you?” The Captain nodded again gripping the pencil tight between his hands, knuckles turning white under the pressure. “What’s going on? You’re hiding, sir. Do not hide any pain you are feeling, I cannot help you if you are hiding.”

The Captain put pen to paper once again: “Too much.”

“Do not hide,” Havers said, watching as the Captain grimaced. “That’s actually an order, sir.”

The Captain finally gave in and allowed his   ‘episode’ to take over. His hand balled into a fist and shook violently beside head and he tried to curl in closer to himself. A low groaning noise was what disturbed Havers the most as he knelt before the Captain, reaching to rest his hands on the other man’s knees, fingertips burning through the Captain’s trousers and straight into his pale skin.

“You’re going to be fine,” Havers murmured quietly. He moved with the Captain as he rocked slowly back and forth, trying to ease out the tension. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay, so just let it all out.”

The Captain snatched at the pencil and wrote in his wobbly script: “Here.”

“Here?” Havers queried. “What do you mean? A little more detail.” He watched the paper intently as the Captain scratched over it once more: “Come here.”

Havers scrambled up and threw himself down on the bed beside the Captain watching him closely.

“What do you need? Should I take hold of you, sir? Is that what you want?” Havers stammered. A sharp nod from the Captain. “Come here.” Havers curled his strong arms around the the Captain’s waist and pulled him tightly towards him, having long since noted the Captain’s dislike for soft touch. The Captain rested his disturbingly warm forehead against Havers’ shoulder and allowed himself to accept the comfort he had so desperately needed. With his eyes screwed shut and face buried deep into Havers’ warmth, the Captain took a few shuddering breaths and felt the anxiety flow through his body and straight out of every point of contact he shared with Havers, as if the man was reaching in and drawing it all out from deep inside him.

“Was it this week?” Havers asked. “Was it too much? I can’t quite imagine how difficult it all must have been but you’re back now, back here where everything is exactly the way it should be, yes? Nothing out of place, just us and the men and our work. That’s better for you, isn’t it?” The Captain had never quite experienced understanding like Havers’. He’d long understood that Havers knew more about him than anyone else ever had but to have picked up on the Captain’s vulnerabilities so deftly and be able to work him through them unlike anyone else: that took something different - a different level of relationship the Captain couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You should sleep,” Havers mumbled, his warm breath tickling behind the Captain’s ear. Havers began to manoeuvre away, pulling the Captain with him slightly to manhandle the bedsheets around his shoulders. “Come on, it is rather late.”

The Captain allowed himself to be pushed down onto the soft material, combined with the vacant feeling in his head and the warmth of the hot water bottle he’d laid to rest on his chest, he could almost feel himself floating away. Havers tempered the fire before diligently returning to the Captain’s side.

“Are you warm enough, sir? Do you need more blankets? Something to drink?” Havers fussed, rearranging pillows and smoothing down the sheets. The Captain shook his head but reached for his paper and pencil anyway, hoping to catch Havers attention once more before he disappeared back to this own quarters down the hall, leaving the Captain in the silence he had been craving only an hour, silence that didn’t seem so tempting now.

He wrote, more clear and cohesively this time: “Stay.”

“With you?” Havers stammered out. But late at night and in a vulnerable state, neither cared for the implications of the Captain’s request - even the uptight and overly cautious CO found himself lazily pulling back the covers for Havers to slip in.

Reaching out into the darkness, Havers pulled the Captain close again, close enough to be practically laying on top of him, long limbs dangling over him like a dog that had grown slightly too large for its owner. He settled them both back into the pillows and ran a loose hand down the back of the Captain’s shirt, smoothing over the material and allowing his hands to linger on the small of his back. Finally letting his eyes fall into comfortable rest rather than the squeezed-shut tension they had been before, the Captain further relaxed into Havers and curled into the strong and muscular arms holding tight around him.

“Sleep now,” Havers murmured low and deep into his ear, sending a shiver down the Captain’s spine. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Taking in one final deep breath before sleep overcame him, the Captain whispered into the dark, safe space Havers had helped create for him: “Thank you.”

[outerspaceisbetterthannothing]

what about having alpha calum help you through your first heat? imagine being overwhelmed and scared as this is your first heat off of heat blockers but he’s there every step of the way. you get sweet loving alpha but also bomb dick, it’s a win win

Hey. Sorry answering your ask took that long, but i hope you’re still here to see it. This little episode gives more details to Calum and Emily’s story and explains his former issues with omegas, which I mentioned in the beginning of “The Girl Who Cried Wolf”. The smut is not that massive. Hope you enjoy.

The town fair was in full glow. Hot summer night filled with all the lights and smells of popcorn and caramel. Calum was walking along the fair with his yet only pure blood and two more best friends, merely to spend the evening, not tempted by the flashing lights of a kissing booth or a ferris wheel. He was young, just turned 21, and only a year and a half an alpha of his own pack. They were messing around with boys and he didn’t see Emily, until Ashton started mocking him again. Calum warded the mocking with a simple shrug of his shoulders and went in an opposite direction, not forgetting to spare Emily another lingering look though. He liked her, he really did. She was younger, the daughter of one of the first families in his pack. Sweet and cute and funny, she was probably everything a young wolf like him could wish for. But she hasn’t ascended yet and that complicated things. At least for Calum. He understood his duty of an alpha despite his young age, and even though Ashton often teased him for being too serious about it, Calum just couldn’t help it. Pack was the most important thing in his life and he couldn’t jeopardize it just because he liked the girl. Especially if the girl liked him back. 

He went back home pretty late. A little house he purchased couple months ago, after his and Ashton business started really taking off. The rooms were empty and Calum wondered for what seemed like a hundredth time what it would be like to come home where someone was waiting for him. He missed his family, though never regretted leaving them to go and seek his own fortune in this world. But imagining being with somebody still was odd for him. Maybe he should have gotten a pet?

The knock on the door worried him, as it was already past midnight. Emily’s parents were standing at his porch, fear and distress in their eyes. 

“Alpha?” the older woman looked at him, all her trust in him settled in her silent request.

Her husband was keeping silent, topic too delicate for him to discuss it with another man. But his wife handled everything right. Telling how Emily came home after the fair visibly ill and refused any food. And how later her mother found her on her bed, temperature rising and her mind clouded with lust. They were old enough to recognise an omega ascending and as there was no romantic interest in Emily’s life (at least not one they knew about) they came to the only wolf who could take responsibility for it. 

Calum only nodded and picked up his car keys. The ride to their house was short, he had exactly enough time to leave messages to Ashton and Mike. He entered the house and went upstairs as quietly as he could, not to wake up Emily’s two younger brothers. He knocked at her door, merely to show respect, as he entered the very next moment, not waiting for the response. She was on her bed, her pj tight around her thin frame, her skin covered in cold sweat. He kneeled down at her bed, stroking away her hair out of her forehead. 

“Emily?” he called on her almost in a whisper. 

“Hey, alpha,” she tried to smile.

“Do you know what’s going on with you?” Calum asked. It wasn’t a question for him, he could smell her from the front door, but he could imagine how confusing it might be for her.

Her weak nod was the only response she was capable of. He could see her body shaking and asked himself, if it was from lust or fear.

“Okay, gonna take you from here, alright?” 

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” she whispered before he even touched her.

Calum looked her in the eyes, all the worries of the world dancing inside them. He sighed. “Are you afraid?” he asked instead of answering her awkward offer of an escape for him. He didn’t want that escape in the first place. And for that matter, he wouldn’t be able to now, for her scent driving him mad, playing with every nerve end he had in his body. Wolf instincts, as old as the world itself, were leading them now. 

Emily met his straight look and nodded.

“Are you..?” Calum started, not able to finish his question. “Have you..?” he tried again. 

Her smile was weak, the only reaction she could profes to his endearing awkwardness. “I’ve been with men before,” she answered.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

She shrugged. Then took a deep breath. “You,” she stated simply. Then added, “Myself. What’s going to happen. How it’ll change my life.”

“Nothing will have to change,” Calum said, pushing a small smile for her. “You’ll just know your place in the pack. But everything else will stay the same.”

She nodded again, hey eyelids flattered, lust she never knew before overwhelming her.

“Now, do you trust me?” Calum asked, getting they had little time.

“With my life, alpha,” Emily whispered. 

Without wasting any more time, Calum picked her up from her bed and went downstairs. He already talked to her parents, explaining what he was about to do and getting their silent consent. 

By the time they came back to Calum’s house, Emily seemed almost unconscious. Her hands were shaking like crazy, eyes were looking past object without seeing them, her mind clouded with her need and Calum’s presence. Calum led her to his bedroom and left her for couple of minutes. When he came back, Emily was just standing in the middle of the room, her wondering look on the bed, hands clasping on her own shoulders. Calum put the glass of water he brought for her on the bedside table and turned to Emily. 

“Do you know what we have to do?”

Emily shivered visibly, her hands still on her shoulders. “Yes, alpha,” her voice was weak and she was afraid to look at Calum. Surprisingly she was more shy of what she felt to the wolf before her, than of what they were about to do. 

“Is there anyone you’d rather have here than me?”

“No, alpha,” she said, this time looking at Calum with sincerity. 

Calum nodded and came up to her. Cupped her face, waited till she closed her eyes and kissed her. The kiss was long and tender, his plump lips so soft against her bitten ones. A whimper sounded between them as she leaned into the kiss, pressing her hands to his chest. He brought her closer, one of his arms enveloping her shoulders. His free hand went lower, squeezing her bum and making her whimper again. 

Calum felt his blood starting to boil. He’d liked this girl for so long, and having her now like that, pressed to him and moaning into his lips was turning him on beyond control. Emily put her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer, only thin layers of clothing separating their burning bodies. She stood up on her tiptoes, her abdomen brushing over his half hard cock and he had to stop for a moment, not to throw her right on the bed and take her as hard as he only could.

“Alpha?” she asked, taken by surprise, nervousness back in her voice. “Did I do something wrong?”

Calum huffed, soft smile back on his face. How could she ever do anything wrong? He came up to her again, kissing gently the corner of her mouth and tugging on her tee. 

“Let’s take this off, yeah?” he whispered, his lips going lower to her shoulder, while his hands sliding up her sides, taking soft fabric with them. Emily lifted her arms, letting him take her top off, her hearing registered his hiss, as he understood she had nothing underneath. She tried to step back, to look up at him to understand what this hiss meant, but had no chance, as Calum pulled her in, his lips assaulting her neck. He moved her closer to his bed, laying her down on the cold sheets, his lips not leaving her skin, sliding lower and leaving the burning marks where they were touching her. 

“Alpha,” Emily whimpered, when his lips covered one of her nipples. Calum felt her shaking hand slide down his shoulder, her nails scratching his skin. He looked up at her, her eyes rolling up. He didn’t have time for this, he understood. Whatever he wanted to do, they’d have time for it later. Now he should have release her, give her racing mind a moment to slow down. And there was only one way to do it.

Calum rose up to her and kissed her lips, fast, sucking on her lower lip, and then mumbled, “Gonna do it fast, okay?”

Emily just nodded, while Calum picked up a condom from his bedside table. He sat up to pull his sweats down fast and roll the condom on his dick and turned then to Emily again. 

“Lift up,” he mumbled tugging on her shorts. She obeyed and Calum took them off in one go. And lost his breath, again. She wasn’t just wet, she was dripping. Poor girl must have been aching for him already. He picked her legs and made her lift up her knees. 

“Need you opened up for me, sweetheart.”

She didn’t have time to answer anything, not like she had any idea what she could answer to that. She didn’t even have so much time to blush, as Calum entered here that very moment and she saw it. Not stars, no random metaphor could do. Emily saw her destiny, her vocation. She knew her place in the world and in the pack and was accepting it fearlessly. 

Calum stayed with her through the whole heat. He was attentive, tender and quiet. Too quiet for Emily’s liking, but she understood it was difficult for him too. When the heat was over, he drove her back home, insisted on her keeping his hoodie and left without any other word.

He came back though, couple days later. Refused to stay for dinner, but walked with Emily through the park. They didn’t tell much to each other that evening, yet Calum left her with the light heart, seeing she was alright and more than just comfortable in her new role. But Emily wasn’t just relieved, she was elated. All her secret wishes were coming true, her alpha cared for her. And it was all she could care about. He mind was rushing in working out her plan. 

“Emily?” Calum didn’t expect to see her on his porch so late that Thursday night, but stepped aside nonetheless, letting her in. He could feel she was nervous about something, her adrenalin adding a sharp tone to her smell. 

“Hi, alpha,” she dropped under her breath, almost a whisper.

Calum winced from that addressing. He didn’t mind his wolves calling him alpha, knowing it was his rightful title. But there was something in the way she said it he didn’t like. Too much of an obedience, too little of a choice. “Please, you can call me by the name, when we’re alone,” the reminder followed as he closed the door. 

Somehow these simple words brought her to action. Calum didn’t mean anything but his own comfort, but she obviously seen much more in this friendly gesture. She turned back to him and closed the distance between them in two fast steps, her hands flying up to his face and her lips already covering his lips. The kiss was desperate, needy even. The moment their lips parted Calum took a step back. 

“Emily, you don’t…” he had no idea what he wanted to say. She didn’t have to? But nobody was making her. She didn’t want? Yet here she was by her own will. She didn’t know what she was doing? She knew everything better than him, he thought, watching her tiny dress slide down to her feet leaving her completely bare before him. 

“Yes, I do,” she assured him, kissing him again.

Calum tried to stop her, he really tried not to give in. But he was just 21, he really liked her and she was giving herself to him willingly. So he embraced her tiny body in his arms and tried to forget everything for the night. 

Though the morning did come after all. And brought all his doubts back. Only they were no longer doubts. The way she shivered the next morning and frowned as soon as her eyes opened, how quiet she was as if she was trying to hear something happening inside her, everything was proving him right.

Calum took a deep breath over a cup of coffee he made for her and gathered all his strength. 

“I think you shouldn’t come like that anymore,” he said softly, handing her the cup.

Emily looked up at him as if he hit her.

“I know what you were trying to do.” Calum put the cup in front of her, as she made no effort to take it. “But there was no need. If we were mates, you’d have gone into the heat right after your ascendance.”

Emily was looking at the table absent-mindedly. “I thought, it was because of the ascendance. I thought if we did it again…”

“Well, we did. You’re not in the heat. We’re not mates,” he concluded and looked at her shaking frame. “I’m sorry,” Calum added.

“It’s not your fault,” Emily responded. 

Calum only nodded. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Just a random misfortune for the two of them. 

“But, we still can…” Emily started. Calum looked at her in confusion. “I mean, I know you liked me even before that. And you don’t have anyone. Let me stay by your side, alpha.”

Her eyes were full of tears and her voice full of hope, but instead of softening Calum, making him pull his guard down, it only make things worse. 

“Why do you want it, Emily?” he asked, voice full of iron.

“What?”

“Why do you want to be with me?” he repeated, his blood was boiling inside him. He knew the answer well enough, but she had to say it out loud for her own good.

“I… I just like you, Calum, what's wrong with that?” her voice was trembling even more, her fear now adding to the nerve.

“And why do you like me?”

Emily was looking at him with her eyes wide open, utterly stuck in search for an answer. 

Calum breathed out and ordered, not asked this time, “Answer me, omega!”

She couldn’t fight the direct order, no one could. “Because you’re my alpha and my purpose is to obey you,” words left her before she had so much time to process them. She covered her mouth with her hands, tears streaming down her pretty face, but it was too late. She couldn’t take them back. And there was nowhere to hide from the truth. 

Calum inhaled and leaned back on the counter, looking around his tiny kitchen. He bought this house not so long ago, but he knew it was a temporary shelter. If everything goes as planned, he soon will be able to afford more spacious one, with enough place not only for him but also for the one he’ll call his family. And this very moment it struck him he couldn’t imagine Emily in that future kitchen of his. He couldn’t quite fathom that woman now, but he was sure in one thing. Emily wasn’t her.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. 

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated. 

In a minute she wasn’t there, leaving his house silently. She didn’t need any other explanations. Wolves mated. Alphas never took advantage of the omegas of their packs. These were the laws they lived by and no one could change them, no matter how much they wanted.

***

taglist: @myloverboyash, @calumamongmen, @lfwallscouldtalk, @empathycth, @calpops, @talkfastang, @wastedheartcth, @ariannawoodxoxo, @dreamer-loves-lyrics, @fluffshawn, @cals-cigarette, @easierfor5sos, @outlandishnerd, @talkfastromance4, @thesubtweeter, @bandsrawesome, @sunnysidesblog, @shal-pal, @treatallwithkindness, @zhangyixingxing1, @madformichael, @c-h-i-l, @whoaitsannerieke, @rotten-kandy, @hopelessxcynic, @spankthetrashcan, @theodora-howyoudoin, @xcarondimonix, @clummycal, @vexxybexxy-blog, @fictionalfrustrations, @notsooperfect, @rbforsmileycal, @lmao5sosimagines, @wantirwinback, @acapurso, @thegirlallthebadguyswant, @quietlycalum, @ukulelecal, @flannelpunkcalum, @singt0mecalum, @heartbreakgirlisagoodsongcalum, @wildflowergrae, @burncrashbromance, @5saucewho)

[deanieweaniewrites]

In Your Loving Arms

Rated: T

Warnings: None

Words: 2.6k

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Bipolar Castiel, Caring Boyfriend Dean

This is a fic that’s very personal to me. I wrote it just to make myself feel better, and in posting it I hope it gives some comfort to someone else in the way it comforted me. That being said, there is a lot of mental health talk in this, so it is a heavy read. Proceed with caution if that stuff bothers you. There is no angst in this, all fluff, but the themes are what make it heavy. I hope you enjoy.

~~~

Castiel pulls a pillow over his head when he hears his phone vibrate for the third time in the past five minutes. His body feels weighed down and his head is thick with fog. He isn’t sure if he’s about to cry or if he’s just numb. The room is completely dark save for the light peeking around the blackout curtains on his windows. It’s past noon and he hasn’t left his bed yet. It’s a Saturday so he doesn’t have anywhere to be.

He rolls onto his back and stares up in the ceiling. He’s been in this shirt for three days now. He hears his phone buzz again and closes his eyes. He knows who it is. He wants to talk to him, but it feels too hard. He hates it when anyone interacts with him while he’s like this. It’s too embarrassing. 

It was two years ago, when he turned eighteen, that he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The diagnosis came as no shock. He had his suspicions since he was fifteen. Castiel was put in therapy then, and he had been in and out of it for two years. It was hard to find a therapist that he liked. 

For the past six days, he has been in another one of his depressive episodes. They usually last between two and three weeks. All he’s managed to do in the past six days is go to his university classes and remember to feed himself once a day. He’s stayed locked away in his room for the rest of the day. He’s spent most of the days sleeping or watching youtube. 

He’s fortunate enough to have someone else who lives in his apartment that mostly leaves him alone. Balthazar is a nice friend and he gets along with Castiel. He doesn’t bother Castiel when things get bad like this only because he knows how much Castiel wants to be left alone. 

Castiel rolls onto his side and kicks a pile of dirty clothes off of his bed. The floor of his small bedroom is no longer visible due to the buildup of trash and clothes. There’s a small path that leads out the door and another that leads to the bathroom, which is also a mess. The mess usually builds up for days prior to an episode, and that’s how Castiel tells that it’s coming. 

His phone buzzes again and he finally decides to look at the messages. 

Dean: Hey Cas. I know it’s getting rough for you right now. Can I come over?

Dean: I know you don’t want anyone to see you, but I miss you

Dean: It’s not just that, I can help. I’m not judging you and I just want to help. 

Dean: I just texted Balth and asked if you were home. I’m coming over. 

Dean: I’m here. Balth is going to let me in.

Castiel sighs heavily. He’s been with Dean for nearly a year now. Dean is very familiar with Castiel’s pattern and has never judged him for anything. He’s been nothing but accepting and loving. The one thing Castiel hadn’t allowed yet was for Dean to see him during a depressive episode. It sucked to go for two or three weeks without seeing Dean, but he was too embarrassed to let him in. He’d much rather hide and then clean up the mess afterwards. 

But now, Dean is here. Castiel hears him entering the apartment. He wants to frantically start picking up the mess in his room, but he’s too tired to get up. He sits up and fights back tears. He just waits for the inevitable disgust from Dean. This could very well be the end. How could Dean still respect him after seeing how bad this is? 

~~~

Dean gently knocks on Castiel’s bedroom door. He hears some movement from inside. “I’m coming in, okay?” 

He opens the door and looks at the floor. He’s never seen Castiel’s room like this. Usually his boyfriend was very tidy. The room was always bright and warm with homely decor. Right now, it looks like a different room. The floor is completely covered save for two paths carved through it. The bed is rumpled, the desk is covered in trash, and right in the center of the bed sits Castiel. He has his knees tucked to his chest, and even through the darkness of the room, Dean can see the tears on his cheeks. “Can I turn the light on?”

“Mmhm.”

Dean flips the light on and closes the door behind himself. He holds up a takeout container. “I brought you food. It’s those chicken tenders from that one restaurant you like.”

Castiel doesn’t look Dean in the eyes. He buries his face in his knees and sniffles, clearly fighting back the urge to sob.

Dean walks through the small path and sits down on the bed. He sets the food down and gently places a hand on Castiel’s back. “I’m sorry if you don’t want me here. I just can’t stand that you’re in here suffering by yourself. I would have done this sooner if I had known it was this bad. You’re not alone, okay? I love you and I want to help you through this.”

Castiel hiccups and wipes his eyes against his arm. “I’m embarrassed. I never let anyone see me like this because I know how disgusting it is. I haven’t showered in...I think five days. I don’t want anyone to know that I spend part of my life living like this.”

Dean rubs Castiel’s back. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, certainly not around me. Look, I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through right now. All I know is that I want to help. You don’t have to fight this alone. Are you hungry?”

Castiel lifts his head from his arms and blinks away tears. He looks at the takeout box on the bed and nods. “Yeah.” He picks up the box and opens it up. “Thanks.”

Dean nods and looks around the room. “Is it okay if I start cleaning?”

Castiel frowns. “You don’t have to do that. This place is a disaster. I can clean it when I feel better.”

“You can, but having a clean space may make you a little more comfortable now. I’m going to get garbage bags.” Dean leaves the bedroom and finds garbage bags in the cabinets under the kitchen sink. He grabs a few and returns to the bedroom to see Castiel slowly eating. “I really don’t mind cleaning, especially if it means helping you.” 

Castiel swallows his mouthful of food and watches Dean move around the room, picking up all of the trash. “I thought you hated cleaning. You throw a fit about washing your roommate’s dishes at your own place.”

“That’s because Ash just expects me to wash the dishes because I like the place to be clean. I’m happy to do this because I know you’re having a hard time and I know executive dysfunction is a bitch.” Dean stuffs all of the trash into the bag he’s holding as he moves around the room. 

Things start to look better as time passes. Dean picks up the takeout container and throws it away as well once Castiel is done. Castiel lays back down in bed and closes his eyes while Dean cleans. 

Dean moves on to laundry and starts picking up all of the dirty clothes. He fills the hamper and takes it to the washer, putting in a load. He sweeps the floor and wipes down all of the surfaces in the room. It only takes him about an hour to bring the room back to its usual state. 

“Alright, now on to you.” Dean smiles. 

Castiel opens his eyes and scrunches his brows. “Huh?”

“Let’s get in the shower. I’ll shower with you.”

Castiel frowns. “I don’t think I can, I’m sorry. I know it’s gross, I’m just too tired.”

Dean nods. “That’s okay. How about a bath? I’ll help you.”

Castiel sighs. “That’s kind of embarrassing.”

Dean puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m not judging you. I just want to help.”

Castiel looks away and stays quiet for a few seconds. “I guess I can try a shower.”

Dean smiles softly. “Do you want me to shower with you?”

Castiel nods as he sits up. “I probably won’t get it done otherwise.” He slides off the bed and stretches with a groan.

Dean walks to the side of the bed and pulls the sheets off. He takes the pillowcases off as well and tosses them into the hamper. “Your sheets are on the top shelf of the closet, right?”

Castiel watches and nods. “Yeah, thank you.” 

Dean puts a fresh pair of sheets on the bed and pulls the blankets back, making the bed. “There. Now, onto the shower.” He leads the way to Castiel’s bathroom and turns the shower on. 

Castiel closes the bathroom door and starts undressing. His movements are slow and he looks exhausted despite not moving all day. He sets his clothes on the bathroom counter and steps into the shower. 

Dean strips, folding his clothes and leaving them on the bathroom counter. He gets in the shower behind Castiel. He’s already showered today, so he’s really only there to help Castiel if he needs it. “You want help?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’d like to keep a little dignity, but thank you.”

“You haven’t lost any dignity in my eyes.” Dean hands the body wash to Castiel and leans against the wall to watch him. 

Castiel’s movements are slow, but he gets the job done. He washes his hair twice to get rid of the greasy feeling and washes his face. He turns off the water once he’s done and grabs a towel. “Thank you for being moral support. I needed that.”

“Any time.” Dean steps out of the shower and grabs the other towel. He pats himself dry before redressing himself. 

Castiel wraps the towel around his waist and walks out of his bedroom. He searches his drawers and pulls out a large t-shirt and another pair of sweatpants to wear. It’s about all he has in terms of clean clothes. Once he’s dressed, he climbs back onto his bed and lays down. 

Dean finishes dressing and climbs into bed with Castiel. “Is this okay?” To his surprise, Castiel turns over and buries his face in his chest. Dean wraps his arms around him and kisses the top of his head. “I love you, okay? You don’t ever have to be embarrassed about this stuff. Until you feel better, I’m gonna drop by every day after class to check on you.”

Castiel holds Dean tightly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Whenever you’re not like this we see each other nearly every day, so it’s no different than normal for me. Besides, I want to see you.”

“I’m not going to be much fun. All I’m really doing right now is sleeping and watching youtube.”

Dean shrugs. “I’m always down for that. Besides, a nap after class sounds nice. If you really don’t want me here, I’ll just poke my head in to make sure you’re okay and then leave.”

Castiel holds onto Dean’s shirt and nods a little. “I thought having someone around for this would really suck, but it’s actually nice.”

Dean runs his fingers through Castiel’s damp hair. “Have you been making it to class?”

Castiel nods. “I make it to my lectures, but I’ve fallen behind a little on my assignments. I can catch up and my professors are all aware of my situation.”

“What about your meds? When was the last time you took them?”

Castiel goes quiet for a few seconds. “Two weeks ago.”

Dean frowns. “What made you stop taking them?”

“They make my stomach hurt. I’d like to be able to process dairy and wheat products without feeling like I’m dying.”

Dean kisses the top of Castiel’s head. “You should take your meds. We’ve had this discussion before.” Castiel sighs. “I know. I just...I hate to have to take them. I don’t want to need them. They have a horrible name. Anti-psychotics. I hate that word, psychotic. It sounds so venomous. I don’t want to need pills for the rest of my life. Sometimes when I stop taking them I feel better. My head feels clearer and I don’t get any side effects anymore.”

“But when you take your meds, this doesn’t happen at this severity. Maybe you won’t need meds forever. Just think about right now. Right now, you need them. If you really hate the ones you’re on now, tell your doctor when you see them again.”

“Truthfully, the side effects really aren’t that bad. It’s more that I just don’t want to need medication. I keep going off it to try to prove to myself that I’m fine. I know I need to just stick with it.” Castiel wraps an arm around Dean. 

Dean nods. “Do you want reminders or would that get annoying?”

Castiel thinks for a moment. “Honestly it would probably get annoying. I could set an alarm on my phone to remind me to take them.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Dean sits up a little and turns over. He opens the drawer on the bedside table and pulls out a couple pill bottles. “I’ll go get you some water.”

Castiel nods and sits up as Dean gets up. He opens the pill bottles and collects all his correct dosages in his palm. 

Dean returns with a glass of water and hands it to Castiel. “Here you go.”

Castiel takes all of his meds with water before laying back down. “I need to sleep.”

“Alright. I’ll take a nap with you.” Dean climbs back into bed and spoons Castiel from behind. He closes his eyes as he holds his boyfriend against his chest. “I love you.”

Castiel finds Dean’s hand and holds it tightly. “I love you too. Thank you for coming.”

“Anytime, baby.”

Dean and Castiel nap there for a couple hours before Dean wakes up. He lays there for another half hour, watching Castiel sleep. It was a bit of a role reversal. Castiel was usually the first to wake up whenever they slept together and he would always watch Dean sleep. Now that it’s Dean watching Castiel, he gets the appeal.

Castiel wakes up and rubs his eyes. He turns his head to look at Dean with a tiny smile on his face. He suggests that they watch Netflix on his laptop, so they prop themselves up to do just that. Dean takes out his own laptop to work on some schoolwork while they sit there. 

Dean makes dinner for both of them when the time comes, and he goes home afterwards. 

In the following days, Dean checks on Castiel every day. After his classes, he drives to Castiel’s apartment and spends a couple hours with him. Castiel’s mood seems to lift a little every time Dean comes over. His presence certainly doesn’t ‘fix’ Castiel, but it does help. 

~~~

Castiel starts to return to his usual mood after a week. With the help of his medication, he starts to feel more like himself. He actually leaves his bed for a reason other than class to finish up the laundry that Dean had been helping him with. He goes over to Dean’s apartment after class and thanks him again for being as supportive as he was. 

Knowing that someone is there to support him makes everything feel much easier. Castiel knows that his relationship isn’t going to fix all of his problems, but Dean feels like a partner to him. They build each other up and work alongside one another. It’s healthy in a way that Castiel has never experienced before now. Despite everything, Castiel can call himself happy. He knows that he isn’t alone now, and that makes the fight so much easier.

[lonestarpost]

Giving Comfort (to the one I love) - @mtnofgrace - Review

“Giving Comfort (to the one I love)” by @mtnofgrace captivates the exhaustion and the outlandishness of the events of S02E02 in a way that feels steady and compelling. Using Carlos’ point of view, it gives an excellent look into what Carlos must have been thinking at the end of the episode. It enhances what was seen with the perspective of a character who wasn’t featured heavily in the episode. In this work, the writer shows the painful series of events that lead up to the moment on the stairs and a little of what happens after that moment. It unfolds at a nice pace. It’s just over one thousand words, but it uses each word to create an emotional and empathetic piece about grief, loss, and the love that eases some of the pain caused by the tragedy.

The story is a romantic piece that shows Carlos’ perspective of the tragic day that Tim died. Carlos himself has had a hard day, and he still is trying to wrap his head around what has happened. He had a busy shift, but things have slowed down, and he’s wrapping up his day. The writer expresses his fatigue well. You can sense that these moments are the quiet ones after running about on frantic missions to save people from the disaster.

One of the best parts of this piece is that it gives a unique perspective of the situation because it starts before Carlos has even heard the news about the 126 losing one of their crew. He’s on edge with everything that has happened, and even before he has heard that the day has been worse than he thought, he still can’t quite process the whole lava thing, but he does his best to keep any lingering worry he has away.

Carlos’ reactions are portrayed dynamically. He first hears the news that the 126 lost someone; he’s tense because he doesn’t know who has died. It agonizes him to think it could be someone so close to him. When he finds out that Tim has died, Carlos’ first response is relief. He is relieved that it is not T.K. or anyone he knows better than Tim. He feels guilt over his response, and this reaction feels incredibly realistic. The horror of what has happens then dawns on Carlos, and he knows that the 126 is hurting, and he knows that T.K. will need his support, or he at least wants T.K. to know that Carlos’ support is available.

The author gives a glimpse into the tedium of tragedy— the moments between the explosions and horrors in which Carlos has to continue with average parts of life. Despite the chaos happening around him, it’s clear that his role in the day is dwindling. He’s saved the girl in the food truck. The worst of the trouble is over, and he is about to clock out with just a few things to finish up. He spends much of the beginning part of the story doing things that seem so normal. He does paperwork. He goes home. He gets a shower. He waits. When he knows that T.K. is coming to him, he settles on the stairs until he hears the key turning.

It’s in the second half of the story that Carlos has a more active role, but even then, there’s only so much he can do because he cannot take away the hardship that T.K. is going through. He shows T.K. several times that he is there, and he doesn’t try to take the hurt away because he is not in the power to do so, but he sits with T.K., and he holds T.K. He takes them to his bedroom so they can be more comfortable, and he opens up a dialogue if that’s what T.K. wants. He makes efforts to empathize with T.K. and try to imagine what it must be like in his shoes. He doesn’t force T.K. to say or do more than he is able, so the author shows that Carlos is trying to follow T.K.’s lead on this one. T.K. isn’t ready to speak about it, but Carlos is understanding. The couple verbally expresses their love, but the author showed it through actions long before that moment.

This work excels in its ability to give a glimpse behind the curtain of what Carlos was thinking as he waited up for T.K. and his thought process when T.K. was finally in his arms. Without a doubt, this work lives up to the title of Giving Comfort.  It fills some of the gaps that viewers were unable to see in the episode, and it does so in a way that feels true to the characters and accurately reflects their emotional states. Without a doubt, this work lives up to the title of Giving Comfort, and it shows the tenderness that can come with pain.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (02x12)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 2 Episode 11: Far From Home

Season Finale

Warnings: dirty thoughts, a little fluff, good parenting, monsters and men. I am sorry but I am not sorry.

Word Count: I really wanna just leave everything and go live with the monks in the mountains if they allow me to take my laptop with me so I can keep writing.

A/N: Nearly forgot to mention the wonderful @marvel-lous-things for her original creativity that inspired the sam-bucky dialogue. I’ll link the original post here. I also did add some Brooklyn Nine Nine scene in there because I WANT TO AND I CAN!! I MISS B99!

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Why do you have to be so hard?"

Peter, Javier('s camera), Wanda, Vision and you turned your heads towards a very heated Sam trying to walk out of the elevator with Bucky, their bulked up biceps fighting each other to get out of the elevator together, telling the other to go first, but going at it together, eventually looking at the other with a murderous stare. Finally, Sam rushed out before Bucky.

"It's not my fault if you cannot handle my weight," Bucky gruntled lowly, forcing you to exchange some very confused looks with Peter, Wanda and Vision. Vision was more curious than confused like the good young baby AI that he was.

"Handle your weight? Dude, do you know how hard it is to handle your ass when you keep shifting like that? Throwin' me off my rhythm."

What started as confusion now turned into the horror of knowing the unknown, forcing your eyes wide.

"Wha-" Peter tried to ask you in a whisper, but you were already covering his ears, making him look at you questioningly. "You know I'm eighteen, right?"

"I throw you off your rhythm?" Bucky jolted back slightly. "It's you who's always wiggling under me and throwing me off balance!"

"Of course I gotta wiggle, man!" Sam burst out, "you dig your fingers in me so hard! I can't just freeze there when you get rough!"

Now you were covering your ears while all Peter could whisper was, "no, you know what, cover my ears. I liked it better that way. Please. I beg you."

"I only do that because you push us too high, okay!" Bucky argued, compelling you to hide your head inside the couch. Peter just sat there frozen in shock, his eyeballs on the verge of coming out. "You clearly still have no idea how to ride because you're too used to doing it solo."

You whimpered. Peter managed to blink. Hard.

Vision was simply staring at the two of them.

Wanda went by normally shuffling the Uno cards.

"Fine, then I'll go back to solo," Sam raised his hands.

"What, no!" Bucky begged, "I like it! Please, next time I'll won't dig my fingers so hard."

"And no biting."

"It was one time! The first time! I was scared of the freaking high!"

"You bit my shoulder! I said no biting."

"Okay. Okay!"

"All right."

A shake of the hand wrapped around the other's arm sealed the deal before the party looked at the crowd sitting on the lounge floor.

"'Sup," Sam casually greeted the four of you. Bucky just simply waved.

Red . You and Peter were red from your ears to your neck.

You got up, your hands trying to find some sort of support to hold you through everything you were going inside you right now, before ultimately folding them together.

"I'm glad you guys reached a common ground," you pointed out with a forced smile that nearly made your eyes disappear, "but there's um...a bedroom for a reason. Please, think about it before...you know, you guys argue again."

Saying that, you left the lounge, whispering, "Now how the heck do I bleach my memory?"

"Wait, I'm coming with you," Peter announced, getting up and taking your hand to walk out.

"Where are you guys going?" Bucky asked.

"Dr Banner's lab," Peter stated rubbing his arms, "to find out how we can destroy brain cells?"

"But doesn't that affect other functions too?"

"It would be worth it."

Sam and Bucky exchanged a confused look before turning to the two lovers left behind.

Vision shifted his gaze between your figures disappearing behind the wall while Sam and Bucky, contemplated something before turning to Wanda. "I think they were terrified for some reason."

Wanda : Sam and Bucky were talking about their plans to fly. Well, Sam doing the flying while Bucky hangs on his back. Stark showed me the whole carrier thing he made for them. *nods* *sighs* Yeah, Y/N and Peter can't read thoughts now can they. *eyes go wide in some latent thought* That girl has such a graphic memory! She could already imagine everything within seconds. *scrunches nose* in 4K! *shudders*

The Lab

"Pass me that blue vial," Banner murmured near the glass, the camera taking his face shot from the other side of the glass- zooming out to focus on a thin glass-like structure being held by a pair of tongs right in the middle of that vacuumed glass cube.

Long white slender fingers pressed a glass vial filled with the blue liquid right to Bruce's nose, making the scientist jolt a little before looking at the bearer of the hands, sighing, and taking it in his gloved hands.

The lab goggles were adjusted again before the vial was placed in another set of tongs and introduced inside the controlled environment.

This time, behind the glass besides Bruce, Loki showed his face, looking at that thin glass strand with utmost curiosity.

"What forces are you conjuring this time, doctor?"

Bruce shushed him, concentrating on the solution.

"Alright," he got away from the cube to clear his throat, "Friday, take the exact amount right to the very last millimetre and pour the N.A.T. on the compound."

Loki was on the edge of his toes now.

Loki : It is only once in a fortnight that these excuses of humans do something partly entertaining. I wouldn't want to miss it when Banner has another mishap and morphs himself into a rabbit this time. *gazing in the distance fondly* Maybe a purple one. *smiles*

"In three, two..."

Loki was quickly shifting his gaze between the experiment and Bruce. "Oh for the sake of Valhalla! Just do it already!"

"One!"

Flashes and sparks flew the moment the liquid touched the compound, making the two cover their eyes till they were sure the blazes died.

"Experiment ninety-nine point nine-nine percent successful, Doctor Banner."

"What's that, a new floor-cleaner?" you commented, walking inside the lab with Peter.

Loki leaned in to watch the outcome of the experiment while Bruce removed his goggles and gloves, too struck by the final product to contemplate your poor jokes.

"That's..." Loki lost his words, following Bruce's hands as they carefully took out an almost translucent and seemingly delicate piece of a flower made of glass- its petals decorated with capillaries running through them, reflecting softly on their own wavelengths, dancing gracefully, twirling and shifting with the lights falling on them.

"A flower," Loki grumbled.

You and Peter, on the other hand, were gasping out loud- clearly mesmerised by the outcome.

"How did you do that Doctor Banner?!" you exclaimed, not able to contain your excitement.

"Just used the geometric structures of certain compounds to make a piece of art for me," Bruce cajoled, clearly both impressed and shocked with himself.

Loki snorted, catching your attention. "And here I was thinking you were finally making some use of that brain of yours Banner."

"Come on, Loki," you stressed, "this is practically art out of science. Appreciate it. And," you turned around to look at Bruce, wiggling your shoulders as you spoke, "I'm guessing it's for someone special."

Bruce blushed straightaway!

"Uhh..." he tried to hide behind his hands while adjusting his glasses, "It's her birthday. I-I-I asked her when's her birthday once and she told me she didn't remember her real one. Just that today is the date she thinks is her birthday. So, I thought I'd do something special for her."

"Ugh, kill me," Loki complained, stomping- very graciously, his shoulders moving with an angry swing under that dark green t-shirt he was wearing- to the other end of the lab.

You, on the other hand, squealed with utter delight, jumping where you stood. "This is fantastic, Bruce!"

"Thanks!" Bruce glowed, smiling ear to ear. "And do you know it's pretty sturdy. Almost indestructible. And at the same time really delicate."

Bruce : *twirling the flower in his hand with the most tender smile* Just like her. *smiles again* *pauses* *camera pans in his anxious face* Shit, don't tell her I said that.

The camera caught Loki still rolling his eyes at the entire conversation at the other end, bonking the little bobblehead of Hulk kept on Bruce's desk.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! I should bake her some of my molten chocolate cupcakes!"

This caught the God's attention.

"Yes," he declared out of nowhere, composing himself, "that would be a great gesture."

"Oh, but we're out of ingredients. I finished the last batch when Cassie came over," you pointed.

"Well, take one of the cars to the nearest grocery store," Bruce stated matter-of-factly.

Your lips turned into an 'o' before shaking your head. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Bruce questioned, "I'm sure Tony won't mind."

"Won't mind what?"

The camera swerved to the lab's entrance to watch Tony saunter in.

"Taking one of your cars so she can get the ingredients to make cupcakes for Nat's birthday," Peter answered.

"For everyone," Loki added from his corner.

Tony looked at you and shrugged, "Sure. I don't mind. But I don't want even a single scratch on my cars. Otherwise, Friday can order some for you."

You stood there quiet while everyone looked for an answer.

"Yeah, I think Friday should handle that."

"Oh, come on, Tony!" Bruce huffed, "let her go if she wants to go. I'm sure nothing's gonna happen on the most desolate road in this part of the state."

"No, that's-" you tried to speak, only to be cut short by Tony.

"Okay. Not what I was going for but since you started it, the weirdest shit happens on desolate roads, Bruce!"

"Guys, listen-"

"She'll be in her car," Bruce stressed, "stopping at the grocery store, getting the stuff and coming back. Not to mention Friday'll be there looking out for her."

"Okay, doc-"

"I was talking about responsible driving and you just had to take it to another level!"

"I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!"

Silence.

Neither of the science buddies tried to say something, shifting where they stood.

"Well, that solves everything," Loki's words echoed through the air of embarrassment.

The Driveway

"You really don't have to do this."

The camera captured your very concerned face before panning out to show Tony and Loki standing on your either side while Peter sat by the side with his sunglasses on, sipping on some orange soda through a crazy straw.

Peter : *glasses on as he finishes sipping through his crazy straw* *a good wind playing with his hair* Oh, I know how it's gonna go down. *turns his head to the sound of the engine getting louder* Better than a Formula One.

Thank you, Friday," Tony announced as a black SUV comes and stands in the driveway right next to you. He stepped towards it, clicking open the door and gesturing you to move, "In you go."

But you didn't budge. "Yeah, I don't think so." Shaking your head vigorously.

"Why not?" Tony asked point-blank.

"Uh..." you hesitated, taking the corners of your jacket in your fingers and wringing them, "I...I don't think I'm made for driving."

"Everyone is made for everything. What everyone lacks is practice."

Sounds of clapping broke just as Tony concluded, making everyone turn to watch Loki and Peter applauding his words.

"Not bad, Stark," Loki applauded over the soft wind flapping your hair everywhere.

"But-"

"We're just trying something new here, kid," Tony pointed out, shifting the door wider.

You looked at him and then at the car, your fingers nearly ripping the fabric of your jacket apart before a breath of 'ah, screw it’ left your lips and you climbed in."

Tony put on his glasses and moved to the other side, all the while looking at Peter, "there better not be any crumbs and sticky soda on my driveway."

Peter gave him a thumbs-up as continued munching happily on the chips.

The camera now shifted to the dashboard, catching a good angle of the car's inside from the front.

Tony sat in the passenger seat and shut his door the same time Loki sat in the back and shut his.

"Alright then, let's begi-" he began, before stopping short on catching Loki in the back- leaning forward to hear what all Tony had to say, "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know how to drive your modest transport, either," he simply stated.

Tony opened his mouth to say something snarky but you beat him to it.

"Oh, thank God! It sucks being the only adult in the room who does not know how to drive."

Tony looked at you for a moment before settling in his seat. "You can stay but I don't want to hear a peep out of you. Okay, you" he pointed at you with his eyes, "seatbelt."

You quickly let your hands go to your side to bring down the seatbelt and secure it down at the other end. "Now," Tony continued, "look down at the pedals. From your right- gas, brake, clutch. The Gas pedals move the car, the brake will slow it down and bring it to a stop and the clutch will help you shift gears when the speed changes. When the speed goes high on this meter, the gear goes high, When it goes low, we go low. Okay? Try moving the gear and see if it's comfortable. Yes, just like that. Good. See that button with the start/stop sign? Push it when you want to start the car. Yes, you can start it in neutral as well. Once you start the engine you put the gear in drive while pressing down on the clutch. Okay? Wanna try it?"

Your breaths were a little shallow by now. "You sure?" you nearly whimpered.

"Yes, I am. It's okay. I am sitting right here," Tony comforted you.

You looked down at the pedals while your hands gripped hard on the wheels. Taking in one deep breath, you pressed the button and felt the car vibrate a little but never heard the roar of the engine. "Is it broken? I don't think it started-"

"It has a quiet engine," Tony blurted out to stop you from hitting the button again and again.

Making an apologetic face, you wiggled in your seat, straightened your back, checked the mirrors for no reason at all and took another deep breath. "Okay, now I press the clutch and change the gear?"

Tony nodded.

All this time Loki rested his hand in his palm, slowly getting tired of the instructions.

Pressing the clutch, you shifted the gear in drive.

"Perfect," Tony praised you, "now let go of the clutch slowly as you lightly put your foot on the gas."

With excitement in your eyes, you nodded and let go of the pedal. And just as you did, the car jerked, throwing Loki ahead.

"I'm so sorry!" you shouted, in Tony and Loki's direction.

"And this is why you wear a seatbelt," Tony followed with a chuckle, looking at the grunting figure of Loki trying to sit back up.

.

The Driveway

"Yo," Sam greeted Peter as he came out with Bucky, "got kicked out of the house?"

Peter shook his head, slurping his soda, never shifting in his seat that he was clearly well-adjusted in. "Watching Mr Stark teach Y/N how to drive."

Both Sam and Bucky looked at the SUV in the distance jerking and moving before coming to a stop, starting, jerking and moving ahead, suddenly picking up speed, suddenly screeching to a halt before the whole cycle started again.

"Huh."

Peter pointed to his left without looking. "There are chairs in there."

.

Half an Hour Later

"What're you guys doing in the driveway?"

Peter, Sam and Bucky- all three of them flinched hard at Natasha's voice coming from right next to them.

Bucky : She is sneaky. I don't like sneaky.

*camera pans out to show Sam standing behind Bucky with a plushie, throwing it suddenly from Bucky's left*

Bucky : *immediately tilts to the other side while taking out a knife from nowhere to stab the plushie*

Sam : We talked about this! Assess the f****ng target before going 'stab'! *continues in his angry voice* Congratulations! You just killed a plushie!

"Watching Tony teach Y/N how to drive."

Behind Natasha came the huffing figure of Scott carrying bags on bags in both his hands. They looked at the amount he was carrying compared to the bulk in Natasha's hand.

"No wonder you always keep beating me in training!" Scott huffed and tried to breathe through his words. He dropped the bags and let his body go floomf over them. "You're sooo strong," he heaved, "make me like you, senpai ."

"Get off the bags," she stressed, "you'll break the nachos," before turning to the trio with a stern stare, "you fellas really don't have anything to do?"

"We're supporting Y/N," Peter answered, pointing at the car nearly missing the pavement and skidding while making a turn.

But Nat didn't buy it. "What's the bet for?" She finally asked, forcing the trio to look at each other.

"How much time it takes for Tony to lose his cool," Sam admitted, "I'm going for twenty more minutes. Bucky says Tony's already lost his cool. He's just sitting in there crying. Peter thinks he'll last another hour."

The car turned and came towards where all of them sat. Nat took one step back as the vehicle skidded to a halt right next to Peter, the bumper giving him a little bonk on his knees.

The camera shifted to inside the car with three horrified faces trying to find their breaths.

"I told you," you tried but no voice came out of your throat, "I...told...you."

"Okay," Tony breathed, gulping down the horror but still having his hand wrapped around the grab-handle as tightly as humanly possible, "okay. Um...Loki," he announced, "your...turn?"

.

"You bitch," you hissed, "you said you didn't know how to drive!"

The car swerved by the audience effortlessly as they hooted, whistled and cheered.

Loki veered the steering wheel with such professionalism that you cursed him again.

"I swear I didn't!" Loki chuckled with excitement, "this is just so easy and fun!"

"Eyes on the road, Greeny," Tony ordered, but his eyes too were lit and he clearly wasn't holding the handles now, "now show me how you go through those two bars and then back it up."

Loki did what Tony asked, swerving smoothly through the bars, breaking without throwing anyone in the window and, reversing just as smoothly through them.

"Woah!" Tony heard himself saying, "okay now show me that thing Lighting McQueen does in 'Cars'."

Loki scrunched his nose. "The movie we saw last night?"

"Yup!"

"Brace yourselves!"

And saying that, he hit the gas and showed the crowd how to turn right to go left, making Peter and Tony lose their minds in their rush, while Sam landed a 'hot damn!', Bucky and Scott had their jaws dropped. Natasha was the only one not really phased by it.

Natasha : *nonchalantly* He can drive. *does a little head tilt* Good for him.

The vehicle came to a halt near the entrance and you were the first one to get out.

"Hey, Y/N, you did good!" Sam and Nat tried to cheer you up.

"Yeah," was all you said before turning to walk back in.

"Y/N, kid," Tony called out for you, "come on let's give it another shot."

"No, Mr Stark. I think I'm done for the day."

"But we didn't even go about for even an hour. Let's work on your gear shifting without looking at them."

"I don't think that'll hel-"

"We won't know until we try. Come on let's take anoth-"

"I can't!" You nearly shouted, taking everyone by surprise. "I can't Mr Stark! Driving requires me to focus on everything at once and I made not for that! I get distracted so easily. I can't even drive safely on an empty road inside my own home what makes you think I could possibly handle an entire vehicle on a busy road?! And believe me when I say I've been told time and again to change this 'habit' of mine. Well, I can't." You shrugged forcefully. "I really can't. That's how I freakin' am. So, sorry you have to deal with a f****d up kid like me."

Ending that, you walked inside, leaving everyone mum- discreetly looking at Tony before walking back in. Everyone except Loki.

Tony looked at the God, giving him a once-over. "The hell you looking at me like that?"

Loki just crossed his arms across his chest, shaking his head, "She can't drive. She clearly doesn't have the confidence and would have to take a lot to create the natural focus required. Just wondering what you're going to do now."

Tony furrowed his brows at Loki. "What d'ya mean what I'll do? I'll find a way to help with whatever's required. It's not her fault she can't focus or is easily distracted. I'll find something to help her with that too."

Loki : *looking at an invisible void in the distance* huh. I cannot believe I'm saying this but Stark one hell of a father figure. *Pouring his lips* *scrunching his nose* Is that why all these wayward nuisance of beings choose to live with him? *Looks behind the camera* What? I don't see him as a father figure. All I see him is as a bother figure. Always bothering me any chance he gets.

*camera pans out to show Tony standing beside him leaning on the car*

Tony : Would you like me to take you horse-riding?

Loki :

Tony : *arches his brow and places his head on his fist, watching Loki tenderly*

Loki : *not making eye-contact* *softly* that would be great. Thank you

Tony : *pats him the back and leaves* Good job today.

Loki : *closes eyes* *shakes his head* *moans* Yeah, I already feel weird.

.

The Dorms

Tony lightly knocked your door before clicking open a bit and asking if he could come in.

The camera tried to follow him but Tony closed the door behind it, forcing it to go out to the balcony.

He sat down on the edge of your bed looking at the half-finished sketch of a woman.

"You made this?" He turned to ask your figure lying on your stomach with your head towards the footboard.

You nodded.

"Wow!" He whispered with enthusiasm before his eyes caught something in the corner by the window. "Is that a canvas? You've been painting. On a canvas!"

You shrugged. "It's not that hard. Anyways I'm not that good."

"Why do you think that?" He asked as softly as possible. "Have you seen what you create? This is beautiful!"

"This is half-finished."

"Well, it's better than not being created at all!"

You blinked, and a lone tear left your eye to directly vanish in the sheets under you.

"I'm scared," your broken voice declared in a whisper.

"Of what?"

"Of not being able to drive safely. I can hardly focus on what gear to shift while having to quickly judge what pedal to hit. How am I ever supposed to drive when all my senses aren't in the car with me?"

"Hey," he stressed softly, brushing your hair away, "we'll figure it out. And it was just the first day. You already learned which gears are what. And you were really nailing those brakes."

You both giggled.

"There's nothing you cannot do," Tony assured you, his eyes giving you a soft yet stern look, "now stop beating yourself up, get out of these stinky bedsheets and go make sure Peter and Bucky don't burn up my kitchen to figure out your cupcake recipe."

You chortled and Tony looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world right now.

"Wow," Loki's voice came from the opposite corner of the room where he stood with arms crossed ever so casually, "you two really are boring. And cringy."

Tony and you gasped and threw a pillow each at him.

"Get out!" You both said in unison.

.

The Lounge

"You are such a sore loser."

You tilted your head and arched your brows at Loki.

"It wasn't a competition, Loki."

He simply shrugged and popped a grape in his mouth. "Something a loser would say."

"Whatever, man," you muttered, shooing him away as you went towards a very confused Peter hanging down from the ceiling to find out what Bucky was trying to cook.

"Wait." You heard Loki say after you felt a soothing coolness grab your hand lightly, making you turn back to him.

"Hmm?"

"There's-" he looked around to see if anyone was listening- clearly ignoring the camera- before coming back to you, "a thing. I need to learn how to paint. I've heard you're a really good artist. And clearly, I'm not. So, would you help me?"

You : This guy *a smirk lies at the corner of your lips* has the weirdest ways of saying 'I'm sorry, Y/N. I wish I could make your day better'. *nods* *raises shoulders* *bites lips* usually he does.

"Hmm," you pretended to think, "I don't know. Let me just show off my artist skills around a little bit and then I'll start teaching you."

"Oh, you think I'm-I'm trying to make you feel better? Don't make false assumptions, woman!"

"Din meek fils issimtion wimin," you teased him with your scrunched nose, right before Tony walked through the two of you.

"Five-second rule," he announced as your hands parted for Tony to go ahead and he slipped something over Loki's wrist.

"What's this?" Loki looked at the green bracelet that clicked shut over his wrist and did not come undone no matter what he tried.

"Just something to stop you from jumping in rooms unannounced," Tony responded, waving at him as he went away with a happy gait.

"Y/N," Natasha called out from the kitchenette, "you better take over before these boys make something everyone's gonna regret. And no one eats it before midnight!"

“Stark, get me out of this!”

.

Outside The Library

You walked with the camera following you out of the library, running right into Loki.

"Hey, have you seen Mr Stark?"

"No," Loki shook his head, "I rarely look at things I find unappealing."

"I made something for Nat, but I want his opinion on it. Come on," you pressed, taking his hand and pushing him away from the library and towards the lab.

"Stark's opinion? I'm sure Gordon Ramsay would be a better choice than him."

"I'm surprised you know who that is."

"Of course, I know who that is. Everyone fears him. I respect that. And he seems to have a cult!"

You sighed and turned the corner. "He has followers, not a cult. Like fans."

"What's the difference?"

"W-" and you found yourself short of an explanation, glad you were already by the lab's doors.

"Let's just concentrate on you making friends first, okay," you said in your best sarcastic tone, swinging open the door to watch Tony in the middle of the lab, going for the very familiar Pandora's box. The thing similar to the one that had teleported you to another planet.

Everything happened at once in front of the camera.

"DAD, NO!"

The small bag you'd been carrying in your hand fell down on the ground as you ran towards Tony. A shriek left your lungs as you forced him away from the familiar light that came out of the box. Loki was already trying to shield Javier behind the camera while trying to get you away from the path. Tony was not aware of what was happening until he was touching the floor.

And the next second everything disappeared.

The cameras in the lab caught Tony on the ground trying to get up, looking for you.

"Y/N?" He shouted out for you.

"Loki!" He commanded, getting up- not so gracefully- on his feet.

"Javier!" He begged, only to see Bruce, Natasha and Peter rush in from the doors.

"They're gone, Mr Stark," Friday's voice echoed through the silence of the lab, as the man tried to count his breaths while the others rushed to help him.

.

Unknown Place

The camera was blurry. A few sounds came from a distance before the lens shook and was wiped off where it lay- in the desert. It focused on two figures lying just a few feet away.

Javier's figure came in front as he tried to shake up one of them. And just as he did, Loki stirred, grunted and got up with a little difficulty.

Javier tapped his shoulder to get his attention away from his strange surroundings to your unconscious figure lying next to him.

"Y/N," he called out for you tenderly, his eyes scanning for any wounds on your arms or face. "Y/N, wake up," he gently tapped your cheeks and arms. "Y/N," he mildly shook you in vain.

"Y/N STARK!!" he shouted, giving you a good shake, making you get up with a scream.

"What the hell, Loki?!!"

"Come on," he commanded more than requested, taking your arms and helping you stand up.

"W-where are we?"

Javier went out of the frame and the camera was lifted up from the ground to show the barren land you and Loki were looking out to. Shades of yellow went till the horizon with curled up black tree-like structures at various intervals.

"I don't know," Loki sighed, his eyes taking in everything.

You turned around, the camera catching you walk over the rough ground outside the frame. "It's certainly not Earth. I haven't been to this...place before. We must stay close. Javier, do not leave my sight."

"Uhh...Loki?"

"Of course, you too, Y/N."

"No, Loki," you continued, the camera catching your concerned gaze as your hand pointed at something, "look."

The camera turned to face down the little hill that you three stood on to capture a battalion of aliens standing in prime formation at attention. Scales of iridescent gold and brown marked the skin on their shoulders and limbs, claws for hands and feet and a wolf-like face covered in warrior helmets.

"Yeah, suddenly I've started appreciating that old planet-thing I was trapped on," you mentioned, your voice breaking with fear. "You can teleport us back, right?"

"Ye-"

Both you and the camera turned to look at Loki, who was looking down at the amulet on his wrist.

"Stark," he sighed.

"Shit," you cursed, "sorry."

A blowhorn sounded down the hills throughout the valley, making you jump close to Loki, catching the fabric of his Henley from the elbow with your fingers.

"Okay, I've seen The Lord of The Rings enough times to know this is not good!" You nearly shouted with fear.

And just as you uttered those words, the clanking of armour sounded close to you, coming up the hill.

Three of those alien warriors came up, their march quite in unison as the taller, bulkier one walked ahead of the two who seemed to be accompanying him.

The camera stepped farther away as the creatures stepped closer while you tried to be brave yet took a step back so as to let Loki shadow you partially.

The stomps of threatening footsteps stopped nearly seven feet away from you. The stench of something eerie filled the air.

The two aliens at the back stabbed the ground with their metallic staffs, creating a gust of wind along with an incoherent vibrating echo.

The leader stepped forward towards you three, his gait slow and measured, his eyes shining a concentrated mix of purple. You shifted on your feet. Loki didn't.

He stopped right in front of Loki, standing at least two feet taller than him.

"Loki," came a low-pitched growl from the jaw that opened to reveal more fangs inside, "ward of Odin. Son of Laufey. Saviour of Asgard-"

"You could save the titles. It'll take you an entire day to get over half of them," Loki declared without skipping a beat.

The creature paused before taking out his sword from its sheath, making you step back.

"Loki, master of the Nubrath!" The leader spoke again, this time while holding his sword in both his...claws and raising it to the God. "Your army is ready."

The blowhorn sounded again.

"We're all prepared to take over the earth under your rule."

~End of Season 2~

You’ll get season 3 if you curse me with the balance of work and home to get me as many hours to write as possible. Bonus if you get me my dream job. No, I won’t tell you, you have to figure it out on your own.

[butterflydm]

The Untamed | Chen Qing Ling | Mo Dao Zu Shi

Continue to Rewatch posts: Episode 1  | Index  

I am officially finished with all fifty episodes of the live-action drama version of Mo Dao Zu Shi and having finished it, I now immediately want to experience the story all over again. There were twists (some I accidentally spoiled myself over the course of my first viewing and others that stayed surprises) that will definitely affect the way I feel when rewatching, and I suspect the emotional character and relationship work will be even more impressive on a rewatch. …also, I’m gonna watch it on viki.com next time instead of the Tencent youtube channel, because I hear that viki has better (less awkward?) translations.

Non-spoilery summary: Chaotic bisexual disaster dies in the first five minutes of the show but then the story really begins when he gets resurrected years later. It’s a love story amidst a backdrop of magic and politics and family and mystery. The love story itself is one of my favorite kinds — between two people who share a similar moral foundation but express it in very different ways. The love story is… technically (?) subtext due to very real censorship concerns but, um. It’s more than emotionally satisfying. It’s epic and tender and funny and sweet and heartbreaking and ultimately rewarding. I feel emotionally healed by this story in ways that I really needed.

Vaguely spoilery warning: There is a flashback that literally lasts just about thirty episodes (this is not a typo). So, if you feel like that might be confusing or strange for your viewing experience, start at episode three. When you get to the part mentioned at the start of the other summary, go watch the first two episodes. I actually went back and rewatched the first two episodes about halfway through the flashback episodes and it was already a whole new experience at that point. I imagine it will be even more so when I rewatch again now having seen the whole show.

Spoilery glee under the read more (this is all specific to the live-action drama, as I haven’t read the original or watched the other version yet).

An Incomplete List of Things I Loved:

The love story, of course. I was very impressed with how honest and emotional and deep it was. The heartbreak we see Lan Zhan suffer during Wei Ying’s downward spiral and then his death brought me to tears on multiple occasions. But the story also made me smile and cover my mouth with my hands because I was giggling over how sweet it all was. It’s a love story with so many dimensions — a schoolboy crush, a growing admiration, deep fear and concern, heartbreak, and then the incredible softness and joy of getting back a love feared lost forever.

Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian. Wow. Honestly, he’s gonna end up on my list of favorite fictional characters ever, I feel like. Seeing his journey was heartbreaking and then heart-healing. Redemptive death is a subject that I am personally not as interested in exploring, so having this story begin at the death and then BRING HIM BACK to actually deal with everything that his choices created make it a very compelling story for me. And one that dealt with trauma and revenge and morality in complex ways.

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji. What is this literal angel from the heavens we have been gifted with here. Just. He is. so wonderful. And he gets some great character development and I’m very impressed with the tiny expressions that say so much. Joking aside, he’s not perfect, and that’s part of why he’s such a great character. He has his public face that covers up his private feelings, and his public face is stone (one of the Jades of Lan) but he has so much intense emotion whirring around underneath. He’s incredibly controlled, which is both good and bad. He grows in reaction to adversity, and we also see how deeply his grief has marked him in the future. Lan Zhan after Wei Ying’s resurrection is so incredibly soft with Wei Ying pretty much at all times? He’s gotten the most amazing gift in the world, after all, and he is gonna fucking treasure it. And so much of his stoicism comes from having a difficult time finding the right words, not from any kind of arrogance on his part.

The family relationships, both good and bad. The brothers Lan. The three Jiangs. The Nie brothers. THE WEN SIBS (my heart, please take it). The destructive fallout that Jin Guangshan caused by being a cheating dickhole.

Going back to WWX for a moment (I Really Love Him) — specifically the exploration of trauma and how it has the potential to create horrible people and how to avoid that. Because there are a lot of similarities between WWX and several antagonists — all of whom put on a slightly different version of false face to distract from the complexities underneath. Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao aren’t born into privilege, they fight to become more than what they were born to be. The question of revenge and what we owe to the people who lift us up — another good example is not the main Wen villains but Wen Zhuliu, whose morality WWX directly confronts and challenges. When Wen Zhuliu says he kills in order to honor the promotion/trust given to him by the Wens, WWX points out that he’s sacrificing other people for his honor. And this is the biggest difference, of course, between WWX and the antagonists — WWX also ‘owes’ the Jiangs for taking him in, but he doesn’t murder innocent people for that, instead he does things like sacrificing his golden core. WWX has a sense of perspective, not taking fifty lives in exchange for a crushed finger like Xue Yang does. And he doesn’t murder other people to cover up his mistakes like Jin Guangyao does. One of the heartbreaking things about WWX after his time in the burial mounds is how clearly traumatized he is, yet how much he tries to cover up that trauma by playacting as the Wei Ying that he used to be. The smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. Flinching away from Nie Huaisang touching his shoulder. He’s damaged and only the people paying the most attention to his mental state (Jiang Yanli and Lan Zhan) really notice how bad it is but neither of them are able to do more than soothe him in the moment. It’s so painful to watch.

Wen Yuan | Lan Sizhui. All the junior disciples are darlings but omg his story touched me so much. Because one of the heartrending things that WWX is experiencing before he dies is that all his sacrifices for the Wen survivors appear to have come to nothing. He sees their dead bodies; hears their deaths being talked about with glee. For this child to have survived means his time as the Yiling Patriarch was NOT in vain. He wasn’t able to save most of them, but he (and Lan Zhan) saved this child, who we get to see as a nearly-grown young man and he is a sweetheart of a boy. Seeing him reconnect with Wen Ning and then WWX was… very emotional.

Complex morality in terms of what love means. This is a topic that is only briefly touched on verbally but resonates throughout the story, because, both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan do, at various points, see love as something that cages (though from opposing perspectives). The story of Lan Zhan’s mother, locked away by his father; Wei Ying worrying that love would be a yoke around his neck. This is something they both worry at and struggle over at various points. Is love a leash? Is it love to put your beloved in a cage, no matter how golden? How do you prevent your love from becoming a suffocating and controlling thing? Lan Zhan talks about this with his brother, Lan Xichen, describing his affection for Wei Ying in the only terms he ever saw as an example for love — that he wants to bring Wei Ying home and hide him away. That’s the struggle he goes through during the years of Wei Ying’s darkest emotional times. Lan Zhan can see that things are bad (though Wei Ying never admits it until after his resurrection, when they go back to the burial mounds and he says how hard those years were for him and the Wens) but he doesn’t have a toolkit to address the problem in a way that would be acceptable to Wei Ying. This is something Lan Zhan takes HUGE steps to overcome once Wei Ying is back. Like i mentioned above, he is So Soft. He has regrets and now this most painful regret is something he has the chance to address and fix. To make his love into a partnership instead of a cage (and they make such good partners!). In terms of this specific theme (and I don’t know how important it is in the book, relatively speaking), the temporary separation of the characters at the almost-end of the last episode really worked for me. Lan Xichen was shellshocked after what happened with Jin Guangyao, and there was a reaction shot of Lan Zhan looking at him that made me go “oh, yeah, he needs to take care of some things on the home front” and I think he also needed to prove to himself that he was capable of letting Wei Ying go, to prove to himself he’s not his father. Because his father abandoned all his sect responsibilities to seclude himself inside his… idea of love. So, in terms of the themes the show leaned on, I liked that separation with the promise of reunion. And then the last shot of the series, which brings that promise to life.

Overall, the story feels very compassionate. It wants you to love the majority of the characters and it sympathizes with the audience’s pain when those characters suffer. It rewards deeper thought. It rewards the viewer for caring about the characters, which is something I’ve really needed this year specifically, when it feels like so many shows have been punishing their audience for caring about the characters.

One last thing (there are tons of other amazing parts! But this is the last for right now): I have such a complicated love for Wei Ying in episode 32, specifically when he calls out the sect leaders on their hypocrisy in coveting his power while condemning him for creating it. Everything about his scene on the rooftop breaks my heart — he’s laughing and crying at the same time and he almost looks like a corpse himself, pale skin and purple lips. Everything about him screams that he’s on the knife’s edge of just fucking losing it over all the trauma he’s suffered and how lonely and scared he feels. It’s a stunning performance.

Continue to Rewatch posts: Episode 1  | Index

[spaceotter42]

Terri Minsky Talks About Her Finale Decisions

Andi Mack EP Terri Minsky on Legacy, the Series Finale and Movie Possibilities

Photo Courtesy of The Disney Channel

From Paste

Andi Mack is over; long live Andi Mack!

By Alexis Gunderson  |  July 26, 2019  |  5:41pm

If you haven’t caught up with the Andi Mack series finale, turn back!

Well there you have it friends. With Andi’s (Peyton Elizabeth Lee) momentous high school decision, a joyous group singalong to “Born This Way,” and the long-awaited proof that both Buffy (Sophia Wylie) and Marty (Garren Stitt) and Cyrus (Joshua Rush) and TJ (Luke Mullen) like, like like each other, Andi Mack, Disney Channel’s boldest and most groundbreaking original series to date, is officially over.

Having gotten Andi Mack showrunner Terri Minsky on the phone for a long, deeply spoilerific conversation earlier this month, we’ll have a lot more to say about the finale’s wholesome perfection and the series’ parameter-shifting legacy in a moment, but first, let us just say this: Honestly, more series finales should just be one big party.

Get the drama out of the way early! Turn down the lights and turn up the jams! Give a grandma an inflatable T-Rex costume and an open dance floor! Sit a couple of boys down on a romantic fireside bench and let them finally hold hands! Seriously, showrunners—dancey, joyful series finale parties are where it’s at. Don’t sleep on Andi Mack’s excellent example.

If you’ve paid any attention at all to Paste’s previous coverage of Disney Channel’s groundbreaking family dramedy, you’ll know that this isn’t the first time we’ve suggested that more shows should be doing what Andi Mack was doing from Day One. More shows should be exploring the shape of non-traditional family setups. More shows should be letting teens tackle platonic friendships with thoughtful joy. More shows should be making intergenerational family dynamics a focal point of their storytelling. More shows should be letting the specificity of their characters’ full identities—from cultural background to race to sexual orientation to the ability to see crafting treasure where anyone else would see trash—inform their growth. More shows should let teen boys be tender, and more shows should gently call teen boys out when they’re being benignly oblivious to the inner lives of others.

More shows, in short, should just BE Andi Mack. And while its series finale, “We Were Here,” was a disappointment insofar as it officially marked the end of our time with the Good Hair Crew, it was a wild success in showcasing every other thing, big and small, that made Andi Mack so fantastic from the beginning. From the emotional (and actual) growth in Andi’s new-normal family set-up to the core four’s rock-solid friendship to the official blossoming of the puppy love romance between Cyrus and TJ, “We Were Here” found its sense of finality in the same kind of infinite possibility wrought by change upon which the series originally began. Nothing is final, the finale told its fans, except how we care for others.

But enough of our sentimentality. We promised a FULL SPOILER exit interview with series creator Terri Minsky, and we live to serve. Note: The following interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

Paste: Terri! First of all, congratulations on the series! How are you feeling, now that the finale is finally here?

Minsky: Thank you! You know, it’s actually gotten harder as we’ve gotten closer to the finale, because I think I was in some sort of state of—I won’t say denial, but [making] something from start to finish, that’s a first for me in terms of a television show. So originally I was feeling really, really good about it, like I did something. But now […] that I’ve done what I wanted to do, exactly what I wanted to do, and it’s turned out even better than I had imagined, it’s kind of weird to have done it!

Paste: Oh, we can only imagine. That’s not a feeling a lot of people get to have.

Minsky: And now that it’s really over, over, over, I [do] miss it more than I really have at any other point. I just look at the finale and I remember how those kids were so emotional, but how they were able to snap right back into the scene and whatever they were playing and not have that ending feeling about them. By the end they were all just such amazing, professional, incredibly talented people, I just look at them and I think, Oh, I wish I could be THEM when I grow up!

Paste: Same, honestly. To have that kind of emotional maturity at any age, let alone fourteen, fifteen?

Minsky: Incredible. I’m dying to see what they all become, all of them for different reasons.

Paste: What was the process of getting Andi Mack to this specific ending point? Did you have a three-season arc going into the project, or did you even know that three seasons would be where you’d be ending?

Minsky: I would love to say yes, but the truth is, I didn’t. It really was very much a process—the stories that came out of the room, a lot of them were obviously very personal to the writers themselves, and then the actors, what they brought, who they were. Everything was kind of like a plant that grew on its own, developed its own ecosystem.

In terms of when we learned that this would be the series finale, I don’t totally remember, but we were breaking Season Three and looking for our cliffhanger, this is like episode 10 out of 21, when we found out. So it was early enough that it was really great to be able to think, okay, we want to tell these stories, we want to get them in, we want to make sure that they lead to a place where it will conclude. I didn’t want to have people feeling cheated, especially if they’ve been watching the whole time. But it was hard, very, very hard, to know at Episode 10 and not be able to tell anyone. We definitely cried a little in the writers room, but [in terms of organic storytelling], it also made sense.

Paste: When it came to actually writing the finale, how did you approach that? What was the feeling like on set as everything was wrapping up?

Minsky: So, this is the first finale that I’ve written. It was the last episode, I was obviously going to write it, but we were still editing and writing and punching up and shooting all the ones leading up to it, and so it was almost the easiest script I ever wrote, because it was, like… we knew what was going to happen, it was just a matter of at what point, and what were the words going to be. Then I was done, and the writing room was so great about it and very supportive, and then we turned it in, and then there was the table read, and then we were shooting, and I was like WAIT A MINUTE! Wait a minute, this is the FINALE!

Paste: What was the process behind making “Born This Way” the party’s climactic moment?

Minsky: I have to give total credit to Paul Hoen, the director for [the episode], because we knew that we wanted to have the 2.0 party from the first season, we wanted to do a callback to that. So we had the story, but in terms of performing a song, that was all Paul. He’s done so many movies, and so many set pieces, I think he just had it in his head. So he made a list of songs and showed it to me, and the next day he said, we’ve got “Born This Way.” And I was blown away. I still am. I couldn’t believe it. I don’t know how he did it, but we have it, and it was so great, so great.

Paste: Well, and it’s such a recognizable dance party anthem, and so recognizably an LGBTQ pride anthem, that it feels like the perfect finale button to the episode. Like, saying that Cyrus’ coming out arc wasn’t just thrown in to be thrown in, but was developed very intentionally.

Minsky: Oh, it makes me so happy to hear that.

Paste: So we know the show has a very passionate fanbase in general, but when it comes to the Cyrus+TJ storyline, that passion is even more intense.

Minsky: Well, I think a lot of it is the fans reacting to seeing things on a Disney Channel show that they hadn’t seen before. On the one hand, I feel sad that this is the first time, I feel honored that we were the first time, but I also would like nothing more than to not ever again have something like this be such a big to-do. I just want characters to get to be who they are, to not have to explain, apologize, come out. But the fact is, now there’s this audience that’s paying attention, and you want to do right by them. I felt like they were there for us, and I wanted to give them something to thank them for being patient, for sticking around, for hoping, for paying such close attention. I’m just really hoping the finale is… I know it can’t be everything, but I hope it’s going to be something.

Paste: Can you talk a little bit about the process of deciding what that end moment for TJ and Cyrus would be? As both fans of the show and professional critics of serial storytelling, we found the quietness of their big moment to be exactly right, but we know that there will be fans who will still wish there had been more, or who will hold up the kiss between Buffy and Marty as a comparison, wondering why Cyrus and TJ couldn’t have the same thing.

Minsky: I feel like… they’re still in middle school, you know. And I know that people do things in middle school, but I guess I feel like it’s so. much. for, you know, the captain of the basketball team, to hold hands with a boy in the middle of a party. Like, the look on his face? I feel like a kiss, in a way, would have not been realistic to these characters. A lot of that story, a lot of that journey between Cyrus and TJ was subtext, and I think that whatever they were saying to each other, they weren’t actually saying in words. And even that final conversation isn’t explicit. I love that they have that moment reaching for each other and holding hands, in my mind, in the world that we live in, in the story of this relationship, that is a lot.

Paste: Oh, we remember being fourteen! Holding hands felt way more intimate and scary than some kind of awkward first kiss.

Minsky: I think that first physical contact with somebody is so intense. The feeling of their hand and your hand intertwined, how unusual and connected and intense that is. I just felt like this was the story of these characters, that they finally understood what they were saying to each other, and it wasn’t like they had to wonder, is he saying this? or is he thinking this?

In terms of the story, it didn’t need a kiss. Adding a kiss would have been doing it just to do it, to be first, and I didn’t want that. I would love if we were going to go on and have another season or another story, I would love to have the first LGBTQ kiss on Disney.

Paste: Well, at this point, if an Andi Mack movie ever did happen, it seems like the ideal outcome would still be that theirs wouldn’t be the first gay kiss on Disney. Like, the real power of Andi Mack has always been for us the number of doors it has opened to the shows that will come next. Cyrus and TJ walked so characters we have yet to meet could run.

Minsky: Oh, that’s true, yeah! I DON’T want to be the first gay kiss on the Disney Channel, you’re right.

Paste: We’ll come back to the dream scenario of a movie in a minute, but first, are there any stories you got to tell that you’re especially proud of?

Minsky: You know, the funny thing is that from Season One, we had wanted to do a story about that sort of casual racism, that idea of people thinking it’s okay to touch a black girl’s hair because it’s so cool. And we had touched on that in different moments, but then finally here we were in Season Three (Note: episode 3.17, “Arts and Inhumanities”) and it was like, we’re doing it! I’m very happy that we managed to get that in. But I’m also so happy that we did a Bar Mitzvah. I’m thrilled we got to read from the Torah. I love the shiva episode, Cyrus coming out to Jonah over bagels. I’m just so proud of all of it.

But if you want to know the one thing I’m most proud of, it I’m proud we got that cast. When I think back to the beginning of it all, Peyton was eleven. You just don’t know how these things are going to go. So to have it come to life the way that it did, it was just one of those things, like a Black Mirror episode, but a good one? You know, I’ve wanted to do a mother-daughter show for a long, long time, but I guess it took me this long to do it because I had to wait for Peyton Lee to be born!

Paste: Is there anything else you’d like to say about your experience with Andi Mack?

Minsky: It sounds GOOP-y, but it really was a dream experience. Working in television, people are always like, that’s so cool! But it’s really not. It can be hard, there are compromises, you can feel like you’re not doing anything worthwhile, and this was the exact opposite. And when this girl in Kentucky started this Andi Mack Thousand Cranes Project and there were these paper cranes with people saying what the show meant to them… I mean, that was very powerful and meaningful and a gift, and none of it was anything that I could have foreseen, and I’m just so grateful. I’m grateful to the willingness of the cast and to Disney’s support and to fans being so expressive. I’ve never had a job like it before.

Paste: What do you hope audiences will take away from the show?

Minsky: To me, the thing that I felt like I wanted to say to the audience is when Andi says to Jonah, do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we had met when we were older? And he says, someday we will be. And I think, for me in my life, nothing that I thought, “well that’s the end of that story!” turned out to be the end of the story. And I do want people to see those [kids as] people and think of them and wonder where they are, or try to guess what they might be doing.

Paste: Okay, we promised we’d get here—what about an Andi Mack movie? Any thoughts on what that could look like, should every fan’s dream come true?

Minsky: Oh, gosh! I would love to do an Andi Mack movie at some point. I want to get back with those characters, I want to get back with that cast, I want to be back in that world. But as my mother always said, you should leave a party when you’re having fun. And we had so much fun.

All three seasons of Andi Mack are now available to stream on the Disney NOW app.

[drreporting]

Nuptials Pt.3

Tuesday Night.

“Hurricane Amy,” Derek confirmed with a slight chuckle, “That’s what they used to call her at school. She hated the name.” He took a sip of his whiskey, adding, “That, and Little Amy. Call her that if you want her to tear your eyes out.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Owen laughed, knowing how much Amelia hated it when people, aside from Derek, called her Amy, far less Little Amy.

“Amy was very volatile in school,” Derek continued, embarrassing his younger sibling in her absence, “She would just say things without even thinking about it. It got her into a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t think that has changed much,” Alex piped in, taking a seat at the table Owen and Derek were sitting at.

“I remember a little after our dad passed away,” Derek recalled, “Mom got called in to our elementary school for a fight she got in.” Derek laughed as he thought about the memory, stuttering to finish the story. “Amy grabbed a little girl by her throat and almost choked her because she said something mean about dad.” Alex almost choked on his drink as he erupted in a fit of laughter.

“The point of this entire story,” Derek concluded, downing the rest of his drinks, “Is to be careful of what you say to my sister. She will grab you by your throat.”

“Noted,” Owen smiled, shaking his head as Andrew, Ben and Jackson approached the table, carrying a bus load of shots on a plate.

“Drinks are here,” Ben announced, grinning mischievously at Owen.

“Uh, those are shots,” Owen corrected the firefighter.

“Same thing.” Ben placed four differently coloured shots in front of Owen.

“I can’t drink all of this,” the trauma surgeon tried to say. The other five surgeons were having none of it.

“Come on, Hunt,” Andrew encouraged him, “You only have a couple more days of freedom before you officially become a soccer dad.”

“I think it’s soccer mom, De Luca,” Owen curtly corrected.

“No way, dude,” Alex chimed in, taking a shot from the plate and downing it instantly, “Shepherd wears the pants. You’re definitely the soccer dad; she has you whipped.”

Owen frowned at his statement. “That is not true.”

“Then prove it,” Jackson taunted him, gesturing to the four shots in front of him. Owen looked around at his fellow surgeons, each of them with a smug grin on their faces.

Desperately wanting to prove them wrong, Owen sighed and said, “Screw it.” He downed all four shots, being cheered on by his colleagues. He could already feel the buzz creeping as Derek began to speak again.

“So, how is family life?” Derek asked, “With the new baby and all.”

“For a new born, Rosie throws a lot of tantrums,” Owen disclosed thoughtfully, “She and Amelia almost never get along.”

“Maybe because they’re so similar,” Derek shrugged, “From what I remember, Amy was the loudest crier and persevered during the longest tantrum episodes.”

“I’m usually able to calm her down,” Owen added, “So I don’t know what it is about Amelia that makes her so…agitated.”

“They’re two north pole magnets,” Derek metaphorically stated, “You’re likely going to have to be breaking up fights between them for the rest of your life.”

“Gee, thanks,” Owen muttered, suddenly defeated at the thought.

“We should’ve hired strippers,” Alex announced.

“Strippers, really?” Jackson laughed, “For all of our wives to kill us? The only person who isn’t married here, is De Luca.”

“I bet you the girls hired male strippers,” Alex insisted, “There are always male strippers at bachelorette parties.

“Amelia would never,” Owen assured the bunch.

“Amelia wouldn’t,” Alex agreed, “But Addison, Meredith, Jo or Arizona? They definitely would.”

“Oh, and the southern chick too,” De Luca piped in, “I can’t remember her name, but she looked pretty impish.”

“Charlotte,” Owen answered for them, feeling incredibly insecure now.

Sensing his mood shift, Alex quickly added, “Hey, but you’re basically marrying a party girl, Hunt, so you scored.” Reaching over the table to pat his shoulder, the paediatric surgeon winked and added, “Maybe she’ll do a strip tease for you later.”

---

“You hired strippers?” Amelia exclaimed after just entering the bar, only to find that drinks were being served by men dressed in bow ties and dress pants. Only.

“I’m reminding you of what you’re going to be missing out on once you tie yourself down to a man,” Charlotte teased the neurosurgeon, guiding her over to one of the servers. “Charles, this is the soon-to-be.”

Charles looked Amelia up and down and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you.” He then took her hand and guided it to his chest before letting it trail down his torso.

As soon as the guy walked off, Amelia commented, “He has a really hard chest.”

“I know,” the blonde confirmed, winking at her. Amelia rolled her eyes just as she heard Maggie screaming.

“Oh my god,” Maggie gasped as she looked at the picture on Addison’s phone. Tears came to her eyes. “Amelia, you look amazing!”

“You took a picture?” Amelia exclaimed, rushing over to Addison’s side to see that she had, in fact, taken a picture of Amelia in her wedding dress, “I hate you.”

“You do look nice, though,” Meredith commented as she joined the trio, “Owen won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.” Addison continued to talk to Maggie about the dress, while Meredith pulled her aside for a personal conversation.

“You look nervous,” she said as they reach the bar table.

“Is it that obvious?” Amelia sighed, calling to the bar tender for a glass of sparkling water.

Meredith smirked. “I’m hoping it’s the copious amounts of alcohol around you, and not the wedding.”

Amelia sat on the bar stool and bit on her bottom lip. “I feel like we’re making a mistake, me and Owen.”

“You already made Rosie,” Meredith joked, referring to the baby as their big mistake. Amelia rolled her eyes and smiled, but her nervousness remained as she looked around at her friends having fun. “You’re not making a mistake,” Meredith assured her, taking her hand, “Love isn’t a mistake, and trust me when I say that Owen loves you.”

It was then that Amelia looked her in the eye. “It just feels like we’re rushing everything, all the time. Dating, moving in, the engagement, Rosie.”

“Everyone has a different timeline for things,” Meredith advised her, “And, if not, I can drive the getaway car on your wedding day.”

Amelia laughed as her phone vibrated in her pocket. “I’ll remember your offer. Excuse me.” She hastily darted out of the bar as she looked at the caller ID on her phone. She didn’t recognise the number. “This is Dr Shepherd.”

“Amelia,” a familiar voice said on the other line.

She paused, trying to register the voice. “Ryan?” She hadn’t heard from him since their official introduction to their son as his father, which had surprisingly gone well.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, unsure of what to say next, “How is R. Junior?”

“He’s…good,” she said, weary of why he was calling, “How are you?”

“I’m not calling you for money,” he quickly said, hearing the hesitation in her voice, “I’m still sober. Five months now.”

Amelia smiled to herself, a sense of warmth filling her being. “That’s great, Ryan. I’m happy for you.”

“Me too,” he agreed, “I’m also happy for you; I hear you’re getting married.”

“I am,” she confirmed, thinking of how happy she was that she was marrying Owen. Maybe it was just wedding jitters.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little jealous,” he disclosed, making her laugh.

“Of me? No way,” she teased.

“Lame, right?” he commented. There was a brief silence after, before he finally said, “I am genuinely happy for you, Amelia.”

She sighed in relief and smiled. “Thank you, Ryan.”

“Although, I always imagined that we would get married again and have more kids,” he sheepishly confessed, “But I guess I ruined my chances a while ago.” She knew he was referring to the countless time he’d shown up in her life, lying about his sobriety and toying with her emotions.

“It’s in the past,” she assured him, “Really.” Then, after a brief thought, she said, “You should come to the wedding.”

“I don’t know,” he mused, unsure of the idea of him and Owen in the same room, especially at her wedding, “I don’t want to make things tense or awkward for you.”

“No, I want you there,” she convinced him. When she heard no response from him, she offered, “I’ll promise you a dance if you come.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Ryan mused, “I guess I can’t say no.” Amelia laughed, glad that he had called, although she was reluctant at first to speak to him.

“Maggie and Arizona are drunk,” was the first thing Amelia heard when she came back into the bar. The words had come from Stephanie’s mouth. Standing by the door, she looked over at her friends. Addison, Charlotte, Meredith, Maggie, Jo, Stephanie, Arizona, even April. They had all come out to celebrate her future with Owen, and she couldn’t help but be so glad that she’d made one more good decision in her life, the decision to move to Seattle.

[theangrypokemaniac]

I'll state from the beginning that the images below display the sort of sweet synchronicity to which only love can give life:

MaAndPaShipping is the best ship, and here are five reasons why:

1. It Made James

Like the boy do yer? Ever felt the slightest tingle of warmth at the mention of his name?

Well get down on yer knees and give thanks to his mother and father for gifting him to the world!

Where would we be without their remarkable commitment? Could James have grown into the dandified dream boat of your desires if deprived of the safety provided by his parents?

Had they not brought him up, he'd be dead, The Dog of Flanders fantasy made reality. If miraculously he survived, foraging in the wild is not conducive to a foppish personality.

Is that to yer fancy? No? Then let's have a little respect. The luxury Ma and Pa gave enabled his macaroni tendencies to reach such heights.

Their love created him! How can it not be celebrated?

You lot would ship Jessie's parents but you can't, because she has no dad, and I don't suppose you'll ever assent to his obvious identity of Windy Miller, although 'Jessie Miller' has a wonderful ring to it, so what can be done?

Should a Pa Jess be conjured for the purpose, he still buggered off, didn't he? Where's the allure in a faithless git?

I can't comprehend the obsession with Ma Jess. As soon as here she's stiff, and what is there to remember but coercing her daughter into eating snow?

Hey, I named her. What more do you want from me?

I'd rather have the living, visible ancestors, if you don't mind.

Yeah, says the history fanatic.

Why not make the most of the chances offered, and follow a devoted couple whose love made a difference to your existence?

2. Canon!

There are many ships which I find repulsive for involving depravity, or absurd as the subjects haven't met, or don't inhabit the same fictional universe.

Video et taceo: I see and I say nothing.

Neither does anyone. Forcing decent folk in to incest, bestiality etc. is quite alright.

Perverted ideas are left alone, but woe betide a Rocketshipper, because that's offensive.

It may be the only original ship left standing, with proper evidence and sanctioned by Nintendo, but no, it's fair game for undermining. People pick at your arguments, quibble constantly and NEED to register their objections NOW. You MUST be made aware of opposition. You're not to be permitted your views the way those with twisted tastes are indulged.

Why, out of tens of thousands of combinations, does making Jessie and James an item provoke hostility?

The strength of negativity actually serves as validation, for why be so concerned if it's an impossible relationship?

However sick they are, I'm not anti any ship. I can't muster sufficient interest to do it, and if I scroll on, I forget. I certainly don't attack those responsible.

Anti-Shipping is inherently nihilistic for promoting loneliness. They aren't against Rocketshipping through wanting Jessie and James to be with someone else, as an alternative is not readily available, so the outcome of it is neither finding a companion.

MaAndPaShipping attracts no sourpuss silliness, for 'tis canon beyond question. There's nothing about being 'just friends' when married with a son.

How's the state of your O.T.P.? Not looking too clever I expect, and what's your contribution: wishing, and hoping, and thinking, and praying?

Cast it off! None of that longing is necessary in these quarters, as MaAndPaShipping is a fait accompli.

Hallelujah! Wallow in that Love!

Don't you yearn for at least one ship that all of us accept by default, to the extent these aristocrats are spoken of as a single unit?

Across the internet, Ma and Pa are bracketed as 'James's parents', never 'he' and 'she', always 'they', barely counting as distinct characters. That's how undeniable the love is between them. Sheer indifference has awarded it a blessing from everyone.

MWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!

Of course, now I've drawn attention to it the moaning will start, but we all know a spoilsport when we see one.

If they had any legitimate complaints they ought to have mentioned 'em before this piece highlighted the marriage!

Except it won't have occurred to 'em previously, proving the eternal, indissoluble quality of MaAndPaShipping.

You get good value with this one.

Find a post referring to Ma and Pa as individuals and I'll have written it, for that's what you call ironic.

3. It's a Fine Rocketshipping Proxy

I was at primary school when Pokémon hit the West like the bright, bearded meteor it is, atomizing all competition for a child's attention.

I have shipped Jessie and James before I knew anyone else did it, unaware shipping was even a thing.

There are other pairs where I think: 'That seems to fit', but it's incomparable to what I feel for them.

It is part of me. I bleed it.

I have shipped it longer than most Tumblerries have dwelt upon the earth.

I used to believe, what with the hints and manga finale, that this resolution was  inevitable, and all I had to do was wait.

Well I've been patient for two decades now, thus when I look at the modern incarnation, and realise it's no nearer to that goal, and instead is further away, waiting starts to wear a bit thin.

I resent the lack of appreciation shown to the fans by the cretins in charge, how any meagre shippy inclusion is done not with an interest in deepening bonds, but with the blatant cynicism of moulding us into performing monkeys dancing to their manipulative tune.

I dislike being treated like a sea lion, expected to clap me flippers at the wave of a fish, or as a panting dog begging at top table, where, because they're desperate to maintain the status quo, every scrap flung down from above now comes with an Anti-Ship kick in the teeth, just to be sure nothing progresses. Not whilst the franchise can still be milked for all it's worth.

I have lost faith Rocketshipping will happen. What passes for Pokémon today carries not the remotest indication of any intention on the so-called writers' part to finish it that way.

Even if it did, it's not my Team Rocket, it's those skeletal, gargoyle bastardisations. My Jessie and James never got the reward they deserved.

I'm somewhat in the market for a replacement. Beneath this loathsome carapace of acid and ice beats the tender heart of a true romantic, and it must have an outlet!

Shipping Ma and Pa provides a certain spurious relief, because it's as close as you can get to Jessie and James without it being them, both biologically as his parents, but they're so similar to the duo it counts as proof in itself.

Holy Matrimony! is prime Rocketshipping territory, not merely the balloon lift, but many slight additions are as important, like the haircuts matching.

Ma and Pa are therefore Jessie and James in the past, present and future:

The past for representing Jess 'n' Jamie gone Victorian, and we've all wondered how that'd turn out.

The present as it's there right now, absent of suffering the shameless whims of morons to get what you want. 'Tis yours to savour.

The future as a glimpse of Jessie and James once married with children, and they agree:

That's how they play it given the opportunity!

What, James in blue, for his and Pa's hair, and Jessie wearing purple, like Ma's, with a red shawl for her own, and Ma Jess's orange earrings to copy the beads?

• Money!

• Bun!

• 'Tache!

• Classy pad!

• Fancy gear!

• Pampered pet!

• Identical cups of Earl Grey!

4. Original Blend

Ma and Pa have only got two fans! We care more than the entire fandom has in twenty years!

Rocketshipping art is ten a penny, so why not display a pioneering spirit, sharpen up those pencils and be inspired?

Let your mind expand and marvel at the possibilities of these unchartered territories, and I'll reblog it if it's nice.

Pay attention to the condition of it being nice. I'm not putting up with any old toss.

Real Ma and Pa is what I want too, not those Sinnoh coffin-dodgers.

It's never been done! Every drawing breaks new ground!

I don't like fan fiction, but I wouldn't say 'no' to that either. Recall the 'nice' stipulation again.

Come on, be the first amongst your friends and get ship shape!

5. It Gives Us All Hope

Suppose your favourite amour one day became canon: you imagine that's the end of the matter?

Well it ain't.

Between Ash, Misty, Brock, Jessie, James, Gary and Tracey, there are three-and-a-half out of fourteen parents (Flint doesn't count as a complete man) and one out of twenty-eight grandparents, and that's not enough!

If the series drew to a close with your beloved couple apparently walking into the happily-ever-after, there's no guarantee it'll endure. In fact, the odds are they'll split up within a few years and leave another generation to fend for themselves or starve.

That's right, so don't presume the final episode is all you need to worry about. Can you rest easy knowing it'll go pear-shaped once the camera stops rolling?

It's futile soothing one's worries with:

Oh, but they know what it's like to be alone. They'd never inflict such stress on their children.

Oh really?

Look at that poor showing of grandparents. Either Pokémon has a system reminiscent of the sci-fi film Logan's Run, where everyone over thirty is vapourized, or these disappearing maters and paters were themselves victims of abandonment.

I bet when they settled down, they thought it'd be different for their kids, they'd make sure of it, but no, off they went down that same route of feckless self-indulgence, and that's being kind assuming they intended not to repeat history.

Depressing eh? What's the good in any of us surrendering to romance, real or otherwise, if love is but a mayfly of emotion, and all dreams are doomed to die?

Then Ma and Pa arrive, and suddenly the storm clouds part for a ray of heavenly light.

It's not only that they made the effort in what was probably an arranged marriage and have stayed together from youth, it's that they've stayed together when no one else has, which augments its value.

When separation is commonplace, sticking it out becomes rarer and rarer as any belief in the sanctity of wedlock erodes with every failure.

If they didn't bother, why should I? What's the use when it won't work?

Once that idea enters your head, it's over, and your gloom-laden attitude fulfils itself.

Society is collapsing about Ma and Pa's ears, but they persevere nevertheless, refusing to buckle under the turgid malaise engulfing the arrogant and weak.

It's bloody beautiful, man!

You may suggest an environment of supreme wealth erases normality, and to their class and time period divorce is still taboo, so they don't really have much of choice but to remain wedded.

Ah, but it's not as if they simply tolerate one another for appearances, or carried on for the sake of their son (which is more than anyone else did besides), not when he walked out on them.

They've been married longer than James has lived, so at least eighteen years (don't all squeal at once), and they're still blissfully contented!

They hold hands!

They use terms of endearment like 'dear' and 'my precious'!

They were made for one another!

They work as a team!

They want the same thing for James!

It could bring a stone angel to tears it's so beautiful!

See what success can be achieved when you try? When you endeavour to love the one you're with and make yourself worth loving in return?

Better that than chucking 'em at the first sign of trouble.

Ma and Pa is such an irrevocable union even the despair of losing their only child failed to tear 'em asunder, and that'd defeat many, but not this husband and wife.

Be grateful, for it means all is not in vain.

It doesn't have to be misery and pain: love can last despite the pressure of a wretched, hollow culture bent on self-destruction. Your ship might just succeed too.

God bless 'em for keeping the magic alive!

...

Why do I have the presentiment that I'm going to regret encouraging support?