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wangxianficfinder · 9 months ago

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In the mood for...

March 28th

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1. Hi... Is there any wangxian fic in the potter world that you can recommend? I'm open to any fic, tags, dynamics etc.

Thanks in advance for answering my question. ☺️💕

are you asking for fics where characters make clay things or a Harry Potter fusion/crossover?

love potion no. 9 by ria_green (G, 2k, WangXian, Hogwarts, Oblivious WWX, Fluff and Humor, Amortentia, Patronus, Love Confessions, Fusion, POV Outsider, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions)

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2. hi do u hv outsider pov fics for wangxian like pls recommend all the ones u hv ty

the world is but a stage for the two of us by MandMandM (Not Rated, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Established Relationship, Shameless WangXian)

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 46k, WangXian, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death)

he sang about the stars by nenyanaryavilya (M, 29k, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, Brotherhood, Growing Up Together, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Canonical Character Death)

Su She Eats his Heart Out by KizuKatana (T, 16k, wangxian, modern, Guest-starring the belated but incendiary sexual awakening of LWJ, 3rd person pov, SS is hyperfixated on LWJ, LWJ does his best to pretend SS doesn't exist, WWX isn't even pretending he really doesn't notice SS exists, MM exists and is awesome, implied offscreen wangxian sex)

rerun from the outside by Eicas (T, 2k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel, Crack, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, JC POV)

🔒 born under unlucky stars by RoseThorne (M, 1k, JZX & MXY, JZX & QS, WN & WQ, WWX & WQ, WangXian, Canonical Character Death, Ghosts, Souls, Implied/Referenced Sex, Brotherly Love, Anger, Spells & Enchantments, MXY Deserves Better, Revenge, POV MXY)

love - all by vastlyunknown (M, 18k, WangXian, Modern AU, Tennis AU, Time jumps)

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3. Fo you have ploty fics? Fics where the romance or relationship part isn't much in the front just a background thing in the story. I'm looking for fics where plot is given more priority. No modern au please.

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 258k, wangxian, CSSR/WCZ, WIP, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives AU, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX's Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings) Wei Ying & Lan Zhan's relationship develops as the story goes on (it hasn't been a huge focus yet) but it's plot-driven with case studies.

Bitter Plants Bearing Sweet Fruit by Kryal (T, 83k, wangxian, canon-typical horror elements, Worldbuilding, Desert, Misuse of Historic Setting, Original Character Death(s), Case Fic, aftermath of canon, Established Relationship, Nothing Explicit But Shameless Innuendo)

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4. Fo you have any fics where wwx has a personality like he has in twelve moons and a fortnight by Stiltonbasket ? People love making wwx shameless in their fics , but they make him shameless by today's time standards, which is pretty annoying and actually qi divination inducing, but in the novel wwx was shameless by the then time standards.

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5. hi an itmf request for fics similar to stolen fruit is the sweetest by mondengel. thank you so much for your hard work 🫡

A Baby Dragon’s Guide To Seducing Your Huli Jing by sweetlolixo (M, 102k, wangxian, fantasy au, dragon LWJ, fox WWX, younger LWJ, older WWX, fluff, humor, happy ending) Im not sure what theyre looking for in terms of similar but heres a few w a shameless Lan Zhan

Beautiful mess, a colourful wreck by covalentbonds (Not rated, 12k, wangxian, modern, rule 63, fluff & humor, mild smut, childhood friends, first meetings, evil vending machines)

a quest (for kisses) by kyoongs (G, 4k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Fluff, Humor, WWX being shameless WWX we love it, a little angst in the middle but squint and it's fluff again, kisses!! lots of kisses!!, wangxian are MARRIED and they have a SON)

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6. fic recs on wwx getting his old body back? thank uu

Wei Wuxian keeps / gets his OG body

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7. favourite bottom wwx fics? thanks ❤️

Closer than my hands have been by Spodumene (E, 5k, wangxian, post-canon, established relationship, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, consensual non-con, hair-pulling, face-fucking, bondage, spanking, cock slapping, jealousy, top drop)

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8. Hey there! I was wondering if you had recs for fics similar to Harmony between a qin and se by Alaceron. Ta!

Hey! I was #8 on the March 28th ITMF. The recs were wonderful! To clarify since you asked, I was looking for anything in with similar flavour, I did not think historical au, het wangxian, or non cultivation au were the core themes 🤦‍♂️

I was going by the feel of it, which is a tricky way to find fics. Must say you were spot on with Stilton's WIP. Thanks again!

does op mean like, historical setting with no cultivation or like.... het!wangxian? Wwx being successfully scheming? Anyways, here's a few I THINK op might like

When the Hills Are All Flat, and the Rivers Run Dry by stiltonbasket (G, 5k, WIP, WangXian, Historical, Royalty, Female WWX, Emperor LWJ, Identity Shenanigans, Parents LWJ and WWX, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Humor, Love at First Sight, Happy Ending, Female LXC, Gender Changes)

The Lost Prince by hmmmmmmmm (E, 40k, WangXian, Royalty, Historical, No Powers, Bottom LWJ, Slow Burn, Prince WWX, Oral Sex)

❤️ nightingale Series by Moominmammashandbag (M, 62k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, LQY/JC, Pseudo-History, No power AU, Empires, Discussion Of Murder, aftermath of war, prisoner exchange, Grief/Mourning, LWJ POV, Angst, Emperor JZX, Imperial Advisor LWJ, widower LWJ, JYL is the Empress the world deserves, Happy Ending, POW WWX, Reunions, Fluff, Smut, Dysfunctional Family, Poetry, BAMF LWJ, emotional support goat, poetry as a weapon, Injury Recovery, Rehabilitation, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Body Image, Self-Esteem Issues, Married Life, Domestic Fluff, Childbirth)

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9. hii for itmf do you have any recs for fanfics from lan jingyi pov? could be with jingyi/jin ling but not necessarily just not with any other junior ship (smth like best friends forever by varnes)

tysm<;3 @r3n-vy

❤️ The One-Body Problem by metisket (T, 29k, LJY & WWX, LJY & LSZ, wangxian, possession, cohabitation, Mojo’s bookmark)

🔒 blue flies buzzing by RoseThorne (T, 2k, JL & LJY & OYZZ & LSZ, JC & WWX, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & LXC, Gossip, Rumors, Mentioned Wen Remnants, Sect Leader Yao Bashing, JC & WWX Reconciliation, NHS is a Little Shit, POV LJY, POV Third Person, Threats, Justice, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, LWJ is LSZ’s Parent, LJY Being LJY, Podfic Welcome)

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10. Hi, i've seen how you help people find fanfictions and all, i was wondering if you can help me find a good Wangxian personality swap Au, if your up to it? Thank you

there is a fic where Lan Zhan was named Wei Wuxian, and Wei Ying was named Lan Zhan, which is the closed I've seen to a personality swap. I will look for it, but if anyone knows it, pls post the link! Also, there is a body swap fic, where they took on hints of each others personality. in that Wei Ying was hornier, and Lan Zhan was more ADHD coded , I'll have to look for that one too. I decided to comment in case I don't find any of these but someone else knows

Call Me By Your Name by DizziDreams (E, 52k, WangXian, Modern AU, America, University, Smut, Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Edging, names have been swapped, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking) I think the first fic that was suggested for #10 (where lwj and wwx have each other's names) is the modern AU

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11. ur fav dad fics where wwx or lwj raises a-yuan? especially modern? thank uuu

my little love by mellowflicker (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, kindergarten teacher!lwj, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Pining)

The stuffed bunny, the beautiful nephew, and other gifts from Lan Qiren by deliciousblizzardshark (G, 8k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, Modern, Single Parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff)

box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

Single Parent Lan Wangji / Single Parent Wei Wuxian

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

Where’s Your Emergency? by trippednfell (M, 64k, WangXian, 911 Dispatcher WWX, Single dad LWJ, Kid fic, Modern AU, D&D Games, Angst with a happy ending)

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks)

for you, andante by xuanxuanwo (ostentatiouslyrealistic) (T, 35k, WangXian, Modern AU, Music, Musicians, Pianist LWJ, Guitarist WWX, Kid Fic Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Existential Crisis, Unrelated JGY & QS, Friendship, Romance, Light Angst, Happy Ending)

💖 The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 71k, wangxian, modern, accidental baby acquisition, slow burn, pining, [Podfic of] The Simplest Way Forward by knight_tracer)

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12. heyyy admins! what are some of your favorite wwx and junior fics?

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13. ITMF white haired wwx!!

🔒归心似箭 | Longing to Go Home by dragongirlG (M, 7k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Aging, Aged WWX, Grief/Mourning, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Diaspora Feels (displacement), Dramatic Irony, Secret Identity, Pining, Brief Reference To Suicidal Thoughts, Hopeful Ending, [Podfic] 归心似箭 | Longing to Go Home by Koontyme)

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14. (ITMF) Thanks so much for all that you do! I've just finished rereading And Miles To Go Before I Sleep by glitterbombshell and I've got a hankering for more LWJ vs LXC or Lan comeuppance or even Lan bashing (I have checked that tag). I'm craving Lan angst (even LWJ as long as WWX ends up happy). Bonus if we see them suffer (vs LWJ just going nutso and killing everyone off screen). Thank you, thank you. 💕💕 @ck90

🔒💖 When has silence saved anyone? by Vrishchika (T, 6k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, post-canon, LXC critical, family feels, angry LWJ & LSZ, LXC gets scolded)

this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Post-Canon, POV LXC)

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15. hiii itmf idol x fan wangxian aus preferably idol!wwx but the opposite works as well @nalalie

All My Songs I Wrote to Find You by Winxhelina (T, 8k, wangxian, Social Media, Bullying, Immortal WangXian, Scheming NHS, Musicians, Explicit Language, Kissing, Making Out) a bit of a twist as they're immortals who got separated in this one

The Ties that Bind Us by Dyapaya (G, 10k, wangxian, JC & WWX, JYL/JZX, JC/NHS, Idols AU, idol WWX, fanboy LWJ, College/University, Modern, Obsessive Behavior, Misunderstandings, Twitter Fic, Stalker)

If I Can't Have You by Leffy (E, 47k, wangxian, Modern, Actors AU, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Intercrural Sex, Frottage, Masturbation, Blow Jobs)

time of fate is passing; or: The Great and Lonely Fudanshi; or: How Lan Zhan Defeated Heterosexuality and Learned to Love Again by verseau (E, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Don't Take Seriously, Idol WWX, Fudanshi LWJ)

The Brightest Star In His Sky by Liebing (M, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Idol LWJ, past relationship, Break Up, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, soft, Happy Ending, Background XiYao, idol MY, WWX POV, Background ChengQing, pregnant WQ, Making Up, concert setting, Song writer WWX, LSZ is an unseen matchmaker, Jealous WWX, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Love Confessions, Dominant LWJ, Soulmates)

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16. I just read “a grave is all too weak a thing by Reverie (cl410)“ and now I’m hungry for multi-chapter fics with a similar premise. Does anybody know of anymore fics where others (this one has Jin Ling’s parents & Wen Qing) were resurrected along with WWX? (Like this one has them in their og bodies and even clothes so I guess their resurrections followed Untamed rules) And if no one can find any, please use this as a prompt. (The ficlet is in a prompts playlist anyway) @omgnectarina

a bird in your teeth by Eevee (ChaosBitch) (E, 61k, JYL/XY, wangxian, Let XY have nice things, Let JYL get some good dick, (sorry JZX I know you did your best), Past JYL/JZX, Past JYL/MM, All of the sex in this fic is consensual, But one of the participants IS a fierce corpse, JYL POV, Minor Character Death, I feel like this fic turned out surprisingly soft, but XY still does some onscreen murders, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mention of JGS's canon behavior, Mentions of XY's canon behavior, Also Wangxian is not the main pairing, but they're definitely here and stupider in love than ever, Angst, past XY/JGY, Hopeful Ending) This has XY bringing JYL back as a fierce corpse & WWX getting resurrected earlier than in canon. Not sure if it quite fits the request, but it involves someone other than WWX being resurrected, so I'm throwing it in

the problem with authority by isabilightwood (M, 139k, WangXian, JYL/WQ, QS & JYL, Canon Divergence, Sacrifice Summon, only the summoner sticks around, slightly dark JYL, WQ lives, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Mild Sexual Content, Switch Wangxian, WWX has to be resurrected & LWJ find out before they can interact, but there’s plenty of wangxian once they do, manipulative relationship) different summon followed by eventual wwx summon.

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17. Hello, I’ve never asked this blog something before but I believe this falls under the “In the Mood for a Fic” catagory?

Any fics where it shows Lan Zhan’s pov as he realizes that Wei Ying has returned (hearing him play Wangxian)? @xinilia

🔒The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks (E, 67k, WangXian, Minor canon divergence, Angst, POV LWJ, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, semi-verbal!LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide) The events of the novel from LWJ's pov

🔒 a song of joy and regret by RoseThorne (G, <1k, wangxian, longing, grief/mourning, regret, crying, devotion, resurrection, dreams, angst, LWJ pov)

🔒 Season of Resurrection by Pyrrti (G, 1k, wangxian, pre-relationship, reunions, sky children of the light fusion, multiple POV, LSZ pov, LWJ pov, WWX pov)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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junedenim · 4 days ago

Text

2012

beneath the boardwalk, part 10 (series masterlist)

why'd you only call me when you're high?

warnings: a whole lot of angst, temptation, nostalgia, and nothing

word count: 10.4k

Squished between two couch cushions watching Real Housewives, I got a call from Alex. "Did I wake you?" He questioned. It was late or early depending on who you asked. I had been woken up from a cold I was suffering from. He had never gone to bed.

"No, no, I'm just sitting around, suffocating," I complained. His voice was rough, but not thick with phlegm like mine. He chuckled in a rhythmic format, beat after beat. He sounded like he was sinking into himself, his flesh turning to goo. I heard his lips smack together as if he was chewing on a piece of hay. I coughed, the harshness reaching him miles and miles away. "You alright?"

"Yeah." I think he was chewing gum. "Just got home."

I hummed with understanding. "Did you have a nice night?"

He made a noise of indifference. "How long you been sick?"

"Two days now and it's not getting any better." I sniffled and stuffed a tissue up my nostril, thankful that I lived alone. "Think I caught it at a New Year's Party. I'm worried I have mono."

"Why? You've been kissing a bunch of people?" His words hung in the middle of us. Both of us moving on from one another had been unspoken. We were still on a break for all intents and purposes, even if he was with Arielle. Another thing we never talked about.

I gave the best laugh I could do without coughing. "It's supposed to be good luck. I also ate 12 grapes and banged bread against the wall."

"Did you really?" He amusingly asked.

"No, well, not the bread part." I sighed. "Now, I'm just sitting on the couch watching shitty reruns. I can't fall back asleep."

"Neither can I," he said.

I hesitated and curled up under my blanket. "Is that why you called me at 4 in the morning?" I said it with a laugh to ease any tensions that may arise.

"It's only 1 here."

"Right. I forgot about the time difference." It didn't seem right for him to be so far away permanently. None of this seemed like the correct order of things. It was a misalignment but there could be no corrective measure.

"Yeah, I kind of did too." There was a pause like he was thinking things over. Like he might have had something to say but now he couldn't find it. "I'll let you go then." In more ways than one.

Alex was a cloud. He was away on tour, far away and out of reach. We talked less but not intentionally. We both just got really busy and we didn't need each other for that constant contact anymore. I was plummeting toward the wildest time of my life and he was up to his usual unable-to-contact schedule. Somewhere in Australia first then opening for The Black Keys. Plus, he had Arielle.

The new girlfriend thing didn't bug me much, at least, not in the form of jealousy. It was a strange thing. I hadn't fully adjusted to the idea but it was much easier when he was nowhere near my life. If it had happened when we were younger, I think I would've punished myself for it, but I had grown into a far lighter figure who understood not everyone was trying to make a mark against me. Alex was living his own life, which for the past few years had been dedicated to one person. It was "seeing what else was out there."

I was alone for the most part. I saw Jackson nearly every day, whether for work or leisure, but I was getting used to being alone for long grasps of time. I spent time writing in my notebook like the old days. A therapy session that I locked away in a drawer. I rotted in my room for days. I watched all of The Sopranos, practiced the splits, and thought about getting a cat. It was winter and a very boring time.

But around the end of January, I did my first interview. It was small and nothing huge, but it was talking about my work in-depth for the first time with a stranger. I pretended I was talking to Alex.

Alex and I didn't stop talking completely. I called him on his birthday, briefly, and we had a long chat toward the end of January where we caught up with one another. Neither of us had much to tell. He had been touring. I had been crawling around New York doing next to nothing, besides book matters and talking about my "marketability."

Alex laughed at this. "Yeah, they tend to do that. Try to whittle you down to one trait."

"It's making me feel insecure." I laughed at it but it felt small inside me, burning its way out.

Alex hummed in agreement. "Well, at least you're not a pimple-ridden kid doing it."

It wasn't something he talked about much. He hated people giving him attention, yet he was in a career that commanded eyes to be focused on him. It was one of our many skimmed-over conversations. In some ways, it made me feel like I didn't know Alex. We both hid parts of ourselves from one another and knew that the other did this. That burning curiosity we used to have probably went out once we started to live with one another. You know someone for long enough that it begins to feel like you know every inch of them. I slept with him night after night but I wondered if I ever knew what was ticking on in his head before he fell asleep. What was he thinking when he sat outside with a closed notebook? Why did he turn away?

I didn't even know why I turned away. I wrote repeatedly in my notebook, questioning why I couldn't make it work with Alex. I resisted jumping into a relationship because of that. If I couldn't make it work with Alex then it probably wouldn't work with anyone, especially during that portion of my life. I didn't know what it meant to be alone, like really alone.

I deflected a lot. I even deflected earlier in this book. I was devastated by the loss of Alex and I don't think it hit me until much later because I always had an anvil weighing on the back of my head telling me it wasn't over. Arielle complicated those ideals and I think for a while I was on my back unable to regain upright status. I was flailing.

That's why I paused. When 2012 hit, I was forced into a corner. I felt distant from who I was but still so far away from who I was becoming. I felt like I was the roots of the tree that had been cut down. I was left to be a stump.

One night, over a joint, I told Jackson I didn't feel British. Jackson, a Californian boy through and through, did not understand this. He laughed from the high while the smoke just made me more disoriented. He told me that I was "perfectly British." To me, that sounded like some marketing strategy. That's what the book would be marketed as—a British girl coming to America; her cold skin meeting the California sun. It made me hate the book. Or I hated myself, the lines were blurring.

I thought I had grown away from forms of jealousy. I have just previously insisted to you that I experienced no feelings of envy toward Arielle...but I did. It was ignored and then it couldn't be. The "R U Mine?" music video featured Arielle and a "new" Alex. I'm not a fan of the insinuation Alex suddenly changed after we broke up, besides his hair and fresh Sheffield tattoo, I would come to know Alex was exactly the same. Alex never quite changes. He's always been suave. It's hard to take a 20-year-old as seriously as a 25-year-old, especially when he is still pimple-ridden.

I found my jealousy toward Arielle in regard to "R U Mine?" was the same as when Alex showed me "Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts" because, honestly, since then Alex's only explicit romantic muse (the word makes me want to barf, but that's what I was) was me. It's the weird thing of being with a writer, especially with personal subjects. It's beautiful when it's for you but then you realize that it was never really for you. It was about you. Alex didn't write a song to make me feel loved. He wrote a song because he liked writing songs.

Unknowingly, I always felt that. It's why I didn't swoon every time I heard "Mardy Bum." I loved it as a song but it didn't feel like a love letter. I felt Alex's love in far different ways. As the years went on, I would find love letters in songs, but at the center, I found his love in crevices: a note from college, a smoke outside a pub, a cooked meal, folded laundry—god, I sound old.

But his love wasn't restricted to those songs. Just as my love isn't restricted to this tome. This is a love letter in pieces for Alex but it's also for my youth. I found around this time, I began to reflect on those early years. Nearly 10 years out from 2003, I became a preservationist. I jotted down my memory of my first conversation with Alex. I tucked it away in my drawer, no use for it yet.

Alex called me on my birthday. He wasn't too far away, somewhere between Portland and Boston on a bus. It was late with only an hour left to my birthday, which I had spent drinking with friends. It was a rather simple birthday. It could've been just another night, minus the cake (red velvet with frosted flowers on top of it) that Fennel and Kaka purchased for me.

Alex texted me in the morning. Something akin to Hey. Happy birthday. Al.

It was formal and if it didn't make me laugh so much I think I'd be hurt by it. But Alex always texted like that as if he was penning a letter. The letter was awfully short but it was sent at 4 AM, which made me believe he either had no sleep or had just woken up.

I was expecting more and I got more. When I was drunk.

"Hi," I said, shoving the phone to my ear as a subway train came roaring by.

He chuckled, hearing the noise. "Hi." He waited for it to pass fully before continuing, "Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Did you spend it good?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty drunk."

"Alright, then, I won't keep you long."

"No," I insisted. "Stay on the phone with me." I was pleading. I didn't want to let go of him. "At least, until I'm home." I wasn't far away but I lied and acted like I was further away, keeping him on the line with me, even as we lost connection at various times.

"Sorry I didn't get you anything," he said halfway through the subway ride.

"I didn't get you anything,” I reminded him.

"Yeah. Feels weird."

We hummed in silence because we both knew how abnormal this was. We weren't friends. Alex and I were never friends. Nothing ever went away or could ever go away. We were struggling to redefine what we were. We could never disentangle from one another. It pulled us back toward one another, even when we shouldn't have.

"I was going to get you that, uh, milkshake maker so you wouldn't have to pay extra at Morgenstern's for one." I didn't know a person could get so emotional over a milkshake maker that they would feel like crying on the F train. I might be the only person ever.

It was such a stupid gift. I would probably get two uses out of the machine before it broke and it wouldn't be as good as Morgenstern's makes theirs and it would go to waste. Still, I can imagine if he did get it for me. How after I unwrapped it we would go to Morgenstern's and get a pint of ice cream and Alex would make me a milkshake. One just for me. If I was feeling generous enough, we'd share the straw.

None of this would have happened, even if we were together. He'd still be in between Portland and Boston and I'd still be riding the F, wishing he was with me. It was comforting that maybe I had done the right thing, even if it felt so hard.

"Well, you can get it for me for Christmas."

He laughed and said, "Okay."

Black leather loafers with black wool flannel trousers. A white poplin shirt, two buttons loose at the top and at the bottom. I had a black corduroy jacket that Jackson held for me. I felt like I was dressing up in my mother's clothes. I was doing book press. It was an unfitting experience but I held the hardcover book in my hand. It felt unnatural but I liked my authour's photo.

By that point, I was so far removed from the contents of the book. I started to second-guess it even coming out. It felt like my diary, even if it was evasive at times and cut out the personal from that time (Alex is not mentioned once, not even as the person I moved to LA for). Still, it was exposing, but it was real now and it was sitting in my hand.

Alex came to town a week later, opening for The Black Keys. I didn't see the show—things were getting too busy by that point. I asked Alex if we could meet for a quick lunch and he accepted.

We met at Westville, a cute restaurant, but by no means romantic. I felt a need for that to be clear. I worried about Arielle worrying that I was trying to "steal" Alex or whatever that meant. I don't think she ever did. After all, she had the guy and I was resigned with no longer having the guy. It wasn't the bitch fight it has been imagined to be.

I waited for Alex outside the restaurant, smoking a cigarette to achieve my all-time high of cigarettes per day (this was not a good year for my lungs). I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I wanted to look cool but relaxed. I wore the previously mentioned black loafers to make it look like I didn't roll out of bed and throw some jeans on.

Alex wore the same thing: jeans, T-shirt, loafers...and a leather jacket. It was a hotter March day when spring was beginning to peek through and relieve the bitterness of winter. He was across the street stuck at a streetlight and I waved to him and he waved back. Then, we just stared at each other, waiting for the light to turn green.

He crossed, said hi, and hugged me. Every move was made with slight awkwardness. We hadn't been alone together since he moved out. "Have you been waiting long?" He asked.

I shook my head. "Got here early, just for a smoke. Do you want to go in now?"

"Yeah. Yeah." He bobbed his head.

I put my cigarette out and he followed me into the restaurant. "Your hair is back to normal." My natural brown. It was better for me to not play pretend when promoting a book about my own life.

"Yours isn't," I commented. It came off snarkier than I wanted it to.

He shrugged and smiled to ease the thick fat of awkwardness. "Yeah, well, you know." He didn't say it but this was the new normal for him, which was fine, but it was different from what I knew. When I dreamed about him or pictured him, it was still with a curling mop top or, you know, just the mop if I was dreaming of '09.

"Tattoo too," I added.

"Yeah."

"You're a changed man."

"Yeah."

Our heads ducked down and we stared at the menus in silence. It was a challenge of who would speak first—seriously speak, not those little comments over what looks good.

After we ordered, I said, "Sorry I'm not able to go tonight."

He waved me off. "You've already been to too many shows. Don't worry."

"Well, I like going. It feels weird not to go."

"Yeah." Somewhere in that word, I knew what he meant. It had been years since Alex had the ability to spot people in the crowd, but he told me once that there was a comfort in knowing I was somewhere in there, that even if he messed up, there would always be someone there at the end of it all. I wonder if he was still getting used to someone else being at the end of it all.

He sipped his water to cut off the look on his face. I decided to cut to the fat of it. "I, uh, have something to give you."

"Why do I feel like it's something bad?" He cracked a laugh, lifting the air in the room.

I picked up my bag. "I hope not."

I dug through my things slowly. It was held in my hands but I still had to catch my breath before I lifted it out. I saw a squint on his face as he tried to imagine what it was. I passed it across the table and his hands took it. That is when it all started to feel real; seeing his eyes land on it, his hands run down its spine with him smiling. "It's a first edition," I joked.

He raised an eyebrow, flipping it open. "Is it signed?" I laughed. I'm not sure what made me happier: him holding my book or joking around with him again. He opened the other end of the book. "Good author photo."

"I'm quite happy with it." Somewhere in that bittersweetness, I did feel content. It was never how I imagined him holding my first book. Parts of me were swallowed with sorrow that I would never experience this in the way I wanted—a desperate romantic lovemaking all-consuming kind of way—but there were small parts in me that were happy that we could still have this. I don't know if we kept dragging things out this would have been as joyous. That this would have felt like closure.

Alex looked up, meeting my eyes. A small smile played on his lips. The kind that can't be faked in any way. It was real and from the hurt. It was that pride he always had in me. The pride that kept me going for far longer than I'd ever imagined. I wrote the book, but he made the book. I never would've written anything close to it without him. I'd probably be stuck fucking Robert in London if it wasn't for him. It was my reassurance to him that he didn't have to make up for the sudden move to LA as he constantly tried to do. He wasn't in the book, but he was the book. It's why I dedicated it to him. It's why on the last page of his edition of the book I wrote: Don't make fun of me, Al. Thank you for this. I hope you know why. Love, Jane C.

I questioned the "love" part. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable but it would have been far more awkward to write something like "sincerely." I wasn't one for lying, especially about my love for Alex. It was something layered. It didn't rest in that romantic love. He wasn't just my boyfriend and he wasn't just my best friend. It's hard for a writer to find the word. It's nudged somewhere in this book. In all these little words.

"I wanted you to be the first to have it," I said. "Well, one of the first. Wanted to see the look on your face."

He looked back down at the book. Mild disbelief spread across his face as he looked back and forth between the book and me. "Thanks." He wasn't sure what else to say. He rolled everything around and looked as if he was choking on the bone of a chicken.

"It's been a little weird these past few months," I said while picking at my fingernails, an assured sign to Alex that I was referring to us. "I don't want it to feel weird. So, don't cry or anything," I joked.

He chuckled, dislodging the lump. He flipped the book over one more time before placing it on the table. "I'll try not to. I knew you could do it." He stared right at me, emphasizing every little syllable. The awkwardness faded from him and he leaned onto the table. His smile was small but bright. I could find a million different meanings in it, each meaning just as much.

"I know you did. You always did," I told him. "I had this dream last night. It was weird and blurry but we were driving around Sheffield or some weird ghost thing was driving us. It's hard to describe. I don't know. I think it was a sign or something. I'm not sure of what but just those early days of us talking. That's when I really started to write. I suppose my mind was thinking about this lunch and conjured up some old memories."

He smiled at me the whole time, eyes never leaving me, even when I glanced away. "Well, I had a dream that I was one of the animals left off of Noah's Ark, so, you tell me what that means."

I told him it had something to do with his fear of being left behind and he rolled his eyes and said I was trying to be Freud. Lunch came and we ate and laughed and agreed to split the check. He told me he would read the whole book tonight if he could. We hugged goodbye and he whispered in my ear, "I'll send you a proper review."

A few days later, Alex emailed me. It was long. Very long and detailed like he had taken a note on every page. He pulled the sentences he liked the most out, which turned out to be about half the book. I would later write back and ask what that meant for the other half of the book. He said they were left off Noah's Ark too. Continuing his initial email, Alex wrote at the bottom:

You did it. I hope you feel that too. Thank you, Al.

I had a book tour. A minimal one since there wasn't the highest of expectations and I didn't want to go to Omaha, Nebraska. So, there was Boston, New York, Atlanta, Chicago, Houston, and Los Angeles. I hated the whole thing. I always wanted to go to these places but I wasn't really going to these places. We lingered in Chicago at the end of July, but it was the equivalent of touring with Alex, except this time I was Alex.

I've never enjoyed talking about my work either but it was nice that people thought it was nice. But that part still felt awkward to me too. Like, people actually read this??? It eased up as it went along. It was a short tour anyway. I wasn't going to Tokyo or anything.

I thought about myself a lot. It was a little lonely but I had adapted to that. Jackson was my only company on the road and it was easy for us to get sick of one another. We had both grown bored with one another, both slightly exhausted from these months so closely intertwined. I thought about Al, often. I thought about myself, often.

Could it be possible that I did everything right? No. I never thought that but I didn't think I did everything wrong. I had cracks in the surface of me and guts that spilled out. I said everything with my pen but nothing with my lips. I hid myself under the disguise of a freshly lonesome girl who knew the only means to move on was to forget. But I didn't forget anything, only myself, just for a little. Pieces of me dropped on the side of the highway. We drove for days and I found no meaning in it, only wondering did he feel like this all the time? How did he bear this loss of self?

I asked myself questions and never got any answers. I felt everything but there was never any meaning in it. There were closed-off vessels, no means to transport blood or oxygen, yet, I was still moving. I suppose that was the only thing left to cling to. I still had the memory of it and those never made me sad. I experienced it. How fortunate was I to be cracked open and exposed to this impenetrable love? I still felt it. We were both on the end of the same wire. It was bent and twisted, knots made to keep strong but disrupt transmission. No love lost. Just changed. I know good comes from change. I didn't feel the goodness but I could taste it coming. So much else was happening. I would hate myself forever for wasting those precious few days of enjoyment in place of a relationship that didn't need nourishment anymore. It was about me. I wanted it to be about me for so long and it finally was. Don't waste it.

The mini-tour ended in LA at the start of August. Summer had whipped me in the face so hard I forgot the season even existed, until I was stuck in the sweaty, SoCal heat, dying for a drop of water. The first night—the day before the Q&A and book signing—Jackson and I got dinner and drinks with Opal.

It was nice to let loose after feeling so pinned up for most of the summer. The liquor soothed my sunburnt skin and I decided the tour as a whole wasn't too bad—I was about 3 drinks in at this point. Then, after another drink, I texted Alex telling him I was in town. The last we chatted was a week or so before when the band opened for the London Olympics. I watched it later on YouTube and told him he did a bang-up job. He told me he nearly shat himself.

Alex had returned to LA since. The city had become his permanent home since the tour had ended. He bought a house out here and everyone in the band, for the most part, had relocated too. So, in my drunken state, I told him I was there and we should hang before I went back to New York.

When I woke up, it was an embarrassing text of I'm in LA, AL. Even in my drunken state, I wrote with proper grammar. Alex wrote back, Come on over. This was in the early hours of the day so he must have been up by some similar means too.

The following night, I panicked. I wondered if this is what single people felt like all the time. Prior to this, I had never faced intimidation when hanging out with Alex, except maybe when I was 17 and that type of thing could be labelled as teenage anxiety. But, no, this was a thing that would plague me the rest of my dating life and I wasn't even going on a date with him. Alex is the only "ex" I had stayed in contact with up to that point. Most of my friends didn't do this type of thing either, at least not Opal who lived by the mentality that once people were gone they were gone forever.

Half my anxiety came from the limited wardrobe out of my suitcase but considering it was just dinner and a dinner that would be had with the other bandmates and the girlfriends, there should've been no pressure. I wouldn't have told you this at the time, I barely want to write it down now, but the nerves I felt weren’t because of Alex, they were because of Arielle. Part of me wanted to be conceived as a non-threat. I was over those days. The other part of me—the stronger part—wanted her to be jealous of me and question why Alex and I ever broke up. I wasn't fully-formed yet.

The two sides fought and then I just settled on jeans and a tank top because it was boiling outside and I was having drinks at Al's place, not the Windsors. Luckily, I showed up after Jamie and Katie so I thought of using Katie as a shield. I didn't accept Katie and Arielle to be talking though. The word traitor crossed through my brain and then I thought I must be regressing to my college days when Rosie and Will would feel each other up in front of me. Arielle was nice and I was probably an anxious bitch.

So, I hugged both of them as Alex came into the living room. He was staggering, dressed casually beside his uniform slicked hair. "Hey there," he greeted. He was calm, not an awkward bone in his body. He knew he had the upper hand. We were on his home turf with his hot girlfriend and I was a single mess who had been on plane after plane and stunk of cigarettes.

The room was hot with sweat dripping off every surface it seemed. The air conditioner was running but the flaming air came rushing in with the swing of the front door as Matt and Breana entered. The room became distracted by them, both looking darling. I hugged each of them, distracting myself in their grasp.

Arielle had lit candles for the dining table. It was the only thing formal about the informal event. The house itself was rather bare. Alex never carried much, I was always the one with the shit.

Alex tapped my arm. "You want a drink?"

"What do you have?" I asked.

He waved his arm and I followed him to the kitchen, isolating ourselves. "Beer, wine, tequila, vodka, all the fixings. I can make you something if you'd like. Margarita?"

"Anything non-alcoholic?" Alcohol would ease my nerves but it would lead to my loud mouth and I couldn't afford that tonight.

He looked bewildered. "Who are you?" He joked.

We kept our distance. I pushed my hair behind my shoulder. "Got real drunk with Opal and Jackson last night. Figured I'd keep it clean. At least for now."

"Right then. Iced tea?"

He knew me well. I laughed at his smile and agreed to this. I moved closer to the refrigerator to just feel the cold air on my skin. He poured the glass, leaving the door open for me. I chugged the coldness like it was the elixir of life. It felt like my lungs re-inflated when the liquid dispersed and his eyes looked at mine again, so clearly over that fogged-up glass. Wet brown eyes into my baby blues and it felt like he might reach out and snatch them out of my eyes and keep them for himself. He always liked them. He has a thing for blue eyes.

We talked around the dining table, eating a mix of something Arielle had cooked and pizza. I had the pizza. Everyone talked loosely about things I had no knowledge of. Jokes about LA and all these people I had no concept of. I suppose if they had come to New York it would have been similar, except they all shared this with one another.

The sweet Breana turned the attention onto me, which partially made me shrink and revel in the joy of being included. "Oh, Jane, I loved the book!" Everyone chanted in similar sentiments all at once.

I laughed and took a bite of my pizza crust. "You didn't all read it," I laughed.

"I read parts of it," Jamie said. They were all sweet but I'm unsure how often any of them even had the chance to pick up a book, let alone their best friend's ex-girlfriend. Because that's what I was now. That was my title.

Alex looked at me. I could hear my mother's words ringing through his lips so I smiled and said, "Thank you."

"Disappointed I wasn't in it more," Matt said. "You know if it wasn't for me the book would've never been made." The long story of it has made that true but I can't give Matt credit for everything, it might go to his head too much.

"How's that?" Arielle asked. Everything shifted after that. We could all tell that she had been the wrong one to ask that question. Whether she was clueless and curious or was trying to make a dig at Alex, I wasn't sure, but I felt like an imposition being there. I didn't feel like an out-of-town friend. I felt like an ex-girlfriend.

Nobody spoke so I spoke. "Matt introduced me and Alex." I sipped my drink to wash down any other awkwardness.

Everyone seemed awkward other than Arielle. She quickly nodded and said, "Oh, yeah, Al told me that." I wondered why everyone else was so stiff when Arielle didn't seem to have much of a problem with it. Why should she when she looked like that?

I felt frumpy and had to pee badly from all the iced tea I had drank but I was too scared to go to the bathroom and see her things mixed with Alex's things. I could leave there with ambiguity and the belief that Alex didn't move on so quickly and I was stuck being alone.

"That was our first gig," Matt said. He seemed to relax, always the person to slice through any amount of tension. "Almost 10 years ago now."

"What was it like?" Arielle asked.

"Awful," Alex said. His eyes pointed toward me. "Right?"

"I don't know. I never reviewed it, remember?" He laughed and it felt inappropriate to display this inside language in front of everyone. "It feels weird that I'm the only one here who watched it." Even if that had been the case for many years, it had been a while since we all gathered around in a circle and talked about those days.

"I wasn't even there," Nick remarked. The room buckled with chuckles.

I laid my forehead against the palm of my hand resting against the table. "God," I said, "I spent that whole show with Will’s hand on my ass and Joanie screaming in my ear."

"Oh, god, Joanie," Matt muttered.

"Oh, god, Will," Jamie cracked.

"She got married last month," I told them. She had invited me but I was in the middle of the tour. We talked about once a year and everything was always nice. The only time I would've had the chance of running into her was when Alex and I visited Sheffield and that obviously wasn't happening anymore.

"Bless that man's heart," Matt quipped.

I shook my head. "No, she seems to have settled down in the last few years. I guess we all did. Seems so long ago."

"It was," Alex said. "We're getting old, Janie." His silence punctured the air. My lungs felt like they were deflating. He poured himself another glass.

Things grew looser and looser. They rattled off stories of LA, I rattled off stories from the road. Arielle excused herself to bed, citing an early morning. Her bed was upstairs.

Each couple left one by one until Alex and I awkwardly remained. I figured then I should leave. He walked me to the door with a freshly poured glass in his hand. "Hope I didn't keep you up too late," I said because I wasn't sure what else to say. It reminded me of what my parents said to each other after a fight. It was the one thing they clung to in order to keep their marriage somehow working.

He shook his head and sipped. "No, no. It's fine. You're always good company."

I shrugged. The whole thing kind of felt awkward, at least with him. I could laugh with Matt and throw my arm around Katie, even hug Arielle good night, but whenever my eyes landed on Alex, I tensed up so tightly I knew I'd be sore the next day. "If you're ever in New York or whatever."

He nodded and smiled. He would be visiting his old apartment. I wondered how that would make him feel. Was it the same when I walked into his house and noticed different shoes by the door than mine? Would the emptiness of his presence leave him uneasy? "I'd like that," Alex said.

"Thanks for having me." We reached the door and the end of the night but we stayed awkwardly staring at each other.

"Course. Text me when you're back at the hotel and safe and all that." He was drunk, rambling with an incapability of holding his tongue.

I smiled. "I will."

I didn't know whether to hug him or not. He leaned forward and kissed me. It wasn't affectionate. It was a peck. The kind my mother used to give me when left for school in the morning. Of course, she was my mother and I was 7 and Alex was drunk and I was, well, awkward.

I said, "Night," and turned away. We never talked about it because there was nothing to talk about. It very well could have been a kiss on the cheek just like I gave Katie and Breana before they left. Of course, that was Katie and Breana and this was Alex—no longer mine.

Rain pattered against the window. Jackson and I returned to New York a week prior and we were now sitting in my apartment, drinking, and about to call Opal to join us. I felt dizzy and Jackson looked sleepy. It had been a long month.

"So," he said, "what's next?"

I finished off my glass. "What do you mean?" The year felt empty as the cold was beginning to creep into my summer warmth. 2012 was a bumpy year where so much yet so little happened. I was growing sick of my apartment because no matter how rid it was of Alex, he still had a whole life with me here. When I returned to it after the book tour, I was ready to move on.

Jackson placed his arm on the back of the couch. The tips of his fingers softly poked at my shoulder. "Now it's time to think about the next book."

I tossed my head back with a groan. "Gimme a break."

He chuckled and placed his empty glass on the end table. "No rush. For now."

I sat up straight, finishing off my glass, and growing more and more serious every day. "Thanks for doing this for me, Jackson."

He nodded. "My pleasure."

"I feel kind of empty," I confessed.

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

I didn't feel like explaining it. I was growing tired of doing that with people. My stomach ached and I pushed Alex out of my mind. I felt that I had sacrificed our relationship for this success, even if it wasn't true. I thought I would have been over it by that time of year. It had been over a year. But it still felt so unnatural for him to feel so far removed from my life. Every word we spoke felt tinged with sadness and I didn't want it to feel that way. I wanted to move on.

I kissed Jackson. He kissed back. We never called Opal.

Jackson and I started dating in a casual way. We were exclusive to one another and treated each other as a boyfriend and girlfriend would but I suppose my association with dating was always a far deeper connection. I wasn't alone in this. Jackson had long-term girlfriends prior to me. He was older than me, not by some outrageous amount. He was born in 1979, seven years older, but I was 26 and 33 didn't feel so far off.

Opal loved it. She felt like the ultimate matchmaker and wanted to be both the maid of honor and the best man. My New York crew loved him. Fennel and Kaka found him to be rich in conversation. He liked going out more than Alex but then again most people liked going out more than Alex. Except more and more it seemed Alex enjoyed the going out part. (I was taken but I was still a snooping ex-girlfriend).

I didn't tell Alex. It felt awkward to call him up and tell him I got a new boyfriend. I decided to tell him when I saw him again, which didn't come up. He was in Los Angeles. I was in New York. We didn't talk very often either. I think I called him once in October because I couldn't remember the name of a restaurant we went to (he didn't remember either).

Other than that, there wasn't much reason to talk. We had completely separate lives. But I was aware of what he was up to. I wasn't cyber-stalking him much anymore (only on nights when I was wildly intoxicated). I talked to Katie occasionally and texted Breana from time to time. Things about Alex would slip through the cracks and get to me but the majority of it was just that they were recording their new album.

We had both moved on. Or we were both pretending we did. At least I was pretending, in some form. I thought about him all the time. I didn't feel like a day went by when I didn't think about him. It wasn't in some romantic longing way. I had shared a life with him from such a young age and to be forced apart from it felt unnatural. There were so many jokes and stories that went untold because no one would get it but him.

When I went back home for the holidays, I confided this to my mother. I don't know why, maybe because of what she had told me so many years ago in Florida. I don't know if my mother ever actually liked Alex so I figured if she said awful things about him it would make me feel better. Of course, she didn't.

"It goes away," she said. "One day, you wake up and you're numb to it. You just get numb to it in the end, Jane. All those people you hated and loved turn to nothing. Even the ones you still want to love. You'll be thankful for it when the day comes that you don't feel anything anymore."

I frowned and my mother left me on the couch to fetch another bottle of wine. In retrospect, my mother was suffering from mental illness, but I was oblivious to that because I had grown oblivious to most of my mother's behavior. I just didn't want to engage with it anymore. Maybe part of me was numb toward her.

I didn't want to feel nothing. I couldn't imagine not feeling anything for Alex, even if we remained friends for the rest of our lives. I had tethered so much sentimentality toward him, he might as well have been a knick-knack on my shelf. Letting go of him would be letting go of an entire part of myself. I was content if that part only came out once a year when I saw him but I couldn't let go of it forever.

Joanie was having a baby. She likely got pregnant on her honeymoon. Someone my age having a child felt unnatural. I pictured Joanie being a teen mum, not a 26-year-old pregnant woman. She invited me to the baby shower taking place right after Christmas. It was ideal timing since all her closest friends would be in town or, like me, the country.

I debated going but decided that since I missed the wedding the least I could do was go to the baby shower. So, I drove the Beetle up to Wakefield. I figured it would be a mini-reunion. The only one I had seen as of late was Claire, who lived in Bristol now, and I hadn't seen since last winter.

We drove up together and listened to Radio 2 on full blast the whole way. I don't think I had ever felt more like a teenager even when I was a teenager. Claire continued her streak of always being a comfort for me. While other friends might be wedding and birthing, Claire had just ended her two-year-long relationship and gagged in her mouth at the thought of being a mother one day.

It made me miss England so desperately. I forgot how much I ached to drive, which I hadn't done in years. The closest I had gotten to a car was the one taxi ride home drunk at 4 AM. And to drive on the left side of the road! I hadn't heard someone speak in a British accent since the dinner at Alex's. It eased my ears and made me wonder why I ever left, which just led to me thinking about Alex again.

Claire said, "I hate Alex, which sucks 'cause I like Alex." In a way, it summed up how conflicted I felt. Hate is a strong word but I was resentful for how everything went down. Then again, I probably didn't have much of a right.

Joanie's house was straight out of a picture book. I didn't know houses like that even existed in Wakefield. It wasn't fancy but at the sight of it, you'd call it a home. She had a little garden in the front that she said her husband grew herbs in that she used for cooking. It made Claire and I roll our eyes but we both desperately wanted that kind of companionship. If I ever would learn how to cook or grow plants, maybe that could be my life. I refused to do either, but it was a nice thought.

I bought Joanie—or Joanie's baby—these cozy fleece booties because that's what New York Magazine said to get. I never bought anything for a baby before (I got away with it two years ago during Harper's unmentioned pregnancy of my first nephew, Benjamin, by having my mother buy a gift for me) so I had no clue what to get. I bought Joanie this nice set of body washes that were her favourite when we were 17 with the hope that they either still were or she would feel nostalgic over them.

Claire and I ate a slice of cake and watched Joanie open her presents. Halfway through we turned to each other and decided we were going to go out drinking after. I love Joanie but oohing and awing over baby gifts with a bunch of women I barely knew got old quickly, especially incredibly sober and in the middle of the winter blues. The cake was good though.

The shower ended around 4 and while I was down to get hammered that early, Claire wanted to go out to lunch first. We ended up meeting up with AB at a pub. I hadn't seen AB since 2006 and I nearly cried at the sight of him all grown up. Claire and AB had broken up long ago but stayed in touch as good friends and if they could do it—two incredibly mature people—maybe Alex and I could too.

AB's girlfriend of two years (and future wife), Shay, joined us as well. It almost made me barf how gorgeous they were together and I was shocked Claire wasn't fuming more over how beautiful Shay was. I was almost fuming over how beautiful Shay was!

AB sipped on a beer, which I don't think I had ever witnessed. He shared it was Shay and I swallowed down my drink at the painful thought that Alex and I once did things like that. I was such a sad sack. I thought about calling Jackson. Thank god I didn't.

We left the pub, hugging AB and Shay goodbye next to the Beetle. Claire and I were going to go back to the hotel to change out of our baby shower clothes and "hit the town.”

We waved goodbye to the couple and that's when I saw Alex with his mum. I turned my back to him and grabbed Claire's arm. "I think I'm gonna vomit."

She looked at me completely puzzled. "What? Why?"

I was so freaked out by the sight of him. I think the unexpected nature of it threw me off-balanced. I had never been that unnerved by the sight of him. My head felt like my brain was about to burst out of my ears. "Get in the car," I harshly muttered to her.

She was still unaware but she raced around the side of the car to get into the passenger seat. We bolted out of there before he crossed the street.

It was midnight when I called him. I was definitely drunk, but not wasted, standing outside a club smoking while Claire chatted up with some guy inside. I was freezing and felt so childish for doing it, even in the moment, but I wanted to see him. It shouldn't feel right that I was here and he wasn't.

"Hello." His voice was clear so he hadn't been sleeping. I wonder if he was in bed (with Arielle).

I swallowed whatever dignity I had left and let the rest loose. "Hey. I'm in Wakefield for Joanie's baby shower 'cause apparently we're old enough to have children now and now I'm out with Claire at a club. We drove up together from Bath, well, Bristol for her, Bath for me, but you know that. Jesus. I saw you earlier today and raced into my car because I was so scared by the sight of you, which made me realize I'm not as mature as I thought I was. And it was just after we went to lunch with AB and Shay and Claire and AB still get along like they didn't have this romantic relationship and I know that we get along too but I raced to my car and nearly shit myself. Now, I'm outside a club smoking in the middle of winter because I apparently regress back to teenage tendencies when I'm in Yorkshire or maybe just England in general. Anyway, I'm drunk and I'm thinking this was stupid and it probably is but I know you're probably laughing at me right now but I'm freezing my ass off and I can't figure out how to get back inside the club and Claire isn't answering her phone, which means she's probably shagging someone or something and I wouldn't want to interrupt that, you know, and I probably should just get a cab back to the hotel but I called you for some reason. Well, not for some reason because I'm drunk. Okay, now you talk."

I was out of breath and sure I had just lost my mind. I need another shot of tequila. I felt I was growing too sober to face the repercussions of this. I took a drag of my cigarette and listened to his breathing on the other end of the line.

I could hear his smile. I still had a knack for that kind of thing. "I saw you too, you know."

I slapped my forehead and thought about slamming my head into the brick wall until it broke my skull and my brain gushed out. "Did it look like we were being held at gunpoint?"

He chuckled lowly. "A little. But I must've looked like someone pointed a gun at me. I'd recognize that car anywhere, Janie."

I didn't know what to say. My car was such a sensitive topic for both of us. It was the cornerstone (ha) of our relationship, especially for the car to be returned to its rightful county. I thought I'd feel weird driving it but everything felt right like it was a complete homecoming. Like nature had found its way and every piece fell perfectly into the puzzle.

"I thought I would be grown up by now," I confessed.

He suppressed a laugh. "I like you this way. Makes me feel less alone."

"How so?"

He waited, not wanting to fully let the truth go but it was me he was talking to. There wasn't much point in lying. "I've called you in various states of intoxication too."

"Not after running to your car," I pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I'll do it one of these days." It was a silence but a vibration rang across the line to one another. Call it a vibe or a wavelength or just a feeling, but I could feel him like he was standing right next to me. "Where are you?"

It was so embarrassing I laughed. "Che & Coco." It was Barnsley College's resident bar and nightclub. The average age of the crowd was barely 20 and I felt like such a loser trying to claim that nostalgia is what made me want to club there.

"Geez, you really are down bad." His laughter rang through the phone and I nearly hung up due to how beet red my face was. He laughed and laughed. I could picture him with his hands on his knees, walking home from Will's house, unable to breathe he was laughing so hard. Then, I couldn't breathe. "You want me to pick you up?"

I'd like that a lot but I couldn't take it. That was a bridge too far. "No, no. I'll just call a taxi or something. Maybe even walk. My hotel isn't that far."

"You're gonna walk in Barnsley at midnight? Hope you don't get hit with a beer bottle," he joked. That had happened to Will back in the day. I'm convinced it made him even dumber if that's possible.

"I've walked later than this in New York," I reasoned.

"Janie," he stopped me, "I'd like to see you if you won't run away from me."

I sighed. "I'll see you in 20. I'll be waiting on Peel." Because maybe I would like to see him too.

He pulled up in his mum's car. It wasn't her car from way back in the day but it made him feel sophomoric to me. His hair wasn't gelled up, instead falling around in tendrils of combed-back magic. He had a hoodie on and a smile on his face. He honked the horn of the car and I dashed across the street to his car.

The car was warm, at least warmer than outside where I had been suffering. I tugged my coat closer and put my seatbelt on. "Hi."

Alex smiled over at me. "Hi." He pulled back onto the road and I couldn't remember the last time he had driven me. "How've you been?"

I shrugged in his peripheral vision. "Fine. Christmas was fine. My dad bought me Slouching Toward Bethlehem."

Alex laughed. "About 10 years too late."

"Yeah, but at least he's trying. I can't remember the last time he bought me a gift." My mother handled all the presents, something she was rather good at, even if it always felt like she didn't know me.

We stopped at a red light. "I didn't get anything for you," he said while looking over at me.

"Well, I didn't get you anything either." First time in eight years. It didn't even cross my mind. "This is enough of a present anyway."

He nodded in agreement. "Good." I believed him. The nod of his head told me that this meant as much to me as it did to me. Drunk actions are sober thoughts and sometimes I just wanted to hear his voice.

We kept driving. I had yet to tell him any directions. He was headed the right way but I wouldn't have had the willpower to tell him anyway. I liked driving around with him. I liked just this. The vibration of the road beneath us and the scent of him washing over me. The slowness of Yorkshire and the heat of him beside me. It made everything feel right.

"Arielle come with you?"

He rubbed his eye. He looked tired. "Nah. She went to her parents’." I nodded and he waited, looking over at me. I stared at him blankly. He looked back at the road and kept the car moving. "What about, uh, Jackson?"

My head snapped toward him. "He's at his parents’." I picked at my nails. I didn't want to talk about this. Why did it feel like I was cheating on him? It felt like Alex had died and I was some widower trying to move on but his ghost was coming back to shame me.

"Katie mentioned something," he muttered.

"Yeah," I explained, "just a few months."

He nodded slowly. "He's a nice guy." I laughed out loud. He laughed too, for some reason. "What?"

I shook my head. "We don't have to talk about my boyfriend."

"Okay. We don't have to talk about Arielle." It was probably some form of cheating, emotionally. We gazed at one another and never acted on anything, but the aftertaste of it didn't feel right. But in the moment, everything had fallen perfectly into place.

We went nowhere and neither of us said a single thing about it. The drive from the club to my hotel was ten minutes. We drove around for an hour.

"Joanie's house is beautiful. It's like my dream house. It isn't big but it's not a cottage or anything. But it's quaint. She's got plants and I never thought Joanie could take care of a living thing and now she's gonna have a baby," I told him. I fiddled with the radio, even though we weren't gonna listen to it.

"Are you sure they aren't fake?" He joked. I chuckled and hit his shoulder. "Eh! Watch it. I'm driving here, missy."

I held my hands up as a defense. I eased them back down with a giggle and tugged on my seatbelt strap. "You know, I thought I'd have a baby by now."

He snorted. "No, you did not."

"At one point I did. I mean, back before you. Like when I was still playing with dolls."

He laughed again and everything made sense. "Good thing you don't. You can't even keep a plant alive."

"They're not self-sufficient enough."

"And you think a baby will be easier?"

"Not anymore but at six I did! It was right around when Stacey was born. I took good care of her."

Alex felt warm with a smile. "You did." He was an only child but at times I felt he might consider her a sister too. She considered him a brother. He had been around since she was 11. She was only a little over a year away from graduating university.

"Granted I didn't have to breastfeed her."

It was still dark outside but it felt like the sun was rising in that car. "You wouldn't be happy living Joanie's life."

"How do you know?" I questioned. "Maybe if I was settled I'd feel better."

Alex's jaw gaped. He breathed a laugh and I looked over at him curiously. "Jane, you'd be losing your mind. The whole time I knew you here, you were begging to get out of here."

"Maybe I had it all wrong."

He shook his head, never looking over at me, just driving. "You're a completely different person because you got out of here. You're gonna get all that stuff one day. The kid, the garden, whatever the fuck you want, but you'd never have what you have no if you stayed put. You always knew what you wanted. Your gut is always right. I've learned that."

I sighed and accepted he was right. "Grass is always greener, I guess."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But I think you have the greenest grass. You're the one who's a bestseller."

I rolled my eyes and leaned on the center console. "She's the one with the husband and baby."

He scoffed, "So is half the world. You have a tough time being proud of your accomplishments."

I gasped. "Look who's talking. My god!"

Alex chuckled and it felt like food for my soul. Fertilizer to my soil to keep growing. "Fair enough. But be cocky every once and a while, Janie. You deserve it."

I took what he said to heart but ignored him. I wanted to talk about something else. I wanted to put my feet in his lap and ride to Charlton Brook. Instead, I leaned back and looked at him. "We used to talk about the future so much and now it's come and gone."

"You're not dead yet." But we were. I think that's what I really meant. All those things I had planned with him and I had to be content with letting them go. Watching those promises slip through my fingers. I had no right to feel that way but it's all I felt.

I wanted to tell him I loved him with the windows rolled down and the cold air rushing in because he used to let me do that. I believe that right had been revoked. "I missed it here." The truth was hidden in those words, in between the lines, deep in those letters, stuffed in between them.

He hummed, glancing over. "Me too. Everything feels a little simpler."

I heard the radio speaking, ringing some familiar tune that I couldn't think of the name. Maybe if it had been a little simpler and Alex and I stayed there forever, in the car ride between Wakefield and High Green, we'd have a house, a garden, a ring, a little thing on the way.

But I would've missed out on a lot more. I would have missed out on a lot of Alex. How he was with his hair long in the middle of Joshua Tree, looking over at me instead of the night sky. How he made up our bed in our London studio apartment into a couch because we didn't have enough space for one. How he felt sitting next to me on the C train at 2 AM. How he felt in the dead of winter in Yorkshire, somehow ending up at my hotel with a hoodie I used to wear and a smile he still wears just for me.

I'll never know otherwise. And that's fine.

a/n: this was a struggle but i think it landed right in the end. much, much more to come.

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #junedenim #beneath the boardwalk

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asundries · 13 hours ago

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WEATHERED, WHETHER WARMED OR SEARED. ⏜⠀ . ⠀⟡

STARRING… ─ firefly & gn reader. ✁ ... ❝ She knew you’d say that, too. You always do, as if it is a new, wondrous revelation each time, not a habit both of you have fallen into time and time again (just as that very sentence is as well—again and again. She hears you coming and then she can hear it in her mind, far sooner than you actually speak it. I thought I’d find you here. You knew you’d find her here). ❞ CONTAINS... ─ 2.1k words. bittersweet. intended as platonic. this is a secret santa fic for the wonderful @singularity-sam — i hope you have an amazing day filled with whimsy and cheer!! i haven’t written for firefly before, so i hope i did her justice. (i guess it’s a perfect time to start — merry christmas and happy rerun day to her as well!!)

Firefly is no stranger to extremes.

First, there is the cold.

Her “birth”, unnatural. Her bones felt like metal buried, rain-worn, marrow soft and skin so fragile, barely fully formed by the time her face breached the world. The artificiality of the engineered amniotic fluid she was adrift in for her first many moments was cold, so too the walls of that false egg, and the floor beneath her feet, and the exoskeleton she is ill-fitted with, and the spindly long-nailed fingers of the Empress, the first living thing she ever touched.

Nothing alive should be that cold, really. And neither should any start of life be so frigid and impersonal.

It stays cold for a while. Then, engulfing, all-encompassing, there is the hot laving of fire.

The stars do not stand still, nor are they unyielding. Infinitely, they dance and sway behind the rippling of the hot air rising off her burning world. Fyreflies are vastly brighter, to her, yet they emit no warmth. The stars must be freezing, too.

There is never anything between this hot and cold. There is no soothing cool, and no comforting warmth, and anything lukewarm is simply the manifestation of her sensation’s atrophy under the relentless pressure of frigidity or torrid heat. Only ever extremes.

— —

Firefly’s body always hurts a bit more when winter comes. There is little she can do to warm herself, really; there is the cold metal of her armor and the enveloping flames of activating it, but that is only painful in another way.

Even so, it’s more bearable in the comfort of a home. There will forever be a lingering ache, but the heat from a fireplace, from the warmth of people she’s begun to—in her mind only—call family, is much better than the all-engulfing flames she knows otherwise. She sits back on the couch and stares holes into the smoldering wood.

On the days where Firefly can’t do much, she reminisces.

The Stellaron Hunters, namely you, were the first lukewarm thing that she had ever felt. It’s a strange comparison to make—happiness and safety with something so seemingly mediocre, but it works. The twists and turns of different people, like moods, like temperatures—Kafka’s welcoming, warm; Blade’s taciturnity, cool; Elio’s… kindness, in his offer, a bit of both; Silver Wolf’s playfulness (fun, if a little tiring), warm again, for the most part; your… well, she didn’t know what to make of you at first, so she couldn’t say for sure—without ever falling too far into extremes.

It’s funny, really, how such a bland feeling brought her such comfort; the sensation of nothing at all, yet no sort of emptiness to be found. It was nothing like that constricting egg, or the hard armored body she typically resides in. There is a softness in the holding of hands, in the holding of people, so unlike the harsh conditions of her life as it has been. She’s content.

“How are you doing?” you ask, peeking your head in through the cracked-open door.

Firefly turns to look at you. “I’m okay, thank you.”

Her eyes immediately fall from your face to the tray you’re carrying. It’s wooden, handles notched in the sides, filled with food and drink (namely, two mugs of what she assumes is hot cocoa, one with marshmallows and the other with whipped cream), and decorated with festive additions on every square inch of space that is not already occupied by some sort of snack. It’s overkill, but it’s sweet. She smiles, and wonders how you managed to bring it all the way here without spilling something.

You set the tray down on the coffee table. She glances at it briefly—she doesn’t need to eat or drink much, but the gesture is kind, and she appreciates the thought nonetheless.

“Do you feel any better?” you ask, gently nudging the blanket she’s using closer to her so you can sit. She pulls her legs back a bit to give you more room. The couch dips beneath your weight and pulls her a bit closer anyway.

“I’m still sort of tired,” she says, picking up her drink and blowing on it. “But I do, a little.”

You smile. “That’s good. You worked hard. You deserve the rest.”

When she brings it to her mouth to take a sip, it’s just as she suspected—hot chocolate, no bitterness at all, nearly even too sweet. But it’s not hot, really—the temperature is perfect. Warm.

——

Firefly was surprised the day she learned stars burned. If fyreflies gave off no warmth, yet still shone brighter than the sun, then stars surely paled in comparison to their beauty—such gentle, giving light, without the need for any destruction at all. A living thing. Fleeting.

She knows stars will burn out, too. But it’s much slower. And you cannot hold a star in your hand, cannot feel a star illuminating every proof-of-having-lived line of your open palm, cannot choose whether to crush it or hold it close. Some say the beauty of life lies in the ephemerality of it. Sometimes Firefly agrees. Other times she thinks about how horribly unfair that is, that beautiful things should be allowed to last forever, that fyreflies should not die three days after their creation, that flowers should not wilt the moment they are cut from the stem. But that is only two extremes. Human life is much more intricate. The line of thought is irrational regardless.

She tilts her head back and lets her sight be swallowed by the darkness of the light-polluted sky. She narrows her eyes, gaze a little blurry focused so far away, and thinks she would prefer the company of a fyrefly to the stars. But they don’t exist for her anymore, not where she is now; they are fleeting, just as she is, and most perished in that all-engulfing flame. Though she moves around so very much, she has never seen another anywhere else in recent years.

So, in their absence, she sits on the roof every night and stares out—the city lights of wherever she’s staying often obscure them, render them hazy in the swirl of candied ink and over-used paper, but she swears something in their scattered, hand-written lines speak to her regardless. Like the purpose-filled existence of every short-lived fyrefly, burning brightly before its destined end.

The harsh scent of gasoline from the city is cloying, even from afar on the lone rooftop. The thickness of it is like stagnant smoke in her lungs, but the wintry night air flowing in from somewhere farther away—almost scentless, but damp with melted snow and crisp with re-forming frost—washes it away until it’s nothing but a distant memory.

Snowfall is a lot like the cascade of ash. Hot enough and the heat feels frigid, freezing enough and the cold feels like fire—either way, what they have in common, hand-in-hand, face-to-face, is that they are extremes. Two sides of the same coin. The wind blows her hair away from her face, and as it carries in more snow-sodden clouds for the wintry sky to cry from, Firefly feels a snowflake alight upon her nose.

She brushes it away, and tears her gaze from the vastness of it all. She takes a deep breath and looks towards the small-in-comparison harbor instead. She watches the boats go by, the dancing light on their decks, the waving sky’s reflections in their wake, muted stars rippling like echoes in the hull-churned surface. It can be lonely, but it’s also peaceful, calming in a way nothing else is, from summer’s cloying night heat to winter’s biting cold, and back and forth, and again, and again. It’s become routine, no matter the city. You joining her has, too. (Which may, admittedly, be the reason it isn’t so lonely at all.)

Firefly wrings her fingers out, a bit cold by now, sighs, and cracks her knuckles one by one. She hears your footsteps along the rainswept roof long before she sees you.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

She knew you’d say that, too. You always do, as if it is a new, wondrous revelation each time, not a habit both of you have fallen into time and time again (just as that very sentence is as well—again and again. She hears you coming and then she can hear it in her mind, far sooner than you actually speak it. I thought I’d find you here. You knew you’d find her here).

She smiles. “You always do.”

There is no part of the script that says anything of this, implicit or explicit, but it happens over and over again regardless: Firefly steps out onto the roof to watch the stars, and you follow approximately fifteen minutes later, just in time for her to begin to feel the chill. (Though she could easily don her armor and chase the cold away herself, she finds that same familiar comfort in allowing you to do it for her.) You say “I knew I’d find you here”, and she says “You always do.”

Or something similar, of course, as this was indeed not part of the script. Sometimes the same, sometimes with a roughness in your voice that comes only with the lingering disruption of sleep, sometimes a bit more exasperated if she promised to stay inside that night to rest. Either way, you are never upset for long, really.

“It’s windy,” you say, slowly sitting yourself down next to her, careful not to slip on the shingles. “And wet. You’re not cold?”

The unmistakable hint of disdain for the weather in your voice makes Firefly laugh.

“Cold? A little.”

You take that as an excuse to inch closer. She doesn’t mind. Not at all.

You take her hand, fingers running over her cold ones, clutching them between your palms until you seem satisfied that they’re warmed. Even then, you continue to hold her.

“They’re pretty,” you murmur, gaze casted up at the little sliver of sky still visible through the encroaching clouds. “The stars.”

She nods. “They are. I wish you could see a Fyrefly—they’re sort of like little stars. They’re truly beautiful.”

You turn to her, a grin on your face. “…Aren’t you one?”

“That’s… not what I meant.”

“I know. But you light up a room enough to be one, I’d say.”

She rolls her eyes, but that smile, that genuinely warm one that comes with the breaking off of a laugh, still tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Light up a room? What, with Sam’s flames?”

“Mhm. Yeah, totally.”

Your head falls against her shoulders, your arms encircling her side. She lets her cold cheek rest against your hair. It’s a strange feeling, no matter how many times it happens, no matter how many quiet nights you and her spend like this, so closely entwined, the same sky envisioned—it surprises her each time, the gentleness of it, the tenderness she feels in your arms. It’s soft, in contrast to tile floors and metal bodies and spindly fingers. The wind blows harder, and with it comes more snow in flurries, tangling in her hair and settling on her skin, melting upon it. You giggle softly, undeterred, and hug her tighter.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back inside?” she asks when you begin to shiver. “I don’t think the snow is going to stop anytime soon.”

“Not until you do.”

“You seem colder than me, though.”

“So?”

“So… why stay out here with me? I don’t want you to freeze.”

You sigh, eyes fluttering closed. A snowflake lands on your eyelash, and she resists the urge to brush it away. “You’ve asked that before.”

“I know,” she says. “You’ve never answered.”

You look up at her then.

“Because I want to, Firefly.”

And it has nothing to do with destiny. Nothing about these moments were ever scripted, nor would they ever be. It was your choice, and it was hers, time and time again. That’s what made it so wonderful.

She knows she should go back inside soon, that she should settle back into her armor and truly rest—she’s been out of it for a while, and it’s probably taking a toll, and she should allow her body to recuperate. But that should be on her terms, too. And, strangely, she’s in a lot less pain than normal, so, for now…

“Can we stay here a bit longer?”

“Of course.”

In your presence, the cold eases just a bit, and when you hold her… Even outside in the midst of winter, Firefly feels something akin to warmth.

With you, it’s never in the extremes.

#⠀⊹ ˖ 𖥸 ─ ASUNDRIES.#hvntersecretsanta #—stellaronhvnters.#firefly x reader

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shannendoherty-fans · 25 days ago

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November 5 to 11 - TV Guide

Shannen Speaks Out

‘Was she a party animal? Is she temperamental? How does she feel about her former 90210 castmates? Shannen Doherty, who stars this week in a TV-movie bio of Margaret Mitchell, answers those questions and more in a lively interview with columnist Liz Smith.

Shannen Doherty: "I'm not a Wild Girl".

Interviewed by Liz Smith. Photographs by Albert Shanchez.

Has she turned over a new leaf—or was her high-living reputation exaggerated in the first place? Heres her side

So, what's a quiet, intelligent, conservative girl doing in the wicked world of show biz? And yes, I am talking about the queen of the vizens, Shannen Doherty. Miss Doherty, 23 and an actress since the age of 10, met with me recently, to promote her NBC movie, “The Margaret Mitchell Story,” and to dispel/explain her tumultuous off-screen image. I knew nothing of Shannen other than her work on “Beverly Hills, 90210,” and her rumored antics via the tabloid press—temperamental on the set, tempestuous in her personal life; a prickly, press-wary young woman. I was warned: Proceed with caution.

Imagine my surprise when I encountered Shannen in the flesh—tiny, very casually dressed, no makeup, hair unruly. She arrived at our appointed spot early, and alone. No press rep, no bodyguard, no escort—not even sunglasses! We spoke for quite awhile, and she answered questions with what appeared to be an impressively realistic view of her own—and others’—shortcomings. She clearly wants to put her past behind her, start anew. That past includes two broken engagements; a brief, sensationally publicized marriage to actor Ashley Hamilton; a reputation as a party girl; and her controversial departure from the show that made her a household name. So here's Shannen, in her own words. Judge for yourself. Personally, I liked her. And I think you would, too—away from the drumbeat of the media.

LIZ SMITH: So, Shannen, tell me about “The Margaret Mitchell Story.” Would it be too absurd to ask if you've read Gone with the Wind?

SHANNEN DOHERTY: No, it wouldn't. I did not read Gone with the Wind, although I've seen the movie, and I read every book on Margaret Mitchell.

LS: Now that we've met, I think you would have made an exciting Scarlett O'Hara. She was a young brunette with beautiful eyes. Did playing in the sequel ever occur to you? Did they ask you?

SD: They didn't ask me. And I probably wouldn't have done it, simply because it's a classic and it would be hard to repeat that without getting completely killed. And I had a much better option, which was Margaret Mitchell. Margaret Mitchell was Scarlett O'Hara.

LS: What appealed to you about her?

SD: She had so many facets to her personality. An outcast, people said awful things about her, but also complex—very, very weak, yet so strong. She was weak in her opinion of herself. She always questioned her ability.

LS: Do you feel that way?

SD: I feel that way constantly. That's something I go through every single day. You know—"Am I good enough to act?”

LS: Let's talk about your earlier character, Brenda, on Beverly Hills, 90210. You know that it's in syndicated reruns now. “The Brenda Years.”

SD: Yes—I'm dying. It was, like, four years ago when we first started. I look so different! Before I discovered tweezers!

LS: There was a feeling, as the show went on, that your character became nasty. Did you or the scriptwriters collaborate on any changes?

SD: No. It was just sort of handed to me. All of a sudden this girl from Minnesota just turned into this Beverly Hills—

LS: Bitch?

SD: Yeah. In one sense it was good, because she was a bit more realistic than the other characters. Look, everybody has a nasty side— this little side that can get very mean. Or very wrapped up in a lifestyle. Especially when they're young. And my character experienced all that.

LS: You had an emotional scene with Tori Spelling in your final show. Her character, a virgin, is upset because her boyfriend slept with another girl.

SD: Tori was such a good friend and we were always so close, working through every problem. So the scene was very real for us because we had both been there, crying, saying, “Why are we hurt?” You know, over guys—over anything.

LS: Are you and Tori still friends?

SD: You know, we don't call each other and hang out like we used to. It's hard. Her father [Aaron Spelling] was my boss, and the whole situation wasn't conducive to our friendship.

LS: Do you have any regrets, then, about leaving the show?

SD: No.

LS: Would you ever return if they asked?

SD: No.

LS: Did: you jump, or were you pushed? SD: I would say it was a mutual thing,

LS: They were fed up with you? You were fed up with them? SD: The truth of it was that you had two egos—the Spelling company and Fox. And I think the things they wanted from me— to talk to them about my personal life, to come to an agreement—I wasn't willing to give. If I'd been willing to give them those things, I would still be on 90210.

LS: In a recent magazine that featured the new 90210, not only was your name on the cover, but you were mentioned everywhere inside. You're historical, darling.

SD: That must be very hard for [the cast] now. …And I'm sure they're all looking and saying, “Well, she’s gone. Now it’s our turn to get out there and shine and get what we deserve.” And they all deserve it. [But] I'm sure the more the press says Brenda, Brenda, Brenda, the more agitated they're going to get.

LS: You think it's self-defeating?

SD: Very. It's like, if you're happy I'm gone, then stop commenting on me. Stop saying things about me…it's petty and childish. I wish them all well. And there are some of that cast that I'm still close to and adore, [but] I don’t need to make any comments. It's in my past.

LS: Do you think of yourself as the temperamental, tempestuous person you've been portrayed as?

SD: No. I really don't. What's interesting is that none of my friends—those who truly know me, my parents, my boyfriend—see me as being temperamental. Because you have to push, push, and push for me to get upset. But, looking back on it now, there was definitely a more diplomatic way for me to handle what I was going through. But I was young…

LS: You've had a lot of notoriety.

SD: The notoriety…all of a sudden being written up in the newspapers—it was like, wow, what's going on? It was confusing, because I don't think you should do things in your personal life differently because you're a role model. But the character should, because younger kids watching the show are impressionable. And I began to complain quite a bit about the show straying away, turning into a soap opera.

At the same time, the flip side of me, the personal side, was enjoying being young. For the first time. I'd been working since I was 10, never really went out and partied. Suddenly you get a hit show and some money, and I just wanted to live life. But they didn’t let me be young. They just turned it into—

LS: That you were wild.

SD: That I was a party animal and I was a wild girl and I'm not. How can I be? I'm from the South. [laughter] You know. I'm a Southern Baptist. I can't be that wild. …I have a conservative point of view. I mean, I'm a Republican.

LS: How do you feel about having started so young? Do you think it's harmful for a child to be thrown into the business?

SD: I think in a lot of ways it was good for me. I learned a lot, fast. And I wasn't pushed by my parents, either. It was my choice. It was something I wanted to do.

LS: You pushed your parents!

SD: I pushed my parents. And they're not very supportive of this business. They're supportive of me, but not this business, because they've seen what it has done. It has hurt me in a lot of ways—hurt my feelings and hurt theirs.

LS: Are you close to them?

SD: Very. I see them almost every day. They're there for me. My dad is an off-shore banker and one of my best friends. My older brother is also a good friend. They are very supportive, very loving.

LS: Yet if you had a child, would you want him or her to go into show biz?

SD: No.

LS: Let's talk some more about the press and your “reputation.” Do you feel you've been misunderstood a lot?

SD: Absolutely. But, like I said, I can’t blame it all on them. I have to take partial blame. You know? I have to. And all I can basically say is, “I'm sorry.” I might have messed up a bit. Certainly nothing I ever did warranted their taking it to the extreme they did.

LS: What if you had been a guy on the show? Would it have happened?

SD: None of this would have happened. I'm a woman, and I'm strong and they said, “Great, we have a new bitch. So let's go after her.” There's not one cast member of 90210 who didn’t throw a tantrum or two themselves.

LS: OK, now I have to ask these tabloid-type questions, because we'd be remiss in our duty if we didn't. What about the reported bad checks you wrote?

SD: Years ago. I have no financial problems now. I have good people working with me. It's time to stop rehashing and move on.

LS: What about reports that you've beaten up past boyfriends, like Judd Nelson?

SD: That's just stupidity on anybody's part. How can anyone look at me—all of 92 pounds—and think I'm beating up some 180-pound guy? A complete and utter lie.

LS: So you never tried to run down a photographer in your Porsche?

SD: No.

LS: What about the explicit scenes you did in “Blindfold,” the USA TV-movie. Did you have second thoughts about those?

SD: First of all, half that stuff wasn't me. It was a body double. And in most of those scenes, my voice was looped in by somebody else. And I didn't know about it until I saw the movie!

LS: And the Playboy photos?

SD: Playboy asked me to pose, for alot of money. And I just didn’t want to. And then a photographer came along—I adore him, Michel Comte—and says he’s doing this safe-sex book for AIDS and asked me to participate. So I do these photos, and all of a sudden they come out in Playboy! I thought they were meant for a book.

LS: There are a couple of more questions the editors insisted we ask: Given the reports of your wild times, is there any history of violence or drinking in your family? Have you ever had any problem with drinking or drugs?

SD: Violence or drinking? Why—because the editors like believing what everybody else believes? I really don't care what they say. I care about what [my new directors and castmates] say. They matter. If they can walk away saying, “She was professional, she showed up on time, she gave 150 percent’—that is what matters to me.

LS: It seemed to me, in covering the story of your marriage, that you and Ashley Hamilton were very much in love. Why couldn't you make it work?

SD: I did love Ashley, but we separated after five months. It was me jumping into something very, very fast before I knew someone. I think it was more of—I needed to feel loved. And I loved him, because I think his heart was very, very good. However, there were things about him that I didn't find out until we were married. Things I couldn't overlook. And it was one of the most unhealthy relationships I've ever been in.

LS: Really.

SD: I wish him well, and I hope he gets past all his problems. But I couldn't be there to… tried. I tried to help him. But I wasn't willing to let myself be destroyed by another person. It was time for me to start taking control of my life. Stop being a victim—of men, the press, my own ideals about marriage. I mean, my parents have been married 28 years!

LS: So you have high expectations?

SD: Very high expectations. I have serious relationships. Unlike the past, the love I have now—{director] Rob Weiss—is my best friend, a teacher. I respect him. And we don't go out much. We prefer to sit home, cook dinner together, write together.

LS: Shannen, you've been great. I was influenced by your tabloid image as a wild, party girl. And I thought if you didn’t like some of the questions, you might storm out or knock me flat.

SD: I'm just a nice, Southern Baptist, Republican girl!

#shannen doherty #1994 #TV Guide #Albert Sanchez #1994 TV Guide #1994 covergirl #1994 magazine #1994 article #magazine article #covergirl #1994 shannen doherty #1994 photoshots #1994 albert sanchez #1990s #1990s magazine #1990s photoshots #1990s shannen doherty #a burning passion: the margaret mitchell story

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sweetswesf · 29 days ago

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Today, a new grad on my shuttle stop expressed that she was stressed. She asked how I liked my new team and was thinking of transferring to a new one. I offered I could help anytime she wanted me to. She said she would reach out. At times I feel ashamed for not having been able to finish out the year with my last team, but it’s stuff like this that reminds me regardless of where God takes me, it’s for a goal and he can always use me at whatever stage I’m at. I’m set up to help her out.

Additionally, today, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I went in to work today and I finally feel like I’m getting back in focus. I’m grateful to be on this team. It feels like a good fit. The best blessing is waking up every day without the immediate overwhelming of stress knowing I would have to interact with a manager and teammates who hated me and thought I was dumb and wanted to get rid of me as my last team did.

Despite not being required to deliver real work right now, I have been taking really good notes. I have been focusing on practicing the main function of my team which is sending a few messages and doing my reading on the goals and objectives of my team, group, department, and side of the business. In this has been reading team charters and attending onsites. Knowing why the heck I’m doing what I am doing technically will help me fit the pieces together and help my BS meter: if something seems contrary to the plans established during planning, I can better tell the health of our side, if someone is lying, if we’re making bet, if we’re needing to throw a Hail Mary, etc. It also just feels good being able to follow the money and objective behind what I’m building to grow my strength of weighing the pros and cons of different approaches to solving a technical problem.

The next phase of my prep will be focusing on diving deep technically. Should I have started there first since I’m a software engineer? Perhaps, but I did a bit, stepped away to look at the forest, and now I can rerun to the trees. I know I mostly attend non-technical meetings with the product teams, so being able to speak their language is key. I won’t have as much time to do that when I’m deep in the weeds in tech, so I’m building the foundation now so I can gain credibility and influence with them since most of my time going forward will be deep in the weeds in tech. Often the business side gets neglected and I don’t want to rely on just the PMs to communicate the business details to me, because they be leaving things out, often unintentionally, because they don’t know what we need to know to build. Because there is a lack of them, they are always busy and sometimes leave critical details that we needed to build out and try to demand we build them last minute. By reading these charters, I hope I am growing my muscle of anticipating the types of challenges and business things I need to build for.

Aside from that, I’m going to resume the study schedule I planned to do daily after work that I set as my resolutions for this year and got so distracted from. YouTube, Pinterest, and Netflix are just too damn expensive for me to be on these days and I have to become detached from watching content on them as frequently as I do. It’s never too late to get back in focus though. There’s still one more month of the year so that I can practice for next year. It sucks that there are so many breaks though that will impact my ability to stay focused on my schedule, but that’s life, and I can’t expect to always be able to control all of my schedule, because that is not life. I need to be more flexible to ensure that I get this study time in. It will be long and feel like nothing for a while, but a little every day will help me go far.

Sidebar: what’s up with people watching videos on their phones on public transit without earplugs!? 🤨🤨🤨 I’m not talking about the regulars that typically do this, I’m talking about people with no presumed mental instability who are also not adolescents. Japanese public transit culture is what we need to adopt, in addition to other parts of their etiquette…

#software engineering #silicon valley #coding #black in tech #codeblr

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mudhamster · 1 year ago

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CHWHWN: 28. December - " 4 days left"

The holidays were a whirlwind of Kacchan's snarky relatives with lots of opinion, way too much food, and mulled wine in the backyard.

It was nothing like the quiet atmosphere he used to share with his mother in the days between Christmas and New Year's. They usually did puzzles, watched TV reruns, or went for walks in the snow. At no time did he feel the urgent need to leave the room to catch his breath.

But with Kacchan, from the moment he set foot in the kitchen as the new odd guy, it was a state of exception. Kacchan fit into the picture like one of a dozen noodles in a pot, but he stood out like the only spinach-flavored fusilli, if you knew what those looked like. Izuku didn't really know why, but it seemed like everyone in this house wanted to meet him. He could tell the difference between Masaru's side of the family and Mitsuki's side of the family by the sheer ferocity with which his hand was shaken. Regardless of the eyes.

At the of the first day, he felt like an over-announced surprise guest who was nothing but a disappointment in the end. (Even if everyone kept telling him how sweet he was). And the uncle, the 'useless' uncle who slept in the guest room, was not useless at all in his opinion. Sure, he didn't design designer clothes or coach the upper class on the latest superfoods or diets… he was 'just' the boss of a giant fast food chain...?!

On the second day of Christmas, when the atmosphere was a little quieter because it was mostly Masaru's relatives sitting around the campfire, Izuku thought for the first time how it would be to actually be here together. How it would make him feel. To be a fully accepted part of the family. To sit around the fire and roast marshmallows as Kacchan's partner every year. Not to burst with emotion when Kacchan brought him a second pillow from inside, seeing that he was cold despite being so close to the fire. He was ready to go all out if the slightest chance presented itself.

Today was Thursday, the second day that the house was empty because everyone was back at work. The uncle had left as well… but the futon (which didn't smell like death, by the way, but rather like antique lavender oil) was still lying next to Kacchan's bed. They could have put it away, but it made sense to sit on it in the evening and watch all the All-Might interviews Kacchan's parents had recorded over the years. And whether it seemed possible or not, there had been two so far that Izuku hadn't known.

At the moment, Izuku was sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper when he heard Kacchan stomping down the stairs. He had a training appointment with Eijirou in a little over an hour, as exemplary as he was.

He heard the classic groan of the handrail as Kacchan skipped the last few steps and jumped straight into the hallway outside the kitchen door, pushing an empty cup next to the coffee pot. Kacchan burst through the door and shot him a smirk when he spotted him at the table. "Anything interesting?" With a hidden smile, Izuku watched as Katsuki poured himself a cup of coffee and slid into the chair opposite him. "Nope. But they've published a calendar of events for New Year's." The newspaper was snatched out of his hand and turned once. While Katsuki skimmed over the listings, Izuku lowered his face into his hand and silently watched as he burned the tip of his tongue on the fresh coffee. Another tiny memory that would burn itself into the corners of his brain forever. Just like the time they spent together in the evening. Or when Mitsuki burnt the crème brûlée at the last moment and kicked them both out with far too much money to buy a replacement dessert. It had been a turbulent few days, but he had never been as happy as he was here with Kacchan. "So, Shrine?" Kacchan asked across the table, turning back the newspaper and marking the shrine he had obviously chosen with a tiny burn mark, "You and me?" He let his eyes wander over the display and took a deep breath. The shrine he had chosen was much more traditional than the one on the outskirts of the city center. They would have to travel some distance out of the city and into the mountains. "What about the rest of your family?" "They come too. Someone has to drive, or do you think I'll take the train in this outfit? Tch." Ah, the outfit. Izuku had thought it was some kind of advertisement… but in fact, the people in front of the shrine among the snowy trees and mountains were exceptionally… colorful. "Do you even have a kimono?" "N-no," he replied, and Kacchan sank back into the chair, his lips curled into a thoughtful pout. Izuku flipped a page, back to the local shrines, and handed the paper back to Kacchan, "I've only ever been normal…" "You've never been inside, to the altar?" …To the altar. Ugh. "No." "Hm." Izuku was burning with curiosity. What kind of altar? But Kacchan closed the newspaper, dumped the rest of his black coffee into the sink and saluted him before leaving him to wonder alone in the kitchen.

#bkdk #mha #bakudeku #izuku midoriya #boku no hero academia #deku #fanfiction #fluff #kacchan #chwhwn #bakugou katsuki #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

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clefaiiiry · 10 months ago

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New Heights, New Depths

more bottom / sub sett agenda

the working title for this was 'wham bam thank you ma'am' just because i thought it was funny

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr - Under Read More

-~*~-

How did he let K’Sante rope him into this?

“Nu-uh, this was your idea!” K’Sante says.

Sett digs in his heels. “Well, maybe for once in my life I had a shitty idea-”

“C’mon, you keep saying you wanna try it,” K’Sante says, all but dragging him down the street.

“Sure, yeah, but there is a huge difference between talking about doing it and actually doing it, ya know?”

K’Sante waves to a guy as they reach the doors and he hauls Sett over the threshold. “Just trust me. Try it once and if you hate it then, hey, at least you gave it a shot.”

He’s right, and he hates when K’Sante is right. He’s always so smug about it. Sett can already hear him now, ‘see? You just gotta push out of your comfort zone!’

If his comfort zone is staying at home watching baking show reruns, then a BDSM club was probably the furthest away he could get.

Part of him regrets asking K’Sante what the deal was with that necklace he never took off. A day collar, he’d called it, from Yone. That opened a whole goddamn rabbit hole and left him feeling like he was fifteen again, trying to hide his search history from his momma.

He’s had sex, has even been told he’s pretty good at it, and obviously he’s watched plenty of porn, he was a guy-

But learning how vanilla all his experience was shattered any kind of self conceptualisation he’d managed since his teenage years.

“There’s nothing wrong with vanilla,” K’Sante had said, but that shit was like Pandora’s box; once it was open Sett couldn’t leave it alone.

So now he’s here, hanging outside Targon dressed like a damn nun compared to the outfits some folks were walking in wearing. No judgement, show it off if you’ve got it and all that, he just felt very overdressed. And like a total loser.

At least he wasn’t as much of a loser as Ezreal was for staying home. Loser.

Once they get inside, K’Sante stops to chat with another friend and retrieves a little yellow wristband from the basket on the door for himself. He whistles to catch Sett’s attention and his ears swivel first before he turns.

“Hey, you’re a sub, right?”

“What if I don’t know I’m a switch yet?”

K’Sante gives him a look. “Are you being serious?” He plucks a blue wristband from the basket and tosses it to Sett. “Yellow for doms, blue for subs, green for switches.”

Sett rolls his eyes, but accepts the stupid little wristband anyways.

Initially, it looks like any other club and a pretty tame one at that. Now, Sett was nearing his thirties and hadn’t been clubbing for years, but he was struggling to remember why he enjoyed it so much. His ears flatten against his head to attempt to block out the pretty horrendous electronic crap coming through the speakers. Someone’s being hauled off the dancefloor after nearly passing out, but they still seemed to be having a good time.

He stays close to K’Sante as they pass through, heading to a heavy curtain at the back. It’s sectioned off with velvet rope, bright purple LED trimmed above the entryway. A woman stands to one side, pretending to look busy on a tablet.

“No,” she says without looking up and before K’Sante even has a chance to open his mouth.

He laughs, casual and suave as usual, leaning forward in that way that made anyone swoon. “Awh, c’mon Leo, I’ll vouch for him.”

Unfortunately for K’Sante, this woman is immune to his charms. “You know the rules,” she says, ponytail swinging as she finally meets his eyes, “he needs an application before he can come in. Really, what did you think I was going to say?”

“Look, if he gets into any trouble it’ll be on me. Please?”

“No. Because it won’t fall back on you, it’ll fall back on me.”

K’Sante groans and rubs his face. “Can I go in and find the guy I’m looking for, at least?”

“Fine,” she says, unclipping the rope and holding it to one side.

K’Sante glances back to Sett. “Get a drink, chat someone up,” he waves a hand, “I dunno, unwind a little.”

K’Sante abandons him before he can object.

Sett hovers awkwardly for a few seconds longer before he drifts off toward the bar. He leans against the counter trying to appear comfortable, like he actually knew what he was doing, though he wonders how convincing he could really be when his ears are still flat against his head. It wasn’t his fault, the bass was particularly loud in this corner.

God, what was he, sixty? Complaining about noise? Kayn was right, he really is a momma’s boy.

This should not be so-

“Good evening.”

An older woman perches on the stool beside him, swirling her drink. He thinks she’s Ottrani vastaya but honestly can’t tell, her ears just barely poking out from her fluffy hair. He notes her wristband, yellow.

“I’m urh, waiting for someone.” Smooth Sett, real smooth.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re here with K’Sante,” she says, “you just looked utterly terrified all on your lonesome.”

“What, me? Nah, I’m fine. Totally fine.”

She smirks. “Then you won’t mind if I just chat with my new friend.”

“Typically you give your friends a name.”

She places her free hand over her chest. “I’m Soraka.”

“Sett. So, you come here often?”

Conversation flows so naturally it’s quite easy to forget where he is. If not for the occasional people covered in leather heading into the VIP area, he could forget why they were actually there. Soraka’s voice is steady, warm, eases his gnawing uncertainty. She offers to buy him a drink and when he declines she only smiles, tells him everything will be fine and he honestly believes her. Is she the kind of woman Ezreal would go nuts over? Is she a milf? He's not sure if she’s old enough but he’s sure as hell not gonna ask.

They’ve probably been chatting for about twenty minutes when he spots K’Sante again, returning from the VIP area with another man. He’s a pretty thing, slim and tall, geometric ink trailing up his arms, boots landing with a heavy thunk at every step.

Then he taps at K’Sante’s shoulder to get his attention and raises his arms, hands moving rapidly.

Oh, he signs.

“And he’s not going to cause trouble?”

“He's a good guy,” he hears K’Sante say over the music, “don’t worry about it.”

The man hums, glancing over. Even in the low light, those eyes are piercing, trying to pick him apart from across the room. Sett averts his own.

“Oh, he’s setting you up with Aphelios,” Soraka huffs over the rim of her glass, “you really are after a workout, aren’t you?”

“Should I be scared?”

Soraka laughs. “Only if that’s what you’re into. He can be just a little intense, is all.”

Sett scoffs, leaning back against the bar. “I can handle intense just fine.”

She only stares at him, then finishes her drink. “Have fun,” she says, melodic and sweet, then rises to her feet and twirls away back over to the dancefloor.

Since K’Sante’s been gone, he’s managed to get glitter in his beard. Sett decides he’s better off not asking. K’Sante gestures to the man at his side as they close in.

“Sett, this is Aphelios. Aphelios, this is Settrigh.”

Sett cringes, extending his hand. “Sett is fine.”

Aphelios gives him a once over from head to toe, expression impassive, arms crossed over his chest. The moment drags with all the grace of a limping hound.

Hey buddy, wanna shake my damn hand yet? You’re only making me look like a total asshole-

Finally, he takes it with a little nod. His hand is colder than Sett expects. “A pleasure. K’Sante says you’re new to all this.”

“Ha, he’s sharing all my secrets already?” He grits out, shooting K’Sante a glance, who only shrugs.

Aphelios taps K’Sante’s shoulder, then signs, “Maybe you should book him with Soraka instead? Or Alune even.”

“No way, they ain’t got a session for weeks. Besides, you were the one mad about a cancellation.”

“Usually that’s what waiting lists are for.”

“Consider it a favour owed.”

Aphelios lets out a deep, long sigh through his nose. He closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair. He’s got a cute little cowlick that flicks back up as soon as he moves his hand away.

Then he signs, “Fine, let’s talk.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” K’Sante says with a grin, “Yone’s waitin’ in the back.” And he’s gone again. For such a huge guy, man he can move.

Yone’s here too? No wonder he’s so desperate to ditch him-

“What is it you’re looking for?” Aphelios says, leaning against the bar in a manner much too casual for the environment.

It takes him a few seconds to register that Aphelios has asked him a question. Sett shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s embarrassing-”

Aphelios scoffs. “Look where you are. Whatever you want, I’ve probably heard it before. You can’t surprise me.”

It was Sett’s turn to size him up and yeah, he could believe that. Still, verbalising it seems impossible.

“I- I wanna- I’d like to- Urgh.” He takes a breath, then forces it out. “I’m the boss all the time. Everyday, every hour- Ya know, it’s exhausting.” His ears pin back against his head and he averts his eyes. “I guess I just wanna not be the boss for a while.”

Aphelios stares at him for a moment longer, then waves to catch Soraka’s attention. He makes a vague gesture, but she understands, slipping through the crowd toward them.

“Sure,” Aphelios says, “we can figure something out.”

When Soraka gets to them, she slips a little business card into Sett’s hands with a nudge and a wink.

“Go the the website and fill in the form before-” Aphelios furrows his brows in thought for a moment. “-Friday?”

Sett huffs through his nose. “I can do Saturday.”

Aphelios lips twitch into a smile. “That works. I’ll text you.”

-~*~-

‘This form is the beginning of negotiations. Please make sure to communicate!’

‘Remember the question, “What do you mean by _____?”’

The negotiation side made the whole process way less sexy than Sett would have liked. He was expecting maybe, two pages max, but after page five this was starting to feel like it would never end.

Kink etiquette, ID checks, STI checks, yadda yadda- if he knew it was gonna be this complicated to get smacked around he would have just gotten into a street fight.

“Hey, at least it’s thorough,” K’Sante had said.

Sett only groans and continues swiping through all the options, each to be marked Yes, No, Not Sure, or Discuss Further.

Does the submissive wish to receive pain? Does the submissive wish to resist? Does the submissive wish to be restrained?

Bondage, collaring, leather, latex, gags, blindfolds, rope, chains, tape, wax-

Sett ends up marking half his answers as ‘not sure’ or ‘discuss further.’

Once it’s complete, Aphelios sends him a text the following evening. He communicates mostly in emojis so it initially takes Sett a few reads to understand what he’s actually saying. He sends through an attachment of his own form and tells Sett to read it.

Sett skips most of the boring parts, swiping and skim reading through the pages until he finds,

What will the submissive call the dominant? BOSS

Oh, the motherfucker-

“Boss? Really?” Sett laughs. At least that meant he was attentive. That’s probably a good trait for a dom to have, right? He tries to remember his own answers to the equivalent question,

What will the dominant call the submissive? Mutt, Pet

Those weren’t too out there, besides they could always up the ante if they weren't doing it for him.

Aphelios’ form is much more certain than Sett’s. It’s an interesting read, and he actually manages it with a mostly straight face. Aphelios, as it turns out, is more than willing to throw his punches. Happy to inflict high levels of pain, to tease, to withhold or ruin orgasms. Choking, waxplay, sensory deprivation, it seems Aphelios is open to pretty much anything so long as he was the one calling the shots. The ‘no’s were minimal, mostly reserved for more specific kinks that even Sett had turned his nose up at, but one catches his interest,

Is the dominant open to switching? Yes | No | Not Sure | Discuss Further

Sett debates asking about that one, since he’s such a nosy fucker, but decides it’s probably best left unprodded.

His phone pings again and he’s been sent another cryptic string of emojis. Once he deciphers them, he figures out Aphelios is asking if there’s anything in particular that he’d want for his first scene.

‘Surprise me,’ Sett sends back, even though it felt like tempting fate.

He gets a little devil face in response.

-~*~-

Saturday is upon him before he can even blink. Sett is totally prepared and absolutely not pacing a dent into the apartment floor.

“Quit freaking out. It’s just a scene. It’s not like you’re going on a date or whatever,” K’Sante had said.

“What if I’m so great it turns into a date?”

K’Sante had laughed. “Sure, keep dreaming, buddy.”

A few hours later, Sett finds himself standing outside Targon again. He stares up at the glowing neon sign for approximately ten minutes before he works up the nerve to finally walk inside. It’s very much the same as it had been last time, though he doesn’t stop to collect a wristband on the way in. The bouncer on the VIP section is the same redhead woman as last time, though if she recognises Sett she doesn't show it.

“I’m here for Aphelios?” he says.

“Sorry,” she says, though is anything but sincere, “he only does by appointment and he’s booked up for months.”

“No, I’m his date, or whatever.”

She blinks, then her lips twist into a smile. “Ah, you’re Sett! Yes, he said you’d probably be early. Can I just ask you to sign here-”

When he’s finally let in, she tells him to wait while she informs Aphelios, and Sett finds it difficult to look, well, anywhere. He doesn’t want to stare but since most people in here are half naked or covered in latex that’s a pretty tough task. Is that guy wearing a dog tail buttplug? Yep, he sure is. Good for him. That lady’s being used as a footstool? Hope her back is alright- Is that a pair of subs in a cage? How would he feel in a cage? It’s really too much for him to process at the moment.

He retreats to the wall and leans back against it, tapping an offbeat rhythm on his knees. It strikes him how much it feels like he’s waiting for the headmaster to show up and scold him.

He had marked all the role play options as ‘discuss further’-

A hand taps at his shoulder and he jerks from his thoughts. Though his expression is neutral, Aphelios offers a cute little wave.

“Oh, hey,” Sett says, really hoping he comes across as nonchalant and not like he’s currently shitting a brick, “You urh, you weren’t stood there long, were ya?”

Aphelios shakes his head and gestures for Sett to follow. No point standing on ceremony.

They head further into the VIP area and down a corridor at the back, Aphelios moving swiftly as Sett strides to keep up. It’s quieter back here, the thrum of music from the main room only a distant rumble. There’s signs along the walls, informing about club rules, consent, protection, all the formalities. Most of the rooms are free as they pass, but the night is still young.

The room they end up in is at the end of the corridor, one Aphelios unlocks with a keycard. It’s almost sterile, with dark walls and vinyl flooring. There’s a low bench along one wall, a table against the opposite. There is a bed, but the mattress is all leather so he can’t imagine it’s particularly comfortable. A kneeler is shoved off to one side, out of use for tonight it seems.

Aphelios dumps his phone and keys on the table where there’s already a bottle of water, condensation dripping down the outside. He waits until Sett closes the door behind them before he signs,

“You didn’t put anything for safewords so we’ll use traffic lights. If you’re happy to continue, you say green. If you want me to slow down, you say yellow. If you need to stop completely, you say red. Do not hesitate with your safewords, do you understand?”

“Sounds good.”

“Since you won’t always be able to see my hands, I’ll snap my fingers when I wish to speak with you.”

It all feels very professional, way too formal. Then again, Sett reminds himself of the sheer amount of paperwork it took to even get into this room so he really should have expected it. He peers at the table and feels the sting of disappointment when he realises there aren’t any toys or tools he can see.

Aphelios sees his expression and says, “I want to figure out your limits, especially since you’re new to all this.”

Sett scoffs. “I ain’t soft.”

“I never said that.” He’s frowning as he signs it, brows furrowed tightly. “Besides, I can ruin you just fine without striking you once.”

Oh, he likes the sound of that. “Then ruin me, pretty boy.”

Aphelios raises his chin, lips twitching. “As long as we’re in this room, you call me boss. Is that clear?”

He nods a little too eagerly, then realises his mistake. “As day, boss.”

Aphelios hums. “Undress, then kneel here.”

Fortunately, Sett had the forethought not to wear complicated layers, so his shirt is off before Aphelios even finishes his sentence. He’s probably a little too keen on this, but he’s been patient enough already. He just wants some damn action already. His belt clinks as he tosses his clothes over in the vague direction of the bed. Then a moment of hesitation as his fingers hover over the waistband of his underwear, and he glances back up. Aphelios nods, so he takes them off too.

Once he’s down on his knees, Aphelios takes a step toward him, expression impassive, almost bored. But behind that facade is a distinct, primal hunger that leaves Sett feeling smaller than he ever has.

He wants more.

“Don’t slouch, fix your posture.”

It doesn’t occur to Sett that he could disobey. There’s nothing forcing him, but still he finds himself following the order without hesitation. He’s already half hard and should probably feel a modicum of shame for that, but finds himself uncaring. He sits up straighter, chin raised.

Aphelios continues signing, “Keep your hands behind your back. Hold your wrist if you have to, but keep them there.”

Sett does as he’s told, resting his hands at the small of his back. The way his tail tickles his arms is oddly grounding.

“Good. Very good.”

Pride wells up in his chest and Sett can’t resist a grin. Aphelios’ expression darkens.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. I haven’t touched you yet.”

“Sorry, boss.”

Aphelios bares his teeth and, after one last disinterested glance up and down, circles around behind him out of sight.

His ears perk, following every movement intently. Fingers idly play with the tip of one, carefully rubbing the soft fur. Sett remains firm, determined not to sink so quickly.

Lithe hands trail down Sett’s throat, tilt his jaw up so he sits straight. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows involuntarily, clutching his wrist. Aphelios doesn’t squeeze, but his hand lingers, firm and unyielding. Sett’s a big guy, he could probably throw him off if he really wanted to, but there’s something about the illusion of helplessness that has him panting.

Then he’s forcing Sett’s chin upward, far enough to strain, back arching. Sett shudders as Aphelios’s trails his nails down, digging in minutely and his breath stutters in his throat.

“Fuck,” Sett grunts, but stays put, a dull ache building in his wrist from his nails. That earns him a little scratch at the base of his ear. He groans, ear flicking instinctively, ticklish.

Aphelios leans up, pulling Sett back just a little further to meet him halfway. Lips tease the soft, wispy fur at the tips of his ears and he can’t help but shudder against the sensation.

Then there’s teeth and Sett yelps, the sound melting into a needy whimper as Aphelios tugs at his ear. He’s not biting hard, but it’s enough to send sparks down his spine.

Aphelios’s free hand follows the curve of his back, appreciating the muscle beneath his fingers. Aphelios’ hands are cold, or maybe Sett is just burning hot, but it leaves him squirming against the sensation.

“Aphelios-”

He withdraws completely and Sett whines.

“Wait-”

Aphelios circles around to stand in front of him, painted lips twisting in contempt, in pure disgust. “If you can’t be a good mutt, then you don’t get touched.”

It takes a moment to realise he’s slouched again and Sett chokes around a whimper as he sits straight. “I’m sorry, boss. I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good.”

There’s a hand on his jaw then, squeezing. Sett pants, lets his face be tilted upward to meet those piercing eyes.

Aphelios raises his free hand then, “Open your mouth.”

He does. Aphelios squeezes even tighter.

“Wider.”

Sett whines and opens as wide as he can.

Aphelios huffs through his nose. Then he spits in Sett’s waiting mouth, clamps it shut, and presses his free hand over his lips. He doesn’t need to sign for the next command.

Swallow.

Sett’s eyes roll back as he does so, holding his breath until Aphelios steps back and removes his hands. He opens his mouth again to show his obedience, tail wagging against his hands.

“So, you can follow an order.” Aphelios huffs through his nose and squats in front of him, head tilted. “And you’re already in such a state.”

Sett can’t help but squirm under such scrutiny. “Boss, please.”

“Please what?” He signs and the fucker tries to stifle the smirk on his face, tries to maintain the impassive, mildly annoyed expression. “Use your words, pet.”

“Please touch me.”

Aphelios reaches out and slides his fingers into Sett’s hair, rubbing at the base of his ear. A purr rumbles up from his chest before he can push it back down and Sett leans into the sensation, closing his eyes, letting himself drift.

There’s a snap of fingers and it takes a moment for his muddy mind to comprehend. Sett blinks a few times, then sits straight, wrists at the small of his back.

Aphelios watches him intently, lets him stew in it for a while longer before he slides a hand down Sett’s flushed, damp chest. Even such a slight touch has him arching forward, groaning.

It’s agonising watching those fingers dance their way down, slowly, so slowly. He tries to steady his breathing, spreads his knees a little wider as if it could tempt him.

But Aphelios does not budge, in fact his hand stops just inches from where Sett needs them and he realises he’s shaking.

Aphelios scoffs. “So desperate.”

Sett tries to roll his hips, only minutely, praying to whatever god would listen that Aphelios wouldn’t notice, but of course he does and removes his hand in punishment.

“Fuck. Boss, please- please touch me.”

“I already did,” he signs innocently, “wasn’t that enough? Such a demanding little mutt, aren’t you?”

Sett’s ears are flat against his head as he tries in vain to still his quivering hips. “Boss, please touch my cock, please-” He licks his lips, whines oh so sweetly. “I’ll do anything! Please!”

That earns him a hand on his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. Sett shoves into it like a man starved, gazing at him with the prettiest flushed cheeks. Aphelios pats his cheek twice, a condescending slap with barely any force. Sett whines despite it.

“Open.”

Sett does as he’s told and Aphelios presses two fingers inside, pushing down on his tongue.

“Suck.”

And by God, Sett licks and sucks like he might die tomorrow, vulgar filthy noises tumbling from his throat. He takes them as deep as he can, gagging and choking around them in earnest. There’s drool spilling from his lips, down his chin. He must look like such a mess-

Then there’s a hand on his cock and it’s like his entire existence has led to this moment. Sett keens around the fingers, the sound cut off by another gag as he fights to take them deeper.

There’s red rising in Aphelios’ cheeks, a small victory compared to the absolute state Sett is in. His hand is slick, Sett has no fucking idea when he had time to lube it up but he’s not complaining as it slides in a slow, harsh rhythm. Up, down, up-

Heat keeps building in his gut, swirling and molten and Sett feels like he’s going to explode. He can’t stop the way his hips jut upward, but the pathetic little whimper he delivers afterward seems to be a good enough apology.

The fingers in his mouth are cruelly withdrawn and Sett is left freely to spew soaked, filthy noises from his worn throat. It’s all surging too quickly, he’s dizzy and his cock is soaked, he’s so fucking hard-

He doesn’t want this to be over so soon-

“Boss, wait- I can’t- I’m gonna-”

Aphelios hisses and it takes a long moment to realise that he’s trying to hush him. His free, spit covered hand rises into view. “It’s okay, pet, you can cum.”

Sett can’t construct a response before he’s jerking his hips and crying out as that heat erupts. He cums harder than he has in months, dimly aware of the way it splatters across the floor. He rides out every second, until his stomach starts to hurt and his cock starts to burn from overstimulation. He tries to pull back but Aphelios forces his hips back down. He’s still going.

“Boss, I can’t- I can’t- it hurts-”

Aphelios coos and snaps his fingers so Sett looks up. His smile is wicked, his tongue peeking out between his lips. Oh, he’s evil.

His hand keeps moving until Sett is crying, until his throat is raw from his pathetic sobbing, wriggling beneath Aphelios’ iron hold.

But he doesn’t safeword, doesn’t let go of his wrist.

Finally, finally, Aphelios releases him and Sett can’t stop himself flopping to the ground with a heavy thud, panting and gasping for precious air. He’s quaking violently now, every muscle aching from strain.

His vision is blurred, everything hurts, he’s pretty sure he’s landed partially in his own spend. He’s so cold, reality feels so distant and alien.

He’s not even sure where Aphelios has gone, not even the vague notion of where he could be in the small room. Sett wracks his brain, pure mush, trying to recall what he’d put down for aftercare-

“I won’t need anythin’,” he’d said to K’Sante.

“You just want him to leave you there after? Not even a pat on the head?”

“Why not? I can take a beatin’, no problem.��

He hadn’t understood K’Sante’s insistence at the time but right now? Crumpled on the ground, shaking and nauseous?

This sucks, it sucks so hard. He feels like he’s about to puke-

There’s a quiet sound beside him and he looks up as Aphelios sits beside him, cross-legged, watching intently for a few long seconds.

Then he opens his arms. An invitation, one Sett takes with embarrassing haste. He can’t quite get upright, so shuffles across the floor until he can rest his head in Aphelios’ lap, a torn breath ripping from his chest and pittering into a sob. Aphelios only strokes his hair, his other hand reaching downward, curling around his shoulders. Sett’s arms snake around Aphelios’ waist, clinging to him like a lifeline.

If it bothers him, Aphelios doesn’t make it obvious.

He leans down, curling around him almost protectively, like nothing in the world could touch him as long as Aphelios was there. And in the back of his lucid mind, he honestly believes it.

Slowly, very slowly, Sett starts to ground himself, the little coil he’s wound himself up into finally starting to loosen. He blinks a few times, then reality crashes back into him.

“Fuck,” he says, shooting up to a sitting position. How he doesn’t headbutt Aphelios on the way up, he has no idea. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Aphelios smiles. A little thing, a barely-there twitch of his lips, but it utterly bewitches Sett in an instant. His heart feels ready to burst from his chest.

“Do you feel any better?” he asks.

“Yeah! Yeah… Tired.”

Aphelios snorts. “That’s pretty standard.”

He moves closer, carefully guiding Sett to lean against him again. Sett’s head ends up on his shoulder, kneeling before him as Aphelios strokes through his hair. He drifts, sluggish and heavy, kinda like how he feels after too long a workout.

“Hey, wait- wait,” Sett blurts out, “I didn’t get you off.” He reaches out with his lead hands-

Aphelios catches them and jerks back, eyes wide, manic almost. Sett recoils.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“You sure? I’m more than happy to!” I really want to, please let me-

Aphelios only smiles. “That’s very sweet of you, but it’s fine, really.” Then after a pause, he adds, “maybe next time?”

Sett’s ears perk and his tail wiggles. “Next time?”

“Sure, if you’re up for another round.”

“I can handle anything you throw at me, boss.”

A mischievous smirk spreads over his features. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Sett looks around for his clothes, tries to stand- and crumples. Aphelios is there to ensure he doesn’t smash his knees but Sett is more astonished that he can handle the weight without even a stagger.

It does feel a little embarrassing, being led over to the bench and having his clothes handed over like he’s totally shitfaced, but it’s kinda nice being taken care of.

Aphelios makes certain he isn’t going to slump over, then passes him the water bottle from the table. While Sett sips, he signs,

“Let me call you a cab.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I can-”

“I insist.”

Maybe he’s just too goddamn tired, but Sett feels he doesn’t have much room to argue back.

#league of legends #settphel #sett league of legends #aphelios league of legends #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #my writing

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beezusvreeland · 1 year ago

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a very good idea - chapter 4

summary: After your boyfriend cheats on you at a party, you break up with him, who tells you nobody else is willing to be with you like him. You decide to prove him wrong, with a little help from a new friend.

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader

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Chapter 4

You had more homework than the regular person and not just because you were taking some advanced classes. Before your side hustle, you would babysit kids in your neighborhood during the week and work as a waitress on events organized by your brother-in-law’s catering business on the weekends.

You’ve had summer jobs before, but when high school came around, your mom got really sick and it took doctors a few months to come to the conclusion that she was exhausted. The burnout type of exhaustion. She started seeing a psychiatrist and, stubborn as always, went right back to her two jobs. You and your sister Jenna had to bargain a lot, but at last convinced her to quit at least one of them and let the two of you help her.

All the money from the babysitting and waitressing went to house and health bills, mostly your mom’s. You very quickly realized that, unless you got an all inclusive scholarship, your chances of going to college were zero to none. Attending college had been your dream since you were a kid, when you’d watch reruns of Felicity with Jenna, both of you fascinated with all the classes and drama the protagonist went through. Your mom didn’t have the opportunity to go to college and, when your sister’s time came, she chose to focus on working in restaurants, learning as much as she could so she could open her bakery someday. When she met her husband Mike, they united their toothbrushes and business aspirations. Now he would organize events and she would develop a menu for them. You’ve loved the way they were each other’s biggest fans. They were your idea of what a loving relationship should be. Mikes were really hard to find, though.

The first time you hung out at Harry’s Manhattan penthouse, some of his friends were there. You thought maybe you and Harry could watch a movie and spend time with each other, but obviously that wouldn’t happen.

Harry was different when his friends were around: louder, he would drink more and more arrogant, whatever it took for boys like Flash Thompson and Eddie Brock to laugh and agree with him.

Flash was complaining about how he had to turn in an essay about the Wall Street Crash of 1929.

“It’s so fucking boring, who cares what happened literally a hundred years ago”, Flash said, like doing the paper was the worse thing could ever happen to someone. “The only interesting thing about Wall Street is the Wolf and Margot Robbie.”

It took a lot of effort for you not to roll your eyes.

“Don’t turn that shit in, then”, Eddie said, making Harry laugh and shake his head.

“My dad said that if I don’t get at least a C, I can kiss the Dubai trip goodbye.”

“A C?”, you gasped, in spite of yourself.

“I know right, it fucking sucks”, Flash looked at you, all serious.

That was a little too much for you. Forgetting to care how Harry and his friends perceived you for a moment, you said: “Gosh, I could write a C type of essay about anything in an hour”.

“Well, write mine, then.”

You finally gave into the need to roll your eyes, then looked at him.

“For 200 dollars I just might”, you joked.

However, Flash took his wallet from his back pocket and gave the money to you. Just like that. Like it was nothing. It probably was nothing to him, but to you, that money was really valuable. That’s how you have justified your hustle since then: you would write reports and essays for some of the rich kids from school and earn enough to help out at home and save for college. It was a perfect scheme, unless someone found out, which you (and your clients, really) have been really careful to prevent.

***

After an hour inside the library, you still had to finish a book report of your own, so you took your things and decided to go to the basketball court. Miguel’s practice hadn’t even started yet, he and some other boys, including Miles, paid attention to what their coach was saying.

You climbed a few steps and sat at the bleachers. Before opening your copy of Hamlet , you observed your surroundings. Besides the basketball team, there were a few freshman kids ready to watch the practice, as well as some girls you recognized from the hallways.

The coach whistled loudly and the boys clapped their hands, scattering through the court to start playing. Miles saw you and waved. Miguel turned to see who his friend was smiling at, his eyes finding yours. You gave him a shy wave, which he responded to with a nod, turning back to his teammates.

You felt disappointed at that. Your mind was telling you to stop being stupid, that you had no business having any expectations at all. But you also remembered his smile a few hours before, at lunch. He had a really beautiful smile. You wished it wasn’t a rare occurrence.

You tried to focus on the book, which you had already read, a pencil and a highlighter in hand. During your reading process, you used post-its to mark pages that had scenes and dialogues that could be useful remembering while writing the report. You always felt grateful to your past self.

Sounds of sneakers gliding on the court’s shiny floor and the ball being thrown and caught filled your ears in an almost relaxing way.

“Why is she even here?”, you heard a voice saying not so quietly on your right.

You pretended not to hear, struggling to read the same sentence for the third time.

“Probably trying to find a rebound”, the two girls laughed at the pun. “It’s kind of desperate, if you ask me.”

Dealing with Harry was hard enough, but people you have never spoken to before? Who were they to say anything about you? Why did they even care? And, most of all, why did those stupid comments hurt you?

“Hey!”

Looking up, your eyes meet Miguel’s again, but this time he climbs the steps, stopping one before where you were. He took his hoodie off, the white shirt underneath going up with it, before coming down all together. It was so quick, but you swore seeing a part of his six pack awakened something in you.

Miguel put his hand through his hair, trying to put it back in place. He proceeded to fold his hoodie and get on his knees, his long arms offering it to you.

“Can you hold this for me?”, Miguel asked, sounding so sweet, yet another thing you weren’t prepared for. He was so close to you, you could see a few of his sweat droplets in great detail.

“Yeah”, you nodded, feeling his hand palm one of your cheeks, while his lips kissed the other.

He went back to the court in what felt like too soon. You put your hand where his was just a moment before, you could feel the heat spread through your face. Back at the court, Miguel was smiling at himself and, next to you, the girls stood in absolute silence.

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<< chapter 3

>> chapter 5

all chapters

______________________________________________________________

a very good idea playlist

#a very good idea #oscar isaac fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #harry osborn x reader #miguel o'hara #gwen stacy #peter b. parker #hobie brown #miles morales #jessica drew #friends to lovers #unrequited crush #Spotify

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genericpuff · 2 years ago

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always wanted to make one of those 'day in the life' posts so here u go!

TW/CW: Tattoo needles, mild blood/mentioning of blood

ima be honest with you, sometimes those 'day in the life' reels on tiktok n junk annoy the piss out of me because they seem so disingenuous, but that's honest to god probably just my executive dysfunction being salty because there's no way in HELL i'm gonna be on some 'grind' where i'm getting up at 6 am to make smoothies and do a workout before i have to go to actual work, i can't with that and i struggle to fathom anyone else doing that consistently LMAO (but i know there are and y'all are a different breed, i wouldn't be able to do it LOL)

like i literally get up anywhere between 30-10 minutes before i gotta catch the bus to go to work-

(understand that i can only get away with doing this because the bus stop is LITERALLY RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY HOUSE LMAOOO i could also just as easily walk , work is about 15-20 minutes away, but like... i don't wanna when i could just sleep in for another 15-20 minutes LOL)

most of my mornings consist of battling with myself to get out of bed until the last possible minute and then hoping the bus isn't early so i don't miss it on account of my own executive dysfunction, paired with timmy's because i'm a canadian hoser, buds.

i'm actually pretty hyped though for that apartment move at the start of april because as soon as we've moved, we'll be even CLOSER to my work to the point i won't even have to catch the bus anymore, you can literally see the new place out my work window. watch me find ways to still be late for work LMAO

anyways. i got off kinda easy today because NORMALLY i have to get up earlier as most of the time my appointments start at 1 PM, but I only had one appointment today and we had booked it for 3 so I got to sleep in a bit longer <3 This was the design I had made up for them (a sternum piece):

but then it turned out i had completely neglected the one change they wanted, which was to make the middle flower a lotus flower. thank god for my ipad, having the ability to change up designs on the go was half the reason I bought it ~

easy fix uwu

as for the setup, my tattoo setup is pretty simple, the machine isn't actually ready to go yet but i usually set that up after the stencil is applied to give the stencil time to sit and dry (and i don't like having nothing to do while i wait):

(the actual machine once it's wrapped):

it was a full kitchen in the shop today meaning me, my boss, and my two other coworkers who work in the open area were all working and having a good time. one of my other coworkers wasn't in today but they work in a separate private room so the main area itself was full. sometimes i'll come in and i can tell who was in first based on what's playing on the TV. if it's documentaries or reruns of old comedy shows (like the Office) I know it's my boss, if it's reality TV then I know it's L, and if it's music from Spotify then it's usually my other coworker S.

It was S today :' )

here's the actual stencil on the skin! my client is an old pal who i've tattooed a couple times and was thankfully okay with me taking pics and posting these ~ (haha, no female presenting nipples here, tumblr!)

as you can probably see I had to take a marker to the tail and redraw it so it would go around the belly button, originally the stencil went right thru it and wouldn't have looked good

but guess what? didn't matter anyways because the fucking stencil wouLDN'T FUCKING STICK. like, as soon as I started working on it, I realized it was gonna be one of those stencils, the kind that wipe away INSTANTLY. I think it was a combination of just the placement (backs and sternums don't tend to hold as well) as well as her skin type (not all skin types hold onto stencils and ink equally) and the fact that it was hotter in the shop than it usually is which amounted to a bit of sweat (esp in the belly area where things tend to be a lot warmer) which resulted in the stencil not holding in the slightest. y'all it was STRESSFUL and even after I tried to re-apply the stencil again as best as I could (with the tattoo already in progress and the old stencil pretty much gone) it STILL wouldn't hold, so I essentially had to bloodline the whole thing (i.e. line it in so lightly and quickly just to get SOMETHING visible in there after the stencil disappeared. half the lines weren't even genuine lines, just the tiniest faintest impressions that mostly consisted of blood, but still better than nothing).

eventually my coworkers had all clocked out for the day so i was the last one standing, meaning I got control over the Spotify >:D

(and played pretty much the exact same music my coworker would have because we have the exact same tastes in music lmao)

so this is where i had to re-stencil because the original stencil i had put on was wiping away like crazy, but then the second stencil ended up being just as shitty. like you can see where i had to put the lines in 'good enough' near the top because even the shoddy stencil redo was GONE as i was working on it, and it created this sort of cyclical problem where i couldn't just not wipe while i worked because that would result in there being ink anywhere so i couldn't see what i was doing... but then i would wipe to clean it up and poof stencil gone. it was a nightmare and stressed me out but big thanks to my client for understanding and trusting the process <3

because even tattoos are allowed to have an ugly stage before they look good ~

all in all i'm pretty happy with how it came out in the end, the process definitely didn't go as smoothly as i had initially hoped and i would have liked to spend more time on the actual lining process in the beginning, but i had to rush that shit. thankfully as soon as that foundation was laid, it gave me time to just go in and tighten up those lines, a lot of this ended up being freehand compared to what i had planned on doing :' )

(the best part is this client has two lil' dermals just an inch or so above the tattoo that the snake's face and tongue line up perfectly with, it's adorable haha)

either way, that was my day at the shop, i was the last one there so it was on me to settle the debit/credit machine, set the alarms and have everything ready for another day tomorrow!

very appropriate music for the last track of the day lmao and our shop pet, Smaug, poked his head out to say hello!

for the most part, a good day! aside from that stupid stencil giving me a hard time, it was still pretty chill, came out to be a 3 hour day, I showed up around 2:30, my appointment started at 3 and we were all done by 5:30, left just in time to go pick up some sushi takeout and catch the next bus home <3

(have I ever shown my face on my Tumblr before??? if not, here's me!)

My job's pretty cool. Still have to deal with a lot of "typical bullshit" esp when it comes to communicating with clients and setting up appointments as well as tattoo-unique bullshit like dealing with squirmers or crappy stencils or not being able to have a social life without people pestering me for free work, but it's the best job I could ever ask for especially in this particular location. The husband and wife duo who run the place are super sweet but have their shit together well, they run a tight ship and it means I don't have anything to worry about besides setting up my appointments and tattooing. It took a lot of fighting over the course of years to finally end up in a comfortable place, and many times I almost gave up, but it was worth it because now I'm in a great place that pays well and I get to do what I love.

But I'm still pretty eager to get home most days lol So I grabbed my sushi, caught the bus, and made it home.

It was about 6:25 when I landed and because of Daylight Savings, it's still very light out. It does so much for my mental health to leave work and have it still be sunny, the ✨ seasonal depression ✨ is gone and all I have to worry about now is ✨ regular depression ✨ And it's gonna be even better once we move to the new place because it's on a ground floor and has windows aplenty, loads of natural light (compared to the gross basement we live in rn).

But until then, this is what I come home to (～￣▽￣)～

I will now spend the next 6-8 hours playing FF XIV, watching my shows, and working on Rekindled and Time Gate, pretty much all at the same time or at least jumping between. Usually I'll have something playing on rerun on the TV in the background (so something I don't have to pay attention to, like reruns of the Office or Bob's Burgers or w/e I'm feeling that day) and then I'll be listening to music in my headphones or - if I want to engage with something that isn't a rerun - I'll put on a Youtube video that's easy to listen to and absorb without having to look directly at. Sometimes it's speedrun documentaries, sometimes it's GameGrumps compilations, just depends on what I'm feeling and what shows up in my recommended that day LOL Yes , it might seem 'pointless' to have a show playing in the background while also listening to music, but it's sorta just there as a presence and idk, it brings my ADHD brain comfort lol

If you don't believe me that this is the level of multitasking that I'm at, the other day I made a call to Nintendo Support to help my husband get back into his account and I did it while running dungeons in FF XIV, yaaaaay ADHD! My brain needs constant stimulation to function! ╰（‵□′）╯

(and yes, I'm usually joined by Psuwis - it's Maliseet for 'cat' - who's very needy for my attention as soon as I get home lol)

This is how I spend most of my evenings, and even entire days if I'm not in the shop (and my schedule's pretty flexible, sometimes I'm at the shop 5 days a week, other times I might only work 2 or 3 days, it just depends on how busy my bookings are). My husband is actually probably just getting off work rn so he'll likely be home by the time I'm wrapping up this post lmao

Supper!

I actually worked on Rekindled pretty much all day yesterday, so now the episode's almost done already, it's coming along nicely! I'm hoping to have it done tonight or tomorrow so that I can have it ready for Saturday when I'm away on my trip (and maybe get a headstart on Ep 12 so that we can have a new episode next weekend as well during my apartment move!)

Anyone in my follows play FF XIV? Currently working on my Astrologian, it's pretty fun! You can find me (Pym Thras'rala) in Hyperion if you ever wanna party up sometime!

That's pretty much it! Not really anything super crazy or exciting to show, my life's pretty routine and that's how I like it. A lot of my social life is online nowadays but I do make time to go out and hang out with IRL pals as well. If this were done on a Friday most of what I'd be doing is hanging out down at the bar with pals LMAO

So yeah! hope you enjoyed this lil' self-indulgent "talk about myself for 20 minutes" post （￣︶￣）↗　If anything I hope it offers some kind of solidarity to the other pals out there who need 27390572309 forms of stimulation to get through the day LMAO

(also not recommending anyone live the way i do, my back hurts, my sleep schedule is fucked and my brain is fried（*゜ー゜*）let's all hold each other accountable and remember to check our postures, stand up and stretch every hour, and stay hydrated <3 ).

#lore rekindled #lore rekindled comic #day in the life #ama #ask me anything #anon ama #anon ask me anything #about me post #about me

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sarcasticsciencefictionwriter · 1 year ago

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This story was written for @starbuckxcarter for the AU prompt list. They requested this on 7/3/23... This was a request through a comment on the post, not an ask, hence my summary here. The request was for a 'Teslen enemies/costars AU please'. So here it is. I will be writing a much larger AU based off of this (for Fictober, most likely).

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Untitled

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The scene looked cozy and relaxing. A handsome man and a beautiful woman, sitting at a table with baked goods and wine, smiling at each other. The background was charming. He was pouring wine into her glass, she had just set a pair of pastel macarons on a plate in front of him.

"They look wonderful, Helen. They'll pair very well with the Moscato." he said, still smiling.

"Then you should try them instead of talking about them." she invited, giving him a flirty smile in return.

They knocked their wine glasses together and each sipped before turning to the pastries on their plates.

It was only a few seconds after they had each finished one that anything else was said.

"Cut! That's a wrap!"

As soon as those words were said and the camera was turned off, both of their smiles vanished. They moved away from each other as if they couldn't stand being close for another moment.

The man, Nikola Tesla, picked his glass back up and knocked back the rest of his wine. Then he picked up the other glass and knocked that back too.

The woman, Helen Magnus, glared at him.

"That was mine."

"Trust me--I need it more than you do. All that time with you is putting me over the edge."

Helen snorted, standing up from the table and neatly brushing her skirt off.

"I am far more pleasant than you. And what did you do all day?" she countered, glaring at him.

"Be ordered around by you."

"You measured flour and stole my ingredients while worshipping alcohol." Helen snapped.

The crew ignored the back and forth between the two of them. While the two might have presented a charming, friendly, attractive pair on TV, they certainly didn't carry an ounce of that in real life. This argument was nothing new.

Nikola picked up one of the macarons, pale pink, and held it up.

"You make girly cookies. I, however, explore the complexities of alcohol and its relationship with food."

"You run a glorified drinking show!"

Nikola's eyes flashed at this. Helen gave him a smirk, clearly liking the effect that she was having on him. He stood up. The crew continued to go about their business, rolling their eyes or ignoring the pair.

Nikola was the well known host of the show Enigmatic Eats, a very popular show where he chose a different alcohol--whether it was type, flavor, brand or more--and cooked a meal to pair perfectly with it. Food, according to Nikola, was an art, but alcohol was the masterpiece and should never be overwhelmed or lost to the meal.

"It's better than what you do." he said hotly. "Your show just feeds the convention that women belong in the kitchen, baking pretty feminine things instead of anything else."

Helen gaped at Nikola, outraged by this.

Helen hosted her own show, Tokens of Confection, baking and making confections. She was the exact opposite of Nikola in some ways. Her show started simple each season, progressing in difficulty so that viewers had the chance to work along with her. Her kitchen was bright and simple, hallmarking an bygone era.

Nikola's, on the other hand, was dark wood and stainless steel, appearing more lab than kitchen in some aspects.

Theirs were the two most popular single-hosted, non-competition shows the network had, both having started in the same year. The shows aired from autumn to spring, leaving a gap in the network's ratings for the summer. Rather than shifting one show and tired of reruns, the network had put them together for a new show.

Enigmatic Confections--a name chosen as a compromise, though Nikola gloated that his went first--followed the premise of Nikola's show with the alcohol, but it was Helen baking things that complimented the choices.

This was the second season of filming for the pair and the behind-the-scenes hadn't gotten any easier. The two were more than willing to go for the other's throat if they had the chance. How they managed to pull it together for when the camera was on was a complete mystery.

Rather than engage in the current battle, Helen walked away from the argument, stepping behind the camera, minding any cords and things there might have been to trip her up.

She didn't have to take this and today she wasn't going to let it bother her. She'd had enough of this pointless arguing for the last few days.

They would be at it again soon enough. She didn't need any more right now. Of course, that wasn't what Nikola thought. He followed her. They were done filming, so now they were basically obsolete.

"Helen."

Helen ignored Nikola and kept walking. She didn't want to get into it right now.

"Helen, wait." Nikola said, grabbing for her arm.

Helen whipped around, feeling a surge of annoyance that was bordering on anger. She yanked her arm away from him. Nikola dropped his hand, but he looked curious.

"Did I really offend you that much?" he asked.

"Leave me alone, Nikola." Helen snapped, turning and walking around.

This time he let her.

_____

The next day, Helen was trying her hardest to ignore Nikola. He seemed remorseful for her reaction to his words, as if he somehow knew he had hit a sore spot.

Helen had to grudgingly admit to herself that it wasn't as if Nikola could have known that things like that had been said to her her entire career. Especially when she had chosen it as a career over anything else.

She had been told that she was feeding a stereotype. That if she wanted to prove that women could do anything, then she wasn't allowed to showcase that by doing what they were already told they could do.

Helen hated the hypocrisy. If you wanted to demonstrate that women could do anything, then you weren't allowed to do what women already did, even if you were good at it.

She doubted that Nikola thought about that sort of thing. But Helen was well aware that she was setting an example, especially when she had a young daughter of her own.

It was not just a baking show. It was a way to show the world what she could do. To encourage other to do the same. To show herself that she could make it on her own, especially as a single mother of two.

"Cut!"

Helen looked up, startled by this direction, pausing in her mixing. Nikola stopped romanticizing the flavor of the sake he had chosen for today. It was a challenge to pair sake of all things with baked goods, but Helen had enjoyed the challenge.

"In the middle of my dialouge?" Nikola said indignantly, setting down the glass.

The producer behind the camera didn't look very happy as he surveyed the two of them.

"Helen." the producer said. "You need to stop looking like that."

Helen set her whisk down and stared at him.

"Looking like what?"

"You're furrowing your brow and biting your lip. You look like the dry ingredients have done something to you. Take if from the top."

Helen stared.

"I've already mixed--"

"Throw it out and start again."

Helen did not throw it out. That was just wasteful. She put it away to use later, after the filming had stopped.

Nikola was actually much more helpful the second time around. He lined up the jars nicely for her and measured out what she needed, actually using the mixer to whip the egg whites without her having to ask him.

They got the sponge into the oven and then set about making the rest.

By the time they were sitting together, with the match tiramisu she had made and Nikola's chosen, chilled sake, Helen was feeling much better.

She had no idea why, exactly. Nikola was still being annoying. Snarky. But the simple gestures of helping without her asking him had made her feel better.

Of course, it didn't last. Her smile may not have been as forced as usual at the beginning, but they had to refilm before they had even cut into the tiramisu. Mostly because Nikola had reverted back to his usual charming self.

Helen was relieved when they had finished for the day. Once the camera crew had cleared out, she went back into the kitchen. She wasn't going to make anything like the tiramisu, but the ingredients were there and she would make a simple sponge. Take it home. Henry in particular loved plain sponge.

She was mixing the rest of the ingredients in, humming to herself, when she heard a noise.

Helen looked up. Nikola was leaning in the doorway, watching her with raised eyebrows and a small smile that looked almost... predatory.

"What?" she snapped at him, continuing to mix, glaring at him.

"Just wanted to see what the great Helen Magnus was up to. I didn't think that you would be baking in your off hours. Don't you have a rug rat or two to get home to?"

Helen poured the mix into the pan.

"They're with my ex-husband." she bit out.

"Now that doesn't surprise me."

"What?" Helen was genuinely puzzled by the comment.

"That you have an ex-husband. It makes a lot more sense than you actually keeping one considering your oh-so-pleasant demeanor."

Helen threw her spatula at him.

Nikola ducked, but she hadn't been aiming for his head and it struck him on the left side of the chest, smearing a pale streak of sponge batter down his dark suit jacket. He gaped at her, looking at the smear.

"Do you have any idea how much this costs?!" he yelled at her, clearly not certain what to do to get it off without making it worse.

It made her feel a little smug.

"More money than it should for something you wear around good prep." Helen said smoothly, bending and sliding her pan into the oven. She closed the door and set the timer.

If it hadn't been for the bloody contract and the fact that the potential renewal of her show--her livelihood--hung in the balance, Helen would have quit the show. She didn't want to have to deal with Nikola's arrogance so often.

They had aways been rivals. How could they not be, when their shows had started in the same year and everything else? They each had high satisfaction when they beat the other in ratings and things like that. Work functions had brought them together and introduced them to each other. Now that they had been forced together things had just escalated.

Nikola stalked towards her. The counter stayed between them and Helen knew that it was probably a good thing. They had never gotten physical with each other--at least, not enough to harm each other--but Helen was tempted.

She was in a bad mood. What Nikola had said grated. Everything he said or did. Not just today or yesterday. The fact she wouldn't be coming home to her children.

Helen stared Nikola down, holding his gaze.

She was shocked to find herself noticing just how blue his eyes were, even alight with anger like they were right now.

Helen was furious with herself for this.

Nikola dragged his fingers through the batter on his chest and, slowly and deliberately, ran his hand across her face and into her hair.

"Nikola!"

Helen jerked back, holding out her hair to see how far it had spread. Nikola smirked, looking very satisfied. Helen glared at him and searched for something else to hit him with, to make him as messy as possible. She had nothing on hand, unless she wanted to put the bowl on his head.

"That was--" Helen spluttered.

"Turn the battle into a war, Magnus, and be prepared to receive what you deal."

With that, Nikola sauntered out of the kitchen.

_____

The tension rose between them each filming day, the weeks passing quickly. The stakes were higher.

After another round of smearing each other with ingredients--this time in front of the entire crew---both Helen and Nikola had been sat down and scolded as if they were children. If they couldn't get their acts together, if the show was cancelled, both of their own shows would be on the line.

Helen had the sinking feeling that hers would be on the chopping block first. Because that was how it worked. Nikola was more charismatic. He was a man. If they couldn't get alone, it would be her that was thrown out in the cold.

The pressure to be polite, to ignore Nikola trying to get under her skin, was getting to Helen.

But she was good enough for the cameras.

If she didn't know better, Helen would have thought that Nikola actually noticed and was trying to dial it back. He was kinder to her off camera, in the short window they interacted when the camera was off.

Today was actually a set of confections of floral flavors to compliment Nikola's chosen gewurztraminer. She could have made more macarons, but since she had already done those this season, there was no redoing them.

They did what they were supposed to do with minimal fighting between takes and scenes. Nikola was actually helping and Helen caught herself staring at him more than she normally would, watching him and wondering.

He was still annoying--more than--of course. But Helen was, for the first time, trying to look underneath that. The Nikola that she had initially met wouldn't have been helpful. He wouldn't have been remorseful. But now he was and it was confusing and the hell out of Helen was putting her even more on edge.

Which was ironic, because Helen was fairly certain that Nikola was actually trying to put her at ease. She put the meringue kisses into the oven and moved on to the next confection.

They didn't exactly have a script and Nikola loved to go off of it, but he was being nicer than usual. Oh, his usual attitude didn't vanish, but the things that he was saying were reading differently than they usually did.

And Helen caught him looking at her like she was looking at him.

She was baffled. This wasn't how they usually worked. But she found that she didn't mind it. That was the strangest thing.

Nikola grinned at her as he took the bowl from her, taking over mixing so that she could measure. Helen, flustered, smiled back.

Her smile was still very much real when they were sitting at the table together, sipping their wine and sampling what she had made.

"Cut!"

Helen dragged her eyes away from Nikola when this was said and looked behind the camera. It seemed that they had done no wrong, because they got a thumbs up.

Nikola sipped his wine one more time and got up. Helen stayed where she was seated, biting down on her lip for a moment. She sipped her wine, watching as Nikola walked away.

She looked calm and collected, but her mind was racing. The idea of what she was considering doing was thrilling and scary at the same time.

Taking a deep breath, Helen set her wine down and followed Nikola. She had timed it at least, so the crew wasn't around them.

"Nikola."

He half turned towards her, arching an eyebrow. She had never come after him like this. A part of Helen was telling her just how bad of an idea this was. They had spent the majority of their time hating each other, after all. This could go very wrong.

"Yes?" he asked at her prolonged silence.

"I was wondering if you would like to get something to eat with me later. Perhaps a drink." Helen said.

He looked her up and down.

"You do realize that was what we were just doing, don't you?" he asked.

Helen gave him a look.

"I was thinking perhaps somewhere you don't have to analyze and choose the alcohol and I don't have to make the food." she said.

Nikola was quiet for a few moments, during which Helen became convinced this had been a horrible idea. But then he gave her that signature smile.

"All right."

Helen stared, surprised by the answer.

"All right?"

"I do believe that's what I said." Nikola waited a beat. "But you're paying."

Helen smiled in return.