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itsevanffs · 3 years ago

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Hihi!! I've been hyperfixating on tommary lately and I absolutely loved (In the dark!)! I wanted to see if u have any tommary/harrymort fics that u recommend.. preferably ones that feature a possessive Tom ^^ ty in advance

I guess this would be the right time to publicly declare my bookmarks as open? Everything on there is a hard rec, and I vigorously quality-check those... for my liking and my liking only. (Sorry, not sorry. They're there for me, after all.)

That being said, hmm. I've got a few you might like.

Below the cut: more (additionally to my bookmarks) Tomarrymort (Tomarry or Harrymort) recommendations with possessive/obsessive Tom in alphabetical order; NOT order of how much I enjoy them. I'd argue I enjoy them all equally, just in different ways.

Ps: thank you! I'm incredibly flattered you liked my work :D

and don't let the police know anything by littlecupkate https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920947

Ted Dirlod is dangerous, Harry Potter knows this for a fact, but the man was still his only hope at escaping a doomed fate. It is never wise to blackmail a crime lord. It is even more unwise(?) when said crime lord is obsessed with you. An expanded version of "praying to whatever's in heaven, please send me a felon"

Genuinely lovely? Ticks all my boxes, at least, and minimal angst, which is always a plus. That being said, you should probably read the work mentioned in the summary as well for context. But hey. Two cakes by one person ;) Can never go wrong, can it?

As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015619

Tom was Harry's best friend growing up and his first love. At eight, Harry gave Tom his first kiss before moving away. As a freshman in college, the name of the RA on the door across the hall is terribly familiar.

Also absolutely deliciously indulgent. Tom is a possessive terror and Harry loves him for it. Need I say more?

Harry Potter and the Search for Ancient Magic (series) by Snickerdoodlepop https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133141

Once Voldemort realizes that Harry Potter is his horcrux, his plans change drastically. So does Draco Malfoy's assignment for the school year. Harry's sixth year starts going very differently. Snape is on a mission. Harry needs to learn pureblood politics. Draco Malfoy is trying to convince Harry to forgive him. Voldemort finds himself visiting Harry Potter in his dreams. Everyone is realizing that no one is quite what they thought. And through it all, there's a mystery. What is Ancient Magic? Can Harry use it to save himself or will it pull him toward the dark side?

Honestly, genuinely, hands down the best fucking tomarrymort series I've ever read. Hard, hard rec from here. The first work is completed and the second is in progress, so it's a nice pile of words to chew through!

can't commit to anything but a crime by caelesti https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286483

Excitement is the word he does not dare utter, even in the privacy of his own mind. It’s wrong, he knows. These women are people, in their own right; people with fears and aspirations, with friends and families and dreams, and to have anything cut those lives short is nothing but tragic. To have anyone cut those lives short is nothing but condemnable. He doesn’t have James Potter’s laugh lines, but he does have his father’s innate flair for danger. He doesn’t have Lily Potter’s enthusiasm, but he does have her insatiable curiosity. (In every world, Harry will excel at finding the biggest spot of trouble available and sticking his nose in it.)

Hot serial killer serial killer hot. That's it, those are the thoughts. Please read.

Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440826

When Harry finds Tom Riddle's diary he does not write 'Hello.' He does not write anything at all. He draws. Tom Riddle falls in love with the artwork. _________________ Sketch by sketch, drawing by drawing, the ink Harry pours into the diary manifests as creations in Tom's monochrome world.

Okay so if I'm the reincarnation of Shakespeare, May_May_0_0 is fucking... Ted Hughes. Which doesn't say much to your average viewer but that man wrote my favourite poem ever (the one I based my war fic off) and I hold him in very high regard. This story? It is poetry in its rawest form. Pure, condensed beauty. If you decide to read only one of the fics in this list, please choose this one.

Either must die at the hand of the other by Metalomagnetic https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356095

Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts because Harry Potter had not been the one to kill him, as the prophecy demands.

When is Metalomagnetic not a master of words? When will I cease becoming breathless at every paragraph, at every cleverly twisted word that comes back and reveals itself so beautifully later?

Fine Line by galaxiesundone https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949952

Magic always leaves traces. The lingering darkness of Sectumsempra, combined with Harry’s nature as a horcrux, awakens the soul piece contained within Ravenclaw’s diadem. At twenty years old, Tom Riddle walks a fine line between man and monster, the devil and the light-bringer in one. His influence forces Harry to face an ancient enemy unlike anything he has faced before: temptation.

Long story short: Tom Riddle is Hot and Good At Being Hot and Harry truly doesn't stand a chance and I am here for it. Lord help me I love this fic to pieces.

Good Intentions by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035334

Five year old Harry Potter meets and befriends a seventeen year old Tom Riddle while hanging out at his dad’s station. James Potter decides to take Tom under his wing, using Tom’s connection with Harry to try and keep the teen grounded, even as he begins to investigate the Death Eaters, a dangerous organized crime group and their mysterious leader only known as Lord Voldemort.

The sheer potential of this fic. The horrible, terrible dread of future events that have yet to be revealed. I will cry.

Honey, Smoke, Shiver by machiavelli https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068062

Harry - Omega, only son of Lord Potter - is nothing more than a useful playing card in a political game of power and money, one that is bought by the famed Tom Riddle: powerful, dangerous, pureblood Alpha. Unsurprisingly, Harry loves being underestimated.

Machiavelli is always a rec from me. Sorry lads but that's the way it is. Never a moment where I won't recommend their stuff.

Sickly-Sweet Obsession by maquira https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259103

Quiet, studious Tom Riddle spends his first year thirsting after an older student—Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain, Harry Potter. His crush is common knowledge, and even Harry finds it cute… at first. Possessiveness spawns monstrosities. Tom does all within his power to mess with Harry’s dating life. And one seemingly harmless crush spirals into something darker, begetting deadly consequences.

Again; the potential. Delicious. This will bloom into something beautifully twisted, I'm sure of it.

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Audair https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745546

Riddle’s undivided attention snapped to him with the swiftness of shattering glass. His turbulent magic receded from where it had besieged the shop. "You,” he breathed. Coiling in leisurely motions, the eager tendrils of his magic reached for Harry, swathing about his limbs and neck and chest with a liquid, flowing fascination. "I’ve been looking for you,” Riddle continued, tilting his head to the side and sweeping his gaze over Harry. It was an appraisal that felt simultaneously like the raking of iron nails and the tender drapery of silk. It was so familiar, and yet… so foreign. In the winding streets of Knockturn Alley, an intricate dance of mutual obsession unravels between twenty-three-year-old Tom Riddle and a time-travelling Harry Potter.

This work has recently been undergoing a rewrite, and I can tell you with certainty it's only gotten better for it. It's beautiful; the setting, the atmosphere, the vibes... Perfection. Captures Knockturn Alley's mood impeccably and does not disappoint a single moment.

the pleasure, the privilege by asterisms https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227528

It begins with Vernon Dursley's body, dead across the table. In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

Completed, terrifying... and gorgeous.

The Shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn) by PaperWorlds https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380079

Shrike: A songbird with a sharply hooked bill, known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling their bodies on thorns, the spikes on barbed-wire fences, or any available sharp point. A young Harry Potter survives an attack by notorious serial killer Voldemort. Over a decade later, they meet again.

Lads I'm so desperate for an update from this fic that I might cry if I think about it for too long. I keep saying it and I'll say it again; this is one of those fics with amazing potential that are sure to never disappoint no matter what path they take. An incredibly hard rec.

To Raise a Servant by bluegrass https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780816

Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain. He figured he'd always wanted a pet snake.

Surprisingly not quite as dark as the summary makes it seem? I certainly enjoyed it, though, and that's why it's on this list.

What He Grows To Be by Severus_divides_into_H https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042240

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

Beautiful. And absolutely terrifying. I've started crying mid-scene at least three times for this fic, and it honestly seems unfathomable if you haven't read it if you're on my profile, since I think this is one of the fics that have shaped my style and ambitions. It is what I aspire to be.

#fic rec #fic recs #tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #fanfic #ask #anon ask

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heliads · 4 years ago

Text

Forever Separated

Based on this request: “Reader is Luke’s girlfriend in the 90’s and is at the gig at the Orpheum and hit by a drunk driver and dies instantly. She and the boys come back as ghosts 25 years later. She’s there for everything that goes down with Julie, Willie, and Caleb.”

masterlist

Your fingers tap absentmindedly on the steering wheel as you careen through the streets. It’s late now, the beacons of headlights guiding you down the asphalt. There’s a grin on your face that won’t seem to go away- your boys are playing at the Orpheum tonight. The Orpheum. That’s been their dream for what feels like forever. It doesn’t even seem true.

By your boys, you mean Sunset Curve, of course. The motley collection of four teenage boys with dreams bigger than the world and the need for a chance to prove themselves. You stumbled across them at a small jazz club, at what had been one of their first performances. It hadn’t been long after that when you had become a friend of the bandmates, and an even shorter time before you fell in love with Luke. When you started dating, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

You had always known that they would make it, even when they seemed to doubt it themselves. You knew they had gathered regrets over the years- Reggie with the fracturing of his family, Alex with his parents’ lack of acceptance of him, and Luke with the way he’d run out on his mother. You had seen it in their faces- if their band never got off of the ground, they would continue to doubt themselves for the rest of their lives. There had been times when you thought that it might be over for good, that they’d be done for before they even got the chance to get started. Yet here you are now, driving towards their gig at the Orpheum.

You’re only a couple of streets away. You’re practically shivering with anticipation at the thought of it- all of their dreams and hopes, finally come to fruition. You, however, are running a little late despite your best interests, and so your foot involuntarily presses down on the gas. You’re not speeding, always careful to follow traffic laws, just making sure you’re not going to be as late as you fear.

It only seems fitting that something would go wrong on this night of nights. Thinking back, you’re almost glad it happened to you and not someone else. You had this awful feeling that something was going to happen to ruin this gig, and maybe if it happened to you it would protect the boys and let their show run on uninterrupted. When you pass through the intersection, this thought may have protected you.

When you see the truck out of the corner of your eye, you continue driving. You know it will stop, it has to. Maybe it’s the way you’re eager to see your boys again, or the fact that the light has been green for a long time now and there’s no way the driver could miss the glaring red in front of him. Maybe it’s just because you feel sheltered by this bubble of hope that comes with seeing the boy you love play at the Orpheum. Regardless, there is nothing you can do to avoid the truck, and you keep expecting that it will stop until it is inches away from you. Then you finally realize that there’s no getting out of this, and it is only then that it is too late to act.

You’ve seen car crashes in the movies. They’re always a blazing whirl of headlights and screeching tires, a hailstorm of broken glass that reflects the light in the most beautiful arc around you. It will be slow, like time itself crawls to a stop, just in time for your head to fly back in a graceful motion. Then it will speed up again, and just like that it will be over.

This is nothing like that. It is over an instant, no beautifully devastating moments. You’re not a marionette to be hung delicately in the air, your strings are cut within seconds. You do not have time to see the poetry in your last moments, they’re already over. All you manage to see is a quick glimpse of a bottle resting in the driver’s hands, a tremendous impact like the very shaking of the earth, and then there is nothing at all. No orchestras reach a momentum, no lens flares pierce the night. There is everything, and then there is nothing. It is painfully ordinary.

There is one feeling that seems to surround it all. A pain, numb at first and then growing to a fever pitch. You don’t know when you wake up, only that it is much later. There’s someone dressed in a paramedic’s uniform standing over you, the piercing din of an ambulance somewhere behind you. You want to form words together and ask who it’s for, but the answer comes to you the second you realize you can’t move a muscle. It is for you. You are the one in need of saving.

The paramedic is standing over you, shouting something about a drunk driver and two casualties, the driver and the girl right here. You want to stand up, to shout to the world that you’re alive and fine. But for some reason, you can’t move at all. You can’t say anything except feel the last of your pulse die from your veins. Distantly, you feel a raw anguish creeping up in your throat. Luke and the others are still waiting for you at the Orpheum. Who will tell them that you’re gone?

It should have been over then. You died, certainly. You bled out on the streets and ceased to draw breath. Indeed, you had the classic fading of color and acceptance of the darkness just like everyone else. It appears that you will only have access to the clichés of the stories in death. It’s oddly fitting. Regardless of the beauty of it, you died. End of story.

Or at least, it should have been the end. Yet, you find yourself standing again, waiting at the back of a crowded room. You stare at your hands, at your body, which appears unharmed. Your eyes travel from yourself to the people in front of you. Your parents sit in chairs, their backs to you. They’re looking over a photo album, crying softly. “She was so young. She could have done so much more. I miss her, even though it’s been so long.”

You step forward, but the ground makes no sound underneath your feet. “Y/N wouldn’t want you to be sad. She would want you to remember her with happiness, not with tears, right?” Your mother nods sadly. “I can’t seem to help it, though.” An icy chill runs through your veins as you realize what’s happened. All you can think about is that you need to get away from here, somewhere where you won’t be surrounded by people mourning your death.

And then you’re gone. One minute you’re in your home, the next minute you’re standing on the sidewalk outside. Although you look around frantically, no one notices your sudden appearance. No one, that is, except one boy. He’s riding a skateboard, long dark hair tucked underneath a helmet. He stops suddenly, staring at you. “Hey, you just poofed here out of nowhere. You’re a ghost?”

You stare at him. “You can see me?” He nods. “You must be new to this ghost business if you’ve got questions. I’m Willie, by the way.” You smile weakly at him. “Y/N. I guess I would have to be a ghost if I died in the accident.” Willie winces. “Ooh, accidents. Those hurt. I died around the early 80s, a couple of decades ago, so I know what you mean.” You stare at him. “The 80s weren’t a couple of decades ago. They were recent.”

Willie shakes his head. “Sorry, man. You must have only been brought back as a ghost recently. It’s the 2020s right now.” You shake your head slowly. “That means it’s been 30 years since I died. How is that possible?” Willie places a hand on your shoulder, and for some reason the gesture is surprisingly comforting. “Hey, not a whole lot about the ghost stuff makes sense. If you want to talk about it, though, I’m here.” You smile at him. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

Willie ends up becoming a fast friend. He explains everything there is to know about ghosts, and the two of you have fun messing around with your ghost abilities, whatever those are. It’s nice to have someone who understands about the ghost business, and you find that in leaps and bounds with Willie.

One day, you’re lying on a grassy hill admiring the clouds when Willie poofs into existence next to you. For some reason, he looks almost flushed with excitement, cheeks pink with thrill. “You won’t believe who I met. The cutest guy. He’s a new ghost, too.” You grin over at him. “Already making moves? You’re unreal.” Willie rolls his eyes. “I played it safe. We had a nice chat. He seems very cool, in a band or something. I think he plays the drums. Alex, was in a band called Sunset Curve. I think that’s a good name for a band, and I’ve heard a lot of bad ones.”

You sit up suddenly, all thoughts of the bright afternoon sun quickly abandoned. “What did you say? About Sunset Curve?” Willie frowns. “That’s the guy’s band. Or, it was until he died. He’s about our age, played in a band called Sunset Curve.” You shake your head slowly. “That makes no sense. They should have grown up a long time ago.” Willie still seems confused, so you clarify. “I know Alex, and I know the rest of his bandmates. I was friends with them until I died.” You fix him with a sudden purposeful look. “I need you to bring me to meet these guys.”

Willie has to ask around, but eventually he finds Alex and discovers that they’re staying in their old studio, now inhabited by the Molina family. You thank him, setting off as soon as you can. As you stand outside the doors to the studio, you find yourself suddenly nervous. Will they want to see you? Will they understand what happened?

The faint sounds of music drifting out from the doors is what convinces you. It sounds just like them, like this is another afternoon from the 90s when you’re meeting up with Luke and the others. You gather your courage and knock twice on the doors, then push them open. You stand for a moment in the doorway, staring. The boys stare back at you. It’s funny- everyone looks the exact same, even though everything has changed.

Then there’s a voice from the back of the room. It’s quiet, as if he’s afraid to say anything lest the moment be fractured away into nothingness. “Y/N?” Luke steps forward, disbelief warring with hope in his eyes. You nod slowly. “Luke?” Luke stands still for a moment longer, then runs forward, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close. You tuck your head into the space between his head and his shoulder, letting yourself relax once more.

After what could be ten seconds or ten minutes, Luke reluctantly pulls away. He cups your face in his hand, just staring with awe. “How are you here? We died- you weren’t at the Orpheum-” You laugh bitterly. “I died too. There was a drunk driver on the road, he hit me when I was just a couple of blocks away. I was so close, that was the worst part.” Luke nods slowly. “I remember hearing sirens. I didn’t know it was you.”

Something like guilt passes over his face, and you hurriedly shake your head. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. I guess you died some time after that?” Luke nods. “Just before the show. We never got to play.” A sad sigh rips from his chest, and you pull him close again. It isn’t fair, not at all. He shouldn’t have died, you shouldn’t have died. He should not have been robbed of this chance to live the dream he always wanted.

There’s the sound of a throat clearing from across the room. “You know, we’re here too. Not just Luke.” You look up, laughing. “Sorry, Reggie, Alex. Love you guys too. I’m glad we can all be dead together.” Alex flashes you a thumbs up from across the room. “Me too, Y/N. Me too.” Luke laughs now, albeit reluctantly. You squeeze his hand one more time, then step into the room, greeting the other boys.

Your gaze falls upon a figure you don’t recognize- a girl, about your age if not a year younger. She has dark, curly hair and a fascinated smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N.” The girl startles. “Julie. Julie Molina. It’s nice to meet you- you must be the girl Luke keeps talking about.” You toss a grin Luke’s way. “You’ve been talking about me?” Luke moves to deny this, but Reggie speaks up loudly. “So often. You have no idea. He’s been very sad.”

Luke glares at his friend, but you just grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, it’s nice to feel wanted.” Luke beams at you, still thrilled that you’re here again. “Trust me, you are. I can’t believe you get to stay with me.”

Neither can you, actually. Somehow, despite the fact that you died and came back again, Luke did the same, and you can be with him again. You’ve lost everything- your family, your future, your life, but you still have him. It feels impossible, but it’s true.

This isn’t to say that life is smooth sailing from here. It turns out Luke, Alex, and Reggie have gotten themselves tangled in the mess that is Caleb’s club, and they’ve got the stamps to prove it. You find yourself holding Luke close while he spasms from jolt after jolt, forcing smiles to pretend like it doesn’t kill you every time he’s in pain. You also have to defend Willie to the rest, as he’s been your friend for a while and would never knowingly betray them. You have a feeling that Alex is pretty happy to hear this.

At last, you find the way to save Luke and save the boys- another performance at the Orpheum, this time as their unfinished business. Standing outside the building, staring up at the blinking neon signs, you can’t help but feel some strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. This feels like a sick twist of deja vu. This is how you died- waiting for the boys’ performance at the Orpheum. Staying here now, in the same position but after you’ve died, feels somehow wrong.

You try to shake the thoughts from your head, slipping inside the building to go find Luke, Julie, and the others. This isn’t like that night, you can’t die twice. Everything is going to be fine. Yet when you walk in the dressing room and catch sight of a panicked Flynn trying to calm a visibly shaken Julie, you have a feeling that things aren’t exactly smooth sailing.

Julie looks up when she sees you appear in the room. “Y/N, it’s good to see you. Have you seen Luke and the boys?” You shake your head, a crease forming between your brows. “No, not since I left the studio to let you say your goodbyes. Have they not shown up?” Julie sinks back down in a chair, hands pressed to her temples. “Not at all.” You slump against a wall. This feels like history repeating itself again- you dead, the boys not showing up to their performance at the Orpheum. No matter how many times you tell a story, it tends to end the same way.

Distraught, you wander back through the building to attempt to find the boys, but your search is to no avail. They’re nowhere to be found. You stumble through the auditorium just to see Julie taking the stage. You have a brief, wild hope that she’s managed to find them, but then you see the red rims of her teary eyes and hear the goodbye she issues to the crowd. If they haven’t shown up, then that means-

You try to distract yourself by listening to Julie sing. It brings a smile to your face in spite of yourself. Julie is a bright firecracker of a girl, and it’s been wonderful to get to know her. At least you know you have her at the end of this. Yet when the beat drops, Alex appears in a flash of sparks. You stand up, pressing forward through the crowd as if your proximity will do anything more to bring them back. Yes- there goes Reggie, and there’s Luke struggling to flicker back into existence. You send out a silent plea: bring him back, please. You can’t do this without him.

Then he’s back again, and you feel like your heart might burst. He flashes you a grin, as if to promise that nothing could separate you again. You smile back at him, finally letting yourself relax. He’s here, it’s okay. It’s all okay. When the song ends, you watch through joyful eyes as the boys stand next to Julie, clasping hands before taking a bow. There’s something wrong, though, something wrong when they disappear. Usually, you can loosely sense them when they poof away, but this time there’s nothing. Nothing at all. It’s like they’ve been erased away from the song of their lives.

There’s something pounding in the back of your heart, and you poof away to Julie’s rooms backstage. She appears there seconds later, as if she’s been expecting you. She runs over to you, stopping a few feet away as she remembers she can’t touch you or hug you as a ghost. “Tell me they’re still here. They didn’t just cross over.” You shake your head slowly. “I can’t feel them. They’re not in the building anymore. Julie, I think they’re gone.”

She nods slowly, fighting a losing battle to keep the tears at bay. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. So sorry. You just found Luke again, and now he’s gone.” You force a smile. “It’s alright. We’re just ghosts, remember? We’ve been running on borrowed time all along. I’ll meet you at the studio, alright? We can say our goodbyes.” Julie nods. “I’ll see you then.” You give her one last wave, then poof out.

You reappear outside the doors of the studio. You can’t quite bring yourself to go in, to face the empty stillness of the studio and know that the boy you love isn’t there. What are you supposed to do now? You have no idea what your unfinished business could possibly be. Most likely, you’re going to live out your endless days as a ghost, not noticed by anyone except Julie and Willie and whatever other ghosts you manage to find, forever haunted by the knowledge that the one person you’re looking for the most will never appear around the corner, never be waiting for you again. It’s like you’re back to that car crash, knowing you’ll be separated by death once more.

You hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and straighten up. Seconds later, Julie appears down the path, and you nod at her slowly. “Are you ready to do this?” She sighs. “It seems fitting to say goodbye, even if they aren’t here.” She pushes open the doors, letting the darkness wash over the two of you. She looks over at you. “I don’t know what to do.” You smile gently. “There’s no script. I have a feeling they’ll be able to hear you. Just say what you wish you got to say before they left.”

Julie nods. “I’m glad I got to meet you guys, and grateful to you for everything. You got me back into music, and I’ll never be able to let go of it again. I thought I’d never play after my mom, but you convinced me that I could. Thank you.” There’s a muffled voice from the back of the room, one that’s quickly shushed by two annoyed boys. “You’re welcome.” You stare. “Reggie?” You’d know him anywhere- you’ve heard that voice in band practices for the last couple of decades, even if it doesn’t feel that way.

Julie runs over to turn on the light, and your hand flies to your mouth as you see the boys crumpled in a heap on the floor, in obvious pain. “Did it not work? Did you not cross over?” Luke shakes his head, gently extricating himself from the heap of band members on the ground to stumble over to you. You catch him before he falls, holding him upright. “We won’t play with Caleb, that’s a promise. It’s not worth it like that.” You cup his face in your hands. “I don’t want to let you go. Not yet.”

Luke laughs quietly. “I’m not sure we had a choice. I love you, Y/N, no matter what. You know that, right?” You nod, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “I know.” You feel one last jolt rack his body, and somehow you know that this will be the last. This is it, the moment when he truly dies. You fling your arms around him, holding him close one last time. If you can’t have the future with him you had always planned, you can at least have this moment.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for the moment when he disappears from you forever. Yet it doesn’t come. You open your eyes carefully, then stare at him. “Luke, you’re- I think you’re glowing.” Sure enough, he’s surrounded by this golden haze of light. He smiles at you, chuckling slightly in awe. “I feel good. Strong, like I haven’t felt in a while.” Alex stands up too, as does Reggie. “Actually, I feel better too. I think you saved us. Both of you.”

You laugh incredulously. “Really? You’re not going away?” Luke presses a kiss to your cheek. “Never again. I’m not leaving you ever again.” You beam at him. “Good. I don’t intend to be with anyone else.” He laughs at that, pulling you in for a kiss. For once, you know that he’s here to stay.

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson oneshot #jatp #jatp imagines #jatp x reader #jatp oneshot #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagines #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms oneshot #jatp luke #jatp luke imagines #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke oneshot #julie and the phantoms luke

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retvenkos · 4 years ago

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“shall i capture your heart with a song?”

A/N: lol, i only know the witcher on netflix, and what i have found out about jaskier via tumblr osmosis, so how accurate is this? i guess we’ll have to see, lol.

requested HERE WE ARE, IMAGINING WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO BE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS TO EVENTUAL MARRIAGE WITH THE ONLY AND ONLY JASKIER....

well, seeing as jaskier is of noble birth, i’m going to say that you are, too.

your families are old friends, so when you guys first meet, (i want to say you’re like 8 or 9) it’s at some celebration or another and at first you’re a little unsure if you should talk to each other or just,,,, stand there.

one of your parents absent mindedly tells you to talk to the boy, and so you have to do the awkward introductions.

“i’m (y/n) (l/n)”

“i’m julian alfred pankratz.”

“that’s unfortunate.”

“hey!”

“don’t worry. i’ll find something better to call you.”

“yeah, well... i’ll find something better to call you.”

(sorry, guys,,,,, i still can’t get over jaskier’s real name)

the two of you decide to sneak away from your parents to get some food or something, and then you eventually decide to sneak away from the party entirely

it was jaskier’s idea, really. he was trying to avoid some family or something - the family that thinks they are oh so better than you and compare achievements and what not...

the two of you are just wandering (jaskier’s sense of direction is horrible so it’s really up to you to keep everything straight) and you end up in some field or another, talking about whatever comes to mind. jaskier is telling you stories and you scoff.

“you’re like a weed, julian alfred pankratz. like a.... dandelion.”

“i am not!”

“what flower would you want to be, then?”

“something better than a dandelion!”

“like what, a buttercup?”

“yOU are.... are like....”

“like what?”

“...aconite! that’s a poison.”

“aconites are related to buttercups, dandelion. you can’t get rid of me.”

and jaskier thinks it’s wildly funny that you know horticulture, of all things. he finds it so funny, in fact, he fails to miss that you’ve coined a new nickname for him.

it seems that all the time, afterward, you run into jaskier and his family. by virtue of constantly seeing each other, the two of you end up being really good friends.

it’s a running gag that you love horticulture, and since the illustrious julian alfred pankratz uses it against you at every turn, you fluctuate between calling him “jaskier” and “dandelion”. he eventually gets used to it, but he hates it when others start to catch on.

he also comes up with ridiculous nicknames for you, but none of them quite seem to stick. he’s constantly cycling through through new ones, hoping to find the right one.

the two of you hang out a lot, but since you do a lot of reading or gardening and need jaskier to stop chatting with you for five minutes he picks up the lute and learns to play it really well.

you’re the first one who tells him his singing voice is quite beautiful.

“i’m sorry, did you just say my singing voice is ‘quite beautiful’?”

“it’s nice, okay?”

“nice?”

“if you keep this up, i’ll just have to insult you.”

“you’d never.”

“do you not remember the first time we met?”

“like it was yesterday.”

“i laid down some pretty decent insults, if i remember right.”

“i called you poison.”

“yeah, but aconites are pretty. unlike dandelions.”

and jaskier scoffs. “and buttercups?”

“they’re not bad looking.”

so we all know that jaskier supposedly gets into poetry when he’s 19 because he’s inspired by his love for the countess de stael,,, bUT,,,, consider this instead:

he actually gets into poetry for you.

jaskier has had a few loves at this point, and with each one, he’s a nervous wreck. you always help him by curating the most beautiful bouquets (all of which come from your amazing, thriving garden) and you are always there to help him with his flirting (which needs serious help,,,, i’m not even sure you’re cut out for the job)

you guys have probably even kissed before - both of you were regrettably drunk (don’t tell your parents) and jaskier said he desperately needed ‘the practice’. plus, he wanted to know!!!! was he a good kisser or not? no one else would rate him on a scale from 1-10 with brutal but accurate honesty! neither of you fully remember what exactly happened, come morning, but you remember the lead up to the moment and jaskier remembers the thoughts running through his head afterward... both of you agree not to speak of it.

anyway, when jaskier starts to realize that he has these awkward feelings that seem suspiciously illicit, he knows he has to get them out, somehow, but you are the only one who would listen to his complaints, and he very well can’t tell you.

so he decides he has to write them down.

but clearly they can’t be literal, lest someone stumble upon them,,,,, so he has to learn the secret art of poetry.

you, of course, notice how oddly quiet hanging out with jaskier has become, and his odd questions on flower symbolism, and it doesn’t take you long until you realize that, of all things, jaskier has turned to poetry.

“you can’t make fun of me for liking horticulture, anymore, dandelion. you’re a p o e t .”

“at least i’m a good one.”

and you flick his forehead

“what will your stage name be? surely julian alfred pankratz won’t work.”

“which one should it be? jaskier or dandelion?”

and you laugh, the sound like a summer breeze.

“i knew you’d come to appreciate my nicknames, eventually.”

jaskier frequently “serenades” you, under the guise that he’s practicing, of course, but it’s also his not so subtle way of seeing if you like his poetry and his songs - they are for you, after all.

“you’ll certainly capture hearts with that one.”

“did i capture yours?”

and you, feeling very flustered, especially seeing as you’ve had feelings for jaskier for a while now, can only let out a guttural sort of scoff.

“of course,” and you try to say it over the top and jokingly, but you can feel your face heating up.

and jaskier winks. you huff and turn back to your books.

oh, yikes, i didn’t realize this was getting a little long,,,, let’s speed things up.

everyone knows that you and jaskier are end game. your families think it’s vvv sweet, and everyone that either you or jaskier attempt to woo know it’s only going to be a passing fancy because,,,, have you seen the way you look at each other? like you hang the moon and the stars?

but of course, both of you are dramatic as hell, so you frequently have conversations like:

“we’re piss poor in love, aren’t we?”

“i guess the world just doesn’t understand our genius.”

“terrible that i have to share this lonely cleverness with the likes of you.”

“absolutely devastating.”

and you just sit there for a while, staring at the ceiling.

maybe you guys do some traveling together for a while, but you eventually find a place to put down roots (lol, horticulture jokes). maybe you run an apothecary! that would be precious.

either way, jaskier is a bard so when he isn’t traveling around, he’s staying with you.

a frequent request of yours goes something like this:

“dandelion, play me a song.”

“what kind?”

“a love song.”

and he does, and afterward, he sits down across from you and winks.

“did i capture your heart with that one?”

and some nights you’re a little too tired to make a show of it and some of that blissful candor slips out and slaps jaskier across the face when you smile and say, “yes.”

if you haven’t noticed, the two of you hella dance around your feelings. it’s insane, because catchphrase is: “anything for you” meanwhile you are the most soft™ for him and yet you don’t seem to clue in.

100%, you are going to have to be the one that expresses your love first, because jaskier is the definition of suffering in silence

but what’s also really funny is you both probably try to keep it hidden just how long you have loved each other for, and yet you are both nosy as hell and want to know how long this has been going on, so it leads to really funny conversations where you are both trying to dodge giving a proper timeline, but are drying to coax one out of the other.

ohmygod, i forgot to do marriage headcanons

alright, lightning round: firstly, i don’t think it takes you guys long to get married - you have known each other for so long, and you already act like a married couple, might as well make it official

jaskier refuses to let anyone else sing at his wedding, but you eventually coax him into it because how else are you going to dance with him?

let jaskier invite all of his witcher friends. the divide between your wealthy families and the witchers would be funny as hell. like inlaws that don’t get along but wORSE.

some quick marriage thoughts:

jaskier has definitely learned the art of flowers, thanks to you, so (1) he leaves you flowers everywhere, and (2) both of you get to garden with each other all the time.

sleep and jaskier don’t mix - no matter what time of the night, you can wake up and he’s up and about, doing something or another. maybe he’s writing a song, maybe he’s eating, maybe he’s arguing with yennefer (she often visits, just to antagonize jaskier. you guys are great friends) in the livingroom and trying to keep his voice down

similar with nicknames, jaskier is constantly using pet names, trying to decide on which one is best. it doesn’t really work out, but maybe the most common one is he’ll call you his muse.

and it only sounds cheesy 20% of the time

you guys get to go to parties together! that’s fun - you like dressing up and sneaking away half way through because you’re bored. you guys steal food and hide out until they realize the bard is missing and drag him back.

so we all know jaskier is big on compliments, and it only gets worse when the two of you are together. it’s like,,,, yes. now i can shower you with love and affection at all hours of the day, and it’s okay! he still does his poorly timed winks but he insists they’re charming!

you begrudgingly agree

consider for a moment: going to get breakfast with this man. first of all, breakfast is probably his favorite meal, and he’s always adamant you get a good one (since being with geralt means no breakfast at all). jaskier talks like you haven’t seen him in years, despite living together, and he’s very big on holding your hand or bopping you on the nose. plus, he smiles.

oh! and his singing is 100% contagious, so it doesn’t take long before you are singing around the house, and jaskier is just stunned at you,,,, you find him staring and roll your eyes at his ridiculousness, but this man is in love!!!! let him be in love!!!!

and you also talk to your plants, so you know jaskier picks that up, to. you’re a very vocal couple, lol.

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

-- taglist: @lenalxvegood, @cooloaflandhero, @swanimagines, @multifandomfix // message me if you want to be added!

#jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier headcanons #jaskier witcher #jaskier x you #jaskier imagine #reader insert #gender neutral reader #tw marriage #fluff #the witcher

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ibijau · 3 years ago

Text

Counterfeit AU pt5 / On AO3

Lan Xichen, left alone, discovers something about Nie Huaisang

Sitting on a kitchen chair, Lan Xichen listens as Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian try to explain to him who they are. He half wishes he could tell them that he remembers… not everything, not yet (not ever, a part of him hopes) but certainly enough that introductions aren’t quite needed. Words don’t quite make it to his mouth though, his mind still struggling to accept what’s going on. Lan Xichen, until now, always prided himself in being a rational man.

It’s hard to be rational when faced with your brother from another life, whose husband tells you that they have been looking for you for centuries, because apparently they’re immortals.

It’s odd that Lan Xichen accepts that part so easily. Immortals only exist in stories, he would have said just a few hours ago. Now though… well, there’s something not fully human to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, a touch of something more.

“It’s only the second time we find you,” Wei Wuxian says, glancing at his husband. Lan Wangji’s expression is nearly unchanged, but Lan Xichen can tell he is deeply distraught. “Well, the second time we find you where you’re still alive,” Wei Wuxian corrects, making his husband wince slightly. “We were always too late, somehow. Every time we reached you, you’d died already. Even the other time we found you alive barely counts. You were very, very old, and you weren’t quite all there anymore. You didn’t really recognise your actual family, so two strangers from another life… and anyway, you died the night we arrived.”

Lan Wangji flinches, which makes Lan Xichen want to scold Wei Wuxian because surely, after so long alive, he should have learned by now to be a little more considerate to the feelings of others, shouldn’t he? But before he can say anything, Wei Wuxian leans toward his husband and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers in a way that makes Lan Wangji relax.

In another life, Lan Xichen had sometimes taken those gestures of affection as an attack, when he had lost so much himself. He'd known, even then, that it was an irrational reaction. At least now he can watch those two and feel nothing except some relief that things worked out so well for them.

"Are there more like you?" he asks.

"Immortals? Not that many," Wei Wuxian admits. "I got to meet Baoshan Sanren, but of our generation only the two of us and Nie-xiong became immortals. Well, and Lan Jingyi became a god, but he's busy and we don't see him a lot. Oh, and Song Lan was around too for a long while of course, but about five centuries ago Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing's souls finally recovered from being fractured, so they all three re-entered the cycle of reincarnation. And then there's a few others from before, though not many from after. We're not sure why, but two or three generations after us, it just stopped happening."

Lan Xichen lets out a sigh. It's not that he particularly expected anything, but he feels disappointed anyway.

"Xiongzhang might still meet others," Lan Wangji says in what seems intended as a comforting tone. He has improved in expressing himself, or else Lan Xichen remembers this too. "From that first life we all shared. Maybe from following ones, if they impacted your soul enough."

"Oh," Lan Xichen says. His hands clench over his knees. He wonders if there's anyone he might want to meet again, when he died feeling he had failed everyone, that first time.

“It will all come back to you here and there,” Wei Wuxian explains. “You might also realise you already know other people from before. I’ve been told it’s a weird feeling, but you get used to it.”

Lan Xichen considers this, and tries to guess who this might concern. For some reason, his little brother comes to mind, but that might be only wishful thinking. Same with his father. Maybe he actually hasn't encountered anyone from his past. No one except, of course…

“I’ve met Meng Yao,” Lan Xichen says.

The other two men grimace.

“Hopefully you’ll also meet people you like,” Wei Wuxian replies with an embarrassed cough.

Lan Xichen, who likes Meng Yao very much indeed, stares at him blankly. What right does this stranger to pass judgement on his… not boyfriend, not exactly. Not yet. Lan Xichen was still working out the courage to have that conversation, to see if Meng Yao might be amenable to real dates, to kissing, to…

It won’t happen now.

It won’t happen because in another life, Lan Xichen murdered Meng Yao.

He didn’t particularly want to, he vaguely recalls. It had been a last resort, and to be frank Meng Yao had brought it upon himself. Still, the fact remains that Lan Xichen killed one of the men he… well, he might have loved him, back then. It’s hard to say for sure. But it is quite certain that Lan Xichen killed him, and even after several lifetimes, he’s not sure Meng Yao will have forgiven him.

He didn’t use to be a very forgiving man.

"Speaking of the devil, better go check what's going on in that basement before it turns bad," Wei Wuxian mutters, glancing in direction of the kitchen door. "Just because he's never killed Nie-xiong yet doesn't mean he can't do it ever. Hey, Lan-da-ge, do you need a ride back home?"

The nickname feels like a slap.

Lan Xichen remembers he could never quite decide whether he liked Wei Wuxian or not, in that first life.

He's still not sure he does.

"I have a taxi coming," he announces. "But thanks for the offer. I just wish to have some time to digest all of this."

Wei Wuxian shrugs, apparently unconcerned, and leaves the kitchen. While he's gone, Lan Wangji politely asks if they might exchange phone numbers. He won't force the acquaintance, he explains, but he'd be grateful if this favour were granted.

Lan Xichen, weak to little brothers of his in this life as in every others, readily agrees.

Lan Wangji, so dry and formal in speech, texts with emojis everywhere. Lan Xichen is endeared, and wonders if that is Wei Wuxian's influence at play.

Maybe he does like Wei Wuxian a little, if he can help his brother express himself more easily.

After a little while, Lan Xichen hears two pairs of feet on the stairs coming from the basement. Wei Wuxian calls only for Lan Wangji to join them in the entrance, but Lan Xichen springs to his feet, knocking down the chair in his haste. He takes one long step, two, three, and reaches the kitchen door. From there he sees Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang at the door, the former making a joke of some sort, the later trying to put on shoes as fast as he can. They both look up when they notice a presence hovering by the kitchen door.

Nie Huaisang goes pale at the sight of Lan Xichen. His face grows tight, his lips twisting into a grimace that might be disgust, or horror, or something else entirely. Whatever it is, it makes Nie Huaisang jump to his feet and run out of the door, nearly tripping on his half tied shoelaces. Wei Wuxian sighs and shakes his head, but says nothing, even as a car door opens and closes with a slam somewhere outside.

"Nie Huaisang hasn't changed," Lan Wangji says as he joins them

Wei Wuxian and him exchange a look. To Lan Xichen, it looks like a long conversation without words. After so long together, some things might no longer need to be said.

"Do you want us to stay until your taxi is here?" Wei Wuxian asks, nodding toward the basement stairs. Toward Meng Yao. "You know, in case…"

Lan Xichen considers saying yes, then feels ashamed of himself for thinking like this. Whatever happened in another life, and even if it ruins any chance of romance in the present, Lan Xichen cannot imagine this current Meng Yao harming him.

Perhaps Lan Xichen too hasn't changed, in spite of several lifetimes which should have taught him better.

He shakes his head. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian look unhappy, but don't insist. They tell him, again, to call them, to get in touch, to allow them in his life if he can, and leave.

As soon as their car leaves, Meng Yao emerges from the basement and heads out as well. He looks like he cried, or like he might cry later. He doesn't spare Lan Xichen a single glance, but he seems in such a state that he might just not have noticed the other man.

That second car speeds into the distance.

Just like that, Lan Xichen is alone.

Of course that's hardly new. He spent a few decades alone in this cold house, reflecting on his mistakes. A prison of his own making, with no company but guilt and brushes. Music he'd abandoned after how much it had cost him, but calligraphy, but poetry, but painting…

He painted a lot, and burned it all every now and then. He was never skill enough to produce anything worth keeping, anyway, unlike…

Lan Xichen's eyes wander toward those downward stairs. He came here for a reason, he remembers, and while he might have ruined many things, perhaps this at least he can still have.

When he reaches the basement, Lan Xichen finds the door to Nie Huaisang’s workshop open. A fit of forgetfulness which he takes as an invitation.

Just as Meng Yao promised, this workshop is filled with paintings in Nie Huaisang’s hand. Some appear to be reproductions of pieces Lan Xichen has seen before… unless they are originals. The notes attached to a few appear doubtful, as if the artist himself cannot remember anymore when he first painted each piece. A few are copies of other artists' work, more carefully hidden and annotated. Those, as far as Lan Xichen can tell when it isn't his subject of predilection, are mostly lost artwork. Judging by the notes, they all belonged to masters whom Nie Huaisang once met in person.

Most interesting to Lan Xichen are Nie Huaisang’s own lost works, reproduced by his own hand and carefully labelled. The titles are familiar, as are the subjects in some cases thanks to old descriptions. But it is the first time Lan Xichen sees those, and with each one he feels he uncovers another secret of this artist he has so extensively studied.

The brushstrokes here are innovative, showing progress from this earlier work. But there the curves and lines of mountains, a little clumsy if considered alone, announce the brilliance of a future series. And then there are portraits of disciples, views of the Unclean Realm, all rumoured to have existed but lost to collectors centuries ago. Those are the only ones whose notes do not mention when the originals were lost or destroyed, so it might be that Nie Huaisang, missing his long gone home, bought back the shadows of his old life.

Painting by painting, Nie-Huaisang-the-artist unveils himself to Lan Xichen.

Nie-Huaisang-the-man remains a mystery, until Lan Xichen, having observed and photographed everything else, becomes curious about the desk's two drawers.

In the top one he finds doodles and notes, post-its about orders, lists of works already in collections. There are also candy wrappers, some ancient coins, a novel in a foreign language with a crumbling bookmark. Nie Huaisang hasn't changed, still messy. It makes Lan Xichen want to laugh and cry, thinking of his uncle who once thought he could correct Nie Huaisang’s bad habits. A fight lost from the start, he realises.

Finding nothing useful in this drawer, Lan Xichen is about to open the other one when, somewhere far above him, a car's horn announces that his taxi is here at last. It would be rude to make the driver wait, Lan Xichen thinks, and the first draw contained nothing important, so it is unlikely the second will be different.

It would be wise to leave this place, forget about it, return to his quiet and ordinary life. He'll write his book or he won't, and then move on to something less intimage.

It would be wise and Lan Xichen even takes a step toward the door before changing his mind. He cannot let this last shred of curiosity go unsatisfied. He still carries too many regrets from his previous lives, he cannot accumulate new ones already.

Lan Xichen opens the other drawer, and gasps.

Unlike the rest of the room where everything is organised and cared for, this drawer is filled with piled up sheets of paper that appear to have been unceremoniously thrown there. On top of the pile is the portrait of a melancholic looking man dressed all in white, wearing an embroidered ribbon on his forehead. On the corner of the page, a scribbled note reads ‘more smile’, as well as a recent date.

Without thinking Lan Xichen grabs the painting to get a better look. As he does so, the next sheet of paper on the pile is revealed: another portrait of the same man, nearly identical, though the note is different. Its date is a year earlier, and it reads ‘too stern’. Lan Xichen grabs that painting too, and the next, browsing through them with increasing franzy.

There are well over a hundred portraits of the same man in that drawer, going back centuries. The styles change depending on their age, reflecting the preference of that era. They all have a date, and most have a comment of sorts as well, usually criticising some element of the portrait that must be corrected to achieve true likeness.

A hundred portraits of Lan Xichen.

Because that is him, he knows, even if no name is mentioned. This is who he was in that first life.

Or at least, it is how Nie Huaisang remembered him. The oldest of those paintings is still dated to nearly five centuries after Lan Xichen’s first death, and there’s a roughness to it, a sentiment of urgency, that makes him think it really is the first of that series, that there were no others before that. Even accounting for style, that first painting looks different from the others, it is unpolished and vague, as if Nie Huaisang had almost forgotten what Lan Xichen looked like. The notes on that first painting are scathing, full of reproach about being too stupid to remember what ‘er-ge’ looked like.

How odd, Lan Xichen thinks.

They never really met again, Nie Huaisang and him. Not after the murder of Jin Guangyao. He remembers assuming that Nie Huaisang would have killed him too if he could have. He remembers how that assumption had hurt, and how it had taken him years of isolation to finally realise that what he had felt for Nie Huaisang, just like what he had felt for Jin Guangyao, had gone beyond the acceptable limits of friendship. A realisation come too late, supposing there could ever have been a right time for the three of them.

What a fool he'd been, loving those two men who must have despised him for his weaknesses.

What a fool he must still be, having learned nothing from the past.

#xisang #xiyao #xisangyao #lan xichen #nie huaisang #counterfeit au #it's a short one but eh we're not ready to enter the second part of the fic #this is a treat to myself for surviving this fucking week #jau writes #mdzs

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oldfritz · 3 years ago

Note

I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one.

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’ Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

#frederick the great #elisabeth christine #countess orzelska #madame von wreech #asks #anonymous

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thechangeling · 4 years ago

Text

Enough.

So a while ago I made a headcannon post about Ty's sexuality and the autistic exploration of sex and sexual desire. I have now written a fic about it. This ones for Alex @bedspells my very own Alyssa. Also side note I want to make it clear that yes, I still ship kitty 100%. But I've seen plenty of people write fics and headcannons about Kit exploring things with other people. There's no reason why Ty can't do the same.

Edit: Ok a long time ago this fic actually got a hate comment on Ao3 saying that I was erasing Ty's sexuality by having him hook up with a girl because he was cannonly gay due to a tweet CC made in 2013. Now I don't even have twitter and I wasn't a part of the fandom back then. Despite all of that I actually don't really consider that to be the basis of canon? And in the books he doesn't really express interest in anyone except for Kit. So as far as I'm concerned this was fair game. Not to mention gay people sometimes experiment before they realize they're gay. Especially autistic people!! And that was actually kind of the point of this fic. So maybe just keep that in mind going forward. Thanks!

Tw for mentions and discussions of sex.

Ty could count the instances he hadn't been bothered by another person's touch on one hand. This was certainly one of them. It was so late into the night it could certainly be considered the next morning. Anush, Ty and Alyssa had been doing research on Livvy and the effect she seemed to be having on a serge of demonic activity in the area.

Ty was fairly stressed about the possibility to say the least. It felt like everything was spilling away from him. Livvy, his family, his career.

Kit.

He really didn't want to think about Kit but it was difficult. It was like trying to ignore a bleeding wound that everyone kept referring to as a paper cut.

The shining lights in all of this were Anush and Alyssa. Befriending both of them had been the best part of coming to the scholomance.

Especially Alyssa.

Meeting someone who shared some of his thoughts, feelings and experiences was more then refreshing. It was liberating. Talking, laughing and crying with Alyssa about the things that no one else would understand was like a balm for Ty's soul.

At a certain point Anush had announced that he was retiring to bed and they should both probably do the same. Livvy was still floating around the room observing their work. But as time went on Ty had stopped paying as much attention to her. Now he was resting against Alyssa with his head in her lap. She was sitting on the couch in the library, carefully running her fingers through his hair and rambling on about something, Ty wasn't exactly sure what.

Ty reached up to wrap a lock of her long dark hair around his finger, then watched it spring back into place again. Alyssa's hair was wavy but not curly like- like some peoples. So it didn't spring and bounce very well. That was the interesting thing about Ali in general. So many parts of her dress and appearance were so neat and polished and well put together that Ty almost wondered what it would be like to see her more disheveled. What would it be like to grab and twist and pull until she was left with something that wasn't glossy perfect waves.

Ty panicked a little at that thought. Where exactly had that come from? He was now more then ever painfully aware of the fact that he was lying in an attractive person's lap. And his sister was still in the same room.

Ty looked up to search for Livvy but realized that she was gone. Guiltily he realized she could have been gone for awhile now. But he hadn't noticed. Lately he had been feeling further and further away from his twin and he hated it.

"Do you think stars have feelings?" Alyssa asked wistfully. Ty laughed joyfully, feeling so light and and so far away from every bad thing that had happened three years ago.

"Because I was just thinking," she continued. "Like, what if they're lonley you know?" Ty had to smile at the Alyssa charm of it all. Also the autistic perspective might have had something to do with it.

"I don't know," Ty said, sitting up. "Maybe they're like us. Maybe they like being alone." Alyssa pondered this for awhile.

"Well no one can be alone forever," she pointed out, then laughed, rolling her eyes. "God how did we get here? Remember when we were supposed to be doing actual work Ty?"

"Well we were stupid to think that would last," Ty announced matter of factly. Alyssa shrugged and leaned back against the sofa.

"Probably. Once the neurotypical left it was all downhill from there."

"I disagree, Ty said softly, meeting her gaze. "I enjoy spending time with you." Alyssa instantly smiled, the kind of beautiful, honest, heartfelt smile that allistic people wrote poetry about.

Instantly Ty was reminded of someone else, another brilliant smile.

He shook it off.

"Me too," Alyssa finally answered. Then she shook her head. "Ugh feelings. Gross."

Ty rolled his eyes at her and laughed.

Then Alyssa sat up again as she seemed to remember something. "Oh yeah I meant to ask you about Anush. Do you like him?"

Ty shrugged. "Yeah he's really nice. He's become a good friend."

Alyssa shook her head. "No, no Ty, I mean-" She paused. "I mean do you like him like you wanna date him? Or do you have romantic feelings for him?" She asked.

Ty paused. He honestly wasn't sure. He had been trying to avoid thoughts of those types of feelings for a very specific reason. A Herondale reason. But the truth was he did like really like Anush. He enjoyed being around him. Ty just wasn't sure what that meant.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "Maybe." Alyssa fiddled with her hair, rubbing it between her fingers.

"Hmm. Well do you even like boys?" She asked. "I just realised I've known you for five months now and I dont really know what your deal is," she said contemplating. "Like sexual orientation wise. I mean not that it matters, it totally doesn't," she stammered.

Ty shrugged. "It was never really relevant before. But I'm not really sure. I guess I'm fine with whatever." Alyssa beamed.

"So I guess that means you're kinda like me huh? She said happily. "I'm pansexual. Women are so beautiful and angelic and soft and squishy and awesome, but men can be good too," she mused. "I mean men are......men, but some of them aren't so bad. I mean look at you!" Alyssa tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

"Thanks," Ty responded dryly.

"Anyways you know what I mean," Alyssa waved her hand. "So are you attracted to him at least?" Ty sighed.

"Yeah I am," he admitted. "But I don't- I don't want a relationship Ali. I just can't."

Alyssa studied him for a moment. "Does this have anything to do with the Herondale pendent you wear that you always tell me never to ask questions about?"

Ty scowled. "Yes, but I don't want to talk about it." Alyssa rolled her eyes and put her hands up in surrender.

"Fucking shit fuck! Fine!" She complained. "Anyways, my point is you dont need to date him neccesarily. Just have sex with him and see how you feel?"

Ty sat up and faced her. "What?"

Alyssa laughed. "You heard me. There's nothing wrong with causal sex between consenting adults. I mean, if you want to."

Ty felt the urge to stand up to try and aliviate some of the anxiety he was feeling, but he stayed sitting.

"I've never done it before," he admitted. Ty was 19, he knew most of the people his age had already had some sort of sexual experience. But he had always been too afraid. Too afraid of people touching him and demanding things from him with harsh vague bullshit. In Ty's mind it was just another social interaction that he could screw up and then pay the price for it.

Alyssa shrugged. "It's no big deal. Virginity is just a social construct anyways." Alyssa was playing with her hair casually and biting her lip slightly, to indicate that she was mulling something over.

Ty shook his head trying to explain it. "No, it's- I mean see, you say that, but, one of the things I've learned about this world is that social constructs kind of matter to a lot of people." Ty was taping his fingers against his leg and trying to stop himself from shaking. Alyssa noticed this.

"Because people tell you that's it's no big deal and not to worry, and then other people make it into a big deal like it means something, and then everyone's telling you to do something different," Ty explained with a panicked, rushed voice. "I don't know who you listen to, or what to do!" He was moving his hands frantically while he spoke to emphasize his points.

"Hey it's ok," she cooed, inching towards him. "Trust yourself. Or if you feel like you can't, then trust me." Ty felt a pang in his chest. A cacophony of conflicting emotions erupted within him. But mostly he found that despite his better judgement he actually believed her.

They had created something different between the two of them. Something that almost transcended labels or rules or traditional allistic boundaries. Alyssa was like the armor he put on every morning, with the strength and confidence that he wasn't alone in this world. In the midst of all of their jokes and late night heartbreaking conversations. In the midst of this fragile peace they had created, there was something there. Something indescribable.

Something like the sound of the page being turned in one of his Sherlock novels, or the sound of their favourite songs. A connection. A lifeline.

Ty looked over at Alyssa's concerned face and smiled softly. "I trust you," he promised. "I don't really trust many people, but I've always trusted you," he admitted. Alyssa inhaled sharply. She made an interesting facial expression that might have been a facial stim and then gaped for awhile before finally closing her mouth and avoiding Ty's gaze.

"Yeah that's cool. I trust you too," she said casually. She had gone back to pulling at her poor hair which was shedding everywhere. Anush always joked that he could always tell where Alyssa was by following the trail of hair.

"So, about the whole sex thing," she continued rather unceremoniously. Ty had to laugh a little. "Do you think it's something you're actually interested in? Or do you just feel like you have to?" She asked.

Ty pondered this for a moment. "I think I might want to. I just want to be with someone that I trust. Someone who will be considerate of my boundries, you know?" Ty did a quick glance around the room to make sure Livvy was still gone.

"Wait she's not here right?" Alyssa asked anxiously, catching on. Ty shook his head.

Alyssa paused for a moment, looking lost in thought. She was flicking her fingernails against each other and continuing to murder her bottom lip by chewing on it. Finally she looked up at him, looking rather amused.

"Ok. This might just be the exhaustion talking, or the autism, or a combination of both. So if you feel uncomfortable with what I'm about to say, then afterwards we can just forget it ok?" Alyssa sounded serious. Ty just nodded, trying not to be concerned.

Alyssa gave him an interesting look, one that he was pretty sure he had never recieved before. Her eyes scanned him up and down, then she smirked.

"I could potentially offer my services," she said innocently. Ty blinked a few times, then continued to stare at her. She stared back unflinching.

Wait. What?

Ty shook his head in confusion. "Hold on. Wait. You mean-?" He cut himself off. Alyssa nodded with that same smirk. "Yeah I mean why not right?" She shrugged, relaxing back against the sofa. "But if you dont want to then that's totally fine."

"Wait." Ty attempted to clear his head and stay focused. He stayed frozen for awhile, thinking. Then he folded his arms around himself, applying pressure. "Why exactly?"

Alyssa shrugged again. "Well why not? You're hot. I'm hot, and besides you know me," she pointed out. She paused, and then giggled.

"Four hours into investigating the paranormal phenomenon of his dead twin sister and chill, then she offers to take his virginity," she cackled. "I so enjoy our quality time together."

"The way your mind works really concerns me sometimes, you know that?" He asked playfully. Alyssa rolled her eyes at him and shoved him gently.

"Hey you don't have to, it was just an idea," she said, raising her hands in defense. Ty was silent. He was still thinking about it.

"Most people don't really do stuff like this right?" He asked warily. "Like most friends don't just randomly hook up and then laugh it off later."

Alyssa shook her head slowly. "Honey do you see me laughing?"

Ty was conflicted. There was something in him, a new, complicated feeling. A burning desire that nagged at the back of his mind everytime Alyssa bit her lip or pouted.

If he was really honest with himself. Ty could remember another time when he felt this way. But that was different, that was-.

He shook his head. No. Ty wasn't thinking about that anymore. He needed a distraction.

"God I can practically hear you thinking over here Ty," Alyssa teased. "Listen. If it freaks you out to much then we can forget about it. But-." She paused and reached towards him. Their fingertips met and she slowly dragged her fingertips down the top of Ty's hand.

"I want to do this for you because I care about you," she said solemnly. "I want make you feel good. Because you're special, and I dont mean that in the bullshit ableist way. I mean I think that you're special because you have such a big heart and you care so much," she said with a laugh.

Ty felt like he was about to cry. He was taking in long deep breaths trying not to get overwhelmed. He didnt know how to respond to this, this kind of attention and praise. His heart felt warm and tight absorbed in so much fondness and melancholy and regret all at once.

He knew this wasn't anything like what had happened that day on the beach. This wasn't that kind of love that he was feeling for Alyssa and that was a good thing. Romantic love, he decided, was too complicated.

"You deserve good things and good experiences. You deserve to have your first time be somewhere familiar. Somewhere you feel safe, and with someone who loves you." Alyssa wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

"God sorry for getting all emotional like that," she joked.

Ty couldn't speak, so he just squeezed her hand. He hoped she would understand.

I love you too.

Ty took a breath, then nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah I want that. I want you."

Alyssa exhaled, then grinned. "Ok then. Great. I'll see if I can pencil you in sometime this week," she joked. Ty cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"Oh," he murmered, suprised with how disappointed he felt. "You mean later?" Alyssa laughed.

"Well yeah, I mean aren't you tired?"

"Are you?" Ty countered.

Alyssa shrugged. "Hey you know how it is, autistic sleep cycle. I'm gonna be up for awhile. I just figured you might want some time to think."

Ty shook his head. "No I don't want to think anymore. I'm tired of thinking Ali. I'm tired of worrying and overanalyzing everything." His eyes met hers, she seemed a little worried.

She moved closer to him so that she was practically in his lap. "You need a distraction," she said matter of factly. "It's ok." She moved her hands from his arms to grasp his waist.

"Is this good?"

Ty flinched. "More pressure," he replied in a tone that was hopefully not too demanding. Alyssa pressed her fingertips down harder into his skin. A soothing feeling washed over him.

"Good?" She asked, scratching his skin with her fingernails. Ty just nodded, feeling slightly dazed.

Alyssa smiled, lowering herself gracefully into his lap. Everything she did was with precision and grace. Alyssa was a dancer. It was one of her special interests. She had stopped taking lessons a long time ago though because she found it challenging to dance in a group.

She could never copy what everyone else was doing exactly on count when she was supposed to. She was always going off and improvising on her own. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

Alyssa's weight against him was comforting. She was moving her hands up and down his back underneath his shirt while still applying pressure. Ty felt heat beginning to pool in the base of his stomach. He stared at her curiously, taking in her soft curves and her smooth golden skin.

"Can I touch you?" Ty asked, feeling his fingers twitch.

Alyssa moved her hands to his chest. "Sure." She said softly. "Just be careful. Remember pressure and all of that, and try to avoid my stomach area. For some reason it's really sensitive." Ty nodded, instantly reaching for her long wavy dark hair and twisting his fingers around it, pulling slightly. She laughed.

This drew Ty's attention to her mouth. Her lips were cracked and rough looking from Alyssa constantly biting them, but Ty still wanted to kiss her. He had never kissed anyone before. He needed to know what it felt like.

He moved his hands to her shoulders and then to her sides, pulling Alyssa even closer. "Can you teach me how to kiss?" He asked looking her in the eye briefly. She snorted.

"I don't think you'll like it very much," she murmered. "It's not really a good sensory experience. At least not for me. Allistic people seem to like it though."

Ty nodded. "Exactly that's my point," he said, using one hand to cradle the side of her neck. "I need to learn for other people later on." He absentmindedly pressed his thumb into one of the divots in her neck, just to fill the space. Alyssa sighed and dug her fingernails into his chest.

"Ok fine but you're gonna hate the tounge thing," she breathed. She leaned down very slowly and then carefully pressed her lips to Ty's, kissing him softly.

It was a weird sensation but not entirely unpleasant. Ty happily slid his hands back into her hair and began to fiddle with a few thick pieces. Alyssa moved her own hands up his chest to cradle her face, applying pressure with thumbs against his cheekbones.

Alyssa deepened the kiss and slid her tounge into his mouth. Instantly Ty winced and felt every cell in his body seize up. But he didn't stop. He was determined to figure this out. If he wanted to kiss someone who wasn't autistic in the future then he would need to. Ty relaxed his body and kissed her back forcefully, making out with Alyssa until the uncomfortable noise in his head was too much and he broke the kiss.

Ty shook his head and Ali laughed, stroking his hair. "I fucking told you so," she exclaimed. Ty shut his eyes and allowed his breathing to return to normal.

"Ok so that's something we can forget about for now, thank god. The beauty of this whole situation is that we dont have to follow any allistic script for this sort of thing." Ty opened his eyes. Alyssa was watching him carefully, still only centimeters away from his face.

"So is there anything you want to do?" She asked him. "Just tell me and I'll see if we can make it happen."

Ty saw no need to maintain any sort of filter. "Well there are a lot of things actually, but for some reason I really want to bite you," he said pointedly, glancing down at her neck. Alyssa burst out laughing, nearly falling over.

Ty glared at her. "I'm sorry," she gasped breathlessly. "I'm sorry it's just,-," she regained her composure, shaking her head. "I just love how we all used to be the weird kids who growled and hissed at people on the playground if they bothered us and now as adults we're just super kinky. Like it's kind of poetic in a way," she laughed.

Ty rolled his eyes. There was no need to ask what she meant by we. When Alyssa said we, it only referred to one thing.

"I'm sure it's not absolutely every autistic person," he protested. "Also we should move, on account of the fact that this is still a public setting." Alysza's eyes widened as if she had just remembered that.

"Oh right. Shit, as if these people needed any more reasons to hate me. Let's go!" She rolled off of Ty and stood in front if him, holding out her hand. "We can use my room." Ty stayed sitting, taking a moment to fully absorb it all.

He couldn't help but feel the weight of the Herondale pendent against his chest as a heavy reminder. He willed himself not to get distracted. Alyssa smiled at him slightly, almost as if she knew.

"Enough," she said softly.

Ty didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't even sure if their was anything he wanted say. Then finally he understood.

"Enough," he echoed back.

He took her outstretched hand and let her take him away.

@ti-bae-rius @eutony-in-whisper @dianasarrow @dianasarrow @stxr-thxif @talia-lightwood @doitforthecarstairs @thelandunderthehilll @zfoxdraws @waterlillies

#tda #the dark artifices #tsc #twp #the wicked powers #ty blackthorn #Alyssa Reyes #autistic representation #Fae's oc

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omg-just-peachy · 4 years ago

Text

pure of heart, dumb of ass

for a double bingo on my @tonystarkbingo card (#3049)! Square T2 (AU: Teachers). Mr. Stark thinks pretending to hate his fellow teacher, Mr. Rogers is a smart way to keep their relationship under wraps. What he didn’t account for was Peter Parker.

(~900w, fluff, secret relationship shenanigans in a high school setting)

Tony watches as the last of his Science Club kids pack their bags and head for the door, looking surreptitiously down at a text from Steve.

Time to go? Want to stop at Ralph’s on the way home? I could use a drink.

Tony smiles as he answers: 5 minutes, hot stuff, then I’m all yours.

“Hey, Mr. Stark, do you have a minute?”

Peter is standing in front of Tony’s desk, and he slides the phone down and out of sight in one smooth motion. The last thing he needs is the kids getting wind of his relationship with Steve. After breaking off a well-known engagement two years ago, Tony knows all too well what it means to have students (and their parents, and other faculty…) invested in your personal life, and it’s not a history he’s looking to repeat. Definitely not with another teacher, and certainly not one like Steve Rogers, beloved English teacher to the high school masses.

Tony was pretty sure the kids wrote him poetry. Bad poetry, but still, they adored him. And, more importantly, they somehow got it in their heads that Steve and Tony were mortal enemies. Or, at the very least, rival teachers, apparently due to the fact that Tony led Science Club and Steve ran the school newspaper. The logic was flimsy at best, but Tony hadn’t bothered to correct them, despite Steve’s clucking. (I don’t want to act like I hate you, Tony! Why do we have to pretend anything at all?)

“For you, Mr. Parker, of course. What’s up, kid?” He shouldn’t have favorites, Tony knows this. And outwardly, he doesn’t. But Peter Parker has been in Science Club since his freshman year, and in Tony’s AP class for two years running, and he’s not just brilliant, but he always has a kind word for everyone else. Tony was writing him a glowing recommendation letter, though he can’t say he’s looking forward to the emptiness Peter will leave behind when he graduates.

“What do you think about Mr. Rogers?” Peter asks, like he’s about to propose something truly life changing.

Tony forces himself to swallow. “I—what?”

“I know, you hate him, right? But some of the guys were saying they think you’re dating him. I said no way, but they insisted. So I had to come over here and set the record straight.”

“Why would they think we’re dating, exactly?” Tony can’t help himself, he has to know. Kids are perceptive, sure, but they’re also notoriously self-obsessed. How on earth had they picked up on it?

Peter’s face flushes. “Uh...you know…” He trails off, clearly regretting his choice to broach the subject.

“I really don’t. I thought you were here to enlighten me.” Tony lifts an eyebrow, does his best Serious Teacher Face, and waits.

“Sex...uh…” Peter clears his throat. “Sexual tension?” He takes a step backwards, face aflame. “Actually, you know what Mr. Stark, they’re probably wrong, I just thought it would be funny, y’know, your reaction, but uh…”

Tony sinks down into his desk chair, torn between putting Peter out of his misery, and disbelief that the cat was out of the bag.

“Actually, MJ told me I was an idiot to come up here. I mean, she says that about most things I do, so.”

Tony laughs, thank god for MJ. “She’s not wrong.”

“...She thinks Mr. Barnes is more your type anyway,” Peter continues, then slaps a hand over his mouth. “I mean, no. She didn’t—”

“Kid. Take a breath, alright? Here’s what we’re gonna do. You have a bus to catch, am I right? I have to go home and eat dinner and grade your tests, and we’re both going to pretend this never happened. Tell MJ and everyone else, no more speculating about my romantic life, got it? I haven’t turned in your recommendation letter yet. You might still end up somewhere terrible like Brown. Or worse, Harvard.”

“Those are still Ivy League schools,” Peter says, indignant. They both know, though, that his sights are set on MIT, Tony’s own alma mater.

“But they’re not MIT.”

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to support my future no matter what.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to ambush me after school about my personal life,” Tony counters.

“That’s fair. And hey, Mr. Stark, I really am sorry—”

But just then, Steve’s beautiful blond head makes its way around the doorframe, totally oblivious to the fact that Peter is still there. It’s been well over the five minutes Tony promised, so it’s no wonder Steve had come looking for him.

“Hey, sweetheart, the coast is clear… Oh! Peter. Hi, I was just…” Steve’s frantic, his face going pink and mortified, eyes darting to Tony, begging for help.

Tony just laughs, because really, what can they do to recover? Poor Peter looks like he could be knocked over with a feather.

“It’s okay,” Tony says. “We were all just leaving, right?” Steve and Peter just stare at him, incredulous.

But really, what was there to be done? Peter’s a good kid, he isn’t likely to spread their secret. He’d come to Tony to stop the spread of gossip, technically. And even if he did tell someone, Tony thinks, looking over at Steve, maybe it is time to stop hiding.

“Sorry again, Mr. Stark. And, Mr. Rogers, I’m just gonna—” Peter all but runs from the room, leaving Tony and Steve alone. Tony winds an arm around Steve’s waist as they walk to the door, Steve still stunned into silence.

“What just happened?”

Tony leans into Steve’s side, flicking the lights off as they pass. “I’ll tell you over that drink.”

#the title is fitting bc it applies to ALL of them lets be honest #stevetony #stony #super husbands #steve/tony #my fic #fluff #tsb2020 #bingo woooo

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dirtyhuantingthings · 4 years ago

Text

The Baroness

Part 3

did you miss part two?

“So how was your night with The Baroness?” Porthos finally asked. They were nearly to the garrison.

“I -uh-no.” It seemed praying Porthos hadn’t noticed wasn’t a successful strategy. “Plants!” Aramis blurted out. “Datura! Queen of the Night!”

“Are you having a fit?” Porthos side eyed Aramis.

“There was a bug trapping..” Aramis snapped to jostle his memory “Nafensis- napresis- nafensus?

“Nepenthes?” Porthos offered.

“Yes!- wait you know about the rat eating plants?” Aramis exclaimed.

“I’ve read about them” Porthos said curtly.

“Whew... Honestly, I was much more worried about trying to explain that absurdity than anything else” Aramis breathed.

“So?” Porthos was curious.

“The concoction she used to knock us out, is made from flowers that only bloom at night. I have a sample. And she made be willing to part with the recipe for a steep price and a blood oath of secrecy, I’m guessing” said Aramis. “So are you going to write her then?” he said after a pause.

“Poetry?” Porthos laughed.

“Hey, don’t I always look out for you?“ said Aramis putting his hands on Porthis shoulder.

“Whatever would or wouldn’t have happened...I just. We should be honest about it” Porthos said as they rounded the corner to the garrison.

Before they could even get past the gates D'artagnan ran up to meet them.

“I know you’ve only just arrived. But I don’t know who else to go to with this” D'artagnan appeared overwhelmed. “Can we go somewhere privately?” he asked.

D'artagnan explained the whole situation very quickly.

“Constance is in trouble?” Porthos said alarmed.

“No, It’s her dearest friend Corinne.” D'artagnan corrected.

“But if her husband skipped town..isn’t that a good thing?” Aramis asked.

“No, he’s left Paris, with Corrinne” D'artagnan clarified.

“And there’s no clue as to where he would have taken her?” Porthos asked.

“Well, we know that the people he borrowed money from are to be taken very seriously. They are looking for him. So leaving altogether, he might be easily spotted at ports of entry. Constance says he’s a known coward, he often lays low until things that have calmed down. It’s reasonable to assume that he’s going to stay hidden until he think they’re bored of looking for him and then flee the country” D'artagnan laid out all the plausible scenarios.

“What are we to do? I mean even if we can track them down? Porthos very much wanted to help but he wasn’t sure what could be done.

“The man is a noted scoundrel, petty crimes, his mean streak while under the influence of drink is well known. It took some doing but, Corrinne’s sister has already spoken to the judge, he’s willing to dissolve the union on health grounds.”

“That’s..” Aramis started.

“Unusual” Porthos finished.

“It appears this judge is quite particular in cases involving mothers; being separated from their children and the fact that this foul piece of” D’Artangan clinched his fists. “Has taken Corinne away and left her young child with her sister. Well -it’s got to work in our favor that combined with Corrinne in the condition that she is, and with the husband afoul of the law, her sister is in a better position to take care of her and her young child until she can recover. If we can just physically get her back here. He will sign the waiver. Corrinne and her child can legally move in with her sister.” D'artagnan looked to his fellow musketeers.

“So you think he’s on the outskirts of Paris, waiting for an opportunity to flee?” Porthos asked turning to Aramis.

“We might have an idea” Aramis said.

Baroness Beausoleil put down her tea cup

“Unofficial business?” The Baroness clarified.

“We can’t reimburse you for-” Aramis started.

“That’s not my concern” The Baroness interrupted. “Why are you doing this?”

“We may not having any legal means of remedying the situation but Constance is our friend and men like -they’re scum” Porthos said through clenched teeth.

“There’s plenty of space here. How long do you need?” The Baroness stood abruptly.

“So you’ll do it?” Aramis brightened.

The Baroness stared in annoyance, narrowing her eyes at Aramis.

“Six days, at most” Porthos answered her question.

The Baroness considered it momentarily “Margot can set you up in some rooms. If you will excuse me, I should already be at the market.” The Baroness turned and walked away.

“Don’t take it personal” Margot said.

The musketeers jumped in alarm.

“Jules has to look after his sick wife’s poor mother and she’s doing the market today in her own. She’s really behind.” Margot explained.

“I can help” Aramis found Baroness Beausoleil counting and recounting a crate of bottles. At least three pencils perched in her tangled mess of curls.

“Oh- no. I just” Baroness trailed off frowning at her products.

Aramis placed a hand on her arm. “It’s the least we can do.”

After everything was loaded onto the carriage and the two of them were well on their way Baroness Beausoleil remained a fidgety mess.

“Is everything alright?” Aramis asked.

“You know the women I told you about?” she ignored his question.

“The ones who are most certainly plotting to murder their husbands?” Aramis half joked.

The Baroness shrugged off his comment. “We meet at a certain time, early. Before the general public arrives. They won’t want a King’s guard sniffing about”

“I assure you I will be discreet. I am a mere work hand hired in Jules’s absence” Aramis pressed his hand to his heart.

The Baroness let out a slow breath. “That will be the best place to find her.”

“What? Who? Corinne?” Aramis said confused.

“Not today. If she just got into town. But by week’s end. If things are how you say. Women who have endured as she has. She will seek me out the moment she has leave to.” The Baroness explained.

“But if he’s holding her captive-” Aramis began to protest.

“A drunk?” A failure of man by all accounts? No he will need her to do the cooking and the procuring of clothes- if they have in fact left in a hurry. A man such as that is not capable of feeding himself. She will be sent out to get food if nothing else and is she is in a mind to see her child again she will become desperate and she will ask around- she will have no choice” The Baroness concluded.

Aramis nodded gravely. Neither of them said much until they arrived at the market. Already busy with merchants, Aramis looked around a the chaos, smiling it reminded him of the bustle of the city.

“There you are!” A gruff older man said in a heavy baritone. “I was just giving you stall away”

“I’m sorry! Jules’s wife’s mother came down with- I got here as soon as I could” The Baroness looked frantic.

“Sorry lad, the Lady has arrived after all” the large man shooed off some orange hair man with a healthy mustache.

“Thank you so much” The Baroness pulled out a bag filled with bottles of what Aramis did not know, but it appeared she had anticipated running into this exact situation. She turned to Aramis.

“We’ve got one half-hour before we open” Baroness Beausoleil turned to Aramis.

The two worked fervently until the sun began to droop over the horizon. Aramis plopped on a nearby stool. This is a lot of work.

The Baroness was talking to a blonde women with two rambunctious children racing around the both of them, screeching at the top of their lungs. Aramis was just considering taking a brief nap when Baroness Beausoleil returned.

The Baroness returned, “That woman there, Mrs. Veilleux, she hasn’t heard of anyone new arriving into to town but if anyone's to know about it, it should be her. She can get word to me.

Aramis beamed, knowing he had made the right decision.

“But that’s it for today.” The Baroness said with some relief.

“Really?” Aramis asked hopeful.

“The rest are special order. I will have them ready for next time. I -just wanted to say thank you, Renee you were of great help today. I wouldn't’ have gotten through the day without you.” The Baroness looked intently at him.

Aramis blushed a bit, his name somehow sweeter rolling of her tongue. He cleared his throat. “It’s not problem at all.

The two proceeded to deconstruct the tent in a companionable silence and loaded everything into the cart just as the late breaking sun reached highest in the sky. The trip back should have felt shorter but it appeared to stretch long on into a muggy afternoon.

Aramis felt hot and cooped up in the small carriage. More comfortable riding horseback. Unaccustomed to being boxed in a cramped space with a breathtaking woman he was not allowed to touch. Aramis tried to think of a last time any woman was considered off limits. He couldn’t. The things he did for love. Porthos better have written a whole sonnet for Alice by the time they got back. I can do this Aramis told himself. I am a supportive friend. They are crafted for each other. They are going visit every library in the country and talk about bugs or whatever else. he was going to be a loyal friend. He was going to increase Porthos’ proficiency in the romantic arts. He was going to...He was going to suffocate if he didn't’ out of this carriage.

“Stop! Stop! Here please” Aramis shouted to the driver and flung himself out of the carriage before it even came close to a stop. The Baroness called after him. He wasn’t quite sure what she said.

“I’ll just need a minute” Aramis called behind him.

He stumbled several yards from the dusty road and leaned against a narrow tree to catch his breath. Get hold of yourself Renee. You’re a musketeer. Aramis took a few deep breaths and up-righted himself. A few paces more and he found himself in a clearing. A grave yard actually. He came across an old stone mausoleum. Over grown with vines most everywhere but the grave markers, the foot paths and the low stones benches. As old as it was, someone was doing their best to keep it up.

“Have you someone here?” The Baroness’ voice came from behind.

Startled Aramis whirled around. “No.” Aramis shook his head “ Coincidence. I just saw this clearing I just needed- the heat” Aramis failed to come up with a viable excuse. The Baroness skirts were hiked up to her thighs to keep from snagging on the brambles. She had a light sheen of sweat that glimmered across her brow. Aramis couldn’t bring himself to look higher than her waist line. She handed him water bladder he accepted it gratefully. But wouldn’t look at her. Couldn’t, look at her.

“We should really” Alice started but Aramis took a few steps back.

“Apologies Baroness. If I could just have a few more moments.” Aramis asked backing into the square courtyard.

“Of course.” Alice said backing away.

As if being pulled on a string Aramis felt himself drift towards her. As if he let her leave now, he’d never see her again. An absurd thought. Six days. He just had to keep himself together for six days. He could manage this. He would be busy tracking this scoundrel and he just had to. Aramis felt the wind shift. It blew threw her hair and that dammed fragrance, what was it? It filled his every thought. Aramis closed his eyes against it, trying to shut it out.

“Are you sure you’re alright.” Alice looked concerned.

“To be honest Baroness Beausoleil. I’m starting to re-think if it’s appropriate to h-house, perhaps there is a close enough establishment, that. I could -find” Aramis’ fractured words echoed off of the stone courtyard.

The Baroness stood patiently.

Aramis was dotted in sweat. “I won’t be able to ride back with you I’m afraid, Baroness Beausoleil” Aramis concluded hands gripping each other behind his back.

“You intend to walk back to my estate?” Alice said with a smile.

“I Intend to locate another means of traversing the road and yes I will reconvene with you just as soon as I follow up on an in-inquiry.” Aramis stammered.

“An inquiry?” Alice took a step towards him.

“If you could just” Aramis tried to think of something reasonable to say.

“Just?” Alice took another step.

“Alice” Aramis pleaded.

The Baroness strode past Armais and set at the top of the stone steps. “You have until the sun reaches there” She pointed in the sky. “You do whatever you need to do but then you come back with me and you find is man” she instructed. “Before anything happens.”

Aramis swallowed. “That’s just it. I know time is short. I haven’t had a single thought in my mind other than. Since - I’m seeing your face- Just tell me there’s no chance. Just-” Aramis was at the Baroness’ feet now.

“What is keeping you from focusing on finding Corinne?” The Baroness asked.

Aramis climbed up one step and then another. He teased at the edge of the Baroness skirts with his fingers. “You know” He looked sheepishly up at her. Tentatively Aramis inched his hand upwards under the Baroness’ skirts. Past her knee, toward her inner thigh. He pressed his lips against her in adoration, his and fingers working on concert until he felt her tense and shudder and settle.

It didn’t take long to retrace their steps and locate the carriage, the driver patiently waiting. The Baroness looked composed but Aramis did a poor job of hiding a wide smile even as they pulled back onto the estate.

#the musketeers #aramis x porthos #porthos #aramis

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ladynestaarcheron · 5 years ago

Text

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Eleven

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost (ff.net isn’t working for me rn, so i’ll update chapter eleven there probably tomorrow)

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

hey hey hey!! i’m back with chapter eleven after only two weeks!! i was actually procrastinating writing my poetry essay and working on my novel by writing this, so that counts as productivity, right?

thanks to my fantabulous beta @thestarwhowishes and thank to you all for reading!! i am just floored by all of your support, it means so much to me!!

(and psst!! if you like my writing maybe try out my sideblog where i post original content @liorzoewrites)

anyway, chapter eleven! enjoy!

---

November 2 - 4 years after

When Hazar finally arrives at the shop, Maz, Amir, and Xeyale start to tell the whole staff what happened at Amalike Orchards’ berry fair.

“Chokecherry already had booths set up when we got there,” Maz says, grimacing. “With Morrisey’s new novel.”

“And they had agents with them,” Xeyale adds.

Adil frowns. “What do you mean, agents?”

“Publishing agents.”

“They were signing authors at the fair?” Hazar asks, disbelief all over his normally cheerful face.

“Not exactly,” Xeyale says.

“They were taking in manuscripts,” Amir says. “For short stories, we think. We think their plan is to publish a collection of them.”

“And that’s their brilliant archiving strategy?” Nesta says. “Just taking any short story from any writer who shows up at the berry fair and tying it all together into a book?” She shares a look with Adil. No one appreciates the art of literature anymore.

“It is a brilliant strategy,” Hazar says, reluctant to admit it.

“We think so, too,” Amir says, and Xeyale nods behind them. Before any of them can protest, Amir raises their hands in surrender. “Look, you’re all archivists. Readers. Some of you are writers. But from publishing and marketing standpoints...it goes faster. If one author writes a three hundred page novel, that one author has to have a good idea and a good execution. Or people won’t buy it. But if you get ten authors each writing thirty pages...even if four of them aren’t that great, people will still buy it for the sixth.”

“Or one big name author with a few other smaller ones,” Hazar says. “That’ll sell just the same.”

“But the same number of books get sold,” Adil says. “Don’t they lose money, with all the authors they have to pay per book?”

“More books get sold,” Hazar says.

“It suits a larger audience,” Nesta realizes. “So more people buy it.” Because those six authors they’ll buy the book for are different authors for everyone.

Sometimes Nesta hates individual taste. Especially if it’s poor.

Adil puts his head in his hands. “How many publishing agents do they have?”

“Not many,” Maz says. “We only saw three at the fair.”

“For all those new authors?”

“I imagine the authors aren’t treated very well,” Hazar says, frowning slightly. “But they might not care, if they get published quickly.”

“That’ll be bad for them in the long run, though,” Leyla says, speaking up.

“I agree with you, but again, they might not care.”

“Do we have to start publishing short story collections?” Zeyn asks.

Nesta thinks about what would go into that. They would need to find so many new authors. Sugar Books--and Adil--believes in the separation of genre, so they couldn’t just cram any random ten stories together. It would go against their idea of what the literary world should be. What would that take, to find a variety of authors who write on the same subject, with the enough of the same general style to create harmony, but each unique enough to justify its presence in the book?

She shivers involuntarily, very thankful for Cassian’s shared account.

"We’ll definitely have to start signing more authors,” Adil decides. “We’ll...send out scouts.”

“To Chokecherry?” Maz says.

“No,” Adil says. “But everywhere else. Where authors frequent. We’ll have to go overtime on reading manuscripts. But we will not--” he slams his hand down on the table quite suddenly, startling them all “--compromise on the integrity and quality of literature.”

“Hear, hear!” Zeyn calls, and Nesta suppresses a smile. He catches it and winks at her.

“We’ll split up. Xeyale, Amir, and Nesta, you’ll stay and run the shop. Hazar, you stay here, too, and wait for our new clients. Miri and I will go to Berries’ Rivers, Maz, you go to Privet Falls, Leyla, Wintergreen Glen, and Zeyn, Juniper Hills. We’re talent scouting. Find places authors frequent, approach them, if they’re any good, send them here.” He looks at them all intently.

Zeyn and Nesta exchange a glance.

“Ah, Adil,” Zeyn says, rather timid. “You do know that that’s insane, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, already making to leave the room and go back to his office.

“All the gods,” Hazar says, standing up. “I’ve got to go get a cup of coffee.” And he leaves too.

“I mean, that’s insane, right?” Zeyn says.

“I think we’re all in agreement of that, yes,” Leyla says, nodding.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Miri says.

They all look at her.

"Maybe it’s time for a change,” she defends. “Maybe this is the way to do it. This is what they do in the acting industry, right?”

“But this isn’t the acting industry.”

“He’s really stressed about this,” Miri says. “He doesn’t want this place to lose anymore than Chokecherry has already taken from it.” He doesn’t want any of you to lose anymore than Chokecherry has taken, she doesn’t say, but they all see it in her eyes. “I think it will work.” She stands. “And at any rate...it’s what we’re doing.” She leaves.

“I hate what this is doing to everyone,” Maz complains, and Nesta hates to agree with him, but she does too.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be the only archivist while you’re all off turning into the acting industry,” she says, shaking her head.

Zeyn and Leyla laugh.

"Don’t worry,” Xeyale says, grinning at her. “We’ll be here to keep you company.”

“A real comfort,” she says dryly. She stands too. “Well, I suppose we’ve got work to do. We need to find all the places...authors frequent.” She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, in a fifty mile radius,” Maz grumbles. “This is never going to work.”

“Don’t say that,” Zeyn says lightly. “It might. And wouldn’t it be great? To discover new talent like that?”

Nesta knows the question isn’t directed at her, but she wonders anyway--what would it be like? In publishing? She didn’t think she’d like archiving before she started; she thought reading was the only thing she enjoyed.

That’s not something she can explore now, though, and that’s why Adil is having her stay here. So she shakes herself and goes to find maps of the surrounding towns.

---

November 20 - Year of

She avoided him for days after she snapped. He caught her in the living room when she came back from work one day.

“Wait, Nesta,” he said, jumping to his feet as soon as she walked in.

Nesta stifled a groan. She didn’t want to have this conversation.

She didn’t like that tentative, detached politeness. She was angry.

(And Cassian was anything but tentative and detached. It felt abnormal sharing that with him.)

“Please,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Nesta said stiffly, “Don’t worry about it,” and tried to push past him.

“No, Nesta,” he said, raising his hands and blocking her path to the hallway. “Not for breakfast. I mean, yes for breakfast, but also...for everything. For bringing you here. For...leaving you here.”

She froze. He did too.

She moved her eyes from his face. She couldn’t look at him.

Why was everything so hot all of a sudden?

“I...should have known this wasn’t the right thing to do,” he said, slowly, carefully. Nesta could tell he was thinking hard about each word before he said it. “To bring you here and leave you alone. Here, of all places. We thought...I thought it would be good for you. I thought...you would have space and maybe you would want to train and that would be a good outlet for you the same way it is for me and you’d get....”

Better, he didn’t say.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was hoarse and Nesta was scared to look at him so she didn’t.

He sat back down. “That’s...all I wanted to say,” he said lamely.

Nesta kept her eyes averted as she nodded slightly and ducked into the hall, into her room, shutting the door behind her.

He apologized.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

And he certainly seemed sorry--just by his voice, of course, because she hadn’t seen his face.

He’d thought she might want to train...he didn’t know her at all, clearly. And he hadn’t mentioned all of it; not all that happened in Velaris and the fact that she was this thing now, but she was glad of it, because all he did say was nearly too much to bear.

And she couldn’t spend the rest of her night going over everything, playing it all back in her head until she knew the words by heart, so she tried to best to put it all out of her mind.

Because...was she supposed to forgive him now?

---

November 2 - 4 years after

The staff is gone later that day, as Adil is determined to discover five brilliant new authors before the month is over. Nesta is glad Miri is going with him; she might talk some sense into him.

“Does he actually think Gilameyva’s just bleeding ingenious writers?” Leyla had muttered to her before they all left.

Nesta laughed a little. “He’s just anxious,” she said, echoing Miri.

"I can’t believe I have to go to Wintergreen Glen. It’s so boring.”

"Well, maybe you’ll find a whole new world to fall into.”

"Right. I’m sure we’ll find the next Morrissey in Wintergreen Glen.”

"Why not?” Zeyn had said, appearing next to them. “Morrisey’s from Privet Falls.”

And Morrissey, Nesta thinks to herself as she walks back home, isn’t even that great of a writer.

She doesn’t have to pick up the children from nursery because Cassian’s already got them. It’s quite nice, actually, to be able to spend a little while longer at work locking up and stop for a coffee from Jamal’s without worrying too much.

Aysel is there, too, and she walks back with her. “So,” she says to her, eager to get to the point after what was surely a painful exchange of pleasantries for the town’s resident busybody, “I hear that Cassian of yours has been staying for quite some time.”

"He comes and goes.”

"He’s been here a week.”

“That’s true,” she says.

“I saw him today. He picked the children up. Oh, they’re so cute, you know. Just the sweetest little things.”

“I agree with you.”

“You do such a good job with them!”

“Thank you, Aysel.”

“I remember when they were born. Ooh, Ollie was so tiny, do you remember?”

“Their birth?” Nesta laughs. “Vividly.”

Aysel laughs too, in that hurried way she always does. “Of course, of course. He’s so big now.”

“He is,” she agrees. She can’t believe it, sometimes, how much they have grown in three years. Especially Ollie; he had been so small.

“And his father,” Aysel says, in a tone she thinks is supposed to be sly. “Well, he’s not small, is he?”

“He’s tall,” Nesta says neutrally.

“ Very tall. Probably the tallest person in Sugar Valley, ever.”

“We had some tall people in for the last Berry Fair.”

“Tallest one now.”

“Probably.”

“How tall do you think your boys are going to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Ava?”

“Taller than I am, I hope.”

“Oh, don’t say that, dearie. You’re such a darling height.”

They reach their street then, and Nesta might’ve invited her for strawberry tea and jam, but she’s not going to. Confirming personally that Cassian is her children’s father to Aysel is one thing, inviting her inside to meet him is quite another.

“Well, have a good evening, Aysel,” she says.

“You too, dearie. Kisses to the babies!”

She waves at her over her shoulder and strides up to her porch.

She might’ve guessed something is wrong by the fact that she can’t hear any noise from the inside, but she knows for sure because Cassian rips the door open as soon as she reaches it. His face is pale.

Nesta’s heart drops. “What is it?” A million different scenarios run through her mind, each one worse than the last.

“Come inside,” is all he says.

They rush up the stairs, Nesta’s pulse going faster than it ever has before when he leads her up the stairs and to her children’s bedroom. She braces herself as best she can for when she goes inside, but she knows there isn’t a good way to prepare.

But they’re all there...whole. In three perfect pieces. Nicky and Ollie laying in the beds, Avery standing in between them, her hand on Nicky’s form.

She looks at Cassian, his face still ashen. “What?” she asks.

His eyes widen. “They’re sick!”

Nesta throws a hand to her forehead. For mercy’s sake. “Don’t,” she says, rubbing her temples, “ever deliver news to me that way.”

Her heartbeat back to normal, she joins Avery in the middle of her sons’ beds. She settles herself on her knees and pulls her close. She doesn’t feel hot.

"How are you feeling, ladybug?”

"Good,” she says, slightly muffled against Nesta’s body. She looks up at her. “Nicky and Ollie are sick.”

"Yes,” she says, nodding. Then she looks at Cassian. “It’s flu season.”

"Emilia’s sick, too.”

"Yes,” she says, still looking pointedly at Cassian. “Probably the flu, poor thing.”

He glares at her, but she can see his coloring darkens slightly, which probably would have delighted her once.

She doesn’t hate it, now.

She puts her hand on Nicky’s forehead and then Ollie’s. A fever, each of them. Ollie is sleeping soundly, and Nicky seems like he’ll fall asleep soon.

"Mummy will bring you something to drink,” she whispers to him, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

She leads Avery and Cassian out of the room.

“I don’t want to be sick.”

“You won’t,” she assures her. “You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want my brothers to be sick.”

Nesta feels the same rush of overwhelming emotion she always does when her children express how much they love each other. “Don’t worry,” she says to her, smiling. “They’ll be better soon. Why don’t you go play outside for a bit?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she says to Cassian when she’s gone. “Do you know what went through my head?”

"They’re sick!”

“Children get sick! People get sick! They’ll get better!”

“Well, I’ve never had children get sick before!”

Nesta softens at the fear in his voice, shining through his eyes as well. “They’ll be fine,” she says in a more gentle tone. “It’ll be a few days...it’s properly miserable to see them, but they’ll be fine. I only don’t want to keep Avery here...I don’t want her to get sick, too. Normally I’d ask Miri and Adil,” she says, talking more to herself. “But they’re gone, and I can’t ask Amorette. I guess I’ll keep her in my room. Oh, and I’ll have to stay here. Oh, but I’m alone at the store....”

"You’re alone at the store?”

"Yes, Adil’s got everyone traipsing around the country, looking for authors,” she says, waving a hand. “Unless...when are you going back?”

“Not before they’re better.”

Nesta straightens. That was the right answer. “Well, could you watch them during the day?”He nods, his expression casual, but Nesta can tell he’s terrified.

"It’s really not that big of a deal,” she says. “I’ll show you which medication to give them, how often. I’ll make soup. They’ll need fluids. Oh, and Nicky can’t have plain water when he’s sick, he’ll need tea...I’ll write this down for you...but it’s not like I’m going to be leaving you alone,” she adds at the sight of him. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Just work.”

“I know,” he says. Hesitates. “I just...”

“What?”

“I’m...worried.”

Nesta puts down the pen she’s picked up and crosses the room to his side. She moves her hand to take his, but thinks better of it. “You don’t need to. They’ll be fine. So will you. You’ve been...” her eyes dart around the room, but she meets his gaze when she says, “very helpful. This week.”

His head lifts slightly, and that all-too-familiar cocky grin appears. “Yeah?”

“Yes. In fact...” Now Nesta hesitates. “Maybe...if you would feel comfortable...you could spend the night with Avery at Miri’s house?”

His grin slides off his face.

“If it’s too soon,” she says quickly, “then--you know what? Forget--”

“No!” he says. “No, I can! I can--sure. At Miri’s...yes. I can. I know what she needs. I can...yes.”

“All right,” she says, relieved somewhat. “I’ll...make you a list.”

“Okay.”

“And...she’ll have flying lessons tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to go with her? And I’ll stay home with the boys?”

Nesta’s never seen his eyes light up the way they do now.

---

November 12 - 1 year after

She didn’t feel exactly ill, but she felt off. Like the world had been tilted a few degrees. She had been hungrier than normal for her the past week or so, but it’s not till that day she wondered if something was wrong with her.

Only briefly. Then she pushed the thought aside. Things were going well, and she didn’t need to look for something to be upset about.

"Good morning, Nesta,” Zeyn greeted her cheerfully. How was he always so happy all the time? It was jarring.

"Hello, Zeyn,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“Headache?”

“No...” she said, because her head didn’t hurt, it just felt...weird. “Just tired.” Perhaps that was it.

“I’ve got a lot of new books today. Maybe you’d like to read one. Do you like mystery?”

“It’s all right,” she said. Most mystery novels were predictable to her. “I’ve got to finish mine, though.”

“How have you been with all those?” he asked, following her to the back room.

All that is Holy, she thought. “It’s going well, thanks.” It was reading. And fixing up books. And setting a price. As long as you could read, it wasn’t hard.

“I just get so overwhelmed sometimes,” he said. “You know, all those books. In such a short amount of time. And how do you set a price!”

“Length and demand,” she said, frowning slightly. How else would you set a price?

“Yes, but it’s hard to foresee demand at a store that sells used books,” he said. “I imagine it’s even more so for you, because human-authored books are so unpopular. Not that they aren’t good! Just so, I guess, uncommon. Yes, that’s the word. It’s rare to come across one. But now that the Wall is down, we might trade more. It’d be really fascinating, don’t you think, to see what books are popular with humans. Don’t you think? Nesta?”

“Just...” Nesta said, “I. Oh. Oh, I have to...” she trailed off, not being able to hear herself suddenly.

“Here, lie down.” She could feel a pair of warm, strong hands lower her gently to the ground. Oh, it felt so-- wrong , to be touched like that. By another male’s hands. Oh, she didn’t like it...

The room was spinning. She could hear more voices. Emerie was yelling. No, not Emerie. Not Emerie, right? Who was that? Who was speaking?

Someone was saying her name. Someone...but she couldn’t hear.

And then she couldn’t see.

---

November 2 - 4 years after

Cassian’s still has yet to regain his power of speech, but it doesn’t matter, because Ava keeps the conversation going on her own.

“And I will put my horse here, and I will put my dog here, and I will put my owl here...” she sing-songs, placing her stuffed animals in various spots on the bed he has set up for her in Miri’s house.

She’s ready to go to sleep, after being fed and bathed at Nesta’s house. But she wants to set up the room the way she likes it first.

"And I want...my giraffe.”

“Your giraffe?” Cassian repeats, looking around. “I don’t see...”

“Nicky has it.”

“Nicky has it?”

“Yes.”

“But Nicky’s at home.”

“Let’s go get it.”

“Well,” he says, wishing Nesta were here, “we’ll go home tomorrow morning, and we’ll bring your giraffe then.”

Ava looks outraged. “I want it now!”

She hadn’t mentioned this. Nesta didn’t say anything about a giraffe. And he’s never been out with Ava before; how was he supposed to know? “But...we’ll let Nicky have it. Because he’s sick. Just for tonight.” Maybe that tactic will work?

Ava considers it. “Tomorrow I will get my giraffe?”

He’s nothing if not strategic. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Not tonight?”

“No, not tonight.”

Ava thinks some more. “All right, tomorrow.”

Cassian breathes a sigh of relief. Ava’s been throwing crisis after crisis at him. He feels like a novice, back when he did simulations. When his commanders had given them every possible thing that could go wrong, all at the same time. There was an Illyrian expression that loosely translated into “difficult training makes for an easy battle”--but there is no training for parenting and it is by no definition an easy battle.

“Tell me a story,” she orders him when he finally convinces her to get into bed.

Cassian nods. Nesta had told him one as they packed, reciting the important lines a few times over for him to memorize. “I’ll tell you the one about Jack,” he says.

“No, I don’t want Jack.”

Fantastic.

"Well,” he says, trying to keep a level head. “What...story do you want?”

“Not a Mummy story.”

“What’s a Mummy story? Oh, not one of Mummy’s stories.” She wants one of his? Nesta wouldn’t like him telling any Illyrian tales...and he doesn’t think it’s a particularly good idea either. “Maybe...” Cassian rack his brain. He has stories, doesn’t he? One of them must be child-friendly. Or he can edit it to make it so.

Had he ever gone on some sort of quest that didn’t end in bloodshed?

“Not too long ago,” he says, in the way Illyrian tales always start, realizing as he begins that it’s quite eerie, but no matter, “there was a male who loved a female very much. And the female loved...very much...more than anything in the world...chocolate.”

Ava laughs. “I love chocolate!”

“You do? Well, the female loved chocolate so much, but there was one type of chocolate she loved more than all the others. But she hadn’t had it since she was a little girl, and she now lived very far away from the place where they made it. One day, she was very sad...and he knew only that chocolate would make her happy again. So he decided he would travel to find it.

“He had to cross an ocean and many lands, for only one tiny little town across the world made this exact kind of chocolate. When he got to the tiny town, he searched and searched for the chocolate shop. And then...he found it. And he bought some chocolate...and he brought it home...and then the female was happy again,” he finishes lamely.

Ava looks at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t blame her. Although in his defense, it had been more exciting when it had actually happened.

“Tell it again!” she says.

He does, trying to make it sound better this time around, but he isn’t very good at it. He might’ve laced the story with bits and pieces of other (real) quests he had been on, but he isn’t sure what he’s allowed to say.

After the second time, Ava looks at him thoughtfully. “That was not a good story,” she tells him.

He laughs a little. “I’m sorry. Should I tell you the story about Jack?”

“Yes!”

He recites the story Nesta had told him, exactly the way she had instructed, and Ava is thrilled. She laughs and claps along.

"Again!” she says when he finishes. And again and again.

Until he says, “It’s time for you to go to sleep, now, Ava.”

"So let’s go home.”

“We’re sleeping here tonight, Ava, remember?”

To his horror, her eyes well up with tears. “I want to go home with Mummy and Nicky and Ollie.”

“Don’t cry,” he says, fretting. “Don’t--it’s okay, don’t--oh....”

“I don’t--want--to stay here,” she sobs. “I want to go home!”

“I’m sorry...we’ll go home tomorrow, Ava.”

“I want my giraffe!”

“But we said we’d let Nicky have the giraffe tonight, don’t you remember?” he says desperately. But Ava doesn’t care. He can’t quite make out exactly what she’s saying and he doesn’t know what to do.

So he picks her up out of bed and lays her against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to bounce her. That’s how to calm children down, right?

“I don’t want to stay here all by myself!” Her cries are muffled against him.

“Well, you’re not all by yourself,” he says. “I’m here. I’m staying with you.” Would that be enough? Please let that be enough. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that’s not good enough for her. Just for one night.

She sniffles a little and lifts her head, looking up at him with his own eyes. Except so innocent, so pure. “Can I sleep in your bed?” she asks, voice still wavering.

Relief crashes over him. “Sure,” he says. “Of course.”

The smile she gives him is vibrant, and he marvels at how little he loved her at the beginning of the week compared to now.

---

November 30 - Year of

She’d told her sister, once, that the last thing she would want would be to be remembered as a coward. She felt like one now.

Like a coward and angry and hurt, perhaps, more than anything. Which made her feel stupid.

Sometimes Nesta thought she felt too much.

After Cassian had apologized, she’d fled to her room and avoided him successfully for over a week. It was made easier by the fact that he did have to leave a few times during the week, to one of those neighboring camps he always went off to.

She didn’t want to think about it. Especially the pain. Because if he had hurt her...she didn’t let herself finish the thought.

But one afternoon, at work, while counting out jackets in the back, she heard Emerie say, “What are you doing here?”

And then she heard him reply, “I came to see Nesta.”

She nearly dropped the jacket she was holding. She normally felt him before she heard him. Where had that gone? It was of no use to her when they were both in the house, and now it was too late to sneak out the back, because he was coming.

"Nesta,” he said, pushing open the door.

“The sign says ‘employees only’,” she blurted out, which she knew was the stupidest thing she could have said, but it was too late.

“Emerie said I could go in.”

Traitor.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“It couldn’t wait? I’m working.” Perhaps he’d make some snide comment about working in a clothier as opposed to being the Night Court’s Emissary and then she could pick a fight over that and kick him out of the shop and they’d go back to the way things were when she got here. Except she’d have Emerie and her drinking habit more under control, so it’d be better.

But he just said, “I know. I’m sorry, it couldn’t wait. I’ll be leaving again soon. For about five days, I think. Maybe longer. And I couldn’t go without...” he trailed off. Ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated sound. “I keep doing things wrong with you, Nesta.

She averted her gaze. She couldn’t do this. This was too much. And if he mentioned...that day...the battlefield...she didn’t know what she would do.

But he did.

“I promised you time, once,” he said softly.

No. No, she could not do this.

“I have to go,” she managed. She pushed past him, quickly, careful not to touch him.

“Wait, Nesta, please--”

“Nesta,” Emerie said, turning as she entered the room. “Where are you--?”

But Nesta didn’t stay to hear her finish. Instead, she ran.

---

November 3 - 4 years after

This time it is Nesta who rips open the door as soon as she hears Cassian approaching.

“Mummy!” Avery calls, reaching her arms out for her.

“Hi, ladybug,” Nesta croons. She holds her tightly against herself. “I missed you so much.”

She had regretted sending Cassian out with her the moment they had gone. She hadn’t spent a night away from them, ever. She had never not tucked them into bed. And now...Avery had had a night without her. It felt like she should look different. There should be some mark upon her face.

But her daughter looks just as she did last night, just as cheerful and chattery. Cassian looks relatively unscathed, too, if a bit tired.

“Did you have fun?” she asks her as she ushers them inside.

“Appa told me a boring story,” Avery says, and wiggles out of Nesta’s arm onto the ground. “I want some orange juice in my purple cup, please.”

“Boring story?” Nesta says to Cassian.

“She didn’t want yours. And I didn’t want to tell her something you wouldn’t approve of. She still asked for it again, anyway,” he says defensively.

Nesta looks at him. “And you told it to her?”

“Yes.” Now he looks unsure. “And then she wanted yours...so I told that one, like, three times.”

Nesta shakes her head. She looks at Avery. Her daughter knows how to get what she wants, that’s for sure. “Did she ask to sleep in your bed, too?”

“...is that bad?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Avery wraps everyone she meets around her little finger. Why should her father be any different?

“How are Nicky and Ollie?” he asks.

"Still ill,” she says. “The main thing is just to keep them on a constant stream of fluids so they don't dehydrate. Soup, if they feel up for it. Talk to them if you can, but they might be too tired.”

“Shouldn’t we take them to a healer?”

She hadn’t realized how much she’d appreciate hearing him say we . “We don’t need to,” she says. “It’s the common flu. They’ll be fine.”

“So...you never take them to the healer? If they have the flu?”

“It’s not necessary if it lasts only a couple of days,” she reminds him, “for adults and children both.”

“Infants--”

“Not the same,” she explains patiently. “They can digest medication. Infants can’t.”

She finishes putting Avery’s breakfast in front of her. “When you’re done, Mummy will take you to nursery.”

“I want to say hello to Nicky and Ollie.”

“Finish your breakfast and then go,” she says to her. Then she says to Cassian, “Well, other than that...how was it?”

“She cried,” he admits. Then he grins. “But I calmed her down.”

“By letting her sleep in your bed.”

“Why is that not allowed?”

Nesta shakes her head again. “You were only with her. What if they all wanted to sleep in your bed?”

“What then?”

“They would kick you out and you would end up on the floor.” Nesta had thought moving them into their own beds would be a hard step, and it was, but as soon as she woke up from her first night alone in over two years, she didn’t miss it anymore.

Cassian laughs. “I can take them.”

Nesta hides a smile. “Finish up, Avery,” she says. “It’s almost time to go.”

She busies herself around the kitchen with nothing in particular, just feeling his eyes on her.

---

November 12 - 1 year after

She could hear everyone around her before she could see them. Low, hushed voices. Some whirring sound, too. She shivered from the cold and from something else.

“Oh, she’s waking up,” she heard someone whisper.

“Nesta?” another voice said. Miri, from Sugar Books. What was she doing here?

Nesta opened her eyes. Where was here, exactly?

Here was a small room Nesta didn’t recognize. Pale blue walls decorated with tiny sugar berries; the sheets on the bed she was lying on the same design. The curtains on the window were a cheerful yellow and the expressions on Zeyn and Miri’s faces were anything but.

“Can you hear us, Nesta?”

Nesta struggled to sit upright. “Of course I can hear you,” she said, grumbling slightly. “What are these?” She shook her arm as she spoke, at the needles prodded inside her. She was in an infirmary of some kind. She vaguely remembered blacking out at the store, but since she could feel no pain, she assumed she was fine. Probably just dehydrated. After all, she had been Made. The epitome of perfection, was she not? She didn’t get sick anymore.

“Fluids,” Zeyn said unhelpfully.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course they were fluids. But Zeyn was harmless, if annoying, and she didn’t want to start an antagonistic relationship with the coworker who clearly liked her best.

“You blacked out,” Miri said, her wide dark eyes searching Nesta’s face. “We brought you to the clinic. A healer is seeing to you. Her name’s Amorette. She’s fairly new here, but I’ve been told she’s very good.”

Nesta nodded. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, hoping they’ll hear the dismissal.

They do. “Feel better, Nesta,” Zeyn said, reaching her hand to squeeze it. She tried not to flinch.

“We’ll be by to check in on you,” Miri said.

Oh, for the love of all things Holy. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She smiled as she spoke, hoping she did so normally.

Cassian used to make fun of her forced smiles. You look like you’re in pain.

Why was she thinking of him all of a sudden?

They left as the healer stood in the room. She looked to be about Nesta’s age--although with Fae, you couldn’t really tell, could you? But at any rate, a pretty, High Fae female, with light blue eyes and blond hair that kept tied at the nape of her neck.

“Good afternoon, Miss Archeron,” the healer said. “I’m Amorette Dadashov. I’ll be your healer today. May I come in?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” she said, pleasantly surprised at the healer asking permission.

Healer Dadashov closed the door behind her. She was holding a notebook in her hand. “I can see all your vitals have returned to normal,” she said, without checking them like a mortal nurse would have to. “All things considered.”

"All things considered?”

“Yes,” she said, flipping through the pages of her book. “I understand you’re new in town?”

What on Earth did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”

“And, forgive me, you’re here alone?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“And you’ve not been to our clinic yet, correct?”

“Correct.” Shouldn’t that all be in her book? Why is she asking all this?

“So your options have not yet been explained to you?” Dadashov looked Nesta in the eye as she spoke.

Nesta’s patience was wearing thin. “Look,” she snapped, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d very much like if you could just tell me what happened and what I have to do so it doesn’t happen again and let me go. Please,” she added as an afterthought. It didn’t sound very gracious.

Dadashov’s eyes widened. “Miss Archeron,” she said, not quite stuttering but certainly with none of the confidence she’d had before. “You do...I mean...you know that you’re pregnant?”

Nesta’s favorite book as a child was about magic. It wasn’t called magic, of course, for in the tiny human section of their island, magic was shunned. But that power to manipulate nature; that was what it was. The heroine was a girl named Avery, and Avery’s villain was a woman who could make things vanish. The most terrifying part of the story, in eight-year-old Nesta’s opinion, was the part where the villain made the floor vanish right from underneath Avery, and she fell and fell for miles until she could get her magic working to pull herself back up.

Nesta felt that. But there was no one to pull her back up. Because she was alone. There was only falling.

“I...can see you did not know,” Dadashov said softly. “All right, well...” She pulled a chair towards the bed and sat down. She gripped Nesta’s hands, hers a warm peach next to Nesta’s stark white. “It’s going to be all right,” she said soothingly. “The clinic is very well prepared for any option you choose. We have three healer’s for female reproduction, myself included. We’re all more than capable of treating you in whatever...oh, dear. Here,” she said, passing her a wad of tissue paper.

“Oh,” Nesta said, taking some and wiping her eyes. “Oh, er, tha--”

But she choked on her words.

What was she supposed to do?

“I can’t be pregnant,” she whispered aloud. Because she couldn’t. Then she realized--she truly couldn’t. “This...can't be possible. I haven’t...been with anyone in months.” Even with the gravity of the situation, Nesta still felt a slight blush creep up on her cheeks. Perhaps she had not entirely thrown out the excessive modesty of her upbringing with her few months of numerous partners in Velaris, and the few months living with Cassian.

Oh, Mother. Cassian.

“It’s...possible for a female to get pregnant months after intercourse,” the healer said slowly, carefully, like Nesta was an idiot.

“It is?” she replied, feeling like one.

“Yes.”

Of course, Nesta thought, thinking it through. Because her cycle was so slow...and that meant her whole system was so slow...and if pregnancy once would have occurred a few days after sex, now it happened months.

And she had stopped taking the potion. Because she had stopped sleeping with people. But that didn’t matter, because it had only been...Nesta counted backwards in her head...a month since she had last slept with Cassian.

(A month? Had it really only been a month?)

Nesta put her head in her hands. “All right,” she said, summoning her nerve. “Tell me about the other two healers.”

“Well,” Dadashov said, slightly taken aback, “there’s Huseyn Por--”

“Male.”

“Er, yes.”

“No. The other one.”

"Marya Kamal. She’s brilliant, one of the best in the field. We’re lucky to have her. Her studies--”

“How old is she?”

“Er,” Dadashov said, eyes darting around. “I believe...twelve-hundred, or so?”

“No. You, then. All right.” Nesta paused to take a deep breath. “I don’t know anything about faerie reproduction. I wasn’t born faerie. And I...can’t have this baby.”

Eugh, why did she say baby?

Dadashov’s eyes go even wider.

She’s a patient from Hell, she imagined. But Healers liked a challenge, didn’t they?

---

November 3 - 4 years after

The day spent with his sons is miserable. He sits with them all day, talking to them while they’re awake and running his hands down their backs while they sleep. Nicky seems to be doing a little better towards the late afternoon, and sits up to have soup, but Ollie barely takes the water Cassian makes him drink.

He’s beyond relieved when Nesta and Ava come home.

Ava rushes up the stairs ahead of Nesta. “We’re going to flying lessons now, Appa,” she sing-songs. “We’re going now, we’re going now, we’re going now.”

"Hi, angels,” Nesta says, coming into the room and sitting by Nicky. “How are you feeling?” she asks him, putting a hand on his forehead.

“Better,” he says, but his voice is still so weak.

Nesta kisses the top of his head and hugs him. “What about a bath? Would that make you feel better.”

He shrugs into her.

“I think it would,” she says, standing up. “How’s Ollie?”

“Sleeping, mostly.”

“Poor angel,” she sighs. “All right, you go on to flying lessons. Have fun, Avery. Say hello to Madam Sabina for me.”

“Bye-bye, Nicky! Bye-bye, Mummy! Let’s go now, Appa!”

Ava takes his hand and starts dragging him towards the door. “Bye,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll come back soon.”

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go now!”

Ava keeps up variations of her chant until they arrive at one of the parks where flying lessons commence. The children all look to be around her age, accompanied by a parent or two. They’re all various types of lesser fae, none of the likes of which he’s seen in the Night Court.

Madam Sabina is a round, pink female with large, feathery wings.

“Hello,” he says, introducing himself. “I’m here with Ava.”

“You’re her father?”

“Yes. Nesta’s at home. With the boys. They’re sick.”

“Ah, flu’s going around. All right, then. Normally I fly with the triplets, but good. You’ll do it. Wonderful. Are you excited to fly with your Daddy, Ava?”

“He’s my Appa,” she says. And then she starts singing again, “We’re at flying lessons now, we’re at flying lessons now.”

Madam Sabina shrugs. “Excited enough, I guess. All right, students!” she cries, clapping her hands. Let’s all gather around in a circle--mummies, daddies, uncles, let’s get behind them. Let’s start our stretching exercises.”

"Hi,” says the female next to him in the parents’ circle. “I’m Nuray, Zehra’s mother. I’m a friend of Nesta’s. You’re the triplets’ father, right?”

He nods. “Cassian,” he says.

“Nicky looks so much like you,” she says. “Where are the boys?”

“They’re sick,” he says, wondering how many friends Nesta has here, or if everyone who has a child in the same age group counts as a friend. “The flu.”

“Oh,” she says, clucking. “Poor dears. Well, it’s going around. Nice that Nesta’s got you here now, to help out. Especially with Zeyn gone.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, struggling to maintain a casual tone. “Good stretching, Ava,” he says to her.

“All right, now, let’s just flap our wings. Just like that. No, Fidan, not too fast! We’re just flapping, we’re not flying! All right, good!”

Ava grins up at him. “I already know how to fly,” she tells him.

“Oh, do you?”

“I’m so good at it.”

“I bet you are.”

“We’re not allowed to fly until Madam Sabina says it’s okay.”

“That’s right.”

“Because we have to stretch first because it’s very important.”

“It is very important, you’re right.”

“And, now we’re going to run all the way over there and then back again, all right? Go!”

Ava shoots off as fast as she can, making him laugh in delight. He feels a rush of gratitude towards Nesta for giving them such a beautiful, quiet place to learn to fly.

"I think it’s great that you’ve moved back in,” Nuray says. “In a town like this, people talk, but they’re good. People talked when my wife and I separated, but now we’re back, and people stop talking, you know?”

"Er,” Cassian says. “We’re not--I mean, I’m not--I don’t...live...here.”

“Oh!” Nuray brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! I just...assumed. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s all right,” he says, eyes darting around. This is so--weird. Sugar Valley is so weird. People he doesn’t even know congratulating him on moving back in with Nesta. No one here knows who he is. No one here has served in any military. He’s not even sure Gilameyva has a military. It’s so detached from Prythian, so different.

“Well, at any rate...I think it’s great that you’re stepping up.”

“Thanks.” Is this a normal conversation?

Thankfully, Ava comes back then.

“All right, everyone,” Madam Sabina announces. “Pair up, pair up. We’re going to go up! Stand by your partner!”

Ava stands in front of Cassian, beaming up at him.

“Okay, just high enough to their heads. Now...up!”

Ava kicks herself off the ground--it isn’t graceful in the least, but he’s so proud, prouder than he’s ever been in his life.

“And now we’re all going to do a lap around the park together. No higher than six feet, parents! And uncle!”

Ava takes his hand as they fly together. He’s going abnormally slow, but he doesn’t care at all.

---

Chapter Twelve

#acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #nessian fanfiction #nessian #nesta archeron #like pristine glass #lizo writes #wow tumblr was super annoying putting this up #like more annoying than usual #anyway my frustration with the publishing world sort of bled into this chapter!!#really hope if you have any thoughts on this one you let me know #because i sort of bled into it!!#like this one was a lot #and i've been waiting to write and share it for a long time

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sapphicambitions · 5 years ago

Text

okay so ive spent the past few days thinking about a specific Dynamic and I know it’s one that’s pretty popular and Im sure other people have written more at length about it, but I personally have a lot of thoughts and I’m going to share them now.

The Dynamic is what I’m calling the Eager Sunshine and the Suave Kittycat.

Let’s start with the Eager Sunshine.

The Eager Sunshine is all that is good and pure in the world. And they truly believe in the good in the world. They’d be the kind of person to truly believe in the power of music or magic or happy endings. They wear their heart on their sleeve and aren’t afraid to express what they feel, never shying away from expressing anything from happiness to anger. They’re an idealist, always chasing to see the glass half full and believing in the good nature of other people. They’re inspiring just by the way they exist, and that positive effect ripples into everyone they meet. Everything they’ve gone through in life has only made them kinder. Some might call them stupid or naive, or see their positivity as a fault. But it’s what makes them special and stand out from the crowd. They don’t necessarily seek to find themselves in the spotlight, but it just kind of happens. People flock to them and latch on to them because they want a small sliver of the sunshine that radiates off of them.

Now their counterpart, the Suave Kittycat.

Like dark and light, ups and downs, the Suave Kittycat is a direct contrast. First impressions are often wrong of this person because they come off as cold or as an asshole. They’re not at all either of those things, but there is a very thick emotional wall up between them and the world. And it’s because they’ve had a hard or troubled past, and they learned to bite at the world before it snaps at you first. They keep their emotions close to their chest so that they don’t get hurt again, so they can protect what’s left of their broken heart. Often times, they have a facade up to most of the world, and it’s incredibly hard to break down their walls and get to the REAL them. A bit of a pessimist, they tend to isolate themselves and latch onto only one or two people. These characters are often comparable to cats.

How they work together:

Upon first meeting, the Suave Kittycat is enamored with the Eager Sunshine. A bumbling and excited cutie comes stumbling into their life, and they’re immediately drawn to them. And the Eager Sunshine is, of course, drawn to the mysterious and sexy Suave Kittycat. Why wouldn’t they be? But the Suave Kittycat, who is Wiser and Not Naive, thinks that they need to take the Eager Sunshine under their wing and teach them about the evil ways of the world. In reality though, it’s the Eager Sunshine who winds up teaching them about the joy and beauty of life. And it often surprises the Suave Kittycat how much they learn from their little sunshine, and how it allows them to see the world in a whole new light. When together, they balance each other out. When the Eager Sunshine needs to be brought back down to reality, the Suave Kittycat is there to guide them back with a gentle hand. When the Suave Kittycat needs to be brought out of their dark place, the Eager Sunshine is there to radiate. And so on.

Flirting:

This is my favorite part about the dynamic and the part I’ve thought about the most. The Suave Kittycat gets it’s name primarily because they are SUAVE. Their flirting is sexy and poetic, with their words and body language, meaning to sweep you off your feet and knock the air out of your chest. It often comes along with the facade they have built up, because they chose every word and every interaction carefully and with a lot of though. This suave way of flirting works VERY well for them, especially on someone as eager and easily flustered as their sunshine. And the Eager Sunshine is in fact, VERY eager with all things love related. Since they’re eager and since they wear their heart on their sleeve and they’re a bit of a loving disaster, they don’t really….flirt. The Sunshine is more likely to walk up to their Kittycat and say “Hey, so do you want to make out?” It can be read as forward, but it’s only because the Sunshine has so much love in their chest that they almost don’t know what to do with it, and it slips out in blunt flirting. And it knocks the Suave Kittycat on their ass. Here they are, quoting lines of poetry and whipping out all the flirting stops, and this adorable disaster just blurts out what they’re thinking and feeling. And works REALLY well between them.

Some examples:

Orpheus & Eurydice from Hadestown (m/f)

Orpheus is THE Eager Sunshine, the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and shows you what the world could be. He inspires a revolution just purely by the love in his heart, and reminds the gods of the song of their love. And the first thing he says to Eurydice? “Come home with me. I’m the man who’s going to marry you,” WHAT AN ADORABLE DISASTER. Eurydice is the Suave Kittycat. Her love is poetic and true, but she guards her heart close to her chest, and is known for running away. And she needed her Orpheus to show her how the world could be. (It’s okay, we won’t think about how their story ended, just right now. Their love was true and that’s what mattered.)

Carmilla & Laura from Carmilla (f/f)

Carmilla is THE Suave Kittycat. She’s a centuries old vampire who doesn’t believe in love anymore, until the spunky blonde Laura Hollis comes tumbling into her life. Carmilla is known for quoting poets and philosophers and generally being a nihilist. This is a strong contrast to young and eager Laura, a literal ray of sunshine. Laura leads the people of her university to overthrow the vampiric tyrants and saves lives, and while Carmilla certainly thought that Laura was a naive and stupid little girl at first, she learns to appreciate Laura’s bright optimism and ferocity for justice. The pair works together to save the world and grow together and balance each other out in lovely ways.

Quentin & Eliot from The Magicians (m/m)

Anyone who knows Quentin Coldwater knows that he is the kind of man who makes you see the beauty of all life. He may not always be the hero of the story, but he’s the hero of everyone’s hearts. People flock to him because he really, truly believes in magic, and it’s inspiring to everyone around him. When Quentin first meets his Suave Kittycat Eliot Waugh, Eliot takes him under his wing to mentor the poor young, sweet naive little Q. But it’s Quentin’s influence that teaches Eliot to open himself up to receiving true love, and seeing the beauty of all life. Eliot is also a classic Suave Kittycat, seductive and guards his emotions close to his chest. He’s also famous for the quote “Becoming me was the greatest creative project of my life,” The pair work incredibly well together, balancing each other out and being each other’s best supporters and friends. They loved each other deeply, and they were able to love each other in multiple universes and timelines.

In Conclusion

The Eager Sunshine and The Suave Kittycat is a fun romantic dynamic. And it often surprises the characters themselves, because “How could I fall for someone like that?” But they do and they become better people because of it, and the world becomes a better place because of their love. And I have a lot of feelings.

#lesbianlaynie #the magicians #queliot #eliot waugh #quentin coldwater #hadestown #orpheus #eurydice #carmilla #laura hollis #hollistien #this is just my hot take #i could be wrong but this is the dynamic i see

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greenishbucket · 5 years ago

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good vibez only

Perhaps it’s not in like, the festive spirit or whatever, but Dex refuses to feel shame in reactivating and skimming through his array of dating apps the second his flight gets delayed.

nursey/dex, tindering in an airport au, 1.6k. For @ellienchanted! thanks for the help with this and happy new year :D on ao3

Perhaps it’s not in like, the festive spirit or whatever, but Dex refuses to feel shame in reactivating and skimming through his array of dating apps the second his flight back to New York gets delayed. What else is he going to do? Read a book? Talk to the people around him? Not likely.

And like, he’s just maybe been feeling slightly more desperately alone than usual, after the holiday period spent with family. His parents were his parents and even his shithead brother had been lovey-dovey with his admittedly very nice girlfriend, not to even mention the bloodbath that was social media.

It’s only midday on New Year’s Eve, but Dex can sense in his old-man bones that it’s already ramping back up again after a few days of quiet after Christmas. Picturesque, loving content as far as a guy can scroll, most likely.

Not that Dex is bitter. He has friends, has love in his life and shit. He’s on his way home to show his face at Ford's party, after all. Except the plan is to prove he didn’t die en route, get smashed as efficiently as possible, then probably get kissed platonically by six people at midnight because his friends are like that, before ultimately heading home alone and passing out alone.

Dex is, in short, just acutely fucking aware of his singleness right now.

In the heart sense and in the dick sense, unfortunately. Whatever. He’s got a few boring hours stretching ahead of him; even if he doesn’t match with or message any of the many dudes he can swipe through, at least a good twenty percent of them are hot enough to pause for a whole second.

One guy, after some fifteen minutes of mindless, semi-horny swiping, warrants more time than that.

He has a tattoo. It wraps around his very nice bicep and Dex’s mouth goes dry. His name is Derek, and he has a couple shirtless pics, a hockey one, a few ones Dex figures are trying to convey culture – museums and art and like, sweeping landscapes – and ends it with a meme.

Which is like. It’s kind of funny, and this dude is super hot, but really? But also he is so, so hot. In like, a hot way, and in a beautiful way, so Dex can at least entertain the idea of their boning. Then Dex reads Derek’s bio:

‘what i want is what i’ve always wanted. what i want is to be changed.’ im pretty and my meat is huge. good vibez only, no haters ✌️

Dex doesn’t smile a little. He doesn’t. He definitely just rolls his eyes hard and swipes left. That quote. He doesn’t have the patience, not even for someone that looks like that.

“Ouch,” says a voice from over his shoulder. “Hard no for that one?”

Because of course, because his flight is delayed and the drive to the airport had been shit anyway, because of course – it’s the dude. He’s not just nearby, he’s literally right there. Derek. Sitting in the row of seats backed up against Dex’s, twisted round to watch over Dex’s shoulder in a flagrant disregard of like, normal fucking behaviour, and somehow even hotter in the gross airport lighting. He’s doing some kind of smirk thing that Dex isn’t into at all.

His voice is like– It’s nice. Dude has a nice voice.

And of course, instinctively, result of being a grumpy fuck since birth and years in the big city, Dex’s immediate response is, “Fuck off, asshole.” Then, back up instinct, result of his mom’s loving care and years in a small town, he adds, “Shit, sorry, that was- I didn’t mean- um.”

Derek’s smirk solidifies. Something natural rather than an expression he’s holding there, not that Dex would’ve recognised it wasn’t completely assured and legit until then. “No worries, man. It’s chill. Sexy pic with the lobster, though.”

Nursey absolutely, completely, fucking two thousand percent should not have said anything. He’d almost be surprised at himself, watching this whole thing happen out of body, except this is the least surprising behaviour from him ever. Like he’s ever been able to let a minor hurt pass without poking at it until it’s something unbearable and he has to nope out like that’d been his plan all along.

Whatever. It’s chill. He’s got this. They’re in an airport, so Nursey can nope out whenever he likes, and more effectively than usual. It’s going to be fun.

“Excuse me?” says Will.

Will, who Nursey had first noticed for his massive ears and exhausted vibes, then absently clocked as attractive, and then clocked some minutes later as the same dude whose profile he’d just come across. Will who Nursey had just swiped right on, though not before screencapping his profile and sending it to Chowder, captioned ‘a straight???’

Like. Okay. Nursey doesn’t want to stereotype, or whatever, tries really hard not to, but when a dude sees a bio like I'm Will. I like hockey and lobster-fishing and good beer. We should get to know each other? He's not proud of it but questions start arising.

“Sexy pic with the lobster,” Nursey repeats. It had been, honestly, in a kind of weird display-of-masculinity way that Nursey doesn’t want to unpack right then but definitely would with some weed.

“Thank you?” says Will. A pause. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” Nursey replies honestly. But that feels like some kind of defeat, because this guy is cute and freckly and like, certainly has hands, but he also just dismissed Nursey’s careful construction of self while Nursey watched, so he continues, “I mean, I’m a vegetarian? So I kind of do disagree with the concept of trapping and killing an innocent animal for your own consumption, or whatever.”

Will snorts. “Of course.”

Nursey’s stomach sinks. He should’ve known. Pretty eyes or not, it wasn’t going to be fun with a guy who is a self-proclaimed hockey and good beer fan. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” says Will.

Nursey doesn’t want to get into a full-blown argument in the middle of an airport, so he lets it drop. But he also doesn’t want to sit here in awkward silence or have to get up and haul all his shit over to somewhere else. “So, while we're both sitting here, any pointers for improvement?” he asks instead.

“What?”

“For my profile, dude. Gotta up my game, clearly.”

"Why?"

"Self-improvement is my new year's resolution," Nursey replies easily, only half-lying; it's been his new year's resolution for like, five years straight, whatever. "I'll start: you need a better bio, or just scrap the whole thing. You're just about cute enough to pull it off, but it does you zero favours, dude. Bland as fuck."

Will goes pale, then red, then says, "What the fuck? Who asked?" Nursey waits, unsure if he should keep pushing or if he's maybe crossed a line, and after a long moment or two Will sighs. “Okay, fine, I hate doing description things and I'm shit at it. But yours also sucks. You could try with less of the pretentious quote shit, for one thing.”

“Less Mary Szybist?” Nursey asks, only having to up his aghastness a little. “Mine does not suck. I’m trying to convey an inner sensitivity, bro. Poetry is a window to the soul.”

Will frowns. “I thought that was eyes.”

His frown is cute. Shit. “First, a little thing called poetic license? Second, you said I was pretentious.”

“It’s Shakespeare,” Will says, unimpressed. “You didn’t do Shakespeare in high school?”

“Sure,” Nursey agrees, “but clearly it didn’t stick,” which is a lie. “Haiku, though. That’s the good shit.”

“What?”

“In my bio. It’s a haiku, five-seven-five syllables?”

Will visibly goes through Nursey’s bio, mouthing out the words, which, hey. It left an impression, at least. “That’s not five-seven-five,” he says.

“I’m pretty and my / meat is huge. Chill vibez only / no haters. Peace sign,” Nursey recites easily, clapping the syllables out like they taught in elementary school.

Will snorts out a laugh and can’t quite seem to reign his face back into looking unimpressed. Nursey smiles back and can’t quite reign that in either. The bitterness from watching Will swipe past him seeps almost entirely away at last, Nursey finally able to unfold his arm from around his stomach; Will’s shoulders come down from around his ears, too.

“Um. I did actually like your photos,” he says after a moment, almost hesitant, those same ears flaming. “Like, a lot."

"Ditto," says Nursey, as casual as he can. Will is pretty great in pics, if unfortunately blind to his angles, and even better plus assholeish irl, which is a beauty of a combination.

"But you’re cheating your syllables with that peace sign bit, pretty sure,” Will adds.

Nursey rolls his eyes, ignores the warm glow. Not a straight, definitely. And Will thinks his pics are good, at least, which is a success of sorts. He doesn't know what flight Will is getting, but his own back to NYC has been delayed by a few hours, so maybe he should try and shoot his shot one last time.

He chucks his stuff over to Will's side of the chair-row, then hauls himself over. Pulls his sweater back down. Fuck this twisting around in his seat nonsense.

Will blinks, face pink. "Hi," he says, a little hoarse.

“I think you mean bye. I said no haters, didn't I?”

Will laughs again, full and warm this time. “Fuck off, asshole,” he says, and this time Nursey laughs with him.

#my writing #omgcp fic #nurseydex

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tracingdreams · 5 years ago

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Daiya no Ace: The Dramas #10: Third Year Study Group

An explanation…

To keep my brain from rusting I started a project to translate the drama tracks that came with the character song CDs and other stuff relating to Daiya no Ace (because I love them and they’re all hilarious). My disclaimer - I am not a native speaker of Japanese, but I will do my best!

Character Song CD 07 Yuuki Tetsuya Drama Track 02 featuring Tetsu, Jun and Tanba.

Scene: Tetsu, Jun and Tanba have got together – either in the dorm canteen or their classroom – to hold an exam study group for the examinations coming up. The subjects they are most concerned with are those taught by the teachers who run the baseball club, especially Kataoka’s ‘Modern Japanese’ class…

Translator’s Note: Another appearance by the third years! And also, this time, the coach appears! And we learn some interesting trivia about the senpai! This drama is full of word discussions, so I’ve done my best to make it clear!

Tetsu: It’s finally tomorrow, huh.

Jun: There’s seriously not enough time

Tetsu: We can’t ignore Modern Japanese…

Jun: The coach is the teacher, after all. And we have to really be careful of Social Studies and English as well.

Tetsu: Ōta Buchou and Takashima Fuku-buchou’s classes, huh.

Jun: Even at the very worst we need to get above the average mark. And more to the point, where’s Tanba? I said I’d study too because he said he was going to do exam revision!

Tetsu: He said he was going to wash off the sweat of training and then come.

Jun: He’s in the bath, huh. How long is he planning to spend in there?

The door opens and Tanba enters.

Tanba: (Stretches and sighs).

Jun: Oi, you finally turned up, Tanba! How long did you take in the bath, dammit?

Tanba: I shaved my head. Completely.

Jun: You’re really laid back, you know. We have exams from tomorrow.

Tanba: I did it to focus my emotions.

Tetsu: Mm. It seems like the sparkle on your head is even greater than usual. (I think he pats it).

Tanba: Hey! Don’t touch it, Yuuki! I just got myself hyped up and you’ll ruin it!

Jun: Hey, let’s get down to it, guys!

Tetsu: Mm. What shall we begin with?

Tanba: I want to start with figuring out a strategy to tackle Modern Japanese.

Tetsu: Because it’s the coach’s class, huh?

Tanba: That’s a part of it, but it’s also the first exam tomorrow morning. If we can do a good paper then, it will set us up with a good vibe for the rest.

Tetsu: Mm. You’re quite right.

Jun: Yosh! Let’s start with Modern Japanese! Someone get the textbook open, dammit!

(they get to work).

Tanba: Hrm, it seems like the key to Modern Japanese is definitely reading prowess.

Tetsu: The power to read a paragraph, and understand the contents and meaning from doing so, huh.

Jun: I’m always reading books, so I’m pretty confident about that.

Tanba: Me too. What about you, Yuuki?

Tetsu: I often read books that examine good moves and strategy.

Jun: Those are shougi books, right? That’s not helping your reading ability, but more like your ability to carry out exercises.

Tanba: Yosh. In that case I’ll lend you a book written by the person I respect the most.

Yuuki: (takes the book): Okamoto Tarou. (Translator’s note – I believe he was a Japanese artist…but am not quite sure how that feeds into what Jun and Tanba say, so I may be missing a more native Japanese joke here. Or maybe Tanba is just really into abstract art.)

Jun: That’s a book on guidance for life, right?

Tanba: Yes. It resolves all the troubles I have and answers all my questions perfectly. It’s really beneficial.

Jun: But it’s not going to come up on the exam.

Tetsu: I’d really like a book that’s going to help with my results.

Tanba: In that case, Isashiki, don’t you have anything?

Jun: Huh? Me?

Tanba: Yeah. Something relevant to the exam.

Jun: I have, but…

Tetsu: Please lend it to me, Jun.

Jun: Tsch. I guess it can’t be helped. Here you go.

Tetsu and Tanba gasp.

Tetsu: Chihayafuru?! (Translator note: I had to stop the drama to laugh at this the first time I listened to it. I also love Chihayafuru. Go Jun!)

Tanba: Shoujo manga?

Jun: (defensive): What, you got a problem with it?!

Tanba: Uh…well…no…that’s not what I…

Jun: It helps with reading skill and with learning the hyakunin isshū as well! (Translator note: If you’re not familiar with Chihayafuru, it features a card game called Karuta in which players have to match the top and bottom halves of waka poems before their opponent. These poems come from an ancient collection of traditional Japanese waka poetry called the hyakunin isshū).

Tetsu: (Serious) It certainly sounds useful.

Tanba: But…Isashiki…The hyakunin isshū aren’t on the syllabus this time around.

Jun: (angry): What?! In that case, what about Asaki Yumemishi! (Another manga, based around the ancient text Genji Monogatari, also known as the ‘Tale of Genji’)

Tetsu: Genji Monogatari, huh…

Tanba: That’s also outside the syllabus.

Jun: WHAT?!

Tanba: In any case, both of them are based around things from Classical Japanese, not Modern Japanese! Let’s focus on Modern Japanese!

Tetsu: Right. Then what other skills are likely to be tested?

Tanba: Vocabulary knowledge, probably. Whether we know the correct meaning for idioms or kanji.

Jun: Oh! In that case, let’s try some practice questions!

Tanba: That’s a good idea. The one asking questions and the one answering them will both get something from that.

Tetsu: Yosh. Then I’ll ask some questions.

Jun: All right! Bring it, Tetsu!

Tetsu: Mm. Kanji or idiom meanings, huh…first is, ‘hachiku no ikioi’ (literally, the force taken to split bamboo, idiomatically, an irresistible force).

Tanba: Yes!

Tetsu: Tanba.

Tanba: To advance with fierce energy, right?

Jun: Pretty much the same thing as taking the national title, then!

Tetsu: Correct. Next. ‘Kouitten’ (literally, one red point, idiomatically, a woman that stands out from the crowd).

Tanba: Yes!

Tetsu: Tanba.

Tanba: Takashima-sensei..? (Translator’s note: Something you want to tell us there, Tanba?)

Jun: No, more like one of the manager girls, surely?

Tetsu: Nope, those answers are no good. (he answers very matter-of-factly). Next. ‘Kendou juurai’ (Literally this one makes no sense, idiomatically to regroup to try again)

Tanba: Yes!

Tetsu: Tanba.

Tanba: Finding the power to try again at something you already failed at once. To turn the tables back on a defeat!

Jun: Just you wait, Inajitsu! Next time we will DEFINITELY WIN!

Tetsu: Correct.

Tanba: You really know these answers well, Yuuki.

Jun: How did you learn them?

Tetsu: I didn’t do anything particularly special. I just watched a lot of TV dramas��and they naturally just stuck in my head.

Jun: That reminds me, you like Yorozuya Kinnosuke, don’t you? (Translator’s Note: A famous Japanese actor, who performed on both stage and screen).

Tanba: From watching period drama, huh…ah! But now we really need to get back to doing Modern Japanese!

The door of the room opens and Kataoka enters. Maybe Tanba’s sudden flurry back to study is because he sees the coach coming!

Kataoka: What’s that about Modern Japanese?

Jun: C…Coach!

Kataoka: What are you guys doing here this late at night? Don’t tell me you think you can overnight cram my class material, do you?

Jun: Of course not!

Tetsu: We were just making some final clarifications together.

Tanba has basically frozen like a statue and is making incoherent sounds.

Jun: Don’t freeze up, Tanba, say something!

Kataoka: The most important thing in studying is to build on it, day by day. You understand that, right?

The boys: Yes sir!

Kataoka: I believe you can apply the dedicated attitude you have towards baseball to the approach you take to your studies. I am expecting good results from you all.

Jun: Yes sir!

Kataoka: Mm! It will soon be the time to close up. Yuuki, hurry up and go home.

Tetsu: Yes sir!

Kataoka: Isashiki and Tanba, you should go get some sleep.

Jun and Tanba: Yes sir!

(he leaves).

Jun: Ah, that was a shock.

Tanba: My palms are sweating.

Tetsu: Tonight’s study group is disbanded then, I guess.

Tanba: The coach said he expects good results from us…what do you suppose that means?

Jun: Getting higher than the class average is probably not going to cut it.

Tetsu: He probably wants us to aim for the top rankings.

Tanba: What should we do…

Jun: No point in flapping about it! The exam is tomorrow. All we can do is take it on the best we can!

Tetsu: I don’t know about results, but if we leave our fortunes to heaven, we can do our best.

Tanba: Yes!

Tetsu: Tanba.

Tanba: ‘Ichikabachika’, right? (to sink or swim).

Tetsu: Tanba. You are correct.

Jun: You nailed it.

Tanba: Uh. But…that one isn’t on the syllabus.

Tetsu: What?!

#Daiya no Ace #Ace of Diamond #Character Song CD #Drama CD #Drama Translation #Isashiki Jun #Yuuki Tetsuya #Tanba Kouichirou #Chihayafuru #Genji Monogatari #Yorozuya Kinnosuke #Does Tanba have a crush?#Jun likes Chihayafuru!#Kataoka scares the crap out of everyone #Kataoka Tesshin #Examination panic #Tetsuya in own world mode as usual

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buns-with-a-book · 5 years ago

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Holding

Because nothing is more wholesome than hand holding.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/OC, V/OC, Platonic Dante/OC Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs

Summary: Two times Cassandra held Vergil’s hands and the time he holds hers.

“And get outta here, you fuckin’ bampot!” Cassandra snarled, slicing at the last of the demons. What responded to her was a raspy death rattle, the demon collapsing before her. Cassandra let Astra snap out of existence, panting and smiling as what lay before her were smears of demon blood. Her patrols around Red Grave City had made her see more demonic activity, something that she told Dante. She voiced concern that something big was going to happen soon, if demonic activity was starting to pick up.

A raspy breath caught her attention. It didn’t sound demonic, no, it sounded so very human. She whipped around.

“Hey! If you’re hurt, better make yourself known!” She called, following the wheezing breath. The sound led her to a man, covered by a tattered brown cloak. That raspy low breathing worried her. She knelt down, still a small distance away from him. The man glanced to her, she noticed a familiar pair of strikingly familiar blue eyes hiding under the cloak.

“Go away.” The man growled, an attempt to intimidate. Cassandra looked to his hands.

“You’re hurt.”

“I will be fine.”

“Please, let me help.” She held out her hands. The man stared at them, she could see him debate with himself without even looking at his eyes.

“Very well, if you’re going to be persistent about it.” There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice, as if he regarded her more of a nuisance he had to deal with in the moment that would not last. It was something she was used to.

“Just hold out your hands, I’ll handle the rest.” She said, moving closer to him. The stranger, hesitantly, held out his hands. She noticed the fingerless gloves but said nothing about removing them. Some people had gloves for reasons, like Dante, and she worked around them to give her healing just fine. Now, with a closer look at his face, she realized the extent of his state. His body was cracked, as if inches away from falling apart. Her thumbs carefully grazed exposed skin, her eyes fluttering closed. A faint aura swirled at their connected hands, the Crest doing it’s work. She frowned a little at the resistance her magic met, as if his state was a result of something far more devastating that she could ever fathom.

“It hurts.” His dry voice broke her out of her thoughts.

“Healing always hurts.” Cassandra replied simply. “That means it’s working.” She ignored the dismissive snort she received from him. After a few minutes, she pulled back her hands. “I wish I could do more, but I’m afraid there’s only so much I can do for you.” She couldn’t describe his state, a sense of brokenness that reached deep into his soul. He stood up.

“I will take my leave.” He whispered. She quickly got up.

“Wait!” He stopped. “Can I have your name?” A quiet fell between them. “I’m Cassandra, by the way.” He glanced back to her from under the hood of his cloak.

“I have to go.” Cassandra frowned at his curt words.

“Very well. Take care, stranger. Red Grave City is hardly safe at night.” She nodded, watching him walk away. Something about him told her that they would meet again.

---

“V, just sit down for a moment.” Cassandra huffed, easing him to a gnarled portion of tree.

“I can-”

“Don’t ‘I cannot rest’ me, mister.” Her grip tightened on the black-clad poet. “You’re crumbling apart before my very eyes. If you want to have a hope of getting to Urizen before Dante or Nero do, then you need to be as strong as possible.” Her gaze moved down to his hands. Her heart ached seeing the state of them, crumbling and turning to dust before her eyes. V had so little time left...she pushed the thought out of her head. She closed her eyes, letting the familiar healing power of the Crest of Saint Julia move through her hands into V’s. A familiar sensation met her, of a soul so broken it hurt her as well. She wasn’t sure if it was from the foul pulsations of the Qliphoth tree hindering the effectiveness of her Crest or how far deep the slow decay of V’s very body was.

V took back his hands, taking hers instead. She looked up, the Crest fading.

“Cassandra.” V began, voice soft. “Save your strength. If you expend your energy trying to heal me, you will not have what is needed to stop Urizen.”

“Neither will you.” She retorted before immediately regretting it. She had spent the past month fighting demons in an uprooted Red Grave City, saving those who could be saved, giving the final rites to those that didn’t make it, all of it with V. And now, seeing him crumble away into dust, like the very dust that came from Qliphoth roots when the pulsating tumor, the storage of all that blood, burst and deprived them of their life…her mind was in a tumultuous state of protectiveness and anxiety. She looked to V, seeing his gaze was still on their entwined hands.

“I must admit...when all of this is done, will you still think fondly of me?” She blinked in confusion.

“Why do you ask that?”

“I…” His grip tightened on her hands. “I am not who I seem, Cassandra.”

“Then who are you, really?” His eyes seemed distant.

“When we defeat Urizen, I will tell you everything. I promise.” He said, slowly getting up. Cassandra quickly got up, Astra snapping back into existence.

“You keep saying that. It better be worth it, Mr. Poetry.” V chuckled a little.

“Dante’s rubbed off on you.”

“The moment he figures out how to get his mouth around Gaelic, everyone in Devil May Cry is doomed. He wants to know all the swears.” Cassandra chuckled, feeling her spirit lift a little.

“Well, I suppose you cannot let that happen, can you?”

“Oh no. I’m only gonna teach him how to embarrass himself.” She paused. “Provided he doesn’t embarrass himself by mispronouncing what I taught him.”

“I pray I see that myself one day.” V chuckled at the thought. “But, for now, we have wasted enough time. We must press on.” Cassandra let out a sigh.

“Deeper into the vampiric hell tree we go.” She hoped all of this was worth it.

--- Cassandra hummed softly into the air, listening to the jukebox. It had been six months since Dante and Vergil disappeared, to the Underworld to end the Qliphoth tree at its roots according to Nero. He got a new arm from the whole ordeal, which was good. She figured. It was still weird.

But life still went on, even without the brothers around. As of the hour, Lady and Trish were busy on missions of their own, leaving her to man the fort that was the shop. She had spent the first few solo mannings cleaning up the shop to make it far more presentable for anybody coming into the front door. As weeks passed into months, Cassandra found herself missing the two brothers. Dante, of course, was the man she had adopted as the big brother she never had. As for Vergil, the enigmatic elder brother to Dante, she wondered how much of him was V and how much was Vergil himself. She closed her eyes, remembering the first time she met him. It wasn’t him as V, she knew that. Those smoldering ice blue eyes, she had seen them before. She had met him before the Qliphoth tree burst from the ground, crumbling apart as he hid from the demons that she slew.

Just like when he was V.

Cassandra looked to the pictures on the desk. The portrait of the woman she had come to know as Dante’s mother remained, her painted gaze staring back at her. Next to the portrait was a picture of the crew; her, Dante, Lady, Trish, and Nero. Cassandra smiled at the sight, taken well before the tree uprooted the city. Nero still had his demonic arm, a strange sight at the time but she hardly questioned anyone Dante trusted. She looked to the newspaper that was laid upon her desk, detailing the reconstruction efforts the city was going through to recover from the demonic attack. She folded up the newspaper and set it aside, just as the jukebox stopped it’s track. She sighed and got up, walking over to pick a new song. She heard the door open.

“Devil May Cr-” She stood up, turning to greet whoever came in, but stopped in her tracks. Dante grinned widely as he entered, as if nothing had changed, with Vergil silently trailing behind her.

“Cass!” He said cheerfully. She just stood there, half expecting the two to just disappear. “What, did you miss my mug that bad?”

“Dante you fucking loon!” She snapped. “Making your sister worry like that for six months, you’re gonna regret the demons not kicking your ass sooner!” She stormed over. Before Dante could stop her, she hooked her arms around the twins, holding them close. “I fucking missed you, you crazy son of a bitch.” Dante grinned, ruffling her hair.

“Cass, I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying.”

“Oh, piss off.” She squeezed the two. “Just wait until Lady and Trish return. They’re steamed you gave the deed to the place to Morrison.” She looked at the two. “Fuck, you’re covered in demon gore.” Dante rubbed the back of his neck.

“We...we kinda just came back from the Underworld.” He said, his voice a little sheepish. Cassandra let out a sigh and stepped back.

“Get your ass in the shower Dante. Me and the girls have been keeping the place running with paying the bills.” Dante perked up at the idea of hot water and promptly went upstairs. She looked to Vergil, who was still. His eyes were closed, as if he was remembering something. “Vergil?”

“I have not heard you that mad since you fought Urizen in the depths of the tree.” He said. Cassandra could hear a hint of pain at the memory. She knew she had screamed curses and swears at Urizen, mostly for uprooting the tree and making her life hell for the month it stood.

“I can only imagine how unintelligible I was in the moment. I slip back into my native Gaelic when I’m pissed, according to Dante.”

“Certainly not angry enough to do so in the moment.” Vergil nodded.

“There’s two showers. One downstairs and one upstairs, if you need it.” She looked up and down Vergil. He certainly wasn’t as gore covered as Dante was (the rush of emotions made her ignore that to finally hug him again) but there were certainly splatters of demon blood on him. Even after the offer, he remained still.

“Cassandra. Do you remember what I asked you, in the depths of the Qliphoth tree?” She blinked, confused at his question.

“I...hm…” She thought about it. “If I recall correctly, you asked if I would still be fond of you after everything that’s happened.” He nodded. “Well.” She clapped her hands together. “Your actions, however unintentional, harmed not only Dante and Nero, but thrust Lady and Trish into harm’s way, as well as myself.” Vergil remained stoic, watching her carefully. “However, you also tried to mitigate the damage onto the populace of Red Grave City from the tree’s hunger as V.” She paused.

“If you are just going to throw my failures at me, I will take my leave.”

“Hold on. There’s a point I’m getting to here.” She said. “Obviously, Dante thinks there’s some good in you, because I doubt he would’ve come here so casually with you in tow.” She took his hands, staring at them. “Neither does Nero, so willing to throw himself from the van to pursue you. And you stand here, so he holds something akin to fondness.” She glanced up at Vergil, still giving her a cold look, as if waiting for her to finally make her point. “I’m going to give you a chance Vergil. Dante has, Nero has, so I shall as well.” Her hand carefully slipped into Vergil’s, grip loose to let him pull away as he wished. “On one condition.”

“What.”

“Spar with me.” Cassandra could feel his hand twitch and smiled knowingly. “Not now. Sparring you in the state you’re in, it won’t be worth it.” She pulled back her hand. “Rest, regain your strength, Vergil. After that, then we’ll begin.” There was a simmering fire in his blue eyes, as if she prodded something deep within him. Perhaps, as the older brother, being challenged like this was not something he took in stride, especially when he was told to wait beforehand.

Whatever he had to say died in his throat as Dante strode out of the shower. Cassandra was silently thankful he had enough sense to have pants on.

“Cass, you are a lifesaver.” He said cheerfully.

“Don’t thank me Dante. Thank Trish and Lady, provided they don’t skewer you for being gone for so long.” Cassandra pulled away from Vergil as he spoke, leaving him there. “You want pizza? I haven’t ordered pizza since you left. I’ll pay.”

“YES!” He did a fistbump. “I missed pizza so much.” Cassandra laughed at his enthusiasm for pizza. As he walked back down the stairs, getting into a conversation with Vergil to urge him to clean up, Cassandra relished the sense of familiarity that came with him. After she ordered the pizzas for Dante to chow down on, splurging just a little just for his return, she went to the jukebox to play one of Dante’s favorite songs.

And nothing sounded better than that song wafting through the warm air of Devil May Cry.

#devil may cry 5 #devil may cry oc #dmc vergil #dmc dante #dmc v #devil may cry

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wendysandersons · 5 years ago

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WENDY SANDERSON ( YARA SHAHIDI ) is a 16 year old JUNIOR student at Broadripple Academy. SHE is originally from JAMAICA PLAIN, MASSACHUSETTS but moved to Broadripple 1 YEAR ago. SHE is EXCITABLE and EMPATHETIC but can also be CLINGY and IMPATIENT.

1. Full Name?

Wendy Shohreh Sanderson

2. Preferred Names or Nicknames?

Wendy, Wends, Wendybird — she likes ‘em all!

3. What does their name mean? Does it have any significance in their family? Do they like their name?

Ripped straight from the internet: “‘Fwendy’ means, simply: friend. The second meaning of the name Wendy (“fair-skinned, blessed”) dates before Barrie and likely comes from a pet name for Gwendolyn. These elements come from the Gaelic words “gwyn” (holy, white) and “dolen” (ring).” When Wendy was born, her grandmother chose her name. As Peter Pan was one of the first books she read in English, she was attached to the name Wendy. Wendy as a character in the book was polite, well-mannered, and forgiving. This Wendy hits maybe one to two on a good day, so it works well enough. Wendy likes her name because her dad called her Wendybird growing up, whereas her sister Eleanor just got plain ol’ ‘Nell’. It made her feel special. Plus, while she doesn’t care much for Barrie or his story, she can relate to Peter Pan’s love of fun and youth. So, hey, no real complaints here!

4. Age and Date of Birth?

16 / June 21

5. Gender and Pronouns?

Cis Female, She/Her

6. Hometown?

Boston, Massachusetts — specifically in Jamaica Plain

7. Does your character fit into any well known archetypes or tropes?

Oh man, uhh. Sort of whatever Britney Murphy’s character in Uptown Girls was, in the “growing up is gross :(” sense. Daydreamer. Poetry lover. She has a head-in-the-clouds vibe. The chatterbox. Actually, with this talk of Peter Pan, uh, yeah. Bit of a Peter Pan!

8. How long have they been at Broadripple?

Wendy has been at Broadripple since the beginning of her sophomore year.

9. What led them to apply to Broadripple? Was it a decision made by them or by their parents/guardians or somewhere in between?

About two years ago, her family came into a solid chunk of change. Wendy’s mother Bahar is a nurse and caretaker. Over the past decade, she had been taking care of a wealthy elderly man in the Back Bay. When he passed, he unexpectedly left her some money in his will. Wendy’s parents almost immediately decided it would be invested in Wendy’s education. Her dad’s parents wanted her to receive a Catholic one, and her dad wanted Wendy to practice some independence, and so Broadripple came up in their research and she was off. Wendy’s hand in the decision-making process was decidedly minimal.

10. Whether they’ve been at Broadripple four days or four years, do they enjoy it? Do they like Broadripple?

Wendy enjoys Broadripple in that it’s fun to romanticize a bunch of old buildings. She enjoys creating narratives about and daydreaming of students of the past among the hallowed halls more than she does doing group projects. The school itself is too far-removed from society for her to find it particularly scintillating, but she’s making do! She’s a pretty positive person, though undoubtedly impatient. But she’ll admit it has its other draws. Their reputation is near-flawless—disregarding all that spooky shit, which she personally finds cool and intriguing, since the endless forest has some real The Witch vibes—and it bolsters a lot of interesting clubs and classes she can be a part of. The longer she attends, the more uncomfortable she is with the wealth of her peers, as well as impatient with those she deems rude and snobbish. She also has a habit of falling in love/developing crushes easily, often, and recklessly, and Broadripple certainly doesn’t have a shortage of attractive people. It’s a real gold mine, there.

11. What house are they in? Do they care very much about their house?

Wendy is in Keough. She likes the sense of belonging and the camaraderie, real or imagined.

12. Who do they share a dorm with, or are they on their own for the moment? What are they like to live with? Are they clean or messy? Early risers or night owls?

At the moment, Wendy is on her own! So that leaves her to be as messy as she wants — and she can be very messy. One side of her bed is for sleeping, the other is for trash, textbooks, homework, magazines, etc. If she had a roommate, I imagine she might drive them a little nuts with it. In general, I’d say she is more of an early riser. She’s someone who is somehow simultaneously lazy and restless, so she likes to get to bed early to veg out on her laptop with a bag of goldfish and then she’s up early to get her day started.

13. How is your character’s dorm decorated? Is it bare or bursting at the seems with personality? Any particular sentimental items from home?

Wendy is a proponent of the opposite of minimalism, which is Clutterbitch. She has various knick knacks and pictures and posters, as well as plenty of bins and storage to keep all her products, books, snacks, etc. There is no surface left untouched, let’s say that, and most likely a string of fairy lights somewhere. She also has a couple half-dead plants by her window, a Lykke Li poster on her wall, and a collection of postcards from her sister who travels around the country with the nonprofit she works for.

14. What is their favourite subject at school? Do they even have a favourite? Why?

Wendy’s favorite subject is Literature Analysis. She enjoys it because it is something of a creative outlet; she firmly believes there’s a lot of leeway in how things can be interpreted and she enjoys interpreting things ad nauseam. She particularly likes when they cover poets, but none of that boring classical white guy stuff. She’s more of a Toni Morrison-Mary Oliver-Anne Sexton-Jeanette Winterson-Gwendolyn Brooks type.

15. Are they involved in any clubs? Which ones?

Wendy is a member of the Chamber Choir, Women of Broadripple, and Yearbook (writer).

16. How does your character feel about Broadripple’s Unofficial Clubs? Do they know about them? Are they a part of any of them?

BBC: Gag! Like, morally. But if anyone hot happened to pay attention to her and let her borrow a pen one day, then who knows skjdn.

Chastity Club: Old School(TM). Pass!

BAU: Sign her tf up! She’d definitely be a member.

17. Does your character participate in any sports? If so, what made them join the team?

Noooope.

18. What afternoon activities does your character do? Do they just do the one mandatory one or are they involved in multiple? Why?

Wendy is involved in two afternoon activities, because she likes having things to do that aren’t burdensome and people to talk to. She’s involved in photography (she’s not very good but she’s having fun and hey, isn’t that what matters?) and the seasonal musical production. She is always a member of the company, never a lead, and again: she’s here to have a blast! Maybe look a bit foolish now and again. It’s NBD.

19. Do they miss their home when they’re at Broadripple? Do they often go home for the weekends or do they only go home during holiday breaks?

Wendy misses home a lot. She misses the noise and bustle and even the grey griminess of Boston. She misses her neighborhood and her neighbors, including (but only a teeny tiny bit) the annoying college kids encroaching on in. She misses her grandma’s cooking and her dad’s booming laughter and the smell of her mom’s perfume. She’s a very sentimental, clingy person. It’s hard for her to be away from the people she loves. Every once in awhile she’ll take a Greyhound back home for the weekend.

20. Did your character know Izzy De Santis or Maggie Monroe?

She did not know either of them. Maggie was in her year and maybe they shared a few classes but they never really spoke (*wendy voice*: the vibes were off), but she is totally wigged out by their disappearances.

21. Has your character heard of Edith Lynch? Do they know the story?

Wendy has heard of Edith Lynch and she has heard the story. After her parents chose Broadripple, they came across it in their research and they had a little sit-down talk about it because they’re a bit dramatic as hell. It was mostly to keep Wendy from using it as a reason not to go and involved the refrain of “it was thirty years ago, you’re gonna be fine, go memorize the Commandments.”

22. How does your character feel about Nighmore? Have they noticed the recently closed shops yet?

Wendy thinks Nighmore is pretty boring, but she definitely knows the shops in and out in search of entertainment. So she’ll have noticed some are closed. Bit sus!

23. Have you made any aesthetic Pinterest boards/WeHeartIt collections for this character? Or playlists? Anything you would like to share!

THIS is Wendy’s pinterestboard. I hope to post a playlist of songs she listens to soon.

Let me know if you’d like to form a connection or plot. I’ll be throwing up a connections page ASAP.

#bahq:intro #bahq:task1

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